#writing tags causes me physical agony

[kyonkersfake]

what do you call the underling of a caveman vampire?

a neander-thrall.

[miinos]

wah

[spacebarbarianweird]

@ramlightly graciously let me write a fic based on this comic. Check it out, it's so cool!

"Dominate Person" is a nasty spell that can fully submit a humanoid to your power. It's unclear if the victim has self-consciousness in the moment but since it's possible to throw Wisdom saving rolls I think you can feel that you are controlled.

Thanks @bhaalbaaby for beta-reading!

Puppet Master

Synopsis: Astarion is enchanted by the "Dominate Person" spell and almost kills Tav.

Tags: angst, comfort

TW: A description of physical violence

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion wants to move. To hide in the shadows and shoot the necromancer from there.

You are surrounded, but you keep doing your work.

But he can't.

His body is paralyzed, and he feels a wave of panic. 

No, not this. Not "Hold Person"!

He can't do this. He can't make it.

Paralysis is like being sealed in a tomb with too little space to move. Helpless, voiceless.

What if something happens to you when he is like this?

"Astarion, use your daggers!"

Is it you? Or one of the adventurers you've teamed up this morning to kick necromancers out of the town?

Astarion just has to wait. The spell wears off when the spellcaster is down. Or a healer manages to find a way to get rid of the invisible chains.

Or...

USE THE DAGGER

The voice is intimidating, too loud, and too powerful.

It's like the Cazador's voice in his head again. Suppressing. Ordering. Torturing.

No, no...

Astarion feels his hand move toward the dagger. The strings make him move.

It's not "Hold Person".

It's "Dominate Person".

Full control of the victim. The voice your body cannot resist. You become one of them, fighting for them.

Murdering your loved ones.

KILL

Astarion rushes forward to you. To the only person he loves and cares about. The only person in the entire world who has never hurt him.

"Astarion! Help me! Astarion, what's wrong?"

Astarion pushes you into the ground with all his newfound vampiric strength.

No, no, please, stop it!

MURDER THEM

The dagger stabs through your stomach, causing an internal rupture. The second dagger wounds your chest.

You stare at him in pain, in silent prayer. You watch your lover killing you.

Blood. So much blood. Your blood.

A strong hand pulls Astarion from you, but it's not enough.

Astarion has an order from his new master.

To kill you. To make sure you are dead.

It is the worst type of dissociation. He is just an observer.

His hands rip you apart as if you are a prey he's found in the woods. Your eyes are full of terror and pain.

VAMPIRE, DRINK THE BLOOD.

No, no, I won't do it. I don't take the blood without consent... NO!

His fangs pierce into your neck, taking the blood non-stop. To satiate him, to let him feel alive.

And to drain you.

He is less than a slave. A puppet. With his locked mind in agony.

CRUSH THE SKULL

Astarion grabs a handful of your hair to smash you against a stone. Your body is motionless. Broken. Almost dead.

And then...

The agony of death pierces the mind. It's an acid flare of horror - too familiar for the undead.

It happened to him once, many years ago. When he was killed by Cazador and revived as a vampire spawn.

That's how death feels.

But he isn't dying. More than this, his body is his again.

Astarion stands up, feeling the nightmare wearing off.

Your body lies on the ground in blood and gore.

Astarion falls to his knees, his hands shaking.

And yells.

**

You wake up, your body sore and in terrible pain.

Astarion.

Your mind reacts with a panic attack - a near-death experience causing mental anguish. Your body remembers how Astarion jumped on you with his daggers.

How he ripped your throat.

How he almost crushed your skull.

You try to collect yourself. "Dominate Person". One of the nastiest spells necromancers know. Create a humanoid puppet and make them kill their friends and loved ones. While they silently scream, locked in their minds.

Some people never recover from that. Offing themselves, not being capable of dealing with what they did.

Damn, and what did it do to Astarion? It's what happened to him during his enslavement. Orders impossible to resist.

You want to call for him, but your body refuses to act. It remembers.

His hands, his fangs.

And his eyes in such desperation you've never seen.

Before you manage to collect yourself again, you fall into oblivion.

**

Astarion is silent.

His nails pierce his scalp. His teeth are clenched. His eyes open wide as he stares at the wall.

The companions who murdered the necromancers ignore him, but he doesn't feel any hostility.

Just a spell. It happens.

"Astarion... Is this your name, right?" a young fighter approaches him. "You need to take a bath."

Astarion looks at himself. His clothes are covered in blood. Your blood.

"Tav will be fine. We have good healers here. Don't blame yourself."

As if enchanted again, Astarion walks away. In silence, he locks himself in the bathroom - a small wooden room with a tub full of hot water. But instead of putting off the dirty clothes, he submerges himself fully clothed.

The fabric clings to the body, and Astarion hugs his knees. The blood mixes with water.

His back hurts as if his scars are bleeding.

He doesn't know how long he spends there. An hour? A day? A week? The water is cold. but he can't care less still hearing your cries.

The door creaks, and he notices familiar soft steps.

"Astarion? Are you alright?"

He can't look at you. Can't make himself. Can't witness the damage he caused.

"I almost killed you, and you ask how I am doing?" his voice breaks.

"The necromancer almost killed me," you say firmly. "Not you. Hey, look at me!"

Your head is heavily bandaged. There are bruises all over your face, and he knows there is much more evidence of his violence below your shirt and trousers.

"It wasn’t you. It was them. You would never do this to me."

"I did."

"You didn't. Come on, take off your clothes. They’re all wet."

He wants to make you go, make you leave. He will be happy knowing you are somewhere safe and far from him.

You touch his neck, and he can't resist. Astarion allows you to pull off his shirt and then manages to take off the trousers as well. 

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Don't." You start rubbing his back, and he flinches when your gentle fingers touch the edges of the scars.

"Tav... You need to rest..."

"Don't be selfish. I need this, too."

"What? Why?"

You take his chin and make him look up at you. "Because my body remembers you killing me. Because my subconscious tells me to run away. Because I remember these gentle hands of yours driving blades into my chest. I need to forget it before it's engraved forever. So please, don’t push me away. Not now..."

You keep rubbing his back, hands, and chest. You plant kisses on the clean skin. You wash his hair, stained blood, and gore, and make sure your touches are light and tender.

"If you want to talk about it, I am here. I know what exactly it reminded you of," you whisper in his ear.

And at that moment it's too much.

His body shudders as he starts crying, hiding his face from you in his palms. You drop the rags and wrap your hands around his neck.

You sit like that for an eternity, lulling each other until the healer starts banging into the door, demanding you to return to bed. You reluctantly let Astarion go.

You kiss him goodbye and leave, hoping the darkness won't hold his mind again, and he won't run away from you and his guilt.

**

The bed is comfortable as you lie motionless on a blanket. The healer did a great job patching you together. But you will need to fully recover. And gallons of healing potion.

Astarion enters the room. He wears fresh clothes, and if it wasn't for his facial expression, you could think nothing bad has happened.

"Come," you ask him. "I am sorry, but the night of passion isn't an offer today."

"Don't be ridiculous. How are you feeling?"

"Beaten. Wounded. Tired. And you?"

"Violated"

You both are silent. Finally, Astarion lies beside you and wraps his hands around you.

Your body stiffens against your will. Astarion feels it and tries to let you go.

"No. Hold me like that!"

He obliges and gently places your head on his chest. His cool skin feels nice.

Astarion loves me. He won't hurt me.

You repeat it like a prayer before finally being able to fully relax.

"I love you," he mutters. "I won't hurt you. You hear me?"

You nod.

"I love you, too," You smile, and your heart rejoices when he smiles back.

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx@astarion-beloved@tallymonster@caitlincat-95@tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any good words for pain? (Hurt for example) Like being in pain or exclamations of pain (ouch for example)

Pain—unpleasant bodily sensation; mental/emotional distress or suffering

Ache - a usually dull persistent pain

Affliction - a cause of persistent pain or distress

Agony - intense pain of mind or body; anguish, torture

Anguish - extreme pain, distress, or anxiety

Bruise - an injury involving rupture of small blood vessels and discoloration without a break in the overlying skin; an injury especially to the feelings

Burn - to produce or undergo an uncomfortable or painful sensation like that of being injured by fire

Chafe - to make sore by or as if by rubbing

Clonus - a rapid succession of alternating contractions and partial relaxations of a muscle occurring in some nervous diseases

Colic - an attack of acute abdominal pain localized in a hollow organ and often caused by spasm, obstruction, or twisting

Cramp - a painful involuntary spasmodic contraction of a muscle

Deleterious - harmful often in a subtle or unexpected way

Discomfort - mental or physical uneasiness; annoyance

Distress - pain or suffering affecting the body, a bodily part, or the mind; trouble

Fester - to generate pus; putrefy, rot;; to cause increasing poisoning, irritation, or bitterness

Gripe - a pinching spasmodic intestinal pain—usually used in plural

Inflamed - to cause inflammation (i.e., injury that is marked by capillary dilatation, leukocytic infiltration, redness, heat, and pain) in (bodily tissue)

Lancinate - pierce, stab, lacerate

Malaise - a vague sense of mental or moral ill-being

Misery - a circumstance, thing, or place that causes suffering or discomfort

Noxious - physically harmful or destructive to living beings

Pernicious - highly injurious or destructive; deadly; (archaic): wicked

Prickle - a prickling or tingling sensation

Sore - a source of pain, distress or vexation; affliction

Spasm - an involuntary and abnormal muscular contraction; a sudden violent and temporary effort, emotion, or sensation

Sting - a wound or pain caused by or as if by stinging (sharp or piercing)

Suffer - to endure death, pain, or distress

Throb - to pulsate or pound with abnormal force or rapidity

Travail - a physical or mental exertion or piece of work; task, effort; agony, torment

Twinge - a sudden sharp stab of pain

Woe - a condition of deep suffering from misfortune, affliction, or grief

Exclamations of Pain

ouch, boo, ow, aw, woe, shucks, ay, rats, yuk, sheesh, alack, tush, pooh, yuck, wirra (Irish), phooey, alas, tsk, pshaw, bah, humph, tut, pish, ho hum, faugh, fie

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

More: Word Lists

[eris-snow]

𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫

Tags: Revelation (Deku's birthday series 2024), izuku x fem!reader, angst, katsuki you backstabber

Masterlist

7th July. A finger gun

---

Izuku found it jammed under his table’s leg while cleaning his room. A sticky, green post-it note. One he was sure he didn’t write, and one with your handwriting.

I wish you would realise something is wrong. There’s been something wrong for a long ti—

The last word was dashed out like you had no time to write it finish, like it was the last minute in the exam and you were a few letters away from completing.

Old blood splatters sprinkled across the top half of the note like the stars in the sky and the notes are crickled at the ends like they were caught in a crossfire.

His heart sinks, mind firing off questions faster than he could finish thinking them. What exactly was wrong? And how long had this been here? How had he not noticed?

Izuku knows that he told you he’d wait, but he’s human too. He wants to help you as soon as possible, wants to pick up the pieces of yourself that had scarred you deeper than a knife could.

Let me in, he’d told you. Let me help you.

And you did, for the most part. You looked brighter now, your smile a little less forced, but as the days led on, your physical improvements juxtaposed the overwhelming sadness you seemed to exude.

You’re still scared inside, still hurting, still hiding something.

A Secret. His mind whispers.

An image of blue flashes across his mind, tiny sapphire flowers with pretty yellow centres and white honeyguides. It’s a field he’s seen before, where the water runs clear and the breeze gentle.

A bolt of pain stabs his cornea. It’s like a dagger straight through his skull, and he almost screams in startled confusion. His hands spasm, and he lets the post-it go in favour of clutching his throbbing head. Everything is ice-blue.

A wall stands in front of him, looming and tall that it might as well be Mount Everest. A finger pressed against lips that are not his.

Don’t probe.

A small gasp of agony leaves his lips as black dots dance across his vision. Immediately, he diverts his attention to white clouds, cotton candy melting in his mouth and his friends all around him.

The pain eases greatly.

Panting, Izuku clutches his shirt and falls to his knees, completely winded.

What the heck was that?

—

Izuku searches up the flowers he saw in his frenzied vision while scooping out the curry Katsuki made for lunch. Only one meets his description.

They’re named Myosotis scorpioides.

They’re dubbed Forget-Me-Nots.

—

When you come back to the dorms, you’re greeted by the sight of Katsuki whacking Izuku’s head over with a ladle and brandishing a serrated knife. Granted, you’d come to expect the unexpected when it came to Class A.

Denki has caused an accidental power out because of a sneeze and Todoroki had accidentally iced the building over because he was sick.

Threatening physical violence isn’t that high up on your ‘what the hell’ list.

“What’s going on?” You inquire, folding your arms as you give Katsuki an eyebrow raise. “And why do you look like an angry housewife?”

“What the fuck did you say?”

“Ahh, nothing.”

Sharp orbs snap to you, locking onto his new target. “Fuckin’ Izuku here almost burned himself by heating food up. I said,” he turns to Izuku, who’s lying on the ground, completely defeated. “Don’t look at your phone while at the stove, asshole. And your stupid muttering.”

Kacchan can pretend all he wants, but you know he secretly likes it, because it means Izuku was there.

“You’re always so fucking distracted.“

“Kacchan’s just mad because I burnt his rice that one time, and he hasn’t trusted me in the kitchen ever since.”

“You burnt rice in a rice cooker. A rice cooker cooks the rice, how did you burn rice in something that cooks the rice for you.”

“It’s very difficult kitchen equipment, Kacchan!”

“NO, IT’S FUCKING NOT.”

Sighing, you trug upstairs, shaking your head and rolling your eyes.

Men.

—

It takes approximately 5 minutes for Katsuki to follow you upstairs and knock on your door. “What.”

“Izuku is up to something.”

“You think I haven’t figured that out?” You snort, letting him in. “He’s found something, and he’s trying to reconcile it with missing memories. He didn’t say anything, though.”

Katsuki’s face lights up. “I should give him the Secrets he gave you last year.”

Your heart plummets to your ass as you give him a look that screams ‘What drugs have you been on today?’ “Yeah, let’s tell him his Dad finally came back from that milk store too—NO Kacchan, have you cracked your skull?”

You’d prefer the third Quirk War than for Izuku to get a handle on your box of secrets. The clunky tin box was dented at the sides and as large as a cookie jar. The one in your room is the notes from Izuku's last cycle; the rest are at home. Should Izuku get his hands on it, he’d think he’d gone insane.

“Besides, Izuku has migraines when he tries to push the Quirk’s boundaries. It’s not worth it.”

Katsuki’s face collapses into a frown. Evidently, he didn’t know about the migraines.

You run a hand down your face, sitting on your bed because even though the floor was even, your feet felt unsteady. “Whenever I try to explain something from the past, get him to really think about it, he gets really bad headaches. It was really bad back then, and it still is now. The one time I pushed him and told him about the Quirk Accident and the nature of it, we were 14. He was rushed to the hospital because of how bad it was.”

Silence envelops the room like how the monster feeds on your insecurities. The memory was not a good one you wanted to bring up, and when your vision turns watery, you know you have to put that memory aside. Weariness sets into your bones as you force yourself to conclude.

“Anyways, that’s why we shouldn’t try to purposely jog his memory. It leads to more harm than good, and we don’t want that, right Kacchan?”

You expect to hear a hum, acknowledgement of what you’re saying, but when you bring your eyes up to meet Katsuki’s frame, you’re met with hard, watchful eyes looking around the room.

Presentiment looms at the back of your mind as alarm bells ring. “Kacchan?” You say slowly.

Katsuki hums, eyes flickering until they land on the object he is looking for. His eyes flit back to you, and the grin that he gives you is part crazy, part joy, all feral. “You know, you should really keep your things in better places, Starlight.”

Dread looms over you as you make eye contact with the metal tin box Katsuki is eyeing.

That was the box full of Secrets.

He didn’t come to my room just to inform me about Izuku’s weird behaviour.

In a blur, the blond yanks the tin box off the shelf and bolts out your door like you’re wearing neon red over bright green.

If you expect me to get you out of this, you’re dead wrong.

His words make so much more sense now as you’re running after Kacchan to the lifts. The tin box in his hand and the way his eyes shine with the crazy glint he has when he’s beating up villains. They all point to 6 stupid words you shouldn’t have been so blind to before.

I’m not on your team.

Katsuki forces the lift doors close just in time as you bang your fists against the metal of the elevator. Quickly, you raced down the stairs nearby, hopping down 4 steps at a time. Who cares if you break your ankles?

Your closest friend is delivering death to Izuku in a tin box.

—

“Kacchan, can we talk?”

Fire crackles as the food heats up under Izuku’s care. Crimson red eyes flashed wearily to the stove where his precious curry sat and decided to have faith in Izuku just this once. He trusts the man with his life, he should learn how to trust Izuku with his food, too.

There’s the look Katsuki is all too familiar with in Izuku’s eyes. The gears were turning in his head and he’d been muttering to himself long before Katsuki came downstairs from his shower.

“Fire away, nerd.”

“I’ve been having visions, and I think it’s got to do with L/n,” Izuku admits. “You know L/n better than anyone. If, if I could get a trigger, o-or something to see that wall again—“

“Slow down there, Deku,” Katsuki says, holding a hand to signal timeout. “I could decipher your muttering in a hurricane, but what the hell are you talking about?”

“There’s a wall, that’s blocking something in my mind.” He tries again, turning to face his childhood friend. “I don’t know what, but I want it back, Kacchan, because whatever it is, it’s hurting L/n. Help me.”

It takes a good 5 seconds for Katsuk’s resting bitch face to transform into a crazed grin.

“Hell yeah, Izuku.”

—

You bolt down the stairs just in time to see Izuku’s hands clasp around the box. You could have melted your skin off and you still would have preferred it to what you were seeing.

Izuku’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you’re back to the war, and Izuku’s fighting for his life to win. He gives you a fucking smile, and grips the box tighter. “Sorry, L/n.”

“You’ll freaking die. I will die, if you open that goddamn box.” You whisper, taking a step closer. “Izuku, please. Give it back to me. It’s not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” Izuku says, smiling at you. Shit, it’s that face, the one that said ‘I’ll break my body over and over again if a dog were threatened at gunpoint.’

“And I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

In a flash of energy, Izuku zips past you and up the stairs, leaving you alone in the common rooms with a very smug Kacchan.

You’re fucked, officially.

[bitchfitch]

Idk. I have such a weird relationship with top surgery scars in art. Bc on one hand. they look cool and tell you a lot about the character. but on the other. I literally Can't stand looking at drawings or pictures of top scars. Hell even just Writing this about them is causing some fuckin Issues.

bc like. Fun fact, cognitive behavioral therapy for pain management Does work. It just stops working the Second you think about the source of your pain. and any reminder of what causes your pain triggers your brain to actually start letting you feel it again.

So for me. This means that seeing art I'd other wise find Stunning, puts me in actual physical agony because my brain suddenly remembers I'm 6 years post op and still regularly splitting my incisions because they never healed. And I can't even like. filter it because nobody tags for it because Why The Fuck Would they?

And so it's just fun. Just Really Really Fun. to be going about your day, scrolling, only to see something to that reminds your brain the skin across most of your chest is trying to flay itself off. and just having no way to reduce the number of times it happens.

[spacemancharisma]

DAILY CLICKS 4 PALESTINE

VETTED PALESTINIAN FUNDRAISERS

• @ spacemancharisma on ao3 • insta & tiktok @ publixdelichickentenders • mutuals dm for my discord •

tag directory below 👇

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[themarcspector-hasmovedblogs]

wip tagging

tagged by: @multiverse-of-themind (thanks! 🥳)

tagging: @gothamrains / @bondgirl / @deathlessfable/ @thelittlestspider / @theaisstillhere/ @fayelistic / and anyone else who wants to show something they’re working on.

note: okay i was on babysitting duty and i couldn't post. but i was doing a noir thang for moo//n kn//ight, but this isn't it -- but it is mk because brain go brrr. i have had a bit of a block lately but here's sooomeething i wrote for fun not too long ago. don't know if it makes sense but i had fun writing it and re-reading it. it's actually longer. but i just kept the first bit.

tw: post-fight but especially post-stabbing imagery, canon typical violence. they're not doing violence & he didn't hurt her. jsyk

notes: ft cloud & jake l*ckley. he and cloud got a funny little acquaintanceship going on.

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

Humanity is all about being wounded, right?

Being wounded emotionally by those you love, when they’re supposed to avoid causing you pain.

Then, there's being physically wounded, by the knife that she just yanked out of her side like an idiot.

Or rather — she would be an idiot if she knew she would bleed to death, but the thing is, she’s not going to bleed to death. She’s going to live because that’s what she does all the damn time – live and learn. Die. Live. Die. Live. A cycle.

Letting go of her bloody side, she fumbles with the screen of her phone with bloody fingers smudging the glass. She can’t read the name of her driver, but she doesn't care. Her side is numbing, her mouth tastes like a penny, and she feels like the world is spinning.

Humanity is also about eating shit, too, right?

Because, before her driver gets there, she nose-dives onto the side of her face, with a vibrating ache, against a brick wall and just stays there a bit -- reflecting on the pain and the cold.

When the vehicle pulls up, she rolls her eyes so hard she mumbles, “I’d rather bleed to death over and over than deal with this right now,” in Spanish, before she finally gets down into a kneeling position, where she’s against the wall.

“It's no surprise that every time I see you, the pile of shit you dig yourself into, gets deeper and deeper,” the man who’s her friend, but not exactly says, getting to the point. He isn’t being mean, he's trying to make a joke he knows she’d find funny because every time they meet: she is bleeding out, in someone else’s grasp, or straight up running from a bigger threat than anticipated. “You know, it’s also not wise to put your full name out on the driver app when you're looking roughed up like that, right? Who knows who'll find you?"

Which, once she thinks about, is a dumb move considering her situation.

“Are you here to rub my poor decision-making in my face or to drive me to my destination?” she reacts, before rolling a broken wrist back into shape and place as it pops into healing, face still near the wall. “But — No --- actually, Jake. I’m here to visit family. I was even on my best behavior when someone tried to MuRdeR ME." Claudia expresses, not looking at him, face against the wall a little after she tries to fix the other hand and it pops back instead; throbbing...and now stinging. Both things she'd usually ignore, but today can't seem to ignore for some fuck-all reason.

Jake clicks his tongue and thinks. Doesn’t reply to half of what she’s said but it’s apparent he’s taken it in. “I’ll get you to where you need to go.” He then leans down to face her, as she continues to lean against the wall. “I’d ask who would want to kill you but, eh,” he bends his head, and tilts his hand side to side, showing it’s obvious it's a fair amount of people.

She’s about to laugh at his honesty and at his face because it doubles from her impact from hitting the wall and the blood loss, but she lets out a groan of agony instead. “I know, I know. The list is loooong.” She mumbles, the taste in her mouth getting worse.

He moves her away from the wall, and she flops down, letting out a yelp. "Careful, lady,” he replies, hoisting her up by her side to help her walk. “You sure you don't have any idea who did this?” The words are said a little more sternly than his other words, but he's calm.

"No, but they got me so good, I can feel the pain from it, and I'm curious if they can kill me permanently, too, soo...that's exciting." Her head lolls to the side, the pain's still loud, and the outside spins. Jake spins, too. But she does a thumbs up and gives him a bloody-teeth smile to show she's fine, even though she's not.

Humanity is about seeing.... little cartoon birds...over your head?

She’s pretty sure she sees little cartoon birds go over her head, which isn’t exactly weird -- all things considered. But whatever, as she walks, she ends up losing influence over her limbs and when she does, she sees black and falls over.

[mercurial-madhouse]

Trigger Warning: Healing is painful, but there’s so much light on the other side if we’re strong enough to walk through the dark.

My hope in sharing my story is to help anyone who reads it find peace or healing, just as I always aim with my fiction. If it feels right to you to do so, I encourage you to reblog this. It is highly personal, but I choose to share it publicly.

************

This past Sunday, I received an email responding to my desire to withdraw from a fic fest. Instead of the simple “You have been removed from the fest” that I’d been expecting through an official channel from mods to a participant, this is the response I received. Please be aware, the following is painful.

***

We've removed you from the fest and will mark you down as not being welcome to participate in future fests. We show a great deal of compassion toward our writers, which is why we send reminders, answer any and all questions, and provide extensions when requested. There's a reason why our fest has one of the highest numbers of fics of any fest/challenge in the fandom - it's because we support our participating writers and do everything possible to assist them as they complete their fics.

However, once a writer has repeatedly failed to communicate and missed both a deadline and an extended deadline, it's clear that they do not have any respect for the fest, the mods, our time, or our own unique situations, as we don't have endless extra hours to track down participants in a fic fest. Several reminders on three different platforms, an extension, and requests for writers to simply let us know if they need more time does not demonstrate a lack of compassion in any capacity. We also showed a great deal of compassion by welcoming you with open arms into the [redacted] after you insulted the fest, insulted [redacted] fics, and made writers uncomfortable last year after signing up to beta their fics, all while pretending to support and uplift writers in the fandom just as you did in your email here.

Have a great week!

- [redacted] Mods

***

This email arrived right at the end of the night, just as I was lying down to sleep. I couldn’t read it all the way through. It elicited a trauma response in me. My heart started racing, my palms were sweaty, I was shaking, I felt sick to my stomach.

I went into fight/flight/freeze/fawn mode. My first response was to freeze. In order to escape the barrage of pain bombarding me, I simply dissociated and disconnected from my body. It allowed me to sleep, but barely. I deleted the email in a desperate attempt to pretend it didn’t exist.

The pain caught up with me twenty-four hours later. I couldn’t breathe, my lungs shrunk in around my heart. My whole body locked up. I couldn’t move. I knew that if I spoke, even to say ‘hello’ to someone, I’d start crying.

The moment I was alone in my room the tears came. The pain came, bursting through me. I sobbed uncontrollably, curled into myself on my bed, begging for the pain to stop, begging for a miracle, screaming internally for relief and to understand what I’d done to deserve this because I didn’t have the air for more than broken whispers.

I fell asleep whispering ‘I need a miracle’ over and over. The mantra blocked out all the disgusting thoughts that wanted to keep swirling through my head. This is it. This is the final proof that you don’t belong here. You never have. You never will. Run away, M. It’s over. You tried, you failed. You always do. You always will.

I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Grief is intense. These are the moments where we don’t think we’ll survive what we’re feeling. My love, whoever you are, if you are reading this, hear from me. The agony passed. I needed to feel that agony, to allow it to move through me and to give myself the space to feel it. Without diving off the deep end into what hurts, I wouldn’t have been able to find the inner peace to keep healing, to start to understand.

The residual pain is still there, even as I write this post. But it no longer overwhelms my senses. And by Tuesday morning, I’d been given insight into what was happening.

I experienced a trauma response because it mirrored mistreatment I first received in childhood from family and classmates alike and continued into my adult life. In full view of others, it was acknowledged as cruel even by my mother, who struggles with her own guilt because she never stood up for me. No one did.

So I internalized the mistreatment. I must deserve it if everyone else around me is ok with me being singled out like this? At first I spoke up for myself. But in the end I stopped speaking up for myself too. I had never healed this pain and here it was, coming back around again, forcing me to face it, to heal it once and for all.

I still do not know what exactly I may have said to cause these accusations that you see in the email. **I do not and will not deny them.** Even if my words were taken in a way I did not consciously intend, to deny that I said anything that caused someone else pain is to deny my own power AND to deny that everyone’s emotions are valid and worth digging into.

I have the power to inflict pain, just as I have the power to spread and share love and joy.

Whatever I said came from a place of pain, of believing I did not belong in this community. That I am not good enough or worthy enough to be here. A series of unfortunate but necessary events when I first entered this fandom completely disintegrated my core beliefs in my abilities as a writer, something I have always kept so close to my heart, and my belief that I had a place in this fandom.

I expect, as I look into my past patterns, that what I did was try to logic why I wasn’t allowed to belong. At the time, this fest was the only subset of the fandom I knew, I was so brand new. So I looked through all the prompts in the fest. I brought a scientific method view to answering the question: “What is it about the fics people write in this fandom am I unable/incapable of doing?”

This process allowed me to generalize everything I saw that I perceived as ‘I can’t do that, this is why I don’t belong here’. Consumed in my own doubt that I could measure up and write something worth reading, I dropped from the fest last year too. If I can’t contribute writing that’s worth reading, I could at least stick with what I do best, which is helping others be their best selves. I had signed up to beta, and I chose to cling to the only grasp of belonging I had, which was through beta’ing. I ended up beta’ing four fics last year for the fest. And, of course, each of them were (and still are) incredible fics. At the time, it was further proof to me of exactly what I can’t accomplish.

In all likelihood, these generalizations, stemming from a place of pain and jealousy because I wanted to write good fics too, came out in a personal conversation with someone, which they translated as a personal attack. It is valid. Whoever you are, your emotions are valid. It does not matter how I meant whatever I said, pain is what you felt. This person did not feel comfortable sharing that pain with me, so instead they turned to others and shared. My moment of vulnerability and pain then spread more pain.

Pain only comes from pain.

The response was to shadow ban me. In fact, I was never meant to find out about any of this. The pain this person shared was simply taken at face value and that was that.

So on my end, this decision showed up in the physical world this way: Suddenly all my asks went unanswered, people I tagged to share snippets and last lines and get to know more through ‘about me’ posts or who had once talked to me through DMs simply stopped speaking to me in a way that is only noticeable to the person being ignored. I thought I was going crazy. But there it was, right in front of me: absolute proof that I wasn’t good enough to be a part of this fandom.

Is anyone else beginning to see the cycle of pain?

I expect I continued this cycle right back, because the pain turned to bitterness. I’d been doing everything I could to support every author the best way I knew how, and this was what I got? The exact opposite?

I found out about this shadow ban and actual blocking around June of this year. An ask sent in by a friend for me, inquiring why I couldn’t reblog a post that’d been sent to me by someone else, finally gave me the answer that I’d been banned for the accusations you saw above.

Horrified, hurt, and unable to comprehend any of this except to know that I support every author no matter what they write, I sent an apology to the mods, trying to end this cycle the best I could without knowing any of the details of what had happened. There was nothing more I could do.

They thanked me for the apology, though as you can see from the email, it was never accepted. I do not say that as a judgement call, but simply as a statement of what happened. Everyone is entitled to accept or not accept in their own time and their own ways.

I have been healing so much since everything that occurred last year. And the more I dig in to this cycle, the more my heart goes out to the drafters of this email, to the person I hurt with my words who then turned to share it out of context with others, and to the people who shadow banned me in connection with this situation.

We attract to us what resonates with us. Like attracts like. Which means just as I’ve attracted the greatest friends to me, I have also attracted this pain, and conversely, these mods and that person attracted me to them.

Deep down, on some level we share the same core wounds. And the person who can really understand just how painful those wounds can be is someone who feels them too.

So this is my message to the mods of the above email, to those who have shadow banned me and want nothing to do with me, and to the original person I hurt with my words:

I am sorry for my part in this pain. I am sorry for causing pain and I apologize for it. You are loved. You are enough. You are doing a fantastic job. Your feelings are valid. Your hurt is valid. I don’t know what occurred that hurt you before I entered the fandom, but after finding out from others that an email like the one you sent above is ‘Oh that’s just how they are’ tells me something else happened to hurt you before I even arrived.

Your hurt then is valid too. Allow yourself to feel it and process it. Don’t let it consume you. Don’t let that hurt and fear of it happening again or believing that that’s how everyone is push away from you people who in fact love just what you love. If someone has a different belief from yours, don’t let it invalidate what is true for you. Believing internalized lies about myself only caused me pain. And we spread and create what we believe to be true, whether we consciously realize it or not.

So here, now, is my truth:

I choose to perpetuate love. I choose to spread love. I choose to understand my pain and the pain of others, to transmute it, and to heal it, instead of passing that pain on.

I choose compassion. Compassion for myself in making these mistakes, and compassion for those who have hurt me. I do not condone the email that was sent to me. No one deserves to be treated that way. I choose to focus beneath the visceral anger and lashing out, to focus on the agony beneath the words, and stop this cycle of pain.

I choose to belong in this fandom. I choose to support every author in this fandom and ensure no one ever feels not good enough. I choose to own my past mistakes and learn from them.

I choose trust. To trust that those who I truly hope will see this, will see it. I have no expectations of responses or outcomes or reactions. My only hope is that whoever will benefit from seeing this post will see it.

This is not a matter of right or wrong, bad or good, just or unjust. It is a situation of two parties in pain, triggered by the same triggers.

Looking back on that email, I’ve come to realize that half of the pain I felt when I received it was not my own. I felt the pain of the attack, sure, but I also felt the immense pain beneath those words. And I wish I could hug you. I acknowledge your pain and I acknowledge how painful it is because I know that pain myself. I also know that this pain isn’t you and it isn’t who you are.

So I choose to remember the mods I first met around this same time last year in this same email chain. Mods who were so kind and offered advice to a brand new writer even when she sent an email that had nothing to do with the fest and was still struggling to find her place in the fandom. I choose to remember how beautiful that kindness felt. I choose to remember how I was so grateful for that kindness that I shared my gratitude for these same mods in an email with with another fandom friend at the time. I am still grateful for you.

You are so loved. You are loved for being exactly who you are. This fandom is built upon love. A shared love of five incredibly talented lads who have brought so much joy and light when each and every one of us has needed it the most. Shine your light through the dark and believe with all your heart that you are not alone. You have support. I support you. Shine on. Don’t let anyone dim it.

[cleanlenins]

Ectober Day 1: Trick

Trick of the Light

Ectober 2021 Day 1: Trick

Jack had gone to the reunion to reconnect with his old friend Vlad.

Vlad let's Jack learn intimately what he has dealt with twenty years ago.

AO3 

This is my first attempt at gore or horror in general, so be warned and mind the tags.

Blood and Gore, Major Character Death.

Jack couldn't believe what he had seen, let alone what he had just heard. The words rang in his ear, even after the room had fallen into dead silence. He held his breath, the shock of what was in front of him stealing the air from his lungs. His mind rejected the words he just heard. Had he even really heard them? They couldn’t be true. This must be-

"This is a trick," Jack said, his words rushing out. The only answer was a chuckle.

"A trick?" Vlad Masters's grin widened. Hands behind his back, he strolled closer to Jack, eyes still glowing a frightening red. Jack felt the urge to step away from the burning stare, but was immobilized by the metal restraints that kept him in place, helplessly standing to face his best friend.

"A trick. Ghosts are liars. You're possessing Vlad! You can't be him. Get out of my best friend, you ecto scum," Jack said with forced bravado, there were no weapons or tools to back up his demands. He once more tried to break out of the metal cuffs around his arms and legs. To no avail.

"You really are dense. There is no one in here but me," Vlad took another step closer. Jack tried to lean away, but could barely move an inch. Vlad tilted his head, smirking as Jack flinched.

"The only trick was you believing that I would forgive you after all these years. That after twenty years, we could just pretend that nothing happened. That you didn't ruin my life," Vlad continued, grin fading with every word. His eyes glowed an even a brighter red.

"Vladdie, I never-"

"Visited while I was in the hospital? While I was dying from your incompetence? Never thought to check on me? Never considered me when you married Maddie, when you knew I had feelings for her?" Vlad asked, carefully watching Jack's reaction to each word. The bigger man couldn't help but flinch as if he had been slapped. "The things that you never did, Jack Fenton, could write a book. The only 'never' I care about now is Never Again ."

With that, Vlad stepped away, back turned to Jack. Jack felt a trickle of fear settle in his gut. The sharp clack of Vlad's shoes against the metal floor seemed abnormally loud as he walked away. Like thick nails hammered into a coffin.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Jack stuttered. Vlad did not answer, nor show signs of even hearing the larger man’s question. He typed on a large computer, his back completely toward Jack. Jack gulped and sweat started to bead on his brow as he listened to the click of the keys. The methodical sound caused Jack to shiver.

"V-vlad, talk to me. I'm sorry everything happened this way, but I'm here now. We can fix this. We can find a cure," Jack squirmed against the metal. He startled when the harsh squeal of metal scraping against metal sounded overhead. He couldn't see into the darkness, but he heard the screeching noise come closer through the shadows. He swallowed convulsively. "Vlad, just talk to me! I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry. Sorry would mean that you had the self-awareness to realize you did something wrong," Vlad tapped a key, before turning toward Jack. Jack could only make out the glowing red eyes, Vlad's features skewed by the dull glow of the computer screen. Jack shuddered, imagining he could feel the heat of the hatred in those inhuman eyes. A hatred that seemed to burn against his very soul. "No, you're not sorry. You're just afraid. "

Jack's breath sped up as he continued his struggle against his restraints. An electric whirring sound filled the room. Jack's eyes locked onto a pinprick of growing green light. It seemed to twist in the air, pulsing as it grew. From the size of a dime, to a quarter, to a tennis ball. His heart hammered in his chest as the green energy grew. The pulse of the machine sped faster, small bursts of electricity zipped through the air at random intervals, causing the air to taste of metal and ozone. The light grew larger, spinning and twirling in an unstable elliptical. Jack gasped for air frantically, his hands shaking and teeth painfully chattering. The light grew more lopsided and unstable. A low hum grew rapidly in pitch until it hit a note so high Jack's ears ached from the noise. The soft hum of the machine transformed into a monstrous roar. Jack tried desperately to move away, the heat of the energy-the ectoplasm started to burn his cheeks, like standing too long near an open oven.

"Vlad, please! I have a family. I have kids!" Jack begged, trying to look past the growing energy. He saw nothing but two dots of red.

The energy seemed to break free of whatever tethered it in place. Jack screamed as the ectoplasm rushed into his exposed face. He imagined this is what it would feel like to dip his head into molten lava, the burn sticking to his flesh. He writhed as he felt the charged energy sear off his skin, the dying flesh seemed to slough from the muscles of his cheek in great chunks. His eyes boiled in their sockets, the goo trying to pour down his cheeks before they sizzled away from the intense heat. A mockery of tears he wished to shed. Jack continued to scream, even as his tongue fried in his mouth, the taste of blood and charr choking him as the melted muscle slid down his throat. Still Jack screamed and begged wordlessly for Vlad to stop, even as the ligament in his left cheek gave out and his jaw detached, hanging by sizzling strings of meat. He thrashed, trying to get away from the heat, the pain, the horror of the feeling that went beyond physical. The knowledge that he wasn't the first to experience such agony. The world seemed to twist in impossible shapes, nothing but the horrible green.

Suddenly the heat was gone and he felt a jarring thump against the side of his head. He could finally focus on something other than pain. Other than the insensate revelation that pain was all there was. And yet now. He felt nothing, nothing but deep-seated wrongness and the memory of the trauma. Not cold, nor pain. He knew that he had no eyes, but somehow he could see. See even clearer in the dark lab than before.

The green light was above him, focused in a single line. It was the only thing he could focus on, the brightness doing nothing to illuminate the room. How was he on the floor? Was he able to free himself? He couldn't move. He couldn't even speak. How did this happen? What is happening?

The green light began to fade, dissolving away far quicker that Jack would have assumed. And as it faded, Jack felt a bone-deep horror.

There he stood, still attached in the cuffs, unmoving and slumped against his restraints. His hazmat suit torn and burned, the rubber melting to his skin. The material barely held his left shoulder in place, the joint having given out as the intense heat sheared off the skin and muscle, the arm nearly dragging on the ground with a bit of blackened bone sticking out where it was once attached.. But what sent him into mental hysterics was further up.

All that remained was the blackened bone of his neck, each vertebrae precariously balanced. As he watched, the top two toppled to the ground with wooden clacks. His head was completely gone.

Once more, he heard the tell-tale sound of Vlad's shoes clicking against the metallic floor. Jack's soul trembled as the sound came closer.

Those two glowing eyes stared down at him with satisfaction. Jack could do nothing as one finely polished shoe lifted and settled just over where his eye should be.

He felt a crack.

[amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes]

Pain

AN: My humble submission for @cockslut-padalecki A Decade Under the Influence writing challenge. Here’s to another decade enjoying our hobbies 💜🖤. My song was Pain by Three Days Grace. I interpreted the song as a toxic relationship and honestly the first person who came to mind was Ranson Drysdale 🤷🏿‍♀️. The lyrics will be italicized. 

Warnings: toxic relationship, domestic abuse (emotional and physical w/ injuries), infidelity, non-con/dub-con (tagging both just in case), destruction of property, somnophilia, I’m not joking yall, heed the warnings this is TOXIC

Word Count: 1,569

I do not own the rights to the song nor the lyrics of the song

Pain without love

Pain, I can't get enough

Pain, I like it rough

'Cause I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all

Sitting on the side of the bed, you survey the damage. A hole in the wall. Shattered lamp near the nightstand. A bloody hand print on the pillow to your right. It draws your attention as you try to figure out whose blood it is. Doesn't matter, you're both bleeding. A cough to your left in the corner of the room makes you wince; he'll never admit it but this fight took a lot out of him. His breathing is labored and you wonder if you may have broken a rib. Good. 

You sigh as you rack your memory to figure out how you got here. They say no relationship is perfect but yours was pretty close. In the beginning, Ransom Drysdale was a perfect gentleman; always held the door open for you, brought you flowers and even watched that TV show with you that you knew he didn’t particularly care for. The first year was a dream. But then things started to go downhill. Fights with his family would result to him coming to your apartment and taking his frustrations out on you. You allowed it then; thinking you’d be a good outlet for him. But soon his ranting and raving turned into him degrading you. When his grandfather passed, the flood gates opened and your head was on a spindle, waiting for his next mood swing. Still you stayed even if you knew it was no longer a healthy relationship. Naively you continued to stand by his side telling yourself that at least he was physical with you and that had to mean he cared for you even if he could’t expression himself in a loving manner.

Then came the cheating. Openly flaunting his conquests in your mutual circles. At first you didn't want to believe it. You trusted him and he reciprocated your trust or so you assumed. But the pitied stares and crude whispers at your expense began to chip away at you. You'd confront him and at first, he denied it. You were the only one for him he had proclaimed and like a love sick puppy, you were his again. But when videos and photos were sent to your phone, hard evidence of his betrayal, he didn't even bother to come up with a good lie. He knew you loved him and used that to his advantage. But there was only so much you could take. So much you would take.

This life is filled with hurt

When happiness doesn't work

Trust me, and take my hand

When the lights go out, you'll understand

Another cough and a groan. He was attempting to stand up. Curses left his lips as he stands on wobbly legs, no doubt as dizzy as you are. You stare straight ahead, hoping that he wouldn’t want to continue the fight and leave you alone. He mutters to himself before he spits, blood and saliva landing on the tile next to your foot. You see his foot for a split second before he moves away from you and to the bathroom door. 

“Fucking bitch.” he quite literally spits. You want to retort, a scathing insult on your tongue but the throbbing in your head is too distracting to care. The door slams and you close your eyes, the exhaustion settling in your bones. And soul. 

"So, what? It's over? Give me a break." He laughed incredulously at you. The smirk that you had once found so handsome now was the bane of your existence. "Like you can find someone better, sweetheart."

"I can and I will!" You rant, pacing back and forth. He's perched on your counter-top, legs swing as he regards you with a humorous expression that only pisses you off more. 

"Yeah sure. Good luck with that."

You're sick of feeling numb

You're not the only one

I'll take you by the hand

And I'll show you a world that you can understand

The running water brings you back to the present and your heart breaks at the memory. He was right. No matter how many dates you went on, how many you invited into your bed. No one could compare. As much as you hated him, you loved him. Love him. 

You weren't expecting to see him sitting on your bed after your date. It was lackluster at best and you honestly just wanted to lay down and forget the whole ordeal. You sat your purse on the dresser and crossed your arms waiting for his tirade but when the silence stretched longer than you were comfortable with, you moved to go to the bathroom. He was on you in seconds, left hand secured firmly around your throat. "Really? You replaced me with that tool?" 

Anger and agony are better than misery

Trust me, I've got a plan

When the lights go up, you'll understand

You couldn't ignore the thrill that went through you at his anger. Serves him right. Too many nights you sat up and cried over his infidelity, his cruelty. About time he felt even an iota of the pain he put you through. Your eyes meet his as you stared him down. You knew he wanted an answer and your defiance would be the response. 

"You're such a cunt, you know that? Pathetic. I fucking hate you." You strike him before you know it. The slap resounded around the room. His hand leaves your throat as he grabs his face, eyes wide in shock. You didn't mean to hit him but your body moved faster than your brain, his audacity triggering your fight or flight. He lunged at you quicker than you thought he could and gave you a hard smack in return. His hand found your throat again and he shoved you against the wall, the back of your head smacking it loudly. 

"So you wanna be tough now, huh? Finally fight back?" He snarled too close to your face. You tried to shove him off but he was stronger and leaned his body in towards you. Your vision began to wane, either from the lack of oxygen or the hit against the wall you weren't sure. He was speaking, that much you were certain of but his words were lost in your determination to breathe. Grabbing at his wrist, you dropped your body weight and pulled him down with you. You both hit the floor and as soon as he released you, you crawled away from him and hit the nightstand causing the lamp to rock on the floor. He was on his feet quicker than you had expected and you grabbed the lamp and swung, the metal connecting to his side. 

"I hate you too, asshole." 

I know, I know, I know, I know, I know

That you're wounded

(You know, you know, you know, you know)

That I'm here to save you

(You know, you know, you know, you know)

I'm always here for you

(I know, I know, I know, I know)

That you'll thank me later

Hot air suffocated you and a heaviness settled over you so forcefully that you found it hard to draw a breath. The throbbing in your head had dulled but was present and you groaned. You tried to move away from the weight but you were pinned, unable to wiggle away. Consciousness ebbed and flowed but a sharp jolt on your lower body forced you towards awareness. A soft moan above you made you frown as another sharp thrust to your groin made you open your eyes. It was dark but you could see Ransom, lips parted and face contorted in pain or pleasure, you weren't sure. His face hovered close to yours and for a moment, a wave of panic washed over you at the thought he might kill you. Another thrust made you gasp and your fuzzy brain fought to catch up. 

"Don't fight it." He whispered almost uncharacteristically gentle as his hips rolled into yours. Gritting your teeth, you attempt to move away from him but he has your arms pinned to your sides. His lips find yours and the stunning pain of the cut makes you whimper. Another thrust and your legs part on their own accord and you writhe under him, the feeling of him inside of you a cruel comfort. He takes it as your submission and speeds up as he trails kisses from your jaw to your neck where he buries his face. Your head swims as you once again try to figure out just how you got here. He moans your name and bites into your neck, the small spark triggering your orgasm unexpectedly. His pace falters at the feel of you clenching around him and it isn’t long before he comes with a broken hiss of your name. 

“I love you.” his soft admission barely heard over his labored breathing. Tears sting your eyes as he nuzzles against you and wraps his arms across your torso. You don’t know who you hate more, him or yourself. As the tears fall into your hairline and his breathing evens out, you realize that the answer is yourself because you know the truth and can do nothing about it. 

“I love you too.”

Rather feel pain than nothing at all

Rather feel pain...

I’m not tagging a lot of people because I don’t want to offend: @avintagekiss24 @sapphirescrolls @cockslut-padalecki 

[jean-does-not-have-a-horseface]

Hello, Hello, would you mind to write a scenario for Levi Ackerman with a female s/o were they have a argument and Levi accidently hurts her physical in some way?

Thank you very much and please be careful 💚

Okay, hello, I have been working on this for a HOT minute and this is the only way I thought this could go (because Levs would never ever ever ever hurt his s/o, poor man has seen his mother being violated so much too pls-) tell me if you like it, I'd be glad to know if you're satisfied with how it went.

Pairing: Levi/ Reader

Tags: Action, Somewhat!Fluff,

Warnings: Mentions of blood, gunshots, wounds you know, typical snk stuff

Bullet

Crimson liquid run in gushes from the wound in your shoulder splattering your whole body and your surroundings. The pain was immense and torturous and reeked of the adrenaline that your body was trying to produce, all on vain to soothe the uneasiness, as with every passing second the hot rushes of blood that flew to the spot put your mind in a burgundy haze. Your left hand was trembling, your body was still in shock by the hit and your necessary intakes of oxygen had long surpassed the normal rate by now but you weren't in a position to slow down.

The odds had been against you ever since you decided to follow Levi and not lead the infamous cadets of the 104th squadron.

It was the silent clicking of a gun that had caught your attention as you discussed how much of an ambush this whole situation seemed with Nifa and Levi. You almost perked at the spot, a fragment of a second faster than Levi, buying yourself enough time to jump into the most unthinkable situation; getting Levi out of this commotion safe and unwounded, you'd take the incoming shot for the stoic captain to stay alive.

The bullet had blown just through your shoulder with enough force to send you flying to the ground, meters away from the hotspot of action. As you heard Levi's voice screaming an earth shattering call of Kenny Ackerman's name you pushed through the pain that has shaken your body to the core and shot your drills to the nearest building. Your heart was beating fast, eyes rapidly checking in all directions to examine your surroundings while the pulsating of your shoulder begged with you to take action on it's recovery.

Only ever when you made sure your surroundings were clear of armed soldiers did your feet drag you outside the dark alleyway. Pushing through the intense pain you managed to shoot the drills of your gear onto a empty rooftop, trying your best to evenly distribute your weight on the equipment. One mistake and you could easily be wiped out.

Therefore you settled for sneaking carefully in between dark alleys as gunshot sounds ravaged your eardrums; It was definitely Levi who was taking all that fire on his own, sending your heart to an uncatchable pace as the blood that pulsated in every inch of your body would manage to find an exit through the wound on your shoulder.

As the blasts kept getting unbearably closer by each passing second you glued yourself to the stone wall and ducked down, to protect any part of you in order to see for yourself if Levi was indeed the target of this manhunt.

Your speculations were correct.

Upon him passing by -incredibly fast- your eyes met his for a brief moment, forcing a shocked hitch to leave his lips as his eyes widened. His expression, dark, anxious, as if he had just seen a ghost and refused to believe it.

The state of your well being was still unbeknownst to you; you hadn't even taken a chance to see how drenched in blood your clothes were.

With another fast shoot of your quills and a press to your gas' handle you landed on another rooftop, far behind from the horde of men that had all their attention on Levi.

Everything went quiet for a moment. Sheer tranquility masked the air. The fire of action seemed to have been out off momentarily, yet you don't have an eye sight of the situation. You couldn't seem to slow down your breathing not even for one second, your alert eyes repeatedly scanned the areas around you to detect any suspicious move.

Despite the unfair odds and your position you had managed to successfully locate the cart with Eren and Historia, only to come face to face with the commotion that had occured. Hange's men were taken one by one, this time in your comrade's place sat a wide eyed brunette who screamed at the horses to go faster.

The sound of shooting thundered in waves around the town, startling you, urging you to jump into action. The wagon couldn't by any means, slip away from you or your team.

You tapped against your right gas canulle, begging for the sound to signal that it was halfway full at least. The left one was busted from your previous impact against the cold stone buildings, still you were sure you could push through with as much as you had, even if it seemed deadly enough to get you killed.

The cadets were startled as the saw you as they proceeded to bombard you with questions about your condition to which you could barely reply with full sentences. Slowly your body was giving in to your injury, to a point where you couldn't ignore it. Still, you bothered with how much more you could take.

"The hell is that!" Jean inquired, eyes pacing between the gory scene unraveling before him, and you, still troubling himself with taking in what he was witnessing.

Levi flew hurriedly flew by, pumping his gas one before launching his drill to an armed man's abdomen. His face hardened as the men was dragged to him, hands already gripping his blades steadily.

He went straight for the kill. Blood cluttered everywhere around him, staining any nearby surface.

Everyone's faces went numb as frozen droplets of sweat run down their foreheads. Naturally, in your shocked state you failed to provide any comfort to them, even if their despairate eyes were begging you to.

"Follow the wagon!" Levi commanded, his breath hitching in his throat as he sat still, despairate to take a momentarily rest.

"Right!" Mikasa complied sternly.

"Listen up, these soldiers were trained to fight other people, they've already take up three of ours," restlessly, Levi flew to lead the team, launching himself alongside of you, but still not sparing you a glance. "If you hesitate for so much as a second you'll be dead. The moment you see an opening go for the kill!"

"Yes sir!" Once again the ravenette in a stone cold tone confirmed her Captain's orders were well understood, forcing a gulp to flow down everyone's throat.

"And you, (y/n)!" This time his eyes were intensely burning dark holes in yours. "You stay back and lay low, this is an order!" You watched as he gulped, taking a moment to breathe through his nose in an attempt to calm himself down. "And don't ever think about taking a bullet for me, ever again."

Despite the gallons of blood lost and the tremendous pain you managed to find the spitfire in you to reply, eyes wide with rage at his last comment.

"Sir, with all due respect, I'm fine with laying low, but-"

"No time for you to form your own rebellion over my words, lay low or you're getting killed. You've made yourself the easiest target!" His words dripped of poison, unnerving anger that did nothing to convey his worry, making your head blur with similar rage.

You refused to believe that the first thing he would try to converse with you on the subject would actually turn out to be a scolding session. As if you were an imbecile child. As if you hadn't tried to push through to keep offering your abilities to your cause.

"Kenny would have shot you right then and there! What did you expect me to do?" You screamed. Your lungs burned with every command to withstand the pressure. Hot blood found its way through the hole in your arm again.

"No he wouldn't. We don't have time for this, Lay low!"

Levi's tone was sharp as a knife slicing your flesh like soft butter, somewhat hurting you more that the small piece of metal in your body. "You can't handle yourself like I can at the moment." It was rare they the two of you would bicker like this, and there was so much you could handle with an oozing wound, barking at him seemed to be the way to get your point at him.

"You're unbelievable," you squealed "I just saved your life and you're downgrading me?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, you know what I mean."

"Oh, do I now?" You mocked.

"No one else dies on my watch and you can't fight, so out of our way!"

Levi launched himself into a tent, backflipping his way through another kill. You hated to admit that he was right; you couldn't even make it to a few kills with the remaining of your gas yet the adrenaline in your body was raging against every plead of you to stay behind.

"You can't keep me out of action!" You barked, eyes glimmering with stubbornness as you followed the team's lead to the wagon. Jean was the first to land with Armin, throwing the brunette soldier way from her spot. You didn't seem to pay enough attention to your surroundings, the clicking of a gun behind you fell deaf to your ears.

"I told you (y/n) we don't have tim- watch out!" Levi's eyes widened in terror at the sight of the armed man towering behind you. Shaking hands that still held his blades reached out fast, boldly enough to launch onto the collar of your shirt, bringing your form onto him, only for your nose to harshly collide with the steel handle of his blade in the process. In turn you were thrown harshly onto a nearby tent.

A moment later his blades had slashed through the man while a rage filled scream muffled your ears.

"Armin Secure the wagon with Jean! We'll keep you covered!"

At trying to catch up in the commotion on the wagon, he witnessed in agony as Jean gulped, a gun nearly pressed to his head. Mikasa called out his name, launching her blades and spinning in the air. If it wasn't for Armin to ruthlessly pull the trigger to send the brunette to her instant death, she would have been too late to save her comrade. Levi clicked his tongue in misery. This was getting worse by each passing second.

"Armin! Jean!"

You laid on the tent, left hand scrunched against your bloody nose as you tried not to move. There were still armed men everywhere, if they detected you were alive you were done for. With half lid eyes you watched the scene unfold in front of you.

Three more men had towered behind Levi and the cadets, pointing their guns on them. Levi and Sasha jumped to the scene, shoving their comrades out of the wagon. The had successfully missed the fire of the shots for short seconds. As a sigh of relief left you your right eye lost focus. Your head felt dizzy, heavy at the numbing pain that shoot from your whole body. As the effects of adrenaline slowly wore off your body started to give in, eyes battling an already lost fight to stay open.

The last thing you heard was Levi calling out your name.

__

Your eyes painfully shot open.

The top of your mouth felt dry. You couldn't swallow. A strong metallic taste adorned the tips of your tongue. In a panicked state your eyes were blinking rapidly at the darkness around you, alternating gazes between the group of people a few meters away from you and the flickering light of the fire.

In contrary to your body, your head felt feathery light as numbness toyed on your brain, taking forms of a thousand little ants stomping each cavity they could find.

"Ah, Captain she's awake!"

Your body couldn't move and your mind couldn't think, yet Connie's words rang a few bells that alerted you. After what seemed like an eon later, a flick switched in your brain, widening your eyes upon hitting you with the most profane realisation.

"It's probably the morphine shot that has you numb like this. I took care of that bullet in your arm and I fixed your nose."

Your eyes bored into Levi's steel ones, unintentional apathy splattered all your face. You couldn't help but stop your bruised lips from forming to a small pout; as your coincidence flowed withing your body with every passing of the time you were reminded of the heated exchange of words you and your lover had shared before your body gave in.

Levi's eyes softened as he watched your face fall into an angered expression. A sigh of relief escaped him as his hand extended to your direction, calloused fingers lingering on the thin locks on your forehead.

"Shit" he groaned through gritted teeth "Fuck, I'm so sorry (y/n), you know I didn't mean to break your nose right? Given the situation I knew you'd land safely on the tent, I just had to get you out of there"

His eyes were sincere, flickering with agony as his hand rested behind your ear. The look on his face was enough to make you melt, to give in to whatever he ever said, you couldn't deny that much.

"I know how devoted you are, you could have taken that bullet for anyone not just for me, that's who you are." Another sigh escaped him, this time sneaking profoundly out his trembling chest.

"Y-you don't have to s-struggle with your-r words. You were right-t. I shouldn't have pushed my self with such little gas while losing so much blood." You coughed. Essential sentences were spilling out of your mouth. You knew when to step back into your place, especially in arguments that you were on the wrong. Levi had been right from the beginning, but you had pushed forward, worked yourself to the limit.

"Tch, I would never intentionally hurt you, you know that much right? I didn't mean to cause you more pain-"

"Levi, my love," As you laid on your back you watched the fire in his eyes cool down at sound of the endearing pet name. His chest stopped taking sharp stressed breaths and his hand started rubbing soothing circles at the nape of your neck. "You don't have to apologise, please. I was on the wrong. If anything, you saved me from being fatally shot. You shoved Jean away as well."

Levi's antics were nothing strange to you. You had spent years by his side, training as a part of his team, fighting alongside him. The way he cared for his comrades was unmatched, unable to be mimicked. You knew of his tragic past, so him acting compulsively like that wasn't something you wouldn't have expected. You weren't mad that you had gotten hurt in the process of him ripping you away from deaths grip.

The only thing that had ever made you mad was that, momentarily he wasn't willing to approve of your sacrifice to him.

"I threw you like shack of shit, I don't deserve you going soft on me. I should have not downgraded you."

Your eyes shut, lips curling upwards onto a tiny smirk, one that lifted Levi's spirits just a bit. "I'll stop being so hotheaded." You managed to admit, letting a chuckle escape your lips. Rarely you could stop yourself from giggling when you'd make up with the man.

"Brat! Don't laugh when we're having a serious conversation!" His eyes hardened, voice full of affectionate authority. You were so eager to brush off the subject of him guilt tripping himself, to lift the weight off his shoulders.

The weak bubbling laughter that escaped you after was contagious and never ending. It felt as little, continuous jolts of static electricity shocking your body as each exhale, but it was unstoppable, not even for you to answer properly back to him. The effect of the tranquilizing shot was perfect on it's part as well.

"I-it's just that i- love you. That's all. You've always got a spot on poo comment about everything."

Levi's head lowered in defeat, his nose leaving out an amused whip of air in the process. As you watched him, you felt a familiar warmth numb its way through your body from your stomach and outwards. Perhaps, this time he didn't want you to assume what he would say. Perhaps he was still guilt tripping himself or perhaps your laughter was getting through him at a moment he had to be stern. Nevertheless you never missed the words that felt his lips, before he went to quickly brush then against yours.

"I won't be as hotheaded as well, I promise. I'd take a thousand bullets for you I hope you know that."

[youbloodymadgenius]

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested;  the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd​ - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood​ - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

 Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles. 

 "You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.  

 "I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. " 

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times. 

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.  

 Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

 Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

 You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

 "My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

 Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction. 

 "My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

 Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg. 

 When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm." 

 ***

 After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una." 

 Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening. 

 Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?" 

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes. 

 "Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted. 

 This is new. 

 Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead. 

 He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

 When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

 "Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first." 

 When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths. 

 "Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming. 

 Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips. 

 "Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass. 

 As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you. 

 You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

 You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

 Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

 Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

 You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately. 

 You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

 You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

 Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

 You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @waiting4inspiration​ @saldelys​ @gearhead66​ @inforapound​ @readsalot73​ @milkkygirls​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @shannygoatgruff​ @zuxiezendler​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @hecohansen31​ @lonewolf471​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @didiintheblog​ @peachyboneless​ @funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @ethereallysimple​ @destynelseclipsa​ @coco2315​ @mlchael-guerin​

[axwalker]

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone​ to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC. 

Words: 4,110 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!! 

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?” 

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong. 

 “Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack. 

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”  

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent. 

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?” 

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.” 

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up. 

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony. 

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence. 

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done. 

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.” 

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long. 

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me. 

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality. 

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.” 

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was. 

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.  

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right. 

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me. 

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.” 

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.” 

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion. 

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.” 

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—” 

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

 I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me. 

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City. 

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.” 

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…” 

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

 I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along. 

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper. 

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

 Drake

 What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me. 

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.” 

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.” 

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.” 

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

 “I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.” 

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly. 

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.” 

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand. 

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.” 

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside. 

“What can I do?” I ask. 

“How long do we have?” 

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead. 

 “Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?” 

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway. 

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine. 

“I can’t just leave, can I?” 

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?” 

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

 “I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?” 

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” 

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.” 

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.” 

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything. 

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

[hungryslothwrites]

incorrect quotes tag game

Tagged by @thepixiediaries (as well as @moonscribbler!), thank ye kindly.

rules: use this quote generator & list as many quotes as you like using characters from your WIPs, then tag as many people as quotes you listed.

This was fun! I will be using characters mostly from my current, un-intro'd WIP.

Tagging @worldstogetlostin @druidx @writing-is-a-martial-art @thatprolificauthor @shineywrites, anyone who wants to do this.

Kitkat: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.

Isaiah : When life gives you lemonades, make lemons! Life will be all like "whaAttT?"  Kitkat: Life lessons that schools can't teach you.

Kitkat : This is a very powerful artifact. You’d be messing with some forces we don’t fully understand.  Pearl: That sounds like a dare to me.  Kitkat : Oh my god.

Isaiah : The Ocean is a soup.  Kitkat:  Kitkat: Do elaborate.  Isaiah : What are needed for something to be a soup?  Kitkat: Erm... Water, salt, some form of vegetation, and personally I prefer some meat in mine.  Isaiah : *Tilts head*  Kitkat: The Ocean is a Soup.  Isaiah : The Ocean is a Soup.

Isaiah : Kitkat, how could you possibly have gotten into this much trouble in one day?  Kitkat: It... It didn't take me the whole day...

Kitkat: *gets set on fire and screams in agony*  Kitkat: Nah, I’m just kidding. Fire does nothing to me.

Isaiah: Don't quote me on this, but I believe murder is illegal!

Demon: Hey, I took your soul last month and-  Ashley: No returns.  Demon: *sobbing* But it's making me sad...

Mar, after getting a library card: Now I know what true power feels like.

Ashley, holding a gun: If the conspiracies about life being a simulation are true WHOEVER'S CONTROLLING MY SIM I JUST WANNA TALK.

Samuel: Isn't it amazing how I can feel so bad and still look so good?

Ed: If karma doesn't kill you, I f***ing will.

Ed: What has the galaxy ever done for you?! Why would you wanna save it?!  Kitkat: Cause I’m one of the idiots who lives in it!

Naomi: Go to sleep or you'll hate yourself in the morning. Alan: I'll hate my self in the morning regardless!

Samuel: Who hurt you?  Ed: *snorting* What, do you want a list?  Samuel: ...Yes, actually.

Ed: Why do you think I don’t like you? I do. I would kill for you.  Ed: Ask me to kill for you.  Samuel: ...First of all, calm down-

Pearl: I’m sick and tired of being called 'mortal' like, you don’t know that. Neither do I. I have never died even ONCE. Nothing has been proven yet. Stop making assumptions. It’s rude.

Yasmin: Helpful grammar tip: “farther” is for physical distance, “further” is for methaphorical distance, and “father” is for emotional distance!

Samuel: Oh, so when crows remember people who wronged them and hold grudges, its “intelligent” and “really cool”.  Samuel: But when I do it, I’m “petty” and “need to let it go”.

Alan: Why is it so hard for you to believe me?!  Naomi: ...  Alan: Oh, right. The lying.

*Isaiah is crying after a breakup*  Kitkat: There there, Isaiah.  Isaiah, still crying: Thanks, but how did you get into my room?  Kitkat: Great question—

Yasmin: You disgust me.  Kitkat: *eating a kitkat sideways* I realize this and don’t care.

Kitkat: We’re going to defeat you with the power of friendship.  Yasmin: We’re not friends.  Kitkat, holding an axe: We’re going to defeat you with the power of incredible violence.

Kitkat: Bottling up negative emotions is bad for your health, so you shouldn't do it.  Ashley: I know, that's why I bottle up all my emotions, both positive and negative, so it cancels out.  Kitkat: Th-that's not how that works-

Pearl: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Pearl lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

[majestictoe]

I'm reading thru the centaurworld tag rn and I'm a little ???? about some of the disk horse going on? Re: the nowhere king

His death struck me as a mercy kill first of all, the general half of him as dead and the elk half was deflated and strange prior to their reconnection. He looked Better but he was still oozing that black goo. imo the mysterious woman killing him probably didn't cut his lifespan short by all that much & likely spared him some pain.

And in his final moments she was about as kind as you could realistically expect her to be. She was never obligated to forgive him (all parts of him) for what he caused her and the world, nor did I think she would, it's not like it came out of nowhere. She was honest. Did you expect her to lie? Would you want her to? In the face of everything he's done, would you, in her position, hold his chin gently and tell him everything was going to be alright? Could you do that in the wake of all the death and agony? Would you?

She's a human being with human being emotions and sometimes human beings don't forgive and it's okay. Even if she did he still likely would have died.

I'm sad about the Elktaur too! He's tragic and I think that's kind of the point. He's also incredibly human (in the acts and thinks like one sense. I know he's not actually one) and sure, he was redeemable on the virtue of being so, but that doesn't mean that he *had* to be redeemed in the show or that he inevitably would be. (Plus the length of the season probably wouldn't allow that.) (I think the idea of a villain who is irredeemable in every way w no depth is not the mark of a mature story or one that is interested in saying something meaningful. The elktaur wasn't that. He just simply wasn't redeemed. There's a difference there I think. Not redeemed =/= irredeemable.)

And like. Yeah. Sometimes people who are hurting won't get better. Sometimes they'll hurt others because of it. It's important to recognize the humanity in them, but you can't save everyone, can you? (At the point the Elktaur's life ended, regardless of your opinion on his emotional state, he was just too far gone physically.) Things don't always go back to the way they were. And that's something that centaurworld is well aware of, I think, and it's consistent with everything it's been saying since season 1.

Sometimes relationships can't be mended, sometimes you come out of a new situation not quite the same. People grow and they change.

A lot of Horse's angst in season 1 was the worry that she would come our of centaurworld and fail to recognize Rider, or vice versa. That particular fear didn't come to fruition but the status quo of their relationship did change. They met up and spent time apart again in season 2. They loved each other very much but weren't stuck at the hip anymore. Horse looked different, she could talk now, they were never going to just be a Horse and her Rider again. The power dynamic changed irreversibly.

And it was okay. It was alright. It was hard for them both but they still loved each other and trusted each other to love them, they held on to hope and their love and they were rewarded for it.

That, I think, is the key difference between Horse and Rider and the Mysterious Woman and the Elktaur. The parallel is pretty interesting to me.

Elktaur loved the Mysterious Woman, but he never trusted her to love him as he was. He never gave her the opportunity to. (I don't think this was entirely his fault, the show hinted at some divisions between centaurs and humans that probably fed it.) Horse was scared but she gave Rider the opportunity to love her with how she changed, and she did.

So maybe it's nor really about whether he was irredeemable or not, maybe it was about how opportunities escape us if we can't allow ourselves to hope. Or something.

But yeah. The nowhere king was a sad tragic figure. And his death was part of the tragedy. And I think that it's fine from a writing standpoint. That's what fix it fics are for

A show never has to give a complete happy ending. I don't think his death was about punishing him narratively or whatever. It was just a consequence. It wasn't a happy moment. Endings don't have to be entirely happy.

(If you read all of this kudos I don't think it was very coherent at all lol. Mostly I was just talking to myself.)