#necessary evils book series

[blackandwhiteandrose]

So, I’m trying something new. I’ve become obsessed with the Necessary Evils series by Onley James and I just had to write about them. Turns out this is the first fic on A03 for the series, which is nerve-wracking. 

If you were feeling adventurous, I’d appreciate your support to go check it out!

READ IT ON A03.

Needing a distraction while Adam is taking care of family business, Noah turns to Google image search. The results are ... inspiring.

2.4 k words || explicit

[franticvampirereads]

Oh my goodness, May has been filled with so many great reads! And I have another contender for my absolute favorite book of the year 😊. Here’s everything that I read this month:

Bonus Action 4⭐️ {review}

Sunny Disposition 4⭐️ {review}

Haikyu!! vol 2 4⭐️ {review}

The Magic Fish 5⭐️ {review}

The Sunshine Court 5⭐️ {review}

Lunatic 5⭐️ {review}

Lunatic Bonus Epilogue 5⭐️

Cosmoknights vol 1 4⭐️ {review}

All The Feels 5⭐️ {review}

Maniac -currently reading

My absolute favorite book for the month was The Sunshine Court. It’s one that will stick with me for a long while and it’s one that I’m gonna have to reread before the next book comes out.

[cattatonically]

Moonstruck - Onley James (Necessary Evils, book 3)

Synopsis

Atticus Mulvaney is the eldest son of eccentric billionaire, Thomas Mulvaney—a role he takes very seriously. Atticus takes everything seriously. Like his brothers, Atticus is a psychopath, raised to right the wrongs of a broken justice system. Unlike his brothers, he’s not very good at it.

Jericho Navarro is no psychopath, but he is a vicious killer. Like Atticus, he also has a secret life. To most, he’s just a mechanic. But to a ragtag group of social misfits, he’s Peter Pan, teaching them to eliminate those who prey on the weak with extreme prejudice.

When Atticus and Jericho come face to face over a shared enemy, their accidental meeting ends in an explosively hot hookup neither can forget. But they have nothing in common. Atticus is a buttoned-up closeted scientist and Jericho is a man on a mission, determined to find and punish those responsible for the death of his sister. Still, Jericho can’t stay away. And, truthfully, Atticus doesn’t want him to.

As Jericho’s mission begins to bleed into Atticus’s life, two separate but equally brutal families will need to learn how to fight together to take out a common enemy. But no amount of brute force can show Jericho how to scale the walls of a psychopath’s heart. Can Jericho convince Atticus that, sometimes, the couple who kills together stays together?

Moonstruck is a high heat, intense psychopath romance with an HEA and no cliffhangers. It features a fumbling, sexually confused maniac and the dominating, unapologetic gang leader who can’t stop tormenting him. As always, there’s gratuitous violence, very dark humor, more killers than you can count, and enough explosive chemistry to level a city block. This is book three in the Necessary Evils series. Each book follows a different couple.

My Thoughts

As the oldest Mulvaney son, there has been a lot of pressure on Atticus to excel; to be the best. But Atticus isn’t quite like his brothers. He doesn’t enjoy the thrill of the kill. But lucky for him, Jericho does.

Jericho is his own brand of vigilante justice. Mechanic by day, merciless killer by night. Along with his brother Felix, they have their own crew of vigilantes who go after those who get away with atrocities. So when Atticus and Jericho meet unconventionally, it’s only natural that they’re drawn to each other.

Atticus fascinates me. He’s not at all like Adam or August, from the previous books. While he is also a psychopath, he’d much rather use his laser-focus on other ventures – usually involving his lab, research, and grant applications. So when his attention is wrapped up in the mystery behind Jericho’s sister’s disappearance and death, he does what he can – work behind the scenes to get answers.

But Jericho isn’t a man who needs to be taken care of or protected. He can do that for himself. Instead, Jericho needs someone he can take care of, and that someone is Atticus. Slowly, but surely, Atticus trusts Jericho with the parts of himself he’s hidden away – some of those softer parts he hides from his family. And it works well, because Atticus and Jericho communicate, every step of the way.

As the Mulvaney’s team up with Jericho and his crew to unravel the horrific truth behind Jericho’s sister’s death, it’s pretty clear that this is going to continue into the next books in the series. As the cast of characters continues to grow, so to do all the connections, and potential for shenanigans.

I can’t wait to see what happens next!

[cecexwrites]

Currently Reading: Play Dirty by Onley James and Neve Wilder

[melaniem54]

Review: Maniac (Necessary Evils Book 7) by Onley James

Rating: 4.5 🌈 Maniac brings Onley James’ Necessary Evils to a close as you’d expect from a series about a family of psychopaths and their partners. It’s ends on an assassin’s revenge, death, and a bang on conclusion that brings the entire Mulvaney clan, extended family and friends together for one last murderous investigation and romance. The Mulvaney storyline and romantic drama features the…

[paragonrobits]

i was just thinking about how in later Discworld books, even as its an unspoken understanding among everyone in Ankh-Morpork that Carrot is the King of the city and he's probably the last descendant of the original ruling line, not only does Carrot avoid pushing the narrative to exploit it unless absolutely necessary, but it never de-emphasizes the fact that he's a dwarf by adoption

Even in later books Carrot is still regularly writing letters to his family in their mine; he thinks of himself as a dwarf, he is CONSIDERED to be a dwarf by all except the most hardliners of dwarf society (and even they can't outright deny him dwarf status, the best they can do is say he is an anomaly); he might USE his narrative status as the One True King, but in his heart, to himself, he is still the child of the Ironfounderssons.

His human heritage is functionally irrelevant to him unless he needs to make use of it, much like his ancestral sword. And it occured to me, what if he actively chose to distance himself from his human heritage because he learned about them in later books and found nothing worth acknowledging?

Carrot is in a weird place because he is the One True King, a narrative status that makes him the good and wise king who knows only truth and justice and comes bringing goodness to all, and this is quite a contrast to the ACTUAL kings of Ankh-Morpork, who were universally at BEST a bunch of horribly useless and inept absolute rulers that are living embodiments of 'the aristocracy are dumber than a sack of doorknobs' the series leans into, and at worst are implcitly some of the most horribly sadistic and cruel people in the setting.

One particular example is Lorenzo the Kind, the last king of Ankh-Morpork, whose name was deliberately ironic; he was so horrifically sadistic that he spelled the end of the kingship because he's the one who was killed by Suffer-Not-Injustice Vimes, who because no one was willing to judge him because kings were considered Special, just dragged him off his throne, cut off his head, and the surviving family members were exiled from the city.

Lorenzo is the last member of Carrot's biological ancestry we have definitive information on, off the top of my head, and he paints a dark, horrific image. He's painted as the absolute nadir of horror from the ruling classes, and is heavily implied to have been a sadistic pedophile with a penchant for torture (at the very least Carrot and Vimes both note that he was apparently fond of children and was painted with a lot of them nearby at all times, discussing it in a way that suggests a DEEPLY uncomfortable topic neither of them wants them to address, and later in Feet Of Clay Vimes points out that Lorenzo had unspecified but horrific machines in the basement).

Carrot is very strongly implied to, at least starting from Men At Arms (in which he discovers he is the king), have investigated his ancestry, and he's able to elaborate on their actions and history, and this also marks the point where he carefully but firmly emphasizes his dwarf heritage for the rest of the series.

He found out who his ancestors were, and discovered they were horrifically evil people, and that Mister Vimes was fully justified in being proud of his ancestor putting them down like rabid beasts, and it leads to him firmly emphasizing that his family are the Ironfoundersson dwarfs.

[a-book-of-creatures]

And since I just reposted something about Animorphs, here's more required reading - K. A. Applegate's letter to the fans after the series ended. Removing spoilers just in case because you need to go out there and read every one of the 60 or so books.

Dear Animorphs Readers: Quite a number of people seem to be annoyed by the final chapter in the Animorphs story. There are a lot of complaints that [spoilers]. That there was no grand, final fight-to-end-all-fights. That there was no happy celebration. And everyone is mad about the cliffhanger ending. So I thought I'd respond. Animorphs was always a war story. Wars don't end happily. Not ever. Often relationships that were central during war, dissolve during peace. Some people who were brave and fearless in war are unable to handle peace, feel disconnected and confused. Other times people in war make the move to peace very easily. Always people die in wars. And always people are left shattered by the loss of loved ones. That's what happens, so that's what I wrote. [spoilers] That doesn't by any means cover everything that happens in a war, but it's a start. Here's what doesn't happen in war: there are no wondrous, climactic battles that leave the good guys standing tall and the bad guys lying in the dirt. Life isn't a World Wrestling Federation Smackdown. Even the people who win a war, who survive and come out the other side with the conviction that they have done something brave and necessary, don't do a lot of celebrating. There's very little chanting of 'we're number one' among people who've personally experienced war. I'm just a writer, and my main goal was always to entertain. But I've never let Animorphs turn into just another painless video game version of war, and I wasn't going to do it at the end. I've spent 60 books telling a strange, fanciful war story, sometimes very seriously, sometimes more tongue-in-cheek. I've written a lot of action and a lot of humor and a lot of sheer nonsense. But I have also, again and again, challenged readers to think about what they were reading. To think about the right and wrong, not just the who-beat-who. And to tell you the truth I'm a little shocked that so many readers seemed to believe I'd wrap it all up with a lot of high-fiving and backslapping. Wars very often end, sad to say, just as ours did: with a nearly seamless transition to another war. So, you don't like the way our little fictional war came out? You don't like [spoilers]? You don't like that one war simply led to another? Fine. Pretty soon you'll all be of voting age, and of draft age. So when someone proposes a war, remember that even the most necessary wars, even the rare wars where the lines of good and evil are clear and clean, end with a lot of people dead, a lot of people crippled, and a lot of orphans, widows and grieving parents. If you're mad at me because that's what you have to take away from Animorphs, too bad. I couldn't have written it any other way and remained true to the respect I have always felt for Animorphs readers. K.A. Applegate

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!beezlebub with makima!reader!headcanons

Warnings: manga spoilers for both Record of Ragnarok and Part One in Chainsaw Man, obsessive behavior, violence, and blood.

There may also be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, hope you are all having a lovely spooky month so far! :) I will admit that this fic here is probably one of the most challenging ones I've written because Makima....well, she is the embodiment of a necessary evil and does what she wants, when she wants. She cannot be contained unless it is to her advantage. And I honestly think she would definitely shake things up in Ragnarok...especially when not many people realize who she truly is until it is too late.

Shout out to @nunezs-stuff for their feedback and help on this fic!

So with that being said, sit back, relax, and let us see what surprises await :)

You were annoyed with your current situation.

You had lost and died in a fight by the hands of someone who wasn’t Chainsaw Man, someone who hadn’t even been worthy to be the devil’s vessel. You did give Denji some credit for using his mind instead of charging towards his opponent. 

No…he wasn’t the one you had fought in the cemetery that day. It had been Pochita, and he had heard every single insult meant to finally break what was left of Denji’s damaged psyche. You had dared to speak like that towards the only person you acknowledged as your equal, and you were punished for it. 

Denji consumed your flesh, not as Chainsaw Man as you had always hoped if you ever lost against the legendary fiend. The humiliating memory was still fresh in your mind, but that isn’t why you were annoyed. No, you’ve come to accept that you were outwitted by a mangy dog whose scent you didn’t even bother to familiarize. Rather, it is because you were chained and collared as you had done to Denji, but it is not to a human. 

A Valkyrie named Brunhilde was the one who held your leash, and she wanted you to save humanity from being destroyed by the gods by participating as a fighter in the Raganrok tournament. 

You weren’t given a choice, because you would either follow her orders, including the commands of her sisters, or you would die. Kill anyone besides your target, you would die. Try to bend anyone, human, demigod, or god to your command? You would die. 

Quite a conundrum, even when you still have control over your mind and body and Brunhilde says to just be grateful she’s been merciful.

You sighed. Suppose the only good thing in this predicament is that you can have coffee and do as you please without going against your contract with Brunhilde. If you weren’t wandering around Valhalla, you were either holed up in your quarters reading books or put to work to take care of some business on behalf of the Valkyries. 

It wasn’t actually there, but you could feel the collar around your neck loosen and tighten at random intervals. The only way to nullify your contract with the Valkyries is to create a new one with someone else who isn’t a mortal, but even then Brunhilde would know as soon as she lost the leash.

So how can you get away from this tiresome role as a Valkyrie’s right-hand woman without getting caught?

Just when this thought passed through your mind, you felt the collar tugging towards the door from your cozy chair. Ah…it must be time. Marking your place between the pages with a laminated bookmark, you stood up and quickly changed into the suit you had worn from your days as a Public Safety officer. Time to get to work. Perhaps if everything goes well…Brunhilde will allow you to take a peek at the human world and see how your idol is faring. Chainsaw Man must be lonely without you around to praise and shower him with affection, the poor thing.

After witnessing Hades’ death by hands of Qin Shi Huang, the Philistine deity decided that it was time to end this foolish tournament in the next round. Whoever he would be fighting next will not be granted a swift, painless death…that would be too boring even for his standards. Yet when he stepped into the coliseum with the Staff of Apomyius, he froze upon seeing a woman standing idly in the middle, dressed in a suit and tie with [Hair Color] tresses pulled back in a braid. If he hadn’t seen those rings swirling in [Eye Color] orbs, he would have scoffed at the human for being too arrogant…except he now knew this wasn’t a mortal. 

His opponent was none other than one of the Four Horsemen in Helheim, a harbinger that fed on mortals’ fear of control ever since Attlia the Hun’s campaign to dominate the world. The Conquest Devil. But why was she fighting the humans whom she wanted to destroy to fulfill a silly fantasy with the Chainsaw Devil? Well, no matter. He’ll just simply incapacitate her long enough to make everyone believe she had died in the fight and take her back to his laboratory as his newest lab rat. 

Or so that had been the plan.

The amplified vibrations created from the Staff of Apomyuis to strengthen Palmyra would easily destroy a human’s body even if they were equipped with a Volundr, he had underestimated the Conquest Devil’s regeneration speed because within the moment he saw her body burst into bloodied, tiny pieces, they simply reassembled….and then there was a loud scream from the human’s side, followed by more horrified wailing. 

She blinked at him, tilting her head with that condescending smile. “Is it my turn?” She asked coyly.

He scoffed, raising his weapon and to strike again when she suddenly blitzed towards him, pulling her dominant arm back for a strike when he activated Sorath Samekh. The backlash made the appendage fly off, and then it quickly reattached to her body. The dance repeated itself: he attacked, she regenerated. She attacked, he blocked it, and he countered it with another offensive technique that should have killed her….except no matter how many times he should have killed her, someone on the human’s side of the arena either died or screamed in agony as they lost an arm or a leg. 

And the more that this fight dragged on, the Lord of the Flies felt his morbid curiosity growing more and more out of control. He wanted her. He wanted the Conquest Devil at his side, but not just as another toy to play with until he got bored. He wanted to know why she was here, how she died, what were her weaknesses and what is the root behind her obsession with the Chainsaw Devil. 

Eventually, Zeus had decided to call their fight as a draw that would serve as a tiebreaker. He wasn’t pleased with this outcome, and neither was the Conquest Devil. Beezlebub could see her wanting to finish this fight, covered from head to toe in her blood and wearing a golden collar around her neck with a chain that extended from the arena to the private box on humanity’s side. Brunhilde. There was no one else how would be there, watching this show with a smile and possessing enough power to make the Conquest Devil bend to her will.

Unless….the Valkyrie had no idea the true nature of [First Name]? 

He had to resist the urge to chase after her, forcing himself to retreat and take care of the wounds he had sustained from the fight. If it was true that Brunhilde did not know that her right-hand woman was one of the Four Horsemen…this unfortunate outcome to round eight might be a blessing in disguise after all.

He smiled in self-depreciation. Blessing, hm? Nothing ever good comes from those who are around me….but if there is someone who could kill me without having any remorse or becoming attached to the Priest of Gluttony…it is her.  He thought, his mind drifting back to the memory of those mesmerizing, empty eyes.

Bonus Content

Brunhilde was furious with the outcome of round nine. Yes, she had allowed [First Name] to fight at half of her full capacity as per the terms of their contract and it was better to take a tie than another loss. 

But how in the ever-living fuck did all the secret collaborators of the gods’ campaign to destroy mankind just happened to be in the humanity’s audience? Did [First Name] arrange all of this to happen to take down two birds with one stone? No. That wasn’t impossible. Even if these bastards had betrayed their own species, there’s no way that [First Name] would personally invite them. Not when Brunhilde limited her ‘free time’ in Valhalla, and received hourly reports on her every move. 

[First Name] had a damned good sense of smell, but it was her photographic memory, and how she used it today was even worse. Once she had a face and a name memorized, all she had to do was think or say it, then poof. Any physical damage done to her body was transferred to the person whose name left her mouth. It’s why she is still standing without a single scratch on her body. 

And seeing random humans getting picked off in the middle of a fight no doubt piqued the old geezer’s interest. That’s probably why he called the fight to end in a draw instead of letting it continue, thus avoiding a panic to occur. 

Brunhilde chewed on her thumbnail. Shitshitshitshit! Why do things never go according to plan?!

Taglist:

@swallowtailcherry

@enryegotrip

@onecantsimply

@cassanderasblog

@nunezs-stuff

@justamegafan

@yellow-snark

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@radioactivesweet

@hana-no-seiiki

@thatstrangesheep

@nixes-noxes

@angel-tsugikuni-kamukura

@zodiacs-web

@dance-till-the-death

@deathmetalunicorn1

@dragonempress18

@puffy-bangs

[s-aint-elmo]

digging out the eah content i created in a frenzy during last year’s summer of obsession part 1: my personal sapphic multishipping guide (created to explain to my friends which of these dolls i think should hold hands)

(more in-depth discussion of the ships below the cut)

the polycule that will take over ever after

kitty/lizzie; kitty/maddie; maddie/lizzie

self-explanatory. frequently purchased together do not separate. bonus shoutout to maddie canonically giving kitty a little kissie on the cheek and getting off scot-free in the books though. a wonderlandiful world was a banquet to me

cedar protection squad

once again a wonderlandiful world and once upon a time i owe you my life. kitty ESP being so adamant abt not giving a shit then turning around and fucking up those boys who were mean to cedar...... i love friendship

kitty/cerise

also self-explanatory. she was a catgirl she was a wolfgirl can i make it anymore obvious. also doribuki’s phenomenal fake dating fanfic....... transformative foundational transcendental

cerise/raven

YOU MUST UNDERSTAND. i entered eah a rapple shipper and exited the book series ready to burn at the stake for cerise/raven. book two was SO MUCH. it had everything. raven befriending cerise despite her attempts to isolate herself. texting in class. winking at each other. raven meeting the parents and hearing embarrassing baby cerise stories. cerise putting it all on the line to save raven. i’m ambivalent about shadow high but cerise gets literally one (1) mention and it’s in raven’s internal monologue wherein she equates cerise’s hood w feelings of warmth and safety. like how was that in any way necessary. i rest my case 

raven & maddie

self-explanatory as well. dabesties. the ride or dies. it means so much to me that raven always has a friend in maddie no matter how many clowns and jokers (derogatory) treat her like the antichrist. maddie the character ever

raven/apple

WHAT IT SAYS ON THE TIN. the gelphie dynamic is a classic and i am EXTREMELY vulnerable to it. they are THE ship and i will pay my respects to the end of time. i am a big fan of how they trade their roles throughout the franchise and how rich the drama and history are between them. it’s pure fucking poetry.

raven/darling

TBH. a serve. the only thing juicier than evil queen/damsel in distress is evil queen/princess charming. big big fan of darling giving raven the five star princess treatment after a lifetime of being feared and shunned and vilified. equally big fan of raven’s momentous act of rebellion giving darling the courage to be true to herself. ALSO. the absolute archetype-subversion slay of the Pure-Hearted Hero(TM) confronting the Mistress of Evil(TM) and dropping their sword. looking through the smoke and mirrors and the will of Fate itself to see the girl who has wanted nothing but to be kind beneath. swearing their heart and soul and sword to the one true good they have found. picture it. i can almost see the 100-word drabble

raven/apple/darling

now THIS is just THE fairytale couple. the evil queen, the damsel in distress and the princess charming ALL holding hands and riding off into the sunset together. dappling on its own doesn’t do it for me but raven in the mix just makes everything gel perfectly. she’s the tomato in the ratatouille the cornstarch in the spring roll water, etc etc

darling/holly

this is one of those ships where i read a really convincing fic and the more i thought of it the more it just made sense. like they'd read swashbucklers and tales of courtly love together. holly would 100% write a darling placeholder in her self-insert romance fanfic pre-relationship as a way to express her feelings. darling would 100% find out and gently pull her out of the pit of sheer mortification she drilled into the ground to escape. also the height difference is a thing of beauty

safe from the polycule

duchess/poppy

they have one singular episode to their name and it was enough. it was Everything. the dynamic you can extrapolate from that one single interaction is so incredibly appealing to me. duchess’s bitchiness belied by her palpable air of vulnerability coming up against poppy’s spine of steel tempered by her skill in gaining perspective. poppy can challenge duchess into being a better person and duchess can be poppy’s character flaw like idk she just has shit taste in women that was the price she had to pay to be moisturized and unbothered by destiny. i just think they have the potential to be the unexpected, inexplicable power couple of eah

briar/faybelle

do i even need to say anything they had a whole movie to make their case. they’re rapple if rapple got their shit together before armageddon, with the bonus of a potential curse-breaking true love’s kiss for the fanfic authors to thrash between their teeth. truly unlimited. also unlike rapple where raven is 100% against being a villain and therefore it’s apple who has to do the mental gymnastics to open herself to the possibility of a relationship w raven, faybelle is just chomping at the bit to make her momma proud and presents a compelling perspective for the whole “falling in love w your fated nemesis” thing

blondie/cupid

they are icons, they are legends, and they ARE the moment. these two are so chaotic individually, what with blondie’s criminal skillset and habit of menacing innocent woodland creatures and cupid’s matchmaking powers combined w her shitty aim, that putting them together can only mean good things. there’s this whole element of their shared passion as public figures who at their best seek the truth and guide others through matters of the heart respectively that’s always interesting as a point of irony/obstacle when they start catching feelings and have to decide what to do with them. their joint youtuber/podcaster slay can level nations

[unhelpfulfemme]

Thalias from the Thrawn Ascendancy trilogy is how you do a female character with "traditionally feminine" virtues correctly.

The culture of the Ascendancy involves using young girls - the only Force sensitives their race has, since they all lose their Force sensitivity when they enter puberty - as ship navigators necessary to navigating the chaotic part of space that they live in. These girls are taken from their families at a young age and raised by a series of caregivers, and just like a bunch of plenty of carers IRL a lot of them are dogshit at their job. As someone who's worked similar jobs and watched other people work similar jobs, Timothy Zahn is BRILLIANT at portraying all of this - it gives me feelings like I can't describe. If you've ever seen a mean preschool teacher harranguing their charges or a shitty foster parent who doesn't treat their foster kids as individuals or anyone of the sort, you will feel this in your bones. Zahn goes hard on the "children are people" themes in this trilogy and I love love love this - it really means a lot to me to see a man known for his military and engineering competence porn stuff put so much thought and care into portraying caregiving as the important and complicated task that it is without coming off as sexist or patronizing towards it.

Anyway, Thalias is one such navigator, but even though most of them want nothing to do with the whole trauma-inducing system once they grow out of it, Thalias ends up returning as a caregiver and puts so much effort, compassion and logical thought into it that it makes me cry tears of joy. She draws on her own experiences but is quick to course correct when she realizes that Che'ri's experiences are different from her own (Thalias loved to read as a kid and still finds it comforting, Che'ri hates reading), she treats Che'ri with empathy and gives her as much autonomy and independence as she is allowed to. She uses a scientific method to figure out how the navigator powers work and adjust Che'ri's work routine accordingly - something no one has ever thought to do. She advocates for Che'ri with the rest of the ship's crew. She's amazing, and Zahn also makes sure to show how HARD it can be at times rather than just make her a perfect mind reader who always knows what her charge is thinking and what to say or do.

She's also kinda flawed - she seems to have an unhealthy obsession with Thrawn because he was once nice to her when she was a miserable kid in the throes of the shitty navigator system, and it comes off as kind of weird or cringe at times, and that's a GOOD thing in my book because it makes her character more 3D.

ALSO, the really nice part of it is that these books are filled to the brim with cool female characters that all feel really really different from each other, so Thalias being the nurturing, diplomatic type doesn't feel like Zahn sending some kind of message - the other prominent character is Ar'alani, a clever military woman who's a natural leader, excellent at handling her subordinates and recognizing their talents, excellent at handling politics even though she hates it, excellent at improvising on the fly, and also a kind and loyal friend. A lot of the other soldier or officer types are also women, and Zahn's other works also have a shitton of varied and cool women, so you feel safe in the knowledge that anything Thalias says or does is indicative of Thalias as an individual and not some vague idea of what women are like that the author has.

I also love how her character provides a contrast to all the "necessary evil" and "people are assets"-type thinking that a lot of the Ascendancy's more military types endorse (which make up a large percentage of the main cast, since this is mil scifi after all) - her conversation with Samakro about this is just chef's kiss to me. I feel like it's cool that we get this kind of POV because to me it serves as confirmation that Zahn knows what he's doing here - he's not being a stupid edgelord fanboy in love with the concept of doing shitty things for the greater good, he's just keenly observing how different people approach life and how all of these sorts of thinking are very useful in certain situations and deeply stupid in others. And the topic is treated with zero smugness - I've read things where similar arguments are used as a way of showing how wise and perfect one of the characters is and how stupid the other one is (coughvorkosigansagacough), but here everyone is treated with respect and empathy and consideration.

THALIAS SUPREMACY!!!

[sarahreesbrennan]

The Villainess

‘This is my villain origin story.’ This is Rae. In her own world, she’s a former cheerleader, current cancer patient whose grim diagnosis means she’s been left behind by her friends and family… suddenly offered a chance at survival by walking into her favourite fantasy series, where she will also meet her favourite character. As far as her new world is concerned, this is Lady Rahela Domitia, the Beauty Dipped In Blood, the Harlot of the Tower. Evil as she is beautiful (thanks to @vkelleyart !), former flame of the king, wicked stepsister of the court’s most beautiful maiden, owner of many snake accessories, due to be executed for her many crimes tomorrow. Suddenly the lady has run wild, gathered together a bunch of criminals, and announced to an astonished court that she can… tell the future…? Saucy, defiant Rae’s a villain fan, a joker card, a madcap schemer, a natural leader, not a good listener, and a wounded fighter determined to survive by any means necessary. After all, book characters aren’t real… You could preorder a copy and get character art here!

[franticvampirereads]

This is a little late, but I’m so excited for my May TBR!! Here’s what I’m planning to read for the month:

Bonus Action 4⭐️ {review}

Sunny Disposition -currently reading

The Sunshine Court -currently reading

Haikyu!! vol 2

Lunatic

Prince’s Gambit

Three Meant To Be

All The Feels

Cosmoknights vol 1

The two books I’m currently reading are so freaking good! I’m also pretty sure that The Sunshine Court is gonna be one of the most emotionally devastating books I’ll read all year.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Innata Malevolentia - Part Three (End)

Summary: She's managed to avoid him, but is she only delaying the inevitable? | Word Count: 4.3k ~ | warnings below the cut! please read, this is DD:DNE!

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Ettore Taglist

warnings: DD:DNE, rape, noncon, choking, injury, violence, threatening language and actions, hair pulling, spitting, vivid descriptions of sexual assault, suicidal thoughts, murderous intent, slapping, punching, blood

‘The moment of betrayal is the worst, the moment when you know beyond any doubt that you've been betrayed: that some other human being has wished you that much evil’.

She read the passage over and over again, her fingers drifting across the torn page, curled and frayed from years of use.

Some other woman aboard the ship had read this book before it seemed, and found it necessary to highlight the passage with a soft pencil line underneath, as if she were not sure if she should be writing in the book at all.

Unsure.

She shut the book with force, not bothering to save her place. A kind of hot, poking fear prickling at the back of her neck like a spirit had entered the room and was looking right over her shoulder.

The other book she’d swiped from the Rec Room was no better at alleviating her worries.

The same woman, she surmised who had read the first, had also read this one too.

‘Why do men have to kill beautiful things?’

There was some irony in the sense that a ship, packed with a dozen prisoners, who had all done meaningfully and equally horrendous crimes, was also packed to the brim with dark books and crime novels.

Was she a beautiful thing? She asked herself.

She was a woman. That alone did not make her beautiful.

She had done unapologetically horrific, morbid things, all in service to satiate a mortal desire inside.

One she had felt when she’d pressed that scalpel to Ettore’s neck and pushed, watching the veins and arteries beneath throb with life.

It was a shameful thing to admit to herself, that she’d wanted to see that life blood coat her hands, just as they had done on Earth all those years before.

To compare herself to him, did her no favours. She was merely opening yet another argument inside of one. Who is inherently good, amongst murderers and rapists?

There was nobody good here.

They were made for this. Built to suffer.

And it was Dibs who had dared to introduce their sexuality into that suffering. And she didn’t know if she could ever forgive the old bitch for that.

When men like Ettore see a woman, they see a small, pliant, weak little thing. Something to be twisted and bent to his liking, in positions most favourable to him. A man that revelled and moaned at their displeasure, drinking it in like a life essence, as if he could not survive without it.

She didn’t doubt that there were many before, women who had the unfortunate chance to happen upon him. And if they were lucky, perhaps they didn’t make it out of his grasp. Perhaps he would bend them so irreparably, they’d just snap, mouth frozen, eyes all distant and still wet with unfallen tears.

She looked up to the empty spot where Mink used to occupy the space. Her bed made, and untouched for days since the couples were put together.

“I might as well try and have some fun out of it. Besides, Tchemy isn’t bad looking”.

Mink had said as she threw the few belongings she had into the spare blanket, wrapping them up to carry them easily.

She’d remembered being sat where she is now, listening to Mink talk about it like it was the most normal thing in the world. To tell the truth, it made her feel a bit sick.

Mink was leaving her, to join Tchemy in his cell.

Leaving her all alone. Without the female company she craved acting as some kind of protection.

But then again, she doubted that would have swayed Ettore one bit.

From her spot, she could hear Tchemy’s bed rattle against the wall, rhythmically, and the soft pants of hurried breaths punctuated through each little pat. She imagined Mink, pressing her lips together, trying to contain just how much she enjoyed it, wrapping her legs around the man who rutted into her from above, wordlessly asking for more.

She’d heard Mink moan his name, and it made her feel even worse.

As far as she knew, Boyse and Monte remained apart, completely upset with each other at the situation they’d been forced into.

Though Boyse liked Monte to an extent, as far as she could tell, it was a platonic sort of romance. Intrigue, perhaps more than anything. But nothing overtly sexual seemed to radiate off either of them.

She thought with a sense of dread, that if the situation had been different.

If Ettore hadn’t been Ettore.

That he ‘wouldn’t be bad looking’ either.

But he is Ettore.

And he was everything she ever feared he would be. But had yet to show his full, true, unwavering potential.

In the days that followed the announcement, and she didn’t entirely know how, she’d managed to steer clear of him. Avoiding him as if knowing his whereabouts before he even knew them himself.

The cell without Mink there felt shockingly empty, too quiet. And Dibs, as a sort of reward for participating in the fertility experiments, allowed the women involved to sleep unhindered. Yet, when she slept, she rubbed her wrists, as if she still felt tied down by them.

In a strange way she missed them. It represented a freedom before this.

But now if he did come in the night, which he didn’t, she would have been able to fight back.

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bother.

It was too easy now.

Brutally, she almost wished he’d just do it, and get it over with. So that she didn’t have to suffer in anticipation.

It was late in the artificial evening by the time she and Boyse were almost finished with their shared duty for the day, prepping the kitchen for tomorrow’s breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was an arduous task, one that easily broke a sweat in both of them, but a nice distraction the hell the women shared with one another.

“Mink is enjoying it at least,” Boyse muttered.

She only hummed in response, while she busied herself stacking away the various pots and pans. Disinterested in the subject already, as if it had not been plaguing her mind everyday since.

“Monte and I tried last night”, Boyse confessed suddenly, her eyes looking very much like a scared girl. She was young. And it was only evident when she was afraid, just how tiny she was.

Boyse shrugged, “It’s not so bad…” she murmurs, unconvincingly, “...he’s nice about it”.

She struggles to see what the point of the conversation is.

Boyse starts, “Maybe with-”

“That maybe with Ettore it will be all cute, romantic and lovely?” she interrupts, her voice firm, “Have you been that blind to who he is this whole time? I know you’re not that stupid”.

The other woman has nothing to say to that.

And the silence stretches uncomfortably.

“It’ll happen eventually, you know…” Boyse remarks.

But she can only give a small, exhausted huff. Knowing that she was completely right.

If by the time their first examination came around, Dibs found out there was no sexual intercourse, it wouldn't take long for her to force them into a room together, and throw away the key.

She never imagined herself a mother.

Why would she, when she can hardly atone for her own actions?

What if they all got pregnant?

What would become of this floating prison then?

She'd told Boyse to go off early while she finished up labelling the portions for tomorrow's dinner.

But really, she just wanted some time to herself, and perhaps a nightly visit to the Box to tie things off.

The canteen was dark, a blue, unnatural light stretching across the linoleum floor, making the ship feel colder than it actually was.

She wondered where he might be right now. He was more often than not on maintenance, on the other side of the ship.

Far away.

But it was late. He was probably finished by now.

The hallways were darkened and empty as she made her way down the metal ladder towards the Box. Thinking about what she might do later tonight.

Maybe finish one of those books?

Maybe go out to the deck and watch the stars and planets disappear into the blackness of space?

Sometimes it calmed her.

Down where the Box was, there were no windows. A sense of privacy.

She was about to reach for the touch-activated button when-

Darkness.

Utter and complete nothingness.

So dark she could not even see her hand before her own face.

'Temporary electrical failure. Emergency oxygen has been activated. Please wait while power is restored'.

Harsh blue lights flashed for a second, illuminating the hallway for a brief moment, a loud, searing alarm accompanying it. Her eyes hurt from the intensity of it.

"Fucking piece of shit ship.." she murmured, using the brief light of the alarms to navigate her way through to the control panel in the maintenance cupboard.

She huffed with annoyance, that there was no emergency torch inside the maintenance cupboard to light her view. The flashing blue light would have to do.

She could barely think with the incessant booming noise.

And it all seemed to go quiet, her face going all pale.

The wires connecting the electrics to the mains, were missing. Deliberately.

Dread pooled in her stomach. And the resonant ringing of alarms were pulled back up to her ears, setting every nerve on edge, fear prickling the little hairs at the back of her neck.

Her breath felt hot in her chest, difficult to push up her throat.

She shuffled back, her back meeting the wall of the hallway in a state of shock. Every now and then her vision going black when the blue lights went down, now feeling significantly longer than a simple second.

Like a rabbit in the deep, dark bushes of a forest, her head whipped at the sound of movement over the intense alarming environment.

It took a moment to really see, as the lights made it feel almost nightmare-like. Sucking his figure into darkness to illuminate him again in his dark red prison garb. His light blue, but darkened eyes staring at her from under his brow.

His expression was stoic, fading into darkness. She expected him to approach slowly between periods of nothingness, like those horror movies she always used to watch on Earth.

But this was very real.

A very real horror in the form of a man.

Ettore dropped the wires onto the floor, his form looking significantly smaller on the other side of the hallway, mercifully far away.

Instinctually, she felt for the shape of the scalpel in her pocket, her senses set alight to find it wasn't there.

It was difficult to see the smug look on his face.

"Look at you. All soft and pretty, waiting for me to have my way with you. With that dumb look on your face".

She swallowed over the lump that formed, fear overtaking everything else, her legs primed to run.

"It would be a shame, if I took what I wanted without asking".

A shame.

But he would do it anyway.

She thought, if he was a true predator, he'd be able to hear her breath, feel the thrum of her beating, female heart, as if it were in the palm of his hand, squeezing savagely.

"Don't you think?"

She waited for it to go black before she broke into a run, hoping to at least make it to the deck, where she knew there'd be more chance of escape to the safety of her cell.

But did it really matter?

Navigating the hallways, though mostly straight and clear, was still difficult with the flashing of blue light and then inconceivable blackness.

The floors of the hallway or the bed of her cell?

Choose your poison, it's still killing you nonetheless.

And every time she shifted one leg before the other, she heard him running after her.

Getting closer.

He was much faster. Taller. With wider strides.

She crossed the deck, beneath the skylight, her laboured breathing burning-

Pain.

Blood?

She felt him tug at her hair, wrenching her head back first and then straight into the metal doorframe.

Was her vision fading? Or were those the lights?

Everything felt so blurry.

Was he talking?

The floor was cold against her face. The blood in her hairline where the fresh cut has sliced into her skin sliding warmly down the side of her face.

Her head throbbed.

Where am I?

A large hand pulled at her shoulder, turning her over onto her back. And she felt warmth on her legs where his broad body was straddling her, his head partially blocking off the cosmic light emitted from the skylight, making the blonde wisps of his hair light up in a half-halo.

For a moment everything was quiet.

She blinked slowly. Before fear and panic gripped at her senses, flinging her headlong into fight or flight.

She felt pitiful, pushing against his chest with all that remained of her strength, a small voice saying, "Get the fuck off me!"

Watching his face split into a grin in horror, Ettore took her wrists easily and twisted, loving the pained grunt she gave him in return as he slammed them to the floor, "You wanna be rough? Fine, let's do it properly then, shall we?"

Her vision spun violently when his fist cracked against her jaw once, sending her face flying to one side.

This time, she was sure she blacked out for a second.

Blood in her mouth, coating her teeth.

It was so cold.

Using her moment of vulnerability, Ettore huffed animalistically, out of breath from running, as he tore at the front of her shirt, splitting it in two and exposing her breasts. He took a handful of one and pinched spitefully at the flesh. The motion jolted her, and she moved her legs and hips in an attempt to get him off her.

"You made me do this" he uttered darkly, "you know I can't control myself".

No I don't. She thought with panic.

"You were asking for it".

No I wasn't. She thought with fear.

I never asked for this.

Consciousness rose in waves to the surface, strength slowly gaining. And she pushed her legs against him, her hips, anything to get him off her. She writhed beneath him, her lips etched into a frown as she tried to break free.

"Don't make me hurt you".

His words had no effect.

It felt like life or death.

She ripped one wrist free and slapped him harshly across the face, her nail dragging along his cheek, watching with tired pride as he grimaced.

Before his face set into a scowl again.

"Stupid worthless cunt", he punctuated it with a slap of his own, in the same spot he'd punched her previously. Nausea rolled in her gut at the pain, her eyes near rolling back as she struggled to keep herself afloat and conscious.

She felt hands all over her.

Under her ripped shirt, kneading her breasts in his calloused palms.

His knee anchoring her legs down as one hand ripped at her sweatpants to tear them off with a grunt.

Vomit bubbled at the back of her throat when she felt her core exposed to the chill of the air, and how he simply looked at it, growling like an animal.

"No…" was all she found the courage to say, "Stop…"

Her mouth felt so dry.

Ettore chuckled, "Stop?", he mocked, "you should be grateful I'm even doing this".

Grateful?

Her bleary, dazed eyes rolled around before landing on him. Watching as he knelt, looking down at her, pulling his sweatpants over his hips just enough to free his length.

He was aroused at the thought of hurting her.

One hand was wet with saliva, rubbing the artificial slickness over his length as the other pushed meanly against her folds, dryly prying them apart, introducing a searing, uncomfortable pain.

She felt blood in her eyebrow as she furrowed them both in anguish, trying to push herself on her back away from him as he touched her without care.

He huffed in annoyance when he found she wasn't wet in the slightest, as if he had expected her to be.

She fought the urge to gag when she saw him lean over and spit on her core, using the hand that was already there to smear his saliva over her.

The waves of pain tugged her lower.

So much so she could barely hear his voice.

Come on. Get up.

She tried, she really did.

Get up and fight him.

Writhing weakly beneath him, "Get…off…" she said firmly, through the wavering tones of agony.

She felt real, real fear when he leaned over her like a big, broad shadow, and pressed his palm against her neck, his fingers tightening against her flesh with the veins flexing.

"Shut the fuck up and take it".

Her lips parted to gather air.

Air that wouldn't pass into her lungs.

I'm going to die.

She gasped and swallowed for oxygen, tears covering her eyes as she felt his knee prop her limp legs apart.

"This is what happens to women who don't know their fucking place" he hissed in her face meanly.

She felt she truly wanted to die, when she felt the head of his cock part her folds and push into her dryly, brutally. Her walls tight, trying to push him out. He only let out a sigh, warm against her face. Too soft for the horrendous crime he was committing on her body.

If his hand hadn't been clamped on her throat, she would've screamed.

His face showed no pleasure in the intermittent blue light of the alarms. And it was only here she realised they were still sounding, as her consciousness was constantly being ripped from her.

She winced in torment, as he reached the end of her, splitting her open painfully on his length. His body was against hers, holding her down, pushed to the hilt inside of her and tearing up her insides, causing the faintest bit of blood to wet his length inside of her.

The air was getting thin in her head.

Just kill me.

Just a little more, and I will be dead.

But instinctually, as he let go to sit back on his haunches, her body took a deep breath in, filling her lungs again. Her throat, sore and battered, felt like fire as she coughed weakly.

No.

A tear was stinging her cheek where he'd punched her, now blooming with an early bruise.

It was only now he looked like he was enjoying himself. His cock dragging ruthlessly in and out of her, igniting the pain in a new place. He fucked into her quickly and without care of her mewls of pain, bullying the end of her like he wanted to impale her.

Like he wanted to kill her.

She watched his face briefly light up with blue as he looked down to where he'd split her open, her sex still trying to reject his assault with every harsh smack inside.

Realising her own body was denying him, he pressed harder against her, only to smirk at hearing her heightening volume of protests.

She felt as if every hard and dry journey inside of her, that he was taking a little bit of her away with him. Felt her heart breaking with little shards peeling off.

Fire licked between her legs, up her spine, fuelling the burning migraine.

"You like that, don't you? Bet you've been waiting for me - oh fuck -" his moans were staggered, " - nothing but a fucking piece of meat - my little fuck toy -"

He laughed when she winced with her voice and body at the hard thrust he gave at the punctuation.

"Stop…" she pleaded weakly, though she was confident he wouldn't listen, "...hurts…"

He leaned forward, his palm pressed harshly against her abdomen, to feel himself rutting inside her, forcing her walls open around his length.

He grinned widely.

"Stop? Hurts?" he mocked in a high tone, "Yeah, I can feel your blood soaking my cock".

She could've sobbed, if her throat weren't so sore.

Her head lolled back, thudding against the linoleum with every shift of his hips driving his cock into her. She felt tears coat her vision, darkness creeping in.

His hands clamoured at her. Hips. Breasts. Neck.

But she didn't feel it anymore.

There was a numbness.

Instead, she stared up at the skylight, above where Ettore's head rhythmically moved with pleasure. His chiselled features illuminated every now and then when he tipped his head back and moaned loudly over the sound of sirens. The tattoo on his neck stretched and rippled like a puzzle.

The universe watched back.

The universe. The blackness. The void. Watched her assault.

And she thought with pain, that she wanted to be out there. Floating around mindlessly. With no air in her lungs to breathe. No effort.

She could put herself out of the airlock if she wanted to.

It was tempting.

She watched the stars and planets fold in on themselves while her body and breasts jolted with Ettore's assault. He didn't even try to touch her in a way that would bring any pleasure. He didn't care.

All he saw was a hole that needed to be filled.

He tapped her cheek. And then grabbed her face harshly. His fingers smeared the blood over her face.

"Come on now, stay with me" he cooed falsely, "I want you to feel it".

But she didn't move.

Not a single inch.

She thought of Earth.

The vast fields in her hometown.

Her family.

Going out on a Friday night to the pub with her friends.

Was today Friday?

Is that what they were doing right now?

Were they stood outside the pub, passing a cigarette around, drunkenly laughing and pink in the face from the chill of the breeze.

Did they think of her?

His thrusts began to increase in both strength and speed as he neared his end. Her eyes planted on the skylight still.

Did they even remember her?

I'm right here.

Help me.

She fought the urge to gag as he used her hips to pull her onto him repeatedly, his breath quickening in the telltale way.

He pushed himself as far inside her as he could go, fucking sloppily into her as blood streaked his length.

And with a long, loud grunt, he stilled and went all rigid.

And the warmth at the end of her made her want to die right there.

The blood in her eyebrow had now begun to slide down her face, her head throbbing still. Pupils shaking.

Ettore's eyes were screwed shut, looking more so in pain than pleasure as he emptied himself inside her. Thrusting shallowly with a loud squelch, pushing his cum deep, moulding her insides to the shape of him. Prolonging his selfish pleasure.

You could beat me to death. So just do it.

Kill me so I don't have to feel like this.

She couldn't help the little sound she let out when he pulled out of her. Though he was now only half hard, the feeling of his cock reigniting the pain through her sensitive walls had her arch her back to get away from him.

For a long moment, he simply looked at her. Every now and then to his hands, the tips of his fingers painted with blood. His blue eyes flitting from her brutalised core, to her face, which showed nothing.

There was nothing.

Did I deserve this?

She felt only a dull sense of shame as his cum leaked out of her. And the thought of one day being pregnant, perhaps as a result of this, felt devastating.

She thought, she wanted to make him feel every inch of what she'd felt.

There was something inside missing now.

As if with every thrust, he had pushed something out of her, to make room for him. And those bits she'd lost, she could never get back.

All she could hear was her breath, weak and shuddered.

It wasn't clear exactly when Ettore stood up to leave.

But after pulling himself from her, he didn't touch her.

There was only the artificial warmth of the cosmos to warm her cold, numb body. Looking down at the ripped and torn human shaped entity that was once a living, breathing woman.

'But who can remember pain, once it's over? All that remains of it is a shadow, not in the mind even, in the flesh. Pain marks you, but too deep to see'.

Maybe that book was right.

The alarms stopped, and darkness descended once again.

She felt the blood and cum on her inner thighs begin to dry.

How long have I been here?

Her clothes were falling off her as she crawled over to the doorway, using the frame to pull herself onto her shaky feet, a deep, stabbing pain thrumming through her core.

A trail of blood was all she left behind on the floor.

Unlike his other victims, he couldn't just kill her to get her to shut up. Or do it so she'd be out the way, and wouldn't tell anyone.

She was stuck here, with him, to face the truth of his actions.

Perhaps that's why he'd been so quiet after. That realisation that she was a dangerous person as well when prodded.

Her body ached as she reached the haven of the showers, wanting all proof and memory of his touch off her sooner rather than later.

It was a challenge removing her clothes, her joints rolling uncomfortably from the hardness of the floor against her back.

Even the warm flow of water onto her naked skin couldn't cleanse her of what she felt. The bruises around her neck, her hips, her back and the torn apart agony she felt inside her, wouldn't subside quickly.

No tears.

No crying.

There was just nothing.

Hair damp around her shoulders, and new clothes freshly sticking to her tacky skin, she took calculated steps through the hall, the blue light setting dread in her stomach.

She clutched the knife in her hand like she was born to it, moulded to her skin, and as if she wanted to put all the suffering she'd felt into keeping it close to her.

Ettore slept on his back, chest rising and falling steadily with sleep. Half of his naked torso covered by the sheets.

The first thought she had was, how can he sleep?

Does he not know how he has changed me?

What he's created.

She thought, that he was like a child, taking what he wanted without bothering or even thinking about the repercussions. Snatching the sense of autonomy from the women he came across as easy as swiping the possessions from someone's pocket.

That he must have been either broken to the point of emptiness or simply evil.

But now, broken by him, inside and out, she could not find it in herself to have a slither of empathy for him, warranted or not.

He deserved this.

The blade twisted in her fingers, her eyes roaming him wondering where would be best to kill him the quickest.

An artery somewhere.

Bleed out.

She didn't flinch as his blue eyes opened softly, looking right at her, sensing another heartbeat in the room with him.

Look at me.

Look at what you have made.

He blinked down at the knife, and then back up to her.

And had the indecency to smirk.

Quotes: The Handmaid’s Tale & We are All the Same in the Dark

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

Ettore Taglist (1): @bellaisasleep | @iamavailablesstuff | @the-common-cowgirl | @theroyaldixon

[cattatonically]

Maniac - Onley James (Necessary Evils, book 7)

Synopsis

Thomas Mulvaney was just a child when an error in judgment cost him everything. He vowed then that he would do anything to atone for his mistake. And he did. He never strayed from the right path. Until Aiden.

Aiden Mulvaney doesn’t exist. He’s a lie created by the father who disowned him and by Thomas Mulvaney, the only man Aiden had ever begged to love him. But that was years ago, when he’d still believed in fairytales. Before Thomas rejected him.

Thomas has spent years trying to have Aiden in his life while keeping him at arm’s length, but Aiden’s done with half-measures. He’s done with Thomas the martyr. He’s just done. So, he’s kept his distance. Trouble is, now, someone is threatening to expose a secret that affects them all.

No, not that one. A secret so shameful, Thomas won’t even utter it out loud. Can he and Aiden revisit the past and keep the family name intact, or will they both be buried beneath the weight of their memories as their old feelings resurface?

My Thoughts

Thomas Mulvaney is the patriarch of the family. Always in control. Always has the answers. Always supports his sons. And Aiden is hopelessly in love with him – has been since Thomas took him in as an angry teenager with a thirst for vengeance and violence. But Thomas keeps his distance, keeps the walls up. Until he needs Aiden’s help.

The past has come back to haunt Thomas, and he reaches out to the only man he knows won’t deny him the help he needs. Together, they set out to uncover who could possibly know the Mulvaney family secrets, and is determined to blackmail Thomas, or tear his family apart from the inside out.

It doesn’t take long before, in classic Mulvaney fashion, getting to the bottom of the case turns into a family affair. All of Thomas’ most important people – including Calliope! – are called in to work the case. And in the meantime, Aiden works on Thomas’ walls. And he succeeds.

Aiden isn’t the vengeful 16-year-old he was when Thomas took him in. He’s built a life for himself – away from most things Mulvaney – and he’s proven that this time, they can make things work. They can build a relationship on equal footing, and they can be happy. Together. And there’s nothing Thomas wants more, his own trauma be damned.

As they wrap up the case, Thomas and Aiden weather the scandal storm together. And they do what they were meant to do – be happy, support their eccentric, large family, and take out the trash exactly where it belongs. Happily ever after.

[innocentimouto]

Some atla opinions that I feel like have been explained in old posts

Aang supported, respected, and comforted Katara throughout the series.

The first one to ever trust or help Zuko was Aang.

Everyone in the Gaang did chores, not just Katara.

Katara comforted many characters, not just Aang.

Appa should have been afraid of Zuko.

Sokka is not a good judge of character.

Sokka should have been the one to go with Katara to face Yon Rha.

Toph is bratty.

Toph didn't care about the war.

Haru showed a lot of hatred for the Fire Nation.

Hahn was a missed opportunity. And so was every ek kid.

Katara was the only normal one for not trusting Zuko.

There are more pros than cons in keeping Jet alive for the plot.

Jet was a great leader.

All the Freedom Fighters were fine with flooding the village.

Ty Lee can be cruel.

Mai was friends with Azula, willingly.

Suki deserved more development.

Jin should have gotten the chance to confront Zuko over Ba Sing Se.

Teo should have made plans with Sokka.

Hakoda should have praised Katara for her bending.

Hakoda should have been able to fight in the finale.

The White Lotus made a lot of characters look worse.

The only actions Zuko regretted were the ones against Iroh.

Zuko was fully prepared to capture Appa and use him as bait by any means necessary (ie firebending).

Iroh is a hypocrite.

Azula was abused.

Azula lost many times.

Bloodbending isn't evil.

Book 3 was rushed.

[gaysindistress]

Allies or Enemies - three

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

pairings: Dragonborn!bucky x f!reader

Summary: The reality of her cruel world is more evident than ever before when her stepfather sends her to her death under the guise of diplomacy. Y/n, the expendable daughter of a scared king, must find a way to secure her own protection among the Dragonborn and she will do that by whatever means necessary.

Warnings: nothing

Word count: 3.8k

Author’s note: there are two povs here and I didn’t add who’s they were on purpose *cue evil laughter*

Ari-Hengot means ‘my leader’ in Draconic (based on the very unhelpful google search I did so if it’s wrong it’s not my fault)

series masterlist | two

taglist: @blackbirdwitch22 @alyeskathewave @learisa @screechingfangirlaf @oh-gods-its-a-dragon @globetrotter28 @mostlymarvelgirl l @salvatoreitmeanssaviour

The words spoken by the sick and ignorant spread like wildfires; drawing close to any unattended wilting blade of grass and engulfing the field in a raging blaze within minutes. What happens now is a question on the lips of every poor farmer as they watch their life’s work burn to nothing but ash and broken spirits. No amount of water and tender hope can rebuild the life that’s been destroyed in seconds. 

Much is the same with the towns where the cowardly king’s words are as revered as their holy books. 

 “Where is she?”

A woman stared off into the distance, looking through the thick trees and towards the small village where the girl lived. The man who had spoken off to her side huffs at her silence, growing impatient with her and the cold wind that sends another shiver down their spines. 

“In a small cabin towards the back of the village, the furthest side from us,” she finally answers his question as she looks back at him, her violently red eyes blinking rapidly in adjustment. 

He tries not to flinch at the unnatural glow of her eyes but fails miserably as he speaks, “Is there anyone with her?”

It’s her turn to huff, “You couldn’t have asked me that when I was looking?” “Well I never said to look away. You did that on your own accord.”

Rolling her eyes, she looks back towards the village. 

“It looks like there are two men next to the door but that’s all I can see. We need to get closer if you want me to see more.”

“Of course, I need you to see more than that.” 

The woman narrows her eyes at him and he looks between her and the cabin. 

“You have a horse or legs if you feel inclined to actually do any work,�� he gestures to both items and then points towards the village, “Get to it.”

“Haha very funny,” she sarcastically laughs, yanking her horse’s reins to the side and leading it away from her male companion. 

“Wanda,” he calls after her, his horse not trailing far behind hers. 

“No, you absolute ass. You dragged me to this cold barren, disgusting, foul…”

He cuts her off, “Wanda.” “No, do not interrupt me,” her head whips toward him, her headscarf slipping down to reveal a wave of red hair as she rips into him with her words, “You dragged me here, teased me like I’m a commoner, and then demanded things from me while still expecting me to cooperate. You’re dumber than a donkey if you think that I’m going to walk or force my horse to do so in the snow just to see a few more feet than I did before. I'm not doing it. Work with what I gave you or go scout it yourself!”

When she is done and can see past her rage, all she sees is his stupid smirk and she kicks her horse, demanding to be taken far away from his smug attitude. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbles under his breath and takes off after her. 

Wanda, the red eyed and haired woman, dismounts her horse the moment she reaches their base camp and passes off the reins to a lowly soldier who grumbles at the leather that falls into his lap. Marching straight through the small camp of seven tents, she pushes aside the heavy red fabric that make up the center tent and storms in without a care in the world. 

“If you ever put me with Samuel again, I will send a wind storm into your tent and rip you from your bed the moment before you finish with a woman,” Wanda sneers at me. 

I glance up at her with a ghost of a smirk before looking back at the papers and writing something on a map that is nestled on top. 

“Excuse me,” she demands as she marches to the table, “Did you hear what I said?” “I did,” I answered without looking at her and looking at his maps. 

“Are you going to say anything?”

I don’t respond as I continue to write and draw on the map, charting out our journey home. 

“Wanda, I was joking,” her riding companion and my second in command, Samuel, calls after her as he pushes into the tent, taking note of her irritated state and my unbothered one. 

“Get out,” she nearly barks at him, pointing at the entrance as her red eyes flare and a breeze sweeps in, “now.”

Samuel shakes his head at her, ignoring her as he walks over to the table and brushing past her as he does so. She physically recoils, causing her headscarf to fully fall and scoffs at the brazen touch. She looks wild with her dirty hair spilling out around her and her sanguine eyes narrowing at him.

“Ari-Hengot,” Samuel starts, “I asked her to tell me if anyone was in the house with the girl and all she gave me was two men but wasn’t able to see anyone else. Is it really so wrong of me to suggest she gets closer if that’s what she needs to be able to see more? I feel like that’s pretty reasonable.”

“You told me that I had legs and that I could walk. In the snow.” 

The two start to argue like children in front of me, causing me to drop my quail back into the inkwell and straighten myself to my full height while I clear my throat to get their attention. 

“Wanda, Samuel,” I warn, his voice low and commanding before looking at Wanda, “Can we move tonight or do we need to wait?”

“Yes, it looks like there’s only one person with her at all times. We should move tonight before they start to notice someone’s been watching them. It’s only a matter of time before they see a group of brightly colored tents close by,” Wanda snipes as she stuffs her hair back into her headscarf and pulls her thick red coat around her tighter.

I nod  in approval of her answer regardless of her sass. I’ve never cared if she lashed out on me, disrespected me the way a soldier should never do to their captain however she wasn’t really mine to wield nor could she control me. Regardless of our dynamic lieutenant and captain, We have a long standing agreement to never use their status or titles against each other. Being the daughter of a well respected human ally to the Dragonborn and a newly appointed lieutenant, Wanda was known to have a tongue that could cut like the cold winter wind and soothe the wounds when she wanted. I had learned very quickly to stay in her good graces to protect myself from her wrath and she, in turn, protected me from the crushing weight our leaders gave me. 

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Samuel argues, growing angry that I would so casually accept her appraisal of the situation without a second thought. Him and I may have known each other for several years longer, it is still Wanda that has made any headway in our mission. 

“You didn’t ask what I thought. You assumed that because I could only see to the girl that I would say no but,” she turns back to me, “we should make our move now. We only have the snow storm for a few more days and after that, we won’t have cover anymore.”

“Samuel, you may leave now.”

He makes a noise of annoyance about how Wanda’s word always outweighs his but leaves nonetheless. Both of us will soon hear how wounded his ego is but for now it’s not our concern. 

“And your visions?” I ask once I’m sure that Samuel is gone and no longer in earshot. 

Wanda flinches but shakes it off as she occupies her hands and mind with a thread on her coat, “It has to be tonight and soon or we lose hope of getting her altogether.” Getting the confirmation that I need, I round the table and come to stand before her. Placing my large hands on my arms and pulling at them, I silently ask her to look at me. 

“You’ve done well,” I mummer to her, a smile wide on my normally frozen face. 

She wrinkles her nose at my praise but accepts it nonetheless. Peeking under my arm she spots the map that I’d been working on. Fear and anger rise up in her as she looks over what lies behind us. 

The map is of our lands, stretching as far south as the Unsea and as far north as York. The tiny village that we are encamped by sits in the northernmost mountains of York, placing us deep within enemy territory. 

A dotted line marks a route back to Devora and she gasps at where the route has to cross through. 

“Are you trying to get us killed?” she almost shrieks as she pushes under my arms and points at my handiwork which does mark a path through certain death. 

“He’s been found in their capital, ” I state as I join her at the table’s edge. 

“Well then congrats to the Coward King,” she scoffs, “but what business do we have going through there?”

I look at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “We’re going to get him on our way back.” “No we are not.”

“And why not?” “It’s…” she pauses, searching for a valid reason to avoid the capital city of York, Brookshire, “your personal vendetta against him is not a reason to risk all of our lives. We will be killed as soon as we are within sight of their walls. 

“I’m sure we can devise a way to get in,” I tell her while I start to cover the map, “and it is not a matter of my personal issue with their king. It is a matter of political correction.” 

“Political correction? Have you been taking lessons with Stephanos?” 

I offer her a small smirk instead of words as I rub at the spikes on my jawline, my scales reflecting the fire’s blaze at Wanda. 

“I shall ask again; are you trying to get us all killed?” 

I don’t drop my smirk but add to it with a shrug,“Isn’t that how all great military leaders die? In search of a great treasure for their people? ” 

Wanda scoffs at her captain’s undesirable need to prove that I am the best, “We are not treasures. We are people no matter what they say.”

“Ah but you Wanda are the greatest treasure that this world has to offer,” I tell her while I grip her shoulders. 

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, you know that,” she sighs. A shiver passes through her and it’s then that I am reminded of how…fragile humans are. York is not a warm place; both in manners and climate but here in their mountain range it is far colder than anything that Wanda would’ve experienced before. Her entire body shakes when the wind brushes through the tents and pushes her way to the front when there is a fire. Some of the others have taken to giving her warm clothing or fabric they find when we pass a village. A few times she’s come to my room at night and wordlessly crawled in, hoping that she would find a pocket of warmth in the thick blankets I collect. 

Outside of the tent, I hear Sameul shouting at the others, demanding they be ready within the hour. Footsteps crunch in the snow and horses protest against the cold beneath their feet. This new country is nothing like any of our homelands and it proves to be a worthy adversary as many of us fail to conquer or even assimilate to its conditions. During our nearly year-long expedition, we’ve lost nearly half of our party and things do not look to be any better if we can’t get to her. Soon. 

“Praised be the Sfant!”

An elderly woman cries as she shuffles her dying husband out of the small cabin. A hovel really is a better term for the bare shelter that I’m being housed in held captive in. With only two rooms, one being a tiny bedroom and the other the main living quarters, I have little room to practice my ‘gifts’. Although my guards, my captors truly, have clasped thick cuffs wrists to prevent me from leaving. The first time I attempted to run, a thin red string had connected me to my guards and led them directly to me. 

I learned to ignore my desperation for freedom rather quickly afterwards. 

I try to smile at the woman and allow my body to slump when she is gone. The ache in my bones has not gone away since I woke up in that freezing tower room. Pepper, all too gleeful, explained to me that immediately following my fainting spell, the guards on Anthony’s command attacked the Dragonborn and ‘rescued’ me from the ‘bastardly demons’.  My mother had been lost in the battle but Anthony miraculously survived and managed to use her death as yet another example of Dragonborn violence towards York. It became clear with the more I was told that it wasn’t a Dragonborn sword that killed her, it had been a human one. 

I’ve grown to believe that it was Anthony’s however I have nothing but hatred and vengeance to support my claim. 

Two men, tall, pale, and unnerving, are slumped in the two chairs that were left in the cabin. The taller one, a man with cropped golden blonde hair and a beard to match, is watching her intently with light eyes that unnerve me when I meet them. The other is a dark haired man with similarly cropped hair and facial hair is picking at his fingernails with a knife. 

Jonathan, the blonde, stands and places a table in front of the door as an alarm if anyone were to attempt to break in. He tosses a piece of bread to Brock, the dark haired one who gestures towards one of the rooms with the bread as he speaks to me, “Time for bed.”

I can’t help when my eyes roll on their own at his request and instead I decide to clean the altar around me instead. Candles, herbs, and jewelry as well as a book lay around my kneeling body, artifacts from the ineffective ritual I’d just performed. The woman had begged Jonathan and Brock for days to let her husband be seen by me but the two men merely waved her off in hopes that a person with a bigger purse would come by. Finally after sitting at the doorstep day after day, I took pity on her and allowed her in before the assholes could say a thing. 

Her husband had been poisoned, the woman claimed as she wiped at his sweaty brow and held him. One look at the black veins that crawled up his neck and were threatening to overtake his face let me know enough; the man had been poisoned but there would be no way for her to heal him. I could only offer remedies to ease his pain and end his life swiftly in his sleep. Dabbing oil on his temples, lips, and behind the ears would ensure that his death would come before the woman even made it to her own hovel. 

“Y/N, now,” Brock snaps sternly, his dark eyes beginning to rage at my brazen actions. 

I quickly turn my head, the chains and strings of gems that hang from my diadem swinging as I do so, “I’ll go when I’m finished cleaning.”

His eyes flash for a moment before he stalks over to me and rips me up by my arm. He knocks over countless expensive remedies and breaks what he didn’t spill in the process but he shows no concern for it all, not that he ever did. His grip on my arm is bruising and steel- like so I can’t tear myself free. Again my jewelry and other adornments clang together in a painful symphony as I’m dragged across the room; a stark reminder that I am nothing but a living doll to these people and to Anthony. 

“You do as I say and quickly,” he grinds out through clenched teeth before slamming the door on me, leaving me in the dark and alone. 

I let out a frustrated cry as I tear the undoubtedly priceless jewelry from my body and hair. Letting it clatter to the ground, I resist the urge to break it any further by stomping it or picking it back up to throw again. I’m left in my cuffs and thick layers of robes and dresses I’m forced to wear to look the part of their saint, the Sfant of the Great Rebirth. The heavy fabric becomes suffocating and I tear them off next, shedding the black robes that were embroidered in white and gold before nearly breaking off the buttons to the outer black gown. Similar to the robe, it too is embroidered with white and gold threads but within lays the signature blue of York. A part of me is tempted to burst out of the room in my chemise and throw the foul articles of clothing into the fire but I know I would not be fast enough. The foul men outside would hear my movements before I even made them and would stop me. 

Instead, surrounded by the fineries of my captors, I crumple to the floor and cry into my hands. I cry for the people that I cannot save, the people that have died to protect me, for the people that I will inevitably fail, and for the girl that died that night. I cry for the life that I once had where I was insignificant, for the life that was stolen from me when I was bound to the Dragonborn, and for the life that I am forced to live now. I cry harder as the pendant against my sternum weeps and pulses wildly, screaming out to its other half to no avail. The pain and sadness that lives instead of its milky heart has never faded in the year since it was given to me. For an entire year I have felt my very soul being torn in a thousand directions and yearn for the one they all lead to. 

 I hear the scuffling boots of the men outside my door, no doubt muttering to themselves about how pathetic I am and I wipe at my nose with the back of my sleeve. I get to my feet and gather the reminders of my imprisonment before Jonathan opens the door. Ever the quiet and observing man, he narrows his eyes at me and then scans the room before shouldering in with Brock not far behind. It turns my stomach rotten at the idea of having to sleep in the same room as them but there is no alternative. The first week I had been with them, I tried to escape only to be met with a heaving Jonathan clad in only his pants on the other side of the window. Ever since then, he’s slept under the window and Brock slept in front of the door, leaving me with no way out. 

Brock smirks at my state, puffy eyed and barely dressed, and goes to make a filthy comment but Jonathan shoots him a stern glare and the comments stay in his mouth. I should have thanked him for his “protection” but is it really protection when he helped take my captive? 

Regardless of his part in my capture, I find myself drawn to him. He is the better looking of the two, tall and corded with muscles from years of training. When he enters a room, he has to duck to avoid hitting his head on the door frame. Since that night I had tried to escape, the sight of his broad muscular chest has not left my mind but I will it away. Instead I try to focus on the stubble of his short beard. Only a mask of stoic duty and harsh words live on his face but sometimes a small smile will take their place. I might have found myself peering at his full pink lips and then up to the pale blue eyes that hide beneath his lashes and thick brows. 

But this is not another life and now only malice lives in my heart for him. 

Jonathan jerks his head towards the small bed against the wall, silently telling me to climb into bed before Brock forces me to. Not wanting to suffer another bruising grip, I drop the items in my arms at the foot and climb in. I can feel him roll his eyes at my child-like behavior but he doesn’t say a word as he settles onto the cold floor beside me. Brock wishes us both a goodnight laced with something that makes my skin crawl as he too settles in. I quickly turn to face the wall and curl into a ball while my blood pounds in my ears. 

Sleep doesn’t find me nor does rest in any form no matter how long I lay there. It feels like hours have passed when I hear something. Beyond the fire crackling and the men’s breathing, I can barely make out the soft crunch of hoofs on snow. My breath catches in my chest as the sound gets louder and the pendant begins to grow warm, nearly vibrating in nervous excitement. I clasp my hand around it as I force my lungs to slow down and try to regain my nerves. The buzzing in my hand has to mean one thing and if I am correct, Brock and Jonathan stand no chance. 

A powerful stream of wind whips through the cabin and pins them to the ground, awakening them within seconds from the force. Instinctively I shoot up in bed and am met with the sight of a person covered head to toe in deep red cloth, leaving only their thin pale hands and unnatural red eyes to be seen. I’m so swept up in the stranger’s eyes that I fail to notice men pouring in around them. One thin pale hand removes the cloth covering her face to reveal a woman who’s beauty far outweighs any person that I've ever come across. 

A human woman stands before her. 

A human woman who commands Dragonborn Knights as if she’s one of them. 

The woman cocks her head as she looks over me on the bed and says something in Draconic to a familiar hulking Dragonborn knight beside her. Jonathan growls at their words and struggles against the red wind that keeps him pinned in place. 

With a smirk fitting for a snake, she says, “Hello Sfânt Y/N, we’ve come to take you home.”