#tw: dying in labour

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams. 

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade. 

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis. 

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck. 

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha. 

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all. 

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting. 

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you. 

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations. 

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak. 

arrakis has a new ruler. 

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him. 

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine. 

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path. 

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you. 

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin. 

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight. 

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours. 

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst. 

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal. 

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death. 

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam. 

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face. 

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[rreskk]

BELONGING

Summary: You had a void in your heart. A void only a mother could experience. Without the ability to have a baby, he wanted to please you in other ways. Showing his appreciation and how he can replace your misery.

TW: Smut

Pairings: Fem!reader/ Trevor Philips

Word count: 1424

You were wearing a fine, black silked nightdress with breasts at liberty of moving from under the smooth fabrics – visible but comfortable and loose to your preference. It was usually a normal outfit to wear before bed. If not normal; then innocently spontaneous. It was a hot evening! Your body invited the breeze of his trailer, hence the purpose of your silky nightdress that brought his attention from the television set.

Background noise faintly swallowed as his interest peeked. Trevor lowered his can of beer and watched your chest area with attentiveness. Your breasts squirmed, nipples erected and visible through the luxurious fabrics. He couldn’t centre his attention away.

That said, his mouth watered obscurely. Trevor recalled the sensation of your nipple sitting on his boyish tongue, sucking, clamming up as much he could devour from you. Though you were so innocent with your nightdress – fixing up the dishes, your arms outstretched and face peaceful with the tranquillity of his quiet trailer – which was never usually the case.

But, oh… How you teased him.

His oral fixation ached for your maternal love and so he jumped off the wooden table with an eager inquiry. His feet bounced and he stood behind you, his height towering over your powerful place. You were always an idol in his eyes – throughout the thick and the thin of his tendencies.

Trevor didn’t have to speak. You felt his creaky presence and gazed over your shoulder, recognising that same look he’d give you whenever you offered yourself to him; his brown eyes sparkling and lips quivering with saliva. The physical depth to his needs becoming strangely consistent that you worked as a newly mother supplying attention and love to her baby.

It was a thought you both shared after the relationship aged by months and months. But it never came as he was unable to provide you with a baby. It sparked a void in your dreams – yet it was quickly filled by the alternative:

“Again?” His rough voice hushed.

You replied with no words. The dress dropped from your shoulder, further exposing your freed chest.

Slipping against the counter – he worked.

Trevor knelt down and praised your chest with his mouth; feasting at your nipple as he felt the wash of your milk breeze into his mouth, contaminating his ultimate desire and lust of your bodily furnishings.

“That’s right…” You found your voice. Your affectionate fingers travelled through his thinning hair. It was a comforting gesture that made him whimper against your breast, his eyelids opening and revealing the sepia colour. He always enjoyed your praises – it made him feel good about his worth and his value to you. After all, you were the only thing he had. And he cherished it more than his life.

The dress fell to the kitchen floor and you were left bare.  

“Ma…” His words muffled as he continuously sucked your sore nipple, “Mama…”

“You couldn’t wait?” You had asked, shivering at the labour of his tongue.

Although you sounded unconcerned; it was more teasing.

He found himself grabbing your hips pathetically as his legs struggled to hold his weight anymore. But he wanted to keep on sucking. It was a shameless habit he lives by – like a law he’d plague with loyalty.

Your breast slipped out of his mouth and he looked up like a leash-less puppy. Milk drizzled down his chin, and with a small breath, his brows furrowed. “I shouldn’t have to wait.”

“Oh?”

He straightened his posture and pressed his forehead against yours. His breath smelt sour and hot. It flushed your cheeks.

“It’s been ages.” Trevor tried to explain his dying thirst, but he was still a lost dog in a road full of headlights. He never admits his deepest desire to use you like a nurturing caregiver. A shared bond he’s frightened to share with anyone else; a maternal hand whose love is portrayed in ways more than romance.

“It’s been three days.” You grinned with amusement. Followed by the frantic state of his mouth returning to your nipple again. He kneeled, infused in the love he was providing you. His hands returned to your hips and he sucked and sucked and sucked – leaving you a grunting mess against the kitchen counter.

In response to your observations; not a care was given. Three days, four days, yesterday… Trevor’s abuse of sensation riddles his concept of time, resulting in desperate loves of your breasts from day to day as he simply was infatuated.

Later that day your dress was completely disregarded. It remained on the kitchen floor while you were moved.

Lying underneath him, his hard cock beastly attacks your pussy, your tit still hanging from his mouth.

It didn’t take long to find this position.

Trevor’s hips were rushing to thrust into yours with everything in his will. You were clinging to his shoulders, your fine nails slowly grazing his shoulder blades; red lines trailing down his muscular frame as he kept on fucking you.  

“Argh – “ Your breast suppressed all his noise. You could feel him moan though. Like a whiney cat. It was constant and high-pitched. His voice would break and wobble each time you physically connected. And each time made you gasp out a pleasant moan as well.

“Fuck, Trevor…” You exhaled and praised.

He changed breasts, moving to your right. His tongue wasted no time and devoured the nipple. His eyes fell onto you, seeing you beam, making him shudder. He let go of your chest and finally had liberty to speak.

“I’m making you feel so good, mommy.” Murmured Trevor.

“Mm… So good…” Your hands stayed glued to his back.

“I’m not gonna last.”

“It’s okay, baby.” He immediately felt reassured when you relaxed his nerves. Not like he was ashamed of how long he lasts – which is not that long – he was more concerned about you. He wanted to please you. Trevor was at heaven whenever you’d praise him for fucking you rough. He liked your noises, smile, moans, scratches, breasts.

“I – I’m gonna cum inside… You.” He finally stated, his eyes peeling to his cock and your pussy.

With the warning, you nodded and stretched out. He pulled back in, guiding his erection with a free hand as it’ll slip out with the grease of your wetness. Both of you moaned together, finding each other at a pitch and continuing to concentrate on the climax approaching.

“Fuck…” Trevor thrusted again. “I fuckin’ love you. I could fuck you all day, mommy… All day. I was made to fuck you.”

His dirty talk churned your stomach in the most enlightening way.  

You could only gasp in response and felt him twitch uncontrollably. So with a steady finger, you caressed his bottom lip, ignoring the drool and drops of saliva. You carried on caressing his bottom lip – even when he took your finger into his mouth and began to suck. He needed some oral fixation. He would’ve attacked your breasts again but he needed to concentrate.

Your fingers ached and was trampled by his teeth.

You didn’t care though. It uplifted your spirits.

Trevor thrusted one last time before shooting a load inside. He fell forward and moaned into your chest. His moan sounded painful but you knew it was out of relief.

“Fuckin’ fuck!” He protested, his hips jerking backwards and hands profusely sweating.

His cum stayed inside and it felt right. You couldn’t help but seize the opportunity and rub your clit as he recovered against your breasts. The sounds of his panting was enough to get yourself off to.

Already so sensitive, you rubbed your clit until cum drippled out of your cunt and wedging around his cock. Trevor’s penis throbbed at the sensation of your wetness, causing him to breathe directly into your neck. “I wanna stay inside you.”

“Please.” You agreed and grabbed his hips, ensuring he stayed.

Trevor waited a few silent minutes then leaned up to face you. His hair was damp and face red with veins standing in his neck. He was vulnerable and fell back into your neck before licking and nibbling the skin.

“Keep going.” He heard your commands and unconsciously followed them, trailing up your jaw and finding your lips. A kiss occurred; a sweet one to reminisce the reason you love being together.  

And the next morning you didn’t bother picking up that nightdress. The sight of it shrivelled up on the floor made you smile. So it remained there – just where it belongs.

Just how he likes it.

[akajustmerry]

video essay round up! 

The Visual Effects Crisis - conscise breakdown of the history behind the current VFX labour crisis in Hollywood

Medical Assistance in Dy!ng & the Art of Death - tw for discussion of death, suicide and terminal illness. 

Did Content Kill Culture? - how an oversaturation of streaming services is killing culture in favour of endless content.

Act Black, Be White: The Secret to Tik Tok Fame - a case study on how white tiktok fame is built on the stolen work of Black creators. 

what makes gen z humor so interesting? - the relationship between so-called gen z humour and “meta-irony”

The Psychology of the Religious Right - tw for discussions of racism, white supremacy, etc.

How Spotify Manufactures Gay Culture - fascinating essay on how algorithms are creating an artifical “gay culture”

WTF is Barbiecore? | Revival of the White Woman Ideal - breaking down the revival of barbiecore/bimbo-core and it’s links to anti-blackness

"Breeding Kinks" and the fake apocalypse at its core - ever wondered why so many rich men are obsessed with having babies? 

The Holocaust is Not a Metaphor: The Grey Zone (2001) - one of the best video essays on a single film i’ve ever seen. tw for discussion of antisemitism and the holocaust obviously

[writerunblocked]

Bullet Proof Heart: I. The Agreement

Synopsis: After her idiot older brother, a man notoriously bad a counting, accidentally short-changes the Peaky Blinders for who their father pays for protection, Anya Rosenthal finds herself engaged to the much older and the most powerful man in Birmingham. The leader of the gang The Peaky Blinders and her now former employer, Thomas Shelby.

Trope: Arranged marriage trop. I know it's old, but I like it.

TW: Death and dying, antisemitism, drinking, drunkness, and smoking, swearing

WC: 3560

Read Part 2, Out of the Bag, here. Read Part 3: Acceptance here

It was a bleak late August morning in Birmingham, England. The people went about their business, dogs barked, and she could hear children laughing outside. Nothing about this morning could predict the day Anya Rosenthal would have. 

Waking up, getting dressed, and running into the kitchen to greet her mother who had been up for hours, the 22-year-old was greeted by her mother mopping the floors and muttering things in Yiddish under her breath. Looking at her mother’s blotchy face and red eyes, she looked like she’d been crying. She walked over to where her mum kept the liquor, grabbed the bottle of Jameson, walked over to the tea and poured her mother a glass with more Jameson than tea. Placing it down on the table, she walked over to her mother who was muttering in Yiddish ‘no good piece of shit. Marrying her off without my knowledge. I thought he loved her. To him!’ 

“Mame, vas geyt far?” Anya asked. (Mum, what’s going on?) 

Anya's blue eyes met her mother’s blue ones. And Anya could see herself in her mother. The two were practically identical. Both had curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that caught the attention of everyone. Anya was said to be the most beautiful woman in all of Birmingham. Except her family was dirt poor. Her father had been hurt during the war and the family of eight had fallen upon hard times. Her brothers had taken up jobs running for gangs while her father had started growing Cannabis, something that was still taking off. 

Her mother stopped mopping and walked over to where the tea cup was. Anya followed. “Antshuldigt mir, Anya,” she whispered while taking a drink of the tea. Anya knew it was extra strong with no milk, just how her mother, and also Anya, liked it.  “Bite visn az ikh keynmol gevalt dos far ir.” (I’m so sorry, Anya. Please know that I never wanted this for you.) 

Anya was now terrified of her mother’s own words. In her 22 years on God’s Earth, she had never seen her mother cry. Her own mother, who’d raised six kids while her husbands and three oldest sons were off at war and raised Anya and her older brother Isaac while simultaneously running the family pot business. Many soldiers would flock to it after they came home from the war, her three oldest brothers and father included. 

But her father was sick, they couldn’t afford to take him to a doctor, and he didn’t have much longer left to live. He struggled to breathe and he struggled to walk. With every laboured breath, the Rosenthal family knew that their father was close to death. Her oldest brother Abraham, better known as ‘Abe’, would take over the business. 

“Vas tut zikh?” Anya asked her mother. (What’s going on.) 

But her mother couldn’t even look her in the eyes. All she kept on saying was ‘sorry’ in Yiddish over and over and over again. She was worried her mother was on the verge of a mental breakdown and she’d have to be whisked away. She was hysterical and that terrified Naomi. Her mother had led the charge for their immigration from Krakow, Poland, to Birmingham, England fleeing the Pograms. Anya was only a little girl but she could remember their neighbours being murdered by the townspeople. They’d packed up and fled to England, the only country that was willing to take them. Her father and brothers would then sign up to fight for the Crown, not knowing if they would come back alive. They all did, but no one knew how or why. They were in the Somme and worked as tunnelers. 

“ANYA!” her father roared. “ANYA ROSENTHAL GET IN HERE!” 

With her mother’s silent sob, she got up and walked to her father’s office. She wondered who was behind the door as she smelt the familiar smell of cigarette smoke and her father only smoked cigarettes when he was meeting with someone. As she opened the door to her father’s office she saw the man sitting at the desk with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of whisky in the other. But on the other side of the desk with his back toward the door was a man with a partially shaved head and a familiar cap that she saw every day at work. She nearly wanted to scream, for Anya recognised the man, it was Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders. No wonder why her mum was crying. No wonder why she was inconsolable. This man wanted her for something. And she hoped it wasn’t about last night at the Garrison, where Anya worked as a barmaid. 

“Anya, you’re here,” Mr Shelby said, turning around to greet her. His electric-blue eyes looking into hers. She felt weak in the knees. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Is everything alright, Mr Shelby?” Anya asked tentatively, taking the only empty seat which was beside him. “Look, about last night, I didn’t know that Connor would try something like that—”  

Mr Shelby cut her off. “What happened with Connor?” 

Fuck. Anya thought. Fuck me in the ass and call me a bitch. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing at all.” 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Mr Shelby said. “We have other things to discuss.” 

“A raise?” Anya asked hopefully. “Controlling the creepy men? Finding my sanity?” 

“Enough, Anya!” Her father grumbled though he did seem amused with his daughter’s antics. His warm and mischievous smile that he'd given to all six of his children coming through.

“You’re my new fiancée,” Mr Shelby said. “Your father and I made a deal. He got caught up in something and you are unfortunately caught in the middle.” 

And though Mr Shelby seemed saddened by the fact she’d gotten caught up in their business. Anya didn’t know what to do. It felt like everything was falling to pieces around her and all she could do was watch it happen helplessly. Anya had no intention of getting married in the first place and was happily content with being the crazy single Auntie at every Seder who gave sweets to her niece and nephew. She wanted to travel, have fun, and go out. The last thing on her mind was marriage. Anya was pulled out of her thoughts by her mother’s violent sobs from the kitchen. Anya hated how powerless she felt with the whole ordeal. Her youngest getting married, her little girl growing up, and starting a family of her own. People usually married for love, but Anya wasn’t given that choice. 

Anya felt numb, completely and utterly numb. As the world crumbled around her, she wondered if it was possible to melt into the chair. Not even her mother’s sobs could pull her out of this. Sure, she and Mr Shelby did know each other, intimately as they had started sleeping together recently, she didn’t love Mr Shelby. 

Tears staining her blue eyes, she didn’t move, she didn’t say anything. As her world crumbled around her, she wondered if she could turn invisible. She wanted to strangle her father. And Mr Shelby as well. Her father passed her some vodka and she drank from it. “Who’s idea was this?” She whispered. “And what did you do, Dad?” 

“A deal gone wrong,” he sighed. 

“My idea,” Mr Shelby announced. 

Anya rolled her eyes and glared at Mr Shelby, probably a death sentence to anyone else. “Don’t you see enough of me?” She asked. “I’m on your payroll.” 

Before Shelby could respond, Abe barged into the room and nearly lunged at their father. The pure rage that could be seen in his brown eyes was something that startled Anya. “SHE’S NOT A PIECE OF MEAT!” He roared. “SHE’S NOT YOURS TO MARRY OFF!” 

“I’M SECURING HER FUTURE!” Her father roared. “I’LL BE DEAD IN THREE MONTHS!” 

The entire house went cold. Everyone looked at him in shock. “What?” asked Abe. The atmosphere in the house turned cold as everyone processed their father’s statement. 

“When did you find out, David?” asked Mr Shelby. 

“Last month,” he sighed. “I found out last month.” 

Everyone knew that David Rosenthal would die and that he was on borrowed time. They didn’t realise it would be this soon. Her father had been going downhill lately, he struggled going up the stairs, he struggled to breathe, he struggled to even move. Her mother walked in, her eyes stained, her face puffy as she looked at her husband. Anya knew her parents had known each other for their entire lives. They grew up next to each other in Poland, they met the day her mother was born. They got married young and moved to England together with their family fleeing the Pogroms in Poland. She wondered how her mother would handle the death of the man she had no memories of without. Abe would become the head of the family and life would go on like nothing had happened. 

“I have a condition to the marriage,” Anya gulped. All eyes turned her, her mother gasped another sob. “I’ll go through with it if and only if you take care of my mum for the remainder of her life. And my nieces and nephews are put through school.”

Mr Shelby nodded. “That can be arranged,” he said. 

“And I want that in writing,” she stated. “If not, there’s no deal.” 

"Anya,” whimpered Abe. “You don’t have to do this.” 

Her mother was sobbing violently now, but she’d been crying for so long that no tears had come out. Anya could also see that her mother’s violent sobbing was getting on Mr Shelby’s nerves.  

Mr Shelby got up and looked at her.  “You’re no longer an employee of Shelby Co because you’re my fiancée.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll pick you up later tonight, Anya.” 

Anya nodded her head, barely being able to look at her now fiancée. “See you later tonight, Mr Shelby.”  

“You’re my fiancée now, there’s no need to call me Mr Shelby,” he said. 

“You later, then, Tommy,” Anya responded in a shaky voice. He walked out of the house. 

Anya got up and also walked out of the house. Grabbing her purse, she walked down the street and made her way to the nearest pub where she took a seat and took a drink. The bartender saw her and laughed. He had a moustache and a darker complexion similar to Abe’s and wore a Star of David, he looked over at her and smiled, “Hi, Naomi, what brings the most beautiful girl in town back?” 

Anya rolled her eyes and scoffed at the comment. The bartender and owner, Sam Lebowitz, had always been a flatter, but he had no interest in her. And when the news got out, no one would dare touch her for fear of the Shelbys.  Sam had been a friend of her dad’s for years and she considered the man an uncle figure in her life. “A pick me up,” Anya admitted. She needed it after the day she had. 

He walked over to her with a shot of Irish whiskey and vodka. He handed them to her. “How’s your dad?” 

She took a deep breath and gulped. “Three months,” she whispered. “It’s getting to him.” 

She could see the horror in Sam’s eyes when he heard that. Sam had been her family’s first friend since they emigrated and also served in WWI. As tears threatened to spill from his chocolate brown eyes, he brushed a piece of black curly hair away from his face. “Are you guys planning on sitting Shiva?” He asked her. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s a thing to ask my mum, she’s been a wreck all day. She’s been sobbing on and off. The poor woman can’t even cry anymore.” 

The atmosphere between the two people turned melancholic. Sam kept on filling her glass and she kept on knocking them back one by one. She didn’t care that she was losing track of time. She just wanted to forget this horrible day. She’d found out that she’d be married off like royalty, she found out her father was going to die in the coming months, and her life would consist of her looking over her shoulder because of who her inlaws were. 

She thought of herself looking out of Arrow House in Warwickshire, being arm candy to Tommy, being at his beck and call. She wiped her eyes from the tears that continued to spill as the alcohol flowed. The whiskey and vodka started tasting like water, but she just continued to drink and drink and drink. She didn’t care. 

The pub turned quiet but she downed another glass. “Another, Sam,” she slurred. “I need another.” 

“That’s all for you for tonight,” he said. “You’ve had more than enough, Anya.” 

“My dad’s dying!” She slurred. 

“And you’ve still had enough. Just because you’re immune to hangovers—” he stopped and then looked straight behind Anya. “Mr Shelby, is everything alright? I paid you yesterday.” 

FUCK. Anya thought. Of course this pub’s under the Blinder’s protection. 

“I just need to speak to Anya for a moment,” Thomas Shelby said grabbing me. 

“Leave the girl alone, Mr Shelby. She’s had a rough day. Her dad’s dying,” he said. 

“I'm only here to help,” he said. “Come on, love, Abe’s worried about you. Your mum’s a wreck. It’s past sundown.” 

“It’s not Friday,” she grumbled. “Ikh viln vodka! SAM, PASS ME THE BOTTLE!” She hollered reaching for the bottle of vodka.

Sam looked at Shelby and then Anya who was looking hungrily at the bottle like it was her mother’s latkes with applesauce. Sam looked at Shelby, then back to Anya, then back to Shelby once again. With one arm on her, Shelby pulled out a tenner and put on the counter, “Here’s for her tab for your best vodka.”  

Her ears perked up as she heard vodka. She reached for the vodka while trying to squirm her way out of Shelby’s arm, but his grip was tight. “I’ll get her home, Mr Shelby,” Sam said pushing the tenner back. “She’ll be safe with me. I’m her uncle and I need to go talk to Chaya.” 

“I can do it, Sam,” Shelby assured with a glance to Anya who was now looking at Sam with a guilty expression.

The two men stared each other down. Sam had to be the bravest man in all of Birmingham or the dumbest. All Anya knew was that this could end badly if she didn’t say something. She was going to lose her father, she couldn’t lose Sam too. “I’m her uncle,” he said. “I’ve known her since she was born, I will take care of her until the morning,” Sam stated again. 

“I can take care of my own fiancée, Sam,” Shelby said. “The engagement was today.” 

The look on Sam’s face was one of pure horror like he’d just gotten the worst news in his life. The horror in his brown eyes, the hurt, the betrayal. “Let me speak to you in your office,” Shelby responded. 

Reluctantly Sam went, and Anya and Shelby followed. Looking around the dark wooden room, the air smelt like stale cigarette smoke and booze, but there was no laughing, no talking, no dancing. Everyone except the three of them that is. 

They followed Sam into his office filled with photos of Anya and her five brothers throughout different life stages. Photos of Sam and her father when they were growing up. And photos of her mother smiling and laughing. The black and white photographs would never be able to capture her mother’s beauty. The beauty that Anya had inherited. The desk was filled with papers and weights, a typewriter sat in the back of the room, and a leather chair where Sam sat. 

Anya was laid on the couch by Shelby, who grabbed a blanket, pillow, and trash for her. “Get some rest, love,” Shelby said. 

“You’re not my mum!” She snarled. The urge to throw up came over her and she puked her guts into the trashcan. She felt sober now. Sam passed her a towel and she whipped her face, he then passed her some water and she drank. She nodded and got up. “I’d prefer to stay with Sam, Mr Shelby. If you don’t mind.”

“Your parents are worried sick,” Shelby stated. “And don’t call me—” 

She cut him off. “Then maybe my father should have thought of that before he sold me to you like I’m royalty. Yes, he’s sick, yes, he’s dying, but I’m still pissed at him for giving my life to you!” 

“I’ll take good care of her, Sam,” he said. “I can provide for her and I’ll be setting aside money for Gal and Noam that will take care of them for the rest of their lives. Chaya will be taken care of after ” 

“Is that what you said when you showed up to David’s place on Tuesday night?” He snarled. “He told me about your meeting. He was so horrified that he couldn’t even speak on the phone. I had to go over there. You’re taking advantage of a dying man, Thomas Shelby.” 

“Sam,” Anya pleaded. “Sam, please. I need you here, I’m losing my dad, I can’t lose my uncle.”  

“I’m not going to do anything to him, Anya,” he assured her. “What do you want with the Rosenthals?” He asked. “It can’t be because Abe saved your life in the trenches.” 

Anya perked up. That was news to her. She knew Shelby was a war hero and so was Abe. Anya knew that her brothers and the Shelby brothers served together, but she didn’t know Abe saved his life. She was young when they’d gone off to war but she remembered it being just her and her mother while the men were off. She remembered her mother praying every night that her boys would return home. God must’ve said ‘yes’ and her brothers and father returned home. She’d been at the ceremony when she was eleven seeing her brother get handed the medal. But he told her that it meant nothing to him, most of his friends hadn’t come back, and he was still haunted by what he’d seen in the Somme and Verdun. She knew Shelby felt the same way about it as well. She knew he did opium to forget in his past. He’d bought it from her father after all. 

“Don’t take advantage of them, Mr Shelby,” he said. “I was already terrified when I found out she was working in your brother’s pub.”  

“I have no interest in hurting her,” he said. “I can provide for her. I know you have money set aside for all of them in the case of your death, but that won’t amount to much. I can provide for her.” 

“How do you know that?” Sam asked shocked. 

“Because I know all the information on everyone who pays for protection from the Peaky Blinders,” he stated. “I know that you care for her, but I can provide for her.” 

“Is that what that Gypsy tongue of yours used on her ailing father?” he asked.

“He’s worried that she’s getting too wild and is in needing of marrying off,” Shelby responded. “Better me than someone else.” 

“The most I do is get drunk,” she sighed. “I don’t go crazy, I don’t do coke.” 

“You once went through half my vodka supply,” Sam said. 

“I haven’t—” 

“That was last week,” he said cutting her off. He turned to Shelby, his eyes now also filled with fear. This was his niece after all. “She’s out of control and you think you’re the one to pull her back?” 

“I’M A HUMAN BEING!” Anya roared tears staining her eyes. Sam passed her another glass of water. “I’m a human being. I’m not to be brought, I’m not a prize to be won, I’m not a piece of land. I’m a human being. A human!” 

Shelby led her back to the couch and put his hand in hers. “You are human, love,” Shelby said. “No one’s saying that!” 

 She jumped up and Shelby got up with her. “THE REST OF MY LIFE WAS SIGNED AWAY!” She hollered. “SIGNED AWAY TO YOU! RIGHT NOW, I’M THE PROPERTY OF MY FATHER, AFTER THE MARRIAGE, I’M YOUR PROPERTY. MY LAST NAME CHANGED, EVERYTHING ABOUT THE ROSENTHALS ERRASED AS I’M JUST KNOWN AS THOMAS SHELBY’S WIFE!” She pushed Shelby away. “Does anybody ever stop to think about me when they’re throwing my life to the wolves?” 

Shelby looked at her and sighed. “I understand where you’re coming from,” he said. “You won’t be cut off from your family.” 

She was shocked at what came out of Shelby’s mouth. He was assuring her that she wouldn’t be cut off from her family. She scoffed, she knew the answer. “You genuinely want this,” she laughed. Anya's laugh wasn’t one filled with humour that people called ‘infectious’. It was filled with shock and disbelief. “Good God, you want to go through with this. What happened, Mr Shelby,  at the Pub that made you want this?” 

“Your father got caught up in some business with the Blinders,” he told her. “You got caught in the crossfires.”

He grabbed Anya and led her out of the Pub. Uncle Sam was reluctant but didn’t object when she sent him a pleading look. And with that, she was on her way to her parents. Her mum was probably worried sick about her. 

[whumpdrivethru]

Hi, can I please order a nightmare/night terror where the whumpee devolves into a panic attack and/or a dissociative episode and the caretaker comforts them?

Thank youuuu 🥰

First of all, I am sooooo incredibly sorry at how late this is, but college has legit been destroying me. i hope you enjoy this meal tho < 3

-Nat

Rough Night

TW: Smoking, knife, asthma, sadistic whumper, creepy whumper, non-con (non-sexual) touch, implied torture, nightmare, dissociation, captivity, blood mention

Everywhere. The pungent, seemingly everlasting scent of tobacco smoke had filled the room, crawling into Whumpee's lungs with a disturbingly familiar and yet irritating burn. Being asthmatic, he was a whole lot more sensitive to it than the average person, and Whumper knew that, and it was all the more reason for him to take pleasure in his old, filthy habit.

Though the smoke wasn't the only reason Whumpee's breathing had constricted. A rough, calloused hand landed on his head, petting his hair in a humiliating display of mock-comfort. A harsh laugh escaped Whumper's lips, revelling in how Whumpee's entire body tensed, his breathing laboured, and his eyes wide and darting everywhere.

The man's grip tightened on his captive's hair, roughly fisting the strands with his fingers. "It's pretty adorable, you know, the fact that you thought you'd get away with this," he crooned in an oily voice that sent shivers up his spine.

Whumper took in another long drag from the cigarette clutched in his left hand, slowly exhaling in Whumpee's direction, making him cough, his eyes watering and nausea settling in a pit in his stomach. Any further and he was going to have an asthma attack, one of Whumper's favourite methods of tormenting him, though it only lasted for a short time until he gave him an inhaler. He couldn't have his favourite toy dying on him, now could he? Besides, it wasn't hard for him to come up with more sick punishments for Whumpee anyway.

He threw his dead cigarette on the ground, stamping on it with his boot. "No matter how amusing I find your optimism, it doesn't override how bloody annoying it is when you do exactly what I explicitly told you not to and make me have to chase you around," he snarled, his hold on Whumpee's locks even crueller now, warranting a soft whine to escape his lips.

"Since following simple rules has proven to be so difficult for you, how about we try a little something to make them stick?" The phrasing of it as a question was mercilessly ironic, as though anything in this was up to Whumpee.

He pulled a glinting switchblade out from his pocket, twirling it around with his fingers, a sadistic half-smirk gracing his lips. 

On instinct, Whumpee tried to pull away, which was quite possibly the most foolish thing anyone could ever think of doing, and still he found himself in the other man's furious death grip, the bitingly ice-cold blade of the knife pressed into the skin of his abdomen underneath the flimsy, shredded shirt making his skin crawl. 

He bit down a scream, one of many to come, but it didn't matter, none of it did because he would scream anyway, loud enough until his throat burned, up until he'd lost enough blood to pass out, but not quite enough to die. 

He wasn't sure which he despised more, his own screaming or Whumper's sick laughter, but the truth was, both of these poisons were being poured into his ears anyway. . .

Cold sweat ran in rivulets down his forehead, shivers racking his entire form as the covers slipped off his shoulders, his mind still racing with all the fear and panic of a wild animal. 

“J-just leave me a-alone, please, please, I won't try to run- to run away again,” he pleaded, voice hoarse and broken. 

He hadn't even registered that he'd woken up, biting down hard on his lips as he tried to quiet himself, practically fighting against the covers that felt like chains biting into his body. Whumper was still there, sneering at him. He was always there, in the dark corners of his mind, his rough, calloused hands wrapped around his neck, fisting through his hair, dealing harrowing punches to his form. 

Stop. Stop. Goddamn it, you bastard, what the hell did I ever do for this, just stop! 

But it didn't stop. Like how Hell never stops burning. 

“Sweetheart?” Caretaker's voice called out, cutting through his toxic chain of thought. 

He turned around abruptly, his eyes boring into hers, a silent cry for help, even though he wasn't sure who he was looking at. 

“Another nightmare?” she questioned again, pulling him closer into her embrace. 

It had taken Whumpee some time to figure out that he was safe, that the embrace was much too delicate to be Whumper trying to stop him from running away, to stop trying to fight and to catch his laboured breath.

“I'm fine,” he answered, much too late, nuzzling into the crook of her neck and smiling softly as though he was just responding normally to a gesture of affection, as though what he'd just seen  and done was another annoying thing he could just brush off. 

It was something he'd trained himself to do. Normally, his dissociations were a private matter, limited to his thoughts, but sometimes, they got terrible. Like right now.

“You were screaming,” she attested, pulling away from him, the look in her eyes turning more stern now. 

He let out a soft curse, a frustrated look that was somewhere between guilt and annoyance colouring his features as his brows furrowed, and the muscles in his shoulders went tense. 

This just had to happen every goddamn time didn't it? Another nightmare where he seemed to lose control he'd spent ages building, all the defiance, the fear, the hot shame burning at the back of his throat like pure acid. 

Whumpee wasn't even sure when the tears started flowing down his face, tasting like salt on his tongue, and it didn't matter that he'd stifled them, or suppressed his shivering, Caretaker noticed anyway.

She always did.

“Hey,” she started gently, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, “you're alright. Whatever you've taught yourself to hide, you don't have to around me. You shouldn't have to suffer alone,” she added, rubbing circles into his shoulders.

“I just.  . .didn't want you to have to suffer with me,” he explained through a sniffle, his voice half-broken, half-steady.

“Sweetheart. I am in no way better off not knowing about anything that's hurting you. When you tell me, I worry less. Because I still notice even when you try to hide, Whumpee.” 

He nodded in response, his few false starts proving fruitless, trying to steady himself, allowing himself the luxury of letting a stray tear stream down his face every now and then as Caretaker kneaded out the tension in his muscles, her fingers blissfully cool against his shoulder blades.

He'd calmed down a little under the gentle touch, letting out a soft sigh in spite of himself. Maybe it didn't completely erase his pain, but touch was a primitive thing, relaxing his body and letting his mind reflexively follow suit. 

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but Whumpee found himself pulling Caretaker into his arms; wrapping them gently around her form. “Thank you. For everything, love,” he said softly, kissing her forehead.

“Nothing you need to thank me for, sweetie.”

Maybe a harsh past doesn't truly leave you unscathed, scars marking your form, prone to reopening. But it is fortunate that people and products are not one and the same, and you aren't a broken object in need of fixing and covering up. All it truly takes is someone to make the darker nights just a little less desolate and foreboding. 

You have been served by Natalia 💙

[grimogretricks]

JKR has ruined things in my country

TW/CW: Transphobia, homophobia, Scotland and the UK being a transphobic hell hole right now. Brief mention of sexual assault.  Also this is a depressing rant.  

 JKR has ruined things in my country.

 That sounds pretty hyperbolic, but, it's, surreally, unfortunately probably true.

 The SNP's Nicola Sturgeon has long been one of the few UK politicians who could provide an articulate, progressive, well argued voice in support of important left leaning principles against a prevailing right wing tide. In complete contrast to the total mealy mouthed nonsense spouted by the likes of the labour leader, who's afraid to stand up for anything at all lest he do a poor job of pandering enough to tory ideas to get voted in. She's the closest thing the UK has had to an opposition to tory principles, standing up for worker's rights, equality and the NHS.

 And now, she's resigned. And regardless of what she says, I do believe it's because of the rampant transphobia stirred up by JKR, who personally made Scotland's gender reform bill an ignition point for anti-trans hate in the UK. Transphobia from the media, transphobia stirred up in her OWN party, transphobia from all sides, is causing rifts and schisms due to the deeply morally regressive panic JKR gave so much voice to.  

 Now Nicola Sturgeon has resigned, and it's like a mask has fallen off the SNP. What had seemed to be a progressive party, with commitment to LGBT rights and equality, now shows itself as riddled with transphobia and homophobia. Because among those slated to replace here, there are.. a right wing religious lunatic who doesn't believe in gay marriage, and a woman who supported 'Alba' - which was Alex Salmond's transphobic, Russia pandering party (the ex SNP leader, a man who could not be left alone with women without sexually harassing and groping them). Granted, there is also Humza Yousaf, who is pro-LGBT rights, and hopefully will become our leader, but that these people even exist in the party, let alone want to become the leader, is alarming in itself.  

 It was fun for five minutes to think that maybe transgender rights would split the UK  but what's this fuss from the media against Nicola Sturgeon has  actually done is removed one of the last progressive and articulate voices in British politics willing to actually call the tories out on their bullshit. And now this has also created articles saying things like 'maybe joining with the greens and trying to be progressive about trans rights was a mistake from the SNP as trans rights aren't popular'.

 Apparently, it's not worth sticking up for Scotland's own ability to put bills into place in its own country and stopping Sunak from trying to block our reforms if it's about transgender rights.

 It's despair inducing, that fighting for trans rights has been made into such a divisive issue, and genuinely, that JKR has actually been at the forefront of a massive wave of senseless and cruel moral panic that is diverting people in Britain away from actually caring about actual massive, huge problems in the UK. Like people dying due to NHS waiting times, like the massive inflation, like the unprecedented cost of living increase, like tories actually proposing further reducing our human rights, our rights to protest, and worker's rights, and various disasterous consequences of Brexit. Things are DIRE right now, and hating transgender people has been whipped up into a fury not solely by JKR, but SHE made this gender bill into an ignition point for UK anti-trans hate.

 The tories meanwhile, are loving this massive diversion in attention, especially since to 'fix' it requires that they do literally nothing except get in the way of further progress. They found a way to curb Scotland's right to determine their own bills without upsetting the majority of Scots by counting on people to be transphobic, and it worked.

[soupedepates]

TW religious trauma, misogyny, mention of death in childbirth

I look at my son running to you, and mother is giggling because Esprit can't run properly and Pie tries to help him. They are like twins. Mother gazes at you, dreaming about the Lord knows what, a tender grin on her face.

Of course, you go and raise the boys in your arms. I bet you reek of transpiration and other woodly smells. But they love you more than me. Me who birthed one of them. Me who nursed one of them. Me who stayed awake all night long to care after them. You never did any of that. Father insisted that childcare isn't your job. Mother still has you do the housework, the true battle a woman shall wage, but father treats you like a man. Since you're a "knight". You will never be a man. You are not even a woman anymore.

"What a shame Tomyris can't marry, she would have done a wonderful mother, don't you think Prudence?"

I quietly nod.

"And children just love her, what a shame she can't be a mother. I remember when she was so tiny, and so eager to... No, the Lord works in mysterious ways, but still, what a shame."

I let her go at her rambling. Why is she talking about you, when I am the true first girl of the house? I married a good man. I even had a son. I am already pregnant with my second child. I cook, I clean, I stitch and sew, I am the perfect housewife and I make it look effortless. Why is mother seemingly more infatuated with your "achievements" than with the honours I bring to the family? It doesn't use to be like that. I used to be mother's favourite. I used to be doted on by everyone.

My mother-in-law said while I was suffering during labour that the greatest honour a woman shall have is dying in childbirth by giving her husband a boy.

"It's in the great scheme of things", I say while glaring at you playing with the boys, blissfully aware of everything. "Fighting suits her. Bridehood wouldn't."

My own wedding-dress was your hand-me-down. You should have marry in it. The bitter taste remains on my tongue. Why were you even born? You make no sense. You come closer, holding your brother and your nephew like treasures. How come can you be so grotesquely delicate at time?

"I think they belong to you", you smile with that stupid attitude you learnt from the men. "How was practice, dear?" "It went alright, mother", you say as you sit. "I'll still have to watch a group of girls who convinced their parents to let them sleep under the stars, so... Don't wait for me for dinner." "We sure won't", mother tells you with a glimpse of disappointment you obviously can't catch. "Is something wrong, Prudence?"

I raise my head to face you. You won't understand. You can't manage to even be a human person. You stare at me with round eyes, and I remember each and every time you got scolded for not looking at people. I know that behind that hairless face there is a ticking time bomb, waiting to implode, and it isn't that I am scared of you, it is just that father and mother are ready to find an excuse for you. It was this way when we were girls, it is still today. You can't stay still, you can't read a room, you can't take a hint, you, you... I am so disgusted by the look of you. Blissfully unaware. How dare you?

"Nothing. I guess I am just tired."

Pardon me, Lord. I shall not hate.

I sometimes pray you go to Hell.

[excavatinglizard]

I'm gonna be REALLY OBVIOUS mckirk + things you said under the stars and in the grass

Hey here you go this stuck in my brain and wouldn't leave :) sorry :)

Uhhh tw discussions of death

[recording trancript, Stardate 2265, 12:01:39, duration, 02:18]

[A low hissing, like the wind through grass. Laboured breathing. Sobs.]

“My dad died in space.”

“I know, Jim.”

“I mean, I was born out there, in the cold and the dark. I guess I always figured I’d die out there too, right back where I started. Instead, I’m—”

“You’re not dying on me, kid. You’re not done yet.”

“Bones…”

“Fuck that. Fuck that, Jim, I’ve dragged you back and I dragged you to space and I—”

[sounds of grunting, a heavy object being moved]

“I’m not letting you go, yet. We need you, Jim. I need you. You’re the strongest person I know, and I’m getting you the hell out of here.”

“No, Bones.”

“what?”

“Not the strongest. I’m just a coward. It’s always been you.”

[A single sob, muffled.]

“Ok. Ok.”

[recording ends.]

[briar-ffxiv]

BIRTH: What was your OC's first experience with birth? A sibling, a pet, their own child?

DEATH: What was your OC's first experience with death? Was it a person they knew, a pet they had, a story they heard? How did they feel about it then, and what do they remember about it now?

i really need to get back to writing things for my PC, these question lists are very inspiring to me

oc asks: firsts

TW Parental Death Mentioned!

BIRTH: What was your OC's first experience with birth? A sibling, a pet, their own child? Briar's mother, Saule, was a hedgewitch, healer, and midwife for the Black Shroud, especially for those whom the Gridanian healers often refuse to help. Due to this, Briar was fairly familiar with birth from a young age, although he wasn't directly involved. His mother talked to him about birth and possible problems, proper medicines, and even the care of newborns. When he was around ten, he would go with her to help with births, although she kept him out of the room and set him to heating water and similar tasks.

The first actual birth that Briar was present for and handled on his own was one of his sheep. One of his ewes went into labour and was having a bit of trouble. So Briar helped her deliver her twins. Both lambs survived and the mother was fine so Briar was greatly relieved. He also got to tend a birth directly and found it a rather messy if incredible experience. It also gave him confidence and now, a handful of years later, he's well-experienced and keeps a calm head whenever birth happens, be it sheep or otherwise.

DEATH: What was your OC's first experience with death? Was it a person they knew, a pet they had, a story they heard? How did they feel about it then, and what do they remember about it now? Growing up with a family that hunts meant that Briar was well aware of death and not squeamish about hunting to eat and cleaning the resulting kills. When he was quite small and asked where they went, his mother explained about the Balance and the Lifestream. So he's known about that for as long as he can remember.

However, the first death that directly affected him was the death of his mother, Saule. She had been sick for some years and slowly but steadily getting worse. During the last year or so, she was extremely weak and often bedridden with her twelve-year-old son frantically trying to take care of her while also making sure they had food. It wasn't easy and in the end, she passed, leaving Briar alone.

The worst for him was that he was out hunting for medicine for her when Saule died. He knew she was dying as they'd both been around mortally ill people before, but the fact he wasn't with her when she passed left a deep mark on him. He has done his best to accept what happened and knows he's not 'at fault', but it still breaks his heart that his mother died alone.

@lost-harts - thank you for the asks! And I definitely hope you start writing more. Reading about OCs is always wonderful. <3

[warwickroyals]

would anything have prevented james from dying, like stepping down as prince of danforth or family members being home? (weren't tatiana and the boys out on a trip when james died?) i know philip has the reputation of being the "troubled" one, but how long had james been suffering?

Yes, James's death was fully preventable and all that really needed to happen was for the "people upstairs" (aka Louis's team of sycophants that run Chester Palace) to stage an intervention for him to get some sort of mental care or have him hospitalized. Schuyler and James's team were on board with getting him help and trying to spin a narrative afterwards, however, Louis's coms team actively blocked this because they were worried that James's image would be damaged if the media found out he was in and out of a mental hospital.

They also convinced Louis that James was not actually "that bad" and Louis believed them. You have to understand, Louis's comms team is comprised of the people who originally saved his marriage and reputation after FarrahGate: he trusts these people with his life and he and Irene value their opinions like they are facts.

Another thing that prevented this was the fact that James was also insisting that he wasn't "that bad" which leads to another issue: James was very good at hiding his mental health problems and he never talked about it with anyone outside of maybe Tatiana and, oddly, enough Queen Katherine, his paternal grandmother. He was very different from Phillip, who often lashed out specifically because he wanted attention, James felt very embarrassed and was fearful of being "exposed" as some sort of fraud, so you can imagine getting him to actually open up would be hard.

I don't think James would have needed to step down. He wouldn't have wanted to because it would leave Nicholas, a minor, as heir (Ironic because that's what happened anyway, but I think in James's mind there was a difference between ending everything and giving up his birthright—what he was raised for—and still having a life afterwards).

I think he literally just needed a chance to get away, relax, get the treatment he needed for a year or maybe two, and divide his workload among other members of the family. He would also need to have his family change how they operate on an interpersonal level. At the time of his death, he was basically working non-stop and was involved in trying to fix several problems within the family and institution before they blew up into scandals (like Phillip and Courtney's marital issues, for example). It was too much stress added on top of a man who already had a history of depression from a family with a history of mental health problems. His depression also began to fuck up his relationship with Tatiana as well, so then there's that: It was like all the factors were stacked against him.

TW suicide below the cut

I think that James was probably struggling with depression for decades, but it worsened with age, especially when he began to realize that Louis was getting older and wouldn't be around forever.

Once it kind of "clicked" in James's mind that he wanted to die (this would have been in January 2017, around his 40th birthday) it was already too late. That was his point of no return. He became very peaceful between then and September, so much so that Tatiana mistakenly thought he was getting better. In reality, he was just feeling a sense of resolution while he was finalizing his will and leaving instructions for his funeral.

The family typically spends late June through to the end of August at Collingwood, the King's summer retreat. They leave Collingwood almost always on August 31 and resume public work just after Labour Day. James and his family own a cottage on the Collingwood Estate, you'll notice in posts set at Collingwood that there's the main castle looming in the background of the actual cottage where James would have lived.

On August 31, Tatiana and the boys returned to the city, but James claimed that he still had stuff to sort out at Collingwood. He promised his family he'd meet up with them in a day or two, and they honestly thought nothing of it since James is so meticulous that something like this wasn't out of character for him. This was James isolating himself from his family because: 1) he didn't want to traumatize them further or have them discover him after the fact and 2) he was ensuring no one could stop him.

Also note: that's the reason why Tatiana hangs out so much at Collingwood now that she's an empty nester: that's where she feels close to him. She also feels a lot of guilt for not insisting he stay close, which is sad since there's nothing Tatiana could have done to stop in the grand scheme:

Had Tatiana been able to stop him on September 1, he would have just waited until September 15, if someone stopped him on the 15th he'd have waited until October. So, I think it would have been instrumental for him to have gotten help before he reached that point something that, sadly, did not happen.

[f1uckinghell]

Tw: angst How does everyone in the pack deal with Lando almost dying after giving birth to Luna?

tw: medical, angst

it's a hard time for everyone involved. Carlos most of all, yes, but also the rest of the pack. Especially since Max is about to pop with the triplets when it happens, too; Daniel is really scared that he will go into premature labour. They do their best to be there for Lando, Carlos and Luna, but it takes a lot out of them. Daniel simply doesn't sleep for a few full days, his pack Alpha instincts keeping him awake and alert. They eventually just hand the twins over to grandparents, because the two of them don't need to be around for all of that.

[alicent-apologist]

Here we have Aegon's thoughts during Helaena's labour.

TW for semi-suicidal thoughts and self harm.

This is a bit different from my usual style of writing, more like a train of thought kinda deal. Gets a bit dark but Aegon is a bit dark.

I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

Helaena used to run into his room crying whenever she had a bad dream. When he was young and stupid, he’d hold her tight and promise her that he’d protect her from everything.

Helaena screams and cries in their bedchamber.

What was one more broken promise in his fucked up life?

Aemond is pacing from one end of the room to the other, the grip on his sword getting tighter and tighter with every whimper of pain they can hear. Daeron is sitting with his legs to his chest like the child he is, eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on the door to the room.

All Aegon wants is wine.

Wine helps him forget that he’s his mother’s biggest disappointment. That his father doesn’t love him, let alone like him. That the iron throne looms like a sword poised above his neck.

That his sister (wife) could be dying.

The hangnail on his thumb comes off with a satisfying burst of pain. Is it penance? If he rips off enough of the skin around his nails, under his nails will that be enough? Would the blood on his fingers be able to hide the blood that would be on his hands? One was chosen and one wasn’t. Which is which? Does he know? Helaena would know. Her sad violet eyes had always seen right through him. He hasn’t looked at them in years.

Maybe he should rip his nails off.

Mother doesn’t know that he knows. None of the others know.

What his father did to gain a son.

He knows.

He knows why his mother will never allow him in the birthing room.

Does he want to be in the birthing room?

If Helaena dies will it be his fault for being her husband? Or is the sin that he loves her as his sister?

Incest is wrong. The Faith decries it.

But not for Targaryens. Who come from the blood of Old Valyria.

Helaena screams. Dreamfyre roars.

If Helaena dies will Aemond kill him in turn? He’s always loved their weird sister best.

Aegon will let him.

Would that be penance? An eye for a life for a life?

No, Aemond would never kill him. He’d look at him with blame and hatred and duty and love and he would lovehate Aegon until the day he died.

Aegon wishes he was on Sunfyre, flying high above the clouds. They would fly up and up and up until they couldn’t see anything but the sky.

He’d still be able to hear Helaena scream.

She can’t sleep without him in their bed any more. She’ll never tell him but he knows.

He taught her how to lie. Does she remember?

He can’t sleep without her next to him either.

After this is over he’ll get her all the cake she wants. Decorated with blueberries and dripping in honey.

All the fingers on his left hand are bleeding and stinging.

There’s a hangnail on his right pinkie.

He’d give his left bollock for a cup of wine.

Well, his bollock is royal. A jug perhaps.

A good big brother would comfort Daeron. Tell him that their sister would be fine and that they were gaining two new members to their fucked up family.

Aegon pulls at the bit of skin under his nail. Pulls and digs until he can feel the nail separating from the nail bed. The pain makes him want to hiss and stop.

Aegon keeps pulling.

Helaena keeps screaming.

[halsteads-obsession]

Here hold my hand

Possible tw: death, gore, fire, mentions of vomit

Characters: y/n, Hermann, severide, Casey, boden, (mention) of dr Charles

Y/n hermann was possibly the best firefighter in Chicago, from her kindness, maturity, skills and all the way through to her positivity. Not to mention she could easily tackle the most difficult of situations without breaking a sweat. All firefighters looked up to her because she was amazing but also because her father, Hermann was so protective over her and just wanted her to be okay.

However the only bad things about y/n was a mix of her anxiety as well as her doubt in herself. She was often patted on the back after a job well done and she would be told she had done amazing and she'd always say "oh thank you, I appreciate it." With a warm happy smile however would she believe it? No. Not one bit. Being a firefighter was tough, extremely tough however it too was rewarding. It had its ups and downs but other than that it was all worth while in the end. Usually all jobs were fine for her however some were more sensitive than others and she believed she could just grit her teeth and bear it however that one fateful afternoon proved different... it proved that she had her limits and it also proved one very important thing: that she too was only human.

"The fires pretty bad, roll ambos out asap" she spoke into her radio getting a confirmation from the other line as sirens were heard a couple moments later. "Y/n with me." Casey spoke and she nodded automatically following him into the burning house and all things began to automatically get worse from that point onwards. The more they searched around the more she felt something off. Something didn't feel right and she didn't know what it was and as she searched a couple of rooms alone as Casey went searching the rest of the building she overheard his voice "five kids. Not breathing. No pulses." And her heart sank as she immediately rushed towards him watching as he attempted to hold his arm out to stop her from walking in to see the scene however her eyes soon laid upon the tragedy, her eyes widening, stinging with tears as her breath hitched. All of the kids were huddled together, arms wrapped around each other... they knew they weren't going to make it out alive so they just held onto each other and accepted it and that's when it truly hit her. All the emotions colliding into her body like a tsunami "y/n," Casey spoke concern in his voice however she didn't hear him too focused on how scared the kids must've been however as he said her name again she snapped out of it "uh yeah... sorry what?" She asked and he repeated himself "we need to get the bodies out. Are you sure you can do this?" And with a deep breath she nodded "yeah. I've got this."

And so without trying to take things personal she carried the small body out of the house paramedics immediately rushing up to her as they tried to intubate trying to do everything they could but before they could pronounce his death or even get close to that y/n had wandered off, moving behind the fire trucks in hopes that no one would find her in her weakness, ripping her apparatus off as her knees buckled as she collapsed onto the ground feeling sick and before she knew it she was being sick, puking on the road as she squeezed her eyes shut. She felt weak but she couldn't do anything about it. She felt guilty for not getting there sooner for those children. She just had to pray and hope that they didn't suffer but of course, that was very unlikely...

The smoke inhalation... the breathing becoming ragged, laboured breathing... the panic... one dying before the other- and at those thoughts a sob left her lips as her body slumped onto the road her sobs causing her to tremble and shake as she struggled to compose herself "y/n are you-" Casey fell silent as soon as he saw the condition she was in, his heart sinking as he did a quick brief over of the team looking for Hermann but when he didn't see him he simply rushed over to y/n "hey it's okay. Hey." He knelt down beside her before grabbing onto his radio "hermann I need you asap. It's y/n. We're located behind the firetrucks." He spoke urgently before quickly moving onto comfort her "it's my fault. We should've gotten here sooner. We're murderers... murderers." She sobbed out her hands trembling her cheeks flushed her body throbbing with mental and physical pain. "No not any of that nonsense y/n. No. We did what we could." He spoke calmly but she shook her head grabbing onto the collar of his protective suit "no! They died because of us!" She cried out and Casey looked at her sadly, knowing far too well she wasn't in the right mindset for this. "Okay, okay. Let's get this equipment off of you. C'mon." He murmured softly as he began helping her take off her protective gear her sobs being the only sound along with his occasional comforting little nothings feeling helpless as he knew nothing of what he said could calm her down. Only a father or mothers love could do that. He could only be there to make sure she didn't get herself into an even more panicked state.

As hermann heard his radio go off he was half way through helping the others get the necessary resources out but as soon as severide and a couple others heard Casey's urgent voice they nodded "go, we've got this." Severide spoke and he nodded without hesitating as he quickly made his way to where he heard the sobs and as he saw his daughter in the condition she was in broke his heart as he quickly rushed to her "thanks I'll take it from here." He spoke to Casey who nodded giving y/n a comforting pat on the shoulder before leaving to give both father and daughter some time but also to help the others. "I'm so sorry dad. I'm so sorry. I-I... they suffered. I should've been quicker! They were burn-" he was quick to shush her pulling her close his fingers lightly threading through her hair as he let her sob into his chest "it hurts... it hurts." She whispered her sobs subsiding for not even a second before returning as he stayed silent simply listening to her, letting her lean on him as he simply rubbed up and down her back being there to help sooth and calm her down as best as possible but of course that was easier said than done.

The amount of self blame she felt was impeccable, beyond crazy. The emotions whirring through her were those that she had never felt before. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault." She whispered feeling numb and her father shook his head gently cupping her face in his hands "no don't be sorry. Don't you dare be sorry. None of this is your fault. None. Remember you have to separate your real life from your work life and I know that sounds horrible. I know it does y/n and I know it's tough but you've faced many cases before. You're strong. The strongest woman I know, soon followed by your mother but don't tell her I said that. Although I'm pretty sure she'd agree with me." He said gently his words nothing but the truth but y/n had shut down. "Here hold my hand." He spoke grabbing onto her hand gently intertwining his fingers with hers to assure her that he was still there. Her mind going blank. The only sound being the sirens. She wanted everything to shut up. She wanted to be at home. Be watching movies cuddled up in between her parents but here she was feeling completely useless... feeling helpless... feeling paralysed and that's when it hit her like another raging wave the emotions more difficult to accept her breathing growing heavier as her dad became hopeless, his attempts at calming her down faltering and as y/n only got more panicked boden who had heard the conversation slowly made his appearance to which y/n noticed and quickly tried to collect herself but as she tried to stand up her legs betrayed her as she fell back down onto the concrete her legs practically jelly "don't worry. Just stay sitting." He assured before he carefully got to eye level with y/n, looking into her eyes "you. Y/n hermann. You young lady are the bravest and most talented firefighter we have on this team. You're incredible. Without a doubt. These are new emotions because this is a case we barely ever see. And that is okay. Don't shy away from them. Confront them." He took her hands in his giving them a light squeeze "you did everything you possibly could do and yes those kids couldn't be saved but that isn't your fault. None of it is your fault. Just breathe... remind yourself to breathe. You're okay. I promise. That's why you have to separate yourself from these situations. Don't take it personally. I know it's difficult but you've faced a lot of battles before, you can get through this one easily. Just do one thing for me okay?" He spoke slowly and carefully letting his words sink in and as she nodded her head he continued "believe in yourself... and maybe go pay doctor Charles at Med a visit and I'm sure he'll happily help you with your feelings that you can't... accept." He suggest and with a slight smile she nodded her head looking at hermann who squeezed her hand nodding his head believing everything boden said was good advice and a great idea that he'd make sure you took up.

A couple months later

That day still haunted y/n and it always would but she took up boden's idea and spoke to doctor Charles who immediately suggested weekly chats even online if she preferred but she preferred face to face and so she did do that and it did help her. A lot. Of course she had her bad days but the more days passed the more easier it got. Her mother was always there for her being there to give her a long long hug after each shift and that what kept her going: both her parents. "Hey little hermann!" A voice called and y/n's ears perked up at the mention of her name, the team had decided to call her that as they believed it suited her "what's up?" She asked looking at severide who was walking towards her with a bucket and cloth "you've got a visitor at the front. They asked for you." He spoke and she furrowed her brows "oh. Okay. Thanks." She said smiling as she made her way to the front seeing a man and a woman and a little girl with a braided pony tail "hello I'm y/n hermann, how can I-" however she was cut off by the little girl lunging forwards wrapping her arms around her legs holding onto her tightly in a hug and y/n let out a soft laugh as she smiled looking down at her resting her hand on the girls head before looking at the parents in slight confusion "we have been searching for the firefighter who brought our son out of the burning house a couple of months ago." The mother explained and y/n smiled "oh..." she said a little confused as she was sure no one made it out alive however as she looked down at the little girl again she smiled "thank you for saving my brother! He wouldn't of been alive if you didn't rescue him!" She shouted in major excitement bouncing up and down and y/n's eyes immediately filled with tears "oh that's wonderful... he survived? I- wow- I'm so very glad." She said a beaming smile on her face "yes. The doctors said if he was in there for one minute more he would've died." The father explained and y/n let out a soft shocked laughed as she rested her hand on her heart "I'm so glad your boy is okay." She spoke gently and smiled. "We wanted to get you these as a gift. So seriously thank you." The mother spoke handing a box of chocolates and some flowers over to her "thank you- you didn't have to.... I will come and pay..." she paused unsure of the boys name "Alexander," y/n smiled nodding "I will come pay Alexander a visit soon." She said as the family exchanged happy looks and nodded "absolutely. We're hoping to have our baby soon..." the lady spoke resting her hand on her baby bump and y/n smiled gently "that's wonderful." She said happily as the mother nodded "we'll let you know when we have her... it would be nice for her to meet another y/n." She spoke and y/n's eyes filled with happiness as she let out a shocked but happy gasp "oh definitely. Definitely."

And with that she made her way back inside a wide grin on her lips as she smiled.

Maybe it all was worth it in the end.

I hope you liked this one!!(:

Word count: 2280

[themattressman]

Holy FUCK Schindler's list (1993) is so fucking good and disturbing. Its disturbingly good.

SPOILER WARNING: SCHINDLER'S LIST (1993)

TW: Holocaust, nazis and genocide

2 of Steven Spielberg's best films came out in the same year. This guy is incredible. He was working on Jurassic Park and Schindler's List at the same time. Could you imagine going to an office to look at the first draft for digital dinosaurs and filming a bunch of SS officers "clear out" a jewish ghetto in the SAME DAY.

Shcindler's list is not a forgiving experience. I'd even go as far as to say its quite hard to watch. If Spielberg wants you to feel something he can make you feel it. Whether it be the kindess of E.T or the desperation of Frank Abagnale, he can pull it off. But when it came to Schindler's list, Spielberg doesn't hold back. He doesn't try hide the massacres and genocide. Instead he goes out of his way to expose you to the true, unedited nature of the death camps. In fact, he even put a close-up of a jewish woman being shot in the forehead into the film. This aids in invoking a sense of panic, dread, fear and despair in his audience and its all tied together thematically. He wants you to feel the terror and distress of the mothers whos children where ripped away from them. He wants you to feel the guilt of Oskar Schindler. He makes you a part of the film. He puts you right in the centre of all the bloodshed and violence and for some reason who don't look away. Its captivating. It makes you want to know more. Its a bio-pic where, for most of the film, Oska Shcindler sits around and talks to Nazis but Spielberg masterfully weaves in details and plot pinch points that keep you watching. You want to know more. You want to know how Schindler will keep the Jews alive. You want to know how he'll stop the women from dying in Auschwitz. You care for him. You're rooting for him even though he exploited a system for personal gain. Even though he is a profiteer of slave labour. Even though, in the beginning, he only hired Jews becauss they were cheap, not to protect them from the SS or from being sent to labour camps. He was only doing it for himself. But you want him to pull through. You want him to win. You want him to come out on top. Even if he wasn't trying to save the jews at first. This makes his eventual change to becoming a protector or saviour for the jewish even more statifying and his emotion breakdown at the end of the film even more gut-wrenching.

Schindler's list is about a man who learns to do the right thing which may seem like a basic central theme but its executed so well (using point-of-thought) it maked you truly reconsider how much you have done for this world. It is a film against cynicism that inspires people to keep going and to do the right thing

[dont-look-me-in-the-eye]

Origins Pt 2 - 1, 2, 3,

Pt 2 of the Dr Facilier origin story that nobody asked for, takes place in the year 1900(ish).

TW: implied child abuse, child labour (he's around 14 in this one), depictions of a panic attack.

The dirty glass slipped out of his hands. Someone had knocked into him from behind, and now there was glass shards on the floor. 

“Kid! The hell you doin’?” Marcel yelled from the other side of the kitchen. Adri’s stomach dropped. 

“Dropped a glass,” he muttered.

The chef muttered something in French that Adri couldn’t pick up. “Don’t just stand there dumb as a post, clean it up!”

He felt sick. Marcel was gon’ think - gonna know that he was shit, he was gon’ come to his senses -

Or worse, he’d lose his job and then his father-

He pushed the thought down, and started picking up the shards.

Well, he would have, if Brie hadn’t pushed him back with a force he didn’t know she had. 

“You tryin’ to get blood on the floor too? Get a damn broom.” she muttered.

He went to the closet to get it. 

It was wet and cold. He didn’t mind. The dark blanketed him, and that soothed his nerves just a bit.

His hands were still shaking. Everything was shaking just a bit. He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He couldn’t see properly either, his vision was distorting, like he was looking out of  a glass,

He sucked in a shallow breath. Another. Another. 

It wasn’t enough. He felt like something was pressing against his chest-

Fumbled around for the broom, was he dying?

Sucked in another breath, less shallow this time.

Grabbed a bucket, he really was shit, crying like this,

1, 2, 3, suck in a deeper breath.

He smothered the panic down. It made a lump in his throat.

He'd already been here for 5 minutes. He couldn’t sit in this closet forever, right? Get out, you useless-

Wiped the water spilling from his eyes.

Jumped three times. Why, he didn’t know, but it helped dissipate his anxious energy.

1, 2, 3, open the door.

Out of the comforting darkness and into the light.

1, 2, 3, sweep the shards into the bucket.

1, 2, 3, throw the glass into the dumpster out back.

1. 2. 3. Breathe.

And maybe if he said sorry enough…

Well.

Right now he needed to wash the dirty dishes. 

3 steps at a time.

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[animeomegas]

So some people die in c-sections or they hemorrhage a lot, so I wonder if Neji had complications during his c-section, who would he prefer his Alpha choose to keep alive if they had to? His miracle pup or himself? -angsty thoughts-

- 💋 anon

💋 anon, hello, nice to meet you!!

TW: infant death/death in labour

As for your questions, oh boy... this is a doozy...

This is complicated, because for Neji, he would lose his pup either way, there is no situation where they can be together, and that's heart breaking.

I...

I don't think Neji could choose.

I think he would ask his alpha to choose.

It might be selfish, but Neji doesn't want the guilt of making that decision. He can't be the one to have to condemn his child to death. And he can't be the one to abandon his mate when he promised not to.

It's heavy, and Neji, who has never been a 'bury their head in the sand' type, really wishes he was. He just wants to believe that they'll both survive just fine.

Hopefully, they both talk it through beforehand and reach a decision together. (Neji will default to following his alpha in this one, most likely.)

But if it's life or death on the operating table and it's up to Neji's alpha... Well, obviously it depends on the alpha, but I think most people would save Neji.

Neji's a full person, with friends and a job and a family. And as much as they both adore their pup more than anything, they are a 'what could've been' not a 'what currently is'.

So, they save Neji.

Of course, when Neji wakes up without his pup, he shuts down, completely consumed by grief, but he doesn't blame his alpha.

It's a pretty awful situation in every way, and Neji always considers that pup his first child.

Ahh, this question is so sad, I just want to live in a world where everything is okay, all the time, please.