#<- lmk if I should tag spoilers as anything else

[secretsolarsystem]

[beneathsilverstars]

Siffrin+Loop system backstory/timeline for my modern AUs!

Age 4 - ▮ is in a major car crash with their family. Their eye is injured, and their parents and sibling die. They split; ▮ has most of the memories, and is inconsolable when they front. ▯ only vaguely remembers events from before the crash without much emotional attachment, and explains that ▮ died along with their family, and being a ghost hurts. They're adopted by their grandmother.

▮ fronts and has a meltdown whenever they hear their name, hear anything about their family, or are forced to drive in a car. Their grandmother gets their legal name changed (to something she knows was on their parents' potential-baby-names list) and moves to a city with great public transit. After going a while without encountering their triggers, ▮ fades out. ▯ mostly fronts at home and a different alter mostly fronts at school.

Age 11 - Their grandmother dies and they enter foster care. ▯ misses their grandma and has trouble adjusting, so they go dormant. The composition of the system changes to adapt to changing circumstances as they're moved between foster homes. Mal stays the most consistent through this time period; it doesn't front often, but its memory is the least spotty, so it tries to keep the rest of the system somewhat organized and consistent and careful. It's kinda annoyed by everyone else coming in and out and making a mess, but better them than it.

Age 16 - They get a shitty part time summer job, and Siffrin pops up to front for it. He's very disconnected from the rest of the system; he doesn't remember anything he wasn't fronting for, and he can't access the same headspace everyone else is in. He's good at quietly adapting to whatever situation he finds himself in, at least. Mal is the only one who can pop over to Siffrin's headspace and talk to him, and it pulls Siffrin away from the front for someone else to take over when it's time to go home. The job ends and he sleeps for a while, and then they get another job and he fronts for it again.

Age 18 - They leave the foster care system and move into an apartment with some college students. Without school or a foster home to return to, Siffrin stays at the front unless something triggers someone else out, which happens less often as Siffrin gets better at holding onto the front and avoiding triggers. They spend the next couple years moving between shitty apartments and shitty jobs.

Age 22 - Siffrin becomes almost-sorta-friends with two roommates, and they stick together for the next lease term. He lands a job with slightly better pay than normal and a decent shift lead, but a particularly cruel manager. One of the roommates starts dating someone who's kind of an asshole.

age 23 - The other roommate unexpectedly has to move out of town, leaving the remaining two with higher bills. After a couple months with no luck finding someone new to sublease or at least move in at the next lease term, the roommate's partner moves in. The roommate often gets into fights with their partner, who is turning increasingly abusive, and Siffrin can't do anything to help. Some headmates from the childhood subsystem start fronting more often again, which is stressful to Siffrin since they have no idea what happens during that time, on top of their own increased dissociation. Mal isn't being very talkative, either, and what it does say is pretty harsh.

age 24 - The decent shift lead at work quits and gets replaced by someone worse, but Siffrin can't afford to change jobs and make any less money, since the abusive partner isn't contributing to bills. After a particularly bad incident between the roommates and then a disastrous attempt to convince the nice one to leave, Siffrin splits into Loop and a new version of Siffrin.

Loop keeps the memories of ages 22-24 (and nearly nothing before that), and copes with them by thinking of all people outside of their system as empty things acting out their roles, rather than real people with feelings and the ability to change. Siffrin keeps the memories from before meeting the nice roommate (though they're a bit foggy by now), and his personality resets a bit accordingly to what he was like three years ago. Loop is fairly aware most of the time when Siffrin is fronting and can chat with him, but Siffrin still totally misses anything that happens when he's not at the front. Loop continues fronting at work, and at home when either roommate is home, and just pulls Siffrin to the front when it's safe. The childhood subsystem stops fronting entirely now that someone else is here to deal with everything.

Since Siffrin is now free from the work/home stress, they're able to find and work a second job, and then another which allows Loop to quit the first. Siffrin mostly fronts for these new jobs, but Loop steps in when Siffrin gets too anxious. When the lease at the current place is up, the two jobs together are enough for them to get a shitty studio apartment with no roommates to worry about.

Age 28 - Siffrin and Loop have found a decent balance. Loop's not fond of Mal, but Siffrin chats with it sometimes. Both Siffrin and Loop still refuse to go anywhere in a car; Loop knows it's some sort of major trigger but doesn't know why, while Siffrin just happens to always choose a different option no matter how inconvenient. They've switched jobs a couple times, and none of them are great, but it could be worse. They've stayed at the same studio apartment this whole time, which also isn't great, but it could be worse.

Mal can still choose to hang out in either the Sif+Loop headspace or the childhood subsystem's headspace. At some point, when they're feeling safer, headmates from the childhood subsystem (especially ▯) will start fronting a tiny bit now and then when triggered by reminders of important memories. Loop is just as cut off from them as Siffrin is, and the moments are so tiny that it's hard to differentiate them from just zoning out, but eventually they'll figure out that there must be at least one more headmate they don't know about.

Find more info on the "current" state of the system in my original headcanon post!

[cj-the-random-artist]

Welcome to Trader Scar's are you here to buy, sell or trade?

Scar's Life series POVs are some of my favorites every time, they do ample emotional damage and are also extremely silly and fun and I love that vibe so have a Secret Life Scar

Also notably. I'm making efforts to be on social media less so that I can detach my artistic self worth from likes and such (because that's been. Really bad for my ability to art lately) and so I can put less pressure on myself to make stuff - especially stuff that follows certain "requirements" that I've unintentionally imposed on myself - and it's working SUPER WELL so far. Art is becoming fun again and within a day of doing this my art block has been significantly lessened. That said if that's related to me not being on here as much there's why lol

This has been PSA and a random Secret Life Scar. Enjoy and have good day :D

[zorosdimples]

if yuuji survives jjk, my heart breaks to think about the immense amount of survivor’s guilt he will carry with him for the rest of his life.

[moonlightperseus]

okay like i want to preface that i do not have anything against the storylines that they are doing, i’m straight vibing with this season, having fun. i just want to say it’s a little frustrating to me that 911 keeps tacking on these buck and/or eddie centric “surprise” scenes at the end of an episode because then it becomes the big talking point of the episode after the fact and a lot of the other stuff that happened in it falls away to the sides a bit

[paraesol]

A butterfly caught in a spider’s web

🕸 Ko-Fi | Commissions 🕸

[innomonin]

bonus. credit to my brother for beaming this directly into my mind when i originally made the art

[petorahs]

Mmmh for me personally its because some characters seemed to regress. Yes yes, the death of a close friend can do that, but I think Yukari felt especially nerve tearing to me. Girl you had so much focus in the game and your resolution was hrartwarming and then you make a 180 and crash and burn??? When I see people complain its usually "Yukari" from what i personally saw. In itself I dont hate the Answer. I like the concept and in itself I like the story, I also like that it devlves into every characters past and their drive, but I guess for me it wad def the infighting and Yukaris behavior. But then again it has been 500 years since I played The Answer. Maybe as an adult I will see things differently. I can just remember that it felt for some characters like a very welcome addition and closure to the storx while others acted like theit development in the main game was eradicated for pointless drama.

But that is just me I don' t mean to offend you QAQ

BWAH hey there im only just getting to this because real life has been holding me hostage. thanks for shooting me a message!

yeah ive been seeing the "character regression" argument a lot. usually also by those who've last played the answer when they were like... 12 (like my friend!). which is wild to me as someone who's played like a month ago. but anyway. I have to agree that the infighting and drama had to be there to serve a narrative purpose but there's another reason why I felt it was necessary.

tw // suicide allegory mentions

it was also there to show the fallout of a friend group after one of them decides to kill themselves.

i appreciated that the answer showed one of the most realistic writing i've seen from a video game. when the friends fought over whether to redo makoto/minato's death, it felt like a gut punch. would you bring back a friend from death, or respect their choice? did they really have a choice? it's especially sad when you consider that the characters don't have player foresight and genuinely didn't know the causation of makoto's death. their last memories of him was him sacrificing his entire life for the sake of humanity (which they remembered last second), and of passing him by the school hallway sometimes. to them, nothing outwardly could have indicated anything was wrong. then he died. who wouldn't be distraught? who wouldn't ask 'why'? or feel a little guilty?

in regards to yukari's "character regression", we do have to ask ourselves: what was her character development in the main story anyway? how characters in persona 3 develop 90% of the time ties back into the theme of death and accepting loss. aki with shinji, ken with his mom (+shinji), mitsuru with her (admittedly not even close) father, heck, even the social links deal with death like sun and moon S.Links.

in yukari's case, it was her father. how she accepts his death is by learning of the truth behind it, and deciding what to do from there. it goes kinda like: her feeling depressed that her father's gone -> hating the dark hour -> learning that he was the one that created the dark hour -> feeling guilty about it -> learning the truth again -> her resolve to end the pain that is the dark hour to honor her father's dying wish.

grossly simplified, but that's the gist of it!

that's in the journey. knowing all of this, it's perfectly in line to believe she would act the way she does in the answer. none of the events in the journey really equipped her with the means to grieve a death like makoto's.

you can notice that yukari takeba's crucial character pivot moments happen when she has concrete reasoning behind death of a loved one. a post-mortem letter. a video tape (faked). another video tape. she's very girlish in that items like these to remember people by are important to her. something to touch and to hold and to feel close to the loved one as she sits in her room... something to guide her. an answer.

yukari had None of that for makoto. he simply disappeared from their lives no explanation, left them all in the dark. all they had to do, or could do, was suck it up and live their lives as best they could (none of them could). she was so eager to 'move on' from makoto's death because since they eradicated the dark hour, everything should be fine, right? no more persona bullshit. but then she's called back to the dorms and comes face-to-face with what she was running from... it's easy to see why she caved in on herself. acting all cold and dismissive, it was all a coping mechanism towards her grief over makoto.

and to undo/mitigate that grief by bringing him back to life... by actually giving him a choice or at least knowing why he made that choice... and somehow finding another way out... who wouldn't jump for that chance?

because yukari takeba is nothing if not pragmatic, and able to seize what she wants no matter the cost. even at the expense of the friendships she already has.

(the resolution, of course, is that said friendships she already has is enough. even at your lowest point,... a shoulder or two to cry on is enough. it always is.)

that's why i think yukari's character was refreshing in the answer. it always is really, i love yukari a lot! the writers didn't care to make her a palatable 'waifu' and makes her be at odds with the other characters (even the protag!) and because of that she is best lovers arcana girl out there.

i find that none of the character writing in persona games are done haphazardly. especially in p3 where things are never black-and-white. i also played as an adult and i can see why teens playing the answer the first time would feel annoyed by the characters a lot. initial feeling-based judgements like that can carry on to the present and who am i to convince majority of the playerbase otherwise lol. seems hard to.

god i could go on and on about yukari and literally anything else about p3 but this has been long enough LMAO mb. also no offense taken, man! and don't take me as really debating you on this but rather comparing notes yknow? because of that i'd like to hear you or anyone else's thoughts whether they're disagreements or otherwise. because if there's anything p3 or more specifically the answer taught me, is that disagreements between friends really isn't the end of the world but how you progress :thumbsup:

have a good day o7 and thanks if you made it this far

[unicornlovers10]

Normally I would tag spoilers, but I'm honestly making an exception for the new Harry Potter game. If it convinces people to not buy the game, or support JK Rowling in general, then it'd be worth it. Because not only is the source material problematic, but the new game is as well.

[etfrin]

⤷❝Mine To Love | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, mentions of caging/locking you up (doesn't do it though), hair pulling, breath play if you squint, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), pinv sex, blowjob, male masterbation, cunnilingus, mating press, mentions of Lucy Gray, no spoilers | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: Snow realizing his feelings for you, being fucked up about it and fucks you!

⇢☾A/N: don't romanticize, it's dark romance so y'all are warned! This is set in the same au as The Study (you don't have to read it beforehand but it's recommended)

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > <tag list>

It started slowly, so slow that Snow didn't even realize it. It started with that night in the study after he had you. He didn't touch you again, denying himself of you. You, his wife, a little bird stuck in a cage. The First Lady of Panem was nothing but a doll, a showcase piece for the country.

You played the role well enough, but you weren't a doll at all. You brought life in what was otherwise a stone-cold mannor. The workers cook your favorite, making sure you're the most well-accommodated. Like a Queen. How their shoulders relax and the smile that springs up when they do the tasks that you assigned them. You earned their respect and their loyalty.

You were dangerous yet harmless. It baffled Coriolanus to no end. It started slow. He coincidentally met you in the hallways more and more. After that night, you couldn't make eye contact with him, no longer did you greet him with an awkward hello or a shy smile.

You look down at the floor whenever he passes you by, your body flushing from the mere second of proximity. So obvious and adorable. He loved how easy you were to read, how open you were. Whatever your lips hide, your eyes show. Whatever your soul hides, your body shows.

It started slow. The monthly dinners with the First Lady turned weekly. Every Sunday now he had you sit across him for dinner and he would ask you about your day. Just to be polite, mind you, don't look into it. He would be annoyed by those one-word answers but would never show it. His fingers subtly grasped the glass of wine tighter than he should, his heart pricking his brain into paranoia. ‘What else?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Stop saying it was good. Tell me what made it good.’

Instead of uttering those words, cameras were placed on every inch of the manner with the audio functions so everything is recorded for his and only his view. He watched you walking through the library, your fingertips touching the spines of the books you already read (which was most of them), you didn't even realize new books were added to the collection, all similar to the ones you liked. He watched you stroll the gardens, your face in a frown at the neverending white roses. A red rose and several other flowers were added the next day.

It started slow. He began to talk about his day more and more trying to fill a silence. He started asking for your opinion and oh, how that lighted your eyes up that you were finally doing what you were meant to do. Supporting him not as a doll but as a wife. You begin to talk about your days more, trusting him with your day-to-day activities. You tell him about friends and family, something he wasn't interested in (he has files on every single person you mentioned).

The nights that were dedicated to his needed sleep turned into the witching hours in which he would stroke his cock over the memory of you. His mouth biting into the pillow to stop his groans, hearing them would mean admitting his need for you and he rejected that notion. His cock was oversensitive because he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop fucking into his fist, again and again thinking about you. Not just your pussy but you. Your desperate moans, your lips marking his neck, your slick walls, and everything of you. Your tears, your head on his chest when he had fucked you. Everything.

He wanted to pin you against a wall. He wanted to bend over during dinner. He wanted you on his lap in his study. He wanted to push you to the bed and fuck you until the bed breaks. He wanted you!

The realization made him spill onto his bed sheets for the nth time. A gasp escaped his lips as he realized how deeply you are rooted in him now. He needed to kill you. He can't afford this again. Whatever this is. Obsession? Love? Was there ever a difference? He needed this to end.

‘You don't deserve to be loved,’ he thinks, you were no Lucy Gray after all, you were different. You could never compare to his first and only (not anymore) love. But he had caged you, he had you and knew your every move. The rumors that spread of cheating were seized along with the man who flirted with you. True to your words, you hadn't fallen to the temptations of the Capitol, rejecting their offers politely rather than basking in their attention like before.

‘Good,’ he thought, he had killed everyone who had touched you and it was hard to hide the evidence. “I am so much better than her,” he muttered, “I could do so much better.” He asked himself, ‘Why? After all the promises I made to myself of never repeating the mistake.’

He didn't get a reply but he dreamt of you.

Breakfast had passed, lunch too, he hadn't seen you once today. A quick peek at his monitors showed that you were sleeping in your room. He clenched his jaw, a part of him hating you for sleeping in because it deprived him of seeing you. A part of his heart warmed because your hair was a mess, the shirt you were wearing while sleeping was his, and you looked so darn pretty.

Coriolanus convinced himself that he was going to your room to wake you up. Nobody should sleep this late into the day. It wasn't healthy, and he needed the First Lady to remain healthy. That was all.

He stepped into the room, his footsteps quiet so he didn't alert you. He sits down on the bed, your sleeping figure beside him. Your mouth had dried drool on the corners which made him disgusted but amusement all the same. His hand went to your cheek, he couldn't control the action of his thumb stroking your cheek.

“I should lock you up forever,” he whispered as softly as possible, almost inaudible. “In this room, so no one can see you but me.”

He knew by now his thoughts weren't normal and it would never be. That's him and he had accepted himself. He leaned in closer, his lips inches away from yours. He stopped right before he closed the gap. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent before pulling back.

His hand goes to your shoulder, he shakes you. “Wake up, bird,” he said, his eyes softening when he saw you wake up and peer at him with confused eyes. You yawn, and sit up, your eyes wide when you look at him. You rub them with your hand and blink.

“Is there anything wrong, Coryo?” You asked softly, “Anything I can do to help.” “You should shower and eat first,” he said instead, “and next time don't sleep in. I don't like indiscipline.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, “I was finishing a book.” Your eyes flicker to him, “It's nice by the way! I will tell you about it during dinner.” He wanted to hear about it now, he wanted to pull you closer and kiss your lips, he wanted to push you into the mattress and breed you. He wanted to clean you up after and feed you every kind of feed.

He clenched his jaw, trying to get rid of such thoughts. “We'll see,” he said before walking out of the room, accidentally slamming the door. The first sign of Snow losing control.

The second sign of Coriolanus losing control was how his breath hitched when he saw you during dinner. You are wearing yet another one of his shirts (how do you even get your hands on them) and that's it. A white shirt that reached your knees, you had forgone pants and opted for shorts that couldn't even be seen. Your legs were in complete view, the same legs he wanted wrapped around his waist.

He didn't say a single comment even when it was clear you were waiting for one. ‘Were you trying to seduce him?’ he thinks, ���Or something else.’ He felt paranoid about you wearing his shirt. Did you want him? Want him to bend you over, press your face onto the table and fuck you like you were an animal?

He felt his pants getting tighter from his thoughts, flashes of what he could do to you, what he had done to you. He couldn't focus as you talked during dinner, he made a mental note to watch the cameras later to know the words you had blessed him with.

It hits him like a wave when dinner ends and you come to him with a book. Tabs were spilling out and it was a hardcover of an old classic that he had to read during the academy.

“You once told me that you liked this book, I spent last night annotating it! I did a few finishing touches before dinner…”

That explains your attire, you were busy formatting this gift for him. He took the book from your hand, he wanted to throw it across the room, he wanted to set it on fire. It was now his most precious treasure, more important than Panem itself.

The truth he denied washes over him. Making him take a sharp breath and your eyebrows etch together in concern. He had once a girl dedicate songs for him, now he had a wife dedicating booms for him. ‘It would be a mistake,’ he told himself, ‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past.’

The desires he shoved at the back of his mind sprang forward and he made a decision. The third sign of Coriolanus surrendering to himself was that he had everyone including the guards leave the dining room. Making your eyes widen from the sudden instruction.

“Is there anything wrong-” you begin to ask before Snow interrupts you. “Here is what's going to happen now. You're gonna be on your knees, you'll take my cock in your mouth and you'll make me cum. Then I will take you to our room and I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name.”

You blink once, twice just staring into his eyes that revealed nothing before you went closer to him and got down on your knees for him. “Like this?” You asked, breathless, your cheeks flushed. He smirked, “Exactly like this, pet.”

“Now part those pretty lips for me,” he said as he unzipped his pants and set his hard cock free. He lets out a chuckle as he sees you eyeing his cock like a long-lost lover. Guess he wasn't the only one thinking about that time.

You part your mouth wide enough for him as he pushes his cock in slowly. No matter how desperate he was a gentleman for his wife. He knew better than to gag you. He stopped when his cock had completely disappeared, his length engulfed into your wet, hot mouth.

He throws back his head as his dick hits the back of your throat. He relishes the sound of your choking around his length. He lets out his groan, trying his hardest not to cum down your throat so soon. His hand is in your hair, keeping you in place like an obedient pet.

You try your best to take in a deep breath as your tongue swirls around his length as much as possible. You weren't the best at blowjobs, but you knew the sloppier the better. Saliva ran down your cheek as you tried your best to focus on his cock underside, your tongue dragging itself across a pulsing vein that reached his cockhead.

You moan around his length as the taste of pre-cum bursts in your mouth. You close your eyes and try your best, bopping your head up and down. You clenched your fist, trying your best not to gag when his cock gets deeper into your throat.

Meanwhile, Snow was a wreck of a man, the heat of your mouth ruining his capability of having coherent thoughts. You were sucking his soul through his dick it seemed to him. His fingers tangled in your locks, gripping your hair tighter as a way to anchor himself to reality.

His blue eyes dilated to almost black as he looks at you taking his cock so well. Like you were made for it. Made for his cock. Made for him. Meant to be his wife, his bird, his pet, and his love. It's destiny, he decided as he pulls you off his cock and uses his suit sleeves to wipe your mouth and chin.

‘Everything leads to this,’ he thought, as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your lips. The saltiness of his taste in your mouth does not deter his tongue from tasting you.

“Go to my- our room,” he whispered to you as he broke the kiss. “I'll be there soon,” he promises as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips kissing your skin. You nod and get off his lap. Your feet drag you into his room.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus takes a deep breath, trying to maintain whatever pathetic excuse of sanity he had held. It didn't work. His cock was hard enough to hurt and his brain made him think. He thinks of removing you, he thinks of keeping you. He thinks of plans to protect you, backup plans to make sure you remain untouched while still maintaining the image of the First Lady. His true possessiveness and obsession flares up in his mind.

‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past,’ he told himself, repeating that line to his head.

He takes a deep breath, a glance at the cameras shows workers and guards kept the halls clear and you were in his room and on his bed waiting for him. Waiting for him to ravish you as you kept playing with the buttons of the shirt, and your underwear on the floor. Your face was crimson but your lower lip was in a darker shade of red with how much you bitten it because of nervousness.

He lets out a huff of air before adjusting himself accordingly. Coriolanus Snow was many things, gentlemen included and gentlemen don't keep their ladies waiting.

You freeze as he enters the room. You swallow nervously, your fingers pausing on the shirt button you were playing with. He glances at the panties that were on the floor and he gives you a little smirk. “Take it all off, my wife,” he said as his hands worked to undress him. His suit was on the floor, his shirt joining it soon enough.

You have to press your thighs together as you see his skin again, a whimper escaping your lips at the sight. He was so beautiful, craved by the angels, breathed to life by the devil. Soon, his pants and boxers were getting ridden off.

You check him out, your gaze hungry. Your fingers shake with desire as you take off your (his) shirt. You let it fall, exposing yourself completely to him, like he did for you. His eyes rack you up, causing a flush to every visible inch of your skin.

“Open your legs,” he said, as he walked closer and got down on his knees for you. “I am hungry,” he said, while his lips pressed to your knee and his lustful eyes bewitched you. You had to bite your tongue to not let a moan from his mere words. You spread your legs wide, letting your cunt come into his view.

Your folds that were glistening with your arousal and your slit which was the cause of your juices fluttered around nothing from his gaze. “Exquisite,” he had whispered, the praise warming you up and making your pussy clench harder. “Eager too,” he chuckles, looking up at you but you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Have your meal,” you mumbled, embarrassed. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making your breath hitch from the contact. A sharp moan escapes when he bites, his teeth digging into the flesh and your hand falls onto his hair. Your fingers grip the blonde locks but you don't try to push him away. Your legs tried to close around him, but his hands made sure to keep them spread as he liked it.

He pulled away, admiring the mark before he pressed another wet kiss to it. His fingers grip your thighs, they hold tight enough to leave marks too.

He takes in a deep breath, nuzzling into your thigh. Your primal scent makes him go wild, his nail digging into your skin as he brings his lips closer to your pussy. One swipe of his tongue onto your folds and he groans louder than you have ever heard him to do so.

“You taste like fucking candy,” he lets out, as his nose bumps into your clit, his tongue messily swirling around your folds, gathering as much of your juices as possible. Your legs were all on his shoulders now as he all but pressed his face, burying himself in your cunt. He takes in a deep breath through his mouth before he begins to ravish you properly.

His mouth taking in your entire pussy and sucking it with such devotion it made you see stars. He laps at your pussy, his tongue never stopping to devour you. You pulled him even closer, your thighs closing around his head. The action only made him. You couldn't see it, but his eyes rolled back from the lack of air and your taste that quickly became his favorite.

His teeth pulled at the outer lips of your pussy, making you cry out and gush more juices. He licks it all up. Before his attention goes to your little bud, his mouth kisses it at first. Then he takes your clit into his mouth to suck without any mercy.

It makes you cry out, the soles of your feet digging into his back as your hips begin to rut against his face. You have no control over your actions. You were gripping his hair so tight you were afraid that you tore away a few strands. Overwhelming pleasure attacked all of your senses as he didn't stop his merciless actions.

You arch your back, your lips moaning his name as heat begins to gather in your body. You cry out, “Close! Coryo! Fuck!” Pleads begin to leave your mouth as your hips grind faster, your clit nudged his nose as his tongue is now inside your walls, fucking you with his tongue.

Your eyes widen, and you let out a silent scream when his teeth nip your swollen clit. You lay on the bed, panting as your pussy cums on his face. Your arousal makes a mess on his face which makes you even more slick when he pulls back and gets on top of you.

You looked into his eyes, his cold blue eyes that were nearly black now. He was panting, both of your breaths mixing into the air. With whatever senses you have left, you use your palm to clean up some of the mess on his face.

As soon as you finish up, he holds your hand. His mouth on your palm with broad strokes of his tongue he licks the remaining of your juices clean. “Can't let it go to waste, my bird,” he whispered to you as he leaned down. His body caging yours or were you caging him down with your legs around his waist? He pressed a kiss to your cheek. Sweet and gentle, and so unlike him but you don't dare question his affections. May it be sweet or savory, you accept it with your arms wide open.

“Want you,” you whispered to him. “You'll have me when I see fit,” he replied, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck before they reached the flesh of your breasts. One of his hands squeezed your breast and his thumb rubbed circles on your nipple. His lips paid attention to the underside of it, licking the skin around the round flesh before his teeth sank in making you gasp. He sucks harshly, his hold on your breast getting rougher as he forms the mark on your skin. When he's assured that a hickey will be formed, his lips pull back and he presses a kiss to the mark.

“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin before he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks just as harshly as before. You moan, “Yours, Snow!” Your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. His fingers play and squeeze your other breast while he continues to suck your bud. Your cunt despite having a previous earthsharing orgasm begins to pulse with need. You whimper, “Corio, please!”

Coryo pulls away, his eyebrows etched in annoyance, as much as he likes to hear you beg, he would rather focus on his task of marking you up. He leans up and presses his lips to you. You moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers tangling themselves into his curls bringing him even closer to you. He breaks the kiss, “I'll teach you to be obedient later, my pet.”

You let out a whimper when he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. His hands travel down to your hips. “Get ready,” he whispered to you, “I meant my words.” I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name. Remembering his earlier words, you whine loudly, “Please!”

His hand grips your hip tightly as his other hand holds his hard cock and guides it to your entrance. Just to be a little tease, he swipes his mushroom tip all over your cunt, his cockhead bumping your swollen clit making you arch your back and your nails dig into his flesh harder, making him moan as well.

He finally pressed his tip into your slit, his cock gliding in smoothly because of how wet you were. He groans as his dick gets sucked into warmth. His head is between the space of your shoulder. He was panting, his hot breath hitting your skin as he pushed in inch by inch. Your hands are on his back, your legs around his waist as you encourage him to go deeper into you with your soft moans.

His teeth sink into your neck to stop a groan, as his cock reaches your deepest spot. While your nails drag themselves across his back to create red lines. Both of you finding ways to anchor yourself to reality, to not go insane with the pleasure you find in each other.

“Move,” you plead, “Please, Coryo, need you to fuck me. Need you!” Snow decided to have mercy on you both, his hips began to move shallowly, and he refused to completely pull back. He refused the concept of depriving his dick of your sweet, wet pussy. “Faster,” you beg, his deep thrust hits at your every spot, some you didn't even know existed. It fried at your senses, your mind going haywire, your body getting desperate for another release.

“No,” he barks near your ear, his mouth biting your earlobe before he begins to kiss your jaw and then to your collarbone. His lips suck purple and blue bruises on your skin while his hips grind into you. Making you go dizzy and insane with how his cockhead kept grazing your g-spot.

“Please, please,” you babble, “You're fucking me so good, Coryo! I can't take it, please! Fuck me harder, love!” His hips had stopped moving as he heard your words. His head leaned up to you, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “What did you say?”

You looked straight into his eyes, not hiding the love you had for him, letting it flow through your words and your body. “Love,” you whispered, your lips pressing a delicate kiss that could shatter everything you had built with Snow. “I love you,” you whispered. One of your hands moves to his cheek, caressing him. “You don't have to do anything in return, just know that I love you.” You smile at him, knowing it's more likely that he won't ever return your feelings.

You prepared yourself for a harsh rejection but instead, his hips begin to move again. Harder, faster than before, his cockhead kissing your cervix with his thrusts, his fingers digging into your hips marking it. You won't be able to walk later but that didn't matter.

What mattered was how perfect Coriolanus had begun to fuck you. No, it wasn't a fuck. This was something more. Something changed with your confession, something changed and will remain changed for the rest of both of your lives.

One of his hands reached upward, his fingers snaking around your throat. He pressed it in, not enough to block your breathing but enough to make you lightheaded. Your pussy which was already tight, clenched around him further making him groan right against your ear.

“Lover indeed,” he whispered, his words that you nearly missed, your heart understood what he meant. You gasp, “Kiss me.” You knew that even without him saying those words, he could love you all the same.

Snow complies, his lips clashing with yours. His hips rutting into you as his hands guide your legs into the mating press position, making you cry out into the kiss as his cock reaches even deeper than before causing a small bump into your stomach that neither of you notices.

The kiss got open-mouthed, desperate with how his tongue tangled with yours. It was filth filled with the pathetic, insanity of love you both felt for each other. His thrusts got faster, and sloppier as he was close to his end. Your cunt pulsating around his length as you too were close to shattering again.

What it took for both of you to reach the end was him breaking the kiss to whisper, “I should kill you. I should kill you for making me a lovesick fool again.”

The words even when you know can mean your doom makes you cum like nothing else. Your lips cry out as your walls begin to milk his cock for what it's worth. He groans into your mouth, letting himself feel your fluttering cunt before he thrusts into you once, twice, and finds his release. His cock spilling into you, his cum painting your insides white, marking you.

He pulls out, his back covered with scratches, his curls clinging to his forehead and his lips swollen from the kisses. You looked just as much of a mess as he did, with marks all over your body.

He thinks to himself as he lies beside you. He wasn't going to kill you now. Not in ten years or fifty but your end would only be when he decides.

He loves you after all, in his twisted way.

tags : @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @justacaliforniandreamer

[sleepynoons]

To Hell and Back

Vignettes of mourning and bereavement over a period of two years.

After grieving the loss of your husband for over a decade, is there truly hope for recovery? And if there is, what is the difference between hope and insanity?

ukitake jushiro x f!reader, angst, nsfw?

word count: ~3,600

cw: heavy manga spoilers, death, explicit descriptions of suffering from grief + mental disorders (severe depression, etc.), extreme mental deterioration, alcohol, throwing up + dry-heaving, mention of insomnia, mention of sexual content, allusions to a lack of eating + frail health, hurt/no comfort

notes: lmk if i missed anything in the warnings! first time writing something so heavy, so the warnings + tags may be inadequate.

“UKITAKE-SAMA, YOUR tea is here.” A shinigami you forget the name of places a steaming cup next to you. From a quick glance, you can see a stalk floating vertically in the drink. Jushiro will be pleased to hear about it.

You nod but do not touch the cup. It is rude to drink and eat before your guests, and you are still waiting on them to arrive. Quietly, you watch the snow drift from the overcast sky, flakes clumping together and forming a thick coat over the ground, surrounding roofs, and trees. How many winters has it been?

Around the bend, you hear rapid footsteps. It must be them.

“Ukitake-sama, sincere apologies for our tardiness.” 

Turning your gaze to your left, you see Rukia-san and Abarai-san coming to view, noses and ears tinged red. Smiling softly, you beckon them to relax and sit on the engawa with you. They listen obediently and wait with bated breath for your next move.

“No worries at all. I am glad to see the two of you are well.”

Rukia-san smiles cheerfully. “Yes, we are doing very well.”

“And how are you adjusting to your duties as captain?”

“I am not captain yet, Ukitake-sama.”

Abarai-san barks a quick laugh. “She’s already very busy, trust me. The appointment is in a few days, right?”

Rukia-san huffs, and you chuckle. “I am sure the 13th Division will be in good hands.”

A gust of wind passes through the corridor, and you shiver slightly at the biting chill. Jushiro should have reminded you to take a coat with you today.

“Ukitake-sama, please, take this.” Rukia-san removes her shawl and places it over your shoulders. Her hands hover over your frame before she sits back down. “Forgive me for possibly overstepping, but are you eating well, Ukitake-sama?”

What did you eat this lunch? For that matter, did you even eat? How about last night? Hm, for some reason, you cannot recall. You shrug, indifferent. You have always been prone to forgetting your meals without Jushiro reminding you.

A silence falls among the three of you, and the snow picks up. You feel yourself smiling at the downpour of snow. So white, so pure. Jushiro always longed to walk in the snow, but his illness disabled him from spending an extended amount of time outside. While you are sure many of the shinigami are groaning at the weather, you know Jushiro would have found a way to celebrate it.

Abarai-san sighs a deep, hefty breath. “Ukitake-sama, if you’d like, would you join us for dinner? We’re having shabu shabu for the first time this year. I’m sure that’ll warm you up right away.”

It has been a while since the last time you had something so homey. You suppose Jushiro would not mind you spending a dinner with someone else. “I will take on your offer. Thank you for having me, Rukia-san, Abarai-san.”

The two bow before getting up, making their leave. They bid you farewell and several reminders to take care of your health. 

Internally, you scoff. You need to be mindful of your health? Please, you are fine and have always been, aside from nasty injuries gained during training and missions. Besides, the one you all should be worried about is Jushiro.

Ah, but there is no need for that either anymore.

–

You wake up late. You only know because the incessant light of the sun is bleeding through the cracks of the shoji screens. You even got the screens filtered to reduce the morning brightness, but nothing can dim the flames of spring.

As usual, you are alone in bed, wrapped and tangled and curled in the giant blankets of your futon. Jushiro should be coming back anytime now, you think. You roll over onto his futon and blindly feel around for the book that he places by his pillow every night. It is always something different because he can never seem to finish one. You wonder what he is reading this time, but nothing is there. In fact, as sleep escapes you, you realize his futon is fully made.

Untouched.

Sobs begin to wrack your body, but you dare not let your tears and snot smear Jushiro’s bedding. You have not washed it once since, and even now, his scent has almost completely, if not already, faded. If you wash it, more traces of his aliveness will disappear and you cannot tolerate that even more.

He was living, breathing, eating, sleeping, training, laughing, loving. He was – is – more than just a stone headpiece sitting underneath a gazebo, and you feel like everyone around you is forgetting that, only speaking of him in the past tense and as a distant, fleeting spark of a memory. And that makes you deeply, profoundly remorseful.

Because you are also only able to recall him now. How did he smell? You only remember it was a combination of tea leaves, anesthesia, and soil, a poor, inadequate description you came up with when he asked you decades ago. How about his hair length? Jushiro kept it long for centuries, but he always had you trim it so that it never extended past his hip. And the sound of his voice? Not even your memories can imitate the way he pronounced your name, bantered with Kyoraku, commandeered his squad.

Moments like these are arguably the hardest. Not only are you overcome with grief, but you are also frustrated and restless, unable to do anything because there is nothing to do. There is no solution to this mourning. You would never kill these feelings for Jushiro, but that means this torment is inescapable, inevitable. You want this sadness to pass, become the silver lining to some cloud, rejoice instead in the legacy he has left behind. But leaving this phase would mean enough time has passed, and with enough time, you would forget much about him.

You should have recorded more of your moments with your late husband. But you can only sigh and harbor more resentment towards yourself in your heart.

By now, the tears have stopped. You are back in your futon, only to bury yourself under the covers.

–

“Class is dismissed!”

The shinigami disperse, heading to grab their belongings lining the walls of the garden. As you have retired from your post in the Gotei 13, you are now a kido instructor for new court guard cadets. The young ones are promising, you think. 

Surprisingly, the classes of shinigami are growing. You had thought the war with the Quincies would deter future talent, but the damages and casualties seemed to have only bolstered interest. Interest in learning kido has also increased, no doubt due to Aizen’s influence.

Jushiro was plenty good at kido, too, you think bitterly. He just never had the opportunity to demonstrate his strength.

In fact, your first encounter with your late husband was at a kido training session that he was leading. With gentle encouragement and precise guidance, he taught you how to perform the casts you know by heart, and you continued to seek him out with questions and concerns until his appointment as captain. To say you missed your one-on-ones with him was an extreme understatement. You missed his soft laughs in the face of your snarky remarks and the fleeting touches of his fingertips against your tense arms. You did not think he would forget you, but you were not sure if you would ever be able to get so close to him again. Your doubt quickly dissipated, though, when you were accepted into the Gotei 13. It seemed he had chosen you to be placed into the 13th Division under him.

You are brought back from your reminiscing when you hear an angry cry. “Ukitake-sama is our instructor! How can you say that about her?”

The crowd breaks into waves of murmuring at the outburst. You look towards the right wall, and there you see a red-haired little girl being held back by two of her classmates. Like a cartoon character, she is kicking her feet, trying to wrangle her arms free, spewing insults at two other students who only roll their eyes.

This is nothing new. To be fair, ever since Jushiro’s sacrifice, you have only done the bare minimum to contribute to Soul Society, a stark contrast to the committed soldier you once were who went above and beyond. Many were shocked by your transformation and have begun to bear annoyance towards you for being a deadweight. You still receive many benefits for your many decades of service, and you remain in Jushiro’s old quarters in the 13th Division barracks. You are, for sure, taking up more space than a veteran should. But truly, you could care less to be noble.

You appreciate Ichika-chan’s attempts to save your face, regardless. You should give her some of the candies you store in your sleeves on her way out.

“Enough.” Everyone is now looking at you. You stare directly at the two shinigami who defaced you. What should you do with them?

Or rather, what would Jushiro do with them?

The answer is too obvious. You motion them to come to you, and they trudge over with lowered heads. When they come close enough, you sigh because had you acted purely out of your own volition, you would have reacted much differently.

You point at one of the students. “You are much too weak at defense. Please pay closer attention to our lessons on bakudou, and be sure to apply it during your sparring sessions.” Onto the other. “In order to summon the full force of a hado incantation, you have to call it properly. Polish your articulation, and you will experience a stronger effect.”

With that, you dismiss them again. As soon as they leave, Ichika-chan runs up to you, face blushing red (from the heat? embarrassment? or both?).

“Ukitake-sama, thank you for today’s class!”

You chuckle, adoring the young girl’s energy and brightness, and reach to take her hand in yours. You notice small callouses and blisters blooming on her palms, no doubt from practicing with her sword. Grabbing a fistful of candies, you enclose her fingers around the pile. “For you.”

A wide grin breaks on Ichika-chan’s face and she bows. “Thank you, Ukitake-sama!”

“I shall see you in a week, then.”

When all of the students finally filter out of the garden, you sit in peace. For once, the quiet is not eerie or haunting. Rather, it is much needed, a comforting break in between your classes. You still much prefer the sound of Jushiro’s chattering, but this tranquility may not be so bad either.

–

Underneath the gazebo, you bring the sake cup to your lips and down the liquid. The alcohol stings at the back of your throat, a burning sensation that muddles your brain yet pinches you awake. Across from you, a man also takes a swig, releasing a loud, uncouth exhale. 

He holds up a bottle, gesturing towards you with it. “Want more?”

You shake your head. Eyes downcast, you hold onto the cup in your lap with your hands clasped around it, staring into the glossy bottom of the ceramic. You see a faint reflection of your face, but it is too shady underneath the gazebo for there to be a clear outline.

The man downs another large gulp, humming in contentment at the taste. He then sighs and adjusts his large bamboo hat. “Eleven years, huh?”

“Indeed.” You glance up, catching the eye of the Captain General of the Gotei 13. “How are you feeling, Kyoraku?”

“Ha, I should be asking you that.”

“Not a day goes by that I do not think of him.” 

Kyoraku says your name gingerly, as if he is testing the mood of a spoiled, unpredictable child. “I understand. But you also need to live your life. That’s what he would want.”

You cannot hold back your voice. Close by, you know some of the other captains and their respective lieutenants are waiting for their turns to pay tribute. You are also aware that Kyoraku means no harm – in fact, he empathizes with you, something no one else can do. But still. “What he wanted was to live longer and be at peace! Do not dare to speak on his behalf! You may have been his best friend, but I was his wife, and I will not stand another shoving words into his mouth! Perhaps he does want me to live a little, be happy again. But…”

Your face feels hot. Feverish from strain, humiliation, shame. You can still hear echoes of your voice ricocheting off the walls of nearby buildings.

“Kyoraku… How are you able to carry on so easily?”

A torrent of jealousy and frustration courses through you, rushing through your veins and welling up nausea at the pit of your stomach. Why are you not able to move on?  Why have you been robbed of joy and happiness, never to feel those feelings again? Are you to live such a directionless, empty life for centuries more?

Kyoraku moves from his seat to sit next to you. He pats you on the back at a slow, tempered pace. “Because I have to. Because that’s what he would want from me.”

You crumple into the commander’s side, eyes blurring and body shivering. A gust of wind blows through the gazebo, colder than normal, a sign that fall is arriving soon. Kyoraku wraps his haori over you, doing his best to shield and comfort you. 

–

“How is she doing?”

“Much better! She’s been eating more and spending time with others these past two weeks.”

Kyoraku closes his eyes. Is he relieved? Yes. Is it too good to be true? Also yes.

“Commander? Is everything alright?”

Kyoraku puts on the best smile he can manage. “Yes, don’t worry about lil’ ol’ me, Kotetsu-kun. Just keep an eye on her for me, alright?”

“Yes, of course!”

The 4th Division captain bows before leaving the captain general’s office. Kyoraku waits until the doors shut with a resounding thud before he sighs deeply, worriedly. He had just seen you days ago, and it seemed there was much that was plaguing you. The likelihood of you recovering as rapidly as Kotetsu says you are is slim.

He peeks at the stack of files that Nanao-chan handed him this afternoon. But those can really wait, especially when it comes to you. Without you, there will be very few – if not, no one else – who can as vividly and intimately remember Ukitake as he can. He cannot lose the last connecting thread to his best companion. But truly, your state of mind’s very troubling. Stuck in an abyss, you wander, a ghost piloting a frail cadaver, bound to the grounds your late husband frequented when he was live. Often forgetting to eat and bathe and venture beyond your bedroom, you are withering away in real time, little pieces of your soul dying out.

At times, he can understand. Ukitake’s death left a permanent hole in his life as well, bereaving him from anyone he has given himself wholly to. Other times, though, he can’t extend any more empathy or compassion than he already has. How is it possible for you to not have anymore love or care for anything in this world? How can the loss of one person – something everyone experiences at one point in their life – disable you so much so?

But perhaps it’s a privilege that he cannot understand such enduring grief. He still has his niece, friends, and alcohol. Now that he thinks about it, you really don’t have anyone or anything else. Always keeping to yourself, you’ve been razor sharp in words and sight since he first met you; if others hadn’t already avoided you for your intimidating glare, then they were bound to be driven away by your scathing criticism and dry, sarcastic quips. Truth be told, it also took him a while to warm up to you, let alone fathom how you captured the heart of the open-minded, warm-hearted Ukitake. Kyoraku shakes his head. That’s Ukitake for you, he thinks, able to love everyone and everything.

At the end of the day, there’s a singular fundamental difference between you and Kyoraku: he has a reason to keep living, and you don’t.

He rubs at his left eye. He hopes you find one soon.

– 

You have been having horrible dreams recently. More specifically, the dreams are so euphoric that they make you want to throw up when you wake up.

Jushiro appears in all of them. Sometimes, it is a recollection of your wedding day, from the ceremony in the morning to the love he made to you that night. There are also flashes of him bedridden, weakened by the intrinsic sickliness of his physicality. Last night, Jushiro and you were in a field, one so vast that you could not see beyond the rolling hills of low-hanging yellow camellia shrubs.

Both of you were stooping to admire the perennial flowers. You plucked one, tucking it behind his ear, and he laughed, doing the same for you. There was no well-trodden road or path, so the two of you meandered about at your own leisure. Strangely, though, neither of you spoke a word, only listening to the summer wind rustling through the field and the worker bees buzzing about. But you did not care at all. You just needed him by your side, just like this.

At one point, you were entranced by a particular shrub that grew taller than the rest, and while you were distracted, Jushiro had wandered far off. When you noticed the lack of his presence, you jolted up to your feet, eyes frantically searching all around, until you spotted him a couple hundred yards away behind you. He was waving his arm, calling out to you in his bright voice. “Come over here!”

Yet, before you were able to tell that you are on your way, you wake up, cold sweat seeping through your yukata.

The experience is truly nauseating, and you have had to experience it every morning for the past half-month. You would much rather become an insomniac at this point.

Regardless, you know the cause behind such dreams: the Konso Reisai ceremony is coming up.

– 

The lieutenants are late. As per custom, they are to capture a Hollow in order for the ceremony to proceed. You, along with the division captains, surround Jushiro’s tombstone and wait in silence. You notice Rukia-san, who tries to smile encouragingly at you. You nod, stone-faced, barely able to reciprocate her efforts.

You are sure you look miserable. This morning, you were caught dry-heaving into the toilet by Kotetsu-san, who called Kyoraku over when you refused to leave your bathroom. With much begging and pleading, you let the commander peel you from the toilet bowl and off the floor, carrying you over to your and Jushiro’s futons to get dressed. Without the help of Rukia-san and Kotetsu-san, you would not even be dressed properly for the occasion.

Twelve years, and the grief is no less debilitating. You are depression epitomized, the personification of sadness and anger and surrender mushed into a near-corpse. The saying goes that healing is not linear, but you are sure yours is a straight trend downwards, unrelenting and deterministic in nature, never to plateau.

Suddenly, one of the captains, Soifun-san, gasps. “What is this…?”

There are black dewdrops scattered about, hanging immobilized in the air. You jerk as one appears right in front of you. 

You catch a glimpse of Kyoraku unsheathing his sword, slicing a droplet faster than you can see, and then examining the bubbling matter staining the blade. “This is a will-o’-wisp from Hell.”

As he explains the will-o’-wisps and the superstition behind the Konso Reisai ceremony, you feel…

Adrenaline surging through you. 

Goosebumps appearing on your arms and back. 

Expectation bringing you to a dangerous high. 

Hope.

Reishi too potent cannot return to Soul Society? The ceremony is dedicated solely to deceased captains? The only other option is Hell?

Does that mean… Jushiro is in Hell?

Hope.

Hope.

Kyoraku concludes. “I just realized right now that this superstition might have been true.”

Hope.

You are giddy. Ecstatic. Overjoyed at the news.

For the first time since your husband’s death, you are feeling positively abundant. Hopeful. You never thought you would feel hope again.

At first, only your shoulders shake. But your clothes that hang so loosely on you can only hide so much of your shuddering frame, and the other captains begin to take notice. Your hands reach up to hold your face, one covering your eyes and the other failing to mute your laughs. 

You can no longer hold back.

You cackle loudly, hunched over while laughing and giggling incessantly. Someone tells you to shut it, but you simply cannot.

Of course, this is no comedic matter. This is serious – wonderful – news! Because Jushiro’s reishi cannot be deconstructed and digested by Soul Society, it has been sent down to Hell. His soul is still intact, from what you understand. That means, in essence, he is still alive. 

A miracle has occurred, you think.

Hysterical. Unrestrained. Deranged.

You can see Jushiro again. You can smell his comforting scent of tea leaves, feel the silkiness of his hair slip between your fingers, taste his lips against yours, imagine him smiling and laughing and existing in one whole piece right in front of you.

It cannot get better than this.

I am on my way, you think. I am coming over right now, Jushiro. 

My beloved, I will be right there with you. 

[oh-saints]

sweetest devotion (pt. 6)

“we’ll figure out the nitty-gritty along the way,” serena once said. but never once did she mention anything about figuring out this alien feeling mason got whenever she was concerned.

playboy!mason x princess!OC wc: 2.2k tw: as mentioned in the masterlist only, but particularly extramarital affair to a marriage of convenience for this particular chapter note: i'm sorry this chapter doesn't contain spoilers as i've mentioned in the previous one. things changed as i was writing this down but i hope you like this one the same! <3 but as usual, i happen to write this at dawn so this is not beta-read yet. tags: @pingyu-in-wonderland @ironmaiden1313 @myreveriie @808heartz <3 (lmk if you wanna be added!) < part 5 - part 7 > sweetest devotion masterlist

“please let me know—”

mason was pacing back and forth, making sure everything was within his sister’s sight, especially serena’s meds, so when serena woke up, jasmine would be able to reach them without difficulty, considering her growing stomach.

“mason tony mount,” and the called man halted his steps. “stop moving this instance.”

the youngest of four didn’t have much choice other than to follow the instruction. the last time jasmine announced his full name, he was called out for having a mistress. whom, ironically at that time, he’d gladly choose over serena, and look where the blind devotion had gotten him into.

“you moving around doesn’t help my nausea so dear god, please help this bloody pregnant woman and stop moving,” jasmine sat down on the nearest sofa, huffing out her palpable frustration. “I know the drill of being caretaker, okay? now go,”

right, the sole reason of mason calling jasmine for help.

he could be walking away freely like he wasn’t accountable, because serena being admitted to the hospital wasn’t his wrongdoing anyway. but ask anyone in the nurse station and they’d gush over how much of a good husband mason mount was.

you could barely find him outside of serena’s room, except to go to the training ground or fetching his own portion of food, and he’d always drop something by on the nurse station’s desk whenever he came back from them. and whenever it was time for a nurse or doctor’s visit, they’d find the husband recounting what happened at work to the wife, who’d listen attentively and respond accordingly. he’d take her for a stroll to the garden at the back of the hospital before the sun set too, as per the doctor’s recommendation, complete with jackets and warm drinks sat underneath the wheelchair.

but no matter how much he played the dutiful husband the past days, he was still an active footballer by the end of the day. going for an away match was inevitable, thus the reason why his sister was in the hospital now.

jasmine didn’t know the reason why, and mason hadn’t bothered to say anything else other than “serena hasn’t been feeling well”. technically he wasn’t lying, but one look at the nasty blue marks on serena’s cheeks was more than enough of an explanation for jasmine. certainly it wasn’t mason because his brother didn’t have it in him to hit a dangerous animal, let alone a woman, but the older mount wasn’t expecting an answer until either serena or mason was ready to give her one.

what happens in one’s household should stay inside, they say.

“text me if something—”

“happens, yes, I know, mase,” jasmine clicked her tongue as she rolled her eyes, obviously in annoyance. “I thought you didn’t care about serena?”

right, the sole reason of mason calling jasmine for help.

aside from his initial worry, he thought jasmine would be the safest option to ask for help because, by far, she was the only one who knew about his extramarital affair—or at least, who admitted to mason that she knew about it and voiced her honest opinion on the matter.

yet, she hadn’t said anything since then and his entire family hadn’t cut off his ears by berating him, so surely jasmine also hadn’t spilled a thing to the rest of his kin. it was within his intuition to trust serena’s life in her hands while he was away because surely jasmine wouldn’t drop anything that could possibly worsen serena’s condition, especially anything in relation to elena.

if anything, jasmine was the first person mason should apologise to—other than serena, of course—because he hadn’t been listening well. he remembered clearly, much to his own dismay, of his annoyance when jasmine particularly called him out about elena, only for him to accuse her of being unsupportive sister when she was anything but.

“oh shit,” the silence mason entertained was enough of a reason for jasmine to sit up, now fully interested at the turn of events. “what changes?”

“please, no more foul language around my little niece,” mason sighed. from a third point of view, it was a deep breath let out to emphasis one’s frustration. but jasmine knew better, she knew her brother. “why are you smiling?”

“nothing,” jasmine hummed rather cheerily, her eyes glinting something dangerous mason didn’t want to find out yet. “just what changes, mase?”

another sigh coming from jasmine’s other end. her brother could be seen pinching the bridge of his nose, in hope to soothe his invisible confusion. confused as to how to answer his own sister because he truly didn’t know the answer.

what changed? everything.

nothing changed yet everything changed, if that made sense. but nothing was making sense in mason’s standard currently.

yet everything was making sense in jasmine’s standard. “do you love her?”

“no,” that much, mason could give out. “of course not.”

“do you like her?”

“yes,” that much, mason could give out. who didn’t like serena? aside from him, a thousand of eldorran people could vouch on their soft spot towards the princess. “if not, I wouldn’t be marrying her.”

jasmine smiled wider. she might not know whatever reason his stupid brother married the youngest monarch in the first place, but mason’s answer was enough.

at least for now.

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

what jasmine didn’t know was that mason had asked serena’s stay to be prolonged until he had elena under control. aka, being under police custody.

it was a rather long legal process to get her taken by the authority, and it was still an ongoing battle. so he didn’t want to risk it, not when he had two lives to protect now, until he knew all of them were able to breathe safely without being hunted by an unwanted ghost of the past.

the only people currently allowed to enter mason’s premise were only him and the house’s caretaker he’d entrusted with since the first time he moved here. maybe even longer, since she’d also worked for the previous owner. but it was also because she left the house when she was done with her work—he’d never felt so lucky she refused his offer to become a live-in caretaker a long time ago, or else mason surely had fired her too as he didn’t want to risk her life as well.

“the duffel bag for your wife is by the door, mr. mount,” the caretaker lady spoke up as mason entered the kitchen, ready to ask of her another plate of his favourite cheat meal. “please let me know if you need anything else.

“thank you, sam,” and he was truly grateful sam stayed behind the past couple of days, just until mason left the house after getting fresh set of clothes, because he didn’t know what to do about serena’s wardrobe if he was left alone. he didn’t want to intrude serena’s privacy just yet, not even when he’d be forgiven if he told her the reason why. “but could you make me that broccoli fusilli with cheese you always store in the fridge? I haven’t had the chance to grab a meal.”

“broccoli fusilli?”

mason looked up from his seat, puzzled. “yes, you usually wrap them with clear foil with some other dishes,”

maybe mason should start feeling less lucky sam previously refused to become a live-in caretaker. there were too many things that he started not knowing of ever since serena lived under the same roof as his, things that sam could’ve told him if she’d come to live with him.

when sam didn’t move from her spot, mason braved himself to ask the multimillion dollar question. “didn’t you make all those food?”

“no, mr. mount,” the older woman shook her head, as confused as he was. “your wife never lets me touch the kitchen since you both got married. it’s all her cooking.”

＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊＊✿❀○❀✿＊

since sam’s last words, mason hadn’t been the same person as he was when he returned to his house from the hospital earlier that afternoon. mason hadn’t been the same person—heck, mason hadn’t been a person at all during the entire trip to the away game.

he recalled having the fridge always stocked. with his favourite snacks, beverages, and beers—a chore he remembered giving to sam on the earliest days of the caretaker. the frozen and wrapped dishes he’d like to warm up whenever he came by the house after spending his time with elena in her home, was indeed only recently, but he never expected them to be made and left there by his wife. he only thought sam was having extra energy of some sort to cook too much for two—serena and herself—that she left some for him to heat up later.

what else did serena do for him?

“what’s bothering you, lad?”

ben chilwell’s voice snapped mason’s thoughts into a wreckage, but mason could say he needed it. they were coming on shortly, for god’s sake. “nothing, just my wife.”

“I thought you don’t have a wife?” ben’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. the left back remembered vividly mason’s admission to not having a wife yet because that title was supposedly reserved for elena. now that the other lady was tangled in a legal battle—one mason didn’t bother telling him of, by the way, that he had to find out from their common friend’s mouths—ben wondered who mason might be referring to. “do you have another mistress or something?”

if mason pulled the rug under his feet, ben was more than ready to chase the younger man down the bloody hall.

“no! of course not!” mason shook his head off rather violently, expressing his extreme distaste towards ben’s accusation. “I mean, serena.”

“how’s she, by the way?” despite sharing mutuals with elena, ben couldn’t help but become concerned towards the princess this time around. “I hope she’s getting better.”

“she is, thanks for asking,” mason threw his best friend the “formal” smile because while he was happy serena had indeed been getting better, he wouldn’t know how to make of their impending situation when he got back. “it’s just that... I don’t know, mate. I can’t believe still that elena could do such thing.”

“no one saw that coming, mase,” ben patted down mason’s knees, giving him a reassurance smile, letting the fan’s favourite know he shared the same sentiment. “don’t fret so much about it.”

“I thought she was the one, you know?” mason let out another deep sigh, a developing habit he vowed to eradicate soon, as he tied his shoes tighter. “maybe she still is.”

“if you think she is, you need to get rid of serena,” ben crouched down to put his shinpad in place. “you know that, right?”

“I do, but I can’t seem to do that to her. not after what elena did to her,” mason’s statement actually halted ben’s movement for a split second because it was all a lot to take in, honestly. “maybe I’ll purse elena again after I’ve got it sorted with serena.”

“so is it elena or serena?”

ben was expecting mason to give him a straight, direct answer but a hesitant mason was not in the cards, at all. if someone told ben about this side of mason a month ago, he would’ve laughed at their face.

“forget I asked,” ben was honestly scared of the thought mason changing overnight, not when he knew the younger footballer had been head over heels with his model, muse—whatever it is he calls her with—since the first time he laid his eyes on her. “why do you care so much about serena anyway?”

ben’s question might be simple but it was enough to stun mason in his place.

why do you care so much about her?

at that precise moment, his phone vibrated in his hands. rather violently, compared to the empty state of his mind, but speaking of the devil…

good luck for today.

same text, from the same person, on the same time. sent impeccably 30 minutes before match, just right before the gaffer’s pre-match brief.

mason didn’t know he was holding a bated breath but as he read the text once more, a small smile crept into his face. it was the text he’d been waiting for. even though he didn’t always reply to them, she never missed out on telling him what she was up to—always watching him from home was what she was conveying.

not even elena managed to pull out a routine such as.

and that was when mason knew he had the answer to ben’s earlier question; because she cares about him, always has.

it was only right to reciprocate it, no?

“I hope that’s not the guilt speaking,” mason looked up to the older englishman, who patted his shoulder just now as he looked over mason’s shoulder, only to find the text from serena. “you were so adamant to propose elena a month ago, remember?”

the word guilt rang in mason’s ears more violently than an earthquake ever could.

next chapter contains:

“mason, what are you doing here?” “I’m making sure no one barges into the house and attack you again.”

[fatuispolaris]

hello all! milk here! this is an indie, private, & highly selective roleplay blog for tartaglia/childe from genshin impact. i am completely caught up with the archon quest, so this blog will not be spoiler free (i will tag if i mention leaks, though). if i'm not here, you can find me on one of my other blogs: @impishsensei @blastintriumph @muryonokansei @yuujitheevessel please be sure to read my rules before interacting/following. 

GOOGLE DOC || INTEREST CHECK (wip) || PLOTTING CALL (wip) || pinned credit | fanart for icons credit (1), (2), (3)

i’ll place my rules here as well for ease of access for mobile users. they’re located under the cut! 

guidelines

i will interact with mutuals only. if i follow you, i want to interact, so do not hesitate to send me asks or im me with plot ideas! i'm willing to roleplay with ocs, and characters from other series. for personal blogs: please do not follow/like/reblog my posts. doing so will result in an immediate block. i’m okay with one-liners, crack, multi-para, novella… everything! feel free to send in any ask memes if we haven’t roleplayed before. i’m duplicate friendly.

if i haven't replied in two weeks and i'm not on hiatus, that means i probably lost our thread or it’s sitting somewhere in my drafts and I haven’t noticed it, so please message me to remind me about it. i drop roleplays sometimes out of a loss of interest but please do not blame yourself. it is always a personal thing that has nothing to do with anyone else as a roleplayer. i’m always happy to start/write more regardless of dropping previous threads.

Don’t god mod. My character is mine, and yours is yours. Little things to move the thread along are fine with me, but don’t kill Childe without even checking if that’s fine with me first (ask memes that call for it are an exception though, of course).

where RP is concerned i heavily prioritize chemistry. for now, my blog is multi-ship, so any relationships my muse develops will take place in separate verses unless stated otherwise. that being said, i absolutely love shipping but i think childe (the way i portray him, at least) is kinda difficult to ship with romantically so keep that in mind.

DON'T involve me with drama OR send messages telling me to reblog callout posts or anything like that. i don't care for getting involved with petty roleplay drama. if it's something actually serious, i've already seen it on the dash and taken note. seriously, i will hardblock, anyone that pesters me with this nonsense.

There will be NSFW content on this blog so if you’re uncomfortable with that just blacklist the the following tags, as i tag all my nsfw posts with the following: “cw nsfw”, “nsfw //”, and “( nsfw. )”.  Feel free to ask me to tag anything you need tagged.  I am 26, so if a roleplay should ever come around to it I will only write smut with partners that are also of age & that I feel comfortable writing smut with. If you’d rather not roleplay smut publicly, I’m cool with continuing roleplays on discord. I’m also open to just private RPs (not necessarily smut) on discord too, just ask/lmk you’re interested!

Given that Childe is a morally gray character, I will not stray away from this nature of his or soften it in the slightest. Even though he is a playable character in game and a friend to the traveler, he is still unapologetically a harbinger and doesn’t show remorse for his actions. I will approach writing his character with this mentality. Additionally, I will cover dark topics. There will be mentions of murder, blood/gore, toxic/unhealthy relationships and so on featured on my blog. I will of course tag what I feel needs to be tagged. 

I ask that minors DON’T follow my blog. I don’t want to be the reason anyone sees something inappropriate for their age. If you’re a minor & I accidentally followed you, let me know & I’ll unfollow you immediately. 

[balemccn]

hello all!! this is an indie, private, & highly selective roleplay blog for arlecchino from genshin impact. on this post, you’ll find all relevant links/info for my blog.  i am completely caught up with the archon quest, so this blog will not be spoiler free (i will tag if i mention leaks, though). if i'm not here, you can find me on one of my other blogs: @impishsensei @fatuispolaris @blastintriumph @muryonokansei @yuujitheevessel 

please be sure to read my rules before interacting/following.

carrd || interest check (wip) || pinned credit

for ease of access, my rules are placed under the cut!

i will interact with mutuals only. if i follow you, i want to interact, so do not hesitate to send me asks or im me with plot ideas! i'm willing to roleplay with ocs, and characters from other series. for personal blogs: please do not follow/like/reblog my posts. doing so will result in an immediate block. i’m okay with one-liners, crack, multi-para, novella… everything! feel free to send in any ask memes if we haven’t roleplayed before. i’m duplicate friendly.

if i haven't replied in two weeks and i'm not on hiatus, that means i probably lost our thread or it’s sitting somewhere in my drafts and I haven’t noticed it, so please message me to remind me about it. i drop roleplays sometimes out of a loss of interest but please do not blame yourself. it is always a personal thing that has nothing to do with anyone else as a roleplayer. i’m always happy to start/write more regardless of dropping previous threads.

Don’t god mod. My character is mine, and yours is yours. Little things to move the thread along are fine with me, but don’t kill my muse without even checking if that’s fine with me first (ask memes that call for it are an exception though, of course).

where RP is concerned i heavily prioritize chemistry. for now, my blog is multi-ship, so any relationships my muse develops will take place in separate verses unless stated otherwise. that being said, although i absolutely love shipping, arlecchino is absolutely someone that's difficult to ship with because it's not romance is nowhere near her list of priorities... sooooo it'd require a lot of build-up and work.

DON'T involve me with drama OR send messages telling me to reblog callout posts or anything like that. i don't care for getting involved with petty roleplay drama. if it's something actually serious, i've already seen it on the dash and taken note. seriously, i will hardblock, anyone that pesters me with this nonsense.

There will be NSFW content on this blog so if you’re uncomfortable with that just blacklist the the following tags, as i tag all my nsfw posts with the following: “cw nsfw”, “nsfw //”, and “( nsfw. )”.  Feel free to ask me to tag anything you need tagged.  I am 27, so if a roleplay should ever come around to it I will only write smut with partners that are also of age & that I feel comfortable writing smut with. If you’d rather not roleplay smut publicly, I’m cool with continuing roleplays on discord. I’m also open to just private RPs (not necessarily smut) on discord too, just ask/lmk you’re interested!

Given that arlecchino is a morally gray character, I will not stray away from this nature of hers or soften it in the slightest. Even though she is a playable character in game and a friend to the traveler, she is still unapologetically a harbinger. i will approach writing her character with this mentality. Additionally, I will cover dark topics. There will be mentions of murder, blood/gore, toxic/unhealthy relationships and so on featured on my blog. I will of course tag what I feel needs to be tagged. 

I ask that minors DON’T follow my blog. I don’t want to be the reason anyone sees something inappropriate for their age. If you’re a minor & I accidentally followed you, let me know & I’ll unfollow you immediately. 

[chaotic-neutral-knitter]

new tagging system for my blog, because I feel like I need to switch it up a bit.

everything from season 2 of ofmd will have ofmd s2 added, so if you don't want to see stuff from episodes that have aired, you should block that tag until you're ready to see it.

everything from promos (trailers, next week on ofmd clips, bts that includes stuff from future episodes) will be tagged ofmd s2 spoilers

promotional material will also be tagged with ofmd promo and behind the scenes stuff will be tagged with ofmd bts

anything regarding leaks (unofficially released stuff, which I've mostly been avoiding anyways) will be tagged with ofmd leaks

I try to tag extensively because I don't want to spoil things for folks - if there's anything else you want me to tag lmk and I will see what I can do. I'm just trying to avoid having a bunch of redundant tags that don't discriminate between different types of spoilers.