#her screams her rage her anguish and brutal fear :((( | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kassandras-one-braincell · 1 year

Text

Soma x Reader - Teeth and Talons

Kinktober 04: Marking [explicit]

Contains: rough sex, scratching, biting, blood-drawing

Word count: 951

Ao3 link here.

Men, minors and ageless/default blogs DNI. You will be blocked immediately upon interaction.

You nearly lost her. The dirt tracks of Cippenham drowned in blood, and hers almost joined the crimson tides. She cast her shield to the wind; by some fortuitous grace, no sword found its way through her flesh, save for a few shallow slices. Narrowly, she lived to tell the tale of her recklessness. And you were furious.

Telltale signs of grief stained Soma’s face as her longship docked, staggering through the currents with fewer oars. There was no glory in death. She confided that much in you through hollow tears. Her faith had choked, and with no divine comforts, only you could console her grief. Weeks of agony she endured, hidden from the ghostly eyes of her drengir, finally slipped through the cracks of her numb visage.

With a weeping heart, you held her. Venom threaded your thoughts, cursing her stupid, stupid habit of succumbing to adrenaline, but you bit your tongue. Yet your mind refused to concede to the love you held for her. The bitter memory of your clash merely days before she departed for Hamtunscire haunted you: you pleaded for her to listen to reason, that her iron-forged loyalties amounted to nought if she never lived to uphold them, that the battle was ill-timed and ill-prepared. The screaming, the tears. The coldness of the furs beside you as she feigned sleep in the bed once belonging to a man who forsook her good, honest heart.

Soma harboured anger, too. It gnawed at her, taunting her grief. A valkyrie’s embrace was nothing more than a lullaby for shit-scared warriors before untimely eternal rest. Good warriors died singing it. Her good warriors.

Desperate for mortal solace, your bodies found one another – as they often did after Soma returned from battle, although never with such saddened fury. You wanted to kiss her. To strangle her. To sew your skins together so she could never leave without ripping you asunder. To stake her to the bed, to sob into her chest. To be whole again.

Woeful rage seeped into the first kiss. You loved this woman – by whatever force brought her home to you, did you fucking love her – and feared the intensity of that love died with her comrades. Feared that your anger was a nail in that coffin. But you were blissfully wrong as Soma spat her pure, earnest adoration for the bond you shared through gritted teeth. You were tangible, unlike anything she had felt other than pain these past weeks, and she tested this palpability with harsh rakes of her teeth against your flesh. Deep, sharp bitemarks littered your thighs at your plea, for you wanted to share her pain. She gripped your hand until her knuckles turned white as she lapped between your thighs, hissing anguished I-love-yous against your cunt.

Your lips found hers again as you trembled through the aftershocks of your orgasm. The salt of your savour muddied with the salt of her tears. You pressed a map of saline kisses into her skin, sinking your teeth into every scar that littered her body until all you tasted was flesh. Bit her down to her hips, where you knelt to fasten a harness when she begged to fill you to completion. You spared her worn palms the burden of leather, for it was all they had known after a brutal eternity with an axe in hand.

Pleasure laced itself into every thrust of Soma’s hips, but what you both yearned for, more than breath itself, was unity. Closeness. She lay atop you, her chest flush against yours, bracing the weight of her body on her forearms either side of your head so as to not crush you, although you wished she would. Her ragged breathing grazed your ear, her face buried into the crook of your neck so deep that you could feel the indent of the scar on her cheek.

She rocked into you slowly, with a heartbreaking rawness. There was love to be made, and she made it with a beauty so grotesque, so tender yet cannibalistic that nobody other than you would understand.

Your heart waned as the muscles of her back trembled under your splayed fingers. Your lips latched onto the skin of her shoulder, the sweat licking her flesh bittersweet against your tongue. Breathy moans were muffled against her scars and ink, but their vibrations carried into her veins.

Soma tilted her head to kiss your neck, soothing over a bitemark. She adjusted the angle of her hips, grinding her cock into the tenderest part of your heat, something you never thought you would find yourself wanting amidst your blissful togetherness until it happened. A strangled sound left your throat as your grip on her back tightened, your nails digging into her flexing muscle harsher than intended.

You felt her grimace under the sting. Moaning out an apology, you massaged the faint crescent markings with your fingertips.

But she craved the pain of it. It was the safest pain she’d felt all month.

“Scratch me up, sweetheart,” she rasped desperately against your shoulder. “Make me fucking bleed.”

“Soma,” you whispered, tinged with worry. Some of the cuts along her back were newly healed. She had bled enough for a lifetime—

“Please.”

Seldom did Soma ask you for anything, never mind beg. And you refused to deny her. Not now, of all times.

You clawed. You clawed until the skin of her back stained the underside of your nails. And as paper-thin streams of her blood kissed the air, her strained moan into your neck clawed its way into your heart.

“I’ve got you, love,” you murmured.

Raw, bloody, with mark after mark carved into one another’s bodies, she knew.

#7 mins left let's fucking GO #soma jarlskona #soma x reader #ac soma #kinktober 2023

35 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 1 year

Text

As Yaga-Shura falls dead into the mud, Caden feels that sudden sharp tug within him that he first felt when Irenicus and his soul dragged him into hell. Terror seizes him for a moment...then fades, slowly, as he and his friends find themselves back in the pocket plane that is serving as the only home they have at present.

And they have a houseguest.

The angel is floating in the center of the plane, her golden wings keeping a slow, steady pace in the air. She eyes Caden with an analytical gaze, appraising, searching. There is no warmth in her voice, only a sort of implacable purpose.

Caden is so tired. He is covered in Yaga-Shura's blood and all he wants is rest. He certainly does not want to be tested by anyone yet again. But he listens, because he has no choice, and he feels a dread begin to creep up the back of his neck without knowing the reason why.

The angel extends a hand, pointing into the dimness beside them, and in that dimness, smoke begins to swirl and dance until it settles into a form - a woman's form, her face a mixture of human and elven features. Her eyes are a deep brown and gaze into the distance, and a beatific smile plays around her lips.

Caden's breath catches in his throat and he feels his chest clench tightly around his heart. Dimly he is aware that Aerie has taken his hand and is holding it close to her chest, but he can only look at this woman, the woman who bore him, and those eyes so like his own except for the madness of the cult of Bhaal that burns in them.

The smoke swirls again and another form steps from the shadows. Gorion. Caden looks towards him with anguish and muted fear, remembering the abuse heaped on him from the demon that last took the man's form - but this vision of Gorion has the real one's kindness in his gaze, and that fathoms-deep subtle sadness that Caden was never able to understand until long after Gorion was lost.

Caden's breath is coming faster now, hitching painfully in his throat. Images flash through his mind, half-formed memories of the child he once was, shouts, screams.

He feels like a little boy again, in pain and afraid, and wants to run to Gorion and hug against his leg and hide in the folds of his robes from the terrors of the world outside. But this Gorion is merely a trick of the light, and there is no one there to protect him.

The light shifts again and a third figure shimmers into existence. This one is a child, perhaps ten years old, with a golden gaze that flashes with impudence and undirected rage. And even in a boy so young, Caden recognizes that set of the jaw, the pride and brutal cunning, that will one day grow into one of his greatest enemies.

His brother, Sarevok.

The boy's voice is sing-song, mocking. Caden sinks to his knees in the muck of the floor, and dimly feels Aerie's arms around his shoulders, supporting him as he sags under the weight of these new revelations.

The solar watches him impassively.

Caden's voice is hollow with exhaustion and grief. Who the grief is for, he couldn't say. Perhaps for his mother, misguided and destructive as she was but his mother nevertheless, or for Gorion, whose loss somehow feels immediate all over again, as if it happened yesterday. Or perhaps for himself, locked into these workings of fate that he never asked for and cannot escape.

And she is gone, vanishing into the shadows along with the visions she brought.

"Are...you all right, Caden?" Aerie asks carefully, kneeling at his side in the mud and pressing her fingertips to his cheek.

"Was a lot to take in," Imoen agrees, squatting at his other side while the others gather around.

Jaheira grunts softly behind him. "Gorion never spoke of the night he found you," she says gruffly. "We knew him before, and very little after, for he was much occupied with raising you both. I am...sorry I could not have told you this sooner."

Caden draws in a slow, shuddering breath and lets it out heavily. He feels immeasurably grateful for his friends standing around him, that he does not have to endure this moment alone. But he does not know how he could begin to articulate the swarm of feelings working in his chest.

And so he just nods. "I'm all right," he says softly. "I'm...I'll be all right."

#bjk plays baldur's gate 2 #caden of candlekeep #bjk writes her own party banter #well this was feelsy

2 notes · View notes

huntershowl · 28 days

Text

@putrescencx said:

"I need you to mind your own self and back away."

HELLHOUND IS A REMARKABLE CREATURE at full, unrestrained power. they are also a remarkably destructive creature. their name hasn't spread in whispers throughout japan for nothing, after all — the polar opposite of stain, she is a villain without reason, a beast torn loose from hell to flood the streets with senseless fear.

tonight's kill was, as they always are, incredibly brutal. all teeth and mechanical hands working into flesh like claws, the animal scream of rage and anguish that lets civilians know it's time to lock their doors, the sheer body horror of it all. she paints the alleyway red with him, this civilian victim far from home.

the moments directly after the kill are always the most dangerous. still consumed by the monster and its blind rage, hellhound's heightened senses attune to living presences around them and kill indiscriminately until there's no one left, as anything that breathes registers instantly as a threat. this is why she plans so meticulously to avoid that outcome. each kill is performed in an isolated location, often the result of persephone fabricating some kind of lure to get the target away from other people. no bystanders, no crossfire.

it goes against her wanton-bloodshed reputation, this particular detail, but no one has investigated closely enough to figure it out anyway. heroes have no interest in this; they want to kill the villain and save the people. she's counting on that.

there wasn't supposed to be another person here tonight. the reaction to his presence is instant: bloodsoaked face snaps to the side and locks eyes with him, the spidery body launches almost inhumanly fast toward the silhouette at the end of the alley with claws out and teeth bared — but hellhound is a remarkable creature, all instinct. they know an apex predator when they see one. there is an air about him that resonates deep in their bones, fox approached by wolf. his body is so frail, but something about his face ( or rather, the red haze where a face should be ) tells her it doesn't matter.

so they freeze. stock-still, inches away from the intruder's faceless face, heaving breaths through gritted teeth and a clawed mechanical hand still poised to strike.

#>> IN.#putrescencx #>> VERSE ( bnha » villain — inside your head the sound of glass. )#{ HELLO HELLO!!! i hooooope this works okay! }#{ i know its a bit horrory so let me know if u want me to tone it down at any point — and always feel free to turn a meme into a thread! }#{ some context if it's helpful: as of currently in culture — 'hellhound' is an isolated/independent villain #persephone's the second in command of a shadow syndicate that wants to get a strong hold in japan but keeps being pushed out by the yakuza #but the connection between syndicate (the unseen) and hellhound as a public figure isn't generally known! AFO probably knows about it tho.#since seph's boss is in soooome kind of talks with him. verse-dependent whether that's neutral/allyship/enemies though! }

1 note · View note

gobboguy · 11 months

Text

Chapter 19: The Sacking of Farfield

Amidst the chaos of the city, Farfield's streets ran red with the blood of its citizens. The Orcs, their green skin stained even darker by the atrocities they committed, poured through the town like a tidal wave of destruction. No soul was spared in their merciless onslaught. Soldiers fell defending their homeland, and innocent civilians met the same fate, their terrified screams drowned out by the triumphant roars of the Orcs.

Houses and shops, once filled with the warmth of family and the bustle of everyday life, were now upturned and ransacked. The Orcs showed no mercy, their cruel hands tossing furniture and personal belongings aside as if they were nothing more than debris. Citizens who tried to flee found themselves with nowhere to hide, their desperate attempts at escape met with swift, brutal ends.

The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, the acrid scent mingling with the pungent musk of the Orcs. The sky above was choked with billowing clouds of black, the result of countless fires that raged unchecked, consuming everything in their path. The once-vibrant city was now a nightmarish landscape, its streets filled with the dying cries of the innocent and the guttural snorts of Orcish triumph.

Amidst this carnage, the Orcs reveled in their victory. Their laughter, a grotesque parody of joy, echoed through the streets. Punctuated by the sickening slaps of their bellies, their voices rose in jubilant cries, lauding Gelbeg and Ionia as if they were deities.

"MOG, granav uuk vicavorausan!" they bellowed, their words a chilling reminder of the power they believed had led them to this gruesome triumph. In the midst of the horror, the city of Farfield had fallen, its once-proud citizens now reduced to little more than prey for the Orcish horde.

In the dim light of their once-happy home, a father stood defiant, his trembling hands clutching a makeshift weapon. He could hear the ominous footsteps of the Orcs drawing nearer, their laughter echoing like a cruel mockery of humanity.

The door burst open, and a towering Orcish warrior, his muscles rippling beneath his coarse skin, loomed in the doorway. In response, the father clutched a makeshift weapon, his trembling hands betraying his fear. "Please, spare my family! We mean you no harm!" he pleaded, his voice quivering with desperation.

Glarring, the Orcish Warrior, a hulking figure with a sneering grin, stepped forward. "Humans, always so pathetic in their pleas," he spat, his tone dripping with disdain. "Your kind is nothing but chattel to us, weak and defenseless."

With a swift and brutal strike, the father fell, his body crumpling to the ground with a gasp. The mother, tears streaming down her face, cried out in anguish, "No, please! Spare us! Have mercy!"

The Orcs, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, yanked the women and children out of their hiding spots by their hair. The terrified family members were bound with coarse ropes, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

Inside the house, the Orcs indulged in a grotesque feast, their sharp teeth tearing into whatever food they could find. The once-happy family table, now stained with blood and despair, became the scene of their debauchery. Orcs belched and farted, their laughter ringing out like a mockery of human joy, while the family watched in horror.

As the family trembled, bound and helpless, the Orcs reveled in their savagery, their bellies distended with stolen food. The sounds of their vile feast mingled with the anguished cries of the family, creating a chilling cacophony that echoed through the desecrated home, a symbol of the unimaginable horrors wrought by the Orcish invasion.

In the midst of the gruesome spectacle, the Captain of the Guard, marked by his desperation and bravery, stepped forward to challenge an Orcess warrior who had killed many of his men. This formidable Orcess, her long black hair cascading like a shadow down her back, possessed eyes that blazed like crimson embers with an unsettling fervor. Her muscular arms and legs, etched with battle scars, were framed by the sagging weight of her breasts and a protruding belly, unmistakable signs of her Orcish lineage. Adorned in dark, blood-stained armor that bore witness to countless battles, she clutched a sword, its blade gleaming with the sanguine hue of past victories.

With a disdainful snort, the Orcess squared her shoulders, her posture exuding confidence. The duel that followed was a cruel ballet of violence; she moved with the lethal grace of a seasoned predator. In a single, fluid motion, she drove her sword through the Captain's heart, her face illuminated by the arterial spray of blood that stained her face. The exultant cheers of her comrades mingled with the guttural sounds of her victory.

Unfazed by the brutality of her triumph, the Orcess stood over the fallen Captain, her eyes burning with a sinister fervor. In a final act of ruthless dominance, she callously pulled aside her bloodstained armor, revealing her muscular form, squatted over the fallen captain, and unleashed a stream of hot urine onto the Captain's head. The act was a grotesque testament to her superiority, a chilling reminder of the depths to which their cruelty had descended.

Rising from her crouched position, she let out a triumphant Orcish war cry that echoed through the chaos, her voice resonating with the pride of her heritage and the merciless spirit of her race. Her actions, grotesque as they were, symbolized the ruthless determination that fueled their conquest, leaving a haunting impression on all who witnessed the depths of their savagery.

#fantasy #goblins #orcs #literature #gobboguy #SongsofPower4

0 notes

fel-path · 1 year

Photo

“The Light Protects. The Light Protects. The Light is with me, and I am its vessel. Give to me your radiance, for I am alone in the dark...”

No matter the words she said, the agony remained. Jets of white-hot pain shot up through her body, each nerve feeling as if it were alight in flame. The Fel magic had burned deep not just into her flesh, but her soul, and she could feel the way it devoured the Light within her heart, tearing it apart like a rabid beast upon the kill.

She had to keep going, her sisters could mend this. They had to.

The Cleric had only just barely escaped the Warlocks, throwing herself from the bridge after being engulfed in their fire. The river had carried her to relative safety, but even the cold water did little to abate the sensation of fire that seared her arm and shoulder. She did not even know where her strength was coming from, as any attempts for her to call the Light instead conjured a sickly, corrosive green glow instead. And so she dragged herself to the shore, knowing that this particular river carried her to the riverbank that separated Elwynn to Brightwood. It should be safe.

With her mind focused on the pain, the cleric stumbled over something, clattering to the ground in a pile of broken metal and torn cloth, the taste of blood filling her mouth. She laid there for a long moment, tears welling in her eyes as she closed them tightly. She had to keep going, it would be so easy to just lay here and die, but she had to warn the Order of the malevolent magic that seemed equal to the Light. She punched the ground with a broken gauntlet before she forced herself onwards.

When she opened her eyes, she screamed.

The face of one of her sisters, Dalia, looked back at her with dead, bloodied eyes, her expression twisted into fear and pain. A spear had impaled her stomach and pinned her to the ground, the rest of her body mangled as if a beast of great sized had dined on her flesh, both legs torn from her.

She was not the only body, however.

The river she had followed lead to the shore that divided Elwynn and Brightwood, and the cleric found herself upon a beach of bodies. Villagers and armsmen, knights with great feathered plumes, the armoured clerics of her order, all slaughtered and butchered. The sand was soaked in blood, the normally clear waters now stained crimson with the life essence of her friends and family. They had been driven to the water and cut down with nowhere else to run to, even the children had not escaped the Horde’s indiscriminate malice.

“No, no, no no- NO!”

She sat up quickly, hissing a sound of pain as she ignored her side, turning around to see herself surrounded by the dead inhabitants of Brightwood. Anguish tore at her heart as she leaned her head back and let out a long, loud sound of deep-set agony and grief. She felt the eyes of the dead all upon her, blaming her for their brutal end, despite being alone.

Or so she thought.

The cleric soon realized that some of the Orcs remained, alerted to the wailing sounds of the Cleric’s loss. Five of them approached with spears and axes, figuring the injured woman to be easy prey. They laughed and taunted as they drew close after having finished slaying the wounded and taking trophies for their push into Elwynn.

Seeing the bodies of her felled friends and dearest blood, the Cleric snapped. A knight’s longsword was picked up, and suddenly she found the pain that coursed through her blood turn to strength. Hatred empowered her, and the world became a tint of red as she met the orcs in battle. She went wild, drunk with bloodlust, surging forward with renewed vigor and singular, vengeful focus.

She butchered them, hacking the orcs with wild cries akin to some ancient, primal beast. The orcs fell quickly to the rage of the cleric like wheat to the harvest, their bodies joining the slain denizens of Brightwood as they and the last two even attempted to flee. They were not swift enough to escape her wrath, the woman severing their legs to keep them from moving as she flipped them over, straddling them one at a time to bring the blade down again and again over their chests and face one at a time, forcing the other to watch what was to become of him. Blood sprayed over her, soon covering her with their corrupted ichor. The final orc’s last sight was of that beaten, battered Human drenched in crimson, eyes wild with green magic as she screamed down at him, blade soon sinking into his skull.

Her cries of pain filled the shoreline, the Orc’s sounds of agony soon cut off as she hacked them part. The sounds of her agony, of her rage would soon find the ears of the Orc war parties that lingered close. They would soon have the same effect as the deepest battle drums, filling the Orc with fear as a lone, blood-soaked human began haunting the woods, tearing apart Orcs with blade and claw.

Varah Terok, had been born, brought into the world as a being of malevolence and vengeance, a wraith of a cleric who had been broken by the Shadow Council’s greatest warlocks.

She would teach the Horde the meaning of fear, and the deep-set loss she felt for her sisters.

0 notes

daily-escuella · 3 years

Text

Drawn Out Feelings - Chapter 3

Charles x f!Reader

Today's chapter is a little intense! The day at the lake ends unexpectedly. Taima is a good horse <3

((some of the word choices I used in this chapter are from the game/the way Charles refers to himself. I thought about altering it but kept it in for accuracy so I hope that's alright! This chapter is a bit graphic so heed the warnings and read at your own discretion!))

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Bonus

Word Count: 2198

tw: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of death, mention of injury, period-typical racism

The adrenaline rose in your chest at Charles’ words. You squeezed the reins in your hands apprehensively as you turned to whisper back, “Tell me what to do.”

“Ride south-east, take her carefully across the river’s mouth, and when you hit the path, ride hard.” he breathed, watching the tree line unblinking, his shotgun at the ready.

You did as he said, directing Taima slowly across the rocky river onto the stony beach on the other side. She was a good horse, responding to your every request of her, sure footed and confident.

You looked over your shoulder at Charles just in time to see his eyes flash wide as an arrow whizzed past his face, narrowly missing yours as well.

“GO!” He screamed as he blasted a shot in the direction you had been attacked from.

You pushed Taima forward, tapping her hard with your heels until she was galloping as fast as a horse burdened with two riders could. Charles cursed as he blasted again, the sound of hoofbeats, hollering and gunfire could be heard approaching from the tree line. He reloaded his gun, but before he could fire it an arrow flew out of the trees, striking you in your left arm. You screamed out in pain and shock, but the adrenaline kept your feet standing firmly in the stirrups. You desperately urged Taima to give a little more, crying out all the while. Charles bellowed in rage and fired off two more blasts behind you, the sound of a pained shout and a thud could be heard rapidly fading into the distance.

“What’s happening?” you cried out to Charles. Your chest was tight and eyes wide with fear as you did everything you could to just stay on Taima and keep her moving forward.

“Skinner Brothers” he replied through gritted teeth. Two more blasts rang out behind you. “But they’ve never been this far east before!” He shrugged his bow off his shoulder and began loosing arrows into the tree line at your left.

“You know them?” You called back incredulously, gasping with pain.

“They’re a brutal gang,” he said quickly as he landed a hit on a half naked man in the trees above you. The man's body collapsed from the bough like an old ragdoll. You cringed as Taima flew past before his body hit the ground. “They didn’t come by that name by accident, the things they do to people-” gunfire from your left cut him off and he roared while loosing an arrow into the chest of a pursuer.

Just then you saw a light emerge from the forest ahead of you.

“Charles! In front of us!” you screamed.

He shifted his weight so he could aim around you. You ducked your body as low as you could, glancing up in time to see he had fired a special arrow he’d strapped an explosive to at the emerging attackers. It collided with their lantern in a fiery eruption. They screamed in agony, their horses screeched in terror and pain, bucking their riders and frantically running off. One of the horses lay dead from the blast and you could feel Charles’ pain through his anguished groan. He wouldn’t have done it unless it was the only option.

No more Skinner Brothers stood before you but you still had pursuers. They could ride faster than you could with less burden on their horses and they were quickly catching up, hooting and hollering all the way.

Charles switched back to his shotgun. You did your best to keep your eyes forward, praising Taima and trying in vain to calm her with pats while you tapped at her flanks, knowing your words were doing very little. You glanced back over your shoulder to see the ugly face of a man riding up quickly. He was coated in dried blood and dirt, with a sinister grin. He was no more than a few yards away, gun pointed at you, when Charles aimed at the man’s head and unleashed a blast, a meaty pop rang out with the buckshot as the man’s head turned to chunks of flesh and bone.

Charles shrieked an animalistic cry and you couldn’t help but catch a sob in your throat, quickly turning your attention forward again. Two more blasts rang out and along with them, guttural cries of pain and the heavy thud of bodies hitting the ground behind you. He reloaded and shot once more, but then stayed his weapon as he scanned for more men. “Don’t slow down, don’t stop until we’re in Great Plains!” he yelled up to you as he scanned along the trees. You nodded, though he wouldn’t have seen it, and continued to push Taima for all she had, tears blurring your vision, chilling your eyes and face in the wind.

~~~

When you finally slowed, you could see the lights of Blackwater on the twilit horizon. Charles directed you to the top of a small rise where you finally brought Taima to a stop. You felt the strength leave your body as the adrenaline began to fade. He hopped down right away, quickly looking Taima over for injuries. You were out of immediate danger, but you were all exhausted and sore. The poor appaloosa’s legs were quivering and she heaved deep breaths, recovering from her incredible feat of bravery, but otherwise was unharmed. Your arm throbbed as you moved to dismount, reminding you of the arrow that pierced it. You looked at it tentatively and brought a cautious hand up to touch it but the pain was immediate, causing a whimper to escape your throat.

“Don’t touch it,” Charles groaned mournfully as he quickly moved to assist you off Taima's back. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, his hands helplessly hovering over your arm.

“Should we pull it out?” you gasped, another throb of pain emanating from your wound.

“No.” he replied solemnly, “No, it’s too deep, it would just do more damage. We should take you to the doctor in town.” He said, eyes momentarily miles away as he formulated a plan. Pain was etched into the lines of his face. “We’ll need to treat it in the meantime, but... it’ll hurt.”

Your brow furrowed as you considered his words. “Whatever we need to do.” You said finally, clenching your jaw in anticipation for the coming pain. He guided you to a rock you could sit back against and took a long strip of fabric bandage from his satchel.

“I’m going to need to brace it so it can’t move around, then snap off the shaft.” he explained, searching your face for approval. You winced at the thought, but nodded. He knew what needed to be done. He got to work, tightly binding the arrow in place. You sucked air in through your teeth and couldn’t stop the tears from flowing, but otherwise stayed as quiet and brave as you could. When he was done, he took out his knife and began cutting carefully at the wood, sending a twinge of pain shooting through your arm with each stroke of the blade. “I’m sorry,” he grimaced, before finally snapping the arrow shaft away.

You couldn’t hold back this time and cried out, but the shock of pain subsided to dull throbs as you caught your breath. Gathering the courage to inspect the job he had done, you were surprised, it was very neat, like he had done this before.

“Here,” he said, reaching into his bag, “you should drink this, it’ll help with the pain.” You looked into his eyes, though yours were blurry with tears and your face stung from the wind, his eyes were still soft, full of concern.

“Are you sure?” You asked, “What about you?”

“Please, just take it.” He breathed, desperately. “This is my fault. This,” he fluttered a helpless hand to your arm again, “is my fault.”

You shook your head at the audacity, “you didn’t know they would be there.” Another throb of pain caught your breath in your throat. “Ah… I- … thank you” you finally relented and took his offer. The tonic was bitter but after a few moments you did start to feel a little better. Charles smiled, but a faint wince crossed his expression and you suddenly realized he was hurt too.

“What about you? You were hit.” You stated, a new spark of adrenaline surging in your stomach as you realized he hadn’t made it out unscathed.

He huffed as if his pain wasn’t an issue, “a bullet grazed my shoulder, I’ll be fine in a few days.” Dismissive as he was, one look and you could see a bloodstain on his shirt slowly growing bigger and darker.

You stood up to examine his injury. He stayed crouched while you inspected it. “Do you have any more bandages?” You asked. He hummed and reached into his satchel again, handing you another strip. You gently pulled the tattered fabric of his shirt away from the wound. Even in the low light it was clear it needed attention. You pressed some of the fabric onto it to stop the bleeding. He shifted slightly under your hand, “I’m sorry,” you said gently, pressing again but this time softer.

“It’s alright.” He assured you, thankful for the help, even though you knew he would never have asked for it.

You wrapped what was left of the bandage around his shoulder. It was sloppy compared to the job he had done for you, but it was good enough for now. You gave him a gentle pat to let him know you were done and he rose to his full height.

You looked into his deep brown eyes for a moment and felt yours well up again. “Oh Charles,” you sobbed, unable to hold back your tears anymore as your adrenaline finally crashed. You were terrified, you almost died, you almost lost Charles. All at once it was too much for you, “oh Charles,” you gasped again more quietly as you placed your forehead and a hand to his chest. He gently rested one of his hands on your back and held you there for a moment.

“We should get into town.” he stated softly. You nodded your head in agreement and looked to his face for direction. “We should let Taima rest.” He reasoned, his face momentarily twisted with the conflict in his mind. He was right, she needed a break. Riding her into town would only result in injury for her after galloping, doubly burdened, so hard for so long. “It’s not ideal but we should start walking.”

You nodded and both you and Taima followed as Charles led the way back to the road. The glittering lights of Blackwater looked so close on horseback, but on foot, it could be the next country over. You grimaced with each step.

Only minutes later, the telltale rumbling of a wagon heading up the path caught both of your attention. “Should we ask them for help?” You asked hopefully, looking in the direction of the sound.

Charles laughed darkly. “A man like me, and a woman looking the way you do right now, I don’t reckon they’d want to stop for us.”

“We have to try.” You pleaded.

Charles looked at you sadly, but nodded in agreement. As the wagon crested the hill and you could see the driver’s face, you tried to put on your sweetest look.

“Excuse me sir!” you called out hoarsely. His eyes flashed to you and then your companion and a look of panic overtook his face. He whipped the reins a few times. His draft horses squealed in response and picked up their pace. “No, wait, please!” You called after him, but he drove quickly past you. “Really?” you gasped, defeated. “What was that about?” you asked Charles, confused.

His brows furrowed into a look of bewildered amusement, “You really don’t know?” he asked. You shook your head no. He sighed as you continued walking along next to each other, with slow, exhausted steps. “Honestly, even if you weren’t looking like you just escaped death, he would have had the same reaction to me.” You looked up at him with concern, slightly grasping his meaning, but unsure all the same. You waited for him to clarify. “I ain’t sure where you grew up, but me being half coloured and half indian, folk around here don’t want much to do with me.”

“But-” you replied as what he said registered in your mind. You were struck by a myriad of emotions, sadness, anger, offense, confusion. How could anyone look at the man before you and not see the same person you did. His soft features, his strong frame, his kind heart. He was the type of man anyone would wish to be. “You’re more than that,” you finally whispered, unsure of how to express your feelings, “you’re so much more than that.” You said a little louder, looking up at him, your face one of shock.

He gave a half hearted smile back to you and shrugged. “It’s the way the world is.” He replied simply.

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” He agreed.

#charles smith #charles smith x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #daily escuella

99 notes · View notes

thesightstoshowyou · 4 years

Note

oh my god please the tommy one, my soul has left my body

Your wish is my command ;) Now, I need you all to know that I literally had my husband get out his chainsaw so I could feel how sharp it was just so I could write this fic.

Teeth

Thomas Hewitt x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Thomas reclaims what’s his.

Warnings: Dubcon, blood, gore, cannon typical violence, painful sex, hair pulling, exhibitionism, creampie

Luda Mae nods when you point to the cellar. The screaming stopped about ten minutes ago, but you still want to make sure all is well before you leave the safety of the top floor. Her silent affirmation confirms all the travelers had been contained.

Gathering up the trash, you push open the front door. You’re greeted with the chirp of crickets as a blood red sun disappears below the horizon. The rickety porch steps creak under your boots as you descend and move around to the side of the house. The clang of the trash can lid echoes noisily in quiet calm of the countryside.

You jump when the front door bangs open and heavy steps pound down the stairs. Alarmed, you sprint back around to the front, freezing in your tracks when wide, wild eyes fix on you. The blood- soaked young man sobs in relief when he spots you.

“HELP, jesus christ, help me!” he screams, stumbling toward you. His ankle buckles under his weight and he staggers into you. It’s reflexive when you grab him by the shoulders, help him stand, let him put his weight on you. He grips your arm, tries to drag you toward the tree line. In his adrenaline-soaked frenzy, you don’t have the strength to do anything but let yourself be towed.

“Listen to me, you need to let me go—

“W-We have—have to—

The roar of a chainsaw startles you both. The young man claws at your arms and screams in abject terror. You can’t help the way your heart jumps into your throat. It wasn’t that long ago when you were in his exact place.

Your heads snap in the direction of the house. Tommy stands imposingly on the top step, his huge frame backlit by the house, the dripping chainsaw smoking as it revs deafeningly. He forgoes the steps, landing on the dirt with a heavy thud and launching himself toward you.

Desperately, you pull against the hands tugging you into the trees. The man gives you a furious, perplexed look when you don’t run with him and you must suppress the urge to apologize. He releases you. You stumble back and land on your ass just as Thomas reaches the trees.

Your horrified scream is drowned out by the chainsaw and the agonized squealing of the man as the blade tears through his shoulder, sloppily severing his arm. You throw your hands up in front of your face to shield it from the blood that splatters the entire front of you.

Still screaming, the man falls to the ground. You peak through your fingers to see him writhing in anguish. Your fearful gaze darts to Tommy. His shoulders heave with heavy breaths. The chainsaw idles at his side and he’s drenched in blood from head to toe, but you barely notice any of this.

Your blood freezes in your veins with the look he gives you. Even in the graying twilight, you can still see the intensity in his blue eyes, the fury, the possessive hunger. You can’t help when you scoot back, arms buckling under you with how severely you tremble.

He wouldn’t hurt you, would he? For the second time since you came to this godforsaken town, you’re not sure you have an answer to your question.

“T-Tommy,” you stammer, wondering what you can say to calm the beast raging inside him. You flinch when the still idling chainsaw hits the ground with a noisy clatter. He’s on you in an instant, gripping you under the arms, lifting you off the ground, throwing you face down over the gory blade.

You arch, trying to keep the bloody teeth from gutting you, but Thomas places a huge hand on the back of your neck and shoves your face into the dry grass. Your heart frantically throws itself against your ribs when you hear rustling fabric. The bloody apron flies into view. Your dress is shoved up over your hips, your underwear yanked down to your knees.

You’re acutely aware of the dwindling screams by your head, the way the young man twitches in torment as the chainsaw rumbles ominously under you. You suck in air through your teeth when you feel hot flesh prod your entrance, face burning when Tommy easily slides past your folds. You shouldn’t be, but you’re completely soaked.

You shriek when Thomas hilts himself in your quivering cunt. He grunts at the way he stretches you, fills you so completely, ruins you for anyone else but him. He doesn’t let you adjust like he normally does; no, not tonight. Tonight, you realize as Tommy snaps his hips forward, is about claiming you, about reminding you to whom you belong.

Your nails curl in the grass as Thomas hammers you into the dirt, heedless of the way your dress catches and tears on the razor-sharp teeth of the chainsaw blade. You clench your jaw, trying your best to contain your grunts of pain and cries of pleasure, mortified by the fact the poor man whimpering and bleeding out near your head can hear every sound.

Your eyes flutter shut when Tommy tightly grips the meat of your hip, uses it to pull you back into each punishing thrust. You can’t stop the moan that bubbles up from your throat and spills past your lips. The moan turns into a wheeze when Thomas brutally shoves your forward. The chainsaw teeth catch the flesh of your belly, nicking you and adding your own blood to the already drenched blade. The idling weapon vibrates when it cuts you, sending a surprising jolt of pleasure zinging down to your core.

“Tommy, Tommy!” you scream, struggling to suck in your gut while trying to gasp for air at the same time. The hand on the back of your neck snakes into your hair, twists your locks around thick fingers and wrenches your head back, lifting you until your back meets Tommy’s solid chest.

He wraps an arm around your waist, holds you there, makes you look at the wide-eyed young man spread out and bleeding on the ground as he pummels your dripping cunt. He growls in your ear and instinctively you know what he wants.

“I-I’m yours, T-Tommy, all yours, please, please, I’m-I’m gonna cum, cum for you—

Thomas groans and splays a hand across your bleeding stomach. You feel the warmth of his skin against your injured flesh and you keen, throwing your head back and arching as he buries his cock in your spasming guts. You cum in sync, your cunt milking his throbbing cock until every drop has spilled.

You shudder, tip forward, gasp for breath as Thomas continues to clutch you to his own heaving chest. Through the slit in his mask, his lips find your neck, placing gentle kisses along your sweaty skin. You reach up and stroke his hair, relieved to have your Tommy back.

When your eyes finally open, the first thing you see is the vacant stare of the young man on the ground. He’s stopped twitching. You think you should be shocked, or horrified, or disgusted, anything, but what disturbs you most of all is the fact you feel nothing but content.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface #leatherface x reader #tcm #tcm the beginning #the texas chainsaw massacre #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #my writing #n sfw #thank you for the ask

457 notes · View notes

sonoftatooine · 3 years

Text

Whumpay 2021

DAY 19: HOPE / DESPAIR

Finally, this one took ages

Characters: Padmé Amidala, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Brainwashing

Summary: Winter Soldier AU - Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker disappeared from the face of the Galaxy the day Palpatine executed Order 66. Padmé Amidala, however, managed to escape from Coruscant when the Empire was formed and became a founding member of the Rebellion. Several years later, when Obi-Wan Kenobi manages to capture the Emperor’s infamous Sith apprentice, Darth Vader, Padmé is left to deal with the horrifying discovery of what happened to her husband at the fall of the Republic.

***

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Padmé Amidala, former Senator of Naboo and member of the High Council of the Rebel Alliance, frowned down at the screen displaying the flickering vid feed of her lost husband in the room adjacent to the high security—or as high security as their current base could afford them—cell in which he was being held. She had been stood there for at least ten minutes, hovering, waiting, and in all of that time, Anakin had not so much as twitched—so much so that she might have been fooled into thinking that she was looking at a still image if not for the rise and fall of his chest and the occasional blink. It was so unlike him—her restless husband, always on the move, but who had always come back to her until the day that he didn't—that it made her eyes burn with the effort to hold back tears. This was wrong, so wrong—

“Yes, Obi-Wan, I'm sure” she said once she was sure she could bite back the sharp reply that was on the tip of her tongue that the man beside her didn't at all deserve. Of course she was sure. How could she not be sure, when this was her husband—the man she loved with all the force of a thousand stars—at stake? She had to.

“You don't have to, Padmé.” Stood beside her, arms folded over his chest, and tired blue eyes fixed as unrelentingly on Anakin's frozen figure as her own, Obi-Wan Kenobi sighed, his mouth curved downwards in an unhappy line. Grief had aged him badly since the horrors of Order 66 and the beginnings of Palpatine's Empire. There were new lines around his eyes, and his auburn hair was fast turning white, but the change over those years was not nearly as stark as that which had been wrought upon him over the past few days. He looked raw and worn down, no matter how he tried to disguise it with his regular stoicism, as if he was on the verge of being swallowed by despair. Ever since the Empire had come for him on his last mission. Ever since they had managed to capture the Emperor's enforcer, Darth Vader.

Vader. Lord Vader. The name sent a shiver of horror through her, but not for the reasons that it once had. Before, she had known him simply as the latest in what seemed to be Darth Sidious' ever replenishing supply of Sith apprentices, and one of the most troubling additions to the Empire's ranks. Robed and masked entirely in black, without even the slightest indication to what lay beneath his impenetrable disguise, he had been a complete unknown to all but Palpatine himself—Empire and Rebellion alike—save for the brutal efficiency with which he carried out his duties. They had watched the Emperor's transmission introducing him to the Galaxy—her and Obi-Wan and Bail, while Luke and Leia slept soundly in their cribs watched over by Threepio and Artoo—from their bunker about a year after the Empire was formed. Padmé remembered seeing him, standing tall and motionless, three steps behind his master, and had felt a frisson of fear and misery run through her that she hadn't quite understood at the time.

She understood now. Oh Force, she thought as the image of Anakin, swamped in black robes and strapped, unconscious, to a gurney, and Obi-Wan's anguished look as he gasped out “he doesn't remember us; he doesn't even remember who he is”, swam through her mind. Oh Force, she understood now.

“Yes, I do,” she said, with a nod that looked far more decisive than she felt. She clutched the pile of warm cloaks and blankets that she had brought with her tight to her chest. Anakin had always hated the cold, and she couldn't bear the thought of him all alone in that cell without at least making sure he was as comfortable as possible. “He's my husband. I want to see him.”

She wanted to see him ever since they had brought him off the ship, ever since she had been dragged away from Coruscant by a harried Obi-Wan and Bail, crying and begging for them to take her back, that they needed to find Anakin, they couldn't leave him there. Anakin who she had last seen standing to the right of the Chancellor during the meeting of the Delegation of the 2000, hands bundled into the voluminous sleeves of his Jedi robes and not quite able to meet her eyes. Who had been sent by the Council to report to Palpatine the day of Order 66, and had never been seen since.

Until now.

“Padmé, he tried to attack me when I went to talk to him,” Obi-Wan reminded her grimly. “Ahsoka too. He doesn't remember any of us. All he knows is what Sidious has made him believe. What if he hurts you?”

Padmé shook his head.

“He won't hurt me” she whispered. He wouldn't hurt her. Anakin would never— But she didn't think he could ever have tried to hurt Obi-Wan either. Or Ahsoka. But he didn't remember any of them, because Sidious had taken him and forced him to forget everything, turned him into his weapon— She was shaking, full of rage and grief, but she pushed them both down. It was alright now. It would have to be alright. He was with the Rebellion now and they would heal him of whatever vile Sith had done to him and then he could meet their two precious children and everything would be alright—

“Padmé.” She thought, faintly, that Obi-Wan had managed to hone saying her name in a tone of utmost exasperation and frustration to a fine art. No doubt Anakin had given him a great deal of practice in the past. “He's not the Anakin we know. Not anymore.”

This time, it took a great deal more effort for her to swallow her harsh retort. Obi-Wan had given up hope a long time ago—the night of Order 66 when his bond to Anakin had snapped. He had thought him dead, and blamed himself for it—the Council had pushed him into spying on Palpatine, he had said, and he was sure that Anakin had discovered the man's secret and been killed for it. She remembered how he had looked, blurred through her tears as they rushed through hyperspace away from Coruscant—dishevelled and worn, the telltale signs of his battle with Grievous burnt into his Jedi robes, and a haunted look in his eyes, misted up with tears that he refused to let fall. He had come back from his last visit to Anakin's cell much the same, convinced that his old padawan had died with whatever it was that Palpatine had put him through, that what was left was nothing but a shell of the man he had loved as a brother.

(It still hadn't stopped him from abruptly ending a call with Yoda when the old Jedi Grandmaster had suggested “lost to the Dark, young Skywalker is; let him go, you should”.)

“I don't believe that,” she said. She had never believed Anakin to be dead. Refused to believe it, told Luke and Leia all sorts of stories about their brave and dashing father that she saw so much of in each of them, hoping beyond hope that one day he would be there to share his own stories with them. She wasn't about to give up now, when he was here—finally here, in front of her, no matter how changed, and no matter what Jedi platitudes about letting go she heard. “We can save him. I know we can.”

She turned her pleading gaze to Obi-Wan, but he refused to meet her eyes. He was still staring at the screen, and though his expression was blank, she could see the longing in his gaze—longing and fear. Fear that he would get his hopes up when nothing could be done. Fear that she would get hurt trying. Padmé sighed sadly. Obi-Wan may have given up hope, but she wasn't about to let him fall into despair.

“Obi-Wan, you'll be here the whole time,” she said, softly, soothingly. “I have faith that you'll protect me, if need be.”

Obi-Wan scowled, finally turning to look at her, but there was a hint of something gentle and fond beneath it.

“The pair of you will be the death of me” he sighed. It was barely a ghost of how he had been before, when they had all been together and happy and none of them had been brainwashed into becoming a Sith, but it was familiar enough that Padmé couldn't help but send him a watery smile.

“Please, Obi-Wan, I'm ready.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan nodded.

“I'll be just on the other side of the door.”

Despite her words, Padmé's heart felt like it might burst out of her chest as she stepped into Anakin's cell, the pneumatic hiss of the door closing behind her reverberating in her ears like a threat. She was not afraid. At least, she was not afraid of the figure sitting, head bowed, on the little cot in front of her—he had not attacked any of his visitors since the two Jedi; indeed, had barely acknowledged them, enough so that the High Council had deemed it as safe as it would ever be for her to see him—but she was afraid of what would happen next. Of what she would learn from this meeting. Of looking into her husband's eyes and finding him unrecognisable. But Padmé was never one to shy away from things that made her afraid, and so she took a deep breath, and murmured:—

“Anakin.”

No response.

“I brought these.” She gestured to the robes and blankets in her arms. “I thought you might be cold.”

That got a reaction from him. Slowly, jerkily, as if his head were being lifted up by a string, he turned his face towards her. The sight of him made her want to scream—scream and cry and hold him in her arms and never let go. He looked sick and gaunt, and the change from golden tan to waxy white looked even more stark under the bright lights of the cell, the circles under his eyes dark like bruises. And his eyes, oh his eyes. The sparkling blue that she remembered—had loved and missed so much for all that she saw it every day in the face of their son—had been replaced with the same horrible yellow that she had seen deep set in the sunken face of Emperor Palpatine, gleaming cruelly under the shadow of his hood, during Empire Day transmissions. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Anakin's eyes had always been so expressive, brimming with love and joy and fear and anger and grief, as if he felt too much and too deeply to keep it all inside. It was one of the things that she loved about him. Now, however, he turned those sickly eyes to her and she saw nothing in them but blankness. For the first time in his life, Anakin Skywalker looked upon her and he felt nothing.

Padmé swallowed, fighting back the urge to cry. She wanted to run to him, bury her fingers in his hair and press her lips to his as she used to do each time he came home to her from the war, but, with what felt like a monumental effort, she pushed the desire away. That wasn't what Anakin needed right now, no matter how much she wanted it. Instead, she waited for him to reply, waited for some sort of acknowledgement—anything to indicate what she should do, what she should say.

None came.

She sighed. Stepping forward, she leaned down and placed the pile of clothes next to him on the bed, trying to keep her heart from shattering into a thousand pieces at the tiny flinch he gave as she approached him. Carefully, so as not to startle him, she pulled back, coming to a stop once she was far enough away for him to relax minutely. Hot tears burnt at her eyes.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked, wishing that her voice did not sound so shaky, so thick with emotion. Anakin had always had a way of bringing out absolute honesty in her—even when she didn't even know she was trying to hide something—and now, confronted with her husband whom she hadn't seen in years, and who had spent every day of those long years suffering under the man who had enslaved the entire Galaxy to his will, all her politician's training, all her masks and airs had fled her. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have done a thing to hide her feelings from him.

Anakin frowned.

“You are Padmé Amidala,” he answered tonelessly. His voice was as dead and as flat as the look in his eyes. He sounded hoarse and tired, like he used to after waking up from a particularly bad nightmare. Like he had when he had when he had dreamt of her death in childbirth, only a week before he had disappeared, before she had run and left him— “One of the founders of the Rebellion.”

“That's right,” she said, with a nod that she wasn't sure was meant to encourage him or herself. “Do you— Is there anything else you remember about me?”

She knew it would be no. She knew he remembered nothing. But she wanted so badly for him to remember at least something of her. Wanted to know that Sidious hadn't taken everything from him. No matter what she wanted, though, she knew what his answer would be. Knew it and feared it.

“I understand that it's more usual for an interrogator to ask their prisoner for information,” Anakin replied. He tilted his head to the side, the expression on his face somewhere between confused and wary. “Not questions about themselves.”

He didn't sound like Anakin. Or rather, he sounded like Anakin—his voice sounded like Anakin, but the words, said in that flat, dull tone— It was wrong, all wrong. Oh my love, Padmé thought. My love, what has that monster done to you?

“I'm not interrogating you, Anakin” she said. She fought keep her voice steady and calm, even as she wanted nothing more than to burst into tears. Anakin's frown deepened, a look of suspicion flitting across his face.

“Why does everyone keep calling me that?” he asked, and for the first time, there seemed to be a hint of something else in his flat tone, a hint of uncertainty, of apprehension. His hands twitched, like he wanted to twist his fingers together like he used to do beneath the sleeves of his Jedi robes when he was nervous. Instead, he balled them tight into fists.

Padmé sent him a watery smile.

“It's your name, Ani.”

My Ani, she thought, watching him twitch oddly at the contraction of his name, turning sharply away. Her Ani who didn't even remember his own name. Oh, what was she going to do. How could she help him when he remembered nothing—nothing about his friends, nothing about her, nothing about himself—and they didn't even know what it was that Palpatine had done to him to cause this? She felt despair rushing in on her like a shark that had scented blood in the water, but she pushed back against it. She couldn't given in now. For Anakin's sake, she couldn't give up hope.

“How much has Obi-Wan told you?” she asked carefully. It was a risk mentioning Obi-Wan—a Jedi, a man he had ostensibly been sent to kill before the Rebellion had captured him—but she needed to know how much he had actually taken in.

Yellow eyes flicked back to her, the wariness and suspicion turning his expression even more closed off and guarded than it had been before.

“He told me I was once his Jedi apprentice,” he replied. “But I suppose you'll claim that I was your closest friend in the Senate. Or have you had the chance to corroborate your stories since Kenobi's last visit?”

The harshness of his words—as much as their content—made it all the harder to hold back her tears. Anakin had hardly ever spoken to her like that, was hardly ever sharp with her. Around her, perhaps, when he was particularly upset or frustrated, but rarely with her. It was yet another reminder of what had been done to him—the changes Sidious had forced upon him, as if he were nothing but a droid to be reprogrammed according to an owner's desire. Well, she would fix it, she would help him, and she would never let that vile man near him again. But to do that, she would have to get him to believe her, and for him to believe her, she—

“I'm not lying to you,” she insisted. “I promise you. It's Palpatine—Sidious—who has lied to you. You were a Jedi—have been since you were nine years old. Near the end of the war, the Council was concerned about the powers Palpatine had gathered for himself and sent you to report on him. But you— They sent you to his office the day he ordered the Jedi killed and then you disappeared. The Jedi thought you were dead, but he took you and he did something to you and you don't remember it because—”

“No.”

The sharp growl silenced her rambling mid-sentence. Her mouth clicked shut and her eyes widened as Anakin stood abruptly from the bed, his expression as hard as durasteel. Padmé swallowed, a flicker of nervousness fluttering in her stomach that she ruthlessly pushed down. She wondered if Obi-Wan was getting ready to dash into the cell from the other side of the door, afraid that he was about to attack her. But she refused to share that fear. She had never been afraid of Anakin, and she never would.

“No,” Anakin repeated, more softly this time. Instead of starting towards her, he prowled away to the far corner of the cell, back not quite turned to her—just enough to keep her in his line of sight—and hunched in on himself, arms crossed defensively across his chest. It was such a familiar gesture that, despite herself, Padmé couldn't help but feel a sliver of relief at the sight of it. Whatever Sidious had done to him, he hadn't managed to chase every last part of him from his mind. “My master warned me about this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “He told me that you would try to deceive me, turn me against him—”

“He's the one deceiving you!,” she cried, trying to ignore worm of uneasiness in her stomach at the thought of the Emperor warning her husband against the Jedi and the Rebellion—or perhaps her specifically. If she could just get him to see, just get him to believe— “I don't know what he's done to you but please, Anakin, all we want is to help you. All I want is to help you. But to help you, I need you to believe me—”

She approached him, slowly, cautiously, as one might a wounded animal. His gaze fixed on her the whole way, wary, unrelenting, but he did not move, frozen to the spot. She itched to reach out to him, to pull him in and hold him close, but she wrestled the urge down to the depths of her heart.

“Please, Ani,” she begged, barely a whisper. “Please.”

Anakin stared down at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flash of blue in those yellow eyes.

“You haven't told me who you are,” he said, after a long moment of silence. His tone was guarded, cautious, just as quiet as her own. “Who you were to me. If what you say is true, what did I mean to you?”

Everything, Padmé thought. You meant everything to me. You mean everything to me. You and Luke and Leia. And one day, I'll be able to have them meet their father and you'll mean everything to them too. Her heart, too full of love and fear and hope and despair, ached in her chest, snatching up all her words before they could reach her mouth. How could she say all of this to him? How could she say any of this to him, when he barely believed she was telling him the truth about his name?

“You're—”

She faltered, unsure what to do. Would it be too much for him, finding out that he was married to a woman he didn't even remember? But what could she say? She couldn't lie to him—wouldn't lie to him. She wanted him to trust her again, like he used to before everything had gone so wrong, and how could they ever help him if they too deceived him?

“I'm...I...I'm your wife.”

Anakin froze stock still.

“...What?” he whispered hoarsely.

“It's true.” Padmé could no longer stop herself. She reached out slowly with both hands, making to smooth down his hair—it had always calmed him down after a nightmare; maybe if he accepted the truth, it might soothe him a little now? He gave an odd little jerk at the contact, his tongue darting out nervously to wet his lips, but he didn't pull away, still frozen to the spot, staring down at her with wide eyes. “Please believe me. It's true. I'm your wife—”

“No,” Anakin cut across her again. This time, however, his eyes had not hardened, and he could see the uncertainty creeping into them. His voice shook. “No, you're a liar.”

His hand—the one of durasteel that she had held at their wedding after he lost it to Count Dooku—darted up to snatch her wrist. But instead of shoving her right away, he held her in place, her hand hovering between them, arm extended towards him, as if he could not decide whether to push her aside or pull her closer. Padmé stared into his eyes, vaguely aware that Obi-Wan was probably panicking by now on the other side of the door. She could feel the strength in his grip, well acquainted with what his mechno hand could do. He had been horribly embarrassed when he had managed to crush several of her cups after their wedding, still unused to the amount of force his prosthetic required compared to his flesh hand. If he wanted to, he could tighten his grip now and crush her just as he had those cups, shatter every bone in her wrist. But he did not press down. He didn't even so much as grip hard enough to bruise.

“I'm not,” she cried—really cried, the tears she had been holding back starting to trickle down her cheeks. “I swear to you—”

“You didn't corroborate your stories after all,” Anakin retorted. “I could hardly have been a Jedi and a husband.”

Padmé shook her head, blinking heavily to keep the tears from blurring her vision. It would be alright, she told herself. She could persuade him. His voice was not nearly so certain as his words, and if she could just explain properly—

“You broke the Code to marry me,” she said. “We kept it secret, so you could stay as a Jedi and I could keep serving in the Senate until the war was over—”

“How convenient” Anakin returned, perhaps not as derisively as he had intended. He still hadn't let go of her wrist.

Padmé shook her head again, more insistently this time. She reached once more with her free hand to cradle his cheek in his palm.

“Please, Anakin, please. I love you. I love—”

“No!” With a cry, Anakin jerked backwards. The durasteel fingers wrapped about her wrist pulled away. “No! You—”

But words seemed to be beyond him. He staggered back, hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, but it wasn't enough. His legs failed him, and he sank down to the floor, forehead pressed to his knees, trembling violently.

“This isn't—,” he hissed. “You can't— It's a trick. It's a trick—”

His hands fisted in his hair, so tight that Padmé thought he might tear clumps of it out. She rushed to his side, wiping her tears away furiously with her sleeve. She had pushed him too far. It was too much for him—too much at once.

“Padmé.”

Anakin's head shot up just as Padmé turned around to see Obi-Wan standing in the doorway, trying to remain impassive and failing miserably. She caught a flurry of movement in the corner of her eyes—Anakin had forced himself to stand back up, pressed up against the wall. He looked like a cornered loth-wolf, hunched in on himself, ready to spring, his yellow eyes wide and feral.

“It's alright,” Obi-Wan soothed, holding up the palms of his hands to show him he wasn't armed. Despite the calmness of his tone, Padmé could hear the agony beneath his words. “I won't hurt you. We will leave you to rest now.”

He turned a significant glance towards her, and Padmé could do nothing but nod, for all that she wanted to stay. She didn't want to overwhelm Anakin any more than she had already. Swallowing thickly, she forced down her tears, turning to meet her husband's unnatural yellow eyes with her own glistening brown.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

She made it to the other side of the door before she broke down in tears.

(Later, when she came to check on him to find him curled up in the warm robe she'd brought him, she cried for very different reasons).

120 notes · View notes

phy-be · 3 years

Text

| treasured | a david/genya fic

my participation to the mini-bang for @grishaversebigbang ♡ This was so fun to write, and a million thank you to my two wonderful materialki! Please check out their amazing work:

@nuclearnik [link] @zemenipearls [link]

Rating: General Audiences Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, proposal, set between Ruin and Rising and King of Scars, Canon Compliant, david is a nerd and he loves his soul mate very very much, cw: nerdy descriptions of rocks, Grishaverse Minibang Summary:

“David, you didn’t have to…”

He frowned and cocked his head. “Yes, I did. It’s customary to gift a ring when asking someone’s hand in marriage.”

He was never good at understanding social norms, but he was pretty sure he’d gotten that one right.

David pressed the button on the side of his microscope goggles, switching the lens to a more magnifying glass. In the palm of his gloved hand, a crystal gleamed, like sparks of purple fire trapped in stone. The light hit each of its faces in slightly different ways, creating an explosion of colours and geometrical shapes. It was even more beautiful seen up close, when David could not only admire the beauty of the thing, but also the elegant laws of science that made the light refract just so.

Crystals were complicated to work with. Their beauty was due to a highly specific geometry at the molecular level, and any careless alteration could damage their inner core, breaking the stone or making it duller. Even if some were strong enough to cut glass, crystals were precious; they needed to be handled with the utmost care.

David loved working on crystals.

His quiet work was interrupted by anguished sobs coming from the bed.

Quickly, he slipped the stone in a bit of fabric and rushed from his desk. Genya was having another nightmare. Throwing off his glasses and gloves, he hurried to find her on the bed. He took her in a protective embrace as she sobbed, screamed, legs jerking in panic. She clawed at the air around, desperately chasing off a horde of invisible nichevo'ya.

“Stop,” she begged. She wasn’t talking to him.

David held her tighter. Every time he saw her this way, so anguished and pained, helpless to her inner demons, a bitter guilt settled in him, consigned in a single thought: I should have protected her.

Then the guilt faded into hot-white anger — at the Darkling, who had done this to her, who had known how much it would hurt and keep hurting her — until David discarded that emotion, too. Rage and regret were not useful feelings to linger on. Helping Genya get through this, making her pain more bearable — these were the only things that mattered.

Eventually her movements calmed, her hiccupping sobs turning into shallow breaths and silent tears. David caressed her hair, the auburn locks softer than any silk he’d ever felt, and dropped feather-light kisses on her forehead. Genya nestled closer to him, burying her face in his neck. He could feel the wetness of her tears trickling on his skin.

“You’re safe, dear,” he whispered, knowing that he would do everything in his power to make sure this would always be true, from now on. “You’re safe.”

Her grip tightened on his shirt.

“W-were you awake?” she said, her voice still shaken.

David recognized the change of topic as her way to distract herself from the nightmares that lingered in her wakefulness. He played along.

“Yes,” he said, kissing her hair. “I was working late.”

“It’s almost morning,” she murmured. “You work late a lot lately.”

“I’m working on a project.”

“What project?”

David hesitated; Tamar had said he was supposed to keep it a secret. Keeping anything from Genya was hard enough normally, but when she was vulnerable like this, it was downright impossible.

He got up to get the piece of fabric — Genya followed him out of bed, not wanting to let go of his embrace, and he smiled, endeared. Gently, he led her back to the bed, sat next to her, and put his creation in her open palms.

“It’s not finished,” he warned.

Genya carefully unwrapped the silk. Her eyes widened at the sight of the ring, a glistening band of grisha steel wrapping like branches around a rose-shaped stone. When she turned it to get a better look, the candlelight shining through the crystal switched its colour from red, to purple, to blue.

“I altered the refracting index at different levels of the structure to make the crystal polychromatic,” David explained, excited in spite of himself. “I’ve done this with metals before, but never with crystal. It still needs polishing before I can give it to you, though.”

Genya’s eyebrow shot up, looking shocked. “This is for me?”

“Of course.” He admired the ring against Genya’s hand, as beautiful as he’d expected. It would be perfect once she wore it. Silver and red always complemented her pale, rosy skin, the way gold and purple complemented the bronze colour of his own.

“David, you didn’t have to…”

He frowned and cocked his head. “Yes, I did. It’s customary to gift a ring when asking someone’s hand in marriage.”

He was never good at understanding social norms, but he was pretty sure he’d gotten that one right.

“Y-you’re—” Genya croaked, her skin visibly flushed, “you’re proposing to me?”

“Not right now,” David corrected. “Tamar told me it had to be a special moment, so I’m still working on the details of that.”

He’d been thinking of doing it at sunset, for one. The fiery hues of the sky when the sun slipped under the horizon always reminded him of Genya’s hair, and it would look good on the ring. He’d calculated which part of the palace would be the most adequate spot — a corner of the Summoner’s field provided the perfect exposure for the ring to reflect sunrays and shimmer beautifully — but he needed a reason to bring Genya there that wouldn’t alarm her. Tamar had suggested a picnic, which David had found confusing since they never ate on the training grounds, but Genya did enjoy it when he cooked for her.

His thoughts came to a brutal halt when he realized Genya was crying.

David blinked. Had he done something wrong? He was always so bad at this stuff — he couldn’t count how many times he’d offended someone without meaning to, but Genya usually saw past his awkwardness and understood his meaning.

“Genya…” he said, hesitant, “I’m sorry, did I…”

“You’d want to marry me?” she sniffled, eyes cast down, tears gliding down her cheeks.

David was even more confused. Tamar’s advice hadn’t covered that part. “Yes. Of course.” Had that not been clear?

“Why?” Genya met his gaze. “Why would you… We haven’t even been together that long, you can’t know —”

Like the unknotting of a rope, suddenly, David understood. This was just like the imagined nichevo'ya. She was panicked, sure that the worst was yet to come, that she couldn’t be safe in her own home.

Softly, he cupped her cheeks, bringing her closer. He wished he could take some of the burden that weighed on her, carry it on his shoulders instead of hers, for once; wished he knew the right words to make her feel better, the perfect formula to soothe her fear. But this burden was Genya’s, and David was never good with words. All he could say was the truth.

“I agree that our romantic relationship has not been exceedingly long,” he admitted. A year only accounted for a twentieth of their age so far. Five percent of a life, and some change. “But I have been in love with you for seven years, five months, and twelve days. Our friendship is even older than that,” he pressed his forehead against hers, “and I’ve wanted to marry you from the first time you kissed me.”

His lips brushed hers, an echo of that day at the Spinning Wheel, when the bravest woman in the world had first chosen him.

“I realized at the time that this wasn’t a rational impulse,” he conceded, “so I waited to see how our companionship would grow. I believe I’ve now waited long enough to know. I feel at peace in your company, and I want to make you as happy as you make me.” He pulled back a little, retreating his hands. “Unless you do not want that, in which case I will respect—”

Before he could finish, Genya pulled him into a kiss — the dizzying, head-spinning kind of kiss he’d only ever experienced with her. When she kissed him like that, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, lips flush and panting, David’s usually overworking mind would quiet, snuffed out like the wick of a candle, replaced only by her . Soft hair, delicate skin, lips scarred and still wonderful, her scent a unique aroma he’d come to associate with peace, with home.

“Of course I want to,” she whispered against his lips, smiling coyly.

David kissed that smile, then her cheek, then her temple. “I’m relieved to hear that,” he sighed. “I’ll keep working on that proposal, then.”

Genya laughed, sweet and bright — David didn’t care much for music, but he could have listened to Genya’s laugh for hours. He tucked the ring back in the fabric and put it on the nightstand, where it wouldn’t get lost in the sheets, then took off his shoes and his shirt.

They lied together, Genya’s body half on top of his, snuggling close, as though any space between them might bring in the cold.

Genya brushed her fingers on David’s chest, tracing some patterns.

“So,” she said, her voice now clearer, more sure of herself — Genya in daylight, where the monsters couldn’t touch her. “What was that about seven years, five months, and twelve days?”

“Oh, hm…” David said. He could feel his face heat up, and felt irrationally glad for the brown of his skin, unlikely to show any hint of a blush.

Still, he told her the story of that day. Genya had visited the Fabrikator’s laboratory to make a new cosmetic for the queen. She’d been thirteen years old, and already so creative with her powers. At the time David had only reproduced what his masters had taught him as perfectly as he could, never trying to invent, to create.

But there had been Genya Safin, the first of her kind, inventing everything she did.

It wasn’t the first time they’d met, not even the first time they’d enjoyed each other’s company, but it was the first time David had watched her work. He hadn't even bothered saying hi (which he now realized had been rather rude), too eager to ask her question about her experiment. They’d talked, and when David had gone on a long tangent about his favourite way to colour glass, Genya hadn’t been bored or made fun of his enthusiasm, the way the other students usually did if they bothered to listen to him at all.

She’d listened with care and attention, and then she’d given him her opinion — smart, succinct. Perfect.

“How do you even remember the day this happened?” Genya laughed. “It was so long ago.”

David caressed her shoulder, a soothing, circular motion. “I remember everything, when it comes to you.”

“Cheesy,” she grinned.

“Maybe.” He felt his lips quirk in a smile of his own. “But it’s true.”

She rose up to look at him, her expression turning serious.

“I love you,” she said, the words like a promise. “For even longer than that.”

Gently, David took her wrist, and kissed her palm. “Now, let’s not make it a competition.”

“Wise. You know I’d win.”

“My dear,” he smiled against her hand, “I think I share this victory with you.”

#grishabigbang21 #minibang #grishaverse #david / genya #denya #david kostyk #genya safin

105 notes · View notes

xhanisai · 3 years

Note

Oooh I'd love to give you a mariblanc prompt but I'm afraid I can only come up with this and I'm not sure it doesn't count more as marichat:

Chat learns about the events of Chat Blanc (more importantly—him killing ladybug/Marinette) by maybe looking into a portal from a new villain and the terror he feels leads to him getting acumatized again, turning into chat blanc once more but in the current present and Marinette has to go against him all over again?

Basically chat transforms back into chat blanc and Mari is having a bad day...again

A/N: I'm gonna tweak this prompt ju-uuuust a bit cos I've written something similar already last year :) Regardless, I hope you enjoy this~

AO3 / FFN

~(x)~ . . . "Why...why aren't you running away from me!?" . Though he snapped out of Le Papillon's control earlier on, he still gravely struggled with the ferocious power of destruction that threatened to ooze out of his fingertips and cause more calamity in their city and continue to make the death toll rise. The only emotions that ransacked throughout his body and mind were immense fear, raging anger and continuous self-loathing after the things he's seen... ...and the things he's repeated. All while trying his everything to battle his internal war where the rampaging rogue akuma within ordered him to "destroy", like sharp nails scratching on a blackboard and building up his foreign craving for bloodlust and decay. What little sanity he had left was merely a sluggish dam against the waterfall of hysteria that was ready to devour him in the worst way possible. It was ironic honestly; towards the end, he became what he strived not to be. And now he was going to end up killing the love of his life all over again. "...R-Run...please..." Chat Blanc begged, claws digging into the crumbled, concrete floor where he was kneeling with an agonising grimace. The pulse of eradication clenched his entire being like a chain, demanding to be let out and wreak even more havoc, unsatisfied with only pummelling half of the city into nothing. "More! Destroy more!" It demanded like a viral entity, coursing more anguish through the poor boy's veins and forcing him to collapse on the floor and scream in even more pain. Quite similar to an absolutely, frightened creature being brutally tased to death. "DESTROY THE CITY! DESTROY THE WORLD!" The poor hero was now clutching his head, sinking his lethal claws through his scalp and then blood started to pool from the wounds, staining his pure white locks in a horrific crimson tinge. . "If you think I'm going to run away, you have another thing coming!" The sound of Marinette's determined voice broke him out of his violent stupor, the scarily resilient girl marching towards him and gracefully avoiding all the obstacles in her way, ranging from dangerous building residues to razer sharp debris. The corrupted hero gaped at her momentarily, his ice-blue eyes constricted and his muscles tensed whilst her sky blues shone with conviction, her deep black hair flying around behind her, courtesy on the wild wind that shot through her direction. Her hair was down just like...that timeline. Except, everything was also so very different.

And suddenly, he felt a small ray of hope bloom in his chest. "No matter what happens, no matter how many times that despicable, cowardly man forces you to do his bidding, I'll always be here to save you, Chat Noir!" She vowed without any hesitance, boldly getting down to his level and heaving him up to his knees by the arms with a strength that could rival her masked alter-ego. Despite her torn, tattered clothes that hung limply off her frame, despite the numerous lacerations and cuts and bruises she received prior whilst trying to help him as Ladybug, despite the fact that she's ended up facing him as an akuma twice, Never has she looked stronger than she did now. "So please, come back to me, mon Chaton," Her beautiful smile was like the cure to his disease, her presence was like innocence in the blighted city and her touch, oh, when she cradled his hands so wonderfully and brought them against her chest, he felt purified. "I...I...I don't want to hurt you...not again..." "You won't," "Marinette..." "Adrien," Before he could even blink... ...She kissed him. And everything went black. . The sound of Parisians celebrating and crying with joy and the warmth of another body holding him against them was what roused Chat Noir awake. His eyes flickered open, revealing soft, emerald greens that reflected the face of the person he loves more than life itself. His lips parted, as if he couldn't tell whether he was dreaming or not, a timid, clawed hand coated in black, reached for her face, grazing his fingers against her jaw with awe. The awe then turned into a brilliant smile, tears of joy pooling in his eyes and a quiet laugh breaking out of his lips, "Marinette...you did it...you saved us...you saved us all..." "Only because you came back to me," . . . ~(x)~

#my asks #my writing #my fanfiction #my fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug and chat noir #ml fanfiction #ml fanfic #mariblanc #chat blanc #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir

64 notes · View notes

omgrachwrites · 4 years

Text

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Ten

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: angst, character death, mentions of blood, mentions of violence, fluff

Words: 2816

A/N: How are we on chapter ten already?! I’m so sorry for this chapter, but why is angst so fun to write? Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! xxx

Chapter Ten - To Die in Battle

The harsh winter wind was raging fiercely as Sirius stood on the frozen front lawn of the castle, if he didn’t die in the fighting then he would surely freeze to death. But, the wind was nothing compared to the emotions swirling in his heart. He was leaving his beautiful wife and his unborn child; he was surely walking to his certain death. Sirius didn’t know – no one did – what the numbers were like in Cumbria. But, with Scotland on this Lord Voldemort’s side, Sirius and James would be outnumbered, even with the Frenchmen that King Francis had sent.

Y/N looked beautifully sorrowful and melancholy as she looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. She reminded him of a painting he had once seen of Guinevere, when she had heard the news of Arthur’s death. Sirius hoped that he wouldn’t go the same way.

Sirius tried to smile but he feared that it came out as more of a grimace as he cupped Y/N’s rosy and frozen cheeks, “I’ll come back to you, my love. I promise, I love you so much.”

“You better had come back to me Sirius, I love you too,” Y/N sniffled and pulled him into a long passionate kiss, he poured all the love he had for her into the kiss and he knew that she was doing the same.

The kiss lasted for so long that James had to speak up, “Sirius, I’m sorry but we have to go,” reluctantly, Sirius pulled away from Y/N and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her eyes were pleading with him not to go, but he had no choice. As he rode away, he stole one last look at his Princess, hoping that he’d be able to see her again.

The journey up North went by without so much as a hitch and it surprised Sirius but he was glad that they hadn’t run into any trouble. There was enough trouble in Cumbria, they didn’t need more. The army made camp about a mile outside of Cumbria close enough to the fighting but fat enough away that they could feel safe.

Nerves swarmed in Sirius’ stomach as he heard the pounding drums of the battle, this wasn’t his first time fighting but now there was so much at stake; the state of the country and the life of Y/N and their child. What would happen to them if he died? He was going to fight tooth and nail to make sure that he survived, he had to.

“You look positively green, Peter. Are you alright?” Sirius tried to laugh but it came out hollow and humourless.

Peter swallowed, “I’m scared.”

Sirius nodded and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, Sirius would have called him a coward if he didn’t care so much about him, “so am I, Peter. But, we’re going to win, I know we are,” Sirius’ voice sounded more confident than he truly felt.

Peter nodded and gave Sirius a tight smile but for the rest of the day, he looked increasingly better.

The first few days of the fighting started off slowly but that didn’t mean it was any less brutal, Sirius hated killing men, even in battle, he felt like a monster. Dark red blood tainted the pure blanket of white snow, like spilled wine. The screams of dying men and the stench would forever haunt Sirius’ dreams as he fought in the beautiful countryside of Cumbria. He prayed to God every night, thanking Him for keeping him safe. Sirius had never before been a religious man but now seemed a good time to start believing.

What Sirius thought was odd was the fact that they hadn’t seen the fabled Lord Voldemort yet and they hadn’t seen the Scots. Thankfully, Sirius didn’t see Regulus among the men who were trying to kill him. He hoped that his kind little brother was somewhere safe, somewhere far away from the fighting.

Days rolled by and the fighting continued and the warring men painted the countryside red with each other’s blood. James had received an arrow in the shoulder and Remus had been on the receiving end of a dagger in the side, though they would both pull through. Sirius and Peter remained unscathed apart from a few cuts.

Sirius worried more about the effect that this battle would have on his mind and his dreams. James’ army dwindled in size, too many good men died, too many men that Sirius had known when he was a child.

A couple more days went by and Sirius’ young squire, Johnathan succumbed to a fatal wound by the frozen river. He asked Sirius to hold him, he didn’t want to be alone as he died, “it’s a beautiful place to die, apart from the battle of course,” Johnathan tried to laugh but he only choked on the blood that spilled from his mouth as he looked at the frozen river and the mountains beyond.

Hot tears fell down Sirius’ cheeks as he held his friend, Johnathan was so young. Sirius hadn’t wanted him to fight but Johnathan had begged him, he had wanted to be a Knight, “Johnathan, you crazy bastard,” Sirius sniffled as he tried to hold the life inside Johnathan by putting pressure on the wound but he knew it was no use. Johnathan was going to die, “you would have made an amazing Knight.”

“Damn right,” Johnathan gave a little pained smile as his voice grew weaker and began to fade, “when you get back home to your lovely wife, please tell the Lady Sophia that I love her. I’ve thought of her every moment and I’m thinking of her now as I lay dying. My only regret is that I didn’t see her beautiful face once more.”

Sirius nodded, “of course, I will.”

“Thank you, my friend,” he gasped out in pain as his breathing slowed and the life left his body. Sirius sniffed as a great wave of sadness crashed against him and he closed Johnathan’s eyes so now it only looked like he was merely sleeping. Sirius made a mental note to bury him when the fighting was over.

Rage filled Sirius’ chest as he saw red and he swore that he would find the man who had killed his friend. Sirius cut down many men and anguished cries filled his ears but he didn’t flinch as he once did. For the first time since the fighting began, the sun peeked over the mountains and filled the battlefield with watery winter sunlight. The mere sight of it filled Sirius with hope, hope that he would get back to his wide and he’d be able to see his child grow up.

That night when Sirius entered the war tent, he found that James was smiling brightly, he looked like a young God as the light bounced off his golden crown, “the Scots aren’t here, I think we’ve been lured into a trap but we can win Sirius.”

Sirius’ eyes widened and it felt like all his dreams had come true, “it was Malfoy who told us of the Scottish presence. Where is he?” Sirius wondered whether Malfoy had been a traitor among them and had tried to lure them off to their deaths. Whatever the truth was, it was definitely suspicious.

James shrugged, “I honestly couldn’t care less.”

When the rest of the army realised that the Scots – or Lord Voldemort – weren’t going to show up, it filled them with new hope and they began to fight tooth and nail. They fought so fiercely that in hundreds of years, songs and stories would be told of this day. Till the end of history would this day be sung of. It would be the stuff of legends and Sirius doubted that the mighty King Arthur had fought so well.

“They’re retreating like the cowards they are!” James yelled gleefully after hours of brutal fighting.

Sure enough, ahead of them men were retreating, led by a man in a mask and Sirius wondered if it was Lord Voldemort. Though, he couldn’t find it in his heart to care, he was just so glad that this battle was finished, even though he knew the threat was not yet defeated and there was still the Scottish to worry about.

But, he was going home, even if Johnathan couldn’t be at his side, he couldn’t tell Sophia that he loved her himself, he would be remembered. All Sirius wanted to do was ride all the way back to the palace, to his wife’s arms but of course he couldn’t do that yet. As the men celebrated, Remus turned to Sirius with a grin, dozens of cuts littering his young handsome face.

“Where is Johnathan? He should be celebrating with us! I like that man.”

Sirius’ face dropped and he felt hot tears pricking behind his eyes, Johnathan couldn’t celebrate with them and he wasn’t coming home, “he’s dead, I held him as he died,” Sirius’ voice broke,

Remus sighed mournfully as he pulled Sirius into a hug, “I’m so sorry, I know how much he meant to you. We’ll have a funeral for him and he’ll be remembered as a hero.”

Remus was true to his word, Sirius and his friends buried Johnathan – and all those who had fallen. Johnathan’s funeral was beautiful; James said a few words for him as did Sirius, who knew him best. On the day that they buried Johnathan, the sun come out and melted the snow and the river began running again. It gave Sirius hope that better days were coming. He knew that better days were coming.

Sirius was in high spirits as the army began the trek back home and he joined in with the triumphant bawdy songs. He grinned at those who remained those who would see the people they loved again. He thought of Y/N every second of the way, he was going to sleep in her warm comforting arms for a whole month and nobody would be able to stop him.

---------------------------------------------------

It had been two weeks, two whole weeks since your love had gallantly rode off to battle and you were missing him terribly. You had vivid dreams about him every night, and in those dreams you were happy but that happiness was shattered when you woke up with a broken heart when your beautiful husband wasn’t lying next to you.

He was your anchor, you had shared so many experiences with one another, it felt like you were a widow already but you wouldn’t think about that. Even though, you had heard no news of the battle. Though, you weren’t the only one who was feeling lost, Lily waited for her King and Sophia paced around your chambers with a nervous look on her face as she held her stomach.

“It’s going to be okay you know,” you smiled at the pretty girl as you knitted baby clothes by the warmth of the fire, “they’ll come home safe,” you tried to convince yourself of that too. There could be no alternative; you didn’t even want to think about it.

Sophia shot you a nervous smile, “it’s not just that,” she sighed, biting her lip, “I suppose that I should tell you, word will travel fast when the army return for the victory feast,” she took a deep breath as you frowned at her words, “the father of my baby is King Francis.”

“Sophia, I…” you trailed off, gobsmacked and hurt that your dearest friend had lain with the man who had threated your child. The only sound in the room was the crackle of the roaring fire.

“At the summit, when you were with Lily, he came by to apologise to you for being rude. He saw that I was upset and he comforted me. I wrote to him and he bids me to come to court as his mistress.”

“Do you want that?” you asked weakly as you found your voice, you were utterly shocked at this news.

Sophia shrugged as she played with her fingers, “I’d be ruined here when people find out, France will be the safest place for me and my child. He was a kind lover,” her eyes welled up, “I know that I’ve shamed you.”

You shook your head as her voice broke and you pulled her into a hug, “you could never shame me, if this is what you want that I’ll support you,” she was right, France would be the safest place for her and you couldn’t be angry at her for wanting to keep herself and her unborn child safe, “I’ll miss you,” you teared up, your heart feeling heavy, “can I persuade you to stay until I give birth? I want you by my side, Sirius and I will see to it that you get safe passage to France.”

Sophia pulled away from you and she smiled kindly as she took your hands in her soft ones, “of course, it would be an honour to attend you in your birthing bed. Thank you, Your Highness.”

The two of you warmed yourselves by the fire and Sophia told you stories of what the King was like and what she imagined his court to be like. She looked so happy that you had to support her decision even if it killed you to hand her over to France. You talked with her for a couple of hours before a trumpet was blown outside and Sophia looked at you with sparkling, happy eyes.

“That means that the army has returned!”

You gasped, your heart felt impossibly light, your husband had come home – you hoped – and without another word, you picked up your skirts and hurried onto the front lawn. The King was riding at the front of the company and you heard Lily squeal in delight before she ran to him, and you knew that Sophia was looking for Johnathan. Your heart stopped when you looked behind James and saw him, he looked so beautiful and gallant.

You watched him as he dismounted his horse and at once you ran into his arms, you never thought that you’d see him again or feel his warmth around you. Sirius chuckled as he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. You pulled your head away from his neck long enough to look at his handsome face, his eyes were soft as he gazed at you but you could tell that in their depths he felt haunted. You gently trailed your fingers over the bloody cuts on his face before leaning down to kiss him desperately. Sirius put you down as he kissed you back, clutching you desperately as his tongue dived into your mouth.

“I missed you so much,” he spoke in between kisses.

“I missed you too,” you stroked your thumbs against the hollow of his cheeks, “I’m so glad that you’ve come back to me. I love you.”

“I promised, I love you too,” he smiled as he pressed his forehead against yours.

Later that night, you were wrapped up in each other’s arms; it was obvious by the look on Sirius’ face that he didn’t want to talk about the battle so you didn’t ask him. He had been so brave but you wished that he didn’t have to be, you couldn’t lose him, it must have been so horrible for him. The only thing that Sirius had told you of the battle was the fact that Johnathan died in his arms. Sophia sobbed when Sirius told her the news and she sobbed even more when Sirius told her that Johnathan loved her and she was the last thing that he thought of.

Sirius huffed out a laugh as you leaned forward and lovingly kissed every single cut on his chest before you placed a kiss over his beating heart which jumped beneath your lips. You smiled as Sirius’ fingers dived into your hair, “you were all I thought about when I was away, every day I fought to come home to you.”

Your eyes teared up as you felt an overwhelming wave of love for the stunningly handsome man that was at your side, “I thought about you too, I dreamt of you every night, wishing you were here with me. Thank you for coming home to me, to us, thank you for keeping your promise,” tears fell down your cheeks as Sirius kissed your forehead.

“You don’t have to thank me my love, I keep the promises that I make, no matter what happens, I will always come home to you,” his thumbs wiped away your tears as he pulled you in for another kiss, resting his hands on your stomach.

You didn’t know what you would do without him, you knew that you could never love another, and you thanked God that he was home with you.

---------------------------------------------------

@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @galwithbluethoughts @2410slb @sunles @krismeunicornbaobei @theincredibledeadlyviper @deathkat657

125 notes · View notes

serenegaldr · 3 years

Note

He finds her lying on the ground unconscious, and it brings back memories. Painful memories of fire, so much fire, and screams of anguish, melodious even in the face of brutal onslaught and flames, and the powerlessness, the sheer and humiliating lack of options and inability to do anything except grab the one Heron he found alive and flee.

And it happened again - he knows, he may not be a Heron, but he knows; laguz need not words for many things. He felt it as well, the bracelet Reyson had given him weighing heavy in his pocket. The fire, the scream, and the fact, the brutal and painful fact he could not do a damn thing.

And once again, as he watches tears stream down her face and hears her whisper her brother's name, there is not much more he can do.

Silently, he kneels beside her; without a word, slowly, gently - more gently than anyone would think him capable of - he picks her up and holds her close to his chest, wrapping her in his large wings akin to a blanket, as though to protect her for anything this world might have in store.

I'm sorry.

She was warm, and comfortable, and safe, slumbering in someone's arms like an infant, a pair of wings that weren't her own curled around her, the reassuring brush of feathers gentle against her skin. Leanne stirred, feeling the feathers shift around her as well.

"...brother...?"

And then it all crashes back in, the visions - of green leaves and red eyes and white wings and raging, raging fire, from which emitted one last birdsong - Leanne jerked back with a cry, eyes flying open to meet those of the Hawk King. She shouldn't be disappointed, right?

"Ti-Tibar--" she couldn't even fully get his name out before she collapsed in tears once more, arms wrapping around the Hawk King's torso as tightly as she could manage, as though she feared that he too would be engulfed in flames if she dared to let go for even an instant. The young Heron shook with sobs against his shoulder, and all the while the somber dirge of grief - her own mixed with the deeper strums of the Hawk King's heart - sounded all around her.

It was a long while before she could calm. "Don't-- don't go," she managed at length, sobs quieting but still holding on tight (but she was so weak. she couldn't stop this, any of this, from happening, even if she tried.) "Reyson, he--" she almost started crying again, but Tibarn needed to listen, otherwise he'd go to fight again, the fire would come back, another one of her family would be lost forever in the inferno. It would consume him, like it consumed her brother, and all the strength in the world wasn't enough to keep them safe from it. "You c-can't go too, Tibarn. P-please, don't leave me alone..."

Not remembering the first fire of the Massacre had been a blessing. There were no more miracles left for her, now.

#thelordoftheair #toaunlocked2021 #unlockedleicesterborder2021 #leanne is still ok :)))#kaljdlsdkfj thank u for the ask ;w;b

10 notes · View notes

ezekielbhandarivalleros · 3 years

Note

From this prompt list Jake x Jackie ... Angst #1 or #8 or both, if you feel up to it my friend.

Last Fight

Paring: Jake Tweneboah x Jackie Varma

Summary: Random fight scene I came up with these two in mind for these two, Don't worry this isn't part of the original series

Rated - M

Taglist: @princess-geek @schnitzelbutterfingers @daddyethanramsey @yourresidentplayer @robbies-sutcliffe @aussieez @choicesficwriterscreations

Jackie called out to the dark haired man who was walking away. His footsteps were quiet against the ground, but each and every one resonated terrible fear and desperation within the girl's soul. This couldn't be happening! She needed him! He couldn't do this!

He didn't stop. He just kept walking. Every footstep against the ground was like a dagger in her heart. She knew that Jake only thought of her as an annoyance, someone who was always in his way, holding him back, weighing him down, but did she mean so little to him that he would walk away without even listening to what she had to say? Did he not respect her to give her even that?

But in her own heart, she felt a terrible twinge of fear. She knew deep in her soul, the part of her she hated existed, because it was a voice of truth, that Jake did believe the others would help him, would help him in his never ending quest for power and revenge. At one time, that fear would have held her back and bound her in silence and silent anguish. Now she ran forward, determined to not let Jake get away.

"Jake!" she called again, catching up to him and grabbing his shoulder, spinning him around.

Jake reacted immediately. He grabbed her wrist, spun her, and flung her away just as easily as if she was a rag. She landed on her feet and skidded and walked back to him, frightened by his strength and how easily he used it against her but it didn't deter her. Fear would no longer hold her back. Not when it came to Jake.

"What do you want, Jake, I have to go." He said, his voice cold and controlled like it always was.

Pain welled up inside her heart, like a fountain gushing water."Jake, you don't have to go." She said, her voice soft and pleading. "You don't have to do this, why did you lie to me."

"Yes I do. You will never understand Jackie. Just go. Go back to Boston and leave me to this." He turned to walk away.

"No!" she yelled. She snatched him again and this time didn't let him throw her off. She held onto him and grabbed a fistful of his black hair, hair she'd dreamed of touching for years. "Listen to me, it's not worth it! If you go to him, you will be throwing your entire life away! Please, believe me!"

He pushed her off again, breaking their contact. She could see his black eyes hardening up, but his tone was still the same as it always was. Cold and reserved.

"It's worth it to me." He said, no emotion passing across his face. Jake’s body shook, hearing the utter clarity in the man's voice.

"Jake, please. Don't do this." She begged. She was so close to tears, but she was determined not to cry. Crying was weak to Jake. If he didn't hate her now, he would after she started crying, she was sure of it.

"Why not, Jackie? This is what I want." He said calmly, tucking his hands lightly into his pockets, staring at her with his black eyes, so cool and calm, like nothing was happening. Like her world wasn't crashing down around her.

"I love you, Jake." She whispered, staring straight into his eyes, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as a breeze ruffled her pink hair. "I love you and I'm willing to do whatever I have to do."

"To do what?" Jake asked lazily, his tone projecting boredom. Every word chipped a part of her heart away and crushed it, but she didn't care. She loved him. She wasn't going to lose him.

"To stay with you." She whispered. She knew she was signing away the only chance of respect he might ever give her. She realized it. But it didn't matter. She wasn't going to lose him, not if she had anything to say about it.

He did the worst possible thing he could do. He did the thing that made her heart go from being chipped away at to being shattered in the space of about five second.

He laughed.

He laughed, his cold hard chuckle bubbling past his lips, taking dagger like claws to her heart and shredding it into hundreds of pieces. Beneath her skin, her body was screaming in emotional agony. She hated that he could do this to her. but even more, she hated that she still loved him.

"You used to not even like me, Jackie." He said coldly, his laughter fading. "You don't know me, and you won't ever know me. Y, won't ever know me, because you all like to create the same lie about me to yourself, just so you can like me. Well, you can spare yourself the trouble. I don't need to be liked by any of you. I really couldn't care less." He hissed the word. "I have an ambition, and that's the only thing that matters."

"Then I'll help you!" Jackie pleaded as he started to turn to walk away. "I'll help you! I'll do whatever you want, whatever you ask. I'll help you kill the man you're after. I'll go with you, come live with you." She said, trying to keep the stuttering out of her voice, amazed at herself that she could say something so revolting so easily when it came to Jake

He snorted. "I don't believe you."

He turned and started to walk away. She stood there, stunned for a moment before she lunged after him. Jackie grabbed a fist full of his shirt before he whirled and struck her hard in the head. She dropped to the ground like her bones had evaporated.

"Sorry, Jackie." He said, looking down at her. There was nothing in his tone to say that he meant it, but in his eyes, there was the tiniest flash of something other than his cold, unfeeling gaze. There was something lurking beneath the dark light that usually glinted there.

It gave her hope. It gave her the smallest sense of hope. And for now, that would have to be enough.

This was it. It had come to this. She was going to have to kill him. She was going to have to kill Jake. The man she'd loved, the only one she'd ever loved, who she still loved, even after all this time. She was going to have to kill him, because if she didn't, he was going to destroy everything she'd fought for her in her entire life. And as much as she loved him, his life was not worth the lives of the people who she was fighting for now. And no matter what, that was the brutal truth, and she wasn't going to let him destroy anything else important to her.

"You think you can kill me?" Jake scoffed at her. "You really think you can?"

"I know I can!" she snapped back. Jackie’s hand gripped her knife deftly, poised to lunge and strike.

"Liar." He hissed. And then they clashed.

It was a whirling blur of colors, lines, skin, hair, and burning flashing eyes as they fought with each other, trying to land a blow. Jackie's body worked in double overtime, trying to keep up with Jake speed and strength, not to mention his large coat which was going to make it next to impossible to land any hits onl him.

"Is that the best you can do, Jackie?" he taunted her as they finally split and broke apart, standing several feet away, gasping for air after their furious clash.

Jackie straightened her body and glared at him, readjusting her grip on the knife. "Is that the best you can do, Jackie? You can kill your best friend, but you can't kill me?"

She knew the jab would make him fly into a rage. She was counting on that anger to make him blind, and in that blindness, she'd have one change. She made tiny, but necessary adjustments to her stance in the heartbeat of time it took for Jake to throw himself at her, hatred burning in his now red eyes.

They crashed to the floor, rolling repeatedly. Jackie seized her moment. She flung herself on top of Jake and rendered him immobile, pinning his body down with her weight, using her knees to crush his shoulders, making him howl with pain. The sound grated against her ears as she now laid her knife against his pale, sweat slicked throat.

He looked up at her, hatred, pain and something else shining in his unnervingly red eyes, even as he squirmed beneath her. "You can't do it!" he laughed at her. His whole body seemed to shake with the force of his laughter, and every peal made her body burn.

She hated him, and she loved him, and what she hated more was that she wanted to be like him. She wanted to not care. She wanted to not feel anything so she could be with him. So she could protect everybody else she cared about. He knew she couldn't do it, and he was mocking her because of it. How could he be so cruel?

Because someone had been this cruel to him.

That realization hit her so hard in that moment, it threatened to break her. "No." She said, looking down at him, her eyes moist with tears.

"You can still change." Jackie whispered, staring straight into his red eyes. "You can still change."

"You don't get it!" he spat at her, anger coloring his tone, all trace of laughter gone. "None of you have ever understood! And that's why I hate you all! If you would just understand and accept the fact that I can’t change!"

He thrust her away, his amazing strength almost able to throw her clear across the room. She crashed to the floor and he was on her in a split second. He kicked her knife away and snatched her up by the throat.

"Understand this. I hate you all because none of you understand that this is what I am. This is me. Everything you see is me! And you are as sick as I am if you truly care about me."

Her heart was broken inside her chest, and she began to no longer see a reason to exist. Oh how she wished she didn't care! Why did she have to care? Why couldn't she be like him? He cared about nothing, and she knew he never cried for any of his old Team. But she cried for him, so many times that she was sure her tears could have filled a small ocean. If she didn't care, she could kill or leave him and he would never be able to hurt anybody else ever again.

But she did care. Even now, as he was killing her, she did care. She still cared about him and she knew, even if she had another chance, she wouldn't be able to kill him.

She was vaguely aware of her body smashing into the ground as he flung her away. She lay there in a crumpled heap and finally let her tears spill down her face. She wept in her despair, knowing that she'd never reach the apathy she'd need in order to get though to Jake. That beautiful apathy that made everything as crystal clear as the tears that washed the blood from her lips.

(Thanks for the ask @secretaryunpaid)

#secretaryunpaid #choices #playchoices #open heart #jake tweneboah

13 notes · View notes

wickedsrest-rp-archive · 3 years

Photo

Name: Razielle Sas Species: Werewolf Occupation: Unemployed Age: 20 Years Old Played By: Lou Face Claim: Hailee Steinfeld

“This bad day has been going on for almost two months now, it’s gotta end soon right?”

TW: Controlled substance abuse, emotional neglect, parental abandonment, parental death

Everything in Razielle’s life had been going according to her parents’ plan. Right up until the point where her father mysteriously left in the middle of the night after a heated argument with her mother. Her mother, ever the stubborn woman, went on to act as if nothing had changed.

Sure this was not the start of Raz’ anxiety disorder, but it did not help. In fact, it absolutely ramped up the whole thing by about a thousand percent. She took to taking a long walk when the panic attacks came, doing whatever she could to remove herself and her working mind from the equation.

Less than a year after the disappearance, things got a bit worse for ware. At least for Razi. Her mom (questionably divorced) found herself a new beau. Taking the girl by surprise as the news came in a letter while she was away at summer camp. Unceremonious and handed out after bug juice and night time snacks.

When college finally rolled around her “cooldown walks” became weekly jogs, then nightly runs. There was too much on her plate. After a message home about how focusing on school was getting harder a ‘care’ package from mom showed up with a prescription for adderall. Razi knew full and well this was not how she wanted this to go, nor was this how it all legally worked. Then again, friends of the family get to skirt the rules a bit then huh?

Surprising absolutely no one in the mental health community. Unregulated, unsupervised, and nearly unlimited amounts of adderall in the hands of someone who decidedly does not have ADHD did not go well.

By the time the news of her mother’s engagement to this guy she barely knew hit her she’d been awake for about three days straight. She dropped her phone in the nearest body of water and in a fugue-like state she found herself just running. Farther, longer, and harder than she’d ever done before. Didn’t even care to take a path. Just blindly pushing her legs harder than her heart would allow.

When she heard something growling in the woods Razi didn’t stop to think she just barked right back. Screaming out her anguish and all the pent up emotions she’d kept hidden and pushed down over twenty years of trying to be perfect. She snapped. It really wasn’t until the thing pounced did all that rage explode and left a vacuum of hollow fear and sudden realization of how much she fucked up.

Teeth. Blood. Screams.

Honestly the whole night was lost to the dogs.

She couldn’t remember a thing, especially how she survived. Maybe something in that fourth redbull and adderall combo gave her the kick she needed because when she woke up in the morning all she had to show for the breakdown and subsequent backwoods brawl was a whole lot of dirt, twigs, and a nasty gash on her leg.

The university thought it best if she spent some time off campus for a while. Home was not any better. Honestly she’d have preferred the beast in the woods. No one really believed her about what happened, least of all her mom. She spent the majority of her time healing from what the doctors assured her was some kind of canine bite alone in her room.

A month came and went in what felt like moments. The next of which she’d never forget.

The first full moon after her ‘episode’ was brutal. The only grace given to the once-good-girl was that her brother was not home at the time of the massacre. She woke up covered in her own mother and would’ve been step father’s viscera, and the shock was the only thing that contained another bout of screams.

Even if she didn’t know for sure what happened, it was pretty clear she was somehow responsible. Horrified, disgusted, and heartbroken; Razi grabbed what she could and ran on pure adrenaline and instinct. Their house had been far enough away from any others that the scene didn’t draw any attention, nor did the shellshocked kid running from the bloodbath. She had a tidy bit of savings from birthdays and her bat mitzvah that got her a few states away and enough distance away that she could just think. Frantic, cold, and more scared than she’d ever been, Razi found solace in a place called White Crest. Honestly she wasn’t sure how she ended up there but it seemed perfect. All that was left was to find wherever she was going to hold herself up until these blackouts stopped, and the bloody trail no longer led to her. And then maybe one day the nightmares would go away too.

Character Facts:

Personality: Lost, impulsive, stubborn, vindictive at times, resourceful, sarcastic, perfectionist, clever

Was an accomplished gymnast in her youth, kept it as one of her extracurriculars through college. This might be one of the reasons she was so good at parkouring away from her feelings and mistakes. She is quite good at horseback riding despite being slightly afraid of horses. Mostly their teeth-ular region.

She has a very slight lisp from chipping her front tooth in a hiking incident when she was a teen. Other than that she has a very faint Long Island accent. She will deny this if you bring it up. It gets worse when she’s keyed up. It’s very funny.

Was very sensible when she first got to White Crest, the first thing she did was pay for a few months in a studio apartment in cash. She was not sensible in the act of actually *moving* to White Crest

#drug abuse tw #parental death tw #hailee steinfeld #retired

1 note · View note