#a tempestuous dynamic

[tomatoluvr69]

There’s going to be fig newtons at my job tomorrow and I can have some. Big things happening in my werld

[colouredbyd]

Me Before You pt.2

regulus black x fem!reader

part of my rom-com celebration event

synopsis: you take a job meant to be temporary—keeping company with regulus black, the closed-off heir tangled in a war he pretends not to care about. but behind sharp words and cold silences is a boy aching to be seen. and slowly, without meaning to, you become the one thing he didn’t plan for.

—or in which regulus survives the cave but not without a cost.

warnings: motional distress, depression, suicidal thoughts, paralysis, physical suffering, family conflict, trauma, mentions of death, death, so much vulnerability, caretaker dynamics, terminal illness, war themes, references to dark magic, allusions to torture, PTSD, ableism, yearning, heartbreak, a crazy amount of crying and begging, two little fucks being absolutely in love but one of them is 'selfish'.

w/c: 5.6k

a/n: thoughts? <3

part one part two masterlist

The night folded gently into dawn, the soft light of morning stealing quietly across the windows of Grimmauld Place.

Outside, the world went on with its hurried pace, but inside, a fragile stillness lingered — a sacred space cradled by music and the muted beat of two hearts learning to find their rhythm in tandem. 

The piano’s lilac glow seemed to linger in the air, a quiet witness to a night that would long be etched into memory.

Days passed, then weeks, and soon five months had woven themselves seamlessly into the fabric of your life. Five months since you had stepped into this world—this strange, shadowed sanctuary—and taken on a job that had promised little but slowly gave you everything.

In that time, your world had shifted with a subtle but unstoppable force, reshaped by quiet moments shared beneath whispered conversations and soft notes that floated from your fingers. The secret outings with Regulus became your cherished escape, stolen fragments of joy amidst the weight of everything else. And when he was not there beside you, you found him waiting silently outside your door, watching you play your songs, a shadow of quiet devotion that filled the empty corners of the room.

Everything had changed between you both — the balance of care shifting like the tide. Now you worried for him more than you did for yourself, your eyes scanning every crowded corner of your world to find him. 

He became the first thought that touched your mind when sleep came and the last one when you awoke. Regulus Black had slipped into every crevice of your days and nights, every breath you took, every beat of your heart.

The idea of a moment without him was impossible to fathom. You had grown to crave the small, tender fragments of time spent together—even those unbearable moments when his scars flared with cruel fury, when pain wracked his body and tears streamed down his cheeks in helpless agony. 

During those times, your soul ached fiercely, wishing to tear away your own flesh and offer it to him as a balm. You wished with desperate longing that you could control the world itself, bend it to your will, and give him everything he deserved — everything he had ever been denied.

Because Regulus Black was nothing like the cold, spoiled, or distant boy the world often painted him to be. 

He was brilliant—so achingly, maddeningly intelligent that it both frustrated and fascinated you. His grumpiness was a carefully crafted shield, a tempestuous fire he wielded when the world pressed too hard, yet beneath it all, he was endlessly charming in ways that caught you off guard, making your heart stutter with every rare, genuine smile.

He was a tapestry of colors, so rich and vibrant it astonished you how, when you first stepped into this house, you had seen only shades of grey. 

For all the hues you knew and stitched into your own world, Regulus was the most vivid one — the living, breathing masterpiece you never expected to find in such a shadowed place.

And in the quiet moments, when the world slowed and only the two of you remained, you understood that he was more than just a person in your life. 

He was the pulse beneath your skin, the melody that made your heart sing, the color that painted your once monochrome days into something breathtakingly alive.

The fragile rhythm you had come to know — the stolen laughter, the quiet tenderness, the secret smiles shared beneath the soft glow of lilac lamplight — began to fracture beneath the weight of a harsher truth. 

Because not everything lasts. Not every bond remains unbroken, not every secret is safe beneath the layers we carefully weave. The people we learn to love, the hearts we grow to trust, sometimes carry shadows we cannot see until they crash suddenly into the light.

It was in the sharp, shattering moment of a scream that everything changed.

You had been roused abruptly from a restless sleep by the sound — raw, furious, tearing through the stillness like a storm unleashed. 

Voices clashed violently, furious and unyielding. The voice of a man, deep and edged with rage, thundered through the house, shaking the walls and stirring something cold and dreadful in your chest.

The rage in the voice was unlike anything you’d ever heard — fierce, raw, full of betrayal and pain.

Then another voice, sharp and cutting, like ice breaking. “You think I’m wrong? You think my son is some hero? He is a disgrace! A shame to this family! I will not allow him to be seen as weak in the eyes of the Dark Lord! Weakness will be destroyed!”

Dark Lord? The words sent a shock through your veins. What war was she speaking of? What weakness? You swallowed hard.

A new voice erupted, louder, desperate, furious. “Disgrace? Disgrace? You call Regulus a disgrace after everything he’s done? After he tried to destroy the Horcruxes? You hid it from me! You kept me in the dark all this time! I came back — a year after everything — to find my brother paralyzed, confined to a wheelchair! And you never told me why? You never told me what he did, what he risked! How could you, mother?”

The man’s voice cracked with rage and heartbreak. “You let him suffer alone. You let him be silenced! You refused to let anyone know the truth because you cared more about appearances than your own son! How could you?”

Your breath caught. Regulus. The name echoed in your mind with heavy, urgent weight. You pressed your hands tighter against the doorframe. Confined? What had happened to him?

Walburga’s voice rose, venomous and cold. “Because he is a disgrace! The Dark Lord demands loyalty, absolute loyalty! He cannot be seen as a traitor! The war is coming, and I will not have my family’s name sullied by his failures and rebellion. If he wants to destroy Horcruxes, if he wants to die for his foolish cause, that is his choice. But he will not disgrace the Blacks any longer.”

“No!” Sirius’s voice broke through like a blade. 

“He is not a failure! He is not weak! Destroying those Horcruxes was the bravest thing any of us could have done. You are the one who has failed him! You are the one who turned your back! You hid his sacrifice, kept him a prisoner in this house, chained by your fear and hatred! Do you even realize what you’ve done?”

There was a long, venomous pause. Then Walburga hissed, “I did what was necessary to protect this family. You, Sirius, have always been the black sheep. You brought shame upon us all. And now you come back demanding answers about Regulus? You think your little brother would have survived your reckless choices? He paid the price for your mistakes! You left and disgraced us at sixteen, I will not have both of my sons be a shame!”

“I am no disgrace!” Sirius shouted. “Regulus is no disgrace! And I am here to tell you, you were the disgrace. You let your fear rule you instead of love. You let him suffer because you could not accept what he believed in! You tore this family apart with your silence and cruelty! And now you dare to call him weak?”

The furious exchange went on, words flying like daggers, each sentence heavier and sharper than the last. You could feel the pounding of their voices through the walls, like a brutal war inside the house itself.

The shouting only grew louder, more urgent, as Sirius’s fury boiled over like a storm unleashed. 

“He’s going to do it,” Sirius spat through clenched teeth, voice trembling with disbelief and rage. “In just a few weeks, he’s going to do it. Do you even understand what that means? Your son—your goddamn son—is planning to end his own life. You knew this. You’ve known for months and you’ve done nothing!”

The words hit you like a blow, a sudden sharp crack in the air. You blinked, heart pounding wildly. What was Sirius talking about? What did he mean? Your mind spun, struggling to grasp the meaning buried beneath the furious shouts.

Walburga’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper, barely audible but cutting deep like ice. “I cannot do anything, Sirius. He has been suffering for months, and this is his choice. I have arranged for countless caretakers. Only one lasted. But he will not change his mind.”

Sirius’s scream shattered the silence, raw and painful beyond anything you’d ever heard. “What do you mean he won’t change his mind? Your son is going to end his life! He’s been telling you this for months—telling you—and you just... you don’t give a damn! You stand there, cold and indifferent, while he falls apart!”

The fury echoed like thunder, words crashing into the walls and blurring around you. Your head swam. The anger and pain in Sirius’s voice drowned everything else out. You felt dizzy, breath caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.

Regulus? End his life? The thought was unthinkable, unbearable. How could this be true? Your heart thudded painfully, pounding so loud you thought it might break free.

Suddenly, you spun around, drawn by a silent, heavy presence. 

There he was. Regulus, sitting quietly in his wheelchair just inside the doorway, eyes wide, shocked to find you standing there, hearing everything.

For a long moment, no one spoke. You stared at him, searching his face for answers, for a sign of hope. For anything to deny the truth of what you heard.

“Regulus,” you whispered, voice barely trembling. “Is it true?”

He said nothing. His silence was a weight heavier than words. Tears welled up in his eyes, shimmering in the dim light like fragile droplets of sorrow.

You turned away, your legs numb, moving toward your room without another word. 

Your body burns with fury so fierce it feels like it might tear you apart from the inside out. Every word you heard—the screaming, the bitter accusations, the cold silence—twists like a jagged blade in your chest. 

How could he? How could he bury all this in shadows, drag you into his chaos without so much as a warning? You trusted him. You believed in something real, something honest. And this? This is a betrayal that cuts deeper than any wound.

Your tears don’t fall gently—they scorch your skin as they stream down, wild and unstoppable. You stumble toward your room, desperate to escape, but then his voice trails behind you, desperate, pleading, breaking through the storm inside your head.

“Y/n, wait—please. Don’t turn away from me. I’m begging you. You don’t understand, it’s not what you think. I never wanted you to see this side of me—”

But you’re done listening. Done pretending. 

You keep walking, each step heavy with betrayal, with rage. Then, as the voices fade into nothing, you stop, whip around, and your scream explodes, raw and vicious.

“I wish I never took this goddamn job! I wish I never set foot in this nightmare! You think you can carry all your pain alone and drag me down with you? You think it’s okay to keep me in the dark, to make me nothing but a secret? You’re the most selfish, cruel person I have ever known, Black!”

Your voice shakes with fury as tears pour from your eyes like a flood unleashed. “How could you do this to me? How could you let me believe I was something more when I was just a shadow in your broken world? I trusted you with everything and you—” your words crack and shatter, “You didn’t even give me the goddamn chance.”

Your heart pounds loud enough to drown out everything else, your breath ragged with pain and anger and disbelief. The betrayal cuts so deep it burns your very soul, and all you want is to scream until there’s nothing left.

You slam the bedroom door shut behind you, the sharp echo resonating through the cold, empty hall. The heavy wood presses against your back as you collapse to the floor, sliding down slowly until you are crumpled in a heap, your breath trembling with sobs that wrack your body mercilessly. 

Your hands clutch at your knees, as if holding yourself together will keep you from shattering completely. But the pieces of your world are already splintered and scattered beyond repair.

How could this be? The man you thought you knew—the one whose scars you traced with trembling fingers, whose pain you promised to carry with him—had hidden everything. Every secret, every darkness. 

Regulus Black, brilliant and broken, tangled in shadows you never dreamed existed. You remember the way his eyes flickered with something far too deep to be understood, the quiet moments when his smile didn’t quite reach him. 

Now it all makes horrifying sense. He was once involved with something sinister, something you had no clue about until the scream of reality shattered your fragile peace.

The weight of betrayal crushes your chest, suffocating and cold. How could he keep this from you? How could he let you live in ignorance while the man you cared for was planning to end his own life? A few weeks. 

That’s what his brother said. A timeline, a cruel countdown you had no part in.

And you—naive, trusting—you thought you were helping him heal, that you were his refuge, his light. But all the while, the darkness was closing in, swallowing him whole, dragging you down with it.

Your mind spins, a whirlwind of questions and pain, twisting and tearing at your sanity. The dreams you had built together—the quiet mornings, the music filling the rooms, the laughter that once made this cold house feel warm—all of it feels like a cruel illusion now. 

Was any of it real? Or was it just another mask he wore to keep you close while he fought a war you never knew existed?

You press your hands against your face, trying to block out the crashing storm inside you, but the tears keep coming—hot, unrelenting, endless. 

From the other side of the door, desperate pounding pounds like thunder. Regulus’s voice breaks through the barrier, thick with anguish and pleading. “Y/n, please. Open the door. I’m begging you. Don’t shut me out. I can’t—please.”

His desperation only tears at you more. 

You curl up tighter against the door, the cold seeping into your bones. In this silence between the sobs and the screams, you realize nothing will ever be the same. The walls of your heart have cracked, the foundation of trust crumbled into dust.

And outside, Regulus keeps calling your name, his voice fraying with every passing second, but you cannot answer—not yet.

“Y/n,” comes his voice from behind the door again.

Your name on his tongue, hoarse, breaking. “Please. Please, open the door. Please, mon amour.”

You hear the frantic rustle of him shifting in his chair, wheels squealing faintly against the floorboards. Another scrape. A heavy thud.

Then—

A sickening, muffled sound, the crack of bone and flesh meeting wood, a sharp grunt of pain.

Your heart lurches.

Without thought, without breath, you are up in an instant. Grief and fury and betrayal vanish beneath the weight of something more urgent, more primal. You tear at the lock with trembling fingers, the door flying open—

And there he is.

Collapsed on the floor, body half-curled in a sprawl, one leg twisted beneath him, chair tipped helplessly to the side. His head bowed, hair veiling his face. Shoulders trembling, breath uneven, sharp with pain.

He will not look at you.

You drop to your knees beside him. “Regulus,” you gasp, voice cracking. “Why would you do this? Why would you—”

Your hands hover above him, shaking. You cannot even bring yourself to touch him.

“Please,” your voice shatters, breaking on the words. “Just don’t… don’t do this. Don’t give up. We can leave, we can run from this house, from this cursed name, from this war. I’ll take you anywhere, anywhere you want. You can be Ben, and I’ll be May, or anyone else you want me to be.”

The words tumbled out of you, frantic, broken. You could barely hear yourself over the pounding of your heart. 

“You can be Ben, if you want. And I’ll be May. Or— or anything. I’ll be anyone you want. We’ll disappear somewhere no one knows. Somewhere where there is no war. I’ll make you happy, Regulus. Please. Please.”For a long moment, there is only the sound of your broken breaths between you.

[play sign of the times by harry styles here]

Slowly, his head lifts.

His eyes meet yours at last, glassy and hollow, filled with such ancient sorrow it cleaves through you like a knife.

“I can’t,” he whispers, voice wrecked, barely audible.

“Why?” you choke. “Why can’t you? Why, Regulus?”

He closes his eyes, a tear slipping free. “Because nothing was ever going to change my mind, amour.”

You shake your head, gripping his shirt now in trembling fists. “Not even me?” Your voice barely holds. “Not even me, regulus?”

A strangled breath leaves him, and his shoulders tremble harder beneath your touch.

“Not even you.”

The floor beneath you seems to crack, to fall away.

A sob bursts from your throat. The confession rips from you before you can stop it

“But I love you,” you sob, the words clawing out of your throat, ragged and desperate. “I love you, Regulus. I love you so much I can hardly breathe for it, so much it feels as though my heart will tear itself apart inside my chest. I love you so much I wake in the night gasping for air because the thought of losing you chokes me. I love you so much the very idea of a world without you in it is unbearable. It is unthinkable. It is impossible.”

Your voice breaks, tears streaming down your cheeks in torrents now, shoulders shaking. You clutch at him like a drowning thing reaching for shore. 

“I cannot bear this. I cannot bear the thought of you gone. Of these rooms empty of you. Of mornings without your voice. Of nights without knowing you are here, breathing beside me. You are everything to me now. You are every moment of my day, every breath, every beat of my heart. You have become the sun that wakes me and the moon that lets me sleep. You are the colour in my life, the sound in every song. You are everything!”

You press your trembling hands to his face, your voice spiraling into something wild and aching. 

“Please, please, do not do this. Do not leave me. Do not choose this. Not when I—” you choke on the words, chest heaving, “not when I cannot live without you anymore. Not when the thought of you gone tears through me like fire. Not when I love you, not when I love you so much it is killing me even now, right here in front of you.”

You lean your forehead to his, voice cracking on every breath. “You cannot ask me to stay behind in this world without you. You cannot ask me to go on breathing when you do not. Please, Regulus. You are the only thing I have ever truly wanted. You are the only thing I have ever truly needed. Stay. Stay with me. Let me save you. Let me love you.”

Your words are breaking apart between sobs, the force of them trembling through your entire body. You cling to him as though the very grip of your hands might tether him here.

And for a moment, you feel him shatter beneath you.

His breath comes ragged, sharp. His hands clutch weakly at your arms, at your sleeves.

“Don’t you see?” he chokes. “I was always meant to die. I have been dying for years.”

You shake your head desperately. “No. No, you are here. You are here with me. You could live. You could have something more.”

He shakes against you, voice breaking: “I can’t. I can’t untangle myself from this. There is no end to it. There is no place in this world for me that is not steeped in this misery.”

You press your forehead to his chest, sobbing harder now. “There could be,” you whisper. “There could be if you let me love you. If you let yourself be loved. If you would only let me—”

But his hands loosen, trembling. His voice drops to a wrecked whisper. “You could love me until the stars burned out and it would not save me. It would not change what I am.”

You pull back, tears streaking your face, your gaze locking with his, pleading.

“You are not what they made you!” you cry. “You are so much more than this. You are more than this cursed house. More than that war. You—”

But the sorrow in his eyes is endless.

“I am tired, amour,” he whispers. “So tired. You were… you were the only thing that made the dark bearable. The only light. But even that— even you— cannot undo what has already been written for me.”

Another broken sob tears through you.

“I love you,” you repeat. “I love you. Isn’t that enough? Iwill give you everything. Just don’t do this.”

He leans forward then, resting his brow against yours, his whole frame trembling with the force of it.

“I love you too,” he breathes. “I love you more than I have loved anything in this life.”

“But even love cannot save me.”

And in that moment, you feel your heart shatter. The pieces of it falling between you, lost to the dark.

You are sobbing so hard it feels like your body might tear itself apart. The breath will not come, the world tilts and spins and there is no ground beneath you anymore. Only him— only Regulus —and the unbearable weight of what you have just heard.

He is still on the floor before you, arms wrapped around you as you cry against him, trembling, unable to speak through the flood of grief crashing through you.

“Shh, mon amour… breathe… just breathe for me…” his voice is low and shaking, close to your ear. You can feel his own tears wetting your hair now.

You pull back suddenly, eyes wild, throat raw from sobbing. “You c-cannot— you cannot do this, Regulus— I won’t let you— I c-can’t—”

Your hands fist into the fabric of his shirt, your knuckles white. You are gasping through tears, and still he holds you, eyes shimmering with pain and something else— something deeper, something devastating.

He whispers. “Listen to me. Please, ma belle.”

You can only shake your head, more tears slipping free. You do not want to hear it— you cannot. But he cups your face so gently, so reverently, and presses a trembling kiss to your brow.

And then, slowly, brokenly, he begins to speak.

“You… you have so much to live for,” he whispers, voice cracking with the weight of the truth. “So much beauty still waiting for you. So many colors you have yet to paint upon this world.”

You sob harder, unable to stop yourself. Your heart feels like it is being ripped from your chest.

“I have never met anyone like you,” he breathes, and now his voice is trembling, breaking apart as if the words are shattering in his mouth, fragile as glass. “No one who breathes life into every corner they touch, no one who carries so much color in their heart it spills into the air itself, into every breath they take. No one who— who burns so bright that even the darkest places cannot hold.” His voice falters, eyes glassy, tears trembling on his lashes.

You shake your head frantically, gasping through sobs. “I—I won’t— I can’t live in a world without you, Regulus— I can’t—”

But he leans in, forehead pressed to yours, breath shallow and shaking as if even speaking is a battle. His tears fall freely now, warm and aching against your skin.

“The world is vast, mon cœur. Vaster than this house, vaster than this cursed war, vaster than all of it. And you— you will fill it, I know you will, with your light, your voice, your colors. You will turn empty rooms into something alive. You will make the coldest places warm. You will… you will live in a way I never could.” His voice splinters on the words, as though they wound him more deeply than the worst curse.

“No— no—” your breath is a broken thing, body shaking, heart tearing apart at the seams.

“I want you to live,” he whispers, voice raw, trembling with too much feeling. “To live boldly. To wear the wildest, most ridiculous dresses you can find—yes, the ones I used to mock because I was too afraid to love them. To fill every room with music and color and life, to sing so sweetly even the walls will remember. To speak your heart, as you always have— because I have never known anyone who feels so openly, so deeply. You are love itself, mon amour, and the world needs you still.”

Another sob catches in his throat. His hands find your face again, trembling fingers brushing your tears away only for more to fall. His chest is rising too fast now, like he can barely hold the pain in.

“You are—” he breaks, voice cracking, “you are light, you are spring, you are the first breath of morning, you are stars shimmering on black water. You are the warmth in winter, the laughter that fills lonely halls. You are more alive than anything I have ever known. And I—”

But the words stumble and he gasps, tears spilling freely now. “These six months,” he whispers, barely a sound, “these months with you… you made me feel again. You— you have undone me. You gave me back the heart I thought I had long buried. You gave me joy, and hope, and things I never thought were mine to have. You made me dream again, even knowing dreams fade.”

You are clinging to him now, so tightly, so desperately it hurts. “Then stay— please— please stay— we’ll leave— we’ll go anywhere— we’ll be anyone— Ben and May, or anything you want— I will give you every piece of me— just don’t go— don’t leave me— I love you, Regulus, I love you more than I can bear— I cannot breathe for it— I cannot— I cannot—”

He draws in a wrecked breath, voice nearly gone, but filled with a love so endless it aches. His lips tremble, his gaze drinks you in as though trying to carve you into memory.

“I will die happy,” he says, voice heavy with love and agony, “because of you. Because you loved me. Because you made me feel alive again.”

“No— no— no—” your sobs shake through you, fierce and wild, but his hands remain so gentle, reverent on your skin.

“You are scored on my heart, Madame Lavender,” he breathes, tears sliding down his cheeks unchecked. “You are written upon my soul, carved into my very bones. You are in every breath I take, every thought, every memory. No spell, no time, no death could ever erase you from me.”

His voice drops to a whisper, so soft it could shatter you. “You are my miracle, my greatest joy, my greatest sorrow. And even now, even as I go, I am… selfish enough to have loved you so desperately, so entirely… that I will carry that love beyond this life.”

Your sobs grow harsher, desperate. You are trembling in his arms, breaking apart beneath the weight of those words.

“And when I go,” he whispers, voice barely more than a breath, “it will never be because I stopped loving you. Never because you failed me. You must never carry that lie, ma belle. You must carry this instead: that you were—are—the love of my life. Always.”

You shake your head violently, pain shattering every part of you. “Then—then stay—stay for me—don’t leave—”

But he presses his forehead to yours, voice breaking like a fragile glass slipping through desperate fingers. “I cannot. This war, this darkness—it’s already claimed me. There is nothing left but this choice. You… you must live for both of us now.”

Your body crumples against his chest, your sobs ragged and raw, a storm breaking loose inside you. Your breath comes in shattered pieces, your heart breaking in tandem with his.

Still, his arms hold you—trembling, trembling—but unyielding. His hands trace patterns through your hair like a last prayer, memorizing every strand, every curve of you.

He whispers into the hollow ache of your ear, voice thick with all the love and sorrow he cannot keep inside:

“You will be magnificent. Fierce and wild. You will laugh and dance beneath skies I will never see. You will live a thousand lives for the one I lose. You will fill every empty place with your light—the light I never deserved to see.”

His tears fall freely now, mingling with yours, a quiet symphony of grief and love.

“And I…” His voice falters, breaking with every word, “I will love you from a distance too great to cross, beyond this life, beyond the cruel edges of this pain.”

A long, aching silence settles, punctuated only by the ragged rise and fall of your chests.

Then, in the faintest whisper, he breathes, ��Live well, mon amour. Live as though I never left. Just… live.”

You stay there on the floor with him for what feels like a lifetime. The minutes slip and warp into something shapeless. Your tears come in waves so fierce they leave you gasping. Your limbs shake with the ache of it, your heart too swollen, too raw, too broken to keep its rhythm steady.

You do not know how long you have been there, crumpled beside him, your hands tangled in the folds of his shirt, your body trembling with grief so violent it feels like it will tear you apart from the inside.

At some point — after what could have been an hour or a century — you hear the faint sound of footsteps. The creak of wood beneath heavy boots. 

Then Sirius’s voice, low but hoarse, more tired than anything.

“Y/n,” he says. “You need to let go.”

But you cannot. You shake your head against Regulus’s chest, sobs still racking through you, lips forming silent pleas over and over. Please don’t. Please stay. Please don’t go.

Sirius kneels slowly, his movements heavy, worn, like the weight of the whole world is pressing on his shoulders. You barely notice the red rims of his eyes, or the tight line of his mouth.

With hands far gentler than you expect, Sirius eases your trembling fingers from where they clutch at Regulus’s shirt. You are too weak to fight. Too shattered to resist. The sobs keep coming, tearing from your throat like they will never stop.

“Come on,” Sirius murmurs softly, “let me help him.”

You only watch as Sirius slides an arm beneath his brother’s back, the other beneath his knees, lifting him with a care that speaks of long familiarity, of grief buried beneath old wounds. Regulus barely stirs, his eyes closed, his body limp in his brother’s arms, looking so small, so breakable.

Sirius carries him wordlessly to the bedroom. You hear the soft creak of the bed as he lowers him down, the shuffle of blankets being drawn up. You sit there, collapsed on the floor in the hallway, your back against the wall, too hollow to move, tears still sliding soundlessly down your face.

And time passed.

Days folded into one another, blurred at the edges like a water-stained painting. Weeks slipped by on a current you could no longer control.

Some mornings you would find yourself by his side again, your head pressed to his chest as though by instinct. Other nights, you would sit at the piano until your fingers ached, playing for him because it was the only thing you knew how to do anymore.

One day you would sob until your body could bear no more. The next you would smile for him, soft and trembling, pretending your heart wasn’t still bleeding in your chest.

It was as though life itself had fractured.

One part of you stood forever frozen on that floor, the echo of those words still ringing in your ears. The rest of you moved through the world in a haze, going through the motions because what else could you do?

And Regulus was quieter now.

There was a softness in his gaze when he looked at you, a sorrow that cut deeper than any blade. And though he would speak to you, though he would let you rest your head against his shoulder and hold his hand in your lap, there was something unreachable behind his eyes now. A distance. A promise already made, that even your love could not undo.

Still you played for him.

Still you sang, weaving melodies into the silence, trying to fill the room with something brighter than grief.

Still you came to him every morning, because you could not bear the thought of not seeing him, not touching him, not hearing his voice.

Because for all that had changed, for all the truth that had shattered your world, one thing remained.

You loved him.

You loved him so much you thought it might unmake you.

And the weeks drifted past, each one a fragile, aching thing. You clung to the days you had left, to the moments when he would still smile for you, when he would rest his head against yours and whisper in that soft voice you adored.

But in the depths of your heart you knew—knew with a certainty that stole your breath—that time was running out.

And there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Regulus had made up his mind from the moment he clawed his way out of that cave. From the moment his trembling hand scraped against slick stone, the taste of that cursed potion still burning his throat, each breath agony in his lungs. From the moment he emerged from the water, drenched and broken, dragged back to life by Kreacher’s desperate magic.

He had made up his mind the second those inferi had caught at his legs, their rotted hands sinking into his flesh and bone until the nerves of his spine had been torn to ruin.

From the moment Kreacher Apparated him to this hollow house, trembling, weeping, unable to save him from what had already been done.

Regulus Black had always known that he was destined to drown.

It had been written in his bones long before the lake. He had carried it all his life — the certainty of ruin, of sinking beneath the weight of things too vast to fight.

What he had not known, what no god nor prophecy had whispered, was that in the end, he would also drown beneath the weight of your love.

He had not known that you would walk into this house in that wretched bright-colored dress, one that had made him wince at first because it did not belong in a place like this. Because you, with your shimmering laugh and your colors and your life, did not belong in a house of ghosts.

And yet somehow, without meaning to, you had undone him.

You had unstitched the cold seams of his heart. You had pulled the darkness from beneath his ribs and forced it to breathe. You had made a man who had already chosen to die remember what it meant to feel.

Regulus Black, who hated being taken care of, who despised his own weakness more than anything, found himself helpless beneath your hands. Helpless beneath the sound of your voice as you sang, beneath the light of your smile. He had come to crave it. To crave you.

And oh, how he wished he was not so selfish.

There was so much he wanted to tell you. So much he wanted to show you. You did not know half the things that lived in his heart.

You did not know that he had never had a favorite color. That when you asked him, eyes wide and eager, trying to guess, he had wanted to laugh. But he could not bear to tell you that he did not care for such things. Not when you looked so proud of yourself for choosing dark green.

And so, from that moment on, dark green became his favorite color. Because it was your voice, your joy, your light that made it so.

You did not know that after the night you played the piano for him on your birthday, after your song had left the air trembling, he had taken to his brushes. That with unsteady hands he had painted you. Because he had been terrified of forgetting that moment. Because he had needed some way to keep it, some way to remember the color of your laughter, the softness of your gaze.

[painting reference <3]

You did not know that he had hoarded each second with you like a dying man hoards breath.

And perhaps that was his deepest selfishness.

That even now, lying in the bed he had chosen for his own death, he was thinking not of the war, not of the world, but of you. Of your voice. Of the life you had poured into this house. Of the way you had made him feel something other than sorrow for the first time in years.

Because deep down, Regulus knew.

If he had been whole, if he had been untouched by this fate, he would never have crossed paths with you. If he had been a man who could still stand, who could still run from his ghosts, he would never have needed you.

And yet now, in this broken body, in this wreck of a life, he could not imagine a world without you. 

If the Fates had placed the choice in his hands, he would have chosen this again. The cold depths of the lake, the agony that laced every breath, the iron weight of the chair beneath him, the house steeped in shadows and sorrow—he would have chosen all of it. Again and again. A hundred times, a thousand times, without hesitation.

If it meant you. If it meant the brief and precious moments of knowing you, of hearing your voice cut through the quiet of his days, of feeling your hands on him—soft, certain, alive. If it meant that for even a flicker of time, he could have belonged to you.

And that was the most agonizing truth of all.

That for all the bitterness that once filled him, for all the years spent hollow and closed, he had never truly been prepared for you. 

For the way you lit the dimmest corners of this crumbling place. For the way you touched not only his skin but the shattered edges of his soul. 

That now, even as the hourglass emptied, even as the war pressed closer, even as death itself reached for him—still, he could not let go. Not of you. Not of this fragile, devastating thing that had bloomed between you.

He was selfish. He knew it. To have ever let himself want. To have let you into his heart when he had so little left to give. But oh—he did. He wanted. 

He wanted so much it split him open. He wanted mornings beside you, a life unlived. He wanted the sound of your laughter in rooms yet unseen. He wanted your arms around him, your lips on his temple, your voice in the dark. He wanted more time. Just time. Time to love you properly. To give you every word he had never dared to speak.

And yet this—this was the truth. His body was failing. The war was rising. The ghosts would not be kept at bay. 

And so he would go—not because he wished it, not because he loved you any less, but because there was no path left for him now that did not end in darkness.

And through it all, one truth burned brighter than the rest—there was no spell in this world that could rival the magic you held. No color on any palette that could match the depth of his love for you. No flower, not even the purest white chrysanthemum, that could speak its name. No song that could ever hope to contain it. No life. No death. No time. No silence that could erase it.

Regulus Black, ruined body, faltering breath, a soul worn thin, loved you with every fractured piece of himself. Every shard. Every scar. Every hope he had long thought lost.

And that was his greatest agony.

That after everything, it had always been before you. A life of shadows and silence. A heart that had never learned how to beat until it beat for you. And now, when at last he knew what it meant to love, to live, to hope—he must leave you.

That was the unbearable grief. That was the wound no magic could mend.

That he was choosing himself before you. That he was too weak to stay, too broken to offer you more. That the only thing he could give you was the certainty of his love, even as he left you behind.

-

-

-

It had been two years since Regulus Black had left this world, two long years of learning how to live again when half of your soul had been carved away, when the color had drained from the days and left you to wander through a life that no longer fit. 

You had spent those years trying, if not to heal, then to move forward, though at times it felt as though the world itself had frozen around you, the air turned to glass, fragile beneath your trembling steps. 

For even as you breathed, as you woke and dressed and spoke and played your music, he was still there, in the marrow of your bones, in the beat of your heart, in the weight of your every breath.

You saw him in the corners of rooms where no light touched, in the curve of a smile that wasn’t his, in the familiar shadow cast by a stranger on the street. He lingered in every flower that bloomed along the garden paths, in the scent of rain on old stone, in the worn leather of books he would have loved. 

You heard him in the hush of a quiet dawn, in the rustle of a turning page, in the softest chords of the piano when your hands could no longer resist the call of music, even when your heart felt too full to bear it. 

In those two years, you wore color as though the fabric itself might mend the fractures within you. You draped yourself in crimson, in gold, in emerald, in the deepest shades of cerulean. 

You wrapped your body in soft plums, in rose pinks, in hues so brilliant they turned the heads of strangers on the street, as if by cloaking yourself in brightness you might somehow shield your heart from the cold that had made a home inside it.

You painted the walls of your rooms in wild, clashing tones. You covered canvas after canvas in bold strokes and sharp light. You sang beneath unfamiliar stars, your voice soft and trembling in the night air. 

You laughed when you could, when your body remembered how, though each laugh trembled with a hollowness you could never quite erase, a sound that rang through your chest like the echo of a cracked bell.

And on the days when grief rose up so vast and sharp that it swallowed you whole, when no color could save you, when you could do nothing but let the ache overtake you, you gathered white chrysanthemums in trembling hands. 

You scattered them across the floor, across the windowsills and tabletops and sheets. You surrounded yourself with them, the blooms of sorrow and remembrance, their pale petals falling soft and silent as snow. They were an offering to memory. A prayer for all that had been lost. A fragile testament to the love that had once filled your life.

Yet for all the color you surrounded yourself with, for all the fierce, bright shades you wore and wove into your world, one truth remained unchanged, carved into the deepest part of you. Through every season that passed, through each month and year that bled away, there remained a single certainty: you never again found your favorite color.

Because your favorite color was not one that this world could offer.

It was not lilac, though you had once thought so, long ago. It was not the soft gold of the morning light through the windowpanes, nor the rich blues that gathered at the edges of twilight. It was not the brilliant green of new leaves in spring, nor the rich garnet glow of autumn’s last embers.

Your favorite color was a shade of grey that no artist could ever hope to capture. No painter’s brush could reach it, no thread could be dyed to match it, no spell could ever summon it into being.

Because that grey had lived only in the eyes of the man you had loved beyond all reason, beyond all logic, beyond life itself.

And how could you ever explain that to another soul? When the well-meaning voices returned, when they asked gently, carefully, trying to draw you back from the still edges of your grief. When they asked what your favorite color was now, after all this time.

How could you answer? The words would rise up, raw and aching, and then catch behind your ribs, caught on the sharp edges of memory.

Because no one could understand. No one could possibly know that your favorite color was a shade of grey that had once filled your breath, your blood, your every heartbeat.

A grey that had wrapped itself around your heart, marking you forever in ways no one could see. A grey that had warmed your skin beneath gentle touches, that had lingered in the space between two shared breaths, that had sung in the silences between words spoken in the dark.

A grey that no flower could rival, no song could contain, no light could ever mirror.

A grey that had belonged to Regulus Black.

And though the world spun on, though you filled your days with color and light, though you walked through streets and sang beneath the stars and let the seasons turn again and again, that truth remained, fixed and bright and unyielding within you — that no matter how far you traveled, no matter how many years slipped by, no matter what new love or joy or sorrow the world might offer, your favorite color would always be that grey.

And you knew, as surely as you knew your own name, that it would be so for the rest of your days.

Because it had always been him. Before everything. Before the pain, before the loss, before the war and the grief. Before the breaking of your heart. Before the long and aching years that followed.

It had always been him.

It had always been before him.

And after Regulus Black, there could be no other color at all.

[mistmessenger]

A tempestuous meeting | Frater Imperator x female!reader one shot

As Copia’s long-time, albeit now distant friend, the ministry tour team nominated you to reason with him about his recent behaviour. You couldn’t have imagined how his intervention was going to play out…

Pairing: Frater Imperator x female reader

18+ MDNI

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!, smut, dubious consent, dubcon, mention of previous friends-with-benefits situation, angst, very insecure crashing out Frater, manipulation and intimidation, angry/mean Frater, shoe riding, dom/sub dynamic, brat taming i guess, degradation, slapping, rough blowjobs/throatfucking, breathplay, humiliation, hint of dacryphilia, ripping clothes, fingerfucking, spitting, mention of intoxication, pain, overstimulation, brief dry humping, name calling, rough sex, mention of ddlg relations, slight breeding kink, love rockets shot right in between your thighs, mention of voyeurism, no aftercare he’s being a BASTARD!, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT.

and obligatory ghost fanfic doing paperwork in the ministry.

AO3 Link

Notes: All of the warnings sorry. By far the horniest thing I've ever written, I fear I need my access to notes app and ms word revoked.

Sorry I'm ovulating and need this goofy little guy to fuck me nasty on every surface of that office

A tempestuous meeting

Standing in the chaos of Copia’s temporary office, on the other side of his desk, you felt a million miles away from him.

It pained you to see your longtime friend struggle, but he was hindering the work of the entire tour team. After months of Copia making things difficult, the team held a group meeting without him, and nominated you to try and speak some sense into him.

Initially, it felt like something you would be capable of. You’d been friends since his early Cardinal days. Surely he would listen to you.

But as he hushed you again, as he had done so many times now in your short conversation that you had lost count, pretending to type something on his computer, you were beginning to lose patience.

“Pap- um. Frater. I can’t pretend to understand how difficult this transition is for you. Especially given…”

You pause, unsure if mentioning his mother’s passing is a wise idea as he glanced up at you with a petulant sneer.

“…given the circumstances. But, we all still have jobs to do. And with the tour preparations said jobs are stressful enough without you…”

You trailed off again, suddenly feeling like this was all a terrible idea, like your siblings had set you up for failure. On the one hand, Copia looked a shell of a man, lost without both his mother and the comfort of his role as a performer. On the other, there was something in his eyes, a rage barely suppressed. You knew he was struggling, heard his curses and the slam of his keyboard when you would pass his office.

Instead of the usual sympathy his outbursts would ignite in you, right now, looking into his eyes as he stood from the couch, you felt nervous.

Deep down he was irate, holding it together by a few frayed threads that were on the cusp of snapping, and your intervention seemed to be shearing right through them.

“Go on sorella. Commit to it. Without me doing what?” He grumbled, rifling through a box of papers. You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, rather making himself look busy.

“Making our jobs harder than it needs to be…” you whispered, holding your breath, almost flinching as you waited for his response.

He stopped, gaze returning to you. It was nothing like you were used to, his eyes cold and uninviting as he raised his brow.

“Am I?”

“A little…” you try to sound less harsh, cringing at the fact you even had to try and reason with him like this, he was a grown man for gods sake. “The pyro team needs those documents signed so the funds can be transferred and they kind of needed them… like yesterday.”

“Oh… Oh dear. I’m delaying a few fireworks for my brother?” His hand reached for his pen, clicking it incessantly, his aggravation seeming to grow by the second. “It just won’t do, will it?”

This is a disaster.

Biting your lip, you sighed. It was difficult for you to air your frustrations to the man that was supposed to be in charge.

“Frater, I gave you those to sign off on over a week ago, I’ve reminded you-“

“You have reminded me no less than five times.” He snapped, rolling his eyes at you, turning his attention back to the screen.

Seven, actually.

“Sorella, you’ve never minced your words with me before. Why so cagey? Hm?”

Because you’re different now.

You keep your lips pressed in a hard line, unable to say the words to him, not sure if they would send him into a rage or reduce him to tears.

“It’s been a long morning.” You shrugged.

“You’re all tense.”

You’re one to talk.

“Biting your tongue. You think I don’t see your eyes? That I can’t tell there’s some little sly remark rattling around that brain of yours?”

Frowning, you shook your head.

“Frater, look-“

“Ah. Ah ah ah.” He closes the distance between you, and you instinctively take a step back, something difficult to do in the mess of his temporary office without tripping on something.

“I know. They- all of you decided I need a little intervention. And they sent you. And as if you weren’t stressed enough with the tour, now you have to worry about how to tiptoe around me-“

A few steps away from you, you watched as his tone became mocking, his brows furrowed. This behaviour was so unlike him, so different to how he had ever spoken to you before. Pursing your lips, it was hard to stifle your sigh as he seemed intent on pressing your buttons.

“I’m not tiptoeing around anything I-“

“No? That’s why you look like you want to run out the door right now? Why you hardly speak two words to me, unless you’re trying to placate me in order to get me to sign whatever shit you need in the moment?”

“That’s not fair-“

“Not fair.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. He pouted for a moment, before waving you away.

“I will sign your damn forms, come by later, they’re buried in between documents.”

Great, now I’ve done it.

You sighed, calming yourself, trying to reason that he was only being like this because it was you. If any of the others had came to him, he wouldn’t be confident enough to be so rude to their face.

“Frater, they’re right there.” You point to the corner of the desk, untouched from the exact spot you had left them last week.

“I’ll sign them later, I’m busy.”

Lord below give me strength.

You didn’t think your frown lasted long enough for him to notice, but clearly he sensed your irritation.

He flung his pen onto the desk, clenching and unclenching his fists, before running a hand through his hair.

“You… You lot think you have it so difficult, because I will not bend and do whatever this new fucker wants right away.”

“Copia, we all want the same thing, we want the project to succeed.” You tried a final time to reach him, but you knew once he started ranting there was little anyone could do to stop him.

“The same thing? It was succeeding - with me. I do not recall wanting to put up with self-interested little rats interrupting me every hour of the day to come in here and squeak ��Frater, things must be hard for you but you need to sign this form.’”

As he put on a pitched voice, imitating you, the last of your patience drained.

“You know what? Fuck you. You expect the rest of us to coddle you like your mother did. It’s been over a year Copia, I’m sorry but whether you like it or not things have to keep moving, we don’t have a choice! You acting like a fucking brat isn’t helping anyone.”

Your eyes widened, your heart racing.

Why the fuck did I go and say all that?

“I’m sorry. Frater- I. I’m so sorry.” You could hardly bring yourself to look him in the eye, seeing how dejected your outburst would have made him. Your mind raced, you would have to stand down from your post. Hell, you might even flee the ministry at this point. Why would he tolerate your being here after saying something like that?

As you stepped back once more, ready to go clear you desk and leave a note for the rest of your team to say you were jumping before you got pushed, you frowned, perplexed.

He was… smiling?

The room felt cold.

“Maybe I deserved that.” he spoke softly, letting out a breathy laugh as he shook his head.

You knew that he didn’t believe that, and he certainly didn’t appreciate how you said it.

“I’ll go Papa, I’m sorry.”

“Who?”

“I- Fuck. Frater.”

“It’s been over a year sorella, and still you struggle to address me properly. We have to keep moving, do we not?”

Pointedly he took another step towards you. As you went from shuffling backwards to taking bigger steps, your heel caught on the upturned corner of the rug, sending you back against a stack of boxes.

He laughed, and suddenly the pressure in the room seemed to disperse. He sounded like himself for the first time in a long, long time. Like the Cardinal you used to whisper jokes to during library duties, who could only stifle his chuckles for so long before getting you both in trouble with the ghouls. Like the man he was long before his job as Papa, and now Frater, had taken its toll on him.

You let out a breathy laugh in turn, so caught up in the heat of the moment you weren’t sure what to say.

He stalked past you as you half sat half lay on a throne of haphazardly stacked boxes. You weren’t surprised he didn’t offer you a hand to get up, not after what you’d said. But still he snickered, letting slip that soft little heh sound you used to love hearing. As you stood, your head snapped at the sound of the lock clicking.

“Frater?”

He stood with his forehead pressed against the door, letting out a sigh.

“Let us talk, sorella, hm? All this tension, it is no good. I cannot have you exploding like that on the wrong person, hm?”

He turned to stare you down, his expression almost blank, so hard to read.

The wrong person? As if the boss of the whole ministry isn’t the wrong person…

“Frater, I really am sorry, it was uncalled for. I understand I’ll need to step dow-.”

“Shh.” Stepping past you again he leaned against his makeshift desk, waving you over. “Come. Have a seat.”

You cautiously stepped across to the couch, raising a brow. There was hardly a free inch to spare that wasn’t taken up by files and boxes.

You had to practically hover on the edge of the cushion to avoid sliding onto the floor, made even more awkward with how close he was, towering over you.

“Now, sorella. We’ve been friends for a long time. I would hate for work to change that.”

“I know, I’ll stand down, whatever I need to do-“

“Whatever you need to do to make it up to me? Hm? Well perhaps you could stop interrupting me. That would be a start.” His voice was gentle but the message was loud and clear.

You nodded.

“I was being unfair, I suppose. I know how rigid you can be when it comes to deadlines. How you get yourself… worked up.”

That’s an understatement.

Hell, how many times had he talked you out of your panics over the years? Of course he had to know what his behaviour was doing to you.

“These changes around here have been hard for me, but I can see how it is hard on you too. How much pressure you’ve been putting yourself under lately. You’ve been, eh… overdoing it. Don’t think I haven’t noticed - you come into the office, do the work, back to bed. No time for you. It is no wonder you have all this venom ready to spit at me.”

You frown. Sure, he was right - you were blinkered by your work with the tour, but you’d convinced yourself it was only temporary. The tour would begin and you would get a break. What surprised you was that he had even noticed.

Since the release of Impera the two of you had become distant. Initially you put it down to you both being so busy with your respective roles. And Copia enjoying the limelight that came with being Papa, the feeling that everyone wanted a piece of him.

His speech felt manipulative - pointing out how you were working too hard, neglecting to admit a part of the reason you had to work harder was due to his petulance and lack of cooperation. Neglecting to mention his own tantrums and outbursts.

“I worry that you might have one of these little outbursts toward someone… less tolerant than me. Less, eh… forgiving…”

“I-“

“I asked you to stop interrupting me, sorella.” It felt like more of a warning this time, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

“I think it’s more than apparent that you need a… will we say, outlet, of sorts?”

He sat on the desk, resting his feet each side of you on the couch. Before you might have bantered with him, asking him who raised him to put his feet on the furniture. These days, it didn’t feel like the joke would land the way it used to.

The flimsy desk unsurprisingly creaked under the weight of a fully l grown man. You were already surprised it could hold the weight of his ancient computer monitor.

That seems like a terrible idea-

“Stop it.” He sneered, nudging your knee with his foot. You could see it in his eyes, he was getting agitated again. Or rather, he hadn’t stopped feeling agitated, that brief moment of shared laughter was just that. A fleeting moment.

“Wha- What, Frater?” Your eyes gravitated towards his hands, clasping and unclasping at the edge of the desk.

“Thinking. You squint every time a little remark goes through your head. Do you think I do not know you? That I don’t see these things? Spit it out, whichever comment it is you’re itching to make.”

What happened to “don’t interrupt”?

“I just don’t think it’s wise for you to be sitting on the desk like that Frater, it’s not exactly stable.”

Bit like you, actually.

You were jolted from the thought by his foot pressing down on your thigh again. You pouted, hoping his shoes were at least clean.

It wasn’t the first time you’d found yourself between his legs, but this was different. This wasn’t fun. It felt like being scolded as a child.

“Bah. Whatever.” He scoffed, that childish manner of his poking through the cracks again, “As I was saying. You need an outlet, yes?”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Frater.” You agree, holding your tongue just to placate him, as you found yourself doing so often these days.

“You’re my friend sorella, I want to help you.” He leaned forward, the pressure on your thigh growing uncomfortable.

“You have enough on your plate-“

“Interrupt me one more time sorella, I swear-“ he cut himself off, seeing how your eyes widened. His expression seemed to light up, gleeful at seeing you almost cowering from him. You wondered just how your friend had changed so much.

His voice was hushed.

“Now, you will be good, yes?”

He moved his foot, and you winced as the pressure was finally taken off your thigh, only for a moment. Your precarious position at the edge of the couch allowed him space to press the point of his leather shoe between your legs. You startled, scowling at the sudden sensation, combined with the patronising, demanding tone he spoke in. You had no way to move, his other leg caging you in.

It was never like this with him. The occasional inebriated quick fuck in one of your rooms. No dynamic, just two people getting the release they needed from each other and going back about their lives after.

As a million thoughts raced through your head, he pressed harder, causing you to gasp, a little reminder that you still hadn’t answered him.

“Copia- Frater. I’m not doing this. Not here.”

“I know you. Well enough to know how much you leave unsaid. To know how much you need.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about, cut it out!” You squirmed, trying to ignore the sensations as he tilted his foot, as if to torture you. He rolled his eyes again, taking no notice as you grabbed at his leg, attempting to push him away.

“Oh please. I’ve always left you, ah, unsatisfied, no?”

“No?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Language, sorella.” He murmured, a smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth as you tried in vain to shrink yourself against the boxes on the couch to get away.

You shook your head, a whimper escaping your throat as he refused to ease up, watching you as if you were some sort of experiment, examining how each movement caused you to squirm.

“It was always me seeking you out, sorella. In spite of my offering. You were kind enough to indulge me, but would never seek me out to satiate your needs… I could tell you always walked away wanting more… something… different.”

You couldn’t speak to deny him, too overwhelmed at the feeling growing in your core as his foot pressed the seam of your trousers against you in just the right way, combined with how confused you were at how things had disintegrated to this. And frankly, he was right in a way, as much as you wanted to claim otherwise.

“Did you think me incapable? Awkward, bumbling old Cardi, couldn’t possibly know how to put you in your place… No use for anything other than a pity fuck-“

“Quit feeling fucking sorry for yourself!” You snapped, not feeling so remorseful this time as he put more pressure on you, seemingly

having figured out just the right spot to get you worked up. You resorted to hitting at his leg now, feeling humiliated.

Who the fuck does he think he is? I’m trying to do my job here.

“Aha.” He scoffed, taking no notice of your hits, “there you go again, doesn’t it feel better to let those emotions out?”

“Enough, Frater!” You attempted to sound stern, but with how flustered you felt, each movement of his leg disarming you, it came out as a pathetic plea.

Attempting to swing your leg over his foot to get away - the one that wasn’t occupied toying with your cunt - you slipped from your seat, landing to sit on the ground with an unceremonious thud.

With a deadpan expression, Copia wasted no time in pressing his foot against your throat, pressing your head back against the couch. You were sure the pattern of his soles would leave a mark on your skin.

“Now who is being a fucking brat, hm?”

You loathed to admit this was doing something to you. After all his childish behaviour you didn’t owe him this - he owed you, and the rest of your team numerous apologies.

You glared up at him, your breath faltering slightly as he put pressure on your windpipe.

“Fuck you. You’ve always been so fucking spoilt. Too blind to see how good you have it.” You rasped, unable to hold back your frustrations. You hated this. Hated the way you thought about someone you’d held dear for so long, hated the venom coming out of your mouth, but it was truth, to you.

You hated that he felt good about any of this arguing.

You coughed as he took his foot from your neck, standing above you with that smug smile on his face.

It caught you off guard when you felt the sting of leather against your cheek, the slap ringing in your ear.

You looked at him aghast, unable to determine if you felt that way because he hit you, or because it ignited something in you.

“What happened to you being forgiving?” You snarled, rubbing at your face.

He spoke softly again, as if you were having a friendly chat, “Forgiveness comes after contrition, sorella.”

“I’m not playing this stupid game. We have work to do.”

“You leave when I dismiss you.”

Fuck.

It took you a second to shake off the thrill the tone of his voice stoked at within you, shaking your head as you tried to stand.

“I know you sorella, I see what you want. What you’d been seeking out elsewhere.” His voice was gravelly as he kept you pushed down.

“We can… help each other out, hm? Like friends should…”

His gloved hand grasped at your hair, earning a protest from you, quickly muffled as he pulled you face first between his legs. The zip of his trousers only served to irritate the reddened skin on your cheek more. But you were easily distracted by what lay beneath. He was hard.

He really was enjoying this.

Swatting at his legs again you found yourself dumbfounded when he finally pushed you away with a snarl.

“Are you going to fight me every step of the way, sorella? When I do all this for you, hm? Go on. Show your Frater how sorry you are.” He mocked, gesturing at the bulge in his pants, and you scoffed. Before you could tell him he was being insane he slapped you again, the other side of your face this time.

He grinned as you let out a whimper, your eyes stinging with tears from the impact.

Warring with your mixed emotions, you unenthusiastically undid his fly, followed by his buttons. You trained your eyes on the floor, feeling humiliated.

Of course he wasn’t wearing underwear, you had to hold back a scoff as he shoved your hand aside to free his cock, evidently impatient with your reluctance.

You’d never taken time to look too closely at it. But now, even trying to avert your eyes, you could tell it looked throbbing, imposing and angry.

Much like him. Probably just as bitter.

Sensing something unsaid, he smacked you again.

“Focus, sorella.”

Pulling you forward by your hair again, he pressed his length against your face, hand tightening in an unspoken demand.

Placing your hands on his thighs in an attempt to steady yourself, you relented, squeezing your eyes shut as you offered your lips to him.

He buried himself within your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. Quickly you had to adjust your breathing to compensate.

With a glance up at him, your eyes widened. You could see it in his eyes again, looking at you the way he used to, his expression soft. But it hardly lasted a split second before he pulled your hair, prompting you to start moving.

You tried to maintain some form of pacing as you sucked him, made difficult with his relentless thrusts ensuring you took every inch of him. You choked while he fucked your throat selfishly, his movements not giving you opportunity to work him with your tongue as you would with any other partner. Your vision blurred, feeling tears track down your cheeks.

“You think I don’t know what you need?" He grunted, burying himself to the hilt and holding you in place.

You tried to ignore the want burning within you as you felt his cock twitching at the back of your throat.

Wincing, you tapped at his legs as it became harder to breathe, a pleading sob escaping you.

"Hmph." He muttered, pulling your head back again. You spluttered, gasping for air for the few seconds respite he allowed you before pulling you back. He slowed this time, staring down at you, biting on his lip. You were conflicted - torn between making a show of it, showing him what you could really do, or protesting against his treatment of you.

He cursed at you as you slowly swirled your tongue around the tip of his cock, causing his whole body to twitch. Feeling spite building within you again, you repeated the motion a few more times, causing him to hiss at the overstimulation.

“Sorella, you little-“ he grunted, shoving himself down your throat again, pinching your nose.

You felt your blood run cold, terrified as you tried to fight for breath.

“Look at me.”

You complied, your eyes quickly meeting his as you grew dizzy, your head pounding. He stared you down coolly as he let go of your nose. He wasted no time in fucking your throat again, ignoring your chokes and gags, not giving you any opportunity to recover.

“Always knew your mouth was good for more than pestering me about damned papers."

Your stomach flipped as you gagged once again, terrified you were going to throw up, your throat and jaw beginning to ache.

As he pulled you in once more, spilling himself in the back of your throat, you were surprised he hadn’t busted your lip with how forceful he had been.

He pulled you away harshly, letting free his grasp on your hair causing you to slump back against the couch, crying and spluttering.

He had you terrified a few times, convinced he would not let you up for air, that he would let you black out.

He wouldn’t have… would he?

You didn’t know anymore, and it was enough to make you sob harder.

His shoulders shuddered as he steadied his breath, pupils blown as he stared down at you, at the streaks of ruined makeup running down your cheeks, the spit and cum stringing from your chin.

“Oh doll… you look perfect.” He crooned, gripping your chin. You let out something between a choke and a sob as he forced you to look up at him.

“Isn’t this so much better than fighting, hm?”

You screwed up your nose in disagreement, feeling the heat in your face radiating down your neck with every humiliating jab he levied at you.

"Now..." he murmured, fixing his trousers as he knelt on the floor before you. He grasped at your waistband, and suddenly you felt the urge to resist growing within you again. Before he could pull at your trousers, you kicked and squirmed against him.

"No. Enough!" You snarled, voice hoarse as you rolled onto your hands and knees, making a shaky attempt to crawl away.

He growled, grasping you by your shoes to pull you back into place. In the scuffle, he managed to yank your shoes off, ignoring your attempts to shove him away as he harshly tugged again at your trousers.

What a shit day to wear the ones with an elasticated waist.

It was too late for any modesty, and yet you still squirmed and kicked at him. It was no use, of course, but a sick part of you didn’t want to lie down and make this easy for him. After all, hadn’t he been making work so difficult for you lately with his petulance?

Practically growling, he lunged at you, painfully pinning you down with one hand on your shoulder, your face shoved in the carpet as he made quick work of discarding your trousers.

It shouldn’t feel so thrilling, your cunt shouldn’t be throbbing so much in response to this bizarre behaviour.

You heard him suck in a breath between his teeth, examining your underwear - plain black, a little lace round the edges, nothing to write home about. Your face burned again as he tugged at them, and you reached behind your back to try and stop him.

He squeezed your shoulder harder.

That’ll bruise.

For a split second you felt relief as his other hand moved away from your underwear, and you managed to glance back.

Of course he wasn’t giving up. You held your breath as you watched him reach for something, rifling through the disorganised mess on his desk.

You heard his soft “aha” when he found what he was looking for, the ornate letter opener glinting in the light.

“No don’t you da-“

Too late, with two harsh rips, he pulled the dull blade through the fabric. He stared you down clinically, shoving the ruined panties in his pocket.

He leaned back to examine you, now fully exposed from the waist down, save for your socks.

“Good… it is nice to have options, is it not?” he mused, using his knee to spread your legs apart, shuffling between them, “next time you interrupt me… what shall it be, eh? My cock or your panties?”

You bit your tongue, pressing your face into the carpet again only to hide how the blood rushed to your cheeks, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

He leaned over you, breath hot on your neck.

“And do not think I did not notice how wet they are.”

You thrashed again, as he easily pulled you over to lie on your back, one hand splayed across your chest to keep you pinned in place. Gritting your teeth you tried to squeeze your thighs together. It was short lived before he adjusted his position, his breaths deep as he clawed your legs apart, kneeling on your thighs to keep you spread.

You couldn’t ignore the chill that raced down your spine watching him bring his hand to his mouth, teeth clamping down on the leather to pull off his glove, tossing it aside. Deep down you were terrified, but something kept you rooted to the carpet, holding your breath as you watched him.

He’s beautiful.

Meeting your wide eyes, he laughed again.

“This isn’t funny, Copia.”

He rolled his eyes, spitting between your legs causing you to twitch. You let out a conflicted groan - disgust and arousal warring within you.

“No? You’ve been proving me right every step of the way. Letting me show you your place.”

He rubbed at you, coating his fingers in his spit and your slick.

You whined as he pushed three fingers in with only a little resistance. No working your way up to it today, it seemed.

“Oh…” you gasped as he curled his fingers, moving his thumb to circle your clit. He hadn’t even started and it all felt too much for you, too intense.

But he froze. You hadn’t noticed yourself squeezing your eyes closed, but upon opening them, he was smirking at the confusion in your furrowed brows.

“Take what you need, doll. Lord knows everyone else has.” His tone was stern, challenging, but your heart ached at his words. Deep down you could sense the hurt within him, and for a second you wanted to forget this whole sordid scene and comfort your friend.

Until the hand across your chest moved, as if he could tell what you were thinking. Snaking his hand under your shirt, he shoved your bra up, pinching your nipple hard between his finger and thumb.

“Do you need me to tell you again?”

He didn’t. The pain of his grip as he switched between heavily groping at each of your breasts caused you to buck your hips, begrudgingly grinding against his hand.

It wasn’t long before you lost yourself, staring at the ceiling as your hips moved rhythmically against his hand. He was almost statuesque, callous as his gaze bore down on you. You would have hardly thought he had any interest in what you were doing if it weren’t for how the rise and fall of his chest seemed to pick up speed, his breaths coming quick and shallow.

“I’d have never pictured this years ago…” he mulled, savouring your moans as he suddenly switched from pulling at your breasts to lightly circling each nipple.

“Oh. Oh fuck.” You cried out, attempting to tune out his taunts and the squelch of your wet cunt against his fingers as you chased deliverance from the burning pressure growing in your core. With one hand you gripped the plush carpet, trying to find purchase to aid your movements, with the other you covered your face, unwilling to let him see you fall apart like this.

“…That you’d be so needy.”

“I don’t need you.” You snarled, chiding yourself for letting him get a reaction from you.

“Hah,” he jeered, flicking his thumb over your clit, forcing a sob from you, as if you needed to be reminded of what you were doing, “don’t need me, no? Fucking yourself stupid on my hand, get up and walk away if you don’t need me.”

You whined, fighting back the urge to curse at him. It was a lose-lose situation. He grew irritated if you spoke back, or irritated when you ignored his ridicule. Either way you were getting him worked up again.

You reverted to trying to ignore him. If he was so insistent that he would provide you with an outlet, you were going to take advantage of the offer.

“As I thought. Always so proud sorella, who could think someone so orderly was just begging to be ruined?”

“Shit-“

You spasmed, clenching around his fingers, squeezing your eyes shut as you came. You let out a few cracked sobs, your throat still aching.

It had hit you quicker than you’d expected, begrudgingly admitting to yourself that his taunts had something to do with it.

The bliss of your orgasm was short lived, quashed by the shame and embarrassment that washed over you as you caught your breath, staring at the ceiling.

As a sense of clarity, and horror, crept into your mind, Copia tutted. He flexed his fingers, causing you to jump.

“No, no no no…” you whispered, lazily shaking your head. It was too much, too soon, too sensitive.

“I decide when you are done. Understand?”

“No, I- ah-” You gasped as he languidly pumped his fingers inside you, not prepared to let you come to your senses and call this off just yet. He pulled his hand out from under your shirt, reaching up to press his thumb across your lips, hushing your cries as he leaned over you.

Your thighs felt numb under his weight, shaking with every flick of his thumb over your swollen clit.

“Are you still sorry? For how you dared to speak to your dear Frater?” He murmured, rocking his fingers back and forward within you, ignoring your gasps.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, eyes watering as your core burned again, insufferably, this time.

“Good… good….” he whispered, pressing the palm of his hand over your lips, “then you will give me another.”

There was no question, only a demand as he slipped a fourth finger within you, stretching you to your limit almost painfully. You groaned as he pumped against the wet heat of your cunt, his eyes alight as you both felt another trickle of wetness gush from you.

“That’s it, sorella.” he cooed, ignoring the strangled noises that died in your covered mouth.

It wasn’t long before he had found just the right movements to get your back arching from the carpet, your hands grasping at his arms to no avail, body jerking in response to each swipe of his thumb over your clit.

Your vision became dark, spotted from squeezing your eyes shut so hard, as if not seeing his actions would save you from the aching tightness in your gut.

Your entire body seemed to tense again as he dragged you over the edge, all but kicking and screaming. Your muted whines only served to paint that smug grin back on his face.

He waited until your orgasm had passed, until your pussy stopped pulsing around his fingers before he withdrew.

You were exhausted, your eyes fluttering shut. You didn’t resist him as he uncovered your mouth, his gloved hand giving way to the one coated with your slick, fingers prodding at your lips in a silent demand. You let your lips part, idly licking and sucking each digit, your face burning red as you tasted your own release on them.

“Look at me.” Copia growled, snapping you away from your trance. Your eyes lazily moved to meet his as you licked the last trace of yourself from his hand.

He leaned back, lips parted as he studied you, his breathing still shallow, his paints smudged from biting his lip.

You felt too exposed, could feel yourself wanting to sink into the ground to escape his cold stare.

Shifting onto your elbows you tried to think of any feeble reason to excuse yourself.

“No you don’t.” he snarled, quickly slipping his jacket from his shoulders, throwing it onto the couch. You caught the sheen of sweat on his forehead glint in the light as he frowned.

He gripped your shoulders, pushing you back down, leaning across you, his lips ghosting over your neck.

“You got two, it is only fair that I get another, no?” He whispered, grinding himself against you. He was rock hard again.

You bit your lip. You had always thought him a one and done kind of guy. But then again, this whole encounter was showing just how much you had underestimated him throughout the years.

You let out a surprised squeak as he kissed you. This was familiar territory, just as needy as your previous intoxicated encounters with him.

You let yourself get carried away in the most tender moment you’d had since walking into his office earlier, your arms wrapping around his neck as he continued to rut against you.

It was over the second he sensed you growing complacent, pulling your arms away and pinning them to the floor. After breaking the kiss you caught him staring at your parted lips.

You were sure he was going to kiss you again, closing your eyes and bracing yourself, gasping as the rough fabric of his jeans dragged a moan from your throat.

He spat, your eyes snapping open at the sound, choking as it hit your already raw throat.

“Bastard!” you spluttered, rage and humiliation flooding your chest as he snickered, his hands moving back to his trousers, freeing himself again.

“You didn’t like it? No?” He jeered, a low moan rumbling in his throat as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds.

“But yet you keep swallowing everything I give you… Needy little puttana…”

You couldn’t hide the way your eyes rolled back at his words, biting your lip as he pushed into you, taking his time to savour the feeling as he sheathed himself within you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fucked each other, evidently something he was pondering too in that moment as his hands grasped at your waist.

“Just as inviting as I remember, sorella…”

He waited, but you didn’t return the compliment - his ego didn’t need it, as much as he had been feeling sorry for himself these days.

Grunting, he gripped your thighs, pushing your knees towards your chest, seemingly giving up on trying to provoke you with words. Finally, he began to move, his pace not gentle like it had once been. The room filled with the noise of his hips slapping against the back of your thighs, and your mewling as he plunged himself deep, over and over into your sensitive cunt.

“Who is doing this for you nowadays?” He grunted, almost conversationally, the question barely discernible over your whimpering.

“No-one…”

“Really?” While he kept his expression schooled, you could tell by the way his thrusting faltered that the answer surprised him. He tutted, cooing sarcastically.

“You poor deprived thing you… who was the last?”

You frowned at his condescension, your throat scratching as you answered, “There was that bishop for a while…”

“Oh yes. It’s been that long, hm?”

You nodded as he thrust into you harder at the mention of him, his grip on the backs of your thighs making you wince.

“What was it he called you again? ‘Daddy’s cumslut?’” He scoffed, spitting at you again. Your confusion and embarrassment served to distract you from the disgust you should have felt from his spit landing against your cheek.

“How do you know-”

“-I heard the pair of you, in one of the supply closets. The party after the Impera livestream.” He grunted, his greying hair falling over his eyes as voice dropped to a low snarl that sent a shiver straight to your core, “You don’t know how often that memory kept me going… those long nights on the tour bus.”

He chuckled, biting on his lip as he felt your walls tighten around his cock at the idea.

“Is that what you need, hm? A daddy?” He mocked, slowing his pace as if to torment you.

“No. Oh fuck.”

“What do you need then?”

You knew what he wanted you to say, and knew you were avoiding giving the satisfaction of saying it aloud. Shaking his head, he stilled, the tip of his cock just at your entrance. As you squirmed, moaning at the loss of him, he pushed down on your thighs, keeping you pinned and deprived.

“Frater… please…”

That did the trick, a smug smile growing on his lips as he thrust into you fully. You covered your mouth, gasping and moaning as his hips snapped with a new found sense of urgency, each movement leaving you trembling.

“Did you let him fill you up? Like a good little slut, hm?”

You weren’t going to dignify him with a response, changing your mind when he leaned over, raising his hand to you.

Flinching, you cried out. “No!”

The slap didn’t land, instead he gripped your face, fingers digging into your cheek.

“Oh, really?” He scoffed. If you didn’t know him so well you might have missed the hesitation barely masked in his tone - deep down he was unsure he wanted to know the answer. Copia had always been insistent that the two of you careful when you had hooked up before. It only served to make you feel just that little bit more wrong about how he was fucking you now, the idea of stopping to find a condom hadn’t even been a consideration in the heat of the moment.

“No…” you trailed off, glancing away as he looked at you quizzically, his harsh pumping slowing again, as if to demand an explanation.

“He just..” you groaned in embarrassment, tilting your head back to avoid Copia’s eyes “he always finished in my mouth…”

You whimpered, feeling how that made his cock twitch deep within you as he hissed.

“Puttana.”

Your face burned red.

“Fuck off. Oh-“ you groaned as he rutted into you harder, his eyes snapping away from yours to watch your pussy engulfing his cock with each snap of his hips, seemingly mesmerised.

He murmured, his low tone becoming harder to maintain as his voice cracked.

“What a waste. If… fuck, sorella…” you could hear him hold back small whimpers as he began to lose his restraint, the sounds barely noticeable as you threw your head back, muffling your cries with each stroke of his cock against your walls.

“If I’d known… back then… I’d have filled this pretty pussy every time…”

“Copia…” you growled, attempting to protest the idea, but your voice lacked conviction, betraying the fact you were desperate now to feel him flood you.

The sweat beading on his forehead had trickled slightly, smudging the paint around his eyes. His pounding was becoming more erratic, cursing as your cunt pulsed around his cock, his breath hitching in his throat.

“My sorella… my pain in the ass… my little fucking brat.” he muttered venomously between thrusts, driving himself deep within you once more as he stilled.

Your hands clutched at the carpet as his cock twitched, coating your walls with his spend.

You stared up at him, bewildered. Your chest ached, watching as he panted for air, his eyes squeezed shut, his hair now in disarray.

With a deep sigh, he opened his eyes, not to meet your gaze but to watch as his cum lazily seeped from your cunt as he pulled out.

As he looked you in the eyes, you found yourself desperate for him to speak, in spite of how you’d wanted him to be quiet for most of this ordeal. You’d never admit it to him now, but you wanted praise, wanted to be told how well you did.

“See, sorella? How well I know you? Know what you need?”

He smirked. He knew what you wanted, and the bastard was not about to give it to you.

As he righted his clothes, you just about managed to shuffle away from him to grab your discarded trousers and shoes, quickly redressing yourself before slumping back to the floor, shattered. You held your tongue remembering why exactly you now had no option but to go commando, fearful that telling him he owed you new underwear might set him off again.

You stared blankly, trying to process it all, and waiting expectantly, hoping that he would change his mind and comfort you as you felt yourself crashing back to reality.

He kneeled, reaching towards the desk to grab the forms that had served as the catalyst for all of this from the corner of his desk, before sitting beside you on the floor, letting out an exhausted groan. You just about forced yourself to look at up him, face burning red.

With a smirk he scrawled his signature at the tabs you had neatly dotted across the document.

“Here you go.” He spoke surprisingly brightly, given the way your meeting panned out, tossing the papers onto your heaving chest.

“…Thank you, Frater.”

“Of course.” He stood, sliding on his jacket and grabbing his car keys from the desk. “Now, be a doll and swing by Mrs Psaltarian’s office, tell her I’ll be out of office for the evening. I trust I will see you tomorrow to further pester me with this administrative bullshit, yes?”

“Yeah…” you whispered, sounding unsure of yourself. A part of you still contemplated resigning.

Those thoughts were cut short when you found the tip of his shoe pressing against your windpipe again, his brow raised expectantly.

“Yes, Frater.”

He grinned. It troubled you to realise this was the calmest you had seen him in months.

“Okie dokie! Be good, sorella.”

You nodded shakily as he stepped over you, his smirk still unsettling you. He was up to something, but so exhausted, and so perplexed at what had just transpired you couldn’t begin to theorise on what it was.

You just about had time to clean yourself up before returning to your duties. Mrs Psaltarian was seemingly oblivious to your rattled state, too busy fussing about her precious Cardi.

Back in your office, ignoring the questioning eyes of other siblings wondering how your talk went, you leaned against the scanner, legs still trembling as you sent the forms to your computer, mind a million miles away. Or rather, your mind still down the hall, abandoned on the floor of his office.

You had attached them to the email for the pyro team, opening the attachment to run your eye over it one last time.

That pompous little fucker.

Each page signed with “Papa Emeritus IV” served to stoke at your irritation. No wonder he had been grinning. He was mocking you.

Barely holding back a growl you sighed, printing a fresh copy of the forms, resigned to trying to persuade him to sign it with his proper title tomorrow.

You would wear that nice purple v-neck blouse he always used to compliment. Maybe that would do the trick.

[astrolocherry]

Pisces - The Woman Who Inherits the Ocean

The ocean belonging to Neptune is a symbol of the Pisces inner life in all of its depths, darkness, vastness, and grand mystique. People with Pisces or 12th House influence in their birth chart are often deeply connected to the archetypal themes of Neptune and the accompanying wealth of this inner world. Activating the archetype of Neptune provides the Pisces with a spiritual dominion that embodies those ancient powers of influence over unseen worlds.

The duality revealed through the creative and destructive forces of Neptune replicate in the dual-sided Pisces. Neptune was notorious for creating formidable storms out of a tranquil sea, just as the Pisces will experience inner waters that constantly change from calm to ill. The Pisces becomes this bringer of storms into their own lives too, most easily facilitated by the addictive, escapist disposition of this archetype that finds temptation difficult to resist.

Relationships often echo the tempestuous dynamics of Neptune's romantic encounters. Neptune may influence the dynamic of intimate affairs through the Pisces tendency to enter relationships with unpredictable, jealous, or impulsive personality types. The pain of Neptune's rejection can result in the Pisces expecting rejection in love affairs.

And Pisces does not rule the ocean, but rather personifies the entirety of it, including all unreachable or undiscovered depths...Pisces is the Universe's best kept secret.

Cherry

[dcbnam-aep]

olivia describing the dynamic between alicent & rhaenyra as ‘simmering, tempestuous, and bonded’ — fellow rhaenicent fans how does it feel to never lose

[ninibeingdelulu]

mello x female reader fanfic please

The only one who understand ✧

Plot: You have to care of his injured hands, since you’re the only one he don’t seems to loathe.

A/N: tyy for requesting,I made it quite long (I love Mello🙈).

The fortified sanctuary's hectic ambiance assaulted your senses the second you slipped back through the concealed entrance.

A cacophony of enraged shouts and visceral clatters erupted from every direction amidst the disorienting smokescreen of frenzied bodies scattering haphazardly underfoot like panicked rodents.

Grunting curses laced the stale air already thick with undertones of sweat, gunpowder and lingering cigarette haze.

Each booming impact and deafening crash colliding throughout the labyrinthine corridors reverberated exponentially more jarring than the last ricocheting against your rattled equilibrium.

It didn't require much investigative prowess to deduce Mello had predictably detonated into another hellish tempest once again thrashing a path of destruction throughout their illicit headquarters.

The volatile blond tempering every waking breath with constant reminders of his sworn vengeance against Near while pursuing that insatiable obsession to crown himself the true successor surpassing L's sacred legacy...

Sure enough, the first henchman stumbling within reach instantly recognized you gripped your sleeve yanking you directly into the ensuing chaos sweeping through their stronghold.

Their coarse raspy shouts strained against the cacophony struggled conveying intel about Mello raging ballistic yet again pummeling anything within reach while berating the whole incompetent crew over their latest "intolerable failure" chasing down potential Kira leads that could help thwart Near.

Until eventually the tantrum crescendoed into the unhinged maniac turning those pistol-whipping fists against his own physicality thrashing against every available surface amidst a frenzy of indiscriminate impacts until that unmistakable crimson liquid began splattering across his immediate radius.

"Just go talk some damn sense into that lunatic before he decimates the whole goddamn place!"

The grunt spat venom-laced demands punctuated by another tooth-rattling clang in the distance.

"You're the only one crazy enough he'll actually listen to instead of putting a fucking bullet between your eyes..."

True enough.

Throughout the countless weeks since becoming embroiled within Mello's ultra-clandestine syndicate operation, you'd cultivated an inexplicable rapport with the unstable wildcard harboring tempestuous complexities rivaling the most virulent hurricane season.

While the rest of his enlisted underlings cowered under the unrelenting brunt of those psychopathic tirades and physical outbursts on an almost daily cycle, somehow Mello left you largely untouched whenever his metal instabilities detonated.

Almost like he intuitively sensed any attempts to direct that scorching tempest your way would be met with an immovable force absorbing the impact rather than recoiling in fear.

Either out of calculating pragmatism assessing the futility after your first few indifferent brushes with those demonic bellows...or potentially recognizing shards of that same jagged internal shrapnel lodged within your own calloused essence resonating against those manic frequencies - you'd never really invested much thought deciphering the unspoken détente arising between you both.

Most days it simply existed lingering in the background behind those evasive glares and minimal exchanges required between two strangers bound by shared circumstance pursuing their own shadowy agendas.

Nothing more, nothing less - just the unspoken rules observed out of mutual indifference rather than genuine kinship.

Of course, that dynamic abruptly transformed whenever Mello erupted yet again unleashing those ungodly furies with even more ballistic intensity than usual.

Where his go-to lieutenants knew better than courting that explosive volatility's blast radius themselves, instead redirecting you towards diffusing those pressurized tensions threatening to rupture the entire syndicate apart through sheer centrifugal forces alone.

Your boots thumped across the reinforced steel grating resonating against every immobilized soul cowering under whatever futile shelter from Mello's path of destruction by the time you reached that familiar threshold outside his personal quarters.

Cautiously extending your knuckles against the cold slab you initiated the requisite succession of coded rapping signalings before easing the barrier open inch-by-inch.

"Mello, it's me..."

You murmured evenly keeping your tone deliberately hushed despite straining against the eardrum-pounding roars shuddering through every supportive crossbeam.

The shadowy silhouette towering past six feet instantly whipped around piercing straight through you from across that lightless chamber.

More sounds erupted reverberating against your ribs like shockwaves detonating directly behind that shrouded outline undulating with each strangled inhalation raging against whatever internal vortex still consumed every iota of Mello's essence.

Until a single gnarled fist suddenly slammed down splintering the heavy oaken desk's reinforced surface signaling that same rapt focal point now gravitating your direction with unmistakable intensity.

Even before any true details crystallized Mello's omnipresent perfume of melding tobacco resin and dark chocolate immediately smothered your sinuses simultaneously triggering a euphoric blisswave correlated with inhaling the mere ambrosial traces surrounding that masculine presence alone.

Physical sensations subconsciously registering beyond just his visually imposing specimen beneath those apocalyptic leathers concealing taut musculature undulating with each sinuous movement.

Despite the abyssal darkness veiling his striking features under those tousled blonde hair, the second those emerald daggers flashed into sharp focus drilling straight into your psyche's core something instinctual stirred to visceral awakening beyond just the typical detached placidness required during these outbursts' aftermaths.

Something primal and ancient roiled against those scorching radiations searing across your exposed meridians shattering every remaining pretense keeping those protective barriers upright.

At least until the full reality slammed home precisely what caused Mello to detonate into his latest raging furor this time unleashed against his own physicality.

"Your hands, Mello...oh fuck, what did you do?"

You muttered weakly in dismay tracking the thick crimson rivulets still oozing a fresh spiderweb of intricate tributaries across the backs of his knuckles speckled with mottled contusions already purpling the surrounding tissue.

The subterranean baritone emitting from his larynx rumbled seismic-grade frequencies rattling directly through your core nearly causing you to crumble under the inexorable gravitas.

"I've done nothing to deserve the time wasted worrying over anything so insignificant."

His lethally contemptuous rasp corroded any remaining self-composure away into atomic vapor particles along with the last vestiges restraining your own deep-rooted instincts.

Pupils blown wide you immediately closed the proximity chasm separating you both without conscious navigation permitting your impulses to seize the controls untethered from rational faculties.

"Insignificant to you maybe...but not to me. I'm not just going to stand back and watch you self-destruct whenever another inner demon you can't contain possesses you into violence."

You snapped with startling vehemence, already retrieving the medkit lashed around your shin before unzipping the storage pouches scouring for the necessary disinfectant swabs and gauzes.

Remaining hyperfocused through the flickering peripherals tracking his imperious silhouette rigid like a statuesque pillar appraising your sudden shift into unfamiliar dominance with an unspoken curiosity even amidst this latest eruption's chaotic maelstrom still encircling you both within its shadowy epicenter.

Despite the constant looming threat of triggering another powder keg detonation you refused to shrink under that oppressive umbra's scrutiny practically seething the contemptuous disregard for anything resembling self-preservation.

Instead doubling down upon stabilizing Mello's talons into your grasp before methodically dabbing their lacerations with the sterilizing solution triggering that sharp intake of breath fracturing the stiff facade momentarily.

"Why the fuck do you even care at all?"

He growled through gritted dentals straining under the sting's potent stinging allowing you to complete the field dressings against his other hand now.

"None of you mewling curs grasps the full stakes or reasons driving this crusade in the first place!"

You instantly halted meeting his pyroclastic glare directly without flinching away from the radioactive fury threatening to incinerate you at any second like damned souls tempting Hellfire's roiling oblivion up close.

A series of rapid blinks sluggishly tamped down the rising embers threatening to reignite your own internal inferno awakening from slumber at last after Mello's latest incendiary provocation...

"You're right - I don't understand whatever personal retribution possesses you into pushing everything toward these explosive breaking. But it’s maybe because I just don’t want to know.”

The shrouded lair's stifling ambience thickened into a dense miasma permeating every exposed surface while you instinctively held Mello's seething glare locked within your own.

Two disparate yet intrinsically carved souls simultaneously drinking deep from the other's darkest wellsprings momentarily exposed amidst this latest eruption.

Tension crackled against every ion reverberating between you both amplifying exponentially with each passing nanosecond.

Until eventually your defiant breaths steadied enough to puncture the loaded silence catalyzing Mello to finally break first.

"You really don't fear pushing any of my buttons at all, do you?"

He sneered in that distinctive raspy baritone simultaneously fascinating and petrifying in its lethality.

"Even knowing full well the kinds of primal savagery I'm capable of unleashing without hesitation."

His defined jaw clenched fractionally tighter enhancing each subsequent word's razor-edged enunciation slicing through the densely charged atmosphere.

"Yet here you remain unflinching while the rest scurry like cockroaches instead of honoring the reasons behind what fuels my relentless pursuit for justice against a world crumbling under its own corruption and depravity."

You imperceptibly gulped forcing down the electrified pulses igniting across your dermis from the scorching intensities radiating off Mello's magnificent towering specimen in such perilously close proximity now.

Still you refused ceding even an iota of faltering resolution keeping your vocals modulated towards an evenness defying the inferno singeing away the last vestiges of self-restraint.

"I don't understand whatever haunts the darkest recesses of your psyche propelling these obsessions to attain vindication at all costs."

You stated softly while unconsciously caressing the fresh dressings swaddling his pulverized hands stained with the evidence.

His piercing emerald orbs ignited brighter than any starburst you'd ever witnessed coring straight through into your essence's deepest marrow while both bodies slanted imperceptibly closer again.

Magnetically drawn into reigniting these raging pulsations coursing between your polarized charged fields once more.

"However I do comprehend the pain lying behind those cathartic outbursts all too intimately after enduring my own similar methods failing to purge those internal demons from my core."

You inhaled sharply maintaining eye contact while Mello's incendiary glower bored deeper dissecting each syllable.

"Recklessly lashing out against whatever targets are convenient for unleashing the full force of those turbulent tempests doesn't eliminate the hurt fueling them. It only propels perpetuating darker cycles consuming everything and everyone still possessed by those untamed torments."

The faintest flicker danced across his irises momentarily fracturing the obsidian mask's density with something unreadable yet distinctly...human?

Resonating against your own vulnerabilities before Mello regained that facade siphoning the potency back under ironclad subjugation immediately.

His nostrils flared fractionally while slowly rearing up until the imposing frame radiated down at you like an indomitable fortress's ramparts eclipsing everything else into insignificance by comparison.

That penetrating smolder remained affixed scorching away layer-by-layer until both essences bled together again forged solely through the primal fire's merciless crucible alone...

"You really don't fear me at all, do you....?"

The raspy whisper materialized directly against your ear's sensitized shell detonating shockwaves rattling every gaslit ganglion again.

Mello's muscular silhouette blotted away any remaining light bleeding through the chamber's partitions until just that singular immense corona remained glowing behind your retinae now.

Lording over everything with an intensity seizing away all self-possession spiraling your descent into purely instinctual compulsions alone surrendering to the unyielding gravitic force drawing you both closer...closer...until...

The scalding friction of his rough fingertips impacted your jaw trembling through the delicate musculature leaving smoldering trails in their wake while your irises rolled back overwhelmed by such potent sensory overload.

They traced upwards towards those angular crimson-kissed contours lingering within the crest before his forehead crashed against yours sending fractal sunbursts detonating outward against the rapidly contracting peripherals.

"You are the only one who doesn't run away petrified whenever I tear off the final mask restraining my most primal nature..."

He snarled under scorched breath dripping directly between your rapidly shallowing gasps.

"Instead you challenge the beast by refusing to submit or break no matter how intensely I provoke you towards unleashing your own inner demons in turn. Perhaps that is the real justice we both ultimately crave most of all..."

You bit your lips, eyebrows furrowing slightly at the sudden proximity of your bodies. Then, something snapped in him, realizing he let his emotions shown. Again.

First anger then, God he didn’t even know why, with you vulnerability.

He simply inhaled sharply, before storming out of his private room. Leaving you alone, your mind racing with questions you knew you will never have the answers.

[adventuresofalgy]

By the next morning the sky was black and forbidding. The wind had got up again during the night and was roaring through the trees, and Algy could see that the weather in the wild west Highlands of Scotland was in a dark and fractious mood.

Hopping up onto the top of a tall tree stump, Algy endeavoured to keep his balance on the slippery surface while the angry south-westerly blasted his back and attempted to blow all his feathers out to sea… although without success, he was glad to say!

In the distance the clouds were descending upon the ridges that surrounded his home, gradually wiping out the view as though they held a giant eraser, and Algy guessed that before long he would be drenched once again. He knew that he ought to seek cover, and yet he felt strangely reluctant to leave his perch, for the dynamics of the tempestuous weather seemed to hold him spellbound. Although there was no longer any snow to be seen, and in fact it was supposedly the middle of the day, although he wouldn't have known it from the increasingly dim light, he was reminded of a poem by Emily Brontë, for he could not go…

The night is darkening round me, The wild winds coldly blow; But a tyrant spell has bound me And I cannot, cannot go. The giant trees are bending Their bare boughs weighed with snow. And the storm is fast descending, And yet I cannot go. Clouds beyond clouds above me, Wastes beyond wastes below; But nothing drear can move me; I will not, cannot go.

[Algy is thinking of the poem Spellbound by the early 19th century writer Emily Brontë.]

[cambion-companion]

Can’t stop thinking of a tav who just showers Raphael in attention and affection. It’s the little things like listening attentively to his plays and dramatizations whenever they ask anything, to looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, cupping his face as if he’s some kind of precious lovely thing instead of you know, A DEVIL

Just tenderness because that’s not something common in the world of devil and demons (I think?)

Ps: love your writing!

Hi! Thank you! I took the opportunity to write more Patron!Raphael, with a little bardic twist!

Raphael x reader (gn)

You were Raphael’s favorite.

This knowledge you wore with great pride and much to the aggravation of his other servants.

You had never expected a patron Fiend to be so dynamic.  His passion for the performing arts rivaling even your own.  You’d struggled being a bard for so long, working your fingers raw upon the instruments that refused to sing for you.  Your creative abilities severely stunted.  Until Raphael entered your life.

The cambion had carefully watched your passion to act and dance, recognizing in you his own desire to draw down the magic of words upon parchment.

You had been so eager to sign his contract, agreeing to serve him and spread his own creations to the material plane in exchange for unhindered, undiluted talent.

Raphael was quite pleased with this arrangement.  Under his mortal disguise he would often attend your little shows, his amber eyes glinting with self-satisfaction as he watched his little bird channel his creations. Through you, Raphael gained another taste of what being a god must feel like.

At the end of another long recitation of one of Raphael’s more laborious poems, you watched the guests file from the room and took a welcome drink of cool water for yourself.

Raphael leaned against the marble pillar, idly swirling a glass of red wine as he studied you.

“You’re not enunciating enough during the last stanza.”  Raphael tutted lightly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “The attention of your guests lapses accordingly.”

You grimaced and rubbed your sore throat. “Sure, it’s my enunciation. Not the fact you drone on about the tempestuous nature of pixies for five minutes.”

Raphael’s smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “For a mortal so favored by Fate, you certainly enjoy tempting it.”

“I’m not favored by Fate, I’m favored by you.”

“Well said.  Well spotted.”  Raphael chuckled and drained his cup before placing it aside and moving close, the fragrance of his musk burning your nostrils. His hand cupped your jaw and tilted your face up. “Not appreciated nearly enough, however. I labor long so that you may be the conduit of my brilliance.”

You couldn’t help but roll your yes, a twinge of unwelcome fondness stirring yet again within you for this curious devil. “I adore everything you create, Raphael.  Well…almost everything.”

“And what, pray tell, is the exception?”

You hesitated and pulled your head out of his grip, his long index finger trailing beneath your chin. “Well, that song about the hagspawn was pretty terrible.”

Raphael inclined his head. “Granted, it was not my best creation. Yet you did it justice, once you heeded my tender correction and stopped laughing.”

You rubbed your lower back at the unpleasant memory. “Yes…I remember your ‘correction’ quite well.”

“As always, it is my intent to make an impression.”  Raphael extended a hand which you took, preparing to be whisked back to his House of Hope. “Even amongst the most stiff-necked of my servants.”

A blast of hot air met your face as Raphael pulled your body through the familiar hellfire portal.  You didn’t mark the change, but Raphael had shed his human guise and now stood before you in full cambion form.  He stretched his arms and wings wide, clearing his throat before launching into a dramatic recitation of his newest poetic piece.

You sat in an armchair as far away from the roaring fire as possible, listening to Raphael’s deep voice paint the images of an epic tale. It was clearly another of his self-insertion stories with a protagonist modeled after how Raphael perceived himself. Which was a sight different than the reality.

Despite the blatant conceit, you couldn’t help but be drawn into the world he had created. You clapped enthusiastically at the end of his impassioned oratory.

As always, you were his biggest fan. Aside from himself of course.

Haarlep passed through the large room on the way back to the Boudoir he was often confined to.  The incubus wore a sleepy expression and the usual replication of Raphael’s image, carrying a mug of steaming liquid in hand.

“Raphael has just come up with the most exquisite tale, Haarlep!”  You said with excitement, not noticing Raphael’s glare on you soften slightly at your words.

“Believe me, cherub.  I’ve heard it all.”  Haarlep waved a dismissive hand in your direction and continued on his way.

“He doesn’t like me much.”  You said, a little put out as you always were at Haarlep’s disinterest.

“Pay him no mind.”  Raphael handed you yet another long sheaf of parchment whereon he’d scrawled more lyrics for you to memorize. “There is only one whose attentions you should crave.”

You glanced over his work and smiled, trying in vain to hide your delight at the new project. “Of course, but it does get a little confusing since you insist on him wearing your form.”

Raphael’s tail smacked your backside causing you to hiss at the sting. “Careful, little nightingale. Even my fondness for you has its limits.”

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm slowly becoming obsessed with the childhood friends au and it's mostly bc of something you said in the tags of an ask lol. you mentioned that they weren't soulmates they were something better. that they were two balls of yarn they batted around until they were intertwined, that they chose and continue to choose to be as close as two souls can be.

it's so poetic, the idea that fate has nothing to do with it. they looked at each other and said this is it, that's the one. It makes me think of so many different quotes but here's just a few. Hozier "lay me gently in the cold dark earth, no grave can hold my body I'll crawl home to her (him)" or like patroclus saying that if Achilles were to die that "all things soft and beautiful would be buried with him" and poor Danny grieving so long and so hard because "what is grief if not love perserving?" when you're in love with someone, that person is the lighthouse of your universe and to lose them is to be thrown to a tempestuous sea.

and thinking of their reunion makes me feel a little crazy too cause I see what you've been plotting and it just makes me think of how their relationship is going to be at first. like here's a person that you love so deeply and it's been so long since you've seen them and you've both changed since. will they click back together seemingly effortlessly? attached at the hip for a bit because they're both/or one is scared of being separated again? or will there be some friction for a while while they try to realign their pieces to fit together, to figure out what's different and what's practically the same? "you are a language I am no longer fluent in but still remember how to read"

sorry for rambling, I love them your honor.

🫵 DONT YOU DARE APOLOGIZE FOR RAMBLING I LOVE GETTING RAMBLING ASKS. AND SAME.

There was this one sound on tiktok that I heard that reminded me of them, and I just went and found it, and it goes: "I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely in different bodies, different times, and i would love you in all of this. Until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion." and the first time i heard it i literally thought "this is CFAU Danny and Jason"

AND YEAH THEY JUST. I love devoted characters, i love when characters are so deeply devoted and loyal to each other its like you can't imagine them being anywhere else but at each other's side. That wasn't wholly my intent when I first came up with CFAU last fall, but god I am not complaining about how it turned out. My favorite part of the chapter 1 rewrite is making sure Danny's devotion to Jason was reciprocal.

god those quotes. they're so accurate too. yeah. i thought about this au once in the context of a soulmate au, and just couldn't get behind it. It made their whole dynamic felt cheapened, like of course they're soulmates; it was destined. When no, it wasn't. They made it that way.

(If the two of them were somehow transported to a universe with soulmate marks, they would not have matching symbols. That's okay, Danny and Jason don't need them to be. They'd pick up a tattoo gun or a pen and make their own. They wouldn't call it a soulmate mark, just a them mark.)

("Why should I share my soul with some schmuck I don't know? I want to share my soul with you.")

yeah. their reunion is. ! about as exactly as intense as it needs to be :]. They've both changed so much, and they're both scared of being separated again. Jason purposely stayed away from Amity because he knew he couldn't keep away if he didn't. Being back together again is like having a piece of them returned.

SPEAKING OF QUOTES. Here's one:

I don't believe in the death that you're bringing The reason I'm living is you Wherever you go That's where I'll be Even if death tags along, I don't mind It's still you and me I'll never leave you alone

"Death's At My Door" - The Outsiders Musical

[sorcave]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE, let's talk about Nerites and Poseidon. The myth of Poseidon and Nerites is one of the more obscure stories from Greek mythology, but it stands out as a deeply emotional and intriguing tale that highlights a different side of Poseidon—one that is rarely explored. Poseidon is usually depicted as the tempestuous god of the sea, known for his anger, destructive power, and relentless pursuit of lovers. But in the case of Nerites, we see a much gentler, almost tender version of the god, one who is capable of love that isn’t about conquest or dominance. This myth, though not as widely known, offers a refreshing perspective on Poseidon and the complexities of divine relationships.

Nerites was a sea god known for his unparalleled beauty. Living in the depths of the ocean, he attracted Poseidon’s attention. What makes this story different from many of Poseidon’s other romantic pursuits is the element of choice and mutual respect. Poseidon was so enchanted by Nerites that he offered him the chance to join him as his charioteer on Mount Olympus, effectively offering him immortality and a higher status among the gods. This is significant because, unlike other myths where Poseidon is forceful or demanding, here he offers something to Nerites. There’s an implicit respect for Nerites’ autonomy that stands out in the broader landscape of Greek mythology.

Nerites, however, declines Poseidon’s offer. Whether it was because he didn’t want to leave the ocean or because of a deeper emotional connection to his life in the sea, we don’t know. But the fact that Nerites chose to stay is important—it shows that love doesn’t always mean ascent to power or higher status. Nerites was content in his life as it was, and Poseidon, despite being a god who could have easily forced his will, allows him to make this choice. This sets their relationship apart from many other god-mortal dynamics, where the god typically exerts control. The fact that Poseidon doesn’t punish Nerites for his refusal is remarkable—there’s no act of vengeance or anger, which would be typical of Greek gods who are often portrayed as vengeful when spurned. Instead, Poseidon accepts Nerites’ decision, which speaks to a deeper emotional maturity and connection in their relationship.

The tragic end of the story adds a layer of poignancy that makes it all the more memorable. In one version of the myth Helios, the sun god, becomes jealous of Nerites’ beauty and transforms him into a sea snail. This act of jealousy by another god emphasizes how desirable and important Nerites was, not just to Poseidon but in the divine world as a whole. Even after this transformation, Poseidon remains connected to Nerites, and it’s implied that Nerites continues to live in the sea, in some form, forever tied to the ocean and, by extension, to Poseidon.

What’s so compelling about this story is how it subverts many of the expectations we have about Poseidon. In most myths, Poseidon’s relationships are marked by violence, aggression, or manipulation. But with Nerites, we see a god who is in love, not with the idea of domination, but with someone’s beauty and spirit. He doesn’t force Nerites into a role he doesn’t want—he offers and respects the choice made. The tenderness of this story, coupled with the tragedy of Nerites’ eventual transformation, makes it stand out in Greek mythology as a rare example of Poseidon’s vulnerability and affection.

Additionally, the myth of Poseidon and Nerites introduces a same-sex relationship within the Greek pantheon that doesn’t get nearly the recognition it deserves. Many of Poseidon’s other relationships overshadow this one, but the connection between him and Nerites adds depth to Poseidon’s character and challenges the more traditional portrayals of masculinity and power among the gods. In a mythological landscape that often focuses on heterosexual pairings or uses same-sex relationships as a way to emphasize power dynamics, Poseidon and Nerites’ story feels more balanced, driven by affection rather than control.

The tragic end only adds to its poignancy—Nerites remains part of the sea, in some ways always with Poseidon, but in a transformed, more distant way. This transformation is symbolic of how love and beauty can be fleeting, and even the gods are not immune to loss. Poseidon’s relationship with Nerites may not have the grand tragedy of The Iliad or the intensity of Medea, but it’s a quieter, more introspective tale of love, choice, and the inevitability of change. It deserves to be remembered and appreciated as a unique and tender narrative within the vast canon of Greek myths.

In short, Poseidon and Nerites' relationship offers a glimpse into a side of Poseidon that is rarely explored—one that is more complex, emotional, and tender. It’s a story of love not rooted in power but in mutual respect and affection, which makes it all the more special.

[itstobias149]

A Lady And Her Pirate

My favorite couple for Valentine’s Day ✨💕

Ft @hol-ymoly and their Oc!

Look at them, the yearning✨💕🥹

I love this man so very very much✨💕

How it began✨

Oh, Quarrie and Marie as a couple? That’s a whole storm at sea—tempestuous, unpredictable, and impossible to look away from. There’s no way their relationship is smooth sailing (pun intended); it’s probably full of sharp words, stubbornness, and that electric tension where neither wants to admit just how much they actually care.

Marie is tough, no-nonsense, and constantly caught in chaos, while Quarrie carries himself with that commanding, pirate-like presence. They probably push each other’s buttons constantly, yet there’s this undeniable pull between them. I can imagine Quarrie being the type to tease Marie relentlessly, knowing exactly what gets under her skin, but deep down, he’d throw hands with anyone who disrespects her. And Marie? She’d roll her eyes at his antics but would absolutely patch him up after a brawl, muttering under her breath the entire time about how reckless he is.

They probably fight like an old married couple even before realizing their feelings. The love-hate dynamic is chef’s kiss—one moment, they’re arguing like enemies, and the next, they’re caught in a moment that’s way too intimate for comfort. Maybe Quarrie gets just a little too close when making some snide remark, or Marie absentmindedly fixes his coat before realizing what she’s doing. And let’s not forget the raw, unspoken loyalty they have for each other, even when they refuse to acknowledge it.

Honestly? They’re the type of couple that makes people wonder, Are they about to kiss or kill each other?—and the answer is always yes.

Wedding Sillies✨

[banefort]

Already seen a lot of people use the Cain and Abel archetype to describe Aegon and Aemond’s fratricidal relationship, when more importantly I’d argue that they represent an inversion of the trope.

Traditionally, the tale represents settled lifestyles (Cain the farmer) overcoming nomadic Neolithic customs (Abel the shepherd) through the allegory of fraternal murder- aka, the Cainist cultural revolution defeating Abel’s tradition. Given Aemond is the one who, possessed by jealousy over his brother and a desire for control, turns to fratricide, one would expect him to be characterized as the homicidal Cain-figure, and Aegon as the unsuspecting Abel-figure. However, due to Aemond’s continual fulfillment of tradition and the status quo, and reliance upon Valyrian tradition as the basis for his claim, ideologically-speaking he’s a closer match to Abel. Not to mention, given he also flaunts the qualities which his father continually attempted to emulate (dragon-rider, scholar, fluent Valyrian speaker, pious, etc) - he closer matches the image of the father’s ‘prized son’, we can argue that the Viserys-Aemond bond closer matches the God-Abel dynamic.

Conversely, Aegon is constantly affirmed to be a break from ruling tradition - from a psychological standpoint he departs from the archetypal image of the ruler by being shown to be melancholic and tempestuous, not to mention alienated from his paternal culture and language; whilst from an ideological standpoint, he openly argues against the practice of Valyrian sibling incest and advocates for an embrace of monarchial socialism, departing from the wishes of his advisors, and the traditional customs of the kingdom. Thus, Aegon embodies a cultural revolution, and aligns better with Cain.

The Cain-Abel reading of Aegon and Aemond’s actions doesn’t work out because their fratricidal actions align Aemond with Cain as an antagonist, and Aegon with Abel as a victim - but their ideologies match Aemond with Abel as traditionalists, and Aegon with Cain as revolutionaries. One can make the argument that the analogy still works, due to it being a deliberate inversion of the tale, with tradition striking down any act of upheaval, as opposed to revolution destroying tradition, but I feel that there isn’t enough evidence to support that decision. Naturally, creatives always reflect on Cain and Abel to some extent due to its prevalence as a touchstone of fratricide in the arts, but due to caveats like the action-ideology dissonance and the lack of a father figure endorsing Aemond (or either of them for that matter), amongst others, I think it’s a tenuous stance on its own.

[wearethekat]

December Book Reviews: The Dragonfly Gambit by AD Sui

I picked this novella up from the library after it was mentioned as one of the best books of the year in an article on the site previously known as tordotcom. In The Dragonfly Gambit, an ex-military space pilot who was invalided out at the peak of her career is press-ganged by a hotshot new general--but while she pretends to obey her instructions to boost pilot efficiency, Inez is secretly plotting to bring the empire down.

Another excellent entry into the Lesbian Space Atrocities Genre. Due to either space constraints or the whim of the author, this novella is rather light on worldbuilding--there's a space empire, and they have a three general ruling system, they're evil and they blew up Inez' planet, which had a unique songs and cultures that are now lost forever. But we don't get much more detail than that. Instead, the narrative is laser-focused on the tempestuous interpersonal dynamic between Inez, her hotshot pilot ex (now sleeping with the general), and the ambitious general herself, to whom Inez is inevitably attracted. This is also a twisty thriller type narrative where we know Inez is plotting to betray everyone, but she keeps her cards close to her chest until the very end.

Not the best executed example of the genre, but solidly done, and worth a read if you like Lesbian Space Atrocities.

[arthistoryfeed]

Situated in the House of the Faun, one of Pompeii's grandest residences, the Alexander Mosaic captures a pivotal moment of combat between two of antiquity's most famed figures: Alexander the Great and King Darius III of Persia. Unveiled to the world during excavations in the 19th century, this intricate masterpiece is believed to date back to around 100 BC.

Unlike many of its contemporaries which chronicled gods, myths, or benign depictions of daily life, the Alexander Mosaic chooses to bring forth the tempestuousness of battle, with its swirling chaos, the intensity of warriors, and the urgency of a combat's climax. The mosaic is not a mere static depiction; it throbs with dynamism and emotion, capturing the very essence of the turning point in the battle.

The artistry involved in this mosaic is nothing short of phenomenal. Each tessera, or the small tile used in the mosaic, is meticulously placed, creating a depth and realism that is astounding for its age. The contoured faces of Alexander and Darius are especially striking, with each expressing a world of emotion — Alexander's determination and Darius's dismay at the unfolding defeat.

[chaos-chloe]

Rainy Music

Summary: Grizzy and you make music together on a rainy day

TW: established relationship

One rainy afternoon, with thunder echoing like a distant drumroll, ___ and Grizzy decided to collaborate on a new track that had been swirling in their minds for weeks. As the rain tapped against the windows, they turned on their equipment, feeling the energy of the storm fueling their creativity. 

“Let’s make something that captures the wild energy of the tempest outside,” ___ suggested, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Grizzy nodded, already envisioning a catchy beat. With a few clicks, he pulled up a digital audio workstation, filled with sound pads and instruments that looked like a kaleidoscope of musical possibilities. 

For hours, they worked in harmony, bouncing ideas off each other. Grizzy laid down a steady bassline, a heartbeat that thumped like the storm outside, while ___ scribbled lyrics reflecting both the chaos of nature and the comfort of being together. As the rain poured down, their laughter echoed beneath the rhythmic crashes of thunder, creating an atmosphere that was electric.

Suddenly, inspired by a particularly loud clap of thunder, ___ exclaimed, “What if we sample that sound! It could be the hook!” Grizzy, always one for trying new things, brightened up at the idea. They rushed outside with a portable recorder, capturing the essence of the moment—raw, untamed, and real. 

Back in their office, the tempestuous sound of nature blended seamlessly with Grizzy’s beats, creating a dynamic soundscape. They layered their voices, harmonizing beautifully, while the rain continued to provide a soothing backdrop. With every note, they poured their hearts into the music, creating a story through sound that resonated with their shared experiences.

As night approached, the storm began to calm down, its fury replaced by a gentle drizzle. They listened to the track they had created—a symphony of nature, love, and creativity. It told the story of two souls finding comfort in each other amidst a raging storm.

“I think we’ve just made something really special,” Grizzy said, wrapping an arm around ___, pride shining in his eyes. She smiled back, knowing that this experience was not just about the music, but the bond they nurtured while creating it.

And so, that rainy day became legendary among the two—always a reminder that magic could happen anywhere, even in a stormy afternoon when creativity flowed stronger than the rain. From that day on, they cherished every rainy day as an opportunity to create something extraordinary together, always finding new ways to blend their talents into music that would inspire others, as it had inspired them.

[redbreastedbird]

regarding Lavinia and George,,, I think it was apparent that a lot of the fandom disliked the ship when it was initially introduced in DSS, (I personally was not one of those people, I loved the ship, even if they're broken up I still think they have a compelling dynamic) why do you think so many people didn't ship it?

++ will Lavinia appear in the MUA series and will she interact with the main trio??

your books have literally been my special interest for years now!!

This is SO interesting, I did not know this (I don’t tend to go looking at fandom stuff unless people bring it to me - I think it’s nice for you all to be creating without looking over your shoulders wondering if I approve).

I think George and Lavinia are a really left-field ship for sure - but I remember realising that they’d never met and then imagining them interacting and I just knew they’d both be delighted by each other. They’re both so angry - George is furious about the world order, and Lavinia’s just FURIOUS, and I thought they would just vibe immediately. Plus, they’re both ADHD - George is AuDHD and Lavinia is ADHD - and I think there’s a neurodivergent click that happens particularly when two (complimentary) ADHD people are in the same room.

So that’s my reason for the ship! As to why people maybe didn’t like it - I think it might be because of what shipping is, compared to what human relationships are. Shipping in fandom usually is a for-life situation - you ship a couple because you think they should end up together. And I don’t think that’s George and Lavinia! I imagine their relationship as brief and tempestuous and enjoyable, but not at all for life. They both really like and love each other but they don’t particularly want to be romantically together by the time Ministry rolls around.

(I won’t spoil it in case you haven’t read BITB, but they both appear in that book, and I hope I show that they’re both happy with their lives and still in touch!)