#oh woman with a hunger for pain and violence as a form of love and devotion

[miaurri]

Also bonus for like her main character inspirations LMAO

#all I’m saying is #moves a teacup by an inch and Kayo would’ve been one fucked up courtesan #oh woman with a hunger for pain and violence as a form of love and devotion #⊹˳⁺ ♡ miau//who draws #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai oc

[march2nd]

CAN YOU REMEMBER THE RAIN

FORGET ME (not) m.list next

chapter II - CAN YOU REMEMBER THE RAIN

please note that I do not follow canon in this one , basically i have read the hunger games series a long time ago, and i can't read it again bc reading finnick's death scene pains me (that's why I am writing this ff, to give him a deserved happy ending). also english is not my first language!

tw: canon typical violence, mentions of psychological distress, allusions to prostitution, reader is still a minor in this chapter!

word count: 1627

You go up stage as the reality of the situation sits hard on your shoulders. On the one hand you know that you are going there to die sooner or later, but on the other you don't want to do it quietly. You You don't want to die at all. You don't see yourself as a victim to be feasted upon. Next to you comes a boy, just around your age but you don't pay much attention to him. You try to find your family in the back - you see crying Stella and mom holding her hand next to her mouth as to suppress a scream. Elena is looking at you with burning eyes that express disgust. She is not looking at you, you realize, but the escort. You look back at them scrunching your brows. There is no way you are going to die. You have plans and you are going to fulfill them by not being dead. You clench your fists and look proudly into the camera. You need to come up with a strategy and you need to start thinking about it as fast as possible, there is no time left to waste as you know some people from 1,2 and 4 could have been training all their lives up until this moment. You try to hold yourself together, not show any weakness. You nearly miss Diana in the crowd. You see her even more angry than you, she is clearly fighting something inside of her. You see that look inside of her eyes when she tries to come in front of the stage. People are too paralyzed to do anything or stop her, they cannot guess her intentions. Neither do you, until you see a brewing storm inside her [e/c] eyes. She opens her mouth to speak, "oh God" you think as you realize. She wants to volounteer as a tribute, but she is already too old. You can see it in her face, as she realizes but it doesn't stop her from getting closer to you. She is only stopped by the peacekeepers and dragged back by them as she repeats your name "[Y/n], [Y/n]", you can hear the emotional distress she is in in her voice. In that moment you realize the fundamental truth, no matter how many fights you are in, how many times you fall off with one another and how much do you seem to think that you hate her, she is the closest person to you. She is your mirror and you will be hers. She loves you in her own crazy way and she would give up everything to save you. She is the last person to believe in Panem as a society or structure, but there she is willingly wanting to go and being made example of just for you. She can't and you know that she will be furious with it until the end of her life. At that realization you want to cry.

Thank God, you are all taken inside the building after your sister made a scene, as not to create any unnecessary chaos. The escort looks at you with disapproval. What can you say, your sister stole the show. Next to her stands a man in his mid-forties smiling at you kindly and a woman who seems to be absent. "You created a little bit of chaos, haven't you?" You see playful look in his eyes. He seems to be enjoying the show as it is something unusual. It angers you as your own suffering can be considered to be a form of entertainment.

Your family comes after a while. Stella, as expressive as she is throws herself at you to hug you. Only then you allow yourself to cry. You don't believe that you will come back, even though you tried to make yourself believe that at first. In the back stands mom and Elena. There is no sight of Diana. You learn from your mother that she was taken to be questioned by the peacemakers for her outburst. You want to believe that she will be okay. As time passes by and mom holds your hand she seems to be in more and more rush. "You will come back," she says with confidence, "you will outsmart them", "you will kill the rats from career districts," she spits out "it won't be a slaughterhouse for them this year, "her voice is full of venom as she speaks. "Show them that they cannot target kids from 3 anymore like they always do." She kisses your forehead. "I just want my daughter safe." She cries out of sorrow. You know that you are never safe here, as Stella has to sell herself and Diana was probably beaten because of her outburst. You are never safe and never will be. You can only be alive and survive. You, your mother and Stella hold hands as Elena stands in the back. She fumbles with her hands not knowing what to do. She whispers "I will miss you." This makes you conflicted about what does she mean, as she always seem to know everything. Does she mean that she will miss you when you don't come back, or she will miss you when you are gone for a month to the Capital to play their game? You genuinely don't understand.

The idyllic scene stops when Beetee opens the door. "You need to come up with an explanation," he says "why your sister did what she did," he adds. "They will treat her like a rebel the other way," his eyes grow darker "and she is not a one." You nod. Elena, looking straight into his eyes spits out "Diana, she always wanted to take part in the Games. She is furious now that [Y/n] goes instead of her." You look at her. Damn, she thinks fast. "It's just family dynamics" you add on. Beetee looks at you both and smiles. Then he leaves. It's the small things that matter, and you start to like him a little bit more now. The Hunger Games, and everything you do there are not just games but politics. Might as well do a show as you go down.

Next thing you know, you are in the train. Is it the same that took your father to work? You wonder. It is very luxurious and you can see that the boy, Xavier, as you learned his name some time before has never seen anything like this before. In the dining car that is also a lounge area at the same time you spot all kinds of sweets your father used to gift you when he was coming back from the Capital. You start eating the lemon macaroon and Xavier follows shortly after. Giving you all this food resembles fattening up a piglet before it meets it's fate but at this moment you don't care about convention.

"Listen here, last years we haven't had any success in bringing alive tributes home." Beetee starts with a shaking voice, as the memories must be painful for him. "As you can see Wires is not suitable for this job anymore, because of the distress it caused her". You glance at the middle aged woman that is standing in the corner and looking through the window. She seems to have acknowledged your presence, but is very shy for some reason. Maybe she will open up in the future. "I would rather be doing something else than mentoring you two but there is no other choice. When we are at it we should get the most out of it." His will to fight is admirable, maybe he hasn't given up on you two as yet. "Is there any particular skill you have mastered?" He asks with genuine interest in his voice. "I can create weapons and I have good aim, I guess I can throw knifes" Xavier says proudly. "I have been working in the fabric for some years now." With that statement you think you have already lost. There is nothing you can say to beat that, and you can't afford Beetee to have a favorite already. You have to come up with a skill that cannot be easily checked but can be valuable in the area. "My dad trained me and my sister for the games just in case before he died," you swallow and decide to lie "I would combat train with her and I would win every single time. We were using toy knifes but I guess I wouldn't be bad with the real thing." Both of them don't seem impressed at that. You start to panic, you know that you have to win them over right now - Beetee to send you things when you are in the area and Xavier to consider an alliance with you. "I was also training to be a doctor, I don't know if this is of any help." This is a full lie and you know it, but anything to win or not die at the first day. Now you see that they look at you differently. "Diana was stabbed once, because as you could see she is quiet a troublemaker," you must think fast and speak ever faster. "My mom thought the wound was fatal but she survived the crucial hours before the doctor could came." After a brief pause Beetee asks "do you want to train together or separate?"

You can feel Wiress staring at you and you don't like it. Someone has already seen through you. You feel like nothing but a dirty little liar.

NOTES:

three chapters in a day, and unfortunately no finnick as yet, he will come around later! more of him in the second part of the series (and i plan on finishing this one this month).

#finnick x reader #the hunger games #finnick odair #xreader #angst #fluff

[prettycutebunny]

Sugar, spice, and lies part 2

TW: noncon, violence, toxic relationship, power imbalance, cheating.

Heart beating like a drum in your ears, you walked straight into the police station trying to appear as confident as you can. The place was buzzing with movement even at such an early hour which made you nervously smooth invisible wrinkles on your shirt. First impressions are crucial and you have no idea who’s interviewing you. The position was a personal assistant to a captain without further details, being offered to be set up for this meeting by your parents friend. Marvin was like a sweet uncle to you so you were sure it’s for a good man. Swallowing your saliva anxiously while following the receptionist to the meeting room.

She gave you a symapathic  gaze before leaving which didn’t help your current state. Taking a deep breath to muster up all the confidence you have, you opened the meeting’s room door. The man sitting there stole all the air you breathed just now as you almost tripped over your steps. The man sitting on the chair like a king rests on his throne, sunglasses in his blue collar shirt pocket. The prettiest blue eyes scanned the paper at hand uninterestingly before going up to meet yours. 

Feeling blush creeping on your face as you tried so hard not to stumble again, you took the seat in front of him. His eyes scanned as a smirk formed on his gorgeous face. Everything about him was so attractive that you felt yourself return to being a teenage girl with a crush. His sleeves rolled up revealing muscled arms that you tried so hard not to imagine wrapped around you. The sound of a clicked pen wiped all of the scatters thought in your mind as you tried to pay attention. 

Who would’ve thought that your innocence and clumsiness would be exactly his type ? Your head hurts from the drinking you did last night as the dream of your first meeting put you in an instant horrible mood. Getting the shower was a hussl but you did so anyway ignoring the clear sign of someone sleeping next to last night. The cold water cleared your head and the hunger over it. You really didn’t want to be here right now but good things take time. 

Putting on comfortable clothes, you left the bedroom and snarled. He once again left the place a mess like a goddamned toddler. His shoes kicked out, jacket on the couch , dirty plates lay on the table , and cushions on the floor. When did he stop treating you like his housekeeper instead of his nanny ? Bitterness caused a painful sob to get stuck in your throat as you walked past the mess and headed outside. Job hunting was surprisingly a lot more successful when you’re looking for bare minimum pay. 

The phone call that followed your first attempt at getting one was a shock like nothing else. You recognized the voice on the line as Wesker, the man who did the interview. 

“I’m afraid your application has been rejected, dear”

This caused an instant bang of pain in your chest as you tried to calm your wavering voice.

“Can I ask why ? So I can work on it in the future.”

“You see, it is illegal for a boss to date his underlings. Are you free on Saturday little mouse ?”

Looking at the restaurant you’ll work at, you cringed and tried to hold the anger bubbling inside you. It was the place he took on your first date. A generic fancy place to woo the naive ‘little mouse’. Oh god how much you hate that stupid nickname. The way he used it to make you feel so stupid during any arguments you two had caused you to bite your lips and wipe the table harder. 

‘It’s a matter between grown ups, little mouse’

‘I’m afraid this sort of thing isn’t possible little mouse, you see I have work to do.’

‘That dress isn’t suitable for a little mouse.’

How could this man do all of this to you ? Why on earth did you let him abuse like that ? Simple, a young inexperienced woman stood no chance against a master manipulator like him. Showering you with a lot of love at the beginning, until you agreed to move in to his place and quit your job. Unspoken promises of marriage and starting a family kept you tied to him as the affection you received slowly disappeared. He’s too busy to date and will only take you when he wants you. 

Who’d know all it takes was a few weeks away to see how horrible all of this was ? Well it did take more than time. The thought brought a smile to your face as you took the customer's order. Not even the snootiest of Karens could take this away from you. 

The replay you got when you called him worried not only broke you, but it destroyed all of the self esteem you had in you. Feeling like a disobedient child that was scolded by his parents. The bar was almost empty as you walked in and sat wallowing in self pity. The tears wouldn’t stop as the shot burned through your throat. 

“Now, who on earth dared make such a beautiful lady like you cry ?”

The sudden voice of a man made you jump in your seat as he immediately started apologizing for startling. 

“Sorry ! I didn’t mean to scare you. My name’s Chris and I’d like to buy you a drink if you’ll let me.”

Looking at the soft features of the man next to you. He looked nothing like your Albert. Your Albert ? This caused a sad smile to appear on your face as you fought tears again. A gentle hand hestintaly rubbed your back as he gestures to the bartender for more drinks. 

“It’s alright, get it all out.”

Emotions were always met with a frown by your boyfriend. He hated any signs of sadness or tears as he glared at your depressed form instead of offering any comfort. Your friends are long gone as they I’ve slowly disappeared from your life, leaving him as your only companion. Uncle Marvin stopped talking to you after you refused to listen to his warning which you didn’t regret. You are in love after all, right ? 

Crying in the arms of Chris, the total stranger felt so liberating as all the pent up loneliness came to the surface. Everything you tried showing feelings got repressed, forcing you to build a wall around your heart. All you needed was being told ’it’s alright’ for the dam to break. The drinks kept coming as you drowned them as he spoke comforting words in your ears. 

At the end of the night, you were a drunken mess. He drove you back home, helped you take your shoes off, tucked you in, and left. The next day you were as grateful as you were embarrassed. His number was left on the nightstand next to a glass of water. Something in you refused to be tempted and went on to your usual chores. The old routine was brain numbingly boring but it’s your duty. That however, soon changed as emptiness settled in. You had no one but wesker who was in god knows where without any shoulder to lean on. 

Previously, you sucked it up and went shopping to distract yourself ;however today this time it was different. After getting a taste of what gentle company felt like, you wanted more. 

Fingers shaking as they pressed the buttons, you braced yourself for being directed to voicemail.

“Hello ?”

The same sweet tone reached your ear as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Hi, it’s me”

The burger place you both went to was old and the food was greasy. That place led to the happiest you’ve felt in years. Chris was a great company with a sense of humor that didn’t involve sarcastic remarks or back handed compliments. Everything he said was sincere as he told a story from his line of work. An amused smile formed on your lips as he kept telling one heroic story after the other. He wanted to impress you so badly it was quite enduring. 

Before you both knew it, the lunch turned into dinner as you took the lead in telling your childhood stories. It’s been so long since you had an intensive listener that didn’t pick on each sentence you said. 

“I bet you were the cutest child”

You smacked him in the arms, feeling his bulging biceps.

“And I bet you say that to all the other girls.”

The arm you slapped sneakily made it way to your shoulder as he hugged your body closer. 

“Only my sister but I was lying to her. I promise !”

He said while raising his pinky finger, you let out another laugh before linking yours with his. Looking up into the chocolate colored eyes, the world slowly fades around you as everyone becomes background noise. He softly yanked your pinky, as you brought your body closer to him. 

His lips slowly touched yours, as you felt fireworks explode inside your brain. His hand that held your finger wrapped itself around your cheek bringing you closer. His tongue asked for permission that you granted instantly. The kiss was like nothing you’ve ever had with Albert. It was soft and warm, while everything you two had was hot and rough. You didn’t want it to end so you poured slightly when he pulled away. 

A small laugh left him as he cupped both of your cheeks in the palm of his hands. 

“If we don’t stop, I might have you for dessert.”

Your body jerked away as heat rose on your face, leading to another chuckle from the man next you. The pout turned into a smile that became full of laughter. 

Your morals screamed at you as he drove you back home while rubbing your knee. This is wrong and you know it ,but knowing and caring weee two different things. Being happy after so long left your eyes open to all the sadness you’ve been through. You never know you were in pain, until you know what it feels like to be free from it. Those who got used to being in the dark, refuse to return to it after tasting the light. 

His apartment looked like a tornado went through it, he rubbed his neck embarrassed so cutely. When you bent to pick up the trash, he grabbed it from your hand in a hurry. 

“I’m sorry ! This is my mess and I’ll clean it up. Here take a seat !”

He led you to the only semi clean chair as he rolled up his sleeves. 

“Come on, let me help.”

“No, I insist. If my sister knew I let my woman clean up after me, she’d beat me up and say ‘she’s not your mom Chris’”

He mimicked a woman's voice hoping to fish out more chuckles from you but you were lost in your own world. Who knew being called someone’s woman is the best feeling in the world ? Chris wasn’t just anyone either. You stood up suddenly causing him to pause and look at you nervously. Apologizes were on the tip of his tongue but they never came out as you stole his lips. Jumping Chris so suddenly as you wrapped your arms around him, the memory of Albert throwing you off him surfaced in your mind. 

‘That’s not a behavior of a lady, little mouse’

Your body tensed as you pulled away shamefully. Almost feeling your internal turmoil, he hugged you as his lips returned on your own. Struggling to get to the bedroom, you felt your body turning feverishly hot. He slowly undressed you as his hands traced every curve, scar, and dip your body offered. Kissing every spot he can while murmuring praises. 

Tears welled in your eyes as you hugged his body closer to you, wanting to live in his arms forever. He kissed your eyes as he slowly thrusted. Feeling so complete with him inside of you. His movements were gentle as he restrained himself just for you. Returning his kisses, you held onto his back tightly. 

“Please make it so I can’t think of anything but us, Chris”

The following week went on as a dream. You practically lived in his apartment, cozy and happy. He didn’t complain about your quirks, refused to let you do all the chores, and brought you small gifts. His love was like a warm fireplace that keeps you comfortable and content. On the other hand, wesker’s love was like a fire. Burning everything and leaving nothing but ashes. 

Speaking of, the voicemail you received of him announcing his return broke you out of the dream you were in. You felt left Chris’s bed in a hurry, trying not to startle him. Accidentally taking the clothes he was supposed to wear the next morning. Forcing him to go to work in the clothes that you two made love in while the TV played in the background. 

Taking a cab late at night might not be the smartest thing when you just drank your body weight but you had no chance. You needed all the liquid courage you’d need to face him again. Opening the door in a hurry, you ignore the mess around you as you walk to the bedroom. You got under the cover as your hazy mind drifted to sleep. 

He wasn’t supposed to return so early even if he was later than he said he’d be. You wanted enough time to receive your paycheck and be independent from anyone. Something that was long due. The apartments in Chris’s building were cheap and you felt safe with him living close to you. All you needed was more time but that wasn’t meant to be. 

The walk to the house felt so heavy as you dragged your legs along. You missed Chris terribly and really wanted nothing to do with Albert anymore. You opened the door to a sight you didn’t expect. The bedroom door was off one of its hinges as wesker stood in front of it. Slowly turning to face you, Chris’s shirt in hand. Everything about him exceeded violence. 

“Welcome back, whore”

Lock broken, slur spoken

He took threatening steps toward you as you held your ground. 

“What were you thinking little mouse ? Let me guess, you weren’t ? Like the usual ?”

Wound open, game token

He roughly dragged your arms inside, you screamed in pain as it felt like he’d yank it out. 

I didn't know you were keeping count

You’ve been here for five seconds and you already had enough. 

“Let me go you asshole !”

Rain soaking, blind hoping

He slowly turned toward you, holding himself back like a caged lion. 

“I fed you, clothed you, and you dare repay me that way ?”

You said I was freeloading, I didn't know you were keeping count

Normally you would have never been able to do it but his anger blinded him to anything around him. The slap resonated in the apartment as he stood shocked. 

“I cleaned up after you, went around to every party like atrophy , got dressed in everything, you being the perfect doll. You have no right to stand here and call me names. It’s not my fault you weren’t home and I had to stay at uncle Marvin’s. Did you even hear about the recent break ins ? I was terrified.” 

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around i t

He glared you down, torn between killing you on the spot or trying to believe you. Something’s different and he didn’t like it. The woman in front of him wasn’t the woman he left home before his trip. It was quite an interesting change you had, the shirt was a generic shirt that every man he owned. He had no reason to doubt you, the girl he molded for years to stay under his heels no matter what. 

You screamed as his hands tore your clothes and pushed you to the ground. There was no pleasure, gentleness, words, or love in what he did to you. Pain caused tears to stream down your face as his hand clamped shut on your mouth. His groans added salty to energy as your body screamed in protest to his actions. 

Storm coming, good husband

Bad omen

Dragged my feet right down the aisle

At the house lonely, good money

I'd pay if you'd just know me

Seemed like the right thing at the time

Laying on the floor, you’ve never felt so dirty in your life. He left you there to sob as he walked out. Everything hurts and you scream in anger. ‘Why me ?’ Played inside your brain like a chant. 

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough

Chris' heart dropped in his stomach at the sight of you standing in front of his door bags in hand. Blue and purple covered your neck and wrists from what he can see. You turned to face him, your expression tore him apart, your lips shook as it called his name. 

Your body was freezing cold as he hugged you closer. The door was kicked open, he gently led you inside while letting out a soft ‘it’s alright’ over and over. Chris was a man of law and moral but it catches whomever did this to you, he’ll kill him with his bare hands. The rage inside him was forced down as he tried to keep you from any further trauma. 

After hours, you laid down on the couch sleepily. He bent over and kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen. Two minutes later he turned with a first aid-kit in hand. Your bruises were nasty and needed to be treated before it caused any further pain. Even though it stung as he applied the medicine, you felt safe in his hands as you drifted to sleep. 

The next day, you made breakfast. Trying to keep things as normal as it was. You didn’t want to talk and he sensed that, so he never asked either. Your phone was lost in the laguge you packed in a hurry. You brought some of your clothes and every piece of jewelry you’ve ever received. Fuck working to be independent, you’ll sell his dirty gifts to escape him’ It’s only right. 

Chris was an angel and unpacked everything for you, including your phone and even charged it for you. 

Looking at the missed calls, you let out an angry growl. As his name flashed on your screen again, you pressed answer. 

“Do you really wanna know where I was April 29th?”

The silence that answered you was enough. You let out a bitter laugh. 

“Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?”

You hung up before he had the chance to answer and stepped on it over and over again. 

“WOW THERE, easy”

Chris’s voice broke you out of your angry stomping and you smiled instantly. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to start fresh. You and me.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your nose. 

“I have to go, I got a call from the captain a few seconds ago. We have to investigate deaths near arkaly mountain.”

You hummed back as you kissed his chin in return. 

“Stay safe,…….. I love you.”

The last part came as a bashful whisper, his body froze before he stole your lips wne breath away

#albert wesker x reader #chris redfeild x reader #bunny writes

[mononoawareness]

1. when we came fully formed from the body of woman sons who were first boys and sometimes by a rare movement of the spirit in the stones, became upright walking men

we were all form and color, we were sensitive and mild our emotions fevered over at the sight of speckled light reaching through the leaves

our emotions fevered over at the smell of bloodloss at the falling of dead hearts in the wars that we infected man was a gentle creature

this is not a story about wars 2.  i cry loudly to be filled, to be overcome with you to enact violence upon, to escape with us the magnets that repel have worked so hard from the ancient lands to stay interlocked

an entire universe is created from their pain in that universe there is no thing such as pain 3.  when he wanted himself to be held inside of himself he burned at the touch he burned at the stake alongside his mother

still he reached out five-fingered hands made delicate, delicately to behold vulnerability with vulnerability

he dreamed of being these

hero, father, king, killer, leader,

to disguise the truth to hide his wounds until they formed clots in the soul of his sons

the hunger never leaves us 4.  there is nothing more raw than this; to hold our nakedness against you if we are wrong to love and make love

then lover, twist the knife until it arrives on the other side of us

then lover, pour that oil upon our head and strike the match

while i release this hideous cry the tears from my veins and stem-cells while i send the pain to another place and we go on to somewhere else 5.  he crawled then for centuries black and blue, kisses like flowers upon his knees when he was loved he sent love away when beasts roared he hid

and sometimes in the night he danced with us, or danced with the woman, then he grew into his colors flicker of knowing in other eyes then he was perfect

i leave a light on to guide him home i leave a light on in his heart so that he may use it to become unbroken

there is glass and stone on the sidewalk in his name, among other names a whisper in the ethereal world a shout in the hands made for love

when he dies, it will be in silence 6. i love you

i love you

oh my god, i love you 7. i ask him to rise even through war even through dead hearts and he rises again for me so like the sun is he

he rises upon the day infernal and his form draws my breath gentle one who cries for me ache that is tender and mild communion that is holy

we touch and burn from the ignition, the truth us upon the pyre, all of him in all of me and all of me is seen

that is the story of love, slaughter to the lamb. and when june comes i will walk on love for him because we are lava

because the man who loves you will set you on fire

#just so y'all have this in one post #eat bones

[cannibal-witchh]

Reader(Fem) X Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 1)

Written by cannibal_witchh

⛓Trigger Warning⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes:

I am not the most confident writer so bare with me if theres some flaws floating around the story. I also have very minimal general knowledge to Alcina right now due just demos only being out. Please, be considerate that there's only so much information released on her so most of what I'm writing is not canon. Let's keep it positive and real, we all are thirsting after Lady D so here's a a fanfiction. Also couldn't condense it in one story so going to make this adleast a two or three parter.

It can get confusing with a lot of female characters so the reader is of course:

Y/N - your name

Her/she- i wanted to refer to the female reader in italics and bold

Y/L/N- your last name

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Thunder echoed along the well decorated corridor walls . Hints of lightning occasionally flashed between fluttering curtains. Beyond the curtains was an open window, below that was a critical drop into snow and shards of large rocks. That was definitely not worth risking. Y/N had been held in captivity for what felt like a legitimate eternity. Confinded to a small well kempt room, it seemed as though it had once been a guest room according to the furnishing. All the basic necessities of a bedroom were present here. The fabrics that dressed the bed were of a fine quality, and the boards that held all of it up were of incredible carpentry. Gentle embers flickered from the candlewicks that rose tall on the golden girandoles. Despite captivity the room was comfortable, it was illuminated with warm colors, although still dim and feint.

The door swung open, a black swarm of insects swirled infront of the door as it begun to quickly form a figure. It revealed a small vampiric woman, hooded with golden locks peaking from under it. She flashed her teeth with an enthusiastic smile, as she revealed blood stained teeth, lips, as well as her chin. " Oh, goody! You are awake. I always feel bad feeding when someone is asleep.", She shut the door as she advanced closer to Y/N. Adrenaline began to flood through her veins, hair on her body standing up, and her palms perspiring. She was covered in scabbed bite marks, and bruises - it didn't take long for her to recall the abrupt painful puncture of teeth break through her skin. The old bites began to twitch with pain at the idea a new addition would be welcomed. " I just prefer blood thats been in shock, y'know, awake? It gives it a nice acidic flavor, plus,", she towered over Y/N breathing in her aroma. " It smells wonderful.", she giggled in soft whispers. "Enough.", Y/N demanded as she attempted to cease her trembling. Her body was returning to anxiety because it was clear what was about to happen. A feeding. The vampire didn't seem to express offense, strangely her face bore amusement. "Oh ok, how about this!", she excitedly brought out her sickle and swung at her. With one swift swing the sickle hooked right under her knee cap. A shriek was released from Y/N's lips, agonizing pain radiating everywhere, and blood began to river out from the site. The vampire dragged her with the sickle through the corridor as everything seemed like a blurr from the shock. Hallways seemed like a stretched out haze, and noises seemed to be loud echoes one would hear in a juvenile cafeteria. "Whe-where are you taking me...?", she barely mustered as she felt the sickle dig through muscle and actually brush against the back of her knee cap. Fuck. The sickle was released quickly from her skin as she heard the sound of blood fly onto the ground. That abrupt removal felt worse for minutes compared to the weapon actually being present in Y/N's knee. The monstrous woman lifted the sickle to her crimson stained lips, inhaling the aroma deep, and then proceeding to lick the sickle of the blood it had collected. Sounds of ecstasy escaped her satin black lips, her eyes darted over at Y/N as she felt like she was on the verge of fainting from shock. " I love blood that has some acidicity to it. It gives it a nice kick. You know how that works? For example, your blood could still have more of that taste. One who is in a flight or fright scenario, where they are in absolute fear and adrenaline kicks in...thats when the meat and blood have a sour flavor. Mmm, thats why we are going to play a game." , she licked her lips as her eyes flickered with hunger and passion. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her body gasp from the fevered pain beating in her knee. " I propose we play hide and go seek! You already know who's hiding. I will give you to the count of 100." , her eyes shimmered from this fucked up idea, she quickly turned her back and covered her eyes. Slowly the sickle in her hand vanished within dark smoke, damn it, Y/N within fading in and out had thought perhaps of stealing that and killing her there. Not anymore. She rose up with wobbling knees, just like a new born dear barely capable of using its legs, she began to hobble as fast as she could away.

"Oh, and I can smell your blood. So hide well, Y/L/N."

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Y/N consistently looked back, watching if the vampire had cheated the game. She was indeed honoring the game, that was adleast something about this blonde one she liked. She seemed to honor things she said, " 89...70...", her voice echoed loudly through the halls. The numbers lowering as Y/N felt her adrenaline spike even higher.

Y/N managed to find a door unlocked in a different wing of the manor. She adleast went through 10 locked doors before fleeing to another location of the manor. With pure luck, she discovered this door, it was unlocked and she took her gamble and entered quietly. With trembling gore soiled hands, she locked the door, and sunk to the ground. Very little energy existed in her, she anticipated for dear life the blonde vampire wouldn't smell her here.

The sound of gentle humming danced along the walls of this room, very melodic, sad, and eerie. Lonely, perhaps. With Y/N's quick realization, this resembled a garden bath house. The windows stretched tall in this room, revealing bleeding light from the full moon, there were plants of vibrant emeralds surrounding the large mass of water that centered the room. The water was decorated with rose petals and red spider lilies. The room was architecturally structured with several stones of marble, and looked almost like a Greek bath house . Gentle sounds of rushing water followed between stones which flowed into the big pool of water. Little ripples scattered across the water causing the red flowers to bob up and down.

The humming persisted as Y/N felt her heart drop, she quickly scurried to the nearest marble pillar to conceal herself. The humming was growing louder and louder, could it be the hungry vampire? She wasn't certain if it was worse but it certainly felt like it, Lady Dimitrescu emerged from the shadows of the room, and strided to the water. She was only wrapped in the finest silk, a tight sheer white robe that hugged tightly against her hips. She definitely had a full figure, the robe delivered a silhouette of her motherly figure. It certainly complimented, the low cut of the robe teased her deep cleavage, the sheer silk revealed faint color and the shape of her puffy areolas. Even in the predicament Y/N was in, it was still hard not to appreciate Alcina's physical beauty.

Alcina continued her melodic hum for a few more moments as she admired the undulations of the floral water. " Y/N Y/L/N, you believe me to be foolish?", she broke from her tune as her eyes looked directly at Y/N. She gulped hard as she submitted to the acceptance Alcina would more than likely kill her. She continued to lay her back against the cold pillar, one hand applying pressure to her bleeding knee, the other containing the fear that was trying to escape her lips. " I could smell that delicious blood from here.", she chucked lightly, "Come here, now.", she demanded with her arms crossing. Y/N did not obey the command, she remained quiet behind the pillar. For minutes it consisted of painful sharp silence, only the sound of her terrified heart beats could be heard. Her ears burned and rung, it desperately needed the assurance Alcina was still idle. Did Y/N dare look beyond the pillar? She peeked over and Alcina was no where to be found. Consternation filled her as there wasn't even a trace of evidence to signify the direction Alcina went. Unexpectedly, Y/N felt a hard blow and collapsed on her side. Her hands releasing themselves, and a gasp of air evacuated her mouth. " Oh, I see. ", Alcina had kicked her, her foot pressed hard against her side. Her smooth leg exposed, tracing all the way to her innermost thigh. Her skin looked smooth like porcelain, but certainly felt the weight of heavy boulders as it rested on her. Y/N groaned in pain as she felt her foot dig deep into her. "Bleeding out on my perfect floors. Oh, what a mess. Although, it does certainly smells of of tart berries, yes, what a wonderful aroma.", Alcina breathed in the cold air, inhaling hints of Y/N's blood. She moaned in intoxication to the alluring smell of fresh blood. Alcina removed her foot from Y/N, she gasped for air in relief, and tried to attempt to sit up. Alcina quickly lunged forward without even a blink, and her long hand wrapped around Y/N's throat. "No, I don't think so.", Alcina smirked as her hand squeezed around her throat. She fell onto her back, the large vampress towering over, her large hand pressing into her throat.She was capable of breathing but it was incredibly taxing especially with the critical condition she was in. Desperate wheezing filled the air, it burned and stung inside of Y/N's throat. Alcina stared into her eyes, a long red smile stretched upon her pale white face. "Hmm, this is quite boring already. I am quite famished too.", she released her grip, ascended and brought her arms to her bosom to cross them. Y/N began to violently cough and gag as proper air flow returned to her lungs. After several minutes of constant heaving, she finally managed to collect herself. "Come.", Alcina ordered as she turned on the balls of her feet and waltzed to the bath. Y/N submitted, too exhausted to resist any longer. She barely could stand but managed, she approached Alcina with her eyes fixed on her every move. " My little one lacks control. Just as I would suspect with her age. If she doesn't stop stabbing you, you'll die. And I really have grown addicted to your flavor as well. I really would hate for you to bleed out one day because of her reckless actions.", she expressed with a sigh of annoyance. Suddenly, a knock interrupted her rambling, " Lady Dimitrescu,", it was the blonde vampire. Alcina let out another sigh in annoyance. "Yes?", she responded with a disinterested tone, as she crossed her arms a little more snug. Revealing a distracting amount of cleavage being pressed together. " Is Y/N in there?", she sniffed loudly as she strived to rattle the door knob open. " Yes, but I require her. I will discuss with you later some important matters. For the mean time, please do not disturb me and I'll return to you soon.", Alcina said sternly as her fingers drummed the top of her arms impatiently. "Yes, Lady Dimitrescu. ", the blonde vampire responded with pure disappointment in her tone.

"Now, where were we? Oh, yes. I've decided you will become my little feeding pet. My daughters do not know how to handle food without killing it. So you are now only mine. Clear?", she lowered herself and grabbed Y/N by the face. Turning her face side to side to examine the condition she was in. Y/N nodded to the best of her abilities, and quickly, Alcina released her. "Good. I'm glad you are willing. I want you to undress now." Embarassment flooded Y/N's mind, her cheeks buzzing with warmth. Why would she even demand that? " I intend on drinking the blood thats already spilling out of you. But I won't drink it while its been dragged around by a rusty sickle and pressed against the dirty floor.", her refined side was definitely exposed. She was different from her daughters, she wanted her meals much more virtuous. " Oh, now, now. I will even join you. They say when two are bathing they are equals.", she added as she disrobed herself. Gently she slide the robe off her shoulders and down her large breasts, as the robe began to flutter down to the marble. Her naked body exposed, and remarkable. Her large breasts sitting perky, her puffy areolas a light grey, and her waist down was incredibly curvy. Absolutely, a full figured silhouette. She dipped her feet in and followed by submerging her body into the bathwater. She let out a sound of relaxation as she smirked and beckoned Y/N. "Come, now."

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To be continued...

#lady dimitrescu #alcina #alcina dimitrescu #Dimitrescu #re8 #resident evil village #re village #resident evil 8 #alcina fanfic #alcina x reader #alcina x female reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x female reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil 8 fanfic #reaident evil village fanfic #sexy tall lady #tall vampire lady #gore #fanfic #female x female #vampire x reader #vampire x female reader

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Lady Dimitrescu x female reader 💋 ( + a glimpse of the daughters).

• Warnings: erotica, graphic adult content, sapphic love, adult romance, Stockholm Syndrome, mild horror elements.

glass angel, part XIV.

Whatever version of your lady you’d dreamt at night could not compare to the haunting beauty she was in the flesh. You stretched your arms and embraced her magnificent shoulders with such ferocity, as if was the last time. Alcina loomed over you like a hungry wolf with marble teeth as sharp as daggers, descending upon her small, quivering prey. But instead of catching your soft throat in her feral jaws, she drew the tip of her elegant nose along your flushed cheek and to the velvet outline of your loose hair. Her rich bosom swelled with a deep breath as she savored the sweet scent of you, and like a bank of snow you melted in her arms.

“Draga mea… ești ca o floare.”

My dear, you’re like a blossom.

She praised in a sensual rumble, and though you could not understand her beautiful mother tongue, you felt the meaning behind her sugary words. Obedient, you leaned backwards until your spine was flat against the rigid surface beneath yourself. Lady Dimitrescu’s figure was shadowed by the wide curve of her elegant hat, and yet you could see the look in her eyes very clearly. Two precious citrine stones shimmering with a foreign hunger, a desire you could not understand.

Her palm upon your chest seemed to seek more than soft flesh as it slipped beneath your thin garments. In a moment, arched blades erupted from the tips of her fingers, and she pulled your nightdress away in shredded ribbons. With a startled gasp you attempted to cover yourself, but she caught your thin wrists and spread your arms like angel’s wings. You quieted down steadily and grasped the table’s rough edges, leaving yourself completely vulnerable to her. The elongated swords retreated into her hand, morphing into human-like fingers once more. It was not a mere illusion of your tortured mind. Indeed she possessed gifts you could not even begin to comprehend, yet instead of being fearful, you worshipped her with even greater ardor.

The chilly air of the room rose goosebumps all over your bare skin, your dainty nipples perking. Those glowing, golden eyes were blistering flames on your nude body, rousing needs within you that you no longer were ashamed of. Undoubtedly, Madam Alcina was more than you were ready to experience, yet you couldn’t deny her; not when the softest brush of her palm beneath your chin melted away all your resistance.

“Mistress… what are you doing to me?”

You wondered, more or less rhetorically. Her lips were on your shoulder as she murmured an answer, each syllable stirring the flames.

“Consuming you, my dear…”

And she drew a languid kiss down the thin arch of your collarbones.

“… rebuilding you…”

Garnet lips closed over the tender teeth marks on your soft breasts.

“…into a beauty eternal, and never-dying.”

She embedded those promises into your skin with sensual kisses, leaving a trail of dark red lipstick down the axis of your body. Willingly, you parted your legs to welcome her, almost eager to feel the pain and pleasure of her mouth there. Your thighs were light as clouds in the hold of her massive palms, even if you wanted you couldn’t resist her sultry whims. Her breath, moist and heated, caressed the trail of curls on your pubic bone down to your blooming flower.

“Please, Madam...”

You begged helplessly, anticipating the lengthy torture she had prepared for you. But the lady pressed a wicked smile to your inner thigh and sensually ran her palm up your soft navel to your chest, easily pinning you to her dining table. You were a meal to be savored and she wouldn’t rush a moment of her enjoyment, even at the cost of your sanity.

“Be good, my angel.”

She ordered. It was all you needed to submit.

Those cursed lips…

Soft like rose petals, loving yet cruel. They caressed vague patterns over the virginal skin of your inner thighs, wrapping around sweet, young flesh with the same hunger they devoured a glass of wine. Each bruise was drawn out, suckled slowly until pleasure turned to pain, and pain turned back to pleasure. Your legs were an open canvas for her to paint with sensual violence, and though you shivered and cried pitifully, your needs were left unanswered.

That burning sensitivity between your legs was agonizing, so much that you attempted to lift your dainty hips, starved for the smallest friction. The rebellious act only brought a massive hand around your throat, pinning you into stillness; your much smaller hands barely clawing at your mistress’s formidably strong arm. You were breathless before you could even begin resisting her hold, both from exhaustion and scorching arousal. Agony left you with no choice but to submit once more, in desperate hopes that you’ll find mercy as part of your reward for being good.

It felt like centuries before relief finally came.

The first touch was a powerful bolt of electricity, shocking your whole body with a suddenness that stunned you. Trickling with hot nectar, your core twitched in sweet anticipation as your lady slowly parted your petals with her fingertip. Exposed, and oddly timid, your cheeks burned scarlet and you must’ve been awfully endearing, for Alcina took a moment to gaze at you lovingly.

“That’s a good girl.”

Her voice was a deep, sultry rumble as she witnessed you unfold to her desire, giving yourself to her completely and without resistance. Each gentle stroke of her finger between your aroused labia had you arch softly in unison with her prolonged teasing. The briefest touch of skin against skin enough to almost push you over the edge, yet she was highly experienced and knew how to control your pleasure, to prevent an unexpected climax.

“Ah-… Alcina…”

A faint plea escaped your parched throat, yet she didn’t loosen her grip. The sensual look behind her thick eyelashes made it difficult for you to even think, let alone put words together. But she knew, oh she knew, how greatly you suffered from the lack of proper stimulation, and it only fueled her sadistic nature. Malevolence surfaced on her dashing features, easily disarming you. She dominated you, reduced you to a humble servant ready to endure and take anything she’d offer. Pain, the most.

As the tip of her soft digit formed slow circles around your engorged jewel, she bowed her head low until you felt her deep breath on your dampened folds. Only teasing, never quite enough; and then it came, like a summer hurricane.

A loud, guttural breath erupted from your throat as you shuddered against the masterful dance of her tongue. With slick precision, Alcina made love to every inch of your delicate vulva, from the depths of your core to the soft canyons of your inner lips. Her mouth closed around you wholly, adding to your immediate gratification with a continuous suction whilst she restlessly mapped the shape of you with her tongue. Each sensual lap pinned you with forced pleasure, breaking you into submission, into pitiful shards of yourself, only to build you anew.

You morphed beneath her, from a simple girl to a grown woman, aware of your own body’s erotic needs. She met each one of your desires with such zealous passion you swore she knew you better than you knew yourself. And when the final wave crashed over you, you emerged as if reborn; a panting, struggling mess on the altar she laid you upon. An immeasurable glee made you lose your mind and howl her name until every corner of her castle echoed with the sound of your intense climax.

Her deft tongue was merciful at last, withdrawing from between your abused folds before the stinging agony of overstimulation could take over. You bit back heaving whimpers as your lady’s soft mouth wandered aimlessly over your body, seeking your quivering lips. The taste of your erotic bliss was heavy on her tongue, making you dizzy as she kissed you deeply, filling your mouth with the entirety of her overwhelming love. With unabashed desperation you clutched to her wide shoulders, hungry for every bit of contact you could get. Perhaps you wanted to consume her more than she threatened to consume you.

Powerless, you fell limp on the mahogany table as she hovered close and stroked your cheek. Your lashes were damp, your eyes shimmering like precious stones with absolute satisfaction as you turned your head to kiss the warmth of her large palm. Too inebriated to mind the pull of your arms above your head by an unknown force. Vivid adoration bloomed in your hazy eyes as you watched your beloved mistress lean back into her chair and light a cigarette elegantly. While smoking, she caressed your inner thigh with the back of her long, velvet fingers.

“Hhhmmm! Oh, she smells delicious!”

A horrifying voice materialized from the other side of the table.

“My mouth is watering!”

“Please let us taste her!”

Two more chirped with disturbing joy, their sound sickening and familiar. Startled, you tilted your head to look at the three mad women looming over you with gruesome smiles and crazed looks in their feral eyes. All at once the flame of your passion died, leaving a cold stiffness in its place. You realized, then, that your arms were held down by monstrous, clawed hands. In their sick, childlike excitement they begun to feel your body with irresponsible grips, leaving faint scratches behind. With a choked yelp you struggled, fighting wildly against their invasive force.

“Now, now, daughters… Let her rest for a moment.”

Lady Dimitrescu spoke calmly, and the assault instantly ceased.

Daughters? . . .

Shocked and terrified, you threw your head forth to look at Alcina, at how nonchalantly she pursed her lips, filling the air with thin ribbons of smoke. She met your gaze with a sly look, and the corner of her perfect mouth twitched into a malicious sneer.

-          To be continued…

*part XV.

#lady dimitrescu fanfic #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #vampire fanfiction #lesbian fanfic #lesbian love #sapphic fanfic #sapphic love

[fvrxdrm]

Through the Valley

Pairing: Jesse McCree x F!Reader

Warning(s): Mentions of violence, angst

Setting: Deadlock/Pre-Blackwatch/Pre-recall

Song: Through the Valley (Ellie’s cover)

*****

When the universe was formed, the world was sculpted with rocks, and when the world was sculpted with rocks, strange beings were brought down to earth, and when strange beings were brought down to earth, sins were born, and when sins were born, dissensions were brought to light, and when dissensions were brought to light, war had clouded the visions of many beings and humanity teared itself down, one by one, with metal blades and flying arrows, and evolving into something much more minacious and powerful…

…like a gun.

So much vigor, so much anger, so much power. With one pull of a trigger, one life could be led towards heaven or hell, with no chance of escaping a baneful bullet; piercing through the skin and tearing the flesh, embedding itself deep till the person dies losing blood or be lucky enough to survive such fatal shot.

An excellent marksman’s the only one capable of doing that.

Specifically, those who know their guns by heart.

They are precise. They are rigorous. And they make every shot count. They make sure the target receives the end of their blazing weapons, and they’ll do it again and again till they’re satisfied with the bloodshed they’ve created. Their eyes would gleam with red, and blood would boil deep within their veins.

Even with one shot, those who feel agony could be standing right in front of death’s door.

There’s this marksman though, a gunslinger who seems to have held a gun since his mother gave birth to him. His accuracy cannot be matched even by those whose experiences have passed through the roof. Even with a blindfold on he still knew where to point his revolver at. He was a shit-hot at what he was doing, as they say.

Deadeye is what they call him.

People believe that the Deadeye was a curse that was passed from his ancestors to their descendants, and he happens to be their newest successor, which means he was to hold the malediction whether he liked it or not.

Truth is, it isn’t a curse.

Born by pain and abandonment, he was forced to teach himself how to survive on his own at such a young age. He worked hard to feed himself with enough food to desist from dying from an empty stomach, he rode by rivers and looked out for cacti to give himself something to drink, and most importantly, he taught himself how to pull a trigger and defend himself from nasty foes with the use of a gun he likes to call…the Peacekeeper.

After so many years of living and surviving on his own, a gang who called themselves the Deadlock Rebels took him with them and dinned him on how to rob banks and stir up ruckus in villages and towns. He was happy to have found a family who he could rely himself on even with their twisted intentions, and for the first time in his entire life, he felt rapturous.

Every blood he spilled was a trophy to be held in his hands, every eye that widened in fear had the hunger lurking beneath consume him until he became the monster that he was, every bullet that flew with the speed of light had his teeth grinding together, and every word that spread around town had him grinning with sharpened fangs.

People see him as the devil himself, only softening what was left of his heart when a kiss was pressed against his vulgar lips.

His lover was pristine and innocent, an angel in contrast to the demon he turned himself into. She had bright eyes and a scintillating smile, a touch so gentle and feather-like, a voice so small and warm, and a forgiving heart nobody deserved to earn unless she allowed it to.

Folks have wondered how on earth had she given a killer a chance and had asked the same question over and over again, but she always replied with the same answer as well;

“He was orphaned by evil and war; always have, always will be. Someone as broken as him may not be fixed, but they deserve love just as much as those who have found their place in order to help find their purpose on earth again. There are paths in front of them to help guide them in life, and what surrounds them will give them a reason to stay in the path they’ve chosen.”

Some people agree, some people don’t. But at the end of the day, it’s her belief and children look up to her and admire the goodwill she possesses even though her trust was something to be worried about. She claims she knows what she’s doing and all the world hopes that she truly does.

The heart of his lover would burn at every bruise and every wound the young man would come home with, and every word of what his gang had done would send her heart palpitating in an almost irregular speed. She feared of what was to come, and she hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t end up like the folks who have met the end of Peacekeeper’s barrel.

Years have passed and the man grew into a more ruthless killer. He had a heart of stone but it never forgot the woman who have given him an aspiration better than what they had then. He was going to be head and shoulders above, he promised. Just not now. The devil on his shoulder was still pulling him underneath. And when the day the voices in his head have stopped screaming comes, he’ll find a better home for the two of them; one where they could raise a few children of their own and make love until the sun rises in the east.

But alas, the dreams he had hoped for came to an unfortunate close…

The Deadlocks had been ambushed by soldiers of Overwatch, slowly killing the only family he’s had and taking him and his lover in to probably rot for the rest of their lives. Blue had befogged his vision, but red had risen flames inside of him.

Bullets flew from his tongue the moment he was thrown into a room flooded in black with only a poor excuse of a light hanging above him. He sat impatient, fists clenching and unclenching in fear of what they might’ve done to his girl. She could’ve been suffering from a harrowing death and nobody gave him one last chance to say what must be said before her final moments, and that was enough to untether something wilder inside of him.

He was given two options: he would be thrown into jail and be left there to rot or be given a chance to walk in the right path and leave the wrong, change himself and the world for the better.

The commander had seen something in him: a potential. The woman was right when she said he was forced into a void full of nothing but anguish at such a young age, and pity was what he felt for the gunslinger.

The power he had with his gun was nothing Reyes had ever seen. He was one with Peacekeeper; both thriving to reach the heights with ardor and strength. It would a shame if his talent was just going to be thrown into waste. So, what better way to use it than with noble purpose?

He was right. The offer was better than to slowly sink into the fires of hell. But what’s the point of throwing his hat into the ring if the woman he loves was in the opposite side of the wall? What’s the point of it all if she wasn’t going to be the shoulder he could cry on? What made it even worse was the fact that he was just going to be stuck in a goddamn loop.

Maybe dreams were only meant to be dreams…

It seemed like the world gave him a certain fate; a fate where death was something that would haunt him like a ghost whenever he was in the firing line, a fate where shadows were to be seen in his line of sight, and possibly a fate where he becomes a weapon himself and shoot down those he cared for dearly. And it scared him. But, what choice did he have? He’d rather see the world again and again, even in its darkest times, than die pathetically in his cage.

“Good choice, kid. I think you both know why you were brought here on earth in the first place.”

'Cause I walk through the valley of the shadow of death And I fear no evil because I'm blind Oh, and I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul But I know when I die my soul is damned

Jesse sang with shaky breath, fingers trembling against tattered wood, before his hands rested loosely against his guitar and sighed into the warm night air.

“We’ll be alright,” his lover said. Her calloused fingers gently grasped his metallic one and smiled sadly at him.

They both wore rings, a symbol of the love they’ve treasured and every trial they’ve come across along the way. The vows they’ve exchanged gave them a reason to stay, a reason to fight again. It was a bittersweet surrender, but it was worth it.

“Yeah, we’ll be alright.”

#jesse mccree x reader #jesse mccree #overwatch x reader #overwatch #mccree x reader #mccree

[eivorsjawline]

The Last Day

tw: mention of bloodshed, mental health struggles and alcohol.

*Not the last chapter dont worry, next will be last.

Chapter 9:

Eivor’s POV

I tend to reminisce on the past, my parents, Sigurd, the clan and the times when my family was whole. With the cold whip of the wind and the iridescent reflections in the sky, Norway will forever be my home. Even distant England holds a place within my heart as well as the family I built there. The answer to my hunger lies within myself and whether or not to go back to what I know or stay by the woman beside me. A choice between my honor and the person who I’ve grown to love the most. Though time keeps changing constantly, the recent past loops repeatedly in my head. These days I find myself staring at the walls, the ceiling and the emptiness around me. The dark realization that I have no purpose here, or do I? Life was peaceful but I missed the blade of my ax, I missed the bloodshed. I spent my whole life achieving greatness in what I knew, It was what I was bred for. There was an unspoken oath I took the day I was removed from my mother's womb.

A feeling of guilt always succeeded me, every passing day. What exactly I left behind and what the consequences would be. I have to remind myself that I would have died if It wasn’t for Y/n saving me. I understand now that the technologies that I have here were needed for my survival. Just herbs, alcohol and bandages wouldn’t have been enough to stop the life-threatening wounds I had. I was beaten, bruised and cut so badly I was nearly in a comatose state of mind. Even now, I still get flashbacks to that day and the fight. As a drengr, I’ve grown more and more cold to the idea of war and violence but there will always be something about that specific day. I can't seem to shake the feeling that it hasn’t ended and only more is to come.

Whilst I’ve been adjusting to modern life, I’ve turned to the bottle more times than I should. There have been days where I’ve fallen asleep on the couch, no recollection of even trying to get up yet I always wake up in bed with a blanket over my body. I can’t bear the thought of Y/n supporting me so I found honest work as a carpenter. With a few tweaks, I adjusted fine along with the help of co-workers and friends I made along the way. I feel I’ve become a shell of a being, the impact of everyday life burdens me. It’s not fun anymore, it's real and every day. The walk back home was loud and the people I found strange weren’t so odd anymore. I knew the truth within me, that I had become one of them too. I was almost always alone with my thoughts now that Y/n had started work again. Her hours tended to be late and tedious. She was the only thing keeping my sanity, everyday I drew a breath was for her. With the looks we shared, I wondered if she knew my real thoughts. My melancholic sulking was interrupted when a woman bumped shoulders with me and stopped me in my tracks. When I turned I recognized a familiar face waiting for me.

Reader’s POV

I was shocked when I came home, to say the least. The air was quiet, telling of the predicament I had placed myself in. I never thought I’d see Eivor and Valka sitting down together in my house. The silence was so loud, I couldn’t place my finger on exactly what but there was a feeling within me that knew why she was here. At first glance, she seemed unrecognizable but with a closer look, I recognized her right away. She looked almost the same with a more present-day twist to fit in. Faint freckles danced on her warm skin along with the intensity of her usual solemn expression. Her hair was pulled back and her eyebrows were as thick and beautiful as I remembered. She wore a light tan dress, she would never stray too far from her traditional taste. Valka wouldn’t have come this far for anything, a gut-wrenching feeling consumed me. I placed my belongings on a table near me and the three of us gathered around one another, the silence eating me alive.

“I want to make this as straightforward and honest as possible. We needed you then like we need Eivor now. Without you, Eivor would indefinitely no longer be with us. Ever since Eivor’s absence, the Danes and Saxons have grown only more divided.”

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Eivor had a worrisome look on her face, one that I had never seen before. Her eyes roamed around the room as If looking for some sort of distraction, maybe even a way out. I kept her sheltered here all this time and even though I’ve enjoyed every moment I still carry around a lot of guilt with me. The fact that I removed her from all that she knew tore me apart from the inside every day no matter how necessary. Perhaps, Eivor was meant to die there that day and her people’s fate was meant to be sealed. The realization that I could be in the process of ultimately changing the past suddenly struck me. Valka had more to say, a proposal I presumed to be made.

“If my visions are correct, Eivor is the key. My most recent discovery is that time changes throughout different realities and dimensions. It has been only a short amount of time for the both of you but It’s been years for us. Time passes slowly when maneuvering into the future but faster into the past.”

Everyone I met from the clan, I caused Eivor to completely leave them in the dark for years. I didn’t want to admit it but I knew exactly what Valka was getting at. These were Eivor’s last days with me if not the last day. As much as it pains me, she belongs in the past and I belong here. I screwed with time too much already, there are now two people out of place in the world. It’s almost as if Valka is an extraterrestrial being with the powers she holds and her ability to jump in between dimensions as if it were nothing. She had a natural aura about her almost like she could fit in anywhere she went and no one would have any suspicions. I've walked by Eivor’s side this entire time and I can't say the same for her. The road has been difficult and long, I can only imagine the toll it’s taking on her health.

The meeting with Valka was brief until she pulled only Eivor aside to talk to. I figured it wasn’t my business anyway since I was only one part of the story. As nosey as I was, I still tried to hold my breath to listen to their conversation but only whispers and mumbles could be heard. From the side of my peripheral vision, I saw Eivor and she looked stressed beyond all means. She was safe here and content whether she was happy or not and now she has one of the greatest burdens on her shoulders to deal with. A lump formed in my throat, I worried if there was still love between us at least on her end but it could just be my insecurities eating at me. For all, I know this is Eivor’s chance to be done with me and only I to be forgotten. Oh, but I could never forget her or the moments we share. Valka’s footsteps could be heard coming towards me as she came to say her farewells. When I stood up from my seat to make formal eye contact with her, I noticed her posture was straight and confident. I decided to keep my distance because I knew that I grew some sort of attachment to Valka as well. Not much could be said on my end, the decision is up to Eivor only.

Valka left and with her absence, the room grew eerily quiet. I couldn’t face Eivor, just seeing her face made me upset and wrapped in a whelm of emotions. Whenever the world became too much I always escaped outside. Like a coward, I ran towards the sliding door near the back of my apartment trying to hide my oncoming tears that were building up. The rays of the sun hit my skin and the sunset shone down on my face leaving a warm feeling on my cheeks. Tears started to roll down my face and I wiped it off with my shirt sleeve leaving a mess of a damp spot on the fabric. I felt selfish for crying, selfish because I never wanted someone all to myself so badly before. Being alone with my thoughts just caused me to feel them even more intensely, I allowed myself to be consumed by them. Suddenly, I heard what I knew was Eivor’s footsteps shuffling towards me. Quickly, I dried my tears and composed myself within a short time before Eivor stood close behind me.

“You don't have to hide it, I already can tell.”

I've had this moment a thousand times, the one where I try to look like I haven’t just bawled my eyes out. It never fails to completely embarrass me every time. When I turned around I noticed the sun beamed on her skin perfectly and every feature on her face could be seen clearly. She had her hair down, a relaxed look presuming she just got home not too long ago. Her eyebrows were pursed together as if she was studying me and trying to figure out what was on my mind. Eivor was like my guardian angel, always following me through my misfortunes and being my number one support. Truth be told, even if she went I was scared for her and if she could make it through this one. Her wounds were completely healed at this point, but I knew the damage it leaves on the mind is forever permanent.

She pulled me closer to her and wiped the wet spot on my cheek with her thumb. In her eyes, I could tell she was worried whether she admitted it or not. At the moment I catch her off guard her true feelings always show on her face and as soon as her eyes met mine she switched them off. I wanted to be honest with her and tell her my true feelings, how I felt about this situationship we involved ourselves in. My feelings had grown so strong since I met her and I realized I never once told her those three words. The more I tried to force words out of my mouth the more I felt the urge to cry again. Sure enough, tears started to fall down my eyes and my body kept telling me to let go of everything. Eivor brought me tightly into her chest and wrapped her arms around me, reluctant to release me. I heard her say something, mumbling under her breath. When I asked for reassurance as to what she said, she didn't hesitate or move.

“I love you.”

Eivor’s POV

The burden that's been placed upon my shoulders is a heavy one but I’m willing to face it. If I die going back I know that I’ll go in peace and with honor. Though it may have taken some time, I feel that Y/n understands that as well. Not to the degree that a drengr would but to the best of her abilities. She tried her best for me and I devote myself to trying my best for her. I was unsure of a lot of things in my life, but I knew no matter where this life led me that I wanted her there by my side. The sunlight was dying but the night was still young. Knowing it would be our last night here, we decided to savor it together. We did what we do best by getting wine drunk and cranked the volume on the speakers up so loud without a care of who was trying to sleep. The frown that was on her face earlier turned into smiles and laughs as she watched me attempt to dance. I always felt like I could have fun with her and be myself, not so serious all the time. She was a lightweight compared to me, already stumbling a little. Seeing her let loose was cute and showed me a side of her I haven’t seen before. I leaned in closer to her, truth be told she was looking extra sweet tonight. Her beauty was effortless and she didn’t even have to try to turn me on.

“Let me see you dance, I love to see you dance… Take you down another level and get you dancing with the devil.”

I placed my hands on her hips and she wrapped her arms around my shoulders. I did my best to lead her and sway with the music and It seems I was doing a good job once her cheerful eyes turned into a sultry spark. I pushed my torso closer to her, leaving that space between us no longer. A thousand intrusive thoughts crossed my mind, the most alluring one being that I could die right here and be happy. It’s the feeling moments before making love that is my favorite. My hands started to trace the outline of her body and my mind started to piece together what she looked like underneath the fabric from fond remembrance. Everything that brought me to her was worth it along with every obstacle in between. She leaned in to whisper in my ear and her voice had a noticeable nervous tremble.

“Take me with you…”

Reader’s POV

I said goodbye to everything I knew for the last time, this time the choice is mine willingly. Just a few months ago I would have never thought I’d be here and on my way to the place where it all happened. Where I met the love of my life and my impending future, the events that were to take place. The temperatures dropped so low at night, the bite of the cold felt bitter on my skin. Foolish me, I never take a cover-up anywhere I go. Luckily Eivor was close by and wrapped her jacket around me due to me being visibly upset by the weather. The cold never bothered her, I could feel the heat radiating from under her body when she hovered her arms over my shoulders to place her jacket. The stones were so close yet we hadn’t dared move within their reach. If I was to be honest with myself, I was nervous to go back. Perhaps, they would be upset with me for leaving so suddenly and taking Eivor along with me. It felt like just yesterday I was in England waiting for Eivor’s return by the ship dock.

Something within me felt like I was making the right decision and that this is the fate that was meant for me all along. Regardless of how twisted and strange it may be, I was ready. The entire time being here, Eivor constantly griped and moaned about how she missed home. For once, she was quiet. I always loved how expressive she tended to be with her face, studying everything like a hawk. She needn’t say much, I could tell what she was thinking about. Anxiety, sadness, and excitement all meshed together forming an array of emotions.

Eivor was a step ahead of me, venturing into the stone's embrace as I followed just behind her. Time seemed to pass more slowly, if not coming to a complete end. Throughout this whole experience, I realized that time wasn’t real. The people, the cultures and the history of the past all lived harmoniously with the present. It didn’t feel like I was traveling through time itself but rather visiting a different distant place on the same Earth. Families, lovers and enemies just the same as what we have today. Eivor’s hand met mine and there we held them together. The outline of the scars on the skin of her forehand and all that she endured in her life, a beautifully written story on her body could be felt. Eivor whispered something in her mother's tongue, something I couldn’t understand.

We both kneeled with our backs towards a tall large stone, huddled together with a cold and eerie feeling in the air. Eivor wrapped her arms around mine and we let whatever happened to be just that. I felt safe no matter where this life took me, I knew Eivor would be near. I was ready to live the remainder of my life with her in the past. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I thought of what our life was going to be like together and what our future held. Daydreams and fantasies that I wonder if she too thought of. Passing through a time portal was invisible, you could never really tell if you traveled or not. Something between reality and falsity merged, undetected by the universe itself. I closed my eyes and laid my head to rest in the crook of Eivors shoulder, letting my mind go blank.

#female eivor #fem eivor #eivor wolfkissed #eivor x reader #f!eivor #eivor #eivor wolfsmal #ac valhalla #assasins creed valhalla #fan fic writing #lady eivor #eivor varinsdóttir #assassin's creed valhalla #time travel

[helahades]

the sexiest wip list

alright! reminder that this is a dark fic blog. dark fics are not just noncon, but uncomfortable subject matter and questionable thought processes and unreliable povs. control your media experience and read warnings carefully! they’ll be updated when the actual story releases, but these are wips, and i don’t know them all bc I simply have not finished these stories!

some darker warnings on this list include: threats of sexual violence, obsession, death, and previously mentioned unreliable povs from obsessive characters who justify themselves.

final reminder to read warnings! some of these are intense.

1) Jealous Thor (Untitled)

warnings: cheating, mean!reader, angst

You’re falling for Steve right under his nose. Each day, Thor feels you pull farther away. Each night, he squeezes his eyes shut as you lie asleep next to him, and tries to forget the way you lookat Steve these days with hunger and adoration that you once gave to him.

“He is earthly. For all his body’s and mind’s possession of unnatural experimental growth, he is earthly and limited, so Thor can’t understand why you’re drawing away from him, and telling Steve the jokes, giving Steve all the looks that had him hooked. The lingering eyes and touches… they ride the line of decency.”

—

2) Heimdall Angst (Untitled)

warnings: major character death, grief, existentialism, out of body experiences

Connected by incredible wisdom and duty to fate, you and The Gatekeeper of Asgard are pulled together by the unique pairing of your mutual seeing abilities—made for greatness, and destined for tragedy.

This story stretches from the moment that catalyzes your meeting, across the years of loving him, to the moment you lose him.

“A fateful tragedy. He sees an arrow through a dove.

He wonders how he missed your encounter with him in the whispers of the cosmos.

“—They’re star deaths,” you say abruptly, “the ones that move and change color. They speed up when you watch them—show their whole life to come...I read about them. Most can’t ever see them life this”.

Turning to where you stand beside him, his eyes swirl with the magic of knowing you, of your destinies combined. He sees you stare at his stars like they’re new.

“Only us.”

—

3) Away from the Party - Steve Smut

warnings: smut, dubcon, roughness, manipulation, unintentional exhibition

Steve hates these parties. After a mission, the work has just begun, and he fumes at the impossible way that Tony covers all problems in diamonds and pearls. Some things aren’t meant to be pretty.

You are. You’re soft, and kind, and you coax him gently away from the party—the source of his frustrations, with promises of leaving early, of calming down. Oh. He’ll calm down. And you’re just the toy to help. In a closet a corner away from the government’s finest, America’s golden boy has a hand on your throat and one demand.

“Keep quiet.”

“Of course, you both ended up at the party anyway, but with you swirling cool fingertips at his aching temples and rubbing softly over the stretch marks on his chest, he couldn’t find anything in heart to disagree with you then.

Even now with his erection pressed to you through barriers of clothing, with scarcely retrained and monstrous lust, he is steadily calmed by your presence. This rush, the secrecy—it excites him. And you pull him through the haze of it.”

—

4) Monster Thor Headcanons

warnings: wound and gore descriptions, some sadness

The fantasy of it all. Aesthetic, Lifestyle, Behavior. Some talking points include: hair, horns, hints about how he was influenced by a soft and charming lover many years ago, general horniness. Also spoiler that I’ve decided that He is 8ft tall

“Thor is...ancient. he is a being of war and folklore and raw energy and he’s earthy and elemental and connected. and form follows function. (and also whatever horny thoughts we want )”

—

5) The Call

warnings: voyeurism, death threats, obsession, implied sexual assault threats

When Frank comes to visit you, you beam like a sunflower. You’ve rearranged your room, and you’re excited about it. He would like to revel in the moment with you...but he’s caught up in one detail. Your bed is pushed against the window...and he can’t convince you to let him move it.

After a night of sin and wild lovemaking, you lie asleep bathed in moonlight, and Frank wakes to a call. Billy. He’s set up on a rooftop miles away, and he’s got things to say about Frank’s girl and what he’d like to do to her. A red dot on his chest means he can only listen. To your gentle snoring, and to the twisted fantasy of a brother unhinged.

“Black silk pajamas. Hair wrapped up in satin. Yellow light almost like sun stretches to the ceiling, but not quite over the rolling hills of your silhouette turned away from him in quiet sleep.

Frank’s hardly got the time to wonder why he’s awake, because his phone buzzes slow again. Pulls the moment he realizes he will have to break this magic peace to molasses and he half fills his lungs before huffing it out and flipping the phone open and tucked between his ear and shoulder.

“What.”

“She’s a reaaaaal pretty one, Frankie boy. You sure know how to pick em.”

—

6) Loki Longing (Untitled)

warnings: pregnant!fem reader, angst

On the Eve of the birth of Asgard’s heir, Thor is away. In a bath of flowers and magic to ease your pain, maidens worry over you, and Loki rescues you away, letting you rest in bed, and dreaming of the days when you were his lover instead.

“I’d like to rest…in my bed now, please.”

The ladies look to each other. It hasn’t been long enough for the herbs to take effect.

“My Queen,” the eldest starts—

“She is certainly your queen,” a silky silver timbre interrupts, “I’ve learned it’s best to mind her.”

His eyes fall to your form, and some blocked conflict—some guarded affection rests there. Some longing tucked in a pocket like an impossible secret.

—

7) With Child - Obsessive Steve

warnings: pregnant!fem reader, obsessive Steve

Watching you content, and very pregnant, as you gaze adoringly at your husband Thor from where you rest, half in his lap, Steve can’t help but fantasize. He thinks about impregnating you, the mechanics of sex with a pregnant woman, and being the god who does it all.

“Do you have to lie on your side? Is Thor just behind you, spooning you, fucking with desperate thrusts because you drive him so crazy this way? Steve has heard—and he doesn’t know where—that women get wetter when with child. Steve can’t help but wonder...does Thor need to hold one leg up for you—to save your back that’s so often heavy with the weight of supporting his legacy?”

—

8) Dean’s Girl

warnings: unreliable pov (john), voyeurism, masturbation + voyeurism

John notices the way you avoid him. You always seem to leave a room just as he’s coming into it. He’s living in the bunker now, and having to realize a lot of things that have changed for the both of his sons.

For example, his oldest, the last he’d ever think would fall in love, has got a pretty girl that dismisses her practical father in law with pointed boredom. She’s protective—how can he blame her after all that he’d put Dean through?

She’s pretty, and John is only a man, and can’t stop himself from just...looking. It starts with a convenient bend as she unloads the dishwasher...then he..can’t help that the door was open and she happened to be changing right there. He also can’t help it the next time when he’s just a little too obvious, pleasuring himself to the smell of her pretty lace panties.

—

9) Operator, Operator - Steve Smut

warnings: smut, financial troubles?, mentions of creepiness against and danger to sex workers, exhibitionism via phone call

Underpaid and overworked, you along with your roommate/secret crush/ best friend Steve have trouble making ends meet on minimum wage + his art commissions. When you start picking up calls on a phone sex line, he’s able to reason. It’s quick cash, and Steve is mature enough to keep his thoughts appropriate...at first.

One day, he wakes to the sound of breathy moans and a faked orgasms. He wonders how you would sound if only you were high on real pleasure...and there’s no time like the present. Don’t hang up. This call has only just started.

“By the time this year—junior year—swung around, Steve realized he was only catching glimpses of you. He would hear the shake of your keys when you tossed them on the counter, your backpack when it thudded to the floor, and most recently—your moans.

You must not know he’s home. Ever since you started online sex work, specifically being a phone sex operator, you seemed to also make the silent choice that more graphic calls would be saved for when he’s not around.

He gets it. You both split the rent, and Steve has done jobs he’d rather not mention in desperate times, when commissions came short. Still, sometimes you can’t tell when he’s here, and despite his best efforts to push down his arousal, to tell himself you’re his best friend...he’s an artist, and he can’t help but listen, and certainly not the wandering of his imagination.”

—

10) Professor Steve Medfet - (Untitled)

In an alternate timeline, a washed up Steve Rogers starts a new life in a run down city as an art / anatomy teacher. A class of hungry college students is filled to the brim each year, expecting the unspoken promise of their favorite hands on lab. You.

You keep his class sated, in turn giving the professor job security for funding his simple life out of the public eye. Each year when he calls, you come. Each year the students find a new way to tear you embarrass and degrade, much to the pleasure of the professor.

“Same speech. Same meaningless words. Focusing on the stillness of your skin and how it feels to be alone, you can almost drown out the way his tone edges toward excitement, the way the chairs shift and squeak—the anticipation.

Pretending your heart doesn’t send heat and cold flashes through you and run your breathing shallow, you look at the nicks in the door and try to guess their stories.

But then the metal frame clicks, the door unlatches. Professor Rogers wears a gentle smirk. It doesn’t ease your mind one bit.”

—

11) Swelter - Forest God Thor

warnings: sexual scenes, time limited conflict, religious themes

With a sickness overtaking nearby villages, yours is next, and has decided to sacrifice you to the cause of foraging for preventative herbs. You venture into the ancient woods after a rare vine of flowers, but leave with much more after encountering Thor.

After disturbing him where he lies cooling in the bank of a stream, you vow to prove the true intention of your soul—that you aren’t a hunter, or witch after his form or faculty, but a pious girl, also needing to escape the heat.

“You’re in the old woods now, and aside from the trees and the mossy nature tangled around them, there is only Him. Thor.

God of the harvest, bringer of land’s wealth, fertility, and vitality. You know of the sacrifices, of the woods where He is rumored to live in an unseen form, of livid white fire in the sky if He is severely displeased.

His name must not be spoken outside of prayer or ritual, and even now, you stutter to think it, and wonder if you are alone in your thoughts.”

[...]

“The frustration and the fear in your dilemma disturb the air, disquieting the otherwise enduring peace of the old woods, which rouses a large form in the cool muddy bank of the stream. It is only leaves shifting at first. Faded pumpkin and dried oak scatter—and suddenly the air smells like rain and your mouth sets around the tastes of copper and sage. Then, the leaves tumble off of a beast of a mass that rises slowly, and you note that it felt like the atmosphere changed to accommodate its awakening.”

—

12) Halloween Party - Thor Smut (Untitled)

warnings: smut, heartbreak, depressed!reader

An exclusive and mysterious Halloween party is still on this year—and you’re invited. It’s meant to be so extravagant and flashy an Avenger will one day attend, and all attendees decorate themselves in costumes inspired by the heroes, hoping to be noticed.

Fresh after a breakup with your boyfriend Brock, you take one half of the preordered couples costume and dress up as a goddess, determined to have a good night with your friends, find some excitement, and most importantly, a new god to match.

“Standing solemn, floor to ceiling windows allow in a few milky rays reflected by the moon, but they’re all the gems of your bodice need to gleam to a suitor's eye. Tonight, while you plan to rid your soul of another, you are welcomed with open arms and careful consideration as the final offering at an altar. You are seen by a god.”

—

13) Grief

warnings: dead!reader, guilt, grief, scary science, how do i say this... smut that is borderline necroph—there’s a replica of you, dark!steve, tony lives, pepper dies

Steve’s world is upside down. He’s lost the light of his life, and is completely in the dark. Luckily for him, Tony is back in the business of reality rejecting technology, and has found a way for him to be with you again.

At an abandoned cottage, Steve brings an armful of your scents to give the Tony’s invention sensory data, and faces the strange reality of what’s always been his worst stage...his worst trait. Denial.

“Dozens of test bottles full of manufactured scents, the kind of thing you smell borrowing a sweater, or with your face in the crook of someone’s neck. Essentially, the sort of organic thing that cannot be recaptured.

Steve’s got an armful of perfume and body wash. Of conditioner and deodorant, of all the elements he can think that make you smell the way you would—the way you do.

He wills the thoughts to be present tense. If he pretends you are alive, maybe it will look like it is you only sleeping. He wonders how well Tony knows the texture of your hair suddenly, because if it isn’t right, the experience will fall to shambles. It currently walks a plank over shambles. One wrong interpretation or surprise, and Steve will find himself spinning and burning with the fall into a new and uncharted taboo.”

14) Night Drive - Dean Smut

warnings: road head

On a long overnight drive, your back pressed into the seat of the impala makes you miss lying in bed with your lover, makes you miss his gentle caress right next to you...so you remind him how good it is to be close.

“You think about it when he hums a little tune. When he hums the song he wishes would play and thinks will come up next, it is eerily soft, and eerily similar to the soft contentment he sighs when you kiss on his neck.

When he reaches for your hand to hold, it makes you consider the shortness of the distance between you, and you think of pulling his cock out right here, giving him head that melts him here on this endless road.

Looking at him, he senses your interest—he turns his head to meet your eyes, throws up a grin of boyish charm. He’s happy to be here with you. These night drives are fine. He’s never minded them. But they’re even lovelier when in your company.”

—

15) Shadow - The Bucky Mystery

warnings: stalking, injury, sexual assault, canon typical hydra torture, mentions of bucky being forced to assault people, traumatized reader

On the run from Hydra, there aren’t many things that Bucky can remember. Inside his mind, there aren’t many feelings that make sense. Mostly, he feels guilt. Horror.

Following you to the gym where you practice ballet alone in the nights is all that makes sense, and for reasons he can’t explain, he feels drawn to you.

As time goes on, Bucky feels more enticed by his desire, you start to feel eyes staring from the walls, motivations and traumas are revealed, and in a horrible symphony, you both remember your connection.

“He’s a matte shadow against the noir shine of metal walls—an observer in the unlit quiet on his side of the room.

And he feels his unimportance. It’s humbling. Holds up the room like chunky beams and high rafters, dressed in the same layered neutrals. Framing the same cotton candy dancer, silent as the pad of her slippers when she turns her weight onto a straight leg, other coming up with her ankle pointed to the bend of her knee.

She spins, she spins and she whips her head around with each one, but it’s Bucky who gets dizzy.”

send an ask with any questions, or for more details about a particular story!

#which wip #follower poll #future fic hints #update

[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 18

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

Sam stands behind you with arms crossed over his chest, watching the midwife examine your bulging belly.

“You’re larger than I would expect for seven months,” she states evenly, feeling the underside of your stomach through your nightgown. “Are you in any discomfort?”

“No, I feel strong. Energized.”

“And you’ve been sleeping well?”

“I’ve slept better these last 2 months than ever before. My only complaint is how hard he kicks now. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to make it through another two months if he’s going to grow stronger.”

“I’m afraid that’s part of motherhood.” Martha smiles.

“Show her,” Sam nods, his jaw locked.

He’s constantly worried about you. If it’s not an outside threat from some vengeful townsperson, it’s your health and this child.

Sighing, you lift your gown to show her your ribs. She does a double-take, looking at you in silent question and inching closer. There are black and blue marks up and down both sides of your stomach.

“This is the child?” she gasps, directing her question towards Sam.

“She’s in pain. It’s worse in the evenings,” he explains, running a hand over his mouth. “You should feel how hard he kicks, it’s unfathomable. I’m concerned he’ll break her ribs.”

“It’s that painful?” she asks you.

“Only during the night, and it’s never for too long.” You force optimism. One of you has to see the sunny side of things. “He gives me some relief during the day.”

Martha chews on her lower lip. She thinks hard and then stands up straight, pausing before speaking directly to Sam.

“I've lived here all my life, my king. I was born into service, just as my mother. I am loyal. I see the things that go on here, strange things. If there is something I should know, secrets you’ve hesitated to tell me for fear of gossip, I would encourage you to tell me now. We both want the same thing, to deliver a healthy child and keep your wife alive and thriving. In order to do that I need full information.”

Looking back at Sam you wait for his refusal, but instead he smashes his lips together as he contemplates her request.  

“You can never tell another living soul,” he instructs.

“Of course, my king.”

“And if you do, you’ll die as the penalty.”

You look down at your hands, wishing desperately that you weren’t privy to this kind of ultimatum. It’s not often you see or hear this side of him and it’s unsettling to hear him whisper death threats in the confines of your bedroom.

“I understand,” Martha confirms without pause. “Now tell me everything.”

She sits and listens, calm and collected, as Sam explains about wolves and shifters. He offers all the details, explains how he came to be. And how this process usually works. She doesn’t bat an eye. On the contrary, she’s taking mental notes. Asking well thought out questions.

She doesn’t appear to be the least bit surprised.

“Is there anyone from your...” she struggles for the right word.

“Pack,” Sam helps her.

“Is there anyone from your pack that delivers the children? Is there a midwife?”

“Yes,” Sam nods, chewing on the inside of his cheeks as he looks from Martha to you.

“Then we should call her here to have a look at your wife. With our combined skills, we’ll have a better chance of accurately predicting what’s to come.”

“They’re unhappy that I’ve chosen to have a child with a woman who isn’t like the rest of the pack. I don’t trust anyone, other than you.”

Martha sighs, then nods. She could push the matter but she won’t. She knows her place and it's obvious how much he cares for you. If he thought it was a viable possibility he would have explored it already.

“I’ll be just fine,” you smile at your husband. “I’m strong and so is our baby. We’re both going to be just fine.”

10 Weeks Later

“Are you sure about this?” Martha asks. In these last weeks, she’s become your constant companion.

The carriage rocks side to side as you slowly ride toward the walls of the city.

“I need to walk. I need fresh air.” You close your eyes in concentration as the cramp in your back flares up. The pains are constant now. It’s not the child, or rather it’s not anything he’s doing. He’s simply large and active, and your body is having trouble dealing with the weight.

You begged Sam for a week. Pleaded with him to let you outside. Your muscles and hips ache and walking is the only activity that offers any relief at all. You’ve been around the halls of the castle so many times that it’s depressing to even think about being inside for another moment.

After several rounds of tears, he finally agreed to a brief outing.  

The child will come any day now and Martha helped affirm his decision by suggesting that a brisk walk could be exactly what you needed to get the process moving.

Now you’re bound for the fields just outside of the city’s wall, accompanied by not only the King, but a dozen knights as well.

When the carriage finally stops, Sam helps you out into the sunlight of the early afternoon. There’s a chill in the air, but you’re plenty warm. You’ve grown thicker in these last months, eating more and more to satisfy your child’s constant hunger.

“Where would you like to walk?” Sam asks.  His eyes are on the horizon. He’s always watching, looking for some invisible threat.

“There, closer to the trees.” You point across the field and Sam does the same as several knights trot ahead to ensure safe passage. Sam takes your arm and you walk, or a more appropriate term would be waddle, toward the lush pines.

You’re not fooled. There are things he’s not telling you, threats he keeps from you in the name of love. He doesn’t want to worry you, but in fact, his lack of forthrightness sends your mind reeling with the possibilities.

“Let me know if you grow tired and we’ll rest.”

“I’ve only been walking for a minute. I’m not impaired, I just move more slowly than I used to.”

“I’m surprised you want to be out here moving around at all.”

“It feels good. The pain goes away when I walk. I think he’s giving me this extra energy.” You smile upward, letting the sun wash over your face. “After he’s born will you take me riding? I long to be outside.”

“We’ll see,” Sam meanders at a snail's pace beside you. “You’re not too cold, are you? I can have Martha bring a cloak-”

“Stop,” you whine, looking to him. “Stop fussing over me and let me be. I want to walk in the country with my husband. It doesn’t have to become such a production.”

“I am only trying to do what’s best,” he counters and your heart sinks.

“I know, and I love you for it.” You pull yourself closer to him, leaning into his side as you walk. “I also wish for you to take me fishing. And star gazing on a summer night.”

“I had no idea you'd come up with such an extensive list.” He grins, his hand cupping your shoulder.

“Oh, that’s not all. I would like to travel. See faraway places, explore other kingdoms. Take our son to see the world. But I’ll start with an evening beneath the stars.”

“I will give you the moon itself once it’s safe. You’ll be free to roam far and wide.”

While your confines have worn your patience, your marriage has only grown stronger. There is genuine love and appreciation for each other. You have found a love that you never dreamed existed outside of your books. Despite his many great responsibilities, Sam finds a way to put you first, to make time for quiet moments together.

It’s what made the seclusion of this pregnancy bearable.

A lone rider approaches in the distance. Sam spots the horseman first, putting his hand out to stop you, but retracts it just as quickly. He must recognize whoever it is. As the rider comes closer you can make out the form of a petite woman with raven hair… Ruby.

“My king,” she’s breathless as she dismounts. “There’s been an attack to the north. Robert and Benjamin have been killed. Your brother was hurt but he’s alive. The men are coming together now in the Eastern Woods.”

“I have to go.” Sam shakes his head, turning to you, then back to Ruby. “Stay with my wife. Ensure that she gets to safety and then join us.”

“I will,” Ruby confirms, handing off the reins to Sam who mounts the steed.

“Be careful!” you call out, watching him ride away.

Ruby stands before you, examining your new appearance. Not many people have seen you since your belly began to grow. Her mouth goes tight, forcing a painful smile.

“You look as if you may pop at any moment.” She looks away, as if the sight of you makes her ill. “Come along, I need to get you to the carriage.”

She takes you by the arm, guiding you back toward the transport and Martha and Phillip are beside you in an instant.

“We need to move fast, my queen. There could be another attack planned.”

As if on cue, a dozen men on horseback burst from the tree line. The thundering hooves make the ground shake as they approach.

“Run!” Ruby grabs one hand and Martha the other, pulling you along as fast as your legs will carry you. As the riders close in, the Knights surrounded you in defense and Phillip plucks you off your feet and carries you in a sprint.

You’re halfway there when someone calls out a warning. Phillip is hit from behind and goes tumbling to the ground. You land underneath him, crushed by his weight as you wriggle free only to be met with the face of your assailant. He’s a hideous man with oily hair and yellowing teeth. He growls at you, smiling with a sickening grin as he brings a short knife down into your side.

You scream, clutching the wound as blood pours over your fingers. He’s coming back for a second stab as Ruby lurches toward him with a giant, jagged dagger in her hand. She rams it upward under his jaw and the blade cuts through blood and bone like a knife through butter. The instant she withdraws the knife, his lifeless body drops to the ground.

“Get up!” Martha is lifting you off the ground in some amazing feat of strength.

The two of you stumble thirty paces before a man charges with an ax raised in the air but Phillip gets to him before he can reach you. You scramble back toward the carriage, tripping over your own feet and falling to the ground.

Martha and Ruby manage to drag you inside the carriage and the instant the doors shut, you’re bound for the castle.

“He stabbed me!” You cry out in panic, frantically feeling your belly. “Did he kill my baby?”

Martha tries to find the wound, unable to examine it through your dress, but Ruby is already in motion. With a truly superhuman strength she tears your dress at the seams, then the layers underneath, leaving you naked from the waist up.

Your breasts and belly are coated in bright red blood, a sight that sends your heart into your throat.

“Please, don’t let anything happen to-”

“Calm down!” Martha yells, grabbing your jaw, forcing you to focus on her. “Stop, take a breath and calm down. You need to remain composed to prevent any further trauma.”

Martha and Ruby examine the stab wound, Ruby using the skirts of her dress to wipe the excess blood away.

“The knife caught you between the ribs,” Ruby explains, grabbing your hand with blood wet fingers. “Not your stomach.”

“You’re going to be just fine,” Martha soothes the hair back from your forehead as you lie between them on the floor of the coach.

A quick, tightening of your stomach takes your breath away. And then the pain comes and a wet sensation at your sex. You reach down, pulling up your dress and feeling between your own legs. When you withdraw your hand there’s nothing but more blood.

“He’s coming,” you gasp, looking at the blood on your palm. “I’m not ready.”

“Yes, you are my dear.” Martha pats your hand, then leans out the window and hollers to Phillip. “We need to move faster!”

“Where is Sam?” you plead. “I need him.”

“One of the knights will have gone to find him,” Ruby assures you. “He’ll come as soon as he hears you were injured.”

“What if they attack him?”

“He is the strongest of all of us and his men will protect him at all costs.”

The pain comes in waves, like the cramps from your monthly bleeding only so strong that it feels as if your stomach is tearing. You cry out as the carriage flees back toward the castle, feeling each bump along the way.

Phillip carries you up to your chambers, laying you on the bed as a swirl of activity bursts to life around you. The room is full of handmaids with Martha barking orders at all.

Time becomes a series of intervals between the pain of contractions. And they are coming closer and closer together.

It feels like hours before you hear Sam’s voice in the hall. Martha gets up and you listen to a muted conversation. He yells something and then there’s Dean voice, just as angry.

“Y/N?” You hear your husband’s voice, growing closer.

“Sam?” You reach out for him and his familiar hand takes yours. You sob in relief at the confirmation he’s alive and he won’t leave until this is over.

“I’m here,” his voice is close, as he leans down to talk to you.

“It’s not going very well,” you laugh, trembling as a feverish heat consumes you.

“You’re perfect,” his voice cracks. He clears his throat before continuing. “Martha assures me everything is going to be just fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His hand tightens around yours.

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

“It’s time,” you gulp, sweat rolling in beads down your forehead. The pain swells, a mighty crest that’s worse and more intense than everything that came before and your body begins to try to push the baby out.

“Push, just like we practiced.” Martha settles between your legs.

Bearing down, you push with all your might, feeling a second of relief before the contraction ebbs. Then the agony picks back up and you push again, something giving way and the child moves. It happens fast, one second you’re in unbearable torment and then all the pain stops and the baby leaves your body in a life-changing instant.

The room is silent. You wait for the squeal of your son, but there’s nothing. Sam’s hand is clamping over yours so tight he might break it.

“Is he alive?” you rasp, trying in vain to prop yourself up. You look up at Sam’s eyes, there are tears in each corner. “Is he alive?!”

“She is very much alive,” Martha appears above you with a wiggling little baby in her arms. “You have a daughter.”

You laugh, an exhausted chuckle and reach out for your child. Martha places her on your chest before exchanging a weighted look with your husband.

She’s a perfect, chubby girl with bright green eyes and a head of dark hair that is surely from her father. You cry freely, studying her face and gently touch her round, flushed cheeks.

“We have a daughter. I can’t believe it. Sam, look how beautiful she is.” You look up at Sam who’s breathing fast, his throat bobbing at the sight of you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he wavers. “I-I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You focus back on your baby, trying to think what you’ll name her. You were so sure she’d be a boy.

“Give us the room.” Sam wipes at his eyes.

Sam is most handsome when he’s happy, beautiful when his heart is full. He should be elated, but right now he looks as if he's been shot with an arrow. You watch everyone leave, except Martha who comes to sit on the opposite side of your husband.

“What’s happening?” The fear is creeping in as you look from her to Sam, cradling the baby resting on your chest.

“Shhh,” Sam strokes your hair, lowering down onto his side. “Just lie here with me and hold our daughter.”

In these last months, Martha subdued nearly all your fears. You’d heard horror stories of women in unbearable pain and were frightened of feeling yourself tear when giving birth. But she assured you, time and time again, that because there is such intense pressure during labor you wouldn’t be able to feel anything that happened.

As you lie in the bed, it dawns on you that you still can’t feel anything below your waist. You try to wiggle your toes but there’s no sensation. You look down at your naked body. While you can’t see much there’s a clear slick of red between your thighs, soaking the bed.

You’re still bleeding, bleeding too much.

“What's happening to me?” you whisper, kissing the tiny fingers of your sweet girl.

“It’s not important. Just enjoy this time together. That’s all that matters.” Martha says.

“I’m right here with you.” Sam nuzzles his forehead against your cheek, snuggling closer to you and his child. He’s crying.

You don’t want to ask. Don’t want the confirmation, but you need to know. You’re not long for this world.

“How much time do I have?”

“It won’t be long now.” Martha turns away, swallowing her emotion and getting up off the bed. “I’ll be in the hall when you need me.”

There’s a faint wispy fizzing in the back of your brain and a profound coldness rising up from your belly into your chest.

“I’m not ready to leave you,” you whisper. Words are becoming harder, your tongue thick and heavy.

“I know, my love.” Sam wraps his arm around you over your ribs. “I’m not either.”

“I’m scared, and I want to...stay here with...you two.” The words come slowly. “I’m...so...tired…”

“Close your eyes and go to sleep. There’s nothing to be scared of, we’re here with you. We love you.”

You don’t want to close your eyes, but Sam’s body is warm and comforting around you. The baby on your chest is cooing, a little mouth eager to find a breast. This must be what heaven will be like. Maybe you’re already there.

There’s a fleeting thought, a hope that you’ll stay with them always, and they with you. Your heart simultaneously swells and breaks as the life that could have been flashes before your eyes. This time was short but happy and as the end comes all you feel is the enveloping warmth of love holding you tight.

Surrounded by your husband and daughter you take a final breath and close your eyes.

#alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction

[atamascolily]

more before the storm quotes

In which Luke is in fucking quarantine, I kid you not:

Sealed behind opaque walls, he lived in darkness for days at a time, barely conscious of hunger, thirst, or other bodily demands. He wore clothing only out of habit, but the habit weakened. The winds howled outside the hermitage, but Luke was oblivious to them. He took no notice of the sun or moons in their courses, the rise and fall of the tide, the ever-changing sky painted in light and cloud.

Yup, I called it. Dude is depressed. Or at least he is until Destiny knocks in the form of an attractive woman.

He took her at first for a projection, because it was unthinkable that anyone could have passed through the walls, his screens, without alerting him. But then he touched her bare arm, and touch told him her skin was real, and warm. He circled her, and scent told him of salt air, dead quarrelgrass crushed underfoot, a body bathed in flowers, a hint of the taint of the old oils and clinging vapors that hung on one’s person after a long flight.

“Explain yourself,” he said when he had circled around to face her again.

Oh, and then there’s this bit, which is a little too mind-rapey for me:

As rudely as his visitor had invaded his hermitage, Luke suddenly invaded her mind, probing the secret place where sensitivity to the Force resided. If she possessed the sort of talent her words claimed for her, he should be thrown halfway across the room when the ancient reflex repelled his mental touch. It was so with every Jedi he had probed, every candidate he had brought to Yavin for training.

YOU NEED A BETTER SYSTEM, THAT’S ALL I’M SAYING. Like, everyone made fun of the midi-chlorian test, but at least it was a blood sample, and not, you know, barging into somebody’s mind without permission??

Ah, the days when we knew absolutely nothing about Luke’s mother (not that this series will shed any more light on the matter, but still).

wow, Akanah is very clearly projecting onto Luke here in retrospect. nice foreshadowing there.

there’s actually a really interesting AU in assuming Luke’s mother really is like Akanah describes, tho.

Oh, and here we go:

“Perhaps that is why you cannot let yourself love without fear,” Akanah said softly. “Perhaps that is why you have no children of your own. You must fear that you will repeat your family’s tragedy in another generation. You must fear that someday you will find yourself ready to kill your own son, and him ready to kill you.”

AHHHHH, this is really good! A++++ Let’s talk about breaking the cycle of pain and violence and TRAUMA, everybody! AAAAAAAH. 

“I will wait here, if you want to return to Yavin for your testing equipment,” she offered. “But I can tell you what you would see—nothing. The White Current is not the Force you know, only with a different name. But it is a manifestation of the All. I will teach you what I can.”

There’s this continued emphasis on Leia, which is interesting - iirc, the Fallanassi are matriarchal, but in a very different way from Dathomir. Interesting.

Also, this is interesting in light of the civilian-military balance:

Technically, the E-wing was on loan to the Jedi academy for training purposes, but only because there was no provision in the quartermaster’s regulations for loaning a front-line starfighter to a civilian. Ackbar had persuaded him that, given the unpredictability of life, it was far more sensible for him to have a fully armed E-wing at his disposal than an unarmed sprint, ketch, or runabout.

“Think of yourself as a member of the Republic’s militia. And a militiaman should have his weapon at home with him, in the event he is called on again,” Ackbar had said.

Luke had accepted that argument reluctantly. But in the months before he returned to Coruscant, he had become more and more uncomfortable in the E-wing’s cockpit. It was a heavily armed killer, an intimidator, an unspoken threat wherever it appeared. As such, it represented a part of his life that he was trying to leave behind.

His X-wing had fit him like a second skin, like an extension of himself. He had taken joy in flying it, even in battle. But that had been another, younger Luke. The E-wing was different. It was an embarrassment, an ugly set of clothes he was forced to wear when he went out in public. And he missed the familiar presence of Artoo, who simply did not fit—physically or electronically—in the E-wing’s R7 astromech interface.

One last time, he thought. Then maybe they’ll let me give it back.

Luke, it’s okay to just come out and say you prefer X-wings.

WOW Leia feels OOC here re: Luke’s attitude towards Vader, given that SHE keeps having issues about it herself. Also, did someone let the parentage thing slip at some point?? When did that happen, exactly?

“You don’t have to remind me about that,” said Leia, shrugging into a white robe and tying the sash in a bow. “But I’m the one who has to deal with it, not Luke. I’m the one who gets accused and screamed at and threatened, not Luke. And I’m handling it.”

The reactions of all the people at the port are hilarious, though:

It was as though they couldn’t pass up a chance to see Luke Skywalker but were too intimidated by his status to risk trying to shake his hand, clap him on the back, or even speak to him. He felt less a celebrity than a curiosity, more a dead legend than a living hero.

Luke wished they would all just go away. He had no interest in being celebrity or curiosity, legend or hero.

LOL.

He seemed so serious—

So mysterious—

He floated to the ground like a leaf—

He was as close to me as I am to you—

He smiled at me—

I never thought I’d have a chance to meet him—

You can tell just looking at him that he’s a Jedi—

You can tell just looking at him what he’s been through—

Luke closed his eyes in relief as the airspeeder took flight.

Luke refuses to listen to Leia’s refusal that she doesn’t want to go down Memory Lane, ugh. Leia has been dealing with a whole stream of women claiming to be her mother, and I’m only surprised that hasn’t happened to Luke.

“Listen to me—we’re never going to have a tidy family tree,” Leia snapped. “Why can’t you realize? We’re never going to know our parents better than we do right now. We’re never going to have fond stories of our grandparents to tell our children. We’re better off telling them about Owen and Beru, about Bail—the real people who cared for us, protected us, loved us like we were their own. You make too much of blood.”

YOU TELL HIM LEIA. Also, it’s so hypocritical of Luke to tell Leia she has to deal with her Jedi children alone and then pull a stunt like this. Yes, he’s depressed. No, that’s not an excuse.

#star wars #eu fuckery #the black fleet crisis

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Road to Hell || Morgan & Miriam

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @meflemming & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan interrupts one hunt; Miriam proposes another

CONTAINS: discussions of violence

The woman babbling on about something to Miriam as the two of them sat at their little corner table was a witch. Miriam had known that the second the girl had walked into her store a few nights ago, just before closing. It was that time of year when she could actually go out into the main area of the store without worrying about sunlight and burning flesh, and she’d struck up a conversation with the woman, particularly about the runic tattoos along the girl’s skin. Miriam wasn’t daft; she knew that these sorts of designs were in with all sorts of people, not just practitioners of the magic arts. But the young woman had actually admitted to Miriam what she was. Spellcasters these days. They had no sense of self-preservation. So, Miriam had invited her out to dinner, a nice dinner for the young woman and a nicer dinner for Miriam afterwards. It wouldn’t be anything to be savored; Miriam refused to bring people home, not with Evelyn in her house. Still, it would suffice. Really, she was doing the girl a favor. Anyone stupid enough to out themselves to a mere stranger should be put out of their misery. She tried not to think about that too hard, about how that was technically how she’d met Morgan, and, if she’d truly managed to kill Morgan that night, she’d be down one… acquaintance. They likely weren’t friends. It wasn’t like they could be, not with the way that Morgan saw her.

“Is it not good?” The woman, Leigh, asked, looking at Miriam’s plate curiously.

Miriam forced a charming grin on her face. “Oh, it’s lovely, sweetness. I’m just a bit distracted. Would you like some more wine?” As long as she could keep the girl unaware, this would be easy. She could do this and be done with it for a few days, maybe even a week. Maybe the next one she wouldn’t kill, either, but just find them in the night, get her fill, and wipe their mind of the experience, leaving behind only the pain. Maybe so. But she’d committed to this form of hunting for the night. She took a bit of her steak, too done to provide her with any sort of nourishment, and poured both herself and Leigh a bit more wine. She wished she could feel its effects the way the younger woman did as she giggled and talked about her job, her family, her friends. Miriam would kill to be so innocent. Miriam would kill.

Morgan had plenty of experience balancing the cognitive dissonance of making holiday merry with normies while her world was falling apart. Thirty nine (almost forty, now) years with the curse had been good for that much. But this was the first year she’d had to do it without being able to get drunk. The UMWC English Department Christmas after party had enough tipsy middle aged women to get the dance floor at the bar moving, but no matter how hard or how long she danced, the world was still in pieces and she still, still soaked with blood and hurt, and she still needed a human sacrifice to accomplish the one single thing she actually had a clue about accomplishing. Morgan told her coworkers she’d get them vodka shots, teasing, “Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get as shitfaced as our students after finals,” as an excuse to separate from the pack.

But Morgan never made it to the counter, because she saw Miriam first. Even worse, she saw Miriam’s date. Those runic tattoos couldn’t have been and accident, and the alchemic circle on the top of her hand sure as hell wasn’t either. She was hanging on Miriam’s every look, oblivious and engaged in all the wrong ways. Morgan didn’t have long to think. What did she do? She didn’t have anyone to make a distraction for her while she ushered the would-be witch-feast out the bar. How was she supposed to do this by herself? There wasn’t time to panic, she needed to stay in control and do something now. What would Deirdre do if she had to make a distraction for this?

“HEY, BABY!” Morgan cried the words loudly, enough to make at least one person check over their shoulder.  She gave Miriam a big wave and ran over to their both, sliding in beside the vampire. “You should’ve said you were coming to meet me early, I would’ve had a round of your favorite waiting!” She planted a big, awful kiss on Miriam’s cheek and squeezed her hand, bringing it up on the table. “And, and, and!” She squealed excitedly. “I went to the jeweler and picked out your ring! It’s gonna be a surprise, obviously, but I think you’ll like it a lot.” She looked over at the girl sitting opposite, flashing a thin smile that she hoped said, get lost. “And who are you? No offense, but I was kind of hoping to have a more private meeting with my Mimsy,” she said.

The shrill sound of a familiar voice caused Miriam to tense up. No. No. No. She wished she’d gone to a more private place, perhaps a classier establishment, to do her hunting as she watched the zombie coming in hot towards them. “Morgan?” Leigh looked at Miriam with confusion, and Miriam gritted her teeth as Morgan slid in next to her. Of course, of course. “Darling, you shouldn’t have.” She really shouldn’t have. There was no way to save this, was there, Miriam wondered as she looked dejectedly at Leigh, who had shifted from confused to pissed off in a matter of moments.

“I’m no one,” Leigh muttered, grabbing her bag and shoving her belongings inside. “It was--” she looked at Miriam, and, if a voice that the vampire would not have heard had she been human, muttered, “Course she’s-- Fuck me, I guess.” Then, louder, to Morgan, “Sorry, I’ll let-- I’m just gonna go.” Leigh hurried out the door, leaving her food half-finished, before Miriam could so much as even try to explain her way out of this. Lovely. Miriam was so glad that she’d get to pay for not one but two uneaten meals. She shoved her plate away and downed her glass, the alcohol not doing shit when there wasn’t blood mixed in.

“What the fuck, Morgan?” Miriam snarled, pushing the zombie away and rubbing at her eyes. They were probably turning red, the anger and frustration and hunger causing the color to change from their normal shade of green. She couldn’t even muster up the energy to be mad for too long, though. She just felt tired. All she had wanted was a meal and then to simply go home, crawl in bed and close her eyes for a few hours. Maybe chat with Evelyn for a bit about nothing serious. “Do you think you were loud enough? I don’t think the other side of town heard you. Speak up a bit next time.” She almost poured herself another glass of wine, but instead she just grabbed Leigh’s. She could, at the very least, assure that it wasn’t wasted.

“What? I can speak up if you’re having trouble hearing me.” Morgan said playing dumb with a dry smirk. But she had succeeded in chasing the girl away and turning her off from further contact with Miriam. She didn’t have to make any more public fuss. “You know, maybe I just missed you. Maybe I was jealous! We have some seriously problematic differences, but you are nothing if not clear and consistent. Not everyone’s like that.” Deirdre, for example, came to mind. She played with the flatware and the napkins, rolling them back and forth with her palm against the table for the novelty of the sensation. “Maybe I just didn’t want some sweet idiot girl like I used to be get carried off to your secret lair.” She shrugged, grinning sidelong at Miriam. “It’s the department holiday party, over there--” she gestured to the dancing middle aged women. “You just caught me at the right time. I’m not trying to...I want better for you, but I’m not a stalker. We can take a twirl if it’ll save your night. Some of the ladies over there hate their lives and marriages enough to probably make a good snack.” She delivered all of this in a dry, even tone, unphased, even a little amused. “I mean, we could talk about murder and torture, but I’m trying to do a little better by you than that.”

“My hearing is just fine, sweetness, but thank you,” Miriam said with a smile that was more of a bearing of teeth. “You missed me? Aw, I’m touched, truly. Maybe give me a ring, though, next time? We can go out for drinks instead of you dropping in on my meal.” She sighed, though, and shot Morgan a sympathetic look. “Glad my consistencies can be counted on.” Really, Morgan was quite consistent as well, in her stubbornness that bordered on pigheadedness when it came to Miriam’s dietary habits. “I wasn’t going to carry her back to my ‘secret lair.’” She did air quotes with one hand. “Just to the woods. I don’t bring people home with me anymore. I have someone staying over.” Besides, her “secret lair” was her wine cellar, and there were only so many ways that blood stains could be explained away before it became far too suspicious. She glanced over at the gathering of people near the bar, frowning. She should feed, she should, but she was turned off from it, at this point. The mood was killed, and she had no desire to feed in front of Morgan, no desire to see the woman think even less of her. “I’ve lost my appetite, I’m afraid, but I do appreciate the offer.”

Morgan hummed, smiling, to hear Miriam’s nickname. Her expression was too sour and vacant for it to count as delight, but maybe someone might have made that mistake at a quick glance when she laughed. “Sometimes it takes your evil friend getting tortured and burned to ash for you to appreciate the important things in life. Or to decide, fuck it, I don’t care about anyone or anything so let’s just disappear and burn it to the ground. Or to finally get on that bucket list! Granted, I’m not usually into--” she screwed up her face, pretending to be scandalized, “Blood sacrifice, but the magic wants what the magic wants. Screw anything being easy for once, right?” She gave Miriam a wide, thin smile. “Come on! The night doesn’t have to be super ruined, right? I don’t  actually want you to starve or feel like I don’t care, you know? I might be a little...whatever, but if there’s a way that makes up your night that doesn’t involve witch torture, I’m at least interested.” Her smile twisted into a grin, conspiratorial. “Are you gonna tell me about this friend staying over? Is the same lady friend you were staying with before?”

For a moment, all Miriam could do was stare at Morgan in shock and blink. Then, she said, “I thought I was your evil friend.” She gave Morgan a smirk, one of the one’s she’d adopted in high school that said I’m Better, before she let it drop. “That’s quite a lot to unpack, Morgan. Really, more than a lot.” Blood sacrifices, really? See, this was what Miriam always thought of when she described bad magics, improper magics. Though, all magics were improper in the hands of human beings, but Miriam didn’t think she needed to try and drive that point home. Not while Morgan was like this. “Perhaps things should be easy, sometimes,” she said, slowly, putting down the glass without finishing it so that she could give Morgan most of her attention. She scanned Morgan’s face, checked her over for any signs of outer distress before she realized that, as one of the undead, Morgan wasn’t going to show scrapes or bruises. “Let’s make this easy, shall we? I’m really quite alright,” she could always feed later, “and I’m a bit more worried about you. I’m aware you don’t want me to starve, darling.” She knew that. Morgan just wanted her to find a better source of food. Miriam rolled her eyes. “It is the same person, yes. She needed me to check on her while she was sleepwalking, and now she’s staying with me amidst some repairs to her home. Nothing serious. I’m just helping her out.” And that was all there was to it. At least, that was all she would admit.

“You’re at least a little honest with yourself.” Morgan said, smiling fondly. “You wouldn’t hurt so much if you really thought what you were doing was the natural order of the world or some bullshit. And you know the people you hunt are people, and you don’t keep them in a five star containment cell for a few years. Maybe you’re a misguided torturer, but it’s coming from a real place. It’s not...banal. You’re better than that, Mim.” Morgan pursed her lips in a pout, teasing in sing-song, “Although, she did give really nice gifts. You’ve never gotten me anything pretty before, so maybe the jury’s out after all.”

She turned her face away as Miriam started giving her a once over. Her face, usually amused and unflappable, was wrinkling with concern. Morgan wasn’t sure she could bear someone with as few reasons to care right now as Miriam being concerned. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low and sincere. “For knowing that. My friend didn’t and I uh...I know we’re not about to suddenly become different people, but it’s important to me that you know I care. It’s the fucking worst, feeling like you’ve lost someone they’re judging you for how you are. I think you’re wrong and I think you know it too, but I still care even if I fuck it up every time we hang out. I want good things for you.” She swallowed thickly. “Don’t worry about me, I’m just uh...casually falling apart a little bit. I’ll figure it out. Although if you do have any tips for picking out a target who won’t be missed, I’m all ears.” She tried to smile sincerely, pull herself up by those proverbial bootstraps and keep trucking. “Tell me more about this friend. It sounds like y’all are getting pretty used to each other’s company. Maybe getting domestic, even?”

“Am I?” Miriam asked, a bit bemused. “I suppose I try to be, but I would have thought we wouldn’t agree, on that front.” She tried to tell herself, at least before, that this was her purpose. Witches must be dealt with. Now, she just told herself this was the only way to live. She’d love it if every witch on the goddamn planet stopped practicing magic at her behest, but she didn’t see it happening. So she’d just keep hunting. “Years? No, that’s far too long to keep someone about. Too much responsibility. Do I look like the kind of woman that has that much time?” She kept people for a few days, at most, and that was only if she was feeling extra malevolent. She was wracking her brain, though, trying to figure out exactly what was going on through Morgan’s head. She didn’t particularly like the path they were going down. “Well, damn. I suppose I’ll just scrap the jacket I’ve been working on then.”

Miriam couldn’t help the concern that she felt, the worry. She wasn’t used to it, either, which added to the discomfort of the situation. “Of course I know that, darling. You’ve made it clear. Every damn time you scold me, you try to find different options, which, though increasingly annoying,” and Miriam kept her tone light, teasing, “is considerate, so thank you.” She wrinkled up her nose. Morgan did have a habit of getting preachy and nosy when they hung out, and it almost always ended with one of them storming off the premises, but that was just who Morgan was. “I’m aware of all of that, truly. You don’t fuck it up. I suppose that the day you’re alright with my serial killer tendencies is the day I should really worry.” Though, she was really worrying now. Miriam… didn’t know how to be a friend, though, properly. It had been too long. “Casually falling apart is still falling apart, Morgan. Don’t fall apart if you don’t have the wherewithal to do it gracefully instead of casually.” What could she do to help with this? Could she do anything to help with this. Miriam had no experience with helping ex-witches through emotional crises. Nosy ex-witches were much easier to handle, and she rolled her eyes at Morgan’s words. “I don’t think I will tell you about this friend. I’m simply providing her with a place to stay for the time being while her… windows get repaired.” Though, really, Miriam was sure Evelyn’s windows had already been repaired. They just weren’t talking about her going home. “I wouldn’t say domestic. I don’t do domestic.”

“You could stand to be more honest, but you’re not full on, ‘humans are cattle, darling, this is putting them to good use,’” Morgan tried to mimic Lydia’s sophisticated cadence mockingly, but she could still hear in her memory just how poor a job when she was doing and felt miserable by the failed effort. “You know what you’re doing, you just don’t know you can be--more--” Morgan grimaced at herself, shaking her head. Aaaaand here I go again… “Thank you, for indulging me at least.”

At the mention of a jacket, Morgan whined, pouting. “There was a jacket? Don’t scrap the jacket. I want a pretty jacket!” Beneath her teasing, she was surprised that Miriam would go to such thoughtful lengths for her. Granted, she was a workaholic with nothing to do during the day and leatherwork was the only skillset Morgan was aware of her having that didn’t involve violence, so maybe it wasn’t so special after all. But Morgan couldn’t fully rationalize the thought away, that Miriam cared enough to try, and might be convinced to turn that care inward some day.

“Gracefully?” Morgan snorted. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s been applied to me in my life, sorry. And uh, no worries about those tendencies. I appreciate your expertise, and I’m only half kidding about needing pointers for scrounging up the right human to sacrifice, but I’m not going to give you another reason to think that killing is all there is for you by asking you to do my dirty work with me.” She flashed a smile, offering to let that part of the conversation go. “Getting windows repaired, huh? Is that a euphemism from your day? I think the kids are calling it something else now. But if your gal pal won’t be sad, can I interest you in a dance?”

“Well, seeing as how I was human not too long ago, I’d be a bit hypocritical to perceive them as cattle,” Miriam said wryly, wondering just what kind of peoples it was that Morgan associated herself with, presently or in the past, that would think such things, especially when she felt so strongly about everything that Miriam did. “I do know what I’m doing, and I live with it. It’s simply the way things are, Morgan.” Miriam sighed, though, grateful that Morgan didn’t go further. “Of course, darling. I don’t mind.” Too much.

“Was. Past tense.” Miriam adopted a pout of her own, mocking Morgan’s. “So sorry, darling, it’s officially been scrapped, not even a thought in my mind, anymore.” Really, though, the jacket was done save for a bit of stitching, something that she’d planned on giving Morgan during the holidays, probably at the start of Yule. She still would, most likely, all kidding aside. It had been fun to make, something other than some of the orders she’d taken on recently, and she was proud of it. Though, Miriam was good at her work; most of the things she made were worthy of pride.

“Come now, Morgan. I’m sure you’ve done something gracefully. Your tenacity is breathtaking, truly.” Perhaps more annoying than graceful, but still. It was something. She frowned, still concerned for her… friend. They were friends. She thought of Morgan as a friend. She wanted to continue this, wanted to point out that her expertise wasn’t in human sacrifice at all, and that, if that was what Morgan was looking into, perhaps she should find a spellcaster who practiced something as nefarious as blood magic or necromancy or something. Those tended to be the experts in blood magic, not charming but occasionally homicidal vampires. But she let it end there. “Getting her windows repaired means that all of her windows shattered, darling, and she had to get them fixed.” She rolled her eyes, but stood up and motioned for Morgan to do the same. “I don’t think my friend will mind, no. I’m more worried about you, darling. Won’t your girlfriend get jealous?”

Morgan pouted back, harder, if that was possible. “But-- even just a cropped jacket? Do you want my measurements?” She had a sense that if this jacket already existed, Miriam would give it to her no matter what, and if it didn’t, it was just a whim that wasn’t necessarily worth pushing just now. Morgan’s lips quirked up with hope all the same.

She couldn’t help but notice how Miriam refused to take the bait when it came to discussing the practical points of violence. But then, Morgan was being coy as well, almost embarrassed about the severity of her need and her total lack of knowledge. Why couldn’t she just come out with it? Was it really just because she felt guilty that there was no one else left to ask? That she couldn’t keep her intentions straight with her between trying to find something better than her alleged purpose and leaning on her expertise? Morgan let it rest for now, grinning with a bitter edge at the mention of her ‘tenacity.’ That was about all she had going for her these days. Tenacity.

Morgan took Miriam’s offered hand and followed her to the dance floor. “My girlfriend isn't here and I don’t really care how she’d feel about me dancing with a friend right now. Besides, I’ll be good.” She teased a coy smile and locked their fingers together as the song changed to an upbeat remix of another Christmas song. When she danced, Morgan’s body almost remembered itself. Hair swinging, feet pounding, she buzzed with the tingle of her body vibrating against the world, pulsing I am here, I am here, I am here, damnit. I deserve to be here more than you, Constance. She stayed close to Miriam, gauging how she took to the music with interest, and flashing the occasional grin. The song changed to something slower, and Morgan leaned against the vampire for the sake of appearances. If she were alive, her body would be exhausted after how desperately she’d pushed it into motion. “Can I ask you how you do it?” She asked, half into her shoulder. “How you make it so you’re never caught or interrupted?”

“Not a chance,” Miriam said, her grin only mostly bite. She rolled her eyes at Morgan’s questions about measurements. As if she didn’t already have them. As if she hadn’t been doing this kind of thing long enough to be able to get Morgan’s measurements in the plenty of times they’d been around each other. “Sorry, darling. Opportunity's gone, now. You should have been nicer to me, you know. Maybe then you’d still get it.” As they walked out to the dancefloor, she stuck her tongue out childishly.

“Well, if you’ll be good, then I suppose we can dance.” Again, another thing that she should be worried about. Not being worried about her girlfriend was very much not a Morgan Beck kind of thing. Then again, they were only friends. Morgan seemed more concerned about Miriam’s love life or lack thereof than anything. So she resigned herself to dancing, and she was pleasantly surprised to see that they were both damn good at it. Morgan was right; graceful wasn’t a word that could be used to describe her movements, but they were wild and fun and on beat, and Miriam found herself getting lost in the music for however long she could. Miriam had taken dancing lessons as a child, but she’d learned to actually enjoy dancing in college. This reminded her of that.

As the song changed, she pretended to be a little out of breath for the sake of the people around them. She was surprised, though, at Morgan's questions, and she glanced down at the other woman. She wasn’t going to drop this, was she? Miriam swallowed. “You make them trust you,” she said, lowly, swaying them along with the song. “You smile, and you compliment them, and you let them compliment you. We’re at an advantage, darling, with our gender, our appearance. They rarely suspect danger lurking under pretty facades.” She moved them away from the crowd. “Then, you take them somewhere secluded, somewhere safe. And you do what you must. Then you get rid of them. Or you don’t, depending on what you want people to know.” Sometimes, you left them out where they’d be seen in broad daylight because you were young and dramatic, and you just wanted to be seen. A cry for help, Miriam’s mother had said hysterically, though she’d cleaned the blood from Miriam’s hands with a calmness that Miriam had never seen in the woman before. For all her parent’s faults (or maybe in addition to them), they had never abandoned their daughter, even when they probably should have.

Morgan shuffled in step with Miriam as some girl on a piano turned ‘All I Want For Christmas’ into a crying balad. She listened, keeping the rhythm to distract herself from the ghost chills crawling down her back. “That sounds cruel,” she mumbled. “Trust is…” Fragile. Precious. There had to be some people Morgan could stomach luring and betraying over the course of an hour or two, but even thinking about playing with them on purpose… Morgan watched Miriam as she led her away, looking as lovely as she had the night she’d tried to kill her. Morgan had imagined herself after the fact as some kind of exception. And maybe in the course of playing that kind of game, she had become one by accident. But the dance had still been choreographed from the start, no matter what they became later. “And that’s it?” She asked. “No one goes looking into their whereabouts and asks, hey, who was that femme fatale they were last seen with? Maybe she knows something?” Morgan shook her head, not nearly as surprised as she would have been in any other place. “This fucking town…” But apathy and idiocy wasn’t Miriam’s fault, just like it wouldn’t be Morgan’s. And she, at least, would be able to bundle up the body and haul it to the shed to be disposed of after she’d harvested her blood. “Thank you, for being honest with me,” she mumbled.

“Life is cruel, Morgan,” Miriam murmured softly. “Besides, there isn’t a spellcaster in this town that should trust me or anyone matching my description. You know this, darling.” Miriam Flemming was a terror, just as much as she had been more than twenty-five years ago. It wasn’t her fault that her prey made it so damn easy. She leaned down and whispered in Morgan’s ear, “That’s it. What did you expect? Drugging? Threatening? I’ll admit that I compel the ones I let live, though that’s quite rare, but murder is a far easier endeavor than they want you to believe.” The first few times had been difficult, but she’d rarely tried to hide what she was doing, in the beginning. She had been nothing but newfound rage and vengeance and a desire to make everyone else hurt as she’d been, worse, even. “The apathy in this town will blow your mind, sometimes, the way some people seem to not care. But, and it will do you well to remember this, pride is the real killer here.” Miriam laughed, low in the back of her throat, and shook her head. “Like I said, they know about me. They’ve been warned. Hell, Morgan, you warned quite a few of them. But they see me, and some of them are blinded by thoughts of ‘Surely not her’ or ‘I’ll be different.’” She shook her head. “Or they underestimate me. You would think, over the years, that that wouldn’t be the case anymore, but here we are.” She had made orphans, widows, and widowers, yet still she was underestimated. But she was still a boogieman, a monster under the bed. Likely, there was more spellcaster deaths credited to her name than there was actual blood on her hands. She didn’t mind that. “You’re welcome, darling, though I’m… Perhaps you should let me do whatever it is you plan on doing. I’d hate for you to get caught due to bad advice.”

“Not always,” Morgan said feebly. She remembered believing this with a lot more umph when she was alive, even as recently as three or four months ago. It sounded like a line she didn’t quite believe now. So much of her good, her hope, had been pulled from her fingers. Would there even be much of a new life for her on the other side of this? Finishing the ritual was her anchor now, but what would it leave her with? Morgan tried to recapture the image she’d had when she started this all. How strong, how powerful, how very close to peace. The closest she would ever get to have, living as what she was now. That much would still be true, wouldn’t it? Even if everything else in her world crumbled, she would still be the woman who had ended the curse, who had taken her power back from that cruel, evil little bitch.

Miriam’s points were comforting only in their practicality. At barely over five feet, Morgan had the unassuming thing down pat. She could rely on her brute strength to subdue some random asshole, whoever she picked out. It just felt so….deceitful. And were it not for the obvious, that this person would run and tell whatever authority they believed in about what had happened, they didn’t have to die. They just had to suffer. There were memory charms, but how was she gonna find someone to do that to cover up a casual maiming? Morgan hissed through her teeth. “I need to do this myself,” she said, slumping against Miriam’s side. “This is my magic family bullshit, and I don’t think you’d enjoy avenging a line of cursed witches.” Another breath, just try and make the tension release from her chest.. “I just need blood wrought from pain. And because it’s magic, of course it can’t be my own. It doesn’t count unless it’s live.” Her voice turned bitter. She couldn’t even fully save herself. She couldn’t even lend energy to the exorcist that was due to make contact in, what, a little more than a week? “But I meant it, when I said you’re more than a killer. I don’t want to treat you like one, Mim. You should do something better with your time.”

“Most always,” Miriam bit back, but there wasn’t much bite to it, not when Morgan didn’t seem to be fighting much to begin with. She sighed, rubbed at the lines forming between her eyes. Eyes that flashed red briefly before she blinked the color and the feeling that came with it away. Miriam frowned, unused to the feeling, but shook it away. “I know that it sucks, but that doesn’t make it any less true. I apologize for the pessimism, but…” There was no but. She apologized. That was it. That was enough. She disliked that it upset Morgan, but there was no taking the words back, and there was no getting rid of their honesty. “I apologize.” She hoped Morgan understood how rarely she offered those up.

“Do you need to do this yourself, or is it a pride thing?” Miriam deadpanned. This, a blood sacrifice, something that she wouldn’t have suffered through were Morgan still a living, breathing witch, wasn’t a task that had to be conducted alone. Miriam hunted alone because she had to cause the pain, the misery, the anguish. She had to feed off of it. It wasn’t the same. “I’m offering my assistance to you, not your family, dearest, and if you find me a witch worthy of such a task, I really don’t give a shit, as long as you let me have a meal, afterwards.” She clicked her fingernails together, thinking. “It’s very easy to get blood wrought from pain. Killing isn’t even necessary. I would know, you know. I don’t always kill.” She grinned, though, just for Morgan, and her fangs slipped out easier than normal. Her voice is low and muffled by them when she speaks. “I know I’m more than a killer, but, damn, I’m just so good at it.” Then, more seriously, “Morgan, I’m offering. I know you think I’m more than a killer. I’m just offering to help. I’d hate to see you get arrested.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Morgan mumbled, barely audible. She reached for Miriam’s hand and squeezed it carefully to show she meant it. There were more than enough reasons to believe the way she did, and as the days dragged on and the world shrank and shriveled up with winter, Morgan found she thought of it that way sometimes too. How much power could you exert by yourself in a world like this? What was the point when you couldn’t count on anything, anyone, to stay with you?

“If you mean ‘am I bitter that I have to face this death and magic problem as a neutered witch’ then yes, it’s a pride thing,” she said. “I don’t like having people do my dirty work for me. I’ve been on my own so many times, and when it comes to my deep, dangerous bullshit I feel better being the one to take care of it. And I...don’t really have much else going on for me. Definitely nothing else grounding me right now.” Morgan set her jaw, trying to to keep the prickle of tears at bay. It sounded awful out loud, but how else was she supposed to get this done except by giving this her heart and energy? How else was she supposed to come out of this free and cleansed (if that was even possib--no) if she didn’t put herself all the way in? “Does it have to be a spellcaster?” She knew that there were at least a few that made themselves into a menace. Jo the Alchemist was simply one she’d been able to find because her carnage crossed her path. She could find another, if she really tried, or maybe the fairest thing would be to pick someone at random, and hope they weren’t so traumatized from the experience they couldn’t have nice things after. It wasn’t the worst sort of deal. The pain caused by the bloodletting would at least go to Miriam’s survival, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. They both needed just enough to get by. And she couldn’t argue that she would probably make a shit torturer and cover up criminal.

Morgan looked up at Miriam, sniffling and blinking back tears. “You don’t scare me with those,” she said, hovering her finger over her fangs. She poked the corner of her mouth gently, teasing, and gave a sad smile.“You’re not a thing, you that too, right? When I say you’re more, I don’t mean you’re a swiss army knife. You deserve to have good things, better things, and I don’t want to use you.” But she needed this. Stars above, she needed this to go right. “So are you sure? Really, really sure?”

“Yes, well, I rarely am.” Miriam Flemming didn’t apologize. She just didn’t. She wasn’t raised to apologize, not properly, not well. She wasn’t sorry that she was wrong. She was sorry that she was right, and sorry that her words came out cruel because of it. Miriam owned up to her cruelty, but that didn’t mean she had to enjoy them. “But I’m apologizing for saying it, all the same.” She frowned a bit, looking Morgan over. “Then, perhaps, stop trying to solve problems as a neutered witch and start trying to solve them as a zombie. This isn’t me asking to do your dirty work. It’s just me offering assistance.” She swallowed. “And I don’t know what to tell you about grounding yourself. I’m not the one to offer that sort of advice, but.” She looked away. She wasn’t the kind to offer this sort of advice, not with her pastimes, not with her own marrow-deep need for revenge against a man that has long since been dead and buried.

“It doesn’t have to be a spellcaster,” Miriam said with gritted teeth. “But I would prefer it. For my own morality’s sake.” Though, maybe, her morals were skewed. But, if Morgan could find a shitty spellcaster, both of their needs were met. Morgan could get her blood, Miriam could get her blood, and they could both go about their merry way. This had worked fine with the Jo situation, Miriam had fed well for days off of that one. She sneered a bit as Morgan poked her fangs, but there wasn’t any meanness to it. She was more concerned with not making Morgan cry. She didn’t react well to tears. “Morgan, I’m quite aware that I’m a damn person. Granted, I can’t see myself in the mirror, so sometimes I wonder, but I know I’m not a thing.” She was more than a killer. She was just damn good at killing. “You’re not using me, I’m offering. And, yes, damn, I’m sure. I’m surer than sure.”

Morgan waited for whatever came after the ‘but’ of Miriam’s sentence but there was only silence. She didn’t know any better than Morgan. They were both just muddling along, trying their best, struggling against all of this muck, this pain, these ghosts tearing at their souls. She felt Miriam bristle, and shied away from her grasp reluctantly, an apology on her lips. Morgan swallowed it back and sniffled again, staring out into the night. This was the best plan she was ever going to get. There was no one else she could ask. There was no course in abduction and bloodletting she could cram for. She only had so many days before the exorcist she’d hired turned up ready to do the damage she’d asked for. Morgan couldn’t stomach having to fess up to needing more time, or to being gouged and mocked for needing that woman to do her work for her after the way they’d talked in the hotel. Playing the engagement in her head, the way the exorcist would laugh and sneer at once, Morgan cringed with humiliation. This had to be it; however heavy and cold it felt, this was her way out. “I don’t mean to upset,” she said. “I just needed to be sure. It’s important to me to be as fair with you as I can be.” She’d been enough of a magnet for collateral damage when she was alive. She didn’t want to hurt more people or bring whole classrooms and city blocks to their knees that cruel, evil little bitch. She couldn’t. But if this wasn’t going to give Miriam some kind of complex, then… “Okay. I’ll take a few days to pick someone out, spell caster or not, get in touch, and we’ll come up with a plan that minimizes risk to everyone. And when we’re done, I’ll end this.”

#wr miriam #wr chatzy #wr miriam chatzy #road to hell #wickedswriting

[imasimpforstevengrant]

I can see you

Author's note:

First, I never thought I would write a fic after almost two years later. I had this idea after watching a fanmade video about Arthur and Harleen falling for each other. I had fun while writing this, since Arthur is a completely new character (not following the comics). Please note that this is written purely for amusement and I don't profit from it.

Second, sorry for any typos. English is not my first language (Chilean Spanish for the win, everybody!). I hope you like it.

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Warnings: angst, self hatred, a bit of swearing, sexual themes and stalking.

Words: 1.730

Summary: Arthur Fleck doesn't live. He barely manages to exist, devoid of any bond. Until one day, a woman reminds him of how much of a human he is.

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He had seen her several times, but he never had the courage to talk to her. He usually avoided her when she was too close to him.

Arthur knew himself too well to know what would happen: his hated laughing fits. Therefore, he preferred to love her from distance, without her noting his existence. It was better this way.

The first time Arthur saw this young woman was in the hallway. She was going down the stairs to the seventh floor of the building. He cherished every move she did. This stranger danced while listening to music, thinking no one would notice her. She shook her figure as she mouthed passionately the lyrics of whatever song was listening. Arthur hid near the wall that divided the halls, and thus, the apartments.

He glared at her like a predator. His mouth watery caused by the hunger she woke within him. Arthur swore he could feel her in his arms, dancing vehemently to a song. He wondered during long periods of time how it would feel to touch her skin.

His lust was a loud, thundering storm that kept troubling his already cursed mind. But in the outside, the silence suggested indifference.

It kept like this for months. Arthur had also yearned for innocent things, such as a smile or even a kind word from her. He constantly fantasized about her and the guilt and regret fought after the lustful desires roamed through his fractured psyche. This was too much for him to bear. He wrote about the woman in his journal, dedicating pages of misspelled but honest thoughts. Arthur found a new way to cope with insomnia.

It was a rainy day when his feelings took another radical turn. Arthur returned to his flat after another shitty day of work. He headed towards the elevator, pressing the button to open it. He waited patiently. The bell rang and the sliding door opened.

"Fuck!", he hissed lowly when he saw her. She was carrying a bag and had her hair done in buns. Arthur thought she couldn't be more beautiful.

"Hi" she chirped, grinning at him.

"Hi" was all Arthur could reply after his failed attempt to keep his gaze in the ground. Was she actually talking to him? The beloved stranger noticed a trace of blood in his lips and sweetly asked:

"Are you alright?"

He remained silent for a few seconds, studying her expression. It was so kind and sincere.

"Yes".

"Are you sure you're okay?" Her question echoed through his mind. Even her voice turned out to be as smooth as her appearance. Arthur inhaled deeply.

"I am, miss. Thanks for asking" he replied puzzled, trying to figure out why would she even care.

The door opened and she politely waved goodbye to him and wishing him well. Arthur didn't give a verbal answer but he certainly waved back to her.

Arthur smirked. And his gesture did not disappear until he arrived home.

He built a routine in his free time. If he couldn't be with her, he was satisfied enough to watch her. At night, he usually followed her to the now empty playground. The woman was swinging in a rope made out of clothes stretched and extended in what seemed a big, dome-shaped cage like. The blonde had the habit to exercise there, not bothered by some bystanders (mostly men) who whistled at her.

Despite the jealousy that grew within him, Arthur understood it wasn't strange. He surely wasn't the only one after her affections.

He took a liking to this new scene: watching her move as if she was practising a gymnastic routine was fantastic. Her movements were so delicate, yet sensual. She seemed to go along with the air, soaring with it.

But she didn't notice, obviously. The girl would probably had gone running and screaming for help if she had discovered him.

Arthur was wrong. He was so wrong.

One day, he sneaked around wearing his yellow hoodie to preserve his identity. He was outside the building, hiding in the shadows. There she was again: beautiful and unreachable. Her long, platinum blonde hair fell like a waterfall. Arthur was amazed. She moved her arms in a graceful way once again, to flow through it in a twirl that swinged her back and forth. The girl seemed to smile before the risky move, congratulating herself in silence on this apparent progress.

Arthur laughed out loud, amazed. But he soon clasped a hand in his mouth. She turned around immediately to his direction. Arthur felt the panic and tried to run.

She called him. Not berating him but genuinely interested. There was no violence in her voice. Arthur argued with himself over and over about if this was a good idea from the beginning. The man was walking around like a disoriented dog while grasping his curly locks, out of fear and guilt. He stood still for a while, without saying a word.

He then realized the woman kept calling him.

Arthur tightened his eyelids, fighting the urge to run away. He kept still during long seconds until he finally decided to face her. It was now or never. Little did he know that she was just a few feet away from him.

Once Arthur turned around, he almost tripped taking a step away from her. He stared at the young woman: she showed no signs of fear or disgust. In fact, she seemed curious about him. She clawed at the fence that separated the playground from the building and dead end alleys. He imitated the action, staring directly at her eyes, blue like summer sky. She smiled at him, her perfect teeth shining like pearls. And it was in this moment when Arthur could pay more attention to her attributes. The girl in question was the owner of an astounding beauty: expressive blue eyes, pink full lips which formed a sweet smile. And that was only her face. Arthur was infatuated. Her face lit up once her lips curved into such expression. Was she hypnotizing him?

He wouldn’t mind, of course.

Arthur stared at her mouth, and wonders how it would feel against his own cracked, dry lips.

But her body was another wonder. She wore a white, long, sleeveless shirt adjusted to her body shape, leaving nothing to imagination. God, if he only could trace his fingers down her hips he'd die happily.

He continued his private appreciation watching the grey shorts that left her most of her thighs uncovered. He then darted his eyes up to her hair. Her long, slightly wavy strands of hair were dyed in two different colours: the right side was strawberry pink from the half down. Same with the left side, except the colour was a electric blue. It added a dreamy touch to her.

Arthur pictured himself playing with her hair, doing little curls with it. It looked so silky.

"You've been enjoying my show, have you?"

Arthur looked up to her again.

"Yeah" he muttered, ashamed.

"Why the long face, babe? It's not like I'm upset", the woman said.

Arthur stared at her again, but out of confusion.

"Are you not upset?"

"At all" she quickly replied, "I like when people see me, actually".

Arthur felt a cold shudder in his back. It was in this moment he sensed something in his chest. He perceived it as the natural reaction to the first conversation he held with someone else without the other significant being weirded out of him. This common trait was enough to give him hope of a new, happy chapter on his mirthless life.

"Yeah... You know, I like when people see me too".

The woman nodded and leaned her face into the fence. Arthur took a deep breath and it didn't take too long to emulate the pose. She was bold enough to let him come closer to her as if she wanted him to kiss her.

"What's your name?" He hummed against her face.

"Harleen Quinzel", she answered "and you are...?"

"Arthur" he rushed to give his reply, "my name is Arthur Fleck--".

A chuckle escaped his throat.

'Oh, no. Not now, not now please', Arthur silently begged as his loving expression fade away so shame would take its place.

His brain of course showed no mercy.

The laughing fit lasted almost ten minutes. It was the first time in years that he truly believed he was going to die of suffocation. He struggled with choking more than two times every minute. Arthur wasn't completely drawn into his fit. He looked for a fraction of seconds at the girl. Harleen shocked at first. After a few moments, she joined him believing innocently he was laughing out of amusement.

"You know, you can tell me the joke so we can laugh together".

Arthur wasn't able to silence his noisy curse. He only covered his mouth, shaking his head trying to make her see the desperation in his eyes. Harleen's facial expressions morphed from fun to actual worry when Arthur's hand reached his throat in an useless attempt to breathe, still clawing at the fence with the one that left free. Her eyes widened in horror. Arthur felt too powerless to even show her the card explaining his fucking condition. It was alright if she wanted to run away. He already accepted his shameful defeat.

However, to his surprise, she nimbly climbed up the fence to help him. The stalker was too weak to keep standing but when he was crumbling into the ground, Harleen helped him to stand up.

She spoke to him, reassuringly. And she spoke so many things he couldn't process while taking him to a bench to contain him. So far she was a few seconds ago and now she stood with him throughout the painful laughter.

"I'm sorry--" Arthur tried to hide his face in his arm but Harleen seemed to understand... Or at least took pity on him.

The laughing fit finally ended and Arthur got a card from his pocket. He remained silent, disgusted with himself. The blonde took it and read it carefully. Her serene gaze towards the object comforted Arthur slowly. Once she finished reading it, she returned it to his owner. Harleen seemed truly surprised... Or maybe scared. He didn't know and felt too embarrassed to even talk to her. One thing was for sure:

Arthur Fleck never felt uglier in his life.

#dc comics #dcedit #arthur fleck imagine #joker film #joker movie #joaquin phoenix joker #joker 2019 #joker x harley #joker arthur fleck #arthur fleck #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #Arthur x Harley #fanfic #joaquin phoenix #margot robbie #my life will never be the same after this #i love this film #i love this movie so much #arthur x reader

[madrut16]

Premeditated Part 1 (AdrianxMC)

Author’s Note: This is by far the darkest thing I have written! And yes I know my preview had no hint of that, I didn’t want to give too much away. So, this is my warning that it gets really sad and horrifying. I was a little disturbed that I was actually writing this but, this theory has been nagging at me since Book 1 and I had to write it. 

Pairing: AdrianxMC 

Rating: R (A significant amount of violence and murder)

Summary: Isabel discovers first hand who was really responsible for the death of Adrian’s family.

Word Count: 2550

@endlesshero1122 @kinda-iconic @brightpinkpeppercorn @desiree-0816 @flyawayboo @tabithacarlisle @galaxyside-0  @sucker4aslowburn

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At first, everything is pitch black. That’s how all the visions start now, as an overture for the main feature. She first smells the fresh air mixed with gunsmoke and feels the cool breeze tickling her skin and already she can tell that this is somewhere familiar, somewhere she's been before. It slowly comes into focus and she lets out a strained gasp. 

The cabin... 

Immediately dread coils in her stomach, suspecting that whatever she would see wouldn’t be good. Yet, the scene before her isn’t sad or frightening at all, in fact, it’s purely domestic.

The full moon illuminates the cabin with a silvery light and that mixes with the soft, golden glow of a kerosene lamp. Her eyes first fixate on a younger woman, around the same age as her in 18th-century dress, humming to herself as she kneaded a loaf of bread. 

A movement soon catches her eye and Isabel looks to the woman’s right where a small boy was sitting on the floor a few feet away and her heart skips a beat as she recognizes the identity almost immediately.

“Ch--Charles...” 

Of course, no one could hear her, since she’s merely a fly on the wall. Even if they did, they would barely be able to understand her in her drugged-like state. Adrian was right about one thing, the kid was adorable. And he looked remarkably like his father too, even at that tender age. That means that the woman had to be Eleanor--his wife. 

She quickly realizes that it was just the two of them for now with Adrian gone somewhere. Every minute or so, a loud crack could vaguely be heard and faint screaming and shouting that was the unmistakable sound of war. 

“I hope your father is alright,” Eleanor said looking at her son as her forehead creased with concern. “He shall be late for supper again with the fighting going on this long.”

The toddler blinked at her in confusion before returning to the rocks in front of them which he was playing with gleefully. 

His mother let out an anxious sigh. “Tis good you are unaware Charlie. The British nearly have us surrounded now! I pray all will be right eventually. Your father doubts we have the blessing of the Lord. We must believe him. Hope is our greatest defense. That we shall focus on.”

A delicate smile appeared on her lips as she returned to her task. However, Isabel could see through the tension in her arms that she was still nervous. Eleanor finished up shaping the dough into a ball and left it on the counter, brushing her hands on the white apron. Then, she went over to Charles and crouched down beside the boy, who looked up at her with a cheeky grin. 

“Tis late my child, I ought to get you to sleep.”

His small forehead scrunched into a pout as she picked him up, a tiny frown gracing his tiny face. “No.”

She responded with a sympathetic look as she ignored his protests. Just as she went to take him to the single bedroom, the sound of a man's boots approaching stopped her. She turned toward the sound but there was no one to be seen. Shaking her head in bewilderment, she resumed placing the child in the small, hand-built crib and kissed his forehead.

"Sleep, my child. Father will see you when he is home," she whispered before slowly walking away as Charlie continued to fuss.

An abrupt knock cut through the silence just as Eleanor reentered the main living area. Her brows creased once more and she grabbed a broom as a precaution. She approached the front door just as the person outside pounded another more persistent knock. Finally, Eleanor opened it and her eyes widen seeing the man's uniform.

"No," Isabel murmurs in disbelief. "It can't...be."

But it was. Even though the hair was tucked underneath his hat, she feels like she’s known that face for ages. 

Gaius Augustine. 

"How do you do?" he said to Eleanor, his distinct voice as clear as day. However there was one difference: it sounded tired, hoarse. As if he were using a considerable amount of energy. It also sounded exaggerated, enough for Isabel to tell that it was fake. 

"Good evening to you sir. Can I help you?"

"May I come in? I am an acquaintance of your husband, Adrian Raines. From the fighting."

This caused Eleanor to gasp and immediately step to the side. "Of course! Has something happened?" she asked, her already pale face become sheet white. "Is he alright?"

Crossing the threshold, his boots creaked on the floorboards as he entered. Even though Isabel's mind is the only part of her in the room, she can still feel his presence. He consumed the space without even trying.

"Oh no, I did not mean to distress you," he told her shaking his head. A small, almost undetectable laugh partially escapes before his caught it and his serious demeanor returned. "He is fine. I, however, am not quite so," he reassured her before grimacing.

It’s then that Isabel noticed the dark stain that covered the white undershirt that peaked out of his uniform. 

"Oh no!" Eleanor exclaimed, observing the mark also. "That looks not good at all. Here, why don't you sit over there and I will fetch something to treat it."

Gaius did as he was told, letting no other cracks appear out of his armor. "You are too kind Mrs. Raines, thank you!"

"Of course, sir. Although, I beg you to be as quiet as possible. My son has gone to sleep for the night."

A trace of a smile briefly graced his lips. "My apologies."

"Tis alright sir, I will be back shortly."

She disappeared from view for a moment to get whatever medicinal supplies they had. As soon as he was left alone on the wooden bench next to the fireplace, a slow, evil smile spread across Gaius's face. He stripped off the soldier's uniform in several quick motions revealing the all-black attire Isabel has seen so many times. In his standard form, he stood and waited for the woman to come back, his eyes already flickering from their greyish blue to bright red.

"No. Not...him. Can't be...him," Isabel stammers, her subdued state from the vision barely allowing her to slur together a full sentence.

It was too early. Adrian said that he had made his move after his family was already dead. But, now it's clear that he was mistaken. Was Adrian misled about who did it? Or did he simply block the memory out and replace it himself? Both possibilities fill her heart with a pang of immense sadness and instantly she becomes nauseous. 

"Please...no. Don't...make...me..."

She desperately wills herself to snap out of the vision with no luck. Her mind is determined to make her an unwitting spectator to the killing she knew was inevitable.

After what seemed like an eternity, Eleanor returned carrying a metal bucket full of water and a cloth and seeing Gaius in his true form, she froze. Seconds later she dropped the bucket and as the water spilled out across the floor she let out a shrill scream. 

This seemed to enthuse him even more. “I like it when you scream, it makes your demise more entertaining.”

“Why? Why are you doing this?” the young woman cried.

“You have what I need...what I crave. Quite simply a means to an end. Although I will admit, this is more than a normal hunt for me. See, what I desire of your husband, the grand future I envision...it, unfortunately, requires that you meet your demise. Both of you.”

The meaning hit Eleanor the same time it reaches Isabel. The latter can only manage a few groans in protest, for the memory takes more of her energy as it grows in intensity.

As Gaius’s glowing red eyes bore into his victim, Eleanor’s gaze moved towards the bedroom and started moving near it protectively.

"I do not think that will help you," he told her menacingly.

"Please, I beg of you!" she sobbed, tears streaming down her face. "Do not harm my son!"

A sinister laugh echoed throughout the entire cabin. “No can do. Blood from the young has always been a particular...delicacy of mine. And more importantly, there is nothing you can do to stop me."

The hunger that he had been restraining came to the surface at once and baring his fangs, the vampire made his move. In a flash, Gaius traversed the gap between them and forcibly grabbed Eleanor, pinning her to the ground hard.

"Hhhhhh….," Isabel whimpered, the vision manifesting itself physically--a painful electric current of remembrance running through her.  

She wants to make it stop but it’s too strong for her to resist. And so she writhes in agony as the horrific scene plays out. 

Gaius began the slow and merciless assault, tearing into Eleanor's thigh causing her to scream in pain. Soon, her cries were mixed with the fearful wailing from Charles in the open bedroom behind her. He made his way up her body leaving a crimson red trail in his path. Eventually, Eleanor began to quiet as she hovered on the brink of consciousness, a purposeful tactic by Gaius to draw out the suffering before he went for the kill.

Eleanor's weakened gaze came to rest on the wooden ceiling above. There was no longer fear in her eyes, but an overwhelming sadness having resigned herself to her fate.

"A-Adrian I-I am sorry I...could not...protect him," she stammered, her breathing labored from the gaping wounds all over her torso and legs. "Please...know that I...love you...and will wait for you...to join me...once more...soon. Yet if you...somehow survive...do not...dwell on me...on us. Move on...live...tis quite alright with me."

Gaius appeared to be enjoying his victim's last dying words. Of course, he could have left her like that, with the amount of blood still coming out, she would certainly die from that alone. But that was not what he wanted, he wanted to decide exactly when she would take her last breath.  

Soon his impatience and insatiable thirst overtook his love of dramatics. He rose, his greedy eyes honing in on her exposed neck. The only part of her left untouched.

"At last...," he said softly, petting her hair with a blood-soaked hand as she sputtered and gasped beneath him. Then, he hissed and sank his sharp teeth right into her carotid, eliciting an ear-splitting scream from her as he continued to tear her apart.

Isabel cries out hysterically, her body continuing to spasm in blistering pain as Eleanor inevitably began to weaken until she fell limp in Gaius's arms, drained and mutilated. He stood up and left her there, lying in a giant pool of her own blood. He wiped his face which was stained red and moved methodically, coldly towards the open bedroom behind the mother who died trying to protect it. 

"No...please..."

Again, the Bloodkeeper's pleas are useless and the vision follows Gaius's bloodsoaked footsteps. She saw little Charles, still wailing profusely. And her heart shatters when she figures out why. From the crib, there was a decent view of Eleanor's body. Lifeless and drowning in red puddles and smears.

"Ch-charlie..." Her words barely intelligible, the shooting pain still running through her.

She saw Gaius approach the young boy and the look in his eyes was of pure thirst. He wasn't going to draw it out this time. He quickly grabbed the terrified toddler and immediately he sank into the child’s tiny neck. 

"NO!!!!!"

A guttural sob erupts as Isabel watches Charlie's shrieking violently stops. The intense burn that shoots through her is almost unbearable. 

"Isabel! Wake up! Isabel!"

Lily. 

The voice interjects through, calling to her. In a flash of bright white, she’s ripped out of the memory. Gasping, she finds herself still on the couch in her apartment where she was when the vision took hold, the blistering pain slowly turning into tiny electric tingles. As her eyes adjust she sees her best friend standing over her fretfully. 

“Iz! What happened? Are you okay?”

Isabel shakes her head, still sobbing profusely. 

“Please, let me forget!” she begs. A few weeks earlier, she had started to remember what her visions contained and this one joins the mental archive. It only takes seconds for this latest memory to implant itself for good. "No...it...it's real!" 

As soon as she speaks, an overwhelming wave of nausea hits her, the haunting images making her physically repulsed. She sprints to the bathroom just in time to reach the toilet. 

Vaguely she hears Lily come in after her. "Isabel?! You’re scaring me, what's going on?”

"He...he killed them! That lying, bastard," she exclaims her voice raspy as her face twists in anger before she turns and throws up once more. 

Before her friend can ask any more questions, a loud, persistent knock sounds and she springs up to go answer it. “Thank God you’re here, I didn’t know what else to do!”

“It’s alright, my last meeting just got out when you called. Where is she?” Kamilah demands, rushing into the small apartment. 

“In here!”

Her friend quickly leads the council member to the bathroom. Her eyes fall on Isabel and she freezes, frowning in concern. “Oh my. What happened?” 

“I-I don’t know!” Lily stammers. "When she came out of it, she was hysterical. I think she saw something. Something that obviously disturbed her.” 

“A memory?” Kamilah asks. 

Isabel opens her mouth to speak but, as soon as she does, her head starts to throb painfully and she nods with a wince. “Adrian’s family...I saw them. Oh god, where...where is he?”

“In Cambodia...he doesn’t get back until tonight remember?” Lily replies, her brows creasing. 

In her delirium, Isabel remembers chatting with him that morning. After a second her face pales impossibly more than it already has and another round of heaving starts, but nothing besides spit comes out. At this point, it’s all mental.

Groaning she leans against the cool porcelain, beginning to shake uncontrollably. “He--he doesn’t know! What really happened to them...o-or he...he can’t remember.”

“What do you mean?” Kamilah tilts her head slightly, brows creasing. 

Isabel’s face suddenly became flush with anger. “They weren’t killed by the British! Eleanor...she let him in...he was wearing a patriot uniform.”

Both vampires stare at her in shock. 

“Did you recognize who it was?”

She nods at them, her jaw clenched. She hesitates, not wanting to speak it into existence, knowing that it will be painful. 

“Isabel...tell me. Who was it?”

The assistant meets her equally intense stare. 

“Gaius.”

Lily’s mouth falls open. 

Meanwhile, Kamilah’s eyes widen, a mixture of sadness, fear, and anger all converging at once. “You’re sure?” she whispers. 

“Positive,” Isabel answers almost immediately. ”I've seen him in visions before, I know what he used to look like.” 

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Kamilah is up, fishing her phone out of her suit’s pocket. 

“Kamilah? What are you do--?” Lily wonders before being cut off.

She holds up a finger as the person on the other end picks up. “Brother, we have a problem. You need to come back now.”

...

#choices stories you play #playchoices #bloodbound #adrian x mc #dark writing #trigger warning: violence #trigger warning: death #trigger warning: gore