#Where White Men Fear To Tread

[priestessofthepoeticprophesy]

Read the whole thing.

History of Thanksgiving

Excerpted from Russell Means "Where White Men Fear To Tread"

[crazyoffher]

WATCHTOWER.

jenna ortega x fem!reader

summary: a late-night visitor treads into the restaurant you work at, entering with the plan to grab a drink before heading home, and leaving with her drink and a girl on her mind.

warnings: not proofread (unedited).

word amount: 2600+

part two part three

You wiped the tables, a dry cloth over your shoulder as you dragged the damp towel across the wood surfacing. It was a quarter past eleven and your coworker had just served his last table of the night, opting to help the dishwasher load the silverware for the next morning which took about five minutes, leaving you to wipe down each table and chair in the main room and VIP section while he waved his goodbyes to you not long ago.

To say the restaurant having working air conditioning was a major relief considering spring was around and the temperatures were increasing day by day, and it didn't help that because your restaurant was a high-end restaurant in the core of LA, you wore a black button-up with black slacks for pants, black dress shoes, and a white vest and tie as your everyday work outfit.

You were a sweating maniac most days.

You heard the door to the restaurant entry open, sparing the entry's a glance before directing your attention to the table, the last table you had to wipe down, at that. "Sorry, we closed about thirty minutes ago. If you'd like me to, I can set you up a reservation for another day." At the end of your sentence, you looked up at the entryway to get a full glance at the three figures standing at the entry.

The first two to catch your eye were two men dressed in all black with semi-bulky figures, figuring them out to be bodyguards. You looked down slightly to the girl that they were protecting, immediately recognizing her.

It's a part of your job to identify celebrities as they come and go through the restaurant to give them better treatment, so America's new 'It' girl, Jenna Ortega, was not somebody you could've possibly failed to notice. She gave you a slight smile.

"Oh no, it's fine. I was just coming in and out of places around here to see who was still open so I could get a drink." She laughed it off which made you crack a small smile. Looking around the area to see all of the tables cleaned and mostly everything set for tomorrow, you turned back to the girl. "Well, if you were just looking for a drink, I could sit you at the bar for now."

You pointed toward the stools where the bar was, seeing as it was one of the last things you had to set up for the next day. "I don't fully lock up until twelve and I have to fix up the bar anyway, it's fine."

Even from a distance, you could see the uncertainty in her eyes at making you work a bit extra just for her. "You sure?"

"Totally. Sit at any stool," You shot her a smile before grabbing the last chair to turn upside down and put on the table, "and I'll be right there."

You could hear her spare you a 'thank you' before listening to the shuffling of her and her bodyguards, shooting a glance in their direction to see the three sitting in stools, the bodyguards two seats to the left of Jenna, giving her space.

Were you a fan of Jenna's? Maybe. Normally, being in the presence of celebrities didn't bother you at all, you had grown accustomed to it. Something about her, though, it made you a bit nervous to go up and serve her at the bar. You put your fears aside, though, because you'd rather not keep her waiting.

Quickly, you went around the bar into the kitchen to put your cleaning items away, washing your hands quickly but thoroughly before grabbing three glasses from the racks and heading out to the bar.

"You'd like a..." You trailed off, waiting for her to finish your sentence to which she did. "Vodka martini."

You shot her a look, a smile plastered on your face. "At this hour - no, at your age?" She genuinely laughed at your remark, "Okay, you got me. I know you might get this question a lot, and you might hate it, but what do you like that's non-alcoholic?"

You put on your thinking face, settling to ignore the short side-eyes her bodyguards were giving you while deep in their own conversation. "A berry soda usually does it for me. You mix any sort of berry syruping, raspberry, blueberry, etcetera into a Sprite or Sierra Mist, and if you want just a tiny bit of alc then you add a tadpole amount of white wine. A lime is optional, too."

"I guess I'll be having a...strawberry soda then, Sprite with a lime."

"Yeah, you trust me? - My recommendation, I mean." You pulled a strawberry syrup bottle out from under the counter, never breaking eye contact with the girl.

She giggled lightly at your word mix-up. "You seem like somebody I could trust, so sure. You look...good, by the way." Jenna added in, having eyed your suit-wear as she was making her way to a stool. Nervousness was laced in her voice, but you were too oblivious as a person generally to notice.

At the unexpected compliment, your cheeks tinted a slight red, breaking eye contact to hide away your face and grab one of the three cups you had placed out. "Thank you. I dare say you look nice as well."

Jenna scoffed, 'Yeah right." She looked down at her clothing, sporting baggy black jeans and a plain black tee that was covered by a jacket with designs all over it. "My outfit is about the plainest it could ever be."

You shook your head at her, turning to grab a Sprite out from the mini-fridge. "Your outfit never defines whether you look good or bad, not in my books anyway. It's about the face, or even the heart, as corny as that definitely sounds."

Your back was now turned to Jenna, cracking open the bottle of Sprite and pouring it over the ice in a metallic cup. So, unless you had eyes on the back of your head, you couldn't see Jenna with her elbow on the countertop, hand resting on her cheek as she glanced all around your figure.

Something about you to her was...interesting. She couldn't put her finger on it.

"That means you think I have a nice heart. You just met me." Though she couldn't see it, you grinned widely at her audacity to pinpoint the 'heart' part of your words instead of the 'face' part.

"I'd like to hope you do have a good heart, but I'm not sure because just like you said, we just met. I do know you have a rather pretty face, anybody could see that part of you, and I think that's enough for now." You placed the lid over the metallic cup, holding it before grabbing the bottom of the cup and shaking harshly.

Jenna, somebody who was quick with her words, struggled to respond to you. She found no words to possibly combat the indirect, massive compliment you just gave her.

As she drafted her next sentence, she overlooked the cup in front of her until her hand brushed against it mindlessly. Removing her other hand from her cheek, she looked at the glass in front of her, the drink a vibrant red from the strawberry syrup. She then looked up to see you, your eyes staring back at her.

"Are you okay? You seem a bit out of it." Your eyebrows furrowed in slight concern, and the only thing Jenna could do was shake her head. "Oh no, I'm fine. Just a bit tired. And thank you."

"Likewise. And you're welcome." You portrayed a smile that Jenna seemed to enjoy viewing. Eyeing her bodyguards, you leaned in over the counter to shorten the space between you and Jenna for the action of whispering. "Do you know if they want anything from here?"

Jenna's already slight smile grew wider, "What, you're scared to talk to a duo of big guys?" To her words, you gave her a sour look that she knew was all sarcastic.

"Well, in my experience, bodyguards haven't always been the nicest. More overly protective, and yeah, that's their whole job but sometimes they could just tune it down a bit. You try to hand someone their food and they eye you down like you're about to pull a gun out." You pushed yourself back slightly, deciding to give Jenna more space even though she quite didn't mind the vicinity between the two of you.

"I guess that's fair. Eddie, Bennett." She called to them, the two burly men immediately halting their conversation and directing their attention to the significantly small girl.

"Do you want anything from the bar?" The two men eyed you for a split second, leaving you to fiddle with your own fingers in a somewhat nervous state while you awaited an answer.

"Er, just a water."

"Same here."

You muttered an 'okay' before grabbing the other two cups and filling them with water, handing them off to the two men who each thanked you. "I'd say they're pretty nice." Jenna retorted, and you shook your head at her.

"You try the drink yet?" You moved to the bar's ledges where all the alcohol was at, all out of place and some caps left open, and got to work organizing everything while maintaining a conversation with Jenna.

You didn't get a response from her immediately, maybe around three seconds after. "Well, now I just did."

"What 'ya think?"

"I think that I should come here more often so I can get this drink served to me more often by a pretty cute waitress." Jenna regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. It was said with complete confidence, but now she found herself being too bold.

You pursed your lips to fight back the smile that challenged itself to spread, not daring to face her. You guessed Jenna was one for eye contact, as her eyes mercilessly burned into your face at (seemingly) all times.

"Why'd you want a drink so late, especially if you're tired? Don't you have like...a personal little bartender in your million-dollar home?" You cheekily ghosted her wealth, and Jenna bit the inside of her cheek to fight the smile that wanted to glue itself to her face.

"I had business meetings all day, sponsorships, and whatnot. I started them at around ten-ish this morning and I got out not even twenty minutes ago. I didn't want to go home just yet despite the fact that I feel more than ready to pass out on my bed. What have you done all day?"

"Be whined to multiple times and berated by D-list celebrities for not cooking their steak correctly. If you couldn't tell by now, I'm not the cook. I'll deal with it all day everyday though, the number of tips I get by the end of the day is fucking amazing."

"Give me a number." Jenna sipped on her drink, returning her arm to it's former position with her elbow resting on the countertop and her palm on her cheek, listening intently.

"I'd say...a thousand to fifteen hundred per day, two-thousand if we have actual A-listers come in. I earn my rent in a day." You laughed, and Jenna surprisingly looked shocked at the number. "You make that much working, what? Five days a week? That's about seventy-five hundred a week just on tips!"

"Well, because of the number of tips each of us normally get plus our actual paycheck, they shorten the days we work, so I actually work three days a week. I'll take it though, that's eighteen thousand a month on tips."

"That's too much, what's the catch?"

"Being berated constantly, having food and drinks thrown at you by adults acting like toddlers, and you have to be ridiculously fast. I'm talking taking customers' orders, giving other customers their orders, and sometimes making drinks all at the same time. It's stressful, a lot of people quit after the first month or so."

"That sounds awful, how long have you been here?"

You pondered about it. The days moved by fast when you were working so sometimes you lose track of what month it is, even. "Er, six months next week, I'm sure. It's hard to even keep track of months sometimes when the days go by so fast, plus the stress. Right now, I'm probably the most relaxed I've ever been standing in this restaurant, and I have you to thank for that."

Jenna grinned a big, flashy smile that you seemed to heat up at, slyly trying to feel your face. "Well, you're welcome. I - yeah?"

Jenna was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder, the finger belonging to her bodyguard, Bennett. He flashed up his phone to show her the time, "It's time to leave, miss. We promised to have you in the car by 11:45 at the latest."

Jenna just nodded, glancing at her glass that was still 3/4th full before looking up at you, seeing that you were wiping down the glasses Eddie and Bennett had given back to you. "Here, I'll get you a styrofoam for it." You left into the kitchen with the glasses at hand, hanging them back on the rack before searching in a cabinet for a styrofoam cup.

By the time you walked back to the bar, Jenna and her bodyguards were standing up, Jenna's guards merely awaiting her movement while she stretched, waiting for you.

Taking the glass, you dumped the remains of her drink into the styrofoam before sealing it with a plastic lid, handing it off to Jenna who gladly took it. "You have books in here?"

Jenna pointed out the shelves hung up on a wall, holding books that were slanted against one another, most of them with bulky spines. "Oh yeah, those are mainly for decoration, but I've actually read one or two myself. Most of them are the owners but we're allowed to shelve our own books if we'd like."

"You put any up?" Jenna questioned, abandoning her position next to her bodyguards to get a closer look at the nailed shelf. "About three so far. I just finished reading a book of my own that I plan on putting up here as well."

You maneuvered to where Jenna was, pointing to a navy-blue book that was quite big, a bulky spine faced in their direction with the words "CROOKED YOUNG" stretched out across the spine. "Crooked Young, It's the best book I've ever read. I really recommend it."

"Yeah? Where can I buy it, Barnes and Noble?" Jenna looked up at you, taking in your height. You were about four, maybe five inches taller than her, and she could tell through the naturally-popping veins in your arms the way your body was shaped through your tailored dress shirt and vest, you were physically fit.

"What - oh no, take it." You reached forward, grabbed the book off the shelf, and handed it to her. She looked at you again, the same look of uneasiness in her eyes that she gave you earlier. "Before you say anything, yes I am positive you can take it. I've read it one too many times to keep it around, otherwise I'd might just read it again."

Jenna gave you one last smile that lasted until she was out the door. "Alright, but I will be returning this to you when I'm done."

"So desperate to see me again?" You teased, a sly grin on your face as you laughed the joke away. "And how do you plan on doing that if you don't even know my name?" You questioned her to which she just shrugged.

"Your name is..."

"(Y/N). And you are?" You raised your eyebrows, tilting your head to seem sincere about your question. Though she was more than aware you knew who she was, she answered, "Jenna. I'll be seeing you soon, (Y/N)."

And with that, she turned on her heel and left the restaurant, your eyes not leaving her rather-short frame until you couldn't see her anymore.

"Eddie?" Jenna called to one of her bodyguards. sat in the passenger seat as Bennett started driving away. "Yes, miss?"

"Do restaurant workers typically work the same days every week?"

He thought about it for a second before looking at her through the rearview mirror. "Most of the time, yes. Why?"

"Please try to keep in mind that she was working on a Thursday."

☟ ☟ ☟

You guys want a part two? Please comment it below or send your answers in my asks :)

[talewrites]

Fragile

Heyooo I’m writing this to get over my writing block for my book. All angst and comfort here 🤗

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’)

Warnings: fighting, blood, injury, panic attack, hyperventilating, not proof read

Summary: You are a runaway experiment from Stockman’s lab. An unexpected group of mutants come to your rescue. How did they know how to find you?

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You were freezing and exhausted.

The city was quiet as the darkness ebbed closer to early morning hours. You had been running for hours now, somehow they always found your hiding spot. You whipped around a corner into another countless dark alley way.

A flinch and a small yelp of pain left you as your bare feet tread across broken glass. You risk a break and press your back into the cold brick of an apartment building as you take a moment to catch your breath. Daintily you lift your foot and pull out a sharp piece of broken glass, tossing away the piece and check the other foot.

Suddenly the screech of tires catches your attention and the adrenaline hits you again like a crashing wave. You’re running again before you can even think. You exit the alley and dart out into the street. A black van rounds the corner behind you and you sprint for the narrow opening between two apartment buildings. You practically slam into the concrete, bumping your shoulder and scraping your knee as you squeeze your tiny body past a build up of trash. The car pulls up by the opening and the door is thrown open as two men in black suits jump out and reach for you, but you scoot further down and make for the other side. They curse and order the driver to pull around the other side and cut you off as they try to fit through the opening behind you. But you’re faster. You stumble out onto the side walk and fall to your knees, panting hard, and scramble to your feet. The black van again comes into your peripheral vision but you’re already booking it down the street as fast as you can. They can’t catch you again, they just can’t. Not again.

The black van zooms past you and the tires squeal as they pull the car in front of you, blocking your path. You hear the footsteps of the other two men behind you and you quickly find an alley to your right, avoiding hands that reach for you.

In the icy chilled night air, you are sweating through the thin white smock. A dead end.

“No…. No no no no they can’t- ….” You frantically look around at the corners where brick and grey cement buildings meet, discarded trash piled up but nowhere to hide. You find a glass beer bottle and smash the bottom of it. The raggedy sound of your desperate gasps for breath fill the space, your back pressed hard into the slimy brick wall. Heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Polished leather shoes click as the group of men slowly approached you, spread out like they were ready to catch a frightened animal.

“Finally.” A man in a white lab coat stepped into the alley behind the men in suits. “You stay right there. Before we go back, we are going to have a nice long “talk” about your behavior….”

Several of the men reached to their belts for a wand that extended into a short metal rod with electricity sparking at the tips, and another man walked over to a pile of trash and pulled out the broken leg of a wooden table.

The man chuckled, watching your eyes widen with fear as you trembled in your defensive position. He pulled a notepad out of his jacket pocket and clicked a pen.

“I will be observing if this event triggers a desired response. You may begin.” The armed men all suddenly lunged forward.

“Finally.”

A large flash of green and red suddenly descended from above and landed right on top of the man closest to you, making you flinch with fright.

A whoop sounded from above and everyone stopped to look up as another large being flipped in the air and landed in front of you in a showy flourish of waving nunchucks.

“Step away from the babe!” The orange clad being said heroically, looking over his shoulder to throw you a wink.

Your eyes were wide as your whole body tensed, frozen in place. His face almost didn’t look…. human.

Like Bebop and Rocksteady.

Another thud brought your attention to a large blue clad being that landed next to the red one.

“Raph, I said to wait until I gave the order!” He whisper yelled. Making the red one, Raph, grunt and step off the man he was standing on.

“Seemed to me that Stockman already gave the order. You think I was just gonna sit by and watch?”

The men in suits had started surrounding the red and blue mutants, while the orange protectively stood in front of you spinning his nunchucks.

You lowered the broken bottle in your hands marginally, sensing that the new arrivals didn’t have intention to harm you. When suddenly a fourth one in a purple mask landed right next to you, making you jump with surprise, the bottle flying from your hand and shattering nearby.

“My data indicates that this is indeed the supposed experiment that escaped from the Foot Clan’s secret laboratory approximately 4 hours ago.” He spoke calmly while you tried to catch your breath, panic rising again in your throat as your back slid down the wall until you were sat on the ground.

“Yeah, we gathered that, brainiac.” Raph gruffly sassed.

“The chip we’ve been tracking is still active. Leo?” Said the supposed brainiac.

“Shut it down Donnie, we’ll take care of this.” Ordered Leo, as he turned and faced Stockman.

“Right.” Donnie knelt next to you and suddenly looked nervous. He gave you a very awkward smile before continuing.

“Sorry, I just need to see your arm for a minute. Can I touch you?” He asked calmly.

It was clear that you were trying very hard to suppress a panic attack. Adrenaline still pumped through your veins and you were scared half to death. But this mutant was the first being in over a year to ask your permission before doing anything to you. So you swallowed your fear and gave a trembling nod.

The purple mutant, Donnie, looked at you seriously for a moment before returning your nod. “Okay, I’m going to touch you now…” he said as he gently took your arm.

You still flinched on instinct, and took in a sharp inhale of breath, trying to steady your nerves.

Donnie muttered a quick apology. One of the men in suits was suddenly thrown into the wall near you, startling you almost out of your skin. Making you practically leap into Donnie’s arms.

“Hey, watch it Mikey!” He shouted to the orange banded mutant.

“Whoops, sorry dudette!” Mikey paused his fight to wave over at you apologetically.

You found yourself half in the embrace of Donnie, who looked down at you and giggled nervously. You instinctively flinched out of his embrace, but remained near. You didn’t want to get any closer to the unconscious man in the suit.

“Sorry… let’s try that again. Can I… touch your arm? I need to find the chip.” He gently took your arm after you gave a quick nod and he felt around your upper arm for a little bump. You squirmed a little when he found it.

“There! Okay. I’m really sorry but I need to take it out of you. This might sting a little-“ before you could process what he said you felt a sharp pinch in your arm. You panicked. Your head shot up and you started to hyperventilate. You tried to find something to focus on like you did in the lab, and watched as the orange, blue, and red mutants chased Stockman back to his van. The coward leaving behind his unconscious men and shouting at them that he wasn’t going to give up on finding you. The three mutants, you distantly observed from their backs, looked almost like turtles.

The pinching in your arm stopped, but your breathing wasn’t slowing down. You felt a three fingered hand on your shoulder begin to shake you, the other turtle mutants turning around and looking back at you with surprise as Stockman drove off. Your vision got hazy. The world seemed to slow down as you watched the three turtle men run towards you with expressions of worry on their faces. The fourth one was shouting something to them from beside you as he placed his hand over your diaphragm to steady you. His face came into your vision, expression serious as you tried to make out the words he was speaking. ‘Breath… just breath…’ you could make out from the shape of his lips.

That was the last thing you saw before darkness overtook you, and you passed out.

Part 2 :]

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART I

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,176

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: An arrangement is forged between two apposing houses to save your world the cost of war.

Fear is the mind killer.

It snakes inside of you, twisting and strangling until bitter death. It’s an escapable pit of darkness. A place where light fears to tread and all life suffers. You feel it now, the deep ripple of dread as it slows your precious breath.

The laces of your corset are drawn tight, narrowing your passages even further. Your humble servants dress you in silence; their faces veiled in sheer fabric. They don’t dare speak on this occasion. It's ritualistic. The way they prepare you in lavish fabric and accessories the color of gold and deep crimson.

It marks your arrival.

A fiery sun, rising upon a dark and desolate planet; far from the one to which you were born. There is no green on Giedi Prime. There are no vast oceans or scraping mountains. Their world is shrouded in black and white, a monochromatic wasteland.

Metallic toxins ruin this world, while great machines plow the surface; devouring its resources like a hungry beast. You’ve not stepped foot on this sphere, and already you can feel the shift. It's quick to form a haze over your mind.

This is no place for you.

This isn’t the future you envisioned, but rather the one to which has been so cruelly dictated. It’s a strategic alignment that only the Bene Gesserit would dare to conjure. The task has been assigned, and now you must survive. Failure is unthinkable - unacceptable.

There is only the union.

A pact to save your world the cost of war.

Walking the grand gangway of the starship, your father lead at the head of the envoy; a steady hand rested on his sword. Gurney stood guard on your fathers’ side, whilst your servants trailed at yours. The rest of your family – your lady mother and older brother – had remained on Caladan.

It isn’t custom to have them in your company. It’s the father’s duty to relinquish the daughter, as an act of traditional and good faith; but this is merely a transaction. This is a trade of life for peace, and as much as you despise the fact, your opinion has no meaning in the era of entitled men.

Maintaining your line of vision, you try not to allow your gaze to wander too far from the site of your own kin. This place is foreign and cold, and it wreaks of violence. The instant you detected the small huddled committee of Harkonnen officials, all waiting for your arrival, you shivered in realization of your pitiful reality.

“We welcome you to Geidi Prime, Duke Leto.”

A particularly lanky man stood eerily emotionless as he received your house; dressed head to toe in black layers. It’s a stark contrast to his otherwise hairless and pale skin. It didn’t take long at all for you ascertain the being’s true nature. You could sense it. A twisted mentat who serves logic to his master.

“Where is he?” questioned your father, voice absent all formality and kindness. “Why is the Barron not here to greet us?”

“He awaits your arrival in the hall,” gestured the mentat. The way ahead is lined with armored Harkonnen soldiers; far from a warming embrace. “This way, if you will.”

The skeptical glance Gurney gave your father only serves to unease you more than you’d prefer. You know that look. You know the two men hold little to no trust for these people. They’re all savages. A race of violent individuals who’ve somehow thrived in their own wickedness.  

Several lifetimes ago, the two of your bloodlines crossed, but it’s hard to image their sinister race could ever be related to the likes of your own. In truth, the Harkonnen’s are the most alien of all the great houses; with their balding heads and pale flesh.

The archives can only tell you their past, but what you see all around is the present. It’s terrifying and with each step you take, you wonder how someone like you could possibly exist in their world. The back of your throat tightens, yet you shift to stand taller as you proceed to walk the grand hallway.

Pride keeps your strong, for now.

Despite the palace’s mega structure, you feel imprisoned within its steel walls; soon to be shackled by a vow. The mentat before you signaled two of the soldiers, bidding them to open the large doors of the hall. The smell of iron and soot wafted into your lungs; tainting them with every breath.

The room itself is expansive and minimalistic; eerily empty despite those occupying its space. The thick stream of light illuminated the foreboding figure which sat on the heightened, cushioned throne. You can hardly believe the sheer mass of the Barron, and yet it’s no kept secret.

“Duke,” spoke the deep voice of the Barron. The hulking man gestured outwardly with his hand, in what one could only presume to be a greeting of sorts. “Here you are – at last."

“We expected to be greeted on arrival,” replied father; clearly unimpressed with our reception to the planet. “We’ve travelled light years – and yet here you sit.”

“And there you stand, Cousin. Do we not greet each other now?”

The tension is palpable, and the seconds of silence feel more so like eternity. The duke’s bitterness hardly went unnoticed, and whilst others would try to correct themselves in fear of their lives, your father remains headstrong. The man's a pure representative of your family’s values, but he forgets.

This is their planet.

These are their rules.

It’s best you learn fast now, lest you shatter. If your family could offer no comfort here within your new life, then that leaves only yourself left to care. As the daughter of a duke and offspring to the sisterhood, your mind and body is its own protection.

The Bene Gesserit have governed you since you were a babe. They’ve showed you things few ever witness. They’ve taught you their ways, and now they’re to be the pillars of both the survival and success of this alliance. You are your only strength and weakness.

Observing the room, there’s only those of your own envoy and the close confidants of the Barron. Particularly, it’s hard to mistake the broad and brooding man standing to the left of his glutenous uncle. Rabban appears stiff, if not livid as he glares distantly at your father.  

Wide fists clench noticeably at his sides, displaying his obvious displeasure of the situation. Rabban can be described as simple minded, but a brute. He uses sheer force to conquer, and for that reason, he’ll gain nothing of any real value. Power is more than strength.

“Come,” spoke the Barron. “I want to see her.”

“Where is he?”

It drew you to realize your father’s pointed absence of the man in question. You’ve only ever known your suiter by name and reputation. Feyd-Rautha. Ambitious and psychotic. You wouldn’t know his face to pick it from the rest.

“Is it your nephew’s intention to insult my daughter, or was he simply not made aware of our arrival?”

The Barron gave a low groan, his tongue tisking against his grey teeth whilst he leant into his throne. A clear sign of impatience. This is the Barron's most inner dominion and so far, your father has only defied his every will and word without hesitation.

Stepping forward, you moved with steady purpose upon your intention to diffuse the rising hostility. Gurney is the first to stop you with an outstretched hand, only for your father to intervene. Despite his reluctance, the duke knows this is an alliance even he can’t afford to break.

Amusement shone in the Barron's eyes upon your willing approach. Ascending the slabbed staircase, you watch as the silk donned man rose eerily from his seat. The mechanical and unnatural elevation of his large body caused you to stop.

“There you are,” he grinned as he hovered closer. “Bold, just like your father.”

The Barron's thick limbs reached out, slowly lifting the veil that sheltered your face. In all these years of residing within each other’s existence, the two of you had never met until now. Gazing up at him, you saw his pale and wrinkled face morph from intrigue to impassive.

He gave a low hum, “And so we meet.”

The way his eyes roam over your face and body feels more analytical, rather than that of a perverse nature. You aren’t entirely sure if he’s disappointed or curious. The room turns silent, and everyone waits with bated breath for what the Barron will do next.

“You’re prettier than I imagined,” he announced. Hovering away from you, he slowly sat himself back onto the cushioned seat of his throne. “No matter the sort, beauty is a rare site to be had on Geidi Prime. It certainly doesn’t last for long.”

“She's to be unharmed,” interjected your father. The protectiveness in his voice is further stated with the underlying hiss of a threat. “As soon as she’s with child, she’s to be escorted back to Caladan.”

“Nonsense!” boomed the Barron. “If your daughter is to marry my nephew, then she’s to remain on Geidi Prime.”

“If?”

Turning, you faced your father to see his angered expression. Despite the intimidating and strange aura of this planet, the site of your father is still apposing. Standing in full uniform, you know with time and familiarity that the duke won’t accept or backdown.

“My nephew can be stubborn. Youth is so often irrational.” Shifting in his seat, the Barron sighed whilst narrowing his gaze. “As suited as she may be, your daughter isn’t the only hand of worth within House Major.”

“I see,” scoffed your father. “Then you’d willingly allow yourself to break law and dishonor the name Harkonnen? The Benne Gess –.”

“Witches and spies!” cursed the Barron. “I’ll not have them dictate the future of my house!”

“And I’ll not have you shame mine! Feyd-Rautha will take my daughters hand in marriage, as agreed. House Atreides holds not only political power, but the largest arsenal in the whole of the empire,” he boasted with intent. “There is no other of worth.”

Immediately, your gaze lowered with his proclamation. It's difficult to hear your father defend your house, whilst also acting to secure a marriage neither of you desire; but he does it for the people. It's his responsibility and your duty, but even still, you can't help but feel betrayed.

“Then you have my word. Let our houses be united once more," smirked the Barron. The mentat was summoned forward, “Piter will escort your daughter to her chambers. I won’t bore her with the concerns of politics."

As quickly as you arrived within the Barron's presence, you were now dismissed from the huge hall. Daughters aren’t privy to such discussions, but you know to what it will most likely pertain. You know there’s terms and conditions to matches as important as this one.

Lowering your veil once again, you headed down the steps to the awaiting mentat; who’s now no longer nameless. Piter walked steadily in lead, and whilst you couldn’t interact with your father in this moment, the two of you locked eyes in passing.

Despite the tragedy of your new circumstance, he'll always have your best interest at heart. At the very least, he’ll fight for your comfort and safety within the confines of your new home. He’d never travel the galaxy, let alone leave you behind if he didn’t think you would be safe.

“This way.”

Piter turned the corner, and soon you felt as if you were being burrowing into the bowls of the abyss. There's no windows this far into the heart of the palace. You’re cut off from all aspects of nature, and all that’s left is a labyrinth of metal and synthetic light; producing a warm yet sterile glow.

“This one’s for you,” he spoke monotonously as we stopped outside of a doorway. “You’ll be called upon later in the evening.”

Piter went to leave before you decided to speak, “Where is he?”

The man showed reluctance before turning to face you. Clasping his hands, those dull eyes stared into you as he asked, “Whom do you refer?”

“What are you, if not calculative?”

The mentat's face shifted at your taunt. Stepping forward, he appeared serious. “The two of you have yet to meet, but certainly enough you will.” Piter waved a hand over the doorway consol. “Embrace what peaceful moments remain.”

A quick turn, and you stood watching as the mentat traversed back down the lengthy corridor. Piter’s words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. It's a warning. Perhaps even a threat. You've heard too much to think it's not.

Despite the sheer vastness of space, it’s whispers which travel the fastest. Feyd-Rautha is a name that’s passed by your ears on more than one occasion. Stories or truth. You’ve heard the court recount his cunningness and brutality.

You've heard him in your dreams.

It bleeds you with fear, and fear is the mind killer.

[mesillusionssousecstasy]

House of the Dragon 2x04: Quotes

"- Perhaps you might place a feather pillow over his head and speed along your inheritance? I can see why the Blackwoods and the Brackens did not fear to start a war beneath the nose of their liege lords. House Tully is a fish with no head. Remind me which of your countrymen claim to fight in the name of Aegon? Was it was it Bracken or Blackwood? (Daemon) - It was House Bracken that declared Green, Your Grace. (Simon Strong) - Who could remember. Summon the Blackwoods here. I require men of action to lead my host of Rivermen." (Daemon)

"- What do we know, my prince? (Jace) - If you ask me, it is little and less. (Ser Alfred) - Can Daemon hope to meet it with his own in time? (Lord Celtigar) - And if know the Riverlands, he has more disentangling ahead of him than the end of a Lyseni orgy."

"- "kingmaker." You are not fit for the white cloak." (Lord Darklyn) - This is a better death than a traitor deserves. (Ser Criston) - Yours will come in kind. (Lord Darklyn)

"- It's like to drive Daemon to madness as he attempts to make use of it. It is beyond his faculties. It is also penniless, as I happily control all of its gold." (Larys Strong)

"- Rhaenyra's supporters will believe what they wish. And so will Aegon's. The war will be fought, many will die... and the victor will eventually ascend the throne. The significance of Viserys's intentions died with him. (Alicent) - Yes, it did." (Larys)

"- Harrenhal's been cursed since its first stone was laid. Black Harren felled the grove of weirwood trees that grew on these lands. Heart trees, imbued with the spirits of those who lived long before he came. It's said their whispers can still be heard sometimes. (Alys) - A midwife's tale. (Daemon) - The very bed you sleep in was made from such a heart tree. Have you experienced anything... of note? (Alys) - You are a strange kind of woman. (Daemon) - I'm no woman at all. I'm a barn owl. Cursed to live in human form. So, you've come here after quarreling with your wife? (Alys) - What? (Daemon) - You arrive here alone to claim the castle and yet, send no ravens. Do you now plan to make your own claim? Perhaps to prove yourself to her. (Alys) - Do not try me with your insolence, witch. (Daemon) - It's a hard thing, I imagine, to give obeisance to one who replaced you as heir. And a woman too. A... girl child you bounced on your knee. I mean, does it please you that her legitimacy is contested? As you stand here... with a castle and a dragon... attempting to draw an army of men. Here. Drink this. You'll need your sleep if you're to win this place to your side." (Alys)

"- I once vied for Queen Rhaenyra's hand... before she wed Ser Laenor. I always liked her spirit. She had the true blood of the dragon." (Ser Willem Blackwood)

"- Perhaps Ser Criston will be able to procure more livestock through his campaign. (Grand Maester Orwyle) - Any coin we can save will be a welcome bounty." (Ser Tyland Lannister)

"- What are you doing here? (Aegon II) - Where are your father's books? (Alicent) - I ordered them removed. (Aegon II) - With no thought to the centuries of knowledge in those pages. (Alicent) - I removed them, I didn't burn them." (Aegon II)

"- Even my thoughts. (Aegon II) - What thoughts would you have? (Alicent) - Wh... I'm the king. (Aegon II) - Do you think simply wearing the crown imbues you with wisdom? Those men at your council table... earned their seats. I was my hope that once enthroned, you would honor the burden of your new duties, be silent, and strive to learn from more studied minds around you. In the hope that you might be half the king your father was. (Alicent) - Tread carefully. (Aegon II) - Or what? You'll hang me, as you did your ratcatchers? Or have me banished, as you did your Hand? I ruled in your father's absence throughout his long illness, and Otto Hightower was as cunning a statesman as ever lived. You should humbly be seeking our opinions and counsel. You have no idea the sacrifices that were made to put you on that throne. (Alicent) - What would you have me do, Mother? (Aegon) - Do simply what is needed of you: nothing." (Alicent)

"- Are you afraid, Ser? (Ser Criston) - Worse. I'm rational." (Ser Gwayne Hightower)

"- I inherited 80 years of peace from my father. Before I was to end it, I needed to know that there was no other path. And now I do. Only one choice remains to me: either I win my claim or die. We stand at the ready. These are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. I will go. (Rhaenyra) - My queen... You cannot. (Jace) - I will not lose dragons to war whilst I hide here in my castle. (Rhaenyra) - Our allies raise their banners for you, Mother. Yes, they do. If you die, all is lost. Send me. (Jace) - No. (Rhaenyra) - Could even raise the alarm. (Jace) - You lack the experience." (Rhaenyra) "- The horrors I have just l have just loosed cannot be for a crown alone." (Rhaenyra)

[frenziedslashers]

Hear me out on this one, negan with a transmasc s/o and he grinds his bat against them

My Two Favorite's

A/N: PLEAASE, I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS SINCE YOU SENT IT LMAOO (Also, I LOVE your pfp. I love Dewey sm 🫶)

Warnings: Negan(he is a warning let's be fr), Object grinding(?), Fingering, brief spanking, Punishing, uhh body dysmorphia, if I missed anything lmk, it's like 3am here. Negan also may be ooc idk. Enjoyy:))

Pairing: Negan Smith x Transmasc!Reader

REQUEST INFO || TWD MASTERLIST

God he could be such an ass.

Negan was a lot to work with and everyone knew it. Even the people within the compound, who dropped to their knees out of "respect" knew that he was a pain. You knew the respect was mostly fear, though. Everyone knew that much.

He had picked you up towards the beginning of all of this. Offering you a safe haven. Sanctuary. You were on your own, fighting and running daily, so of course. You trusted him, and truthfully, you still did.

Even though he did some mighty questionable, and some would even say cruel things. You trusted him with your life. He never gave you a reason to doubt him or believe that he would harm you. He would put himself between you and the line of fire any day, and you knew it. You were his weakness. His rock.

"You wanna talk back now?" He quipped, following you into your room. Though he offered to share his room with you, you requested to keep your own. You still carried this fear of getting too attached to the man. That one day he might not betray you, but he might leave. Not by his choice, but the choice of the cruel world that you both lived in. He wasn't exactly liked by many.

You huffed as he continued to follow you into the bedroom. Throwing your hands up in exasperation. "I just don't understand why you keep me trapped in here!" You snapped, and he tutted. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. You just knew that stupid smirk was on his face. "And what exactly are you even trying to leave for, Mister? You got everything you could ever need here, where it's safe." You hated how much he cared about you sometimes. Other times, it'd make you smile and your stomach would tingle with that feeling you swore you'd never feel again after the apocalypse hit.

The sigh that left your nostrils made him raise his brows. The angrier you got, the thinner the ice you treaded on became. Negan wasn't exactly a guy you wanted to piss off and you knew that. "I just want to leave," He opened his mouth, but your eyes that met his were quick to ridden his fear of you leaving for good. "Not forever, I can't leave here, and you know it." That he did, you had nowhere else to go. Unless you decided to live in one of the communities that they 'owned'. "I'm just tired of being locked up. I feel like I'm in a prison and you're forcing me to be here because for some fucking reason you care about me." You snapped, and he nodded, his eyes darting over your face with the look in his eyes that you despised.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" You asked, and he furrowed his brow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Like what?" "Like you actually care." His smile was quick to fade at your words. Expression looking a little offended at what you said. "The hell is that supposed to mean? Why in God's name would I not care about you?" He asked, and you felt a tinge of guilt shoot through you. In the years that you had been with him, you still hadn't accepted the fact that he does care about you. Stepping backward as he approached you with heavy steps.

"You know what? No, you can't leave. Not when you think I don't give two damns about you." He snarled, one hand reaching out to point and poke at the center of your chest right below your collarbone. His other hand gripping Lucille with a force that turned his knuckles white. "You act like we haven't been fighting together for years. Like I don't pass up women and men who offer me a hell of a night because I fucking care about you. I don't know how many goddamn times I have to tell you that too!" He exclaimed, his nostrils flaring. You wanted to feel bad, but your eyes only narrowed on him with a huff of your own.

"Oh! Sorry, I'm your biggest cock block of the century!" He narrowed his eyes at your statement. "That's not what I was sayin' and you know it," "Go fuck yourself, Negan." You spat, and that was the man's final straw. "You watch your tone with me, boy." He barked, and you flinched. He'd never raised his voice like that with you. You should have known it'd be coming one of these days.

In the beginning, Negan was so gentle and careful with you. He'd give you space when you needed it, all while keeping his eyes on you at all times. Making sure his men and women were treating you well. He'd talk with you, make you smile, and laugh. He'd treat you kindly and respect you. Even in these dark times, he was a beacon of light. A man that actually respected your chosen pronouns - despite what you were "supposed to be". Any of the Saviors that would misgender you, or call you slurs, he'd take care of them personally.

Negan was always so kind to you. If his sarcasm was too much he'd do his best to tone it down with you, or at least let you know when he was joking with a simple "that was a joke, by the way." He wanted nothing more than for you to let him in, but you were so stubborn. He could tell that even before the apocalypse you weren't an easy-trusting person, yet he respected that. You shouldn't trust people, even though he wished you would trust him.

Recently, though. It was getting harder and harder for you both. Negan was fighting with keeping his two current communities together - The Kingdom and Hilltop. He was too busy leading and you were too busy pulling away from him, which pissed him off to no extent. He wanted you to understand that he loved you, he really did.

Negan was staring down at you, and you coward - just the slightest. Watching as his chest heaved and his eyes burnt holes into you. "You ever speak to me like that again, I'll make you wish you never did." He snarled, and you felt your chest tighten with panic and anxiety. Like maybe you stepped on his toes too many times over the years and your attempts at keeping yourself safe from his inevitable fall only pushed him away from you. It wasn't until this that you finally realized how much you missed that stupidly obnoxious smile of his.

"Negan," you frowned, and he shook his head. "You've tried me too much over the past few months. I am done being nice to you," he stated, but he didn't move, and that almost scared you more than what he was saying to you. "I'm sorry," you muttered, and he nodded. "You better fucking be." He snarled, and you nodded back. Your head dipping down. Noticing how white his knuckles were around his bat, still.

What you were doing now was risky as hell. One wrong move and that bat could very well cave in your skull, but you still, through thick, trusted him. You reached for his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles and it made him flinch. The man inhaled sharply before his eyes flicked down to your hand. He wanted to reach out and grab you. Pull you against him and show you just how much he cared for you while also reminding you who ran the show here, but he didn't move. Not yet, anyway.

Negans eyes watched as you grabbed his fist. His muscles relaxed under your touch, but it didn't stop the anger that coursed his veins. It wasn't until you looked up at him that he felt those emotions slowly dissipate. Maybe he was being too harsh on you, maybe he needed to give you space. "I care about you too, you know." He raised his brows a little at the confession. A nearly unnoticeable reaction that told so many emotions in the man's eyes. He just never assumed that he would hear you admit such a thing. Especially not after he yelled at you.

"I'm sorry I was pushing you away. I just get scared. I was getting so close with you and," You chewed on your bottom lip, and he nodded. "I get it," he told you, and your eyes bounced between his. "I pushed you, I wasn't here, you probably think I'm dead anytime we show up late to the compound," he told you, reaching up to brush his knuckles over your jaw, and you nodded with a soft chuckle. "Yeah, unfortunately, I do." He smiled, "Well, I'm not dead, and even if the apocalypse wasn't amongst us, I could be killed by anything. A car, a rabid dog, lightning," he chuckled, and you let yourself smile. Just a little, but it was enough for him.

He was silent again for a moment before he leaned forward a little more. "I want you to trust me," He spoke, his voice low. It was just for you to hear. His eyes scanned yours for any sign of discomfort. "Do you trust me?" He asked, and you nodded. "I have since you found me," he smiled at that confession. His obnoxious grin graced his lips that showed off his stupidly perfect teeth. "Now, that's what I wanna hear." And you knew everything you said went straight to his head.

He leaned in a little more, but you didn't move. Only watched as his smile faded just a little, and he set Lucille on the table beside you. One hand held your waist while the other cupped the side of your face. Can I kiss you? is the look you read in his eyes, and you nodded. Even if he didn't ask the question out loud, you practically knew what he was thinking. That small nod was all the taller man needed before he was leaning forward to press a kiss to your lips.

You had expected the kiss to be rough at first, but it wasn't. He was slow, making sure not to scare you off. It wasn't until you grabbed his waist with one of your own hands and the other snaked through the hair on the back of his head that he deepened it and got more hungry with it. Lips pressed firmly against yours until you were each practically kissing with your teeth. He's wanted this for so long and he wasn't about to stop with just a kiss. As long as you were okay with it all.

He pushed you forward towards the bed in your room with a groan. The backs of your legs came in contact with the piece of furniture, buckling from the contact and he was quick to push you down onto the mattress. Giving you a few longing kisses before pulling away from you. "Gonna go shut the door, no need having anyone see us," he told you with a cheesy grin. Dipping back down to kiss your stomach before turning back for the door.

His steps were quick, and you could tell how excited he was that this was finally happening. It made you smile a little knowing he's waited for you for so long. If anything, it had you more excited about the situation at hand. You wanted to take your shirt off, but that familiar feeling of insecurity rose up the back of your neck when you remembered the world fell to shit before you could exactly get top surgery. Or bottom. You were in a body that you hated, and you didn't tell Negan, but it was partially the reason why you didn't want to exactly pursue a relationship with him.

He was quick to distract you with his voice, though. Eyes drifted up to meet his when he stood in front of you. "You still trust me, handsome?" He asked, and that simple word had some of those insecurities dwindling. "Of course I do," you hummed with a smile, scooting further up the bed and he smiled back. "Good, I'll go easy on you," He bellowed, "But you got some learning to do after yelling at me like that earlier." He told you, and you felt your stomach churn at his loose threat. Swallowing thickly when you noticed the bat that he carried everywhere with him was in his right hand. Covered in barbed wire that you knew would sting if you so much as pricked your finger on it.

"Lay down," he ordered and you did as told. Even if your eyes watched that bat with a fearful gaze. He noticed it and only smiled. "Don't you worry, baby. I won't hurt ya, I promise." He told you, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips that eased your worries away. "Have I ever hurt ya?" He asked, and you shook your head just as quickly as he asked the question. A soft 'no' fell from your lips which only made him smile back. "Exactly, ain't starting now either," He hummed, leaning down to kiss the shell of your ear, a hand resting on your stomach. "Unless you want me to," he growled into your ear and you felt yourself shudder.

Before you could answer him he was positioning himself to the side of you. One hand parted your thighs while the other brought Lucille between your legs. He watched what he was doing carefully, but his smug smile didn't fade from his face once. "God, you both are so beautiful, so handsome, you know that?" He asked, and you opened your mouth to ask what he was doing, but your lips fell shut. Worried he might punish you further for asking questions.

You gasped when he brought the base of Lucille to your clothed mound. Gasping through parted lips while gripping the sheets. Sighing when his lips kissed your throat. "You gonna tell me to go fuck myself again?" He asked, and you had half a mind to say you might, but he pressed the bat against you in a way that had you hissing. Your brows furrowed as the man ground the object against you in a steady motion. "Answer when spoken to," he said against your throat, feeling his facial hair burn at your skin and you couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like between your thighs.

"No, no I won't," you muttered with a shaky breath as he rubbed you just right. "Good boy," he cooed, and you felt your skin prick at his words. "You wanna thank Lucille? She's making you feel good too," he purred, and when you didn't answer he bit at your shoulder. "Thank you, Lu-Lucille," you blurted, and he let out another breathy chuckle against your throat. "Good," he purred, nudging your jaw with his nose. "Now, my gorgeous, gorgeous boy. Tell me what you want."

It felt like he was slowly stripping you from your dignity. Pursing your lips when you thought about protesting, but the way he was pressing that stupid bat against you had your body aching for something more. "I want your hands to touch me, that stupid-" you let out a hiss when he pressed the base of the bat against you rather roughly. "Instead of Lucille. I want to feel your hands against my skin, Negan," you breathed out, and you'd never seen him look so smug.

The man gently reached over to lean Lucille against the wall and he was hovering over you in an instant. "You're doing so good," he praised, and you felt your body ache at his words. You haven't heard praise in what felt like forever. Sure, he's praised you as you worked, but this felt oh so different. More intimate and meaningful.

His hands went to the bottom of your shirt, but when your own came to stop his, he looked up at you with a look that you'd never seen before. "I told you, I won't hurt you. Physically or emotionally, you can trust me on that."He told you, and you nodded, pulling your hands back in order for him to pull your shirt over your head. Looking at the bandages that bound your chest. Frowning at how tightly wound they looked on your body. "Honey," his voice was sweet, "We're gonna have to find you something safer than these bandages." He told you, leaning down to kiss your sternum and you felt your eyes prick with tears. You've never had anyone offer to help you feel comfortable in your own skin, and it had your heart yearning.

You grabbed his head and pulled him up for a kiss. The man smiling when you did so. He loved how needy you seemed right now. He'd never seen you like this. Your walls were still up, but a door was unlocked just for Negan. The leader was able to open it and enter into the fortress that you built yourself to hide away in for God only knows how long.

He didn't dare touch the bandages. His fingers ran over the top and bottom of them gently, in order to show that he cared. Plus, to look at the angry marks that dug into your skin and made his heartache. He knows this is how you've been binding your chest since the beginning, and maybe even longer. He wanted to ask if you sleep like that, if you ever give yourself a break from the tightly wound bandages, but he didn't. That was a conversation for another time.

His lips came to meet your own in a tender and passionate kiss. As if to tell you with his lips that he was there to show you a good time. He wanted you to enjoy this just as much as he did. Even if he was going to tease the hell out of you for that mini outburst earlier. He simply can't let that slide. Though, in a way, he was. He would do so much worse to anyone that wasn't you. He wouldn't be kissing and fucking them good. He'd probably be picking out a spot for them on that chain-linked fence that wrapped around the compound.

He grumbled while your hands reached up to move his leather jacket over his shoulders. Negan shrugged them so the jacket would slide off easier. Before tossing it to the side with a hum. His own hands were dancing along your skin. Calloused fingertips brushing against the soft skin of your stomach, hips, the skin of your arms, and your collar bone. One hand finally wrapping around your throat. His thumb felt your pulse, and how it sped up when he pressed a little harder. "Neg'," you moaned into his mouth, and he ate that noise up like candy. Pulling back in order to look at you with that wolfish smirk.

That's what he was. A wolf. He was always thirsty for blood and violence. The leader of his pack of other vicious and mangey wolves. You were simply a little lost lamb that he brought in. He liked to think that he had you wrapped around his finger, but everyone, even deep down himself. They all knew you were the one who had the big bad wolf wrapped around your little finger. He'd kneel for you out of respect if you truly asked him to. He'd do a lot for you if you asked. He trusted you more than anyone in this compound, and he hoped one day you would realize that.

"Can I take your pants off?" He asked, and you knew he was just trying to be sweet and not scare you after the whole shirt situation, but you couldn't help and roll your eyes at the way he said it. He asked so bluntly, so Negan.

"Only if you take your shirt off."

He smiled fondly at your words and did as told. Reaching behind himself to grab the thin and worn fabric before pulling it over his head. Noticing how quick your eyes were to lock on the muscles of his shoulders, then to his chest, and down to the hairs that littered down his stomach into his pants. He was so gorgeous, really. His body told stories without words. Tattoos that you wondered if they all had meaning behind them; or none at all. The scars that were scattered along his chest, arms, and stomach were new and old. They told his character. How strong he really was and the struggles he's seemed to go through his whole life.

You watched closely as his muscles flinched when you reached out to touch a bigger scar on his side. Your eyes darted up to meet his, and he had a warning look in his eyes. Watching your next moves cautiously and carefully. He trusted you though, and you could tell.

The pads of your fingers brushed over it, feathery light. The man smiled faintly when you leaned forward to press a soft kiss over it. Allowing his eyes to flutter shut with a small hum. "Don't get too sappy on me," he grumbled, and you chuckled, licking up his left pectoral to his collar bone and the groan he released was heavenly. "Who said I was a sap?" You asked, biting down on his shoulder just like he did yours early. Both of you marked one another with your teeth and it had him ecstatic.

He pushed you back down on the bed, flipping your body over so you were now on your stomach. His hands reached down for your pants, hooking his fingers under the hem of the clothing while kissing your shoulders. One on the left, then one on the right. "May I?" He asked, and you nodded, raising your ass a little which had his chest vibrating with a laugh.

He pulled your pants down, quickly. Your underwear coming with them which made you gasp at the feeling of cool air on you. "God, you're such a pretty boy, you know that? So handsome, all for me." He snickered, kissing the back of your thigh before sucking. Leaving a violet mark behind. The sight making him grumble as he left a few more marks on your thighs. A large palm resting on your ass.

You weren't sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn't your body sliding over the mattress. Your lower half now on his lap. "Now, for that tone of voice you used with me earlier," he spoke, a smile curling at his lips when you looked over your shoulder. "Negan," you tried to plead and he shook his head. His large hand kneaded at the flesh. His other hand reached to undo his belt while unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. "Another peep out of you, and I walk out that door. Got it?" He asked, and you nodded. You knew he would, too. He wasn't one to throw around loose threats.

He raised his hand up and brought it down with a loud 'slap' against your skin. A hiss leaves your throat at the sensation. Burying your face in the bed with a wince. "What do you have to say?" He asked, and you didn't answer. "Answer when spoken to," he growled out, reaching over to grab the front of your throat, squeezing lightly. "Thought you said not to talk?" He slapped your ass again. Harder than before, and you lurched forward with a groan. "I'm sorry!" You shouted, and he grinned. "That's what I thought." He hummed with a light chuckle.

He kneaded at the flesh of your ass again. Humming while thinking. "Now," he stared, parting your thighs. "If you behave well, be a good boy for me, I'll fuck you no strings attached."He told you, reaching between your legs to press two thick fingers between your folds. "If you don't," He pressed a finger inside you, the other rubbing over your clit. Watching how you writhed beneath his touch. "I draw this out and well, you don't get anything out of it and I simply leave. Understand?" He asked, and you nodded, "I understand," he smiled, curling his finger inside you before pulling his hand away. Shifting in order to put you back on your back on bed.

Negan stood in front of the bed, pulling his jeans and boxers off before climbing back between your legs. "Now, repeat after me," he hummed. "Negan, I will not talk to you like that ever again. I will do as I am told, and if I leave the compound I will be sure to tell you and have either you or someone else go along." You muttered the words back to him, and he shook his head with a tut, grabbing your jaw with strong fingers. His dark eyes scanning yours with a grin. "A little louder, my prince," he toyed, and you glared a little at the nickname. If it weren't how you ached for him you would have cursed him out. "Negan," you spoke, and he tilted his head, listening as you said the rest of the spiel. "That's better," he told you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. "Now how about we reward you for that."

Negan pushed your legs apart with a hum. Two of his fingers pressing inside of you which had you tensing. "Fuck, Negan," you moaned, and he chuckled, kissing your jaw with a sigh. "God, you're gonna feel absolutely delicious." He told you with a snicker.

He said a few more words for you to repeat back to him. Finally, rewarding you by removing his fingers and positioning himself with your entrance. He stared at you for a moment. A look in his eyes that had you a little worried. Wondering if maybe he was regretting this. A wave of insecurities rushing over yourself. What if he didn't want you? He just wanted the idea of you. You were already so exposed, you'd have to leave if he just stopped. Join one of the other communities and never look at Negan again.

"You do trust me, right?" The concern that dripped from his voice caught you off guard. Your eyes racing to his as he stared back at you. He looked almost scared, and that scared you. You've never seen him lower his own walls. It was like you were seeing inside him and all you could do was offer him a smile. Reaching out to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close. "Negan," he waited for you to continue. His eyes begging you to carry on. "If I didn't trust you I wouldn't be here right now. I would have left the night you brought me here. I trust you more than I would like to admit," He told you, leaning forward to brush your lips against his. Negan leaning forward to lock his lips with yours. Pushing you back into the bed before finally pushing himself within you.

He was right, too. You did feel absolutely Devine. He held you like this for a while. Feeling as your body tensed from the intrusion. Your hand tugged at his hair while the other clawed at his back. He didn't break from the kiss, though. He needed to kiss you. To eat you up. He could if you would only let him.

Once you rolled your hips he was sure to be steady as his hips rolled against you. Working his way up to a slower pace until he was confident enough to start snapping his hips against your own. Each snap of his hips had you grabbing harder, and harder at him. His hands were grabbing at your hips with a force that you were sure would leave two hand shaped bruises.

He truly screwed you like he meant it. He's wanted this since the moment he laid eyes on you, and the fact that he waited for this long drove him crazy. His hips moved faster the faster your breathing got. Listening to every noise that indicated he was doing something right. his hands pleasuring you just as much as your body pleasured him.

He never truly thought he would ever get to have sex with you. With how reserved and closed off you always were. Anytime you flirted back with him that was enough to settle his wandering mind, but it was never enough. He wanted you to be his, and now he had you. Or at least he hoped this wasn't just a one-time thing. Honestly, if you never wanted to have sex again he wouldn't care. So long as he could call you his. If you didn't want that, he'd try his best to push the hurt feelings aside and accept it, though. He hoped you wanted something between the two of you to grow. The way you looked at him gave him at least an ounce of hope for a future with you.

"Negan," you cried, and he nodded his head. "Let go for me, baby," he panted into your ear, and you nodded. Kissing and then burying your face into his shoulder. Letting out a cry of his name while your orgasm took the reins. Your hips rolling to meet his thrusts.

Once you fell limp, Negan was quick to thrust faster within you. Chasing his own high while he panted and muttered sweet nothings into your ear. It wasn't until his hips started staggering that he pulled out of you. His hand taking over the action of stimulation before he came onto your stomach. Stroking out his orgasm with a loud grumble that erupted from his chest. His eyebrows knitted tightly together.

He fell onto the bed beside you. His chest heaving with yours. The both of you lying there in silence. His eyes were shut, but his smile was still there. "I could hit that smile off your face," you muttered without even realizing it, and he raised his brows. Eyes still shut. "Getting mouthy again already?" you cursed yourself in your head. "No, it's just how I admire, you cocky bastard," you sighed out, leaning over to press a kiss to his shoulder. Watching the way his smile grew toothy at the small action and the banter. "God, that mouth of yours," he sighed with a throaty chuckle. "If I didn't know any better, you want me to go harder on you next time." He spoke, opening one eye to peak over with a smirk.

Next time. You smiled softly at the thought of doing this again with him. "Well," you leaned up, looking at the mess on your stomach with a sigh which he looked at as well. "Only if you ain't as goddamn messy." He snickered lightly, sitting up to kiss your cheek with a dramatic 'Mwah' sound. "Anything for you, baby boy."

[mermaidgirl30]

Look for the Light Chapter 16

- Summary: Aly finds herself trying to escape the Boston QZ. What Aly doesn’t know is Tess is pairing her up with Joel to go on a dangerous mission to find Tommy. Will Aly survive the brooding, moody Joel or will she find herself falling hard for him?

- Tags: Kidnapping, murder, torture, angst, 18+ MDNI

Joel’s POV

Your heart pounded in your chest as Shimmer raced against the clock. Her hooves stomping into the ground as the wind picked up and the sky became darker. Snow started falling more briskly from the sky. Snowflakes were starting to cover your hair as it blew back in the wind. You had to hurry. You didn’t know what you’d find when you got to Silver Lake. Time was running out.

You had gone miles through the endless trees. Shimmer was running swiftly the entire way, knowing something was wrong. You looked to the right of you as you were passing a big, glistening lake in the near distance. Mountains with deep green trees covered the tops of them. You went a little further and suddenly you saw a lodge of some kind. It was a two story, grand building. It looked like it was a resort back before the virus spread. That’s where she was. You could feel it the moment you set eyes on the lodge. She’s here.

“Whoa, girl.” You pulled on the reins, stopping her where she was. You jumped off the side and landed in the powdered snow. You tied her to a tree and grabbed your rifle up, making sure your knife and Aly’s pistol were still resting in the pockets of your jeans. “I’ll be right back,” you called to Shimmer as you started treading lightly towards the massive lodge.

You pulled your jacket tighter around you as the bitter air blew right through your layers. You came upon two double doors as the entryway stood ahead of you. It towered over you as ominous vibes were coming off of it. You pulled the knife out of your pocket, holding it in a stance where you could take down your enemies using stealth. A gun shot might draw too much noise and attention your way, and you needed to do this the smart way.

Behind the front doors might be bombarded with men, so you walked towards the side of the lodge, looking for a side entrance that might be safer to get through. The snow crunched underneath your boots as you crouched and walked discreetly, trying not to make excessive noise. Big, cascading windows covered the length of the building. You cautiously peeped through the windows, but you couldn’t see anyone around. Where the fuck was everyone?

You walked a few more feet and stopped in your tracks, ducking behind a stone pillar. There was a man standing in front of the side door that led into the lodge. He had a handgun that was sticking out the side of his pocket. He was bulky and had a dark slicked back ponytail hairstyle. He kind of looked like one of those bouncers that stood outside a club with his thick leather jacket and grunge look. You’d take him down easily, but first he’d have to give you the one piece of information you were here for. Aly.

You fisted the knife handle in your hand, ready to carve into the man that stood in your way. You waited till the right time where he wouldn’t see you coming. He turned the opposite way of you, pacing the ground and keeping watch over the door. Silently you crept up behind him and placed the sharp edge up against his neck, grabbing him by the collar. “Where is she?” you growled into his ear.

“She’s in the basement! Go through these doors, follow the long hallway down and turn right. There’s a door down to the basement,” he said with fear in his voice.

You shoved the knife tighter against his throat, just barely cutting into the skin as a trail of blood appeared on his neck. “Where’s David?” you demanded as you pulled the collar tighter.

“He’s…he’s out with the other men hunting. They’ll be back in about an hour or so,” he said sheepishly with the whites of his eyes showing nervously.

You felt him reach for his gun with his left hand, almost grabbing it out of his pocket. “I don’t think so,” you said angrily as you sliced the knife cleanly across his neck before he could act with the gun. Blood splashed across the white snow, making the cold substance crimson as the sun was close to setting. His body fell, causing a loud thump as he went down. He reached up to grab his throat, trying to save himself from death but it was too late.

You watched as he took his last suffering breath. No more air leaving his lungs. You scowled at the now dead body. This is what you wanted. You wanted revenge on every single man that had laid a finger on Aly. You’d make them pay. You’d make them wish they never crossed paths with you. Jasper and Tony had already got what they deserved. Now it was everyone else’s turn.

The words that Jasper had spoken to you ran through your head, tormenting you with every step you took until you reached Aly. Visions of Jasper holding Aly down and doing unspeakable things to her raced through your thoughts. Your nostrils started flaring and your hands were in tight fists now, your nails digging into your palms. You were breathing hard, losing control of your temper.

Memories of your old days with Tommy whisked into your head. You had been so violent, so bloodthirsty after Sarah was murdered. You had killed so many people after that day. Feeding off anger was the only way you were getting through life. You took from others just like how Sarah was taken from you. You ran rampant not caring how anyone else was feeling but yourself. You were vicious, cruel. That same vengeance was returning, maybe even stronger than before. They had taken Aly from you, and they had hurt her in more ways than one. And that was all it took. You would hunt down and end every single fucker that was in this godforsaken town. You were here for carnage and it would be violent. Barbaric.

You took one last glance at the dead man in the snow, your face fuming and turned towards your entrance into the lodge. You carefully cracked the door as you turned the brass doorknob and slowly crept inside, being careful not to make a sound. Once you were in, you closed the door silently.

Inside was a grand, wide area. A deer’s head hung above a lavish fireplace, and the rustic walls were covered in portraits of wildlife. You tacitly made your way down a long hallway, looking anywhere that someone could be hiding. You kept your knife snug in your grip, ready to take down anyone that stood in your way.

After getting through the long, open hallway you entered into what looked to be some kind of main room. A large leather couch laid in the left corner of the room and a granite, small table stood on the opposite side. You looked up towards the high ceilings and saw two bloody corpses hung up with all their flesh missing. One had missing limbs and the other had an entire leg cut off. Cannibals. Holy shit. Is that what David was going to do to Aly? Panic consumed you, nausea boiling in your stomach. You ripped your eyes away from the horrendous sight. You sick fuck, David.

You looked towards the center of the room and froze. Chills slid down your back as you saw what laid in the middle of the floor. A purple flannel shirt that was wadded up and thrown carelessly onto the floor. Aly’s.

You grabbed up the soft felt material and brought it up close to your face. Fresh lilac. It still smelled like her. You took the shirt and tucked it away into your coat pocket, lingering your fingers on the violet material. You looked up towards the right corner of the room, focusing in on the small table with the shiny granite top. Visions of Jasper’s body towering over Aly, making her bend to his will and twisted desires invaded your mind. A wave of nausea hit you so strong as the visions overwhelmed your senses. You could hear her distressed and defeated screams like they were being carried by a forgotten ghost throughout the haunted room.

She had fought her hardest. You just knew she tried everything in her power to escape the depraved, sick men. She couldn’t escape though. The men overpowering her as she stood in that desolate spot by the table, all alone. Scared. Thinking you weren’t coming back for her. She probably was telling herself you didn’t care about what happened to her. That wasn’t true though. Not in the least bit. The thing was you cared. You cared too much. And now you were scared as hell to lose her in this fucked up madhouse. You prayed you weren’t too late. That’d be the last straw. The last thing to completely send you over the edge, losing all sense of humanity. You would go rampant, taking out anyone and everyone you saw.

You ripped your cold eyes away from the table, letting all the darkness settle inside you. With tight fists and a scowl across your mouth, you pressed on down the hall. The walls became more narrow as you came upon the end of the lodge, a large scarlet carpet sprawled across the floor, ending at a window overlooking the mountains. You looked to your right and there it was. An ominous door that would lead downstairs to the basement.

You took in a large, deep breath as you placed your hand onto the silver door knob and turned, the door groaning open as it slammed against the wall. You quietly closed it back up and walked down the rickety stairs. Every step feeling like a massive weight holding you down as anxiety was racing in your mind, not knowing if she would be alive or worse. Dead.

You took two more steps down, almost to the bottom. You looked over the rail to the left and saw a large metal table with handcuffs chained to the table. Behind that sat the largest display of weapons and torture devices you’d ever seen. Bile burned the back of your throat as you saw the dried blood scattered amongst the devices and table. What the fuck was this place? Was David a serial killer and a cannibal or did he just get off on torturing innocent people? Whoever the fuck he was, he was a dead man in your eyes. The room was so dim and dark, but you continued down the steps, finally landing on firm ground. You looked up towards the center of the room and that’s when you saw her. Aly. And your heart dropped at the sight.

“Aly!” You cried out as you ran towards her. You kneeled down to her level and placed a hand gently on her face, your thumb brushing over a large bruise that was mixed with red and purple colors. She didn’t even stir at your touch. You quickly cut the ropes that were binding her to the post with your knife and her arms fell lifelessly to her sides. You ran your fingers over her wrists, and there were knicks all across her skin from the rope that dug into her.

Your eyes fell onto her left arm next. Your eyes widened as you saw the deep cut in her upper arm. Blood spilled all down her arm and ended up as a puddle right next to her on the floor. The side of her jeans had blood stains seeped into the black material. The blood was still flowing slowly and steadily from her open wound. You had to stop the bleeding and fast.

You were tearing off your jacket and plaid shirt in a flash. Your grey undershirt coming over your head as you took the soft material and wrapped it tightly around her wound. You prayed that it would be enough to stop the consistent flow for now. Stitches. She needed stitches. You had to find some medical supplies. You had to get her coherent again.

You shook her body and tried jostling her awake. “Aly, get up. We have to go,” you said with a rushed voice. Nothing. “Aly! Please, wake up,” you said as you tried shaking her awake again, this time with more force in your tone. Again, nothing.

You looked into her face, it was so pale, her skin like ice. You checked her pulse and it was beating too slow. You could barely find it. Her breathing was shallow. Goddamn it. “Alyson!” You screamed into her ear, searching her eyes for any signs of fluttering eyelashes or movement. Nothing. “No, no, no. You can’t take her from me!” you screamed angrily into the room, your voice echoing and bouncing off the walls. You swear the room shook with how angry and scared you were.

You threw on your plaid shirt and jacket and scooped her up, her body limp in your arms. You ran up the rusty stairs and opened the door, slamming it hard against the wall to let the house know how unstable you felt.

You looked left and right and went left, desperately searching for any sign of a medical room. You sprinted down the hall, passing the room with the granite table in the corner. Before you could push through the next room, you stopped cold in your tracks. There was a man standing in there, right around the corner. He was facing the opposite way. His blonde spiky hair standing straight up as his suit jacket reached to the floor.

He didn’t suspect you surprisingly. You pulled out the pistol from your pocket and unlocked the safety, holding it up right against the man’s head as you crept slowly up behind him. Aly was hanging completely still in your left arm as you held her up, using your right arm for the gun. The man must’ve heard the safety go off because he didn’t turn around. He slowly lifted his arms in surrender.

“Where are your medical supplies?” you growled, shoving the gun against his skull.

“Who..who’s there?” he asked with fear in his voice.

“Doesn’t matter. Now I’m not going to ask again. Where are you medical supplies?” you demanded as you tapped your finger against the trigger, warning him that you’d fire with no hesitation.

“Wait, it’s down the hall and to the left. It’s the last door. I can show you!” he said with fear in his voice.

“No need to. You already gave me what I wanted.” You pulled the trigger, sending his brains against the wood panel as he fell to the floor in a pool of blood. You didn’t linger any longer at the dead body. You dashed down the hall, holding Aly against you as you raced against time.

You got to the last room in seconds as you kicked the door in with your foot. The door went flying as it slammed against the wall. This was it. The med room. There was a long metal table in the back of the room, and you carried Aly over to it, gently placing her on the table. The blood was soaking through your grey shirt and the sight terrified you.

You quickly rummaged through all the cabinets and drawers, pulling out what you needed to attempt to fix Aly’s arm. You had never done stitches before. You had only ever watched a nurse give you stitches back at the Boston QZ. It didn’t look too complicated. You could figure it out. You had to. Your mind was racing a million miles right now as panic set in. You had to make her better. She had to wake up. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if she didn’t.

You found rubbing alcohol, saline solution, a needle and thread, tweezers, scissors, bandages, towels, and gauze. There were multiple other supplies in the sturdy cabinets, but this would do for now. You rolled your sleeves up and washed your hands thoroughly in the sink with soap and water, drying your hands with one of the clean towels. You grabbed up the supplies and placed them on a stool beside Aly.

She laid on the table silently, her face growing paler by the minute. Time was running out. You carefully unwrapped the blood soaked shirt and put it to the side. You dabbed at the fresh blood on her arm with a towel and opened up the saline solution, pouring some all over the open wound. You pressed down with the towel on her arm hoping to let all the saline absorb into her cut. You felt a little jolt underneath you at the contact of your touch, hope rising in you.

You moved the towel to the side and picked up the rubbing alcohol and needle, quickly uncapping the alcohol and running some over the needle to sterilize it. You picked up the thread next and placed the scissors beside you. You can do this, Joel. Focus.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. You could do this. You had to. You had no choice. Time was of the essence. You placed the needle in your right hand, stringing the thread along with it. Here goes nothing. “Alright, Aly. This might hurt a little. Bare with me,” you said as you plunged the needle into the bottom of her open wound, sending it straight through the skin and carefully closing up the first stitch as you tied a knot and began on the second stitch.

Aly screamed out in pain as soon as you started working on the second stitch. Your heart shattered at how agonizing and torturous her scream sounded. She dug her nails into the table and thrashed against you. Her eyes were still closed, but her mind was alive with the stabbing pain she felt with the needle. You felt terrible, but you had to get this done. There was nothing to numb her, you’d have to work quickly. You didn’t want her suffering more than she had to.

“Just kill me already,” she begged as she kept her eyes shut tightly, trying to escape the pain. That’s when you broke. She thought you were David, still being tortured by him. All she wanted was it to end. She’d had enough of whatever David had done to her, and she wasn’t going to take anymore. She was finished. Defeated.

Your face fell as you slowly brushed your thumb over her cheek. She turned her face away, not wanting you to touch her. You pulled back your hand and got back to work on the stitches. “It’s alright. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna fix you up and take you back to the cabin. Please, just let me help you,” you pleaded as you cautiously started sewing up her arm carefully. It wouldn’t be perfect, but you weren’t doing so bad. Your hands were a little shaky from trying not to panic, but you were doing alright. You’d get through this.

You glanced up at Aly’s face, and a couple of silent tears fell from her eyes. She still wasn’t awake. Not really. Her eyes were shut tight, and it looked as if she was dreaming. She groaned and whimpered each time you put the needle through her skin. You brushed your hand across hers a couple of times, giving her a gentle squeeze to let her know you were there and you were going to get her through it. She never responded back with her hand. You just hoped she could feel it and know it was you that was there.

You worked quickly and before you knew it you had her arm stitched up. No more blood was seeping out of the wound. You sighed a sigh of relief as you bandaged up her arm and wrapped it in gauze. You thought the blood would never stop. You stood up from the stool and rolled Aly over to where you could see her face. She was as white as a ghost, her eyelids not twitching like they were a few minutes ago when you were stitching her up. She looked almost…dead.

The blood drained from your face as you looked at her. You put your fingers against the pulse in her neck, and it was barely registering anything. Her pulse was so slow, almost silent. Your eyes widened in fear as you stood terrified not knowing what to do or how to help her.

Your hands were on her shoulders the next minute, trying to shake her awake. “Aly, wake up! Please, wake up!” you pleaded with urgency in your voice as the words came out choked. You shook her again hoping this time it would do something, but it didn’t. She just laid there still, her skin ice cold. “Come on, baby. Come on. Stay with me.” Tears were clouding your vision as you began to break down. You felt as if someone had stabbed you in the heart with a thick knife and grabbed it from your chest. The room began to spin as you struggled to catch your breath.

You grabbed your jacket and threw it over her body, hoping that’d help bring some warmth to her icy skin. You did the next best thing you could think of. You rubbed her sternum briskly with the back of your hand, trying to make her body wake up. She didn’t even do as much as flinch. Her breath was so shallow now that it was hard to even see movement in her chest. You tried to shake her awake again, this time more aggressive. Trying with all your might to get her to wake up. She was still inaudible on the table.

Pain stabbed you across the chest as it felt like your heart was getting ripped clear out of your body. You couldn’t go through with this again. You couldn’t lose her too. Not after you grew so attached to her. Not after what happened back in the cabin. You wouldn’t let this be how she died. This was all your fault, and her blood would be on your hands. If you would’ve just told her to stay. Why didn’t you fucking go after her and tell her to stay? Why! She wouldn’t be in this mess if you would’ve just told her to fucking stay. Goddamn it!

“Aly, wake up. Please don’t leave me. I…” Before you could finish your sentence you collapsed to the floor. Tears rained down as you placed a hand over your eyes and leaned against one knee. Your entire world was being ripped apart as you watched Aly slowly go cold and soundless on the table. You had done everything in your power to save her from bleeding out. You were too late though. You didn’t get there fast enough. If only you would’ve gotten there faster then maybe you could’ve saved her. This is your doing, Joel. This is on you. Now look what you did. You buried yourself into your knees, letting your dark jeans catch your tears.

You wanted to just fade away right then and there. The pain was too much. She was too much. The way she had made you feel. You don’t think you had ever felt that way for someone. She brought the soft side out of you, even if you were one of the hardest people to deal with. You were like a brick wall, nothing able to knock you down. She had though. She had knocked your walls down like it was nothing. She was your kryptonite. And now she was gone.

“Aly, forgive me. I tried so hard to save you. I just..I.” You couldn’t finish your sentence as the tears rolled down your face, your heart shattering with every breath you took. You didn’t realize how hard it would hit you to lose her. It was one of the worst pains in the world. Your body feeling like it was just shot with novocaine. You couldn’t get up, couldn’t do anything. You’d just sit there till the pain completely shut you down, where you couldn’t feel anything anymore.

You sat there for what felt like years, your body growing weaker with every minute that passed. You were about to give up entirely until you heard a shifting sound on the table. Aly? You heard another shift, and this time there was a hushed groan coming from the table. Aly!

You pushed yourself off the ground and found your balance as you leaned against the silver table. You looked down at Aly’s face as she unhurriedly moved her head to the left and shifted her arm the tiniest bit. Another groan left her mouth as she slowly but surely fluttered her eyes open. She blinked a few times, squinting against the harsh light, then she was looking up at you. Her eyes locking with yours instantly.

“Joel?” The faintest word left her lips in a whisper as she searched your eyes.

“I’m here,” you said in a breath as you held back tears.

“Is it really you?” she asked in disbelief, her eyes going wide.

“It’s me.” You brushed your thumb across her non bruised cheek and held her gaze intensely, your hand lingering on her face.

“You found me,” she said softly.

“I’ll always find you…” You gazed into her eyes, rubbing your thumb up and down in patterns across her soft skin.

“I thought you were dead,” she said with watery eyes, her eyes turning a deep blue.

“I could say the same about you. I thought I had lost you there for a second. You weren’t waking up, and you lost so much blood. It was everywhere. I don’t know what I would’ve done if..” You weren’t able to finish your sentence, choking on your own words and holding tears back.

You were silently coaxed out of your downward spiral as you felt a hand gently wrap around your wrist, her fingers grazing your skin as shocks of electricity burst through your nerves. Your hand was still trailing against her cheek. She took her fingers and slid them slowly past your wrist. Your breath hitched as she stopped and cautiously rested her hand on top of yours.

“You’re not gonna get rid of me that easy,” she said as a small smile spread across her face. You smiled back as relief washed over you that she was alive. “Take me home,” she said with longing in her eyes.

Home. You knew she meant the cabin, but that wasn’t a real home. Neither of you had a home right now. But you knew what felt like home. Her. It was wherever she was. And you’d follow her to the ends of time if you could.

You nodded as you gathered up extra medical supplies and stuffed them in your deep pockets, taking as much as you could carry. You felt the soft flannel that was bunched up in your pocket. You pulled it out and set it on the table. “Here, let me help you,” you said as you placed your hands around her shoulders and helped her sit up. Her face was still pale, but she was able to sit up okay. You helped her pull the flannel on, being careful not to irritate the wrapped wound on her arm. She winced a little as she pulled the sleeve through her left arm, and you made sure she was okay. You grabbed your jacket and threw it on.

“Let’s get you out of here,” you said as you picked her up bridal style and walked out of the room. She wrapped her right arm around your neck and leaned against you as she took in the surroundings of the lodge. You crept slowly through the hall making sure no one was around. You peeked around the corner both ways and no one was there. You let out the breath you were holding as you headed for the front door.

You noticed Aly staring behind you down the hall, focusing in on the right side of the room. You turned your head to see what she was looking at and that’s when you noticed it. It was the small granite top table that sat in the corner of the room. You searched her face looking for any emotion you could pick up. Fear struck her eyes as her jaw tightened up at the sight. She was trembling against you. You knew what she was thinking about. How she had been completely violated against her will up against the table.

You flexed your right hand as it was turning into a tight fist, anger coursing through you. You felt like you were about to lose control with rage that fueled through your bones the moment you saw how terrified she looked in that moment. You pulled her closer against you, letting her know she was okay. No one was going to hurt her again. You would make damn sure no one could lay another finger on her.

You made it to the front door and pushed the double doors open. The cold wind blew into your face, pushing your hair back as the arctic blast chilled your bones. You shielded Aly’s face from the piercing air as you pushed forward in the snow. The sky was dark now, the storm pushing through the area. You had to hurry before it became too bad to ride in.

Your footsteps left trails as you walked towards the trees, finding Shimmer waiting for you. Snow covered her saddle as you brushed it off. You carefully lifted Aly up onto Shimmer, placing her right in front of the saddle. “Can you sit up by yourself for a minute?” you asked as you looked at her fragile body. She nodded her head and placed a hand on the saddle, stabilizing herself.

She looked back at the lodge, her face looking like she saw a ghost. You saw her hand shake as it rested against the saddle. She looked so lost, scared. You watched as her hand slid up and down the front of the saddle, her fingers grasping the leather material. She was stimming. Trying to get through whatever thoughts were running through her mind. She didn’t even notice that you placed a hand against her knee, asking if she was okay. She didn’t look away from the lodge. She was trapped in her own personal mind hell where the demons were keeping her.

Your heart broke at the sight. You didn’t know if you could help her with the immense trauma she had just experienced in that lodge, but you’d try your damn near hardest. You hopped up on the back of Shimmer, getting in place on the saddle. Aly was still looking behind you, not even comprehending you were there. You looked down and she was still stimming, her nails digging into the saddle as you heard the leather being scratched up.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to get her out of whatever trance she was in. You placed your hand heavily over hers, making her hand still. “Hey. You okay?” you asked vigilantly, looking into her wild eyes.

She looked over slowly, drawing her eyes away from the lodge but not meeting yours. “Huh?” she asked, questioning you with a blank stare.

“Aly, look at me,” you said frantically as you lifted her chin, making her meet your concerned eyes. She finally looked up at you, acknowledging you were there. “Hey. Just look at me. Focus on me.”

Her eyes turned from a lighter shade of blue to an intense dark color. Her eyes untamed, panicked. “Just breathe. Look into my eyes,” you pleaded.

She slowly started to relax, her eyes searching yours. She was honing in and trying to take deep breaths. It looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Holding back whatever was bothering her.

“That’s it. Eyes on me.” You took your fingers from under her chin and brushed them lightly across her cheek, moving away the brunette strands of hair that blew in the wind across her face. She closed her eyes and leaned into your touch. She stayed like that for a few seconds and then opened her eyes again, finding yours. Her eyes were so sad, her features somber across her face. You wanted to take all her pain away, but you couldn’t.

“Hey. You okay?” you asked with concern written all over your face.

“Ye…yes,” she stuttered as she looked down at the saddle, her hand tracing the lines in the leather. She looked back up and looked past you, looking right at the lodge. She bit her lip, trying her best not to break apart.

“Aly?” you asked carefully. Trying to draw her attention back to you.

Her breathing picked up, her eyes getting watery against the dark blue halos that sparkled in her eyes. Her body became tense, and she started shaking. She shook her head no, trying not to meet your gaze. “I…I’m…” Before you could respond she crashed against you, putting her arms around you as tears ran down her eyes. She whimpered against your chest as her body trembled against you.

You pulled her in close and ran a hand gently through her hair, holding her against you as you continuously stroked her soft locks. “You’re safe now. I’m not going to let any of those men touch you again. I promise,” you breathed into her ear.

You were in shambles seeing Aly like this. Not fully knowing what all she experienced in that lodge, but you wouldn’t ask her. If she wanted to talk about it at a later time that’d be her decision. All you cared about now was helping her heal and getting her away from here.

You grabbed a hold of the reins and motioned Shimmer forward. She neighed and took off into the forest, her hooves barreling into the snow that started to build as the snow came down harder. The storm was here. You’d have to tread a couple hours on the road in the bitter cold. You needed to get Aly inside and fast.

“Hurry, Shimmer,” you pleaded.

Aly sunk deeper into your chest, her cries becoming more quiet as she settled against you. You pulled her as close as you could to you, taking your jacket and wrapping it around her to block out the arctic wind as it blew into your face. She shook softly underneath you as the storm continued blowing freezing wind and snow around you. You put your arms around her and ran a hand gently up and down her back, trying to soothe her and keep her as warm as you could.

The rest of the ride was rough. You could tell Shimmer was struggling against the building snow and raging wind. It was dark now, and you were fighting to see a few feet in front of you. Thankfully, Shimmer seemed to know where she was going. You recognized the landmarks around you and knew you were only a couple miles from the cabin. Thank God.

Shimmer slowed her pace as you came up to the area where you had slaughtered Jasper and Tony. Your eyes narrowed into slits as you saw Jasper still hanging by his neck from the rope and Tony being unrecognizable from the butchered head.

Aly looked up and peeked out from the inside of your jacket, her eyes following the rope and landing on Jasper’s face. Her gaze went to the two missing fingers on his left hand. Her breathing hitched, and she fisted your plaid shirt between her hands, her eyes large and frightened. She looked up into his face and then immediately looked down, not being able to look at him for more than a second.

You pulled her back against you as you held tightly to her. “He’s gone. He’ll never be able to lay a hand on you again. I made sure of that,” you growled as you looked back into his lifeless eyes. You glanced once more at his hand with the missing fingers. Anger boiling inside you at the thought of him forcing himself on Aly. “Anyone else that lays a hand on you is dead,” you snarled with venom on your tongue.

She didn’t say anything, but she responded by melting back against you and squeezing her arms around you. You could’ve sworn you heard a thank you carried away by the wind, but it was too low to hear.

You finally spotted the cabin as the lights inside lit up the darkness. A couple more steps and you were face to face with the glowing window, warmth inviting you inside. Shimmer went straight to her covered area with the hay spread out on the ground. She was ready to rest after hours of sprinting around back and forth.

Aly pushed away from you as she sat up, ready to get out of the cold. Her teeth were chattering as she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, trying to keep in as much heat as possible. You dismounted off Shimmer and landed squarely on your feet, then you turned back to face Aly.

“C’mon,” you said as you held your arms out, waiting for Aly to move forward off Shimmer. She inched her hips forward, moving carefully so she wouldn’t fall off. She didn’t have the strength to jump off and land on her feet right now. She was too weak. She needed some sleep and to heal up. You grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off Shimmer, carrying her to the front door as she wrapped her arms around your neck.

You opened the door, and the cold blast of sleet and snow disappeared as you walked into the room. Relief washed over you that you made it back in one piece with Aly. You were silently thanking whoever was watching out for you. Because this could’ve ended completely different had you not found Aly in time…

“Now let’s get you to bed, alright? I’m gonna start the fire and make some hot tea. Sound okay?” you asked as you walked over to the bed and sat her gently down. She nodded in response to your question, her eyes never leaving yours. You removed her boots and tucked her into the warm, cozy bed. You made sure she was comfortable and asked if she needed anything. Before you turned to go start the fire, you heard her small voice call out to you.

“Joel?”

“Hm?” you hummed as you turned back towards her. Her face was still so pale, she looked like she was holding on for dear life with how exhausted she looked.

“Goodnight,” she murmured as she closed her eyes and fell asleep instantly. Her hand tucked underneath the pillow as she nestled against the blanket. She looked like she was sleeping peacefully. Thank God for that.

You let out a sigh as you walked over to her and ran a hand gently through her hair. “Goodnight, sweet girl.”

You got to work with lighting the fire and making the tea. The other day you found some tea bags in a plastic bag tucked away in the corner of one of the cabinets. You really were lucky that all these supplies were in the cabin. There’s no telling what would’ve happened if you got stuck out in the middle of the snow storm with no food, warmth or shelter. This place was a blessing in disguise. Apart from the events that took place earlier in the day.

You decided on staying up the entire night. You couldn’t sleep. You just paced the room back and forth, looking out the misty window to make sure none of the men followed you back to the cabin. The wind was howling as snow was coming down heavily from the sky. You could barely see the forest out the window. All the pines were fully covered in snowy white shades of winter. No one would be caught dead out there right now. It would be a death trap. You tried to put your mind at ease with that, but something in the back of your mind kept you on edge. You had to stay on top of your guard no matter what. Always be prepared for the unexpected.

You got tired of the pacing and took a seat in one of the wooden chairs at the table, resting your head against the rustic wall. Your rifle rested next to you, only an arm’s length away from you dare say someone come through the door. You just sat there keeping your sights on Aly. You were completely exhausted from the events of the day, but your adrenaline and rage kept you awake. Kept you from drifting off to sleep.

You took a sip of your hot tea and set it back on the table, never once taking your sights off Aly. You just watched as she slept soundly. Her deep breaths going in and out as she clutched the blanket snugly. Her color looked a little better than back at the lodge. You’d draw her a warm bath in the morning and make her a big breakfast. That would help.

As long as you could keep her stitches clean and clear of infection, she’d be okay. Maybe not emotionally, but physically. You’d take care of her. You had to now. You felt obligated for her protection after causing all of this mess.

You silently cursed yourself, jamming your foot deep into the floor. All you could do now was make sure you didn’t make her run off again or lose your temper. You were never good at controlling your temper, but you had to try. For her. For her you would try.

You sat there for hours, switching between looking out the window and watching Aly sleep. You were so tired, it was hard to stay alert when you felt drained. It was around 3:00am. You leaned over and ran a hand through your hair, trying to stay awake. While your eyes were focusing in on the floorboards, you heard rustling in the corner of the room. Bed sheets twisting and whimpering sounds coming from the bed. Aly.

Aly started shoving against the sheets. Turning and fighting the blanket. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelids were in motion. She started muttering in her sleep, trying to fight off whoever was terrorizing her mind. Her voice started quiet and then got louder, fisting the blanket in her hands. “No, no, no!” she yelled at the sky.

You ran over to her and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over her to try to wake her. You placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her out of the nightmare. “Aly, wake up,” you said urgently as you looked down into her terrified face. She fought against your touch, punching up near your face. You caught her hand before it contacted your face and pulled her hand down, keeping your grasp on her wrist.

“No, get off me! Let me go!” she screamed in defense, her eyes still shut tight. She continued trying to fight you as she used all her might to get out of your grasp.

You shook her shoulder, trying your best to get her to wake up from her nightmare. “Aly!” you said more aggressively, raising your voice so you could drown out the sounds in her mind.

She started waking up, her eyes opening slowly as they were filled with terror. “No, stop!” she screamed. She didn’t register that it was you yet. Her pupils growing large as she continued to be tormented by her mind that was playing tricks on her. She was gasping for air, breathing so hard you thought she’d knocked the wind out of herself.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s alright,” your voice soothed over her expression. Her eyes were wide with horror as she slowly came back to reality. Aly finally recognizing you.

“Joel, is that really you?” she asked with fear filling her voice. You fell apart inside as you gazed down into her terrorized features, her trembling body lying beneath you as you stared into her ocean eyes.

“It’s me. You were just having a nightmare. I’m right here though. You’re safe.” You coaxed her into relaxing, her breathing slowing down as she stared into your eyes. Your hand was still on her wrist, grounding her back to the earth. She didn’t pull away. She just laid there and breathed, her eyes not leaving yours.

“It felt so real..Jasper and David they…”

“Shhh. It’s alright. Just focus on me. They’re never going to be able to touch you again.” You took your hand and slowly caressed the side of her head, your fingertips burning from the contact as the moment intensified.

You sat on the edge of that bed for what seemed like half an hour making sure Aly calmed down enough. The longer you kept your gaze on her the more she relaxed. She was finally breathing normally and she didn’t look like she’d pass out from fear anymore. You took one more long glance at her before you turned to stand up. As soon as you stood, Aly’s hand reached out and grabbed your wrist, preventing you from moving any further.

“Wait,” she said with persistence in her voice. You slowly turned and looked at her, your eyes caught in her intense gaze. You looked down at her hold on you as your skin burned. “Stay,” she said with necessity bleeding in her tone. “Please.” Her voiced cracked on the last word. Your heart shattered as you realized how much she needed you right now. You couldn’t say no. Not to her. Not when she was in this much pain.

“Okay,” you said quietly as you kicked off your shoes and crawled into the bed. As soon as you rested your head on the pillow and got situated in a comfortable position you pulled her to you, throwing strong arms around her as she rested against your chest. Her breathing went from labored to calm as she slowly relaxed against you. Her hands rested gently against your chest, and you were careful not to put too much pressure on her injured arm.

You slowly ran your hands up and down her back, tracing lines across the creases in her shirt. You moved your arm tentatively down her right arm, sliding your fingers carefully across her smooth skin. She seemed to like that, sinking down deeper against your chest. A slight hum coming from her throat as she laid there with her eyes closed, enjoying your warmth.

You just laid there unable to move from the bed. The fire lit dimly across the room as the orange flames engulfed the logs. That was the only thing lighting the night. Outside the window was darkness and the howling of the raging storm. You just laid there listening to the wind blow the snow around, enjoying the warmth of the shelter around you.

Aly was asleep now, quietly breathing in and out as you felt her slow heartbeat beat steadily against your chest. Her face just inches away from you. You studied her face. Her eyelashes were long and thick, subtle freckles from the sun scattered around her nose. You’d miss them if you weren’t looking hard enough, almost invisible. And her lips. Full and crimson like Snow White. Soft…

She was so close, her head right below your chin. You took your other hand and stroked her silky locks. You breathed her in, filling your senses with her smell. Lilac. Even through all the sweat and grime of the day she still smelled of lilac. Her trademark scent. It was intoxicating. Your kryptonite. Your own personal brand of whiskey that you wanted to continue to down until your body went completely numb. She’d be your undoing, but you were somehow fine with that. You invited it, wanting her to pull you under the influence and never coming up for air again. If that meant you could be with her. The undeniable bane of your existence was her.

You laid like that the entire night, unable to pull yourself from her. Embracing the moment like it’d be your last time to touch her. To have her in your hold. You didn’t sleep at all, even though you were exhausted. You just listened to the crackle of the fire as you held her close against you, your fingers imprinting her skin. And then you waited for the sun to rise. You wished time would freeze and the stars would stay covering the darkness in the night. Because once the sun came up, you’d be ripped away from her.

Chapter 17

Series Masterlist

[themiscyreian]

A Nativity Carol

A star upon the hedgerows shone, And on the frozen ground; The twigs were mossed with silver frost, And snow lay all around.

She shone so bright upon the night That it was like to day; Maids saw the streams of her fair beams Full many leagues away.

The shepherd took her cloak and crook, The spindler left her skein, And all did tread the way that led To where the star did shine.

The high princess made speed to dress In all her fine array; With maids and men and horses, then, She trode that self-same way.

All robed in white, than snow more bright, A Janya did appear, And great and small did faint and fall For dread and holy fear.

But she did speak most kind and meek, And gave a precious lore: A maiden born upon the dawn, That shall the world restore.

Then give you praise, all ðamic maids, To She that is above; For She did bear a Daughter dear For all Her gentle love.

And by Her birth, this fallen earth Is healed and render’d whole; And at this night Her radiant light Is born in every soul.

[eurydicesdisciple]

Clipboard History

// Hi !! This is my first time posting in a very long time (on any platform). I hope you guys find some sort of joy in my writing. This has nothing to do with a clipboard history. I had nothing better to name it. Enjoy !

Word count:1242

“Satoru, should we move?” Geto awkwardly leaned down, his arm wrapped around a slumped Gojo. Gojo’s eyes had been fixated on a small boy who had emerged from a bush near them. The child couldn’t have been any older than five.

“Do you think he wants to fight?” Gojo whispered, looking back at Geto’s now worried expression. The child stood timidly under the sunlight, eyes darting between the two men.

“I doubt he’s even grown conscious, Satoru,” Geto remarked, turning his head back to the pond that lay in front of them. Geto paid no more mind to the child, hoping an adult would come whisk the child away back to safety.

“Look, there he goes,” Gojo pointed at the child, now running away frantically to his mother. Geto’s eyes followed the child, quickly flashing a smile to the child's mother, who smiled back in return.

The tranquil silence returned. Gojo’s back ached from the weathered wooden bench under him, with his legs awkwardly sprawled over it. He wouldn’t dare move. Geto’s arm still lingered over his shoulder, fingers tracing delicate patterns over his shirt.

Gojo knew not to ask Geto. Not that he knew what to ask for; all he knew was that the second he opened his mouth, it would all be over. The secret meetings, the banter, the countless nights spent just like this.

Gojo wouldn't admit the shame he felt whenever he wanted more than the lingering touches. Geto surely must’ve known; after all, he saw how Gojo’s eyes softened as he gave in to Geto’s touch. He must’ve heard Gojo’s heart pounding against his chest.

But Gojo would have to give in to secrecy, allowing intimate touches to stay hidden, allowing himself to stay hidden. He couldn't recall when he last asked himself if he was okay with this, if he was okay not knowing where this may lead. Did the prospect of it going nowhere haunt him? And could he bear the weight of never speaking of it again, of burying it deep within, where only shadows dared to tread?

He couldn’t ask to name what was happening, not without having to explain how easily he let his best friend kiss him, how he craved more but feared the inevitable end of their clandestine moments. The burden of silence, the ache of unspoken words, and the weight of hidden desires gnawed at him, yet he remained silent, trapped in his own unvoiced longing.

“Satoru.” Geto looked down at Gojo, finally pulling his arm back to his side. Geto didn’t need to say anything else; he knew it was time to go.

“Well, come on, man!” Gojo hurriedly got up from the bench, stretching to avoid Geto noticing the pained look on his face.

“We aren’t leaving yet.” Geto gently chuckled at Gojo’s antics. It was barely spring, yet there was something about the illusioned summer heat that made Geto’s interest in Gojo peak. He was sure he just liked the way Gojo’s white hair shimmered in the blazing sun; it was more enthralling to watch than the fish that swam in the pond.

Geto stood from the bench, dusting himself off before walking away from Gojo, signaling for him to follow. “I figured we should sit in the sun; we haven’t gotten much of that lately,” Geto explained as he led Gojo down the dirt path.

Gojo couldn’t remember how or when they found this park. All he knew was that it was the place where Geto and Gojo could share each other’s embrace without needing to hide. There was no one who could make him feel shame quite like Suguru Geto. Geto could convince Gojo that all they were doing was in friendly spirit, and if Gojo pushed, Geto could convince him it was just to let off steam.

As they walked, Gojo wished he could reach out and hold Geto's hand openly, without the fear of breaking their fragile balance. For now, he would settle for the fleeting moments, the secret smiles, and the silent understanding that, at least in this park, they were free to be themselves.

“This look good?” Geto stopped in his tracks, pointing to a hill a few steps ahead.

“Looks perfect to me,” Gojo shrugged, walking to the spot Geto had pointed out. Gojo waited for Geto to sit down first; he was too nervous to take the lead, even if that meant being the first to sit.

Geto laid against the ground, arms behind his head for support, his gaze fixed on the sky as he waited for Gojo to join him. Yet Gojo stood in place, unsure where he belonged on the ground. Geto turned his head slightly and smiled at Gojo, hoping he would get the hint.

Hurriedly, Gojo pressed himself against Geto's side, clinging as if it were his first time. Geto wrapped his arm around Gojo, pulling him closer. The warmth of Geto's body against his own brought a sense of comfort and security that Gojo rarely felt.

The sky above was a canvas of blue, with occasional clouds drifting lazily by. The sun cast a gentle glow, warming their faces. Gojo could feel the rhythm of Geto's heartbeat, steady and calming, as he rested his head on Geto's chest. It was in moments like these that Gojo allowed himself to dream of a future where they could lay openly like this as often as he’d like.

For now, they basked in the serenity of the moment, the world around them fading into the background. Here, in this secluded part of the park, they found solace in each other's presence, their unspoken bond stronger than any words could convey.

Geto and Gojo lay side by side, basking in the warm sunlight. The world seemed to stand still as they enjoyed their stolen moments of tranquility.

Geto sat up, a sudden idea crossing his mind. He got up too quickly, causing him to lose his balance on the grassy slope. With a yelp, he began to tumble down the hill, arms flailing as he rolled uncontrollably.

Gojo, startled by Geto's sudden movement, tried to grab him but lost his own balance in the process. He felt himself being pulled down the hill, rolling head over heels, grass and dirt flying around him. The sensation of tumbling was both disorienting and exhilarating, the world a blur of green and blue.

They bumped into each other multiple times as they rolled, their laughter ringing out despite the unexpected fall. The hill seemed to stretch on forever, each bump and dip sending them into fits of giggles, unable to stop the momentum.

Finally, they reached the bottom of the hill, coming to a halt in a tangled heap of limbs and laughter. Gojo was sprawled on his back, his chest heaving with breathless amusement, while Geto sat over him, his own laughter uncontrollable. 

Grass and dirt clung to their clothes and hair, and the sun cast a warm glow over their flushed faces. Gojo glanced at Geto, whose face was now closer than ever.

Without skipping a beat, Geto leaned in to place a soft peck on Gojo’s lips. Their laughter resumed, bubbling up between them. Gojo's arms wrapped around Geto, pulling him closer as he gently rocked them back and forth. 

This was the first time that Gojo could say he wholeheartedly had Suguru Geto, even if just for an evening, even if it never happened again.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Silly question but I don't understand why irene would care for matt at all? He's so boring and white bread and she's Ukraine of all places?

Why wouldn't she? Here she is, with a name that means borderland. She has been coveted by every regional and global power since her inception. From the moment those Swedish pagans crossed the Baltic and paddled into her rivers and made outposts and way stations into opulence and wealth that flowed from the caliphs and khans in the east, she has been coveted. The River Kings breathed life into her and from that moment on, she was a battlefield. On foot or on horse back or on tank treads she has witnessed war. With axe and shield or sword and spear or sniper rifle, she has fought for her right to live. Her sky blazes blue over golden grain, she sows and reaps, and cities on rivers grow. She is hard and fertile, like packed earth, the great European breadbasket, with just enough give things may live in her heart and her fields. Her people were once known in some form as Varangians, "sworn people" or "oath keepers" those intermixing of Scandinavian and Slavic peoples who created her. A promise, maybe, that no matter what comes or goes, all will grow come spring. That she will live. Men squabble for territory, they fight and they die. Her soil is black with the blood of empires who lived and then died in her fields.

And then comes a boy. Because she is twice his age and he is a boy. And he needs nothing of her land. Not an inch of it because he is overflowing with his own, more than he can handle. This boy and his blood will not join the rest that drains into the soil beneath her feet. There are axe grooves in his hands, as much from felling men as trees but pretty blue eyes with a softness that should not have survived his first century. But she has heard the stories of how he was formed, and what he has done. She doesn't quite believe it. And especially she doesn't when he asks for nothing from her. He is a second son, like so many of those Swedes who made Kyvian Rus, but the only opportunities he has an eye for is what he can offer her. He is lucky, this boy, who can let the empires maneuver without much fear at home. And before long, she's planted roots in him. A dozen empires and a dozen centuries have tried to put their roots in her, to grow themselves into the land. But this time, it is her roots in him. She is the one changing and arranging their destinies. He has buried his axe or made it into a plow or otherwise left it behind him. He is black earth and peace for her. Where else can love grow better?

[dykeishheart]

The Dragons Of Enura

New excerpt of Saints in the Desert!!!!!!!!!!!!! I actually fucking got there!!!!

It's like, 4500 words. Took me a hot fucking minute. Anyway, enjoy the chapter where I introduce dragons, aspects of Enuran culture, philosophy, and some light desert ecology (fantasy). Also there's a big fuckoff huge pile of dead bodies because like. War.

“Hold. Something stirs.”

Damian stood, the rumbling of the earth growing beneath him. Leander gripped his pike tight, white knuckled on the shaft. The rest of the men behind them stopped short, looking around to see nothing but sand. What remained of the Enuran town burned behind them as it had all night and into the morning. Fear of curses and magics unknown rattled through the men.

“Damian… I think we’ve upset something,” Leander said, his eyes forced closed to not see his lieutenant witness his fear.

“Dragon. They got ‘em out here in the desert, I heard so from my cousin. They live in the sand! Big as a galleon, they eat-”

“That’s enough, Bertholdt,” Damian snapped, cutting him off.

Leander started walking again, pacing hurriedly into the desert. Damian blinked, then followed after him. He heard armor and weapons clink and rattle behind him, hushed whispers passing amongst the men like barn flies as the troupe walked away from the morning sun. The rumble was getting closer, heavier, and more sustained.

A solitary tree stood in the dunes ahead. Damian knew not what kind. As the ground shook, so too did the dry and feathery boughs, needles dropping off snaking limbs. Leander stopped again, looking out at the tree. The ground was still for precious seconds, a stillness almost as concerning as the shaking earth before it, before the alien tree was swallowed into the ground below.

“What in the name of God…”

The earth erupted. Sand blasted the men and filled the skies, entire dunes obliterated into the wind. A thick haze of reflecting sun in clouds of dust blinded Damian to everything around him; he couldn’t open his eyes to the dust storm for more than a half a second lest the sand shred them open. Tears welled in his eyes. The power of the storm against his body felt as if the weight of the entire desert had crashed into him like a ship careening into rocks. Damian reached his arms out to find Leander crumpled on the ground ahead of him. He crawled over the top of Leander to shield him, however little good it would do now. Damian felt an eternity of sand settle on the two of them as they laid on the ground, breathing heavy, pained breaths of mortal terror.

It was all he could do to keep from seizing up and dying of shock, just holding onto Leander. He was right. The world felt as if it was ending in this sad little corner of the desert. A bed made for a curse, and he was lying right in it. As his eyes held shut against so much sand, his vision was nothing but fire. Fire as far as his mind could tread, as far as the horizon of his imagination, burning eternal behind a grinning madman.

The sand slowed, settling a mighty weight on Damian’s back. He could hear Leander struggling to breathe. He hurriedly pushed himself off of Leander, and carefully wiped his eyes. When he finally dared open them, Damian saw sand strewn about Leander’s face thick enough to almost entirely obscure it. Frantically he started brushing off as much of the stuff as he could until blessed breath was heard in Leander’s mouth. Leander coughed violently, a dry drowning just narrowly warded away.

“Dragon! I told you! It’s a fucking Dragon!”

Damian whipped his head around, scanning the horizon. He saw nothing. He looked back down at Leander, then hoisted him up by his shoulders.

Leander opened his eyes, shock mounting in them as the light dilated his pupils. He raised his hand to Damian’s cheek, touching him as if he wasn’t truly sure he was real.

“Lieutenant! Behind you! Get down!”

Damian’s head was swimming. His vision went black. Voices were calling to him but they were far away, just vibrations through water. His stomach turned. The smell. The pit was calling to him.

“Are you okay? Damian? Here,” the short priest said, forcing a gourd of water into his hands.

Damian stared at the man, dumbfounded. He had lost himself in memory. He blinked, then looked down at the gourd. It had been so long since he drank.

“You disgrace everything our glorious kingdom has fought for. To think you would take the charity of these savages. Do this and damnation far greater than you can imagine awaits your paltry spirit,” spat the king like so much venom.

“I… I cannot accept this of you. You will die where I will not. You have greater need,” said Damian, pushing the gourd back.

“My god, drink the water. We’re a short walk from the river and we have two more gourds full. If you hold still a gardener might eat you as you are, so please, eat and drink with us.”

Damian hesitated. He looked behind himself, but the king was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to the priest. He nodded to Damian, urging him to drink. Damian looked down at the yellow gourd in his hand and gently pried the stopper out.

“I understand your hesitation. We are not without fears of each other. I do not forgive you, but I do not wish to harm you. You may drink.”

“Speak for yourself,” said the younger man off to Damian’s side.

“Quiet, fishmonger.”

Damian looked back to the priest and considered his words. He wondered how many men in his army would’ve given a starving Enuran a scrap of food, even if they had enough to spare. He wondered how many would spare water for a thirsty countryman, even. He wondered if the gesture was one of kindness or fear. He took the gourd up to his mouth and drank, the flavor of the water greeting him in bittersweet homecoming.

The water was a bitter shock. His tongue absorbed much, dry as it was. He could feel the rush of it down his throat, the skin cracking on his lips anew as he drank. The weight of what he had denied himself became clear in the wet of his palate.

“Thank you. I am glad you have ceased this cruelty to yourself,” spoke the short priest.

Damian stopped drinking. The words turned in his mind. He looked to the priest. “What did you say?”

The priest smiled a world-weary smile. “Young men who wish to learn about the world often think to be either blind gluttons or martyred as ascetics. Both are paths of foolishness, as they are fosters of cruelty, either to others or oneself. You cannot gain wisdom through violence.”

“I killed thoughtlessly. I don’t think a man who does that should have an easy time of things.”

“You have a strange idea of what would constitute justice. I fear the man who made you saint of such things,” said the taller priest.

Damian looked at him, anger in his eyes. “In a just world I’d have died long ago. Murderers don’t deserve to live unpunished.”

“Aye, and your death would surely bring all your victims bounding back from the belly of death itself to live once more. Tell me how many innocent men you might have killed if only you were told they were murderers? And for what?”

Damian’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t even form a reply. He had already proven the man right. All that time ago, on the day he became a saint, he made the lie a reality. It had cost him his only love.

Damian looked down to the sand at his feet. “No. They will never come back.”

The priests exchanged looks. Damian could not know what they were thinking to each other, but whatever it was, they nodded to one another.

“Damian. We have come here today to witness a great tragedy in Enura, but also to work. Such things are always opportunities to bring life out of death, much as the gardeners do. Come with us. If you truly wish to receive penance, do so with learning rather than violence,” said the shorter of the priests.

“Mother, you cannot be serious,” protested the fisherman.

Mother? Damian looked at the young man, then back to the priest. He looked closer at the short little man, clothed as he was in loose robes to obscure form as much as protect from sun and sand. A decidedly mannish face greeted Damian’s eyes, and the voice Damian had heard matched this quite well. Damian’s confusion must have been obvious in his face; the priest examined him in kind with eyes that did not seem concerned with his understanding. It was a face that said not to ask whatever questions he had, but that would not answer them either way if the warning was unheeded.

“Will you come with us? There is much to be done,” spoke the taller of the priests. The shorter priest kept his eyes on Damian, looking for any reply.

Curiosity bested him, and Damian asked a question. “What does he mean by mother?”

“My son means to say I am his mother. It is an idea which needs no explanation, unless I have sorely misunderstood how Kelsyid children are raised.”

Damian’s suspicion was correct; the answer would not come. He looked down to the gourd in his hand and took a final swig of the bitter water. A soreness in his muscles crept in with a droning persistence, as if vitality was returning to him as laborious digging through his veins, an unpleasantness that was toned by the reminder of him still being alive in some regard. Damian’s stomach gnashed at the rest of his insides, squirming in search of anything to digest now that water had woken it from dormancy.

“I suppose I don’t have much choice. I will come with you, but I fear I’ll not be of much assistance unless you have a lot more water.”

The short priest smiled at him, her face wrinkling with delight. “I’m glad you’ve come around. Come, we go to the river. I hope you like fish.”

***

The river was near enough to the pit that it could still be smelled as if it were under Damian’s nose. After so many hours in its magnetism, Damian had come to regard the smell as a companion, bound were the two as flies and shit. Fish Damian did not recognize were sizzling in an iron pan; the fisherman had produced both when the four of them sat down by the river’s edge. The noonday sun was hot over-head and the sand was hot under-heel, and the smell of cooking fish was all but drowned in the quagmire of rotting bodies.

Damian surveyed the landscape near the river. Scrub brush was abundant here, far more than he had ever seen in the Wasting Sea. Gnarled and twisted trees with weeping, feathery boughs dotted the land, standing each as solitary moments of interrupted terrain. Damian had never seen trees of this nature back home. Trees back home were tall and thin, uniform to a degree, and bunched together, branching only at their tops to form dense canopies of needling green. To see trees so sparsely planted, twisted and knotted and ugly, was so alien as for him to wonder if they were even trees at all. Damian had heard from more traveled soldiers that Enurans don’t use lumber to construct their homes or to craft their weapons, but he had always wondered how that could be. If their wood was this crooked and misshapen, how could they use it?

Damian’s idle musing was cut short when the fisherman produced an oddly shaped knife with a bone handle in front of him, gesturing to take it. Damian looked up at the young man and saw a much softer expression than he’d come to expect from earlier in the day.

“Take this, and come with me. We’ve carving to do.”

The priests nodded and assumed supervision of the cooking fish. Damian stood and took the knife gingerly in his hand. It felt immediately intuitive to hold, comfortable between his thumb and palm in a way that suggested decades of use in exactly the manner he had held it. The bone was dry and cool, soft in a way Damian did not expect, and porous to the point that it seemed to drink the sweat of his palm. The blade was a hard iron, and Damian tested the sharpness of its edge by raking his thumbprint across it flatways so as not to cut himself. Its edge was marvelously maintained. The fisherman was dedicated to his craft, this much was clear.

“This is a beautiful tool. You must use it with pride,” Damian said to the young man.

“Indeed. It’s an inherited craft, as is the knife. My father was a smith. The bone was his father’s. If I’m lucky, I will give this to my child one day.”

“You did not become a smith like your father?”

“Do children follow their father’s work in your country?”

“Typically, yes. Apprentices aren’t realistic for common folk. My own father was a fisherman as you are, but I chose a life of soldiering after he died.”

“Hopefully you will put soldiering behind you, so your sons and daughters might be fishermen instead,” said the young man, wistfully.

Damian hadn’t even thought about the possibility of having children. Could he even do so?

The fisherman had started walking out toward the trees, and Damian followed him. When they arrived at the gnarled thing, the young man pulled a small axe out from somewhere underneath his robe, then set about the tree, examining it with a keen eye for some detail Damian couldn’t guess. He must have found what he was looking for, for after a few moments the young man began hacking at a bump in the wood. After a few decisive chops, the bump was pried loose and rolled into the young man’s hand with a bounty of sap in tow.

“Do you see these burls? They are places the tree has hurt before,” said the young man, sticky sap coating his fingers. He turned the burl over in his hands. “They are the hardest wood of the tree, most difficult to carve but they give us beautiful eproxa.”

“What is an eproxa?”

The young man began chopping a second burl on the tree as he spoke. “I do not know its translation in Kelsyid tongue, but they are ritual items. We use them to represent our dead in the festival of the gardeners. We carve them from wood here where the oldest of the white bean trees grow. I’ve heard other towns to the south of us just use stones because the white beans do not grow there,” explained the fisherman. He plopped the newly cut burl into Damian’s hand, sticky sap dripping off the thing.

“The closest word for us would be ‘effigy’ but we don’t typically make them to honor the dead so much as rally soldiers on the eve of battle. Our town did not celebrate it but I know of a place in Kelsys where an effigy of God’s disciple Rhea is built out of dried sticks on the week before soybean harvests and placed in the middle of the markets. Most Kelsyid effigies are built to burn the night before battle, and they typically depict the enemy.”

The fisherman considered his words. “Enurans do not build effigies as you describe. Eproxa are small things to hold close, but I suppose the two are both meant to inspire. If you must call it anything in your tongue, I would say it is a talisman. But eproxa is a word which is close to us, so I hope you can appreciate the difference.”

The young man sat down in his place beside the fire and ran his hands across the sand to clean off the sap. Damian followed suit, watching as the young man started carving into the burl in his hand with his own knife. The bone handled heirloom sat uneasy in Damian’s other hand, suddenly feeling as if he shouldn’t be holding such a thing.

The pan of fish had been removed from the flames earlier by the priests, and they now stuffed the fish with herbs of an unknown kind.

“It smells wonderful,” said the young fisherman, not looking up from his carving.

Damian watched as the short priest removed a folded animal skin from her leather bag on the ground. She unwrapped it and produced a flat bowl with a wide lid made of some kind of red pottery. It looked similar to the clay pottery Damian had seen from the towns of the northern coast in Kelsys, but different in a way he couldn’t place. Removing the lid, the priest took four thin flatbread circles from inside and set them across her lap. She placed a single stuffed fish in the center of the flatbread, then rolled the whole thing up in such a way that one end of the newly formed cylinder was closed in on itself. The priest handed the wrapped fish to Damian.

“It is a favorite of mine. Do me the honor of complimenting my cooking?”

Damian could finally smell the herbs more strongly now that the finished meal was so close to his nose. The scents reminded him of basil, but he didn’t recognize the leaves so it must’ve been a different plant. He laid the heirloom knife across his lap so that he could hold the wrapped fish with both hands. It had been weeks since Damian ate any food; his mouth ran wet as soon as he opened it to take a bite. To be truthful, he might’ve enjoyed eating wet clay after so long of nothing at all. His own estimation of flavor – skewed as it must’ve been – made little difference. The fish tasted incredible. He could taste an overpowering aroma from the herbs, bathed in the juices of the fish and the sheep’s milk butter which it had seared in. He’d never eaten anything like it. The flatbread was warm in his hands as he savored the first bite of food he’d had in his immortal lifetime. What a marvel to be welcomed back to his senses, to taste something that wasn’t sand and desolation.

He looked up to see an expectant look on the priest’s face as he forced his throat to remember how to swallow. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and all he could manage was a nod. Satisfied with his answer, she went about rolling the remaining fish so the four of them could eat together.

***

Damian took the wood burl in his hands. Lunch sat amiably in his belly, the first time anything had done so since his time with the Coyotes. He wondered how they would be faring. The fisherman sat next to him and held his partially carved burl in an instructive pose for Damian to copy.

“Envision the endpoint of the cut. Place your blade shallow and push, using your thumb to guide the blade gently to its home at the end of the cut. Force is not your friend here, only self-assured movement. If you use too much force the knife will twist under pressure or you will break your grip. The cut will be ugly and you might nick your other hand.”

“What am I creating with these cuts?”

The fisherman paused and thought to himself before answering. “I suppose you do not feel the same things we do about death. We create eproxa to please our dead, so usually their faces or their favorite items in living times. There are too many dead here and too few living to make appropriate eproxa for all of them before the gardeners arrive. Make whatever pleases your heart.”

Damian puzzled over what exactly he meant. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to please his heart anymore. The fisherman’s comment about death felt pointedly accusatory, but Damian couldn’t protest it. The young man was telling the truth.

“You keep mentioning these ‘gardeners’ but I don’t follow what you mean. Who are they?”

“If I am correct in my predictions, you will meet one tonight. When you do, be respectful,” said the fisherman with a certain finality about his voice.

Damian would have to get used to unsatisfactory answers, it seemed.

“I’ve yet to ask your name. What do you like to be called?”

“By you? Nothing. My mother may be more graceful, but I will not pretend not to hate you. I am teaching you these things because it pleases my mother, not because you have a right to know them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You are not. You are ashamed.”

Damian could not form a reply. Anger heated his blood, but it quickly subsided. The young man spoke truthfully, but to acknowledge his assessment twisted the knife in the wound. He looked over to the priests, both of whom were carving their own eproxa, neither of whom acknowledged the conversation.

The ground began to shake. It shook in a way that Damian had hoped was only a dream. It shook with the waking of something terrible.

“We have less time than I had hoped, it seems. Come, Damian. Let us head closer to the bank,” said the taller priest, taking the shorter one’s hand to pull her up.

“We have to run! Are you crazy?” Damian dropped his wood burl, barely carved at all. He was frantic, sweat beading his brow.

“Damian, calm yourself. The ground shakes with life. You are in no danger,” spoke the shorter priest.

“No danger? It’s a fucking dragon! I’ve felt this before, right before I was nearly eaten by a monster!”

A mighty wallop met the side of Damian’s head, followed quickly by the hot desert sand. His vision spiraled with darkly spun webs. His stomach turned over and tied itself in knots from his concussed head and the shaking earth.

“Never disrespect my mother, and never disrespect the gardeners,” the young fisherman shouted, barely coherent through the thick clouds swirling in Damian’s head.

“You didn’t have to do that,” the tall priest chided.

“He had it coming.”

“Fuck. Okay, I’m sorry. God,” Damian groaned, holding his pounding head, “you could’ve just given me a warning.”

“You will not die,” said the fisherman, chuckling.

Damian couldn’t understand how the three were so calm. What on earth were gardeners? Were they the dragons? Did Enurans truly have mastery over these beasts? He looked up at the three, each seemingly unconcerned. How could this be their reaction to the same monster that buried his men in the sand and nearly ate them all that time ago? And why would they hold a festival for it?

The taller priest extended a hand for Damian to pull himself up, which he accepted. He winced as his head throbbed.

“You throw a hell of a punch.”

“I hit you with your sword pommel,” the fisherman said through a massive grin, holding up the sheathed blade.

Damian couldn’t even be angry. The man’s clear enjoyment of the moment was infectious. The circumstances were ridiculous to the point that Damian felt like laughing with the young man.

“Let us get out of the way. To the shore, quickly,” said the fisherman’s mother.

The four of them hurriedly walked to the river’s edge, Damian looking over his shoulders to try and see where the dragon would erupt. The rumbling had subsided for the moment, but that could change rather quickly from his experience.

“There! Behold, the gardener emerges!” The taller priest pointed beyond the fire; far off before the horizon sat a mound of sand and shrubbery, shifting with something below.

Damian froze as he absorbed the sight of it. Wings colossal stretched slow and stiff out of the earth, casting off mountains of debris in shrugging wakefulness. A head followed, black and speckled with orange, yawning maw bedecked in spilling sand. The behemoth shook its limbs, leaving the craterous hole of the earth to fill with its castoff bedding. It stood true to its myth, tall and wide as a galleon on the northern coast, its frame truly transcendent in scale. Damian felt a hand on his, pulling him downward, but his eyes were fastened tight on the monster before him.

“Damian, kneel before the great bird. Please do not dishonor yourself.” The hand pulled more insistently.

Damian couldn’t tear his eyes away. The towering wings of the beast slacked back down to the ground and splayed out as if a great lantern spilled its oil across the land. The creature shook itself off of the rest of its sandy blanket and the rest of its lingering sleep, then turned its massive head skyward. It opened its cavernous maw and opined a guttural howl, the kind that rattled bones, pierced eardrums, fractured daytime sky. Damian wondered momentarily if this was a howl to its kin, some kind of summons like the baying of a pack animal in the evening hours of the hunt, or if it simply howled to feel that it still could after waking from a tomb.

The dragon crept toward the corpse pit, its sluggish movement shaking the earth with each heavy step. It raised its leathery wings, creaking with newfound mobility, and beat them downward with torrential force. The desert erupted with sand once more as this great terror launched skyward, blowing debris far and wide in a brilliant plume. Damian stood in awe of this thunderous cloud, standing now outside of it to truly appreciate the sheer terror that had enveloped him those many months ago. To watch such a thing from a distance was beautiful in its own way, haunting as it was to experience from inside the cloud. The dragon descended, its flight ultimately akin to a leap for such a large creature despite being such an incredible distance. Its wings billowed upward to drag against the fall, letting the colossal lizard land with far more grace than it looked to possess at first blush. The innumerable corpses looked paltry to such a megalithic beast.

Memories danced a sonorous dance in Damian’s eyes. The mouth of a hungry abyss, so deep to create its own horizon in which to be enveloped. The lot of them spared the snapping jaws, wide-eyed and terrified, each man leaving alone – even as they walked together – after being changed by such twisting fear. He recognized this ghastly face, the pattern of orange and black under eyes so dark they swallowed the sun. This was the beast that Leander struck with his pike that fateful day. Damian was sure of it. He took shaky steps toward the dragon, knowing not what compelled him but knowing that he dared not falter.

[ka-freaking-boom]

What Lurks Below

Merperson Ghost x Marine biologist Soap AU

Warnings: Gun Violence, Blood, and Captivity.

___

The room was dark as a shadow darted past the glass, the predator cutting through the water with an ease no human was capable of. 

Dark eyes watched the door to the viewing room as it opened, the sound of multiple footsteps echoing across the empty corridors as they came closer to where the monster lurked. Someone tapped on the glass as they passed, the water eerily still and lifeless.

The small group were on the stairs leading up to the top of the tank now, a familiar American drawl filling the once silent space, and the creature's dark eyes flashed a vibrant red as he bared his teeth in a warning that the humans were none the wiser to.

There was the telltale hiss of the electronic lock disengaging up above before the metal hatch at the top of the tank was heaved open, the bright white beam of a flashlight shining down into the black water from the opening.

“How are we gonna get it to come up?” One of the men asked, his voice almost too loud in the foreboding quiet, the nervous shift of his body betraying his fear.

And, in lieu of a verbal response, the American who had led the small group up onto the platform above the tank pulled his sidearm from the holster on his thigh and unceremoniously shot the man who had spoken in the thigh.

The human let loose a shrill cry, his knee immediately buckling as the bullet easily ripped through tissue and muscle like it was warm butter.

The predator circled just below the opening, deep enough in the water that he was out of reach of the flashlight's beam, and its pupils narrowing into slits when fresh blood began to pour into the water.

Graves kicked the man's good leg while he was still scrambling to put pressure on the wound and off balance, sending him careening into the dark water.

There was a beat of silence before the man resurfaced, just barely able to tread water well enough to keep himself afloat. Though, his panicked splashing only served to make him bleed out faster, the water around him turning a deep red.

"I'm glad you asked, soldier. No beast can resist the temptation of spilled blood.”

[paladinkit]

In honor of my Poetry Month and my genuine curiosity... What's one of your favorite poems?

oh this is a great question! I narrowed it down to two and then couldn't pick between them ❤️

my favorite short poem, and the poem I recited when I proposed to my wife is by e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)                                                       i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true) and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

my favorite long poem, and genuinely my favorite work by J.R.R. Tolkien, is his poem Mythopoeia (below the cut for length!)

To one [C.S. Lewis] who said that myths were lies and therefore worthless, even though 'breathed through silver'.

Philomythus to Misomythus

You look at trees and label them just so, (for trees are 'trees', and growing is 'to grow'); you walk the earth and tread with solemn pace one of the many minor globes of Space: a star's a star, some matter in a ball compelled to courses mathematical amid the regimented, cold, inane, where destined atoms are each moment slain.

At bidding of a Will, to which we bend (and must), but only dimly apprehend, great processes march on, as Time unrolls from dark beginnings to uncertain goals; and as on page o'er-written without clue, with script and limning packed of various hue, an endless multitude of forms appear, some grim, some frail, some beautiful, some queer, each alien, except as kin from one remote Origo, gnat, man, stone, and sun. God made the petreous rocks, the arboreal trees, tellurian earth, and stellar stars, and these homuncular men, who walk upon the ground with nerves that tingle touched by light and sound. The movements of the sea, the wind in boughs, green grass, the large slow oddity of cows, thunder and lightning, birds that wheel and cry, slime crawling up from mud to live and die, these each are duly registered and print the brain's contortions with a separate dint. Yet trees are not 'trees', until so named and seen and never were so named, tifi those had been who speech's involuted breath unfurled, faint echo and dim picture of the world, but neither record nor a photograph, being divination, judgement, and a laugh response of those that felt astir within by deep monition movements that were kin to life and death of trees, of beasts, of stars: free captives undermining shadowy bars, digging the foreknown from experience and panning the vein of spirit out of sense. Great powers they slowly brought out of themselves and looking backward they beheld the elves that wrought on cunning forges in the mind, and light and dark on secret looms entwined.

He sees no stars who does not see them first of living silver made that sudden burst to flame like flowers bencath an ancient song, whose very echo after-music long has since pursued. There is no firmament, only a void, unless a jewelled tent myth-woven and elf-pattemed; and no earth, unless the mother's womb whence all have birth. The heart of Man is not compound of lies, but draws some wisdom from the only Wise, and still recalls him. Though now long estranged, Man is not wholly lost nor wholly changed. Dis-graced he may be, yet is not dethroned, and keeps the rags of lordship once he owned, his world-dominion by creative act: not his to worship the great Artefact, Man, Sub-creator, the refracted light through whom is splintered from a single White to many hues, and endlessly combined in living shapes that move from mind to mind. Though all the crannies of the world we filled with Elves and Goblins, though we dared to build Gods and their houses out of dark and light, and sowed the seed of dragons, 'twas our right (used or misused). The right has not decayed. We make still by the law in which we're made.

Yes! 'wish-fulfilment dreams' we spin to cheat our timid hearts and ugly Fact defeat! Whence came the wish, and whence the power to dream, or some things fair and others ugly deem? All wishes are not idle, nor in vain fulfilment we devise -- for pain is pain, not for itself to be desired, but ill; or else to strive or to subdue the will alike were graceless; and of Evil this alone is deadly certain: Evil is.

Blessed are the timid hearts that evil hate that quail in its shadow, and yet shut the gate; that seek no parley, and in guarded room, though small and bate, upon a clumsy loom weave tissues gilded by the far-off day hoped and believed in under Shadow's sway.

Blessed are the men of Noah's race that build their little arks, though frail and poorly filled, and steer through winds contrary towards a wraith, a rumour of a harbour guessed by faith.

Blessed are the legend-makers with their rhyme of things not found within recorded time. It is not they that have forgot the Night, or bid us flee to organized delight, in lotus-isles of economic bliss forswearing souls to gain a Circe-kiss (and counterfeit at that, machine-produced, bogus seduction of the twice-seduced). Such isles they saw afar, and ones more fair, and those that hear them yet may yet beware. They have seen Death and ultimate defeat, and yet they would not in despair retreat, but oft to victory have tuned the lyre and kindled hearts with legendary fire, illuminating Now and dark Hath-been with light of suns as yet by no man seen.

I would that I might with the minstrels sing and stir the unseen with a throbbing string. I would be with the mariners of the deep that cut their slender planks on mountains steep and voyage upon a vague and wandering quest, for some have passed beyond the fabled West. I would with the beleaguered fools be told, that keep an inner fastness where their gold, impure and scanty, yet they loyally bring to mint in image blurred of distant king, or in fantastic banners weave the sheen heraldic emblems of a lord unseen.

I will not walk with your progressive apes, erect and sapient. Before them gapes the dark abyss to which their progress tends if by God's mercy progress ever ends, and does not ceaselessly revolve the same unfruitful course with changing of a name. I will not treat your dusty path and flat, denoting this and that by this and that, your world immutable wherein no part the little maker has with maker's art. I bow not yet before the Iron Crown, nor cast my own small golden sceptre down.

In Paradise perchance the eye may stray from gazing upon everlasting Day to see the day illumined, and renew from mirrored truth the likeness of the True. Then looking on the Blessed Land 'twill see that all is as it is, and yet made free: Salvation changes not, nor yet destroys, garden nor gardener, children nor their toys. Evil it will not see, for evil lies not in God's picture but in crooked eyes, not in the source but in malicious choice, and not in sound but in the tuneless voice. In Paradise they look no more awry; and though they make anew, they make no lie. Be sure they still will make, not being dead, and poets shall have flames upon their head, and harps whereon their faultless fingers fall: there each shall choose for ever from the All.

[rejectedbad]

Rejected Bad: Comedy Dad

The following is a rejected script from an early season of Breaking Bad.

INT. WHITE RESIDENCE - KITCHEN - DAY

Walter White, a middle-aged high school chemistry teacher-turned-methamphetamine manufacturer, sits across from his wife, Skyler, at the kitchen table. Tension and unease fill the air.

SKYLER:  (intimidated)  Walt, I can't believe you're involved in all of this. How could you do this to our family?

WALTER:  (smirking)  You always had this naive image of me, didn't you? A complete lack of understanding of who I am and what I'm capable of.

Skyler's eyes well up with tears, but she tries to maintain composure.

SKYLER:  (angry)  You're not the man I thought I married. All this danger, all this criminal activity... How are we ever going to get out of this nightmare?

WALTER:  (leaning in, coldly)  Oh, Skyler, you've always viewed me as weak. The brilliant chemist turned meek high school teacher. But let me tell you something, I've been underestimated my whole life. It's time you realised just how powerful I can be.

Skyler's fear is palpable, she takes a step back, intimidated by Walter's words and demeanour.

SKYLER:  (in a small voice)  What about the kids, Walter? What kind of father would willingly put their children in danger like this?

Walter's expression softens for a brief moment, guilt fleeting across his face.

WALTER:  (dejected)  I never wanted it to come to this. I never intended for any of this to happen. But life... it has its ways of leading you down dark paths you never thought you'd tread.

INT. MIKE'S SAFE HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Walter and Mike, his wise and seasoned criminal ally, sit in a dimly lit room, each holding a glass of turbo whisky. The tension between them has subsided, as they share a moment of reflection.

MIKE:  (sipping his whisky)  You ever think about the choices we've made, Walter? How far we've fallen?

Walter takes a deep breath, staring into the amber liquid of his glass.

WALTER:  (sighs)  Every single day, Mike. I used to imagine a different life for myself. A life where I could make people laugh, not terrify them. A comedy show dad... that's what I should've been.

Mike chuckles, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

MIKE:  Well, ain't that something. I can see you as the goofy dad, cracking jokes while barbecuing in the backyard.

Walter forces a small smile, a hint of nostalgia flashing in his eyes.

WALTER:  (sarcastic)  Yeah, imagine me in an apron, right? Guess life had other plans for me. Sometimes I wonder if I could've been different, made better choices. Maybe then I wouldn't be the monster I've become.

Mike places a reassuring hand on Walter's shoulder.

MIKE:  (chuckles)  You can't change the past, buddy. We're in deep now, and we have to face the consequences head-on. But remember, Walter, you're still you under all this chaos. For better or worse.

Walter raises his glass and clinks it against Mike's, the sound echoing in the room, symbolising the bond that has formed between them amidst the darkness.

WALTER:  (toasting)  To the choices we've made, and the men we've become. May the whisky soothe the soul and the path we walk be true.

They both take a sip, the rich liquid burning down their throats, a moment of silent acceptance shared between two broken souls.

FADE OUT.

[blogdemocratesjr]

You have to live a way of life that has value and principles and freedom—a responsible life governed by spirituality. Then you deserve your culture, including its songs, and you deserve to know the secrets of your heritage.

—Russell Means, Where White Men Fear to Tread (p.112)

[catcritiques]

Untitled Installation - Part One

The Arch meets you, opening a window to a series of floral invitations ranging from violets to roses, forget-me-nots, and pansies. You tread around the enlarged wedding rings and golden bands with embedded flat glass.

There was power here, old and deep, trapped in tacky shimmers and artificial lights. The further you look, the more stories you see; the closer you are, the more voices you hear.

Hushed gossip, placid laughter, and fragments of memories echo and entwine. Two women in dirtied dresses smile coyly at one another.

A friendship with tender mischief in its eyes. Some men come and go, and some stick. Even fleeting shadows leave an indelible mark. A group photo in a flat of like-minded lovers, all preserving the flowers in their pockets, anticipating a grand event.

Our hostile world has hardly won its change, You think, under the oppressive light of white walls. It reflects a life suspended, trapped in an infertile state: a weakened butterfly pinned to its frame, beaten by glue and tacks, its wings unable to pulse against the overpowering walls as if holding it captive. 

I see the sterile white river where red wax hangs tall.

You fear dragging your touch against the fossil floors, laminated in gloss, so you perform your stature in black-shined leather. You match the shine that perpetuates the light. But the images you see of the people they hold are of stolen moments, authentic and raw—a living monument to lives well lived. You feel overdressed, but the room says otherwise—loud and posh, as galleries often are.

Aware of the crowd and the symmetry of black and white, you slide into each step. Gentle and small, weaving through the monochrome faces as you bold a different greeting. Flushes of pink, pastels and saturation- As you lean, something leaves you. The room is evanescent as you align with the oversized bracelet. Open and curious, you brace for a step, something that resisted the shy twists of your ankles. Succumb to a sweetness, you envision a garden, a meadow and a flat cottage. With your furthering step, the vine-riddled stonework gained its height—a shift into a leap. 

You arrive in a familiar place you'd never been, not quite full of strangers but faces you don't remember. You join the air, fitting in with the images that greeted you before. 

...