#THEY CANNOT TAKE IT FROM ME ITS ALL I HAVE EVER KNOW I BLED AND SWEAT LEARNING TO EDIT ON THAT

[killuaisaprincess]

🦋💕🦋💕🦋

[marichive]

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Catelyn Tully / Stark in A Clash of Kings , the second book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ The ancient crown of the Kings of Winter had been lost three centuries ago. ❞

❝ It is no easy thing to wear a crown. ❞

❝ Kneel before the king. ❞

❝ He is not a bold man, this one. ❞

❝ I brought you from our cell to carry my message to your cousin. ❞

❝ I should be most glad to bring your message to the queen. ❞

❝ Understand, I am not giving you your freedom. ❞

❝ You chose to fight beneath a foe’s banner. ❞

❝ I want your pledge, on your honor as a knight. ❞

❝ I do so vow. ❞

❝ Every man in this hall has heard you. ❞

❝ I will do as I pledged. ❞

❝ What is this message? ❞

❝ An offer of peace. Meet my terms, and I will sheath this sword, and make an end to the war between us. ❞

❝ Living men had gone south, and cold bones would return. ❞

❝ He had the truth of it. ❞

❝ He will remain my hostage for his father’s good behavior. ❞

❝ Henceforth, we are no part of their realm, but a free and independent kingdom, as of old. ❞

❝ These are the terms. If she meets them, I’ll give her peace. ❞

❝ Did you see the look on his face? ❞

❝ Take this back to my bedchamber. ❞

❝ I wager there were others who felt the same. ❞

❝ How can we talk of peace while they spread like pestilence over my father’s domains, stealing his crops and slaughtering his people? ❞

❝ We lack the strength. ❞

❝ Do we grow stronger sitting here? ❞

❝ You cannot ask them to remain idle while their fields are being pillaged and their people put to the sword. ❞

❝ It would be an ill thing if he were to leave us. ❞

❝ He lost sons. Who can blame him if he does not want to make peace with their killers? ❞

❝ More bloodshed will not bring your father back to us. ❞

❝ An offer had to be made. ❞

❝ I can’t release him, not even if I wanted to. My lords would never abide it. ❞

❝ Your lords made your their king. ❞

❝ If your crown is the price we must pay to have them returned safe, we should pay it willingly. ❞

❝ Was it war that made you grow so fast, or the crown they put on your head? ❞

❝ The boy has the right of this. ❞

❝ Don’t call me ‘the boy’. I am a man grown, and your king. ❞

❝ That was unworthy of me. ❞

❝ Gods be good, what has become of me? ❞

❝ He is doing his best, trying so hard, I know it, I see it, and yet . . . ❞

❝ I have lost him, the rock my life was built on. ❞

❝ I could not bear to lose them as well. ❞

❝ I’ll do all that I can for them. ❞

❝ If she has any sense, she’ll accept my terms. ❞

❝ I’ll make her rue the day she refused me. ❞

❝ Kings are not supposed to have mothers, it would seem. ❞

❝ I could command you to go. As king. I could. ❞

❝ He’s been a hostage half his life. ❞

❝ He is not a man to be trusted. ❞

❝ Does he know you have returned? ❞

❝ You will want to hear my tidings in private first. ❞

❝ You have her face. I can see it in your cheekbones, and your jaw. ❞

❝ You remember more of her than I do. ❞

❝ I wish I had their faith. ❞

❝ That’s blood up there, smeared across the sky. ❞

❝ Was there ever a war where only one side bled? ❞

❝ When he hears this, he will rage. ❞

❝ Even terror has its purpose. ❞

❝ He would like to fight on a field of his own choosing. ❞

❝ He’ll want something. ❞

❝ I want to weep. I want to be comforted. I am so tired of being strong. ❞

❝ I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while. ❞

❝ No one has ever died of restlessness, but rashness is another matter. ❞

❝ You are all your lord father claimed you were. ❞

❝ As champion, you may ask of me any boon that you desire. ❞

❝ If it lies in my power, it is yours. ❞

❝ My life for yours, Your Grace. From this day on, I am your shield, I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ If you wish, we may stand here in the mud and debate what honors and titles are rightly due to each, but it strikes me that we have more pressing matters to consider. ❞

❝ My lady, when you are rested, I would be honored if you would share our meat and mead at the feast tonight. ❞

❝ What is mine is yours. ❞

❝ My sweet queen is all the woman I desire. ❞

❝ Can you drown in grief? ❞

❝ They are boys drunk on song and story, and like all boys, they think themselves immortal. ❞

❝ They’re young and strong, full of life and laughter. ❞

❝ And lust, aye, more lust than they know what to do with. There will be many a bastard bred this night, I promise you. ❞

❝ They are the knights of summer, and winter is coming. ❞

❝ In the songs all knights are gallant, all maids are beautiful, and the sun is always shining. ❞

❝ I feel the need of some air. Will you walk with me? ❞

❝ He would make an appalling king. Nor is he like to become one. ❞

❝ Men respect him, even fear him, but precious few have ever loved him. ❞

❝ I mean to be king, my lady, and not of a broken kingdom. ❞

❝ We are the first. ❞

❝ Gods grant that I shall do the same. ❞

❝ This is no fight of ours. ❞

❝ I know the king would not wish his mother to put herself at risk. ❞

❝ We are all at risk. ❞

❝ Do you think I wish to be here? ❞

❝ He sent me to speak for him, and speak for him I shall. ❞

❝ It is a sort of game kings play. ❞

❝ I had not thought to find you here. ❞

❝ I am sorry for your lord’s death, though he was no friend to me. ❞

❝ He was never your enemy. ❞

❝ He did his duty, I will not deny it. Did I ever do less? ❞

❝ Yet he took it. That which should have been mine. ❞

❝ How they love to promise heads, these men who would be king. ❞

❝ Men give their allegiance where they will. ❞

❝ I only want what is mine by rights. ❞

❝ We share a common foe who would destroy us all. ❞

❝ The whole of the realm denies it. Old men deny it with their death rattle, and unborn children deny it in their mothers’ wombs. They deny it in Dorne and they deny it on the Wall. No one wants you for their king. ❞

❝ I swore I would never treat with you while you wore your traitor’s crown. ❞

❝ Younger, bolder, and far more comely. ❞

❝ We are all traitors, however good our reasons. ❞

❝ I fear she never saw your little letter. ❞

❝ They are bastards. ❞

❝ Isn’t that a sweet story, my lady? ❞

❝ I must say, it took my breath away. ❞

❝ Do you name me a liar? ❞

❝ If you step in a nest of snakes, does it matter which one bites you first? ❞

❝ You’ve never tasted anything so sweet, I promise you. ❞

❝ I did not come here to eat fruit. ❞

❝ A man should never refuse to taste a peach. ❞

❝ I did not come here to be threatened, either. ❞

❝ When I make threats, you’ll know it. ❞

❝ You’ll be pleased to know she came to me a maid. ❞

❝ Oh, I expect I’ll get a son on her within the year. ❞

❝ How many sons do you have? Oh, yes – none. ❞

❝ If my wife looked like yours, I’d send my fool to service her as well. ❞

❝ Enough! I will not be mocked to my face, do you hear me? I will not! ❞

❝ I hope your new god’s a merciful one. ❞

❝ It grieves me that it must come to this. ❞

❝ You have a cheerful way of grieving. ❞

❝ You must allow a king some flaws, my lady. ❞

❝ I had hoped to help you make peace. I will not help you make war. ❞

❝ She loves him, poor thing. ❞

❝ She’d play his squire just to touch him, and never care how great a fool they think her. ❞

❝ Stay and help me pray. It’s been so long I’ve quite forgotten how. ❞

❝ Did your old gods ever answer you? When you knelt before your heart tree, did you hear them? ❞

❝ When they took his head off, they killed me too. ❞

❝ Death came in that door and blew the life out of him as swift as the wind snuffed out his candles. ❞

❝ Are you blind? The girl loved him. ❞

❝ Some say that after the battle, the king cut out Stafford Lannister’s heart and fed it to the wolf. ❞

❝ I would not believe such tales. He is no savage. ❞

❝ That is no common wolf, that one. ❞

❝ The gods don’t care about men, no more than kings care about peasants. ❞

❝ A good king does care. ❞

❝ Only a mother would keep her children safe, however she could. ❞

❝ I am not made to be a mother. I need to fight. ❞

❝ I could serve you. If you would have me. ❞

❝ You could have let them kill me. I was nothing to you. ❞

❝ When the time comes, I will not hold you back. ❞

❝ I am yours, my lady. Your liege man, or … whatever you would have me be. I will shield your back and keep your counsel and give my life for yours, if need be. I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new. ❞

❝ He asked for you. I did not know what to tell him. ❞

❝ He risks all for a baseborn boy whose blood is not even his own. ❞

❝ He has made common cause with a power greater and darker. ❞

❝ Have you forgiven me? ❞

❝ You’ve done nothing that needs forgiveness. ❞

❝ He loves you fiercely. Believe that. ❞

❝ I gave him my favor to wear. ❞

❝ I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. ❞

❝ Why do boys so love to play at war? ❞

❝ Knights die in battle, as ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them. ❞

❝ Children are a battle of a different sort. A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. ❞

❝ At times I feel as though I am being torn apart. ❞

❝ And who will keep you safe, my lady? ❞

❝ Someday you must sing for me. ❞

❝ If we are winning, why am I so afraid? ❞

❝ I am a creature of grief and dust and bitter longings. There is an empty place within me where my heart was once. ❞

❝ I only thought you might enjoy happier company than mine. ❞

❝ Will holding it secret in your heart make it any less true? ❞

❝ What god would let this happen? He was only a baby! How could he deserve such a death? ❞

❝ Ice can kill as dead as fire. ❞

❝ The Starks do not use headsmen. They always said that the man who passes the sentence should swing the blade. ❞

❝ I will not sleep away my grief. ❞

❝ I fear I am in no condition to receive you. ❞

❝ Look at me, ser. ❞

❝ I see you had no taste for the wine I sent you. ❞

❝ I can have your head off anytime I want. Why would I need to poison you? ❞

❝ We granted you the comfort of a tower cell befitting your birth and station. You repaid us by trying to escape. ❞

❝ A cell is a cell. ❞

❝ No? Then surely it was to have your pleasure of me. It’s said that widows grow weary of their empty beds. ❞

❝ I suppose I could still service you if that’s what you need. Pour us some of that wine and slip out of that gown and we’ll see if I’m up to it. ❞

❝ Was there ever a man as beautiful or as vile as this one? ❞

❝ If you said that in my son’s hearing, he would kill you for it. ❞

❝ Why should I tell you anything. ❞

❝ You think I fear death? ❞

❝ Your crimes will have earned you a place of torment in the deepest of the seven hells, if the gods are just. ❞

❝ If there are gods, why is the world so full of pain and injustice? ❞

❝ There are no men like me. There’s only me. ❞

❝ There is nothing here but arrogance and pride, and the empty courage of a madman. ❞

❝ If there was ever a spark of honor in him, it is long dead. ❞

❝ Stay, and you shall have your answers . . . for a price. ❞

❝ Answer my questions and I’ll answer yours. ❞

❝ People often claim to hunger for truth, but seldom like the taste when it’s served up. ❞

❝ I am strong enough to hear anything you care to say. ❞

❝ You would never ask that unless you knew the answer. ❞

❝ I want it from your own lips. ❞

❝ He is mine. ❞

❝ You admit to being her lover? ❞

❝ Do all my kin still live? ❞

❝ You were a knight, sworn to defend the weak and innocent. ❞

❝ He was spying on us. ❞

❝ You meant for him to die. ❞

❝ I seldom fling children from towers to improve their health. Yes, I meant for him to die. ❞

❝ You swear you had no part in sending him? ❞

❝ I may indeed have shit for honor, I won’t deny it, but I have never yet hired anyone to do my killing. ❞

❝ Are you trying to deceive me? ❞

❝ Believe what you will, I’m past caring what people say of me. ❞

❝ Your boy must be feeling lonely. ❞

❝ How can you still count yourself a knight, when you have forsaken every vow you ever swore? ❞

❝ So many vows … they make you swear and swear. It’s too much. No matter what you do, you’re forsaking one vow or the other. ❞

❝ Only a man like you would be proud of such an act. ❞

❝ We made a bargain, I can deny you nothing. ❞

❝ I do not want to know this. ❞

❝ I think it passing odd that I am loved by one for a kindness I never did, and reviled by so many for my finest act. ❞

❝ Come, don’t you find this all terribly amusing? ❞

❝ That name again. I don’t think I’ll fuck you after all, he had you first, didn’t he? I never eat off another man’s trencher. ❞

❝ Give me your sword. ❞

[randomnameless]

what do you think would realistically edelgerd's fate post AG?

We know Doylist wise she was Supreme Puppet'd to have her, somehow, survive (when we know how she reacts to military defeat in AM!) and removing all of her agency - Supreme Puppet was Puppet'd, so she cannot be hold accountable for what she did as Lobotogard, or with her regressed state, cannot be accountable the things she did with her mind intact.

I've already ranted about this special plot device to make sure the waifu escapes the axe and its sexist undertones, but damn if thinking about it to this day pisses me to no ends.

Faced with Regressed!Leader, Dimitri dgaf and moves on (or rather, away from her, reminiscing of AM - he has other things to do than to linger on his relationship with Supreme Leader).

I'd say -

Dimtri dgaf and leaves her to her own devices (which would be a nod to the "parley"? Now that Supreme Leader became one of the "weaks" what is she going to do? Bootstraps or rely on a support system she so much decried?) and move to Enbarr to put an end to the War.

But thinking in more serious terms?

His bannermen, friends and people wouldn't settle for anything else than Supreme Leader's death (maybe not on the gates on Enbarr?). She's the one who started this war and had so many people killed in her imperialist bid, so the only way Supreme Leader escapes death is with the Church.

Now, Supreme Puppet'd by Thales and maybe acknowledging Supreme Leader's second crust, Rhea might be more partial to her - she had been used as a plaything by Agarthans (hopefully she developped her racist tendencies after the experiments?) - and could see her as a victim.

On the other hand, she did start this war, and had more agency than expected given how she petitionned the CoS to war against the Agarthans who infiltrated her Empire - and yet, she still launched her attack on the monastery of her own free will.

Rhea is a compassionate person (Yuri still exists even after killing her knights!) so I think, with all things considered - Supreme Leader's status as a victim of Agarthans, Supreme Puppet and Lobotogard, but also, the war she declared and planned, sacking Garreg Mach, attacking the CoS both spiritually (the Southern Church thing was meant to be a direct "contradiction?" to what she preaches?) and martially, and MAGA > Peace - I'd say Rhea'd agree on not killing Supreme Leader, but at the only condition that she remains with the CoS, in something like her sentence will be to rebuild what she destroyed and mend the wounds she caused so that she might have a different outlook on Fodlan and its people (aka, not going all "i don't mind sacrificing them to reach my goals") when she will remember what she did/who she was, and/or will not become the same "tyrant" she was when she will "grow up" (mentally speaking?).

But that's at the only condition that she never gets to rule anything ever again or hold any kind of political power returning to Adrestia/Enbarr - if those conditions aren't met, she will be executed.

(and maybe to appease the people she's now supposed to work with, Rhea will lend her some old bottle of hairdye, maybe people will not see her as the former emperor who bled the continent for her whims, but as someone who is living a new life)

Rhea might thus "request custody" of Supreme Puppet and while the Kingdom might want her dead, the Church, as the main victim of the war, can have the last say (besides Dimitri might be relieved that Supreme Leader will not be executed), however, the Church asks to everyone present to tell their people that the "Supreme Leader who declared this war of unification died and is no more", maybe taking her crown and Aymr away, as proof she's "dead".

It sounds a bit too merciful coming from Rhea, when we see her in Tru Piss and with her history as Seiros the Warrior - but post!AG!Rhea imo is in a different mood, first of all, with Thales gone there are no people who will target Nabateans because of their race (so no genocide PTSD anymore?) and/or try to make new relics, and unlike the events of FE16, Rhea spent the last few years living with humans who demonstrated they could be trustworthy and actually helped her when she was in need (tfw Rhea doesn't know about Dimitro).

I can see her having more faith in humans and a future in Fodlan for everyone post!AG, as Dimitri and the Kingdom people seem to be trustworthy, than in FE16 when all of the events we play through in WC are basically triggering her genocide trauma (people hunting bones and crest stones, killing Jerry, turning her beloved wards in demonic beasts, some people targeting her for no plausible reason (unless the Western Church knew she had pointy ears?), Hresvelg becoming the new Nemesis, etc...)

That being said...

If Clout tries, during the epilogue, to take a shot at Rhea - when people are celebrating the end of the war - I cannot see things not turning sour for him.

Granted, if you want realism, Clout and GW cannot function because they expect the people involved to be completely stupid, but for this AU's sake, let's say Clout and Dimitro had their heart to heart in Zahrofl, he holds her at Failnaught range and demands her death/resignation/removal of her church.

If he shots and kills her (because Rhea would have dropped her guard, thinking she is surrounded by allies!), I cannot see anyone/anything preventing Claude from being dismembered/slaughtered in the seconds after Rhea's death - not even Dimitro because, hey, Clout said he will accept the consequences of his actions to "change" Fodlan, right? - by Church forces, Kingdom forces and, if we want to push the realism card, even Alliance forces (why the fuck did he do that? Maybe it's a weird doppelganger like those dark mages use! Or Erwin will behead him himself - sure this guy did that, but he doesn't represent the Alliance!).

In the chaos and confusion following Rhea's death, Supreme Leader is executed ("if she never started her war, nothing like this would have ever happened") and Fodlan is fucked when Sothis eventually pops up.

If Clout only holds Rhea at "Failnaught range" and she wonders wtf and asks him to explain - while the entire host of people from, again, the Kingdom, the CoS and KoS, the former BL and maybe some peeps from the GD and Leicester are there - Clout gives his bonker

"Who steals your freedom and gives you an endless list of duties and obligations simply because you have a Crest? Who forces you and your friends into a bunch of unwanted marriages and positions of power? The church even forbids any official contact with outside regions! Not exactly great for Faerghus, right? Being as close to Sreng and Albinea as you are."

reasons, Rhea's first reaction might be to crush him (because now she's on guard!) but if Dimitro says this is not a matter partaining to Faerghus and would rather stay aside (which would throw a wrench in Rhea's previous belief that humanity can be trusted again!) the CoS/Kos, Kingdom and Alliance people might just call crap and bullshit and debunk his baseless accusations (rekindling Rhea's faith in people and Fodlan?) from Annette telling him that they already trade with Albinea, Duscur generals and even Dedue telling him they witnessed the Church helping them regardless of their place of birth, Ingrid saying that her marriage to Glenn had not be organised or planned by the Church, but out of the affection they both had for each other and Ashe telling him those obligations and duties he seems to resent don't exist because he has a crest, but out of a genuine desire to help people.

Maybe we can add Judith wondering wtf is going on with Clout-boy, has he forgotten people get responsabilities and duties because they want them or because Nobility exists well beyond Fodlan's borders? "And I thought you had more common sense than this!"

A Goneril bannerman/loldier might add that the Archbishop asked them to treat Almyran as something else than nuisances and parasites when she came to visit and left with an Almyran kid in tow, but hey - they always attack them for no reason and create strife in Goneril for no reason, haven't they attacked just before the Academy closed?

Basically everyone debunking his claims, Clout realising that said claims were sprouted from his ass so he gets some tissue and wipes it clean.

Clout then relents (tfw no allies to support him) and the Alliance's roundtable finally vote to elect a branch member of the Riegan fam as head of the House - Clout leaves Failnaught and departs "somewhere far away".

(maybe he returns as Almyra's King later on, or as a crown prince, with a treaty/offer of peace, wishing for prosperity between the two lands).

-> all jokes aside and in a more serious setting, even with Dimitro not outwardly condemning him, Clout's course of action would be frowned upon by every party - Alliance included - and depending on his involvment, Dimitro himself might be challenged by his vassals/friends "Sure it's not about Faerghus' safety, but are we really going to let this guy target and ice and bring more chaos by eliminating our ally - who repaid our hospitality with kindness and supported our war efforts - when the Alliance refused to assist us when the Empire swore to Make Adrestia Great Again and warred against us?"

Granted, in this more serious setting, Dimitro doesn't exist because the plot doesn't bend backwards to accomodate Clout so...

Even if Clout doesn't try to ice Rhea asap and waits maybe 8 months after GM's recovery and the end of the war, I cannot see the Lords of the Alliance - when they can try to do "business as usual" with the former Adrestia lands - endorse a military campaing against the Church to, uh, decalcify Fodlan's current order to put YOLO in place. Clout suggesting this is basically handing to Erwin/anyone reason enough to depose him from his seat as Riegan's representative (the alliance has more to win with rebuilding Adrestia/Fodlan than to wage a pointless war that will alienate everyone and leave their backs open to an Almyran attack), and he either runs away to Almyra or dies in a pointless attempt to start a civil war/rebellion to garner troops to target the Church.

For sure this looks like an ideal "and everything ends good AU!" but in a more serious setting, where people have common sense and don't suddenly hold idiot plot balls to make sure Clout seems to have a point... his POV doesn't hold under scrutiny and no one can normally follow him, unless they have another agenda (Make Leicester Great Again?)

[lorcandidlucienwill]

The moment I fell for Jacks

Evangeline tried to hit Chaos, but she couldn’t muster the strength to move her hands. She couldn’t even open her eyes. Her body was heavy, and her head was light. All she could feel were Chaos’s teeth, cutting deeper to take even more—

“Castor, no!” Jacks shouted.

The vampire was wrenched away.

Evangeline started to fall, and then Jacks was there. Her eyes were too heavy to open—but she could feel him. He held her with the type of intensity that only happens when a person wants something that isn’t quite theirs.

But she was. She just needed to tell him she loved him.

“Evangeline—” His voice was hoarse. “Come back to me.…”

I’m not dead,she tried to say. But there was something wrong with her throat. And it seemed Jacks couldn’t hear her thoughts.

He silently held her tighter and pressed his forehead to hers. She wasn’t sure if he was crying or if she was, but there was wet on her cheeks. It felt a lot like tears. And then she felt …

Nothing.

A tormented scream pierced the night like a blade. The sky bled, and darkness fell instead of stars, erasing lights across the Magnificent North.

The story curse that touched most Northern tales and ballads watched. This tragedy would certainly be a tale one day—and, from the look of it, was already cursed.

The girl was dead. If her lifeless body had not confirmed it, then it would have been made clear by the horrible scream of the Fate who held her in his arms. The story curse was familiar with pain, but this was agony, the sort of raw grief that was only seen once in a century. The Fate was every tear that anyone had ever shed for lost love. He was pain given form.

“I’m so sorry, Jacks. I—” The vampire looked down at the girl he’d just killed; he scrubbed a hand over his jaw, and then he fled.

The Fate didn’t move. He didn’t let the girl go. He looked as if he never would. He continued holding her as if he could return her to life with the force of his will. His eyes were wet with blood. Red tears fell down his cheeks and onto hers. But the girl didn’t stir.

The other sleeping immortals were starting to wake, but the girl remained unmoving. Dead. And yet the Fate continued to hold her.

“Bring her back,” he said softly.

“I am sorry,” said the queen who’d just awoken. She was a petite thing. She’d tried to pull her son away from the girl, to stop his unnatural feeding, but her hands were not strong enough. The queen could not fight immortals physically, but she had an iron will forged of mettle and mistakes. “You know I cannot do that.”

The Fate finally looked up. “Bring her back,” he repeated. For he also possessed an indomitable will. “I know you can do it.”

The queen shook her head remorsefully. “My heart breaks for you—for this. But I will not do this. After bringing back Castor and seeing what he became, I vowed to never use that sort of magic again.”

“Evangeline would be different.” The Fate glowered at the queen.

“No,” she repeated. “You wouldn’t be saving this girl, you would be damning her. Just as we did to Castor. She wouldn’t want that life.”

“I don’t care what she wants!” roared the Fate. “I don’t want her dead. She saved you, you need to save her.”

The queen took a shaky breath.

If the story curse could have breathed, it would have held its breath. It hoped the queen would say yes. Yes to bringing her back, to turning her into another terrible immortal. Despite what this Fate believed, the girl would be horrible—the ones with endless life always were, eventually.

“I am saving her,” the queen said quietly. “It is kinder to let her die a human than to sacrifice her soul for immortality.”

At the word sacrifice, something sparked in the Fate’s cold eyes. He held the girl tighter, carrying her in his bloodstained arms as he stood and started down the ancient hall.

“What are you doing?” A crack of alarm showed in the queen’s implacable face.

“I’m going to fix this.” He continued marching forward, holding the girl close as he carried her back through the arch.

The angels who’d been guarding it now wept. They cried tears of stone as the Fate set the girl at their feet and began wrenching stone after stone from the arch.

“Jacks of the Hollow,” warned the queen. “Those arch stones can only be used one time to go back. They were not created for infinite trips to the past.”

“I know,” Jacks growled. “I’m going to go back and stop your son from killing her.”

The queen’s face fell. For a moment, she looked as old as the years she’d spent lying in a suspended state. “That is not a small mistake to fix. If you do this, Time will take something equally valuable from you.”

The Fate gave the queen a look more vicious than any curse. “There is nothing of equal value to me.”

[pigeonrocks]

Wip Wednesday fic snippet ^^ who's gonna do the horrors of kabal some justice. ANYWAYS !!!!!!

--

“damn, with how many people are around you'd think I was a celebrity..”

“be quiet.”

Kabal shrugged, not caring enough to listen to what the rest of them were discussing, trying more to investigate what was on his ankles and wrists- perhaps he was in an Edenian dungeon, the air smelled like he was in Edenia- traces of magiks strong and contorting as a current-

he glanced back over to Kano- the reason his life is now all wrong, threw him to the red dragon like lamb to slaughter- he's thinking too hard and he's far too close to a telepath for his own comfort- again, he glances around, his gaze stilling on Stryker, the man made his heart ache and bleed, it is another thing the red dragon had taken from him, his ability to breathe without agony, or to feel air on his skin, to feel anything along his body without the sensation he was burning another time, to take away everything he could've ever possibly done, break him in ways immendable- he cannot love, not be held, not feel anything on his skin, not warmth or cold- his ability to feel numbed, in its wake a never ending rage, hate, a fire the Red Dragon were unable to steal from him, brought back from the brink of death and convinced by the same chaos mage to restore his clan and sought out a deserved revenge- if Kabal desired anything, it was to break down Mavado and make him hurt as he had done to him.

Kabal really wasn't sure what happened, exactly- he watched exactly wordlessly how Reptile held Stryker's hand- a quiet comfort to the horrors of himself, it left a hollow emptiness in his chest, he's disgraceful, maybe- Kenshi flinches and tenses when his thoughts got intense as they always did- the branches of pain beginning to arise in his chest, releasing a withheld breath in the form of a sigh, he hated the situation he got himself in- hated more on how powerless he was rendered.

“You're breaking.” the low gravelly chime of his spirit snarled, “you are still weak from Mavado's assault.”

Kabal hung his head low, acknowledging the creature's contempt for his state.

“where- is he?” Kabal growled- with the same hate he's harbored heavy in his heart for the man.

“Dead.” it made his blood boil “But he's escaped netherrealm.” The spirit tilted it's head, Kabal could still reap vengeance.

“Where.” Kabal yanked his arms, trying to free himself from his restraints.

“I do not know.” the spirit retorted “Settle a truce-”

“It's against my values, what of my anarchy? the trust the dragons have in me and our cause of complete societal collapse?” Kabal stared at how his wrists were bound above his head, eyeing the metal with intent study.

“What of your gas and plasma that the mask releases? they should melt this if they can melt flesh..” The spirit approached him, the green glow and faint flickering fire it trailed, engulfing its skeletal form, nudging one of the chains with its lower horn- just as curious as he was.

“Maybe-” Kabal took in a deep breath, letting the respirator release a horrific purpling cloud that hid his wrists.

the weight around his wrists felt lighter, pulling his hands quickly from it, the respirator letting out a hiss as he released held breath, rubbing at the warped marbled skin, the numbness shooting a tingling sense in his fingertips.

“My escape is rather limited..” Kabal looked closely at the chains, they stung his skin- he presumes from the chill, he had no saw blade to cut himself free with- holding his breath another time, watching plasma eat away at the metal in strange awe- not reacting to how the exposed skin near it bled from its contact, rising to stand on wobbled knees- Kabal was impossible to keep trapped, never caught- never kept.

“What now, Rhino?” Kabal looked over, adjusting his clothes and mask, checking over the hose and oxygens state- The spirit trotted to where the door had been shut, Locked- perhaps.

“With enough force the metal will weaken- then the building may be against you, without a saw blade or hooksword, what is it you have left, Karlos?”

Kabal stilled, the use of his name was foreign, and hearing it hissed out from his spirit was almost surreal- words clumping together in his throat.

“I have my speed.” Kabal glared at the skeletal rhino “I have my plasma, my gas, and my strength, with my own speed- there is little to oppose me until my swords and blades are returned to me.” he took a few steps back, the spirit watching him intently, nodding- the fire and green light that once illuminated the chamber left him now in the dark, the reddish light of his respirator and machinery lighting it up faintly.

Kabal threw about as much force and put in as much velocity as he could manage in his cell against the door with a almost deafening noise- it wasn't enough- the door was awkwardly opened, the metal dented and bent- his lungs did not burn, there weren't aches or pains in his body or joints.

again, he reared back- repeating the same dash towards the door, it weakly giving in to his abuse of it, clattering into the hallway- stepping over the obstacle.

He glanced around the hall, moving casually further down it, his weapons were a top priority, He'd just have to find where exactly they were being kept- the likely scenario was that the entire vicinity had heard him barge down the door to his cell- at least the thrill would be enjoyable, perhaps that's the only bonus for him here.

[spindash]

embarrassing but i jusst need to talk ok.......... under the cut because iknow itll be long um im talking abot cancer and animal death and dog like. i dont knw. attacks. & other kindof awful things so no pressure to even look or read anything. loveyou forevr

My uncle isnt going to make it the next two years even with the two surgeries and chemo the brain tumor is too much and he just got the news the beginning of this month that hes not going to make it. we all kindof knew that woukd be the case even w his last surgery but nobody knew it would be so soon. hes literally like my best friend he has been ever since i was little and he means the world to me. he got diagnosed august of last year and its been like a fucking nightmare ever since. And on top of that i lost agnes like less than a fucking week aftwr i got the news about my uncle its literally been crushing and its hard for me to want to do anything at all and nobody even wants to TALK about it im just supposed to deal alone and my dad will not stop pressuring me to finish getting my degree and get a job and i know i should and i want to but its impossible to do anytbing at all im so exhausted like physically i can barely stay awake and i just feel so isolated. And then we've been taking care of my uncles dog for the last year obviously since he cant and shes never liked me too much but she tolerates me because Im a sucker and i love giving her little treats like peanut butter and any nibbles of what im eating aslong as its safe bht i dont know whats happened in the last few weeks she has completely flipped the switch and i genuinely cannot leave my room anymore without her baring her teeth at me and growling and lunging for me. shes gotten me really bad a couple times thats what that bruise was from and i have some nasty gashes and scars on my feet and legs like ive never bled that much it soaked thru my sock and all over the floor she completely scares the shit out of me i cant even be near her without bawling my eyes out anymore. my parents are like yeah yeah well we'll talk to your uncle soon about getting her some training but not now and dont mention it because youll upset him. Like i think hes going to be more upset that his dog is trying to fucking kill me or something than you asking if he would pay for her to go. somebwere i dont know anywhere. i dont want anything to happen to her like putting her down shes not a bad dog atall she just had such a hard time with different owners as a puppy. it makes me feel awful to say but i wish to fucking god she was anywhere but here not just cuz she scares me but Im scared for the cats too. shes surprisingly aloof towards them but i dont know. i thought she was fine with me too and now. Sprry this is all crazy personal and like batshit to post online if you read all of this um. sorry do you still like me etc i dont have any joke to wrap it up with literally every good thing in my life is crumbling around me and i cant do anything about it nor do i have to tools to deal with it emotionally and i want to blow my head off 👍

[taetaespeaches]

look at this bible and i haven't watch festa LMAO

ill do it tonight and ill share my updated report tomorrow

this could be not so well written, bear with me, there is a lot in my mind

and now we're looking into the definition of "hiatus", mistranslated or not lmao here it is

_

SO i was thinking this in the morning when i was driving, (listening to proof with intensity i gotta say)

they are people, each of them are even very different from each other

people who found a family while looking for their future, for a career they love, something that it's in their veins and their hard work, looking out for the same dream

people who bled, fell and got up for it countless of times

suddenly one day their dream found a way to get to us as fans, we surely are connected, yes

they owe us as much as we owe them

but we cannot expect them to live only to us and for us

and i know i don't speak only for myself when i say that i can feel their gratitude to us, //sadly a lot of it we see it in their worry for us to understand how much they love us//

we feel it in every song, every message they sent it has found somebody who needed it, every time without fail

i am not good at all at expressing myself at all, GOD i am the worst, it takes me a long time to find out what im feeling, what im thinking even, what i want to do or say its a whole hard process for me, and it has got me in some messes :)

then they come here and i can feel that they don't need me to be right every time, that i dont have to listen any judgement about it, that i can just feel, be myself, 'cause ill be just fine

i love army community, i love i can wear my bts hat and a girl came to me really excited to say I LOVE YOUR HAT! i love that, i love her, i love army, i love we can share this love with each other, yall are adopted as besties from the start, and we're in this army shit for life

bts formed an army that is right here right this moment thinking, worrying about them

but actually we as army are for each other as bangtan boys are for each other, and then bangtan and army are for each other

i don't want to talk about the comparisons to 1d but at least from my experience all i have to say is something ive been thinking ever since bts came into my life

"it's so different"

not only them and their story

but me, im different,

and let me tell you something, im sad, yes i am, it's fucking scary guys, it really is, i know

but im also so so fucking thankful

the evolution my life went through welcomed bts with an open heart and im gratefull

ive never been the fan who stays up late to catch up, to spend every penny i have on merch, i can't be pending on every announcement, on every selfie, tweet or candid leaks

it was just two years ago i finally learned the names, couple months ago i heard old songs i didn't know existed lmao, everyday i see something i didn't know before

and God, two years is really not enough to catch up with 7 energetic amazingly talented passionate boys that already had 7/8 years of history its crazy

were we so spoiled getting something new everyday we are scared of not knowing it all lol,

but guys it's ok, it's really ok, im sure its not a step down, its not a step backwards, its a "hold on" we're going somewhere just hold on, yes we're good right here, but we have to go better

bc the next comeback doesn't have to be higher in a shocking show business fantasy circus way, anything new it's gonna have soul and truth and different energy bc its necessary, processes are necessary

we're invaluable we have to take care of our own and we can because

these bulletproof boys made a bulletproof army

we can take it

i love you liv, i love whoever reads this ♥

Perfectly said, my love! I don't have much to add, but thank you for sharing this <3 I agree that we can't expect them to live for only us and anyone who is expecting that needs to go take a break from all of this and figure some shit out lol. I'm just very grateful for all they've done for us over the years, and also that they used festa as an opportunity to talk to us like they did. They could have had the company announce something and left it at that, or they could have even had the company announce it before festa where they would then elaborate. But instead they told us during festa so they could be the ones who told us and explain their reasons why they're making this decision. It's just very cool and speaks volumes to the relationship bts and army share.

Simply put, we're in this bangtan shit for life <3 and I love you too, lydia!

[soildmud]

yalllll my gf just bought me bg3 today and i was so excited because its been on my wishlist for like ever and stuff so as soon as it allowed me to i started installing/downloading it—IT TOOK THREE FUCKING HOURS!!!!!! BECAUSE I’M POOR AND CAN’T GET SHIT TO OPTIMISE DOWNLOAD TIMES!!!!!!

but the worst part of it all….IT WON’T OPEN. it stopped responding every time i tried to open it up (i’m a mac user so i am already at a disadvantage) so i desperately look online as to what i have to do and according to steam i have to Verify File Integrity which i thought they were supposed to do after everything downloads, hence why it took 3 hours, because it took an extra hour to verify everything—but apparently there might be a file corruption or something idk i’m just a girl i know nothing about these things. BUT GET THIS: THE FILE VERIFICATION IS GOING TAKE OVER 24 HOURS TO COMPLETE. oh my god. why did i choose to quit my job and not save for a Real computer. why did i not ask for that for christmas. (no one had the money to buy one, that’s why—which is fine, i have never asked for anything expensive for christmas) WHY DID I HAVE TO GET ATTACHED TO BIG HUMONGOUS FUCKING GAMES THAT KILL MY LAPTOP!!!!!!!!!

i am usually a patient person yknow. i have willingly gone on 3 day nonstop car rides with my family of mentally unwell and untreated people. i have gone through almost 12 years of american public education without ever asking for accommodations to my crippling mental illnesses or deteriorating health. i have done hour long layovers while sick from anxiety and stress in airports full of stressful stimuli. i have gone thru a lot. but this was the straw that broke the camel’s back i think. as soon as i saw the number fluctuate between 22 to 1D 8hrs i just about cried. i felt defeated. i nearly threw a tantrum like a toddler because of this. i wanted to start pulling my hair out of my head and furiously scratch my skin until it bled out of pure and unbridled rage and frustration. (i am probably autistic and i think someone told me this could be a meltdown???) but i only merely grabbed my hair very harshly and started hyperventilating for a couple minutes before i sat down on my bed and started doing eye makeup. why??? idk.

all this is to say i am not happy with BG3 right now, even though the issue is not all with the game, but the fact that i am attempting to play it on a heavily aged macbook air that definitely was not made for playing anything above coolmathgames.com. my spring break is nearly over. i have like three days left. i just want to enjoy my freedom a little longer by making my little OC in this game and then putting them through The Horrors. i will update you all later, it is now 4:08AM and i have not slept for almost 24 hours. i feel sick to my stomach and my head hurts, but i think it’s because i made the foolish mistake of drinking about 20oz of coffee (which didn’t even taste good btw, because i had to make the coffee with a creamer that Wasnt my beloved oat milk creamer—i cannot enjoy my coffee if it is not made with the oat milk creamer. nothing else will suffice.) and then proceeded to make four different rainbow loom bracelets (i just bought the monstertail loom after debating whether or not i should) in rapid succession without breaks. i also watched eight episodes (maybe more) of the watcher podcast, because the coffee gave me extreme anxiety to the point where i had to carry scissors with me every time i left my bedroom because i was convinced there was someone in my apartment (but what would scissors have done??? i am incredibly out of shape and have never even fought another human being physically since i was under the age of 10) and the scissors were the only thing that would make me feel safer. and my phone in case i could hide and call 911.

sorry for the brain dump i am just incredibly sleep deprived and am waiting for my wife’s return from work—which should be soon! which means i’ll be okay and no longer anxious or stressed. SEE YOU LATER GUYS MIGHT DELETE THIS BUT IDK !!!!! SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON MY DOWNWARD SPIRAL!!!!!!!

[rook-inthe-valley]

Harbored in the Ways You Won't Forget

The promise of tomorrow is whispered on the wing of the eve's last raven, but Honeypaw doesn't quite know it yet. Her gaze is shifting, ever suspicious of the shadows that peer closely into her soul, never mind the treetops or the eyes lurking there. The shadows make her warm, but uneasy, as she supposed they make any young apprentice — one dawn away from being given her name. 

Her mentor, his body stiff, gives nothing away but the flick of his ears. They are mismatched — one black, one white — and she remembers when the elders told her stories of their opposition as if one pair of opposites could open a gate to the old gods. At the time, she had listened in earnest: her eyes fastened to the sovereign's maw as another elder wove flowers into her fur. It had been the eve before she took her first name — her suffix earned before a jury of many - and she had listened and listened to their pretty lies until her ears nearly bled. She could barely pick up her head the next morning; Honeypaw's mother had lifted her only daughter's head with the plume of her tail and muttered a terse reminder to smile. 

'Smile, or the Gods will know we harbor sin in our hearts, Honeypaw.'

Often enough, the femme had begun reminding herself with a similar harshness, even if in the moment she had regaled her mother with an icy look of fury. 

She lifts her head to the trees where the raven gives itself away, a soft caw emitting from its sharpened beak, but she does not avert her eyes or bow her head. Her mentor says nothing, but he watches her now with slitted eyes. He knows her thoughts, and yet she thinks them anyway:

Let them know I harbor sin in my heart, for as much justice as they claim is in theirs. 

When Elmstar speaks, his voice carries like a chill that crawls down her spine in the dead of night, when she swears the shadows thicken. "Honeypaw," he warns, looking to her instead of the damned raven, who begins cawing furiously at the pair. "Temper yourself. I cannot shield the Gods from your fury."

"Then don't," a new voice replies, easing the spite Honeypaw cradles close to her. She almost addresses them, even, but can't bother to spare the newcomer enough respect for it. Jackdawfur doesn't scold her for it, after all, so the energy is better not wasted. "There is always a place for anger at Falcon's Nest. You know this, Elmstar. They do not see us punished for such trivial things."

"Thank Hawk," Honeypaw mutters, feeling the intensity of Jackdawfur's stare weigh her down. Still, he only smiles, amusement flickering in the depths of his eyes. 

Elmstar wastes no more time beside his apprentice, and Honeypaw almost scoffs at his quiet 'do well'. As soon as he slips from view, taking the portal between his ears with him, her claws slip free from their sheaths and a growl rumbles low in her chest. "If to commune with the Gods means being that insufferable, I'd prefer the life of a secular mole. He's just glad to be rid of me," Honeypaw spits. The raven caws. 

Jackdawfur sighs, for if Elmstar is glad to be rid of her, then he would be no reader of the divine. "I understand you two have your differences." He almost stops there, but the narrowing of the apprentice's eyes urges him onwards. "There is little Elmstar cannot teach you, Honeypaw. Perhaps trust in him that he may afford you a little kindness, when it counts, for being so attentive in your studies."

She hardly cares for how he flatters her, and a snarl draws her teeth into view. "Attentive! I'd like to find your head beneath the water, gurgling all the prayers you can recall until you begin to speak new ones into history!" Her tail lashes behind her, and her claws dig into the earth. "I wouldn't say a kind word in Falcon's direction, if I could go back for a second!"

Jackdawfur sighs a prayer under breath, and the raven above falls silent. "I rather liked that bird," he says, his voice careening towards something sad, as though holding a funeral for a perfectly intact creature. Honeypaw observes the bird. The raven hops on the branches, swinging his gaze downwards. She shakes off the imminent feeling of despair. The Gods have tricked her using less. The tom continues, "And you’d do best to understand limits when you meet them. Falcon's patience is not endless. Neither is mine." Honeypaw's eyes meet the healer's: I thought there is always a place for anger at Falcon's Nest?

The two felines stare at each other, an unspoken challenge woven into the air around them. Honeypaw reaches her tolerance for his presence, and when she moves to leave their standoff, he merely steps aside. The ground feels cooler to the touch. 

Honeypaw doesn't look back, even as the air shifts, and the raven hits the ground.

[7r0773r]

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated by W.S. Merwin

Gawain gripped his ax and heaved it up high. He set his left foot on the ground in front of him And brought the blade down suddenly onto the bare skin So that the sharp edge sundered the man's bones And sank through the white flesh and sliced it in two Until the bright steel of the bit sank into the ground. The handsome head fell from the neck to the earth And rolled our among their feet so that they kicked it. The blood gushed from the body, glittering over the green, And the knight never staggered or fell, for all that, But he stepped forth as strong as ever, on unshaken legs, And reached in roughly among the knights To snatch up his lovely head and at once lift it high. And then he turns to his horse and takes hold of the bridle, Steps into the stirrup and swings himself up, Holding his head in his hand by the hair, And settles into the saddle as firmly as ever With no trouble at all, though he sits there                   headless.           All around him the blood sprayed           As his gruesome body bled.           Many of them were afraid           When they heard what he said.

For he holds the head up high in his hand,  Turning the face toward the noblest on the platform, And it raised its eyelids and opened its eyes wide And said this much with its mouth, which you may hear now: "Remember, Gawain, to get ready for what you agreed to, And search carefully, knight, until you find me As you have sworn to do in this hall where these knights heard you. I charge you to make your way to the Green Chapel To receive a stroke like the one you have given—you have earned it— To be repaid promptly on New Year's morning. Many men know me as the Knight of the Green Chapel, So if you ask, you cannot fail to find me. Come then, or you will rightly be called a coward." With a terrible roar he turns the reins, Rides out through the hall door, his head in his hand, So that the flint flashes fire from his horse's hooves. No one there knew what land he was going to Any more than they knew where he had come from.                    What then?           Gawain and the King smile           And laugh about that green man.           All agreed that he was marvel           Enough for anyone. (pp. 31-33)

***

This wonder came as a gift to Arthur in the first Youth of the year, for he longed to hear of some bold adventure. Though their words were few when they first sat to table, Soon they had more to say than they had words for. Gawain was glad to begin those games in the hall, But if the mood grew heavy at last it was no wonder, For though after strong drink men may be merry in their minds, A year soon runs its length and never returns the same, And the end seldom seems to belong to the beginning. So this Christmas was over then, and the last of the year followed it, And the seasons went by in turn one after the other. (p. 37)

***

          Still, the knight spoke cheerfully,           Saying, “What should trouble me?           In the face of harsh destiny           What can a man do but try?” (p. 41)

***

“For that braided belt you are wearing belongs to me. My own wife gave it to you; I know the story About your kisses and everything that you did, And the wooing of my wife. I planned the whole thing. I sent her to test you, and I am convinced now That you must be the most perfect knight ever to walk the earth. As a pearl is more precious than white peas around it, So, in good faith, is Gawain among other fine knights. But here you lacked a little, sir, and failed to keep faith, Though not from treachery, nor my wife's wooing either, But for love of your life, and I blame you less for that." That other brave man stood for a long time in thought, So mortified that it cried out inside him. All the blood in his breast pressed into his face As he shrank back in shame at what the man said. The first thing that the knight managed to say Was, "A curse upon cowardice, and coveting too, For the villainy and vice in them that ruin virtue." Then he takes hold of the knot and pulls it loose And in a fury flings it toward the knight. "Here, take the treacherous thing, and bad luck to it. From the fear of your stroke, cowardice taught me To come to terms with coveting, forsaking my own nature And the openness and good faith that belong to knighthood. Now I am guilty and a liar, who was always In dread of disloyalty and lies. Sorrow and grief                     take them both!              I confess to you, Knight, here between us,             That what I did was all wrong.             Let me win back your good grace             And then heed what I am doing." (p. 161)

[heartsofbeskar]

the red wolf

chapter one: two swords

oberyn martell x fem!reader

WARNINGS: mentions and descriptions of violence (GOT canon typical), talk of death, language

WORDS: 3.5K

EXCERPT: Sunlight streamed through the window, the painted glass covering the two of you in an array of colours. When you had arrived in King’s Landing, you were sure it was the most beautiful place you had ever been. How could Winterfell compare to this sunlight and sea and splendor? But the longer you stayed, the more you saw that the beauty was but a thin layer, covering the stench of violence and greed.

A/N: this is in second person, but the reader insert character belongs to a canon house which of course implies physical characteristics, including her being white! (ik this is a problem for some reader inserts being coded white so i wanted to address it here)

masterlist

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Your hands trembled as they threaded through the soft, red locks. You used to do this when she was younger, you recalled, when she couldn’t sleep or was feeling ill or had a frightful dream.

It wasn’t just a dream this time.

Her shaky breath was warm against your neck, and you pulled her head closer in against you. Tears fell down the front of your bodice and you swallowed thickly, as you felt a familiar burn behind your own eyes. You willed the tears not to fall.

“It isn’t fair,” came her voice, impossibly small, against your bare skin. Her hands gripped tightly into the dense fabric of your skirts. “He wasn’t a traitor.”

You shushed her gently, your free hand ghosting up and down her back. You longed for the days when she was small enough for you to collect her in your lap, hold her close to your breast, as your mother had done for you both.

Another sob wracked her body, and you squeezed your eyes painfully shut at the sound. You hated it, you hated this. How you couldn’t protect her, or your father, or your brothers, or anyone.

“Sansa,” you whispered, taking her face in your hands, tilting it up to look into yours. Your heart shattered again at the sight of her, skin glistening with her tears, eyes and lips swollen and flushed from crying. You rested your forehead against hers, thumbs stroking her over delicate features. “You cannot say those things outside of this room. Tell me you know this, please.”

Your voice broke on the last word, emotion clawing its way up your throat. You loathed to ask this of her, to harden her once trusting and open spirit even further, but you needed her to know it. You wouldn’t give the Lannisters any excuse to hurt her, too.

“I do,” she choked out, fresh tears spilling over. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, pulling her back into your arms.

Sunlight streamed through the window, the painted glass covering the two of you in an array of colours. When you had arrived in King’s Landing, you were sure it was the most beautiful place you had ever been. How could Winterfell compare to this sunlight and sea and splendor? But the longer you stayed, the more you saw that the beauty was but a thin layer, covering the stench of violence and greed.

“We are Starks, my sweet sister.” You resumed combing through Sansa’s long hair; you weren’t sure if it was a comfort to her or to you. “We will not yield.”

—

The great walls of Winterfell rose behind you, as your feet carried you through the tall grass that grew uncontrolled just outside the keep’s gates. Small creatures darted to and fro under its cover. A gentle wind blew across your face, pushing your hair to the side. You heard the call of a wild raven overhead.

Winter bounded past you, the direwolf’s strong limbs carrying him far ahead of you with ease, though his grey speckled coat made him easy to find against the late summer colours of the grass. He turned back to look at you, mouth wide open in a pant, then gave an impatient bark. You laughed, shaking your head.

“You know I cannot keep up!” You called out to him, as if he could understand your reply. But ever since Winter had been a small pup, brought to Winterfell by your brothers with the rest of the litter, it had felt like he could. All the time you had trained him, he had tilted his head at your affirmations and musings, and had burrowed into your side when you were upset. It was an inexplicable connection between the two of you.

He waited patiently for you now, tail wagging and legs bouncing in excitement. He always loved these excursions outside the walls, and it provided a convenient excuse for you. As much as you loved to blame Winter and his need to get out for air, the same desire always burned within you as well.

Your bow and arrow shifted across your back as you increased your pace. The tips of your fingers grazed across the flowers that periodically sprung up from the dense grass. You made a note to pick some on your way back, for Sansa and little Rickon. You knew they’d enjoy them.

The treeline seemed to swallow the sun overhead as you passed beneath it, relishing in the coolness of the air here. Of course, the air had become cooler and cooler with every day that passed now. Winter is coming, your father harped on. And he was right, as usual. The arrival of your first winter sent a trickle of excitement through your entire body whenever you dwelt on it. Mother and father and Uncle Benjen had told you stories of winter, of the endless white and sparkling ice which could drip from the overhangs in the courtyard.

Winter ran excited circles around you as you set your quiver against the ground. You signalled to him with your hand, a communication in the language only the two of you spoke, and he settled promptly down to the ground, back end still wiggling with excitement. But he knew the best was yet to come if he waited.

Pointing the bow at the ground, you pulled an arrow from the quiver, resting it and nocking it against the string. Hooking two of your fingers around the end of the arrow, you scanned your eyes across the shadowed forest floor.

Before long, a movement caught your eye. A small rabbit sat, just a few yards ahead of you, chewing on some of the greenery there. You brought the arrow slowly, silently, up to your eye level, barely daring to breathe, lest you scare timid the creature away. You gripped the bow tightly in your opposite hand. Bringing the string straight backwards to sit next to your face, you tried to envision the path once you released it. Taking one last deep breath, you snapped your fingers off the string.

The arrow flew, fast and long through the air, and finally — fell a few feet left of the rabbit, spooking it into running deeper into the woods.

“Shit,” you cursed, collecting the wayward projectile from where it had sunk into the earth.

“Now, I don’t think your mother would appreciate that language.” A deep voice emerged from behind you, exciting Winter to stand and jump once around again.

“Father!” You gasped, whirling around. “I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t speak that way, I would never—”

He held up a hand to cut off your babble, a small smile settling on his time weathered face. “It’s alright. I have cursed too many times to reprimand it from any of my children.”

You mirrored his smile, moving to stand beside him. You looked down at your bow a little sheepishly. “I was just trying to practice a bit. You know how Jon and Robb like to tease.”

“I do.” He placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “But you shouldn’t be out here alone, sweet.”

“I have Winter with me.”

He laughed at that, moving his hand now to scratch behind the ears of the direwolf still pacing eagerly between the two of you. Winter yipped in excitement, pushing up against his hand.

“Winter is about as ferocious as a newborn babe,” he teased. “The opposite of Greywind, might I add. Anyone but Robb approaches, and that wolf is on alert.”

“Winter just has a gentle heart, is all.” You drop to one knee, letting the direwolf nuzzle into your chest, stroking his soft ears.

“It’s not unlike the differences between you and Robb, truth be told. Strange, how you can share a womb with another living being, and yet grow to be so distinct.” He had a far away expression on his face when you looked up. You stood again, allowing him to grasp your hands in his.

“You’re not here just to chastise me for going beyond the walls.” You knew, too well, the expression on Ned Stark’s face when he had to speak of things he didn’t want to.

He nodded. “Sweet child … you know I have nothing but respect for you and your choices. But, I am afraid it has become an unavoidable truth. Your mother and I have discussed this, and we have decided that once we arrive in King’s Landing, we need to decide on a man for you to marry.”

Your face was impassive as you considered his words. You knew in any other family, in any other man’s house, you would have been wed as soon as you’d bled for the first time. But your father had allowed you to grow and mature past that, and you cherished those years, holding them close to your heart. You squeezed his hands.

“I know, Father. And I am happy to do my duty as the eldest daughter of the house. You needn't feel guilty — I know you won’t marry me to a monster.” Your lips quirked upwards. And it was true; you had the utmost trust in your father that he would choose someone kind, someone level headed. That he would make a match considering your wishes, too, and it would be a life you could grow to love a man in.

He sighed, shoulders sagging in relief. You wondered if the prospect of marrying his first daughter, his first child, was more difficult for him than it was for you. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re a good daughter. But still a mediocre marksman; come, let me show you where you went wrong,” he said, picking up your discarded bow and quiver.

—

You longed to be in those woods now, with your wolf and your father and your bow. In your home. All the beauty and splendor and opulence of King’s Landing could never erase the horrors you’d endured here.

You glanced behind you, where Tyrion and her handmaiden were trying their best to implore Sansa to eat something. There was an impressive array of foods strewn about the small table, though your younger sister touched none of them.

As you watched, her handmaiden — whom you suspected was no handmaiden at all, given her incompetence at her job — rose from the table, shooting a glare at Lord Tyrion.

“She needs to eat,” she quipped, looking up at you briefly before she left, her light skirts swaying gently as she retreated down the garden path.

You turned and sat slowly in her vacated seat, saying nothing. Sansa didn’t spare you a glance, her eyes vacant as she continued to look at the table in front of her, not really seeing it.

“I can’t let you starve,” Tyrion implored. You bit back the remark on the edge of your tongue. How amusing it was to think of a Lannister caring for a Stark’s wellbeing. Even if it was the Stark he’d been wed to. “I swore to protect you. My lady, I am your husband. Let me help you.”

“How can you help me?”

“I don’t know, but I can try.”

“I lie awake all night staring at the canopy, thinking about how they died.” This you knew to be true, as those past nights you had curled yourself around her, in her marital bed, unable to sleep, but equally unable to leave her alone in this place. Sansa continued.

“Do you know what they did to my brother? How they sewed his direwolf’s head onto his body?” You shut your eyes tightly, images of Robb coming unbidden to the back of your eyelids. His gentle smile, his awful jokes, his tenderness as you’d raised that very direwolf alongside your own. “And my mother. They cut her throat to the bone and threw her body in the—”

“Sansa, please,” you choked out. You could not take any more, or surely the tears you had so desperately supressed for days would finally emerge. She sent a cool glance your way, but stopped.

Tyrion cast his eyes down; you could tell he was carefully considering his next words. Ever the silver tongue. “What happened to your family was a terrible crime. I didn’t know your brother. He seemed like a good man, but I didn’t know him. Your mother, I admired her. She wanted to have me executed, but I admired her. She was a strong woman. And she was fierce when it came to protecting her children. Sansa … your mother would want you to carry on. Both of you. You know it’s true.”

Sansa didn’t make any indication she had heard his valiant speech. Good, you thought to yourself. She stood, hands lightly falling onto the edge of the table. “Will you pardon me, my Lord? I’d like to visit the godswood.”

“Of course,” Tyrion nodded enthusiastically, brows drawn together. The scar you knew he’d gotten during the Battle of Blackwater Bay was deep set above one eye. “Prayer can be helpful, I hear.”

“I don’t pray any more,” she said quietly, as she began walking away. “It’s the only place I go where people don’t talk to me.”

You watched her form as she walked away, knowing she wouldn’t want you to follow. Your heart felt like it was being crushed inside your chest at the sight of it, at the knowledge that you could do nothing for her pain. Nothing for your own pain, even.

Tyrion appeared conflicted, eyes looking between where his wife had now left, and you where you remained seated. You took a deep breath, straightening your back.

“You needn’t stay and pretend to care for me as well,” she quipped, jaw tense. “... my Lord.”

Another Lord, another Lannister even, would have struck you. But perhaps marrying your child sister had curbed that edge in Tyrion, for he said nothing else before taking his leave from you.

As he turned the corner in the path, you sighed, dropping your shoulders. You stood from the table, returning to your previous spot, overlooking the sea. You let out a shaking breath as you leaned against the short garden wall.

The sea churned beneath you, it's great waves smashing ferociously on the rocks below. It smelled of salt and wind and you tried desperately to fill your lungs with it, to wash away every other feeling inside of you.

“A wolf of winter in the summer gardens; a strange sight indeed.” A lilting, accented voice came up behind you. Turning, you saw a tall man adorned in mustard robes, accents of fine jewelry hanging from his neck, on his hands, wrists, everywhere you could see. His skin was tan, golden, in a way you had never seen before, and the top of his robe exposed the start of a golden chest. His neatly trimmed beard and hair were dark, but not as dark as his eyes, which bore into you now.

You noticed the red suns stitched into the fabric of his robes — House Martell. Your father would never forgive you if you forgot all those long lessons on the great families of Westeros.

“My Lord,” you inclined your head politely in his direction, willing your body into the proper posture. “You’ve arrived from Dorne, for the wedding I presume?”

The man raised an eyebrow at you, stepping closer, until he stood directly in front of you. One step forward and you would be in direct contact with the expanse of his chest.

“You paid attention to your schooling on Houses,” he said lightly. He reached down to grab one of your hands that hung by your side, bringing it slowly up to his lips. “I am Prince Oberyn, indeed of Dorne. Forgive my manners, but I do not believe I need an introduction to you, Lady Stark.”

His dark eyes held yours, as he leaned in further. You could feel his breath on your face. It was pleasantly warm, and smelled of … oranges? “I heard of the tragic events that befell your family, at the hands of your benefactors.” He spit the last word.

“I do not know what you mean,” you breathed out. You pleaded with him with your eyes, please don’t do this; don’t make me speak it where they can hear. “The Lannisters have been most kind and generous to me and my sister, more than we deserve even. My family …” You swallowed thickly; your skin felt hot despite the shade. “My family betrayed the crown, and has paid their price.”

Oberyn’s brows drew together in a worried expression as he studied your face. You didn’t look away from his gaze, holding him there, trying not to show a crack in the facade. He ran a light hand up your arm, and though he barely touched you, a shiver ran across your skin. It came to rest on your shoulder, his thumb rubbing small circles over the fabric there.

“Little wolf, I assure you that the Lannisters are no friends of mine.” Something dark flashed in his eyes, for only a moment, so fleeting you weren’t even sure it had been there. “They have ripped apart my family with their teeth, also.”

You felt that particular burn in your eyes, and you pressed your nails into the palms of your hands, willing it away. You eyed the man’s hand where it still sat on your shoulder.

“Yet you break bread with them, do you not?” Your eyes were glued onto his as they cast downwards. “You come peacefully to King’s Landing, you bring wedding gifts for King Joffrey, and you drink from their cups.”

Your breathing was heavy now, emotion you had pushed into the deepest parts of yourself leaking out. You shut your eyes, shaking your head. This was a Prince.

“I … I am sorry, Prince Oberyn, I should not have—” He cut you off, gently pressing a hand to the side of your face. The skin of his fingers was rough, calloused, no doubt from years of fighting.

“You do not need to apologize, little wolf.”

“You shouldn’t call me that here.”

The side of his mouth quirked upwards at that, one delicate brow arching. It transformed the planes of his face, and you found yourself transfixed on the shapes and textures set into his tanned skin.

“I do believe we are alone here, little wolf.” Teasing now, he used the nickname with purpose. You liked the shape of it on his lips, though you still fought the overwhelming urge to peer over your shoulder at whoever may be watching.

“You don’t understand, my Lord.” You shook your head again, and his hand fell from your cheek. “King’s Landing is a pit of snakes. And they are always — always — listening. You are a Prince of Dorne and I…” You didn’t finish. I am nothing but a stupid girl who waited too long to marry, is too old for the King, is tainted and stained with the stench of my family’s rebellion. I am doused in their blood, being made to drown in it.

Your palm felt wet, drawing your attention down. Opening it, you saw blood welling from the four small crescent shaped tears that now appeared in the delicate skin there. Oberyn’s eyes followed yours, and they softened at the sight, cupping your hand in both of his. They were so large around yours, and steady.

“I am a Prince of Dorne,” he said, his voice quiet, not looking at your face. He pulled a handkerchief from the inside of his robe, next to his chest. Gently, he wrapped it around the palm of your hand, seemingly unbothered by the blood which immediately began to blot onto it. Many moons had taught you that blood never came off. Tying it secure under your knuckles, he met your eyes, lifting your head with a finger under your chin. “And if this is indeed a pit of snakes, it is a good thing you are in the company of the Viper. Your words — all of your words — are safe with me, little wolf.”

You wanted so badly to believe him, to think that there was someone in this wretched place you could trust, outside of your sister. That a man was really looking upon you with kind, genuine eyes, for the first time since they’d taken your father’s head from his shoulders.

The sea crashed particularly forcefully below, startling you. He leaned back now, pulling his hands away from you, and you immediately missed their warmth. As if he had carried the Dornish sun within his very body, all the way to King’s Landing. He kissed your unwrapped hand again, briefly, and he sent you another smile before beginning to retreat, hands clasped behind his back.

At the mouth of the garden entrance, he turned halfway, face playful now. “I should like to make strolling in these gardens a daily habit whilst I’m here; there is so much to see. Would you care to join me in that?”

You nodded, smiling; a small one, but the first smile you remembered giving genuinely to someone in a long time.

A/N: aaah this was so fun to do that i ended up finishing it waaay sooner than i thought i would! so excited to see what people think!! also it will probably end up being oberyn x ellaria x reader bc... i love her and i love bisexuals

taglist: @asta-lily @pedrostories

[huenjin]

lovers on the sun.

pairing — hwang hyunjin x reader | soulmate!au, racer!au

word count — 5.953 words

ratings — 18+

genre — smut

warnings — sexual content ahead. mentions of dangerous racing. car sex, public sex | smut specifications under the cut.

note — shoutout to @mochinnie for choosing the member for this idea omg ily to the moon and back. modification of an old smut sitting in my drafts. enjoy!

smut warnings — car sex (technically on the hood of the car), public sex, temperature play, marking and hickeys, grinding, nipple play, fingering, cunnilingus, edging, clitoral stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, penetration, choking, protected sex.

"We're early."

You lean forward, your chin resting on the dashboard. The view is still as scenic as you remember and you are glad Hyunjin has shown you this. It's the burst of colors that you can't seem to forget; that you don't want to forget.

All this blessing just because you came across your soulmate. To be honest, the sane you years back with visibility of only monochrome pictures, would think it is insane to have your whole life based off one man. Yet here you are, wrapped around his finger like he breathes life into you.

"We have half an hour left," Hyunjin looks into his phone. "Come on. It'd suck if we came right at sunrise. It's the whole process that makes this beautiful."

"I painted this that day, by the way," you pointed out and Hyunjin looks at you with surprise. He holds your hand in his, and kisses your cheek. You rest your head on his shoulder as the two of you look at the dark mountains that seem to get lighter and lighter with every minute that passes.

"I'll buy the painting. Name the price," he mutters and you chuckle.

"I can be expensive, you know."

"If it's you, it'd be worth it."

You push at his arm and look at him with faux disgust on your face and you mock him, "If it's you, it'd be worth it— Ha! You're super cringe that my gut did a whole somersault."

"You sure it wasn't the butterflies," he laughs, extending his arm to press your head back against his shoulder.

"Pretty sure, lover boy," you snuggle closer into him. It's an antidote to all the anxiety that had built up inside you a while back seeing him drive in streets, speeding way past limit. It's an assurance that puts you at ease, just as Minho said. That he's here in the present, in this minute, in this second, right by your side. There is really nothing to be afraid of right now. Not when you and Hyunjin could seize the moment, conquer the dynasty and set the world on fire.

The gear stick juts into your waist and as much as you hate to pull away, you whine against his shoulder, "Hyunjin, baby, can we go out and snuggle against the car?"

Hyunjin's face wrinkles and you feel his laughter vibrate through your body. He places his hand over your back so that the gear stick could jut into his hand rather and you squeal at the sudden contact.

"We could," Hyunjin hints. "Plus it isn't that far from the sun rising over the mountains."

You pull apart and Hyunjin rubs his hand against the denim over his thighs. You stare at his hands, specifically the tattoos that creep up to his forearm.

"You really like my tattoos, don't you?"

You cough, choking on air and Hyunjin rubs your back, telling you to breathe slowly. He removes the key from its slot and leans back, expecting an answer from you.

"I—It's very artistic. I just—" you stammer about and Hyunjin chuckles. He opens his door and walks out, only to come rushing to open yours as he mumbles, "Chivalry isn't dead."

He holds your hand, kicks the door shut and locks it with the touch of a button on the key. You trace the tattoos in your reach with your thumb and Hyunjin smiles to himself.

"I want to sit on the hood, please," you ask and Hyunjin nods. He lifts you up and places you on the hood. His bare hands touch the sides and he looks at you worried, "Isn't it slightly hot?"

You nod, biting your lower lip. It is a crazy euphoric rush that the temperature difference brings within you and with Hyunjin trapped in between your parted legs, leaning forward, you cannot concentrate.

You look over his shoulder and watch how the colour is slowly seeping through and how it is no more monochrome. The beauty beguiles you just as you imagined it would again.

You trace his tattoos all over again, starting from the small tulips to the big ones at the base to the mountains at the top. Hyunjin laughs in the middle, exclaiming that it tickles just as the sky bleeds the colours of beauty out slowly.

"I'll never be grateful enough for the opportunity to see these colors again," your thumb presses into the apex of the mountains on his forearm and Hyunjin watches you, gently and carefully.

"It's beautiful," you whisper. "You and everything that I received with you."

You cup Hyunjin's face, your thumbs tracing his jawline, watching his eyelids close partially and you kiss him. Hyunjin's right arm snakes around your back while the other is pressed flat against the hood for support. He pulls your frame closer into him, body against body and you groan into the kiss, angling his face slightly to go dwell deeper into his being.

It is fiery and passionate, not the soft, precious ones that you steal under the moonlight. This has everything that screamed intimate, needy and desperate. Hyunjin's hand presses into your crevice, making you wrap your legs around his waist and pulling him impossibly closer.

You wish you could paint this. You kissing your lover needily as the sky bled into colours of happiness and joy.

"Y/N," he pulls apart and a whine leaves your lips. Your name has never sounded this good and you wonder if it could ever unless it is rolling off of Hyunjin's lips when he's hot, messy and desperate. Hyunjin turns his face to watch the sky, his arm still around your frame and you notice the smile that widens, "Y/N, look, the sun! It's beautiful."

Hyunjin could be talking about the sunrise but in your eyes, he beats everything. With parted lips, heavy breaths and rising chest, unhinged Hwang Hyunjin should be the most beautiful being you've ever seen, with or without color.

"Have me completely. Make me yours," the instruction — almost a request — is soft, silent and could easily blend into the surrounding, but Hyunjin hears it clearly. He looks at you, eyes wide and lips parted in surprise. He looks at you, worried if it was his thoughts that just sounded louder to him or whether it actually was you and so, you repeat, "Please, Hyunjin. Take me here under the morning rays and skies filled with magenta, amber and everything warm."

"Poetic," he gasps.

The next thing you know, he has his lips against yours, nearly knocking you off all the wind in your lungs. You heave and give in, find your hands in his hair, tugging at the roots and moving against his body. His hand sprawls over your neck — a habit you are slowly growing familiar to, a habit that has you dirtying your panties by the very thought of it — and his thumb presses into the neck, rubbing slow circles. He kisses the top of your lips, your hands tugging at his shirt.

You slowly realise that just as the paint dries in your paintings, a kiss is never just as a kiss. It's the foreplay behind everything and kissing Hyunjin — it's a cure, an antidote, an epiphany, a calling, a disaster and a metamorphosis.

The sensations that he evokes within as his mouth parts your lips is something you thought you would never experience. It is a bliss, like hanging the moon by your side. It's an aphrodisiac, mixed with a Pandora Box's effect.

You moan into the kiss, your back arches and Hyunjin's hand is still firm on it. He kisses the lower lip and your tongue brushes his lips in the impact and then, he lets you in. It's intimacy on a level you were slowly being prepared for. You wanted this, you needed this and you wanted Hyunjin to know how you feel; how he makes you feel.

You have never associated Hyunjin with colours because he is a palette on his own.

He is red in his passion, blue in his calmness, a beautiful violet in his loving but overall, he is teal; a variant of turquoise. He is reliability and trustworthiness wrapped into one being — one that you don't mind selling your soul away for because commitment never seems like an issue with Hyunjin.

You tug at his shirt and Hyunjin pulls away carefully, looking at you through hooded eyes and you gaze, only wanting to paint this picture to keep for yourself. Hyunjin pulls at his shirt, lifting it over him and placing it by the side of the car, on a huge rock that luckily happens to be there.

He lifts your black blouse up partially, looking at you for your permission and when you nod and lift your arms up, he pulls it away, placing it over his shirt.

"You're beautiful," he kisses your neck, pecks and smiles against your skin. "You're so fucking beautiful, I got lucky."

Your skin touches the hot hood of the car and you hiss. You feel the temperature difference and it's morbid of how that is turning you on. The intimacy and the temperature variation has the cotton cloth sticking to your body and you are embarrassed.

You jump from the hood, shimming out of your jeans and stripping Hyunjin down to bare nothing, before sitting back up on the hood, the heat hitting you and your head falls on Hyunjin's neck.

He rubs circles into your thigh and laughs into your ears, "You like this, don't you? You like this so much."

His lips trace your neck before they attack yours again. It clashes and screams for dominance. You pull at his neck, legs wrapping around his waist again, heel of the foot digging into his spine. You moan into his mouth and it's a panic rush. You want him everywhere. Your neck, your lips, your body. You want him to hold you in this wild, wild world because in his warmth, you forget the cold around in your world. You forget everything painful and in his warmth, you feel complete. You want him to hold you in this wild world because that's when you are the happiest.

Hyunjin has warmed you to the core and left you wanting more.

Hyunjin's hands slide down your back, pull you towards him, tightly clasping around the curves of your bottom cheeks. You gasp, your heels digging into him further and an unquenchable void of thirst pooling in your nether regions.

Hyunjin is shining. With pants and moans and a sky that serves merely as a background for his charms, you find yourself attracted to him so much more.

He sucks at the skin by the crook of your neck, under your clavicles, above your breast and at the curves, leaving purple marks almost instantly thanks to your sensitive skin.

"I may be no painter but this perhaps is my favorite artwork," Hyunjin moans against the underside of your breast before leaving a kiss there. You tug at his arms, biting your lower lip from being an uncontrolled mess.

This might be a restricted area but the very thought of a police barging in at this scandalous moment sends in a rush of adrenaline. It sends a rush down your spine.

Hyunjin traces his lips up your skin before hoovering over your face. He kisses your nose softly and you smile widely at him. Soft, you think. So fucking soft. There's a shy smile on his lips, his teeth on display and you feel yourself giddy in bliss.

He claims your lips anew and you giggle against his soft, coral lips, so plump and red, swollen and slicken with your saliva that you could get addicted to kissing him.

It's slow and thorough at first, like he's testing waters once again. Hyunjin is careful and delicate and you are tempted to just hold him by his head and deepen the kiss; however, you let him lead.

The thought of Hyunjin being by your side from now, the thought of having someone else to confide, to love and to be loved fills you with tenderness. It makes your insides tingle with excitement, your heart lunge and it fogs your entire mind at once.

You can hear your heart beat quicker, racing against your chest and your thoughts drive you desperate. You make the kiss deeper, licking his lip and grazing it with your teeth. You move forward to own every gulp and moan he releases and squirm in pleasure.

"I want you so much," you choke out. Hyunjin's hand lets loose from your throat slightly and he looks at you with admiration. You sound desperate, almost like you would lose your sanity if Hyunjin doesn't make you his, this minute. "Please. Hyunjin, please."

His mouth moves over the skin at your breast, kissing it gently. His hands move up from your waist to your back and it linger around the hook of your bra. He pulls away momentarily, looking intently at you, "Can I?"

"Yes, please," you grip on his shoulders. "If you leave me high and dry, I swear to god—"

He looks down at your panties and you blush red as he raises an eyebrow. It's almost intimidating. "Pretty sure I already didn't, darling."

He unhooks your bra and flings it in the direction of the rest of your clothes. He lets out a soft gasp and you shrink into yourself. Hyunjin's gaze is strong and seductive and as he lets out, "Oh my fucking god, you're going to make me sin so much," his mouth is on your nipple, circling it with his tongue, elucidating clearer and louder moans from you.

You kiss both the apples of his cheeks and Hyunjin laughs. Flowers need not bloom on your skins, it was, however, most definitely blooming in your hearts. You lick a stripe on a prominent vein in his neck before leaving beautiful marks tainting his perfect skin. You lick his clavicles and you feel the rush that trails down his spine. Hyunjin's head falls back slightly and he groans out, "Oh fuck."

Your throat is dry from all this excessive want and you wet your lips, breathing coming out in hot puffs of air, rapid and shallow. The passion and want blinds you and your hands are eager to explore every nook and corner of Hyunjin, to have him know perfectly at the back of your hand. You wonder how artistically beautiful it would be if your soulmate marks were to cause beautiful flowers to bloom on the skin upon touch. You want to see Hyunjin covered in flowers. Beautiful, colorful flowers that leaked chroma.

"You've sensitive skin too," you mumble. Your lips suck on his skin, tracing your tongue over the vast expanse only momentarily along with the grazing of your incisors over it. You pull away, notice how the skin under his clavicle turns a bright purple with traces of red around and you smile. You continue to leave your traces — the traces of this meet — further down, your hands tracing against the grooves of his abs and you mean against his skin, feeling yourself getting slicker and the panties being highly uncomfortable.

Hyunjin is appreciative. You feel yourself growing confident and bold under his praises, strong enough to slip your hand past the band of his underwear, rubbing small circles into his hip bones.

"Fuck," Hyunjin grunts into you, his almost fully hard boner jutting into your clothed core. "Y/N, can we please stop with the teasing?"

You lick a stripe down his chest to his abs and till his happy trail as you push yourself back, holding on Hyunjin's shoulder to prevent yourself from sliding away. Your back hits the wiper blade and it's cold enough to jolt you up.

Your legs that were dangling only for only a few minutes, finds themselves back wrapped around his waist as your spine straightens. Your finger brushes his jaw and you're grating and moving against the evident bulge in his boxers.

"Y/N," Hyunjin's jaw tightens and his words sound authoritative. You pay no heed, however, as you take your own sweet time to love this perfect man before you. Hyunjin's ash hair with dark blue shades brushes over his half closed, crescent like eyes, and yet the hunger and demand is so strong in them. Hyunjin's hand plays with the straps of your panties as he looks at you intently. "I'm going to show you heaven as you make me sin."

He pulls down the panties and your back leans slightly, your legs stretching forward for him to remove it. Hyunjin's hands are flat on the hood as he bends forward to hover above your pubic mound. He breathes heavily against it  and the warm air sends a quick rush of tingles down your spine, turning themselves into a cause to make yourself wetter.

"You're so fucking wet," Hyunjin mutters, his lips scarily close to your slit. You tug at your lower lip, biting into them harshly enough to taste the copper blood in your mouth. "All this for me?"

"Yes," you sigh as Hyunjin's thumb swipes across the slit, collecting it on the pad of it. "Yes. Yes."

The button at the top of your labia is prominent and starving for attention and Hyunjin slowly rubs this in languid, dragged out motion, moving up and down, testing to see what breaks you down and what you like. Your legs fall away from Hyunjin's hip, digging into the bumpers of the car. Your body falls back, lying on the hood, your hand extending forward to hold something; anything.

"Do you like this, baby? Do you like my finger rubbing against it slowly and turning you into a moaning mess?" Hyunjin's voice is thicker and you notice a dialect slowly slipping in, something that shouldn't turn you on but it does and you find yourself filthy.

"Yes, oh my fuck," your eyes screw shut, the wrinkles around your eyes prominent.

He runs his finger down your slit, rubbing the walls and dragging them. He collects as much of your arousal as he can in his fingers and when he pulls it up closer to his mouth, you watch how his finger glistens in the morning rays. Your lips part and your cheeks flush.

"You're so wet for me that it's hot," Hyunjin licks his finger, before putting the finger in his mouth, hollowing it and still keeping his gaze on you. You gulp, throat drier than it could possibly get. Hyunjin, standing before you licking his finger coated in your arousal with his eyelids covering his midway — he looks delectable, like a meal to ravish.

"Want more," he mutters and you think it's not possible for a man to get hotter than this when Hyunjin bends forward quickly, like a lion pouncing on its prey. His eyes are on your pussy, firm and determined. He parts your lips and your head tilts to the side, cheek coming in contact with the slightly cooler metal hood.

You moan as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing you fold. He rubs circles into your folds, slowly dragging them out into waves and your hand flies upwards to catch hold of the wiper of the car for a grip.

"Hyunjin," you rasp out, and he hums, kissing your thigh and biting it slightly as his thumb rubs against your clit and the other swipe against the folds.

"Baby, do something," you cry. "Please, I need you." Your other hand tugs at his hair, trying to bring him closer in a desperate manner.

"Should I?" he teases, rubbing small circles around your clit in an excruciatingly slow manner and you think — know — that Hyunjin is going to drive you to insanity.

"Please, please, please—"

The intrusion is sudden and you are overwhelmed. You gasp, the air raspy against your throat before falling. Your hand leaves the wiper to find its place in his shoulder blades, digging your nails into the skin, unbothered by the possibility of cutting through it.

He presses his thumb on your clit, tapping it slowly, simultaneously and you think you're going delusional. "Hyunjin, oh my fucking heavens."

Hyunjin pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb rubs furious circles into your clit. He bites at your thigh, kissing them soon after, leaving traces of bruises near to your vulva. He sucks on the skin deliriously, licking the skin to soften before grazing his teeth to oversensitize you. You feel the build up and you squirm against Hyunjin, your eyes watering.

"Hyunjin, baby," it's a sob that leaves you. "Please."

"I just think my dream came through," he laughs against your bruised skin. "You screaming my name, crying desperately is going to be enough for me to get off now."

Hyunjin adds another finger and you feel overwhelmingly full. The walls stretching out and you catch him mumbling, "So fucking tight and all for me."

He curls them up into you and your back arches slightly at the tingles. You feel Hyunjin slipping his fingers easily into you and the slick of your arousal dripping down your thighs, making a mess. He rubs your walls, his attention also on your enlarged button and your hips gyrate with him, thrusting and chasing after his fingers desperately.

You feel the euphoric rush coming, creeping through from within and trying to embrace you as a whole and when it's very close to burst, Hyunjin pulls his fingers away, licking them clean with a knowing smirk plastered on his face.

"What? Why?" You cry. "Why did you—"

"Patience is a virtue, baby."

"Fuck you," you swear. You are an emotional wreck with the edging and you want to burst down into tears. So close and now, you feel it fading away.

"I intend on that, baby."

You pout, the tears threatening to spill. You feel vulnerable and Hyunjin coos, "There, there, love. I promised you a good time and I never back out from any of my promises. A man of his words, alright?"

And then, Hyunjin's mouth is on you and you don't expect it. Your body lifts itself up, holding his hair to have a miniscule amount of control. Hyunjin plants soft kisses on your lips, nibbling on them gently before parting them with his tongue. He swipes one big stroke and lets the muscle rest on your hot clit.

"Hyunjin," the words are raspy and you tug at the roots of his hair. His tongue is sinful and you wonder if you are ready to turn dark for him, be everything at his beck and call. Hyunjin chuckles against it and you feel the vibration and the arousal dripping out further. He pushes into you with his tongue and you cover your mouth with your hand, releasing muffled moans. You move your hips against his mouth, his tongue skillfully accessing and licking your inner walls.

A messy affair at its finest, you feel the same high building up at a pace quicker than you it was possible. You feel it tightening, you core clutching onto his muscular organ as it tries indulging itself deeper. His nose rubs against your neglected clit. He licks a stripe against it before sucking at it, teeth grazing at it sending tingle down your spine that has you hitting the bumpers with the heel of your feet. You are already sensitive from the almost orgasm you had and with all this vigor and undivided attention Hyunjin gives you, you don't notice the two fingers that he thrusts into you.

Your back arches more steeply, your mound hitting him in its influence and your moans are louder, raspier and quicker. You are screaming out Hyunjin's name in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and the sky that is slowly mixing the colours that had been painted on it earlier.

You see the stars under your eyelids, a white you weren't that familiar with even after living a monochromatic life. It is almost like the flash of a camera but for longer and your legs leave the bumper wrapping around Hyunjin's neck. He is still licking slow stripe, taking in and devouring the rush of juice that squirts out of you. He lets you ride out the high, he lets you leave him breathless as his grip on your thighs do not ease away. Hwang Hyunjin does not stop, even when you're quaking, quivering mess, tears spilling from the corner of your eyes and it's almost bordering overstimulation. He leaves you gasping for air, with something stuck in your throat preventing the passage of air and it's difficult to breathe in this rush.

You don't mind, however. With Hyunjin this close to you, you don't mind being ruined, because as you slowly calm down from your high and while you're being stimulated to borderline insanity, you realise that with Hwang Hyunjin far away, your life in color would still seem monochromatic.

Hyunjin pulls away and you look down at him. His mouth glistens in the remains of your orgasm, shining under the bright sun rays. He licks his lips deliriously and you bite hard into your lower lip. You cup his jaws and pull him into a kiss, tasting yourself in his mouth. You don't shy away from prying your hand into his underwear, teasing his cock as you rub your hand over the enlarged shaft slowly.

You lean forward, biting Hyunjin's ear lobe before muttering, "You're right. The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."

The chortle that follows is almost demeaning. You tug at the band of his underwear and he pulls it down and away at your request. Hyunjin is not the longest you've seen but the girth his cock has makes you gulp and salivate. It's painfully hard and the tip is red, leaking with precum down his cock. You wonder if your hand could wrap around it and how he'd look if you milked him out, teasing him in your hands first before hollowing him out in your mouth, licking the underside and the prominent vein that runs across the shaft.

"Do you have a condom?" Your head tilts and you pray he does. The last thing you really wanted as much as you joked about it is for him to truly leave you high and dry.

"Wait, the condom is in the glove compartment," Hyunjin tells you and you nod.

As Hyunjin rushes, opening the door and searching through the compartment, you stretch your arms and exclaim, "Bless your secret spot."

"Why? Because you're getting some real good dick here?" He comes back with the foil in his hand.

"That and," you brush your nose against Hyunjin after he places a soft kiss on your lips before ripping the foil open. "Because the sunrise here is beautiful. It synchronises with your charms. Do you want help with that?"

"No. I'm good," Hyunjin mumbles, putting the condom on himself and you watch. The thought of his cock driving into your cunt dries your throat up, leaving you giddy. He kisses your lips, catching you lower lip between his, tugging at it and an illicit moan leaves you.

"Could you bend your leg just a little?" You nod. Hyunjin's legs hit the grills as you sling your leg over his shoulder, spreading you open wider than before. His hand grips on the other leg, pressing it hard against the hood. You prop your body slightly upwards and Hyunjin kisses the skin at your acetabulum. He brushes his cock against your cunt and a harsh swear leaves his pretty lips. The tip brushes your clit, tingles running down your spine. Your nails dig into his hand by your side and you gasp.

Hyunjin slides in slowly, letting you get used to his girth and familiarise yourself with it. He pushes it in agonisingly slow and it adds further to the sensuality. The stretch causes you to curl your toes in ecstasy. With your leg over his shoulder, heels digging into the skin by his scapula, the way he is holding you permits him to deeper, sliding in until you can feel him by your gut and his thighs are pressed against your purple bruised ones. He bends forward and you watch Hyunjin.

What Hyunjin is comes from within; it is beautiful and it is raw, unrefined. It's like an ore waiting to be extracted and you want to. His eyes have a mesmerizing chestnut hue and under the bright rays, you see how beautiful the shades of brown his eyes were; enough for you to count the stars in them.

Hyunjin's face is soft and yet so defined, his features molded from granite, flawless and perfect. His nose ended with the perfect curve and his lips are plump and soft, coral shaded and beautiful.

Hyunjin's panting in your ears, the grunt manly. His muscles are tense and the words come out in a low, deep tone, "Fuck, you're swallowing me as a whole."

He kisses your lips, stilling for a while in your wet warmth, whispering against them, "You're beautiful and you take me so well."

He thanks the heavens and whatever being that has chosen you to be his soulmate. He pushes once more to go deeper if it's possible and you moan loudly, fingers digging into his tattooed arm. Hyunjin watches your eyes squeeze shut and he can't believe that you're all for him, made for him just as he was for you.

You squeeze around him unknowingly and Hyunjin swears under his breath, his grip on your hip tightening. He knows he could cum with you just wrapped around him perfectly with all your warmth. He grits his teeth and pulls out. When he slams into you again, his pubic bone hitting your nether region, balls slapping against your arse, you scream.

Hyunjin picks up a pace. It is fast and hard and has you gripping onto him for the life of yours. Hyunjin is fucking you like he wants to stay deep within you forever if that was a choice, just like he did find a spot — a big one at that — in your heart.

Your hips move along to match his pace and when your moans get excessive, Hyunjin locks his lips with yours, owning every one of them and making them his. You can feel him twitching against your wall and the whine that leaves you is muffled by him again.

"I want to see you come again," Hyunjin mumbles, pushing into you, jerking you up. "I want to see you come undone because of me."

Hyunjin lets go of your leg and moves his tattooed hand over your clit. You watch the tulip flowers that move closer to your mound and it's beautiful. He is beautiful.

He taps on your clit at a steady pace and you fill your mind slowly coming undone, like a pearl necklace ready to snap. His mouth is against your ear, licking a stripe at the cartilage before whispering into it, "Look at you. So fucking beautiful. You're a—" He thrusts into you, hitting a spot that has you shuddering down on him fighting an urge to come undone so quickly, both you and him that Hyunjin has to catch his breath for a second there. "—an angel. A goddess. You're perfect for me. Want to see you come undone under my touch. Want to see you break into a vulnerable mess because of my touch."

Tears spill from the corner of your eyes and it's all too much. Your senses are heightened and you feel Hyunjin's warmth around you perfectly and in you completely. Your hand finds its way back to Hyunjin's hair, tugging at the ones by his nape, digging into the skin by his neck.

"Please, fuck— please, Hyunjin," you cry. "Want you to fuck me so good. Want you. Want all of you."

Hyunjin grunts, his grip firmer, his stomach quivering and his hips striking, picking up momentum until he's pounding you against the warm hood of the car, the wiper screeching occasionally as it swipes up. Your leg hurts by this and yet you hold tight because of the rapid bursts of pleasure sparking into your system. Hyunjin understands and lets go of your leg, letting it strike gently against the bumper. You wrap your legs around his waist once again, hips canting upwards wildly because you know you're close and you want Hyunjin to know it too.

And he does. Hyunjin wraps his hand around your neck, his forefinger lining your jaw and thumb pressing into the skin. He kisses you, passionate and fiery. Your brain feels fuzzy, the air diminishing and your lungs burning in the absence, yet it's so good. A habit of Hyunjin's that you had learnt to so furiously love; a habit that gets you to feel on a cloud way beyond.

Your face in this moment is what Hyunjin knows he would be ready to sin for, over and over again. Your eyes hooded, cheeks flushed, face glistening in sweat, lips swollen and red and parted, with moans leaving them so softly that he knows he's ruined for. You are whining, moans leaving your lips one after another in no particular order of vocal range when his cock slams into the same spot that has you losing your mind and it snaps.

"Hyunjin!" It's a desperate prayer, a confession. You come around his cock, the white flash spreading under your eyelids and you're weeping. He sticks to his promise of never leaving you high and dry because here you are, lying on the hood of a car fucked out. Your heart swells and you feel the rushing oxytocin clouding your brain.

Hyunjin continues thrusting into you, chasing after his own orgasm. He still whispers remarks that make you bloom in confidence, "There, baby. You're doing so well. That's my girl." You can tell he is close and so you hold him tight, squeezing around his girth and Hyunjin moans. You kiss his neck, leaving marks on his skin. His hips stutter widely and a deep groan fills your ears. You can faintly feel it as he comes undone in the sheath. It's pulsating, warm and hot. Hyunjin holds himself in you, thrusting slowly and languidly to come down from his high.

"You're everything I ever wanted," he whispers into your ears, kissing your cheek and finally letting go of you. He leaves your cunt, and removes the dirtied sheath, throwing it in an abandoned box nearby. You sit up straight, giggling and leaning against the windshield or the car. Your legs are weak and you wonder if you could walk straight.

Your phone rings exactly on time but you decide to ignore it. It is in the glove compartment and there is no way you were going to walk in this state to answer a call. Hyunjin stands before you again and this time, you move forward. Using the palm of your hand, you squish his cheeks together and coo at him, while Hyunjin laughs.

Hyunjin has a box of fine tissues in his hand and he helps you clean up. He's gentle and thorough and you watch him, your eyes gleaming with love.

The sky is blue and bright. The clouds scattered around in perfect spacing. The birds are chirping and it is radiant. This moment seems beautiful. Reaching bliss right under the sunset with Hyunjin could never be better than this.

[dilfbane]

It Gets Better(A Silky Pearl)

Summary: It’s been a long time since things have gotten this bad. Loki, returned from his latest mission, lets you know that, with help and support, you can overcome the worst of things, and makes sure you know that he’ll be there with you to get you through it, each and every day. 

Pairing: Loki/Female Reader

Warnings: Reader in this fic struggles with eating disorders. Thoughts and feelings related to these(specifically to anorexia and bulimia), are made throughout the fic, especially those that, in my personal experience, people with these disorders experience. I cannot stress enough that this will be discussed/referenced/talked about, sometimes explicitly(Though not graphically) and sometimes implicitly, so please be aware of that and know that it’s OK to take care of yourself and skip this one if that would be triggering to you! 

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I want to preface this by saying that there are a LOT of people, both here and on AO3, who have made some amazing Loki/reader oneshots where the reader is struggling with mental health and/or physical health issues, that really provide a sense of warmth and fluff and support to people who may be going through those things themselves, and I’ve taken a lot of comfort in those fics over the course of the pandemic(I’ll be shouting out a couple of them in the tags!). I want to acknowledge that these exist, and that they’re awesome and have partly inspired my own writing, before talking about this little project I’m embarking on. 

Because, while I have gotten a lot of comfort out of many of those pieces of writing, there are definitely some things which I feel like aren’t talked about as much in pieces like these which I have gone through, and which a lot of other people have gone/are going through, and…. I figured that maybe I could take a crack at trying to provide that hit of fluff for people dealing with those things, if I can, and hopefully use my own experience with them to do it in as respecful and accurate a way as possible. 

All that being said, the first oneshot in this little project is going to be dealing with a pretty heavy subject, that being eating disorders. The reader in this fic does struggle with eating disorders - specifically anorexia and bulimia. I will not be actively describing anything too graphic about these disorders in this fic, except to highlight through implication and some sparse details that this is what’s happening here, as well as show some of the inner thought processes of the reader, but there definitely is enough in here to show that that’s what’s going on, so if anyone would be triggered by that, please take care of yourselves and give this one a pass! Also, I will further disclaim that there are many types of eating disorders, and everyone’s experience with them is different. In this oneshot, I wrote based off what I know to have been true during the time in my life when I struggled with the same conditions, and I really tried to make the fluff and support as kind and encouraging as I possibly could. If for ANY REASON there’s something that I did badly at, or something that’s disrespectful, anyone reading this may feel more than free to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it! I don’t want this fic to be a place where anyone feels hurt or disrespected, that isn’t my intention at all, and if I make a mistake in that regard for any reason whatsoever, I would really appreciate knowing so that I can correct it!

Anyways, after that extremely lengthy A/N, just… please know, if you’re going through something like this, that you’re not alone, that help does exist and is out there, and that you are seen and heard. And take this Loki fluff, because honestly, there can never be too much of that in the world! 

You know that he worries about you. Even before his latest, three-week mission, you know that he worried about you. In the mornings, as you pour your coffee, you watch him watch you with careful nonchalance, gaze boring into the back of your head, slight furrow creasing his eyebrows, frown pulling small at his lips. He dresses early, because he wakes early; it is a battle, most mornings, for you to get out of bed. And so what, if you take your coffee with more creamer than is necessarily normal - it has to last you a long time, this coffee. You need the sugar of it, to get you to that clean pain. It is sharper, more real, than any scalpel, any knife that Loki keeps concealed by his armor; all that fine Asgardian leather, green and supple and him. It gives you back the control that you lack. Lets you be the person that you would be. 

It’s not that you’re afraid of your body, but you are ashamed by it; cannot fathom, even now with his gaze on you, that Loki could love somebody so dreadfully overweight. 

Today, though - Today, you had thought, you had hoped, that it might be different. You don’t know why you have that hope, but it brims up in you; a physical need, a visible yearning, for you to be enough for once. Someone that Loki can stand to look at. Someone that Loki can love. He is looking at you now like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you flinch from the frown that creases his piercing gaze, unable to bear how it roves up the planes of your body; silhoutted in the light coming in through the window, you can feel each ounce of fat that stretches over your sinew, cartilage. (You know that Loki hates your body - He traces it sometimes like he’s probing you, trying to find where your bones are. You wish that you could call him on it, and know that you never could). 

You stand at the counter, and turn from him; rummage in the cabinet for your coffee mug with shaking fingers; you almost feel like they’re rubber. Blue and cold, like his Jotun skin, but you know that it isn’t enough. Pins and needles prick at them - you can almost convince yourself that it’s only your guilt and shame, but you cannot hide from the pain suffusing Loki’s voice when he speaks. 

“Darling,” He says, on a shaky breath, “We need to talk about this.” 

“I know -” You tell him - you know that you can’t run from this, anymore. He knows how you look, how nothing you do is fixing it. And now, he’s going to leave you. “I know, Loki - I tried, Loki, I’m so sorry -“ 

The agony that wells up in you threatens to overwhelm your ability to speak, and you feel your knees buckle the second before you fall. Your kneecaps slam against the cupboard underneath the sink, your head hitting the edge of the counter as you slide down hard to the floor. It hurts. But every part of your body hurts, these days. It’s as constant as your worthlessness. And something else, too - 

He is there, on the floor with you, in less time than it takes place to blink, pulling you hard and desperate into his arms; you don’t understand why, and you try to wrench yourself from him, sobs bubbling up and spilling out from your tightly shut eyes. You can feel the bruises starting to form on you, a lump throbbing at your temple. 

“Love,” He is saying, “Y/N, sweetheart, come back to me. Come back to me, darling, please.” He is stroking your hair; you feel his fingers at its strands, thin and brittle. God, you think, how pathetic you are - you can’t even keep yourself pretty for him, for this god and all the sacrifices that he’s made. You cry harder, unable to stop your own wailing. When you finally do, you’re exhausted - it takes everything out of you. 

“Loki,” You say, on a wretched whine, “I’m so cold.” 

“Hush,” He says, “You’re alright. You’ll be warm soon - We’ll sort it, darling, I promise.” 

You don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t something you can sort, but somehow you know, deep in your heart, that Loki understands. Still, his voice is so sweet, and the shudders that wrack you begin to halt in the steady hold of his embrace; the tender brush of his fingers over your skin. You feel like you can look at him, now, so you do it, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth to steel yourself for the cruel things you’re certain he’ll start with. But Loki’s gaze isn’t angry at you, not full of fury or disgust. They sparkle with unshed tears and concern, emerald in the daylight. It takes you a moment too long to realize all that pain, all that worry, is for you; when you do, though, you flinch away. Feel Loki’s fingers drop from your hairline to your cheek, then your chin, tilting your head up so that you can’t run and hide. 

“I’m losing you, love,” Loki says. His voice is low, and steeped in sorrow. It is his turn to look down, with guilt and shame, and you feel a pang blossom, raw and red, in your heart. He sighs, and straightens his shoulders. He is filled with some new resolution, some new determination you can’t wince away from. 

“I need to know,” Loki tells you, “How long this has been going on. I need to - I need you to tell me why, love. I can’t bear to see you like this.” 

“I can’t,” You say, blinking back a fresh torrent of tears, “Tell you why. It’s not - I can’t - I don’t know.” 

But you know, and Loki does, too. It’s the god of lies, holding you - of course he can tell that you’re lying. It is something other, and runs deep, this bone-y reluctance. A complex game of mental gymnastics. How could you ever tell Loki about the control that it gives you, the desperation with which you used all your calorie-counting and aching restraint to regain the love that you lost? The nights bent over toilet bowls; the way that, sometimes, you empty stomach made you dig your nails hard into your palms ’til they bled, to stop yourself from crying out at the pain. And he loves you - the part of you that craves his affection, that yearns to burrow fast and fierce into Loki’s embrace and spill all your secrets to him, makes sure to remind you of that.

“Y/N,” Says Loki, soft and tender, yet infused with a note so harsh that you would wince, if you could. “You can tell me anything. You need to.” 

You notice things, now, in the face of his determination. You notice that Loki is looking at you like he’s in physical pain, and that there’s something sticky and red on the pads of the fingers that brushed up against your head. 

“I’m bleeding,” You say. It comes out soft, horrified. 

The frown that creases Loki’s face would bring you to your knees, if you weren’t there already. 

“It’s just - a thing that I do,” You tell him, too ashamed to look at his face as you reveal it. “You don’t have to worry about it.” 

“That’s not enough for me, love.” 

Loki’s lips are pursed tight, and the wound in his eyes has hardened to steel. The you part of your body - the fleeing part, the one who knows how to survive - seizes its’ chance and you duck out of his embrace, with far more strength than you had possessed in what felt like, potentially, years. Scrambles, backwards, like a cornered animal, over the tile floor, before heaving itself up to standing. It faces Loki, and its’ breath comes in stabbing-sharp. It is hard to remember that you have to call it ‘myself’. You feel older than you were, yesterday, and you cannot, quite, get air to come into your lungs. That’s not enough for me, you hear your lover say, ringing in your ears like a hyena’s howl. 

You’re not enough for me, love. Your fingers spasm, clutching the sides of the kitchen table white-knuckled. You wonder, fleetingly, what Loki would do if you died. The thought makes you cry out in pain, a whimper ripping out from a throat rubbed fingernail-raw, but Loki does not move to stand. 

“Come back to me,” He tells you, spiked with sorrow and need. And, perhaps for the first time, you admit it - to yourself, as much as to him. 

“I don’t - I don’t think I know how.” 

He smiles the smiole of someone who’s seen his own pain, faced his own lashing demons, and you pause to take him in fully, this god who says that he loves you, the man he is trying to be. You catch on hixs eyes, those bright emerald coins, his hair like the feathers of crows. His high, pale cheekbones, and his silver-tongue cut like glass. The pads of his fingertips, slender and cold, tender and fierce on your skin or the hilt of a dagger. You breathe in the smell of him, parchment and iron; peppermint tea and the smoke from a lorn, crimson fire. Wet leaves, after a rain. You feel your resolve start to waver. 

“Well,” He says, all thoughtful, all trickster, “Sitting down, I believe, would be a good place to begin.” 

The teasing lilt of his voice - an act that he is putting on, and all for you, always for you - cajoles you, coaxing you to lever your elbows and slide back down onto the floor, your weary legs feeling unimaginably grateful. Loki shoots you a new smile now, light and proud. He beckons you, with a cock of his head and a slim, fond gesture, to him - Of a sudden, the tiles beneath you seem like a desert, an ocean. You feel the weight of your emptiness. It laughs at you, its’ white teeth filed and barred. In your head, your failure is heavy; a hot and cackling creature with seven-foot claws pressing down on your chest, restricting your matchstick limbs. You are lost to the unyielding insistence of it, trapped in the maw of its cage, and Loki’s words, when they come, sound as far away as the shores of a country ancient and foreign. 

“I was hardly gone,” He is saying, but you cannot answer him. “How could it have gotten this bad?” 

It is that - that sadness, that fear in your lover - that breaks you, and you take the thing at a clumsy, terror-steeped sprint, not caring how wretched you look, so long as you can reach him - So long, you finally let yourself think, as there is something left of you for Loki to hold in his arms. Your body hurts worse than anything. You feel every scrape and bruise and chill on it; the pins and knives working at oxygen-starved nerves, and the gnawing clamp of your hunger, a brand pressing into your gut; and you know that Loki can’t save you. But maybe, just maybe, you can find some way to save yourself. And his fingers are there, going up to your hair, thumb rubbing at a hollow cheek and catching the salty dirge of an errant tear. 

“It gets better, you know,” Loki tells you. He gets you onto his lap; you feel his heartbeat under your palms where you clutch tightly at his shirt to hold yourself up. A steady, thrumming proof that he is alive. And when he says it, you get the sense that, somehow, you’ve always know it, this whispered secret he’s weaving into your soul. “If you get proper help for it. If you want it to.” 

He speaks casually, but there is a weight to his words. Miraculously - you’re not quite so sure how - you find yourself able to meet them. 

“I want it to,” You tell him. “I didn’t, before - “ And here his eyes widen, and he shakes his head like you’ve shot him - “But I do. I want to -“ 

“Alright, love,” He tells you, running a soothing hand down over your side, past the hard planes of your collarbone, “Alright. It’s okay. You’re such a strong person- It’s going to be hard, for awhile, but I know that you can get through this. I’ll be right here with you, darling. Right here, by your side.” 

“You will?” You ask him, voice cracking, hardly daring to hope that despite all this, he would stay. He chuckles, sadly, as if your thinking it hurts him, and he is deadly serious when he tells you,

“Y/N, of course I will.” 

Somehow, though he’s the god of lies, you don’t doubt his words for an instant. You nod, and the nodding takes effort. Yet you are certain he understands what you mean. 

“So,” Says Loki, “Can you - Tell me about this?” 

You have to think, for a minute. Can you tell Loki about this? You know that he’s telling the truth, that he isn’t going to leave you. Still, you’ve never been this vulnerable with him before, not even in bed, and the fear in you won’t be put to rest so easily. You shake in his hold, and realize, with a frigid shock, how you must look to him - how badly you are hurting him, and how badly you’re hurting yourself, by keeping your feelings inside yourself and leaving your body to rot. You know, now, that Loki will  help you through this - that he will be there, kind touches skirting the bad days; warm, mischevious smirks smoothing the wrinkles of your persistent self-doubts. There was a time when you needed to do this - there will, probably, still be days when you feel like you need to do this, to get a firm hold over your life, and keep the jackals at bay. There are other words to keep yourself safe, though. Loki’s breath in the dark is more home to you than anything you’ve ever had, and his open waiting, here in the daylight, makes you brave enough to speak. 

“Maybe… Over lunch?” You offer. You bite your lip and hold out the query, a silky pearl in your hand. For one moment, Loki seems to consider; after all, he is the trickster, and a man not given to acting rashly, or stripping the drama from his complicated schemes. If this is a scheme, you think that you might forgive him - Later, when his lips are on your frame, when you’re there with him, again. His lips twitch into a grin so affectionate and proud that you know- you know - that if you seek proper care and really want to get better, you’ll get through the days that feel like walking on broken glass. You’ve done so much for me, that grin tells you. Let me do this for you.

He reaches out, and takes the pearl. You hardly recognize the man who rained hell down on New York, who snorts and jabs with sarcasm at every word that comes out of Iron Man’s mouth. 

“Breakfast?” He counters, shooting a pointed glance at the microwave clock. It is a dare and a promise - a challenge, but never a trick. It tastes like honey on your tongue. 

“Fine,” You say, “But you’ll have to cook.” Some kind of joy is creeping its way into you. Your voice, you find, barely trembles. 

“Midgardians,” Lok says, with an eye-roll - a friendly, loving glint in his eyes that refuses to fade. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who burns water.” The joke prods your tender, new understanding, reassures you that he is still Loki; that he isn’t going to treat you differently, like a child, just because you’re suffering. The smile comes full onto you, and you wriggle, stretching your arms over your head and yawning, exaggerated for effect to add to the banter. 

“I never said that I couldn’t cook,” You tell Loki, “Just wanted you to do it.” 

“Mm,” He says, “And what will you be doing, then, while I cook?” 

You chew at your lip, and choose to answer before your nerves make you panic. 

“Finding the right words,” You admit, laying the truth bare to him. 

His hands are wending through your hair now, and his lips are unberarably gentle on yours. He tastes like embers and ink. That sweet, slightly metalic tang that you’ve come to associate with his magic; cinnamon, tinged with steel. He kisses you for a second or two, before pulling away,  but you could live in those seconds - Unfold it, like a blanket, and let the care of it warm your thin, freezing bones, if Loki weren’t here to show you that, with the right help, you can learn how to do it yourself. 

“Finding the right words,” Loki muses, vaulting himself up to stand in a movement that’s unfairly graceful. “I’d much prefer yours, to be honest.” 

He holds a hand out, and you take it, letting him pull you up. The floor, underneath you, feels solid. The sun is coming through the clouds, and out there in the wide world you can hear bird-song, the low, sugared sway of the breeze. There is something else there, too: 

You let it wrap its tendrils around you, and you decide that it’s hope. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

bela + heartbreak

(While it should mostly make sense on its own, this is somewhat of a sequel/alternate ending to the Bela + Flowers prompt that I did awhile back. I can't add a link right now, but you can find it on my Masterlist. Under a read-more for length, at about 1k words)

“I didn’t know what to tell her. I love her, honestly, but she’s my employer, and a fucking immortal. How am I supposed to deal with that?” You asked, eying Ava with a pained expression. Less than a week has passed since you delivered your heartbreaking bouquet to Lady Bela. Ever since that night she had avoided you, though you had heard the tell-tale signs of her misery while walking past her quarters. Doing your job had gone from fun to incredibly stressful, as you tried to navigate the gardens, while avoiding the places you knew Bela would go to relax. “It just hurts to know the pain I’ve caused her… Suddenly I’m not so sure that turning her down was the best idea.”

“One of you was bound to get hurt, there’s no shame in protecting yourself,” Ava replies, for once opting to speak out loud. Admittedly you’re caught off guard, but your confusion soon melts into appreciation. Depending on who you asked, getting xer to talk to you was either a compliment, or a blessing. “If you’re feeling regret, though, you might want to talk to her. Acknowledge the power imbalance, and the anxiety it causes you. There’s no ‘right’ answer, unfortunately, but it might hurt less if the two of you talk about the issues at hand.” With that said, Ava shrugs, wanting xer advice to come off as casual as possible. At the end of the day, xe wanted little else other than the happiness of the Dimitrescu family.

It didn’t matter to xer whether you or someone else caused that happiness.

“Alright, you’ve got a point,” you admit, somewhat begrudgingly. It’s not that you don’t want to say xe’s right, rather that you have so much anxiety about the possibility of confrontation. “Can I count on your assistance? I’m not sure that I could get her to stay in the same room as me long enough for me to explain anything. Besides, I want her to be as comfortable as possible. I just don’t know how to do that.” Nodding, Ava moves to xer feet, extending a hand to help you up. Evidently xe already had something in mind…

—————————

“Try to make this quick. I cannot promise your safety right now, not when my heart is so damaged,” Bela says with a frown. There’s a sharp bitterness in her tone, but you know her well enough to realize that it’s a facade, little more than a shield to hide behind. Nonetheless, it’s painful to hear her come so close to threatening you. More painful still to feel like you are utterly deserving of her anger. If not for Ava’s earlier encouragement, you might have given up right then and there.

“I have a lot to say- or a lot to mean, and no solid concept of how to say it, especially not quickly. I could not summarize my feelings for you even if I had a thousand years to prepare,” you explain, barely able to make eye contact with Bela. She shifts at your words, not yet sure how to interpret them. “I love you. I… I know that my bouquet said otherwise, that I chose flowers meaning flattered rejection, but the truth is that some messages are too complicated for that kind of communication. And… and I recognize that I could have just fucking talked to you, and that I should have, but I was so goddamn scared. Maybe I still am.” Before you can elaborate, Bela has stood up from her seat at the garden bench, moving to stand next to you, placing a soft hand against your shoulder.

“What could possibly terrify you like this? What could make you lie about how you feel? Is it not enough that we love each other? Can you not simply take my hand now, kiss me hard, and pretend you never hurt me?” She whispers, gaze trailing over your trembling form. Wanting to keep the tension low, you put your hand on top of hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. Then she’s moving even closer, going so far as to rest her chin on your head. Despite your hesitance about the idea of dating one of your employers, you cannot help but lean into her touch.

“Lady Bela… I am merely a servant. A lowly maid plucked from the village to do the bidding of those above me, never meant to meet any fate other than being bled dry. I love you, but I fear you, and I fear your mother, and I fear the pressure that I may one day be put under. It is in my very nature to hesitate, to question my right to be by your side,” you ramble, feeling unsure of yourself all the while. Would it really be so bad to give in? Are we, you think, doomed to hurt each other, or could we overcome our differences?

“Let me make myself abundantly clear: There is no one else I want by my side. I have loved you, longed for you, dreamed-” she moves her lips to your neck, pressing a quick kiss there- “of you. When I picture my future, I cannot picture it without you. Where you came from, or what title you now hold, is irrelevant. All that matters is our love. If you feel for me, even just a fraction of what I feel for you, let us try. In time, I can ease all of your fears, or you can break it off. I will cherish your existence regardless, though I would need time to… heal. What do you say?” Bela asks, pulling back to meet your gaze. Your heart dances in your chest, off beat but racing, one of many signs of your affection.

“I am terrified of heartbreak, and in my terror I have become a self fulfilling prophecy, but I do not intend to be my own victim any longer,” you declare, leaning in for a quick kiss. Bela wraps her arms around you, and you do the same, resting yourself fully against her. “Whatever comes of this… I will be all the happier for knowing we tried. I love you.”

[nonyayo2]

I cannot live with myself if I do anything less

Carpathia received Titanic’s distress signal at 12:20am, April 15th, 1912. She was 58 miles away, a distance that absolutely could not be covered in less than four hours.

(Californian’s exact position at the time is…controversial. She was close enough to have helped. By all accounts she was close enough to see Titanic’s distress rockets. It’s uncertain to this day why her crew did not respond, or how many might not have been lost if she had been there. This is not the place for what-ifs. This is about what was done.)

Carpathia’s Captain Rostron had, yes, rolled out of bed instantly when woken by his radio operator, ordered his ship to Titanic’s aid and confirmed the signal before he was fully dressed. The man had never in his life responded to an emergency call. His goal tonight was to make sure nobody who heard that fact would ever believe it.

All of Carpathia’s lifeboats were swung out ready for deployment. Oil was set up to be poured off the side of the ship in case the sea turned choppy; oil would coat and calm the water near Carpathia if that happened, making it safer for lifeboats to draw up alongside her. He ordered lights to be rigged along the side of the ship so survivors could see it better, and had nets and ladders rigged along her sides ready to be dropped when they arrived, in order to let as many survivors as possible climb aboard at once.

I don’t know if his making provisions for there still being survivors in the water was optimism or not. I think he knew they were never going to get there in time for that. I think he did it anyway because, god, you have to hope.

Carpathia had three dining rooms, which were immediately converted into triage and first aid stations. Each had a doctor assigned to it. Hot soup, coffee, and tea were prepared in bulk in each dining room, and blankets and warm clothes were collected to be ready to hand out. By this time, many of the passengers were awake–prepping a ship for disaster relief isn’t quiet–and all of them stepped up to help, many donating their own clothes and blankets.

And then he did something I tend to refer to as diverting all power from life support.

Here’s the thing about steamships: They run on steam. Shocking, I know; but that steam powers everything on the ship, and right now, Carpathia needed power. So Rostron turned off hot water and central heating, which bled valuable steam power, to everywhere but the dining rooms–which, of course, were being used to make hot drinks and receive survivors. He woke up all the engineers, all the stokers and firemen, diverted all that steam back into the engines, and asked his ship to go as fast as she possibly could. And when she’d done that, he asked her to go faster.

I need you to understand that you simply can’t push a ship very far past its top speed. Pushing that much sheer tonnage through the water becomes harder with each extra knot past the speed it was designed for. Pushing a ship past its rated speed is not only reckless–it’s difficult to maneuver–but it puts an incredible amount of strain on the engines. Ships are not designed to exceed their top speed by even one knot. They can’t do it. It can’t be done.

Carpathia’s absolute do-or-die, the-engines-can’t-take-this-forever top speed was fourteen knots. Dodging icebergs, in the dark and the cold, surrounded by mist, she sustained a speed of almost seventeen and a half.

No one would have asked this of them. It wasn’t expected. They were almost sixty miles away, with icebergs in their path. They had a responsibility to respond; they did not have a responsibility to do the impossible and do it well. No one would have faulted them for taking more time to confirm the severity of the issue. No one would have blamed them for a slow and cautious approach. No one but themselves.

They damn near broke the laws of physics, galloping north headlong into the dark in the desperate hope that if they could shave an hour, half an hour, five minutes off their arrival time, maybe for one more person those five minutes would make the difference. I say: three people had died by the time they were lifted from the lifeboats. For all we know, in another hour it might have been more. I say they made all the difference in the world.

This ship and her crew received a message from a location they could not hope to reach in under four hours. Just barely over three hours later, they arrived at Titanic’s last known coordinates. Half an hour after that, at 4am, they would finally find the first of the lifeboats. it would take until 8:30 in the morning for the last survivor to be brought onboard. Passengers from Carpathia universally gave up their berths, staterooms, and clothing to the survivors, assisting the crew at every turn and sitting with the sobbing rescuees to offer whatever comfort they could.

In total, 705 people of Titanic’s original 2208 were brought onto Carpathia alive. No other ship would find survivors.

At 12:20am April 15th, 1912, there was a miracle on the North Atlantic. And it happened because a group of humans, some of them strangers, many of them only passengers on a small and unimpressive steam liner, looked at each other and decided: I cannot live with myself if I do anything less.

I think the least we can do is remember them for it.

For some reason tumblr wouldn’t let me re-post this from @jillthewarrior.

Work around!

[blookmallow]

hi i binged through all of salad fingers for the first time in like 8 years and im fixating again here are. My Theories. pls talk to me if anyone else has Thoughts or wants to discuss things. this is really long i am sorry :’ ) 

also shout out to the salad fingers wiki for helping me keep track of details and also for this 

-----

thought: salad fingers is not violent on purpose he did not mean to kill that kid 

this is less a theory and more “if you slander my boy with accusations i will Get you” but listen. i see people going “but he mURDERED A CHILD!!” because of the oven incident but listen. listen to me. he didnt mean to and cannot be held to the same standard of morality and understanding consequences as a. person who isn’t..... in whatever situation and mental state he has going on

- yes, the kid getting trapped in the oven was his fault. but it was not intentional or malicious and i sincerely doubt he understands what happened or why. 

he was asking for help reaching the fish (there’s no reason to believe he wasn’t just genuinely asking for help. he tears up in gratitude. theres no evidence of him Tricking People Maliciously in any other context i do not believe he would do that) and was distracted by the rusty nail, causing him to let go of the door. it wasn’t “he cares more about rust than about a child’s life” or something, i dont think he can actually hold “hey look at that i gotta check that out” and “i need to hold the door open so the child doesn’t get hurt” in his head at the same time, rust is his favorite stim/an impulse thing that takes over everything else and his perception of reality and the things going on around him changes very quickly and easily. more on that later. but the important point here is it wasn’t a malicious plot, or a neglectful careless action, he literally did not realize letting go of the door would cause harm 

he stabbed himself accidentally with the nail and passed out for a while (the fact that he immediately bled that much is concerning too, he probably has hemophilia which is. a medical condition outside of his control, as well) and after all that he had completely forgotten about the child altogether (and says “i must have dozed off” so he doesn’t even understand he passed out. and might not remember the nail thing in the first place) 

we don’t see what happened after this, we don’t know how he responds when he investigates the fish and inevitably finds an unexpected charred corpse in there, but i guarantee he won’t remember why its in there or understand that its a corpse. we dont see it again so its. entirely possible he didnt recognize it as a person and either just disposed of it or, uh, ate it. but if he did, it wasn’t with the knowledge and comprehension of it being A Corpse or the memory of how it got there 

theory: on salad fingers and memory / comprehension of death and consequences 

more on that subject

- we see him frequently doing things and then immediately forgetting he did it or forgetting what was happening. he accidentally squishes the bug (which also was not malicious or intentional, he intended to pet it but just. went too hard) and has no understanding either that its dead, or that he killed it. she has gone flat and gooey for some unknown reason. that’s strange. she needs to go have a wash, that’s no way to be. 

he eats the jeremy fisher puppet at one point and then immediately goes “where have you gotten to??” 

he even briefly forgets hubert cumberdale’s name and immediately comes up with another one without realizing it, and then later goes back to hubert cumberdale again with no mention of barbara logan-price 

he refers to the same little yellow guy as “young child” and also Auntie Bainbridge later on. he keeps up the fantasy of... whatever the fuck yvonne was being his child for a pretty long time but then when he arrives at “auntie bainbridge” ‘s house he suddenly forgets why he’s there, and even apparently forgets what yvonne is and uses  ‘her’ as a window rag instead and never mentions it again (I also don’t think she was in the sandwich at the end either. it’s hard to see but the sandwich contents are vaguely brown and theres a visible lump in the black goo behind him. i like the idea that the lil yellow guy made the sandwich for him) 

salad fingers is constantly subconsciously adjusting his reality to fit Whatever Makes The Most Sense At The Time and does not consistently remember things (sometimes even major things. he remembers his puppets the most consistently and still even forgets hubert’s name) or have a concept of cause and effect 

i think he possibly has some sense of recognition, “I’ve seen this person before,” but doesn’t always remember Why he knows them, and his mind just automatically fills in the blank with whatever makes sense to him. he doesn’t remember who the yellow guy is, but knows he knows them Somehow, so, ah, of course, it must be auntie bainbridge out for her sunday stroll :) and he knows he’s there for a reason, but not what that reason was, so he decides it must be time to clean the windows 

- milford cubicle was already dead when salad fingers opens the door, but he has no idea that hes dead. this isn’t even a cause for concern. my, he must be tired, that’s all. he kept milford there until he rotted away, too, so there was never a point where he realized anything was wrong (until he became skeleton. more on That later too) 

- he finds a corpse buried in the yard and rather than confronting the confusing and alarming reality of that situation, why it must be kenneth, back from the great war! at no point does he understand kenneth is definitely dead

theory: kenneth vs glass brother

i think he really did have a brother named kenneth who probably died in the war. could be some subconscious connection between “recognizing” a corpse as his brother, but i dont think he realizes any of that. i think the glass family is probably a trauma based hallucination, but a... well, reflection. pun not exactly intended lmao. on how his real family was and how they treated him

i dont think glass brother is the same brother as kenneth, since salad fingers interacts with them completely differently 

kenneth is a corpse that salad fingers projects a personality on and speaks for, while glass brother seems independent and malicious toward him. i think he had a good relationship with kenneth (so, when salad fingers imagines that he’s here, it’s cause for celebration and he’s projecting onto something inert and “safe”) and also had another brother (who was probably his twin) who bullied him and acted violently, so when that trauma resurfaces, he hallucinates a vicious Other that he cannot control or speak for.

it also tracks that the abusive brother was his twin - he sees himself reflected in the mirror, and something in his own face reminds him of that lost brother until it “becomes” him

he refers to kenneth as his younger brother, and sees him as a being that does not look like him, while glass brother is literally his reflection, so it would make sense if he had one identical twin and one younger brother 

ive seen theories that he had a real sister named bordois too, but i think him calling the bug “little sister” was just. a term of endearment or one of his little odd language quirks, he seemed to be talking to it more like a pet than like a sibling 

theory: regarding mable

- ok people are saying salad fingers killed mable at the picnic but i Really Don’t Think He Did

we never see him acting out violently when he gets scared. he tends to try to escape situations that stress him out, he shrinks, he cries, he goes into his cupboard (which is. incredibly upsetting given the fact he was almost definitely abused by his family) 

he takes on a kind of Authoritative Tone often, he gets sort of ruffled up and disdainful toward things, but that’s not what he does when he’s scared

when he’s actually distressed (rather than irritated) he tends to break down and retreat. this includes when other independent beings act in ways that unsettle and upset him 

so i dont know where the “he freaked out and killed her” idea is coming from. he suddenly goes from outside at the picnic to having a breakdown in his house so. he most likely just ran 

i think the Only time we see him act out violently is when he decides he has to punish marjory for not getting a haircut like he asked - he tears her hair out, but for me that scene was particularly concerning because it was so unlike him. that was an anger response, not a fear response, though, and he tends to be harsher toward things that he’s actually controlling (I don’t think we ever see him decide to Discipline something that was independent from him other than the horses, and he didnt hurt them) 

ordinarily when something irritates him he just goes “hmph! so distasteful. how rude. i shan’t have this behavior, you know” but doesn’t really actually do anything about it, and moves on

anyway we never see mable again so i think either he freaked out and ran away and she just didn’t come back, or he scared her and she ran away, or both 

there’s a dress visible briefly when salad fingers is making his Flesh Boy which could be mable’s (he did comment he liked it) but it’s not 100% clear, and that doesn’t necessarily mean he KILLED her for it. she could have changed into something else and left it somewhere and he found it. she could have died under unrelated circumstances, and salad fingers found her - he doesn’t comprehend death, so. probably he decided they’ve made amends now and she’s given him her dress as a token of friendship, or something 

i dont think it really looks that significantly like hers but the fact that it stands out so distinctly from the rest of the Pile could mean something 

but i just feel like if he had killed her we would’ve seen her corpse again, he doesn’t have a concept of murder, or death at all, or consequences, and his memory doesn’t hold out that consistently, so if he killed her, he probably would have calmed down later and then forgotten what he did and came up with a new way to explain the corpse in front of him - oh, how rude of me, mable’s here dozing right off and i havent even offered her a blanket. let’s get you to bed

like, he probably would have dragged her home with him, with the intention of being a good friend/host to his guest, not understanding what happened. he kept milford cubicle around a really long time  

it wouldn’t be like him to have any concept of hiding the evidence

speaking of milford 

theory: regarding milford cubicle 

salad fingers keeps milford’s corpse around until it starts rotting, and then after a very confusing series of events, the corpse is suddenly a skeleton, which surprisingly alarms salad fingers considerably, and then he goes out to find a whole bunch of himselves eating various bits of gore. they give him a present, which is a hat very clearly made of milford’s skin 

my conclusion: salad fingers, in some kind of dissociative fugue state, skinned and ate the remains of milford cubicle himself and turned the remaining skin into a hat. he also saves some of it to make hubert cumberdale (the real boy) later as well, probably forgetting where it came from. he does not realize he’s done this or remember doing it, so his scrambled mind tries to make sense of it with other selves eating unknown flesh, and a lovely hat appearing (which he doesn’t seem to notice is made of flesh) 

you can also see milford’s original name tag in the drawer later on when he’s building the flesh boy, so. he kept that after the mysterious disappearance of milford’s flesh, apparently. more evidence that that skin is probably also his

some other scattered thoughts regarding the most recent string of episodes and salad fingers’ mental state: 

ive been trying to figure out what the fuckhell happened with the yvonne incident and everything that happened in the birthday episode

im really concerned for salad fingers’ health and mental state, as it seems to be deteriorating 

some yvonne theories ive seen:

1. he ate the burned corpse of the kid who died in the oven, and it made him very sick, which ultimately resulted in a charred mass he couldn’t digest - he steadily gets worse, until his body finally ejects it (yvonne’s “birth”) and after that his health starts to recover again. since the oven incident happens really early on, all the times he mentions his stomach being upset after that until he becomes deathly ill would make sense, so i think this is plausible 

2. the hair he found in the cupboard was actually a parasitic worm that grew in his stomach after he ate it and became yvonne. i think this is Possible, it is a really strangely wormy looking hair, but it doesn’t move and he mentions stomach pains before this, so it seems less likely to me 

3. i also saw the concept that salad fingers is a trans man who suffered a miscarriage at some point in his past and yvonne represents that, and i can definitely see where the idea is coming from but i do think something really physically happened to him in the present time, i dont think it was all a trauma-based hallucination, since the yellow guy reacts to the black ooze and something was definitely making him severely ill 

so. i Don’t Know what the fuck that was about but i think the burnt corpse theory makes the most sense 

on that note: there’s a lot of cannibalism imagery in salad fingers 

we have no IDEA where he’s getting food from. im pretty sure its been confirmed that he is Not a zombie, we see him bleed, pass out, sleep, etc so it seems like he must be a living person who has ordinary needs. but we see him eat... his own puppets. hairs. sand. the soup glass mother instructed him to make, which made him very sick. he has a working oven but doesn’t seem to have consistent access to water. he had a fish somehow but who knows where it came from. it’s very likely he doesn’t get food often and some of his hallucinations and mood swings could be caused by starvation (and when he does eat, it’s things that are outright inedible or probably not good for him) 

the burned corpse disappears and is never mentioned again (though salad fingers is very sick afterward). milford’s flesh disappears and salad fingers violently hallucinates multiple selves gorging themselves on unknown flesh

and what concerns me the most about that is that he loses a lot of time in that episode 

he passes out in the woods and when he wakes up, it looks like a shit ton of time has passed

we don’t know how much is reality and how much is his warped perception, but it looks like a tree has grown and his physical condition has deteriorated 

he looks really, really unhealthy and haggard for the rest of the episode 

i think he had a huge dissociative episode and lost possibly weeks of time, probably due to starvation, and he ate milford cubicle and very possibly other people as well 

so my question is. how often does this happen to him

and what happens to him during that state? does he become violent and dangerous without being aware of it when he returns to himself again? or has he just been ravenously scavenging corpses when he gets desperate enough? 

its possible dr papanak is another personality he has, one that’s “buried out in the woods” that he becomes when he’s in a really, really bad mental and physical state 

he looks much better in the next episode (though that’s also when he has his outburst with marjory. could be that he’s still staving off the violent urges/hasn’t fully come back to himself after the last incident) and I’m really hoping the fact that he was able to finally stand up to his family (at least in some sense) and smash the mirrors could mean he’s making steps toward recovery after whatever the hell all that was 

there’s not really much space to do anything with his life or get much help given the circumstances but watching him slowly losing himself even more is Awful :( 

i hope we get more episodes im so desperate for more information now 

lastly, some random observations 

i tried to read this newspaper and it looks like it’s actually written in french, which is interesting given that salad fingers seems to be british (but fond of france, and seems to speak french or at least knows one phrase) 

i wonder where he got this, or whether it ever meant something significant to him

theres a lot of evidence that he can’t read (takes no notice of the “harry” nametag and immediately names him something else, “reads” a letter that is actually a newspaper clipping in another language he’s holding upside down, “writes” a letter that is just scribbles) so i dont think he learned his one french phrase from this or anything but, still. vaguely interesting. maybe he has been to france before and brought this back with him for some reason. maybe he’s actually in post apocalyptic france and was just originally from england. We Don’t Know 

theres a weird little face in the. heater? whatever that is in the background for a second and i dont like it  

salad fingers leaves horace in charge, but then sees him (as a live horse) in the woods, but then comes back to find him both still on the shelf (as a toy) and in the room (as a live horse, now with his, uh, surgery scars) but doesn’t seem to notice this and doesn’t comment on it 

i dont know what the hell that means other than possibly his reality is even less consistent and logical than usual/a reflection on his mental state deteriorating