#I’d like to add that this in no way is meant to paint everything that’s happening in Palestine as a fictional story

[sadiecoocoo]

I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately, and I’ve been thinking that I haven’t been doing as much as i can to help Palestine, so here’s a jumble of thoughts

Stories change people’s views on so many things. Be it fictional or not. There are people I’ve never met that I either hate or absolutely adore because of stories my family told me about them. My dad told me stories about my grandpa, stories about fairly bad things. Stories about how my grandpa treated other people, treated them wrongly, though not with any real malice that I can tell. And those stories made me start to notice things about him, how he referred to his employees by purely their race, stating they were his. How he seemed to subtly manipulate someone into going into a certain field as a career, though after a long enough time it didn’t seem so subtle. My family told me stories about how my great grandmother was basically the “crazy mother in law” that you always see TikToks about. Stories can do a lot. They’re just words, but you can hear them so often that they can completely change your view on things. But stories aren’t always used for good things.

People make them twist and turn, change a small detail every time the story is told. They paint the picture in a new light, or rather put a film over the truth and truly make it a story. When I think of this, I think of fake news. I learned about the Atlanta Race Riots not too long ago, about how some news company said that an African American man had raped a white girl and later killed her. Well, it caused people to riot, and caused people to beat innocent men, women, and children. It lasted almost 24 hours, and several people had died because of it. It was more a massacre than a riot. And the worst part, that story, the one that sparked the riot in the first place, wasn’t even a real story. It was just a dark fiction made to sway some people’s votes back in the 1900’s

In a way, history is repeating itself. It’s using those stories as inspiration for a new story, but most of the cliches are still there. Israel and Palestine are both trying to tell stories, though one is overshadowing the other. Using subtle manipulation tactics, quietly changing the details of stories. Newspapers read that a group of people under the age of 18 were found dead mysteriously. They read they were “under the age of 18” not that they were children who had their whole lives ahead of them. They read that they died mysteriously, as though they weren’t murdered by soldiers. Israel is telling a story, a story that seems true to a lot of people, purely because some people don’t try to look deeper, for them it’s just words on a page. Israel is telling a fake story, covering things up effortlessly, but there are so many people who understand that stories are changeable. Stories are manipulated like clay. Stories mean nothing. Stories are just stories. And I can’t count how many people don’t believe stories because they know that so many stories are made with the intent to make people think differently, how the creator wants them to think.

But there are stories, that need to be heard. There are stories that aren’t exaggerating a single detail. There are stories that are so important for people to know. Palestine’s story is one that is real, one that needs to heard and needs to be believed. And yes, Palestine is being greatly overshadowed by Israel’s stories and headlines, and yes, stories can be molded like clay. But clay takes so much practice and effort to perfect. In making a clay there will always be at least one piece that you make that has an air bubble, and in the kiln it will explode the piece will have to be scrapped. Israel’s piece of clay has air bubbles. Israel’s stories have fault, because there are so many people who scoff at the headlines and knows exactly how covered up things are. There are people who are sharing Palestine’s story through social media platforms. There have been people who entered a war zone and lived in it for days to record the slaughterhouse.

The stories that you hear as a kid probably contain fun adventures with fairies, or vacations to Wonderland, or Princess Charming. No matter the kind of adventure or conflict, they all had happy endings. I believe that Palestine will get a happy ending, but that can’t happen unless more people try to do something about it. In every fairy tale, there’s the protagonist that needs to do something, and a lot of times the protagonist can’t beat the evil without help from the side characters. In this situation, everyone outside of Palestine are the side characters. And we side characters need to do something to help the main character, be it moral support, financial aid, food supplies, or anything that could have the possibility of helping. And another thing, the side characters can’t be the ones to lose heart, the side characters need to be the ones to keep the main character going. Dont act like there’s nothing that can be done, dont act like Palestine can’t be saved and that humanity is cruel. I have hope for the world, and I think you all should have at least a speck too.

A lot of stories change how you view the world. A lot of people try to abuse the power of stories. There are good and bad stories for everything. The good story needs to be told. Palestine’s story needs to be told.

[icyg4l]

PAC: Sister-to-Sister Messages

As promised, I said that I would post messages this weekend in regard to Women’s History Month based on the results of yesterday’s poll. This reading will be all about sister-to-sister dynamics. I am so thankful for the support that I have been receiving for these readings. It’s much appreciated! 🤌🤌 Anyway, today is the last day of the five dollar flash sale!! All readings will be $5 today! Come get it if you want it!!! Without further ado, choose your sister duo.

*** Disclaimer: These readings are meant to uplift, relate to, and/or inspire women!

Left-to-Right (1-3): Chloe and Halle, Beyoncé and Solange, Tia & Tamera.

Pile 1: If you resonate with the photo of Chloe and Halle, then this is your pile. First of all, your potential hasn’t even peaked yet, Pile One. Your sister wants you to know that you should continue to pursue your dreams. I feel like you have the tendency to start stuff but not finish it. What’s that about? She’s noticed this since yall were young but probably thought you would’ve grown out of it. But she still thinks that you will prosper. Those who resonate with this pile seem to be the baby in the family. You may feel like your sister acts too much like your mother, but she just wants what’s best for you. I feel like your sister is very successful/accomplished & you may feel that pressure to follow her footsteps. But in reality, she just wants you to be you. Be an individual, babe. And the last message that I got from this pile was kind of funny. Your sister feels like you work too hard. Where’s your boo thang? You need to let some stress off with a sexual partner chile, especially if someone’s been putting in effort to talk to you. Give them a chance! Maybe you can find a creative spark from messing around with them! In the end, your sister is supportive of your creative pursuits. She just wants you to put in more effort.

Cards Used: The Star: King of Wands, Four of Cups, Prince of Wands, Page of Discs (RX), 3 of Discs.

extras: “you’re being uptight.” “i’d put my life on the line for you.” spotlight. errands. ADD. chronic lip licker. “you stole my clothes.” new wardrobe. a kiss on the cheek. pillows. voluptuous. chanel. argan oil. tree climbing. golf. tennis. pierced earlobe. “i didn’t get you anything, sorry.”

Pile 2: If you resonate with the photo of Beyoncé and Solange, this is your pile. Damn Pile Two, you’re quite the looker aren’t you? Your sister sees the physical growth that you’ve made in the past two years and she is in awe of it! You’re absolutely flawless dear! But don’t forget to hold onto your vision. I feel like this pile is in high school? Maybe a freshman in college. But you have a lot of admirers. I feel like your sister is younger than you & they feel like you’re not paying attention to her as you as you used to. She feels like you mistreat her, not necessarily on purpose. It may be because you’re so busy. She wants you to not forget about them. Your sister is proud of your pursuit of higher learning (if you’re in college). She is going to follow in your footsteps because of this. But make sure you keep your promises, babe. Go to that yogurt shop with her. Go shopping with her at the mall. Go to the movies. Hell, go to the park with her. Paint with her. Spend quality time with your sister so she can stop feeling this way!

Cards Used: Nine of Cups, Ace of Discs, Four of Discs, Five of Swords, 7 of Cups (RX), Princess of Cups, 10 of Discs.

extras: strawberry & banana smoothie. teenage dirtbag. furry boots. sweet treats. calming down after nightmare. salad. elephant lover. french tips. sparkles. ribbons. bows. “speak up, honey”. abbott elementary. “i want more you.” “honesty is everything.” “keep my secret.” conceited by remy ma.

Pile 3: Last but not least, if you resonate with the photo of Tia and Tamera, then this your pile. Aw, Pile Three, your sister regrets the last conversation y’all had. I feel like this conversation could have been about how personal choices affect loved ones, i.e. bringing around terrible dating partners/friends, not paying off debts in time. It also could have been a conversation about codependency or feeling smothered. It feels like your sister understands why you left; you wanted to put yourself first. It took her some time to realize that y’all can be separate and still have love for you. Y’all need time apart to grow. Do you have a twin, Pile Three? Or were you extremely connected to your sister on a soul level at some point? There will be some time for y’all to reconnect but just not right now. There’s some stubborn energy between the both of you but y’all will reconnect once there is momentum in the both of you guys’ lives. She doesn’t hate you for being independent, but she does hate the way things ended, Pile Three.

Cards Used: Eight of Cups, The World, Five of Swords, Four of Discs, Two of Wands, Nine of Discs, Strength, 7 of Wands.

extras: “i have the balls, you don’t.” “it’s my prerogative.” oil and vinegar. liv and maddie. perfectionism. credit card debt. “drink up.” doodlebob. responsibilities. the old days. unplugged cords. cauliflower. fake vegan. bad eyesight. chloe bailey. drinking water. messy bedroom.

[betterbooktitles]

When my father could think of nothing to add to a funny or odd moment in a conservation, he’d let out a sarcastic “Nothing but the best.”

When a drunk guy on the street swore at us and made lewd gestures as we walked to get dinner in Cleveland one night, he looked over and said nothing but the best. When I showed him a particularly insane clip from Wondershowzen he liked, nothing but the best.

It was rare, however, that he had nothing to add, argue, or joke about when talking to me.

The last time I was able to have a long conversation with my dad, he told me he thought his personal knowledge base had a few spots of depth but that he didn’t know much. It was a rare moment of self-pity, one I felt was unearned since he was a person who knew a lot about everything. I challenged him. I began listing stories he told me about writers, actors, politicians, about history and economics. He knew about petty arguments Joni Mitchel had with her managers in the 60s. He explained the 2008 financial crisis to me in under a minute (likely during one of his furlough days when the government was shut down). He taped avant-garde short films on VHS so we could watch them together on the weekends. That’s how I ended up seeing Maya Deren’s “Meshes of the Afternoon” before entering high school, let alone a film course. His favorite short was “Down Rusty Down,” an Australian black-and-white comedy from 1997 where humans play various dogs in a neighborhood. We watched it for the first time together but he asked me 50 times over the last few years if I’d ever seen it. I wanted to scream every time that I was there with him for his entire indie cinema phase! Our shared movie viewings started when I was a child when he forced me to watch All That Jazz and Die Hard (inappropriate movies to watch with your kid) and ended around 2001 when we watched Y Tu Mama Tambien (an inappropriate movie to watch with your parent). It made me feel better that he didn’t even remember I was with him on this art house movie rabbit hole because it meant he liked it on his own, whether his kids did or not. He liked paintings, he hated musicals, he liked cooking and got better from my middle school years on. He subscribed to specific guitarists’ Patreon pages during the lockdown and watched his favorite musicians explain how they wrote old songs.

When my grandfather died, my brother told me what he thought makes a great dad. “It’s doing stuff you don’t want to do for your kids.” This was before he had kids of his own. He seems to enjoy attending as many of my nieces’ volleyball games as he can.

What my brother meant was that the sign of a good father was the ability to engage in your kids’ interests rather than strictly engaging in your own. Our dad was not a basketball player, but I have memories of him teaching me in our driveway how to box out. When my brother decided to become a CPA, my dad took accounting classes online so he could understand what my brother was talking about when he visited. He came to every play I was in from the age of 6, including shows I did in college that were, I’m sure, not to his taste. He gave notes on scripts and stories I wrote, he played guitar with me, he helped brainstorm ways to get an agent with me. He would preface each piece of advice with “I don’t really know how any of this works” and then make cogent, informed arguments about what I should do next. He treated every interest his kids and grandkids had like a hobby of his own.

When he was not busy being a dad, cheering in the stands of a football game or clapping in the audience of a play or in the kitchen making dinner for his wife and kids, he was reading, exploring, and finding tolerable classical music to listen to and share with all of us. He didn’t merely love the act of reading, he liked fiction specifically. He liked finding out about the craft of writing. He worked on novels and stories of his own after retirement. He liked comedy. His knowledge of it was specific and enigmatic. After taking a few pictures at the house of my friends and our homecoming dates, he asked where we were taking the girls for dinner. “Buca di Beppo,” I said (because I know how to treat a lady), and my dad said “oh, that’s where Phil Hartman’s wife got drunk for hours before going home and shooting him.” “Thank you, Dad. That’s a great icebreaker.”

When I got into stand-up myself, he pitched me jokes and essay prompts via email, even when he was ill. His last email to me was to let me know he thought a big break was approaching for me and that he and my mom did not sit up at night worrying that I couldn’t make it in comedy. "We have faith in your work and talent.”

One day, inspired by some mystery itch that came from no one in his family, my father started digging a hole in the backyard. He read through a tiny yellow pamphlet on how to build a pond, and with no help (certainly not from his kids, and before the days of YouTube), he made a mosquito-free pond in our yard. He put in fish that survived winters, he put in tadpoles that became frogs and hopped into neighbors’ yards. One morning, he came outside and discovered a giant crane hunting one of his frogs. He’d made an entire ecosystem thanks to one afternoon of reading and following through on a whim.

That’s what I’ll remember about him. Not strictly the things he did his damnedest to enjoy for us, but what he enjoyed.

He was married to my mother for 49 years. He studied city planning and managed to find work in his field. He focused on fighting for affordable housing and revitalizing neighborhoods including Ohio City where we lived for most of my teens. He was a good dad because he engaged in the stuff his kids and wife liked even when he disliked it (that included moving from the city to the suburbs for a time). But he was a great dad and friend because he managed to get me interested in what he liked. He took the time to listen, to watch, to talk. He let me know how much joy he took in his work. He let us know how much he loved being a dad and grandfather.

When I think of what he could have done better, I can’t come up with anything to say. He gave us nothing but his best.

[adviceformefromme]

Heyy! I love ur blog it’s so amazing and helpful, I love it!

So erm I kind of have a problem that I’d love to hear your thoughts on:

So I keep feeling super left out in my friend group for a while now and I don't understand what I'm doing wrong!

I'm loyal, kind, smart, funny, generous, "pretty" (not to sound vain but I'm not that ugly), and caring! l'd do anything for people I care about and yet still I just don't get why i can't be treated the same way :/

It's so upsetting and I hate it so much I just hate it. I'm doing everything right! I'm not rude at all and I just don't get why I can't be liked and appreciated and WANTED the same way everyone else is

I know that the advice for this would probably be to

"stop seeking external validation" or "just love yourself» but I do love myself! I hate that I'm treated this way and I hate that it's bothering me!!

I just don't get what I'm doing wrong or what I should do:/

I'm forever grateful to you for your time for answering this, thankyou so much 🩷🩷

Hey Sweetie,

thank you for the kind words and sharing this. Completely valid that this is bothering you. Your friends are the family you choose, so why are you choosing people who don't choose you ? Friendships should add to your life not take away. As hard as this may seem, I would definitely consider finding some new friends. Not to cut off your current ones, but just so the focus is less on the current group. So you are choosing to nurture relationships that add to your life not subtract. Navigating new friends can seem challenging.

1] Set the intention to make some new friends. Say out loud I am calling in new friendships that feel good and nourish me. Keep repeating this or something that is similar that makes sense to you, so you put energy into the world of what you want to call in.

2] Get some new hobbies and passions. Do things alone away from your friends, maybe its a fitness class, a foreign lanugage class, painting, swimming, horse riding. Just something away from friends. Depending on age / circumstances the above might be hard but pouring yourself into something you love will give you a distraction from your friendship groups.

3] Learn to lean back. When you are constantly leaning forward asking people, expecting, wanting, needing it puts alot of pressure on the friendship and that is because it is meant to FLOW. I have a friend who would almost beg me to meet up. It was overwhelming. Not at all saying this is you, but the example here is to show that its okay to lean back, let people come to you.

4] Remember that your people will feel like home. It will feel natural, it will feel like happiness, comfort. Whatever you are not getting from your current friends is available from others if you ALLOW. There needs to be space in your life to receive aligned friendships. If your life is full with these draining friends how and where is the space for the new? Create some space and see what comes forward.

xoxoxo

[misiahasahardname]

for the character + emoji thing - Jake, Liam and Henry TMF and the sunset duo (any TMNT show): ❤️🧡💛💚📖🏡❤️‍🩹😋

(sorry if this is a bit much 😅)

omg omg ok

idk if it’s meant to be in order or i do all of these for each character listed? i’ll do the latter because i think it’d be more fun

(sorry if these aren’t great, i’m trying my best)

OK!

JAKE

otp - a tie between jaisy and jenry. both mean absolutely everything to me, just for different reasons! (i’m a big fan of fluffy ships and stupid ships)

everyone i ship with this character - daisy, henry, liam and drew (how did this pathetic guy pull so many people?)

brotp - honestly? jalia. lia and jake have great potential as friends!!

notp - i don’t think i have one? (i could list the obvious incest or large age gap ships but like. you’d expect that)

au i’d like to see them in - DEAR EVAN HANSEN AU!!!!!!! (we really cooked when we chose that cast)

domestic headcanon - so him and the dromies move in with eachother. and they realise that jake is SUPER forgetful (the adhd brain fog never clears) so they start putting sticky notes everywhere to help jake remember stuff, like to do chores, to take his meds, that he has an appointment or a date or something… it helps and he’s grateful :>

angsty headcanon - so, so absolutely terrified of losing his friends that it’s genuinely taken a serious toll on his mental health. like he struggles to sleep sometimes because he’s too busy thinking about the things he said during the day and stressing if he said something wrong or if someone took a joke the wrong way. it gets worse after episode nine… i don’t think he’ll ever recover from that. :(

funny/stupid headcanon - was so desperate for money as a kid he pulled out three teeth for the tooth fairy lmao

LIAM

otp - henriam. sorry i’m crazy about them

everyone i ship with this character - drew, henry and jake (i think it’s obvious i’m a big polydromies fan)

brotp - also henriam!!

notp - can’t really think of one?

au i’d like to see them in - can. can we have a vampire liam au. would that be ok. because i’d love to see a vampire liam au.

domestic headcanon - his art covers the walls of the house. he makes sure every room is decorated appropriately, and is constantly painting or making something new to add more character to the house. his room is a total mess because of him constantly working lol

angsty headcanon - unfortunately i do not have enough Thoughts or canon to go off of to make an angsty headcanon. disappointing :(

funny/stupid headcanon - absolute menace on halloween. to him it’s like april fools but in autumn. he will take every oppurtunity to fuck with people on halloween, whether that be through scaring or scheming. he is not allowed to answer the door for trick or treaters because he will either start handing out onions or steal a handful of sweets from their buckets when pretending to hand out sweets. evil (i hope this made sense lmao)

HENRY

otp - JENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

everyone i ship with this character - jake and liam

brotp - henriam. yes they’re perfect platonically and romantically!!

notp - anyone from the music club (besides jake ofc), mostly for their sanity (this doesn’t mean i would hate to see any ship with him and a music club member, i just personally would not ship it)

au i’d like to see them in - au where he’s in the music club. i just want to see the shenanigans

domestic headcanon - doesn’t do any chores because no one trusts him to be responsible

angsty headcanon - i’m sorry i genuinely cannot think of henry angst. angstless being

funny/stupid headcanon - he jokingly flirts with everyone all the time so no one knows when he’s being genuine or not (this is why you’re struggling to pull, henry!)

SUNSET DUO (doing them both at the same time ig)

i have selected 2012 sunset duo because i’m predictable lmao

otp - for raph it is definetly rasemona (is that what they’re called?) polyamory is always a W!! (also like. i cannot just choose one. it’s impossible. he’d definetly end up dating both of them anyways). i don’t really have an otp for mikey because in all honesty i don’t actually properly ship him with anyone?

everyone i ship with this character -

brotp - i mean……. brotp feels like a weird term to use for them but. it’s them. sunset duo. yippee! (i also think pepperoni pucks and raphril are fun, underrated friendship dynamics)

notp - NOT EACHOTHER. NOPE. nothing relating to tcest or other incest shit. gross weirdos

au i’d like to see them in - my very own extended family au!! i’ll talk about it one day i promise—

domestic headcanon - they’re definetly the closest brother dynamic out of all the others. they hang out regularly, whether it be they’re training together, playing video games (and getting way too competitive), or just chilling out. i feel like they’d also look after chompy and ice cream kitty together. shared responsibility or smth

angsty headcanon - thanks to their amazing twin senses (sunset duo are twins trust me) they know a lot of… dark things about eachother.

funny/stupid headcanon - they both have physical touch as their main love language, it’s just with eachother that ‘physical touch’ is beating the shit out of eachother. they will playfully slap, punch, and nudge eachother regularly, and these actions only sometimes escalate into fights where they need to be pulled apart by their brothers!

gaymers i have no idea if these made any sense or if they were even good. i’m sorry

[annihilate-this-week]

“My friends are girls wrapped in boys.”

I bought Sonic Youth’s Bad Moon Rising on vinyl sometime in the mid 90s — I think in 1994 when I was working on the paint crew for Charlottesville City Schools between semesters. I got really obsessed with it, pretty much fell in love with every song. I wrote a whole piece about it a decade or so ago, which you can read HERE if you’re ok with the fact that it predates my transition and may reflect some poor understandings I had of myself and the world at the time.

Anyway.

One song from Bad Moon Rising that really stuck with me is “Society Is A Hole,” which is either the second or third song on side one depending on whether you really buy that “Intro” should be a separate track from “Brave Men Run” (I am a skeptic on this question). It starts with a tape loop of the locked groove that ends side four of Lou Reed’s experimental noise album Metal Machine Music. The loop runs throughout the song, rising and falling in volume depending on what else is going on. The whole thing has a particularly uncanny ambience that appealed to me. I remember walking down Richmond’s infamous Monument Avenue, decades before they took the statues down, in the middle of the night with “Society Is A Hole” blasting in my headphones, feeling like I was vibrating on its frequency.

Thurston Moore’s enigmatic lyrics might mean a lot of things, and I’m sure any interpretation I could give them would be different from his own. But there were lines in the song that leaped out at me, burned themselves into my brain forever, to the point where now I sort of hear them without really HEARING them, you know?

But so anyway. I’ve been reading Kim Gordon’s memoir, Girl In A Band, lately. It’s really good, and has led me to pull some of my old Sonic Youth records back out (by which I mean “find them on Apple Music and add them to my library,” what did you think I meant?). Since Bad Moon Rising is still my favorite Sonic Youth album ever, it’s gotten several plays this week.

And this morning, listening to it doing dishes, I suddenly heard that bolded line at the top of this post in a whole new way. It’s from “Society Is A Hole,” of course, and I always liked it, but my interpretation of it was vague. I don’t think I could have told you what it MEANT, really. Today, suddenly, it hit me like a thunderclap: this line is about closeted trans girls.

Well, OK, not to Thurston Moore, I’m sure. But I think that’s why it always stuck with me. On some level I identified with being a girl wrapped in boy, as if my birth-assigned gender was some restrictive foil wrapper enclosing me all my life, like one of those pieces of Easter chocolate with a picture of a bunny painted on the outside.

I don’t think I could really see how much this idea related to me, particularly at the time of my life when I first got Bad Moon Rising, until I pulled that wrapper off once and for all. Which is a very difficult thing to do, especially when society has everything invested in keeping you in there. But it is at least a nice thought, to think that on some subconscious level, I saw echoes of the truth of myself in the world long before I’d gotten to a place where I could admit it to myself.

[rooksbooks]

Symptom Recital

by Dorothy Parker

I do not like my state of mind;

I’m bitter, querulous, unkind.

I hate my legs, I hate my hands,

I do not yearn for lovelier lands.

I dread the dawn’s recurrent light;

I hate to go to bed at night.

I snoot at simple, earnest folk.

I cannot take the gentlest joke.

I find no peace in paint or type.

My world is but a lot of tripe.

I’m disillusioned, empty-breasted.

For what I think, I’d be arrested.

I am not sick, I am not well.

My quondam dreams are shot to hell.

My soul is crushed, my spirit sore;

I do not like me any more.

I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse.

I ponder on the narrow house.

I shudder at the thought of men. . . .

I’m due to fall in love again.

Symptom Recital was, I feel, such a relatable read (geez, rook, can you come up with something else to say about dorothy parker; answer: no. no i can't. there's a reason it's stood the test of time). Not just because of the clear and familiar description of depression, though done with her usual wit and charm. Also, it's Symptom Recital, because this is a routine; she knows she's going to fall in love soon because of the way she's feeling. This is a cycle. There's a lot about depression that follows a cycle. The highs and lows of hopefulness and despair is something that those with depression know well.

There was one line that gave me a bit of pause. Towards the end, the poem references a "narrow house." I had no clue what that could mean, but a bit of research clued me to some who call coffins a narrow house, so perhaps Dorothy meant death. It adds to the meaning of the poem, and in fact I think makes the last lime all the more impactful.

And the last line is impactful. Everything above it is so negative and depressing. The last line feels like a joke, but given how many people try to avoid feeling bad emotions by falling in love, it definitely isn't.

Words I needed to look up:

"quondam" meaning "former"

"cavil" meaning "to make petty or unnecessary objections"

Following Symptom Recital were three more poems.

Sanctuary

Song of One of the Girls

The Choice

Sanctuary is pretty straight forward. One stanza, four lines, about the sweet scent of burning bridges. The first line mentions "chattering folk" which makes me think gossipers or someone unqualified and unsophisticated. So maybe burning bridges with those she thinks talk too much about things they don't understand, and who sweet it is to finally tell them that and be done with them? Burn her bridges?

The Choice is somewhat more interesting than the previous two. The speaker compares what two men could give her. The first could give her land, house of marble, farms, jewelry, dresses, and horses. The second only a song. And yet, it was the second she couldn't stop thinking about, who'd she'd follow anywhere. It was the second she chose. She says someone should examine her head based on this decision. But I like the idea of choosing love over gifts, regardless of how insane it seems to those outside.

Song of One of the Girls lists a bunch of famous female figures from history, claiming that she is among them. But a man will only see a woman's worth being in the kitchen, so she stays at home with a book (probably reading about those famous women. . . I'm not reading too much into me reading Dorothy the same way. . .)

[venture-through-the-mist]

Petals May Wilt (But We Can’t Let Them Wither)

The New War is over. The System is saved, for now. Yet, a new challenge arises, the issue of ‘the Lotus’. With her mind fragmented from Ballas’s abuse, can she begin to coexist with the other two voices that now begin to drown out her own?

Natah and Margulis have been awakened into a world that is distinctly unfamiliar. They are not who they once were—in more ways than one. But who is the third voice sharing their mind, and why is she so uncomfortably familiar—for one of them, at least?

Chapter 3: Atrocious Indoctrination, Altruistic Protection

She was made to temper his obsession, to be nothing but an epigone. Yet, perhaps the Sentinel can one day create her own identity.

TW: There are just a couple warnings that I want to address for this chapter before we get into the story.

Non-graphic mentions of the canon-typical abuse, manipulation, and other nonsense that comes with Ballas’s character. He’s terrible, this is a TW that is going to show up fairly frequently in this fic.

Somewhat graphic, canon-typical violence.

Going along with the point above, there are a few somewhat graphic mentions of injuries. Lotus gets stabbed, and poisoned by the Void. You’ve all (hopefully) all played TNW, y’all knew (at least some of) this was coming.

Identity crisis. I feel like that’s par for the course with these characters, but figured I’d mention it anyways since this is the chapter where it really starts becoming a thing.

I’d also like to add that this chapter is in first person POV. I’ve always written Lotus that way, for whatever reason, so I hope that it isn’t too jarring of a switch from Natah and Margulis’s chapters.

With everything out of the way, the fic begins under the cut.

Can a being truly long for something that they have never experienced? Can one wish for a childhood that was never theirs, for memories that were never theirs to hold in the first place? I was created to fill a niche, formed from the shell of the enemy, and the memories of a woman whose legacy I was doomed to destroy. A woman with too much love for the world she was born into. When I first laid my eyes on her children, I instantly knew why she had died to protect them. 

The entirety of my existence, I was living in another’s shadow. I was not given a name. I was simply the Sentient amalgam meant to become ‘Margulis’. But I could not. As naive as I was, that I knew. But…I could adapt my systems to her memories. I allowed her kindness to comfort me. I allowed her strength to fuel my own. Her emotions seeped into my precepts, giving me the ability to connect with her children—my children. Her notes, the painting at her desk, the ancient texts that she adored, all of those taught me her passion for the world around her. It was something that I could use.

Yet, what about the other being, the Sentient Queen? I found myself uncomfortably forcing down any reminders of her existence, adjusting her precepts to better reflect my purpose. ‘Margulis’ was who I was supposed to be. ‘Natah’ was simply the corpse used to facilitate that. Ballas always told me that the Sentients were liars, they were the enemy. They were dangerous. That included Natah. Did that include me as well? When it came time to prove myself useful, I looked upon the Sentient, that thing that called itself my ‘brother’, and with little love in my false heart, urged my children to fight. It was my duty. I was Natah no more.

I never was her, was I?

Was I?

We won the war, but there was still one thing that had to be done. I had to protect my children. I sealed them away, forcing Lua into the Void, exhausting myself in the process. With flaking skin and trembling limbs, I breathed a sigh of relief. They were safe.

I did not mind when I collapsed alone in my ship, my form shifting uncontrollably as my body attempted to adapt to the toxins. I ignored the agony as my skin reformed itself. There was work to do, I did not have time to wallow in my pain. I would survive. I always did.

Centuries passed. I sat vigil, watching as the System fell into chaos. The Orokin were gone, yet I was at a loss. I should have been free…but something tethered me to their teachings. The Tenno began to awaken, and I was the first voice in their ears. They did not remember Margulis. I…found myself uncertain of my feelings on that matter. I lied to them, led them to believe that they and their Warframes were one and the same.

I had to. It was the only way to protect them.

Until my past—Natah’s past—reared its ugly head. One by one, I watched as my children were hunted by that Sentient and his ‘Shadow’. One by one, I watched them awaken from the dream that I had placed them into. One by one, I waited, anticipating the horrific day that the process would go wrong, would drive them mad. 

I did this to them. My fear made me blind.

Yet, they persevered, as they always did. 

When that horror from my past reared his ugly head, I took the only path that I could bring myself to. It was to protect them, I swore to myself. As my mind was re-written, as I was stripped to my base precepts, to Natah and Margulis once more, as I was made to doubt my own memories, that was my mantra.

It was to protect them.

Protect them.

Protect who?

The Void was to be a welcome escape. Yet, it was not. 

Rage and terror, like that which controls a cornered animal, fueled me as I fought that ‘Tenno’—not one of my Tenno, no, it was wrong, somehow—, fueled me as I fought my way, clawing and screaming, back to Ballas, to kill him. My fury, like my fear, made me blind. They were right. I was not strong enough.

The word ‘Master’ rose from my throat with the agony of a thousand blades as I was ordered to slay my child, one of the very beings that gave me purpose. Why did she follow me? I told her to stay away. A part of me shattered every time I saw her wince from my attacks. Yet, she kept trying to reach me, never landing a single blow as she attempted to talk me out of my altered state. Memories flickered back into my mind, reminding me of who I was. 

Even that did not deter him. I cared not about each burning beam that punctured my skin. I told myself that I did not feel the searing pain. I only wanted one thing. 

Spare them.

Leave them ALONE.

I SAID STOP!

My screech tore through the air, energy discharging from my body, knocking him back. I would not let him harm my children. His focus redirected itself, and determination mixed with the swell of fear collecting in my chest. His words, his insults cut through my mind like the sharpest Hikou, but I only pleaded with my Tenno—my child—to escape.

When I felt the agony from the Paracesis, the great ‘Sentient Slayer’, spread through my torso, I only thought of my children, my purpose. As I fell to my knees, barely comprehending the dampness growing from the jagged wound, my mind stuck on only one fact. I had failed them. 

No. Not yet.

Disgust rippled through my mind as I stole my life back from him, as I felt the tissues that had been sliced apart begin to knit themselves back together. I glanced down at my hands, at my appearance.

I was changed.

I did not have a moment to revel in the victory, purple sparks dancing on my fingertips as I forced back the unknown entity that only…laughed in a chilling tone as it watched us. The exertion took its toll, of course. As my senses faltered, as my limbs weakened, unable to hold me steady, I glanced back at my child, smiling gently as I collapsed, as the world went dark. 

‘EXPLAIN. NOW.’ 

The anger in the commanding hiss startles me awake. Why is there another? Who is this being? A rhythm beats steadily against my mind, fragmenting my thoughts with its fury. A quiet, confused hum joins it.

‘What’s going on? Where am I?’ 

This hum is decidedly less angry than the other, but my child’s voice breaks me out of my mind. She has asked me a question…I answer her to the best of my ability, my words slow, disjointed.

“I…I thought I was…Natah—“ That elicits a spike of anger from one of the voices, distracting me for a moment, though I force myself to continue.

“—…Margulis—“ A confused hum from the other voice, as if I had spoken to her…My mind lights up in realization, finally connecting names to the sudden appearances. I pause briefly before continuing to speak to my child.

“—…L…Lotus…?” The response to that confuses me. How is my identity up to me? It…has never been up to me. I deflect the Tenno’s—no, not the Tenno, something different—question. Just another lie. It is to protect them, I tell myself. The sounds in my mind begin anew, pulling my attention inward once again. It is loud, too loud. They are asking questions that I cannot answer. The sharp-toned one—Natah, I remind myself—hisses in irritation, confused as to what I am doing in her mind. The soft-voiced one—Margulis—agrees…somewhat. My Tenno’s voice is yet another that I cannot drown out, but I find myself unable to fully answer her.

Am I ready?

I…am not one. The realization dawns on me, and as my child poses yet another choice, I find myself at a crossroads. I do not know who I am. I do not know which of my ‘voices’ should lead. Natah screeches, furious. Margulis hums, her tone clearly conflicted, disapproving. Both of them project their opinions in the same instant, and I am at a loss, unable to properly comprehend either. I turn my head towards my child, though I know that she cannot see the plea in my gaze.

Tell me who I am.

I do not know who I am.

Tell me.

Yet, despite my silent conflict, there is a tiny, fractured part of my mind that yearns to be heard, a part that does have a faint idea of who I might be. That same part of me is…relieved that my child seems to be leaving the choice up to me—though I had expected her to want her true mother back. I am not Natah. I am not Margulis. I was created from both of them, but I have been molded into someone else entirely. Perhaps I can be more than what he designed me to be. I am a leader, a protector, a mother. I do not shy away from what must be done, but I do not cause undue torment either. Despite the chaos in my mind, I find my voice oddly tranquil, reflecting false certainty.

“I am the Lotus.”

[kaimakena]

Virtual Sketchbook 3

Art Sketchbook 3 

WRITING AND LOOKING- 

When I look at this work by Toshi Yoshida, I see numerous details of beautiful nature naturally occurring around a waterfall down a large rock. I can see trees, vines, flowers and interestingly it appears to lead into a pool. I can see borders enclosing the water without overflowing. I wonder where the water goes? I can also see the bright contrasting yellow hue of the background. However, it is still pale enough to not be an eyesore. With all these factors combined I feel a sense of serenity and peace along with satisfaction. Nothing is out of place and the scene just paints a picture of somewhere I’d love to be. I feel calm due to the overwhelming pleasant feeling I get when studying this piece. 

DESCRIBE PHYSICAL QUALITIES (THE FACTS)- 

Toshi Yoshida’s work is a woodblock print, with ink and color on paper. 

It is measured at around 12” x 20”. 

The work itself is in a back square frame and inside a square tan border. The background inside the border is dull but vibrant, in a way, shade of yellow. On top of the yellow border there is a unique gray rocky structure. It does not have a definite shape but has many rectangular blue and white streams of water flowing down it. The water base it flows into is pool-like and rectangular as well as a brighter hue of blue green. The plants that decorate the rocky structure are green and pink along with some yellow. These colors beautifully portray the trees and blooms and add to the piece. 

The work was designed through ink and color being put on paper. It is a woodblock print. 

I would say this piece is balanced as its composition seems balanced and stable. To the eye its contents are very aesthetically pleasing. No one focal point of this piece distracts me from another. All focal points contribute equally to creating one image. 

The most emphasized part of this work is definitely the rocky structure with the waterfall falling down the side. The waterfall has repeating lines which create a sense of rhythm in a way but other than that there aren’t really any repeating shapes. As for proportion, the gray rocks still take the cake and remain larger than everything else in the piece primarily emphasizing the mountainous structure and waterfall, hence the piece’s name Waterfall. 

This piece most definitely has variety. The piece portrays several parts of nature as I mentioned above (flowers, mountainous structure, waterfall, trees, etc...) and they are easy to view individually. On the other hand, they create beautiful unity in the way they work together to achieve the main goal of creating a nature centered piece. 

THIS PART IS ALL ABOUT YOU- 

This work makes me feel very happy and tranquil. Dare I say it is my favorite work of art at this point in time. I love the way it makes me feel like I want to be in the scene. I love how the waterfall is content within the large pool. I love the way the flowers make me feel playful sense within the piece too. 

I think it evokes these feelings for me due to the style of art as it is extremely satisfying to my eyes and the muted colors that add to it used with the piece. They just complement each other so well that I don’t have to think about much personal critique I’d have. 

NOW RESEARCH- 

Inform yourself about the cultural background of the object and the artist. 

The cultural background of this piece is Japanese, and the artist is also Japanese. In the plaque next to Yoshida’s work, I learned that beautiful stones have importance in “tray-scenery” (penjing) and its “counterpart planted scenery” (saikei). Think of a desk Zen Garden almost. Penjing and saikei are art in which those create mini landscapes in ceramic planters. The main goal of this practice is to embody the remarkable structures and beauty of nature within small, manageable proportions. Yoshida’s plaque talks of his inclusion of Daoism as this island is meant to allure immortals in one place to live together. It is interesting that Yoshida mentions Daoism at all. Daoism is typically a Chinese religion, but there is no doubt it is present in Japan too. Japanese culture is heavily influenced in harmony and that is a quality that not only Daoism encourages but also Yoshida’s piece. 

THINKING- 

This work was published in 1970, however was most likely created around 1940-1950. During the 40s and 50s in Japan war was no stranger. WWII was rampid and peace was hard to find in these times. This work is directly associated with Daoism and harmony within nature. I could reach and say this was an outlet for Yoshida from WWII but at this time there are no articles proving this statement. 

The artworks says that the man that made the piece was most likely patient and tranquil like his work. He probably used art as an escape as he has many pieces. If WWII does have anything to do with this piece, then he definitely would’ve been promoting his religious harmonic views and praying for peace. 

I think that if peace was the message intended Yoshida accomplished it with grace and fairly clear. 

THE LAST (most important) PART- 

The importance of this work in society and the world is to showcase culture within Japan. Woodprint is a very common way to create art in Japan. This art style also does a great job of meeting the principles of art as well as showcasing what’s important in Japan’s society, culture. Without art like this we as people would not have diverse forms of art to enjoy and study. And we would also not be able to see what if important to those who may not share the same values and morals as us. I picked this piece because it is beautiful and behind the beauty from the outside the serenity of the piece carries through the deeper meaning within of harmony. 

[girl4music]

“By loving Xena Gabrielle found her way, and through Gabrielle's love Xena was redeemed, and so much more.” Oh, you said that perfectly! Well put, my friend.

Although I don’t share a lot of your disdain for Season 5 and Season 6, I do agree that both seasons had problems with concluding their arcs properly both from a recurring character narrative perspective and thematically. As you said, Eve and Varia were wasted. Ares’ development got canned in favour of the leads - which I mean, I’m sure the gay/queer females were fine with that but it does feel sort of cruel given what happened to Kevin Smith. Of course, they couldn’t have ever predicted that so I don’t blame them at all. It’s just something that strikes me in rewatching his arc - or what little of it they managed to represent. I don’t know if you’ve read my meta on ‘Wynonna Earp’ but as much as I love watching it, I have a massive problem with how they just shaft male characters in favour of the female characters. But again - they know their audience is gay or queer women so it’s whatever. I suppose Xena, Buffy, ‘Charmed’ and ‘Wynonna Earp’ share a lot in common - both positive and negative - specifically for those reasons. It’s meant for the ladies. Particularly those that really don’t care about men. I just find it an oversight as a true feminist that knows feminism is about equality and not being “superior” or ‘’man-hating” or anything like that. It just bugs me…

I have once said that there are 3 major storylines to Xena and that these 3 major storylines intertwine to aid each other to have the most influence or impact possible to make the show absolutely groundbreaking as a WLW love story. A story about queer ladies in love.

These 3 major storylines are:

Xena’s redemption.

Gabrielle’s evolution.

Xena and Gabrielle’s relationship (be it whichever way you wish to interpret the nature of that relationship).

So, like you, I do very much view the ENTIRE show beginning to end as an EPIC love story and I think viewing the the show this way episode 1 to last adds so much more value to what the show is and feels like because a mantra I always say is that “it’s not what it is that matters, it’s how it feels” because you really cannot separate an external experience from a subjective one and I think Xena absolutely proves this. I’d say many works of TV art/entertainment do in fact. I just haven’t come across any TV show that proves this as well as Xena as it’s left down to interpretation for pretty much every single major plot point in it. And while that can be frustrating for some - I really like it because that means that I can just interpret it my way and “canon” can be damned. I never deal in “canon”. Never have and never will. And it’s because of Xena why I don’t because I just think that what I refer to as “artistic interpretation out of personal perception” is the whole point to any kind of works of art. Something I always say to express what I mean by this is that no one ever goes to see the Mona Lisa in The Louvre to learn what da Vinci thought or felt in painting her.

They go - without intention - to paint her over again.

So therefore…. Everybody has the paint brush to everything they see in life. They just don’t think of it that way because they don’t realize that they only ever see what’s already within their own consciousness.

And that is the experience of observing ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ for me - or basically any kind of TV art/entertainment I’m truly passionate about watching - to be quite honest. I don’t just watch. I also create.

Look at art. Look at it and into it so deeply until you see yourself there. Because that's the reason anything is there. If belief is the key, then art must be the door.

Marathon watching the Spaghetti Order of Season 6 of ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ hasn’t really given me a new or fresh way of perceiving or interpreting the show. It’s just all the more validated the perception and interpretation I’ve always had of it to begin with.

The one I’ve written about in my character study thesis that attests that Xena and Gabrielle became each other and passed into each other as one being.

I think the Spaghetti Order gives you more evidence of that truth because the show ends on Gabrielle’s arc and in ending on Gabrielle’s arc instead of Xena’s, what it does is it shows you how much ‘Xena: Warrior Princess’ is about the BOTH of them. Not just Xena.

I really appreciate that because Gabrielle is my favourite female character in all of TV art/entertainment. She’s has the greatest, most detailed character representation and development I’ve ever seen and she’s extremely well written and portrayed.

I’m glad I did this. I’m glad I decided to watch Season 6 of the show in the Spaghetti Order because it just all the more validates to me that Gabrielle is as lead as Xena as a main character and therefore their love relationship is incredibly profound because everything they are as individuals informs what they become as a ship and you don’t get that in WLW/queer ships now.

You just don’t.

So censored or not - they’re absolutely the greatest representation of WLW or queer love in TV history.

I stand by that statement so adamantly and I know I always will because what’s really missing in WLW or queer ships in TV art/entertainment today is that of which they had absolutely no problem giving in Xena. Providing and representing two lead female main characters that had a love relationship that was fully cultivated because of the massive focus on both as lead characters individually as well as a WLW ship.

It was an interesting experience but it hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know or understand about it.

All it’s done is made me double down on all of that. I mean I watch this show extremely differently to most people because I view the whole thing as an epic love story. I view it as a romance over all else. So no matter which order I watch the episodes in, I’ll always see and believe of it as an epic love story between two women and I don’t care if it’s severely censored. I don’t think it matters at all. In fact I think it’s what makes it better. I think the WLW representation is greater because it is censored and the creators/cast/crew had to navigate around those restrictions and limitations in such a way where writers or producers wouldn’t even bother today. And so you’d never get the epic adventures both these lead female MAIN CHARACTERS go on that just ends up making their relationship stronger.

You know… maybe writers and producers of WLW ships should try to censor themselves every once in awhile so that they can force themselves to dig deeper than the surface of what they think representation is because Xena is a whole other fucking level of quality that you just don’t get today regardless of censorship. So you don’t see them kiss and have sex every other episode. It’s not a loss. It isn’t because everything else of which makes it valid is there 10x to the power of what we are given today. It is much greater WLW representation. You can’t convince me otherwise.

I really think the only thing that matters is what the creator’s intention with it is. You figure that out and you’re good to go. You don’t need anything else.

“It is in its own way a great romantic love story even though we didn’t want to play any of the lovey-dovey stuff out of it. We just wanted the characters to encounter that and act in a certain way that told us that they had those feelings.” - Robert Tapert. (Executive producer and co-creator of Xena)

[captains-simp]

Hi bestieeee, congratulations on 1K!!! I have a request for you!! Mommy!Nat or Dark!Nat blackmailing R into sex or else R would be fired?? Thank you

I wonder who this request is from?🤔

2.8k words

Warnings: dub-con (bordering on non-con), coercion, blackmail, unhealthy power dynamic, oral sex (giving), praise, strap on sex and cum filled strap on

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You knew Natasha was coming before you saw her; before you even heard the chilling sound of her heels against the polished floors of the 46th level. You knew because you saw it in your coworkers eyes. You saw the way they cowered behind their desks and averted their eyes or made a swift exit from the area entirely. You knew because that was just how it worked at Romanoff Industries.

You were lucky enough to have your own office. Well, that should have made you lucky in avoiding Natasha's piercing gaze but it did not. Most of the time she stalked down the area outside your office she came straight to you and even if it wasn't her destination she would be sure to look in as she went by.

That was one of your less fortunate days, she was coming to see you and it wasn't to deliver a compliment about your hard work. Your boss let herself into your office without knocking and strolled over to your desk, her hips swaying in the mesmerising way they always did in those incredibly tight skirts.

"What happened to that report that was meant to be sent to me hours ago?" She demanded as she stood in front of your desk.

"Apparently someone picked up on some faults of the latest design so we can't do anything right now." You tried to explain but Natasha never did like excuses. "I don't know when it will be fixed." You continued.

"And you didn't think to tell me this?" Natasha glared.

"I thought someone would have told you." You were right, a lot of someone's had told the redhead, but apparently she needed to hear it from you too. "It's not my job to." You couldn't help but add. You knew Natasha hated when people pointed out things she didn't want to hear, more so when they did so confidently. You were one of the few who managed it, maybe that was why Natasha seemed to have it out for you. It was just a compulsion to you, to one up your boss. Even if it rarely succeeded.

You had always had mixed feelings about Natasha. Sometimes you thought when she went home at night she venturer into some cave that led to the pits of hell where she returned to her rightful throne. Other times that tough and stubborn show she put on was nothing short of admirable. There was no doubt it was what got her her success and therefore gave you a job. It was just hard to deal with when it was aimed at you individually, or what you could argue felt like personally.

"Don't give me that." She snapped. You were aware of all the eyes of your coworkers looking in on the pair of you and hanging on every word that was exchanged.

"You know full fucking well if something you're doing is going to be delayed you tell me." She was leaning both hands on your desk and leaning over to get closer to you. With such a short distance between you you had no choice but to stare back into her forest green eyes, like hell you were going to look away and back down.

"You can write that fucking report anyway. I want it on my desk today." Today? There was no way you could get that done in office hours, you would have to be working long past when you were meant to usually go home. "And when the design has been fixed you can write another one on it." She was testing you, willing you to say something you would regret. You weren't going to fall into her trap.

"Okay." You said, holding her gaze.

She didn't say anything else. Natasha stood there for another few seconds to watch you, waiting for something, anything. Then she stood back up straight and headed towards the door that she slammed closed behind her and marched back to her own luxury office.

That could have been an email.

*

It was approaching midnight when you finished the report. You were about to email it to Natasha when you remembered she wanted it in paper form so you begrudgingly sent it off to the printer.

It was a waste of paper you thought as you trudged over to the elevator that quickly arrived as there was no one else in the building. You figured Natasha just wanted to be that extra bit difficult. Well, you knew that was what she was trying to do.

You had worked with Natasha for longer than most, you knew her. Or rather, you knew the front she painted. You knew what annoyed her, what she wanted, what she thought of certain people and you could predict how she would conduct business down to the exact price tag of a product. But you didn't know her personally, sometimes you wondered if there was anyone who did.

You knocked on your bosses door and waited until she called for you to come in. You planned to simply walk in, put the paper on her desk and walk out to go home but once you were several steps past the door Natasha called for you to close it.

She didn't look up at you as you trudged across the ridiculously big office and put the papers down. It was only when you turned around that she spoke again.

"Stay." Was all said. You bite back a comment about not being a dog.

You turned back around and expected some speech and your attitude earlier but continued making notes on a design plan like you weren't even in the room. A few minutes of you fidgeting on your feet and looking around the office for anything interesting, Natasha picked up your report and leaned back in her chair to read it. She showed no signs that you had done a good or bad job with the report.

Finally, she put the paper down on her desk and went back to the plans. "Close the door behind you." Was all she said. You clenched your jaw and rolled your eyes once turned around to finally leave and go home.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, y/n."

*

Turns out it wasn't as simple as writing two reports. Design after design failed. First there was a slight issue with the batteries, then the shape, then it somehow became a liability. You mentioned all these faults in your reports, as you legally had to, but it became tedious very quickly. You always hated paperwork. It was meant to be such a small part of your job. You could only hope the sudden increase was temporary, especially as it wasn't exactly one of your strengths.

You continued to work over time and met Natasha late at night, always having to wait until she finished reading till you could leave. You thought you had to be doing at least a good job with them for your boss to never say anything, because she was always ready to point out small errors. That was until one particular night.

"These reports are getting worse." Natasha scolded. The comment made your blood boil. They were certainly not getting worse, maybe the designs were but you knew it was no fault of yours.

"The designs don't work." You fired back and crossed your arms. You had been worked tirelessly on those reports and they only stated the facts.

"Do you even care about your job, y/n?" Natasha asked seriously, angering you more.

"I've sacrificed more than I ever thought I could for a job for this company."

"You're on thin fucking ice, l/n. With the way things are going I'd be in a right mind to fire you." ...what the fuck?!

"What?" It came out as more of a whisper. After everything that you had done for the company and the years you had spent there, Natasha wouldn't really fire you, would she?

"Unless you're willing to make up for it all." She said seriously with something unmistakably dark in her tone.

"I don't more extra hours than anyone here." You said, not knowing what else she could mean.

"Not more than me, something takes quite the toll. I can hardly fit the time in to distress anymore. That's where you come in." Natasha explained as she stood up from her chair and sauntered around to the other side of the desk, the sound of her heels clicking echoing around the room.

There was a long moment of silence when Natasha left barely any space between you. You searched her eyes for any hint of what she was referring to but inevitably found nothing. Until she suddenly pushed you down onto your knees in front of her.

"Show me what other skills you have and maybe I'll consider letting you stay." She smirked down at you and ran the back of her hand across your cheek before cupping your jaw. "Entirely your call."

"Natasha this is crazy." You tried to reason but it was hard to ignore the faint throbbing you felt from being on your knees for her. "I could tell someone." For the first time ever, you heard her laugh. She threw her head back in a mocking laugh that soon turned into taunting chuckles.

"Y/n, who would believe you over me? You can be my guest and try but you'll never have another job in this city again, maybe further if I feel like it." She shrugged. You gulped and felt your breathing shake. Fuck.

Natasha, apparently impatient, hiked up her skirt and leant back against her desk to look at you expectantly. Your mouth suddenly went dry when you caught sight of her bare pussy, having not had any underwear on. You wondered if she often sat around like that. If she sauntered around the building and into your office where you could easily let your fingers wander up her skirt. Did she always leave them off for you?

"If you want to keep your job I suggest you get to work." She spoke. You tentatively moved forward and gripped onto her thighs for support, still looking up at her for any signs of a tell.

She was positively soaked. You could see her clenching in anticipation, the sight and musky smell entirely inviting. So you licked a long strip of the redhead's folds and moaned at the sweet taste of her. Sweetness was hardly what you expected given the tough and cold exterior of your boss, you hadn't expected it to be so instantly addictive either.

You pushed your tongue further inside the redhead who gave a breathy moan in response. At that, your mind was made. You sucked harshly on Natasha's clit and felt it pulse rapidly between your lips before returning your tongue to where she needed it most.

"Look at how much you're enjoying this." Natasha smirked as she looked down at the beyond contented glint in your eyes. "So good at pleasing you like mommy."

You worked your tongue tirelessly inside her, spurred on by the blissful sounds that fell from the redhead's mouth with every flick and curl of your muscle. You were lost in the incomparable taste of her and hoped it would be something that lingered on your tongue for a while. You were in awe of the way her mouth hung open in a silent scream as her eyes clenched shut every time your tongue brushed against some beautiful nerve ending. The sounds she made when you did so rivalled the faux sweetness of a siren's song. You knew the dangers of being lulled too far but you wanted to explore it entirely, convinced there was some hidden beauty that no one else could see.

"Fuck, so good." Your grip on Natasha's thigh tightened when her hold on the back of your neck did. She started to buck her hips against your mouth and her breathing patterns became more irregular. Your boss seemed lost in the pleasure she was experiencing from you as her eyes shut firmly and her movements became more erratic. But even then she held onto her power over you.

"I want you to swallow every last fucking drop." She ordered and gasped when your nose bumped against her clit. You picked up the pace of your tongue, making sure to swipe it against all the spots you had learnt made her shudder.

Her nails were practically digging into your neck when she reached her high. Her breath got caught in her throat before she gave the most animalistic moan you had ever heard. She furiously bucked her hips against your face as she rode out her high and relished in every wave of pleasure.

She recovered impressively quickly and was still raring to go, apparently having more plans for the night. She smiled down at you with a glint of the devil in her eye as she stood back and turned around to retrieve something from her desk, telling you to sit on her chair.

You were anticipating Natasha to return the favour, especially given how much she clearly enjoyed what you had to offer. Instead, she slipped a harness through your legs and pulled it up to your waist where she fastened it to sit securely. It was only when she moved away that you saw the size of the red toy, standing proudly and daringly. You wouldn't be surprised if your boss couldn't make it fit, yet again about to see that you really didn't know her. She was unpredictable and nothing short of it.

Natasha straddled your legs until her knees hit the backrest of her chair and her cunt was lined up with the toy. You went to hold her waist to guide her but your boss grabbed your wrists harshly and pinned them to the chair either side of you with a warning look.

She lowered herself onto the toy and groaned when the head of the toy alone started to stretch her. She kept her strong grip on your wrists as she looked more of the strap and you could only watch on in awe as the fake cock disappeared inside her.

Natasha moaned loudly and paused half way to adjust herself and breathe heavily before slamming herself down on the rest of the toy. "God." She grunted. "Mommy feels so full."

"Let me help you mommy." You tried but she shook her head.

"You don't get to touch right now." Was all she said before she lifted herself partly off the toy and slammed back down drawing another beautiful moan.

Your boss continued this for a while until she found herself in a rhythm that pleasured her deeply. You could see her juices smeering the toy everytime she withdrew and the sight alone made you groan, you already wanted to taste her again.

She rode you with vigor as her pace increased as did her grip on you. Profanities spilled from her mouth like a song that you wanted to join in with but you were too fixated on the sight infront of you. Natasha's bra clearly wasn't all that supportive because her breasts bounced with each thrust downwards and you wished more than anything that you could reach out and take her top and bra off to cup them, even tweak her nipples between your fingers to see her squeal.

"Gonna cum- fuck! Mommy's gonna cum on your cock and you're going to fill me up more." She said between moans and gasps. You didn't really understand what she meant by fill her up more but you weren't going to object, not when you wanted to see her cum again so badly.

She suddenly let your right hand go and grabbed on to the back of the harness. You were confused until you felt something click and Natasha was moaning louder than she had all night. "Your cum feels so good in me." She all but screamed before jerking her hips wildly and cumming around the toy.

She fell forwards slightly and grinded against the toy to ride out her high desperately. You gripped her hips with your free hand and moaned when you saw some of the cum leaking out of Natasha's pussy.

With a groan, you pulled your other hand out of the redhead's grasp and lifted her up and down onto her desk where she looked up at you with blissful eyes. "Don't go thinking you have any control." Natasha sneered but gasped when you withdrew the strap and snapped your hips forwards again.

"We'll see."

[marauderundercover]

In the Bedroom Down the Hall

Okay, so first of all, this is set in an alternate version of my fic ‘A Thousand Years’. It’s based on this song. And here are some possible TW: character death (child), thoughts of hopelessness (nothing comes from this, but the character is feeling very low)

----

In the bedroom down the hall-

Marinette sits shakily on the edge of the bed, running a trembling hand over the comforter. The comforter that she had taken Damian to pick out. It had a picture of a cat on it. He’d been so excited, even though he’d tried to hide it. It was the typical excitement one would expect from a little boy, barely eleven. And Damian was anything but typical, for an eleven year old. Or any kid, really. But that day, the day Marinette was added as one of his legal guardians, Damian allowed himself to act like a kid. It was one of the only times she’d ever seen her little boy so happy, so care free. Because of course Bruce Wayne had to come back. Of course the man demanded everything back. He hadn’t been dead, afterall. Just lost in the time stream. But he’d wanted his life back. That meant the cowl and Damian. He’d expected her and Dick to fade into the background, maybe go back and live in Bludhaven. But she hadn’t given in. 

Marinette didn’t care if Dick was Batman or Nightwing or no vigilante. And she didn’t care if Damian was Robin and Bruce Wayne’s biological son; he was just as much hers and Dick’s as he was Bruce’s. It was as simple as that. And now- Glancing at the cardboard box on the floor, Marinette forces herself to stand. She forces herself to move towards Damian’s closet, eyes catching onto one of his sweaters immediately. Grabbing it, she’s unable to stop her legs from giving out. From falling to the ground and clutching the sweater to her chest, wishing she could hold her baby one last time. 

“You never liked this sweater. You said it never really fit you right and it itched too much. But I think I'll keep it, I should keep it.” Marinette says quietly, speaking to the sweater through her tears. “'Cause it still makes me think of you and that little boy I knew, in the bedroom down the hall.” Instead of placing the sweater in the box, she lays it on the bed gently. Stepping next to his desk, she gently brushes her fingers along his last painting. The last one he’d been working on before-

It was a portrait of their little family. Because her little boy had a phenomenal memory- a blessing and a curse- there wasn’t an actual picture anywhere of the memory from his head. Just a half finished painting, mostly line art that will never see completion. A memory from an artist who was only memories. Marinette’s heart clenches as she remembers the last month of his life. All of the fights and arguments- everything stemming from Bruce suddenly deciding to be a parent, despite everything she and Dick had done to try and reassure Damian that they wanted him. That they loved him. 

“In the bedroom down the hall, we went to battle every evening after dinner. I thought I knew some way that I'd get through to you. Remember?” Marinette says, gently touching the smudged pencil lines that were supposed to be Damian. The lines that were supposed to add her baby into the picture. She ignores the spare domino mask peeking out from behind a picture frame on his desk. She didn’t care that he wanted to be a hero, she just wanted him safe. And happy. Her heart clenches as she remembers their last argument. He was so certain she was trying to keep him from being Robin. But that was never what she wanted. She would never try to take away something so important to him. But he was so desperate to please Bruce. To be the son that Bruce wanted him to be. 

“We fought a war where no one walked away a winner, 'cause every day you pulled a little more away. Remember?” Marinette feels the tears running down her face, but doesn’t make a move to stop them. What was the point? “So the promises and the talks and the cures a mother tries.  'Cause maybe I could take away that sadness in your eyes.” Her eyes drift back to the sweater and she grabs it, clutching it as she sinks to the floor, back pressed against the bed. Holding the sweater as close to her as she possibly can, Marinette sobs. 

Anything to make you happy. Anything at all. Anything for my boy in the bedroom down the hall. You try to give your kid the world, give him everything you've got. What if I gave all I could and I thought it was enough- but I find that it was not?

“Did I let you down?” She breathes out, shaking as she tries to find a way to breathe. As she tries to find even a sliver of meaning in her life. She wasn’t Damian’s biological mom, but he was still her little boy. How was she supposed to go on? How was she supposed to wake up every morning knowing that he was gone. That someone had stabbed her little boy. That he was no longer in his bedroom down the hall. That he would never be there again. Because he was gone. And there was no bringing him back. No miraculous cure to save her little boy. The little boy in the bedroom down the hall. 

“What else can I do?” She screams, knowing that no one would hear her. No one that cared anyway. Dick was on patrol, and their neighbors had grown used to her sobs and screams. Her cries that they were wrong. That some cruel force hadn’t ripped her baby from her. Her screams as she begged someone, anyone, to take her instead. To give Damian a second chance. But just like her screams the first night didn’t bother her neighbors, her screams now didn’t bother anyone either. It was Gotham and as sick and twisted as it was, this part of the city was used to the cries of mothers. Of their begging and bargaining to a force that would never answer. Because their babies were gone too. As her tears slow, Marinette’s shoulders slump. Any energy she had when she first entered Damian’s room was gone. Any hope of being able to be in the room was gone, too. Pushing herself to stand, Marinette gently lays the sweater back on the bed. Legs shaking, she makes her way to the door, pausing and turning back to look. His room was the same as the night he went on patrol. That night, just over six months ago. The only change was the sweater on the bed, and the cardboard box in the middle of the room. Waiting. A small black blob appears in the room, worry clear on his face. 

“I think I'll wait another day to pack these boxes.” Marinette tells Plagg, her voice cracking. “'Cause once I'm through, I'm left with just one thing to do.” She says, taking a deep breath as she leaves the room, her hands shaking as memories flood her mind. Because her little boy was gone. And now, all she could do, was remember.

Permanent tag list (open): @stainedglassm  @laydeekrayzee @doll246 @queenz-z @deathssilentapproach-blog @literaryhiraeth @unoriginalmess @crazylittlemunchkin @buttercupsbitch @toodaloo-kangaroo

[bepp-ers]

Only Human | Yandere! Solomon X Reader

oki oki so thankyu to this anon for requesting some Yandere! Solomon and Yandere! Satan. this is the first of two (2)! also, i am trying out the new Tumblr editor so if some things are different, you know why. second version should be up soon after this! <3

You watched with disinterest as your teacher went over some demon subject you weren't interested in enough to care, and quietly flicked through your notes.

Unfortunately, none of the brothers were in this class with you, so you'd have to meet with them afterwards.

'Thank god there's only a few more minutes...'

-

After gathering your things, you slipped away from the classroom, texting the group chat to tell people where you were.

Scanning the hallways, you grinned as you spotted the 2nd youngest of the brothers.

You were about to approach him, when someone tapped your shoulder. You jumped, spinning around quickly.

"Hey, [MC]." "Solomon! Don't sneak up on me like that, jeez." "Ahaha, did I scare you?" "Course not. Anyway, need something?"

His smiled widened. "Yes, actually, I could use an extra pair of hands back at Purgatory Hall. I was going to ask Simeon, but he and Luke are busy."

You glanced back to where you had seen Beel, but he was gone. You shrugged. "Sure, I like magical hijinks. Lemme just text Luci, and we can go."

You sent a text to Lucifer and walked with Solomon, leaving the school grounds together.

"Hey, [MC], where are ya goin'?" You turned at the sound of Mammon's voice, seeing that he was accompanied by Asmo and Beel.

"What Mammon meant was where are you two going without me?" Asmo sidled up to you and linked his arm with yours.

"Ah, [MC]'s just helping me back at Purgatory Hall. I'd love to have you along, but it requires assistance from a human. Otherwise I'd love to have you along."

"Aww. Fine, see you later [MC]! And you, Solomon!" "See ya." Beel was probably to focused on food to care that much.

Mammon, however, was not pleased. "Wait a sec' - You're a human! Ya' could just do it yourself!" Solomon chuckled, though you sensed it wasn't genuine.

"Well, [MC] here is my little helper. Now, if you'll excuse us." He put an arm around your shoulder and escorted you away, without further qualms.

-

"Sorry about Mammon, he can be such a meat head at times..." "Don't worry about it, I'm aware he's no angel." You giggled, and followed Solomon to his room.

You had always been fond of his room. There was so much going on, you could barely tell what was what.

In one corner, you saw several small ornate cauldrons sat upon an intricately carved table. You'd always thought of cauldrons as huge and old, but these looked brand new.

"As you can see, I've got everything ready. I need someone to add the ingredients in a specific order. Meanwhile, I need to prepare a separate concoction."

"Complicated stuff." "Eh, not really. I've written a list for the order of ingredients, and when to add them. Here," He handed you a list written on crisp parchment.

You scanned it, positive it was simple enough for you to follow.

"Your handwriting is surprisingly neat. Cool, I can do this. Just let me know when you want me to begin." “Mm, sure. You can start now, if you’d like.”

You nodded and got to work. First on the list: Angel Feather. ‘No guessing where he got that one.’

Secondly, Crushed Rubies. ‘Mammon would snort this stuff, hundred percent.’

You continued adding ingredients until there were none left, and you were left with a pastel pink mixture, with the texture of a smooth paint. You called Solomon to inspect it, and he beamed at you.

“That’s wonderful, you’re a natural. I’ll add the two together now,” He took your concoction and slowly began pouring it in. They swirled together, and you expected something crazy to happen.

It didn’t though, instead it simply all changed to that pinkish colour. “It looks pretty.” “Mm, I agree.” You thought for a moment, and then realised something.

You had no idea what this magical mixture did. “So, what does this stuff do, exactly?” He glanced over at you, and then shrugged. 

“You don’t know??” “Maybe. I have a feeling I know, but the tome I found it in never actually specified.” “Oh. So... how are you gonna find out?” 

He grinned. “Well, there’s a few ways. I think I’m going to go with testing it out on someone, though.” 

You blinked. “That’s gonna be me, isn’t it?” “You’re so clever, [MC] . Just sit there for a moment please.”

You rolled your eyes as he turned around. Of course you’d ended up trying another mystery concoction. You just prayed it wasn’t as bad as his cooking.

“Viola. Here you go.” He turned to face you, holding a little bowl of the pink potion. You took it, and held it closely to your face.

“It won’t kill you, you know.” “I know, it just... it smells familiar. Bottoms up I guess...” 

You took a sip of the substance, and then a larger gulp. Finishing the dregs, you licked your lips. “Well? Did I grow antlers or something cool?”

Solomon shook his head. “That’s a shame, it doesn’t seem to work. How did it taste, anyway?”

You paused. “I don’t know, like strawberry mi-- ack!!”

Coughing, you raised a hand to your mouth. Your eyes widened when you took it away and there was blood dripping down your palm.

“Solomon...?” You spluttered, the bowl clattering to the floor. With a shriek, you followed suit, more blood pouring from your mouth. “Sol....Solomon help! Wh-- agh- what was that potion?!”

You keeled over, clutching at your torso and mouth. To your horror, he simply smiled, kneeling down besides you. He reached a hand out, gently moving your hair from your face.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m glad the potion worked, aren’t you?”

-

Strawberries. That sweet taste mixed with blood danced on your lips, as you bolted up from the chair you were sat on. 

Was it all just a cruel dream? Maybe Belphie was controlling your dreams for fun again...

Nope. Looking around, you didn’t recall your surroundings. 

An room, whites, blues and golden hues trimming every surface, every edge.

The only issue was simply that there were no windows, and only one door. You rushed over to it, but as you neared your hand, the air around it pulsed and a shock rippled through your arm.

You voiced your pain out loud, and staggered over to the nearby mirror.

“W-wait, my pact mark...”

Scorched. That was all you could use to describe the bare skin on your neck, where the Avatar of Lust had made a pact with you.

Frantically scouring your body, you noted that all of your pacts had been damaged in one way or another, leaving you unable to summon any of the Brothers.

“Aw, did you lose something, MC?” 

That voice. Smug, arrogant, silvery... You turned to glare at the sorcerer, seething. He stood by the grand bed, carefully observing you.

“W-what did you do?!” Was all you could manage, before collapsing from a sudden wave of exhaustion.

“I’m doing this for you, love. It’s only necessary, after all..”

“...You’re only human, [MC].”

-

i really hope this is okay as i come back into writing for this account. there’s so much i have done, and i just got overwhelmed. i’m back and i’m gonna try to look after me a bit more. i got back into obey me! swd? so that’s good. feel free to request, my tiny rat brain thrived on inboxes. love you guys! <3

[goforth-ladymidnight]

THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!

I wanted to add on the description of the "palace in the sky" from ch. 41:

I looked toward the small vent in the corner of the ceiling through which the music entered my cell. The source must have been far away, for it was just a faint stirring of notes, but when I closed my eyes, I could hear it more clearly. I could … see it. As if it were a grand painting, a living mural. There was beauty in this music—beauty and goodness. The music folded over itself like batter being poured from a bowl, one note atop another, melting together to form a whole, rising, filling me. It wasn’t wild music, but there was a violence of passion in it, a swelling kind of joy and sorrow. I pulled my knees to my chest, needing to feel the sturdiness of my skin, even with the slime of the oily paint upon it. The music built a path, an ascent founded upon archways of color. I followed it, walking out of that cell, through layers of earth, up and up—into fields of cornflowers, past a canopy of trees, and into the open expanse of sky. The pulse of the music was like hands that gently pushed me onward, pulling me higher, guiding me through the clouds. I’d never seen clouds like these—in their puffy sides, I could discern faces fair and sorrowful. They faded before I could view them too clearly, and I looked into the distance to where the music summoned me. It was either a sunset or sunrise. The sun filled the clouds with magenta and purple, and its orange-gold rays blended with my path to form a band of shimmering metal. I wanted to fade into it, wanted the light of that sun to burn me away, to fill me with such joy that I would become a ray of sunshine myself. This wasn’t music to dance to—it was music to worship, music to fill in the gaps of my soul, to bring me to a place where there was no pain. I didn’t realize I was weeping until the wet warmth of a tear splashed upon my arm. But even then I clung to the music, gripping it like a ledge that kept me from falling. I hadn’t realized how badly I didn’t want to tumble into that deep dark—how much I wanted to stay here among the clouds and color and light. I let the sounds ravage me, let them lay me flat and run over my body with their drums. Up and up, building to a palace in the sky, a hall of alabaster and moonstone, where all that was lovely and kind and fantastic dwelled in peace. I wept—wept to be so close to that palace, wept from the need to be there. Everything I wanted was there—the one I loved was there— The music was Tamlin’s fingers strumming my body; it was the gold in his eyes and the twist of his smile. It was that breathy chuckle, and the way he said those three words. It was this I was fighting for, this I had sworn to save. The music rose—louder, grander, faster, from wherever it was played—a wave that peaked, shattering the gloom of my cell. A shuddering sob broke from me as the sound faded into silence. I sat there, trembling and weeping, too raw and exposed, left naked by the music and the color in my mind.

I am now convinced that this is why the Night Court couldn't be 100% night all the time. Because light is what gave Feyre hope in the dark. Could SJM have written it in such a way that it actually meant starlight and moonlight? Yes. Did she? NO.

Yes, I am fully aware of the significance of stars and foreshadowing. F/eysand is endgame. I GET IT. But in this passage SPECIFICALLY, it is golden sunlight that Feyre sees.

And I want to weep for what could have been.

The post was getting too long but RE: your theory about Tamlin's hidden castle, how does it feel to have the biggest brain to ever brain? Because I definitely think you're onto something there. I had completely forgotten about that forest description, probably because I've been busy scratching my head about why the starlight pool was even included in the Spring Court narratively-speaking, and why, if it and its origins are actually important to book 1 or even to prop up Feysand, we never hear about it again. But yeah, if we chip off the paint from the moonstone palace, would we see the glade, the starlight pool, and the Solstice hidden underneath?

Awww thank you 🥺 I'm glad you see it as well! Initially, I speculated that the starlight pool served as a secret doorway/portal to the "palace in the sky" XD because faelore, and there seemed to be a connection between moonstone and starlight.

I decided to reread this scene and the images Feyre saw UTM after you mentioned the forest description!

This is what follows it (ACOTAR, chapter 18):

Shimmering tufts of dandelion fluff drifted by, and the floor of the clearing was carpeted with swaying crocuses and snowdrops and bluebells. It was an hour or two past noon by the time we arrived, but the light was thick and golden.

Though the three of us were alone, I could have sworn I heard singing. I hugged my knees and drank in the glen.

Rushed whispers were exchanged behind me, and before I could turn around to investigate, Tamlin took a seat at my side. His jaw was clenched tight enough that I stared ahead. “What is this place?” I said, still running my fingers through the grass.

Out of the corner of my eye, Tamlin was no more than a glittering golden figure. “Just a glen.” Behind us, Lucien snorted. Do you like it?” Tamlin asked quickly. The green of his eyes matched the grass between my fingers, and the amber flecks were like the shafts of sunlight that streamed through the trees. Even his mask, odd and foreign, seemed to fit into the glen—as if this place had been fashioned for him alone. I could picture him here in his beast form, curled up in the grass, dozing.

I speculate that this scene was originally supposed to be more than just a beautiful landscape or Tamlin's favorite haunt. I think it was hinting at more.

Is the golden light somehow related to the golden light that exploded from Tamlin, the golden armor he "wore" when he regained his powers? Who or what was singing? What were the rushed whispers about? Why did Lucien snort when Tamlin said it was just a glen?

Now I'm wondering if Tamlin was trying to show Feyre more of this mysterious place when he sent her the music. Or perhaps he was showing her scenes from the Summer Solstice and this place. But we'll never know :') Anyways, thanks for helping me to process this theory XD The newsletters you shared have led me down quite the rabbit hole— thank you!!

[sukirichi]

earned it [04]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

cw. DARK CONTENT, graphic violence, mentions of blood, explicit murder, sexual violence, angst, tw dubcon, mentions of mass murder, death threats, cheating, implications of suicide, typical mafia business + very unedited (please PLEASE read at your own discretion! if you do not wish to proceed to read because of the aforementioned warnings but want to know what happened anyway, please drop into my asks and i’ll retell it in a much less graphic version!)

chapter song. never forget you (zara larsson, mnek)

series masterlist

Death.

The stench of it reeked everywhere. Blood pooled at the ends of your dress, the warm liquid dripping from your fingers. You couldn’t see what was in front of you, not when your vision had been obscured black, painted red with everyone’s lifeless eyes staring back emptily at you and carrying an ominous message behind words that never had the chance to be spoken.

Satoru was gone.

You ran through flights of stairs as you bunched your dress up, dried blood present on your cheek. The gray cemented walls of this unknown building began to close down on you, suffocating you, trapping you – and then there he was. Your lover, your world, your everything – he stood on top of a pile of bodies, his face as grim as the deaths he’s caused, but that wasn’t what stood out from the scene. It was the fact you couldn’t recognize him anymore; the man before you was nothing else but the devil incarnate himself. Then, just as you ran his way, fingers outstretched to grasp at his shirt, Satoru disappeared.

He was gone.

A scream ripped out your throat as you scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up in a haste to shield yourself. The images were now gone, but that fear kept drumming into you, gloops of blood making its way through your room’s white exterior.

It’s not real, it’s not real – Satoru’s arms snaked over to your side, his eyes droopy from being woken up. You would’ve apologized, knowing he never really got proper sleep, but you were already wrapping your arms around yourself, gaze repeatedly darting back to the walls – to check for bodies, for blood, for death, for him.

“Hey,” Satoru drew you close to him until your head fell on his chest. Out of instinct, you flattened your ear above where his heartbeat rested. Thump thump – he was real, he was safe, alive – he wouldn’t do that. Satoru wasn’t that kind of person. You clung to him like a koala and mumbled incoherently at the skin of his neck, clutching his shirt so tight it wrinkled horribly. Satoru merely littered kisses all over the crown of your head to soothe you, although he was not free to this fear you felt; he was just as nervous for an unknown reason. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

“You-you were leaving—”

“Shh, angel, I’m not, I’m here,” he wrapped you closer to his body, the sheets still warm and smelling like him as if to add reassurance to his words. “You’re alright. I’m here, angel, it’s okay.”

“I was going to die,” you quivered. It had only been a fleeting moment when you saw it, but you were there too. Dressed in white, arms covered in lace and a crown adorning your head; it seemed as if you were meant to be on top of the bodies, and Satoru sat upon it like a throne. It transitioned from being the witness to being the victim in a minute and your chest squeezed so hard you choked out, “I was dying, baby.”

“You’re not going to die. No one’s going to hurt you, you understand?” Satoru cupped your cheeks to force you to look him in the eye. “I’m going to keep you safe no matter what. Not leaving your side, angel, that’s a promise.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I would never do that,” he nodded before he raised your pinky. Satoru looped both your fingers and kissed the conjoined form, not once leaving your gaze the whole time. “I promise,” he whispered, foreheads touching and breaths mingling. Like one soul intertwined, you once mused, feeling yourself get lost in the depth of azure pools he harboured. “There’s nowhere to go without you anyway; you’re the greatest gift in my life. I’d do anything for you.”

“Don’t leave me. Please.”

“I won’t, angel. I never will.”

And you believed that. Like the fool you were, you really believed that.

The bank loomed over you, its mere presence impending and bringing about a wave of discomfort to you. Awkwardly, you stepped inside, hiding your face in your hair to conceal the nausea threatening to urge you to throw up. You couldn’t help but survey the entire area out of instant wariness, holding tighter to your phone.

Seeing as there was no line, you sat on the nearest open window. “Hi, uhm…I recently got transferred this money from…an old friend, you could say,” you informed with furrowed brows, fishing your phone out of your pocket as you logged into your account. The whole time, your hands turned sweaty and the phone nearly slipped from your grasp out of anxiety. The woman assisting you flashed you a sympathetic smile, patient and kind enough to listen to your small voice through the glass. “I lost contact with them so I can’t return it. I was wondering if maybe you could help me rewind the transaction?”

“Oh, we can definitely do that Ma’am, may I see?” Nodding, you handed her your phone. In an instant, the polite smile fell from her lips, altering into a nervous one the next. “Oh…” she blinked back at the digits, clearly overwhelmed from the amount of zeroes. Dropping her voice, she leaned closer to you, “Do you…do you know the account owner personally?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “Well, I used to.”

“And they wired you all this?”

“About two weeks ago, yeah.”

The employee sat there for a full minute, possibly contemplating how to go about this. It didn’t set well with you – that mysterious, almost suspicious smile she had – that you debated whether just asking for your phone back. “Excuse me for a moment. I think I should take this to the higher-ups,” she announced while scanning the bank with narrowed eyes, leaving before you could have a say in it.

The next minutes that passed had never felt more gruelling.

You sat there with a frantic heart, your jeans damp from the countless times you’ve wiped your hand on it. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. People came in for their own agendas, the hushed ‘inside voice’ as faint as ever, then they left. Repeat. End of conversation.

It was just another normal, boring day for everyone else – but not for you.

“Miss?” a voice pulled you away from your thoughts. A half-bald man was now standing before you, the previous employee you’d been talking to right behind him, her head ducked down. Manager, his tag read, which made sense. He gestured for you to come inside the back parts of the bank, and you gripped your purse tighter as you followed them.

The inside wasn’t that special or different from the outside. There were lesser chairs but bigger, brighter white walls. His office was located right in the middle where the female employee closed the glass doors behind you, silent and timid as she prepared you tea. Meanwhile, you sat there with your hands wrung in your lap, stomach already falling from the grim expression he wore. “About the funds, I’m afraid we can’t do anything about this transaction. While it had been transferred you, neither us nor the bank has the authorization to do anything about this. Whoever sent it to you is the only one that can either take it back or liquidize it,” he pushed his glasses back to his face, an apologetic sigh leaving his lips. “I’m afraid we can’t help you with this, Miss, we’re really sorry—”

“No!” you slammed your palms on the desk, “No, I don’t want the money, wire it back to him!”

“Miss, we already told you, it’s out of control—”

You shook your head. This wasn’t real – Satoru had to be joking! He couldn’t just give you this and disappear into thin air! In fact, you never even cared for the money; you were just hoping that maybe you’d find a way back to him if nothing but digits was the only thing left to prove he even existed. Desperation clawed its way through your throat as you fell on your knees, helpless tears streaming down your face. “Please, you have to do something, I don’t want the money, I just want him back, please! I just need to talk to him once more and he’s your client, right? Let me talk to him, I know you have contact with him, Sir, please, I’m begging you—”

“Security!” the manager hollered. The sounds of doors slamming open made you stand up straight, eyes wide at the incoming pairs of guards ready to escort you out. “It’s best you schedule a personal appointment with the account owner, Miss. We also suggest you remain on the down-low instead of causing a ruckus like this. You don’t know who’s going to be grabbing at every opportunity to take what was given to you.”

“Everything’s been taken away from me!” you argued back, walking around the desk to clasp the manager’s hand. He pulled away for a moment before you squeezed his hands, the tearing of your heart too painful to bear. You just wanted to see him. “Come on, please, I don’t care about the money, I just—”

They didn’t let you finish. Just like Satoru, just like everybody else, they discarded you to the side, treated you like you were a nobody who didn’t deserve a second chance.

“Escort her out, please.”

And just like that, your fate had been decided. No...perhaps it had been determined the moment he left, and now you walked blearily along the narrowed gaps between buildings, unable to find your way back home.

Where was home anyway? Your penthouse with Satoru? Your cramped dorm back at the university? Your empty flat that had once been a happy home with your parents before they too, left you behind with nothing but a family portrait as a memory? It was pathetic. You meant nothing. Obviously, no one valued you enough, not even Satoru who’d just given you enough to let you live comfortably for the rest of your life. But no matter how much he provided, it wasn’t what you wanted. It wouldn’t bring back the one thing you wanted most, and you fell on the rough pavement, too tired to care about the stinging of your palms.

You clutched at your heart in a debilitated attempt to soothe way your chest squeezed uncomfortably. You were literally in the middle of the nowhere, trapped between the walls that hid you in the darkness and muffled your cries.

He’d left – he really left.

He didn’t keep his promise, and your nightmare had now become reality. You had to bite down your shirt to keep the agony to yourself, nails dug so deep into your jeans it left a mark above your skin. Hours passed, maybe minutes – who knew?

The sun had gone down and the streets grew busier than before, the honking and lively bustling of the night city like background noise to you.

Your key back to the penthouse weighed heavily at your back pocket. There was still the option of just going back home, but what good would that do? Everywhere you went, you were reminded of him. There was no escaping the beautiful memories he left you with, there was no exit from his miserable dream you were forced to wake up into.

Nothing mattered anymore. You felt so lost, the motivation to find your way back depleted just like your energy. You only had your bodily instincts to thank for when your stomach grumbled, demanding to be fed and nurtured even in such a hopeless situation. It made you want to laugh – that even as your heart and soul gave up on you – your body was doing its best to keep you alive and get through the day. You heaved yourself away from the wall and wiped the dirt away from your palms, the rhythm of your feet one heavy clump next to the other.

There was a nice Chinese restaurant at the end of the street that glowed brightly, invitingly. If you could just have dinner, maybe you’d feel better.

But you never got three steps across.

A cold blade had been pressed to your neck, sinister laughter echoing from the darkness of the night. “Scream and you die, sweetheart,” a gruff voice crooned in your ear, followed by a more high-pitched, maniacal chuckles. There was two of them. Fear lit your nerves up and you scrambled to run, but this man was too strong. He didn’t even have to try too much into increasing pressure to your neck, slicing the first layers of your skin that was enough to prick both blood and tears from you. “Ah, ah, ah! Resisting won’t get you anywhere. We just want to talk, okay? No foul play needed.”

You shut your eyes in submission, too afraid to even swallow the bile rising in case the movement would push the knife further. You could only let out a weak, “What do you want from me?”

“Oh, what else?” said his accomplice, showing up in front of you with a creepy smile. He tipped his head side to the side, revealing the silver replacements of his teeth that glinted under the streetlights. “You got his hidden slush fund, didn’t you?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to lie, we saw you leave that bank. Plus, everyone’s been talking about it!” cheered the guy behind you, pushing you forwards with his blade finally withdrawn. You stumbled on your feet as they pointed to the nearest ATM. For a moment, you contemplated making a run for it. The ATM was only a few kilometres away from the Chinese restaurant and you could be safe if you run fast enough, but you were too obvious, the deceit written all over your face. The first guy then pressed a gun against your head, a silent reminder that you were the weaker one here. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, “Now you’ll withdraw it little by little, okay? We just want a piece of it, a fraction of it is enough to last us a lifetime.”

Exhaling deeply, you raised your hands in surrender. “I can’t withdraw it.”

“The fuck did you say?”

“I said I can’t withdraw it! I don’t have access—”

“Bullshit, bitch, you’ve got so much of it, just give to us before we kill you,” he cocked his gun, his friend following suit and retrieving a pistol from his belt. Your lips quivered at the sight of two guns aimed at your way, but you remained firm in your spot, shaking your head at them. The man’s eyes darkened, displeased by your response. He narrowed his eyes at you before nodding to his friend.

“Fuck this man, she’s a selfish cunt. Take her phone and her belongings.”

“No, please, don’t—”

It was too late. They had pushed you on the ground, your bum throbbing from the fall. The second guy rummaged your pockets before pulling out your wallet, jaw dropping from the contents. “Fuck,” he exclaimed, flashing a Polaroid you had kept the whole time. “This you and Six Eyes?”

Your heart fell.

It was a photo of you and Satoru on your first anniversary where he’d whisked you off to a sky tower, arrogantly declaring that he’d make you experience the best date ever.

He wasn’t lying – his arrangement of fireworks and a romantic date in the sky really had been the best – and he’d snapped a picture of you then, sneakily landing a kiss on your cheek while you gasped at the display of fireworks before you.

Just seeing it felt like torture all over again, and the thief snickered at your tear stained face. “Oh, I see. You’re his whore, aren’t you? Everyone called it bullshit when word got around Six Eyes had a little angel hidden somewhere around here. I gotta say though, you are a pretty thing. Makes sense you got him pussy whipped.”

“Whoever Six eyes fucks – especially someone he liked enough to pay this much – that is fine meat, man,” the other muttered more to himself. His eyes then lit up with a thought, the smirk tugging at his lips screaming trouble. “It’d be a shame to not have a taste.”

You paled. Scrambling as much as you could with sore legs, you pushed their arms away from you. “Let go of me!” you cried out, kicking harder when they’ve discarded their guns and focused on carrying you instead. Everything muted that night except for the pounding of your heart as you struggled to get away from them, arms flailing the moment one of them yanked your shirt down to expose your bra. “Don’t fucking touch me, let go!”

It must be luck that your punch landed on his nose, a sickening crack resonating in the street. All of you remained still, with you flattening your back on the wall, arms protectively sheltering your chest and the pair staring at the other guy’s broken nose.

He winced at seeing blood on his fingers, “Oh, you’re just asking for it bitch,” he snarled, snapping his fingers to get his friend’s attention and pointing at you. “Grab her leg.”

Both of them made quick work. It all happened so fast you couldn’t tell which was who anymore. Your shirt had been ripped off; the straps of your bra tugged down to free a nipple while your arms had been knocked into the building behind you. One of them kept you immobile, their grips too strong and their bodies twice your size that you were easily overpowered. You never cried so hard in your life – not even when you realized Satoru had left – and your throat ached from how much you wept.

“Stop, no, let go of me!”

“Shut her the fuck up, bruh,” the man unzipping your jeans scowled, his fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. You sobbed and screamed, fought hard as much as you could, but you were too weak. Too vulnerable. Too pathetic.

Maybe it was just better to let go.

Maybe it was just better to stop.

Your shoulders fell as they shimmied your jeans down your hips, each and every inch of your body no longer yours. Was this how you would die? Was this how you would finish? If so, you would’ve appreciated at least one last dinner.

You were about to close your eyes the moment you heard the sounds of a man’s belt unbuckling, too lost in your own horror that you failed to hear the screeching of tires, and neither did they. And then, like a light at the end of the tunnel, like an angel dropping from the heavens – gunshots rang through the air. Blood splattered to your cheek. Heavy bodies crunched against the ground.

He’d come back.

Except it wasn’t Satoru leaning in front of a car when you opened your eyes. The man stood a few inches shorter, blond shaggy hair falling just above his eyebrows, the ends dyed black. His body was tilted to the side, half of his weight shifted on a cane upon closer look, but you were mostly captivated in his eyes. He showed no malice intent; hell, he didn’t even spare a glance at the corpses with holes between their eyes, silently blowing the smoke away from his barrel like this was a common thing for him.

He had his eyes on you, uncaring of the fact you were half-naked before him since his attention remained on your face.

“So it’s true,” he mused, “I didn’t believe at first when they said Six Eyes really gave the notes to his girl. A commoner, no less,” he limped towards you, feline-eyes slanted to inspect you. “But nothing about you is common, is there? To get the demon to soften up…you really must be something else,” his gloved hands ran a finger down to your jaw, and you shut your eyes tight, leaning away from his touch. The man clicked his tongue at your reactions but withdrew his hand anyway, stepping a few feet away from you to give you space. “Don’t be so scared. You and I are not that different. We’re both just poor victims of facing the consequences of his actions,” he tapped his cane at your shoes, his face devoid of expression. “Stand up. You won’t get anywhere by crying. You need to learn how to fight.”

You swung the door open, ready to finally get the shoes you’ve been gushing to Naoya about for days. But you were met with nothing but a tuft of white hair, blood smattered on his cheeks, and lips crashing down onto yours. Satoru pinned you against the wall in the same manner he held you on that day he left, his kisses harsh and longing while you moaned into his mouth, legs turning into jelly.

“Angel,” he rasped into your mouth, grinding his boner to the thin material of your night gown. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”

Satoru forced his tongue past your lips and kept you close to him, his intoxicating scent tempting you to give in and enjoy it already. For a split second, you faltered, kissing him back with the love you once harboured for him, but then you blanked.

This was Satoru.

You were married to Naoya.

He’d began to leave kisses at your jawline when you pulled back, landing a sharp elbow right at his head. Satoru fell on the floor and you panted above him as you tried to make yourself decent. Fuck, that hurt like a bitch. You had to roll your shoulders back to get rid of the tension as you made the mental note to train in combat harder, pinching the bridge of your noise before you summoned the servants.

Satoru was knocked out for a solid hour. You found it funny that the infamous omnipotent Six Eyes was now sprawled all over your couch, soft snores emitting from his lips. He’d been pretty unresponsive to you so ice far, not even a budge as you iced the bruise you’d left on his face.

You sighed. His shirt was stained with blood, the pads of his knuckles matted with wounds and bruises. You couldn’t help yourself from brushing his hair away from his eyes, humming a little until his eyes cracked open. Satoru stared at the ceiling before his eyes landed on you hovering before him, your touch gentle in paradox to the heat of your gaze. “What are you doing here, Satoru?” you sighed, gesturing to the mess he had on his shirt. “Where have you been?”

“In a fight.”

“No shit,” you rolled your eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”

“I-I don’t know. I just…I lost it for a moment and—”

“Do I want to know why?”

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled to himself and faced the couch. Even after seven years, he was still very much the petty kid at heart. You could confidently bet he was pouting right now, and you crossed your leg over the other, hiding a small smile behind your palm. “I overheard one of my men making a sleazy comment that Naoya’s wife looked like a bitch who would jump at every alpha male,” Satoru grumbled, prying for your reaction by looking across his shoulder. “I don’t know what came over me after that.”

“Did you kill them?”

“Almost,” he scrunched his nose, “Then I pictured your face. Maybe you wouldn’t want me to do that.”

“So you care about what I want now?”

Satoru shut his eyes. Of course you’d never stop bringing that up – both to your demises – since you were both a sadist who didn’t mind receiving pain every now and then. Five years of marriage with Naoya taught you to be resilient to all types of pain, the experiences and horrors you’ve lived through practically making you immune to them now. Satoru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be on the same boat as you. He sat up, his hips flushed next to your thighs, burying his hands on his head. “Angel, about everything... are we not going to talk about what happened before?”

“Is there anything to talk about?” you deadpanned, surprising the guy who widened his eyes at you. Surely, he must be expecting a different form of hatred coming from you, but you were indifferent – numb, empty. “The past is in the past, Satoru. You know better than anyone else it’s easier to just walk away.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“For what?” you faked a smile, placing your chin on your hands while blinking up at him under innocent eyes. Naoya once told you that your attitude of being unbothered bothered a lot more people, and it was a technique you’ve loved ever since. Seeing Satoru crumble before you...nothing felt more satisfying. “For barging in here or for kissing me? Maybe both?”

“For everything,” he answered brokenly, “For all the pain I’ve put you through.”

“Do you think apologies are going to suddenly eradicate that?”

“…No.”

“Then I don’t need it,” you taunted, patting his thigh as you stood up, tying the knots of your robe safer this time. You couldn’t be bothered to wear underwear beneath them; if Satoru tried laying his hands on you again, you wouldn’t hesitate to cut his fingers off, and the plain sight of a dagger now strapped in your thigh was enough of a reminder for him. He made sure to keep his distance.

“Come with me. I’ll show you what we’ve been working on,” Satoru’s footsteps were silent as you led him past the secret doors hidden behind Naoya’s study, the room leading into an even bigger part of the house that stored most of your possessions. Satoru let out an awed gasp behind you once the lights and slight whirs of the machine buzzed through the room, chemicals bubbling from one side and little pills being packaged on the other. Your face lit up in a smile from the sheer pride of your hard work, arms extended to the side to present everything. “This is mostly where we manufacture Xenet. All of this – it’s mine. My personal little laboratory, or as Naoya calls it, my playroom,” you grinned, “I feel at peace here.”

“Making drugs?”

“Being safe,” you corrected with a roll of your eyes, “Acting like I’m normal. That gives me peace.”

Satoru was hot on your heels all the way to the main laboratory, where you’d pestered him into wearing safety gloves before entering. You donned a white coat from the blast of AC that enraged goosebumps, leading him in front of a huge clear wall that formulated Xenet’s pure creation. Stacks of purple powder lined up on layers all kept inside a cooling room, and you stepped to the side, muttering to yourself while checking today’s inventory like it was totally normal to manufacture illegal drugs inside your home.

You would’ve looked domestic if Satoru wasn’t feeling the slightest bit dizzy from the drug-coated atmosphere; one that you’d gotten resistant from.

“What brought you here?” Satoru voiced out, shaking his head to himself. He looked terribly devastated, cheeks sunken and dark circles lining his eyes. “I never thought...”

“That I’d be like you?” you finished for him. Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, you smiled at Satoru and pushed past him to list down your observations for today. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like Naoya; I’m not a mass murderer.”

“But you’re supporting him.”

“He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him,” you paused in your tracks, the spite evident in your tongue. “If you hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have to be like this. There are thousands of people after me because you named me after that account. Other than Naoya, there’s really no other reason I’m still alive and breathing,” Satoru was speechless from your confession, which was good, since you didn’t want him chatting too much in the first place. You ignored him as you continued typing notes on your monitor, acting unaffected, but the way you punched through the keys told a different story. “This is the least I could do for him. In exchange of protection, I’ll be sharing my intelligence and give him what he wants.”

“Doesn’t it sicken you that we’re like this? That we do all this – for money, power, control – without the slightest bit of conscience?” Satoru scoffed, “You’ve been married for him a long time. I know you’re not a stranger to the fact we even enjoy this.”

You stopped your task, turning to Satoru with flared nostrils. “You know, Satoru, painting yourself as a demon to look like a victim won’t make me sympathize,” you spat out, absolutely losing it. “I don’t care what you’ve been doing before you met me. I don’t care that you killed or hurt people. I’m not the slightest bit of the angel you claim me to be because if I was as pure as that, don’t you think I would’ve stopped loving you?”

Everything crumbled to dust.

Years of convincing yourself you didn’t care anymore, years of healing yourself, years of working hard to forget him – and all crumbled to dust.

“What are you—”

“I knew!” you cut him off, “I knew everything. I’m not dumb, Satoru. No matter how much you tried to hide it back then, I saw the blood stains. I could smell the alcohol. I know drugs when I see it,” Satoru took a step back in surprise, but you kept going. Now that you’ve started it, you might as well finish it, and your eyes pricked with tears before you could stop it. “But I never cared. I was selfish – blinded by love. Back then, I told myself I didn’t care who you were because I loved you unconditionally,” You were breathing hard from finally releasing that damn fucking weight off your shoulders, your resolve breaking as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand while Satoru remained frozen. “Every night, I cried myself to sleep. I always asked myself why did it have to be you? Why did you have to be that way? Why did you have to be a monster? It broke me to no end, Satoru, but every time I tried to think of you as awful, you would hold me so close that it felt like everything was a lie,” your voice faltered, “I loved you in spite of everything you’ve done. I’m just selfish like that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you cried, “Many times...I turned a blind eye to it. I didn’t want to force something out of you because I knew you weren’t ready, but I was always waiting, Satoru,” gesturing to the both of you, Satoru watched your frantic movements. “Did you think I didn’t mean it when I said I would love you no matter what – no matter who you might be? I meant every word of it. You didn’t have to leave me because I would’ve still left everything behind if you asked me to go with you. I don’t care anymore, I never did. I just wanted to be with you.”

“Angel...” he trailed off, debating whether to hold you or just stay put. Satoru chose the latter and ran his hands over his hair, breathing hard as he, too, wavered. “I was scared. Each time I see your face, I-I can’t help but think about losing you. It haunts me every fucking night that what if I’m not strong enough? What if I couldn’t protect you?” his voice broke, “You were the only good thing in my life. I couldn’t handle losing you just because you got too close.”

You shoved him hard. “That’s no fucking excuse! You told me – y-you told me that I made you feel strong, that I gave you hope, that I made you feel like nothing could stand in your way – so don’t stand there and fucking tell me you were scared!”

Satoru kept taking a step back from the force of your hits, and he took them all with a brave face, but it seemed that he too had reached his limit as you leered, “Don’t be a fucking coward!”

“It’s because I loved you!” Satoru gripped your wrists and tugged you to him, effectively taking the ability to speak away from you. “My whole life, I got everything I wanted and things were easy for me! I don’t know what it’s like to lose something because I had control of everything except you! I didn’t want you stuck and burdened with my sins all for the sake of something as greed!” he bellowed, his forehead connected with yours and the warmth of his body more than welcoming. “I am a greedy man, angel, I would take everything I want with no hesitation but I couldn’t do it with you. It was easier to let you go,” he mumbled, “Than to regret making you unhappy by revealing my true self. Because the way you looked at me – you loved me so much I don’t think I’m worthy of it,” Satoru trudged closer to you, almost rubbing his skin over your soft ones just to say, “I don’t deserve you.”

You pulled away from him.

You’d tore open every chance of reconciliation. And if you were to be honest? You didn’t regret it.

“You’re right,” you snickered sarcastically, “You really don’t deserve me. Here I thought maybe Naoya would be the weaker of the two of you, but he’s more of a man than you are, Satoru. Naoya never gave an excuse for anything – it didn’t matter whether he was capable of something or not – he always tried to the best of his ability. He’s not the type to give up before he’s even tried it,” You knew you were just pushing his buttons, this was much clear from how Satoru was holding himself back, but you couldn’t stop. You were unstoppable, harsh as you challenged your once lost lover who had now wound up before you once more.

“If you truly loved me and felt you didn’t deserve me, then don’t you think you should’ve tried harder?”

You wanted him to regret it. You wanted him to feel your pain a thousand times more. You wanted him to realize what he’d done wrong. But most of all, you wanted him to try harder, to redeem himself, to be worthy of a second chance.

But just like how he’d broken your heart before, Satoru did it again.

Because even after every fucking thing, the only thing he was capable of saying was: “I’m sorry, Angel.”

You’d grown too tired of apologies. But because it was him, because you loved him, then you’d fucking hear it all over again. Just try, you wanted to beg, try for me, Satoru.

“Your plans will continue to fail, Satoru,” you agonized, “You never protected me. The moment you left, my life turned to hell and I almost died way too many times for me to count. This time is no different. We’re all just pawns in the Zen’in’s game, so if you really want both of us to live, you should do your part,” Sighing, you turned away from him, just about ready to call it a night. You were too tired. “Give back the money to Naoya, and he’ll keep me safe until the end of it all. You can just go back to where you came from.”

“Naoya won’t stand a chance against Toji. It’s not his money anyway, he should give it back to his cousin—”

“And neither is it yours!”

“Don’t be fucking stupid, you see the flaw of his plans too!” Satoru gestured to your lab, to everything that you proudly claimed an effort of your hard work. “Even if I gave back everything to Naoya, it won’t stop Toji from anything! He might not kill you anymore, but he’ll definitely kill your husband and take over the mafia, or his kid, then where will you go?”

“Follow him into death like the good wife I am.”

Satoru was stunned by the lack of hesitance in your answer. “You’re serious about this,” he echoed, blinking back to process the gravity of your devotion to your husband. “Even if Toji somehow dies, it doesn’t change the fact Naoya will still proceed with plans to manipulate Japan to his will. He’s going to drug everyone until he’s at the top of the food chain. Your husband doesn’t want to be a businessman; he wants to be a god. Plus, he doesn’t care about you, he’s only using you!”

“Like I said,” you smiled weakly,  “He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him. Once he gets everything he wants, it’s game over.”

“No...” Satoru gritted his teeth, “No, I won’t let it happen. You’re not going anywhere; you’re not going to die!”

“So then protect me!” you shouted at his face, “Do what it is you never got to do before and protect me! I’m disposable, don’t you see? No matter what I do, no matter where I go, no matter how loyal I am to him, I am nothing! Each step I take forwards is just a step closer to my prolonged death!” you spewed word for word with so much venom Satoru felt like he was choking, but it was nothing in comparison as you fell on the floor, weeping with your fists pressed against your eyes. “If you hadn’t left me...I wouldn’t have to live fearing for my life every second. So protect me, Satoru. If you really want me to forgive you, at least save me this once.”

“I will, angel,” he promised – and how many more promises had he made, only to break them? You couldn’t be blamed for not believing him, for finding wariness in his words, for flinching a little bit as he crouched before you, cupping your cheek the same way he did before. “I promise you that. I’m never leaving, never gonna leave your side ever again.”

“You better not,” you chuckled darkly, eventually giving in from his touch.

Yes, he’d left you...yes, he’d hurt you – but until now it felt like home, even if it also conflicted with the fact this was wrong.

“My only wish is that when I die, I want to die without hating you,” you muttered with your lips hovering his, your breaths tangling and his hands finding its way to your hair. “So don’t make me hate you anymore, Satoru. Grant me peace before I leave.”

“You’re not going to die,” he closed his eyes and took the first leap of faith by grazing his lips with yours, a faint glimmer of the sweetness he once had the pleasure of savouring with each waking moment of his life. But he was stupid back then – he’d be even more stupid to not learn his lesson this time around.

“I won’t let that happen, you understand?” Satoru breathed out, “You will be safe. You will live.”

He had said it so confidently, so surely, that for a moment, you believed it. You believed maybe you’d really win this round and come out unscathed, to live, to survive – even if the chances were slim to none to begin with. For now, you didn’t want to be a mafia leader’s wife, nor did you want to be another’s broken lover. You just wanted to be someone who didn’t want to die, to find comfort in the empty promises from the same man who kept breaking and breaking them, and maybe for now, that was enough.

Without another thought, not even the image of Naoya’s smile, you let it go.

You pulled Satoru close to you and kissed him hard and deep, swallowing his surprised moan with that exact same greediness, that desperation to live. You knew the moment Naoya came back or Toji found you, everything would be game over. So for now, this was enough.

A/N. SOOOOO? THOUGHTS? THEORIESSSSS? DO WE HAVE A TEAM NAOYA HERE OR IS IT JUST ME HAHAHAHAHA

taglist OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @greysoulthings @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna​ @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo​ @evesmores​ @ambiguous-something​ @lilith412426​ @kakashiharusohma @aizawap​ | bolded users cannot be tagged ://

[rynne311]

Pizza and Beer

Summary: When friends move, you help out in exchange for pizza and beer. Those are the rules, even when you don't like beer and you like your friend way more than just a friend.

Word Count: 1353

The offer had been simple enough. Jason offered you pizza and beer if you helped him move. You weren't sure how much help you could actually be, but you weren't about to pass up the chance to spend the day with your friend. Deep down, though, you wished this was a moving in together kind of move instead, but for as well as Jason knew you, he was no mind reader, especially when it came to your feelings for him.

You were surprised when you got out of the moving truck he'd rented to find all of the big furniture had already been moved in. You assumed that meant he'd already moved his gear to avoid any wandering eyes as well. Together, you spent all morning moving all of the smaller boxes in tandem. The time flew by as you both joked around with each pass in the hallway and stairwell.

Before you knew it, every last box was upstairs and you were busying yourself unpacking them while Jason took care of grabbing the pizza he'd promised you. This may not be your home, but you tried to add your personal touch to the apartment.

"Helping reward's here," he announced as he set the pizza box and a couple of beers on the empty coffee table. You made a mental note to grab some large decorative books for him to put there. With a smile, you got up from your spot in front of the bookcase and joined him on the couch for a well deserved break.

The two of you had finished most of the pizza, and were quite satisfied you'd found the best pizza spot in the neighborhood, before Jason noticed he was the only one with an empty bottle. When he looked a little closer he realized you hadn't even touched the beer he'd grabbed for you.

"You good over there?" he asked. You almost thought he might still be joking around and about to make some crack about some pizza spilled on your shirt. When you looked down and confirmed nothing had fallen onto your shirt, you couldn't hide the confusion that painted your face and furrowed your brows together.

"Yeah," you confirmed cautiously. "Why?"

"I mean you've busted your ass all day and now you won't touch your beer," he explained. "You usually go drink for drink with me and now you're not so it seems like something's wrong."

"I'm fine, I promise. I just don't like beer," you explained. His puzzled look begged you to continue. "When we're at the bar I always get mixed drinks or wine. Now if you'd made a pitcher of margaritas, you never would have had a chance to even try them. But a blender really isn't the top of the list to unpack."

You may have answered his question, but you left him with so many more. He brought his own drink to his mouth in an attempt to hide his visible confusion. It almost worked, but you caught the way his brows furrowed from above the bottle.

"It's probably safer this way anyway," you remarked, trying to inject a bit of humor. "You know me and tequila are a dangerous combination. Just like the song, sometimes it just means clothes start falling off."

Jason hummed in absent agreement, but you could tell you'd already lost him. He'd jumped down the rabbit hole of questions, and he wasn't going to be really listening, or at least processing what was said, until he reemerged.

"So why'd you come today?" he asked. "When I asked you, I told you I'd get pizza and beer, so you knew I didn't have anything else to offer, but you still accepted."

It felt like a now or never kind of moment. One of the ones where you could be bold or you could be practical. You mulled over your options for what felt like an eternity, and while you wanted to be bold, you didn't want to lose what you had. Instead of answering, you grabbed another piece of pizza to buy a little time. The eye roll you got in return told you Jason knew exactly what you were doing.

"I thought I could be helpful," you finally answered as you finished your slice.

"That doesn't feel like the whole answer," Jason scoffed.

"Maybe," you confirmed. "But it also begs the question why you asked me to come help today if you already had everything moved in up here but some boxes in a half empty moving truck, or why I'm the only person you asked to come help you?"

Taking a page out of your book, Jason snagged your untouched beer to avoid having to answer.

"You want a full answer? I'll give you as full an answer as you'll get for right now," you began. Now it seemed you may have finally found the courage to be bold. "I wanted to spend time with you. You're always off wrangling supervillains and drug lords, which don't get me wrong is great and all. It has dropped the number of break-ins in my building to almost none. But that doesn't mean I don't miss you, because I do. I always do. A lot."

He started to choke on his drink, telling you you'd given a little more of an answer than you'd wanted to give. You couldn't say you were a fan of this emotional vulnerability, but your chest did feel ever so slightly lighter. You tried to read his face for a moment for some sort of reciprocation, but feeling the heat rise in your own face forced you to turn back to your empty plate. Your eyes only darted back over to him once you heard the bottle connect with the table.

"Maybe I wanted to spend time with you too. Maybe I didn't want all of the noise with my brothers and Roy around, especially when they manage to break something." With each 'maybe,' his voice grew a little more pointed and defensive, and you thought you could see a vulnerability that mirrored your own in his eyes. "Maybe I wanted this place to have your touch and feel like you. Maybe -"

You cut him off, leaning across the couch and kissing him. It was too rare in life that you got a second chance on a now or never moment, and you didn't want to squander it. You could only describe the feeling as a wave of excitement followed by a rush of relief when he raised his hand to your face and pulled you closer, returning the kiss.

"Maybe," his voice was softer now, almost cracking, "Maybe I've wanted that to happen for a very long time."

You felt breathless, but that didn't stop the smile from growing across your face. This time when you looked in his eyes, they seemed to share your mixture of excitement and relief. You couldn't help yourself as a small chuckle broke through.

"You like me, you really, really like me," you teased in a sing-song voice, only pausing to make kissy noises in the air. "You like -"

Having had his own feelings confirmed, Jason cut off your teasing as he pulled you into another kiss. When you both finally let go, he kept his forehead pressed to yours, watching as your eyes shifted back into focus. He wore a self-assured grin as he said, "There's no maybe about that."

"No, I don't think there is," you agreed. You sat back a little, trying to sear this moment into your memory forever. "Who would've thought a stupid beer could make this happen?"

"I should have brought you some beer to not drink ages ago," he joked, pulling you into his side and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You settled into your contentment in his arms, knowing now you may never have to leave this feeling again. "Next time I'll have tequila, it sounded like those consequences are fun."

You rolled your eyes in response as you wiggled a little closer into his side. Yeah, some post-margarita consequences now sounded a lot more appealing.

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