#the woman DIED for the cause have some dignity man

[ainomorimichi]

good morning to everyone except people who draw mla art with everyone but curious

#this is a joke but like #>:( #it’s also 3am #chitose kizuki #i believe in curious supremacy sorry but like #the woman DIED for the cause have some dignity man #do i actually care #yes #very much

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Colin Wright

Published: Oct 2, 2023

On September 25, the American Anthropological Association (AAA) and the Canadian Anthropology Society (CASCA) announced that they were cancelling a panel discussion titled “Let’s Talk About Sex, Baby: Why Biological Sex Remains a Necessary Analytic Category in Anthropology,” originally scheduled as part of their annual conference in Toronto from November 15–19. The cancellation and subsequent response by the two organizations shows the extent to which gender ideology has captured academic anthropology.

The panel would have featured six female scientists, specializing in biology and anthropology, to address their profession’s growing denial of biological sex as a valid and relevant category. While terminological confusion surrounding the distinction between sex and gender roles has been a persistent issue within anthropology for decades, the total refusal of some to recognize sex as a real biological variable is a more recent phenomenon. The panel organizers, eager to facilitate an open discussion among anthropologists and entertain diverse perspectives on a contentious issue, considered the AAA/CASCA conference an optimal venue to host such a conversation.

The organizations accepted the “Let’s Talk About Sex” panel without incident on July 13, and planned to feature it alongside other panels including those on politically oriented subjects, such as “Trans Latinx Methodologies,” “Exploring Activist Anthropology,” and “Reimagining Anthropology as Restorative Justice.” Elizabeth Weiss, a professor of anthropology at San José State University, was one of the slated panelists. She had intended to discuss the significance in bio-archaeology and forensic anthropology of using skeletal remains to establish a decedent’s sex. While a 2018 article in Discover titled “Skeletal Studies Show Sex, Like Gender, Exists Along a Spectrum” reached different conclusions, Weiss planned to discuss how scientific breakthroughs have made determining the sex of skeletal remains a more exact science. Her presentation was to be moderate; she titled it “No Bones About It: Skeletons Are Binary; People May Not Be,” and conceded in her abstract the growing need in forensics to “to ensure that skeletal finds are identified by both biological sex and their gender identity” due to “the current rise in transitioning individuals and their overrepresentation as crime victims.”

Despite having already approved the panel, the presidents of the AAA (Ramona Pérez) and CASCA (Monica Heller) unexpectedly issued a joint letter on September 25 notifying the “Let’s Talk About Sex” presenters that their panel was cancelled. They claimed that the panel’s subject matter conflicted with their organizations’ values, jeopardized “the safety and dignity of our members,” and eroded the program’s “scientific integrity.” They further asserted the panel’s ideas (i.e., that sex is a real and important biological variable) would “cause harm to members represented by the Trans and LGBTQI of the anthropological community as well as the community at large.” To ensure that similar discussions would not be approved in the future, the AAA/CASCA vowed to “undertake a major review of the processes associated with vetting sessions at our annual meetings.”

The following day, the panelists issued a response letter, expressing their disappointment that the AAA and CASCA presidents had “chosen to forbid scholarly dialogue” on the topic. They rejected the “false accusation” that supporting the “continued use of biological sex categories (e.g., male and female; man and woman) is to imperil the safety of the LGBTQI community.” The panelists called “particularly egregious” the AAA/CASCA’s assertion that the panel would compromise the program’s “scientific integrity.” They noted that, ironically, the AAA/CASCA’s “decision to anathematize our panel looks very much like an anti-science response to a politicized lobbying campaign.”

I spoke with Weiss, who expressed her frustration over the canceled panel and the two presidents’ stifling of honest discussion about sex. She was concerned about the continual shifting of goalposts on the issue:

We used to say there’s sex, and gender. Sex is biological, and gender is not. Then it’s no, you can no longer talk about sex. Sex and gender are one, and separating the two makes you a transphobe, when of course it doesn’t. In anthropology and many topics, the goalposts are continuously moved. And, because of that, we need to stand up and say, “I’m not moving from my place unless there’s good scientific evidence that my place is wrong.” And I don’t think there is good scientific evidence that there are more than two sexes.

Weiss was not the only person to object. When I broke news of the cancellation on X, it immediately went viral. At the time of writing, my post has more than 2.4 million views, and the episode has ignited public outcry from individuals and academics across the political spectrum. Science writer Michael Shermer called the AAA and CASCA’s presidents’ letter “shameful” and an “utterly absurd blank slate denial of human nature.” Timur Kuran, a professor of economics and political science at Duke University, described it as “absolutely appalling.” Jeffrey Flier, the Harvard University distinguished service professor and former dean of the Harvard Medical School, viewed it as “a chilling declaration of war on scholarly controversy.” Even Elon Musk expressed his disbelief with a single word: “Wow.”

Despite the backlash, the AAA and CASCA have held firm. On September 28, the AAA posted a statement on its website titled “No Place For Transphobia in Anthropology: Session Pulled from Annual Meeting Program.” The statement reiterated the stance outlined in the initial letter, declaring the “Let’s Talk About Sex” panel an affront to its values and claiming that it endangered AAA members’ safety and lacked scientific rigor.

The AAA’s statement claimed that the now-canceled panel was at odds with their first ethical principle of professional responsibility: “Do no harm.” It likened the scuttled panel’s “gender critical scholarship” to the “race science of the late 19th and early 20th centuries,” the main goal of which was to “advance a ‘scientific’ reason to question the humanity of already marginalized groups of people.” In this instance, the AAA argued, “those who exist outside a strict and narrow sex/gender binary” are being targeted.

Weiss remains unconvinced by this moral posturing. “If the panel was so egregious,” she asked, “why had it been accepted in the first place?”

The AAA also claimed that Weiss’s panel lacked “scientific integrity,” and that she and her fellow panelists “relied on assumptions that ran contrary to the settled science in our discipline.” The panelists, the AAA argued, had committed “one of the cardinal sins of scholarship” by “assum[ing] the truth of the proposition that . . . sex and gender are simplistically binary, and that this is a fact with meaningful implications for the discipline.” In fact, the AAA claimed, the panelists’ views “contradict scientific evidence” about sex and gender, since “[a]round the world and throughout history, there have always been people whose gender roles do not align neatly with their reproductive anatomy.”

There is much to respond to in this portion of AAA’s statement. First, it’s ironic for the organization to accuse scientists of committing the “cardinal sin” of “assuming the truth” of something, and then to justify cancelling those scientists’ panel on the grounds that the panelists refuse to accept purportedly “settled science.” Second, the panel was organized to discuss biological sex (i.e., the biology of males and females), not “gender roles”; pivoting from discussions of basic biology to murkier debates about sex-related social roles and expectations is a common tactic of gender ideologues. Third, the AAA’s argument that a person’s “gender role” might not “align neatly” with his or her reproductive anatomy implies the existence of normative behaviors for members of each sex. Indeed, this is a central tenet of gender ideology that many people dispute and warrants the kind of discussion the panel intended to provide.

The AAA’s statement made another faulty allegation, this time against Weiss for using “sex identification” instead of “sex estimation” when assessing the sex of skeletal remains. The AAA claimed that Weiss’s choice of terminology was problematic and unscholarly because it assumes a “determinative” process that “is easily influenced by cognitive bias on the part of the researcher.”

Weiss, however, rejects the AAA’s notion that the term “sex determination” is outdated or improper. She emphasized that “sex determination” is frequently used in the literature, as demonstrated in numerous contemporary anthropology papers, along with “sex estimation.” Weiss said, “I tend not to use the term ‘sex estimation’ because to estimate is usually associated with a numeric value; thus, I do use the term ‘age estimation.’ But just as ‘age estimation’ does not mean that there is no actual age of an individual and that biological age changes don’t exist, ‘sex estimation’ does not mean that there isn’t a biological sex binary.” She also contested the AAA’s claim that anthropologists’ use of “sex estimation” is meant to accommodate people who identify as transgender or non-binary. Rather, she said, “sex estimation” is used when “anthropologists are not 100 [percent] sure of their accuracy for a variety of reasons, including that the remains may be fragmented.” But as these methods improve—which was a focus of her talk—such “estimations” become increasingly determinative.

After making that unfounded allegation against Weiss, the AAA further embarrasses itself by claiming that “There is no single biological standard by which all humans can be reliably sorted into a binary male/female sex classification,” and that sex and gender are “historically and geographically contextual, deeply entangled, and dynamically mutable categories.”

Each of these assertions is empirically false. An individual’s sex can be determined by observing their primary sex organs, or gonads, as these organs determine the type of gamete an individual can or would have the function to produce. The existence of a very rare subset of individuals with developmental conditions that make their sex difficult to assess does not substantiate the existence of a third sex. Sex is binary because are only two sexes, not because every human in existence is neatly classifiable. Additionally, while some organisms are capable of changing sex, humans are not among them. Therefore, the assertion that human sex is “dynamically mutable” is false.

Weiss appropriately highlights the “false equivalency” inherent in the claim that the existence of people with intersex conditions disproves the binary nature of sex. “People who are born intersex or with disorders of sex development are not nonbinary or transgender, they are individuals with medical pathologies,” she said. “We would not argue that because some people are born with polydactyly (extra fingers or toes), often seen in inbred populations, that you can’t say that humans have ten fingers and ten toes. It's an absurd conclusion.”

On September 29, the AAA posted a Letter of Support on its website, penned by anthropologists Agustin Fuentes, Kathryn Clancy, and Robin Nelson, endorsing the decision to cancel the “Let’s Talk About Sex” session. Again, the primary motivation cited was the panel’s opposition to the supposed “settled science” concerning sex. The authors disputed the panelists’ claim that the term “sex” was being supplanted by “gender” in anthropology, claiming instead that there is “massive work on these terms, and their entanglements and nuances.” They also reiterated the AAA’s false accusation that the term “sex determination” was problematic and outdated. Nonetheless, the canceled panel could have served as a prime venue to discuss these issues.

In response to these calls for censorship, the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) issued an open letter to the AAA and CASCA. FIRE characterized the groups’ decision to cancel the panel as a “retreat” from their scientific mission, which “requires unwavering dedication to free inquiry and open dialogue.” It argued that this mission “cannot coexist with inherently subjective standards of ‘harm,’ ‘safety,’ and ‘dignity,’ which are inevitably used to suppress ideas that cause discomfort or conflict with certain political or ideological commitments.” FIRE implored the AAA and CASCA to “reconsider this decision and to recommit to the principles of intellectual freedom and open discourse that are essential to the organizations’ academic missions.” FIRE’s open letter has garnered signatures from nearly 100 academics, including Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker and Princeton University’s Robert P. George. FIRE invites additional academic faculty to add their names.

The initial letter and subsequent statement by the AAA/CASCA present a particularly jarring illustration of the undermining of science in the name of “social justice.” The organizations have embarrassed themselves yet lack the self-awareness to realize it. The historian of science Alice Dreger called the AAA and CASCA presidents’ use of the term “cardinal sin” appropriate “because Pérez and Heller are working from dogma so heavy it is worthy of the Vatican.” Indeed, they have fallen prey to gender ideologues, driven into a moral panic by the purported dangers of defending the existence of biological sex to people whose sex distresses them. The AAA/CASCA have determined that it is necessary not only to lie to these people about their sex but also to deceive the rest of us about longstanding, foundational, and universal truths about sex.

Science can advance only within a system and culture that values open inquiry and robust debate. The AAA and CASCA are not just barring a panel of experts with diverse and valid perspectives on biological sex from expressing their well-considered conclusions; they are denying conference attendees the opportunity to hear diverse viewpoints and partake in constructive conversations on a controversial subject. Such actions obstruct the path of scientific progress.

“When you move away from the truth, no good can come from it,” Weiss says. The AAA and CASCA would be wise to ponder that reality.

==

I miss the days when anti-science meant creationists with "Intelligent Design," flat Earthers, and Jenny McCarthy-style MMR anti-vaxers.

It's weird that archaeologists are now denying evolution and pretending not to know how babies are made. Looks like creationists aren't the only evolution-denial game in town any more.

#Colin Wright #anti science #gender ideology #queer theory #anthropology #biology denial #sex is binary #censorship #disinvitation #cancel culture #genderwang #moral panic #biological sex #biology #human biology #ideological corruption #ideological capture #gametes #religion is a mental illness

[pearl-blue-musings]

I have a lot on my mind so here’s this

Slight angsty scenarios: Kaeya, Childe, Diluc, Thoma

Warnings: established relationships, angst, some no comfort, emotions and all that

Kaeya

“Come on snowflake, you’re safe now aren’t you?” He reaches out for you but you shrug him off with a limp in your step. Your pride, dignity, hell your heart and physical prowess has been shattered in a matter of seconds all because of the man behind you. You struggle up the steps to enter the knights of favonius headquarters and straight towards Jean’s office. Jean perks up from her seat, surprised to see your eyes alight with fury and heartache.

She clears her throat as the two of you settle in. “What seems to be the problem? Did the mission go well?”

You huff before pointing a finger to the blue headed man. “I want out. I can’t work with him anymore. He is a self centered, narcissistic ass-“

“Watch your language, soldier!”

“M-my apologies acting grand master. But he put me, and the rest of our squad in danger just for his own gain! I almost died protecting them.”

Jean clasps her hands together and let’s out a deep sigh. Her eyes dart between the two of you, knowing full well the extent of your relationship and the captains capacity to put his soldiers in harms way. “Kaeya,” she asks with a stern voice, “what happened?”

Kaeya steps forward with his trademark smirk and tone. “Jean, we knew that members of the abyss have been kidnapping our members for reasons unknown. We found out what they’re doing and shut them down.”

“By letting your soldiers get kidnapped and experimented on by the mages and leaders almost killing us!”

The stressed out woman closes her eyes and crosses her arms. “Kaeya, you know better than to endanger your subordinates. That being said, has the problem been neutralized?”

Your jaw drops at her question and that your boyfriend responds with a yes, showcasing the bottle of wine the tavern gave him. Jean sighs again, reprimands Kaeya and asks him not to do that again. He chuckles at your admonished face and walks out. He briefly hears you mumble your need for a break before he catches you outside, grabbing you to talk in his office. “I said I was sorry,” he apologizes.

“No, I’ve had it Kaeya! You can’t put us, especially me, in danger! I almost died, and you grabbed a fucking bottle of wine after!” Your lip trembles in anger as you can’t even meet his gaze. Of all the people to fall in love with, why him? “I’m done,” you finally whisper.

That causes his facade to drop as he quickly stands up. “W-what do you mean? You’re done? Being a knight? Finally,” he breathes out. “I can take care of you like I want-“

You push him away. “No! I’m done being your partner, I’m done with you Kaeya! You can’t keep putting me in danger and expecting me to come back to love you! I can’t do it.” Tears fall freely down your cheeks as you walk out of his office. You don’t dare look back knowing if you gaze into his soft blue eyes you’d be reeled back in. “I’ll come get my stuff later.”

“Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m heading back to the winery.”

“You can’t go there…”

“Goodbye Kaeya.”

You shut the door behind you and quietly leave the headquarters, doing your best to wipe away at your tears. Kaeya sits back in his chair with a long sigh and opens the newly acquired bottle of wine. He opens a drawer in his desk, the ring he has just gotten for you staring up at him in dismay. Lisa may have to make him a hangover remedy in the morning.

Childe

“So that’s it? You never loved me?”

The 11th Harbinger can’t even meet your gaze. You kneel before him and some of the other Harbingers with your hands behind your back. You were suddenly blindfolded and thrust from your abode and brought here. You had a brief idea of what he did but not the full extent. The sword in his hand terrifies you as you knew he would never raise it to you. Right?

“Tartaglia, you know the life we lead. Any attachments we have must be dealt with. Did you really think you could hide a relationship from us? Your duty isn’t done.”

You don’t recognize the voice, but based on looks alone the voice comes from one known as the doctor. He even terrified Childe, or is that even his real name? You begin to struggle against your binds when you realize what is meant to happen. Your eyes go wide as you try to escape. “No, no no please! I won’t say anything I swear!”

You’re dragged away against your whines and insistence. Childe briefly turns his head toward you, tears coming to his eyes as he sees the fate he wanted you to avoid. His grip tightens at being exposed for trying to live a normal life with someone he loves. He holds back his tears as he hears your screams silenced. He’ll get his revenge, but for now he must wait. Wait for the right time to avenge your death and live the life he wants.

Diluc

Diluc had done his best to be quiet when coming back to your shared home near 4 in the morning. He quietly takes off his mask, silently places his great sword in its case, and removes his jacket. He’s about to make his way to your bed when a lamp is lit and he finds you staring at him. And you look angry.

“Darling, shouldn’t you be asleep? It’s very late.”

“I should be asking you the same thing, Diluc.”

The red head drops his shoulders and strides toward you, hopefully to get a much needed hug from a rough night of fighting and protecting Mondstat. He tries to initiate a hug but you avoid his embrace. “I had a late night at the winery. I would love to just snuggle with you until the sun is directly above us.” You shrug away again and slowly stride away. “My love, what’s wrong?”

“Who is she?”

His eyebrows furrow in confusion as his eyes rest upon yours. Yours hold a frustrated sadness that he wishes he had known about it. “Who is who?”

“The woman you always smell like when you come home late. Am I not good enough for you? Is, is she better? Have I not been doing enough?”

Diluc silences your tears with a strong hug, rubbing at your back and cooing at you. His heart sped up at your strange allegations but finally understood. Lately his missions had involved prolonged contact with the acting grand master and hadn’t realized the aroma the blonde gives off. His lips find your jaw and cheek and trails kisses to help calm you down. When he feels you’ve cried out everything, he cups your face and wipes away stray tears. “I should have told you earlier. I wanted to keep you safe by not telling you, but I had no idea you were harboring these feelings. I’m the dark night hero. I’ve been working with Jean and the Traveler. My love, I’m so sorry.”

You take one of his hands and hold it tight, looking up at him full of love. You lean your head into his palm and then give it a peck. A yawn escapes your lips and Diluc chuckles. “I’m sorry for making you feel this way, darling. Let me make it up to you.”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry for not trusting you.” He kisses your forehead and rests his hands on your shoulders. “But I’ll let you make it up to me right now.”

Thoma

You couldn’t believe the letter in your hands. You had waited for him, loved him, cared for him. And it all surmised to a stupid letter from the Kamisato Clan. Even worse is that it’s in his hand.

“My sunshine,

“I wish this letter had better news, but I had made up my mind. As much as I would love to go back home to Mondstat, I need to stay here. Lady Ayaka and Ayato need me and I can’t abandon them. They gave me my life here and it would be a disservice to leave them now.

“I know that I should have done this in person, but call me a coward. I couldn’t bear to see the face of the person I love shed a tear over this. I really do love you, but I have a duty to uphold. And I just can’t leave with you. I hope you know that I love you with every fiber of my being, and I know you’ll move on and find someone better.

“I love you so much,

“Thoma”

You rip up the letter in heartbreak, grab your bags, and storm off onto the ship headed for Liyue. This would’ve been your first stop together on your lovers vacation but now it’ll be a lonely and burdensome trip. As you walk onto the ship, Thoma peeks out from behind a tree, tears falling freely as he clutches to the necklace you gave him before walking away toward the Kamisato estate.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #kaeya alberich #kaeya alberich x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc ragnivndr x reader #genshin x reader #my writing #i did the thing

[supersoakerfullofblood]

What does "expositional" mean for writing?

Relating to exposition. (The next part might come off as snotty and pretentious if you've been writing for a while, but I never know who knows what, so)

Exposition is the background information of what you're writing. It's typically introduced pretty early if not immediately and is relevant to the present-tense story but isn't part of it. You pretty much always set the scene in your exposition, as well as some character details, and possibly some suggestions of where the story's going to go.

The intro to Romeo and Juliet is a classic example of exposition:

Two households, both alike in dignity (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene), From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life; Whose misadventured piteous overthrows Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife. The fearful passage of their death-marked love And the continuance of their parents’ rage, Which, but their children’s end, naught could remove, Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage; The which, if you with patient ears attend, What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

In a novel, it could look something like this (taken from my wip):

Brynjar Óskarsson died yesterday, and his son wondered if the gods were happy. The witches said sickness did him in, and as the son reflected, he realized the witches always said sickness did people in; if a man died in his home as Brynjar had, malady would be the root, unless bitter frost wrought its own ache, which was itself a sickness of the cold. And if a man died abroad, wounds on the corpse would signal a cause: one dried, violet ravine through the chest for a sword or ax; two or more clefs for some beast written about in some lay; and a disappearance of the body for the World Serpent or a wolf of similar size. No, if a man was to die in his home, sickness would take him. The son was not happy his father died, though he disinterred from it a sense of comedic karma. Twenty-five years ago, the pregnant Eldrid caught Brynjar in a laughing fit in the mead hall. He coughed beer from his nose. “What is it?” Eldrid asked. He coughed more, laughed more, and she leaned in. “Are you well?” Brynjar nodded and patted her stomach. “What if we name him Óskar?” Nine months later, the fates stitched Óskar Óskarsson in their cloth. The lineage was as follows: Óskar Óskarsson, born of Brynjar Óskarsson, or Brynjar the Comic, and Eldrid, whose personal sway with the law-givers allowed their son to keep the surname Óskarsson in place of what would have been the traditional Brynjarson; Brynjar Óskarsson, born of Óskar of the Sea Traders and Kara the Golden Weaver; Óskar of the Sea Traders, born to unknown parentage, his father being a soldier and his mother likely a woman from a village the soldier sacked.

[shyocean]

Thought for the greater trans community.

People with uteruses are having a particularly rough summer.

Our access to life-saving emergency medical care. Our access to maintenance medicine. Our basic bodily autonomy. Right now, a trans man in Texas who is raped might be forced to give birth while having no access to legal protection afforded to women giving birth. It's frightening. We're angry. There a lot of trauma and emotion, right now.

Even if some of you don't care. Realpolitik. This is a big enough issue, that it has the chance to flip a lot of centrist red voters blue. If we, as a community, really got behind this, maybe we could push the government more towards the center, instead of listing more into christo fascism. Now, I am not a centrist, but unless you plan to overthrow the government in the next three months, blue is better. Practically, unity and coalition building would be a good thing.

So, thinking about the relatively unprecedented level of intracommunity discourse, abetted by Kiwi farms etc, it feels hard to believe it's chance. That alienating people with uteruses from the trans movement isn't getting pushed into place by someone else.

Because, for god's sake, is the community really telling people with uteruses to sit down and shut up and listen to people without uteruses, because we have the privilege of having a uterus right now, so we don't deserve a voice in the community about what we are called or even to discuss whether we belong here?

Is the community really telling trans-aligned people with uteruses that we aren't really trans, and that we are the cause of the christofascist authoritarianism that's oppressing us both ways?

Are we really publicly having all this anti-afab, anti-female discourse on main?

Is the community setting it up like a choice, either we can care about protecting Black transfemmes, or we can care about the voices and dignity and priorities of people with uteruses? Like we literally can't do both?

Surely we aren't doing this to ourselves, right?

Because it's incredibly alienating to me, a trans person dating a Black transfemme. It's led me to not want to have anything to do with anything trans 'community' besides loving my girlfriend and friends and living my life.

Can you imagine the impact on a scared, angry, less attached person who can't get their lupus meds, or a woman who almost died because her doctor wouldn't remove her dead wanted pregnancy, or the teenager who's been raped or any of the thousands of ongoing horror stories that are freshly occurring?

This is not respectability politics; you will never be enough for the people who hate you. This is about people who are actively trying to be on your side getting kicked in the teeth for it.

You don't even have to like or care about cis women or afab trans people. You can be fully a misogynist, and still, and if you are queer, understand that working together politically would help personally, because everyone 's liberation is intersectionally tied together.

And every actual amab trans person I have actually talked to is someone I like. It's just the badness echoing across social media. We act like it's coming from inside the house, but I don't think so. I don't.

I think we're better than this, on the whole, en masse, without anyone profiting off our in-fighting and fear. I am hoping so.

And that means we also don't go after binary trans people who have made a mistake or gotten notoriety, or support. I don't think Hunter deserves whatever she's getting for hitting a stupid like button. No one actually deserves the harassment. I don't think we need to be disappointed that Keffals was able to turn a threat to her life to her advantage because she's pretty and has a huge fan base. Can we just. Stop. Hurting. The person within reach?

I think it is being pushed on us and we have to resist, y'all.

Transphobia is not a tiger; it's a persistence predator.

#rape tw #transphobia cw #abortion cw #trans #trans rights #discourse tw #transandrophobia #non binary #enby

[dankusner]

pdf

OPINION

A comfortable chair can take you anywhere

We all need a place to think, write, pray or play

My 5-year-old grandson, Finnian, and I play a game: comfortable chair.

I sit on the couch and say with great satisfaction “Ah, after a hard day’s work, it’s so nice to sit in a comfortable chair.”

Finn is behind me when suddenly there is a lump pushing on my back and shoulder.

I try to wiggle back into comfort until there is what feels like little feet pushing against me, and I hear a giggle.

I sigh and say “Well, I guess I have to go to the chair store and look for a new comfortable chair.”

Finn hops on my back and we go shopping around the living room for a new chair.

We laugh each time.

There is magic in that chair, a place where a boy and his grandfather will always remember with delight.

On the back porch of the house where I grew up there is a simple chair where my grandmother sat during many summer afternoons.

She arrived from Belgium each spring and flew home each autumn, and in between she darned socks, baked cookies, played cards and sang songs with us children.

One afternoon I heard my grandmother calling my name.

“Hurry, Christopher! A monkey! There’s a monkey in the tree!”

My grandmother had seen monkeys in Africa, and when I tried to assure her that there were no monkeys in the United States, she sat in that chair with dignity and certitude. “I saw a monkey.”

The next day she called out again and I arrived in time to see what she saw: a raccoon stretching its arms upward as it climbed the tree, and from a distance it did, indeed, look like a monkey.

When I showed a picture of a raccoon in a tree, and when we looked up into the tree, my grandmother laughed and I laughed as she leaned back into her comfortable chair, and then we played cards and drank some lemonade.

A few days before my grandmother died in a hospital in Belgium at the age of 92, I heard her plaintive voice on the telephone: “Oh, Christopher. Oh, Christopher.”

When my mother was 92 she loved sitting in that same chair on the back porch. We take our turns on the comfortable chair. When I came to visit, my mother and I fed peanuts to the chipmunks, and watched the deer sheepishly walk through the garden. We talked about poetry and about the news. I sat beside my mother in a wobbly rocking chair while she sat up straight and confidently as the trees gathered sunlight and not monkeys deep inside the branches of what I remember. A chair is a place for contemplation, meals and writing, a place where a grandchild and a grandmother can laugh. One of my favorite images of a chair is in the novel To Kill a Mockingbird perfectly depicted in the film with Gregory Peck playing Atticus Finch. You see Atticus sitting comfortably in a chair at the front of a jailhouse protecting Tom Robinson who was incarcerated and wrongly accused of raping a white woman. Atticus knew a mob fueled with ignorance and prejudice was on the way to hang an innocent man. Because of Atticus’ steadfastness, the mob disbanded and went home. I have read in books and in magazines that prolonged sitting can cause diabetes, cancer, depression, blood clots, even shorten our lifespan. I am doomed. I have been a writer since my lonely days as a graduate student in my dorm at Columbia University in 1974, 50 years ago, 50 years sitting in my chair two, three, four, sometimes five hours a day, every day for 50 years. Mason Currey wrote in his book Daily Rituals: How Artists Work that Ernest Hemingway “wrote standing up, facing a chest-high bookshelf with a typewriter on the top, and on top of that a wooden reading board.” Yes, Hemingway created beautiful books while standing, but we all find our own ways to wisdom. I found my voice in my sedentary life as a writer, writing in a comfortable chair while hearing a grandson laughing behind me, while climbing trees hunting for monkeys. A chair is just a chair, but mine has wheels rolling me along the edges of paradise on this earth each day as I write. In William Shakespeare’s play Richard III a king who is dying on the battlefield powerfully asks for one last chance to survive: “A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!” A chair, a chair, my kingdom for a chair. Christopher de Vinck’s 17th book, “Things that Matter Most: Home, Friendship, and Love,” was published by Paraclete Press. He is a contributing columnist for The Dallas Morning News.

[senatushq]

NAME. Jonah Moraski AGE & BIRTH DATE. 35 & September 3rd, 1988 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Halfblooded ( Cambion ) ABILITY. Regenerative HealingOCCUPATION. Employee at Çiçek, Mercenary FACE CLAIM. Chris Wood

biography

( tw domestic violence, death, murder, prostitution ) Arianna Moraski made many mistakes in her life, but she came to realize that her son was never one of them. Raised by single mother with no back bone and a step father that had no issues putting his hands on her, Arianna ran away from home very early on in her life. She made a home for herself with other older teenagers on the streets of Calabria, Italy and learned what it was to survive off of her own wits and her own strength. She came into contact with violence and drugs on a day-to-day basis and made money off whatever she could find, often putting away her own pride and dignity in favor of surviving. One-night-stands with strange men and women were common, both those that paid her and those that didn’t. When she found herself in the company of a man who radiated something so powerful and assuring to her, Arianna didn’t expect the gift that he would leave her with. An adult with no prospects or any real home, the human woman worked tirelessly throughout her entire pregnancy to find some way of providing for the child that she couldn’t ever bring herself to terminate. Eventually, her hard work paid off. Her son was born and she named him Jonah, a name that originated from the Hebrew word for dove because he was her peace and her hope. A beautiful child who never seemed to get hurt and never seemed to get sick, Jonah grew up in a difficult neighborhood but he was never wanting for love or affection or the basic necessities that a child required. Arianna devoted the rest of her life to providing her son with all the care and gentleness that she had never known and made sure that he recieved everything he needed and even some of what he wanted, sacrificing her own medical care to give him the life that she never had. Unfortunately, Arianna’s past had caused her an incurable illness that she eventually succumbed by the time that her son turned 6.

When his mother died, Jonah was meant to go to a close friend of her’s but the government instead placed him in the hands of his grandmother and grandfather. His grandfather, Arianna’s step-father, saw the darkness within the child and couldn’t abide by his presense. Eventually his grandmother believed it too and feared the child that could never get hurt and who scorned both salt and iron. Jonah was sent away to a Christian institution and endured years of religious torment as priests and nuns attempted to drive away the demonic presense within him. Monster, he was called. Abomination. When enough children spat in his presense and adults avoided him, Jonah eventually began to believe it. He pushed away the love he had known from his mother and leaned into the persona that the rest of the world had built for him. As it so happened, he seemed to have a great talent for getting away with violence. Jonah eventually grew into a young man of low morals and dark disposition. Friends of Mafiosos took him in, then others taught him the skills that he would need to thrive with his innate talents. He learned what he truly was: Cambion. They had all been right when they called him a monster from hell and Jonah knew now that this life of despair and death was what he was meant for.

For the rest of his adulthood, Jonah steadily grew in reputation among both humans and supernaturals as the man to count on when someone hoped to indulge in their deepest and most violent desires. If they didn’t want to dirty their hands, the cambion mercenary would... for a price. He remembered how much his mother had suffered financially and he never let himself fall into the same troubles. He made sure that his skills and his success rate matched the price of his aid so by the time he was 30 years old, no other man or woman in his field could compare. Jonah had perfected his craft, and he came to realize that he wasn’t unlike his own biological father when he finally found the true demon who had brought him into this world. Jonah realized even the more powerful of the magical species had very exploitable weaknesses and it was even easier to exploit them when he was already a difficult halfblood to harm back, let alone kill. Eventually a fey found him, one claiming that another in their family had fallen prey to the drow Queen Ayi’ig, corrupted and turned into a monster that harmed their own people. The fey begged him for help, offering whatever they had to see to it that this fey was taken out so they could be put out of their misery and their people spared any more of their betrayal. Jonah didn’t care for the reasons but he liked the payment offered and took the job. Rhovanor, the fey was called, a subjugated fey that was very difficult to find. Before he could find him, the parents of Rhovanor found Jonah first and they begged for their only child’s life. But the payment had already been made, and a deal with these fey was something that he simply could not go back on. The parents spoke of a loophole, begging him to take their lives instead and they would be spilling the blood of their child by spilling their’s. So Jonah did. The two fey fell at his hands and it wasn’t until after he looked down at their bodies that he came to remember his own mother. He came to realize that he had never once killed two innocent beings that would sacrifice themselves for their child, and he had never once asked to be this sort of monster.

Horrified by what he had done, and shocked at his own regret, Jonah did not take any more jobs for years and lived off what blood money he had already made. He traveled and ran, turning away company and any attempts that people made to get into contact with him. He had left most of his friends, associates and customers behind when he finally made his way over to Rome, realizing this Italian city had become the epicenter of everything supernatural. Here the halfbloods had found a home, as well as his own father known as the demon abomination Kirigan. It was here that the fey hid in their forest and the drow Queen Ayi’ig continued to torment them. For the sake of his financial stability, Jonah decided to take on a job at a local remedy shop, one where he could easily test out products and know that he could heal himself before ever being harmed. He claims his days as a Mercenary are behind him but the black market still knows of the cambion and many still continue searching for his aid. Whether he takes on another blood money job is now up to his discretion as he can no longer find himself taking every single job as he once used to. Torn by the last killing he had done, Jonah is on an introspective journey in finding out the kind of man he wishes to be and the type of life he wishes to lead, as well as finally considering the sort of life that his mother would have wanted for him. In the meantime, perhaps there is something else he could put his skill set to use with. The drow queen Ayi’ig’s machinations had inadvertently set him down this path and he is eager to learn more about what is being done to stop her and those like her. A hand that’s only known violence is restless without a knife, and Jonah can’t help but wonder if maybe blood shed is just a part of who the cambion will always be. The question he poses to himself now: is a monster born or is he made?

personality

+ logical, opportunistic, persevering – spiteful, rude, pessimistic

played by dany. est. she/her.

#takenm #takenc #takenhalfblooded #the mercenary

[rapid-whippet]

Just the first chapter of a book i’m writing, let me know what you think:)

Alcott

As the soldier stumbled into the throne room, he coughed and gasped for air from having to run so far, so fast. Eventually falling to his knees and handing a letter to the king. “She is returning.” He managed to choke out between shallow, wheezy breaths. “The queen. She has sent a letter.”

The king, Alcott, shot his head up in alarm and snatched the letter from the soldier's hands. Opening the letter with shaky palms and almost ripping the smooth parchment in his frantic trepidation, his eyes devoured the Queen’s intricate handwriting.

Dear Alcott,

I do hope you are well. I have prepared 2.1 million troops and myself to begin migrating to France. Prepare to submit you and your whole country to me, or die a most painful death. You have 20 days.

Warmest regards,

Rosa

It was almost as if Alcott had seen a ghost. His face turned pale, different from his usual rosy cheeks. He sat there, debating his options with a scared look in his eyes. At last, he turned to his advisor and sighed slightly. “Round up the remaining troops we have. We have not got many, but it is worth a try.”

❖

Alcott woke up the next morning, rubbing his eyes and looking around. Enjoying the nice 30 seconds of peace before the events of his current situation came speeding back to him wildly. Immediately, he got out of bed and slung his cloak around himself in a lazy fashion, heading towards the counsel room.

As Alcott walked into the council room, about ten pairs of eyes looked over to him. Alcott sat down and relaxed in the chair, scratching his head through his long, blonde hair. “Well? How many troops do we have?”

Alcott’s advisor, Frederick, peered at a piece of parchment and looked at Alcott. “200,000, sire.”

The king nodded and stared at a bookcase, zoning out for a second before snapping back to reality and getting up. “Round the troops and train them. Prepare for war in 18 days.”

Frederick bit his lip. “But sire, we can’t-”

Alcott glared with his piercing blue eyes, “Don’t talk back to me.” He stood up and walked out, slamming the thick wooden door behind him.

As Alcott walked down the hall, he thought about all the possible outcomes of the choices he had. Surrender, and lose your country and your dignity. Fight, lose your country anyway and die. Well both outcomes would have his country lost to a woman who was proving a point. Both seem to have a disadvantage, and unfortunately he had already made that decision to round up what little troops he had left. Alcott had decided to take a walk outside, to clear his head in the gardens.

As Alcott walked through the rose bushes, lavender flowers, wild lupine; his head flooded with memories of Rosa and the son they once had, Otto. Otto died of some mysterious cause when he was thirteen, which means Alcott lost his heir to the throne and his son. He remembered when him and Otto went hunting. Otto shot a rabbit with the bow and they had the chefs cook it for him. Rosa was such an amazing mother too. She nursed Otto, turned him into such a polite, well mannered boy.

Alcott passed a rose bush, and unfortunately it was not the pretty kind. The petals that one flourished and bloomed with passion and love, were now crisp and dead, forming a ring of lamented, pathetic petals around the roots of the bush.

Rosa

“I may be a woman, but I am not simple. I am your queen and you will respect me!” Rosa snapped at one of the many sexist servants she had. She finished her statement by landing a slap to the servant’s face, the man stumbling back in shock. The servant flinched and held his cheek. Rosa waved him off, sighing slightly with a hint of annoyance in her voice.”Ivan, bring me some water, my throat is dry from this shouting.”

Ivan, her advisor, scampered off to fetch Rosa a mazer of water. He returned, handing it to her. “Perhaps you shouldn’t shout so much, Your Majesty. It is rather undignified.”

Rosa looked over with a stern glare. “Are you insulting me, Ivan?” Her glare softened and she smiled. Rosa had grown up with Ivan, he had cared for her a lot during her childhood since her mother died in childbirth.

Ivan smiled back, shaking his head. “Of course not, My Queen. I’m just concerned about your image.”

Rosa frowned and looked ahead. She stood up, straightening her purple gown and beginning to walk with Ivan. “You know, I have been having some doubts about this movement. Perhaps I should back down.

“Well, your Highness. The decision is yours, however have you considered how people might perceive a queen starting a war? It is most uncommon.”

Outside, the Queen stood under the moonlight with a shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders. She looked up at the night sky, stars were shrouded by thin spots of mist but stood out against the dim light of the moon. Rosa sighed slightly, her breath turning cloudy against the freezing grips of the night. Despite how cold she was, she took a stroll. Only to bump into Pavla, one of the maids. Pavla gasped and immediately bowed, murmuring apologies in Bulgarian. Rosa chuckled. “Palva, you know you don’t need to bow around me.”

The maid trembled slightly, then looked around and noticed nobody was there. Standing up and smiling slightly at Rosa. Palva was a young, beautiful woman, much to everybody’s surprise. The two women greeted each other with a hug and a kiss on each cheek.

“It's been a while, my queen.”

“Indeed it has. How is Georgi?”

Palva took Rosa’s arm and began walking with her around the gardens, huddling together to keep them both toasty and warm against the bitter chill of the night. “He is just fine, he wrote a poem the other day.” Georgi is Palva’s son, and although accompanied with a few learning disabilities, he is a dancing ray of sunshine.

As the women sauntered through the gardens, seas of flowers hugged the shimmering night-time view in an attractive clasp, as if they dared not to let go. Watching the starlight, the queen and the servant took a seat on the bench. They peacefully gazed up at the stars, finally having a minute to just relax in each other's presence.

CHAPTER 1 END.

#bookstagram #authors #author #booklr #young author #fantasy #1600s #romance #enemies to lovers

[littlefreya]

The Devil’s Tongue

Summary: A mask of virtue hides a man riddled with lust and while his stoicism proceeds him, even he can’t withstand a begging girl. 

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x OFC (3rd person POV)

Warning: 18+. Manhandling, abuse of power, MaleDom/FemSub, some thigh riding, unprotected sex, deflowering, loss of virginity, mild mentions of blood, sex in front of mirror (auto-voyeurism), profanities, bodily fluids, possessive behaviour. 

Words: 4.5k

A/N: Many thanks to my muse @agniavateira for supporting me through this story and for betaing. This was inspired by a certain scene in the film. My pervy mind took it elsewhere. Sincerely, I am not sure how I feel about it, so I’ll let you be the judge while I’m having my panic attack. 

Please reblog and give feedback if you enjoyed. 🖤

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own*

Title: The Devil’s Tongue

The treacherous moon was already high in the midnight sky and winds of melancholia whispered through the ivy leaves that grew timidly around the window’s panes. Despite the solace of night, her blood seeped with venom, and vicious thorns grew beneath her skin.

Striding through the desolate corridors of Holmes’ estate, Vanessa fumed while listening to the sounds of the old house: the creaking of the floorboards, the glass panes rattling in the wind, and the scratching of mice that ran between the walls. A kerosene lamp hung heavy between her sweaty fingers; her knees cracked as she marched forward to face her master.

Same as every night, Sherlock hid in his library to chase adventures behind thin sheets of paper. He was not to be disturbed, though he left her no choice.

Sent her away he did, claiming that her service was no longer needed even though she was promised a home at the estate, despite Enola’s departure. The worst of it was that he didn’t even bother telling her himself, but simply sent another servant to announce that she must pack her belongings tonight.

‘Like hell, I would!’

Vanessa willed her heart to beat slowly as she tiptoed, cursing every wooden plank that grated beneath her feet. It’s been over a year since she started working for the Holmes family, and despite battling her concupiscence tooth and nail, Mr. Holmes has possessed her very existence. Sleepless nights left her yearning to drink the mead of his mouth and feel the slapping of his skin onto hers.

Wistfully, the brooding detective only stared at her with a lustre of ice. But the notion of never seeing him again felt like holding a blade pointed to her chest; the wish to confess nibbled in her gut like a pesky little fish.

‘At least I will have the chance to say farewell…’ she mused as she finally reached the open doorway of the library. It was a cosy cavern, stuffed with endless shelves of books and vases of pink roses to mellow its austerity.

Wood burnt to a crisp within the hearth, its aromatic scent bleeding into the air and a light layer of ashen mist wafted over the chamber. There sat her master, resting comfortably on his maroon leather armchair with a book in one hand and a pipe pressed between his succulent lips like a king on a throne of solitude.

Silently she stared, brow furrowing at his sight. It baffled her how a man can be so oblivious to the dangerous power he had over women. Sherlock was as divine as the coldest day of winter: eyes of crystal snow, curls darker than the night, and sharp facial features that gave a tinge of intimidating flavour. The ancient god Hades would have been jealous of his divinity. Even in these serene moments, Sherlock’s presence exhumed dominant masculinity, consuming oxygen like the fire that burnt in the mantle.

Clad in a white cotton shirt loose over his broad chest, he calmly turned a page on his book and sighed.

It was impossible not to sense her nearby. The young woman was a breeze of autumn wind: spiced yet soothing, bringing the omen of a season’s change. She tried very hard to hide her feral nature, abiding, serving, and acting polite. While she fooled everyone, including herself, he detected the brazen kiss that raged within her.

Nights were riddled by dreams of dismantling her shackles, only to bind her further to himself. And yet, every time he looked at her a loathing rage gnawed inside. To him, she was a dire trap meant to expose the thing that hid behind his mask of virtue—a reckless savage, sick with twisted desire.

It took true power to send her away. Yet, here she was, barging into his shelter to pour another drop of simmering turmoil into his already seething blood.

“Can’t sleep, Nessie?”

Vanessa jolted with a startle. His deep voice threaded tendrils of dark silk around her heart, attempting to draw it further out of her fragile ribcage. Maintaining attention on the book in his hand, Sherlock’s mouth twitched into a cold grin of respect, sensing her glare stabbing at his nape.

“You might be a mouse, but you have the stomp of an elephant.”

Forcing the book shut with a soft thud, Sherlock turned his head aside, daring to catch a glimpse of her. His pretentious smile died, and a surge of passion seized at his groin. Like the virgin Persephone, she stood before him wrapped in a sheer nightgown, the creamy fabric barely hiding her delicacies. A mystic glow of sweet honey and amber gold rimmed her flesh, kissing down her clavicles and leading his enslaved gaze to the soft heaps at her chest.

By courtesy, he should have looked away, but the wish to incinerate the silken threads that retained whatever left of her modesty whispered in his ear like a little devil that sat on his shoulder. It was cruel of her to provoke him like this.

Quirking an eyebrow with disdain, he finally battled the sight away.

“Something ails you, girl.” Sherlock’s rich baritone dropped. Touching the pipe to his maw, he took a long whiff and suckled his lip. “You seem unnecessarily emotional,” he noted dryly, pretending as if her appearance was a mystery.

Noticing the uncaring shift in his tone, she scowled and stepped carefully into the room. Placing the lamp on a nearby stand, she purposely stepped into his line of sight and looked at the frowning detective with the feral wilderness growing inside her chest.

“You’re sending me away tomorrow,” an unmistakable hint of rage seeped between the cracks in her voice. Grasping her knuckles, she began striding back and forth across the Parisian rug as if lost in her own musings, “why? What have I done to you?”

A small huff escaped his nose, and he rubbed a finger beneath his bottom lip. His patience spread thin as the young lady scurried about with hysteria. The mere idea of bending her over and teaching her some discipline caused the fabric of his trousers to stretch over his engorging desire.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, it was simply my decision.” He answered, striving to sound neutral and remorseless. “A lady’s maid without a lady is useless in a place like this. But now, Vanessa, it’s late, and I’d like to get back to my book. No reason for you to stand here in your... undergarments.”  

Lips agape and feet nearly colliding on to one another, Vanessa paused on her steps. His words crept a chill down the length of her spine, making her cheeks blaze. Passionate and irrational, she never even noticed her lack of chastity when she left her room.

“I… didn’t think much, I was upset…”

‘Of course, she didn’t think much. Irrational, savage thing.’

A string twitched in Sherlock’s cheek, and a dark errant lock fell rogue upon his pale temple as he turned his head aside, adamant to brush her away. His self-restraint was but a delicate, dying leaf, hanging by its last yellowing strand.

“I came here to ask you to…”

“I’m afraid it’s not negotiable.” Sherlock interrupted and swatted his hand flat on the leather binding. His stern glance floated out the window, focusing on a large spider that threaded lines of silver amidst the peeling frames. “You will find a new job in London, a better house,” he apprised and took a deep inhale, turning the book over to open it where he paused. “Now please leave before we’ll both hurt one another.”

‘Before I will pierce cavities in your soft flesh.’

Stunned by his dismissive, arctic demeanour, her stubbornness and frustration only grew to monstrous proportions. With clenched fists and water pooling at her lids, she grunted and took a courageous step closer, standing at the fore of his couch while shaking her head.

“No!”

“No!?” he scowled, eyebrows lowering with dismay. “You forget your place, woman.” He flashed her a quick warning look, his icy glare tinted midnight black as he stood at his wit’s end.

If only it didn’t make her heart shrivel with wanton. Their proximity perilously close, Sherlock’s strong scent pervaded into her lungs: a musky blend of whiskey, leather, and fine tobacco that made her thighs wobble. Before she could even register what’s happening, her knees were brushing the thick carpet, her decorum and dignity gone.

“I want to stay here. With you.”  Slender like stalking vines, her fingers crawled onto the armchair, squeezing at the smooth leather with pitiable desperation.

“Keep me, please!”

“Vanessa,” Sherlock drawled, still refusing to meet her gaze while his thumb circled deep into the coarse binding. Furious tides rose in his eyes, whisked by the rageful storm that inhabited his mind, “Do not make me regret this night.”

He didn’t want to hurt her, but she was pretty when she begged.

“You don’t know what it is that you’re asking, I am not the gentleman you think I am.”

Ignoring his warning, she insisted. Daring, needy talons rose from the armchair to claw at his arm, clutching it with demand. Even through barriers, a surge flushed between their bodies.

“Sherlock,” she half-whispered, crystal droplets of sadness gliding down the smooth slope of her cheeks. Not caring the least as they dribbled onto the soft sleeve of his shirt, leaving tiny stains that dampened his arm.

“Guide me, teach me, make me yours!”

Nostrils flaring and breath rigid, the large man finally snapped his stare at her with the sanguine hunger of a starved vampire. The mask of his virtue fell shattering to the floor, and a harrowing silence took over the room, diffused only by the sound of crackling embers and Vanessa’s shaky breath.

“Remember this tomorrow when you’re raw and hurting; this is what your begging bought you, little Nessie.”

A strangled gasp died at her sternum as his hand suddenly grasped her throat. With a quick yank, she was up on her feet, her toes barely scraping the ground as the hulking man held her up to his face.

“Oh the things I’ll do to you..” he whispered as his thumb dug deep onto her cheek and the rest of his fingers etched at her throat.

Swinging on his boots, he swept her across the silent halls. His stride a dark ceremonial gyrate, the creamy fabric of her pristine nightgown floating mid-air like a sheer tongue of white morning mist.  

“I will make you mine as you begged,” he rasped barbarically, one hand pushing the door open while the other held her attached to his chest, “I will teach you what you asked…” his lips brushed her ear, his breath hot over her cheek, “your first lesson begins... in my bed.”

With a swift shove, she was forced into his realm. Feet stumbling upon the tepid wooden floor, her ears throbbed with shock. Her hands reached to grasp onto the engraved bed column to prevent herself from falling.

His bedroom smelled of dying roses and smoked wicks, echoing the putrid decadence that gnawed at Sherlock’s mind. A dozen melting candles burned in every secluded corner, their little orange tongues licking the reflection of a sizable mirror that stood opposite of his large bed.

A dull metallic click broke the air, followed by Vanessa’s sputtering breath as she saw him lock the door. Her faith sealed - now caged in the lair of the beast. Reduced to his own shimmering shadow, Sherlock advanced toward her, ripping his shirt off.

Fingers biting into the wooden pole, Vanessa stared, unable to determine if it was a man or a lycan god who stood before her. Every breath made his bare torso look menacing. Under the deep dusky twilight, his muscles curved and stretched, coated by a virile, dark fur.

Curious, her gaze followed the striking veins and the trail of unkempt hair that paved its way down his fine abdomen and disappeared beneath his trousers. Guiding to that which she feared and wanted at once.

Eyes of blue flame shone with absent remorse, brows arched with a pretentious demeanour as he reached a hand to seize her to him. “Your innocence dies here tonight,” he hissed in her ear, “from now on, you’ll be my little whore to plough as I please.”

The air died in her lungs as his firm chest collided with hers and his knee forced her legs apart. Bulging and muscular, his thigh rose to brush at her clit, the thin fabrics a shy barrier.

Shuddering, she swallowed hard in a dire battle to find her voice. “I will be whatever you need me to be,” she retorted as the thought of being exploited by her master released fluttering butterflies of fear and excitement in her chest.

Sherlock smirked and captured her jaw between his finger and thumb as he leaned in. Torrid lips hovered over her own, offering a phantom kiss to distract her from the greedy fingers that pushed the sleeves of the gown off her shoulders.

Like warm milk it poured down her body, exposing her delicacies to the night and to the gluttonous hands that kneaded her breasts while he flicked his tongue over her closed mouth, tasting the plumpness of her lips.

A true creature of the underworld, Sherlock’s touch was cruel like his promises; he took as he pleased, leaving his sigil seething on her skin. Her sputtering gasps served as an opportunity to invade her hot cavern. The detective’s kiss was even more ruthless, his tongue smooth as silk seized and conquered her breath.

She could feel him streaming in her blood, tasting him all the way down through her gut. Dark and intoxicating like poisonous absinthe, the promise of death swung amidst their hot, serpent-like dance.

Yet she only yearned to drink to her demise.

As if under a stupor, she swayed to his spells, bucking her hips to ground herself on the meat of his thigh, leaving the coarse fabric wet with sticky arousal. A condescending grin tugged at his lips, and his hand rushed to the back of her head, weaving through her hair and yanking her back.

“Already the wanton harlot,” he spat, swiftly turning her over and holding her against his chest. “Look at yourself,” he growled hoarsely in her ear, forcing her doe eyes to stare at their reflection. Sherlock rested his dimpled chin on the top of her head with his brows lowered like an apex predator examining his prey.

His hand disappeared behind, hastily fumbling with his trousers, “You wanted me to show you, you want to see,” he called as his trousers piled at his feet and he carefully stepped out.

Something hefty and hard nudged at the small of her back, turning her veins into thin tendrils of ice. Abysmal panic coiled at her gut at the realisation that Sherlock meant to reshape her as the vessel of his primal urge.

Hand snaking around her belly, he snatched her to fall back onto the mattress with him pillowing her fall. Her firm buttocks slid across his hairy abdomen, hands fumbling to grasp his thick thighs while her eyes flared at the sight of his hardened cock displayed in front of her in its full generous size.

It was nothing like the medical illustrations she saw in books: bulging tendons swerved across an imposing, meaty rod. Ridges rippled across its girth like soft silk, and the heart-shaped head dripped of glistening, pearly arousal.

Curious, her trembling hand wandered to feel him, stunned by the liquid-like texture that engulfed the absurd rigidness. By order of her touch, he twitched and swelled, causing the radiating heat at the apex of her groin to palpitate.

Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, Sherlock growled, “Do you like what you see, little one?”

His taut hands reached to grasp her thighs, spreading her wide over each of his legs and holding them apart to expose her untouched sleek at the mirror. The thundering in his throat was nothing but animalistic as he glowered at her perfect sight: his little Nessie, his little untainted flower blooming fresh with dew, yearning to be plucked.

“Look at yourself,” Sherlock demanded with a whisper drenched of fervour. His coarse hand dragged to capture her chin and forced her to face the salacious spectacle reflected before them. Her breath shuddered; she saw their skin mapped onto one another, their bodies entangled and their souls unmasked.

How could something so forbidden be so beautiful?

“I dwell in the darkness, Vanessa.” Sherlock explained, his voice stroking her temple as his lips inched closer, “You must know that, you must have me as I am.”

He laved his tongue over her cheek as if he was tasting the sweetest delicacy and reached for his erection, stroking the pulsating girth between his fingers. Eyes still glued to their likeness on the glossy surface, she glanced as he pressed his pink, meaty tip between her dripping petals.

“Watch as I take something from you that can never be given back, something that will forever belong to me.”

“Sherl….”

His name died on her tongue, the moment forever lost in a loud shriek. Savagely and unceremoniously, he pried her virginal cunt open the way a predator rips at its prey’s throat. His massive shaft tore through her purity with no resistance to fight back against his brutal invasion.  

Pain rattled its way through her entire entity while the dark spectacle of the loss of her innocence played right in front of her eyes, spurring grievous tears. Lost to the bliss of her warm cavern, Sherlock chanted in loud groans, continuing to force himself all the way between her squeezing walls. Remorseless of her cries, he never stopped until every hollow inch inside her was full of his cock and his sac smacked against her stuffed opening.

“My! You feel good!” He panted with astonishment, his virility twitching within the lush sanctuary between her thighs. Noxious pride flowed in his veins at the reflection of the naked young girl, spread open with him inside her.

“Do you like having me inside you, my little harlot?”

“God!” Vanessa screamed, stunned by the sensation of him swelling at her core. His invasion seared, her legs trembled against his in a plea to be kept together. But he only stretched her wider, hooking both hands below her thighs.

“It will feel good in a little while,” he promised and slowly shifted his hips back. Inch by inch, his cock slid out of her now defiled slit, coated by blood and a sheer layer of arousal. It was something of decadent theatrics; his broad chest puffed against her spine, a blissful hum leaving his bobbing throat at the image of the crimson stain that decorated his sword.

“From this moment and beyond, this belongs to me,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck and planting wicked, butterfly kisses along the tender slope, “do you understand? Your little cunny is my property, your moans, your pleasure, all belong to me.”

Her cunt clenched around nothing as she watched his full length slipping out, tainted by broken purity, the empty void leaving pure urgency to course through her tendons. Hopeless for something she couldn’t even recognise, she whined and writhed on top of him. Her eyes levitated from their sexes to meet his icy glare.

“Sherlock, please, more! Please put yourself back inside me!!!”

“Fuck!” Sherlock rasped in awe of her wanton, his control nearly lapsed. Fingers digging into her thighs, he undulated his hips and pulled her down the length of his throbbing erection. Low melodies of pleasure rolled on his tongue as her wet cunt pressed around him again.

Gawking at the mirror, she nearly fell apart in his arms, cries of daze escaped her as Sherlock's drove back into her sleek. Every bit of his flesh unfolding hers, disappearing within her body to defy the loneliness aching in her cove until his entire shaft was lost in her depth and the tip of his cock hit something lush and tender. She could have sworn she felt him waver deep in her gut.

“Sherlock!!!” she cried, shutting her eyes at the sharp twinge that shuddered through her core.

“Don’t you dare close those eyes, dove,” he warned, and the authority in his voice left her no choice but to obey. Wickedly, his fingers slithered to the little nub of flesh above her slit and ruthlessly tugged at it to expose more of her battered sex. He continued to pound into her mercilessly, quickening the rhythm with each one of his thrusts.

“Look at you, taking me so obediently. Perhaps I was wrong about you, perhaps you are easily tamed.”

The thick bones of his hips crashed into her rump vigorously, his girth violently splitting her protesting walls. He was fast, wet, and hard inside her, his cock drilling into her over and over, every plunge stripping more layers of her soul and pushing her higher toward the heavens.

Enslaved to the beguiling aphrodisiac, she squirmed on top of him, her body beginning to push down to meet every thrust. The vision of herself being brutally taken by the large, civilised beast made the blood pool at the seams of her womanhood and tingle with frustration.

A shuddering quake began to spread within her, spiralling out in a sequence of spasms sourced at the spot where they connected. Bliss and ecstasy shattered her body and a sudden flush of pleasure exploded through her body as she came all over his cock.

Engulfed in her milking cunt, Sherlock could hardly believe what beheld his eyes. His beautiful nymph, coming undone around him, ethereal and divine. Her blissful chants a song to his ears only, she was like dryad humming a hymn to call upon a lonesome hunter.

“‘My Vanessa, I wanted you for so long.” He called, fucking her wildly through her orgasm. “Tell me you want me to come inside you,” he choked out on his grunts, her sugary walls closing around his thickness like a predatory flower, demanding to suckle his sweet elixir.

Still riding her climax, she shook her head, hesitant of speaking such profanities. But the stern glower on Sherlock’s face instantly forced her into submission.

“I want you to come … come inside me!” She panted and then screamed as another wave of intense rapture swept her away.

Her squeezing cunt forced the thick stream to vibrated through his shaft, making him drill into her with zeal. His fingers clutched her waist as he slammed her down onto his swollen cock, burying himself the deepest he could. Vanessa yipped as something hot sprouted into her, flooding her womb like a soothing kiss that slowly began trickling between their tight flesh.

Still locked in an embrace, they shivered together. Soft maple hues glimmered over their wet skin, their bodies heaving against one another while a symphony of pants and gasps filled the silence.

Sherlock’s glaciers sought to capture her reflection, a dark, brooding look on his sweat-silken face while his lips ghosted over her shoulder. There was no question in the rough expression of his face.

Nothing spoke louder than the possessiveness that pierced through the sharp reflection.

~*~

A tender stream of sunshower kissed her lids awake. The cerulean sky winked at her through the open window while her senses gingerly regained their functions after what felt like graveyard slumber. Finding herself alone, she wondered for a moment if the night before was only a fantasy; but this bed was too soft and far too large, and the sensation of shame licking between her thighs told her otherwise.

Even in his absence, Sherlock’s presence lingered. His pungent sweat layered on her skin, and from her torn seal trickled the pearly, forbidden essence of his loins. She allowed herself a moment of coy bliss, pressing her lips upon her bare shoulder to kiss the taste of him off her flesh when the thud of inching footsteps and creaking wood made her sit up with fright as if her presence was forbidden.

Huddling the blankets around her chest, she gulped as the door flung open.

Already dressed in a clean shirt, a vest of golden brown, and a long black jacket, the hulking man offered her a small wrinkle on his brow. Fine silks were folded on his forearm, and his eyes fell upon the naked beauty in his bed. A shadow of dark desire danced upon his slanted smirk as he noticed the little inkling of dry blood on the edge of the mattress.

“Slept well, my little Nessie?” He asked, passing a finger over his neatly combed locks before gesturing for her to approach him. Obedient as ever, his little servant quickly climbed out, immediately regretting her haste as a spear split through her core. With jolting legs, she swallowed her discomfort and approached him with her head lowered to the floor.

“No, we will have none of this,” Sherlock chided, his finger stalking beneath her chin to fix her stare on his. Their gazes met for a shy second and then he stepped back, unfolding the fabrics held beneath his arm.

A waterfall of black and crimson flowed down, hanging from his hands.

Vanessa’s eyes rounded with wonder; being a woman of lower status, she never owned anything as beautiful and expensive as the dress he held before her.

“Lift your arms, dove,” Sherlock commanded and she did as he bid.

The soft fabrics felt like warm liquid washing over her skin as Sherlock carefully slipped the dress over her head. His hands smoothly roamed her body, tugging at the delicate fabric to fit over her figure. The tall detective stepped to stand at her back and began working the laces of the corset embedded into the gown.

One by one, he tightened the silk binds as he pulled at the laces. Vanessa slightly hissed when her breasts squished against the generous cleavage.

“Forgive me,” Sherlock mumbled as he heard her distress, “I am not used to such… arrangements.”

“Arrangements?” she asked naively, though it quickly dawned on her that her dear master never had a wife or a mistress, which didn’t come much as a surprise after witnessing his bohemian desires the night before. And yet, no regret touched her heart as Sherlock pressed his hand over her torso and perched his chin atop her head once again.

“Look at us.” His lustrous eyes carried to the mirror, guiding hers to follow as he stroked his hand lower to flatten the folds of her dress and pushed her hair over her shoulders with the other.

“Don’t we make a pair?”

Glancing forward, Vanessa took a deep inhale. Crimson and black were unusually beautiful as they graced her figure. The rim of the cleavage was beaded with fine black jewels that gave her appearance an elegant, yet erotic flavour.

Taken by her new design, she allowed herself to be swallowed into Sherlock’s beautiful darkness.

She wouldn’t have him without it.

___________________________________

Additional notes: I don’t own Sherlock Holmes or Enola Holmes franchise. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming  @wolvesandhoundshowltogether and @sapphirescrolls for moral support. 

#henry cavill #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x ofc #Henry Cavill fanfiction #henry cavill sherlock holmes #henry cavill x reader #sherlock holmes x reade #enola holmes fanfiction

[electric--blanket]

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

--

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

**

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

**

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

**

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

**

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

#ethan winters x karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x ethan winters #heisenberg x ethan #heisenwinters #wintersberg #winterberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fic #fanfiction #oneshot

[wanderpastme]

Broken (Viktor x Reader) Chapter 4

"You can't keep working for him! You know what he's doing!"

You flinched at his words, guilt settling in your stomach.

"I know but-"

"But what?!"

"I can't just stop now! We're so close!"

"Close to what?"

"Close to fixing you-"

Your words were cut short as your world was snapped to the right. Your cheek was hot with pain. Looking back at him, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes, you tried to stutter any kind of sentence, but nothing came out.

He looked down at his hands, shame filling his face, with a slam of the door he was gone.

"Victor..." you halfheartedly muttered, touching your cheek tenderly.

Your eyes fluttered open, the world coming back in waves. You felt that familiar sting on your cheek, the world spinning around you. You tried to cup your cheek with your hands but found them bound to your sides, you were unable to move.

"Ah, I see you've finally woken up." A stern voice spoke in front of you.

Looking up, you froze in fear, a cold sweat sweeping your body as the King of Zaun himself sat before you.

His lanky fingers intertwined with each other as he looked at you with a bemused expression, his red eye staring forward with a fire you've never felt before in your life. You shuddered, clearly afraid, but kept your face firm, hoping to hide any real emotion from this man.

"Now..." He stared ahead, never breaking eye contact, "It seems we have some business to take care of."

He stated it casually, but you could see the warning in his eyes, this was nothing casual.

"Sevika."

A woman appeared from the shadows of the room, approaching you with a sick look in her eyes. You flinched as a blade came from her metallic arm, reflecting the light from the window behind her.

You shut your eyes tight as her shadow fell on you. This was it, you were dead. To your surprise, her shadow seemed to retreat after a moment, and to your surprise, you felt lighter.

Opening your eyes you saw she had not cut you, but your restraints. Rubbing the red from your wrists, you looked at the man before you uncomfortably.

Silco just stared past you, uninterested, flipping through a small file the seemed to materialize in his hands, an uncharacteristic look of confusion crossing his face as he flipped the page.

"How did a common girl like you get your hands on my property, hm?" He said, glancing up at you from the edge of the file.

You pursed your lips closed, staring daggers in his direction. If you were going to die, at least you would do so with dignity, not by giving up everything to this man.

"Orphaned at a young age worked most of your life in the coal mines, disappeared for a few years... well aren't you a boring... talentless, ugly little thing. No wonder your parents died, they must have been the same."

Shooting up from your chair you jabbed a finger at this man, about to explode on him when the cool metal of a blade met your throat. You could feel the edge of the blade pricking your skin causing a small trickle of blood to form in a neat line.

Slowly you sat back down, biting back any response you had for these creatures.

Silco sat, a small look of satisfaction crossing his face, almost as if he had anticipated what was going to happen.

He was testing you.

"Tell me Y/N... how did such a fiery-tempered young woman like you come to acquire my property?" He asked once more, this time more firmly.

You averted your gaze, "I stole it."

((Blah blah blah this is where I talk. I didn't mess up when I put only 1 line of the Doctors dialog in bold... enemies talk in bold))

#viktor #arcane #reader insert #xreader #viktor x reader #league of legends #chapter 4

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers , Chapter 13

Fields of Wildflowers 

Chapter 13

A Sihtric x OC story

Previous chapters. | My masterlist

AN: Firstly, apologies for not updating or posting any original content for a few weeks.  I was on vacation and taking a small personal break.  But rest assured that this story will be concluded and that I have other content and other OC’s I will write for when this story is done.  So thank you for your patience and continued reading and support!  My timeline for events during the siege in Winchester is different from the show.  I almost combined this chapter with the events for the next one but they would have been too long.  Also, this chapter still does not feature much of Sihtric, but he will be in the next chapter! I promise! And the beautiful moodboard is from @serasvictoria. Check out her blog - beautiful and original work.

Warnings: non-con, male on female violence, self-defense violence, assault, sexual assault, I think that is all.

Word Count: 3553

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since learning of Eardwulf’s presence in Winchester and the disturbing images in her dreams, which had continued nightly, Cwen’s composure had begun to falter.  Shadows in lonely corners continually leared in the edges of her vision.  A loud noise or commotion was enough to startle a gasp from her lips.  While returning to the kitchens one evening, a dark haired man with a slim frame similar to Eardwulf rounded a corner, reeking of ale and stumbled into Cwen and Eadith grumbling to himself.  The encounter was enough to leave Cwen shaking like a leaf in a gale. For the rest of that evening, Eadith couldn’t coax a word out of her friend.

Eadith was truly worried about Cwen and tried not to leave her alone when possible.  The two women continued working in the kitchen and waiting for chances to sneak words to their friends.  Although there was no real news to relay to them.

The siege continued.  Sigtrrygr still had the upper hand and for all intents and purposes appeared to ignore Edward’s attacks on the walls outside.  Cwen and Eadith had managed to speak a few more words through the door to Lady Aelswith and were confident they were managing as well as they could.  Although held as prisoners, they were fed and given water.  They were not ill treated.  

A bit shockingly, Stiorra was being treated with even more dignity and respect.  Cwen had managed to volunteer to bring Stiorra food a second time from the kitchens.  All had gone smoothly and it had done Cwen some good to venture on the errand without the comfort of Eadith’s presence.   

Stiorra had embraced her and assured her of Sigtrrygr’s kindness and courtesy towards her.  And it was true that the young woman Cwen saw looked refreshed and lively.  Cwen thought that Stiorra seemed quite taken with the conquering Dane.  He, apparently,  spoke with her as an equal and conversed with her, challenged her.  And Cwen felt glad for the young woman.  Seeing the blossoming of a potential young romance did make her heart ache to feel herself once more in Sihtric’s arms.  She wished to move beyond the hard words spoken between them when they left one another. 

When she had returned from delivering Stiorra’s food, Cwen felt a bit more like herself.  Eadith had noticed the change in her friend as well.  That one errand on her own had brought back more of the determined and confident woman Eadith knew.  

Cwen still was watchful.  She still steadied herself and her breathing regularly.  But she had stopped her quaking and stuttering movements or being startled at every noise or turn.  Her nightmares had also lessened.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The chance to bring Stiorra her afternoon meal presented itself again several days later.  Frig had yet again barked an order to any kitchen maid available to bring bread, cheese, and water to the woman, Stiorra.  Careful to not seem too eager, Cwen had moved to gather the items and a basket in which to carry them all.

She paused just outside the door of the kitchen and gathered her breath.  She could still see Eadith through the doorway and managed a small smile before taking a steadying breath and moving on her errand.  Along the hallways, Cwen strode with confidence having become accustomed to walking the halls now occupied by Danes.  She held her head down to avoid unwanted attention but walked with purpose to avoid unneeded questions.  No one usually disturbed her or Eadith while they were about their business but all the same, Cwen thought it best to blend in and become unassuming. 

As she turned the corner, Cwen heard muffled voices coming from the room where Stiorra was kept.  Still several paces down the hall, she slowed her steps and strained her ears to better hear who was within.  Thus far, her path had not crossed with Sigtryggr while he visited Stiorra. It might be best to completely avoid arousing suspicion that they knew one another. 

But if Sigtryggr knew food should be on its way and she delayed it’s arrival would that not also be suspicious?

Cwen kept her head down and decided she would simply walk into the room and deliver the food.  She could then see how events unfolded casually.  Cwen was startled from her thoughts when the door to Stiorra’s room opened.  And a voice she recognized spoke.

“I would always choose fear.”

Eardwulf backed out of the door and turned after closing it again, leaving whomever else was inside shut away.

The man appeared haggard and dejected. Fearful even. 

As he turned, Eardwulf’s glare caught Cwen.  She stood transfixed.  A deer frozen after hearing the snap of a twig.

“What are you doing here?” Eardwulf sneered in a low voice as he stalked towards Cwen.

He reached a hand out to grasp at her sleeve, but it snapped life back into Cwen’s blood and she stepped to turn and run.

But he was himself too quick and easily grabbed her from behind and pushed her into an alcove of the hallway.

Eardwulf was quick to muffle Cwen’s cries with a hand over her mouth.

“If you are here then it means my whore of a sister must also be here.  What is the plan then, eh? Have you two in here to spy and to snoop?” Eardwulf prattled on about the injustices and failures he continually faced all the while never removing his hand from Cwen’s mouth. 

She stared, terrified at the man and his condition. Dark shadows rested in the hollows underneath his bloodshot eyes. His eyes themselves appeared deranged. 

Finally, Eardwulf paused while bringing his head to rest against Cwen’s brow. His hand still clamped across her mouth making it hard to breathe. The pressure of his fingers was bruising. 

“I will show them,” he whispered, not speaking to Cwen any longer but to some unknown collective. 

“They will watch in fear as I show them what will become of those who threaten me.”

He drew back from Cwen, catching her eyes. 

His breathing was haggard. Matching her own. 

Cwen cursed herself for having Sihtric’s knife hidden strapped to her calf. Out of her reach. 

Not like the knife Eardwulf now drew from a sheath at his waist and held up to her, the tip grazing along the dip in her clavicle. 

“Not a word, Cwen. You are coming with me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cwen could not help but comply as Eardwulf led her, knife pressed against the small of her back, at the kidneys. The same place Sihtric had instructed her could incapacitate an attacker. 

Her mind worked feverishly trying to find a means of escape from him. Or to even determine what he meant to do with her. How and who was he planning to strike fear into?

But realization soon struck her as Eardwulf escorted her up a set of stairs and out into the rampart. Facing Edward’s army on the field below.  Facing her friends. Sihtric. 

“Edward!”

Eardwulf’s voice grated as he shouted for the king’s attention. 

“Edward! My Lord King!”  

Eardwulf’s focus was now on garnering attention from the king, his grip had shifted, clasping an arm tight around Cwen’s throat and the knife held in his free hand. Braced against the stonewall of the parapet. 

Cwen clasped her hands onto his arm desperately trying to break some of the hold he had on her. But his strength and size overpowered her. She watched as his fingers flexed and then gripped the knife repeatedly as he waited for any sign of reply from the king. 

And then she heard him. Crying out to her with such fear and anguish that it almost broke her. 

“Cwen!” Sihtric called, rushing forward from the base of the tree in the field.  Osferth and Finan were quick to restrain him, to stop him from coming in range of any archer's arrows.  What sounds followed in the next few moments we’re not words but the sounds of a man crazed. An animal desperate to act and protect what was his. 

“Is that your man now, Cwen?”

Eardwulf’s words were hot against her cheek. Cwen could do nothing but watch while Sihtric struggled and fought against Finan and Osferth.

“I have struck fear in him. The rest will follow,” Eardwulf paused, scanning the crowd assembled to watch on the field.  Edward had stepped out from the ranks of his men but had made no move to reply to Eardwulf.  Seeing this, Eardwulf shifted his focus.

“Lord Uhtred!” He now called. Taunting. 

“Lord Dane Slayer! Come forth Uhtred!”

Cwen watched helplessly as Sihtric finally stopped struggling against his brothers. He stared up at her, panting and flexing his jaw.  Then Uhtred was beside them and striding forward several paces in front of them. 

“We have your daughter, Uhtred.”

Eardwulf’s words stopped Uhtred in his tracks and caused the rest of his men to still. 

“She is almost as good a hump as this one here,” Eardwulf yelled the words while releasing his grasp around Cwen’s shoulders to shove her forward by the nape of her neck. 

Finding courage from his deception, Cwen yelled, “He lies! She is treated fairly and with respect,” but Eardwulf’s hand shoved her forward so that her head connected with the stone wall, dulling the last of her words. 

Feeling dazed, Cwen could hear shouts from the men below. Sihtric’s voice was chief among them. 

Then Eardwulf’s voice rose again over the shouts and protests.

“Now do I have your attention?” He paused while the soldier’s voices died down.  “We hold the city.  And we will continue to hold the city.  Do you know how Sigtryggr took your city?  I told him it was left undefended.  It was me!”  He paused here scanning the crowd and breathing hard.  His hand still held Cwen bent over, braced against the stone wall.

“Too often I was overlooked or underused.  Swept aside and discarded.  But no more!” His words were coming out desperate now, pained.  “Now you would have cause to fear me.”

Struggling to push herself upright, Cwen retorted, “you are nothing but a snake in the grass.  A coward.  That is why you will never rise.  You will never become anything more.”

Cwen could feel the anger radiating off of Eardwulf.  His entire body quivered with malice.  She knew she needed to keep him off guard.  Keep him impetuous if she was to find a chance to save herself.  It was a dangerous game to play, to goad him on, but if she did not then she was sure this would end badly.  

“Shut your mouth, whore!”  Eardwulf snapped while dragging Cwen back upright against him.

“Sigtryggr has the power here, Edward!  I have the power.” 

Cwen flinched at his words.  He had brought the knife back up to her torso, pressing against her breasts.  But it was clear his attention wasn’t truly focused on her.  Chaos and rage were emanating off of him.  Cwen could feel his breath catching and the sobs seizing in his throat.  The turmoil and fury he battled had won.

“And you will watch as I wield that power! I will hump this bitch now and then I will find your daughter, Uhtred, and I will hump her too.  And you will not be able to do anything to stop me.”

Eardwulf’s final words were bellowed at the crowd below.  It was then that Cwen felt the buzzing in her ears once more and time felt sluggish.  

She could hear the shouts from the men gathered below.  The din of the noise and the buzzing were too loud for her to pick out Sihtric’s voice, but she knew the anguish he would be feeling.

She felt as Eardwulf shoved her body forward once more, discarding his knife and bodily pressing himself against her.  He fumbled with the bundles of her skirt, reaching down to grab handfuls of the fabric. 

Cwen felt herself desperately try to push her body backwards, to gain any sort of leverage or purchase.  In her struggle, Cwen brought her leg up bracing against the wall.  And her hand brushed the handle of Sihtric’s knife.

With no hesitation, Cwen grasped the handle and pulled it from the sheath.  Bellowing, she drove the blade back with an upward thrust from her hip with all the strength her arm could muster at such an odd angle.  And she felt the weapon sink into flesh.  

Immediately, the pressure holding her against the stone eased.  Cwen ripped the knife from Eardwulf’s gut and whirled around.

Eardwulf’s hands were grasping at his abdomen where blood had begun to seep through his fingers.  

Cwen was vaguely aware of boots clamoring up the stairs to her left.  But she was more focused on the rush of adrenaline coursing through her body.  Eardwulf turned his eyes back up to meet hers and lurched forward, hand reaching for her throat.  And upon instinct, Cwen brought the knife up between herself and Eardwulf.   She felt the tremor of the blade sinking into flesh once more as she pushed the blade outward and Eardwulf’s own momentum came crashing against it.  The knife ripped past the flesh and scraped off of the bone, then tearing into his vocal cords. Cwen felt as slick, crimson gore seeped over her hand.

The buzzing had stopped.  The running feet had stopped.  The sounds of the shouts and yells from the field below were still slow and distant to Cwen’s ears.  Slowly, she pushed Eardwulf’s body away from hers and let go of the knife.  

Stepping to the side, Cwen watched as he dropped down on his knees and his head lolled forward.  Fresh blood pooled out of his mouth.   Cwen’s heart hammered in her chest and she felt a tingling moving along her body.  First in her toes, then along her fingers, and traveling up her arms.  Adrenaline roaring through her veins.

It was after a few more moments that Cwen became aware of the other person on the ramparts.  Raising her eyes, Cwen saw that Sigtryggr stood only a few paces away, surveying the scene before him.

He lifted his hands in a gesture of peace and slowly walked forward.  His eyes never left Cwen.  Not when he closed the distance between himself and Eardwulf.  And not when he stooped to grasp the knife handle, ripping it from Eardwulf’s neck.  The gesture brought a new spurt of blood and elicited several choked coughs from Eardwulf.  

Slowly, Sigtryggr grasped Eardwulf by the shoulders and pulled him up to his feet.  The man’s life was slowly ebbing away.  Cwen listened as Sigtryggr spoke to Eardwulf.

“Do you see what ruling through fear has earned you, Christian?  I doubt there will be any who mourn your death.” 

With those final words, the Danish conqueror grasped onto Eardwulf’s shoulders.  He moved to the stone and shoved the man bodily over the parapet to crash on the hard earth below.

The shouts from the Saxons died on their lips. And Cwen watched as Sigtryggr held out his hand to her.  The knife laid flat in his palm.  An offering to her.

“He can hurt you no longer.”  Sigtryggr’s voice was calm and low.  It was collected and composed.  And Cwen studied his eyes before she reached out to take the knife.  They showed only sincerity.

Once she had taken the knife and stepped back a pace to have some space, Sigtryggr turned his attention towards the Saxons.

“King Edward of Wessex,” he shouted, “That man did not speak for me.  And he is of no concern now.”  Sigtryggr paused here, searching the crowd to see if he could find Edward among his men.

“Come on out, King.  I have shown myself.  Now let us see you.  Come and meet me at the gate.  I wish to speak with you, eye to eye.  One man to another.”

Hearing his words, Cwen turned to scan the crowd.  But while Sigtryggr was searching for Edward, her eyes were hunting for Sihtric.  And he was there.  His eyes were trained on her.  Cwen could still see the desperation emanating off of him.  The overwhelming yearning to be embracing his lover while only able to gaze from afar.  Cwen felt it too.  A physical pull lifting off her chest that there was no choice but to resist.  Slowly, Sihtric’s gaze eased her breathing and Cwen felt the drain of exhaustion creep into her bones.

Sigtryggr’s next words caught Cwen’s attention.

“Bring the boys,” he spoke quietly to the guards standing along the stair to their left.

Cwen watched as Aethelstan and another young boy, Aelfweard presumably, approached.  Without hesitation, Cwen reached her arms out to envelope Aethelstan.  The boy embraced her wordlessly and headless of the blood Cwen noticed had begun to dry on her hands and arms, turning sticky.  Sigtryggr watched while Cwen held her arm out to the second child, offering him a bit of maternal comfort and presence as well.  Sigtryggr made no move to stop the boys nor even a face of disapproval.  His eyes held merely curiosity.

“Meet with me, King Edward,” he called, turning back to face the warriors. “Come,” he paused, seeing that Edward had stepped forward, “and talk to us at the gate. Your sons wish to see their father.”

After an interminable time, Cwen watched as Edward’s standard bearer shouted up that the king would approach the gate and treat with Sigtryggr.  

After he had confirmation that Edward would approach, Sigtryggr turned and gently ushered Cwen and the boys down the stairs, his men shifting to make room for their descent.

Cwen stiffened when she felt Sigtryggr place a hand on her back guiding her away from the front gate.  Almost instantly, the hand was removed.

“Forgive me, lady,” he paused, questioning as Cwen turned to face him, the boys still clutched tightly to her, “I do not know your name.”

Cwen studied the man’s face once more.  Standing closer to him, she could see more details surrounding the scars he wore along his brow and cheek.  She also saw a startling depth and gentleness behind his eyes.

“Cwen,” she replied, “My name is Cwen.”

Sigtryggr’s lips quirked upward slightly in amusement. “Ah, so you are one of the young women who traveled the countryside with Stiorra in Mercia while I took Winchester?”

When Cwen did not answer, he continued, “Stiorra has mentioned you on several occasions. She likes you.  Respects you,” he paused to turn and glance at some of his men and the gate, “I do not know how you came to be inside the walls, but it is of little concern.  And I assure you that no more harm will come to you.  I will have you taken to be with Stiorra.  But the boys will come with me.  I do not wish them harm.  And let us pray to all the gods that their father will see reason and help us avoid that outcome.”

Cwen moved to place herself in front of the boys, but Sigtryggr’s men instantly were on her, overpowering her.

“Stop!” Sigtryggr had held up a hand and yelled the command.  “You will unhand them.”  

His men obeyed him without delay and he approached her placing a gentle but firm hand on her arm.

“You must give them to me now, Cwen.  Trust me when I assure you that I wish to be different from the Northmen who have come before me.  A better man than the Danes who have raped and ravaged your people.  I do not,” he emphasized the word, “want them harmed.  But this is what must be done.”

Sigtryggr held out his hands, one towards Aethelstan and one towards Aelfweard.  Cwen turned her face to meet Aethelstan’s eyes.  They boy nodded at her before reaching out and taking the outstretched hand.  He was followed closely by his half-brother and Cwen slowly felt them both slip from her fingers.

Turning to walk to the gate, Sigtryggr spoke to the man nearest him.

“Bring her to Stiorra and see that she is allowed to clean herself and be fed.  I will check that this is done later.”

“No,” Cwen protested, finding her voice frail and wavering.  But gathering her courage, she spoke once more, “No!”

Sigtryggr stopped and turned his face over his shoulder to watch her.

“I,” she stammered, hesitating, “I was not alone here.  Another woman, another friend of Stiorra, Eadith is here with me.  I must find her.  I fear for either of us to be alone.”  Cwen’s eyes searched Sigtryggr’s face, pleading.

After a moment, the Dane gave a single nod before turning back to stride towards the gates.

Taking one step backwards and then another, Cwen turned and rushed off to the kitchens in search of Eadith.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#the last kingdom #sihtric #sihtric x oc #fields of wildflowers #sigtryggr #tlk fan fic #tlk fanfiction #the last kingdom fanfiction

[hotdamnhunnam]

Jax Teller: Fuck You Better

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: Here’s Part 2 of your BFF Jax Teller giving you the best sex ever!! There is some fluff because the two of are you totally in loooove... but also lots of smut, now that Jax knows you like it rough 😜 Recommend reading Part 1 first—Part 2 picks up where we left off...

Pairing: Jax Teller x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, dirty talk, rough sex, dom!Jax Request: This AMAZING anon request

Word Count: ~2.8k

... Continued from Part 1 [Read Here]

Bet you’d like that. Wouldn’t you, bitch.

The fact that he just dared to say that shit... so fucking savage. So damn stupid. Standing there and slaying you with his smoldering stare—then in the next split second, slamming you against the wall again, coming within an inch of swallowing the space that’s left between your lips and his—that sacred distance, all the safety that you cling to in resistance...

“We shouldn���t do this, Jax,” you try and fail to push him back, though you’re already soaking from how suddenly the beast in him attacks. “Jax, we just can’t—we can’t go there...”

Why does he have to be so fucking big and strong and tall? One forearm braced against the wall, his other hand rakes through your hair. “Oh, I ain’t going nowhere.”

It’s taking all your strength to keep your shit together. “I’m serious, Teller. We promised each other we’d never—”

Now he has both hands in your hair, which really isn’t fair. “I don’t... fucking... care.”

You dare to meet his clear blue stare, and all you see there in his eyes... is all the truth behind the lies: that he cares more than anything. And is no longer scared to tell you everything.

“You know what else we promised? To always be honest,” he fiercely reminds you; it’s true. “And I’ve broken that promise again and again, Y/N. For fucking years I haven’t told you what I really wanted. What I’ll always want.”

His name escapes you in a moan. “Jax, don’t...”

“Don’t what,” he interrupts. “Don’t tell you that it kills me every time I think about some undeserving dick fucking you up? Don’t tell you that your face is all I see whenever I’m inside another random slut? Don’t wanna hear it? I don’t give a shit. ‘Cause I am done keeping my mouth shut.”

Oh, this is too damn much. You fight against the impulse to dissolve to dust beneath his words, his touch, to just surrender and succumb. Fight desperately to keep your dignity intact. “Jax, you don’t really mean that! You just wanna fuck the only girl you’ve never had! Then once you’re done, I’ll just become...”

The thought of what you’re saying now completely shocks and sickens him. He looks like he’s gone numb. “My God, Y/N, are you that fucking dumb? You think I’m—”

“I don’t know what to think. I don’t know anything. Except that if this happens, Teller, I will never love another man again,” you tell him, honest as you’ve ever been. Somehow his touch upon your skin, here in this moment, rips your heart open and summons all the truth from deep within. “Jax, if I let you in... I’ll be ruined.”

The words have been spoken; there’s no turning back. Your heart is laid bare to be taken and broken by Jax.

And he takes it. He fucking attacks. “Ruined?” he repeats—yet when the word falls from his lips, heavy with heat, it hits so different. “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing, Y/N. Trust me, it isn’t. That’s just what I’m planning on doing.”

Oh God. Oh God. Jax makes total destruction sound so fucking hot. Every cell in your body is melting with... fuck, you don’t even know what. You have never been so deep in love, and you’ve never been such a damn slut.

He goes on to tell you exactly what he meant. Exactly what he wants. “If this happens, Y/N... when this happens... I don’t want any other man putting his hands on you—holding you, loving you, fucking you—coming anywhere close to my woman ever again.”

His woman? His woman?! Did he just say the word ‘coming’? The submissive whore inside you has officially been summoned.

And the dom inside him knows just what he’s doing. “You ready to be ruined? If you let me in, I swear I’m going to destroy your cunt. I want you to be ruined for all other men. You understand?”

“Yes,” you respond, yielding to his demands, giving in to this god of a man just as fast as you possibly can. Never been such a mess.

“You want the guy who’s gonna fuck you best? And love you best? ‘Cause I promise that’s always gonna be me, Y/N,” your beautiful best friend professes his love again. “Whether you’ll have me or not, I will love you like I always have, more than anything, anyone else. I won’t stop.”

“Then don’t. Don’t stop,” you beg him, cradling his flawless face within your hands, so close yet never close enough. Not till he’s deep inside you, till the two of you are one. “Jax, you’re the only man I’ll ever want. Love you so much it fucks me up.”

His palm upon your cheek is so painfully soft, before the hot passionate sex that’s bound to be a hundred shades of hard and rough. And then he leans in toward your breathless lips... to kiss you for the first time now you’re finally fucking his. “Yeah, that’s my kind of love.”

By the time the kiss is done, you have no clue just how much time has gone. Two seconds? Twenty thousand? Doesn’t make a fucking difference. Time begins just as it ends: it doesn’t even, when you’re stuck so deep in heaven.

When Jax finally pulls back, it’s just because he knows how much higher the two of you can go. This kiss, as epic it is, is just part one. The trip to heaven’s only just begun. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

“You, Jax. I want you,” you effuse, still high on just how fucking good it feels to tell him something true. To give life to the love you’ve always tried to hide from view. “Always and only you.”

He smiles against your lips, and you can feel his while curling at the edges, into something of a smirk. The dirty devil deep inside him is about to get to work. “Yeah? And what do you want me to do?”

“Everything.”

The smirk flickers into a snicker, as he twines through your hair with his masterful fingers, until your toes are curling, insides totally unfurling. “Use your words, darlin’. Be fucking specific. Tell me what’s missing when you settle for some lesser dick. ‘Cause all those spots he missed... I’m gonna fucking hit.”

Oh, you don’t doubt it. He already is—how did you ever live before this? Haven’t even taken Jax’s dick yet and already you can’t fucking live without it.

He had commanded you to use words, but your brain is just a blur.

And so he orders you again, hand drifting down toward your dripping cunt, demanding a response. “Tell me... what you... want.”

Fuck. Holy fuck. Some kind of answer leaps off of your tongue, as you choke out the words in a stammering grunt. “J-Jax, I can’t—can’t even talk. I want... I need your fucking cock.”

The dirty bastard chuckles as your knees buckle. “To suck? To fuck?” he taunts. “Want me to read your mind, slut? Listen to your body, see the signs? Guess I can do that. Now that it’s all mine.”

As his big strong arms wrap around you now to lift you up and carry you to bed, one thing is spinning through your head: your mind is reeling from the fact that Jackson Fucking Teller just called you a slut. And not just as a joke, from friend to friend—no, as his woman. The truth is you’ve dreamt of this moment more often than you’d ever want to admit. But somehow Jax just knew it. And now that it’s finally happened, you want him to do it again and again and again.

“That turn you on?” he laughs, as if he has to ask, throwing you down onto the mattress flat against your back. Unfastening his jeans now as he stands between your knees, towering over your trembling body. “You like it when I talk dirty? You like knowing that you fucking belong to me?”

What even... are you in literal heaven? He is seriously godly.

Jax pulls down his jeans and boxers so damn slowly, knowing fully that you’ve never wanted anything so badly. “Then let me tell you, slut—you’re gonna love the way I fuck. You’re gonna love taking this big hard fucking cock.”

You honestly can’t think. Cannot fathom the fact that this happening. Cannot believe your luck.

When Jax’s massive meat is finally unleashed... your eyes go wide just at the sight, and he smirks down at you with pussy-soaking pride. And he has every fucking right. It’s everything you need. It’s so ridiculously huge, throbbing and thick between his strong muscular thighs, and you have no clue how it’s gonna fit inside you, but you want it to destroy you all damn night. 

“Told you I fuck the way I fight,” he says, staring into your eyes as he swiftly and easily strips off your dress. “I fuck to win. To fucking ruin. By the time the night is done, you’re gonna think you fucking died.”

Sweet Jesus Christ. You’re finally naked on the bed, and you have never been so wet. You need that big hard cock to drive between your legs, to treat you to the world’s most epic sex. And yet you’re also desperate to give him head, because his dick looks honestly delicious. What you need is for this man to fuck all your holes, to feed your shamelessly slutty soul. And so the words escape you in a needy, greedy splutter. “God, just—just fuck me, Teller.”

His smirk is so dark as he teases you with the promise of his big perfect cock, and it’s really the hottest thing ever. The force of his dominance fills your heart, tears you apart, as it holds you together. “Mmm, baby, I can tell you’ve never been wetter. Knowing nobody can fuck you better.”

Holy fucking hell...

Jax finally gets himself onto the bed, straddling your chest, reading your mind so well. Ready to feed your thirst. “Face first?”

You give him the obvious answer. “Yes, sir.”

The word earns you another smirk. Taking his cock in his fist, the wet tip of it hovering over your lips, Jax begins to jerk. “Sir, huh?”

“Jax—” you gasp, but before you can even attempt to say anything else, your whole mouth is stuffed. “Unphh...”

Mother of God—his cock tastes so insanely good. Tastes even better than it looks, better than you had thought it would. It doesn’t even make sense for a dick to taste like this, but from the first second Jax first let you taste the tip, you know you’ll never get enough. You’re so fucking in love.

“Yeah, that’s it. Good girl,” your lover snarls in approval as he starts bucking his hips, shoving his thick shaft deeper past your panting lips. “Dirty little slut. So fucking desperate for my cock. Now suck.”

Jax takes a firm grip of your head and fucks your face into the bed and you are well and truly dead.

You might honestly get off from the sounds out of his mouth alone. The way he growls and grunts and groans. Calls you his filthy fucking whore, cocksucking bitch. It isn’t long before his breathing starts to hitch, and you can feel his length inside your mouth begin to throb and twitch. 

As desperate as you are to take his load, to swallow all his cum down your devoted throat... before you can, your man has other plans. He slides his dick out of your mouth, positioning his body further down. Groping all over you with his dominant hands. And you’re all set for him to spin you right around—given the rough tone that he’s set, seems only natural he should take you from behind—spanking your ass until it’s red, yanking your hair, making you arch your spine, as he bends you over the bed and plows his dick inside, taking you there, and blows your goddamn mind...

But no, at least not yet—instead, Jax keeps you on your back just as you are, his gorgeous body hovering above yours on the bed. Kisses you passionately on the mouth until you’re seeing stars, and reads the mess of thoughts swirling around inside your head.

“It’s our first fucking time, Y/N. You think I wanna miss a thing?” he breathes into the kiss, grinding his dick against your soaking pussy lips. “Eyes open, babe. I won’t ever forget this moment. Want you to see everything. Feel everything. Because that’s what you are to me, and always have been. Love you more than anything.”

...This cannot be real life right now? Just... how? What the actual fuck is even happening?

“Don’t worry, darlin’... making love still can still be good and rough,” he speaks the words just as he starts plunging inside you without warning, till you’re fucking stuffed. Then he reminds you of the silly thing you’d said before. The stupid words that sort of started all of this, for better or for worse... scratch that, most definitely better. “Said you wanted my balls to kiss your ass. Remember that? This good enough, you filthy little whore?”

Oh fuck. Oh yes. Your pussy stretches open for his perfect cock, so full it feels it’s gonna bust, now as his balls slap up against your ass with every perfect thrust. And all you want is fucking more. His hips are moving in a rough, ravaging rhythm, as you savor every second of this perfect pleasure with him. 

All the while, Jax whispers dirty words into your ear with his devilish smile—taking this dick so good... yeah, that’s it, bitch... so fucking tight, so wet... ugh, such a filthy little slut—mixed in with sweet nothings that seriously fuck you up—you are so fucking perfect... you have no clue how long I’ve been wanting this, wanting you... God, babe, I love you so much...

You both want this to fucking last. To ride as many waves as possible higher and higher, building on the fire of your shared desire, till you finally hit your climax. 

But it’s not long before both you and Jax lack any more strength to hold back. You explode in the same exact moment, both screaming and moaning, hearts open, as you finally give yourselves over to everything you had been dreaming and hoping. Both so scared till now of what you might have lost—but whatever it was... this is well worth the cost. Now that you know it’s more than just lust.

You and your best friend Jax Fucking Teller are officially fucking in love.

You find yourself drowning again in his kisses—they’re fucking delicious—with no sense of how much time passed once you’re both finally finished. Lying back on the pillows to catch your breath, coming to life after loving each other to death. God, so fucking in love...

Once your senses have somewhat come back, you glance over at Jax, not quite sure what to make of the question he asks. “Did we just take the ‘F’ off?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Huh?”

His luscious lips curve up into a boyish little grin. “You know—BFF... BF...”

Finally getting what he means, you cuddle in closer with the lifelong man of your dreams. “Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend, Jackson Teller?” you playfully tease. “Are you asking if this means that we’re officially together?”

This badass biker looks so damn sheepish and shy right now you might honestly die. “I mean, I’ve never fucked someone I love before... isn’t this how it works?” he murmurs. “Just making sure.”

You’re now convinced, as if you weren’t before, that you could not possibly love him any more. Jax Teller is a fucking treasure. Exists to be cherished, adored. “You’re so cute when you’re clueless,” you tell him, softly nuzzling the tip of your nose against his. “So you really wanna do this?”

“Did I stutter, bitch?” he huffs. “I want to take the ‘F’ off. Told you I’m in love.”

“I love you too, Teller. But I dunno—I really like the last ‘F’ for ‘forever’...”

“Hmm, yeah so do I...” he sighs, and you can see the color of forever in his eyes, true and blue as the sky. “But you know what—just fuck the labels. Fuck the letters. None of that shit matters.”

Nothing matters but the love that you’re so blessed to share with your best friend forever, Jackson Fucking Teller.

So he tells you, for good measure. “All you need to know is this: you’re fucking mine, and I am yours. I fucking promise... every day that we’re together... gonna love you more... and fuck you even better.”

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

Hope you enjoyed this!! Would love to hear if you did! 🤗❤️

I think one of my other fics – Louder, Bitch – makes an especially great sequel to this! ✨

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[myafterlifeisbetterthenyours]

Glad you're enjoying the story and picking up where we left off, I have some ideas for the direction of the story taking into account my personal vision and my own OC "Kiell" which I decided not to post anywhere. I'm sure Stella the moment she saw Blitzo she would attack you, but after many hours with you trying to keep Stella under control so as not to destroy half of the palace in search of Blitzo. Later, after a brief fight with Stolas, Stella decides to go shopping with s / n and during the

Stella with her Owl demon S/O

You stared at the Imp. The Imp staring right back.

You went to move, try and fix the situation. But before you could make a move, Stella barged past you, nearly toppling you to the ground.

'How fucking dare you!' Stella screached, chasing after the Imp.

Dusting yourself off, you watched as Stella chased the Imp around the clearing, screaming a variety of curses at the Imp.

The Imp, out of space to go, ran into the hedge maze Stella close behind.

You just watched, slowly following after, Already having a good idea what was about to happen.

Stella ran into the hedges, screaming at the Imp.

Running deeper into the maze, Stella's voice gradually got further away.

You stood at the entrance. And as you suspected, the Imp's little head popped out of the hedge, looking the way Stella ran before climbing out of the hedge.

He chuckled to himself, dusting off a few leafs before walking off.

Directly into you.

He looked up at you, an awkward little smile crossing his face. 'Please don't kill me.' He begged before you grabbed him by the horn.

Dragging him off, the Imp pleading for his life, his pleas getting progressively more desperate the further you dragged him.

You dragged him through the maze until you reached the large concrete wall that surrounded the palace grounds.

Tossing him against the wall, the Imp had balled himself up, covering his face.

But after a few moments of nothing happening he looked up, slowly lowering his arms.

'So your... not gonna kill me?' He asked. Clearly confused as to what was happening.

You couldn't help but laugh at his simple nature. 'Kill you?' You asked in mock disbelief 'My good man. After everything you've done for me, I should be shaking your hand!' You proclaimed.

I pulled him to his feet, you dusted off the Imps coat, 'Everything I have, is thanks to you. Something I am very grateful for.' You told him fondly.

Your right hand slid up his shoulder, gripping the side of his neck, 'Unfortunately you've seen me and my love in quite the compromising position. So, I'm gonna need some assurance you won't tell anyone.' I told him, an edge to my voice.

The Imps face morphed into a smirk 'Ah, yes, I got a good eyeful of you and her highness.' The Imp inspected his hands, 'I'd love to help you, really I would, but, uh, why should I?' He asked a coyly.

You let out a long chuckle before wrapping your hand around his throat. 'Don't think just because Im grateful to you, I won't kill you. The only reason I haven't just killed you, is because your still of use to me.'

Releasing his throat, I pulled back, dusting my coat. Before extending my hand. 'Now, I need your word you won't share this information with anyone.' You growled, extending your hand.

Your hand begining to give of the familiar glow of magic.

Blitz hesitated. 'Why should I?' He asked, clearly wanting something out of it.

As if on cue, the silence was broken by Stella's distant screams, a large fire ball firing into the air, showing just how close she was.

Looking back at the Imp I told him 'I could always give you to her, I'm sure she would-' before I could finish he pushed his hand into mine.

The deal was made instantly.

The Imp wavered for a second, before asking 'Wha-what happens now?'

Gripping his shoulder, you told him, 'Now? Now, you leave.'

With that said, you grabbed him by his coat and threw him into the air, clear over the wall.

'Hurry on back now!' You called out, a wrath twang to my voice.

'Wouldn't want Stolas missing his little boy-toy.' You growled as you walked away.

It wasn't hard to find Stella, the yelling had only gotten louder, now accompanied by fire... lots of fire.

When you found her, she was screaming at stolas, the field around her ablaze in purplish flames.

Now, you were quiet content to watch Stella give her "Husband" a verbal thrashing.

But when you saw there daughter, staring down from the second floor window. The poor girl looked in utter distress at her parents fighting.

You moved forward quickly, ignoring the pain as the flames licked your body.

Reaching her, you spun her around, looking her dead in the eyes. You stroked her cheek, telling her you were there for her.

Tears welled in her eyes, the flames around you slowly died down until you were just holding the sobbing woman in a field of Burt grass.

You held her close as she cried into your chest. Holding her close, you looked up, meeting Stolas' gaze as he looked at the two of you.

You couldn't help but Shooting dangers at the prince, he was the cause of this, and you wanted him to know it.

You carefully picked the woman up, carrying her away.

You entered the palace, you locked eyes with Stolas one last time before letting the ghost of a smile spreading across your mouth.

You carried her into the palace, backtracking all the way to her study.

It took some work, but you opened the door, carrying her in, placing her on the large lounge set against the far wall.

Laying her down, you pulled out your handkerchief. Wiping away her tears you asked her gently 'Are you alright?'

Stella just shook her head, rubbing her arm across her eyes. 'No. No Im not' she said, her voice thick with emotion. 'There's no where. Theres nothing I can do, nothing without that Fucking Imp ruining it.'

She broke down into a new fit of tears, pulling you close she clung to you like the world would fall out beneath her.

She sobbed into your chest, crying for what seemed like hours. Releasing all the frustration she had seemed to pent up. You just held her close as she did.

It was as she finally calmed down, that there was a knock on the door. Getting up, you walked over before cautiously opening it.

It was her daughter. And she looked quite concerned.

'You must be Octavia' you told her gently, taking her hand with a small bow. Octavia spoke gently, asking you 'Is my mum alright?'

Not sure how to answer, you moved out of the way, allowing her to enter the room.

Seeing her daughter, Stella quickly wiped her face, cleaning herself up a little before saying to her 'Hello darling.'

Octavia said it back before taking a seat on the couch.

The two shared some gentle words with each other, Octavia seeming very concerned for her, but you could tell your presence was holding her back.

So you gently spoke up. 'I'll go have some tea brought up. Give you two a moment.' Stella gave you a thankful look, Octavia giving you a thoughtful glance before focusing on her mother.

You left the room silently, carefully closing the door behind you. Now in the hallway you went about looking for the help, making your way down the long hallway.

You may have despised Stolas as a man, but you had to admit, his home was quiet amazing.

You eventually found a Butler, from whom you politely asked if he could have some tea sent to Stella's study.

With your task complete you started the arduous task of retracing your steps back to the study.

Making it back, you were surprised to find Stolas outside her door. Walking closer, the demonic Prince turned to you.

'What are you doing with my wife?' He demanded.

Stepping closer you stopped before bringing a finger to your chin 'what ever could you mean, your highness?' You asked smugly.

'I'm not an idiot, so don't act like I am one.' he said a scowl in his voice. 'I know your after my wife and don't even try to play innocent.'

He said it all with such dignity, such honour. It took everything you had not to laugh.

Clearing your throat you took another step closer to him.

'I didn't have to lift a finger, Stolas.' You told him, arrogance creeping into your voice.

'You had everything one could want. Power. Influence. A family.' You took a moment to shake your head. 'You had the most beautiful, most intelligent, most amazing woman in hell.' You gave a long dramatic sigh. 'And you gave it all up, For what? An Imp?'

Walking forward, you placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I don't have to Act like your an idiot Stolas, you've more then proven it. And now, You've given up your claim to your marraige.' Looking him dead in the eyes and told him, 'Its my turn now.'

Before Stolas could respond the tell-tale sound of silverware clinking of a cart being pushed, drew your attention to its source.

Taking a step back, you addressed the maid pushing the cart 'Thank you so much, if only all imps were so brisk' You told her politely, opening the door.

The Imp pushed the cart between the two of you, into the room. I smirked at the Prince, the Imp walked out of the room, right between us.

'Thank you very much', you told the Imp, giving her a bow. The Imp giggled, giving her own little curtsy before scampering off.

You walked past him, entering the room. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I have to care for a dear friend after all the stress her "Husband" has put her through.' You told him, each word lathered in arrogance.

Before he could respond, you shut the door, perhaps a little to loud. But the satisfaction from slamming the door in that pompous gits face was well worth it.

#helluva boss x reader #helluva boss #headcanon #x reader #helluva boss headcanon #helluva stolas #helluva stella

[patchofsunlight]

Warmth | Zuko x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Avatar!Reader AU | Zuko has made many mistakes and holds uncountable regrets, but maybe Y/N can still love him back. Spoiler: she does.

REQUEST (by anon): “Could you do a zuko with maybe a f! avatar? Him falling in love with her like how they joked in ember island play. And him being tormented when she 'dies' in cross roads and them having some tender moment of confessing either in the western temple or ember island? maybe the play has the kiss and he confesses idk”

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: Y/N is the Avatar, so Aang doesn’t exist. kissing, there might be swear words but I don’t really remember, bad editing. lots of mutual pining and some angst. I don’t know if I did this request justice but I really tried?

OBSERVATIONS: there’s a bit of Sokka x Reader bc I’m a weak woman but in the end he’s the main Zuko and Y/N shipper. not having Aang seriously hurt me. I wrote most of the Zuko sad rant in the beginning listening to Words Fail by Ben Platt and I think it would be interesting if you guys listened to that while reading? idk

I hope you all like it!!! feedback is always appreciated, so keep that in mind and thank you very much for reading!!

There was a hole inside his chest that Zuko simply couldn’t get rid of. It hurt him to his core, bringing pained sobs to the edge of his throat and slowly dismantling his soul.

He always thought getting rid of Y/N would quench his anger, rebuild his honor and complete his destiny. Now, his father accepted him again, Mai was his girlfriend, and Azula treated him like a true brother, in her own deranged ways. The Fire Nation considered him a hero, the man who killed the Avatar.

Then why did it trouble him so much? Why did he wake up every night in a cold sweat, with tears stinging his eyes? Why did he have the same nightmare over and over where he was the one responsible for her death, hitting her with lightning and watching as the light inside her disappeared, leaving behind only her idle body and Katara’s desperate cries? Why couldn’t he be satisfied? He had fulfilled his fate. He had done what he was meant to do, sided with his people, and fought against his greatest enemy. Why wasn’t he happy? Why couldn’t he ever be happy?

Back in Ba Sing Se, he saw her at the Jasmine Dragon more than once. He couldn’t believe his eyes when she first entered the teashop, and he was pretty sure she had recognized him, but Y/N managed to send a polite smile in his direction and sit down, greeting “Mushi” with joy. When Zuko served her tea, she asked him what his name was as if she didn’t know. She didn’t confront nor attack him — she simply let him live his new life and went on living hers. It felt like she had washed off his sins, erased the bloodstains he carried in his soul and hands. Y/N freed him of his past and he had thrown it all away.

It was the right thing to do, he had told himself day after day after day. Except it wasn’t, and now Iroh refused to talk to him and the Avatar was probably dead and, in the case she wasn’t, she would never forgive him. She wouldn’t let him be free of himself again and he would never get redemption for his mistakes.

He wished he could go back in time and fight alongside Y/N in that crystal cave, wished he could live up to the trust Katara offered him before they were saved, wished he could have stopped Azula from throwing that lightning bolt. He wished he could do things in the right way, yet he couldn’t. Zuko tried so hard to regain his so-called honor and to bring his father pride but his only real achievement was engulfing himself in guilt and regret, being aware that powerful and forgiving Y/N could be dead because of his lack of dignity and character — this couldn’t be honor. Violence, betrayal, death, and hurt couldn’t be honor, and he wasn’t sure he wanted his father’s pride if it meant feeling like this, like he was no good, like he was not worthy of love or praise or admiration.

Zuko had spent a great part of his life hating himself, but nothing compared to the hate he felt every night after waking up from another crushing nightmare. How dared he make this about himself and his feelings of guilt when the Avatar could be dead? How dared he worry about the Fire Lord’s pride when the world’s last hope was gone? How dared he indulge in self-pity after all he had done? He didn’t deserve pity, didn’t deserve help, he only deserved to wallow in his own pain and die. But that wouldn’t fix anything, neither would it bring Y/N back — he had to act, and he had to do it fast.

Going after Team Avatar was not difficult. He thought he would feel complicated like he had when first betraying Y/N’s trust, thought it would hurt like coming back to the Fire Nation did. Thankfully, leaving only caused a new type of satisfaction to bloom inside his chest, giving him the sensation he was finally walking through the right path. Hope seemed to pour out of every pore in his body and he could somehow think of better, future days when he would have done enough to make up for his mistakes, days when he didn’t feel the urge to scream every time he looked at a mirror. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to despise himself like he currently did, maybe things would be okay and he would be truly happy, if that was even something he had the capability to do.

But then they didn’t want him. He left everything behind, he charged every inch of his hope with the idea of joining the Avatar, and they didn’t want him. Why would they? Why would they, after everything he had done? How could he have even considered they would accept him, that she would trust him again? Of course they didn’t want him. No one did and no one ever would and that was entirely his fault — it was his fault that he was a bad person, took the wrong decisions, and caused pain and destruction. It was his fault he never did the right thing and he should’ve known he would be rejected again, for being rejected was just what he deserved.

But it still hurt. Oh, Spirits, it hurt. She couldn’t even look at him, even after he helped them defeat Combustion Man and was finally accepted in the group. Sadly, it made Zuko realize that, no matter where he stood, he would never be a part of their team, and Y/N would never trust him entirely. For some reason, that was more upsetting than their rejection. He wanted to impress her, wanted her to like him, and she never would.

“Y/N? Can I—can I come in?”

The Avatar looked up from the map she was currently analysing on her bed, studying his figure carefully before nodding with hesitance, “yes. Do you need something?”

He sighed deeply and walked towards her, feeling his heart crack when she brought her legs closer to her body and away from him the moment he sat on the edge of the bed, “I—I just wanted to talk to you about, well, you know, everything.”

Her expression hardened and she averted her eyes back to the map, “we have nothing to talk about, Zuko. You can go back to your room.”

The Fire Nation Prince swallowed nervously, “Y/N, please. I’m so, so sorry. I have made so many mistakes, I—”

“Zuko,” her voice was firm and emotionless, but that quickly changed when she met his gaze, “I thought things could be different. I thought things could be different back in the North Pole, when we first talked to each other and you told me about Azula. I thought things could be different when you saved me as the Blue Spirit. And I was so convinced things would be different when we met again in Ba Sing Se that I—” she scoffed at her own words, “I had a crush on you, can you believe that? That’s why I visited the teashop so regularly, I just wanted to see you. Stupid, of course. I should’ve known.”

Zuko was sure she could hear his anxious heart beating from the other side of the bed. They were less than a foot away, and yet it felt like miles. He didn’t want her to think about him like that, he didn’t want her to be disappointed in him. Damn, she used to have a crush on him, she liked him, and he screwed everything up like usual. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m—I’m here now, I’m on your side.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were on my side back then too. Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. You need to teach me firebending and that’s the only reason you’re allowed here. Talking is unnecessary.”

“Please, I—”

“You should leave, Prince Zuko,” he flinched at the title escaping her lips, hating how it sounded bitter coming from her, “I have really important matters to deal with. We’ll start my firebending training tomorrow.” 

“Y/N—”

“Leave, Zuko.”

With a heaviness inside his stomach, he left the room, missing if by a second the frustrated tear that ran down Y/N’s cheek. She wanted to trust him, but how could she? How could she let him in after his betrayal? She had always been forgiving, but she refused to be naive — seeing Zuko side with Azula in the crystal caves hurt her deeply and shoved her little crush on him down her throat. She couldn’t go through that again, it would be simply idiotic to. Y/N had to stand her ground. She wouldn’t be hurt by him again.

-----

“Hey, jerks. Mind if I watch you two jerks do your jerkbending?”

“Get out of—” Zuko was interrupted by the Avatar’s laughter. Sokka smiled softly at her, cheeks blushing. For some reason, that only managed to piss Zuko off even more, “get out of here!”

“Okay, take it easy. I was just kidding around,” the Water Tribe boy winked at Y/N, “see you later?”

“Sure, we still need to see that part of the temple we found yesterday. Exploration partners!”

“Exploration partners!” he agreed with a chuckle and turned away from them. “Bye, Y/N. Jerkbending… Still got it.”

Zuko glanced at her with irritation while she watched Sokka leave. He felt already incredibly frustrated for not being able to produce his fire and not knowing why, he definitely did not need to watch as Sokka and Y/N flirted. 

They would make a cute couple, though, and she smiled so brightly at him it was physically painful to watch. He wanted her to smile like that at him, look like that at him. But she wouldn’t — she was over her crush and had no reason to ever feel anything towards him again, not after what he had done. He didn’t deserve her love anyway, so maybe it was for the best.

“So? Any progress, Sifu Hotman?”

“I told you not to call me that,” he snarled angrily and she sighed.

“Sorry, Sifu Hotman.”

“This was a mistake,” he sat down roughly, ignoring the ache on his legs due to the sudden movement, “maybe teaching you firebending is not my destiny.”

She looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, not understanding, “what do you mean?”

“How can I teach you anything when I’ve lost my fire, Y/N?” he chuckled sadly, letting one of his hands go through his hair in distress. “I wanted to be on the good side of the war and I can’t even make myself useful.”

“You haven’t lost your fire, Zuko,” her voice was careful, “I think you’re just going through some internal conflict and that’s reflecting on your bending, but if you were meant to teach me firebending, you will. Your destiny is still your destiny regardless, Sifu Hotman.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re the Avatar! I’m not even sure who I am anymore, but you have always known what your destiny was.”

“Yeah, and I was scared of it,” she smiled softly, “I ran away and disappeared for a hundred years. People died because of my absence. I have made mistakes, and I have failed many, many times. Sadly, that doesn’t make me less of an Avatar. Zuko, if you must be my teacher, it’s gonna work. We’ll figure things out and you will get your fire back. Okay?”

He stared inside her eyes. There was still some sort of mistrust in them — she was willing to help him because she needed him, but still suspicious. She wasn’t really sure he was on their side, but this was a start. He was going to fix everything and he would make her proud. He would make Y/N happy to call him a friend. Or something more.

Maybe he had a crush on her, too.

-----

Toph’s idea to look for the original source of firebending had greatly backfired (no pun intended, even though Y/N could clearly hear Sokka’s laughter in her head at the joke). They traveled to the Sun Warriors’ ancient city and found an impressive temple adorned with statues. Things were going surprisingly well until they weren’t, and now they were stuck in a disgusting glue because Zuko touched the pretty gemstone. Hours had passed and Y/N was increasingly more annoyed at their situation.

“You had to pick up the glowing egg, didn’t you?”

“At least I made something happen! If it were up to you, we’d never have made it past the courtyard.”

“Maybe, but we wouldn’t be stuck here either, so did you really win?”

Zuko rolled his eyes, “this is stupid. How are we getting out of here?”

“Help!” the girl screamed as loudly as she could, being met with only silence.

“Who are you yelling to? Nobody’s lived here for centuries,” the Fire Prince argued and it was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Well, what do you think we should do, genius?”

“Think about our place in the universe?”

Despite her current irritation, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his words. He instinctively smiled back and she felt warmth spread through her chest.

She was starting to think she wasn’t as over her crush on him as she thought.

They were rescued by the Sun Warriors and judged by the last dragons, and Y/N was sure she hadn’t felt this alive in a while. After burning Katara (it was so long ago it seemed like a different life), she had thought of fire as something destructive, harmful, but she could now see it with new eyes. Fire could be love, life, and power. 

The Avatar glanced at Zuko. Maybe she could try and see him as that, too. 

-----

“You did well today,” Zuko complimented warily, avoiding her gaze, “if we keep up the training, you might become a better firebender than me.”

“Why, thank you, Hotman,” she smiled brightly and Zuko was sure he could pass out right there, “I just have a great teacher.”

“Y/N!”

The Avatar felt Sokka before she saw him, laughing at the way he hugged her from behind joyfully, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “Hey, honey. What’s up?”

“Doing fine,” he mumbled, brushing her hair off his face delicately, “wanna grab something to eat?”

“I think I’m gonna train some more and clean myself later. I’ll meet you after?”

“Sure! I’ll be back inside. See you, Y/N, Zuko.”

They both watched as the Water Tribe boy entered the temple again. There was a weird burning sensation running through Zuko’s blood when he asked, voice slightly raspy and overly quiet, “so, you and Sokka, huh? You make a nice couple.”

She turned her head to him so quickly it almost gave her whiplash, “what? No! I mean—” she blushed at the question, flustered by the fact he would even consider something like that. The Fire Prince waited silently, irritation surfacing at her stammering. He wasn’t sure why that angered him so much, but he decided to be still and listen, “we are just friends,” she concluded, “he means a lot to me, but so do Katara and Toph, you know? We are—we are just friends. He even likes that Kyoshi Warrior, Suki! So, yeah, we are definitely not a couple.”

“I see,” Zuko felt curiously static with that piece of information, “and you don’t have feelings for him?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I had a thing for him when we first met, but now it’s gone. He’s my best friend and I love him, just not like that.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Good?” Y/N turned her head to the side in confusion and he paled considerably, finally noticing the meaning of his own words. “Why is that good?”

“Oh? I—it’s good that you love him! Yeah, having friends is amazing, right? Yeah.”

She smiled amusingly, “it truly is.”

“Yeah.”

The Avatar chuckled lightly, “come on, Sifu Hotman. Let’s do that leg movement again, I think I’m not doing it right.”

Days passed and a lot of things happened. Zuko knew Y/N wouldn’t be happy with Sokka’s suicide mission, but he couldn’t let him do it alone, so he accompanied him to the Boiling Rock. Again, she wasn’t happy when he followed Katara for revenge for her mother’s death, but then at least someone had Katara’s back and was ready to protect her. He desperately wanted to earn Y/N’s trust and friendship, but that was rather difficult when he insisted on doing the stuff she didn’t want him to do.

They continued their training on Ember Island and the whole Team seemed to thoroughly enjoy the place. Y/N was giving her all to learn firebending and was succeeding splendidly. To be honest, Zuko loved to see her get the moves right — every single time she made it, she would look at him with bright eyes and grin. It was the most beautiful sight Zuko had ever seen and he would do anything to have it permanently engraved in his mind.

They stayed up late during one particular night. They were both exhausted after hours of training and ended up sat beside each other on the ground on the back of the Fire Nation Royal Family’s beach house. The air between them was filled with silence and heavy breathing from their previous effort.

“Hey, Zuko?” after a few moments, Y/N called him gently, voice tired and raspy giving him chills. She laid down and stared at the dark sky. “Look at the stars with me.”

He blinked, “really? I mean, shouldn’t we go inside?”

“Please?” her eyes met his and his heart skipped a beat. “Just for a bit.”

“Okay,” Zuko whispered, lying down next to her. They looked at the sky quietly for a bit.

He liked to be around her. It could be the Avatar thing, but Y/N had a calming aura around her that was just unmissable. Being next to her like this gave him the feeling things would be alright, the feeling he was not worthless. It was a lie, of course. There was no way to know how their plans would go, and he was pretty much worthless.

But being beside her was enough to trick his mind. Maybe the little crush he harbored towards her had become something more — Spirits, he liked her so much. Not that it mattered, considering there was no way she would ever love him back, not after everything he had done.

“When I was younger, I believed we became stars when we died.”

He turned his head to look at her, “really?”

She turned to look back and his breath hitched at their close proximity. She chuckled, “yeah. I didn’t even know I was the Avatar back then, I was so young. They told me when I was sixteen, and I ran away shortly after,” there was bitterness to her words, “like a coward.”

“You are not a coward, Y/N. You had no way of knowing how things would go.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Besides, if you hadn’t run away, you wouldn’t have been stuck on ice for a hundred years, and I would never have met you, which would be awful,” he widened his eyes, completing quickly, “and Sokka, Katara, and Toph, too. I wouldn’t have met them either. Of course.”

Her smile was so pretty he forgot how to breathe, “you’re right, Zuko. I don’t think I would have liked to live a life where I never met you,” she smirked before going on with teasing eyes, “and Sokka, Katara, and Toph, too. Of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a blush on his face. They stared at each other carefully and Zuko was pretty sure his heart was performing a professional routine of somersaults inside his body. He definitely was past just a simple crush.

Y/N smiled that dazzling smile of hers before averting her gaze to the stars again and yawning. “We should go in.”

“We should,” the Fire Prince immediately started to sit up, but she held him down with a hand to his chest, and probably felt his crazy heartbeat under her fingers.

“Just a bit more, Prince Zuko,” she whispered, eyes trained to the sky. Slowly but surely, she moved her hand from his chest to his own hand, creating goosebumps on every inch of skin she lightly touched on the way there. Zuko could feel his body burn at the barely-there feeling of her fingertips. She intertwined her fingers with his carefully, giving him the chance to pull away if he so wished. He let out a shaky breath and squeezed her hand. She immediately squeezed his back in reassurance.

In the middle of the quiet and comfort they suddenly found in each other, they fell asleep under the stars, fingers playing with each other until exhaustion finally engulfed them in dreams of pretty smiles and light touches.

It was nice to dodge the nightmares.

-----

“I’ve heard you and Zuko slept outside today,” Sokka had a teasing tone to his voice. Y/N glared at him, “you are together now or something?”

“We are not,” she countered, scratching Appa while they talked. Zuko, Toph, Katara, and Suki had left for the beach already. Y/N still needed to feed her sky bison and Sokka offered to help with the excuse of being a good friend. The Avatar was absolutely sure that wasn’t the real reason he stayed back alongside her and he was currently proving her right, “we were just stargazing and then fell asleep.”

“Stargazing, huh? Real cute. I bet it was an endearing impromptu date, wasn’t it?”

“Since when do you even know the word impromptu?”

“I am always full of surprises.”

“Right,” she rolled her eyes and he laughed loudly, “it was not a date.”

“But you do like him, right?.”

“What?” she turned her entire body to him, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms in a defensive stance. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you better than you know yourself and I can tell you have feelings for him,” Sokka copied her movements, staring at her with a smirk, “I also know he likes you back.”

Y/N scoffed and transferred her attention back to Appa, “he does not.”

“So you admit you like him!”

“Shut up, Sokka!” she glared, but quickly gave up under his intense eyes and raised brows. “Yeah, I like him. It doesn’t matter, though.”

“Yes, it does! He feels the same! Look, what about this,” he leaned in closer, that crazy look he had whenever making up a plan taking over his face, “we are going to watch that play about us tonight, right? Well, you guys can sit next to each other! Like a couple!”

“That’s a terrible idea, honey.”

“It’s not! I bet he’s gonna make a move!”

“He won’t, because he’s not in love with me.”

“Wait, you’re in love with him?”

Y/N’s entire body tensed up. She shouldn’t have said that. She wasn’t in love with Zuko! Was she? I mean, she did love to be beside him, and her heart sped up when he gave her one of his rare smiles, and training with him when he had his shirt off was distracting to say the least. Besides, he really seemed to have changed and grown — she felt like she could trust him again, but she could never be sure, and she was adamant on not getting hurt once more. Especially now, when she was dealing with so many things. If he betrayed her a second time… Spirits, it would be just too much to handle.

“I don’t know,” she muttered and Sokka’s cheeky smile faltered, “I don’t want to be.”

He stretched an arm out to hold her hand fondly, “it’s fine, Y/N. Whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?”

The Avatar smiled sadly, “thank you, Sokka. I’m really glad to have you in my life.”

“I know, honey. I’m great like that.”

She laughed loudly and he grinned in satisfaction, turning her body around and starting to lead her towards the beach, an arm through her shoulders holding her close to his body.

“Shut up, Sokka. You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”

Zuko felt a pang to his chest when Sokka and Y/N arrived at the beach holding each other so dearly, but he knew he had no right to complain. She would be better off with Sokka anyway — he was good-looking, nice, funny, smart. Meanwhile, Zuko was nothing but a sad mixture of mistakes and regrets. The Avatar deserved more than that.

“Hey, Hotman,” she walked to him with a smile, planting a kiss on Sokka’s cheek before leaving his side. “Why are you all alone on the sand?”

“Because he’s boring,” Toph answered from some feet away and Katara chuckled. Zuko could feel his face redden.

“He is not,” Y/N argued amusingly, sitting down beside him and grinning. She glanced at him with a happy spark in her eyes, “are you excited for the play tonight?”

“No,” he muttered, but his lack of vivacity didn’t bother her in the slightest, “the Ember Island plays are always ridiculous.”

“I think it’s going to be fun,” she shrugged contently, basking in the hot sun, “if it isn’t, we can always throw food at the stage or whatever.”

He tried really hard, but couldn’t bit back the smile that took over his frown. He watched her attentively, noticing how she seemed to glow in the daylight, giving off this incredible warmth he had only ever seen on her. He averted away his gaze, feeling his neck and face heat up at how unapologetically beautiful she was.

Zuko cleared his throat quietly, “yeah, I guess.”

She only smirked in response.

-----

The play could be worse, he figured. Yes, their portrayal of him was horrible (even though his friends — could he call them friends? Were they friends? He hoped they were — said otherwise) and the actress playing Y/N was not nearly as pretty as the Avatar really was, but Y/N was next to him and, at some point, she had leaned her head on his shoulder tiredly and stayed there. All the training was getting to her and he felt inexplicable joy in the fact she trusted him enough to rest her body on his.

“Look,” her voice was raspy from sleepiness and a chill ran down his spine, “I think now is when you join Team Avatar and becomes our friend.”

He nodded carefully not to disturb her from her position and his heart skipped a beat when she nuzzled closer to his neck. Zuko watched as actor Zuko was accepted into the group and just after a scene with only him and actress Y/N started. Actor Zuko stared at the actress longingly, “my dear Y/N… I know I have wronged you in many ways, but I wanted to apologize for my mistakes and beg for your forgiveness!”

Y/N giggled at that, nudging him affectionately, “that really happened.”

He smiled, eyes following the performers on stage. Actor Zuko continued, “your forgiveness… And maybe your love, Avatar.”

They both immediately tensed up at the words and Y/N moved her head slightly, brows furrowing in confusion.

“My love, Prince Zuko?”

“Yes, my darling.”

They all watched as Actor Zuko and Actress Y/N kissed passionately, earning cheers from the audience. Sokka whistled loudly and Y/N turned to glare at him, receiving a wink in return.

“I have been in love with you since we first met!” Actor Zuko declared excitedly, holding Actress Y/N’s hands. “You are the only one who can make me forget about my teen angst. I love you, Y/N.”

“Well… I don’t!” Actress Y/N moved away swiftly and the crowd gasped in surprise. “I have accepted you in my group, Prince Zuko… But I’ll never accept you in my heart! You’re a bad person that doesn’t deserve my love!”

“What?!” Sokka almost screamed in disbelief. Y/N finally took her head off Zuko’s shoulder, incertitude swimming in her eyes. Before she had the chance to speak, Zuko had already left. The Water Tribe boy widened his eyes at her. “Go after him!”

Y/N nodded her head, getting out of her seat and walking after Zuko, calling his name. He ignored her, feeling anger boil inside him. He knew she would never directly say something like that, but he also knew it was true. She would never love him — he wasn’t worthy of her love, and he was pretty sure she was aware of that too.

“Zuko, wait!” she finally catched up to him, holding his arm and pulling him back. “It’s just a stupid play, Zuko. None of that is true.”

“Really, Y/N?” he turned to stare at her, rage covering his expression. “Because I’m almost certain it is. They said I don’t deserve love, Y/N, and that’s true. After everything I’ve done…”

“No!” she exclaimed desperately, shaking her head vehemently in disagreement. “Zuko, of course you deserve love. Yes, you have made mistakes, but all of us have. You shouldn’t care about what some actress says.”

“But they’re right, Y/N,” he insisted, feeling tears stinging his eyes, “I’m unworthy of love and everyone knows, and that’s why nobody actually loves me.”

“I love you!” she yelled out before she could stop herself, breath hitching at the troubled look taking over his face. Y/N sighed deeply, crossing her arms shyly and looking away, “I do,” her voice was small as she blushed, “I thought I was over my little crush for you but I wasn’t, and it’s—it’s much more than a little crush. I was afraid of admitting it but I know who you are, Zuko. You are loyal and smart and so inherently good and I love you. Spirits, I really do.”

  He stared at her for a second, processing her words. She fidgeted anxiously and he smiled at all her small manners. With certainty to his movements, Zuko took a step forwards and cradled her face in his hands. He studied every inch of her expression, waiting for some kind of rejection. She offered him a hopeful smile and he was quick to smash his lips with hers, feeling the warmth that always surrounded her consume him entirely. He kissed her passionately, happiness pouring out of him — the words “she loves you” echoing inside his mind like a broken record, filling his heart with joy.

She moved away when there was no more air in her lungs, breathing heavily and grinning like a mad woman. Y/N lifted her arm and touched his scar so fondly it physically hurt. Never before had he been touched with such care and it made tears flood his eyes, something she instantly noticed, giggling at his cuteness and drying one running tear with her thumb. She felt like her chest was full. He kissed her thumb lovingly when it rested near his mouth. 

She loved him. She thought he was worthy of love, of her love, even after everything he had done. No matter how many mistakes he had made, she still loved him, and that thought was enough to make Zuko feel some sort of hope towards the future.

Spirits, she really loved him.

“I love you too, Y/N. Very, very much.”

is it good? not really. could it be worse? yeah lmao

taglist: @bottledcostcowater @lammello @coldlilheart @azucanela @samsmultifandomblogs and @knaite-solo that asked to be tagged on this particular piece

thank you all for reading!! I hope you liked it!!

#zuko x reader #zuko x fem!reader #zuko x f!reader #sokka x reader #atla x reader #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender x reader #zuko #sokka #avatar #avatar!reader #avatar reader #ember island #the ember island players #requested

[casterlygldcs]

who: @gcuienveres​ where: the lannister apartments of white harbor when: the night of daemon targaryen's death, tyland and guinevere's last interaction

fury; it was all tyland lannister could think of, the colour red was all he could contemplate - the feeling of his pride, his kingdom being so utterly exposed by she, who was supposed to be one of their own. had he not given her all he could muster, anything worldly she could ever want, ensure none would dare question or harm her again for the wrath of her brother? his wrath was dangerous, in turmoil; and aimed directly at the sight of the lioness stood before him, as though he were judge, jury and executioner all at once. it were as though, in the numbing shock of all that had occurred, how one moment he were ready to start a war to ensure she and jason would leave the room unharmed, and then...

how many times had she accompanied her brothers to breakfast, as though she had not been in the bed of the man who had slain her own some years earlier? the thought of it sickened him, the notion that veins carrying the royal blood that was his own had been so slandered, so tainted, and so undone before the entirety of the court; and perhaps was infuriated him more, was the fact it was she who had uttered the truth. broken, feeble, exhausted from the lies she had learned to bare the brunt of upon her shoulders; it took all in his control to ensure he did not strike her then and there himself, disgusted by the mere sight of her.

it was control he needed, more than anything else; the ability to spin this narrative to one that would benefit his throne, his kingdom, and further weaken his enemies. it was this control he pondered on as he fixed a dangerous, emerald gaze upon her; lannister guards stood against the woman that was now a traitor to the eyes of the court in terms of the law. his sister had turned from a golden beauty to a stranger, with as much honour and dignity for herself as a common whore to allow herself into bed with a man who would have killed her own family, who allowed those iron born savages to ransack and loot their way through their city...it disgusted him. she disgusted him.

control, he needed control; of his fury, that seemed to grow increasingly one moment, before flattening in another. he would have control in some way, of what became of his little sister for her disgusting transgressions; their brother would be broken by this news, the look on his face was one of a man that had the world slipped from under his feet. and whilst tyland knew, whilst it may not be this night, some night he would mourn; in this moment, he cared little for it. there was silence, a golden head bowed before a throne; how vindictive he was toward her, how much he wished to make her regret such a move to ever cross him.

for she had crossed him; and whilst he would make sure she would regret it, he would ensure rowan arryn regretted it first. that smug bastard; the mere thought of the man's dark, brooding features was enough to cause the lion king to suddenly rise from his throne, a blaze of thunder and fury as his voice suddenly bellowed across the wall. "i tell you now, you are lucky to be leaving this chamber free of shackles, seeing sunlight once again with your head upon your shoulders."

she was not family to him; not anymore - she was as good as dead in his own orbs, gods know the thought of his little sister had long since withered and crumbled away to dust the minute the falcon king's hands had found their way onto her. it was a slight to him, his brother, his men who had died to ensure the kingdom she called home did not fall to those men who fought under a black banner. control, control tyland.

"if you wish to visit your mother's tomb once again whilst you draw breath, you will tell the world that this was forced upon you and you had no choice. some targaryen plot, which rowan arryn agreed to, as he always does; i will deal with the high septon to get this fucking elopement wiped away, and you will be grateful to see sunlight once again after crossing me."

#[ guinevere ] #[ guinevere 002 ] #i said: villain mode oN BITCH #flashback thread.