#I’d be inconsolable I don’t even know what I’d do

[cal-is-a-cryptid]

Something that makes me happy #51:

When you’ve only been friends with someone for a short period but it’s felt like a life time.

[pinkcarnatixns]

georgia stanway | flowers for vases

synopsis georgia does her first tattoo on you, it leads to a confession after of years of feelings [1.6K] contents best friends to lovers, nervous georgia, tattooing, mentions of needles

You normally took pride in your fearlessness when it came to adding to your growing collection of ink on your skin, but now you were completely petrified.

When Georgia had first approached you to be her canvas for her very first tattoo on real skin, you had immediately agreed- your haste chalked up to a trust built on years of friendship and definitely not the fact you’d do anything she asked. 

What your sometimes scatterbrained best friend had forgotten to mention was that this was not a private affair, but a moment that was going to be televised for all the nation to see. Of course, this meant that you’d have to act like you weren’t completely smitten with the woman-  in front of a bunch of cameras while you tried to not blush at her hands on you. 

Safe to say, you were quite ticked off with Georgia when you first arrived at the small tattoo studio’s address, only to be greeted with people rushing filming equipment inside the building from a van with a big ‘BBC’ plastered on the side. When you entered the studio with a quirked eyebrow and crossed arms, her face clearly dropped as she realized her mistake, rushing over to your side. 

“I completely forgot to mention the filming part, didn’t I?” She pouts at you, grabbing a hold of your bicep to plead her case.

You sighed, “You know, I really thought this was a sweet gesture of trust between us, not to get you a big check from the BBC.”

At your jest, she deflated even further and you struggled to stop your lips from quirking up at her dramatics. You could never stay mad at her for very long, especially when she made you laugh just by being in the same room as her. Still, you were a bit mortified at the possible outing of your feelings for the girl being broadcast to the world, so you tried your best to hold your ground. 

“It’s not like that at all! You know there’s nobody else I’d rather share this with, I swear!” She held onto your biceps tightly, and you felt your resolve washing away like a sand castle with the wave of her cologne that hit your nose. 

Her hands were trembling lightly, and at her gaze and proximity you quickly turned shy, only managing to mumble out, “You don’t mind sharing it with everyone in the nation, clearly.” 

However, taking pity on her already clearly fried nerves, you followed the snark up with a playful eye roll and returned her gaze. “Well, since I’m here, let’s see what you’re going to put on my body forever.” 

Her already big brown eyes seemed to light up at your compliance, and she gently pulled on your forearms to uncross them with a blinding smile. She effortlessly initiated the intertwining of your hands, nearly dragging your shocked form to the ground with her fervor to show you what she had drawn. 

She got shy as you both approached her already prepped little work table, going quiet as you peered down at the paper and leaning into your body for comfort. The warmth that spread through your body at your still entwined hands creeped all the way up to your ears at what she had designed just for you: a little broken flower vase. 

When you two had first met as kids, Georgia, persistent to impress you with her football skills- had wrongly decided to do so inside your house. When this naturally ended in the broken heirloom, and your mother’s harsh scolding, you had taken the fall for the overexcitable girl. She had been inconsolable at the mess she had caused, promising to make up for it someday. To this day, she still felt guilty for the incident while you often brought it up, joking that she was only still by your side to repay her debt. 

Through all the growing pains and hard times, you had stuck by each other’s sides. Even when you got into fights, one of you would always bring up the vase as an olive branch, knowing that it really meant that you could never get rid of one another. 

Your eyes got misty, your heartbeat in your ears drowning out the hustle and bustle around you two, “Georgia, that’s so sweet- you sap.”

“You really like it? Don’t lie.” Her hand nervously fiddled with the rings that adorned yours, both of you refusing to meet each other’s eyes. In a moment of bravery, you pecked her on the cheek and rested your head on her slightly taller shoulder. 

“I love it. Can’t wait to have it on me forever.” You punctuated the genuine words with a squeeze to your intertwined hands, hoping to calm her nerves with the action. 

She stumbled a bit over her sentence, before forcing it out nearly too fast for you to catch it, “There’s three flowers on one side and then one on the other. Y’know like 31, like my number at Bayern.”

Your head jumped off your shoulder, gaping at her as she was locked in a staring contest with the table- cheeks red like she had just played a full 90. With your heartbeat nearly breaking at the confines of your ribcage, you decided to lean into the moment, tripping over your words a bit but whispering. “That’s perfect. I like it even more now.”

At your reassurance, she shyly met your sincere gaze, struggling to keep a goofy smile subdued as you nodded at each other.

Your little bubble was broken when a crew member called for her presence, apologizing for interrupting as he dragged her over for an interview. You watched on with hearts in your eyes as she spoke to the camera, her sincere appreciation for the art shining through with every word and the sparkle in her eye. Caught up in watching her, you barely realized when they had wrapped up, rushing over to her side after missing your name being called a couple times.  

They perched you up on a stool for her to place the stencil on your calf, sighing in relief as it peeled off exactly as she wanted it. She gently held your hand to help you down, using it to guide you over to the table while instructing you to lay down comfortably.

When she actually starts dancing the needle over your skin and attempting to answer questions at the same time, she clearly struggles. Nearly every time she punctures your flesh, she can’t help but look to you for your reaction- scared to hurt you. You try not to laugh as her sentences trail off again and again as she continually locks eyes with you, knowing she’s going to make the editor’s job a nightmare. As she nears finishing, you try to shoot her encouraging smiles, wishing you could tell her how good she was doing if not for the mics that would pick it up. 

The tattoo takes quite long for how simple the design is, partly due to her insistence on doing everything right, stopping for the littlest things. It’s sweet that she’s so adamant to not hurt you or have the ink blow out, but it’s pretty comical and clear that the camera crew is getting antsy. You are happy to sit for as long as she needs, content with the heat of her palm through her gloves soothing the ache of the needle, but try to silently encourage her in order to get everyone out on time. 

As she takes the final swipe of a paper towel over your skin and declares that she’s finished with a shaky breath, the first thing she does is to once again look at you. She visibly relaxes as you send her a beaming smile, taking your hands to move you to sit upright. You admire her work as she turns to give you her water bottle, watching you like a hawk as you take a sip.

You get shy at her attention, “I’m not going to pass out you know, I’m literally covered in tattoos already.”

“You’re really feeling alright? We can take pictures after you have a second, yeah?” 

“Georgia really, you look much more lightheaded than me. You did great, I promise.” As you try to scoot off the bench, her hands stop you- pinning your thighs to the table. The position forces her to lean closer to you, putting you at eye level with one another. She has a certain determination in her eyes, but is clearly quite mortified at the proximity her actions have caused.

Still, with her big brown eyes boring into yours, slightly rough palms on your naked thighs, and the slight dizziness that you do feel- you look around the room to see everyone busy packing up before you do something drastic. As you turn back to her soft gaze, a slight tilt to her head and a quick glance at your lips is all the encouragement you need. 

Your hands cover hers, desperate for something to ground you as you lean in to peck her lips. At your slight movement, she excitedly surges forward and you clash much harder than you had expected. 

Pulling away, you’re both reduced to hysterics at the release of the tension that the day caused, and for finally giving in to a moment to had both waited for all your lives. Who knew it would take her marking you forever for you both to make a move.

a/n: wow so sorry I have not uploaded in forever! midterms absolutely kicked my butt and then I was celebrating my birthday! anyways I'm not super happy with this but I hope yall enjoyed <3

my requests are still open and i will really try to be much quicker in getting to them lol

[vasiktomis]

Reverse Psychology (Reigen Arataka x GN!Reader, 18+)

Rating: Explicit (Minors do NOT interact). Word Count: ~2400. Tags/Warnings: No use of Reader pronouns. Negging. Office Sex. Pining. Service Submission. Confessions. Doggy-style. Creampie. (and it isn't a vasiktomis work without) Premature Ejaculation. Consensual Non-Consent. Read it on Ao3 Here!

“I’d had my suspicions, but I didn’t — ah — realise you were this into me.”

He’s such a loser, you think, gasping as he gracelessly gropes and grabs at your waist, your hips, your thighs. He’s such a scumbag. You want to bash his skull in. He’s adorable.

You won’t lie; you know he’s overestimating your infatuation with him. You’re sure he doesn’t actually believe what he’s saying — it’d just be mighty convenient for him if you believed it. Even when he’s got you pinned to the wall, body flush against yours, panting into your neck while he tries to recover from getting too lost in feverish kisses, he can’t drop a con when the opportunity presents itself.

Lucky for you, you know him too well to feel hurt over it, let alone fall for it. It’s always been like this between the two of you; Reigen, in all his arrogance, negging the shit out of you for as long as you’ve known him. Baiting you into seeking his approval, his attraction, when all he does behind your back is stare. You’d been wise to it from week one, but you hadn’t realised how bad he had it until you’d paid him to house-sit while you were on vacation with friends last year. When you’d come home to respectfully watered houseplants and a hamper full of underwear that weren’t crusted with cum and shamefully shoved to the bottom of the basket when you’d left it.

You’ve known as long as he has that he’s wanted you, but its just too fun, watching him make a fool of himself while he’s trying to bait you into throwing yourself at him.

It’s the little things that beckon your attention, and he probably hates that. The sincerity and care that creep out of the cracks when his apprentices arrive in a less than stellar mood. The underlying consideration he puts into not giving a shit about you. He’d never buy you dinner, no fucking way, but he sure has a running list of all your favourite foods specifically so he can have you pressure him into sharing a cold mouthful after an unnecessarily long monologue about fending for yourself.

He broke first. You knew he would. Finally, after all this time gloating about girlfriends that don’t exist and shoving unwarranted dating advice at you, he gave in. At the most boring moment too — not even during a fight or while one of you were inconsolably crying. You’d just gotten too close on your way past when you were leaving the agency for the day, and he just broke.

It must be a blow, after all that work he put into the facade. You’d heard the resigned sound in his throat when he’d rounded on you, hands finding your shoulders, kissing you open-mouthed before you’d even had a chance to kiss back. It just wouldn’t be like him to let that image slide.

He’s bolstering his ego with all this dominance, and you’re happy to let him. If you’re honest, you kind of like it; letting him believe he’s fooling you. He’s taking charge, but the power’s all yours. It’s your decision to call him out whenever you like, and if he wants to spend the first shot he’s had at you lying, it feels only reasonable to make him work for it.

You give him nothing. A blank canvas to project onto and a tongue in his mouth in lieu of something he might be able to hold against you later.

It's perfect. He pulls back, delighted.

“God, I knew it. You don’t even try to hide it.” Reigen mutters, frantically tugging at buttons and fabric to shift his attention to your chest. The kisses he smears on your clavicle, your sternum, over the swell of your tits, are hurried and sloppy, already not quite living up to how cool he’s trying to play this. “I bet you’re already ready for it.”

Bad performer’s trick: rush you through to the sex so you never have to find out he’s terrible at foreplay. Or, maybe he’s concerned he can’t hold his nut long enough.

God, he must be terrified beneath that facade.

You just have to fuck him.

You reach down, fumbling with his belt, and he gasps, at least before he squashes the sound into an elated little laugh. “You don’t have to go so fast.”

And there’s the gaslighting.

You don’t slow, but he’s parted from you enough to give you the space to do what you need to do, unbuckling and unbuttoning and unzipping, all while keeping your eyes on his. You watch his expression cloud with something little less controlled. More sincere. Boyish. Then, you take your hands away, and his throat bobs. Nervous. He’s sweet, under it all. And so, so scared of showing it.

It’s a shame.

Maybe if you do this a few more times you could coax it out of him.

“You’re not gonna make me beg, are you Arataka?” You purr, watching a bead of sweat form and slip on his brow in the time it takes for you to be forward enough to call him by his first name. “After keeping me waiting this long?”

“H-how long?” Reigen chokes, barely audible. Then, he clears his throat. A second try, peppered with a cocky little smile. “How long.” He dips his face back into the crook of your neck, resuming his assault, picking a wise time to hide his face.

Your hand slips down the front of his pants, palming him through the fabric of his underwear, and his whole body jolts. “You tell me.”

It’s like he can’t get close enough, anchoring himself to you. He fumbles to reach you the same way, but the position is already awkward standing this close. Momentarily, he’s at your mercy. “I don’t know. A little above average? I’m not the kind of insecure guy who needs to brag about that kind of thing.”

He’s so full of shit.

You guide his cock out of his underwear. Nothing to be very impressed by. Below average, if you’re honest. Not particularly girthy, either, but there’s a pleasant upward bend you’re sure you could have fun with. A slick pearl of pre-cum forms on the slit when your thumb traces up his already tugging foreskin. He was ready to go before you even started touching him.

Who are you to deny yourself the enjoyment of watching him embarrass himself?

You take his hand, and he watches, transfixed as you spit into his palm before turning yourself to face the wall.

“That’s-...really gross. You should probably ask people before you do that sort of thing.” There’s a shudder in his voice as he chides you. A slick sound and a hollow inhale as he works your saliva over his cock. You ignore him. The quaver in his breath gives his excitement away, and you help shove down your pants just enough to grant him access.

Reigen struggles, of course he struggles to line himself up at first. He takes a moment to tilt his hips the right way, to tug at yours. When he sinks into you, it’s all the way, fingers bunching your shirt to push just a little further. Just to make a point of it.

He pauses like that, holding his breath, one hand cupped over his mouth as he cranes over your shoulder. Savouring the feeling as much as you are, you assume — at least before you feel his cock throb inside you, and his whole body goes stiff. A choked gasp almost makes it past Reigen’s palm, diaphragm quaking against your back.

He’s absolutely coming, and if you weren’t too proud you’d admit, the angle of his acceptable cock throbbing against one particular bundle of nerves almost has you dizzy yourself. Utter fluke. It has to be.

Reigen’s body slackens a little. The orgasm passes. In your periphery, just over your shoulder, he looks downright horrified.

“Did you just-“

“What? No.”

The mask is back on in an instant. Reigen’s hand joins the other at your hips. He pulls out halfway. Sinks back in. The slide is thick. Gathering around your entrance, smearing the crux of your thighs. God, even his balls are wet against your ass. Just how much did he nut?

It’s -…kind of hot.

“Are you used to your partners not lasting?” He asks. You look down, tempted to see if he’s managed to make a mess of your underwear, and the bastard’s fingers snap to your jaw, angling your face back up for a kiss. He’s desperate for you not to know. Fine. You’ll play along. “Eyes up.” He breathes against your lips, punctuating with a thrust before he settles into a rhythm in you. It’s adorable, the dominant act. You can’t wait to smush him like a bug. “I asked you a question.”

“Arataka.” You attempt, shocked to find yourself choking on the word as he keeps going, wise enough to know not to stray once he’s found a spot that you respond well to. “Fuck, I-“

“It’s okay, I know.”

Something awful and delicious shakes through you. That shouldn’t have had such an effect on you as it does. What’s this guy’s deal?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a damn clue. But he really goes the extra mile to convince you otherwise.

“You should — touch yourself.” Reigen grunts into your hair. “I don’t plan on finishing until you do.”

You wonder if that’s Reigen-talk for ’oh fuck I’m gonna blow again’. You wonder if you should take your time, just so you can find out.

Oh, but why would you ruin his good time? It doesn’t help that the idea of coming with him in you is a pretty enough thought that you’re doing what he tells you.

With only one free arm to cushion you against the wall while Reigen ruts into you, you manage to find enough space for the other to see to your own needs.

It’s humiliating, the sound that escapes you when your touch compliments his own. He must feel the same way when his breath hitches in-kind, groaning at the feeling of your own pleasure clenching around his cock.

“Keep talking.” You manage, burying your own face into the back of your hand. He’s too close. He’ll hear how much you’re actually enjoying this. He’ll see it on your face. “Keep talking to me, Arataka.”

“Fuck—“

Oh, of course he liked hearing that.

“I — I can’t —“ His words diminish to a whisper you’re not even sure you were supposed to hear. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do  all this to you.”

You can’t, either. And yet, here you are. Raising onto your tippy-toes, rolling your hips back to angle him deeper as if his balls aren’t already swiping you with each thrust. Big mistake, you realise. His cock drags against something that has you shuddering, hurtling toward your own end. There’s no helping it. No helping you. Not when Reigen’s arm coils around your waist, pulling you so close that you can’t chase his movements anymore. The other locks over your chest in a desperate embrace. He’s barely pulling out before he’s ramming back into you now, nearly folded over you at this point. Something drapes against your shoulder, and god help you, you surrender your bracing arm to grab at it, letting your face squish against the wall without anything to cushion it.

Your fingers wrap tight around that stupid tie, keeping his chin hooked over your shoulder. A yelp slips out of him. A new pitch. Your core burns from the awkward posture, from exertion, from the delight of having him come so undone by you despite all his efforts.

It’s —

“I’m close.” You pant. “I’m close — I”m so close—“

His grip on you is suffocating. Fingers wrench at your shirt.

Reigen lets out something akin to a sob. “God, please — I’m so fucking crazy about you. Please, come, please, please—“

It hits you without mercy, tearing through you with a helpless whine. Were it not for being sandwiched right now, your trembling legs would give out beneath you. Instead, you’re held in place by Reigen’s desperate little ruts, unwittingly drawing your orgasm out each time his cock hits that spot again, muscles chasing the motions. Constricting around him, spurring him on.

You’re shaking when it passes, paled thoughts only brought back to coherency by the increasing pitch of Reigen’s breaths. Mouthed words evolve into a barely comprehensible muttering of ’oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit—‘ before he’s finally aware he has the green light.

“Where?” He pants, “Where do you want it? Can I finish inside?”

Is this guy for real?

You can’t even form a response. You’re too busy drooling against the wall, face smearing against the wet spot with every thrust.

Reigen seems to take no news as good news. As if he ever had a choice. The pitch in his breath reaches a crescendo, and with your last rational thought, your last ounce of strength, you yank his tie, hard. His posture curls around yours, clinging to you with a delectable sound. His cock throbs again, and your face squishes into the wall even more as Reigen’s own legs tremble, forcing him to brace his weight forward as he empties himself into you.

For a while, he catches his breath, still holding you to him. You feel his lips ghost over the back of your neck like he’s considering a kiss — but suddenly he finds it too bold a move. He shakily steps back, and all of a sudden he’s folded onto his knees with a tired grunt.

Left without your counterweight, you sink to the floor with him, leaving a snail-trail of saliva in your wake as you slide down the wall and settle down. Weakly, you flip onto your ass, still too dazed to bother with the clean-up just yet.

Across from you, Reigen gingerly feels through his jacket pocket. "Great. My pants are ruined. You wanna go halves at the coin laundry?" The sweat stains in his armpits almost reach his waist, and his business shirt is so damp it's near-translucent. He can’t take his eyes off the cum that seeps out of you, onto the floor.

“That was a lot.” He comments, clearing his throat. He finds that cigarette and tucks the box away without offering you one. “Wouldn’t be surprised if that was like, two loads worth.”

You squint at him. “Man, would you shut the fuck up?”

[starogeorgina]

Violent delights

Warnings: Swearing, character death

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.09

You push and slap at Daemon’s chest as he tries to hold you close. He says nothing as you take your anger and grief out on him. It’s not until your screams wake the children sleeping in the bedchamber next to your own that you finally snap out of the state you find yourself in. Daemon holds onto your hands as you crumble to your knees.

Lucerys was gone.

You look up at him through blurry eyes and ask, “Where’s my mother?”

“Being consoled by your grandmother and grandsire.”

Your lip begins to tremble. It didn’t seem real; Luke couldn’t be gone. Although you knew Daemon would never lie about something like this, you desperately wanted to believe it was a mistake. Lies being spread to cause the breakdown of the blacks—you didn’t want to believe Aemond had actually killed him. Your mouth is extremely dry as you ask, “What is to be done about this?”

“As of yet, nothing?”

“Nothing?” His answer enrages you. “My brother is gone. Murdered! The greens need to pay for what they have done.”

“Indeed, they will, my girl, but we need to think strategically. The one-eyed cunt will be well guarded, as will the rest of the greens, including the usurper. They will be waiting for us to attack.”

“Cat and mouse,” you mumble.

Daemon looks worried while helping you stand again. “I don’t quite understand.”

“A mouse hopes to make a break for freedom but doesn't for fear of being eaten by a cat. It’s something Alicent once told me.”

Unsure what to say, Daemon stares at you blankly, waiting for you to continue.

“They will think we are too afraid to leave Dragonstone. I’d place my bets on them coming here to surround us, then attacking.”

You straighten the crinkled material of your dress, and you think of all the times you watched Alicent do it. Whenever Aegon did something that could embarrass her, she would try her best to keep up appearances. Your mind goes to all the ways the greens could twist Aemond into being a kinslayer, but there is none. He will be damned by the gods for the remainder of his days, but now that the first death has happened, there is nothing preventing a full-blown war.

Daemon recognises the look on your face. “Lyarra, what is it?”

“They aren’t afraid of us.”

Even after Aegon usurped your own mother, you didn’t want to believe a war of such violence was going to happen between House Targaryen.

“Two wars are going to happen. The one for your mother's throne, and another for your granddaughter.”

—

You stand in front of a small part of the black council. Your mother had been weeping in her bedchamber for hours; she was inconsolable. Daemon was busy putting things in place for part of his plan to protect his family, which required him to leave Dragonstone, and with Jacaerys in Winterfell, it fell upon you to try and hold the fort. A burden you wished not to bear.

“Where are the queen and prince, Consort?” Your grandsire asks.

“Prince Daemon is currently attending to other matters, and her grace is still suffering from her recent losses,” your grandmother answers. “With Prince Jacaerys securing the support of the north, the burden of war falls upon our granddaughter.”

You gulp down. Ser Erryk, Baela, Rhaena, and your grandparents wait for you to continue. “Admittedly, I know little about war strategies, but I was married to the usurper, and I believe that might give me some insight.”

Your grandsire raises his brows. “Insight?”

“Alicent will do whatever she can to try and salvage the green’s reputation, which will be even more difficult after last night.” Whispers had reached the island, and Aegon threw a feast to celebrate his brother Aemond killing Lucerys. “I have sent a raven to OldTown addressed to Prince Daeron, expressing my concern for the safety of his sister and her children. And I’ve sent a raven to Otto Hightower, telling him the same thing.”

Rhaena steps forward and asks, “Why? The greens usurped the rightful heir to the throne—”

“As guilty as Aegon is, his children didn’t steal my mother's throne or kill my brother.” Daemon’s words of eye for eye echo in your mind, and although you wanted revenge, you disagreed. “If we do anything to harm the innocent,” you take a deep breath and push back tears, causing your voice to shake. “Lucerys was just a boy and deserved so much better, and his death shall be avenged, but if any of us do harm to Princess Helaena’s children, they will come for mine and my siblings. It will just turn into a vicious cycle until all the Targaryen children are gone.”

“And what of Princess Aemma? Otto has already made it clear that the usurper wants her back at the king's landing.”

Gritting your teeth, you say, “The Prince consort and I discussed this at length, and it’s been decided that the safest thing for my children is for us to leave. I will be traveling to Winterfell tonight to join my husband, who is still unaware of what’s happened to Lucerys. Once we are sure of our children’s safety, we will return to help fight for our mother's throne.”

“What of the queen’s other children?”

“My mother wishes for my siblings to remain by her side.”

Your grandsire takes over as the conversation turns to battle strategies, and not long after, Daemon joins you by the painted table. He gives you a curt nod, letting you know that part of the plan is done.

—

Elinda Massey, your mother's most loyal lady in waiting, was a saint; she somehow managed to cut your son's hair and dye it darker with mixed herbs and crushed roots from plants that grew on the island, along with your daughter, while Clara dyed yours. Clara had offered to travel along with you and your children, which you greatly appreciated since you would have felt guilty asking.

“Oh, my girl,” your mother says teary-eyed. “I wish it never came to this. I wish you and my grandchildren didn’t need to leave.”

“This isn’t forever. I will return soon with Jacaerys by my side, and then as soon as you’re sitting upon the iron throne, your grandchildren will return.”

“I’m proud of you, my sweetling.”

Before you can reply, Ser Erryk enters the room and says, “My queen, princess. The boat leaving Dragonstone is ready.”

“Thank you, Ser Erryke; the princess will be down shortly,” your mother says.

He bows his head and leaves.

Clara, Elinda, and yourself manage to carry your sleeping children to the boat while your mother holds Aemma in her arms while holding back tears. “Soon as they are safe, I will return, and I promise we will make things right.” You kiss your mother on the cheek before taking your daughter from her. “I love you, muña.”

“Take care, my girl.”

When the boat leaves Dragonstone, you take one last look at your home, watching it disappear into the distance quickly due to the darkness of the night sky. The last conversation with your stepfather replays in your head.

“It will never work. Firstly, Jace would never allow me to go through with it, and Alicent would see right through my act.” The plan Daemon had proposed was risky, but you understood his reasoning behind it. What concerned you was keeping it a secret; you couldn’t look your mother or husband in the eye and be dishonest.

“She would believe you are a mother doing anything you could to protect your child. As for Prince Jac—”

“He’d never forgive me.”

“Rhaenyra and Jacaerys will be furious with us at first, but trust me, they will in time come to agree that this is the only way.”

Muña - Mother

[cirrusoftheclouds]

CIRRUS LOG - #???

Yes this is that one Luka screenshot don’t yell at me

???’s POV

It’s not strange to say I didn’t quite see this coming. They were such a quiet; unsuspecting child, never speaking their mind or doing something of any worth at all. It’s easy to forget they even existed.

Of course, now that it’s over, I’d love to have them continue. They don’t seem so fond of that, hiding away in their room* the moment they got back. I tried to coax them out, but they were inconsolable, not meeting my eye as per usual. I can’t remember the last time they even looked at me. Well, I never claimed to understand the human mind.

I’ll let them rest for now. They’re fragile in this state. Like a bomb. Maybe it’d be best if they didn’t continue. I don’t know what they would do, thought I suspect they’d lash out. Or run away. I won’t have either of those happen.

I can’t get the look on their face out of my head, the one where they realised it was over. I’m not sure if it was a look of horror or excitement. They are a mystery to everyone. It’s rather exhilarating. And a nuisance.

It’s been days now. Every time I walk past their room, I hear that song playing. They have a strange way of entertaining themself. I can’t judge, however. I wasn’t good at teaching them.

Sometimes I still hear them crying. What for, Cirrus didn’t know these people. Those people didn’t care about them. They’re mere stepping stones.

The thought of trying to talk to them occasionally crosses my mind, but…

No, never mind. I just hope that one will be able to help. No use in a broken pet.

— END.

Tagging @4listr for Cirrus lore >:]

[feral-ballad]

true love is the small stuff that isn’t small. and being silly. always being silly. i never remember the disagreements we have after we’ve talked them through, but i remember all the times we’ve gotten stoned & danced together in our underwear before the shower. i remember all the times he’s pulled me back into his arms to keep me from walking into a spider web. (this has happened like 4 times somehow, i think spiders just love the guy.) i think about all the times we’ve washed each others hair & done each others nails. the time we spend doing day to day stuff together- cleaning, cooking, moving hay, planning for the future, how nothing ever seems hard when i’m with him. and all the fun stuff too, going on walks looking for bones & going out to eat or to parties or concerts or camping with our friends. the nights that we get drunk & giggly & cuddle in bed telling each other secrets & stories about how things used to be. how much better i sleep with him crammed into my twin bed, or listening to him snore on the phone. the long car rides listening to music & talking & sharing cigarettes. i think about the time that i was inconsolably upset & he read me alice in wonderland (his favorite book) until i stopped crying & fell asleep. how natural it is. how safe it is. my first relationship was when i was really young & it was very abusive, so love was always fucked up for me. i was with people that i cared about, that i loved in some way, but it never felt the way people described, it never made my heart pound or my skin feel electric, i could barely be touched, i never felt safe or at home, i never felt like i could be myself, i was never sure, there was always a level of doubt & uncertainty & discomfort. i thought that was just how it was. it’s different with him, in a way i thought i’d never get. there’s never been a moment of doubt with him. i never really believed in love at first sight but i swear the moment i met him everything in me screamed that he was the one, that if i didn’t stop being so scared & go in headfirst i’d regret it for the rest of my life. i fall in love with him more every single day, ive never felt like this before. and the truly crazy part to me is that i know he loves me too. i believe it. even when i’m triggered or having an episode i never doubt that he loves me, he shows me in so many different ways every day that he loves me & that i can trust him. sometimes i just get so overwhelmed with love that i have to kiss every single inch of his face. i want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him, but even if we don’t get that, if we only get a few years, a few more months, or even if it were to end tomorrow, i will never regret meeting him, falling in love with him, letting myself trust him like this. he changed me & my perception of love for the better in so many ways & also brought back a lot of things about myself that i abandoned a long time ago. i’ll love him forever, and i’ll always be grateful to him for showing me what love is actually supposed to be. (sorry this got so long haha, i just lovee talking about him & i get a lil weepy when i think about how different my life is now)

oh god… tears in my eyes….

[ace-0fspades69]

My World

Angel dust x gn! Reader hurt/comfort (could be read platonically or romantically)

Basically angel + reader are best friends and are cuddling when reader confesses how scared she is of the extermination that’s coming in the next week Angel starts to comfort you and you eventually just have a full break down and let it all out. Reader is a fennec fox demon like how Angel is spider, Alastor is a deer, etc in my mind but there is no reference to it (don’t ask idk lol)

This is my first time publishing a full fic here so it might suck.

You lay with Angel in your hotel room late one night. You’re laying snug against him in your bed, both watching whatever trash is on Tiktok. He eventually gets bored and set’s his phone down on the nightstand next to your bed and sets his chin on top of your head, watching whatever it is you’re watching now. You lay like that for what feels like hours just silently enjoying each other’s presence. Eventually, you also get bored and set your phone down on the nightstand as well. You roll over and lay your head on Angel’s chest and try to sleep. He silently accepts this and moves his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you closer. After what seems like an eternity you look up at him with your big eyes and whisper. “Angel?”

He stirs awake from hearing your soft voice and looks down. “Yeah toots? You okay?” You whisper back a quiet no and mention you’re scared. “Well what’s botherin’ you suga?”

You whisper back. “I’m just scared of the extermination… ‘M scared I’m gonna lose you.” He looks at you fondly and assures you that you never have to worry and that he ain’t gonna leave you anytime soon. “I’ll be okay toots, you don’t ever gotta worry ‘bout me. I’ve lived through worse.” He pulls you closer and starts softly stroking your hair. “‘Nd if I do ever gotta leave ya then I’ll do whatever I have to to get back to you, you’re my world.” 

You start weakly crying and he looks at you dumbfounded. “Hey hey hey… what’s wrong why’re you crying toots?” You gaze up at him and whisper “But what if you’re not okay Angel? What if you can’t get back to me? I’m so scared of losing you. I need you. You’re like my breath, without you my heart ‘ll stop working. You’re so important to me and I just can’t imagine living through this hell without you. Without you I wouldn’t even be living, I’d just be existing, waiting for the day I can be double dead and finally reunite with you. You’re my EVERYTHING.”

He peers back down at you and almost inaudibly says “Well I’m flattered and everything that you think so highly of me darlin’ but I’m tellin’ ya, you don’t need to fear. I’ll be okay. I’m not gonna go double dead until the day ya want nothing to do with me anymore.” 

Snuggling in closer to him the tears continue rolling down your cheeks. “Angel you’re so perfect. Did you know that? You're so so perfect it’s not even funny. What have I ever done with myself to deserve you?” Continuing your bawling you tell him “I know I don’t deserve you which is why I’m so scared to lose you. It must be a mistake that I get to have you here with me. You’re meant to be with someone else. Someone else who’s kinder and more loving and less melancholic. You deserve someone who’s just as perfect as you, and can always treat you the same way you treat them.”

“Hey suga’ it’s okay I swear. I think you’re perfect just the way you are. You’re the best person I could ever ask for. I understand ya have a lil anxiety sometimes, we all do. That doesn’t make me appreciate ya any less. I’m not as perfect as you think I am either. If I was then I wouldn’t be here. I killed people, toots. It haunts me damn near every day. When I first got down here I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I was inconsolable, I was just existin’. I eventually made the awful decision to sell myself to Val because I thought it would help me feel somethin’. Instead it just made everything worse.” He confesses to you. “Then I met you. You were the light I had been missin’ for so long. You finally made me feel like I was worth something to somebody. If I didn’t have you who knows where I would be right now. You make me feel so loved I can’t even put it into words. Without ya I would be lost. Ya make the hell we’re in just that much better. So in short, I don’t care how fucked up you are, you are absolutely perfect to me and I don’t ever wanna hear such self hatred comin’ outta ya mouth EVER again.”

Your breathing begins to calm and you feel yourself finally relaxing after getting the days of pent-up anxiety out. “Do you really mean all of that Angel? You swear you aren’t lying to me?” He tacitly responds “Have I ever lied to you darlin’?”

Drying your face off with the bottom hem of your t-shirt, you gingerly lay back down and nuzzle back up to Angel. As you feel lulling to sleep you whisper “Thank you, Angel.” He stays laying with you for a while, softly tracing hearts on your cheek with one of his hands as you fall asleep. You’re his world and he doesn’t want you to ever feel less than that. Once he’s sure you’re asleep he swiftly moves his head down and gently kisses your forehead. He lays back down and wraps all of his arms around you protectively and enjoys your warmth and watches you sleep for a while. He adores you more than you’ll ever know. As he falls asleep you squeezes your waist and even though you’re not awake to hear it, softly whispers

“I love you”

And when he falls asleep, he does so smiling, knowing that you know how much he loves and appreciates you.

[lance-space-mommy]

Cleaning Out The Refridgerator

Izuku never knew a life without his mother. It was always Inko and Izuku against the world. Izuku never once met his father Hisashi and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Inko was everything Izuku needed and without her being at the forefront of his life, he’d never become the person he was. It was all thanks to his mother.

Inko died at the age of sixty. It was out of the blue and she had died of a heart attack. Izuku was only thirty-five. The day he got the call his mother had died was the worst day of his life.

His hero work kept him busy and he rarely got days off. Whenever Izuku managed to get the time, he’d always have dinner dates with his mother. It was clear Inko had appreciated those little moments together.

They’d cook together, catch up on life, and just cuddle for hours. They felt like the time they shared always slipped away and those moments felt so short even if they spent the whole day together.

Izuku and Katsuki got married at the young age of 20. They didn’t want to waste a moment and desired to experience all life had to offer.

When they were sixteen, they watched the other die. They knew how fragile and short life could be. Death was promised and they wanted to enjoy the life they had left.

Holidays and celebrations were always a grand event. Inko and Mitsuki would often hang out together, but having their family members join them for a party was an exhilarating experience. Every day, every moment, was lived to the fullest.

Izuku could say there was so much more he wished he could have experienced with his mother, but he was satisfied with the time he did have with his mother.

It didn’t make things any better, but having no regrets was something that made Izuku grieve his loss without any guilt laced with it. Izuku could miss the amazing woman Inko was and miss his perfect mother.

For months, Izuku was inconsolable. Katsuki did everything in his power to help Izuku through Inko’s death, but he couldn’t imagine the pain Izuku was going through. Katsuki loved Inko dearly, but he didn’t know what it was like to lose his mother. Katsuki didn’t even want to imagine a life without Mitsuki.

It was a random Friday when Mitsuki had invited Izuku over to have some tea and talk. It was nice to just talk to someone who cherished Inko just as much.

Mitsuki was crying, hugging Izuku. “I ran out of her pickled daikon radish! I don’t know what to do!”

Izuku paused, feeling something click in his mind. Even if Inko was no longer with him, there was something she did that no random person in the world could mimic. Inko’s cooking and baking were inimitable. The only person on the planet who could make Inko’s recipe was Izuku.

Izuku pulled back, his hands resting on Mitsuki’s shoulders. “I’ll make you some!”

Mitsuki’s eyes widen, blinking away her tears in surprise. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Yes, I’d love to make it for you,” reassured Izuku, his face filled with an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Mitsuki seemed to melt, relief flooding her. “Thank you, Izuku. I can’t wait to taste it!”

Izuku grinned, quickly hugging Mitsuki again. “You won’t be able to tell I made it, trust me.”

The next day rolled around and a beautiful Saturday greeted Izuku. Izuku threw himself up and took over the kitchen. The windows were opened and the morning breeze lulled Izuku into a peaceful rhythm.

The sunlight warmed his skin, matching the warmth his heart felt while making the same food Inko happily prepared him when he was a child.

Katsuki walked over and instantly spotted the mess. Shaking his head with a small smile, Katuski made his way over. Wrapping his arms around Izuku’s waist, Katsuki pressed a tender kiss to Izuku’s temple. “What are you getting into?”

“Just cleaning out the fridge,” fibbed Izuku, knowing Katsuki wasn’t going to buy it.

“Sure and I’m not your husband,” remarked Katsuki, giving Izuku a gentle squeeze.

Izuku sat down the knife before turning around to hug Katsuki. “I’m making some pickled radish for your mother.”

Katsuki paused before a look of recognition crossed his face. “She’s probably over the moon knowing you can keep supplying her addiction. She’s obsessed with Inko’s pickled food for as long as I remember.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe I was so depressed I forgot that I can remake all the foods my mom made by heart,” chuckled Izuku, snuggling into Katsuki’s secure hold.

“Anything I can do to help?” questioned Katsuki, knowing the answer was going to be no, but he wanted to check anyway.

Izuku shook his head before pecking Katsuki on the lips. “Nope. This is quick and easy to make.”

Katsuki nodded before releasing Izuku. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Within thirty minutes, Katsuki heard a loud thumping in the kitchen. Rushing out, Katsuki watched as Izuku jumped in place, filled with excitement as he was chewing. Katsuki sank in relief upon witnessing the childlike joy written in Izuku’s expression and bouncing.

Izuku spotted Katsuki staring and quickly shoved the pickled radish into Katsuki’s mouth. Katsuki immediately could tell why Izuku was so excited. The crunchy yellow radish tasted exactly like the kind he had eaten his entire life. It was identical to Inko’s.

Izuku knew that if he kept making food that tasted identical to his mother’s, he’d never stop eating. If food was how he planned to keep his mother alive, he’d happily eat each meal like it would be his last.

“Good job, Izuku. It’s perfect,” complimented Katsuki, diving in for more.

“It’s so wonderful,” cried Izuku, following his husband's lead and eating more.

Inko may be gone, but for the rest of Izuku’s life, he’d never have to live a day without her beautiful, one-of-a-kind meals. Inko showed her love through food and Izuku would forever be grateful that homemade meals will forever be their thing. Even after death.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could you write a headcannon about billy and Freddie when they are older taking care of there s/o who has there period and how they would react or help them with it . If that makes any sense.

Due to the fact that both boys having grown up with the likes of Darla, Mary and Rosa, I’d like to think that Billy and Freddy have a basic understanding on what’s going on with you when the dreaded days of experiencing brutal cramps came for you. (Depending on how bad your period hits, mine doesn’t hurt as badly as others but that don’t mean they aren’t an annoyance.)

Billy is more then willing to do things for you, doing anything and everything that he knows will help in making you more comfortable during what was most possibly your worst few days of your life. So his acts of service love language is on fully display here and it never fails to melt your heart with how much he’s willing to put up with in order of making things a little easier for you.

Chocolate, medicine, cozy blankets, comfortable clothing, favourite stuffed plushie, hot water bottles, comfort movies are amongst the many things Billy would have on hand because don’t we love a man who’s prepared for any and everything?

He’d even offer up being your personal human heater if needs be. He’s not going to fight his fate should you become in need of his warmth and affection when the hot water bottle was beginning to grow lukewarm.

Billy really enjoys being able to take care of you and would automatically wave away any and all inclinations you may have about him possibly being annoyed about being on his hand and fort for you 24/7, claiming that his reasoning for doing all this was that;

A) it’s the right thing

B) he wasn’t about to stand on the sidelines helpless when there was ways that he could pitch in and help

And c) he genuinely doesn’t mind. It’s you after all, his s/o, so of course he’s going to help you! Don’t be a dummy!

He’d attempt in making your favourite comfort food but if that doesn’t work out, a quick nip to the corner shop never hurts.

This boy will make it his mission to make you laugh to get your mind off of the massacre going off in your lower abdomen. Freddy specialises in taking your mind off of things and you couldn’t be more grateful for having him in your life.

Freddy maybe a goof sometimes but he’s your goof all of the time. So it’s impossible to have a shift in moods when this sweet angel is making you laugh up a storm til tears are streaking down your face.

Another more then willing human heater, if anything he probably ditches the hot water bottle and presents himself as the alternative in keeping the cramps at bay. His hand almost as though supper glued to your lower abdomen as his thumb ran comforting strokes across the skin there whilst your cuddled into his side.

He’s got all your movies cued up and ready to go that it might as well be an impromptu movie night within the walls of your bedroom!

I feel like Freddy would give you words of comfort and praise, letting you know how strong you were for going through all this and enduring such pain and yet still being able to make it through to repeat it the next day? Honestly it’s awe inspiring for the lad to have such an strong partner. A superhero is what he calls you, more specifically his favourite superhero. (Yes I think his love language is words of affirmation.)

Freddy is more then willing to fight your period pains if he could but since period pains didn’t have a physical form he takes alternative methods in doing so.

Funny video marathons or cute animal montages that only end up making you cry because they’re so fucking adorable to the point you were inconsolable. Freddy would take everything you say through your blubbering with absolute seriousness.

‘They’re so tiny Freddy! You could put them in your pocket!’

‘You’re absolutely right, you could stuff an entire army of the little guys in your coat pockets.’

‘Right!’

Overall both boys are sweet, attentive and genuine in their care of you. They only want you to get better and are more then dedicated in their efforts in doing so that at some point, you’d have to remind them to take care of themselves because surprise surprise, they’re human and every human has limitations.

I literally can’t think of anything else that they’d do differently from one another without it becoming too repetitive.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for giving up everything, including my sanity and moral compass, in a desperate bid to save my daughter?

…I loved her more than anything.

Sorry. I know you probably don’t want to hear about it, but I want to make that much very clear. I have to, for my own sake. I want everyone to know, and so I will reiterate:

My daughter was my world. I can hardly put into words how much I cared about her, at least once upon a time.

She was a happy accident— she hadn’t been planned. I was young, or at least felt young at the time when her mother showed up on my doorstep. We weren’t in a committed relationship. I was a ‘player’ of sorts. I hadn’t intended to impregnate her, but then there we were.

She held her arms and told me what happened. She asked me what I wanted to do. She said she didn’t really want to keep her, and was thinking of adopting her out, but wanted to know what I thought.

I was stunned. I wasn’t ready. I was keen to get rid of her too. But then my baby girl— my daughter reached out a hand and grabbed my finger. And it was as if my whole world shifted.

I realized she was so small. And so incredibly alone. And MINE. I realized if I didn’t protect her, then no one would. That she was my duty.

I told her mother I’d keep her. I became a single father. It was frightening, but I was sure of it. For my daughter, I’d do anything.

And life was good, for a time. We were happy. But then, everything changed. I ruined it.

You see, I was a businessman and mechanic by trade. I had a moderately successful company producing technology. And one day, I stumbled upon the blueprints for a machine that would change EVERYTHING.

It was a wish granting computer… said to be able to make any dream come true. I was ecstatic. Not only would this surely help my company, but it would help ensure my daughter had a bright future. I decided I’d build it— make her life prosperous, and make all of her wishes reality. We even worked on it together.

It was our project. Our collective dream. We poured our hearts into that machine.

But it went wrong. It had to, didn’t it? There’s no such thing as a true miracle. Partway through building the machine, I…

I lost her.

Something malfunctioned. A portal opened up. Maybe I shouldn’t have allowed her to be near the computer— I don’t know, but either way, it stole her away. My daughter… the light of my life was swallowed by the portal. She screamed for help, and then…

The portal closed. She was gone.

My daughter was dead, and it was my fault.

I was inconsolable. I promised I’d hang the stars in the sky for her, only to to allow her to be murdered at only seven. In one terrible moment, my entire world came crashing down.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where to go. But then it hit me, I realized.

…My wish granting machine— the same machine that had damned me— it was now my only hope.

If I completed it… if I were to make my dreams come true, then surely I could bring my daughter back to life.

Of course, it couldn’t function as was. I tried to make my wish, and it told me it was ‘impossible.’ But I didn’t give up. I just needed more resources. More time.

Did you know every planet has the power of the stars contained somewhere within it? A miraculous energy… that which my wish granting machine ran on. I harvested this power from my own planet, but it wasn’t enough.

I needed more.

I traveled to other planets, taking this power by force, if necessary. I constructed a grand spaceship, and my machine and I conquered.

But the grief in my heart hadn’t eased. I was beginning to feel delirious. I started suffering from severe health complications. I well and truly thought I was going to die. But I couldn’t allow that to happen before I saw my daughter again, and so I made another decision.

…The machine. I’d use its powers to transcend my mortal flesh. I replaced my faulty heart with a cybernetic one. My ailing limbs with machinery, and my weeping eyes with LEDs. That way, I would never die. My daughter wouldn’t recognize me upon her return, but that was okay.

It was all for her.

Slowly, I began to lose it, though. Something terrible was happening to me. I was more standoffish… edgy and angry, and even worse, my memory began to go. I began to forget things that were important to me.

…Even my daughter’s face.

I think, in some way, I was aware of it. I was aware it was that accursed machine. It was eating away at my brain every time I used it. But it didn’t matter. I still had to save her. And so I surrendered myself— gave my mind up, all in a desperate bid to MAYBE find a way to bring her home before I lost myself entirely.

I did not. I forgot my daughter— my precious child— the one who this was all for, and my priorities shifted.

Prosperity. That’s what I realized I wanted. Prosperity. For myself and the people cared about. But people were far too foolish to attain prosperity on their own. If I wanted prosperity to be treated with respect, then I would have to take it for myself. No-one else understood the correct way to live.

We invaded more planets— me and my precious machine. We did so with even more force. We stole their natural resources for ourselves, and as for the people who lived there…?

We improved them. We gave them the same upgrades I’d been given. It was the only way to live an efficient life, and so even if they didn’t want to, we mechanized them. We mechanized entire planets, spreading our agenda of prosperity all across the universe, and becoming incomprehensibly rich in the process.

It was… maybe eleven years into this when I met a peculiar person. She was young— couldn’t have been older than 18. She begged me for a job— said that she NEEDED to work for my company.

She had no credentials, but I felt… drawn to her, anyways. Her diligent demeanor and her strange sad eyes. I offered her a position as my secretary, and she agreed.

She, like everyone else, was mechanized, and she begun work at my company.

We didn’t always get along… me and this person, who I’ll call ‘S.’ I’d shout at her. I wasn’t an easy boss. I was mean-spirited and demanding. But even so, I was still kinder to her than I was to others, I think. She brought me a certain sense of peace.

…On quiet days, she’d sing me songs.

I trusted S, or at least as much as I could trust anyone. And so one day, when it came to us mechanizing a particularly important planet, I put her in charge of the operation. She’d shown she was competent, and I trusted her to do what needed to be done.

…She failed. Spectacularly. At every step of the operation, she messed it up. A rebel from that planet resisted our company’s takeover— destroying our spaceship and eventually making his way to my headquarters. S tried to stop him, but failed time and time again.

He waltzed right into my office.

She tried, one last time, to seize him… to make up for her mistakes and make me proud, but she was unable. He was too strong. He outright humiliated her.

I was… enraged. I’d trusted S with so much, and she’d let me down. I terminated her from her position right then and there— even though she begged me for mercy— even though she said she needed ‘just one more chance.’

I didn’t listen. I never listened to S.

I should have.

(I’m sorry. I’m so, SO sorry.)

I, too, was beaten by the rebel. But I had one last trick up my sleeve. I attempted to connect with the computer— my greatest accomplishment and my last hope. And S…

She stole it. That which I was using to sync with the computer, right as it was attached to my brain.

All at once, two things happened.

First of all, I lost control. I could feel the computer’s presence creeping up on me. I knew soon I’d be dead— TRULY dead as it reformatted me. S had killed me, whether she meant to or not.

But second of all…

For just a brief moment, I remembered. I remembered EVERYTHING.

And as I stared at S, dying… completely unable to move, I came to a horrible realization.

I knew her. Even looking at me with such hateful eyes. Even having changed her beyond recognition

I had met S before, a very, very long time ago. I’d forgotten it, but she was the one I did all of this for.

…She was my daughter. She’d been by my side all this time, and she’d murdered me.

The last thing I was able to process was just how angry she looked. Just how scared and small. She… well and truly despised me.

And really, I can’t blame her.

I’m in a better place now. My spirit was almost destroyed entirely by that which took everything else from me, but even a wish granting computer can’t defeat Death. Eventually, painstakingly, my soul was knit back together.

But I am not at peace. I am anything but. I can’t get her expression out of my mind… just how much she resented me.

Now, I know the full story. My daughter never died. Instead, she spent 11 horrible years trapped in a nightmare dimension. My computer could not bring her back because she was not gone… not truly. She was fighting for her life.

Eventually, she returned to me. She became the person I knew as ‘S.’ But by then, I had already forgotten her, and she was inconsolable. She vowed she’d find a way to save me… to ‘wake me up’ and have me remember.

She tried. She really, really tried. But I was beyond saving. And I guess when I tried to fire her… something snapped. Perhaps she thought maybe— just maybe if she were to get rid of the computer, she could change fate.

…She did not. I am gone now, and her efforts were all for naught.

I know, realistically, I am the bad guy in this story. I committed countless atrocities in the name of seeking salvation. I conquered planets. I mechanized strangers. I even mechanized she who was most dear to me.

But I didn’t mean to… I never meant to—

I just wanted to see her. One last time. I knew the fate it would condemn me to, but I did not care. Was that really so selfish? All we wanted was to rescue one another, and in doing so, we damned ourselves.

…AITA? For trying to save my daughter, and in doing so, perhaps condemning her to the worst fate of all?

[paxmorgana]

Militsioner Hc post bc I am cringe but I am free:

Heads up, I haven’t gotten my grubby little hands on the demo quite yet, so don’t expect perfection here!!

-So, Slavic language branch, right? I feel like our mili would at least understand some other Slavic languages, maybe even speak a little. For self-indulgent reasons, I’d like to think he has a pretty ok grasp on polish, particularly. Can’t write in any other language to save his life, though.

-In the same vein, this man has barely illegible handwriting. I know he writes poetry, but I’m starting to think maybe there’s a reason HE has to read it to the player.

-I hc his height being around 1,500 feet maybe?? Not much to compare him to, so this is really just eyeballing.

-It’s given that he’s actually pretty sensitive! His emotions are also very prone to sudden changes from what I’ve seen, and he clearly isn’t very happy overall. Until directly exposed to stimuli, though, he’s very monotone. I kind of interpret this as some kind of masking or emotional suppression.

-Ofc the moment thunderstorms come around that all goes away (canon, for whoever didn’t know). This man has very real panic attacks and will shut down. The worst part about all that, though, is that he physically can’t move anywhere or even shake too much. LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HIM. He would kill people, and he knows it so well. Mili can’t even let himself scream because that’d probably blow people’s eardrums out. He just has to hunker down, internalize absolutely everything and sob as quietly as he can, though of course, that’d be heard too.

-I’m linking that back to him hiding emotions most of the time, that behavior is so intense during his panic episodes that I feel like it’d carry over into day to day life. That’s why he’s so receptive to basic kindness. It’s literally the only comfort he has, and the only time he can break from masking everything ever, and he’s still subtle then.

-Something something anxiety disorder perchance..

-Also someone on here talked about the militsioner being autistic and let’s just say I’m pretty happy abt that one :)))

-Mili gets so attached to anyone who even cares to be nice to him. If they betrayed him and left on the train, he wouldn’t even know what to do with himself. He’d just be fully bewildered and inconsolable.

-If he were normally sized and whatnot, he’d be terrified of horses. No explanation or anything. They’d just freak him out.

-I feel like he’d enjoy classical music, specifically Tchaikovsky and Chopin. Very melody-rich and sophisticated. He’d wag his finger and pretend to be conducting very badly. My little (humongous) king of cring..

-Mili likes being read to! He loves listening to people talk to him. He’s a wonderful listener and just quietly melts away at that kind of affection.

-In the rare occasion of which someone falls asleep on him, he just totally freezes. Mili gets so awkward with it bc he’s terrified of screwing it all up. No doubt he’d be staring at them the entire time, though. Just.. totally mesmerized.

-I think someone else said this before, but if he were a bird, I think Mili would be a shoebill.

That’s about it now BYE don’t look at me

[noonaishere]

Music of the Heart [J.YH] - eighty | chauffeur

“Are you okay?” San asked as you got into his car.

“Um yeah, I guess.”

“I mean, are you going to throw up? I’d really rather you don’t do it in the car.”

“Oh!” You laughed. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

San smiled and started driving.

“It’s just like…”

He looked at you for a moment before directing his eyes back to the road.

“If you told someone you were going to be at a place at a particular time, would you show up?”

“Is this about Yunho?”

“No… yeah.”

San smiled pitiably. “Did he say why he couldn’t make it?”

“He said that shooting for his drama was supposed to go into the early morning.”

“Ah.”

“He stood me up.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Yeah, it sounds like he might have.”

You sighed.

“But I guess if it was out of his control then you can’t really blame him.”

“Yeah… I guess I can’t…”

San looked at you for a second. “It sounds like you really want to, though.”

“I do. I want to blame him. He’s just…”

San was quiet as he drove.

Your head swam from the alcohol and though you definitely didn’t feel nauseous, you did feel like talking.

“Did he ever tell you about me?”

“What? That you work together?”

“No… that we grew up together.”

“No, he didn’t tell me that.”

You laughed. “He’s so fucking stupid. We were friends for so long, then we weren’t, now we are again-- or at least I thought we were… and he fucking makes a promise he can’t even keep.”

“Why did you stop being friends?”

“Because he fucked me over--” you hiccuped. That was it, the sentence that made you start crying. You felt the muscles in your chest tighten and your mind crumbled in on itself and you were suddenly and violently inconsolable.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” San asked as he juggled driving and trying to find the travel pack of tissues he knew he had somewhere. He located them and handed it to you.

“You-- you know why…” you blew your nose. “You know why it fucking hurt so bad?”

“Um, no, why?”

“I had such a fucking crush on him. My parents would never have let us date, they didn’t even like that my only friend was a boy, but I had such a fucking crush on him and I didn’t even know that’s what it was back then--” you choked on a sob and coughed. “Like… he was my best friend and he was the only person who understood me and he was so sweet and funny and talented…” you cried harder. “I hate him!”

“Hey, hey…” San tried to calm you.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I hate him… I’m really drunk.”

“Why did you drink so much?”

“I was so nervous to see him… it was going to be outside the studio or the dance studio, and it wasn’t just going to be working or getting coffee… and it was going to be just us… and it was a party with all this pressure and I guess it just…”

You went quiet as you thought. San checked on you quickly and looked back at the road.

“I guess it just felt like we were going to be friends instead of, not-friends, or coworkers… it felt like we were really going to be friends again and he just…”

“Didn’t show up.”

“Yeah.”

San nodded.

“I’m sorry for crying. I feel so dumb. I’m an adult, I shouldn’t be doing this.”

San smiled warmly. “You know, someone told me once that holding in your emotions is bad. It’s like lighting a bomb and then jumping onto it to try and stop it.”

You nodded.

“If you feel like you’re feeling something, you should let yourself feel it or it’ll explode and hurt you.”

You nodded. “You’re so wise.”

He chuckled. “Well, I can’t take credit for that. A friend said it.”

“Your friend is wise, then.”

He nodded with a smile. “She is.”

You sat in quiet reflection for the rest of the ride, forehead against the cool window as you stared at the buildings as they went by; people too as they did whatever people did when they were out this late at night. A couple went by holding hands, some people waiting for the bus having tired, after-work conversations, people dressed up ready to stay out until the sun came up.

You supposed you really couldn’t blame Yunho if filming went longer than he thought it would, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so excited to see him in what felt like a non-work capacity. You supposed that, really, you did this to yourself by not managing your expectations correctly. You sighed.

“We’re here.” San said as he stopped the car in front of your apartment building.

Jarred from your thoughts, you looked at him and then the building. “Oh, yeah.”

“Do you need help getting up the stairs?”

“Oh, no. I’m not that drunk.” You laughed. “Just ‘crying about stuff’ drunk.”

“Are you sure?”

You handed the pack of tissues back to him. “I’m sure.”

He took them with a nod. “Drink some water and get some sleep, okay?”

You nodded as you got out of the car. “Thank you for the ride. Sorry for crying and stuff.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to be sorry. And hey, you didn’t throw up. I’d call that a win.”

You laughed and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Have a good night, okay?”

“I’ll try. Bye.”

You closed the door and walked up the stairs to your place. Once you got in, you kicked off your shoes and laid across the couch for a moment. Feeling the horrible sense of an impending hangover, you stood and went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. You took out your phone and texted y/n.

You smiled at your phone for a moment. Wait, were they actually dating? She didn’t correct you when you typed ‘your friend’. Weird.

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[lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love]

could you do a chris evans x daughter!reader where she is around 16-17 years old and she’s diagnosed with cancer? he takes a break from acting to be with her throughout the treatment and when her hair starts falling out she’s upset about it but ultimately decides to have him shave it and she starts crying after so he decides to shave his too?

(2nd image taken from Pinterest)

Notes: I’d like to thank (anonymous) for the request and I hope you like it. I would also like to say that I mean no disrespect by writing or posting this, and in no way do I take the themes and topics discussed in this fic lightly. So if you’re triggered by any of this, I suggest not reading it.

Sorry for the sudden/sloppy ending.

Also, I think this will be the last cancer fic I’ll do. I feel like I’ve done enough and to be honest they’re kind of exhausting to write about. I hope you guys don’t mind.

I don’t own any of the gifs/pictures used.

Warnings: Cancer; a whirlwind of emotions; shaving heads; crying; good dad Chris Evans; spelling/grammatical errors; whatever else I failed to mention

Word Count: 490 (give or take)

Masterlists: Click Here & Here

The news of your diagnosis seemed to come right out of left field

Sure, you’d been feeling a little under the weather but you didn’t think it was cancer

When you got the news, you felt numb

It felt like everything was just collapsing in on itself

Your father took it the hardest

He looked like he was on the brink of a panic attack

He grabbed your hand and giving it gentle squeezes (something he did with you when he felt nervous or overwhelmed)

He was going over every possible treatment option for you and the more they discussed how to treat you, the more the situation dawned on you

You had cancer

That’s when you started crying

You were going through the 5 stages of grief in such a short amount of time

Even after you and your father left the doctor’s office, you were inconsolable

Every possible emotion was shooting through you

Questions were firing off in your head

When the crying stopped, the numbness set in

And before you knew it, you were at your first scheduled treatment and that’s when it all set in

It became real in that moment

Afterward, you became quiet and thoughtful

Chris was concerned, and when he asked what was up, you surprised him with your answer

“I want to shave my head.”

It was an upsetting statement, but you considered doing it yourself rather than enduring the hair loss because of the chemo and everything

Chris was hesitant but ultimately agreed

When the day came for the shaving, you felt a weight on your chest

You’d always prided yourself in your hair, and knowing it’d be gone in a matter of minutes hurt

But it’s what you wanted

It’s what you needed, in a strange way

Another step in accepting your cancer diagnosis

You sat on a chair in the bathroom and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, one leg bouncing as you tried to ready yourself

And when your father came with the shaver, you had to take in and let out a trembling breath, forcing yourself to accept what was going to happen

You watched it all in slow motion

You watched your hair fall

You felt a lump in your throat that you desperately tried to push down

But by the end, seeing your reflection in the bathroom mirror

You ram your hand over your head, gasping slightly at the feel

It took you five solid minutes of inspecting your reflection and running your hand on your now shaven head to feel something

The grief was still there, but there was a spark of something else

You couldn’t identify it, but it was something

And as you looked back at your father, at the uncertainty on his face, you tried for a smile

It didn’t reach your eyes and you knew the grief would last a while, but you knew you made a good decision

[theinsidiousdice]

Excerpt from the journal of Deah Preston

We’re not even a month into the semester and Professor Hightower is making us do a busywork assignment. I hope this kind of thing doesn’t come up often, otherwise I might start having second thoughts about how hard I worked to get into this school. Professor Hightower says she won’t be reading this assignment anyway – that it’s just practice to get into the habit of writing regularly – that if we want to succeed in her course we need to be able to just let the words flow out of the pen. Grammar be damned, she said. Word choice be damned. The first step is being able to turn on the spigot. I don’t know if I trust her yet not to read this, though. Something’s up with her. She always has that smile on her face that says she knows more than she’s letting on.

Which, admittedly, if a professor didn’t know more than they were letting on, I’d question whether they were fit to run the class. You don’t waste the good stuff on freshmen. You have to save some of it for when they get to higher-level classes. I assume, anyway. Not like I’ve made it there yet. I wonder if the professors get better when you get up to higher classes. Right now I’ve got Professor Hightower, who doesn’t care about reading our work, Professor Paine, who’s a good 15 minutes late to every class and always brings the wrong lesson plan, and Miss Marinos, who I’m pretty sure is lying about a quarter of what she tells us. I mean, surely people would be talking about it if she parachuted into the school on her first day as a lecturer, right? Oh, wait, hold on, Joy wants to tell me something.

Joy has informed me that Miss Marinos did in fact do that. She showed me pictures. The parachute had a picture of a bear on it. The bear was eating honey. What in the actual hell is this school.

It has also occurred to me that Joy knew what I was writing in this journal.

She just said “No I didn’t” from her bed. Well, that’s certainly reassuring.

Anyway, I’m going to try not to think about that. Professor Hightower said that if we’re struggling for something to write, we should consider going back to the first thing we can remember. In my case, that would be trying to cast a cookie spell when I was like... 4, maybe. I should be clear – this was not an established spell, I did not have any sort of experience with magic at that point, I’d just gotten it into my head that if I waved my hands the right way and screwed my face up, I could make cookies appear. I mean, I know now that that would violate the law of conservation of matter. If I’d been smarter about it, I could have tried to use magic to bring cookies from the kitchen, but what can I say? I hadn’t brushed up on my conjuration knowledge when I was 4.

Not that I’m any better at it now. I get the theory, of course. It’s simple stuff. Magic can move things, summon things, change things, but it can’t create something from nothing and it can’t turn something into nothing. The bigger a change you’re invoking on something, the more power you need. That’s why Professor Paine does a lot of her bigger demonstrations with a car battery on hand. But some people just don’t have the knack. That’s why I have to do a lot of the runaround methods that the professors don’t know about. For example, did you know – in the absence of the ability to cast a direct lift spell, a properly enchanted emerald can get the job done just as well?

All this is hypothetical, Professor Hightower.

Anyway, the cookie. Obviously it didn’t work, and I was inconsolable. Matron Diuguid said that she could get me some books on magic theory so I could learn, and then brought me some graduate-level stuff, which, points for technically doing what you said you were going to, but minus several more for not reading the room. I tried reading them, of course, but didn’t get very far with it. I would have had enough trouble with the middle-grade stuff they use for teaching beginners.

Of course, now I know it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Middle school was the worst, not that that’s not self-evident. Who actually liked middle school? Bunch of idiots who passed the screening test showing off how they can make a spark in the palm of their hand when the teacher’s back is turned. The rest of us plebs have to just sit there and ignore their swelled heads.

I was 13 when I stole my first charm. (Again, Professor Hightower, hypothetical.) I didn’t even mean to do it. I was at the bodega near the home with Matron Diuguid. She wanted to get some sandwiches for all of us, a treat, you know. I was in the aisle that had all the chintzy little toys and stuff, and they had some small “gemstones” that were actually just plastic, the kind that was enchanted with a basic light spell. Supposed to be more reliable than a flashlight, with a big asterisk. I was looking at one of them when the matron said we were leaving. I slipped it into my pocket without thinking about it.

You don’t have to be able to cast magic to make a charm work.

I always figured I’d just use the charms until my magical ability came in. Some people are late bloomers, after all. Marko at the theater said that he didn’t get his until he was in his 20s, and by that point he was already locked into his gig. I’m pretty sure Marko’s son Giovanni fancies me, but he’s a total jackstone. No brains in between his ears – just more muscles. I’m pretty sure I can hear steam going in his head when I ask him about anything more complicated than the parts of a headball field. Like, I don’t need to be with someone who’s a genius – they see through me too easily anyway, they wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. But there’s a lower bound.

I worked for Marko for a few years. After getting out of high school, well, it’s not like I could very well go to college right out the gate. No scholarships, and it’s not like Matron Diuguid could afford to put all of us through. Some of the others passed the entrance exams to Arboreal or Johnson, the lucky bastards. I don’t see why every school can’t do like they do and let anybody in who passes without having to pay through the nose. I mean, that’s the only reason I’m here now. Saved up enough money working at the theater to take the practice test a few times and learn how to get past it. Thankfully it didn’t take very long, because I don’t think I could have worked there for much longer than I did. Even now, the smell of popcorn butter makes me retch. Not to mention all the times Giovanni showed off his special “bicep trick”.

The only person here who’s figured me out yet is Joy, and she’s happy enough to let me keep at it. She thinks it’s funny. Something about cheating a corrupt institution. As long as she doesn’t rat me out. She’s also the only person I’ve told about how I actually lost my hand. Everyone else gets a story from the list, which is up to 37 different ones so far. I might have my differences with Matron Diuguid, but she came through when it came to that. It’s not the highest-quality prosthetic on the market – there are those creepy fake-skin ones – but it works well, and, more importantly, it gives off enough of an aura that it hides all my charms. The best part is that nobody ever asks to take a closer look at a prosthetic if they think you’re hiding something. They don’t want to offend. More the better for me.

Am I at the word limit yet? Ugh, no, god. I mean, I guess there’s no way Professor Hightower is going to know if I just quit now. But I didn’t work my way into Sutteran just to slack off. I’m going to ace every single assignment I get here, and then maybe my magic will actually come in. And when it does, I’ll be all set, since I’ll have done all this work ahead of time. I won’t have to go through the awkward learning phase. And it’ll be me at graduation, up on stage, giving the speech, shaking Chancellor Stacks’ hand. I’ll be the best out of everyone here.

Joy is laughing again. I’m learning that it’s bad news when she laughs. And in case she is somehow reading this, stop reading it, Joy.

[clumsiestgiantess]

Day 7: Serenade

So ummm the original draft for this went with the prompt, but after a few tweaks it has nothing to do with it. Have the writing anyways; I know some people wanted a continuation of this one.

I nearly had a heart attack when I woke up the following day.  Everything had been such a blur once the giant figured out how to communicate with me.  It slipped my mind that I was staying in Grady’s house.  Come to think of it, I don’t remember falling asleep.  The giant wasn’t in his room when I woke up, so I cautiously wandered out from beneath his desk where my makeshift bed had been constructed.  The blanket he’d given me made up most of it, and a towel served as my mattress.  My leg had healed up almost perfectly fine.  I can put my full weight on it now.  I couldn’t — and didn’t — want to imagine what might’ve happened to me had Grady been like all the horror stories I’d heard about giants before.  Not only would my leg be swollen beyond the ability to walk, I might’ve been locked away in a pet crate.  I’d heard of it happening to unlucky others, and feared it might happen to me.

Of course, no such thing occurred over the day I’d spent with Grady.  He’s been surprisingly hospitable, but I suppose that’s out of pity for me.  We’d gone to my camp to try to help everyone, but it was already too late.  The snow had piled up to my shoulders, burying almost everyone alive.  There were only two people left by the time we got there.  One had died on the way to Grady’s house, and the other had passed away as we tried to warm them up.  I’d been inconsolable the rest of the day, and fell asleep here.  I guess he’d put me in this bed after I’d passed out.

The bedroom door creaked open, and I cowered beneath the desk.  Slowly, I edged to the front of it and peeked up at the giant that had entered.  My heart calmed once I realized it was only Grady.  He’d come out of the bathroom the next room over, still slightly wet with only a pair of boxers on.  I stared at his bare torso, face rapidly flushing red.  He must still think I’m asleep.  Before I could hide again, he turned to his desk and spotted me.  “Ho!  Er’uoy ekawa!  Dloh no, tel em tsuj teg desserd.”  He acknowledged me, but I had no idea what he said.  Our languages are similar written down, but their pronunciations are too different for me to try and piece together what he told me.  I turned around and waited for him to get fully dressed before stepping out from my spot beneath the desk.  

This is the first time I’ve been properly face-to-face with a giant.  The days before, I’d been busy staying out of his way, trying to save everyone in camp, and figure out the giants’ language.  I cautiously stepped up to Grady; my head only came up to his shins.  He went over to his desk and took the clipboard with a fresh piece of paper as well as a pencil and some lead for me.  It’s still frightening, seeing him move around the massive space.  Even when he kneels down, Grady is still twice as tall as I am.  ‘Are you feeling any better today?’ Grady asked through the paper.  ‘My leg’s feeling a lot better.  I can walk on it now!’  He smiled, ‘That’s good, now I won’t have to carry you everywhere.’

Yesterday, while my leg was still swollen, Grady had to carry me wherever I wanted to go.  It was scary having to trust him so quickly, but I didn’t have much of a choice.  I clung tightly to his shirt while he held me in his arms.  It was an awkward situation, to be sure.  I was too big to be held in one hand, and too small to be carried on his shoulders.  He’d held me tucked beneath his jacket, blocking the freezing winds from reaching me while we trekked out to my camp.  Grady’s frightening size became less menacing once I remembered how kindly he’d treated me, and how safe I felt nestled close to him.  It’s slightly embarrassing thinking about it now.  

‘Did you want me to get you some breakfast?’ Grady asked me, taking me out of my memories from yesterday.  I nodded and he stood again, causing me to stumble backwards in shock.  Giving me a pitying look, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

A while later, he returned with enough food to feed a small group of people like me.  “Ereh uoy og,” Grady announced, “Evah emos tsafkaerb, neht ll’ew teg nwod ot ssenisub.”  His voice sounded a bit more serious than before, but again I couldn’t understand what he said.  I nervously ate my meal as Grady milled about his room, trying not to stare.  I understood why.  My height was dwarfed by all the giant-sized objects around me.  It’s an uncanny sight for me, but I’ve never thought about it from a giant’s perspective.  I must be about the size of a baby giant, if that.  Obviously, he doesn’t see me as that young of a person, but maybe that’s why he’s decided to take pity on me.

Once I finally finished my meal, he came back to my side, pencil in hand.  Grady brought the tip up to the paper numerous times, but he kept pulling back each time.  Eventually, he wrote ‘What are you going to do now?  The others you lived with..’  He stopped writing hesitantly, but I could tell what he meant to say.  I don’t have a camp to go back to anymore.

There’s a bigger camp across the giants’ subdivision — the one I tried to get to before the snowstorm hit.  I guess I could try going there.  However, there is another option.  A place that comes with heating, relative safety, and more food than I can eat.  The only drawback is my roommate.  I’m not sure Grady is even a drawback at this point, though.  I fiddled with the lead in my hand, staring at the paper in front of me.  What would Grady think of me if I invited myself to live in his house?  I can’t just stroll in and start making a home for myself beneath his desk.  

‘Do you have anywhere else to go?’ Grady wrote while I thought through what to do.  ‘There’s a camp at the other end of your subdivision’ I replied in a slow scrawl.  Carefully, Grady bent down all the way to the floor to look me in the eyes.  I hesitantly returned his gaze.  One of his palms drifted towards me and I froze as he took my restless hands in his.  They both fit effortlessly in Grady’s single palm.  “Uoy t’nod tnaw ot og ot rehtona pmac, od uoy?”  He asked me something quietly, but even if he’d spoken in my own language, I wouldn’t have understood him.  I was too mesmerized by the stunning hazel of his eyes.  They were so large I could see all the individual streaks of color that made up his irises.  

Before I knew it, his hand slipped away from mine.  Pencil in hand, Grady wrote ‘Would you rather stay with me here?  I could clean up the space beneath my desk and close it off so no one could look in.  It doesn’t have to be permanent, just until the weather gets nicer.’  

Simultaneous excitement and nervousness shot through my veins as I read his message.  With a shaking hand, I wrote ‘Are you sure you want me to stay?’  He nodded, ‘As long as you stay hidden, I don’t mind.’  I pointed to the words ‘stay hidden’ and drew a question mark beneath them.  His explanation quickly appeared next to it.  ‘If my parents find out that I’m taking care of you…’  Grady stopped writing, then looked back up at me.  He had a concerned look on his face, but I motioned for him to keep writing regardless.  

‘You know a lot of my kind don’t see you guys as actual people.  So if my parents catch you.. they’ll throw you back outside.  They won’t try to understand you like I do.’  I shuddered just thinking of it.  Adult giants seven — maybe ten — times my height, dragging me back outside into the freezing snow piled up to my shoulders.  They probably wouldn’t let Grady outside to reclaim me anytime soon, leaving me to suffer the freezing weather alone.  It would likely be too late for me by the time Grady managed to sneak back out to get me.  Even if it wasn’t, how long would it be before I was caught again?

“Yeh, I t’now tel gnihtyna neppah ot uoy, thgirla?”  His voice shook me from horrible visions of frozen wastelands and brought me back to the warmth of his house.  Hopefully it can be my house too.  Slowly I stepped over the paper and stood right in front of him.  “If you really do want me to stay, I’d-  I’d be so grateful..”  I stopped once I saw Grady’s eyes glaze over confusedly.  If only we could just speak with each other.  It’s already getting annoying having to write down everything I want to say.  I begrudgingly returned to the paper.  ‘I’d be so grateful if you let me stay here.  I don’t know how I could repay you for everything, but if you’re inviting me to stay, it would be stupid of me to give all of this up.’

A smile slowly grew on his face as he read what I’d written.  ‘Alright, then let’s get you settled in!’  Grady moved to get up, but I held out my hands to stop him.  “Wait!  I- I have one more question!”  He froze, looking down at me with another confused expression.  “Tahw si ti?”  I sighed, returning to the paper again.  I wanted to ask him why he was helping me — why he offered to let me stay despite knowing I had somewhere else he could drop me off.  I can understand why he’d been so kind until now.  First I was nearly dead, then I found I couldn’t walk, then my entire camp died, then I became a sad sobbing mess for twelve hours.  I imagine a lot of people would take pity on someone who had to go through all that, giant or otherwise.  However, I’m basically free to go now.  My leg’s healed up and I have my original goal still left uncompleted, so why did he offer to let me stay?

All of that spiraled around in my head as I sat staring at a blank portion of the paper, piece of lead in hand.  “Thgirla.  Ll’i tes pu emos ffuts htaeneb ym ksed rof uoy elihw uoy kniht tuoba tahw uoy tnaw ot yas, ko?”  He asked me a question — whether something was ‘ok’ or not — that much I could tell.  I watched as Grady began clearing out the space beneath his desk further, allowing me more room to stay hidden.  Just as I turned back to the paper, he yanked the large piece of furniture slightly away from the wall with a loud scraping noise, making me flinch.  “Yrros,” he said absentmindedly, continuing to drag it around until it was even again.  A spark of fear flitted through my chest watching him do that.  He’s strong enough to quite literally tear me into pieces if he wanted.  Not that he would.  He wouldn’t.  He won’t.

After watching him bang his head on the underside of the desk for the fifth time while setting things up, I gave up trying to write down what I wanted and instead went to help him with my living arrangements.  With some gestures and a few written explanations, I found that he’d pulled back the desk because the backs of the drawers were open behind it.  He wanted to build a small ladder for me to have a more private room in the lower drawer.  I had to congratulate him on that idea, because I honestly thought it was really cool having a two story house again.  

While he got to work making a ladder, I got to work putting up some makeshift walls.  Grady had brought me a bunch of flattened cardboard boxes to use as walls, and to make it less suspicious, Grady dragged over his laundry basket and pile of hoodies, throwing them around in a seemingly messy way that hid the cardboard perfectly.  We stopped for lunch, and I had to spend the second half of the day alone.  Grady and his family had somewhere to be that afternoon.  I sat staring at that paper for a while.  

I want to ask him; I just don’t know how.  How do you ask someone if every good thing they’ve done for you is out of pity?  You don’t.  

I’d find another time for that, or maybe he’d tell me on his own.  I busied myself with decorating my new home, but soon more deeper thoughts emerged.  Is this my new home permanently?  I know I want to stay here for the foreseeable future — through the winter at least.  But what happens after that?   I can’t live my whole life with a giant, can I?  Can I?  Again I tucked the thought away.  I don’t need to worry about leaving for a few months, until then I should just be thankful I have somewhere to stay that has heating.

Just as I was figuring out a lighting system for the surprisingly dark drawer, the door to Grady’s room clicked open.  Moments later, there was a knock on the front of the shelf.  “Yreviled!  Eht s’doof ereh!  Enoyna emoh?”  Grady’s voice held a certain lightheartedness that held my fears at bay for I time.  Plastering on a smile, I slid out of the drawer and stepped out from beneath the desk.  A large plate of food was piled in Grady’s hands.  It was more than what I could eat in the entire day.  “You.. didn’t have to get me so much!” I told him, astonished.  He happily handed the plate off to me and left the moment I went to get the lead and paper.  “Oh…”  I guess he just came back to make sure I was fed.

— pov swap —

Why was today of all days my parents’ anniversary?  The whole family, even my cousins that lived nearby, gathered to eat out at some expensive restaurant together.  I tried to seem entertained and enthusiastic about everything, but it was hard knowing who waited for me back home.  I’d left the little Survivor alone locked up in my room.  Hopefully she can busy herself with making a home beneath my dresser.  Hopefully she still wants to stay — not that I’d stop her if she wanted to leave.  That’s her choice to make, not mine.

Briefly, I managed to slip into my room for a moment to hand off some food from the restaurant, but my aunt and younger cousins had followed us home to catch up with everyone, so I made my visit as brief as possible.  I do not want one of my cousins coming to look for me while I’m talking with Hannah.  They would either rush to tell my parents, or rush to mess with her.  Both options were things I dreaded, and I’m sure Hannah would agree with me.  Finally, after readying myself for bed just to convince my family to leave me alone, I managed to return to her later that night.  It was a frustrating day to be sure, but the sight of the Survivor sitting up to welcome me back instantly put a smile on my face.

“Hey,” I addressed Hannah, kneeling down to be more level with her.  “I- I’m sorry about today.  I know it probably wasn’t fun for you sitting here alone.”  I stopped speaking when I saw the confusion in her eyes.  Right.  She doesn’t understand me.  I picked up the pencil and paper we’d been using to communicate and wrote: ‘I know I haven’t really been around today, and I’m sorry.  I know you’re probably worried about all this.  Are you alright?’  Hannah’s eyes drifted across my handwriting for a moment before balling up against her eyes.  She took a step away from me, head turned, but when she glanced back up at me, her face was slightly wet and her eyes glistened.  

That’s a no, then.  She didn’t look scared, but she certainly didn’t look alright, either.  “It’s alright, I.. It’s ok.  I promise this’ll be a rare thing.  I’m not gonna leave you locked up in here every day.  I don’t want to.”  Hannah can’t even understand it, yet when I offered her my arms, she sidled into them.  She feels so strange in an indescribable way.  It felt just like this yesterday, when I brought her through the snow to the place where the rest of her kind were hiding.  They’d all died in one way or another, and I felt awful for her.  Thankfully, Hannah does have somewhere else to go if she ends up changing her mind and leaving, but would it be a similar place to the awful living situation I’d seen in the snow?

After only a few minutes, her sniffles stopped and she slid out of my lap to write something.  ‘I didn’t mean to get so emotional,” she wrote hesitantly, ‘I don’t mind that you’re gone for a while, I just-’  Hannah stopped writing and stared at the words she’d written for a long time.  “If you can’t put it into words, that’s fine,” I told her before remembering to write it down.  I had to carefully bend over her to do so because she was still partially in my lap.  ‘You don’t have to tell me now.  Draft something up in your own writing then I’ll translate it myself, if that makes it any easier for you.  I’m going to try to figure out how to understand you verbally, but until then we’ll have to use this.  Is that ok?’  The Survivor read my writing, then answered with a yes and: ‘I’ll try to learn some of your language, too.  That’s good advice to try drafting something up instead of trying to write it all down at once.  As you can imagine, there’s a lot more I want to talk to you about.’

I sat in thought, staring down at Hannah as she glanced back up at me.  ‘Like what?’  She shuffled nervously after reading my question.  ‘Nevermind; tell me when you’re ready.  I have an idea on how you might get used to my language in the meantime.’  ‘How?’

Gently, I slid my hands around her torso and hoisted her up to my bed.  I could feel her breath hitch and heart skip a beat as she was lifted.  Hannah struggled for only a brief moment before recognizing what I was doing.  She turned to face me with a bewildered look the moment she could stand again.  “Tahw eht lleh saw taht rof?!  Uoy- Uoy t’nac tsuj kcip em pu ekil taht!  I teg taht uoy erew tsuj gnipleh em pu, tub I teg deracs nehw enoemos ym nwo ezis sbarg em, dnimreven a tnaig.”

She was yelling at me.  I know it’s probably because I picked her up without warning, though I can’t understand much else.  “Sorry; I’ll tell you before I do that next time.”  Hannah seemed to understand at least slightly because she nodded satisfactorily.  “Won tahw saw ti uoy detnaw em ereh rof?”  It took a second for me to remember why I’d put Hannah up there.  Grabbing the paper, writing stuff, and my phone, I got onto my bed myself.  I lay down so we were basically at eye level with eachother.  Hannah was actually taller than me that way.  ‘I thought we could kill two birds with one stone — spend some time together to make up for today, and get you to learn my language.’  While Hannah read my message, I propped my phone up on a pillow for both of us to see.

‘I thought we could watch a movie!’ I wrote happily.  ‘I’ll put the subtitles on so you can see how things are written and hear it at the same time.’  Hannah nodded, a small smile growing on her lips.  ‘I’d like that.  Thank you.’  I scrolled through a few different movies, letting her read and decipher the plot synopses of a few different ones before she finally chose and we settled in.  She’d picked a more girly movie I hadn’t seen because I hadn’t cared to watch it.  It wasn’t long before my eyelids grew heavy, and I let my head rest heavily on the bed.  

I don’t know how long I slept for, but I eventually woke up to the sound of snoring.  With a yawn, I lifted my head confusedly and froze.  Laying beside me, tucked against my arm, was the little Survivor, fast asleep.  For once she didn’t look conflicted.  In fact, she looked rather at peace.  My phone had shut off who knows how long ago, and I carefully slid my arm out from beneath Hannah to pick it up.  Carefully, I made my way off the bed and shut off my phone for the night.  Then, I turned back to Hannah.  I really didn’t want to wake her up, but I couldn’t sleep with her laying there.  Just like last night, when I had to put her to bed after passing out in tears, I again gently pulled her into my arms, tucking her to my chest to keep her from falling.  

With a slight mumble, Hannah turned over in my grip.  She unconsciously pressed herself against me, burying her face in the fabric of my pajamas.  She was adorable, but I had to put her down.  She’d never trust me again if she woke up to find herself snuggled in my arms.  I gave extra caution to make sure she fell seamlessly into bed, then slid a blanket over her.  I wanted to do more for her.  Though I know I’ve done a lot for her already, I can’t help but think it’s not enough.  Part of me already knows it’ll never be enough.  People destroyed her real home — the place where the Survivors came from.  I know this place will probably never feel like that, but I can at least try to make it a bit more welcoming.  Turning in for the day, I let my mind wander through things I could do or make for her.  It certainly won’t be perfect, but at least it’ll be something.  

[peetapiepita]

Katniss Everdeen and her complex links to cats

Never thought I’d write an entire essay on Katniss and cats, but here we are.

I got this idea from the fact that the male lead of my other favorite series His Dark Materials, Will Parry, has a cat Daemon. (It basically means his soul takes on the form of a cat and I think it might be the same case with Katniss.) He was compared to and linked to cats throughout the story. The same goes for Katniss and she has such a cat-like personality when you think about it.

I also got inspired by a stray cat who suddenly scratched me lightly when I was playing with it. It was getting along with me so well, but scratched me with absolutely no warning and got back to being friendly and purring in an instant. That reminded me of Katniss.

We all know how Katniss hates cats and cat-like creatures, specifically Buttercup and the lynx who was following her around the woods. They both had complex relationships with her as well. Buttercup had a reason to distrust her, yet they were the only ones who could really feel the loss of Prim the same way, so Katniss found comfort in Buttercup at the end of Mockingjay. The lynx was trusting Katniss for no reason and she was conflicted about it because she’s protective in nature and she hated she had to hurt it, but she did it for survival anyway.

This is true of Katniss’ relationship with herself in a way. She tries not to argue for herself ever and lists all her imperfections constantly.

Of course, her relationships with cat-like creatures is not the only thing linking her to cats. She has a very cat-like personality, especially when she interacts with Peeta.

People familiar with cats would tell you that with most cats, even when they act like they don’t give a shit about you and even avoid you, they actually take notice of the humans around them and when you’re kind to them, they’re drawn to you by default. They may try to act indifferent, but it shows.

It’s exactly how Katniss is in her relationship with Peeta. She tries so hard to convince herself that she isn’t drawn to him and doesn’t need him. But when she’s at her most vulnerable, she trusts him and wants him around.

For instance, when she hurts her ankle in Catching Fire, she trusts Peeta to understand what happened and leans on him for support. He in turn delivers a brilliant performance for the peacekeeper and understands that Katniss was hurt while the others are oblivious, even her family. When she’s under the influence of sleep syrup and at her most vulnerable, she’s finally willing to admit she wants Peeta to stay and hold her, even when moments earlier, she was like, I choose the rebellion and Gale. And when they’re on the train to the Quarter Quell, she finally lets herself get loose and initiates an intimate hug. She doesn’t want to let go and is annoyed when they’re interrupted. She’s practically purring when touched by Peeta because she feels safe with him. That’s so cat-like.

These are so cat behaviour to me. It also makes sense that I see a lot writers giving Katniss lines like “I’m not good with words, I work better with actions.” Yes, she’s like that and that’s very cat-like. And with cat-like people, when they get attached to someone, they don’t let go. This is also part of why Will reminded me of Katniss. He literally goes through a bunch of worlds in search of Lyra after losing her. Katniss is like that with Peeta. When she loses him, she’s inconsolable. She’d do anything to get him back.

Last but not the least, Katniss’ name is also very similar to “cat”. I’ve seen quite a few people’s head canons with other character nicknaming her “Kat”. Once you make the connection, you can’t unsee it.