#thinking of killing and maiming and maiming and killing and killing and shredding and tearing and killing and-

[narutomaki]

trying to sleep but got distracted with porn

any way in Amegakure do you think that a very well off polycule of 4 mass murderers would have a shower head/free standing shower or-

actually who cares.

[vaguenotions]

Oh, yes, I just love your unannounced sleepover where you both come back from the bar after carefully avoiding telling me that's where you were going, and also neglecting to tell me when you'd be home! I definitely do not want to knock you on your ass and take a bat to your dome! That would be rude and unnecessary :)

Oh yes, please do start talking about shit amongst yourselves and make me feel isolated and othered in ny own room! These moments are what I live for, of course. Naturally. Who would ever have any issues with this arrangement at all?

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐮𝐡𝐧 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

ISTP/ISFP

Gryffindor

Chaotic Good

Scorpio Sun, Aries Moon, Aquarius Rising

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You know when you meet someone, and you don't have to force your personality to fit into some kind of shape?

・That's what happened with you and Ruhn

・Ever since you met, there was a spark. You were both curious about each other.

・You were drawn into the way he looked. Not many fae tattooed themselves from nearly head to toe, or had so many piercings

・It made your heart beat faster and faster

・You knew you were attracted to him

・And he made you laugh within minutes

・But you didn't want to give him the satisfaction

・So, the one thing that has stayed throughout your relationship is the goddamn bickering. Which really is just another form of banter.

・This has caused a lot of angst between the two of you.

・But you both knew it was pure play. Flirting. Humour. Banter.

・Everything changed when you had a panic attack in front of him. You were so embarrassed. But the way he held you, cupping your face, moving your hair behind your ears, wiping away the tears.

・His purple eyes bore into your own and you felt instantly calmer.

・From that day on you thanked The Maker. Because staring into his eyes - something clicked. Like a piece was perfectly placed; one you never knew you were missing.

・Making you blush is one of his favourite hobbies. Seeing you duck your head, cover your face or roll your eyes makes his day.

・Very protective; is able to stop himself from taking a swing at the asshole. He's more of a rip him to shreds verbally and then wrap an arm around your shoulder and walk away.

・But don't think he won't get physical over you. Because Ruhn definitely will.

・Would rather take your last name when you get married - his holds too many bad memories

・He knows his smirk makes you weak in the knees but when you brush over his bare skin, he nearly gets on his own knees to worship you

・Would walk to the ends of the earth to find you. There's nothing Ruhn would not do for you. Kill, maim, avenge, even die for you.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Tough on the Outside, Soft on the Inside (Ruhn) x The Top (You)

Overly arrogant, flirty (Ruhn) x Pretends To Be Unfazed, But Is Dying On The Inside (You)

“Shut Up” x “Make Me”

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Intertwined Destinies

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Fire In The Water by Feist

Blood Moon by John Lunn & Eivor

The Lure by The Weeknd

𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 🔞

・Every time with him is hot and heavy; it's hard to breathe when you're both in the mood. It's as if the world doesn't exist and all you can do is be in one another's arms

・You're both as dominant as each other, but when you tease him, gods help you. He'll have you bent over any flat surface, taking you from behind.

・Definitely an ass slapper.

・Growls in your ear both in the bedroom and in public

・Something turns primal in him whenever he's with you. Sometimes it feels like he's a hairs breath away from completely ravishing you

・Ruhn is definitely one to keep a naughty polaroid of you

・At times you think you're both insatiable; no matter how many times either of you cum, nothing is good enough.

・As Mates it's easy to explain. Your souls were made for one another, and so is your biology. Therefore, you both have high fucking sex drives.

・You're obsessed with Ruhn's hands and he knows it. Large, veiny and usually with a few rings. He rests his hand on your thigh, and will slowly move it closer and closer to your core - no matter who is around

・His cock is 8 inches when hard, veined, 3cm in girth. Circumcised; when he's horny the tip is a dark weepy red and when after orgasm it's slightly darker.

・As much as he can be serious and passionate, Ruhn also loves when you two can be silly while having sex. Talking about your day, or laughing when you two almost fall off the bed.

・The first time you had sex, Ruhn didn't last as long as he usually does. He was a whiny, whimpering mess, head in the crook of your neck, pumping in and out of you relentlessly.

・It was like fucking for the first time.

・Nothing compared to being with the person you were supposed to be with.

・Ruhn couldn't stop kissing you, and not just your lips. His favourite part was behind your ear. Trailing hot breathy kisses down to your neck.

・He apologised, but it didn't mean he was done. It just meant there was more natural lube for you.

[xer-melody]

A Worshipper of Magic (For a Date) part 4

Wednesday Addams x Male!Witch!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warning: a bit of gore at the end

Words: 1582

Summary: You and Wednesday devise a plan to capture the monster - a plan that could get you killed.

You nearly tripped over yourself, barefoot, running down the hallway after her.

Despite her small stature she was fast, moving effortlessly through the halls of Stocker hall despit having only been twice. She made sharp turns, leaving your vision for a moment and every time you worried that by some magic she would disappear behind one. It wasn’t until you both passed your room again, door still wide open did you realize she, in her rage and frustration, had forgotten where the exit to Stocker Hall was.

“Wednesday!” You shouted, a bit worn out from all the running, but so was she.

She stopped in front of you, you could hear her heavy, uneven breathing. Then in a swift movement she turned to you, her face turned to one of anger.

“I’m going to kill him..” she paused, “...And you’re going to help me”

She was right, of course.

You were a witch, you weren’t above murder. You usually condoned it, murder, fighting, maiming, mayhem, all of it. But you weren’t sure what this Tyler kid was, or his involvement in all of this. He could just have been a human dropping off lunch or something.

But you didn’t honestly believe that, and neither did Wednesday.

You knew his involvement went deeper that you had the evidence to prove, and at the moment there was nothing you could do about it. Wednesday, for all her bleak, hopelessness, didn’t believe that.

“We have to go again..” She said.

“There’s nothing else, I haven't seen anything and neither has anyone else, this was the first actually suspicious thing we’ve seen, that’s why I came straight to you.”

“So we’ll go after him-”

“And we’ll both die trying..” you sighed.

“So you want us to do nothing?”

With another sigh you let yourself sink back into your seat.

Wednesday thinks Tyler is the monster and that- somehow, Thornehill was controling him. You knew there was something wrong with her, you could see it in her soul, but you figured it was just fear, she was the only human at an inhuman school, you figured a bit of fear came along with it. But apparently it was hatred, for inhumans, or as she put it, ‘freaks’. She was the one in charge, the way she yelled and ordered Tyler around made that much clear. She controlled him. Why was they killing inhumans then?

“My mother murdered somebody..” Wednesday said suddenly.

“Yeah, I heard..”

“The man she murdered, his entire family died soon after..”

“I heard that too.”

“I was..in the family's house, the entire thing was covered in dust, dirt, and webs..all except for the sister's room. It was clean, and it had fresh flowers, they hadn’t wilted in the slightest.”

You sighed, sitting back in your chair, you’d persuaded her into coming back to your room with you so you weren’t just standing outside, plotting against a teacher.

“So there’s a supposedly dead little girl running around killing inhumans-“

“-or Ms.Thornhill is that little girl. My first thought was Dr. Kinbott, my therapist, but I’ve counted her out as a suspect, Xavier too-“

Despite not knowing either of those people, you absorbed her words thoughtfully. She’d already had a list of suspects, a list consisting of mostly people she knew personally, you wondered if you were on that list.

‘Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think, don’t think’ you thought.

Your mind was spinning as you sat in a cafe, well not just a cafe, the cafe that a suspected murderer worked at. You don’t know how she convinced you but she did. Now you sat in a booth across from, glaring at her unintentionally. Your jaw was clenched tight, your hands balled into fist. Despite your efforts to call yourself, thoughts of you being violently torn to shreds because you revealed your suspicion of him terrorized your mind. That wasn’t the only thing though.

Wednesday's plan was to provoke him using you. Something that, had it been anyone else, you would have said ‘no’ to then never have spoken to them again.

Unfortunately, you were soft.

‘He’s pretty when he’s scared,’ a thought Wednesday didn’t think she was capable of.

She has, in the past few days, come to enjoy your company a bit more, considering that nearly a week ago you’d done something rather intimate together- out of necessity, of course- but intimate regardless, she couldn’t forgot what that meant to you, what it meant for your kind, and what it meant in your relationship with her.

Peeking up at you over her book, she watched your mind race with a little smirk.

Wednesday hadn’t been the most romantic person ever, she’s actually been rather apathetic to it for most of her life. But you interest her, even now as you’d seemingly zoned out with a glare on your face.

“Wednesday-“ a familiar, yet unwanted, voice said.

She tapped her foot on yours under the table and you quickly became aware of his presence.

“-who's your friend?” He asked, a bit of worry in his voice.

You looked up at him, then across to her. You’d agreed beforehand that she would be in control, she knew him, and therefore could push his buttons better than you. But the part of her brain that produced snarky, sarcastic comments was shutting down due to the boiling rage she felt under her skin.

“I’m y/n..” you said, mustering every bit of calmness in your body,

“Y/n..” he repeated, and you could hear a twinge of dispies behind his sweet tone.

“Yeah, me and Wednesday have been..” you paused- for effect of course, “hanging out”

Your tone didn’t sound entirely truthful, which seemed to piss him off.

“Oh-“ he muttered, “she’s never mentioned you before.”

“It’s still relatively new-“ you could hear the restraint in her voice as she finally spoke up.

He nodded, his aura darkening.

A few more minutes of proding conversation later and Tyler was walking away with thinly veiled hatred for you in particular.

You and Wednesday didn’t stick around long after that. Actually, she dragged you out of the cafe not even ten minutes after you’d spoken to Tyler.

“Now what?”

You’d met Wednesday back in her room, ignoring her giddy roommate in the corner as she’d asked you to do.

“Now we wait for him to try and kill you.”

Right, you’d almost forgotten about that part, piss him off by being friends with Wednesday (she’d already mentioned his…possessive tendencies), wait for him to attack, after that things get a little too vague for your liking but you’ve already enacted step one so there’s no going back now.

“Good, great-“ you sighed, “if he does actually kill me I’ll haunt you as a ghost forever.”

“Hmm, you’d probably be tethered to wherever you were murdered, but I would visit you.”

“Maybe you could just carry my ashes around with you, I think that should tether me to you.”

“You would make a pretty necklace.”

“Thank you.”

Enid, who you’d nearly forgotten about, let out an excited noise, but quickly shut herself up.

Hours later, Wednesday insisted on walking you back to your room, as a way to thank you for risking your life.

You didn’t feel particularly brave about it, you felt scared, and yet, you were happy. You were doing this for a greater cause. Besides, the amount of hexes, spells, and traps in your room should protect you- or at least alert somebody before you are dead.

You stopped in front of your door, sighing deeply as you pondered for a short moment as to why you were jumping through these kinds of dangerous hoops for a girl you’d known for less than a month. Then you looked down at her, and with a sigh you cast those thoughts from your mind, you’d think about them again later, probably while fighting for your life in a hospital, but you’d decided it was worth it- for now at least.

“I’ll see you tomorrow..” you said as casually as you could.

“Of course-“ then, without any warning, she kissed you. It was just a peck on the cheek but when she pulled back you could see how flushed her pale face had become.

Then, before you could speak, she was gone.

Turning, you fumbled with your key in your pocket for a moment before finally going to unlock your door. Only for nothing to happen when you turned the lock, no click of the lock moving. Because it was already unlocked.

With a sigh, you pushed the door open and was quickly pinned to the floor by a blur of gray.

A searing pain shot through your body, starting at your chest, then quickly spreading to your limbs. You tried not to scream as your flesh was torn under the monster's sharp claws. It felt like years had gone by before it stopped, but I’d only been seconds. You turned your head to see the monster, suspended mid air, caught in a trap. You’d laugh if you were choking on your own blood.

Taking a long, painful breath in, then out, then in again. You needed to focus on breathing- on keeping your heart beating until help came. Another deep breath. Then another. Then another- you could head footsteps, thudding loudly against the floor.

You forced your eyes to stay open- to watch that murderous monster struggle against invisible, unbreakable binds.

Smiling, you thought, ‘I got him’.

[muffinsin]

Assuming someone would be so foolish, how would the sisters react to being cheated on?

Now that is a stupid thing to do- in general too!👀

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Masterlist 3

Bela

She is heartbroken when she finds the secret letters you’ve been exchanging with a maid

How long has this been going on?

How could she be so stupid?!

A part of her doesn’t want to see you. Hear you. Be with you

Another can’t help but wonder, how much longer do you think you can keep this up?

She feels betrayed, rightfully so. And hurt. Angry

She feels ashamed. Worthless. Replaced and tossed away

Broken

Never did she think you would do this. It makes it hurt even more

She doesn’t waste time anymore. It’s as if all her feelings have been replaced with emptiness

Her younger sister, Cassandra, is the first she confides in after

Her sister doesn’t judge her. Doesn’t scold her for not having her walls up

Instead, she drags you to the basement. You belong to the sadistic middle child now, and she is angry

Bela doesn’t want to see you. She wants no part of you or what happens to you

By the time her and Daniela finish removing all your things from Bela’s room, your body is bruised and bloodied, cut and your throat is sore from screaming

By the time Bela cries out her heart at Alcina’s chest, you are long dead

Her walls are up since then. She has built and tended to them, and will continue to do so

She is cautious of love, and the pain it can bring

She will not open up as easily anymore. Considers love a weakness, even

You’ve scarred her, forever. And it is something she can never forget

The maid that has captured your heart is all Bela’s

Days after the painful process of removing you from her life, when numbness turns to anger and hurt, sadness and pain, the woman will serve her as prey

Cassandra

Her golden eyes twitch in anger as she sees your mouth on the maiden’s, lips touching

She can’t process it for a moment, then it all comes rushing to her

How dare you betray her this way?!

Loyalty and honesty, respect and love. The most important things to Cassandra

And you threw away all of it

She doesn’t kill you. No. She maims you, instead

Cassandra wants you to watch her rip the other woman to shreds. Nothing is left from her, and her blood sticks to you as well as the huntress

Her anger will not let her feel any pain, any sadness, any fear. She feels anger, more than she has ever felt in her life

She makes an example out of you

In front of everyone, covered in your lover’s guts

The thought sickens her. She thought she was your lover. Clearly not. No more exceptions. No more pity

No more love

You are executed in ways that triggers screams and tears, unconsciousness and sickness

Cassandra is uncaring of this

Mere hours later, long after your heartbeat has stopped, she feels her sister’s arms wrap tightly around her

Bela is there for her, every step of the way. Cassandra is not ready to tell anybody else what happened yet

Bela experiences her sister’s anger. She takes the blame for the countless maidens and victims that come up dead

The screams that haunt the staff at night

Cassandra’s pained screams haunt her

When anger subsides, regret and shame sets in

How could she ever allow herself to feel? To love? To be so soft?!

Cassandra is sure of one thing; never will she be so foolish again. Never will she open up to someone again. Never will she allow herself to be hurt again. Never will she trust anybody but her family again

After, pain sets in. You’ve been a big part of her life. It takes her a long time to even come to terms with what happened

She opts for sleeping in Bela’s room. Her own holds your scent. It makes her feel sick

And lastly, in time, she moves back into her room. Goes back to her normal routine

But she doesn’t heal. A scar is set in her heart and head, one that has her create shields around her

Never will she allow herself to get hurt again

Daniela

Daniela is shaking as she watches you fingers deep inside the other woman. Lips pressed to your neck. Hands on your one

“Dani-“

She twitches for a moment. She doesn’t understand

Don’t you love her? You said you did! You love her!

But…how could you ever do this?

Mania and anger hits her, and she strikes fast

The bed is painted red, and anger has her lash out at everything. Curtains are torn, sheets are ripped

Chairs are thrown, pillows are cut open by sharp claws

When she thinks normally again, tears flow down her cheeks. She didn’t mean to kill you in her rage! She just-

She cradles your body close to her, crying and begging. What for? She doesn’t know

That she could turn back time, maybe

Naturally, both her sisters find her fast. They are bound to show up when they hear their precious youngest sister sob and scream

It is immediately clear what happened, and one thing is certain:

Had Daniela not done it, the two other Dimitrescu daughters would have hunted you down, as well as your partner in crime

Daniela is torn

She loves you. Loved. Loves. Even knowing what happened

And she continues to

Her sisters must often remind her of the painful truth

Daniela is no corrupt lover killing her soulmate for no reason

She is a woman betrayed and used, pained and hurt badly

Oh, but she has loved you so much! Didn’t you, too?

Unlike with her two sisters, Daniela is fast to catch someone else’s attention. And for someone to catch hers

Not truly. But it’s a distraction

Yet, all she thinks of is the betrayal. The memory of what happened. Even years after

No lovers make it out alive after her company. She will be someone’s last. She ensures this

In a way, this destroys her even more

No one can find true love if they kill every suitor…

Still, you’ve left her scarred

She forgets about you, eventually, as years pass. But not the betrayal. The feeling. The mistrust

[agent-jaselin]

A note on differnces if teeth between Astarion, Calem the Miqo’te, and maybe teifling.

Teifling’s fangs I think are more for show, sharper than a humans but more like a snaggletooth. A sign of their heritage, not a tool.

Astarion and vampires I picture having snake fangs placed amongst their teeth of old. It’s a but uncomfortable, their mouth not designed for it originally. And it’s for piercing, leaving two holes and not really suited to ripping or tearing, as much as it can still kill you. They want a controlled flow to preserve the blood.

Calem and cat kind have a Leopard’s teeth. Their mouth is designed for it, designed to split, not obvious til you look close that their jaw is firmer and built to house and protect those huge fangs. Thicker and longer than the others, it’s designed to maim, shred, and crush. If there aren’t chunks missing, it means the bite was a warning, or careful.

[shinebrightlikeanarwhal]

Travis, Sal, and the Gang get kidnapped by demons to "entertain them by making them fight demon, not knowing that by capturing Travis, they drug along the red-eyed demon, who has been training Travis to use his power, and Travis being a menace, decides to have fun with the demons they're technically all sent to fight.

Absolute powerhouse Travis with this like only black mouse that sits on his shoulders with bright red eyes.

The rest of the gang are terrified after being told they were pretty much food for demons. Meanwhile Travis is feeding Red some crackers he had in his pocket and giving the nicest chin scratches to what may as well have been demonic royalty. The lesser demons thought he would be a good example and threw him into a ‘battle pit’ with some grotesque beast like demon.

Thé démon laughed and took the time to try and make fun of Travis. The jovial demonic event would end in tragedy when red broke out of their mousey form and swept through the crowd in a mist of pain and torment. Ripping off limbs and gouging out eyes. The demon stuck with Travis watched in terror when brown eyes flickered into a bright red and he melted into the shadows.

Probably the scariest thing Travis has ever done was re-emerge from the shadows and claw out the demons throat while mimicking their dead mother. As I said before, he’s a bastard. He will maim the demons watching and waiting while eviscerating the ones sent to handle him.

Sal just covers his eyes while Todd tries to understand how half of the shit he’s doing is possible. Larry and Ash just think it’s fucking metal. This angry church twink with demon powers is beating up and tearing a bunch of demons to shreds. WITH a demon that has been terrorizing their town/WORLD for years!

At one point I’m certain The red eyed demon called in some of their friends to play ball with one of the demons they wanted to use to kill the kids and they toss it around like a ball. Like a bunch of cats smacking around a toy. It was… terrifying when they tossed it to one and the demon unhinged their jaw like a snake and swallowed it whole.

Sals therapist will hear ALOT about this.

[freepandahugs]

Elain Week Day 1: Power

so, i tried something! i had this idea a long long time ago and i decided to post it for elain's week because i can and because i love her.

fair warning, this is angsty. very angsty. think of it as angst with comfort at the end.

Warnings: Beron being sexist (what's new), major character death (i'm sorry about this one but i needed it to happen, hope this doesn't dissuade you from reading)

Word count: 1.7k (short one)

hope you like it, let me know what you think!

"ROSES"

This was not supposed to happen. It was never supposed to happen.

Elain held her breath as Beron stood in front of Azriel, sword pointed. "I call the Blood Duel, Shadowsinger, to defend my son's honor and mate, since he apparently can't do it by himself" 

She saw how Lucien shrinked in on himself, unable to step in. She didn't like the idea of hating anyone, but at that moment she hated him. So much. He had the power to stop this bloodbath, he need just say a word to stop the madness his father was trying to cause, but he just stood there. He just stood there, and stared, and did nothing. Like he always did when it came to her. He wasn't willing to release her from the bond, choosing to keep her tangled in it, but never coming near enough so as to not see that she didn't want him. He just kept her there, trapped, under the guise that it was what was best for the both of them. 

And now they were here, at the Autumn Court, and Beron was challenging her love to the Blood Duel. Blood would be spilled that day and she hated it. She hated it so much. The whole tradition was so savage, so animalistic, as if she couldn't choose for herself. As if she couldn't ever get out of her bond without consequences. And Azriel would have to kill and maim for her, once again, he would have to tear apart his soul again just to keep them protected. 

Gods, how had they gotten into this situation? 

"I accept, under one condition Beron." She heard Azriel's answer, and she made a noise in the back of her throat. Tears fell harder and faster. Her vision blurred. This wasn't supposed to happen.

"I don't think you have any right to ask for conditions, Shadowsinger, but I'll entertain you this once. After all, this may be your final request." There was some sort of sick satisfaction in the High Lord's voice, as if he were truly happy he was about to spill blood. The blood of her Azriel. 

"Tell your guards to not come after me when I kill you." With that, Azriel unsheathed Truth Teller from his thigh and took a fighting stance.

"Beron, stop this, it doesn't have to go this way" She heard Rhys say from behind her. When had he gotten here? Why was he here? 

"Oh, I think it does," Came the Autumn's Lord's answer "It was supposed to go this way the second your spy", he said the word with so much venom, so much disgust. She felt like shredding him to pieces, "decided it was a good idea to lay with my son's property, princeling."

Elain wasn't paying attention, she couldn't. It all sounded far away. All she could focus on was Azriel, ready to fight, ready to kill. She didn't think anyone else could notice, he was too good at hiding his emotions, but she could. She could read him like a book. And he was nervous. His hands flexed and held harder onto Truth Teller, his mouth was in an unusual scowl, his legs weren't as steady as they should be. He was nervous. And if he was nervous then she was as well. 

"My sister is no one's property but her own Beron. If you do this, any and all connections you had to the Night Court will vanish, we will not help you when Koschei or anyone else inevitably invades your territory," Feyre's voice also spoke up. "And if word is correct, no other court will come to aid you, you somehow managed to successfully destroy every tie you had to the other Courts, so I would think this through."

"Are you threatening me? Do you think yourself so special, woman? With a hand me down title and a pretty crown, do you think yourself at my level?" Beron had the gall to laugh, a thunderous laugh that shook Elain to her core, "Someone ought to teach you a lesson, I think. Maybe after I am done with your Shadowsinger I can't teach you some manners."

"Don't speak to my High Lady like that, you repugnant piece of shit. How about you quit stalling and fight me, huh? Are you that afraid of me?" Azriel made a quick jab at the High Lord, keeping his eyes locked onto the man. "If you think yourself a man, come and fight me."

"Azriel-"

"Stay out of this, Rhys. The fucker won't stop until he's dead, why not get rid of him now?" 

Everyone was so tense, so on edge, and Elain couldn't stand it. Why was this happening? What had they done to deserve this? Did the Cauldron really hate her decision so much, that it resolved to end her happiness this way?

The first clash of weapons took Elain out of her mental fog, and she saw black and red hair around, weapons resounding in the open space. A crowd had gathered, all of Beron's sons cheering the hateful man on, like a bunch of kids. Eris was to the side, assessing the situation, seeing what he could possibly get out of this. Wondering if maybe this was the he became High Lord of the Autumn Court.

Another clash of steel on steel, and Elain's vision started to cloud over, a vision trying to take space in her head. 

No no no no no, not right now, please no. 

But she was defenseless and the vision took over. And she found herself at the exact same place, only moments later. 

Both Azriel and Beron were sweating profusely,  both looking tired but not relenting. For some reason, Beron had a wicked smile on his face, even though he was clearly losing. 

And then she saw it, one of Beron's horrible sons sneaking near Azriel's back. His shadows here too preoccupied, everyone was looking at the two men fighting and no one noticed as Beron's son lifted a knife, covered in faebane, and stabbed it right in Azriel's back. Until it was too late, no one saw. 

…

She thought she heard herself screaming. Trashing, but she couldn't move. As she came into herself she found herself restricted by her sister, holding her back from moving near Azriel. Holding her back from saving him. 

Feyre and Rhys were too busy holding her back. She screamed and cried and tried to get out, she tried to get closer to Azriel, to prevent what was about to happen. But she saw Beron's wicked grin, and she saw the second the knife found its place in Azriel's back.

...

She fell to her knees.

Her head went silent, she couldn't think. 

She couldn't breathe. 

Not as she saw Azriel falling to his knees, as she saw his shocked face. As she saw the light leave his eyes. 

Her scream was deafening.

Rhysand and Feyre let her go, too shocked to react. So she ran to his side, knelt next to his body. She touched him everywhere, as if trying to stop the blood from pouring out. As if trying to keep him alive.

"Azriel, love. Azriel. Wake up. Please wake up. This can't be happening, oh gods, this shouldn't be happening. You're all right, you will be. Someone help him. Rhys? Feyre?" She was babbling, saying nonsense. Her tears covered her entire face, they fell onto his pale cheeks as she cradled his head to her chest. pulling him closer. Searching for any signs that he was still there. Thay her lover was still there.

She found none.

She lifted her face, her ears ringing, and looked at Feyre and Rhys, looking for their help. She found them with tears in their eyes, eyes wide in shock. She thought she saw Cassian behind them too, and was that Nesta? Mor? When had they all gotten here? They were all crying, no one dared to make a sound. 

And then she looked at Beron.

"You coward... YOU USELESS BASTARD, YOU ARE A COWARD! YOU UNFAIR PIECE OF SHIT! YOU GALLESS COWARD'' She heard herself screaming at the High Lord, all her rage and fear and heartbreak coming out in waves. She was raging, ready to take a knife and stab it in his neck herself. 

She wished he died.

With a final sob, she lowered her forehead onto Azriel's unmoving chest. His wings were down, they were limp and lying on the floor. He never let them do that. And oh, they were covered in blood. His blood. They were surrounded by a pool of blood. Oh, gods.

She let out her loudest scream yet.

...

Light emerged from within her as she screamed her heart out. Light went out in every direction in waves, surrounding everyone who stood near her. Her eyes were bright white, shining brighter than the northern star. She was light. She was light and dark, and life and death. Beginning and end. The power coming out of her pushed everyone onto their knees, forcing them to look up at the glowing woman. 

And all of a sudden, the world exploded into red. 

Roses covered every single inch of earth, roses the color of blood. They went far and wide, as far as the eye could go. Vines grew around, sharp thorns sprouting out of their stems. Trapping Autumn Court guards, trapping them all in a vicious grip. And then came two desperate cries. 

Beron and his backstabbing son, held in vines covered in thorns. The vines squeezed tighter and tighter, suffocating them, choking them, but not yet killing them. The process was slow, the screams agonizing. Blood trickled out of their sides, their faces, every place where the thorns touched their skins. Slowly but surely, the creeping plant held onto their necks, until no air could possibly go through.

But no one paid them mind. 

Because in the middle of the newly grown garden, where Elain was holding Azriel's body as if her life depended on it, light burst out again. A warm ligh, almost like sunshine, erupted from within Azriel's chest, covering his entire body with a light sheen of light. A light of love, a light of life.

And then a gasp.

A deep breath, taking in the air.

Filling his lungs.

Elain stopped shining.  Everyone stayed quiet. 

"Elain? Love, why are you crying?"

[rokhal]

Robbie vs the Blüe Krüe

The Roast Rider got his ass kicked by a bunch of teenagers on PCP^2, at least until Johnny Blaze came in to assist him and told him to tap into the fire of Vengeance Within (or, the overclocked prey drive of the Asshole Within). Was this a case of a wise master assisting a young hero who had already proved himself against a similar threat? Or is something different going on?

Robbie has already fought Guero Valdez. He’s tackled him (then gotten his ass kicked because Guero had two friends and a gun with him) and he’s broken his leg as the Rider (...about as fair as that gun?). Robbie was willing to fight Guero back in issues 1 and 5, while Guero was flaunting Gabe’s stolen wheelchair, but now, when Robbie has a much clearer idea of how dangerous his own powers are, and no ongoing quarrel with Guero, Robbie doesn’t want to fight.

Being outed as a superpowered vigilante is the kind of thing that attracts Social Services, and Robbie is petrified of a visit from Social Services. But he refuses to fight Guero here. He snuffs out his own indignation at being assaulted on the school grounds and waits for rescue. (Or, he loses control again and Eli hijacks his anger and steals his body. But it was a solid effort.)

Robbie can fight three-on-one. He’s picked a fight with two men at the same time who both outweighed him in Issue 7. He could probably hold back his anger at the same time; maybe Eli would get control or maybe he wouldn’t. But Robbie doesn’t want to take the risk of Eli stealing his body and doing something...

...yeah that.

Robbie doesn’t want Guero to get seriously hurt, now that his feud over Gabe’s wheelchair is over. He doesn’t want to kill him. Since Eli went on his rampage, Robbie now has a much more visceral understanding of how sincere Eli’s previous rants about “punishing some degenerates” really were, and how easily his powers can kill.

Moving on to the Blüe Krüe.

“REYES YOU PUNK BITCH! I’M GONNA TEAR YOU TO SHREDS!”

This Liefeldian monster is still Guero.

At this point, Robbie and Eli are fighting for control of Robbie’s right hand, the one holding the steak knife, and they are paralyzed by their stalemate. All Robbie has to do is let go, and Eli will fight Guero for him. He knows Eli would do it; Eli will fight anybody, and he’s already tried to kill Guero. But Robbie holds on, long enough that Guero can get in close and knock them out. (This has the opposite of the intended effect, but it’s the effort that we’re interested in.)

Finally, Robbie has a mental breakthrough and figures out how to wrestle control of the Rider away from Eli, galvanized by the sight of Guero falling off the bridge into the concrete-lined Los Angeles River.

Robbie doesn’t-want-to-kill Guero so badly that he overcomes Eli’s possession through the power of...what the hell is their relationship again? Spite? The power of spite. Robbie really doesn’t want to kill Guero.

But Robbie doesn’t know his own strength. In saving Guero’s life, he cripples him. And I think Robbie has hung around enough occupational therapists to know exactly what he just did.

Now, we’ve established Robbie’s main concern here: don’t hurt anybody else. Because these are his classmates. These are his neighbors. They have unnatural strength and they’re carrying rocket launchers and they’re under the command of a supervillain and they’ve been terrorizing LA for the past month or two, they’re not innocents, but they’re not the hardened mercenaries that Robbie dispatched so easily in Issue 5. And ANGR isn’t about 🔥INNOCENT BLOOD,🔥 it’s about caring for your neighborhood.

Robbie gets his ass kicked because he’s afraid he will maim or kill a child by accident. He holds back.

Johnny Blaze turns up and reminds Robbie that he needs to “coexist with the demon” and “harness his rage,” in other words, let Eli help him get a little rough with the troubled teens. And it works; they rout the Blüe Krüe. They meet violence with violence and beat the shit out of a bunch of high schoolers on uppers.

But while Johnny Blaze is a stronger Ghost Rider than Robbie in some ways, and definitely more experienced, it’s worth questioning whether Johnny actually knows what he’s talking about. Because he doesn’t. “I don’t know what this kid is,” he’s said. He talks about Eli like he’s an actual Spirit of Vengeance because that’s the only type of Spirit Johnny knows how to work with, even though he and Robbie know that Eli is a human ghost with an agenda. Johnny is flying by the seat of his pants and Robbie is hanging on his every word.

ANGR is not a pro-establishment comic. Well-meaning people fail Robbie all the time. Mr. Wakeford scared the shit out of Robbie mentioning Social Services. Dr. DaCosta missed Gabe asking her about hearing voices, assuming that Gabe was being metaphorical. Mr. Canelo tried to short Robbie’s pay. ANGR isn’t even a pro-superhero comic. Eli uses Gabe’s love of superheroes to twist him toward violence, and he tried to do something similar to Robbie.

Johnny’s advice didn’t work in the longterm. Robbie ends this issue regretting how Guero got hurt. Robbie looks pathetic and comical here...

...but he’s holding to his principles in the only way he knows how.

[theagents23]

The Agents 2

.

The Lion Pauper . A pride of lions sits feasting on a zebra, the largest closer to the hind legs while the rest tear apart the upper half. One of the younger male lions tears off the entire right leg taking a sizable amount of meat with it leaving only what the alpha male was devouring and the left leg’s meager amount of meat.

Realizing he’d grabbed more of the animal than he thought, he ran off with the zebra’s leg in his mouth. Once he ate until he was full, the young lion had enough energy to carry and offer what he hadn’t eaten to the rest of the pride who having already eaten and were already sleeping or wandering off, were mostly disinterested. The young lion carries the leg to the alpha and sets it down in front of him before nudging it toward the enormous male.

Still working on the meat from the hind legs, the alpha ignores the offer. Not understanding, the young lion interprets the lack of acknowledgement as a mistake, thinking he’d not been seen. Again, he nudges the offering closer but to no response. Finally, as he tries once more the leg of the zebra barely touches the alpha but causes him to swipe at the young lion almost as if by reflex. The blow not only connects, but shreds, and is followed by two more. Bleeding profusely the young male runs off leaving a trail leading toward where it collapses.

Despite his wounds the young male lion refused to die and lived on to continue being a member of this pride. One day, another pride with a younger alpha were encountered upon taking down a gazelle. The alpha of the first pride was wounded and aided by the young lion he’d previously maimed. The younger alpha was killed and their pride was forced to scatter or submit. Although the young male lion helped his pride’s alpha, he was not appreciative.

While attempting to help the alpha walk, the alpha of his pride once again took a swipe at him, this time gouging a large gash near his throat leaving him to stumble around unaware of what had transpired until he once again collapsed, but this time going cold and losing consciousness much quicker. Several days pass with the lion receiving visits from all manner of life from lizards, to rodents, to snakes, and eventually buzzards.

Barely alive and struggling to breathe, the weather and the odds were all that kept him alive. When he eventually awoke, it was to fend off the sharp tip of a scavenger’s beak. Feverish and dehydrated, he wandered for five days and on the sixth he found a large rock he took refuge under next to a spring. There he was aided in part by animals foraging for insects splashing water on him as they dug under rotting tree logs. He limped for weeks, trying to catch up to his pride and when he finally did, he immediately gave chase baring a slight in his step, as they caught an okapi.

For months the young lion lived among the pride, keeping away from the alpha male as often as he could. Eventually, the alpha male found a female suitable to his liking and after some playful chase they mated. All but the young male found mates of their own and followed suit. After some time one of the females loitered nearby, hoping to draw his attention. The young male, being a young male, took to her instinctively and eventually they were intimate.

Some time passed and inevitably many females of the pride gave birth to cubs; among them, the alpha’s mate as well as the young male’s. Some years pass and despite his deteriorating health, the young male pressed on. One day while on a hunt in pursuit of an elephant the pride jumped on and sunk their teeth in. Though they held on for dear life, they were all flung about as the enormous male bull elephant bucked. All except the alpha of the pride who was dangling from the elephant’s throat. The elephant stands on its hind legs and manages to work its hoof against the male’s lower jaw within three swipes.

When the alpha is pried from the jugular, he ricochets between the elephant’s hoof and the cold hard ground, dislocating its shoulder in the process and breaking several ribs. Unfortunately for the elephant, prying the lion away from his throat tore it open. After chasing the injured alpha away, the adrenaline caused the heart to pump faster, and blood to gush from his wound in greater quantities until the largest land mammal began to stumble before it fell to the ground and lost consciousness.

As the pride feasted upon the carcass, the alpha wasn’t even seen as he sat away from everyone eating at the opposite end of the kill. He Chased any of the pride who got too near with a roar or a stare accompanied by an aggressive exhale. The young male’s injuries usually only afforded him a pace he could keep a good distance behind the rest of the pride but on this day, he wasn’t alone.

Knowing to keep away from the alpha, the young male tried as hard as he could to move fast enough to stay ahead. With each time he faltered, the alpha roared and snapped at him. This continued for miles until, the exhausted young male couldn’t persist any further. A final time, the alpha roars and snaps at him but instead of correcting his stride he falls.

The alpha places a paw on his face and bears down after seeing him hyperventilating for a moment. He looks at the pride ahead and looks back down at the young male. A tiny attempt at a roar comes from a few yards away as he sees his cub fighting off the young male’s. He releases the younger injured lion and ushers the two young ahead, leaving the young male to recover slowly and catch up after a few days. Some weeks later in the dead of night, another pride came and attacked killing every male and maiming any female that resisted. The cubs were shown the same treatment and so it was against tremendous odds and due to the young male’s heroic actions that both the alpha and the young male survived along with their mates and cubs. They travelled for five days trying to escape the other pride, but on the sixth day they caught up to their dwindled number of survivors.

It took every ounce of strength and nearly blood from both the males to fend off the attack. In the end they emerged victorious, by luring them to a cliff that dropped into a canyon and bashing all who opposed to their death while the females and cubs got away. Barely able to stand they panted at the cliffside staring at each other and knowing the other’s thoughts before one of the males from the opposing pride charges at the young male and pounces on him causing him to roll and the pair disappear off the side of the cliff.

The alpha chases them to the edge and looks down to see the young male barely holding on and slipping. He claws the young male’s paws and bares down, as he moves his hind legs forward the alpha releases, and claws the young male’s paws forward. The alpha tries with all his might despite his old injuries or any other thought beside this moment. He inches closer to the young male, attempting to grip the back of his neck in his mouth to pull him to safety like their father had done for them as cubs. He presses down on the young male’s paws, but the rock beneath him gives and he slips from the alpha’s grasp.

Sixty feet he drops into the canyon, smacking his head on a rock and splattering blood as he lands. His body is trampled by the stampede of animals fleeing from the other pride’s females who’d given chase. The alpha stared at the young male for a long time before leaving to find his mate and cub. When he finally reunited with them, the young male’s cub growled and snarled at him despite being nudged away by his weeping mother.

The years went by slowly as if the absence of something dulled their valor. Still the alpha persisted in keeping a watchful eye on the pride even when he was despised by some of its members. When his cub had matured and grown, he could eventually no longer continue and so it was on his son to assume his place in the pride.

His duties included keeping the same watchful eye his father had to ward off predators and scavengers. The young prince longed for freedom from his place in the pride, he missed the simpler days not wrought with responsibility and chore. One day as the young male’s grown cub was walking away from a meal, belly full he rubbed shoulders with the prince causing him to change his path and walk on the other side of him.

The old alpha signals for the prince to walk ahead but looks directly at his cousin, and that was when the prince realized that his father’s old injuries rendered him unable to notice the difference between the two. Ideas formed in the mind of the alpha next in line to rule, but ultimately he decided to use the concept for leisure.

Noting his cousin’s appetite, he’d leave particularly delicious scraps behind in his path if the old alpha wanted him to follow behind the pride or usher him forward if the elder wanted him to lead. The late young male’s son grew large from all the scraps. One day as the aged battle worn alpha’s brain baked beneath the beaming savannah sun, he realized the wrong alpha was at the lead.

Instead of attacking the lion in the lead, he maimed his son and in doing so forced him to return an instinctive death blow. Angry at himself more than anyone, the now king lashed out at any who drew near. His cousin who watched from the back of the crowd turned to leave but before he could the prince leapt in front of him and blocked his path. Expecting fear and respect, the king was struck aghast at the lion’s demeanor.

He paces a bit before he attacks, pondering if it was the best course until his resentment toward his father exploded on his likeness. Claws and teeth ripped deep lacerations into both gigantic felines but in the end, the prince’s neck was crushed in the jaws of his cousin who’d mangled his face in the attempt. Bloodied, battered, and broken, the new king of the pride looked up at his sea of familiar faces and watched them part to allow an old baboon aided by a walking stick to approach him.

The ancient ape used his stick to draw three sets of parallel lines in the dirt between them and then connected them into one leading toward the wounded king. In this fork he drew a path from the king toward the path furthest left (the king’s right). The baboon starts walking away but pauses for a moment to look at the sky and the new king watches and does the same. When he begins walking again, the king notices raindrops that progress rapidly until a full storm engulfed them. Lightning struck and thunder crashed and when the assumed alpha male of the pride looked down, the path the ape had drawn had washed away.

[coloursflyaway]

I Hear You Calling (Across The Water, Across The Waves)

Pairing: Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet

Rating: T

Word Count: 12.200

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, suicidal thoughts, mutual pining

Stede is trying to find Ed by following a trail of raided ships, brutally slaughtered corpses and a kohl-tinted tears. Edward is doing his best to die before Stede can catch him.

____________________________

Blackbeard delivers killing blows without even looking down at the man, maims without a trace of expression on his darkened lips, sets ships aflame uncaring that he is still standing on them. All while black tears drip down his face, a trail of despair connecting death and violence.

It’s the one emotion Stede shares with the survivors: they shudder when they talk about the tears and Stede with them, only that they talk about Blackbeard crying for his lost soul while Stede is thinking about his Edward’s broken heart.

Read on AO3

Sometimes, Stede wishes Edward was harder to find. Not, of course, because he doesn’t want to find him – on the contrary, finding Ed is the only thing left in his mind, consuming every moment he spends awake, asleep, drunkenly holding onto consciousness. However, if Ed was a bit harder to find, then maybe it wouldn’t mean this.

This is another vessel they have found whose crew is dead or dying; this means footprints that Stede knows by heart painted on the wooden floor in blood and bile and, sometimes, shredded bits of flesh; this is gold teeth still left in the mouths of men and loot in the belly of the ship, like they didn’t matter at all; this is droplets of soot and kohl in between the chaos.

Usually, there are a handful of survivors, but never ones that were spared out of kindness. Instead, these men tell of a wraith coming over them like a tidal wave, walking into fire without hesitation and leaving a path of devastation. A man, clad in black, who could just as well have been a ghost. But it isn’t those tales of violence that have Stede shuddering the most, his heart seizing up in his chest like it is trying to fold in on itself and wither. Instead it’s when the survivors unfailingly come to describe their nightmare’s eyes.

No longer are Blackbeard’s eyes burning coals, promising the fury of hell, instead his eyes are black and dead and unending in their depths. He delivers killing blows without even looking down at the man, maims without a trace of expression on his darkened lips, sets ships aflame uncaring that he is still standing on them. All while black tears drip down his face, a trail of despair connecting death and violence. It’s the one emotion Stede shares with the survivors: they shudder when they talk about the tears and Stede with them, only that they talk about Blackbeard crying for his lost soul while Stede is thinking about his Edward’s broken heart.

Still, he follows those trails each and every time, trying to put his feet where Ed’s have been, as if it could bring them closer. It’s silly, it’s useless, and he knows it, but it makes him feel….not good, never good, but something at least that is a smidge less painful.

He does it on this ship too, walks from the mangled corpse of a boy who can’t be older than 16 to a sailor whose throat has been cut so deep Stede can see the ghostly white of his spine, the crushed ring of his windpipe. Stede shudders – he is still not used to blood, at least not in these quantities – but he ventures on. To a corpse whose face is unrecognisable under his injuries, a severed hand still wearing a bejewelled ring, a man who has been disembowelled, entrails spilt across the floor like tentacles.

He has no way of knowing if Ed was the one to kill them, but it feels like it, something about the carelessness, how indiscriminately they were killed, like the person wielding the dagger hadn’t even stopped to blink between slashing a throat and taking the next step. Like it didn’t matter if one of them survived and tried to come after him, wielding a knife of their own. The thought reaches into Stede’s chest and crushes his heart between merciless fingers.

He should be more concerned with the people who have lost their lives, Stede can see it in the eyes of his crew as they watch him, but he doesn’t know how to. Because he did this, just as much as if he had wielded the weapon himself, but has no idea how to fix it.

________________________________

“Where to next, captain?”, Izzy asks, but Edward knows he isn’t looking for an answer. They have been doing this for too long for him not to. He falls down on the single chair still left in the captain’s cabin, noting a streak of gore across his forearm, blood crusted under his fingernails, the taste of copper and salt on his lips. Death and destruction, etched into his body. “A ship.”

They have had this conversation what seems like a thousand times.

“Any ship?”, Izzy asks and there is a smile on his lips, as cold as a knife, with a touch of fear, maybe even concern beneath it. “Yes”, Edward (never Ed, not anymore, but not Blackbeard either) answers, his insides boiling raging, aching, “Any ship.”

______________________________

The atmosphere is muted when they return to the ship they haven’t named and yet call home, but then again, it is most of the time. Everyone tries, of course, to bring some levity to their days, but it’s hard when they skip from graveyard to graveyard, searching for a ghost in between the dead and dying. At least the Revenge had left more than enough loot behind for them to pilfer, judging by the new collection of rings on Roach’s fingers.

When the crew had first approached Stede about just taking what Ed’s men had left behind, he had balked at the idea, but in the end, common sense had won over propriety: they spend their time chasing Ed, not pillaging vessels of their own, and the choices had been between spending time finding and raiding ships of their own or becoming vultures and in reality, it had been no choice at all. Stede is only happy that he has a crew, no, a family, who will allow him to do this. Chase after a man who has left them to die on an island, or in Lucius case, thrown to his death.

While he is trying and failing not to think of how wrong everything could have gone, had he not found his crew, footsteps approach. Oluwande leans against the railing next to Stede, looking out at a sea that seems endless. “Captain”, he starts, and he sounds tired, yet gentle. “There is a question that the men have been asking themselves for some time now. Me included.” “Yes?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, all of us hope that it won’t come to it, but… what if you can’t save him?” The words are ice gripping Stede’s heart, clogging up his throat, making his eyes burn, not because it is new, but because of how familiar it is. “I don’t know. I wish I did, but I just don’t.” He turns to Oluwande and tries his best to give him a smile, even if it stretches his lips in all the wrong ways. “So we just have to keep hoping that it won’t happen. I know him. He is still in there.”

He has to be.

Oluwande nods like he understands more than Stede wants him to, before pushing himself away from the railing. “I hope you are right”, he answers and it’s so gentle it breaks something inside of Stede. “Because he can’t continue like this. We can’t let him.”

______________________________

By now, it must be night, Edward thinks when he wakes, because the noise outside has died down, nothing but the sound of waves breaking against the hull to try and keep his thoughts at bay. There had been a dream, something sweet and gentle, and the mere thought of it ( soft fingers slipping between his own, the pastel colours of falling petals, a glimpse of golden curls and hazel eyes ) makes Edward’s stomach turn with disgust. He spits out, as if he could get rid of the phantom taste of lips upon his own, his exhausted mind slowly remembering the sole purpose it has left: wrath.

Blindly, he reaches for the bottle of rum he has passed out with, taking two, three big gulps before even attempting to sit up. His head is aching, as are his muscles, but he ignores them and heaves himself from the heap of fabric on the floor anyway. There is a certain… he wouldn’t call it pleasure, but there is a satisfaction in it, the dull ache that hasn’t left his knee in weeks now, the strain in his limbs, the scraps and cuts and bruises on his skin. The deeper wounds which he does not allow to heal, sometimes not even long enough to stop bleeding between the raids.

It’s unsustainable, the way he is treating his body, and that’s the depraved pleasure in it; he is grinding his joints into dust, flaying the flesh off his bones one cut by someone else’s dagger at a time. One day, it will catch up with him, Edward knows it. But Stede has turned his blood into boiling venom, his heart finally into what they had always believed to live in Blackbeard’s chest: nothing at all. A nd Edward will continue to punish the world that allowed them to meet until his body finally, finally fails him and lets him rest. He cannot wait.

______________________________

Today, the sea is calm, sun shining and Olivia circling over their heads; it’s the first time in ages that the atmosphere is a little lighter. Days have passed since they last found a ship and it lifts the crew’s spirit enough that Stede occasionally hears Lucius giggle or Wee John whistle a tune while he works. Seeing his men happy warms his soul, but mostly Stede worries. Just because they haven’t found a ship doesn’t mean there isn’t one, could just mean that they have lost the Revenge’s trail. What a fool he was to wish Ed was harder to find. Like – and Stede shudders at the thought, even if it is the truth – he wouldn’t give a thousand men’s lives to see Ed again.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Lucius appears out of nowhere at his side, hair windswept and lips kissed pink. Stede aches at the sight. “You don’t have a penny and I don’t think you would like to hear them anyway”, he answers and smiles anyway, even if his lips sting with jealousy. One kiss, that’s all he ever got. “Try me.”

Stede sighs; he shouldn’t burden Lucius with this, not if he can help it, but the temptation of letting someone in, even if they cannot change a thing, is too strong. “I don’t know if you know what Oluwande talked to me about the other day”, he starts; Lucius nods. “But it’s been weighing on my mind. It’s about Ed. In case I can’t… I cannot make him stop what he is doing. What to do if that happens. And I have been thinking about it, but I cannot find an answer, because…” His voice trails off; he doesn’t know what else to say. If there is more to say.

“I know about it”, Lucius replies, his voice so light Stede knows it has to be on purpose, “Because I asked Olu to bring it up. Not because I am saying it will happen. Just because you haven’t seen him like this. Hell, I hardly did. But I didn’t want you to be unprepared if he’s worse than you expect now.” Stede doesn’t know how Ed could be worse than what he has imagined in the darkness of his cabin, lying awake at night, but he understands what Lucius means regardless. His concern is touching in its own way.

“I think I will always be unprepared to see him again”, he confesses, meaning the mangled corpses and Ed’s wrath, but just as much his deep brown eyes and the silver in his hair and the way Stede dreams of kissing him each and every night. “But thank you. It’s that I can imagine the scenario, that whatever I say won’t be enough to fix anything, but nothing beyond that. I know the...logical solution, I do, but I couldn’t… and I couldn’t let anyone else… not that I think any of us had any chance against Ed. And even if they did, I cannot, no, I will not imagine a world he is not in. I wouldn’t know how to.”

“I know.” Lucius gives him a little smile, his voice so gentle it sets Stede’s teeth on edge. “I do. And I can’t imagine how much it must hurt to even consider it, but sometimes, there are brinks you cannot bring someone back from. And maybe months of murderous mayhem are one of them.”

______________________________

Finally, there’s another ship. Even though it’s only been a few days, it’s been far too long since their last one. Edward can feel it in his bones, in the itch as the cuts and scratches start to heal without new ones taking their place; he is burning up inside, the poison seeping into his skin now he cannot unleash it. If he could, he would take the whole world with him once he is allowed to go.

Tears are spiling down his face, mixing with the kohl, but Edward has long since given up on wiping them away, the task unending. The absence of a heart, it seems, hurts at least as much as a broken one.

______________________________

Buttons is the one who spots the plumes of smoke first.

The sun is starting to set, meaning that Stede has already given up on this day, but then there’s an excited cry coming from the crow’s nest. “Capt’n!”, Buttons shouts, “Look!”

And Stede grabs the spyglass he keeps on himself at all times and looks. There, just barely visible on the horizon, lies a ship, smoke billowing from its hull. Or maybe – Stede’s heart clenches in his chest in hope, in horror – it’s two of them, pressed close enough together that a man could move from one ship to the next.

All of a sudden, it’s hard to breathe, but Stede forces himself to do so anyway, even if only to be able to yell, “Change course! Change course to that ship!” Even to himself, he sounds frantic, but he cannot help it. There is no way of knowing if Ed is on that ship, or has been before they arrived, but the mere possibility has his heart beating so hard in his chest, Stede half expects it to break through his ribcage. Maybe it is because they have gone without a sign from the Revenge for longer than ever before they started this hunt, but something feels different, feels hopeful.

Slowly, Stede lowers the spyglass, pretending he doesn’t want to watch the ship until they are so close they can feel the heat of the flames devouring it. “Hold on, Ed”, he whispers to no one in particular, lets the wind take his words away. “Hold on.”

______________________________

The first mate is cowering before him, whole body trembling as he clutches what’s left of his arm to his chest. When Edward had returned to the cause he had been moulded for, the fear in his victims’ eyes had stilled some of his hunger for blood, but now it only bores him. The quivering bottom lip, the murmured prayers and pleas, the glassy, wet eyes. Bores him so much that Ed steps over the severed hand, leaving behind a trail of blood and blackened tears, ignoring the sputtered thank-you s that spill from the man’s mouth. Someone else may well still kill him, and Edward cares little about it, even less when he spots a head full of blonde hair half-hidden under the stairs.

It isn’t him , of course not, but that doesn’t matter; they will die nonetheless. Edward has long stopped trying to be fair.

______________________________

Even if he wanted to, Stede wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off the fast approaching silhouette on the horizon. Because it isn’t just one ship he is watching, it is two, and although they are too far away to say for certain, Stede just knows that one of them is the Revenge. Almost like he can feel Ed’s proximity, his presence drawing Stede in like it has done since the first time he had laid eyes on Ed. Before he had known that the other man was the dreaded Blackbeard, before he could even imagine falling in love with anybody, let alone this beautiful, contradictory, impossible man.

The winds are in their favour, carrying them forward swiftly, and Stede decides to take it as a good sign, wouldn’t know how to do anything else. Tension is making his whole body vibrate, stuck somewhere between giddiness and fear, because seeing Ed again is all he has been dreaming of since he left to go back to the house that would never be his home, because seeing Ed is all he is left to fear. No one from the crew is approaching him, and for once, Stede is glad for it; he wouldn’t know what to say, what to ask, what to wish them.

All while the Revenge’s shadow darkens more and more of the horizon.

______________________________

It hadn't been a conscious decision at first, just a feeling, an urge, that had Edward smear his face with kohl the first time, had him throw Stede’s belonging and crew away. Something between wrath and helplessness, which made him feel small and insignificant and worthless, something that needed to be rooted out and destroyed if Edward wanted to have any chance to survive this. So he pulled and pulled and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard Edward tried. Whispering about how he always should have expected this to happen, how someone like Stede couldn’t want him, not really, only until the novelty of it wore off. How he had had more happiness than he ever deserved already and should be grateful for it, instead of begging for more.

He hadn’t hurt like that since his childhood, and maybe not even then. In the end, there had been no other choice than to accept it as the truth it was.

On contrary, this had been a conscious choice, if a drunken one. Fuelled by the early onsets of the rage that keeps him going now, a thought so clear it had broken through the fog of rum and tears in Edward’s brain. If he couldn’t root out the feeling to protect himself, then he would nurture it, turn it from a weakness into a weapon. If this was all he was worth, being left behind after having tasted hope for just a moment, then he would become worse. He would become something Blackbeard would look innocuous next to, something so frightening, so twisted and so revolting, that no one would ever tempt him again with a kind word, a smile.

And if Stede, fickle, impulsive Stede, ever returned because he had gotten bored of his little family again, his cosy, quaint life, he’d find a monster, changed beyond recognition, beyond saving, beyond even trying to.

Because Stede had left him once and Edward had survived, unsure if he even wanted to. He couldn’t do it a second time.

______________________________

Blood. There is so much blood when Stede finally stands on the deck of the vessel the Revenge has set upon. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy to get here, but the crew had recognised him and the others: Fang and Frenchie and Jim, who had prevented the others from firing, Jim flocking towards Oluwande like a moth to a flame the second they set eyes on him. Part of Stede wants to stay, wants to tell them how happy he is they found each other again, but Ed is here and Stede has to see him. It’s not a choice that he turns around, but a necessity.

Although he isn’t looking for them, Stede can’t ignore the marks of the battle that has raged here, the hints that want to tell him every violent detail. Broken glass is strewn around, the floorboards tinted red and dark brown, littered with scraps of fabric and bits of flesh. Interspersed with the rest of the chaos, bodies litter the floor, some intact, some missing limbs, some with wounds that seem to turn their bodies inside out. All of them sprinkled with blackened tears.

Stede follows them like he has done a dozen times before, his feet in Ed’s footsteps, and there he is, standing with his back to Stede, looking out over the ocean. A dagger in his hand and a gasping, bleeding man at his feet. “Ed?”

______________________________

Edward hates that he would know that voice anywhere. On Earth, while drowning, in hell, it doesn’t matter, he’d hear that voice and he’d know it was Stede standing behind him. And despite everything, Edward still wants him so much it makes him feel sick.

Tears are still spilling from his eyes, and Edward should wipe them away so Stede can’t think ( know) they are because of him. He doesn’t.

______________________________

It takes all the strength Stede has not to close the distance between them and touch Ed, just to make sure he is real. For months, he has fantasised about this moment, and now that it is finally here, it seems like a dream almost, the setting sun, the breaking waves, Ed’s strong shoulders. Only that in a dream, Ed would turn around.

Taking a step forward, Stede realises he has forgotten the entire speech he had planned to give Ed as soon as he saw him again. It’s a strangely distant thought, like all of them seem to be at the moment, drowned out by Ed’s presence, but he mourns the fact nonetheless, even if only for a second. It would make things so much easier if he knew what to say. “Ed?”, he tries again; no response. Not even a twitch of his shoulders, an aborted attempt to flee. For a moment, Stede considers if Ed might just not heard him, but he knows it’s just wishful thinking. They are too close to each other and too far away from the chatter of the others who have reunited. And after all, Stede knew it wouldn’t be easy, didn’t he? No matter what his daydreams sometimes allowed him to believe.

“I have been looking for you”, he starts, watching for any sign that Ed is listening to him. “And I am so glad I finally found you. I know I have made a horrible mess of things, leaving you the way I did and I am so, so sorry. There is no excuse for it. Chauncy found me that night, wanting to kill me to revenge his brother… instead, he went the same way Nigel did. Twins, what do you expect?” Stede gives a small, forced chuckle, fingers worrying the lace of his shirt. “But I should have come and found you afterwards. I shouldn’t have just left. You deserved more than that, at least an explanation.”

His heart is beating so fast, it’s like its own drum beat, and Stede thinks that maybe he should pause for a moment, get his thoughts in order before he continues, but now that he has started to talk, he can’t seem to stop.

“I went… home. Not, not really home, it hasn’t ever been home, but back to Mary and the kids. And not because I wanted to leave you, I never wanted to leave you, but because I was so scared what I would do to you if I stayed. How I’d change you. Not like you changed me, not for the better, but that I’d ruin you.” Stede pushes a hand through his hair; it sounds ridiculous, spoken out loud, doesn’t convey the overwhelming dread that rose inside him as he listened to Chauncy, not the dreams he had after leaving of Ed having been killed because of how soft Stede had made him, the way his lips still ache because they were only allowed to feel Ed’s pressed against them once. “I couldn’t have lived with that”, he continues softly, because that part is still true. “But it turned out that Mary and the kids didn’t need me at all, Mary has a found a new partner. And she, well. She helped me to see that I had too.”

Stede smiles, although Ed still isn’t looking at him, giving no indication that he is hearing anything Stede is saying, just because it makes him happy. Being in love. And for the first time, being able to tell Ed so. “You see, Ed, I love you. I didn’t know it before, because I had never experienced anything like it, but I do. I love you. I have loved you for so long.”

______________________________

Love, Stede says. Edward wishes he didn’t have to hear it. Half of him expected Stede to be back at some point, just because he got bored of his old, new life again, but with a better made up story to tell than this. And not this quickly. Maybe after a year or two. Hopefully after Edward’s time had long run out. Instead, Stede is standing so close behind him that Edward knows he could turn around and slice his throat with a single motion, talking about love and loving Edward and oh, how Edward would have killed to hear those words a few months ago. Not anymore.

There is a certain freedom in knowing he has finally gone to far. That, even in case Stede convinced himself that he truly cares for him, Edward knows that it won’t last, swept away by the wind and the waves like it was the last time.

He looks down at his hands, rings of kohl under his fingernails, blood smeared across his hands, his wrists, his arms. Scraps of flesh stuck in his rings, without Edward knowing which men it belonged to. A tear splashes on red-stained skin, treacherous and black; Edward doesn’t wipe it off, because, in the end, it doesn’t matter if Stede believes he cries them for him. Even if he does, it will not last, and Stede will run like all of them have run, as soon as he realises what Edward has made himself become. Monsters don’t get happy endings, and monsters definitely cannot be loved.

______________________________

Still, there is no reaction and it stings, even if Stede knows that he has no right to expect anything else. Or anything at all, if he is being truthful. “You don’t have to say anything now”, he adds after another second of silence, tries to be brave and steadfast and there in the way Ed used to be for him. “We can take this slow. I know I wouldn’t trust myself right now either. But I promise you, I will earn that trust back. Maybe we can start by having dinner together tonight?” It’s a split second decision, the offer, but it seems right somehow, like they might be able to start all over again. Only that this time, Stede won’t be afraid.

“I’ll ask Roach to cook something nice. And I’ll even make sure that he doesn’t poison it. Let’s say, seven? On my ship.” There’s no answer, but at least Ed hasn’t moved away, hasn’t fled, so Stede makes himself smile and hopes that Ed can hear it in his voice. It’s easier than expected, because even if Ed won’t turn around, Stede has finally found him, and that’s enough to make his insides flutter. “How nice this will be”, he adds, and means it, “we’ll have two ships now.”

______________________________

It’s that one word that does it, we . Two letters shouldn’t hurt this much, but they do, because there used to be a we , and there used to be a time when Edward was sure that this we would last forever, but there isn’t anymore. And there won’t be. The pain is blinding, even considering how much pain Edward is used to, like Stede had taken his sword, thrust it to the hilt into Edward’s chest and turnt it twice just for good measure. Maybe Stede isn’t trying to be cruel, but that doesn’t stop him.

Getting rid of him will be difficult, Edward realises, because Stede has always been stubborn, and living with him in his vicinity will be torture, despite the fact that Edward has burnt every last sliver of hope from his heart. Because even if Stede cannot love him, hope dies far more quickly than love does.

Another tear falls, this time on the dark wood of the railing, and the thought is as surprising as it is familiar.

The sea below them is deceptively calm, deep and cold and inviting, and it’s not like he would be cutting his life short, not truly. He’ll die anyway, most likely before the year is over, so it would only serve to save him from listening to more honeyed words, more made-up stories, more lies he will never allow himself to believe again. From Stede finally seeing him for what he really is and backing away, fear and disgust in his eyes, as he proves Edward right for one final time. From more pain in forms and shapes he might not even be able to dream up now. There is no command he gives; his body just moves. Hands clench around the railing, he lifts himself up and thinks about letting go, and –

Formerly soft hands yank him back from the sea, from one embrace he yearns for to another he fears.

______________________________

Stede moves before he realises what is happening. In front of him, Ed has hardly stirred, only the tension in his shoulders giving it away, before he hoists himself up, and –

Stede pulls him back violently, heart only starting to beat again when he feels Ed’s back pressed against his chest, because… it can’t be true, and yet, there is no reason he can think of why Ed should try to jump up to the railing, unless he planned on coming down on the other side of it. Where there is nothing, only the drop, the sea, and death.

“Ed”, he breathes out, because it’s the only word he can still form with his trembling lips, and oh God, how he must have hurt the other if Ed would rather take his chances in the waves below than on deck with Stede. Or if he’d rather –

Stede cannot let himself finish the thought. Instead he pulls Ed back from the railing, surprised when he goes easily, less surprised when Ed won’t turn around and face him, but instead marches off without a look, without a word. Stede is left, still shaking uncontrollably, thoughts racing, spinning, and eyes unable to look away from the sea of kohl-dark tears where Ed was standing.

______________________________

Even as he is leaving, Stede’s touch burns on his skin, eats through his clothes, through his flesh, until it’s imprinted on his bones, and Edward hates it. Hates that he is still powerless against it, and hates that Blackbeard’s last deed wasn’t allowed to sear himself into Stede’s mind forever, like the other has done to his own.

______________________________

It’s Oluwande who finally takes him back to their new ship, Jim at his side, while he mutters soft reassurances that Stede doesn’t hear. He cannot hear them, cannot hear anything, because the only thing he can concentrate on is the memory of Ed’s hands on the railing, the moment his feet left the floor, the blackblackblack tears smeared across the floor.

Faintly, Stede is aware that his whole body is trembling, his heart beating so fast it seems to pulse; he’s so scared he can hardly draw a breath. Only minutes have passed since he has found Ed again, and he’s almost lost him already. The thought rips through his mind like a lightening strike, bright and painful, and when it has passed, there is just one thing left, a fact so certain it feels like it could be gospel: he has to make this right.

______________________________

A dinner invitation, that is what he gets. It’s so Stede that it makes what is left of Edward’s heart crumble and fall and be ground to dust under his heavy boosts, because if Stede extends invitations, then he has not yet realised what Edward is. Yet he will. And he will leave, and Edward will not find peace, but then again, he hasn’t dreamt of peace for a long time.

______________________________

Sitting at the table, surrounded by both their crews, Ed just a few places down to the left, is surreal in a way Stede cannot describe, no matter how many books he’s read, how many poems he has composed in his mind about finding the man he loves again. Although he was the one to extend the invitation, he didn’t dare hope that Ed would come, but he’s here, even if he still won’t look at Stede. He won’t eat either, although he looks like he must be starving, instead he drinks from a bottle he has brought himself and carves line after line in the wooden table. It’s unnerving to watch and yet Stede cannot look away, because even with black smeared across Ed’s eyes and down his too-taut cheeks, with his lips a thin line, he’s the most beautiful thing in the room.

“Won’t you at least try the dessert?”, Stede asks, because Ed looks like he hasn’t eaten in days, because Stede knows that Ed would enjoy the spun sugar and the lemon glaze of the little tarts. “It’s delicious. Roach really outdid himself.” Ed doesn’t look up from the line he is cutting into the wood, not even for a second, and but then he reaches our for one of the tarts and Stede has a second to feel relief, before Ed smashes the pastry down on the table, splattering crumbs and cream everywhere. The chatter dies down immediately.

“I don’t want your desserts”, Ed says slowly, his voice like thunder. “I don’t want your ridiculous costumes, or your ludicrous stories, or the little games you play with your crew. It was a distraction, and not even a good one, and even if I have entertained it once, don’t think I will again. You should leave and take your band of imposters with you, before I tear them apart, limb by limb.” He brings the dagger down in the middle of the ruined tart, forces it so deep into the wood that the table groans under the force of the assault, before he storms out of the room without giving Stede so much as a glance.

And yet, when Stede looks down on the mess of cream and crust, there’s drops of black melting spun sugar.

______________________________

It’s a lie, every word of it.

______________________________

“Let’s give him some time”, Stede says into the silence, the shocked and resigned and embarrassed faces, and tries his best to give his voice the optimism he doesn’t feel, still shaken up from what has happened on deck, newly startled from Ed’s words. “It must be a lot, all of us here on the ship again. I’m sure he just need to adjust. Yes. Some time will do everyone good.”

There is no answer, just a faint murmuring that neither agrees nor disagrees with him, and for just a moment Stede wants to say more, but then he realises that this is most likely the best he will get.

______________________________

Back in his barren, destroyed cabin, Edward paces and paces until he thinks he has worn his path into the wooden floor.

He is aware why he accepted the invitation, knowing it would be the wrong choice; it’s because no matter what his brain knows, now that Stede is here again, his Edward’s body aches for his presence as if nothing between them had ever changed.

Sitting there with Stede had been the most sickeningly sweet torture, watching the crew eat and talk and be happy in each other’s company; the kind of nightmare he has sometimes, which hurt most of all, because he wakes up and none of it is true. Now, it’s the same; even if Edward won’t wake up, Stede will.

If he allows them to continue this pretence, the dinner invitations and the made-up apologies and the imitation of shared affection, it might take a month until Stede leaves again, maybe a year, but the result will be the same, will hurt just as much as it did the first time. Better to get it over with. Edward isn’t worth keeping, and Stede will see that, no matter how much it will hurt to make it so.

______________________________

Thing is, Stede truly believes in what he said. It might be because he is too scared of the alternative, but that doesn’t change the fact that he believes. Ed is a good man, it’s not hard to see that, even if he has been hurt, and in the end, that is what matters.

So he brings him breakfast the next morning, waits in front of the door, before leaving the tray after it becomes clear that Ed won’t open. He picks the untouched food up three hours later, when he brings Ed lunch. And does it again for dinner. Time will fix this, he tells himself while he looks at the swirls in the wood of the door, which already seem familiar. It has to.

Because Stede doesn’t know what to do if it doesn’t.

______________________________

Three days pass and Stede keeps bringing him food like Edward is a dog to feed, keeps talking to him through the door like it will change anything at all, until Edward can’t take it any longer.

Nothing happens, it’s just Stede, who has sat down in front of the door like he is guarding a prisoner, who says “You know, I always liked shortbread a lot more than some of the fancier biscuits. Wanted to have it at the wedding, even, but Mary refused. Not fit for an event like that, she said.” And maybe it’s the word wedding or Mary or maybe it’s just the sound of Stede’s voice, but suddenly Edward knows he has to do something. If silence is not enough to make Stede leave, he’ll find something else instead.

______________________________

The next morning, the Revenge is not next to their ship anymore. Panic doesn’t do the feeling in Stede’s chest justice, it’s more visceral. Dread, maybe. Genuine, mind-numbing, all-overwhelming fear. However, it only lasts a few moments, because he is told almost immediately that the Revenge hasn’t gone far at all, lingering on the horizon like she is waiting for them to catch up. And what else can Stede do but just that?

As soon as they are close enough that Stede thinks maybe, if he just shouts loud enough, Ed will hear him on deck of the Revenge, the other ship takes off again, leading them further. At first, Stede tries to believe that Ed wants to show them something, a hidden treasure or a coral reef or – in a few, weak moments – an idyllic beach where they will finally be able to just talk, but the Revenge doesn’t stop. It continues sailing for two day and two nights, until Stede’s eyes burn and his mind is heavy with exhaustion. The rest of the crew is taking shifts, but Stede cannot imagine sleeping when he can make out Ed’s shape in the distance, leaning against the banister, bottle in hand. Sometimes, he thinks Ed is looking back at him, although it is more based on feeling, on hope, than sight.

When the Revenge finally does change speed, it’s because of none of the romantic reasons Stede has thought up, but simply because a third ship appears on the horizon. Not a large one, one that they usually might not even spare a second glance, but Stede knows that the Revenge will slow down even before Buttons has a chance to tell him. It’s what they do as pirates, yet Stede feels horror solidifying in the marrow of his bones, because he remembers the ships that have come before; the blood, the gore, the black tears in between red and white and pink. Ed, at least for a moment, considering to throw himself overboard. He wants to be certain that Ed won’t do anything like it again, because they have found each other again, and surely that must count for something, but deep down, he knows better. This is a showcase, if anything, otherwise Ed would have left and not made sure to let them follow.

There’s no way to warn the other ship, and even if there was, Stede isn’t sure if he would do so, or if he values Ed’s opinion of him more highly than the lives of dozens. It’s a scary thought, even if not a shocking one. The Revenge slows down and Stede pretends he doesn’t feel Oluwande’s eyes on him as he commands them to press forward. It’s not how he imagined catching up with the Ed, but it is a way to do so and Stede is too weak not to take it.

______________________________

Stede follows him just like Edward he would, like he still believes that he, that this, that they are fixable. It’s laughable, and it should make Edward scowl, but instead there are tears dripping down his cheeks as he stands on deck, searching for what he needs to get this over with once and for all. Up until now, Stede has only seen the aftermath of what Blackbeard brings to the vessels he takes nowadays, and only once; this time he will get to experience it up close, and there is no way he won’t see Edward for what he is after: finally, blissfully unredeemable.

______________________________

When they arrive, the slaughter is already underway.

Even before they get close enough to board, surrounding the ship from both sides now, Stede can hear the sounds of people dying over the waves. It’s the clashing of steel, the screaming, the pleading; it makes his blood run cold and his hairs stand on end, but at the same time, it means that Ed is merely a minute away from being back where he belongs: within Stede’s sight.

And almost as if he had been waiting, Ed is the first thing Stede sees when he climbs aboard, ignoring the worried glances of his crew behind him. He is at the helm of the ship, black kohl around his eyes and blood staining his skin, his sword embedded deeply in the chest of a boy, who can’t be older than seventeen. He pulls it out and a surge of blood follows the blade, arcing up into the sky and painting both Ed and the boy in gore. Against the sunlight it almost looks elegant, beautiful, and Stede hates the thought with a passion.

Seemingly, Ed has already forgotten about the boy, as he stumbles backwards, turning around to find his next victim. He disappears for a second, only to reemerge in the middle of another scuffle, fighting alongside a man Stede has no name for, but obviously unconcerned with the other’s safety. His blade finds the stomach of one of the sailors surrounding them and rips it open without a second of hesitation, bloody loops of intestine slipping out between the sailor’s desperate hands. Yet Ed doesn’t stop, slices the man’s arm down to the white of his bone, before kicking him into the chest, sending him flying. Even if the sailor is still breathing, truly, he is dead. Ed’s eyes are wild behind the kohl, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks, but he doesn’t even slow down, instead draws one of his pistols and fires it at the next man, watching his chest explode.

And Stede finds that he cannot move, cannot do anything but watch. There is something feral about the way Ed fights, a cornered animal, although it is he who is hunting, and while he should be terrifying, there is something almost ethereally beautiful about him. A god of war, come down to wreak havoc amongst his people. Blood smeared across his mouth and black tears streaking his face, a lethal grace in every motion, and despite everything, Stede cannot do anything but love him, cannot do anything but pray.

______________________________

It’s when he pulls his dagger from a man’s jaw, blood and spittle wetting his hand, that Edward sees him. In the middle of the chaos, there is Stede in all his blonde-haired, soft-eyed glory, his lips parted in shock and terror on his precious face. Watching him. And with a dreadful, desperate finality, Edward knows he has done it now. Stede has seen him as he really is, a killer, a monster, no one who is worth following even a step, let alone across half the world.

The realisation hits him like a blow to the chest, crushing his ribs and lungs, and yet, as he turns away from Stede, perhaps for the very last time, he feels like he can finally breathe again, even if it is through tears.

______________________________

After it is over, Izzy finds him.

Stede has hardly fought, too overwhelmed by the vision Ed has become, yet he can still feel the strain in his muscles, the stickiness of blood and bile drying on his skin. So, although they have never seen eye to eye, he is glad for the familiar presence of the other man, simply for the fact that deep down, Stede is terrified. Not of Ed, never that, but for him. And a single glance at Izzy’s face tells him that the other man feels the same.

“I hate to say it, but I’m out of other ideas”, Izzy starts, and his tone of voice is enough to tell Stede that he means it. “You have to talk to him. He’s going to kill himself if he continues on like that, sooner rather than later. And I don’t want to watch it happen.” There is emotion hidden behind Izzy’s eyes that Stede is certain the other doesn’t want him to see, so he does his best to ignore it, even as the words slice into him, flaying the flesh from his bones. Ed, his beautiful, beautifully flawed Ed, ready to die? It’s impossible to hear and yet so easy to believe.

“But what can I say?”, Stede asks and knows that he sounds desperate; he feels it, too. “He won’t talk to me.” “If I knew that, I would have done it long ago”, Izzy replies. “It was bad before you came, but now it’s like he is trying to die. Like I’m counting down the days. If it’s not a fight, it will be the drink, or the lack of food, or whatever drugs he manages to find in any given port, or if everything else fails, his own hand. So, Stede Bonnet, talk to him. And fix what you have ruined.”

______________________________

There is more than enough rum on the ship, which is a pleasant surprise. Not just for Edward himself, but it will also be for the crew, which might help to make this whole raid more palatable. It’s been long since the opinion of the rest of them has been a priority to Edward, yet it can’t hurt if they get to go to bed full of fought-for food and rum tonight. A chance to breathe, while their captain does his best to drown in drink and in the silence Stede will leave behind, once he is gone.

Before he sneaks back to the ship, he gets a bottle for himself, unwilling to talk to anyone, because it is done, and yet there is nothing he can say about it. In some sense, it might be a victory, but God knows, it doesn’t feel like one. Even so, he is calm inside, strangely so, almost unsettling, because it shouldn’t be possible, not after killing and almost dying, not after seeing the man he still loves turn away from him either in disgust or terror. And yet, the voices have quieted down as Edward lifts the bottle to his lips and takes a deep pull, barely a whisper left. Because and he is free, and soon, he won’t have to do all this any longer.

______________________________

The thing is that just because Izzy doesn’t know what to say, Stede doesn’t know any better either. Everything he can come up with, Stede has said before, either to Ed’s face or to the space between himself and the door, knowing full well how little soundproofing it provides. None of it has helped, or changed a thing, not love confessions, nor apologies, nor simple small-talk. What else is there Stede could offer?

He’s pacing on deck, trying to think of anything he hasn’t tried to get Ed to forgive him when a snippet of Izzy’s speech echoes in his mind, unbidden and terrifying. It was bad before you came, but now it’s like he is trying to die.

How this was not immediately seared into his brain, Stede doesn’t know, but it makes him stop mid-step now. Cold spreads down his back, through his limbs like it is following every vein, every nerve; his lungs constrict; his heart clenches and withers and dies.

The memory of Ed hoisting himself up when Stede first found him, ready to drop down to the ocean and accept his fate, the feeling of his too-thin body against Stede’s chest, the teardrops on the banister after Ed had left.

Stede had convinced himself that it was a spur of the moment reaction to seeing Stede again, more flight reflex than a conscious decision, but then Stede remembers the days Ed went without eating instead of having the food Stede would bring him, the utter recklessness Ed had fought with. Barely bothering to raise his sword to block a blow, choosing to strike even if it meant leaving himself open to attacks. And even more damning: there is no way that Izzy would lie about this. Not about Ed, and definitely not if it means asking Stede for help.

So the realisation settles in, clogs his throat and makes his eyes burn with tears he does not deserve to cry. It hurts in a way that Stede has never felt before, crippling loneliness that he is not yet feeling; the phantom pain of cutting someone from his life he desperately wants to keep in it; taking care of someone by tearing the heart from his own chest. Half of him is still trying to think of another solution, any other, but Stede remembers Ed’s hollow, bloodshot eyes, compares them to the memory of Ed on the beach, right before Stede made the worst mistake he’ll ever make, and thinks that maybe, he finally knows how to make this right.

______________________________

The thought of Stede out on the ship, most likely planning his departure, waits until Edward has made it to his cabin before it digs its claws into Edward’s flesh and tears at it, flaying him open until he’s left gasping for breath.

What masqueraded as calm turns into an open wound, bleeding him dry, even as Edward tells himself that it is for the best. It is the truth, he knows it as well as he knows his name, because Stede will leave again no matter what, and like this, the hole his absence will rip into Edward’s life will be more familiar than how having him back on the Revenge patched it back up.

______________________________

This time, Stede doesn’t bother knocking when he reaches Ed’s cabin, just barges in when he finds the door unlocked. A surprise in itself, after he has prepared to scream himself hoarse in front of not just Ed, but the rest of the crew as well, because he’d rather lay his heart bare in front of everyone than watch Ed suffer any longer. However, the door swings open easily; an invitation, hope whispers in Stede’s treacherous mind, a thought he banishes before it manages to reach his heart.

Ed is sitting in the centre of the room, dagger driven deep into the table, a bottle of rum perched right next to the blade. Blood is still splattered across his face, coating his hands and forearms, the kohl-drenched tears Stede has become so familiar with carving their way down Ed’s cheeks, and he’s beautiful in a way that surpasses physicality; he’s beautiful because he is loved, so deeply that Stede doesn’t understand how he is not choking on the feeling.

A second passes, because Stede didn’t have time to prepare a speech this time, so the only thing he is left with is the worst of all: the truth. “Izzy talked to me”, he starts, but Ed doesn’t even look at him, dark eyes fixed on the grain of the table. “After everything that happened. He’s worried about you, really worried. I am, too. Everyone is, I think. Especially because Izzy said that you have been even more… reckless than before. Almost like you are hoping for some thing to happen to you.”

Faintly, Stede is aware that he is wringing his hands, pulling at his fingers until the joints pop, his rings cutting into his flesh, but he can’t bring himself to care. The discomfort of it melts away like everything else, utterly meaningless when compared to Ed in front of him, even if the other man has yet to acknowledge his presence. It hurts, the dismissal, but then again, most things do at this moment.

“He suggested that it’s my fault”, he presses on nonetheless, hoping for a nod, or a scoff, anything at all. “That I am the reason why you have...stopped valuing your life like you should. Like others do. And I’ve seen you up there, during the last raid, and, by God, Ed. I am so scared that he is right. So, if he is, if my being here is so unbearable to you, then I’ll leave. Immediately, if that is what you want. You’ll never have to see me again.”

Those last words, they close up his throat until it feels like Stede is choking on dread, on love, on desperation. But he means them still; he’d rather know Ed to be out there somewhere, safe and if not happy, then at least as close to it as he can be, than next to him, hoping for a blade to catch him unaware. Even if the thought of letting him go makes Stede wish for the same.

“Can you please just look at me?”, he blurts out when Ed doesn’t answer, tears he refuses to cry blurring his vision. It’s a reflex, a momentary need that still is strong enough to take his breath away; if Stede has to leave, then he at least has to look Ed in the eye one last time, and see he isn’t wanted here. “Just once. I promise. Just once.”

______________________________

All this talk, the frail voice and the clenched hands that Edward sees out of the corner of his eye, when what Stede truly wants to say is hidden in between and yet so obvious that Edward thinks he should feel insulted by the whole charade around it. He would be, if his foolish heart could stop wishing that all of it was true. But Stede is leaving, that’s the end of it.

Of course, he is leaving, having seen what Edward has become, and while it’s no surprise, even part of the plan Edward has devised himself, it hurts . The thought slices through Edward like no blade ever has, cold and vicious, tearing at every vital organ. His ribs collapse inwards to crush his heart and lungs, his spine is severed, making it impossible to move. Tears in his eyes, the taste of blood and bile on his useless tongue. This is what he wants, what he needs, yet the thought of losing Stede all over feels like dying.

What a good reason it is to tell yourself, tucked away in your feather bed at night, having to leave to save someone’s life. And what an utterly laughable thought.

It feels like Stede is finished with his little speech, ready to turn around and run, but then, sounding almost like a plea, he asks Ed to look at him, and Ed, without a thought, does. Weak, he scolds himself, even while he glances up at Stede, whose eyes are red-rimmed and sad, as if he truly cared, as if this was tearing him up inside like it does Edward. As if he hadn’t left to find his quaint little family, but had spent night after night aching for Edward; as if he, too, had touched his lips a thousand times, knowing full well he would give up anything at all to feel Edward’s kiss once more. As if he hadn’t just watched Edward slaughter a crew for nothing but his own pleasure, and as if he hadn’t stood there, slack-jawed with horror at what Edward had become.

As if he wasn’t the one leaving all over again.

______________________________

It takes but a moment and Ed looks up at him, and Stede feels like crying from the sheer relief of Ed’s eyes on him. And so Stede doesn't truly sees him right away, but only after second, the pain darkening Ed’s eyes, the tear tracks cutting through the grime, his lips pressed together tightly, as if they are the only thing stopping something from escaping: a scream, or a sob, or just words Ed doesn’t dare to share. Stede’s mouth aches in sympathy and it’s so familiar, almost like looking back at his own face, that deep down in his chest, a spark of hope flickers and tries to stay alive. “Ed”, he breathes out and the name sounds like, feels like, is meant to be, a prayer. “If you want me to, I’ll leave, I swear it. If that is what it takes to keep you from harming yourself. But if there is anything else I can do, please tell me, because leaving you might just be the end of me.”

______________________________

Stede tells him that leaving will be the end of him, and it’s laughable, almost an affront, and Ed knows that he should be furious, should get up and punch Stede in the mouth just to show him what pain truly feels like. But he’s just so tired of all of it, of living and loving and hurting and having to look at Stede, knowing that he will leave again. So, instead of of being Blackbeard, he slumps down in his chair, lets out a chuckle that sounds as exhausted as he feels. “End you? I can’t even end myself, and believe me, I’ve tried.”

______________________________

The resignation cuts Stede down to the bone until he thinks he is bleeding out; it’s worse than anger ever could be, because anger, at least, still looks for change. Ed, instead, sounds like he is barely biding his time.

“… I know”, he says softly, although the admission turns his insides to lead. For a moment, he wants to plead to be allowed to stay after all, but he doesn’t have the right to do so. Not if staying will cause Ed more harm. “And I know I’m the reason for it, but I won’t put you through that again. I will be gone by morning."

What he expects is a nod, maybe a curt goodbye, but instead Ed scoffs, no malice hidden in the sound, just acceptance. “Sure. You do that. And tell yourself that after you left, I suddenly will want to live again.”

Live. The word falls from Ed’s lips, dead and cold and unloved, and Stede flinches, because to him, it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Ed”, he tries again, a moment away from begging, but it feels like he is watching Ed fade away in front of him, at a speed he could never have imagined. “If that won’t help you, then tell me what will. What I can do. I’ll do it, whatever it is, I’ll do it.” For a second, Stede thinks Ed will tell him, offer a solution, but then he shrugs, before looking down at the table again; Stede feels the absence of his gaze like someone has torn a piece off his soul.

“Nothing”, Ed says and sounds so, so tired. “I made sure of that, didn’t I? After you left for the first time. You’ve seen what I did on that ship, you know what I am now. So, take your little noble reason and pretend you made it better, and leave. Because deep down, even you know that I am well past saving.”

______________________________

Maybe, Edward thinks idly, almost detached from the pain that is wrecking his heart, slowly tearing it to pieces, maybe he won’t even wait for Stede to leave. Maybe he’ll just finish this bottle of rum and throw himself into the ocean, let the waves finish the job no blade yet has managed to.

Maybe it would be nice to be the one who leaves, this time.

______________________________

It makes no sense. Nothing that Ed says makes any sense, because he mentions a ship Stede could not care less about, talks like he has changed so fundamentally in the months they have spent apart that he should be unrecognisable. Maybe there was a time when Stede had feared that to be true, back when they were still hunting after the Revenge, blood and gore and violence the only signs of Ed he ever got, but not anymore. Not when Ed is sitting there, looking so lost, so exhausted, so utterly like himself that Stede wants nothing but to pull him into his arms and refuse to let him go again.

What he doesn’t say, though, is what Stede had feared to hear: that Ed despises the sight of him, that Stede has hurt him so profoundly that whatever affection Ed has felt for him has turned into something rotten, vile, unrecognisable and that there is no hope of ever reversing the change. What he doesn’t say is that he never wants to see Stede again.

A moment of recalibration, because the winds have changed, the tide has turned; there is something Stede has to fight that he did not prepare for, something new and hidden and vicious, but it is a fight and Stede would prefer that over the hopelessness of leaving every day. For if there is only a sliver of a chance that Ed still wants him, then Stede will tear the world apart with his own bare hands to find it.

“I don’t know what you mean about the ship”, he replies softly, almost as if talking to a wounded animal. “Nothing that happened on the ship makes any difference to me. Not about who you are and certainly not how I feel about you.” It seems like it’s neither the right nor the wrong thing to say, because again, Ed scoffs, but at least he doesn’t send Stede away, either. A victory, a small one, just because he is allowed to stay.

“Don’t lie”, he tells Stede, his voice flat and lifeless, his arms crossing in front of his chest like Ed needs a barrier between them. “Why do you even bother to pretend? You watched me kill them. I know you did, because I saw you, and I saw the look on your face. You were horrified. Disgusted. Scared, only that I don’t know if for them or of me.”

He sounds so certain that Stede stops for a second to think, not because he could ever be scared of Ed, but because there must be a reason why Ed has gotten it so wrong. And really, their eyes had met on deck for a fleeting, precious second, Ed’s wild beneath the kohl, and Stede remembers his own eyes widening in return, his lips parting, his cheeks flushing. But not with fear.

“Darling”, he breathes out and wishes he could take back the term of endearment when it makes Ed flinch like it burnt him. “That wasn’t horror. That was me, having utterly forgotten how to look away from you.”

The words dissolve in silence, Ed not moving another muscle, and Stede loving him so much it threatens to swallow him whole.

Just because he hopes for an answer, Stede waits a little longer, but nothing comes, so instead he barges on with the first thing that comes to mind. For even if everything else fails, even if Stede will end his days in Nassau alone, never setting another foot on the Revenge, Ed has to know that he is none of the things he believes himself to be, not to Stede. “Why would this ship make a difference when I have seen what you can do on a dozen of them? It didn’t matter then, I still came to find you. You’re not past saving, not because of this.”

Ed’s eyes snap up, wide and obviously startled, and Stede could cry just to see something but hopelessness in them. Just to have them back on him. “What do you mean, you have seen a dozen of them?”, Ed asks and there’s a tremor in his voice that tugs at Stede’s heart, because it makes him sound vulnerable, like he cares, and that’s enough to fan the little spark of hope Stede hasn’t extinguish yet. Not enough to catch anything alight, but enough to give the faintest glow of warmth.

“The ships you’ve raided, that’s how we found you”, Stede explains, smiles just a little, because it’s still a memory he treasures, no matter how much their reunion may have hurt. A second spent with Ed is worth it all. “We followed them back to the Revenge, almost like breadcrumbs. So, I’ve seen the bloodshed, and it doesn’t change anything. You could kill a thousand men and I wouldn’t care. I still love you.”

______________________________

It can’t be, no matter how much Edward wants it to.

It can’t be, simple as that.

______________________________

Ed reacts to the word like Stede punched the air out of his lungs, a cut-off, barely-there noise escaping his beloved lips. His hands grip the edge of the table until the knuckles turn white and Stede feels tears gather in the corners of his eyes, because the pain is painted across Ed’s features in strokes so broadly they can’t be missed.

“You can’t not care”, Ed replies, one, two, three moments too late, every word spoken like it matters the world. “If you’ve seen them, you can’t not care. I slaughtered them. I don’t even know how many lived or died, nor did I care. I am the monster they paint onto those posters, Stede. The one everyone always knew I was.”

He means it, Stede can see it in his eyes, the snarl of his lip, and it hurts viciously to hear, because Stede has met monsters, and none of them bore ever a fraction of Ed’s pain. None of them could.

“And yet, I don’t. Maybe I should, but I don’t. Not if it’s you”, Stede tells him and blinks away tears that are threatening to spill. “I’ve seen the severed limbs and the decapitated heads and the men, who died while trying to push the guts back into their stomachs. Some of them while I watched. But I also saw the tears, Ed, on every single ship, there were tear tracks in between the blood, and if you are a monster, then so am I, because I know I caused them.”

Emboldened by nothing but the fact that he needs to be closer to Ed, Stede takes a step forwards, and Ed watches, but doesn’t run, and the flame within Stede burns just a little brighter. “And even if everyone else, including you, thinks you’re irredeemable, it doesn’t change a thing to me. I love you, and if you let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it.”

Again, a small sound, desperate and confused, falls from Ed’s lips, but when Stede takes another step, he just watches helplessly, like he doesn’t believe his eyes, his ears. Instead of speaking, he just bites his lips hard, until Stede expects Ed’s blood to join the mess smeared across his face, but instead it’s a single tear that drips down, dyed grey and so familiar it makes Stede ache all over.

“You can’t love me.”

“But I do.” It’s the easiest thing to say, because Stede didn’t have time to prepare a speech, so the only thing he is left with is the best: the truth. “Desperately. With all my heart. I love you like I have never loved anyone before, and like I won’t ever love anyone again. No matter if you want me to, if you send me away or if you let me stay, it won’t change anything, because I love you so much I have forgotten how it feels not to.”

He’s beaming with it, Stede knows it, because suddenly, it’s like a dam in Stede has broken open, flooding him with more affection, devotion than his body can hold. It feels like spring, like there are flowers blooming in his chest; if nothing else, then at least Ed knows he is loved.

______________________________

It can’t be.

Can it?

______________________________

“You’re insane”, Ed chokes out, tears in his eyes, but his voice lighter than Stede has heard it since he came back; the laughter clinging to it not desperate, but overwhelmed. Some of it reaches Ed’s eyes, gives them back a hint of their usual sparkle, and Stede can’t, won’t, doesn’t want to stop the smile that is pulling at his lips. Something is changing, he can tell, and even if this mess is nothing one conversation can fix, it’s a start, and Stede is more than willing to work forever to do the rest.

“I guess I am”, he agrees, and the smile gets wider still, because Ed’s hands drop to his lap, like they are giving up their resistance. “But I wouldn’t change that for the world, not as long as it means I get to love you.” Another step forward, which brings Stede almost to the edge of the table, a sense of wonder in Ed’s eyes. “Do I?”

And ever so slowly, Ed nods.

______________________________

When he wakes up, his back is screaming, his muscles cramping, and yet Edward doesn’t move. He’s leaning against the hull of the ship, half sprawled on the floor, which is familiar; what isn’t, is the weight on his shoulder, the solid warmth pressed against his side. The fingers intertwined with his own, holding tight although Stede is still fast asleep.

They spent most of the night talking, sinking down next to each other on the floor because it seemed easier; after the first brush of Stede’s hand against his, it had been impossible to stop touching, the need as great as the one for air, for water. Stede’s fingertips tracing the line of Ed’s jaw as he told him that leaving his family for the final time had been the simplest decision he had ever had to make, Ed grasping Stede’s arm for strength while confessing that he killed Lucius and hiding his tears in the crook of Stede’s neck when he was told that somehow, the boy had survived.

The rest of the night, they had kissed.

It’s such a surreal thought still, that without thinking, Edward raises his hand to touch his lips, as if he could still feel Stede’s warmth on them. He can’t, of course, but the motion startles Stede awake, who grumbles softly as he first buries his face against Ed’s shoulder, before suddenly jolting upright, his fingers never leaving Ed’s. Marks on his cheeks tell of the leather clothes he has been resting on, remnants of kohl and tears smeared on his skin, his hair is a mess of blonde curls, and he’s the most beautiful man Ed has ever seen; and he looks at Ed, no, Edward, at him , with eyes so wide and so full of devotion, that Ed feels like he’s falling in love all over again.

“Ed”, he breathes out, voice still thick with sleep, but light with wonder, and Ed can’t help but lean in and kiss him again, replacing the warmth he was missing. His lips are soft, just like they were on that beach, in Edward’s dreams, last night, and Stede kisses back easily, as if he had a decade’s worth of practice instead of only a few hours.

Those of Ed’s fingers, which aren’t clasping Stede’s, find the other’s cheek, smoothing down across stubbled skin, a strong jaw, and tingling with the feeling, with how right it feels. As Edward pulls away, he uses them to guide Stede back against his shoulder, who goes willingly, snuggling back against Ed like there is nowhere else he would rather be, and leaving Edward to wonder what he ever could have done to deserve something this pure in his wretched life.

He still can’t understand how Stede could continue to look for him, seeing the trail of destruction Edward had left, but just for a moment, with the other sleeping on his shoulder and the morning sun filtering through the windows, Ed doesn’t care.

He’s just glad that, in the end, Stede found him.

[yamikawas]

I can do lots of stuff with my hands! Texting, baking, toasting, branding, maiming, killing, holding your hand, caressing your face… they’re not Wi-Fi enabled yet but everyone’s a work in progress. Except you, you’re perfect no matter how much you grow and change, darling. 💛🌸

WAAAAAAAAAAAHH YOOMIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE<3<3<3<3<3<3<3333<>3<3<=>÷<÷3<÷<3<3<3>3<3<3<33<3<4<3<4<3<33÷3<3<3<3<3<3UR TOO SWEET TO MEEEEEEEEEEEE ;///; BUT UR PERFECT TOO OK UR LITERALLY THE MOST LOVABLE THING PHYSICALLY POSSIBLE OK I LOVE YOU SO MUCH YOOMIE<3<3<3<3<333<3<3<3<&3<3<3<3<33^4<3^4&÷&/÷&&$*#%&,";$?%(

[doberbutts]

What are the situations that lead to a dog being in that state where it causes a mauling?

Honestly it can be something so stupidly benign that it wouldn't trigger other dogs into that state, even other dogs of the same breed or type.

Recently one of my store's groomers was mauled, yes MAULED, by a customer's 5mo pit bull. Why? Nail trim. The dog stiffened, she went to retract away, and the dog not only nailed her on the hand but began thrashing and needed two people to pry it off of her. The owner was unapologetic. She went to the ER and has recieved multiple stitches in her hand as a result. When I saw her just after the attack she was visibly shaken, crying, and her hand looked more like shredded meat than a hand. That, to me, is a mauling. If safety restraints had not been on the dog and the other groomers present to save her, that could have turned into a very bad situation.

When I was in MD, a similar situation happened with a much larger dog. A corso puppy (already big) had a similar reaction to a nail trim except instead of just catching the groomer by the hand he grabbed her arm, flipped the table he was restrained on, and when she managed to get free of him chased her across the salon dragging the table behind him. This was in the area where pit bulls were banned and so everyone who wanted a stupid out of control bully breed instead got a stupid out of control mastiff. She ended up mostly just having punctures, so it was not a mauling, but that's mostly again due to safety restraints and other people being present to help save her from this dog. That dog's owner was not only unapologetic but also combattive when she was informed that we would have to report the attack at the ER.

The same day my groomer was attacked by the pit bull, I was also bitten by a smallish spaniely mixy creature for just walking past. I had nothing in my arms and was walking regular speed. The dog ran at me and bit my leg about mid-thigh. The owners did not react though did pull their dog away from me when I had to pass by again. Thankfully due to size and the dog's lack of commitment, I just got pinched and my leg had a bruise for a week. A friend of mine was bitten years ago by a rottweiler for the same thing, but recieved a much more serious bite. I have seen dogs escalate to mauling for even just that.

I have seen dogs maul people just for being in their house. I have seen dogs maul people just for walking by their house. I have seen dogs maul THEIR OWN OWNERS for holding them back from something they wanted to get to. I have seen dogs go from happy excited to mauling behavior in an instant. I have seen dogs maul people for getting between them and a different animal they wanted to bite. I have seen dogs maul people just as they exist in their own yard.

From my non-doctorate level understanding of dog psychology, I would say that I think maulings mostly happen from two reasons:

The dog has a very low threshold for arousal and also considers using teeth in situations more strongly than other dogs. This can be dogs that were bred and raised for combat roles, but it can also just be predatory behavior or a lack of capacity to self-soothe when frustrated.

The dog simply has something fundamentally wrong with it. I won't lie, I think outside of a very specific combattive role there really is no place for dogs who maul people in our current world. If I were to have the power, I would say all of them should be euthanized. A bite is one thing. Deliberately ripping and tearing through a person's flesh in an unstoppable frenzy until someone chokes you out is completely different. This is behavior I would not fault a non-domesticated animal for. Domesticated animals should not be maiming or killing people in this way unless they were specifically being utilized to do so. Not an ethics argument but a domestication one- what use do we have for a predator we cannot keep from killing us? That goes completely against the reason we domesticated dogs and not tigers.

When posting about these things I'm thinking of that little boy whose arm was ripped off and FUCKING EATEN by his neighbor's huskys. I do not care who was right in that situation. There is no place in this world for dogs who rip off a toddler's arm and eat it. I'm thinking of that chow mix that 'got out' of its owner's yard and did a very clear predatory escalation with the toddler playing on his trike a block or so down from where he lived. I'm thinking of that guy who got mauled by his rottie and his doberman when his dogs started with happy play excitement and ended with grabbing the owner by the arm and shoulder and taking him down to the ground. I'm thinking of the woman who was torn to literal pieces alone in her home with her presa canarios and frenchies. I'm thinking of the pit bull (mix?) that broke through that elderly woman's door and killed her in her bed. I'm thinking of those supposed dauschund (mixes?) pack that killed that woman. I'm thinking of those three labradors that killed that little girl.

Something is fundamentally wrong with those dogs. I don't think those dogs should exist in a world where we are capable of having dogs in combat roles that aren't completely dangerous to be around. There's a lot of people who might disagree with me, but I think today's modern world is slowly becoming a place where very few actual scenarios need to end with teeth on skin, and as a result dogs who cannot be controlled in this urge whatsoever are not dogs that should be here with us.

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

sir, you should only gamble for fun

“start talk with the demon under the table.”

cater x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: what is love?

Love.

A word unfamiliar to Cater. He’s used to the word “like”.

The heart underneath a Magicam post. A notification on his blank phone screen. A pursuit of the temporary in hopes he could chance his way into longevity. After all, there’s nothing in the world that could be powerful enough to ground him: at least, enough to wipe away the empty film that rests above his eyes.

Except for you.

What makes you so different? Cater doesn’t know the answer to that himself. Maybe it’s the way you look at him. Maybe it’s the way he unconsciously finds himself reaching for your hand whenever you aren’t around. Maybe it’s the way you look at him with pity, rather than love. Just like how everyone else does.

Nothing about you is really different. It’s him deluding himself into thinking you’re special. That he’s special.

You’re the only one who would tangle your fingers in his hair and tell him that his locks are the same color of the sun. You’re the only one who would bite his fingertips to make him wince and whine. You’re the one who would press a kiss right on the diamond stamp on his face and then drag your lips away, the crimson streak across his cheek a scarlet letter.

The diamond screams, “He’s in love! He’s in love! He’s in love!”

When he lies next to you, he wonders if what he feels is the same for you. Do you whisper his name like he does yours? Do you kiss him with the same intensity, hoping that you could taste the words he’s swallowed back so many times? 

Love.

It feels so foreign to Cater. It feels so good. It feels so horrid.

His heart hurts when he looks at you. The hourglass has already been flipped over, and the sand has already started falling. Cater doesn’t know when the last grain will slip through his fingers, just like the previous ones that escaped him. You’ll take flight, just like the wandering soul you are, and you’ll assimilate into a distant past.

Would it hurt less if your face blurred over, covered with his tears in a futile attempt to kill and bury the emotion that claws so monstrously inside of his chest? He would be content to keep this distance if it were anyone else, but he can’t be satisfied.

Because it’s you.

He kisses you carnally. His hands are tools of destruction—his mouth a weapon meant to slice and maim, his palms akin to the cracks on the earth. You should be afraid when you can feel his confusion tumble into the inside of your cheeks, and Cater wants you to be disgusted and yank yourself away from him.

But you don’t. You never do. That’s what wounds him the most. He almost wishes that you weren’t so kind to him. It would be easier for him to come to terms with himself if you hated him, spat at him, told him that you couldn’t stand to see the sight of someone so pathetically incapable as him.

No. You don’t do that.

You grab his collar with the same vigor that he does, pushing him towards the edge and sending him spiralling even deeper into the personal hell that he’s built up. Like dominoes, they always come crashing down, landing in a reckless clattering cacophony on the floor.

Why do you do this to him? Why do you make his heart hurt like this? What is it about you that makes it so impossible for him to do anything?

You kiss him. You kiss him back, and Cater’s nothing but a wisp of air between your arms. 

Love.

It hurts. It hurts too much for him to bear. He wants to rip his heart out of his ribcage and shred it to pieces. He wants to lay the fragments at your feet, knowing perfectly well that he can’t bring himself to throw them at you like he had done with others. He wants to snivel and cry and beg with his head in your lap, looking up at you as if you’re something to be worshipped.

The cadence of your lips on his is unbearable. 

It’s hot—so hot—and Cater’s a sinner in hell, too far beyond salvation to save himself. You can’t save him; you can pretend that you can all you want, but you can’t save him. How can the one who stole his wings and made him tumble like a deadweight through the sky be the one to save him? 

You are by the far the worst and the best thing Cater has never had. Your kiss is like molten lava dripping down the inside of his throat, and yet, Cater does everything he can to not waste a single drop. It burns and it makes his stomach turn and it forces him to yearn.

How pathetic.

But you don’t care. You never did. 

It’s you, after all.

You’re one and the same with the crowd that blurs over in Cater’s mind, yet you stand before him, so prominent and clear. The hands that grab at his collar are as real as his frustration, and the mouth that seals him into silence are as real as the twist inside of his body.

He can’t take it as it is. He doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it’s poison. You’re poison, flowing underneath his skin and tainting him. You’re tearing him apart and setting him on fire to turn him to ashes, and he’s so close to enjoying it. This is what you do to him. This is how you destroy him slowly and surely: from upside down to inside out, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, from the bottom of his heart.

When he kisses you, it hangs on the tip of his tongue. Threatening to spill over his lips and to you.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

x

[jjkyaoi]

somebody could come up to me and start being like oh so u’re into This thing right? and then i’d be like YEAH :O!! omg!! u know it what r ur thoughts on it i love to hear peoples thoughts on the things i like !! and then they’d go like oh well.. i thought it was pretty bad honestly :/ i don’t know why people like it , it’s pretty overhyped. and out loud i’d be like oh you’re totally valid to ur opinion ^^ it isn’t perfect but on the inside i’d think about killing and maiming and killing and maiming and tearing and shredding and biting

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Heaven heard your prayers lol For the thirst hours, how about a one hell of a butler? I am not really creative but how about Sebastian Michaelis as a lover? Let's say he did fall in love (I headcanon him as not capable of falling in love but whatever lol) How would he treat us and how about the first time ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ °)

Sebastian isn't a man who-

Well, he want a man to begin with.

He was a demon, a fallen and corrupted being, never meant to see the light of heaven once again- destined to damn souls and devour a few more along the way. He's seen empires rise and fall, the start of primal man to their modern counter parts, and he's seen the change everything and nothing at all.

But one thing he's noticed, that human did quite well, as love.

Love.

Who was he to understand it? He used to be filled with it, that warm full feeling in his chest, the comfort and safety it brought with being vulnerable to another. But he lost it, long ago, and it's been twisted, corrupted, forever torn and shredded into nothing.

Or, that what he thought.

He didn't think a small, fragile, human could do so much to him.

But here he was.

Here he was kissing you, lips lighter than a feather against your own, hands holding you close to him as you settled in his lap, mindful of his strength as to not harm you.

He harmed, maimed, killed- but the though of any of that happening to you, especially by his own hand, made him want to throw himself into the void of emptiness where nothing remained.

Here he was, leaving positive bites and marks up and down your neck and chest, his heart thrumming at how you arched into him. He peels off every layer of clothing like a present, in wanting to damage the gift inside, a rose made of the finest of glass. Painted and styled just for him.

He wanted more, he wanted to be greedy, take everything you were willing to give him. But, he wanted you to do the same, soak in the pleasure he have you and feel the intense burning if his love. It felt as if you were caught in a bonfire, and got too close to the flames, but you knew the fire wouldn't hurt you.

How you moaned his name, how you gripped at him and scratched at his back, clawing at his pale arms as your legs wrapped around his waist to push him deeper- it made him lose himself.

He was moaning, whimpering, a mess really. He even sheds a tear or two, the feeling is overwhelming, it's overstimulating. Love? He knows it once again, he's been blessed, as ironic as it sounds.

He buries his face into your neck, letting you cling to him as you cum again, his own release following quickly at how your warmth fluttered around him. Tears come again, love, he thought.

He was a demon in love, a pure, unsaturated love.

But were you willing to love him back if you knew the truth?