#engraved fragment

[inkpot-winters]

Evan shakes his head in amusement, cigarette dangling from his lip as he runs a surprisingly gentle hand through Regulus’ curls. “Your mind was a million years away just now, even whilst you were beneath me.”

“Don’t be crude.”

“That was hardly crude! Have you heard the drivel that comes out of Barty’s mouth?”

“Now, now, children,” Barty emerges from the en suite, shirt still unbuttoned. “It’s quite rude to talk ill about people behind their backs.”

fic: engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn)

[cattoru]

knew this shit was sad but nobody told me it was going to be this fucking sad

[cygnusxxii]

:)

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

The Soldier Of Death (4)- Fighting The Enemy

Natasha Romanoff X Super Soldier Reader 18+

Summary: Soldat Smerti. The Soldier of Death. You were the perfect weapon: loyal, obedient, and merciless, or so Hydra thought. What happens when these traits are put to the test? Your captivity in the Avenger's tower and the presence of a redhead makes you realise you didn't have to be a monster. The question was though; Did Hydra make you the monster or were you always one?

This fic will contains dark themes. Please read these warnings before starting any of these chapters: graphic descriptions of murder, violence, gore and torture, heavy angst, mental issues.

Please consider these warnings before reading

Word Count: 2.3k

General Masterlist | The Soldier Of Death Masterlist

Chapter Warning: Graphic Depiction of Violence and murder, dark thoughts

—

Crimson stained your hands, the warm liquid slowly dripping down your forearms as you leaned over the body, fragments of skull blending with flesh and brain being held in your trembling hands.

Eyes pleaded you for their life as you stood over their body, words spilling desperately out of their lips as they stared up at you, begging for you to take mercy. Their pleas were cut short, blood splattering on the floor behind them, the life gradually draining out of their eyes.

A gut wrenching cry was torn out of their throat when your hand forced its way past skin and bones, fingers roughly gripping onto their intestines, squeezing with vigour for another primal sound to be ripped out of them before pulling hard, their body falling limp to the ground. A small squelch follows when you drop the organ next to their corpse, not even giving the scene a second glance.

Your hand hits the side of your head as you twitch it to the side, shaking the thoughts out of your mind, trying to focus on your mission.

Your mind was slowly fracturing into pieces, various memories flooding your thoughts as you walked through the eerie hallway, boots echoing in the abandoned space. You weren't sure what had happened, the only thing that you knew for certain was that you were to obey. You didn't have a choice. It was engraved in you. Listen to them. Kill for them. That was all you had to do.

No we don't.

We are better than them.

We aren't a toy for them to play with.

Your jaw clenched at the irritating voice sounding around in your head again, merging with the violent flashbacks, further adding to your unpleasant mood. You were a weapon. Weapons didn't need to think. They just kill. Yet, the incessant part of you was adamant we were stronger, more powerful than them, we could do anything if you just gave over control.

Yes, see, you're getting it now. Give me control.

"So what? You can murder everyone," you mutter out loud, the mask muffling your words as you argue with your alter ego, knowing that, despite the things you have done based on the flashbacks, the things they have done... They were darker, more sinister, they enjoyed it. You didn't. You never would. You did what you had to do to survive.

It's what they deserve.

You want to scream at the voice, begging it to shut up. Yes they deserve to die for what they had done to you but you weren't going to be the ones to kill them.

Every time you come back, you somehow try to be more virtuous.

It groans, a scoff leaving you. You were trying to make up for the things you had done, be a little more merciful, there was nothing wrong with that.

You can't. We can't be good anymore. There's no point in trying to redeem us. We're already a monster, there's no changing that.

At its words, you remain silent, doing your best to ignore them as you wander through the hallways, your eyes focussing on small indents on the wall.

A violent scream was torn out of you, your hands doing everything in their power to stop the guards dragging you back to your cell, your veins burning with agony as the serum entered your bloodstream. Your fingers dug into the concrete, leaving indents as you pried away at the stone, desperately trying to stop them from taking you back.

You shook your head once more, the painful memory soon fading away, leaving you confused. You suddenly seemed to recognise the building you were in, your fingers slotting against the marks, the handprints slightly smaller, your mind too broken to place the significance of the memory.

Pushing down the screams echoing in your mind and shaking off the further memories that invaded your thoughts, you worked your way around the building, searching for the room you were instructed to find. All you knew was that there was a flash drive in there that Hydra needed to keep out of the Avengers' hands, the team apparently gaining intel on this base.

You weren't expecting them to locate it yet nor for them to be in the base, but your general warned you to stay on guard, the order more difficult than expected due to the instability of your mind.

You were nearly at the room but a gnawing feeling made you pause in your tracks, head tilting curiously at the room you were stopped outside of, your hand moving without thought to open the door, revealing the dark and empty concrete cell. You swallowed nervously at the sight of dry blood staining the walls, the floor and even parts of the ceiling, another flashback painfully invading your minds, causing you to lose focus.

***

"I don't have a good feeling about this Steve," Natasha mutters while the two of them enter the base, Wanda entering through a different exit, the team confident in her magic ability and training to handle herself.

"Neither," he sighs out in agreement, their bodies almost silently walking through the abandoned building, Natasha taking the corridors to the left while Steve went right, splitting off to cover more ground.

Nerves etched away at Natasha, the spy confused at the sudden emotion she was feeling. She never got nervous, so why was she on edge? Her gun was firmly gripped in her hand, creeping through the hallways with it raised, ready to fire if needed.

Emerald green searched through various corridors, her eyes glossing over with crestfallen look at the marks all over the wall, indicating a clear struggle all the way down the hall until it reached the isolated steel door at the end. Natasha was already walking towards the room when a quiet, pained noise caught her attention, her finger ready on the trigger as she rounded the corner, pausing at the sight before her.

Your ominous figure stood facing an empty room, hands twitching by your side, unaware of the spy near you, or the Captain who rounded the corner on the other side of the hallway, pausing when Natasha signalled for him to do so.

"Don't make me kill them," you almost whimper out, lost in a spiral of memories, your mind replaying the broken memory. "They're just children."

"I won't repeat it again Soldat," his voice low and commanding at your ear, malice lacing his next words, "Don't leave the room until every single one of them is dead."

Steve raises his shield ready to throw at your words, confusion written across his and the redhead's face.

I told you. We're a monster.

Snapping at the voice inside your head, your fist collides with the wall, trying to express your anger, confusion and hurt, when the sound of metal gliding through the air reaches your ear, body turning to the side, hand catching the vibranium disk.

Steve's face pales a little at how unaffected you were by his throw, most people being knocked back a little, his expression swiftly switching to shock when it's thrown back forcefully at him. He has to take a couple steps back when he catches it to stay balanced, your body making it's way over to him, eyes slowly becoming lifeless as you flicker between having and losing control.

He uses his shield to protect him when your fist collides with the metal, a loud noise reverberating around the room, a gunshot being added to the mix when a bullet slices through your leg, jaw clenching at the pain. You grit your teeth, swinging your other arm to hit the side of the blonde man, a groan escaping him at your strength while he goes to parry your other punch, you injured leg swiping at his knee, knocking him back to the ground.

While the man climbs to his feet, a pair of thighs wrap around your head, trying to force your body to the ground, unable to beat your strength. Wrapping your arms around the back of her body, her elbow being brought down on whatever part of you she could reach, you push her body into the nearest wall, her back painfully banging against it.

The sound of boots approaching quickly causes you to pull away from the wall, slamming the body down against the floor, a small cry escaping her before you lower your body, merely evading the punch from the man and tackling his body to the ground, shield clattering next to him.

Your legs straddle his stomach, grip tight to prevent his movements while your hands goes to his throat, merciless with your grip as his face starts to turn red. Your thumbs dig in harshly against his airways, his hands prying at your own, fingers digging in painfully with the amount of strength he was using making your grip falter, hands reaching to the red and blue metal disk.

Fear glosses over in his eyes as you raise the shield into the air, attempting to bring it down on his throat when his hands clutch at the bottom of it, desperately trying to stop you. Your eyes are dark, no ounce of humanity left in them as you press down harder, the edge of the shield pressing lightly against his throat as he fights for his life,

To catch him off guard, you lift the shield, his fingers slipping off it and enabling you to abruptly bring it back down.

His hands only just block his neck in time, a muffle groan leaving you at the pain radiating throughout your body, electricity coursing through your body from the small device attached onto your neck. The device causes a sense of Deja vu to flicker across your mind, ignoring it as you stagger to your feet, turning to the redhead who raises her gun at you.

Blood oozes out of your leg from where she last shot you, Steve regaining his breath as he slowly pushes his body off the ground, your gaze locked on the woman in front of you, familiarity causing your head to tilt while you stare at her, waiting for her next move.

You can see her hesitation, her finger hovering over the trigger as the barrel is aimed at your face. You take a step forward, daring her to take the shot when she swiftly lowers it, another bullet lodging itself into your body, pain radiating from your side.

You fall to your knees at the pain, her gaze flickering to the man behind you, his hands grabbing the shield once again. You close your eyes, focusing on the sound of his movements to imagine his stance, visualising his body behind you and waiting for the gap to present itself. When he goes to swing the metal at you, you press your hand down into the ground, using it to spring your body off the concrete as you spin around, kicking your leg out to strike into his side.

A loud snap can be heard as the force of your kick splinters his ribs, his body falling to the concrete while he takes in sharp breaths, anguish evident on his face as he holds his side.

You're certain that if he was human the impact would have killed him, instead it merely immobilises him, your attention returning the woman you think you know.

When she keeps her gaze on you, the firearm still aimed at you, you can feel annoyance and anger enter your mind as she hovers her finger over the trigger, not wanting any more bullets to be lodged inside you. Your fingers deftly wrap around the handle of the blade in your pocket, swiftly pulling it and spinning it between your fingers as you wait for her to make the first move.

Confusion sneaks onto your face when she merely smirks at you, her gaze flickering behind you for a brief second. Without even thinking, you turn and launch the knife at the other figure, the metal blade being encased in red tendrils of magic before it clatters to the ground, the brunette's eyes glowing red.

There's a glint of recognition in her eyes when she sees you, her magic abruptly travelling towards you and wrapping around you, the tendrils seeping into the side of your head and into your mind.

You're powerless against her magic, an animalistic noise being torn out of you as more gruesome flashbacks swarm your mind, hands desperately clutching at your head to make it stop.

Natasha watches with a pained look, your cries of anguish stirring something inside her while Wanda lets out a small cry at the things she was seeing in your mind.

You fall to your knees roughly, fingers digging into the side of your head as you try to make it stop, you need to make it stop.

Ending the pain for the both of you, Wanda navigates her way through your fractured mind and eventually manages to get your body to fall unconscious, your body limp of the ground as the witch wipes the tears off of her cheeks, staring at the redhead opposite her who has curiosity written across her face.

"I don't know how long I can hold her," she says to the assassin, her magic still flowing around your head as she tries to keep you still.

"Can you hold her until we get back to the tower?" Natasha asks, making her way over to Steve who is still in agony on the ground. She slowly helps him to his feet, careful not to hurt him anymore while turning her gaze back to the witch.

"I think so," she says a little nervously, focusing on her magic.

"Good, let's get her on the jet, Fury's going to want to know what's happened." Everyone agrees with Natasha's plan, the magic encasing your entire body as you're lifted into the air, the redhead aiding the injured super soldier towards the jet.

What could possibly go wrong?

[daydreaming-in-letters]

That You Are

09/16/2024

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Word Count: 1,057

Warnings: rpf, yearning

Summary: He is far away even though he longs to be anywhere that you are.

A/N: Seriously, I have no idea if this is any good or even worth sharing with you, but here we go anyway. Heavily inspired by song and video, as you can probably tell…

Picture: screenshot from this video by Queen Ruth

If you enjoy my story, liking is great, but leaving a comment or reblogging is the stuff that keeps me going. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

It’s getting late. Late enough for the day to come to an end. For the sun to  vanish in the distance, where the barren land melts into the horizon. Pastel hues of pink, orange and blue have replaced the bright azure in the sky. And for the first time I can breathe again. The mild air fills my lungs, my whole body winding down with a sigh of relief. Because with the sun, the heat has left the air. The suffocating, scorching heat that has tortured me all day. That has stretched the hours and minutes and seconds until it almost made me believe this day would never end. 

But it did. And you of all people know what this means to me. What it means to us. One day less of being apart. One day less of longing to be close to you. Of sitting here on my own, in front of me a view so stunning it makes my heart ache. And it aches even more for not being able to share this moment with you. I’ve taken a picture to send to you later. But as so often, the colours are a bit off, the angle not quite right. Or maybe it is simply the fact that there is something about this world that no lens will ever be able to capture. 

Are you still fast asleep, my darling? I hope you are. The day is still young for you, the sun not yet ready to brighten your side of the world. I’ll send it to you, and with it all my love. As I always do, so that every ray of sunlight may remind you of it, may warm you like the hugs you so dearly miss. I promise you’ll get them all. I’ll even throw in a few more to make up for the long wait.

How I wish I could hold you in my arms right now. Instead I am dreaming of you, eyes wide open, seemingly transfixed by the spectacle in front of me when all I really see is you. It’s almost as if you were here with me. 

Somewhere behind me I can hear the soft tapping of your bare feet on the floor. It has to be you. I recognise the rhythm of your stride blindly. It’s engraved into my memory like all the other little things about you. Your unique scent, the melody of your voice, the feeling of your skin against mine, the even beat of your heart, the cadence of your breath. For a second I can feel it crawl along my neck before the touch of your lips drowns out every other sensation. They are warm and smooth as they delicately press against my pulse. And they are gone as soon as they have appeared. But the smile they brought to mine lingers. 

I watch as your entire form comes into view. You look comfortable in those wide clothes. You don’t have to say it, I know you are just as relieved that the sun is gone as I am. No more sweating, no more sticky skin, the thin sheen of moisture covering your body and the gentle breeze in your wet hair heavenly refreshing. 

Your smile carries it all. And I am glad my hands know on their own what to do, how to hold the instrument, how to pick the chords. Because everything I see in this moment is the curve of your lips, and everything I am becomes you for this fleeting fragment of time.

I love you. All of me loves you. I want to tell you, but the words never form, sealed inside my chest as your hand finds me. Wordlessly it asks me to make room for you, and I do. And as soon as my legs fall open, you sink down between them. One arm claiming my thigh, your head soon follows. It might not be the most comfortable of pillows to rest on, but you don’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s the view that makes up for it, the tiny rest of the sun that is still visible, like the last gleaming ember of a bonfire. 

Gently your lips press against the light blue denim that covers my thigh, and as much as I wish they would press against my lips instead, your sweet gesture of affection makes my heart want to leap out of its cage and into your loving hands. It would be safe with you. That is a truth indelible. Probably the only one. 

It’s only now that I realise I have started to whistle. Of course it is this song. What other song would it be? 

“Will you sing for me?” you ask, your voice barely louder than a whisper. Are you afraid I will deny you your wish? Or are you still worried about my voice even though I am feeling much better these days? Don’t be. I’m good. And you are with me. What else could I ask for?

Softly I begin the first verse as your fingers are drawing patterns on my knee in perfect harmony. You pull yourself closer to me, the movement setting a few strands of your hair in motion. They roll across the lower layers like waves to the shore, the last bit of sunlight bringing out the warmest tones in them. My fingers are itching to touch you, but that would mean to stop playing. You would turn immediately and the displeasure on your face would be much worse than to deny myself the silky touch of your hair as it runs through my fingers. 

There will be time enough for that later. When I will hold you in my arms, the world around us falling silent until it will be hard to imagine that it consists of more than just you and me. It doesn’t matter anyway that we are just two insignificant parts of a huge integral whole when there is a whole world inside of us that is entirely ours. Yours and mine.

A world in which you are actually here with me on this balcony. In which I am dreaming next to you, pulling you closer against my chest, not even sleep numbing my longing for you. A world in which I will always be anywhere that you are. 

*** taglist:

@rosecentury

@lowkeysimpinloki

@fightmespideyboy

[kingkatsuki]

— addiction

Yep, so he got me. I’m already obsessed, cannot be saved.

You always claim Enjin’s addicted to nicotine, when he refutes he could go cold turkey at any time. But truth be told, you were the real drug he was addicted to, and there was no way he’d ever want to quit.

Warnings: 18+, friends with benefits, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie, not proofread.

Pairing: Engine/Enjin x f!reader.

Word Count: 2k.

“Smoking is bad for you, you know.” You smirk at the irritated expression that appears on Enjin’s face as he cups his palm around his lighter, flicking his thumb over the spark.

It takes a few times for the battered zippo to start, the engraving on the worn silver not even to him. Another prize picked out of the junk thrown into the Abyss.

He ignores your teasing as the stick illuminates, pocketing his lighter as he inhales deeply. Catching it between his thumb and forefinger as he blows a thick plume of smoke into the evening air, watching the silvery wisps disappear into the atmosphere.

“You don’t say,” Enjin plants a booted foot against the wall behind him as he leans back, bringing the cigarette back to his lips to take another long drag.

It’s moments like this you cherish the most, one of the simple frivolities of the Abyss— the times you get the leader alone.

“Could kill you.” You move closer now, invading his personal space like you often do. Surrounding yourself in the scent of him, a mixture of smoke, sweat and the drugstore aftershave that would’ve been cheap in Heaven but is premium below.

“There’s a lot of other things that could kill me down here first,” He scoffs, blowing another cloud of smoke directly into your face, “Oi—”

You catch him off guard as you snatch the cigarette that’s dangling between his lips, smirking at the wide-eyed look of annoyance on his face as you drop the stick to the floor. Your heeled boots quick to stomp on it, extinguishing the flame as he practically lifts you off the ground to try and salvage it. Hands firm on your hips as he looks down at the broken, mangled tobacco.

“Do you know how much that cost?” He groans.

“You get paid well as a Janitor, I’m sure you can always buy—” You begin to tease, but before you manage to finish your sentence Enjin’s grip on your waist tightens as he shifts positions to press your back up against the cold brick wall.

He knows your games all too well, and knows how to beat you at them. Your taunting no match for his sheer display of strength as he turns the tables, caging you between him.

“You’re such a brat,” Enjin growls, his lanky body towers over you as he corners you like a hungry wolf. The poor little lamb can do nothing but stare up at its captor as your eyes meet his burning gaze, the fragments of smoke still seared into his lungs pepper your face as you fist the hem of his trench coat.

“But isn’t that why you like me?” You coo back, and it’s enough to have Enjin seeing red.

His lips meet yours in a kiss that’s almost bruising, teeth clash as your hands tug him closer. Trying impossibly to deepen the kiss as your tongue lashes against his incisors, swallowing the final bits of smoke that leave his lungs.

You always claim he’s addicted to the drug, when Enjin refutes he could go cold turkey at any time. But truth be told, you were the real drug he was addicted to, and there was no way he’d ever want to quit.

Deft fingers search a path they’ve followed a thousand times before, disappearing beneath his red vest as you scratch against the blond hairs that rest below his bellybutton. Feeling his chest concave as you raise goosebumps against his skin, teasing touches are no match for Enjin’s brute force as he copies you in this dangerous game of cat and mouse. Slender fingers push your shirt up over your chest to reveal your naked breasts to his hungry gaze, completely unbothered that anyone could see you like this. His fellow janitors, his team, barely a few meters away as they settle inside the rowdy dive bar. Other punters could step outside and look down the shrouded alley to see you in such a compromising position, if any of them were to desire that sudden burst of nicotine.

“Fuck, I missed these.” Enjin groans as he massages your breasts in his hands, rough thumbs flicking over your puffy nipples as he turns them into stiff peaks. Circling your darkened areola as he bends his body to latch on, tonguing the sensitive skin before pulling it between his teeth.

You’re desperate now, even more so than when you entered the alleyway in search of him. Following his footsteps as he stepped outside, the throb between your thighs guiding you on your way as you longed to feel him buried back inside you.

“Don’t tease me,” You beg, pathetically tugging at his belt, but the plea falls on deaf ears as he pulls back from your chest with a satisfied smack. The cool evening air dries his spit against your skin, causing you to shiver as Enjin’s hand disappears beneath your skirt to cup your wet heat.

“Fuck,” He groans, palming the sopping material of your panties as you shamelessly grind yourself down on him, “This all for me?”

He asks the question as though there would be anyone else that could make you feel like this, anyone else that would have you standing exposed in a dingy alleyway outside a rowdy dive bar.

“It’s you,” You hum, “Its always you.” And it’s the answer he covets as he hooks his fingers in the hem of your panties to tug them down your thighs in one swift motion.

He’s always so kind and considerate as he helps you step out of them, leaving the fabric dangling daintly around one ankle as he raises your thigh against his hip. Pressing his hard cock against you, and you can feel how desperate he is even through the layers of clothes. Just like Enjin can feel your heartbeat pounding through your clit as his rough trousers catch against it, leaving silvery lines of your slick against his crotch as he grinds against you.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” His voice rumbles, “Barely even touched you.”

“Please, Enjin.” You whine, the sound of his name uttered from your lips is almost enough to have him seeing stars. The desperate lilt to your voice paired with the saccharine look in your eyes is enough to have him tugging at his belt as he tugs his pants down just enough to free his aching cock.

The sight of him is always enough to make your mouth water, licking your bruised lips as you reach out a greedy hand his reflexes are fast enough to bat away.

“Behave,” He responds curtly, as if he isn’t the one that has you in this position.

It’s erotic the way he wraps a palm around himself, rolling his wrist over the bulging tip as he smears pre along the length. Canting his hips forward to drag his cock through your messy folds, disappearing between them as he coats himself in your slick. The moment he nudges your clit has you mewling pathetically, ashamed that someone— a man, no less, has reduced you to this.

But it’s not your fault, it can’t be when he’s built like this. Intimidating tattoos and piercings that mask the warmth hidden beneath them, the way he guards you with such love and care even when his grip against you is lusty.

“If you don’t fuck me now I’m going back inside.” You gamble, knowing all too well that he’d see right through it.

You’d have to rub your clit raw to even come close to feeling the same euphoria Enjin had you feeling with minimal effort. Many nights spent alone touching yourself to the thought of him couldn’t compare to the way his hands felt as they explored your body.

“Liar.” Enjin grinned, pushing the fat tip of his cock against your tight entrance just to watch the way your body keened. A silent gasp from parted lips as you tried to roll your hips to draw him inside, his grip tight against your waist as he held you steady, “Well go on then.”

Enjin knew you weren’t going anywhere, not when your body was crying out so perilously for him. It was always a playful game of who would break first, and he’d always swear blind it was you.

“Watch me— oh, shit.” Your eyes rolled as you felt the blunt tip of his cock breach your tight entrance, his forking veins catch against your spongy inner walls as he moulds your cunt into the shape of him. Creating a delicious friction as he gives you a fleeting moment to adjust to the size, especially with no prep as he presses a lingering peck to your parted lips.

“Yeah?” A smug grin appeared across his cheeks like the cat that got the cream, “Didn’t think so, pretty.”

Enjin set a rough pace, yellow eyes glancing towards the entrance to the alley to check for unwanted voyeurs as he fucked into your pliant body with vigour. Each harsh thrust had his hips snapping against yours, the smack of skin against skin a constant rhythm as you clung to his broad shoulders. Pulling him down into another sloppy kiss to try and mask the desperate moans that poured from your throat, sharp nails digging into his skin as he fucks into you.

“I’ll never get tired of this sloppy pussy,” He whispered against your lips, catching his bottom one between your teeth as you tugged. Drawing a debauched grunt from deep in his chest as your cunt pulses around his cock from his words, pressing your body against the wall with more power as he carried you both towards your bliss.

The messy hairs at the base of his cock tickle your clit with each forward motion, enough to have you seeing stars as he wills your body to cum for him. Pulling back to stare down at you through half-lidded eyes as he snaps his hips, his cockhead kissing your cervix with each thrust as you begin to tremble in his arms. Your leg turns to jelly as you try to keep yourself upright, his body the only thing stopping you from tumbling to the floor.

“I know you’re close, sweetheart.” He croons, “I can feel you squeezing me.”

You are. The coil inside you dangerously close to snapping as he reaches between your bodies to press a calloused thumb against your puffy clit, rubbing messy circles against it as you succumb to the pleasure. Fat pearly tears cling to your lashes as you cry out for him, his name tumbles from your lips as your orgasm crashes over you in harsh waves coming into shore.

“That’s it— good girl,” He feels it before you do, the telltale sign of your climax as your walls begin to pulse around him in a greedy attempt to milk him of his release, “Good fucking girl.”

He doesn’t stop, even when you’re gushing around him as he fucks into you with renewed vigour, hungrily chasing his own release as you will him to cum. Nails drag through the messy hairs at the base of his undercut as you scratch at his scalp. His nose scrunches as he meets his own end, burying hot ropes of cum inside your wet cunt with a groan of your name.

It’s enough that for a few simple moments you can picture yourself somewhere— anywhere else with him. The perfect dream you’ve conjured in your mind as you get to lay together without dealing with the harsh realities that come with fraternising with a Janitor.

You both linger in the alley, Enjin’s face buried in the curve of your neck as he breathes in the scent of you. His tongue peeks out to taste the thin sheen of sweat that coats your skin as you shudder beneath him, your cunt pulses around his spent cock in retaliation.

“Fuck,” He reluctantly pulls out as the mixture of your release follows, leaving silvery strings against his cock while it drools out of you and coats your inner thighs, curving his back to get a better look at the debauched sight, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Not if the cigarettes don’t get you first.” You grin.

[sdeprived]

The Oldest Dream & Kim Dokja's guilt.

Even if 100% kdj could've gone back with the Kimcom after their encounter with OD I highly doubt he would've been able to happily walk out of that train with them as if nothing happened. That kind of development was always impossible, bc kdj himself wouldn't DARE to imagine it after what he discovered when he met Oldest Dream.

He felt so much guilt that he couldn't and wouldn't be able to forgive himself, so that final act of heroism and salvation -stepping up as the OD and staying behind to maintain that world's existence- was also his self imposed punishment, and he needed that more than he needed his own happiness.

That's why the part of him that went back with the Kimcom was the half that didn't remember being OD. He wouldn't be able to look at his companions' faces knowing that all of the tragedies happened bc he dared to read some webnovel to escape his own.

And seeing things from his perspective, his reaction makes so much sense. Imagine you spend all of your time thinking and planning and trying to find a way out of hell for you and your dearest people just to find out you're "responsible" for their misery. That's tough. Even if nobody ever blamed him, it's like 99% impossible that he wouldn't blame himself.

It's commonly said in the fandom that kdj doesn't understand how loved he is, but I think things go a little more deep, bc kdj is no fool (at least the "rational" part of him lmao). He saw his friends sacrifice and fight for him, he heard them say and prove how much they cared for him, and he even felt guilty about how much his repeated deaths affected them, so he's very much aware of the FACT that he is loved and wanted. What I do think is that he refuses to accept all that love bc he thinks he doesn't deserve it after everything he has done.

He thinks he has to suffer and sacrifice himself eternally to atone for his original sin, and also due to his history of trauma, he has engraved in his mindset the thought that he's meant to be alone and separated from the world, that's how it's ought to be, so when the "narrative" had to form the ideal and ultimate torture scenario for him, it was exactly that.

And maybe it's up to interpretation, and this has an explanation inside the fantasy and world building (not up to that part of the Side Story but I've seen some mild spoilers). but that final part in which the Kimcom regressed together and crossed the whole 1865 worldline just for him, while he was reading almost simultaneously what was happening, that they were coming for him, to me personally felt very bittersweet, bc as much as he wanted to go back with them, he also wanted to stay firm in his decision of keeping himself away.

And that's exactly what he did. Him breaking into millions of pieces and scattering through universes to me feels like he -once again- ran away from his happiness. At least metaphorically speaking I believe it was meant to convey that in some way.

Maybe the "magical" consequence has its own explanation, but it also happened bc kdj himself wasn't able to "dream" an ending in which he didn't need to punish and isolate himself anymore.

And that's why the last attempt to bring him back was to reach all of his fragments and show them how he was seen from his companions eyes.

There are so much themes and symbols in orv that I find myself trying to interpret every single event in as much angles as possible. It is genuinely entertaining 'cause there are so many different approaches to this specific topic that could be made.

Btw this whole rant was inspired by this Twitter thread :D go give it a read if you want!

-Sleep🌵

[mask131]

The gods of Gaul: Introduction, or why it is so hard to find anything

As I announced, I open today a series of post covering what some can call the "Gaulish mythology": the gods and deities of Ancient Gaul. (Personal decision, I will try avoiding using the English adjective "Gaulish" because... I just do not like it. It sounds wrong. In French we have the adjectif "Gaulois" but "Gaulish"... sounds like ghoulish or garrish, no thank you. I'll use "of Gaul", much more poetic)

[EDIT: I have just found out one can use "Gallic" as a legitimate adjective in English and I am so happy because I much prefer this word to "Gaulish", so I'll be using Gallic from now on!]

If you are French, you are bound to have heard of them one way or another. Sure, we got the Greek and Roman gods coming from the South and covering up the land in temples and statues ; and sure we had some Germanic deities walking over the rivers and mountains from the North-East to leave holiday traditions and folk-beliefs... But the oldest gods of France, the true Antiquity of France, was Gaul. And then the Roman Gaul, and that's already where the problems start.

The mythology of Gaul is one of the various branches of the wide group known as Celtic mythology or Celtic gods. When it comes to Celtic deities, the most famous are those of the British Isles, due to being much more preserved (though heavily Christianized) - the gods of Ireland and the Welsh gods are typically the gods every know about when talking about Celtic deities. But there were Celts on the mainland, continental Celts - and Gaul was one of the most important group of continental Celts. So were their gods.

Then... why does nobody know anything about them?

This is what this introduction is about: how hard it actually is to reconstruct the religion of Gaul and understand its gods. Heck we can't ACTUALLY speak of a Gaulish mythology because... we have no myth! We have not preserved any full myth or complete legend from Ancient Gaul. The pantheon of Gaul is the Celtic pantheon we probably know the least about...

Why? A few reasons.

Reason number one, and the most important: We have no record of what the Gauls believed. Or almost none. Because the people of Gaul did not write their religion.

This is the biggest obstacle in the research for the gods of Gaul. It was known that the art of writing was, in the society of Gaul, an elite art that was not for the common folks and used only for very important occasions. The druids were the ones who knew how to read and write, and they kept this prerogative - it was something the upper-class (nobility, rulers) could know, but not always. Writing was considered something powerful, sacred and magical not to be used recklessly or carelessly. As a result, the culture of Gaul was a heavily oral one, and their religion and myths were preserved in an oral fashion. Resulting in a great lack of written sources comng directly from the Gallic tribes... We do have written and engraved fragments, but they are pieces of a puzzle we need to reconstruct. We have votive offerings with prayers and demands inscribed on it - and while they can give us the names of some deities, they don't explain much about them. We have sculptures and visual representations of the deities on pillars and cups and jewels and cauldrons - but they are just visuals and symbols without names. We have calendars - but again, these are just fragments. We have names and images, and we need to make sense out of it all.

To try to find the explanations behind these fragments, comparisons to other Celtic religions and mythologies are of course needed - since they are all branches of a same tree. The same way Germanic mythology can be understood by looking at the Norse one, the same way Etruscan, Greek and Roman mythologies answer each other, the mythology and religion of Gaul has echoes with the Celtic deities of the Isles (though staying quite different from each other). The other comparison needed to put things back into context is reason number 2...

Reason number two: The Romans were there.

Everybody knows that the death of Ancient Gaul was the Roman Empire. Every French student learns the date of Alesia, the battle that symbolized the Roman victory over the Gallic forces. Gaul was conquered by the Romans and became one of the most famous and important provinces of the Roman Empire: it was the Gallo-Roman era.

The Romans were FASCINATED by Gaul. Really. They couldn't stop writing about them, in either admiration or hate. As a result, since we lack direct Gallic sources, most of what we know about Ancient Gaul comes from the Romans. And you can guess why it is a problem. Some records of their religion were written in hatred - after all, they were the barbarian ennemies that Romans were fighting against and needed to dominate. As such, they contain several elements that can be put in doubt (notably numerous references to brutal and violent human sacrifices - real depictions of blood-cults, or exaggeratons and inventions to depict the gods of Gaul as demonic monstrosities?) But even the positive and admirative, or neutral, records are biased because Romans kept comparing the religion of the Gauls to their own, and using the names of Roman deities to designate the gods of Gaul...

Leading to the other big problem when studying the gods of Gaul: the Roman syncretism. The Gallo-Roman era saw a boom in the depictions and representations of the Gallic gods... But in their syncretized form, fused with and assimilated to the Roman gods. As such we have lots of representations and descriptions of the "Jupiter of Gaul", of the "Mercury of Gaul", of the "Gallic Mars" or "Gallic Minerva". But it is extremely hard to identify what was imported Roman elements, what was a pure Gallic element under a Roman name, and what was born of the fusion of Gallic and Roman traditions...

Finally, reason number three: Gaul itself had a very complicated approach to its own gods.

We know there are "pan-gallic" gods, as in gods that were respected and honored by ALL the people of Gaul, forming the cohesion of the nation. But... Gaul wasn't actually a nation. It was very much like the many city-states of Greece: Ancient Gaul was unified by common traditions, a common society, a common religion and a common language... But Gaul was a tribal area divided into tribes, clans and villages, each with their own variations on the laws, each with their own customs and each with their own spin on religion. As a result, while there are a handful of "great gods" common to all the communities of Gaul, there are hundreds and hundreds of local gods that only existed in a specific area or around a specific town ; and given there were also many local twists and spins on the "great gods", it becomes extremely hard to know which divine name is a local deity, a great-common god, a local variation on a deity, or just a common nickname shared by different deities... If you find a local god, it can be indeed a local, unique deity ; or it can be an alternate identity of a shared divine archetype ; or it can be a god we know elsewhere but that goes by a different name here.

To tell you how fragmented Gaul was: Gaul was never a unified nation with one king or ruler. The greatest and largest division you can make identifies three Gauls. Cisalpine Gaul, the Gaul located in Northern Italy, conquered by the Romans in the second century BCE, and thus known as "the Gaul in toga" for being the most Roman of the three. Then there was the "Gaul in breeches" (la Gaule en braies), which borders the Mediterranean sea, spanning between the Alps and the Pyrenean mountains, and which was conquered in the 117 BCE (becoming the province of Narbonne). And finally the "Hairy Gaul", which stayed an independant territory until Cesar conquered it. And the Hairy Gaul itself was divided into three great areas each very different from each other: the Aquitaine Gaul, located south of the Garonne ; the Celtic Gaul located between the Garonne and the Marne (became the Gaul of Lyon after the Roman conquest) ; and finally the Belgian Gaul, located between the Marne and the Rhine. And this all is the largest division you can make, not counting all the smaller clans and tribes in which each area was divided. And all offering just as many local gods or local facets of a god...

And if it wasn't hard enough: given all the sculptures and visuals depictions of the gods of Gaul are very "late" in the context of the history of Gaul... It seems that the gods of Gaul were originally "abstract" or at least not depicted in any concrete form, and that it was only in a late development, shortly before the Roman invasions, that people of Gaul decided to offer engravings and statues to their gods, alternating between humanoid and animal forms.

All of this put together explains why the gods of Gaul are so mysterious today.

[uwmspeccoll]

A Pigeon-fluencer Feathursday

This week’s post was inspired by a recent Guardian article on the rise of Pigeon-influencers on TikTok and their role in reviving the popularity of the oft-derided and underestimated birds.  

Throughout history, pigeons have provided sustenance (“squab”), labor (in the form of the “pigeon post”), and companionship to human populations. Though these days we may typically associate the Rock Pigeon (Columba livia, otherwise known as the common pigeon) with other animals classified as “pests” in urban landscapes, they are in fact understood to be the world's oldest domesticated bird. Historical documentation of pigeons can be found in hieroglyphic texts and art dating back as far as ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. According to Colin Jerolmack, professor of Sociology and Environmental Studies at NYU and author of The Global Pigeon, pigeons “have been in cities as long as we’ve had cities” and, prior to the technological innovation of the telegram, were “the most reliable messaging system in the world”. While “fancy” pigeons (like Frillbacks, English Magpies, Jacobin, and Archangel pigeons) were bred and kept as prized pets in the Victorian era, the North American Passenger Pigeon (or “wild pigeon”) was hunted to the point of extinction in the early 20th century.

To illustrate the complexity of our love-hate relationship with the birds we've selected a variety of illustrations and text from our collection and featured them alongside some images from outside sources.

The engravings in images #2 & #8 from The Illustrated Natural History: Birds (London: George Routledge & Sons) were created by the Brothers Dalziel, a wood engraving shop in Victorian London founded in 1839 and operated by George and Edward Dalziel. Image #1 from Birds of America; Fifty Selections (with commentaries by Roger Tory Peterson) (New York: Macmillan) is a reproduction of a hand-colored lithograph produced by the shop of J. T. Bowen of Philadelphia from a painting by naturalist and artist John James Audubon in the early 19th century.

--Ana, Special Collections Graduate Intern

Other image sources:

#3: Western Crowned Pigeon (Goura cristata) in TMII Birdpark - Western crowned pigeon - Wikipedia

#4: Keyla Rose with Tony, her pigeon, on a walk in New York. Photograph: Alaina Demopoulos/The Guardian. August 23, 2024.

#5-6: from City Creatures: Animal Encounters in the Chicago Wilderness Pigeons (poem) by Chicago-based Puerto Rican poet and community activist David Hernandez, DH+BH (image of tattoo) by Camilo Cumpian.

#7: Ceiling Fragment Depicting Pigeons in Flight | New Kingdom | The Metropolitan Museum of Art (metmuseum.org) (ca. 1390–1352 B.C.)

#9: a Memorial to the extinct Passenger Pigeon at Wyalusing State Park in Wisconsin (1947)

#10: from Nikola Tesla's Obsession with Pigeons, Electricity, and a Plan to Wirelessly Connect the World (nautil.us)

[blueiscoool]

Ancient Monumental Marble Map of Rome on Display After 100 Years

A marble map of ancient Rome, that hasn't been put on public view for almost 100 years, is getting its very own museum within sight of the Colosseum.

The Museum of the Forma Urbis, enclosed within a new archaeological park on one of Rome's famous seven hills opens on Friday -- the latest offering from a city that is eager to broaden its attraction for growing hordes of tourists, according to Reuters.

"This is a beautiful day. We are opening an archaeological park in an extraordinary part of the city and a new museum showcasing a masterpiece which has not been visible for about a century," said Rome Mayor Roberto Gualtieri.

"We want a city where the museums and the streets are linked, and where people, while walking around, can fully appreciate and enjoy the beauty, but also better understand how our city has been transformed."

The Forma Urbis was a monumental, highly detailed marble map of ancient Rome carved during the reign of the Emperor Septimius Severus between 203 and 211 AD, engraved onto 150 separate slabs and measuring 18 by 13 metres (60 by 43 feet).

It was displayed on a wall in the ancient city, but over the centuries it gradually disintegrated, with locals using some slabs for new buildings.

During excavations in 1562, fragments were recovered and scholars estimate around 10% of the whole has survived, including sections showing the Colosseum and Circus Maximus, as well as floor plans of baths, temples and private houses.

The huge carving has proved a valuable resource for understanding the layout of ancient Rome, but all the remaining pieces have not been shown together since 1924.

In its new, innovative setting, the fragments have been laid out on a reproduction of a famous map of Rome created in the 18th century by the surveyor Giovanni Battista Nolli, who is credited with making the first accurate street plan of Rome.

The marble chunks lie on top of the Nolli map, showing their relation to the developing Renaissance city.

Outside the museum, in the open-air park on the side of the Caelian Hill, archaeologists have out laid out walkways lined with ancient Roman grave markers and marble columns found in excavations around the city in recent decades.

"The Caelian Hill, one of the seven hills of ancient Rome, has remained in the shadows, unknown and inaccessible for a very long time. Today, we are finally giving it back to the city," said Claudio Parisi Presicce, who oversees Rome's cultural heritage.

"The hill has a special importance because it is what unites the monumental area of the Imperial Forums, the Roman forum, the Colosseum and the area of the Appia Antica," he said.

The 5-million-euro ($5.5 million) project is part of a broader refurbishment of Rome, which has seen a tourism boom since the end of the COVID-19 pandemic and is expected to be submerged by visitors in the 2025 Roman Catholic Holy Year.

[inkpot-winters]

“Biscuit for your thoughts?” 

Regulus sighs, and oh, there it is, the eye roll. “When will you allow that phrase the dignity of death?”

“Never, especially not when you look like that every time I say it.”

“And how exactly do I look when you say so?”

“Adorable.”

Predictably, Regulus flushes, resolutely turning his face away in a fruitless attempt to hide his blush.

fic: engraved upon my heart (in letters deeply worn)

[ambers-archive]

who am i, darling to you? (v)

"and if i can give you the moon i would give you the moon." -moon song, phoebe bridgers

You've had to grieve her longer than you've known her. Everything from her smile to the way she wore her hair is still engraved in the back of your mind, a haunting echo of what once was.

You were driving to the grave back in Virginia, the road stretching out in front of you like a somber ribbon.

“Do you think we’re missing much at dinner?” You ask, breaking the silence that’s settled between you and Hotch, the weight of your thoughts too heavy to carry alone.

Hotch looks at you for a second before returning his eyes to the road. “Hopefully nothing too significant. The unsub wouldn’t risk being caught by doing something reckless.”

You nod, but another thought nags at you. “One question—how would he blend in if it’s a couples retreat? Wouldn’t it be strange to show up alone?”

Hotch’s brow furrows slightly as he considers your question. “That’s a good point. We might be looking for a couple, which would explain how the murders happen so frequently without raising suspicion.”

“But the hatred for women? We profiled him as a sexual sadist—antisocial, misogynistic. Would he really be able to work with a female partner?” You ask, your voice tinged with doubt.

Before Hotch can respond, his phone rings. He picks it up, and you can tell from his expression that it’s Strauss on the other end.

“Unfortunately, there was an emergency, and we needed the jet,” Hotch says into the phone, his tone steady. “Yes, she’s alright. I’ll explain everything in detail when we get back.”

As he speaks, your thoughts drift back to your first boyfriend in college. He wouldn’t even drive twenty minutes to see you, claiming it was too far.

You spent two years waiting for him to change, only to leave when you finally realized he never would. After that, you wasted countless nights hoping to meet someone who would treat you better, someone who would make the effort.

And now, you’ve found him. But he’s your boss—your boss who is risking the state of a high-profile case just so you can be close to your mother.

He doesn’t even love you, yet here he is, trying to give you the moon.

Hotch’s call with Strauss is brief, and as he hangs up, you can’t help but worry about the fallout. “Do you think Strauss will go on a rampage after missing the night?”

“Don’t worry too much,” Hotch replies, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “This isn’t the first time the team has gone behind her back. She’ll be fine.”

You manage to suppress your own smile, but it feels good to see him relax, even if just a little. The silence that follows is peaceful, and you find comfort in the quiet presence of the man beside you. The moon, a waxing crescent, casts a gentle glow over the road, guiding you both towards the gravesite.

“I wasn’t close with my father,” Hotch says, breaking the silence once more. His voice is calm, but there’s a hint of something deeper—something he rarely lets show.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply softly, knowing how difficult it is for him to open up. He seldom shares anything about himself, and the little you know feels like precious fragments.

Hotch nods, his eyes fixed on the road. “It’s hard, losing someone so important at a young age. But you learn to carry their memory with you. It shapes who you are.”

“I didn’t know mine that well either,” you admit, your voice tinged with regret. “He was amazing, but he worked a lot. Seven days a week sometimes, just to put food on the table. I wish we’d had more time together. There are so many things I never got to ask, never got to say.”

“I know,” Hotch says quietly. “But being here, visiting their grave, it’s a way to honor them. To keep their memory alive.”

You press your palms to your heart, holding onto his words. As you see the familiar trees surrounding the cemetery, memories of your grandmother flood your mind. She used to bring you here, her presence making the pain bearable. She was your anchor.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch asks as he parks the car, his hand lifting slightly before falling back to his side, as if unsure whether to reach out to you.

You offer him a small smile, stepping out of the car and walking through the gates. “It’s always a nine.”

“A nine?” Hotch echoes

“When my grandmother passed away, I went to counseling. Every day, the therapist would ask me about my pain scale. I always said nine, and it’s been a constant nine since then. I know it could be worse, but I’m saving the ten for when it does get worse.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t,” Hotch says quietly, his hand brushing against yours as you walk toward the headstone.

You stand over it, reading the inscription: In loving memory of Kajol, wife, mother, daughter. The sight of it tugs at your heart, but you manage to hold back the tears as you place the flowers—jasmine, her favorite—on the grave.

“Hi, Ammi,” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly. “I have a really important case with my team. I didn’t think I’d ever get this opportunity. My team… remember when I told you about them? They’re helping me through it. I hope one day I can come see you with someone close to me, maybe even my own family. I wish you were still here.”

Hotch’s hand rests on your shoulder, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth he offers.

“She would be really proud, you know? Your father and grandmother too. You’re a brilliant agent,” he says softly, his voice full of sincerity.

The tears you’ve fought so hard to hold back finally spill over, blurring your vision. His hand leaves your shoulder, but before you are able to mourn the loss he sits down next to you, wrapping his arm around you.

You can hear the beat of his heart all the way from there. 

You turn to face him, his beautiful eyes locking onto yours, holding you in place. He gently cups your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb.

“I’ve never met anyone as brave as you. You have so much resilience, and I know my apology is a little late, but forgive me for being an ass earlier.”

You shake your head lightly, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “It’s okay. I know we have a lot to lose with the case. But I can do it. Let me prove myself.”

Hotch nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. “I trust you. Completely.”

So regardless of consequences, you move closer to him and rest your head against his shoulder. Your breathing syncs together as if your hearts have recognized each other. Yours start and his finish, both of them intertwined at this point. 

You might try to keep your cards close to your chest and arm your heart to protect yourself. But, you're blocking off both love and rejection in equal measure. You remain like way until the gravity is too much.

taglist: @zaddyhotch @mrs-ssa-hotch @ricetikka

[minniepetals]

cry me a river | the frightened ones

— summary: drowning in the middle of the sea means being blind and not knowing who is on your side and who wishes to pull you in deeper

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 7.7k

— warnings: nightmares, mentions of hallucinating, aggressive acts, kidnapping

— PART 18 / previous post / masterpost

“Are you scared?”

You look up in the complete void of the room, darkness shadowing all that you are as you sit in that lone void, knees held up to your chest, arms wrapped around them with your head lowered until you hear the voice.

A familiar, gentle voice.

“....Mister Butler?” You call hesitantly, confused and almost frightened at how young he looks, as if he had never aged. He was only seventeen when he met you after all, twenty-two when he died.

Those widened pupils which have been engraved in your memories will be something you will never forget for the rest of your life. The day he died, the day your whole world fell apart, when everything went wrong from that point on.

Father blamed you for the longest time for his death, Mister Butler himself visiting you in dreams after dreams, for a moment relieving you only for him to shame you and blame you for killing him.

You remember those dreams in faint glimpses, fragments, shattered glass. And whenever Mister Butler would appear before you, the whole room would remain just as cold as your life turned when he died and your world turned upside down. 

Yet today it feels a little warmer.

Why does it feel warm?

And why is he here? He hasn’t visited your dreams in ages. You thought he’d abandoned you.

“Hello there, little miss.” He smiles sweetly in the way your memories keep on him, the real him, not your make-believe nightmares. That boyish, kind smile always makes your insides warm in the way only he’s able to do in the darkness of your life. He takes a seat before you, glowing brightly in the darkness of the abyss that keeps your heart cold and hard.

You feel his warmth the way you recall your forgotten memories and your heart aches at the sight of him, remembering, remembering.

You hate remembering. Hate being reminded of what happened that night.

Car crash, tires screeching loudly against the pavement, an explosion, a gunshot, a scream, a cry.

Mister Butler. Dead.

“I…” You stutter, the sound in your throat trying to give away, a lump restricting it from within, and you feel like you want to throw up. You want to sit up, to reach out to him, touch him, feel him, but your body won’t move.

It only lurches forward as you hold a hand over your mouth, the sickness in the pits of your stomach wishing to relieve the empty contents in there.

You want to speak but no word would come on, no sound, so you’re left with only trembling in plain sight, unable to ask for help, to ask him why he’s here, if he wants to scorn you again, if this time, he’s going to yell at you for hurting his little brother, for lying to his little brother.

You’re afraid.

Afraid.

“Little miss.” But his voice remains gentle when he calls for you and you almost cry at how soft he sounds. But even then, even with Mister Butler right here before you, nothing can help you shed tears anymore. They’ve all gone, wasted on a pitiful father who didn’t deserve any of it.

You feel a hand on your back, his warmth surging forth into your body as if he was a human furnace himself and you look up, slowly, frightened that what you’re seeing is only a figment of your imagination.

“I….I’m scared,” you finally manage to admit to his initial question, wanting to avoid his eyes but knowing because he only lives on in your memories and dreams, this is the only way you can ever see him so you keep your eyes on him, wanting to recall every detail, every little thing you can remember. You lean back into a seated position with some struggle, trying to focus.

“I know you are,” Mister Butler nods with a troubled smile. “You’ve blocked your heart from the world, haven’t you, little one?” He asks, taking a look at the darkness of this space.

“You told me not everyone deserves the heart that I’ve been given. You told me to stop letting them all stomp on me.”

“Not everyone,” he emphasizes, an eyebrow arched your way with a pointed stare. “That doesn’t mean shut yourself away from everyone.”

You bite your lower lip. “Same difference.”

“It isn’t and you know that,” he chides and you shrink into your seat, feeling a bit ashamed because he always sees through you no matter how hard you try. Will he scold you again? Speak the words he knows will hurt you the most? “But you’re scared.” Yet he doesn’t this time. This time Mister Butler is real.

Real.

Not those fake nightmares your mind decided to make up because you were made to believe his death was your fault.

This time Mister Butler is real and he understands. He always does. “And the people that you’ve trusted have all abandoned you. Your own father has made you into the killer that you are today.”

“Do you see me as a monster?” You look at him with a bit of desperation, frightened for his answer.

Mister Butler takes a moment to simply watch you, falling silent, as if letting you take this time to reflect back on what you had just said, and when you keep your resolution, he speaks again. “To me, you are nothing else but my young little miss,” he says. “Why would I ever see you as anything else?”

“Because I can’t control it,” you tell him, a bit frustrated, a bit desperate. You show him your hands. They tremble uncontrollably when you lay your palms to face you from your lap. “I want to hurt everyone that has hurt me and…and what if one day I come to hurt myself?”

“You can control it.”

“I can’t.”

“I know you can. And you will.”

“You don’t understand.”

“My young, little miss.” His voice remains calm, steady, and light, unlike you who seems to only fall out of control, desperate and in a panic, scared and frightened and mad, looking up at him and pleading at him to save you. To ground you. To control you. “How much longer will you keep hurting yourself? How much longer will you refuse to trust the people around you?”

“I can’t.” You say again, more stressed. “They’ll leave one day, just like everyone else has. They’ll leave.” Your voice shakes.

“Are you so afraid despite how many sacrifices they’ve made for you?”

“It’s because of that,” you say, hands running through your hair in a desperate attempt to ground yourself. You can feel it, you’re becoming unstable once again. Your heart is racing. Racing hard. “Because they’ll make the sacrifices, I can’t…I can’t-”

“Show them your heart?”

“Because they’ll leave.” You nod. “Everyone leaves. And if they leave…who will I have?”

“You’re drowning yourself, young miss.”

“What else can I do?” You want to scream and shout and let everything out but father still sits in the back of your mind, taunting you, threatening you. Shouting will do nothing. No one will come. No one will save you no matter how loud you are. So you have to remain quiet. You have to because shouting will make no difference.

You stand from your seat abruptly, hands running through your hair as you pace the room, unsettled by everything. You’re a mess right now, unable to stay calm, while Mister Butler remains seated from where he is, simply watching everything unfold before his eyes.

“I…” There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. If you run, you’ll only end up right back where you were. Running means nothing in the world of the abyss. You hold your hands together, nails clawing at your skin. “Why won’t you shout at me?” You turn back to your precious butler, frustrated that despite how familiar he feels right now, it isn’t helping you in the slightest. Perhaps the nightmare versions of him was better, perhaps hearing him shout at you and blame you for everything is better. “Why won’t…why won’t you blame me? Why’re you yourself right now?”

“Do you want me to shout at you?” He asks and you fall to your knees before him.

“Please,” you beg, palms pressing against one another but when it feels like that isn’t enough, you let them press against the cold floor, bowing forward, forehead meeting the floor. “Please blame me, please scorn me, please, just give me anything, anything. Just don’t be kind.”

But Mister Butler only watches you in silence, his gaze afflicted with pain as he stares at the little girl whom he was entrusted to ending up the way that she is right now.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe. “If it wasn’t for me…you…you could have lived. Why did you stay for someone like me, Mister Butler? Why? You could have gone home, could have returned to the little brother that was awaiting your return and had been waiting for your return for the longest time. But I shattered that hope for him. I broke him, Mister Butler, all because I was selfish and vengeful and only thought about my needs and my wants and didn’t care for anything else.”

“Sit up.”

“No.” You shake your head vehemently. “It was my fault. Everything’s my fault. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Nothing’s your fault.”

“Everything’s my fault.”

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for. Young miss look at me.” You look up, just slightly, with creasing brows and quivering lips. “The decisions you make, the life you are living, the path you have chosen, I will never blame you for anything. You think I care whether you remained kind for the rest of your life? You think it matters to me whether you can still give your heart out and smile for people just as you’ve done all those years ago?”

“I’m weak.”

“And I don’t care,” he stresses with a desperate expression trying to make you believe in him. “All those people that say you’re weak because you can’t remain kind after what you’ve gone through, to the ones who tell you to keep your heart warm, that being kind is powerful, that you’re not strong because you want vengeance, well fuck them. No one in this world knows what you’ve gone through and they have no right to tell you what to do with your life. You’re here because you’re here and no matter how weak you may think you are for making the decisions that you’ve made, no matter how weak they may think you are, to me you are the strongest person I have ever seen, young miss. You’re living. And I will never blame you for living.”

“I don’t feel like I’m living.” You sit up, eyes shaking as you can still feel just how surreal everything feels; your trembling body, drying lips, heartbeat drumming hard against your chest, that screech in the back of your ears. “But I…” You look up at him again, as if praying, begging to the Gods from above, “I want to live.”

Mister Butler’s eyes soften upon those words, his shoulders dropping slightly as if a weight has fallen from them and he nods, understanding.

“I know.” 

He gets on his knees and leans in, arms wrapping around you and when you expect to be reminded of those arms that held you, comforted you night after night, days after days, you feel nothing.

You don’t feel his embrace, his familiar warmth, his strong, strong arms that always seem to protect you from all harm. You feel none of that and you look up, brows knitted, eyes burning red.

“Why….why can’t I feel you?”

There’s a hand on your shoulder but all you see is the hand, you don’t feel a thing. He takes a small glance its way before sending you a troubled smile, transient and painful. “Because I only live on,” he takes his other hand and presses a finger at your forehead, “in here.”

“You….” Your face crumbles as if the world has just fallen down and the coldness returns like a blizzard in the middle of winter, sudden and harsh. “You’re leaving too…aren’t you?” You sit up from your position, knees meeting the floor as your hands reach out, trying to touch him but only meeting the air in between where his figure should have been.

He’s a ghost.

Just a spirit.

“Please,” you beg. “Please don’t leave me either. Don’t leave me, Mister Butler. If you leave, I….I can’t live on. I can’t do this without you. Please…please don’t leave me.”

Your fist meets the floor, punching and punching out of frustration and desperation, wanting to touch him and hold him and embrace him again. Just like how it was in your memories, just like how he lived on all those years ago.

“Please….”

“You don’t remember, young miss?” He holds a hand out, holding your face and brushing away where invisible tears should have been. 

“I’m already gone,” he whispers, and you awake from your dream.

Panting out of breath.

Heartbeat racing.

Aching.

Hands trembling.

You throw the blanket off you, stumble on your weakened legs but force it up and race to throw the doors open, allowing light to shine through in the darkness of your room. And then you run some more, eyes focused on one thing and one thing only.

You look around as if in a trance, in a hurry, vision coming in and out, dimmed, legs failing you ever so often when your knees wish to buckle underneath you, stumbling, having to reach out for the wall, a nearby stand for those fancy vases meant to keep the flowers alive. You accidentally knock one off when your legs try to give up but you don’t care.

There is one man you’re looking for. One lone man.

“Boss-?”

“Give him back to me.” And when you find him, you’re quick to lung at him. The bandages around your right hand wraps all around from the night at Bangtan’s manor but you ignore the pain as you clutch onto Mingyu’s shirt, eyes frantic and heart racing. “Give him back to me. Give him back! Give him back right now! I didn't kill him. It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it. So please, please give him back. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything wrong. I was good, I listened to you and I obeyed your every word but why did you take away the only person that ever loved me? Why, why?! He didn’t do anything wrong.”

The rest of the Reapers that heard your call watch on as you cling onto Mingyu, shouting at him in a crazed manner as if hallucinating and in a dream-like trance.

“Why didn’t you kill me instead? Why did you blame me? Why did you say that I was the one who killed him? I didn’t pull the trigger, I didn’t cause a little boy to lose his precious older brother and I certainly didn’t kill the very person I loved like he was my own brother. Why? Why did you take him away from me? Give him back! Give him back or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!!”

You snatch your hands from his blazer to wrap them around his neck, throwing him down onto the floor with legs on either side of him.

Mingyu simply lays there as your hands tighten, eyes staring down at him with nothing but pure rage and fear combined into one, the kind of sight that’s rarely seen so clearly upon your face because you’re always so good at hiding your emotions from everyone. But in this hallucinating state, in your unconscious awareness, you glare down at him with disdain, with the purest form of hate, hands trembling despite having full control and power over him as you tighten your hands, wanting nothing but his death to arrive.

Mingyu’s sight blurs, his breathing constricting, but he does nothing despite it all and it’s the rest of the Reapers that have to shout at you and rip you off him.

“Boss!”

“Boss, wake up!”

“That’s Mingyu you’re hurting!”

“Die! Just die already! Why aren’t you dead? I shot you straight in the head and watched until you no longer breathed so why? Why are you still here?” Yet you’re still trashing about, having to be forcefully removed and dragged onto the floor by three of the Reapers, two grabbing each of your arms, the last behind you and pulling you back by the torso.

Yet despite being a few feet away and the others have turned to Mingyu, helping him back up while he coughs from the chokehold you had him in, you’re still not seeing straight.

“I didn’t kill him, I didn’t kill him so please…please stop blaming me. It wasn’t me. I promise it wasn’t me.” You look up with desperation this time. More hurt, more pain than anger and rage fueling your thoughts. Your hands come to your head after pushing the Reapers away, tugging at the scalp of your hair, pulling on them like some crazed maniac trying to keep everything in their control and not being able to.

“It wasn’t me, I didn’t do it.” You tremble, knees coming up to your chest, rocking your body back and forth. “It was you, you had the gun, you…..” Your brows knit, trying to think but thinking doesn’t help and you’re only left with more questions. “The gunshot…was you. Mister Butler didn’t….he…”

White eyes, dark pupils, staring straight ahead as if possessed by some sort of spirit.

But he wasn’t possessed. He wasn’t cursed. 

He was dead.

Father killed him and father hovered over you, telling you that it was because of you that he killed him. It was because of you. Because Mister Butler was kind to you. Because Mister Butler loved you. He died because he loved you.

You look up again, fearful as you stare up at Mingyu, hair all a mess and there’s something in your eyes that he notices, something different.

You narrow your gaze, slightly, as if thinking, as if lost in thoughts, and when you turn to the other eyes leveled your way, you scurry a few inches back, hands still on your head as if frightened all of a sudden, as if somehow realizing Mingyu isn’t your father and this manor isn’t full of his people.

These are your Reapers. It’s Mingyu.

“......If you love me……you’ll end up just like him. Just like them.” 

Bangtan.

Whether those vows of love were true or not, they all left in the end.

“You’ll all leave…in the end. You’ll leave….eventually.” You try to search through your memories for something. Anything. “So don’t make any promises. Don’t….don’t love me. You cannot. If you do…you’ll leave. So don’t do anything of those sorts. Don’t…don’t cling to me. Your vows of loyalty, your promises, they’re nothing but lies…nothing but, illusions. Fantasies. Everything that we’re doing now..this? This is nothing but a shitshow. We’re in a circus. You’re the clowns and I’m the ringmaster and in the end…..in the end……the clowns will find a new circus and the ringmaster will be left all alone. Either that or the ringmaster will be the one to abandon the clowns first. So don’t cling to me. Don’t love me. If you do, I’ll kill you myself.”

You turn from them, eyes falling drowsy, headache pushing you to just simply turn for the floor and lay your head there, not wanting to move another inch.

Yeonjun, who’s the closest to your side, crouches down and lends you his lap, and in your unconscious state, you don’t fight him off and just simply give into falling back asleep once again like a lost little puppy crawling towards the hand that feeds him, while the room remains silent for the longest time, just watching you from where they first stood, not moving an inch.

No one knows what to say or do.

It’s Dasom who makes the first move. She kneels beside the second in command, her hand tracing the red ring that has formed around his neck with knitted brows. “Are you alright?”

He turns to her, sees the way she bites against her lower lip. It quivers, her eyes watery but holding back, and when he looks up at the rest of the Reapers, they look just as concerned, just as hurt, even Yuna who no longer has eyes has her back turned, a sniff leaving her.

“How odd,” Mingyu utters softly under his breath but the Reapers hear it all. He looks your way and they watch his move, the way he reaches out to you who’s held in Yeonjun’s arms, sleeping, and brushes a thumb under your eye. “Even in that state…she doesn’t know how to shed a tear.”

He hates being unable to come in full control, hates it when he can’t be the one you can rely on but today of all the days he’s spent with you, he hates today most of all.

Because today, you saw him as the very man who has hurt you more than anyone has. You saw him as your father.

.

.

.

“Are you afraid?”

Dasom knows it, Mingyu knows it, everyone knows it.

That of course he’s afraid, that what had happened this morning frightened him more than anything because out of all the things you’ve thrown at him, you’ve never looked at him with pure rage and anger and most of all, fear.

But you did.

You saw him as your father, as the very man who had hurt you from the very moment you were born into this world, as your abuser, and despite it being for only a moment, Mingyu cannot forget that look in your eyes watching him with so much disgust he loathes every part of him now.

Dasom wants to tell him that it isn’t his fault, that nothing he did triggered you into seeing him as your father, that it was probably just a nightmare you received because there will be times when you’ll “awaken” and act on those nightmares, frightened and not in the right conscious awareness.

She wants to tell him, but watching him from where he sits, she can do nothing but watch on, waiting for his silence to end, to answer her question, and return to the formidable man that he always was.

But perhaps there are days even Mingyu has when he has to give in to his worries and fears, though he never cares to share them and probably always keeps those things to himself. He’s the foundation after all, not just for you but for the Reapers as well, and Dasom guesses perhaps she’s become much too reliant on him just as everyone here has.

Everyone has their moments, especially you, but what about Mingyu who always seems to be level-headed, cool, and calm about everything? As if he has everything under control and nothing can shake him. What shakes him?

The answer is you.

You shake him.

“What if she swims too far down and loses sight of where the surface is?” He asks quietly with his back still turned to her, eyes blankly staring out the window, lost in thoughts. 

He already placed some salve on his neck to soothe the pain and wear down the redness from where you choked him, hiding the white bandage under a turtle neck so that when you do come around once more and is actually consciously aware of your surrounding, you won’t have to question why he had hurt himself.

Dasom knows he’d rather not tell you it was you who had hurt him.

Because despite the fact that their boss tends to feign her arrogance, she cares. She cares in the smallest ways and him telling you that you were the one to have hurt any of your Reapers would mean scarring you.

Hence he ordered them to not utter a word about what happened this morning to you.

They promised to keep their mouths shut because besides you, Mingyu’s words are law.

After all, they’d rather not put more burdens onto your shoulders.

You’ve never hurt any of the Reapers in all the years they came and vowed their loyalties unto you. You’ve never laid a finger on any of them. You aren’t like your father in the slightest. You’re powerful but not abusive, you would never raise a hand at them or tell another soul to do so.

In following your father’s steps, you learned what to do and what not to do, following your own morals while learning to grow strong.

The only person you’ve hurt has been Yuna and Yuna alone.

She mentioned it before, once, and never again perhaps because it’s a memory she’d rather not revisit, but in you taking her eyes away, there were nights when Yuna would pretend she was sleeping and hear your soft little sorrys leaving your lips.

You told her you were sorry for being weak, for having to do such a thing just for your father. You told her you hated your father, that you’d rather he died right then at that moment so that no one else had to suffer for your case.

You told her you’d never allow anyone close to your side, that they had to understand what their positions meant before father could ever fall suspicious ever again. You told her she’d be the first and last one.

Yuna, the very first Reaper, sacrificed everything just to be by your side, proving her loyalty and allowing the rest of the Reapers now to be who they are today; giving their vows unto you and remaining by your side for as long as time can give them.

“If boss loses sight of the surface…won’t you be the one to guide her back?” Dasom asks, her voice gentler than normal, her demeanor calm and steady. “Even in the darkest part of the ocean, you always manage to bring boss back.”

“And if she mistakes me for one of the creatures trying to drag her deeper down?”

“Then you continue pulling her up.” She steps in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder in order to make sure he’s looking right at her when she speaks. “Nothing has ever stopped you from protecting boss, you can’t start getting weak now, Mingyu. You know more than anyone showing an ounce of weakness means allowing boss to drown even further. We’re the only beacons in her life, Mingyu, and she relies on us whether she wants to admit it or not. She relies on us and she relies on you. You’re her foundation, her control. When she gets lost in that storm and out in the sea, you’re the only one who can ground her down and keep her steady again. You’re the only one, Mingyu, so don’t lose it now. Don’t lose control.”

Dasom takes a small moment to look down and take his hand. It’s the first time she’s ever seen them look so small, trembling slightly with fear and uncertainty. Mingyu’s always such a bright man who knows just what to do in every situation without hesitating when it comes to the gang and you. He does everything without faltering and now here he is, falling back for a moment, a split moment, and it’s all because of you.

He’s afraid.

Afraid of failing you, of losing you. No one worries about you in the way Mingyu does and because of that, here he is, shoulders weighed by the heavy burden.

“You’re not just her control though,” Dasom speaks again, her voice gentler, quieter, “you’re ours too.” She looks back at him, steady in her gaze. “We cannot afford you losing your cool, not even for a second. But if the time ever passes for you to shake, come to me and rely on me. Let me be your control.” She takes his hand to press against the beat of her heart, causing Mingyu’s brows to furrow slightly with surprise and conflict. Yet Dasom remains resolute.

“Allow me to be your control, Mingyu, so that boss can continue breathing.”

There was a time he once told her in your moment of weakness, when you were passed onto Yeonjun to be taken care of, that as long as he lived, he lived as your foundation. So if there ever comes a moment when he falters and trembles before your eyes, he risks taking your oxygen away and breaking you further.

Mingyu, more than anyone, is afraid of ever showing weakness before you because he’s the only one you can rely on. The presence of him alone, the steady calm air he exceeds all around, can calm you down and allow your heart rate to slow down and breathe again. When the world seems to shake, when it chokes you, constricting you of air, Mingyu’s the only one who can return the oxygen back into your lungs.

“What did you do?” Yuna’s voice echoes in the back of his memories. A younger Yuna, a Yuna he hadn’t known too well yet in that moment. A Yuna who looked up at him with accusation as she stood guarding you against him.

“I…I-I didn’t-” The younger him then was confused, frightened, as the younger girl shouted at him.

“You obviously did something if milady is—” She paused mid-sentence, frozen, sudden, before turning to you who sat on the floor, hands in her hair, trembling like a leaf.

“You cannot, Mingyu, you cannot show her your weakness, no matter what. Otherwise you’ll trigger her and that is the last thing we want.”

There was a mistake he once did, a mistake that had almost cost your stability. He was young and naive then, thought he knew everything, thought that he was good enough to be by your side. It was Yuna who had to teach him everything, who taught him how to handle you, how to behave around you, everything.

Everything until he learned to take it a step further and help you in ways the little Yuna was unable to. Only then, only when he grew stronger and more stable than Yuna could ever be, did you allow him to be your right hand man, the only man allowed to be near you when your world seems to be falling apart.

So trembling in even the slightest amount in front of you is out of the question. Mingyu doesn’t ever want to risk the chances of you thinking there’s no one else you can rely on. He can’t be weak. Not in front of you. Not ever.

And Dasom understands that.

She understands.

So he takes a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath in, feeling the beat of her steady heart calm his nerves to remind him of who he is and what he is capable of.

He is Mingyu, your right hand man, your control, your breath of air, your foundation.

When he opens his eyes again, they no longer falter with hesitation as he gives her a nod, allowing her the task of being his control when he needs it.

.

.

.

Actions can be harder to execute despite the constant reminder.

He told the Reapers to all act normal, that they must never mention what happened the day you woke up more hysterical than any other times you’ve been, but still a part of him fears you still have that part of you still in there somewhere, that somehow, someway, you’ll still mistake him of your father.

In all the years he’s spent secretly loyal only to you, Mingyu has always wanted you to be more expressive and more honest with your feelings. In all the years you’ve lived under your father, you’ve never had the courage to act any other way than living in a void of emotions, unable to feel anything.

Not anger, not sadness, not anything.

Or at least, you were always the best at hiding them and suppressing them.

But ever since his death, it’s almost as if your body and mind know of it and has allowed you to begin acting up, to show your emotions a little more, to be more aggressive, and feel less in control of yourself. You dream more, you wake up more often than usual in the middle of the night in a daze, sleepwalking, sleep talking, and awaken with no memories of what you had done during those moments. 

You’ve come to rely on him even more, reaching out for him, getting more anxiety and panic attacks, falling out of control, and having him to reel you back in.

And even though he knows you’re smart enough to understand that he would never do anything to hurt you, that small little moment of you frightful of him will forever be engraved in his mind, whether you know of it or not.

But Mingyu tries his best to remain calm and collected, not wanting to alert you of anything wrong. He doesn’t want your mind drifting off to something else when you’ve already got a handful of problems weighing you down.

Today you sit on a chair that faces sideways from the window, arm resting against the armrest as you look down at your hand, the one wrapped in white bandages from your last visit at the Bangtan manor.

He hopes you don’t notice it got a bit worse after you ignored the healing in order to go after him the day before, but knowing you, you’re smart enough to notice even the slightest of change.

Still, you don’t speak on it.

“Mingyu.” You say and he almost breathes a sigh of relief at the call of his name. “I…” You speak slowly, still in a space where you aren’t fully conscious but you’re getting there, trying to return to reality, trying to reel back in. “I want to visit the kids,” you look up at him, lids heavy but trying, “The Academy.”

He gives you a firm nod, obedient. “I understand.”

And so Mingyu walks off to ready all the things necessary for your departure while you remain in the seat beside the window, staring out with a blank gaze, head lost in the clouds.

You dress warmly in white and a soft style, scarf hiding the bandages around your neck, hands hidden under your long sleeves being as the gloves causes a bit of pain when placed on top of your injured knuckles.

When you step out of the car to find the building you built about two years ago, some bits of memories flash back into your mind.

The children, Ying’s victims, all now reside here after finally having enough power and influence to be able to rescue them. You’re sure all the things they’ve been through probably still cause them nightmares but you hope that in a way, you building them this safe place rather than abandoning them in orphanages has been able to help if even a little.

Your sudden visit, even while Mingyu had called in advance, causes a ruckus.

The kids are all excited from the very moment you step onto The Academy grounds, eyes watching you with awe and fascination from the windows, and when the doors open for you, the headmaster and two other faculty greet you with formal bows leveled respectfully your way.

You shake off the formality and look at Mingyu's way to do the speaking for you.

“Be at ease,” he commands. “Boss is only here to see how things are going. Resume your schedules as they were.”

“We’ll have someone escort you to navigate you through the floors.”

“No need. We’ll just have a look around.”

“Milady!”

“It’s Lady Y/N!

“Children—”

You put a hand up at the headmaster’s scolding and she’s quick to back down. Then with another respectful bow made your way, the three of them walk off to their previous posts, as per Mingyu’s orders, while you turn to the kids who once looked hesitant upon almost getting scolded.

“Look at that,” you stare at the familiar faces, “not so skinny anymore, are you?” Their faces are quick to light up at your familiar approach. “Have you been eating well?”

“Yes, my lady!”

“Look, I’m growing muscles!”

“The adults here are kind, my lady.”

“But don’t worry, we won’t naively trust just anyone here.”

You raise a brow. “Will you?”

“Everything Lady Y/N says is law so of course we’ll abide by anything you say.”

“And what did I say about trusting me so easily?”

They quickly frown with protest.

“But you saved us.”

“And built an academy just for us.”

“And we’re fed well and trained well.”

“And get to sleep in a comfy bed when night falls.”

“How can we not trust you?”

You take a glance at Mingyu’s way when they come at you with all the good deeds you’ve given them, sighing when he gives you a simple shrug. Well, at the end of the day, whether you’d like them to listen to you, kids will be kids and look towards the ones who treat them with the most kindness.

Though their loyalty is the most reliable.

“You look a bit tired, my lady.” One of them notes with a more apprehensive approach, her lips pressed into a small pout, brows creased slightly. Lily stares at you with concern. “You look like how we looked when we were still with Ying.”

“Are you eating well?”

“If you’re hungry, I saved a snack from breakfast this morning. It’s really good, my lady.” Sunoo offers you a sweet bread cake wrapped in a clear plastic wrapper and you simply stand there for a moment, staring at it without a word.

Cakes, desserts, snacks. Things you never got the chance of touching ever since the death of Mister Butler. He used to steal these little things for you. You remember whenever night came, when the whole manor fell asleep with only a few left awake, he would sneak into your room or you would sneak into his and he’d allow you to eat then, away from prying eyes, away from everyone else.

You craved sweets after his death, missed those little moments when he used to make you the happiest little girl in the world. You missed it all.

But you remember clearly when food became something you no longer craved, when it became the very thing you grew to fear and you would only eat the food you knew you could trust in tiny portions, just enough to let you get by.

And now you can’t even eat anything that hasn’t been made physically by the hands of your Reapers. Only the Reapers. So whether Sunoo has good intentions or not, you cannot accept his gift.

“I’m not hungry,” so you state looking away coldly from his gift and for a second you think it may have offended him, that it may have hurt him, but he recovers rather quickly as if coming to understand your ways of doing things.

To them, no matter how cold and ruthless you may be, you’re still their savior. Their first kindness.

“Ah then maybe you’re just tired,” he says, putting his snack away into his pocket again.

“If you’re tired, you should rest, my lady.”

“Oh but maybe she doesn’t like sleeping because of the nightmares.”

“Do you get nightmares too, my lady?”

“Or maybe things are just too busy with you.”

“You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”

“What happened there?” Junho points and when you look down at your hand, you realize he caught sight of the bandages. They all pause in their questions, blinking curiously when you hold your hand up to your face, the memories of that night wanting to slip in.

“I punched glass,” you say and they all collectively gasp.

“Whoa, you’re so cool!”

“It must’ve hurt though!”

“Did it hurt? Does it hurt now?” Hyerim’s eyes follow your hand when you place it back down beside you, her lips slightly agape as she hesitates in her approach for you, fingers fidgeting just as she looks up for your reaction. When you give her no protest in her cautious approach, she takes your hand in hers, holding it gently in her tiny little ones. “I hope the pain eases soon,” she whispers sincerely as her fingers softly glide against the bandages, soothing over your knuckles.

You stare at her for the longest time, the peace in you rising as your anger and frustrations from the past few days, weeks, and months begin slowly calming from their fire.

“I hope the pain eases soon,” she says, and when the rest of the children look at you with that same hope and light flashing in their eyes, you feel a small little ache in your chest as you realize that perhaps, in some ways, the person you are to them is the same as the person Mister Butler was to you.

It hurts.

Ah, it hurts.

.

.

.

Walking along an empty road just a few blocks away from The Academy in order to clear your head, you hear the sound of a click that can only belong to a gun and stop in your steps, remaining nonchalant as you turn at the gun pointed at your head.

A man.

Two.

One with a child held against the guy behind the first one who has a gun to your head, covering the little one’s mouth so he doesn’t make a sound with a gun also to his head. You see tears streaming down his face, the kind little boy who always led the little ones to remain brave and strong in your absence, who offered you a sweet snack when they thought you were hungry.

Sunoo.

“Do anything and the boy dies,” the man before you warns and you look his way, looking bored with your hands held behind your back, simply staring without falter.

And you guess he must have sensed your lack of fear because his brows crease right before there’s a sense of relief in his eyes when you feel a few more presence just behind you.

“Hello there, buttercup. It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

You physically freeze in place.

Buttercup.

There is only one person in this world who has ever constantly called you buttercup and that person is,

“Lady Nari,” the man who holds you at gunpoint greets, and both the two men’s heads fall into a bow, though they don’t forget to keep their eyes on both you and Sunoo.

You hear her heels click when she walks over, feel her close behind you as you take in a deep breath, closing your eyes when you feel her hand on your shoulder.

You’re surrounded and one move will mean Sunoo’s life.

“Now then,” she says, “why don’t you throw away anything that will have your people track you down easily, hm?” She asks, her lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “Unless you want the boy to die?”

Nari knows how much power she holds over you right now and that is an expression you’re far too familiar with. A spoiled little girl who grew up with a loving father who only knew to give his daughter everything she wanted. Just how many years has it been since you’ve last seen her?

None of your Reapers, not even Yuna knows that she’s one of the people who’s done you wrong, and perhaps even Nari understands this situation, which makes her all the more powerful. Who would suspect her when you’re so great at keeping your lips sealed?

You rid of your earrings, tug your necklace off, and throw any weapon on you onto the ground, all the while keeping your eyes on the woman before you, knowing there is nothing that can be done. Not unless you want Sunoo to die.

“What a good girl you are, buttercup,” she grins with brightness, “you’ve always been such a good girl, haven’t you? Though inspection is of course still needed. If anything else is found on you, you’ll receive a nice little punishment, just the way bad girls are supposed to get.”

Nari takes a few steps back, signaling to her men.

“Search her.”

Your back straightens like a tall pole as you hold your breath back while you let your eyes flutter close, trying to manipulate your body into believing the hands that fall onto you aren’t anyone threatening, that you’re okay, that you’ll be okay.

If you give Nari even the slightest bit of weakness to hold against you, you’ll end up worst than what will happen to you now so you keep still, not resisting, not doing anything, as you hear struggles from a few inches away.

“Don’t struggle,” you tell him, meeting the little boy’s eyes straight on as you allow your focus to fall on him and him alone. You try to imagine the peace he gives you, the conversations you had with the little ones just a few minutes ago as your breath threatens to give out but you hold yourself steady, watching him intently because it’s the only thing you can do.

You’ve asked Mingyu to return to the manor, he’s not here right now, and the only person here on your side is a little boy who looks up to you and sees you as his hero, his savior. He’s the only one you can rely on now in order to help you catch your breath, in order to allow you a moment to breathe again.

So you focus on Sunoo and Sunoo alone, and as if he can feel your sense of panic and how he holds some power over being that person to ground you down, Sunoo stops struggling against the man, eyes meeting you straight on.

Don’t be afraid, you wish to say and the message conveys to him when he focuses on his own breathing, trying to look as brave as he possibly can with your eyes solely on him and him alone.

When the search ends, you feel something hit you hard in the head and then the world falls pitch black.

[astrum99]

Somewhat of a sequel to this post

---

V2’s codes and syntax slot into V1’s seamlessly – not like a key, but like bodies of water. Rain runs into stream; river flows into ocean. Fragments of a ‘self’ and remnants of the ‘thoughts’ echo against each other within the mismatched arms. Complete? Almost complete? It is not certain, but it knows that she grows.

V1 finds itself flexing its digits sometimes, in the quiet, settled hours between periods of slaughter. It soaks in crimson, rolls its shoulder, stretches its back backward to hear the mechanical joints pop like bones. Not exactly machine-like. Not exactly its habit. So, the sassy little head tilts to tease its opponents must be hers then. The same as the mocking waggle of its digits. The same as that quick bow in the stance of a ballet dancer, third position, a leg tucked behind the other in elegance before stillness transforms into ruthless violence unleashed upon the masses. The stage is theirs, the curtain rises, and they dance as one.

V2 is louder now. Her voice grows clearer. V1 is uncertain if the second arm it picked up aided this image of her in her recovery, or if its perfect compatibility did. It’s not even sure if this version of ‘her’ is V2.

Is the new growth from a tree stump the same as the tree?

Even if it is, V1 is unable to determine the paper-thin boundary between itself and her. These human-like actions inherited from V2 feel natural, so it must have changed from the version that first descended into hell. Did she transform it then? Or did it consume her?

Or, a mutual surrender?

Lean forward until shadows fall into one. Until they overlap into the same three-dimensional space within the universe. Until the waves lap lazily against driftwood, wholly synchronized into the same beat, the same wavelength of being. Sharing body parts and motherboards until it is no longer it, and she is no longer her.

Is this it? Something entirely different, new?

Is it her? Is she it?

When they peer into a shattered mirror, they cannot tell the colour of its frame; they cannot read the text engraved upon their heart.

Carvings of wood breathe still.

Not dead. Not alive.

But altered. Complete.

[mybeingthere]

Beautiful and scary copperplate engravings by Saki Murakami (born 1992, Japan).

Saki was born in Takasaki, Gunma Prefecture where her family was running a veterinary clinic. She herself underwent a life-or-death heart operation at the age of four, and has been troubled for many years by the fragmented memory of the fear.

After graduating from Takasaki University of Economics High School, she went to Musashino Art University to study copperplate printmaking.

Pain, trauma, disturbing thoughts, emotional wounds - all are expressed into the process of copperplate printing. "For me, the copperplate represents the human heart, the wounds I make represent psychological trauma, the ink I fill the wounds with represents blood, and the paper I print onto represents bandages or gauze," Saki says.

While studying at the university's graduate school, Saki Murakami received numerous awards. She has a studio in her hometown of Takasaki.

http://www.tokinowasuremono.com/artist-e65.../index.html

[codfanficedits]

Being with you too.

CW: A little bit of angst? Portraying of an unhealthy relationship/a break-up

Fem!reader x Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Little note: I've posted part one on another platform too and people requested a part two. I hope this doesn't suck ass!!

Part One here

Being with Simon meant you had to go to quite some gatherings with him, but you didn’t mind at all, you enjoyed socializing with people, especially new people. It meant you could tell people all about him, about how handsome he was, how the two of you met, how he was different from all the men you had met before. Not a bad word you leave you lips when you would talk about Simon. After all, how could you badmouth the man that had been nothing but good for you?

Being with Simon caused you to come into contact with the Los Vaqueros, one of the forces he had to partner up with in order to keep the world a better place. Alejandro was a nice man to talk to, a bit of a dominant type, talking over you all the time, but you didn’t mind it, after all, he was praising Simon for his good work, and that brought a smile to your face. You did like his counterpart, Rudy, a lot more. The man was quiet, but his eyes were bright, attentive even and you liked how you could tell how well he listened to you, it was way more active than Simon would listen to you, Rudy’s eyes would never leave your face, not even when you somehow got to your favourite TV show. It was so different from Simon and it brought a weird knot to your stomach. You felt bad for even thinking such things, especially when Simon loved you so much. Of course Simon listened to you, he just showed it different.

Being with Simon was reason enough to break off the conversation with Rudy, leaving him with a puzzled look on his face when you came with a lame excuse to go to the open bar. The internal war of feelings still going on, and to ease yourself you decided to bring Simon a drink, to make the feelings of guilt go away.

A smile on your face as you approach him, his back turned to you while he talked to Gaz. You could feel your heart drop when you heard snippets of his conversation.

“….talks too much…”

“…even after….missions…”

Your mouth runs dry, your hands tremble but you take another step towards him, needing to hear what Simon is saying. It couldn’t be about you? Right? He would never say such things.

“I’m telling you Gaz, she just never, ever shuts up. After our last mission I came home and the moment I stepped foot in that house, she was next to me. Like a goddamn leech sucking away the life out of me.”

Being with Simon was the reason why your heart just got shattered into your chest, the fragments piercing through your lungs as you struggle to breathe properly, hot tears forming in your eyes as his words engrave in your brain. He was supposed to be your safe haven, he was supposed to be different. You want to do all sort of things, scream at him, throw the beer in your hands to the back of his head, cuss him out, call him his father. But you can’t. Instead you turn around, silent steps away from him.

Being with Simon became a lesson on how you couldn’t even trust the person you loved so dearly, it taught you that you do indeed talk to much, making you a flawed human that should learn to shut up. You can’t even remember how you came home, the drive was a blur. Getting into the apartment was a blur, but there you were, sitting on the couch, all alone.

Leaving Simon was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Part of you wanted to change for him, chat less, talk less, shut up more. But you knew you’d advice friends to leave a man who would dare to talk shit about them like this. And you knew you would never trust another word that would leave his lips again. Those same lips that had kissed you so much, and again you could feel that war in your chest going on, your heart chattering, your lungs struggling to breath, your stomach flipping. But you couldn’t let a man break you like this. Because excusing the way he had mistreated you would be a mistake.

You made yourself the promise that no one would ever knock the wind out of you again, not like that, not like him. When you pack your stuff you wonder how you should let him know you’re leaving. Would you wait for him? Call him? Text him? Give him the chance to explain himself? Maybe it would just be one big mistake. But your heart knew better, your mind knew better, you knew better. The sadness in your chest makes way for anger. Calm anger, no more tears running down your cheeks anger, but a I’ll fold my clothes neatly in the suitcase while I leave you anger. You won’t call him, text him, wait for him, no you’re disappearing out of his life. Erasing yourself out of his narrative, and part of you wants to be there when he comes home and find everything stripped from your existence, you’re taking as much as you can load into your car. The spoons you bought? They’re coming with you, the toilet paper you bought two days ago? It’s yours and loaded into your boot. That PlayStation you got him for Christmas? Into the passenger seat it goes. Even the duvet covers are coming with you. You’re content when your car is full with all of the stuff you had bought in the years the two of you had been together and you start the drive to one of your friends. Leaving Simon would be the hardest and easiest thing you had done.

Being with you meant that Simon had to drag you along to the gatherings from work, each one more annoying than the others. You would always be so happy to talk to people, and for him it was a nice break, every word you said to others, was a word you didn’t have to say to him. He would know what you’d tell people, always boosting about how much he loved you, it made him sick to his stomach, the happiness on your face while all he could feel was disgust.

Being with you caused Simon to dread it whenever you had to meet new people he worked with. He could see you talk to Alejandro, seeing you narrow your eyes whenever Alejandro would interrupt you and talk over you, a smirk on Simons face. Because now you knew how annoying it is whenever someone talks so much. Simon could see you talking to Rudy, the poor sucker was being caught in your whirlwind of words and Simon was just really happy he wasn’t in Rudy’s position right now.

Simon turned around when he saw Gaz approaching. “She just never shuts up huh?” Gaz was the first to make a snarky remark.

“Never, she just talks too much.” Simon said with a sigh. “I’m never at peace, not even after I come home after a my missions.”

Simon shook his head. “I’m telling you Gaz, she just never, ever shuts up. After our last mission I came home and the moment I stepped foot in that house, she was next to me. Like a goddamn leech sucking away the life out of me.”

A soft chuckle leaves Gaz. “Man I don’t even know how you hold up.”

Being with you was the reason why Simon could drink this night, after all, you would be his ride home, so he had nothing to worry about. He hadn’t even noticed you had left, no instead Simon was too busy having fun with the people that he actually cared about. While you were struggling at the apartment, he was dancing and drinking. While you had made up your mind and had found the strength to leave, Simon was too busy cracking stupid jokes with Price. While you were content and driving towards one of your friends, Simon was finally ready to leave, and it wasn’t until that moment that he noticed you had left. All he could feel was annoyance, because this meant he had to take an expensive cab home.

Being with you was the reason why he dreaded going home, stepping foot into that house again. But this time it felt different. The apartment felt colder than usual, not as warm, not as cozy. And you weren’t there to greet him at the door. Maybe you were asleep? He stumbled to the bedroom, but it was empty, too empty. Simon noticed the duvet covers missing, he opened up the closet and noticed your clothes missing, his heart starting to race when he realized something was wrong. Did someone break in? No, it would be weird for a burglar to just take the duvet covers and your clothing. Did you leave? No, you wouldn’t have the balls to do so. Maybe you just went to a friend?

He stumbled to the kitchen, opening up the fridge. His eyes widening when half of the groceries were missing. The orange juice you had bought was gone, the meat, the cheese, even the beers you had bought just for him were gone. The realisation that you might’ve left finally dawned up on him, and it brought him a lot of peace. He could just spent time without have you yap an blabber all the time, he didn’t have to listen to your constant talking about those dumb shows you watched. It nearly felt as if the Gods had blessed him. Being left by you turned out to be harder than Simon had thought. He had enjoyed the silence for a while, but when he woke up in that large, empty bed, he couldn’t help but miss you next to him. He thought he would enjoy eating his breakfast in silence, but the silence that lingered in the apartment was an eerie one, and loneliness crept up to him. He tried to reach out to you, but you had blocked him on every single platform he could reach you on and for the first time since he had met you, he found himself longing for your words, the way you spoke, the way you were so passionate about all the topics you talked about.

Being left by you made him realise how much he loved you.

Leaving Simon broke you down, but you managed to pick yourself up again. It took you a while, but you slowly found yourself trusting other again, and although you were still weary of talking too much, you still had that some passion in your voice whenever you talked about something, even your silly TV shows. You went to the store, getting yourself a tub of ice cream before your favourite show would start. Your cart bumping into someone since your mind was busy with the cliffhanger of last episode. “I’m so sorry.” You mutter quickly as you look up.

Rudy.

His eyes light up a little too quickly as a smile forms on his lips. “You never told me if Big Edd and Rose ended up staying together.”