#All I will say here is that what happened to you there is wrong

[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - ii.

selkie!soap x reader. depression. suicidal ideation. strangers to "lovers." . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

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You sleep long enough that, when you wake up, you have enough energy to cry.

It’s a big one. The kind of cry that threatens to turn your throat out, with how hard you sob. Alone in the cottage, far away from anything resembling civilization, you wail like wounded animal, choking on your own tears and mucus, losing track of your body buried underneath the covers—

But it happens at a remove. You watch yourself implode from someplace deep inside, not entirely sure why it’s happening at all—but long past trying to figure it out.

This is how it’s been for a while. There’s nothing special about it anymore. Nothing urgent. Most of the time, you are a blank space of a person, a vacuum where joy or rage or fear should be, but occasionally some maelstrom or another kicks up to fill it in, and your only course of action is to ride it out until it ends.

You’ve stopped trying to fix it. And you’ve stopped hoping anyone else can, either.

So you cry, until at last, you’re empty again. Or you’re too tired to continue. The difference is negligible, but functionally irrelevant. Once it’s done, you get out of bed.

The pressure in the shower is as weak as Johnny reported, but the water is indeed warm when you turn it on; you stand naked under the flow, arms hanging at your sides.

The day stretches itself out before you with nothing to occupying it, just as you’d planned. Nothing to work towards; no effort to put forward. Nothing, thanks to your choice of locale, to feel guilty about not seeking out.

A day of peace and utter quiet.

Suddenly—violent banging, somewhere in the cottage. It startles you; you jump so sharply at the noise that you smack your wrist on the soap caddy attached to the shower wall. The banging comes again—annoyed, you realize with no little bemusement that someone is at the front door.

You wrap yourself in a towel and hobble out of the bathroom to answer it, a piece of your mind on your tongue, dart-shaped and ready to fly—

Of course it’s Johnny.

Johnny, big and burly in a sweater, kilt, and pelt once again, two paper cups balanced in one large hand and a grocery bag hanging from the other. Whose dark brows shoot up his forehead as his eyes travel with surprise, and blatant appreciation, down the dripping length your body.

“Well, good mornin’, bonnie,” he purrs.

“What,” you grunt. A cold breath of wind chooses that moment to force its way through the door, gasping across the shower water still running in rivulets from your hair to the rolled edge of your towel. Goosebumps erupt from your bare skin in millions of simultaneous pinpricks—you flinch bodily at the chill.

“Ah, hell’s bells, don’t just stand there,” Johnny says, following the wind. “It’s freezin,’ go on, let me get in, hurry.”

You let him step inside, for some reason, and he shuts the door behind him with the heel of his boot. He wastes no time after that, heading to the kitchen to set down his things.

“Brought breakfast!” he says cheerfully. “There’s this bakery on Barra I thought you’d like, fresh doughnuts and coffee. Dunno how you take yours, but there’s sugar in the pantry and cream in the fridge.”

“I don’t want breakfast,” you say.

“What? ‘Course you do. I’m no’ takin’ you seal-watchin’ on an empty stomach.”

He starts unpacking the grocery bag and setting things on the counter while your jaw hangs open. Several things occur to you to say—I never agreed to that and what the hell is wrong with you, for starters—but your stomach growls at him before you can. The aroma of fresh-baked pastry wafts through the kitchen when he opens one box, and he turns to grin at you, cheeks dimpling.

“Do you get dressed, bonnie,” he says. “It’ll still be here when y’get back.”

It is less polite than he perhaps intends it to be, given that his gaze travels appreciatively across your bare shoulders. You cross your arms fruitlessly over your chest and, nothing else for it, retreat to the bedroom, feeling his eyes on you the whole way.

You return to the kitchen after having pulled on wool leggings and the same fleecy sweater from the day before. Johnny, one hip set against the counter, has a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a half-eaten cruller in the other, crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

“Got anythin’ heavier?” he asks around a chewed-up mouthful. “Gets cold out there.”

You look down at his bare calves, broad and taut and covered in a down of dark hair. “You seem alright.”

“I’m used to it,” he says, shrugging—the muscles flexing under your gaze.

You purse your lips. “I don’t have anything.” You hadn’t intended to leave the cottage overmuch.

You approach the counter. Johnny does not move a centimeter, forcing you to stand close as you pick through the two boxes of doughnuts and feel the body heat radiating off of him, displacing the scent of fried dough with his musk.

“That’s all right,” he says. You’re close enough to hear the way his voice hums deep in his chest. “I can keep you warm.”

You snatch a plain glazed from the box and take two very large steps away from him. The hair on the back of your neck lifts as you press against the sink behind you. If he notices your reaction, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest—he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks, eyes sliding closed with simple, obvious pleasure, dark lashes curling against his cheek.

You take the brief respite from his gaze to stare at him. In the morning light, on a full night of sleep, you can almost believe that whatever you’d seen in him yesterday had been nothing more than a misfire of exhausted synapses. An overlay of a dream; a circadian prompt to rectify nearly seventeen hours of sleeplessness. You’d been cold, and tired, and hungry. That was all.

You bite down on your doughnut, not really tasting it. The nerves along your spine twitch and contract around the memory of his flashing gaze.

His eyes open again, and he smiles at you. “Good?” He flicks a look at the single bite you’ve taken, looks at your mouth, and then waits for your reply.

“It’s fine,” you grumble. Then, “How did you get here? I didn’t hear the truck drive up. Do you live close by?”

“Sometimes,” he says. He looks pleased that you’ve asked, that you’re interested at all, and you immediately regret inquiring. “Live on a boat, me. Moored in the cove right now.”

“A…boat,” you say.

“Aye.” A wisp of dark hair, something he must have missed when he gelled his mohawk this morning, flutters as he nods. “Nice and cozy. Not as grand as all this, mind.” He gestures around with coffee and doughnut at the less than five hundred square feet of the cottage. “But it’s still a sight nicer than some other places I’ve slept.”

He’s likely hinting at his military service. “Okay,” is all you say, unwilling to entertain it.

He smirk—undeterred. “We’ll take her out once you’re ready.”

“I never said I was going.”

Dark brows lift. “Got somethin’ else planned for today?” he asks, incredulous, as if he never imagined you wouldn’t want to hang out with him.

“No, I—”

You wrack your brain. You have no intention of explaining to this complete stranger that the last thing you’d wanted to do, when you booked this trip, was really anything at all—and in fact, you hadn’t even considered that that might be something anyone else would care much about.

Much less proactively address.

“No,” you repeat, sulking.

Johnny considers you, chewing. His eyes do not stray, this time, to places they don’t belong; but there’s an insight to them. A sharp awareness. A perception in his gaze that is just as undressing, as if whatever is going on with you is visible to the naked eye.

“I figure,” he says, slowly, as if to coax, “you put your wee shoes on, an’ I’ll pack this back up, and we take it along.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you grouse. “I don’t need you to, like—be my tour guide.”

“Aye, but that doesnae mean I don’t wanna,” he retorts, smiling.

He shoves the last bite of cruller in his mouth and gazes patiently at you as he works it with his jaw, the muscles flexing along his temples as he chews.

Exhaustion, your constant companion, stares you down alongside him. It would take so much more energy to fight him than to go along with whatever he has planned. Energy you just don’t have anymore. And going along doesn’t mean you have to pretend to enjoy yourself—it’s not like you care enough about Johnny’s self-esteem to conjure up a happy face to show him.

You can go, and be a bitch about it, and once you do maybe he’ll realize you’re not at all worth the effort he’s making, and then finally leave you alone.

“Fine,” you say, which is how you end up on a fishing trawler headed south toward, ostensibly, a colony of breeding seals.

It’s an old vessel—that much is obvious. Its edges and corners are dull with the passage of time and constant maintenance, scuffed by innumerable passes-over with cleaner and cloth. Mildew competes with the aroma of fresh varnish as Johnny leads you onto the bridge, which is mercifully closed in from the ocean wind.

The interior is mostly wood of a warm, orangish variety—you can’t tell if that’s a decision made with aesthetics or function in mind. The space comprises a kitchen, surprisingly well-appointed with a stove, sink, countertop, and fridge, and a small sitting area with both couch and booth seating. Surrounding windows allow in the grey light of the morning.

“Bought it off an old bloke on Lewis,” Johnny says, taking his place at the wheel, which is in a little alcove off the kitchen.

If you’d thought steering a boat would have curtailed his chatting, you’d have been wrong—he seems to have no trouble with that and talking, incessantly, at the same time, as he pulls the vessel away from the cove and into the open water.

“All his family moved to the mainland, he told me, an’ this is after generations fishin’ these islands, even makin’ it through the Clearances! No money in it anymore, he said, not like you could make in some office somewhere countin’ someone else’s money.” He checks something on the dashboard in front of him, but it doesn’t distract him for long. “Held on for a while, but people just kept leavin,’ an’ he was gettin’ too old to go out on his own. Got such a good price on it, I think he was just happy someone else was gonna take up the tradition.”

“Did he sell you the cottage too?” you ask, and then dig your nails into your wrist for encouraging him.

“Yup,” he says. “No one else wanted it, but me? I saw somethin’ special about it.”

He turns to smile at you—no doubt pleased you made the connection. You avert your gaze.

“Imagine someday I’ll have my own family here,” he continues. “Good place for it. Nice and slow, not like city living. Can hear yourself think out here. Perfect place to have a few wee ones.”

“If people stop leaving,” you mutter.

He turns to you again. “I’m no’ worried about that,” he replies. He’s still smiling. “You came here, after all.”

You have nothing to say to that.

The trip is a short one—Johnny brings the trawler alongside an island he informs you is called Mingulay, a square mile smaller than Vatersay’s tiny dot in the North Atlantic. Unlike the latter, he says, this island has not been inhabited since 1912, and has been completely reclaimed by the ocean and its wildlife.

After he drops anchor offshore, Johnny disappears down a steep flight of stairs below deck, which he had not offered a tour of, and emerges a short time later with a large, bulky coat.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he says proudly, holding it out by the shoulders. “Here, turn ‘round.”

You pause in the middle of reaching for it. You don’t know exactly why you comply—it occurs to you that if you grabbed for the jacket, he could simply not let go of it, and you would end up exactly where he wants you anyway. So you lower your arm and, resigned, give him your back.

He steps up behind you. Warmth pours off of him, more than you think any human body should be able to generate.

You hear him inhale, deeply, as he brings the jacket to your back. As you slide your arms into the sleeves, you feel his exhale on the nape of your neck, teasing through individual follicles of hair.

“There w’go,” he murmurs, much closer than you expected.

You can hear the low hum of his voice in his chest; his hands linger on your shoulders far longer than they need to, heavy, big enough that his index fingers brush along your collarbones.

When his hands make to slide down your back you step away from him and fumble to zip the jacket up; he chuckles lightly behind you. When you turn to face him, his lips are curled—smug.

“Alright then,” he says. “Let’s get out there.”

He rows the two of you to shore in a small kayak, two pairs of binoculars in your lap as you huddle away from the wind. You’ll be walking to the haul-out, he says—getting too close to the breeding grounds, which he calls a rookery, would spook them, possibly causing a stampede.

“It’s grey seals we’re gonna see,” he explains as the two of you pick your way across the rocky landscape. “Not the biggest haul-out you could see, some colonies get into the thousands, but we’ll have it all to ourselves.”

He insists on taking your elbow every time the two of you cross particularly uneven terrain, even though you don’t need it. You think he takes your attempts to shake him off as proof of your lack of balance, because he grasps you all the tighter every time.

“I’m not a child, Johnny, I can walk on my own,” you finally snap at him.

“Just bein’ a gentleman, bonnie,” he replies nonchalantly. He does not let you go.

As you get closer, you hear the seals before you see them, and when their voices reach you across the open island, you stop dead.

Groaning, grunting, hissing in a cacophonous chorus. Some part of your hindbrain double-takes, reshuffles itself—some ancestral instinct always on the lookout for predation. If you’d been given a chance to guess what a colony of mating seals might have sounded like, you’re not sure you could have guessed what they sounded like.

Certainly not like what you hear now—

Like people.

Johnny grins at you when he notices. “Aye, it’s a right ruckus, innit?”

He leads you up a small rise, where he has the two of you settle belly-down over the machair to overlook the wedge of rocky coast that the colony has claimed for its own.

And when you finally see it—it’s underwhelming.

Perhaps two hundred long, fat bodies, in varying shades of brown and grey, lay indolently along the rocks, in groups of three or four, some heavily galumphing from one place to another while others roll occasionally from side to side. The shifting winds catch their scent and blow it uncaringly into your face; you nearly gag at the admixture of dead fish and ammonia.

It doesn’t escape you that this is a rare thing to witness; you are not wholly immune to the fact that you are only a hundred meters away from something most people only encounter on a screen. It’s just that without a swell of awed music in the backdrop, or a narrator’s breathless wonder at the miracle of pinniped life, what’s left for you to observe is a population of wet, stinking animals, shitting where they lay, vocalizing without cease while they laze about doing basically nothing.

Johnny does not seem to notice your disillusionment; he hands you one pair of binoculars, and directs your attention to activity along the shoreline. You follow to where he’s pointing; one larger seal is hassling a smaller one, which snarls at the aggressor as it thrashes around with its substantial bulk.

“Little one there—” Johnny says, “that’s a female, probably obvious. Big one knows she’s ready to mate, can smell it on her.”

The female bares her teeth and lunges at the bigger male, which flinches back but holds his ground.

“Doesn’t look like she agrees,” you mutter.

“She’s just givin’ him a hard time. She’s all in heat, see? Just makes her cranky,” Johnny says. You feel his eyes on you, and lower your binoculars to look at him. “She’s got to fuss to feel all in control.”

You flush. “Right.”

“You don’t think so?”

“No,” you say. “He’s—he’s just bothering her.”

He gazes at you for a moment, contemplative. Corners of his mouth quirking upward. He does not reply for a long moment, long enough that you have to avert your gaze from his.

“Nah,” he finally says, and you don’t think you’re imagining the low, sultry note in his voice. “She wants it bad as he does.”

You scowl, uncomfortably perceived, and return your binoculars—the pair is still facing off, gurgling and growling at each other. The female is slim, almost sleek, unlike most of the other seals populating the rookery.

“Is she sick?” you ask.

“Hm? Oh, no, she’s alright. The mums lose a lot of weight when they nurse. Takes three weeks, and they don’t eat in the meantime.”

“Jesus.”

“Be nice if the dads ever brought ‘em a bite, aye?” Johnny agrees. “Deadbeats, the lot of them.”

The two of you survey the colony in silence for a moment. As the morning wears on, the cloud covering thins overhead, allowing cool sunlight to filter through. The temperature doesn’t rise in response; begrudgingly, you tug Johnny’s jacket a little tighter around you.

Then, suddenly, his hand lands on your back, between your shoulder blades.

“Got some pups over there,” he says. “Look, by the kelp.”

You find them; smaller bodies, white dinged with wet sand and dirt, lounge near their mothers or wriggle with aimless difficulty. They’re fluffy and round as plush toys, with shining black eyes and noses, and once Johnny’s pointed them out you can differentiate the higher, sweeter pitch of their cries from the overall cacophony.

“Sometimes,” Johnny murmurs, “search and rescue’ll get called out because someone thought they heard a baby crying. Some kid stranded or lost, right? Turns out to be a baby seal.”

“That’s kind of scary,” you say.

“Aye,” says Johnny. “Always makes me think that’s where the old legends come from, about seal people or mermaids.”

A small ways away, some of the mothers lay with their pups far into the surf, letting the waves break over them. You watch as one mother thunks her large head overtop of her pup’s as the water rushes toward them; the pup wriggles, and then, as the wave engulfs them, it begins to thrash, whipping up a panicked froth.

“Time for swimming lessons already?” Johnny muses. “Seems early.”

You’re horrified. “She’s going to drown it!”

The hand still on your back pats you consolingly. “Just watch,” says Johnny.

The wave reaches as far up the shore as gravity allows, and then begins to recede. The pup’s thrashing calms as the air meets its face once again; the cow allows the pup to lift its head, and after a few sputters, the pup seems no worse for wear.

“They’re hardier than they look, bonnie,” Johnny says.

His hand, heavy and warm even over his borrowed jacket, slides down from your shoulders to your lower back, and then he rubs, slowly, side to side, as if to comfort you—but the knobs of your spine contract at his touch.

“Last of the births this season, looks like,” he says. “Mum’s getting ready to leave—probably not the only one.”

Something hard drops into your stomach.

“They leave their babies?” you ask.

“Aye. Once they’re done nursing, they mate, and then they go.”

You look back at the other cows with their pups. One baby has its muzzle to its mother’s belly, quivering and suckling, while she lays with her head on a patch of grass. She looks uninterested—more, she looks disinterested. As if how voraciously her pup is nursing has nothing much to do with her, and she’s bored of even having to think about it.

Bored—and already looking forward to the next part of her life without a baby in it.

“That’s horrible,” you say.

“They’re solitary animals, bonnie,” Johnny says, not ungently. “The only time they’re really all together is for this.”

A line tightens between your stomach and throat, and you feel it start to build between your ribs. A tremor—foreshocks. The wind picks up, bringing a sharp chill off the ocean and up the rise that cuts into your stinging eyes, abrades the naked skin of your hands and the exposed part of your neck.

When you look through your binoculars again, you wonder how many of the pups you see have already been abandoned.

“Aw, bonnie,” Johnny says. There’s a kind of pity in his voice that has your hackles raising.

“I want to leave,” you say, yanking away from his touch and shuffling down the incline. “Take me back to the cottage.”

“Bonnie, it’s okay!” Johnny protests, rolling to his back to look at you as you stand. “The pups make it, they figure out how to fend for themselves.”

You glare at him, vision blurring. “All of them?”

Some part of you knows you’re being irrational—knows that nature is a cruel home, and that many children face worse fates than the seal pups. Abandoning the young, the needy, is no aberration; it is, in fact, far more the standard than the human practice, which lingers for decades—

Most of the time.

Johnny has no response. He holds your angry gaze, brows drawn low, mouth pressed into a thin line. It’s the first time that cocky aura, which seems to rest in every fine line on his face and every angle at which he holds his body, is completely absent.

He isn’t reflecting your anger back at you, though—he’s internalizing it. Letting it hit him, you think, and trying to use it to figure you out.

You do not want to be figured out.

You scoff again. “Take me back,” you repeat, and then you start walking in the direction you came, without waiting for him to follow.

Johnny drops you off in the cove, and thankfully does not linger this time before he departs—he bids you farewell after rowing you to shore, contemplation on his face, and then leaves you to yourself.

You retreat, seeking the cottage’s empty quiet.

As you perch on the couch you listen to the radiator hum—the wind blow over the reeds in the thatch roof—your own heart beating a drum in the arteries of your neck.

Percussive. Quick and hard. Like heavy knockers on a door. Pounding as if to burst through.

You realize you’re still wearing Johnny’s jacket, and you throw it off, disgusted with yourself. You get up and pace, and try to ignore it lying in a heap on the floor.

You do something you swore you wouldn’t do the moment you set foot on the island—you turn your phone back on.

True to Johnny’s word, there’s no signal. You picked this island, this part of the world, for a reason; for the past several years, a slow exodus from the British isles has vacated the need for dedicated cell towers or satellite or internet access, especially given that the only ones who remain are too old now to want it or need it or know how to use it.

It’s isolated. Cut off. Left behind by anyone with better options, and only clung to by those trying to preserve the only way of life they know.

Some kinder part of you belongs with that demographic; the part that was telling your mother the truth, before getting on the plane.

The rest of you holds your phone up and starts walking around.

In the furthest corner in the bedroom, you find a single bar of signal. A tiny chip of connectivity—a thin, frayed thread. Something you lied to yourself about cutting.

It’s a weak connection. Unstable. It could take a while—you stand there, waiting.

The screen dims. You tap it again.

Blank.

You unlock it, look through your apps. Wonder if maybe your notifications are bugged by your new SIM card.

Nothing—

No one.

You whip around and, with a cry, pitch the thing at the far wall—it hits the stone with a crunch, falling to the floor in pieces.

You’re out of the cottage then in a mad dash, door slamming behind you, driving yourself back into the wind. Far away—you want to be far away, far from everything, so far that nothing could possibly reach you. You trudge down the path toward the beach, banding your arms across your chest, shivering in the cold, and yet you hardly feel it.

Not worth it. No point. Waste of your time. Energy. All of it. Stop trying. Stop wanting. Nothing. Nothing. You want nothing.

You’re halfway down to the shore, not really knowing what you’re going to do when you get there, when you catch sight of a body on the sand.

You gasp, a sharp breath down your larynx, and freeze in a dead halt.

The body is completely still.

A swimmer? A diver? It’s dark, like it just pulled itself out of the ocean—or washed up—

Then, it moves. A twitch, a ripple across its bulk, and your chest rapidly decompresses.

A seal. It’s a large seal, lounging alone on the beach.

You stand motionless. You’re very close—much closer than you and Johnny had been at the rookery. You hadn’t contended with the sheer size of the animals, tucked safely up and away from them, but there is no illusion of distance now.

It’s the biggest one you’ve seen today, you’re sure of it. Bigger, you think, than most adult men. Its pelt is a riot of every shade of grey, splashy, like liquid paint thrown across a canvas. Black speckles scatter overtop of marbled white and cool slate, and down the center of its back is a broad, dark line, soft at the edges, which reaches all the way up to the top of the seal’s head.

The bull—it must be male—turns over. It lifts its head, and opens its eyes—

Fear suddenly zips up your spine as it looks right at you.

You stumble backward and trip on your own feet, landing hard on your ass. Johnny’s care with keeping enough distance from the colony rushes back to you, along with the warring couple’s bared teeth.

They can’t move that fast on land, right? They aren’t interested in people, right?

You scramble backward. It’s so much bigger than you ever would have imagined. If it got to you—threw itself over you—it could crush you with its weight alone—

The bull watches you placidly. Unperturbed.

You pause.

Its small eyes are dark and glossy—watchful and focused. The whiskers on its muzzle twitch a little as it takes you in. It breathes, deeply and evenly, huge body expanding and contracting at a slow, calm tempo. Its—his—nostrils flex, widening and narrowing, as he blinks docilely.

Unafraid.

If anything—curious.

Then he snorts, and wriggles in place. It startles a laugh out of you, more reaction than humor. Still watching you, the bull lowers his head back down, resting it again on the sand.

Your heartbeat abates. He doesn’t move again—nor does his attention leave you. Slowly, you sit up.

Wary. No sudden movements.

He doesn’t react; only continues to watch you.

You draw your knees up. Wrap your arms around your shins, and dust a bit of sand from your leggings. Rest your chin in the crevice between your knees.

There’s an intelligence in the bull’s eyes that is fathoms deep. There is a massive gulf between his experience of the world and yours, millennia of evolution separating your species from his—and yet…as you hold his gaze, you recognize the look in it.

Him, seeing you. And seeing you see him. The pendulum swinging between awareness of each other, and recognition of that shared awareness.

An empty space in the cloud cover passes overhead; sunlight touches the earth, warms it briefly before disappearing again. You wonder a little why this bull isn’t with the other seals.

Johnny would probably know.

“I didn’t come for you, you know,” you grumble at him.

The seal blinks. Awareness notwithstanding, you don’t share any language.

You sigh. “I guess you didn’t come to see me either,” you say.

But you don’t move away.

And you stay like that for a long while, you and he—regarding each other as the wind breathes out across the shore.

next chapter early access

a/n: follow for more seal facts™

Also huge thanks to Lev for trawler listings/info. Didn't explore it much this chapter but Soap's boat will show up more soon :)

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

我在此要告訴你們，潮水永遠不會停止湧來。 我在此要告訴你，無論你造了什麼， 都會被毀滅，所以要使它美麗。

Hala Alyan 《Spoiler》 The New Yorker

She is a Palestinian-American writer, poet, and clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma, addiction, and cross-culturalbehavior. Her writing covers aspects of identity and the effects of displacement, particularly within the Palestinian diaspora. She is also known for acting in the short films I Say Dust and Tallahassee (directed by Darine Hotait).

Published in the print edition of the September 28, 2020, issue, with the headline “Spoiler.”

Can you diagnose fear? The red tree blooming from uterus to throat. It's one long nerve, the doctor says.

There's a reason breathing helps, the muscles slackening like a dead marriage. Mine are simple things. Food poisoning in Paris. Hospital lobbies. My husband laughing in another room. (The door closed.) For days, I cradle my breast and worry the cyst like a bead. There's nothing to pray away. The tree loves her cutter. The nightmares have stopped, I tell the doctor. I know why. They stopped because I baptized them. This is how my mother

and I speak of dying—the thing you turn away by letting in. I'm tired of April. It's killed our matriarchs and, in the back yard, I've planted an olive sapling in the wrong soil.

There is a droopiness to the branches that reminds me of my friend, the one who calls to ask what's the point, or the patients who come to me, swarmed with misery and astonishment, their hearts like newborns after the first needle.

What now, they all want to know. What now.

I imagine it like a beach. There is a magnificent sand castle that has taken years to build.

A row of pink seashells for gables, rooms of pebble and driftwood. This is your life. Then comes the affair, nagging bloodwork, a freeway pileup. The tide moves in. The water eats your work like a drove of wild birds. There is debris. A tatter of sea grass and blood from where you scratched your own arm trying to fight the current.

It might not happen for a long time, but one day you run your fingers through the sand again, scoop a fistful out, and pat it into a new floor. You can believe in anything, so why not believe this will last? The seashell rafter like eyes in the gloaming. I'm here to tell you the tide will never stop coming in. I'm here to tell you whatever you build will be ruined, so make it beautiful.

I’m here to tell you the tide will never stop coming in. I’m here to tell you whatever you build will be ruined, so make it beautiful.

“Spoiler” by Hala Alyan, The New Yorker

[cutiecusp]

Haze. Part 2.

TW. Talk of memory issues, a little PTSD (next part), fluffy smut (next part), AND A HEA! so MDNI.

"The hell do you mean? Who am i?" You ask, your gaze stubbornly holding his deep, blank stare.

You hold up a hand as Soap starts talking, your focus only on Simon.

"I am your wife, Simon." you state, barely disguising the hurt in your tone, your brow furrowed, fresh tears threatening to escape as all the man in front of you does is stare blankly.

"I'd certainly remember being married." He returns, a scowl forming over the part of the face you can see. His gaze flicks down to his hand, where the small matching tattoo you both wore was gone, a scar in its place.

"See? no ring or marking." His voice rings out loudly on your porch.

Price sees the devastation on your face, and quickly ushers everyone inside, leaving the two of you alone, knowing it could go one of two ways.

Your eyes flitter over him, cementing every memory to detail, the way his clothes are baggier, the new scar on his face, the shorn hair and the way he stares through you, like you are a total stranger.

"We've been married three years this Halloween, Simon." You say softly, your voice betraying your emotions as it wobbles.

Clearing your throat, you step into his space.

He hesitates for a moment, then steps forward, untrusting, like a dog that had been beaten too many times.

"What happened to you?" You ask, your hands reaching out for his, but his hands now remain in his pockets as he shrugged.

"Mission gone wrong." He bit off, clearly not ready to talk about it.

"Will you come in? See the rest of your team?" You ask, hoping something in your shared home will trigger an emotion, anything familiar.

"Is this my home too? is that why Price brought me here?" He asks, doubt dripping with his tone.

You straighten up, and hold out your hand.

"Our home, Si. Always been ours."

He looks down at your outstretched hand, and his eyes meet yours again, this time they hold a little something softer.

"I can trust you?" He rasps.

You hold his gaze, and you throw all the love, the promise, and the trust you can into your eyes. Simon once taught you that the eyes are the biggest giveaway when you lie, so you show him with all that you can that he can trust you.

"You can." you reply easily, although your heart is pounding through your chest, and your brain is internally screaming at Simon to remember you, you smile softly.

His hand perfectly reaches into yours. You hold your breath as the familiarity of his touch floods your body. Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, you brush them away with the other hand.

Simon stands in front of you, a unreadable expression on his face.

"I may not remember you, yet." He pauses, thinking about his next words carefully.

"But something about you IS familiar. You feel like the first dip in the pool at summer, tea on a frosty morning... Something about you feels like home."

Your breath comes out like a shudder, as he pulls you by the hand into him, his eyes taking you in from your puffy face, to the mismatched socks on your feet.

"If you are my wife, im the luckiest bastard on the planet."

....................................................................................................................

the final part, part three will be here tomorrow.

@kaeyasfuturewife @xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @renpodz @yesornowaitidontknow @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @oniraki @evie-119 @havoc973 @kylies-lover-blog @ishipdabands @cmbghost @heckinspooks @midwesternwitchery @eggy-yoke @redzluvvesage @masterclassofescapism @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @lostintransist @skeletonsucker

[everythingspokenfor]

All characters are aged up 18+. MDNI.

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You knew this was a possibility, that's why you took extra precautions, tied the strings so well that you were sure you'll have to cut them at the end of the day. But here you were, contemplating how on earth did this happen...

Mina had finally pulled the entire group into going on a vacation, choosing one of the Okinawa beaches, all of you packed up and came to the private penthouse. The vacation was long overdue, everyone too excited to chill out and relax.

It was all good, friends chilling out eating, drinking and finally relaxing after months of tedious hero work.

You were thoroughly enjoying yourself, even if you had to deal with him. Bakugou and you had a sort of love hate relationship, constantly fighting but still having each other's back. Friends constantly commenting about the thick sexual tension between you both, which left you yelling at them, they weren't wrong tho, not that you would admit outloud.

"Move, Sugar." Bakugou rasps out, hand holding a can of beer, he was shirtless, wet swim trunks sticking to him thighs, tan lines clearly visible on his legs, he was still glossy from playing in the water. Had you hated him any lesser, you would have licked the water off him, alas that thought is something to be revisited in darker hours of the night.

"Go around the towel, dipshit", You retort, going back to lathering yourself up with sunscreen, he snorts, before stepping on your fucking towel and going along.

"Asshole!" You yell at him, whole he continues to laugh at your face. You took in deep breaths, this fucker isn't going to ruin your vacation.

You got back to your sunscreen, before reapplying you lip gloss, you put too much effort into your appearance today. It was a deep maroon two piece, the bottoms had a fabric around it making it seem like a mini skirt, while the top was tied with strings.

As much as you loved the bikini, the top was making you nervous, you had taken every measure to prevent the strings from untying, even kept a spear towel, having heard too many stories of women losing their bikinis in the sea making you paranoid. It was probably also why you hadn't ventured into the ocean yet.

"Gurll- you lookin' cute there." Mina walked up to you, handing you a bright blue concoction, you grinned at her before downing the drink.

"Thanks, babes." You giggled, cheekily winking at her.

"What aren't you getting into waters tho? The weather is pleasant too." She queried, leaning in to steal your gloss. "I am gonna go, just applied sunscreen." You dusted your hands, as you stood up, Mina finished putting on the gloss, tossing the tube in your bag before both of you raced into the waters.

The boys, Kaminari, Kirishima and Sero welcomed you both in with splashes, playing around in waters lasted for a bit, after multiple rounds of chicken fight, Kirishima called Bakugou, asking him to join in.

"Ain't interested in yer shitty games." He yelled back, didn't bother looking at the group.

"Scared you'll lose," Sero provoked him, knowing that with right words he can get Bakugou to do anything.

"Fuck did ya' say?" He grits out, before standing up and charge towards your group, all of you scream before swimming in different directions, trying to not be his first victim.

Adrenaline pumped through your vessels, as you swam to furthest end of the shore, leaning against the big rocks keeping you hidden from the main shore. Breathing hard, you placed a hand on your chest, trying to slow the beating of your heart. Only to come to a horrible realisation that you weren't wearing your bikini top.

You were bare from waist above, frantically you tried looking for you top, hoping to find a maroon cloth lying somewhere, unfortunately you couldn't see anything that could vaguely resemble your bikini.

Panic set in when you realised that from this end of the shore, you can't even go to your spot on the beach, chance of grabbing your towel without being seen by your friends were too thin.

"Caught you!" Bakugou roars as he swims around the rocks, only to be stopped as you let out a yell, turning away from him.

"Stay there, Bakugou!" You barely even stay afloat, hairs shielding your back, while hands crossing over your chest.

"What? You suddenly don't want to play, when I catch you?" He rasps out, slightly curious as to why you wouldn't even turn to face him.

"It's not that." You let out a sigh, contemplating whether it's a good idea or not to ask Bakugou for help, he could potentially swin back and get you a towel.

"What is it then, Sugars?" He is much closer now, you can almost feel him behind you. "My top is lost." You whined out, praying he helps you.

"Sorry, what?!"

"My bikini top is lost, it untied while swimming." You whisper-yell at him, giving him a stink eye over your shoulder. He doesn't reply, instead it goes too quite, you slowly peek over your shoulder, only to lock eyes at Bakugou who is already looking at you.

Infact he was looking slightly below, as if checking whether or not you had the top. "Fucking pervert, I'll beat your ass!" Had your hands not been busy you would have whacked him.

"I am not a fucking pervert, I was thinking."

"Had you thought longer, you would have popped a boner."

"You want my help or not."

You went silent at that, of course you needed his help, especially if you didn't want to flash your friends.

"That's what I thought." He speaks at your silence, his voice a little too smug, "you got spear clothes here?" He queried, swimming back a little to look at your bag by the beach.

"I have a towel in there, it's big enough for me." You answer him over your shoulder, he wasn't looking at you anymore instead he was turned away mostly, head slightly tilted so he could hear you.

"Stay put, I'll get it," he almost start swimming before he turns towards you and says "Try not loosing the bottoms, in the meantime." And off he goes.

You knew just from that comment, he isn't going to let you live it down, you are sure he'll probably end up changing your name to some stupid shit constantly reminding you of today, but at least he is helping.

Everybody had already gone inside, letting Bakugou get you, when he reached where your towel had been laid out, he looked for your bag, not wanting to snoop too much, he got to work, quickly looking into the back to realise that there wasn't any towels in it. For a moment he wondered whether he should gather up your sand towel but decided against it.

He quickly jogged over to his spot at the beach, and grabbed the t-shirt he was wearing earlier, getting back into the ocean, he swam towards the rocks where you were hidden.

"Oi! There wasn't any towels, got you a t-shirt tho." He stretches an arm towards you, wet t-shirt in his fist.

"I had one, tho." You look at him in confusion, submerged neck deep into the ocean, hands crossed tightly. You were facing him slightly, eyes looking that clothe, you unwrapped one arm, from around yourself and reached for it, Bakugou averted his gaze, further stretching out his hand so you could reach it.

He moved a little closer, eyes still looking away, arms spread to make sure nobody can see you, even if it a private area of the beach.

You put the shirt on, feeling a little less exposed, turning around to fully face Bakugou, "Thank you, I suppose." You sheepishly scratch the back of your head, assuming the interaction is over and you'll both head back in.

"First of all☝🏻'you suppose?' and secondly you owe me more than a thank you."

He spits out, crossing his arms, and jutting out his hips. You eyes immediately drifted to his tits pecs that had become extenuated, before immediately locking eyes with his.

"Fucking pervert," He mimicked your earlier words.

"I am not! What do you want, Bakugou?" You exasperated, sighing dramatically, crossing your arms as well.

He moved towards you, arms unfolding to sway by his side, "Be nice, Sugar."

You scoff, eyes squinting at him suspiciously, more than aware of how close he was to you. He leans in clear, backing you against the rocks, leaning towards one side, leaving ample space for you to move away from him if you wanted.

He was close enough you could feel his minty breath onto your face, he locked eyes with you before leaning in, instinctively you closed your eyes, head tilting as your hands came to rest on his chest.

The kiss was taking a bit too long, peeking with one eye, you realised Baking was staring at you with s grin on his face.

"You asshole!!" You yelled at him, pushing at his chest, trying to move away from him, he was cackling, hands still grasping at your wrists, not letting you move away from him.

"Sorry, sorry." He wheezed out, pulling you towards him,"Oi, I am sorry, listen Sugars."

You didn't care tho, too tired to be dealing with his shenanigans, he was determined tho, pulled at your wrists, turning to glare at him, you were surprised by feeling of his lips against yours.

You stood there limp, Bakugou taking the lead for you, one arm around your waist other tilting your head to the side, deepening the kiss. You slowly brought you hands around his neck, fingers coming to run through his blonde hairs.

You pull away breaths heavy, he continues kissing down your jaw, leaving behind love bites for you to later press into.

He comes back up, pressing his forehead against yours, "So, how 'bout I take you out, Sugars?"

━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━─━

[specialagent-spencer]

You come to stop, groaning lowly as you feel your heel snap from your shoe, “godammit.” You huff, looking around, making your way over to a bench. Spencer walks off of the elevator, “Hey, y/n. Uh, oh. What happened?” You look up at him as you sit down, “I wore the wrong shoes today I guess.”

“Here.” Spencer stops you from bending down and kneels down in front of you. He gently lays his hand on your calf, taking your shoe from your foot, “Yeah, I’m going to definitely have to say that this shoe is no longer in service.”

“You have got to be kidding me. I’m already running late.” You let out a sigh and Spencer looks up, “Stay right here. Penelope is the same shoe size, I’ll run and see if she has an extra pair in her office.”

“You are the sweetest.” You give him a smile and sip your coffee as he quickly makes his way towards the office. A few minutes later, he comes back, holding two matching shoes, “She said if you like them, you can keep them.”

“Oh, perfect!” You reach out for the shoes but Spencer drops down, slipping off your other shoe and gets gently replaces them with the new ones.

“How’s that?” He looks up at you and you nod, “I mean, it’s not everyday a man is on his knees for me.”

You can visibly see his face set into panic and you touch his shoulder, “Relax, Spence. I’m only messing with you.” You stand up, grabbing your bag from the bench, “I like making you go all squirrelly.” Spencer stands up with you, “I mean, normally I would have said something about going to dinner first, your statement just caught me off guard, y/n.”

You laugh, nodding your head, “I’m sure it did.” You turn, walking towards the elevator. As you step on and turn around, Spencer walks up, “What did you mean by making me go all squirrelly?”

“How about we talk about it over dinner?” You tilt your head and he nods as the doors close.

Thank you for interacting ♡

[smolbeanie1221]

Age dreamer here! Also possibly probably regressor too but I never exactly know what age I feel like, soooo confusion

Now ima vent about that a bit. I grew up in an unconventional way, my dad was sick my entire childhood and he was the center of my world my everything. Anyways I had to grow up fast in some ways, like logically I guess, but in other ways, I stayed as young as I could. I played with toys and stuffed animals until 6-7th grade, so 11-12 years old. A lot longer than most of my peers. Then middle school and high school happened, and coming up with story ideas replaced my pretend games with stuffed animals. Then when Covid happened my freshman year of college, my mental health crashed super hard and I was dissociating on and off for a long freaking time. During that time, I discovered the Lion King fandom and I immediately hyperfixated on that. I started getting sucked into other fandoms too, but Lion King is always my default. The fandoms and universes I hyperfixate on are pretty much always the same books and movies and shows I loved from ages 8-18ish. Covid happened when I was 18, and then I started dissociating for so long that I feel as though I didn’t really “age” at all during the time I was dissociating. I escaped back into fantasy worlds, not with stuffed animals and toys this time, but with characters from Lion King and Spirit Stallion of the Cimarron and Twilight and Divergent and Tinker Bell and Supernatural and Percy Jackson and the Buddies puppies movies and so many others. When I was turning 20, it felt so unreal to me, and it still does feel so unreal to me that I’m 23 now, but turning 20 felt so wrong because, what do you mean I was no longer a teenager?? I didn’t necessarily want to relive my teenage years, but I couldn’t say I was technically a teenager anymore?? Turning 20 years old to me meant full fledged adult, and I hated that thought. And I still feel so weird when I think about the fact that I’m 23 years old now. I don’t feel like an adult at all, I mean I function and live well enough in the adult world, but I don’t feel like I’m actually an adult. And… shit as I’m typing this I’m realizing the term I recently started paying more attention to, permaregressor… huh I think that actually does describe me a lot more than I initially thought. So… I think it might be accurate to say that I’m permaregressed to 15–18ish, and I age dream to go into a younger headspace?? Huh that’s… actually sounding pretty freaking accurate. I’m still not sure but… I think it makes sense??

Please interact with this post if you're a trans or gender non-conforming age regressor/age dreamer so that we can all see we're valid members of our community who aren't alone!

🩵🩷🤍🩵🩷 💛🤍💜🖤 💜🤍💚

[kumkaniudaku]

Worship

Summary: Patrice needs to know how Terry feels about her changing body.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, Smut (18+)

MASTERLIST

“Do you still think I’m pretty?” 

If one question could suck all of the oxygen out of the room and put it all back in a gust of disorienting, bitter wind, that was it. Patrice hadn’t intended her inquiry to be an abrupt interruption to an otherwise calm evening, but she couldn’t allow the thought to torment her any longer. 

Patrice watched Terry from the large mirror in front of them, her bottom lip trapped beneath her top row of teeth while she watched him lean over and spit toothpaste out of his mouth into his sink. Sympathy flashed across his face as he looked back at her. “Of course I do. I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Are you still attracted to me? And not just in theory or what you remember about my body from five months ago. I mean, right now. Pregnant, showing, and all. Am I still sexy to you?”

“Patrice…” 

Closing her eyes, Patrice shook her head and lifted her palm to stop Terry before he jumped into a diatribe for what she considered a cut-and-dry question. “Please, don’t do that, Terrence. Answer me. Do you still see me as a woman worthy of your sexual attention? Yes or no?” 

“Yes, baby. You are.” 

Hearing his answer sent a rush of sadness coursing through Patrice’s veins. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to hear, but that wasn’t it. That only created more uncertainty and a slew of questions she wasn’t sure were still worth asking. Still, she persisted, letting her inquisitive nature take over when she wished she could be quiet and go to bed in blissful ignorance/

“Then why,” A painful lump grew in her throat as tears pricked her waterline. Patrice swallowed it back to try and muscle through her interrogation without allowing her emotions to derail. “Why haven’t you touched me? It’s been three months of nothing. What you’re saying to me doesn’t match your actions.”

Strained silence blanketed the bathroom, competing with the humidity responsible for lingering droplets in the air for which one could douse the embers of reconciliation the fastest. 

Physical and mental changes had thrown Patrice into a loop. Every day, her insides were shifted and stretched to what felt like capacity, bringing a bevy of brand-new feelings that rocked her with every unexpected mood swing. Rays of joy reminded her she’d be meeting a life she helped create intermingled with tormenting thoughts of her attractiveness or lack thereof, keeping her lips glued shut for fear that she’d sound bonkers to her husband. So, she kept them all inside or in the privacy of weekly chats with her girls, hoping the kinks would work themselves out, and they could return to the love she recognized.

“I’m not trying to put the blame on you or me,” she tried to explain when she wasn’t greeted with a response from Terry. “I just…I noticed we’ve slipped away from each other. We barely touch outside of a kiss or a hug. The little comments are gone. We’re flirting less. We haven’t been us, Terrence and Patrice, since we saw this baby on that machine a few months ago, and I’m the only one who seems to notice!” 

He sighed and furrowed his brows. “I notice, Treece. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do or how to be. This is my first time.”

“It’s mine too, Terry! But what does that have to do with who we are! What happens when the baby gets here? Is this going to be our life forever? Is this just it?”

Terry didn’t know what to say. The raging winds of life had blown him to and fro as a husband and father-to-be. Where he thought he was balancing both responsibilities with impeccable efficiency, he missed the signs of his wife’s distress. He couldn’t recount where he went wrong to rectify his misgivings. What’s worse is that he didn’t see an avenue to admit his confusion, fearing he’d sound crass and uncaring in the face of Patrice’s concern. 

So, they stood there in silence, letting unspoken words snuff out the already dying flames of intimacy. 

The stench followed them into a new week marred by disjointed interactions and tight lips. They existed like passing ships in the night, exchanging pleasantries typical of a couple who’d long let go of the rope, not one still possessing the will to fight but lacking the how. 

Sounds of children playing and birds chirping filtered through the open kitchen window as Patrice sat at the kitchen table, clicking through pages and pages of baby items to fill their shower registry. Terry watched her from the entryway, quietly admiring how glistening sun rays gave dimension to her fresh dye job and highlighted glowing skin. Her belly curved beneath one of his long-sleeved t-shirts, clothing her and their heir in his presence even though they were still on the outs. The soft smile gracing her face while she undoubtedly occupied her mind with color schemes and furniture layouts made him grin before he could stop the corners of his lips from creeping upward. 

He missed her. The notion of missing someone he slept next to every night felt as alien as wearing two left shoes, but it was the truth. It was a starting point. And, as long as he had a starting point, he could map his way back to where they belonged. 

“Can I do something for you, Mr. Richmond?” 

Patrice’s question startled Terry out of his thoughts and set him on a path toward the kitchen. “How’d you know I was there?” He asked before stopping short to rest his hand on her upper back. The habit made her lean into his touch and the lingering kiss he held against her temple. 

“Heavy feet, remember?” Their stilted chuckles synced into a familiar cadence, slowly releasing the valve on latent tension. She looked up at him and smiled. “You okay? Need something?” 

“Actually, yeah. Mind if I sit down?” 

“It’s your kitchen table, too. Sit wherever you want.”

Curious eyes under long lashes watched Terry round the table to drag his usual seat closer to hers. An inner battle made him look into the backyard from the window when they locked gazes, biding him time to gather his thoughts until he felt satisfied with their direction. He looked back, bathing her in a soft, doting gaze. “You are unbelievably attractive to me, Treecey. There’s not much you can do to turn me off.” 

“So, what’s stopping you? Is it something I’m doing?” 

“No, no, no,” Terry rushed to reassure, gently placing his palms on her thighs for a squeeze. “Can I be honest?” 

Patrice nodded back at him, praying that what existed on the other side of his extended pause wouldn’t act as a wrecking ball on her wavering self-image. 

Terry scooted closer until Patrice’s knees fit perfectly between his before lacing their fingers together. His eyes didn’t waiver as he spoke the only truth he knew. “I don’t know how to interact with this new version of you. After all these years, you still make me nervous. I was nervous when we started dating again. I was nervous on our wedding night. Now, your body is changing, and I’m more nervous around you than ever,” He admitted. “I’m afraid I might hurt or bother you when you’re tired and trying to catch a break between all you have going on. But, I guess I let being nervous keep compounding until I made you feel like you aren’t the most beautiful woman in the world at all times.”

Patrice’s resolve had long morphed her first dose of hot tears for the day, the sensation coming in so quick that a few slipped past her fingers when she tried to tame them. “Am I, really?” 

Moving forward, Terry brought his hands up to rest on Patrice’s cheeks. “You’re gorgeous to me, baby. I’m so sorry I ever made you think you weren’t.” 

Patrice closed her eyes to feel the feathery caress of lips across her nose and cheeks. He’d run out of words. All he had left was desperate pleas in the form of physical affection to atone for all his sins. 

She accepted each one with no pushback, melting into his touch as the weight of untold battles began sliding down her heavy shoulders.

“It wasn’t just you.” Patrice’s confession came with a deep breath to settle herself. “Every time I step out of the house, someone is commenting on my body or touching me. ‘Oh, you’re carrying high!’ or ‘Girl, you gettin’ big fast!’ It’s too much. I thought I was strong enough to validate myself because that’s what I’ve been doing, you know? But I couldn’t. So, when it felt like you were pushing me away for the one thing I can’t control, I spiraled. I shouldn’t have let it get that far, but I didn’t know how to speak to you without losing my shit. These hormones are kicking my ass.” 

Loud, harmonious laughter meshed to heal aching souls navigating their first storm as parents-to-be. Terry watched Patrice’s face light up like stars over the countryside and smiled as he reached up to dry unshed tears gathered in her eye’s inner corners. “That’s okay. Lose your shit every once in a while. Now’s the perfect time.”

Patrice sighed before reaching for Terry’s wrist to anchor her racing thoughts. Her eyes bore into familiar green pools that always regarded her with love that felt almost too overwhelming to absorb. She watched him mouth a sincere ‘I love you’ that made her skin tingle from head to toe. She gripped him tighter, hoping he could feel the effect he had on her.

“Listen, baby, I’m five months pregnant, not dead,” Patrice laughed, earning a bright smile from Terry. “I still want my husband. I still want to be wanted by you, too. Because your validation means a lot to me. Especially while I’m changing like this.” 

Terry dropped a hand to make space for an incoming round of kisses, each deeper than before. “I want you, Piggy,” he spoke before pressing another kiss to her lips. “I’ll always want you. We’ll be 90 in the nursing home, and I’ll still be chasing behind you with my walker and calling you my girlfriend.”

“Good,” Patrice giggled, tickled by the imagery of a distant version of themselves still head over heels with time winding down on their time together. Static passed between them. Touches became magnified. Pupils dilated with an incoming flood of endorphins. She bit her lip before finishing her thought. “Because if I’m half as horny at 90 as I have been for the last few weeks, we’ll have to keep the nurses on speed dial.” 

“It’s been like that,” Terry questioned, his eyebrow arching.

Patrice moved his hand closer to the meeting of her thighs, hoping he could feel the throb matching her increasing heartbeat. “It’s been like that.”

Terry let his eyes wander across Patrice’s face to linger on her lips before looking back at her with drooping eyelids. His voice emerged from beyond his lips, sounding like hot chocolate on a winter morning. “Let me fix that for you. Show you how much I want you until you tell me to stop?” 

An offer she couldn’t and wouldn’t dare refuse. Permission granted with a short nod and shallow breaths set them on a path down the hallway and into their bedroom, where the sweet symphony of early evening lovemaking was poised to reclaim its space in their lives. 

Patrice lay in wait, lower back and hips lifted off the mattress by a throne of pillows arranged for her comfort near the edge of the bed while she watched Terry arrange scented candles on the dresser in all his naked glory. 

At some point, she’d find time to thump the back of his head for using her expensive stuff to set the mood. But tonight, she chose to focus on the sensual shadows dancing across his body as he stepped between her legs and leaned forward to see her face under dim candlelight.

“Comfortable,” he asked as his hands roamed from her knees to her thighs and back in an effort to soothe his bubbling nerves. “Google says I should have a wedge for you, but I hope that’ll do.” 

Patrice sank deeper into her cocoon and nodded. “This is perfect. I’m okay.” 

“You promise to let me know when you aren’t?” He waited for Patrice to respond verbally in the affirmative before gingerly lifting her right leg to bring her ankle to his lips for a slow kiss. “What’d Mookie say in Do The Right Thing? Thank God for the ankles?” 

He dropped a kiss against her calf before nuzzling the spot. “Thank God for the legs.” He inched further to suckle Patrice’s fleshy inner thigh, drawing a soft sigh from her as a reward for his good deed. “Thank God for these thighs. I love them so much.” 

He set his sights on the swell of her growing belly, rounding day by day with the promise of a little bundle of joy made in their image. He kissed his way past her belly button and up to her breasts, lingering on his name written in slanted script before moving again. “Thank God for the left nipple and the right.”

Patrice let her eyes flutter closed as he directed her hands to the back of his head while expertly pulling one of her nipples between his teeth. Terry lavished each areola with attention from his tongue, letting quiet moans serenade him until he backed off to say more.

“Thank God for all this gorgeous skin.” He rubbed his nose up her sternum into the crook of her neck. “Thank God for the way you smell. Nothing in this world compares to how it drives me crazy.”

Patrice arched into the kisses Terry left along her neck until her core ached for his attention. 

Every sensation, every lick and practiced nibble at the hands of the only man to satisfy the nooks and crannies of her womanhood, and then some felt intensified ten times over.

The second trimester had done a number on her. Her best friends and OBGYN all confirmed that the gnawing, insatiable sexual appetite she’d developed was normal and meant to be harnessed before her libido waned on the way to the final stretch. 

“Men used to fight wars for women like you. And here you are, giving me  chance after chance to get it right.”

She whimpered into his ear. “Baby.” Her nails lightly scratched at his shoulder blades, begging for a touch only he could provide. “Please, Terrence. Don’t make me wait.”

How could he deny her? She’d asked so nicely and waited so patiently to have him joined to her at the waist. He owed her swift pleasure after all he’d put her through while the stress of growing ten fingers and ten toes reigned down new emotions every other day. 

Terry didn’t tarry on his way to granting her wish. He stood flat-footed before her, slightly bending his knees to deepen their kiss as they reveled in the feeling of his tip gathering wetness at her opening. 

“Tell me when to stop,” he breathed against her mouth. “I know I can’t go too deep. Say when.”

Their lips remained connected throughout his measured re-introduction to her body until a shared gasp turned two breaths into one. Patrice’s jaw dropped as he inched closer and closer to her limit. He watched her with intense focus and a furrowed brow, waiting for her to make the call. 

A little deeper. A little more. Almost. So close. “Right there,” she called out, her hands gripping his biceps to maintain her tether to reality. “Mm, right there.” 

He rolled his hips in a fluid, intentional back and forth, letting the tug from her walls set his start and endpoints. He lifted a hand from its space beside her hips to guide one of hers back toward the mattress for their fingers to interlock. 

Terry murmured variations of ‘I love you’ while Patrice allowed him to gently rock her through rolling waves of pleasure until moans turned into screams trapped in her throat. Strong legs acted with equal parts power and restraint to coax her into the release she deserved. 

He carefully leaned forward to rest his weight on his forearms and speak against her mouth once she felt her getting close to the promised land. “Look, this beautiful body carrying my baby. I was an idiot for wasting all this time when you needed me most. You forgive me, Piggy?” 

“Mhmm,” Patrice managed to whine as the coil in her body began to tighten in preparation for her orgasm. 

He shook his head, needing more. “Say it. Tell me you forgive me.”

“Yes!” She answered, tossing her head back to revel in the euphoria spreading across her limbs. “Yes! I forgive you!”

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered as he thrust into her, feeling the tips of her nails turn his skin into her personal emery board. He blinked away the mix of pain and pleasure to finish showering Patrice in praise. “You always have been.” He could feel her tightening around him, spurring a falter in his stroke that quickened his pace. He panted to match her deep breaths, turning a simple sentence into one he had to grit through clenched teeth. “You always will…be. Fuck, I’m…fuck.” 

Ninety days of pent-up emotions and withheld affection came with an orgasm strong enough to push Terry up on his toes while he listened to Patrice marvel at what he’d gifted her with his hard work. 

They heaved until heaving became delirious laughter, then ‘til laughter circled back to needy kisses missed during their time apart. 

Patrice pulled Terry close, cradling the back of his head to speak into his ear while leaving budding markers of his love under her earlobe. “I don’t want you thinkin’ that’s all for tonight.” Terry slowly released her skin from his lips and pulled away to answer with a quizzical look. Patrice pushed up on her forearms to nip at his bottom lip. 

“Come on. Get me off my back. It's your turn to be worshipped.”

--------

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[thoughtdaughtersworld]

Silent Lullabies Pt 2.

Azriel X f!reader

Summary: Y/n grapples with overwhelming grief and emotional turmoil.

TW!!: miscarriage, suicidal thoughts, emotional turmoil

Pls don't read if these things trigger you. Thank you guys for reading!!

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

Azriel’s heart sinks as he realizes what’s happening. “No, no,” he whispers, his voice breaking. The shadows around him swirl in panic, mirroring the storm raging inside him.

"Rhys," Azriel says desperately, dropping his mental shields, his voice frantic and uneven. "Get Madja. Now. Something’s wrong with Y/N."

"On it," Rhys replies immediately, his tone sharp and firm. But it offers little comfort as Azriel turns his gaze back to you.

“We need to get you to Madja,” he says urgently, his hand moving to your stomach again, fear tightening his grip.

Without hesitation, Azriel lifts you into his arms and takes off, running as fast as he can toward the House of Wind. The wind whipping through his hair and stinging his eyes, but his only focus was on you.The way your body trembled, the way your breath was too shallow, too weak. You were in a state of shock, your mind reeling in denial and confusion..

By the time he reached the House of wind, Madja was already waiting, Rhys and Cassian close behind, their worry palpable.

“What’s happening?” Rhys demands, his eyes darting between you and Azriel.

 “She’s in pain. There was blood. She just-” He exhales sharply, trying to steady himself, but the terror gripping his chest makes it near impossible.

Madja wastes no time. “Put her down. Now.” Her sharp gaze sweeps over you before she turns to the others. "I need everyone out. Except Azriel”.

Azriel gently lays you on the bed, brushing damp hair from your face. His touch is tender, his hands trembling slightly as he grips yours. “I’m here, love,” he murmurs, his voice soft yet resolute. “You’re not alone.”

Madja crouches beside you, her experienced hands moving quickly over your body, assessing, analyzing. Then she looks up, her face grave.

“You’re in early labor, Y/N,” she says, her voice urgent. “And you need to start pushing. Now.”

The words crash over you like a tidal wave. Your chest tightens, panic flaring in your veins.

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head, denial wrapping around you like a vice. Your body feels too weak, too broken. “I-I can’t.”

Azriel’s grip on your hand tightens. “You can,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “You have to. You’re stronger than you know.”

Tears spill freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “It hurts..I can’t-”

Azriel leans closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “I know, love,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I know. But you have to push.”

A sob rips through you, but you nod weakly, drawing in a ragged breath before forcing all your strength into one final push.

And then relief. But the room was silent.

You wait, gasping, heart pounding, but the sound that should follow—the sound of your baby’s first cry never comes.

Madja doesn’t speak right away, her focus entirely on the unmoving infant in her hands. She taps his back, firm but gentle. Nothing.

“No,” you whisper, your vision blurring with fresh tears. “No, no—”

Azriel is frozen beside you, his entire body rigid with shock. The shadows around him stutter, unsure, lost.

Madja tries again, rubbing the baby’s back, willing him to move, to breathe, to live.

But the silence is deafening.

Finally, she looks up, her expression something you don’t want to name. Something you refuse to accept.

She doesn’t have to say anything. You know.

A strangled sob tears from your throat as you reach for him. “My baby.”

Madja hesitates only a moment before gently placing him in your arms. His tiny body is still warm, impossibly small against your chest. You cradle him, a raw, guttural wail escaping you.

Azriel wraps himself around you, his arms holding you together even as you shatter completely. His own tears fall freely now, his breath uneven, his hands trembling as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Azriel,” you sob, your voice desperate, broken. “Help. Please.”

He holds you tighter, his whole body shaking, his wings curling protectively around you as if he can somehow shield you from the unbearable weight of this loss.

Madja steps forward, hesitant. “Y/N…” she says softly, her voice thick with sorrow. “You have to let go.”

But you can’t.

You clutch your baby closer, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, willing him to wake up, to cry, to do something. But there’s only silence. Only stillness.

Azriel's grip on you tightens, his heart breaking as he watches you unravel. He doesn’t tell you to let go. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you through it, taking your pain into himself, as if by sheer will alone, he can carry it for you.

But when your arms finally loosen, when the last of your strength ebbs away, Madja gently takes the baby from you.

And the moment his small weight leaves your arms, you collapse against Azriel, your entire body shaking with grief so consuming it feels like drowning.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice raw and broken. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

Madja steps back, giving you both space to grieve.

The silence that followed was unbearable, broken only by the sound of your quiet sobs and Azriel’s whispered reassurances as the world seemed to crumble around you.

*******************************************************The next day, you wake up with a heavy heart, the pain so overwhelming that you had passed out. You find yourself staring at the ceiling, a strange numbness settling over you like a suffocating fog. Your eyes wander the room until they land on Azriel, asleep in the chair, his face contorted with worry even in his dreams. His brows are furrowed, a sight you were always so used to smoothing away with a gentle touch.

You lay there in bed, the weight of your loss pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. All you wanted in that moment was to hold your son, to feel his warmth in your arms, to hear his tiny cries filling the silence that now seemed unbearable.

Slowly, you push yourself up, careful not to wake Azriel, and make your way to the windowsill. Fresh tears spill down your face as you climb onto it, the cool night air biting at your skin. The city stretches out before you, but it feels so distant. The thought of ending it all whispers through your mind, soft and enticing. It would be so simple, so painless. Just an escape from this unrelenting agony.

You close your eyes, letting the wind whip against your face, and for a fleeting moment, the idea feels like a release.

"Y/N?"

Your eyes flutter open, and you turn to see Azriel standing there, his body tense, his golden eyes wide with fear. He’s careful as he takes a step forward, his hand reaching out as if afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

Azriel could never put into words the terror that gripped him in that moment. Waking up to his shadows in a frenzy, only to see you perched on the edge, it was a sight he knew would haunt him forever.

His voice is rough with desperation. “What are you doing?”

Tears stream freely down your face as you whisper his name, your voice hoarse, broken. “Azriel… I should have died instead of him. I—I can’t live without my baby.”

Azriel feels something inside him shatter at your words. The raw, aching agony in your voice slices through him like a blade, leaving him bleeding and helpless. He has faced war, endured centuries of pain, but nothing, nothing could compare to the feeling of watching the person he loves teetering on the edge of despair.

Azriel’s breath shudders as he takes another slow step forward, his hands trembling at his sides. His wings twitch as if ready to propel him forward at the slightest sign that you might fall. His voice, usually so controlled, is laced with pure, unfiltered desperation.

“Please,” he whispers. “Come down, love. Just—just take my hand.”

You shake your head, your entire body wracked with silent sobs. “How can you even look at me? You should despise me, he was meant to be alive” you croak, your voice barely audible over the wind. “We had all those plans for our family. And now—” Your voice cracks, and you let out a choked sob. “Now there's nothing.”

“There is something,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “There’s me.”

Your eyes snap to his, and for the first time, he sees the true depth of your pain. It’s a black hole, swallowing everything in its path, pulling you further and further away from him.

Azriel takes another step forward, so close now that he could touch you if he reached out. “I know it hurts,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I know this pain feels like it’ll never leave. But if you go,if you let this grief take you…I’ll lose you too.”

He shakes his head, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. “And I can’t, Y/N. I won’t survive that. I need you.”

Tears stream down your face as you stare at him, at the way his body trembles with the effort of holding himself together. Your lips part, but no words come.

Azriel moves then, ever so slowly, reaching out his scarred hand. “Take my hand,” he pleads, his voice raw. “Please, love. Let me hold you.”

For a long, agonizing moment, you don’t move. Then, with a broken sob, you let go..not of life, but of the ledge.

Azriel moves faster than a breath, his arms locking around you, pulling you off the windowsill and against his chest. He stumbles back onto the floor with you in his grasp, his wings flaring to keep his balance.

And then you’re both on the ground, tangled together, his arms wrapped so tightly around you that it’s as if he’s trying to hold you together with his own strength.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into your hair, rocking you gently as you sob into his chest. “I’ve got you, and I’m never letting go.”

You clutch onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. And maybe, just maybe, he is.

The next day, a soft knock echoes through your room. You don’t respond. The door creaks open, and you hear the quiet footsteps of Rhys and Feyre entering. You don’t look at them. Your gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, the emptiness in your chest mirrored by the blankness of your stare.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre’s voice is gentle, barely above a whisper, as though she’s afraid to break the fragile silence.

You don’t answer immediately, your throat dry, your heart heavy. Finally, your voice comes, flat and devoid of emotion. “Like my son just died.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and jagged. Feyre flinches at the raw honesty, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Normally, you might have softened your response, tried to cushion the blow. But today? Today, you didn’t care. Today, you had a pass.

Rhys shifts uncomfortably, his usual confidence gone. He stands quietly, his hands in his pockets, his jaw tight as if he’s holding back his emotions at seeing you so broken.

Feyre takes a step closer, her face filled with anguish, but she doesn’t push. She doesn’t tell you it will be okay. She doesn’t try to offer empty platitudes. Instead, she kneels by your bedside, her hand resting lightly on yours.

“We’re here,” she says softly, her voice breaking just enough to reveal her pain. “For whatever you need. Whenever you’re ready.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. 

After a long, heavy silence, they seem to understand that words won’t reach you right now. They exchange a quiet glance with azriel before leaving to attend to court matters, Not long after, Azriel approaches you. His presence is familiar, grounding in a way that should comfort you, but it only makes the ache in your chest deepen.

“Do you want something to eat?” he asks gently.

You shake your head.

“Love, you have to eat something,” he presses, his voice thick with concern. “You haven’t had anything since…” His voice trails off, as if saying the words will make them more real.

You finally turn your head to look at him. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his usually sharp features dulled by grief and sleepless nights. The sight makes your heart clench with guilt. He was breaking too.

“Soup,” you whisper.

Instantly, the House prepares it, a warm bowl appearing on the nightstand. Without hesitation, Azriel takes it and settles beside you, spoon in hand. He feeds you in quiet patience, his free hand brushing against yours between bites, as if reassuring himself that you’re still here.

When you’re finally full, you murmur, “You should get some sleep, Az.”

His brows furrow. “I’m fine.”

“You’ve been up here with me this whole time.” Your voice is weak, but insistent. “You need to eat too.”

Azriel exhales, his jaw tightening like he wants to argue, but the exhaustion weighing down his body betrays him. He reaches for your hand, pressing a kiss against your knuckles. “I’ll eat,” he promises softly. “But I’m not leaving you.”

A week had passed, but nothing had really changed. The pain hadn’t dulled, and neither had the emptiness inside of you. It felt like the world was moving on, but you were stuck, frozen in time, haunted by the grief that weighed down your every step.

You had lost weight. The energy it took to even get out of bed some mornings was overwhelming. Most days, you were distant, a part of you dissociating from the reality around you. It was like you were watching everything from behind glass, everyone’s worried faces, their desperate attempts to help, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything but the void that was slowly swallowing you.

There were days when you couldn’t even look at Azriel. When his eyes would meet yours, you’d look away, guilt gnawing at your insides. You didn’t deserve his love, his devotion. Not when you had failed him in the most unimaginable way. He deserved happiness, and you had robbed him of it.

Azriel noticed. Of course, he noticed. He was always there, sitting by your side, his presence unwavering, but even he couldn’t reach you anymore. The words he whispered to you, the soft touch of his hand, they didn’t seem to matter. His eyes, once filled with love, now carried a sorrow of their own. 

He had tried to coax you out of the silence, to talk, to share your pain, but you wouldn’t let him in. It was like there was a barrier you had built, an impenetrable wall that refused to break. He didn’t know what to do anymore.

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

Azriel quietly slipped out of the room, careful not to disturb you. You had finally fallen into a restless sleep, though he knew it would be a long while before the weight of grief would allow you the peace of a true rest. His heart ached as he watched you, wishing there was more he could do to take the pain away. But for now, all he could do was give you space, even if it felt like everything was falling apart around him.

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen, his steps heavy, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. The hunger gnawing at his stomach barely registered, his appetite long gone in the wake of everything that had happened. But he knew he needed to eat, if only to keep himself moving, keep himself strong. Even though he could barely muster the energy to lift a fork, he forced himself to sit down and try.

As he stared at the food in front of him, Cassian walked in, his usual energetic presence subdued. The concern in his eyes was impossible to miss as he took a seat across from Azriel.

"You okay, brother?" Cassian asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Azriel looks up, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, though he hides it behind a mask. He offers a small, tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Cassian doesn’t buy it, of course. He studies his brother’s face, sensing the unspoken pain and the weight Azriel is carrying. “You’ve been up there all day with her. How is she really doing?”

Azriel’s gaze drifts down to the empty plate in front of him. His fingers absently trace the edges of the porcelain. “"I don't know," he admits quietly, the words more fragile than he intended. “I feel like I’m failing her," he says, his voice barely audible. "She’s hurting, and I can’t fix it. I can’t fix this... any of this."”

Cassian’s expression softens.. "You’re not failing her. You’re with her, Az. That’s what matters. She needs you here, now. And when she’s ready, you’ll be there to help her heal. But you’ve got to take care of yourself too."

Azriel’s jaw tightens. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just feel like I’m losing her Cass,”he finally admits, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I don’t know how to help her through this. And it scares me.”

“I know you can’t. But sometimes... just being with someone is enough. That's all you can do right now.” Cassian’s voice is quiet but firm, understanding the depth of Azriel’s emotions. “You’re not alone in this, you know. We’re all here for you both.”

Azriel nods, but the words feel hollow, unable to fill the ache in his chest. He leans back in his chair, the silence between them heavy. He knew Cassian was right, but letting himself rest felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford..not right now.

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Beyond The Bat

(Neglected reader x Yandere batfam)

Prologue: Why me?

TW!!! Cursing !!Dark AU!!

Why is this happening?

The woman in front of me stood close. Too close. A hand was outstretched in an attempt to comfort me. I don't want her fucking comfort. I want answers.

"Why..."

The word left my lips before I could process it. My world was crashing. The room was spinning. It was getting hard to breath. I knew I sounded pathetic. I know I look pathetic. God I'm pathetic. Why can't I fight for this? Why does it seem like the only thing I can do right is fall behind as the world moves on without me.

"I'm sorry (Y/N), but we found someone better suiting of your position. We had no choice, the whole student body petitioned for Tim to become president of the student body."

Tim Drake. God I loathed that name. Every time I have something good one of those bat bastards has to make my life miserable again. For as long as I could remember I had been alone. I had to be the perfect child and yet I was never praised for the things I've done right, only punished for the things I've done wrong. Is this another punishment... Did I linger too long during diner yesterday? Did I not provide a good enough reaction during Damian's beating? Did I not hide my exhaustion well enough? Did I accidentally start a scandal?

"God (Y/N) what are you still doing here? We both know you have things to do at home. Plus you're not needed here anymore."

I heard his voice before I saw him. His condescending tone never ceases to send a chill down my spine. I steeled myself and turned to face my brother.

"I'm sorry Tim. looks like I lost track of time, I'll head back now"

I returned his dark look with a cold look of my own. I will not let him, or anyone for that matter, have the pleasure of seeing me break. I may have lost but I will not give him the chance to laugh and jeer at my failure. I turned and left the room, my posture straight and my head held high. I don't know what I'll do now but I will not let myself be seen as some pathetic hopeless child with no potential or worth. I ignored the feeling of Tim's calculating gaze boring holes through my figure and continued to walk on. Maybe I should take that person up on their offer. Maybe I could use their help...

Authors note: Omg prologue is done! Thank you all for participating in the polls and reading! I hope this is a good prologue, I'm super excited for this story. Thank you all for your support and please feel free to send me any asks I love hearing y'all's thoughts! Anyways with nothing else to say I wish you all a good day/night and I'll update you all on chapter 1 soon, until next time!

@simpingpandas

[marvel-verse]

I beg you please don't have an uncomplicated take on China just because we're getting some fun cultural exchange.

I love that Americans and Chinese people are coming together and having these conversations, it's so fucking important, but I don't think it's right to say "the Chinese don't have to pay so much to go to college so US propaganda is all wrong". Because yes it is propaganda, but you have to look critically at both countries. There is no such thing as a 'good' government. If there was, it wouldn't be the Chinese or US governments.

Did you know that right now the government of China is committing an ethnic genocide and has been for years? In the Xinjiang province, Uyghur people and other mostly-Muslim ethnic groups have been forced into what the Chinese government has called "re-education camps".

In 2022, it was believed that more than one million people had been imprisoned at these camps (source). Cotton plantations and factories also appeared within the camps. Here is one organization dedicated to the ending of forced labor in the region that you can read up on.

"Several countries, including the US, UK, Canada and the Netherlands, have accused China of committing genocide - defined by international convention as the "intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial or religious group". The declarations follow reports that, as well as interning Uyghurs in camps, China has been forcibly mass sterilising Uyghur women to suppress the population, separating children from their families, and attempting to break the cultural traditions of the group. The US Secretary of State, Antony Blinken, has said China is committing "genocide and crimes against humanity". The UK parliament declared in April 2021 that China was committing a genocide in Xinjiang. A UN human rights committee in 2018 said it had credible reports that China was holding up to a million people in "counter-extremism centres" in Xinjiang. The Australian Strategic Policy Institute found evidence in 2020 of more than 380 of these "re-education camps" in Xinjiang, an increase of 40% on previous estimates." (source)

Here is an interview the Human Rights Foundation did with former inhabitants of the camp on their conditions. It's dark, so take care of yourself and don't read if you're not in the right space for it.

And again - don't necessarily take what countries say at face value because there is always political motivation, but it's worth emphasizing that China admitted to placing these ethnic minorities in "re-education camps".

As for censorship, we know that the Chinese government censors media -- it's become a big topic of interest in CDrama and AsianBL communities. The CCP (Chinese Communist Party) is very socially conservative. You can't have nudity in Chinese shows, no depictions of gay relationships or drug use, and the morals displayed in the show have to be reflective of CCP values.

I haven't been able to find documentation of any actual "censorship" codes on content, but it seems to be a case of if you try something risky, you risk getting your show cancelled:

Every other reason for censorship is political and largely depends on the mood of the government or is a response to stuff that's currently happening in China that they deem problematic and capable of disturbing the peace or anything that isn't promoting the official government narrative. Nobody knows exactly what would set the government off so they play it extremely safe by producing "safe" content because experimentation could see your hard work go down the drain. (source)

Famously, the Heaven Official's Blessing live action adaptation was cancelled after filming due to restrictions on depictions of same-sex couples. I think it's still in censorship hell and people are on the fence for whether it will ever be released.

The show Spirealm also has a very interesting censorship history, but you can read about that on your own time.

And it's hard to get information on this because of Chinese press regulation, language barrier, prevalence of anti-China propaganda, etc but it's worth exploring.

TLDR do not look uncritically at another country because it is fun. These are important issues. Sweeping them under a rug is disrespectful to these peoples' lived experience.

being on this app is so surreal. americans are usually the ones that learn about other places and people everywhere else already know about america because we're everywhere online. we've never been on the opposite side where other people are learning about us -- and they are horrified about our "normal"

the country america spent our whole lives trying to convince us is miserable and suffering under an oppressive government that starves everyone and controls their media? that's just projection. turns out besides like... housing prices and few available jobs, china is doing pretty great. they originally believed we were all living it up "the american dream" way and now they're all thankful they were born in china and have no idea how any of us are even alive

[selineram3421]

*hides behind laptop*

⬅Prev: Part 1- Opposites

Spell Gone Wrong

Part 2- Devilish Human

Alastor X Reader

Alastor is trying a new spell but it's not right and something goes wrong.

Warnings ⚠

⚠ possessive Alastor, Human Alastor, time travel mentioned, Italics= thoughts, kisses, blood, cussing. ⚠

It's been weeks since the spell mess up, but Alastor still hasn't given up on it and continued tinkering around with some of the words in his book.

You don't know exactly what he's trying to do but as long as there isn't a huge mess it's fine.

The breeze outside is nice as you read your book out in the garden, the aroma of roses and daisies hit your nose every so often, and you have an umbrella next to your chair giving you shade.

An absolutely perfect peaceful afternoon, with the occasional sounds of nature.

Until it wasn't.

A big boom sounded from inside the house. You stood quickly and opened the back door, running into the house.

There was smoke everywhere, it made you cough and slow down in your stride as it was so dense. Barely able to take a few steps forward without worrying about hitting the furniture, you called out to your fiance.

"Alastor!?", you shouted and then coughed. "Are you alright? What happened-", you coughed again.

"I'm fine dear!", Alastor responded. "The damn spell went wrong again. Help me open the windows and doors!"

Both of you worked together and opened what you could to get the smoke out. You got a rag to help move the smoke along and Alastor summoned an electric fan, which did the trick.

Once it cleared most of the way, both of you saw a figure lying on the floor of the house.

"Ugh..", the figure groans and sits up, their back facing you as they lift a hand to rub the side of their head.

"Are you..alright?", you ask and take a step towards the person who suddenly appeared.

The figure turns to face you and Alastor groans in defeat.

"Again?", your fiancé sighs.

They are human, a very handsome one at that, and they back away slowly. Their hand moving around until it grabs onto a metal candle holder on the coffee table, swinging it in front of themselves and pointed at you.

"Where am I and what are you?", the human asks with a scowl.

"Hold on-", you start but Alastor stands in front of you.

"Now, now. We don't point a weapon at someone who's asking if you're alright.", the red deer demon scolds. "You'd think my human self would be a little more put together and wearing a smile."

"Human self?", you say surprised.

You met Alastor after death, so of course you've never seen him when he was alive. However, you didn't know that he was that attractive in life as well.

"That still doesn't answer my question sir.", human Alastor says.

"Put the candle stick down.", your fiance hisses out.

The two glare at each other and you roll your eyes. With a huff, you move out from behind your fiance and place a hand on the candle stick, lowering it down.

"As much as this is a shock to everyone, let's be civil about it. Ok?", you say and glance at the two before looking back at the human man. "You're in Hell. As crazy as this is going to sound, that-", you point at the Radio Demon. "-is demon you. And I am his fiancé."

"Demons?", he says and finally puts down the candle stick. "How did I get here? And how did I- he? How am I a demon here?"

"That would be my fault.", Alastor confesses. "I've been working on a spell but the results have not been satisfactory.. As for the demon part, well you'll find out in due time."

"It's no surprise if he's doing what you did in life.", you say. "This counts as time travel doesn't it?", you ask and look to your fiance. "What spell are you working on?"

"A difficult one darling.", is all the deer demon says before kissing your forehead.

Human Alastor looks away and takes in the interior of the house, finding pictures and art along the walls, with the occasional gun display. The furniture is mostly red and brown, like usual but he sees the decorative pillows and knows that must be the other demon's doing.

"If this is Hell, it's not too bad."

"Are you ok though? Did you hit your head?", you ask, attention back on human Alastor. "Please rest if you're not feeling well."

"I'm fi-"

"Just sit down.", Alastor says and pushes his human self to sit on the couch. "There isn't much you can do in Hell anyway since you're a human. So fragile."

You can see human Al-, hmm.. You can see Astor get annoyed by that last comment your fiance made.

"Alastor. Be. Nice.", you say and pull the red deer away, pushing him towards the back room. "Go and figure out a way to take him back to his time."

"Darling-", he starts.

"If you can't be nice then you won't get any kisses for a week!"

Reluctantly, the Radio Demon does as told and walks into the back room where he does his spells, giving you one last glance before closing the door behind himself.

You sigh and turn to look at Astor, finding him looking everywhere but at you.

"You ok there hun?", you ask.

"Forgive me but-ahem.", the human glances at you before looking away again. "I just can't imagine myself with someone as breathtaking as you."

You blush and wave it off.

"Geez. A charmer even in life, huh?", you laugh. "I'm nothing to look at really but thank you."

"Do I-? Does he not compliment you?", he asks suddenly.

You blink in surprise at the question.

"It's just, you seem to act like he doesn't but I apologize if I am being too rude with my question. It would be terrible if-", he begins to ramble.

"Slow down there.", you smile. "It's nice that you're worried but I'm treated very well. I mean, it is you.", you test the waters and pat his shoulder. "Though, why ask? I was told by my fiancé that he wasn't interested in anyone when alive.", you say.

"I don't get to meet you until after."

Is.. Is he flirting with me? You wonder and move your hand off of his shoulder.

Astor takes your hand before you can move it any farther and places a kiss on your knuckles.

"It's a shame that I don't get to have some time with you when alive."

Like deja vu, your fiancé rips you away from the house guest and holds you close.

"My love, you really must stick by my side when we have such guests over.", Alastor says with a sinister smile. "I still haven't forgotten what that blue bastard did."

Astor just smiles.

"Just telling your fiancé it's a shame we didn't meet sooner.", he says. "I can only imagine what fun we could of had together."

"Yes, though it is a shame, it seems that it was certainly needed. What a terrible flirt you are to my fiancé.", your fiancé gently guides your head and leads you into a kiss.

Astor frowns but then has a strange look in his eye.

"I'm surprised you aren't married to them yet. What's wrong? Not sure?", he grins.

You gasp as you break out of the kiss and glare at the human.

"Alastor-", you then state the rest of his full human name in anger. "How dare you imply such a thing! Do you even understand what you just said!?"

Before he can utter out another word, you turn and stomp off, slamming the back door behind you as you go back to the garden.

"I've forgotten what I fool I was.", Alastor sighs.

"Shit-", Astor stands to chase after you but is held back by his demon self.

"No use in going now. Let them have a moment to themselves.", the deer demon advises. "They are a force to be reckoned with."

Outside, you are upset and make your way over to the water fountain, snatching a hell daisy with a hiss as the thorns prick into your palms.

Sitting on the rim, you mutter curses as you rip petal after petal off of the flower and toss them into the water. You go back and forth doing this until you finally feel yourself start to calm down and your hand stings with all the bleeding scratches.

You walk back into the house after noticing it's getting a bit dark, using your dominant hand to open the door and holding the bleeding one in front of your chest.

When you walk in, you find Astor pacing before he stops and looks over at you.

"Dear, I just wanted to apolo-", he walks over quickly before noticing your hand. "Ah, you're bleeding."

"I'm fine.", you say and move around him to get the first aid kit.

He stops you by grabbing your wrist.

You turn to snap at him but then see the human worried.

"Please let me take care of it.", Astor pleads. "Please?"

"Fine.", you pull your wrist out of his hold and sit down on a stool near the kitchen counter. "There's a first aid kit under the kitchen sink."

He nods and quickly enters the kitchen, opening the bottom cabinet under the sink in search of the first aid kit.

He comes back not a second later and sets everything up to take care of the wounds.

Carefully taking your hand, Astor is gentle as he cleans the blood off. Apologizing when you hiss or squirm in your seat. Your hand is then wrapped up in gauze and he ties the end before tucking the extra bit under one of the folds, making it look neat.

"I must apologize again. I didn't think thoroughly about what I wanted to say. I just-", he sighs. "I'm just jealous that I-. That he has someone but I don't have anyone waiting for me back home.."

"Astor.", you start.

"Astor?", he looks up at you confused.

"Oh, I forgot. I've been calling you Astor in my head so I don't confuse you and my fiancé.", you explain. "Anyway, it was still very wrong of you to say but I can sympathize. It's not easy being alone."

He nods and looks away.

"Please be mindful of what you say hun.", you reach over and place a hand on his cheek, making him look at you agian. "But don't be sad too long. You do have someone waiting in the future. Ok? Keep smiling.", you smile.

With a soft smile, Astor nods and kisses the palm of your bandaged hand.

"Only for you."

Alastor shows up and shoves his human self away, wrapping his arms around you as Astor falls to the floor.

"Yes, yes. Be good and wait.", the red deer smiles cheekily and kisses your temple. "Satan knows you need to practice your patience."

All you do is sigh as Astor gets up and dusts himself off, glaring at his demon self.

"It would seem so."

Your fiancé sets things up to send his human self back and Astor helps him. The two grumble at each other but get the job done.

It's the same process as last time, but now with sun stones surrounding the calk circle.

Both of you watch as the human fades away.

"I swear if there's another Alastor that lays his hands on you-", your love says with a tone.

"Yes, I know. You'll do your worst.", you kiss his nose. "But it's nice to know that you love me in multiple shapes and forms."

Alastor smiles and pecks your lips.

"How could I not my darling? You're everything."

"Mhm..", you hum.

Then you remind him of something.

"No kisses for a week"

*screeches into the void*

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@+in the comments+

ML II Alastor🎙 | SGW ChL✨

[brianquinnlvr]

𝐁��𝐁, 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

SUMMARY you've had a crush on your best friends older brother for at least three years now. but he's always been so far out of reach that the thought of the two of you together just sounded wrong to others. for starters, he's three years older than you. and while that isn't a problem now that you're 19 and hes 22, which is not illegal, it was always a problem at the beginning of your crush. another bump in the road happens to be the fact that you're a pogue, and not just any pogue, john b routledge's twin sister. it wasn't necessarily his distaste for pogues though, it was more of a reputation thing. but after a party one night, maybe he can put his reputation aside.

rafe cameron x routledge!silly!reader 💌

au where he's not a murderer and he + sarah have a regular sibling relationship 🫡 also smau, along with irl

warnings: suggestive, slight age gap

series masterlist

you sat at the edge of your bed, scrolling on your phone as you awaited the arrival of the cameron siblings. you'd never been the type to be any form of secretive about a crush, in your eyes, there was other fish in the sea. if you're not madly in love with them, then rejection isn't that big of a deal. but rafe cameron rejecting you would be absolutely humiliating, considering you were so delusional about him that you qualified for a padded white room and possibly even a straight jacket. and well, now that you know he's aware of your crush on him, you are not looking forward to seeing him.

so as you hear the honking of rafe's truck, you jump slightly, pinching the bridge of your nose and exiting your room, making your way into the living room where your brother john b was. "farewell jb." you spoke. he sat up from his spot on the couch, leaning over to look out the window with furrowed eyebrows. "did sarah take rafe's truck?"

you sighed, sliding your converse on. "no, rafe's taking us." you grumbled, pulling on the laces of your shoes and tying them. "this is the only time i've ever dreaded seeing rafe cameron." john b chuckled. "good luck." 

as you stood up and gathered yourself, you turned to the door, calling behind you to your brother as you opened it. "thanks g. be back soon!" you didn't wait for a response as you exited the home. a smile erupted on your face as you made eye contact with sarah through the windsheild of rafe's truck, waving and jogging over to the vehicle.

you climbed in the back seat, sitting in the middle. "hi sar-bear." you said normally, in an effort to put up a front that you didn't care about the whole rafe knowing you like him thing. it wasn't really the fact of him knowing, but more of the fact that you seriously genuinely never had a chance.

but.. now that he knows, whats the harm in flirting? "hey beautiful." you said to rafe, to which he sighed through his nose. "hi yn." he grumbled, putting the car in reverse, his right hand going to the back of the passenger seat to help himself turn around, and god did he look good.

you were going to open your mouth to address his slutty actions, but you decided against it, silently sitting in the back of the truck until you pulled into the parking lot of the mall.

you and sarah unbuckled your seatbelts and began climbing out, ready to thank rafe for the ride but you paused as you noticed him getting out. "what are you doing?" you asked, eyebrows knitted together. he shrugged as you climbed out. "what? thought i was gonna drive all the way here just to drop you off? i need new swimming trunks anyways."

great. just what you needed. not only did you have to have an awkward car ride in the presence of the finest man alive being aware you thought he was the finest man alive, but now he'd be walking around the building with you—or at least you assumed, saying a silent prayer to yourself that he'd wander off alone.

he didn't, though. but he didn't really make his presence unbearable, either. he didn't say much—like at all. he did separate himself once or twice, also never really directly talking to you when he did choose to open his mouth. until sarah saw one of her old friends from highschool, that was. obviously, with you being a pogue, you did not go to the kook academy. so when sarah ran off to greet her friend that you'd never seen a day in your life, you stayed back, sipping on the auntie anne's lemonade with an h&m bag sitting in your hand, along with a bath and body works bag

last week you'd worked overtime at the wreck, so you figured you'd treat yourself with the extra money. though everything was insanely expensive these days, so you didn't get much. "so..." you mumbled at an attempt to break the silence. you were gonna follow up with something about the weather, or whatever it is people like rafe talk about. probably stockmarkets or something. but you couldn't help yourself from flirting just a little. i mean look at him, anyone who can control themselves around rafe cameron has the self control of a literal saint. "be honest, you only came in to be in my presence."

you wanted to say something a little more unsettling like 'hows that dick', but you managed to keep a bit of dignity. obviously you knew he was absolutely not there for you, but you did not expect him to play along. "you caught me." he said, his lips pressing into a thin line. 

you chuckled softly. "it's okay, don't be embarrassed. i'm used to guys being obsessed with me." you continued jokingly, eyes trained on his insanely beautiful face. "oh i'm the obsessed one?" he asked, his buff arms crossed over his chest as he tilted his head slightly, a very slight smirk on his lips now. "cus... if i recall correctly, you're the one who has sexual fantasies about me."

your cheeks burned bright red, not expecting him to bring up the message from earlier. you played it off by rolling your eyes, but it was clear to him that you were embarrassed. it gave him a sense of accomplishment. he couldn't explain it, but making you flustered felt nice in way.

thankfully, sarah walked up before the conversation could go any further and get any more awkward. "hey guys." she said with a smile. "sorry, old friend from highschool. what store next?"

you shrugged, knowing your budget was getting low. "theres a new shop over on the other end of the building. kie went recently, she said i'd love it." sarah smiled, beginning to walk in that direction, noticing the slight blush on your cheeks and the smug state rafe seemed to be in, but she chose to ignore it. "lets go then."

the walk to the shop was short, you and sarah talking about random things while rafe still followed silently behind, his hands in the pockets of his khaki shorts. the moment you entered the store, you knew you'd be coming back. 

your eyes immediately landed on a pair of dark denim shorts with a pretty floral pattern embroidered on it that reminded you so much of adrianne lenker's album cover for songs and instrumentals. you rushed over to them. "oh my god i need these immediately." you looked at the size, seeing they were your size. "this is fate. hallelujah thank you god." you said in a more humerous manner, going to look at the price tag. your smile faltered a bit as you saw the price tag, and you sighed, placing them back on the shelf. "okay, nevermind, apparently god hates me."

you always struggled with money growing up, but rafe and sarah were apart of one of the richest families on the island. i mean, they lived in the tannyhill mansion for fucks sake. sarah was your best friend, so you knew she'd absolutely never judge you for your financial state being so different from her's, but you were still ashamed of it. you were so different from her in so many ways. and obviously you were even more embarrassed with rafe there, who you'd flirted with a mere 5 minutes ago. it wasn't getting you any closer to getting in his pants, thats for sure.

sarah giggled softly, picking them back up. "it's okay, i'll sugar mama you." she winked. you smiled at her. "well thank you, but i'm not letting you buy me a $32 pair of shorts." she dismissed you with her hand. "don't be silly, yn." sarah reached for her wallet, opening it, and her smile was the next to falter. "shit. i don't have enough cash left and i forgot my card on my desk. i promise i'll come back and get them when my car gets done later."

you were the one dismissing her with your hand now, making a "pssht." sound. "its okay sar, i don't need them. i'm serious. i'll come back and get them when my next paycheck hits." she sighed. "fine. but only because ward put me on a limit until i get a job anyways." 

you chuckled, making your way to the vinyl section of the store, shopping through. you caught a glimpse of rafe in the corner of your eye, unable to resist yourself from looking at him as you turned your head, not even trying to hide the staring. he was standing at the place the three of you just were, seemingly shopping through the woman's clothing right there. 

you sighed, assuming he probably had a girlfriend or something that he was shopping for. rafe absolutely never posted on social media, and he was also never really at any parties or bonfires anymore. he was so mysterious, and it unfortunately made him a million times hotter.

after a moment, you went back to shopping through the vinyls and conversating with sarah about some of the albums you'd found. it wasn't long until you were climbing back into the backseat of rafe's truck with sarah shotgun. once rafe climbed into the drivers seat, instead of immediately turning on the car like you'd expected, he turned to you and handed you a bag from the store earlier. you furrowed your eyebrows, grabbing the bag cautiously. "whats this?" 

he turned back and started the car, beginning to drive. "i bought you the shorts. now you don't have to spend your next paycheck on them." he shot you a smile through the rear-view mirror then just went on about his day. "well thank you." you said softly, looking inside of the bag. "hot and thoughtful. how am i your only current bitch? against your will, too."

he rolled his eyes, but you could see the small hint of a smile on his face. it was like he was purposely trying to make himself look more boyfriend material than he already did.

v speaks: hi this was lowkkkkk ass but its just cus its an intro part i'm sorry like i have nothing from a previous part to build off of or anything💔 ill be better #swear also im shaking in my boots i havent published any writing since 2023

[thekaratcake-blog]

You do understand that every human has like... hundreds of mutations?

Also ah yes, because they're "often feminine" that makes them no ambigious genitalia, what did any of this prove exactly?

But hey, progress, mutations, not disroders, oop no you did it again

Gotta ask there buddy, are different coloured eyes also disorders? Is having light skin also a disorder? Those are mutations too lol, some of them real far back and real significant mutations

Because like, that's how you get literally everything, you don't get to pretend like mutations mean you can discount the human being

And even if we put aside these more notable disorders, the natural variation in this "developmental pipeline" is uh, pretty sever and significant since there are literally always some degree of change, and it's never in one direction or the other, also calling it a pipeline is extra funny, it's more like a tangled web, every single embryo starts female and goes through almost a pinball like back and forth process of development, say you're trying to develep a typical female with all typically female sex characteristics, what you get is an actual mess as some of the results of the xx chromosome code for male development that then other process intentionally have to override or proteins have to stop it from getting to it's required receptors, sometimes you even have that doubled up, where they code for female development but proteins try to override that and other proteins have to override them to avoid that, and you get a certain percentage of both going through and a natural amount of stem cells with completely different chromosomes from your parents, and even more absolute mess

It's cute you think the human body is a functional thing that always does what it's supposed to, but in reailty it literally never does, you have parts of your development that are female, every female has parts of their development that are male and it's literally entirely random as a few thigns ALWAYS go wrong, 100% of the time lol

See that's what happens when you have a fuck ton happening at once

Here's a lil source for that, y'know, from scientific american, a super respected jounral, as it talks about exactly this, humans are a complex patchwork, and even within that "small percent" who are intersex (y'know, the entire population of russia's worth) turns out you have a fuck ton of those variations too, everyone has, we're a nightmare of "a little bit of this there, and a little bit of this there, and well here's a bit of development that isn't male OR female, this is just a bit of both or neither at all"

But you desperately cling to your outdated views or reality, as with everything else, your little lies and falsehoods, y'know, the reason you run away from our dms every time I ask you for evidence, because none of what you believe is founded in any form of reality

[howi99]

A Knight second chance 13

Qrow: *cocking one eyebrow after watching the video of Jaune and Glynda's spar* What the hell was that, kid? Didn't you say you wanted to stay low profile?

Jaune: That was the plan at first, but i'm realizing that if i want everyone to survive, they need to step up their game. And i've got something to distract both Ozpin and Ironwood.

Qrow: *pensive* I see... *Point to Roman* Is this why that weasel sitting next to you, too?

Roman: *smirk* Qrow, nice seeing you again. How's your love life going?

Qrow: *smirk back* I dunno, how was it to be beaten by my niece?

Jaune: You know each other?

Roman: *leaning back in his chair* We went to Beacon together. *Sigh* His sister was a complete psychopath-

Qrow: *Grinning* You stole her sword during your first spare against her, of course she would beat the shit out of you.

Roman: *shrug* It was funny at the time.

Qrow: *chuckle* True that!

Jaune: ... *Shake his head, refocusing on why he gathered them here* In any case, Roman, you got the information we need against Lionheart?

Roman: *placing the documents on the table* All there. He wasn't the best at erasing his trace. *Sigh* 25 mission reclassified as low danger, given to inexperienced huntsmen teams.

Qrow: *picking up the document* For fuck sake... More than 200 huntsmen were killed, how did we not see that?

Roman: Mistral is the kingdom of crime. Falsifying documents was as easy as it gets for him.

Jaune: *looking at his scroll* Welp, i gotta go.

Qrow: *frown* Why's that?

Jaune: *sigh* Miss Glynda, psychiatrist extraordinaire, is asking for immediate attendance.

Qrow: *wince* That little bout with your friend is really biting your ass, huh?

Jaune: *groan* You have no idea. *Leave*

_ _ _

At the end of the appointment

Jaune: *perplexed* Something is weird happening with Penny?

Glynda: *picking up some papers* Miss Polendina has recently been suffering from multiple nightmares. *looking at the documents* Weirdly enough, she keeps saying something about there being "Nothing" and- *looking back at Jaune who is glowing faintly* Jaune?

Jaune: *mumbling* Nothing... Nothing happened...

Glynda: *worried* Jaune, what's wrong?

Jaune: *grabbing his head* What did i do wrong!? Why was i left behind?! Because i didn't follow a script?!? *The glow starts to intensify* I just wanted to get back! I- *feel Glynda sit next to him* ... *Hug her, crying*

_ _ _

Ozpin: *looking up with a smile, as Glynda entered his Office* Ah, Glynda, did- *sees her eyes, red from crying* ... *Sigh* Was it-

Glynda: *shaking her head* Worse. *Sitting on a chair* It was so much worse than anything we might have expected...

Ozpin: *worried* What-

Glynda: *trembling* Nothing happened...

Ozpin: *perplexed* What do you mean?

Glynda: ... Their was no knight to save the day, no cat to show you the way and no trees that could help you change for the better... A story that was never written... A destiny that can never be... *Shake her head* No wonder we never found that book, it never existed in the first place...

[twddixonn]

Good Boy

Daryl Dixon x Reader one shot

Warnings/Tags: not proof read!!!, sfw, some swears, shane.

this is my first fic on this account, my first time attempting to write a fic in 4-ish years and my first time trying to write a twd fic. honestly it’s probably not great but I hope it’s at least somewhat decent. :-)

(also written and posted mobile so not sure how it will appear on browser, hopefully not too terrible!)

“Leave me the hell alone.” You harshly whispered, turning on your heels and storming away from the scene in front of you.

Your best friend reuniting with his wife and son. Alive. Not dead. This whole time he had you believing that Rick was dead and gone, never coming back. Yet your eyes were seeing a whole different story to the one Shane painted out for you a couple months prior.

Shane followed pursuit, ignoring the former comment you had made and put a firm hold on your wrist before pulling you behind Dales RV to conceal you from the others.

“Hey, hey . I swear to you Y/N, he was dead when I left that hospital room. He wasn’t breathing. Th- the monitors, they all stopped. Everything went dead. He was dead.” Shane iterated, time and time again.

You feel the anger bubbling up inside you, just like all those other times when Shane had told you Rick was dead and to get it through your head he isn’t coming back. Your hands curled into fists, your nails stabbing into your palm leaving crescent shaped indents.

“Except he wasn’t. Is this why you didn’t want me to go there? Didn’t want Lori to go there? Because you knew if you swooped in and saved her and Carl when Rick couldn’t that what- she’d become your damsel in distress? Is this why? Just so you could get your leg over and fuck your partners wife and become Carls daddy? You’re pathetic Shane.” At this point your head was swarming with thoughts and ideas of what you wanted to do to Shane but better judgement got the best of you.

You began to walk off when a hand reached for you again, this time rougher. Shane pushed you against the RV, his brows furrowed and sweat dripping off his temples- smoke nearly coming out of his ears at this point.

“I don’t know what you think you know but you’re wrong either way. I think you’re forgetting that I didn’t just save Lori and Carl, I saved your sorry ass too. I didn’t have to. That was on me Y/N, That was on me. An’ I ain’t ever looked at Lori like that before, she was Ricks wife and he was my best friend. It happened because I thought he was dead.” He all but growled at you in a hushed whisper.

You remained quiet and stoic for a few moments, registering your thoughts before smirking slightly and speaking again. Pushing Shane’s hand off of you, you began to walk away but not before turning and giving one last snide remark, “I think I know right. And, by the way.. really interesting use of the past tense in those last few sentences there.”

Dickhead.

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“I’ve been here for quite a few hours now and yet, still no hello?” You looked beside you to see Rick crouched with a smile on his face, placing an arm around your shoulder which you leaned into graciously.

“Sorry Grimes.. just- a lot to take in y’no.” You said.

“Na’ I get it. Shane told me what happened.” Rick remarked whilst kissing his teeth and shaking his head.

“He did? Really? What did he say?.”

To say you were shocked was an understatement, Shane had really gone out of his way to-

“Yeah.” He breathed out, “Told me how it started, he tried to get me from the hospital but I wasn’t breathing and he thought I was dead. How he saved you and Lori n’ Carl and got you all here.”

“He told you that huh.” You should have known.

Rick started to stand back up, giving you a pat on the back and a kiss to the forehead first “I’m gonna go get some shut eye, you need too aswell. Talk more in the morning Y/N.” Rick turned to walk back towards camp, not before turning and speaking again, “Y/N.. go nice on Shane though ok? He’s a good guy, you just gotta give him a chance.”

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You wake up the next day to the sound of what you thought was - for once - peace and quiet. Until you hear the shouts outside and a woman screaming stop.

Debating between laying back down and just going back to sleep or getting up and out of your tent to see what was going on, you went with the better judgement and begrudgingly dragged yourself to get changed and step outside.

Shielding your eyes from the rays of light beaming off the Atlanta sun with a sigh escaping your lips at the slight breeze that hit your clammy skin.

“You’d best let me go!”- what the fuck was happening this time?

Walking closer you take sight of Shane with his arms wrapped around Daryl’s neck. A fuckin’ cop getting someone in a choke hold the minute they raise their voice? New worlds maybe not as different from before.

“I’d like to have a calm discussion on this topic, you think we can manage that?” Rick spoke calmly whilst he crouched in front of Daryl, his chest heaving with rocky breaths as Shane’s tight grip didn’t let up just yet.

“You think we can manage that?” Rick repeated.

You zoned out at this point, eyes boring into the side of Shane’s skull with anger.

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“I’m coming.” You didn’t hesitate to jump at the opportunity to get away from camp for a while. The rising tension taking over was beginning to grate at you.

“That’s five”

Shane piped up “It’s not just five, you’re putting every single one of us at risk.” “Just know that Rick”

“Come on man you saw that walker. It was here.

It was in camp.

They’re moving out of the cities.

They come back, we need every able body we’ve got.

We need em here, we need em to protect camp.”

Staying focused when Shane’s voice is droning on for what seems like eternity is quite the mission lately. Listening to him is beginning to seem like nails on a chalkboard.

“-Shane is right. Merle Dixon? He’s not worth one of your lives, even with guns thrown in.”

Hearing Loris voice made you gain attention again.

“If someone left Rick behind-“ you began to join the conversation, maybe with the words aimed at Shane slightly. He clearly picked up on it as his eyes shot to you, if looks could only kill, you’d be six feet under.

“Would you want them to go back for him? Or would you let him stay handcuffed to a roof to die slowly?” Your eyes landing on Lori.

“That’s different. Rick.. he.. he isn’t like Merle. He wouldn’t get himself into that position in the first place.” The stern mom tone coming out as Lori tried to keep her composure and not snap in front of Carl.

“You think Merle purposely got himself into that position? He’s an asshole yeah, and he may have deserved it. But he didn’t expect to be handcuffed and then left behind. Not knowing if anyone was going to go back for him. It may have been an accident. But he shouldn’t have to sit there wondering if he’s just going to die from thirst and hunger or if he’s going to get torn to pieces at the hands of walkers. He may not be your family, but he’s someone’s family. You have your husband, your son. You have Shane. Merle is all Daryl has.” You’re not sure if you were even breathing during that, your chest rising up and down at a rapid speed. You felt rage. How could anyone justify this bullshit?

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Sitting in the back of the van was a bit more awkward than you anticipated. Glenn and Rick up front. You, Daryl and T-dog in the back. Maybe the tension in the back of this van was worse than the tension at camp?

You looked up smiling at T-dog as he avoided Daryl’s intense stare, before he got up and headed to the front to talk to Glenn and Rick.

Daryl kept shooting you glances whenever he thought you couldn’t see, a grunt leaving his mouth every so often as if he was about to talk but decided against it.

Just as you looked up at him, he was already staring with his mouth open yet no words seemed to come so he just scoffed and averted his eyes anywhere but at you.

You began to grow a bit frustrated at him. “What?”

“Nothin’” he all but murmured.

“Stop grunting and scoffing at me like a dog who didn’t get enough treats, be a good boy and just say whatever it is you’ve been wanting to say for the last 15 minutes.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at yourself.

You could have sworn you saw a light tinge of pink cross his cheeks before his head dropped down facing his lap.

His mouth opened and closed, before opening once again “Why’d ya stick up for me.. for Merle back at tha’ camp?”

Oh. That’s what this was about? The intense looks he gave you before this made you think it was about anything but this.

“What do you mean?” You had to admit you were somewhat confused at this.

“Ya said it y’self, Merle, he’s an asshole. So why’d ya go out of ya way to defend him? Why didn’t ya just side with the others and leave him?” Head dropping once again as his thumb found its way to his lips as he gnawed on the nail.

Silence.

You were stuck for words. “He is an asshole. Maybe one of the biggest assholes I’ve ever known. But he’s your brother, maybe not the greatest one but still your brother no matter what. He’s all you have left. The others may not understand, but I do.” Taking a deep breath in and thinking about your next words carefully, “I honestly couldn’t give a shit about him. Doesn’t mean I want him to suffer up there on that roof. No one deserves it. Well I mean maybe some people y’no? Really bad people. And maybe Shane. Merle, he’s not necessarily one of those really bad people. He makes mistakes, says things he definitely shouldn’t and has actions that match, but don’t we all in one way or another?”

Daryl was slightly overwhelmed. Not expecting you to be so honest and caring? Somewhat caring anyway. He didn’t know what to say.

You hummed and tapped your fingers against your legs, “Nothing to say?”

“I dunno what you want me to say.”

A grin made its way to your face.

“How about a thanks?”

“Thanks.” He grumbled trying not to scoff afterwards to avoid being called a dog again.

The van began to come to a stop, Glenn saying something about walking from here.

You stood up whilst stretching your arms above your head.

“That’ll do. Good boy.”

You smirked at him before opening the back of the van and climbing out. Leaving a blushing Daryl in the back trying to hide his face as he groaned standing up.

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authors note: it’s not the greatest, I am very aware. but I really wanna get back into writing in general and I thought starting with twd would be the best place to start as it’s one of my comfort shows. there’s not much happening, it’s very heavily based on s1 e3 obviously but it’s mostly just to try and get back in the swing of things! if you have an constructive feedback or any comments you’d like to make, please feel free as it will be much appreciated :-) I’m hoping to improve my writing skills more and more. It will probably take a while (I’ve literally had the first half of this thing in my notes app since June 2024) but I hope to get to the point of making some good fics! thank you for reading if you managed to make it this far!:)

[rafeysdeer]

imperfect for you (aka insecure reader x comforting rafe)

kook!reader x rafe cameron

prompt: a party that was supposed to be relaxing and to clear the head goes terribly wrong, leaving a very anxious and insecure reader, good thing she has her very caring boyfriend who knows exactly how to take care of her.

a/n: okay, that's the first time i write for rafe, i really like obx and rafe, so i tried my best in here, but i didn't really like it, i think it's bcs it's my first time writing about him. english is not my first language, i hope you guys like it 💗

You weren't exactly excited about going to this party, but you knew your boyfriend was, and you didn't want to be a party pooper, and at least you'd be with him, nothing bad would happen if you gave up and went to a party, right?

Well, you were wrong, terribly wrong, even though you were a kook, you never exactly fit in, you never got the right friends, and even though you were pretty, guys just didn't seem to be interested in you.

That was until, Rafe Cameron laid eyes on you, in your little sundress, having a drink at the club, just looking for some peace, you looked almost ethereal in his eyes, and he just knew you were meant to be together, it took a while to convince you of that. You spent most of the talk thinking it was some bad joke, because there was no way, Rafe Cameron, the king of kooks, was there, talking to you, interested in you and not on your hot friend, or literally anyone else.

You two get along almost instantly, his charm had you wrapped around his finger, and you loved it.

It had been months since you two started dating, but you still didn't feel like you fit into his social circle. So when, the first moment he separated from you at the party, a girl purposely bumped into you, spilling her drink on your short dress and whispering 'Whore' in your ear, you were sure.

Rafe didn't get it why you suddenly looked so upset, but he wanted everything, but to see his girl upset, so when he suggested for you, that you two go home, you happily headed towards the truck.

"Sweetheart, you need to talk to me. What the hell happened that you suddenly look like a kicked puppy?" and it only took his playful words for you to burst into tears in the passenger seat, it wasn't just the girl or the stained dress, everything looked too much, and you looked so small, a girl being an bitch was all you needed to lose it.

Rafe immediately looked at you with his blue eyes filled with concern. "Hey, love, I was just kidding, you don't look like a kicked puppy, I swear." he says trying to understand what happened to make you break down.

You looked up at him, your pretty eyes shining with tears. "I just-, I don't feel like I fit in, Rafey, like i fit right in with you, but i'm just unwanted by everyone else," she says, her voice cracking with tears. "I tried to fit in, but I've been around these people my whole life, and they've never liked me, and now I feel like I'm holding you back, or making them look down at you"

Now, he looks like a kicked puppy as he looks at you with a worried expression. "Honey, you don't have to fit in, those people at the party, they don't like me either, they look at me like shit too and that's not your fault, not at all, you don't need to fit in with them because you think you have to because of me, the only person I need by my side, is you."

She blinks her bright eyes at him, as if the words had run away from her mind. The car stops in front of the house, and he gets out, opening the door for her, greeting her with a kiss before the words even come back to her. "I love you, no matter what any of those assholes think, because you're the one who's here for me, not them."

She looks at him, looking almost wonderstruck, a smile breaking across her face, wrapping her arms around his neck. "The only person I need is you, Rafe," she says, knowing that the feeling was mutual. "What do you say we go inside, put you in some comfy clothes, and watch Sex and the City?" She laughs at how well he knows her as they walk into the house, his hand around her waist.

"Sounds perfect."