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dionysia-ta-astika · 3 months

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Apothnesko and the Psychopomp

CW: death, death of sibling, death of parent, death of partner, death of child, illness

Apothnesko awakes to crying. In the dim light of the moon through the window, he makes out the lank childish frame of his older brother Neos sobbing into the arms of a man he’s never seen before. Dressed in the dark garb of a traveler, the man gets to his knees to console the young boy, patting his back and murmuring to him that it is alright to be upset, it is normal. This all is very normal.

Upset to see his brother in such a state, Apothnesko rises to his feet and reaches out to him but his fingers meet cold air where he once would have met warm skin. Horrified, he grabs the post of his bed to steady himself and stares wild eyed at the intruder.

“It is okay,” says the man, “Your brother has died. I’ve come to collect him. He will not be lost.”

“You’ve killed him?” Apothnesko asks, recoiling.

“No, he was ill and his body can no longer house his spirit. I will take him to his new home,” the man clarified, standing up and grabbing a staff carved with twinning snakes he’d leaned upon the wall. He slipped his hand into that of Neos and helped him take a few steps toward the door, never urgent, never impatient. The boy looked to Apothnesko but seemed unable to speak through his grief.

“Wait,” Apothnesko cried, hoping to delay them, desperate for even a moment longer with his brother, “Are you Death?”

The man smiled. “I travel to it often,” he said, gently, “I am it’s familiar friend and servant.”

“Please, tell me sir, how may I live long?” asked Apothnesko.

“I have no way to ensure that,” said the man, motioning to the boy’s brother who was leaning on him as he spoke.

“Then tell me how may I die well?”

The man took the boy’s face in his hand, his own expression soft and deeply, wonderfully kind. “Know that you are very mortal and that very much matters.”

With that, the man turned on the heels of his winged sandals and guided Neos out.

—

Now the sole heir to their family’s small city state, Apothnesko throws himself into his studies. He spends his mornings being trained in several different weapons by his father’s guards. His afternoons are spent deep in discussion with his many tutors on topics of science, strategy, and diplomacy. Every evening is spent with his father Geronto as he tells stories of his many accomplishments and failures. Every moment of his day, he remains committed to learning everything he can. Skill, he thinks must be key to a long and happy life.

One day, an army arrives at the city’s gates. His father and the diplomats dispatch messages to try to negotiate for peace but the army’s leader will not be swayed from taking the city and enslaving it’s citizens. Their defenders ready themselves. Apothnesko, dutiful as ever, is close to his father’s side. He is given command of his own unit of men. Together they descend upon their enemy.

The clash is fierce. Men are struck, some immediately silent and others crying out through the maelstrom of human misery. After the initial clash, Apothnesko regroups his men, finding mounts for them as he is able. He retreats to a hill and commands them to attack the enemy at an angle. Together, they force the attacking lines apart and scatter the remaining army.

As he sees them retreating, he turns to his father to share in this victory but he is no where to be found. Desperately, he searches the field for hours, finally finding his father collapsed in front of the city gate where he fought off a group he’d spotted trying to sneak in. Apothnesko drops to his knees beside him. He scarcely notices a familiar figure in a dark cloak and hat as he approaches and plants his carved staff in the ground beside Geronto.

“It is okay,” says the familiar man, bending to look over Geronto’s body, “Your father has died. I’ve come to collect him. He will not be lost.”

“I have lost him,” Apothnesko says, his head in his hands now, “I am lost without him.”

“The important parts of him are still with you even now,” the man reassures him, taking Geronto’s hand and helping his spirit to his feet.

Seeing the man beginning to take his father from him sends Apothnesko back into his battle rage. He grabs the dagger still strapped to his waist and points it at the cloaked man’s neck.

“Tell me, what right do you have to take this man who has lived so nobly and always for the benefit of others?” said Apothnesko, furious.

“I have no right only a duty,” said the man, smiling gently and motioning to his staff, “Same as you.”

Apothnesko’s shoulders went slack at this. The dagger falls from his limp hand and clatters on the stone pavement below. He looks up and asks, “Then tell me how may I die well?”

The man picks up the dagger and places it back in it’s sheath, his expression soft and deeply, wonderfully kind. “Know that you are very mortal and that very much matters.”

With that, the man turned on the heels of his winged sandals and guided Geronto out.

—

Apothnesko ascends to his father’s throne. He is married to the princess of an allied city state, an arrangement made by his father before his death. The couple are kind to one another and perform their roles well, though there is little real affection between them. Together they rebuild and revive their polis; it’s walls higher and it’s buildings far grander than those in the age of his father. And yet there are still days where his grief pins him to his bed and scarcely lets him leave. No accomplishment, no act of grandeur lifts him.

Desperate to raise his spirits, his wife introduces her husband to a young man named Eros. He is handsome and intelligent but mostly he is kind in a way that reaches Apothnesko in a way his wife’s dutiful assistance cannot. His humor and levity helps the king to feel renewed. Their friendship blossoms into romance and the pair become inseparable. Their days are spent entirely in each other’s company. The young king once again feels purpose and urgency, rising each morning thinking only of what adventure he will embark on with his treasured lover. Love, he thinks, must be key to a long and happy life.

During a great city festival, Eros takes the lead in the great hunt. He is outfitted with the finest gear the polis can offer and he and a company of men set out to bring back that night’s feast. Apothnesko attends to his many ceremonies but always ever has an eye on the gate his lover left through, excited and ready to great him upon his return.

It is close to dusk when the party is spotted, a figure clearly being carried between some of the men. Apothnesko’s heart sinks as they come into view. Eros is limp in the arms of his fellow hunters, bloodied almost beyond recognition. The king rushes to his lover’s side and demands they call the healers. But the hunters insist it is too late, there is nothing left to be done. They withdrawal to let the king mourn.

Night falls and he cannot bring himself to leave Eros, cradling him and stroking his hair. The shadows of the olive trees embracing them both. He feels a warm hand on his shoulder and does not look up.

“It is okay,” says a familiar voice, “Your lover has died. I’ve come to collect him. He will not be lost.”

“I cannot afford to lose him,” says Apothnesko, clutching at his lover’s body, limp but still warm in his arms. “We aren’t done creating the life we promised to each other.”

“Promises are tricky things,” says the Man, taking the hand of Eros and easing his spirit to his feet.

“Tell me, what can I give you to let me keep this man with me even but even for a few hours longer?” pleads Apothnesko, shuffling through his pouches on his waist and drawing out a few gold coins.

“I have no room nor need of gifts,” said the man, smiling gently and motioning to his belt, clearly bereft of pouches.

Apothnesko nods, the gold spilling from his hand and onto the ground. Tears stream down his face as he asks, “Then tell me how may I die well?”

“Know that you are very mortal and that very much matters.”

With that, the man turned on the heels of his winged sandals and guided Eros out.

—

Apothnesko does not leave his room for many weeks. No one can get him to come from his bed chamber and the servants notice he is eating very little of the meals they bring him. His wife and the family of Eros both beg him to return to his duties but he refuses. There is worry despair might claim him.

That is until he hears a child’s cry in the palace. His wife has given birth to a son. He rushes to be by her side and smiles for the first time in months when handled the infant child. At last an heir, a child to secure their many advancements and bring up in the ways his father brought him. His son can carry their traditions on so that they far out live any one of them. Legacy, he thinks, must be key to a long and happy life.

The physician returns to the couple with a worried look. He explains the child appears to be sick and he is unsure how long they may have with him. Apothnesko’s wife clutches the child to her and refuses to let it from her sight. That night they all sleep together, the child asleep on his mother’s chest while Apothnesko kept watch.

Deep in the night, he hears a man with a walking staff enter the room and looks up. The man smiles softly from across the room, walking slowly to toward the bed. His dark hat and cloak the same as ever.

“It is okay,” says the familiar man, “Your son has died. I’ve come to collect him. He will not be lost.”

“If you take him from me I will have lost everything. There is no life without him, no polis, no hope,” he says, his voice flat.

“Everything that is done must be undone,” says the man, nodding solemnly.

“Then what is the point of doing anything?” asks the king, numb, “If everything comes to ruin, why do anything, love anything at all?”

“Doing nothing won’t prevent this,” says the man, cradling the child tenderly, “Doing something won’t either. But the story you tell is up to you.”

“Then tell me how to bring about a good ending,” says Apothnesko, “Tell me how may I die well?”

The man smiles knowingly, his face soft and deeply, wonderfully kind. “Know that you are very mortal and that very much matters.”

With that, the man turned on the heels of his winged sandals and guided the child out.

—

Apothnesko and his wife grieve their child. She decides she cannot have another and they select the king’s nephew as heir. At first, Apothnesko is nervous to teach the boy, knowing that at any moment the strange traveler may come to collect him. But he thinks of his father, he is generous with his knowledge, teaching him all he knows. When he thinks of his lover, he delights in sharing joy with the boy. When reminded of his son, he tells him stories to pass on.

Together, they see their city through many bountiful and troubled times. When a crop is particularly abundant, they celebrate with a festival for the entire city. When they hear of those who’ve lost their loved ones, they go to them and grieve as if their sorrow were their own.

As the boy approaches adulthood, Apothnesko begins to grow weary. His strength begins to leave him and he give more and more of his duties to his heir. One day, he grows ill and takes to his bed. The city is saddened by this news. Many send word of their love and admiration for the king that not only saved them but lived alongside them. His nephew goes to keep watch over him through the nights, determined he will not pass alone.

It’s the early hours of one morning that Apothnesko feels a hand on his shoulder, waking him with a start.

“It is okay,” says the familiar voice, “You have died. I’ve come to collect you. You will not be lost.”

“At last,” says the old king’s spirit, smiling, “Friend of my friends, loved of my beloveds - how great to see you again.”

His spirit rises up to greet the man and takes his hand. His nephew smiles, recognizing the man from the kings many stories.

“You saved our city and survived great loss,” says his nephew, “You rebuilt our home and united our people. Before you leave, please tell me what allowed you to live such a great life?”

Apothnesko turns to his nephew, his expression soft and deeply wonderfully kind. “Know that you are very mortal and that very much matters.”

With that, Apothnesko turned on his heel followed his old friend out.

#original myths #tw graphic death #tw violence #submission

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torisaysyeet · 1 year

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I used to have a dog.

TRIGGER WARNING: Explanation of graphic injury resulting in pet death.

I had a dog before I went into college. He was a Chihuahua-Dachshund-Corgi mix that my parents adopted for me and my siblings when I was in 7th/8th grade. I remember the day I came home to him. My mom picked me up from volleyball practice or a home game and said there was a surprise at home. I guessed what it was before we got there.

We'd seen my dog, Harley, with his litter at a family friend's house during a birthday party a few weeks/months before. He was still so tiny, but I can't remember if he really was the runt of his litter. Such a beautiful tri-color mix that looked like a collie. He had perfect eyebrows and everything.

I took care of him the most between me and my siblings that were still at home. I loved that little dog with my whole heart. My sister didn't really bother, and my brother hated taking care of him, so I took on that responsibility. I trained him. I walked him, fed him, bathed him, brushed all the knots out of his long hair.

In the years after adopting him, he became my baby, my boy. When I had my bed on the floor or slept on the couch, he would cuddle with me until I fell asleep. When he couldn't reach my bed, I listened to him fall asleep. He slept in my room, no matter what.

When I realized that I was going to have to live on campus when I went to college in a non-pet dorm, I was heartbroken. I was curled up in a corner sobbing and holding him. I wasn't ready to give him up. But I couldn't do anything because I didn't know how to register an emotional support animal, which would've allowed him to live with me on campus. He wasn't able to be a service animal because I didn't need one, and was likely too old to be trained for that.

I would've left him with my parents but they were both working in construction and wouldn't have the energy to care for him and entertain him properly. I reached out to family friends first, asked any of my classmates who weren't allergic or didn't have allergic family members. My oldest brother didn't have time and space, along with having a dog that was aggressive to other males.

My last option was my sister, who had estranged herself from the family fairly well at this point. We didn't talk much, but she was fully willing to take in Harley. She had 3 kids at the time, and Harley was great with kids.

A year later. One year.

My mom takes me outside and sits me down. She's just heard news about my dog from my cousin, who was still in contact with my sister at the time. Harley was dead. I didn't receive a phone call from my sister, her husband, or my brother that helped bury him. I could at the time understand my sister and her husband, they were both estranged. But my brother? He had my phone number, knew I was out of school at the time. I would've answered even if I was busy at work.

What I heard was that he had been stolen from their new backyard after moving house, harmed in some way that I've mentally blocked, and strangled with barbed wire. They supposedly found him dead behind the town's fire department.

I no longer believe this story one hundred percent.

Harley had quirks. He was a weird dog sometimes. And a family with 3-4 kids, fresh off a move, tension and stress at an all time high for everyone? I'm thinking he bit one of the kids. I think this set off my sister's husband, who was already a shitty human being to begin with.

I think my brother in-law took my dog out late at night, and murdered him. Then cooked up a story about him getting stolen. My brother wouldn't know the actual story unless they told him, which I doubt. It's possible my sister could be convinced he was stolen. My cousin wouldn't know at all.

They refused to bury him near me. They refused to let me see him one last time. And at the time I was so distressed that I didn't even think to demand cremation so I could have his ashes with me at all times. Even a tiny jar would've been good for me.

So, dear Brother In-Law of mine. I wonder if now, almost 3 years later, you would be able to tell me the truth, in full. Was Harley really stolen from your backyard? Or did he get on your nerve and instead of doing something rational, you killed him.

#trigger warning pet death #tw pet death #tw graphic description #trigger warning #trigger warning graphic description #tw graphic death #tw murder #rant #content warning #content warning pet death #content warning graphic description

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one-time-i-dreamt · 4 months

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There was a murder in my school and Chloe Decker was investigating it, but instead of Netflix Lucifer being there with her, it was Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel.

Also Alastor (also from Hazbin Hotel) was just there, lurking in the technical graphics classroom.

#dream #lucifer netflix #hazbin lucifer #chloe decker #hazbin alastor #murder tw #death tw #violence tw #netflix #lucifer #hazbin hotel #classroom #graphics

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skeletoninthemelonland · 6 months

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[Trigger warning]: Mentions of death and body horror.

This post is about my understanding of William Afton's possession of the Springbonnie suit!

One of the very few headcanons that I have is that, after his death, William Afton possessed both the Yellow Suit and his own corpse. It was more of an obligation rather than a choice. If he wanted to move around as Springtrap, he needed to bear the excruciating pain. Possessing a corpse meant striving to become "alive" again.

That probably explains why his body didn't fully decompose, even after 30 years: because his soul continuously struck it with jolts of energy, forcing the severely damaged tissue to function under awful conditions (cell membranes rupture and spill their contents after death, but they were forced back together). Here's an illustration:

To me, Springtrap didn't die once or twice, nor a third time. He died thousands and thousands of times and kept on coming back.

"I always come back."

The springlocks weren't the only cause of his suffering. It was the hunger, thirst, lack of oxygen, sleep deprivation, and subsequent infections, paired up with the psychological effects of it all.

#cw death #cw mention of death #cw body horror #cw: death #cw: body horror #cw: mention of death #starbstalks #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #tw death #tw graphic #tw mention of death #tw body horror #tw: body horror #tw: death #tw: mention of death #tw: graphic

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fentanylaced · 2 months

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⭒death metal princess⭒

#glitter text #glitter gif #glitter graphics #glittercore #white glitter #black glitter #glitter edit #transparent gif #transparent text #transparent png #goth #gothcore #goth gifs #death metal #metalhead #tw eyestrain #my edit #fentanylaced

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spacebubblehomebase · 20 days

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Helllo i Love your art more than i love donuts and thats ALLOT.but my boy lucifer can have babys,like i dont even know how that works!make it make sense! I just wanna say thank you again for curing are boredom👍🏻

You are SO right that is high praise indeed! I'm honored! =D So here. Have a donut! 🍩🍩🍩 As for Luci, let us turn to the world's favorite 700k+ words old man fanfiction that is The Bible (tm) as according to their lore, it's been canonically stated that angels are genderless for they are beings made of the Pure Holy Spirit and- Holy SHIT! What do you know??? Our dear depressed duck dad was an angel himself and in some depictions Lilith is infertile as was her punishment for her freedom! The more you know! -Bubbly💙

(LMAO. My guy's been traumatized. Once is enough XD)

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arsonic-writings · 2 years

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Midnight Murder

Summary: A man goes into the princess’ room in the middle of the night to check on her. Only to be shocked by the sight before him.

⚠ Warnings: Death, Graphic depictions of murder, blood/gore

________________________

Moonlight just barely filtered into a dark room of the Palace through the curtains. The whole room was deathly silent as an ominous presence overtook it. The little light that shown through the window made it possible to see an unnaturally darkened carpet. Though with such little light it was impossible to see what sights the room beheld.

Night slowly turned to day as it always had before. Pastel pinks, yellows, and oranges filled the sky before fading to let the light blues fill the sky. The sun was high in the sky by the time someone had bothered to enter.

A Man walked through the shadow filled room, not noticing the gloom and off feel of the room. Walking swiftly no falter in their step they threw open the teal curtains and pushed open the window to let in the cool air of the day. The grass below still had the silvern sheen of dew coating it despite being mid-morning.

The Man turned facing the ominous room, finally seeing what it beheld.

The carpets spread over the cool pine floors were unnaturally painted a maroon. Glass was shattered on the ground, probably once some knick knack situated on the dresser, now just a shattered pile of crystal like pieces. The mirror above shattered to pieces, a spiderweb crack spreading out from the side, a liquidy splotch stained the center of the impact running and dripping down before, now dry. The bed covers half off the bed, pushed down to the foot of the frame, one pillow across the room with feathers leaking out and strewn about the room. The other pillow resting over the face of a pale figure upon the bed. Their tranquil state distracted from their breathless manner and the sanguine slashes covering them causing almost permanent stains in the light pink nightgown upon their body.

#short story #my writing #tw graphic death #tw death #tw blood and gore #fiction

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fog-and-the-frost · 6 months

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#warrior cats #wc #clangen #tw gore #tw blood #tw graphic imagery #tw animal death #rffmoon

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fxtalitygod · 17 days

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X. ~Survival~

Genre: Historical AU, angst, mature, suggestive, arranged-marriage

Warnings: Dark themes, gore, graphic imagery, theme/depictions of horror, body horror, swearing/language, suggestive, pregnancy, mentions and acts of suicide, arguments, mentions of adult murder, Pet name (Little Flower 6-10x) implied Stockholm Syndrome, grief imagery, images/depictions of dead bodies, child death/murder, character death(s), slight misogynistic themes (if you squint), dubcon/noncon (not any actual smut other than vague mentions of sex), implied postpartum, implied survivors guilt

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Today is a new day and after I got home from work and did some fine-tuning, I finally posted the FINAL CHAPTER (not including the epilogue) of Survival!!! I honestly find it funny that I had originally planned for this story to be a short series and it just spiraled into two years of writing! HAHAHAHAA!!!

JJK Mlist•Taglist Rules• • Pt.I • Pt. II • Pt. III • Pt. IV • Pt. V • Pt. VI • Pt.VII • Pt. VIII • Pt. IX • Pt. X • Epilogue

Emptiness.

It was a feeling that you bitterly greeted after having abandoned it six years ago. It was disappointing, but welcome nonetheless. You wished it was under different circumstances. You did not know which circumstances but knew it was anything other than this.

After the destruction of your life, everything went back to the beginning. You were rehomed in a new village and a different temple, though you could not tell much of the difference. Those blank walls still drove you to insanity. The marriage ceremonies had resumed and more children began crawling the halls in a matter of months.

Sukuna had seemingly lost interest in you after the incident. You had finally snapped, extinguishing the anticipation for the hopes that you would one day. Despite his seeming lack of interest, you were still watched over with diligence, still resided in his chambers, and still acquired a caretaker.

Your mental forces were deteriorating, and it was clear from the blank expression that graced your face. You assumed that Sukuna acknowledged that and decided to have a sitter stay on top of you if you were to do something unexpected– much like what you had done to your village.

The curse user knew the extent of your rage, but he did not quite expect you to leave your home in ruins, to burn your family into nothing but ash. Little to your knowledge, a part of him admired you for that; however, the words that left your mouth after the act had been done brought him a discomfort that neither himself could explain.

From the way he was rutting in you currently, you could not tell. Another attempt of impregnating you. Years ago, you would have had a mind to beg him to stop, and when you could not accomplish that, feign pleasure. You used to want to please Sukuna not for his benefit but your own. Now all you cared about was embracing the feeling of that emptiness as you merely felt the man fucking you: soundless, motionless, thoughtless.

It took a matter of months before you were with child again; however, unlike before, this pregnancy was worse. In the physical aspect, you were overall healthy, but your mental health was far from good. You were a husk of the woman you once were, having lost all ambition for your future. Even when spontaneous thoughts of what life would be like outside the temple, you could not help but feel nauseous.

Guilt.

There were times you wished you could have blamed it on your pregnancy and escape the reality of the issue, but your mind would not allow it. You were repulsed with yourself and could not help but feel like you were betraying your twins by just the simple notion that you were alive, and to think of a future for yourself without them revolted you beyond compare. Your pregnancy did not make it any better.

Most women in the temple thought of pregnancy as a fresh start after losing their previous offspring; a new chance to impress their husband– a sickening point of view; however, you could not be upset with them. Deep down, you believed they had been just as afraid as you were upon their arrival when their village elders proclaimed them the next tribute to Sukuna. They more than likely had a plan to make it out of this hell and made promises to return to their families, but somewhere down the line, all the manipulation, physical strain, and mental stress, caused them to accept their fates and try to make the best out of it, losing themselves in the process.

You were not so lucky.

If pregnancy was a punishment before, it was a curse now. Knowing you were to have another child brought you great remorse. Anytime you were to look or even feel your bump, you could not help but think of the past... to think of your twins. It felt like you were betraying them, trying to unconsciously replace them even though your pregnancy was out of your control.

The way you would eat at yourself could have been considered torture.

Besides the normal work around the temple, you would spend most of your evenings in a dark and unoccupied room, keeping to yourself. No one dared to disrupt you, mostly out of fear due to the knowledge of your power. Few left you space out of respect, knowing the pain you were going through; however, sometimes you wished they would walk through that door, hoping they would attempt to comfort you.

It would have been a good distraction from your running mind.

Those dark and quiet rooms gave you time to think and reflect. You realized there were many things you had undermined and denied for your own sanity. The list could go on, some minor, some major…and the major miscalculations stuck out like a sore thumb.

Trimester One.

Despite your efforts, your village nor your family would have ever accepted your children– Sukuna's blood coursed through their veins, and that was enough to consider them a monstrosity. Your hopes of escaping with them and living a happy life were an illusion you conjured up to keep a drive in you.

Trimester Two.

Whether you liked it or not, your twins would not stay innocent forever. The twins were under Sukuna's guidance, no thanks to your pact, and they absolutely adored him. The twins blindly trusted him with their entire beings and would have believed anything Sukuna had taught them was for good, and you knew for a fact that is how your partner would have spun it. Their acts would have been malicious and cruel and they would not have even known...and despite your want to tell them the truth, the constraints of your pact would have stopped you from doing so.

Trimester Three.

Even if you had successfully run away with your son and daughter in hand, the life the three of you would have lived would have been far from peaceful. You and the children were proven valuable assets to Sukuna; to think that your husband would give you all up so easily was foolish. The curse-user would have hunted you down to the ends of the world until you were back in his grasp.

And as you sat there holding your new baby girl, tears streaming down your face as you listened to her whimpers, you hoped she'd grow up to be a fool; a strong, but foolish girl. If your daughter grew up to be a fool, the world could not hurt her as it had hurt you. If she becomes a fool, she would not have to feel the burden you were feeling.

You hated that you hoped for her, hated the fact that you loved and cared for her after laying eyes on her small figure. The whole scene was pitiful. The arms of a mother holding her child close to her bosom as if shielding them from the world– the effort could be appreciated but was futile because the looming threat was already hovering over you as he inspected his creation. If his presence was not unsettling enough, his hum of satisfaction horrified you, causing you more tears.

"I should have killed myself that morning. It would have saved me a lot of heartache..." you whispered, repeating the words you had mentioned over a year ago.

Months back into motherhood you found yourself questioning yourself and your emotional availability every time you looked at your daughter. You were doing all the right things, but performing the tasks felt heavy on your shoulders, and the smiles you painted on your face felt like they were caked on. None of it felt real. There was no doubt you cared for your little girl, but you had to admit that the task was tiring– caring was tiring.

You thought the feeling would end, believed it was temporary, but days turned into months, and months turned into a year.

You had just finished your daughter's first inspection and were now in your sleeping chambers with your husband. You both stood there silent and unmoving, staring at each other with hardly any indication of who was willing to speak first. Fortunately, your daughter was the first to break the silence, whining as she clung to you. You sighed as you understood the child needed attention, moving the baby into a better position to lightly bounce her, attempting to calm her down.

"You know, I thought you would be overjoyed to be blessed with another child, Y/n," Sukuna sounded as he studied you.

"Whatever do you mean? I am nothing but pleased," you blankly responded, focusing entirely on the little girl bouncing in your arms.

Silence once again.

You could feel his stare burning into you; feel his agitation radiating off his skin as he looked for a real answer. Sukuna was not an idiot, you were aware of that, but his meaningless probing was getting on your nerves. You would much rather he got to the point than play his mind games. If he was going to be indirect, you would only do the same.

"Do you think of them when you look at her?"

There was a halt in your movements, breath hitching as you did so. You slowly moved your head to look at the man before you, your gaze piercing. You had every intention to avoid the question, but your mouth betrayed your mind.

“What do you think?” You snipped, a grimace forming onto your features.

“I could make you forget, simply remove them from your memory to rid you of this…ailment.”

For what felt like the thousandth time of your life, you could feel your eyes widen, however, this was the most appalling statement your husband had made. Had he really suggested ridding your memories with your twins? Had he no remorse? Of course not, why would he? The children were a means to an end, nothing more than a few pawns in his plan. Any love and affection the father had shown his son and daughter were shown with calculation and precision– there was no meaning behind those affections.

"You sick bastard."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Y/n, I would advise that you watch your tone," a warning glare, "If I did not know any better, I would say that you were speaking out of turn when I am offering you such a gift– I do not offer such things lightly."

"Well it is good that you know better," the seething anger bubbling in your chest was choosing your words at this point, "How could you suggest such a thing?"

"I am doing you a mercy, Y/n, you are letting the past consume you from the inside out, and sooner or later you will become the image of your agony."

"You know nothing because if you did you would be in the same state as I am. You speak as if you know sympathy, but your words are honeyed to keep me in your grasp!"

Your breath was heavy as you confronted Sukuna, glaring daggers into his soul as you watched him step closer.

"Your perception can be quite bothersome at times, Little Flower; however, I believe it is what I admire most about you. I think it is why I chose you...why I love you."

Love.

"Love."

Your laughter was hysterical. The tears welling up in your eyes from pure disbelief and humor. Sukuna Ryomen himself has admitted to loving you for the second time. This time claiming he chose you because he loves you.

What a joke.

"Love me?" you choked between giggles, "Sukuna, you would not know love if it hit you in the face. Like I said before, your words are coated with the sweetest sugars to keep me around, to bring me hope, and quite frankly, the sweetness has become dull and bitter," a pause as you caught your breath, "You do not love me Sukuna. As I have stated, you love what I can provide you."

Silence had greeted you both for what seemed like the millionth time, but you could have been wrong, you lost count at this point.

"I understand the concept of love, more than you think, Little Flower; however, love has little meaning. So you are right, I do not love you, I value you. Is that not greater than love?"

You scoffed.

"You are going to die alone and I am glad that you will."

A soft chuckle sounded from your husband before feeling a strange feeling at the back of your head. You could feel the kanzashi pin moving in your hair as Sukuna played with the accessory.

"I highly doubt that."

Those four words had caused your heart to sink, bringing you more fear than you had ever experienced in your entire life. Without thought, you backed away from the man towering over you. You shook your head as you held eye contact with Sukuna, almost stumbling on your feet as you felt for the door and clumsily exited the room. You had your daughter close to your chest as you entered the hallway.

What little you had of your life came crashing down instantly as the gravity of your reality unfolded to its full extent.

You would never be free and although that was a realization you had made long ago...this time you had no hope to convince you otherwise.

So what did you do?

You ran.

You flew through the corridors to the gardens, arriving with heavy breath. Scanning the grounds you searched for the only individual who could help you right now. The moment your eyes registered the woman, you quickly approached, hardly paying attention to anything along your path as you made your way over.

"Y/n-"

"I have something for you!" you interrupted, holding out a pin you had stored and concealed for years, never knowing the right moment to give it to the woman before you.

The woman who had lost her sick and poor son on your very first inspection day.

You watched as her eyes welled up immediately, taking the pin and inspecting it as if to make sure it was real. When she was able to confirm the little trinket was indeed not a figment of her imagination, she held it close to her chest, letting her silent sobs escape before looking at you.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you giving this to me?"

You looked around hesitantly before pitifully looking at her, letting your walls crumble to reveal all your pain and suffering.

"I need your help."

"Uraume!"

"Yes, Sukuna-sama," the right hand responded.

"I would like you to gather the women and children from the inspection, I have an announcement."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama, I'll get right on it."

With that Uraume disappeared, leaving Sukuna in his quarters alone. The man paced in his chambers, reflecting on the prior conversation from earlier. The talk did not have the most satisfying ending, but much like the other unfortunate discussions that had been held between the two of you, this would be another problem that would resolve itself in due time.

The move would help move that process faster.

This village had quickly bored the tyrant, as they were quick to promise vengeance and destruction upon his empire. Same-old-same-old. So with that, it was time to move on to the next village after leaving this one behind in ashes.

"Sukuna-sama, the women and children do not appear to be in their chambers or the gardens, the workstations are abandoned too.

"What?"

Without a thought, Sukuna stormed out of the room and into the halls, those blank walls making the temple look more abandoned knowing that everyone had seemingly disappeared. He looked through every room he managed to pass, even using his abilities to sense the faintest amount of cursed energy. For a while, he came up with nothing, but after catching a familiar aura, he briskly started to follow the direction it was coming from.

The curse-user found himself in the main hall, where he saw his wives and children gathered. The husband would be lying if he claimed he was not confused with the situation, but he would not show that. Instead, Sukuna decided to try and decipher the scenario.

Upon first glance, it had seemed that the women and children were gathered for a usual gathering, but upon closer observation, something was off. The looks of the individuals in the room seemed to differ. Some women seemed relieved, others looked almost proud, and others...well, the last of the women looked as if they were being held there against their will.

As the monster-of-a-man continued to scan the room, he finally managed to find you, standing in the center of the room, your head held high; however, you looked exhausted, broken. It brought that familiar discomforting feeling to Sukuna, the same feeling when you had spoken those words after you had burned down your village.

"What is this, Little Flower?" Sukuna questioned with some amusement behind his voice, masking his indifference.

"Do not call me that," you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper as it softly echoed in the room.

"Y/n-sama ple-"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" you yelled, successfully silencing the crying woman who had shouted for you.

The atmosphere was tense, and he would tread carefully because Sukuna was no fool.

"What do you want, Little Flower? An apology? I can, obviously, give that to you, but we both know it would not solve much. So what is it you truly want?"

"To leave..." you weakly announced, watching as Sukuna gradually approached before stopping in his footsteps.

"Well then, Little Flower, you have gathered yourself and all your companions just in time, I was ready to announce our departure from this village. You get what you want, righ-"

"That's not what I want." you interrupted.

Sukuna was silent, his brow twitching in irritation as he stared at you, stopping mid-stride.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want the offer you gave me back on the table?" you quickly responded.

"And what offer would you be referring to, Little Flower?"

"On my very first inspection with my twins, you offered me to kill everyone in this room– I want to change my answer."

Your husband chuckled, "Do you not think the circumstances have changed a little, my dear? I gave you that option years ago, what makes you think that is something I am still willing to offer?"

"Because you love me..."

"Now you are willing to embrace that love?"

"Only if you do this one last thing for me. I will let you love me until my last mortal days, and me in return, just as long as everyone in this room dies."

A sly smirk, "As you wish, Little Flow-"

"By my hands!" you interjected.

Delight was an expression that Sukuna could not hold back at those words.

"It's a deal, Y/n."

"Perfect."

With those words sealing the pact, you took no further wait in your next actions. You ignored all the shouts and screams of those who wished to live, ridding yourself of whatever empathy you once had– you had to admit, it made things a lot easier when setting the room ablaze. Hearing their screams of agony and pain was a lot easier when you managed to wash out the humanity within you.

You could only feel relief after hearing all the shrieks and wails die out into nothing but silence. The room was filled with nothing but fire, bone, and ashes, the smell of burning flesh was prominent; however, that did not stop him from approaching you.

"I love you, Little Flower." Sukuna proclaimed, bringing his forehead to yours before softly kissing you.

He pulled away to look into your eyes, admiring them momentarily before smiling softly. Some may have mistaken it for a look of endearment, but it was a look of satisfaction. He had successfully taken your pride, dignity, and hope– he had taken all of you.

"I love you too."

And because you had no pride, dignity, or hope, left to hold on to...

It made it so much easier to bring that poison-coated dagger to your flesh and slit your belly.

For Sukuna everything went in slow motion, immediately swatting the dagger from your hand to the ground before cupping your wound, blood covering his hand in seconds. The desperate individual tried using his reverse curse technique to revert the damage, but it was pointless as you were resisting. For the first time in a long time, Sukuna felt genuine fear as he watched you slowly slip away from reality. And as everything started to play back to speed, Sukuna had a realization.

"Where is our daughter?!" The four-armed monstrosity yelled upon notice of your empty arms, continuing at attempts to stop your bleeding with little success.

Your smile made his heart drop.

"Gone." you sputtered, blood slipping from your cooling lips before going completely limp.

"...Gone where? Little Flower..."

"Little Flower!"

"LITTLE FLOWER, ANSWER ME!"

"Y/N!!!!!!!!"

You upheld your deal...you loved him for your last mortal days, it just so happened that day was seconds into a day, and as Sukuna sat there holding your motionless form, he could not have regretted anything more in his life. Making that deal was the best thing to happen in your life because in the end...

...You won the game of Survival.

And you hoped that your daughter could one day do the same.

Until the epilogue yall... (｀∀´)Ψ

Taglist:

@littlemochi @mistalli @youngbeansprout @bbylime @bangtan-forever1479 @idktbhloley @izayas-rings @o3o-aya@pyschopotatomeme @persephonehemingway @otomaniac @meforpr3sident @fourcefulcupid @nezuscribe @my-simp-land @zukuphilia @niya729 @spiritofstatic @bbittersw33t @kashasenpai @decaysan @honeybaegle @ygslvr @outrofenty @esposadomd @ali2426 @anmath @yazzzmints @lovingnahida @sincerest-one @rosemaydone321 @j0dios @k-ki3rd @maki-zenin1944 @shadowywizardarcade @ae-mius @xiangping-28 @loaves4me @aloraaaxcrystalzx

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dionysia-ta-astika · 2 months

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TW: blood, organs, bacchae

Sparagmos (or Euripides, Eat Your Heart Out)

A wall was built slipshod upon

the bones and ashes

of the lessons that those old Greeks failed to learn.

And bloodied teeth were planted in a field,

springing up cadmium red and spartan strong-

Cadmus himself a stone’s throw away and eight feet deep

in soldier’s tongues and oxblood promises.

Then Thebes stood naked,

quivering out the ruins of the day

while Pentheus watched,

testing out the steel toe tip of his

stiletto heeled hypocrisies.

His mother broke the skull of

the god-eyed beast

with her thorny staff that will

soon enough break his own

and carry it aloft-

His head paraded,

staring through the streets.

For now,

He watches the moon set behind the hills

like a goblet dipping into wine.

Thinking on the the line of his mother,

his mother’s mother-

Noble, strong, and raw as the soil-

Ran trilling towards wild hills.

Running naked

With leaves in their uncombed hair

To break and tear and rend-

the wild goats and boar and men-

To reach their soft women’s hands into the hot blood

To draw out the clayborn entrails and read them as runes

Wild haruspicy witnessing

the grape vine lines drawn between palm and eye

And rejoicing of it all in the feast-

And the wine and the blood.

#retellings #poetry #tw graphic death #tw violence

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captainhysunstuff · 1 month

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22 more images (with some saucy shenanigans and immature "seduction" tactics towards the end) below the cut:

Ryuk makes his grand return and is brought up to speed with Light and L's immoral union. The date seems pretty successful~.

Next (not yet)

First

Master List

Transcript

#drawn by me #my fanart #my fancomic #Death Note #The Chain #lawlight #Light Yagami #L #Ryuk #smooch #saucy shenanigans #suggestive dialogue #Ryuk third-wheeling~#L meets Light's quirky-deadly roommate #henh not much to say about this one. basically a continuation of the previous entry despite the absurd update gap.#I've lost the ability to keep anything brief anymore~#L seems a bit out of character with his willingness to go with the plan huh? And don't you think he'd have gotten used to Light's teasing b #now? Maybe it hits a little different knowing for a fact that it's coming from Kira's mouth directed towards him of all people~#Also the picture where Ryuk is saying he'll scram when things get heated is probably my favorite drawing of him that I've done!#he was so intimidating to draw especially over and over in comic form. such a far cry from my usual human style #but like all things I gradually became more and more comfortable drawing him. I'm very happy about that! :)#I have a dumb idea/headcanon concerning the nerds' first copulation attempt~.#if I decide to include it here I will definitely try to age restrict it even though it won't necessarily be graphic.#don't wanna get in trouble lol #I have more trouble drawing spicy scenes than I do with shinigami subjects XD #tw: food issues #they both eat the sketchy 'apple' to prove they're not cowards... despite it not being the smartest idea in the world. >_>

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moss-on-trees · 1 year

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dp x dc prompt: dead on main au where danny leaves the joker's body on jason's doorstep as a courting gift

in this au, danny lives in the ghost zone full time. (he's also a little unhinged.)

along with the power boost he gained as the king of the infinite realms, danny's status as a half-dead half-alive being makes him develop the peculiar ability of knowing the cause of death of all ghosts and undead he encounters.

he meets jason on a visit to the living realm and falls in love with the revenant at first sight. since his ability lets him catch a glimpse of his crush's death, he decides killing the joker would be the best way to win him over, so he hunts down the clown, unalives him and wraps his dead body with a nice green bow and sends it to jason via portal along with a bouquet of asphodels.

cue the bat clan freaking out over the unknown entity who just gifted a corpse to their undead family member with no explanation whatsover.

(danny probably should have remembered to leave a note.)

jason is both creeped out and charmed.

#dead on main #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc #jason todd x danny fenton #batpham #tw corpse #tw death #not graphic but i should have mentioned it

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furiousgoldfish · 13 days

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This is going to sound incoherent to those who haven't been told over and over they're monsters or demons or animals as children, but I need to write it down.

It was often I would be told that I was some kind of evil creature and not a child, as a justification for abusing me, and I wouldn't have any kind of response to that, because how do you combat that? How do you respond to a parent or a family member calling you a snake and a swine and satan? I would get frozen in doubt and start to internalize, that I must be non-human, I must be evil and fundamentally wrong and demonic in some way, because I couldn't find any argument against it. After all, these people were saying it so surely, so filled with rage and righteous justice, that I was non-human, that it was not only okay but necessary to hurt me, and it's all I've ever known. And I still get flashbacks to those moments when I would be told stuff like 'you should have been strangled to death the second you were born', and I freeze. It hurts. I can't reason with hatred like that.

It's only today my brain finally found some counter arguments to it.

Was I born to a human being, or to an animal? If I had been an animal, I would have been born to an animal mother. And she wouldn't hate me like you do. Even if I was a baby snake, there would have been no need to torture me, I would have been normal and natural as a snake. But, even as a child, I had arms and legs, it was obvious I wasn't a snake.

If I as a demon, how would I be born into a family of humans? Wouldn't it be shown in the color of my eyes, or my skin, or my actions? Have I been displaying anything but normal child behaviour? How would anyone be able to tell I was a demon, if I was born to humans, acted like a normal human child, and had never done acts of irreparable evil and sadism? What made me a demon then?

If there was nothing but evil in me, why was I in so much fear and pain all the time? Is that how evil-doers feel? Why was I too scared to do even normal, mundane things that other kids fearlessly did? Why was nobody afraid of me? Why did people feel comfortable hurting me, cornering me and attacking me, if I was so dangerous and malicious?

It was painfully obvious that I was a human child from the start. Calling a human child demonic is not normal, it's not well-intentioned, it's not for the child's own good. It's cruel and vicious. And it wasn't based on anything inside of me. You saw a child you wanted to hurt repeatedly, and making the child believe they're not human was the simplest way for you to get away with it. Why did you need to hurt the child repeatedly? Even if you believed it was something else, an animal or an evil creature, why did it give you pleasure to hurt it over and over again? Why would you intentionally corner a small creature inside of your home and cause pain to it? Did it give you pleasure to see fear and tears? Did you enjoy it so much you just had to keep doing it?

All small humans are the same, they have small little limbs, they're squishy, they're sensitive, they get spooked and scared easily, they like playing brave to make themselves feel stronger. There's no reason to corner and torture one, and call them evil for that. I was the same. I was acting brave but I was small, and soft, with little limbs, easily spooked, easily brought to tears. What was in you to want to break me? What was it worth to you to do it?

You could have picked any child for it, and it wouldn't have made any difference. I was just what was in the house.

#cult abuse #brainwashing #child abuse #tw graphic threats #tw graphic death threats #tw threats to kill a toddler #psychological abuse #emotional abuse

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clangenrising · 5 days

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Month 15 - Newleaf

Battle With Razor Pt 8

Goldenstar lurched out of unconsciousness coughing up blood. It felt like her throat was full of it. She gagged and sputtered, even hacking up a few chunks of gore, until there was a small pool in front of her. A tongue rasped over her back comfortingly and when she squinted up at the cat through tears she saw Oddstripe smiling tearfully at her.

“Oh, thank the Stars,” he cried. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming back!”

“Me neither,” she coughed. The sound of fighting was close by. She rose to her shaky paws to see Orangestar and Russetfrond taking turns lashing out at Razor who was bleeding out of his right eye. She took a step towards the fight, testing out her legs. They seemed shaky, like she hadn’t eaten all day, but they would hold.

Suddenly Scorch was beside her, fur wet with tears and smeared with blood. “H-how-?” Scorch asked, open mouthed in shock.

“You’re hurt!” Goldenstar gasped, eyes fixed on the blood in her fur.

“No,” Scorch shook her head, “It’s all your blood.”

“Oh,” Goldenstar swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Forget about the blood!” Scorch cried in bafflement. “You were dead! I- I was certain you were dead, how are you-?”

“I told you,” Goldenstar smiled, “StarClan gave me nine lives.”

“That’s impossible!” Scorch shook her head.

“It’s the truth,” shrugged Goldenstar. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m fine,” Scorch said, sniffling. “I’m just… I’m glad you’re alive.” Goldenstar’s heart swelled in her chest.

“I love you so much,” she purred, leaning in to bump her forehead against Scorchplume’s. Scorch didn’t protest and met her force in kind, laughing through tears.

“How are you feeling?” Oddstripe asked and Goldenstar realized she needed to focus up.

“Shaky,” Goldenstar said, “but fine. I should go join them.”

“Are you sure?” Scorchplume frowned nervously.

“I’ll be careful,” promised Goldenstar.

Scorch held her gaze for a long moment and then nodded. “Okay.”

Smiling, Goldenstar turned her attention to the fight ahead. She leapt up behind Razor and slashed at his heels to pull him away from biting into Russetfrond’s shoulder. He gave Russetfrond a good shake and pulled back, wheeling towards her, only to pale at the sight.

“What?!” he balked. In his distraction, Orangestar sank her teeth into his ear and tugged, pulling him off balance. Goldenstar moved in and slashed at his stomach, managing to draw blood through the thick coat of fur. Russetfrond charged in too, ramming his uninjured shoulder into Razor’s side to fully topple him to the ground. Razor kicked out with his hind legs and struck Goldenstar in the neck. Pain shot through her even though the wound that had killed her was no longer there and she rolled away with a hiss.

“What’s going on?!” Razor snarled, thrashing to try and get back to his feet. Russetfrond dodged a swipe and clawed at his belly again. Orangestar let go of his ear and closed her teeth around his collar, pulling it tight against the front of his throat. He wheezed and slashed his claws at her. He tore her ear but she held firm, digging her paws in.

Goldenstar waggled her hips, patiently tracking his movements, and then lunged and caught his dominant paw in her teeth like it was a bird. She dropped with it, kicking at his armpit with her hind claws as she bit ruthlessly at the tendons near the pad. Razor snarled and thrashed but Goldenstar could tell he was slowing down. She released his paw, confident that it would be extremely painful to use, and jumped to her feet again.

He glared at her, eyes bulging in their sockets, and choked out, “This… can’t-!”

“You’re done, Razor,” Goldenstar growled. “You won’t hurt anyone ever again.” She raised her claws and brought them down on his throat, tearing a bloody gash in the soft skin underneath his neck.

Razor bucked beneath Russetfrond’s weight, managing to throw him off and rolled to crush Orangestar underneath him. She let go of his collar with a grunt of pain and scrambled away. Quickly, Goldenstar lashed out at his exposed belly, leaving another gash, but that didn’t seem enough to stop him. He stood, swaying slightly, blood pattering onto the grass, glared at the cats around him.

“I don’t know what kind of-” Razor paused briefly to hack up a clot of blood, “what kind of trick you pulled there, but you haven’t won!” He lurched towards Goldenstar, teeth snapping dangerously close to her neck as she scrambled backwards. The gaping wound in his throat splattered the ground with a trail of dark blood as he moved. “I’m still the most dangerous cat in the room!”

Russetfrond grabbed one of Razor’s hind legs and pulled it out from under him. The kittypet toppled gracelessly onto his side, roared in fury, and tried to heave himself back onto his paws, but Goldenstar grabbed his collar again and pulled it tight.

“I said you’re done!” she growled through gritted teeth. “Stay down already!” Russetfrond and Orangestar both bit down on one of his hind feet and pulled in the opposite direction from her, leaving only his front paws free to scrabble against the leaf litter.

“No!” he coughed, floundering in his own blood. “I’ll make you pay for this! You’ll-” he hacked again, harder and longer this time, and when he resumed speaking, his voice was hoarse and strained, “you’ll wish you were never born!” He wheezed and thrashed, teeth snapping at the air, but the three of them held tight until his flailing slowed and ceased. Goldenstar held still for a long beat, expecting a last surge of resistance, but none came and eventually she released his bloodstained collar with a heavy sigh.

“That was terrible,” Oddstripe whispered, ears pressed backward.

“I’ve never seen a cat stay standing while losing so much blood,” Russetfrond grumbled.

“Seriously,” said Orangestar. “I’ve seen badgers go down easier.”

Goldenstar nodded and then swayed, suddenly dizzy. Scorchplume caught her with her own shoulder, purring in an attempt to soothe her.

“Easy,” she said. “You should rest.”

“Yeah,” Goldenstar laughed. “Probably.”

“Grab his collar,” Russetfrond told Orangestar. “Let’s go end the battle.”

“Right,” she nodded and bent down to try and wiggle it off of his head.

“Sagetooth and the other healers are waiting near there,” Oddstripe said, “why don’t we go back there so they can check you out more fully.”

“Yeah, alright,” Goldenstar said, too tired to have opinions anymore. She sighed pleasantly as she leaned into Scorchplume’s side and let herself be led away from the sickening scene behind her.

They stumbled back to the battle where Orangestar jumped onto the rotting trunk and crowed, “Razor is dead! The battle is ours!” The battle stilled immediately, some cats looking around for confirmation. Orangestar shook Razor’s collar for emphasis, the bell jingling merrily, and the Clans erupted into victorious cheers. What was left of the rogues fled. Orangestar purred, bursting with pride and Goldenstar smiled. She deserved it.

At Scorchplume’s insistence, they continued on to the first aid station. Goldenstar sat and let Sagetooth fuss over her for a bit but the healer eventually concluded that there were no wounds left worth treating and that she just needed to rest and eat as soon as she was able. Stormwhisper sent someone to fetch some prey from EarthClan’s camp and that was that.

She settled down on the edge of the healers’ clearing with Scorchplume perched just behind her, squinting skeptically at anyone who came too close. Goldenstar had to restrain herself from chuckling fondly. As she ate, Snowstar joined her and updated her on the aftermath of the battle.

Aside from Razor, three of the rogues were dead, including one kittypet who Scorch identified as Tiger, one of Razor’s lieutenants. Thankfully, the Clans had only suffered one casualty in Darkmoon who was likely going to be in StarClan before noon. As well, Snowstar confessed that a few of the Chaff fighters had defected during the battle and one of them had even expressed interest in joining SkyClan. Goldenstar congratulated her heartily.

“We’re very lucky,” Snowstar concluded. “StarClan was truly guiding our paws.”

“Yeah,” Goldenstar said half heartedly, remembering the way StarClan had stood around doing nothing as she lost two of her precious lives.

“Ah, but you’re exhausted,” said Snowstar, misreading her expression. “I’ll let you rest.” She stood and dipped her head in goodbye.

“Thank you,” Goldenstar said. As Snowstar padded away, she sighed and laid her head on her paws.

“Well,” Scorch said, starting to sound like herself again, “it seems I will be sticking around. For now.”

“Oh, good,” Goldenstar laughed. “I’m glad you’re not going to make me beg.”

Scorch smiled and dipped her head. “I would never, your excellence.”

All of the mirth evaporated from Goldenstar. “Hey,” she said softly. “Uh… Please, don’t say that anymore.”

Scorchplume frowned in confusion, unable to form words. “W…”

“I don’t want to be associated with him,” said Goldenstar. “I never want you to have to think about him again.”

Scorch pursed her lips and nodded. “Okay.” She sniffed and leaned in to press her forehead to Goldenstar’s and Goldenstar was grateful beyond belief. “Why don’t we get you cleaned up. We wouldn’t want to scare the kits when we go home.”

“Yeah,” Goldenstar smiled. When we go home. “I think that’s a good idea.” Scorch settled beside her and began cleaning the blood from her fur and Goldenstar couldn’t help but doze under the calming sensation. As she faded into sleep, she captured that moment in her mind - the familiar buzz of activity around her, the warmth of Scorch’s pelt against her side, the gentle rhythm of Scorch’s tongue across her fur. She couldn’t imagine anything better than where she was right now.

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