#Which seems to be what a good handful of people do really
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lunarliyah · 3 days ago
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astro observations
do not steal my work, thanks!
-venus in aquarius has a harder time letting go of friendships than ex's
-if you have heavy Saturn in your chart, you tend to attract a lot of Capricorns. Even if it’s only with your personal placements having aspects to Saturn. There’s a possibility that you can have a very stoic personality which attracts Capricorns. The balance of seriousness and “unseriousness” is difficult to pull off. However, Saturn influenced people portray this balance with ease.
-ceres in aries people have rather aggressive experiences with their mother or motherly figures (grandmother, women caregiver) and are similer to people who have Lilith in aries
-7th house stelliums really need to separate their lust from love. they find someone they crush on and start planning their life with that person
-aries have impulsive rebranding moments all the time. they are always going MIA on social media and comeback out of nowhere. as if it's a way to retreat to themselves
-ceres in cancer seems to be extremely feminine, they enjoy things like flowers in their home and are close with their mom
-people with their sun at the 16 degree play victim alot. especially when someone is pointing out a character flaw, they will deflect and play victim
-people with their sun at the 20 degree strongly believe in revenge, very vindictive people, they have a hard time letting something go if someone did them wrong without having anything happen to that person
-taurus north node has to learn how to control their emotions and not take everything so personally, they need to embrace things for what they are
-mercury in sag tend to not think before they speak. they are actually not the biggest thinkers and are very outspoken
-with mercury at the 26 degree, it makes someone very stubborn in their belief and actually they have a hard time believing people and what they say
-mars in aries people are very hands on people, they tend to push people when they laugh or have no problem hugging people, they are very physical
-12 degree moon person is very emotionally unstable, of course if underdeveloped, they do silent treatments, they cry ALOT, and are prone to outburst
-sun at the 12 degree are prone to heavy usage of substance, which includes w33d, especially after a long day
-aries stellium people are prone to lying all the time, since everything is in the moment for them, they tend to be quick with decisions and response, even if its not believable
-when it comes to sister signs, you either get along with people that have your sister sign or have a very difficult time getting along with them. there is no in between. with that being said, geminis adore sagittarius but the feeling is not mutual lol
-ceres in capricorn are very distant and seem cold, also probably had a controlling mother and did everything to be on their mom's good side. even if that means agreeing with absolutely everything.
if you want a reading, link in bio.
if you want a 1 on 1 reading, message me.
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mokulule · 2 days ago
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A Man has Needs part 3
First
Fandom: DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main (Jason/Danny) Summary: In which Jason keeps up ending up in Danny's bed and not even for any fun reasons.
Part 3
Daniel James Fenton, 20 years old, born and raised in Amity Park, Illinois. Graduated high school with barely passing grades. Currently enrolled in Gotham U’s aerospace engineering program, with (ironically) a Wayne Foundation scholarship of a type that was reliant on entrance exam test results rather than high school grades. Either his high school teachers hated him or he spent the gap year studying his ass off to ace the exams.
At least it explained what he was doing in Gotham of all places, Jason thought as he leaned on the kitchen island chin in his hand, laptop open in front of him. The WF scholarships for Gotham U were very good, yet still most people had the sense not to move to Gotham - and Crime Alley at that.
Him being from the Midwest might even explain some of the strange hospitality, though Jason felt he probably took it a level above most people.
Of family there was an older sister - like he’d mentioned. Jasmine Fenton was currently doing a PhD in the field of Psychology.
The parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton had doctorates of their own, though what little he could find published from them was from very disreputable paranormal sort of publications. They seemed to have very little basis for their theories - one of which was that ghosts were inherently evil - which was just absolute hogwash. They apparently lived off the payout of some early inventions they’d made and sold to the government.
Beyond that there was only an aunt.
Friends were much harder to judge. Danny’s social media presence was practically non-existent. He’d only just opened an account on Mugshot, Gotham’s favored social, this Monday, apparently due to encouragement from new Gotham U friends.
Jason absently drummed his fingers on the counter, as he stared unseeingly towards his laptop. Maybe Tim or Babs could find more, but Jason found himself reluctant to involve them, they would want to know why he was looking into the guy, they would want a reason to dig deeper than the basic background check Jason had already done.
Jason could not- would not, tell them about this… attraction? Jason rubbed his face tiredly. Attraction was a terrible word, that implied other things, but it was the best he had.
The oven timer had the kindness to beep then, signifying that batch of cookies was done, and distracting him for a few minutes as he transferred them to the cooling rack and got another plate going.
It was a limited reprieve however and all too soon he was back in front of his laptop. He had no other avenues, there really was only one thing to do.
Oo o oO
“We need to talk.” He flung the words out the moment a surprised Danny opened the door. The surprise however quickly gave way to a grimace as he registered the words.
“Do we have to?” Danny asked honest pleading in his voice.
Jason felt really tempted to say no, but forced himself to say “yes.”
“Okay,” Danny sighed, leaving the door open for Jason to step inside.
Jason closed the door after himself and felt his shoulders relax from their tense position and his breath come out in a relieved sigh. Safe.
He looked to Danny who wrung his hands.
Jason had meant to say something, ask something, he’d had a plan. He wanted answers. Answers… Jason opened his mouth, sound getting stuck in his throat. Just ask him what was going on? But what did it really matter?
“Ah! Please don’t say anything,” Danny interrupted Jason’s internal struggle. “I have been trying so hard not to make this awkward.”
Jason grimaced when he saw how uncomfortable Danny looked. Jason was making him uncomfortable.
“Okay look,” Danny took a deep breath and held up his hands, and looked at Jason with his big blue eyes, “will you please, just let me start, and if you really feel like you need to say something you can do so afterwards, yeah? Though it’s really not necessary.”
“Okay,” Jason managed mouth dry.
“I don’t know how to make this not awkward, but here goes, it’s okay.”
“Okay?” Jason reiterated brows raising in confusion.
“Yes, it’s okay, truly. Fuck, how would Jazz say it,” Danny looked thoughtful for a moment before meeting Jason’s eyes again. “You have needs, and that is okay.”
Jason frowned bewildered and alarmed. Needs?
Seeing Jason’s frown Danny unfortunately rambled, “I know it’s not exactly socially normal no matter which way you look at it, but it’s fine. I have a big bed, truly it’s fine. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, or apologize-“
Overwhelmed, Jason held up his bag of cookies and Danny thankfully stopped talking.
“Coffee?” Danny croaked after a moment’s silence.
“Please,” Jason agreed.
Five minutes later they sat at Danny’s small table a plate of cookies between them, looking down at their steaming coffee, awkwardly avoiding looking at each other.
Jason didn’t know what to think. Had he gotten any information out of this? Needs… Jason had needs, and those let him to Danny’s bed? He cringed away from the thought.
Across from him, Danny poked the handle of his cup. “Can we just pretend this conversation didn’t happen?”
Maybe Danny had the right of it. For both their sanities, maybe that was best. Aside from his confusion, Jason had felt better after both times he’d slept at Danny’s. Would it be so bad to, just for once in his life, not question things? Jason was unsure how much of this was his brain being muddled in Danny’s presence, but he agreed with a nod, and took a sip of coffee.
Oo o oO
Danny wanted to scream. He had made such a mess of things! All his good intentions and he’d gone and made things awkward anyways. It was a relief his guest was willing to just go with it after all.
And, Danny lamented, his guest had even spoken earlier today, like in a full sentence and now they were back at single words or nonverbal. Poor guy. It had to be so uncomfortable to wake up in a stranger’s bed. If only Danny had an easy way to give him straight ectoplasm, but then that might actually overwork his starved core and make everything worse. The slow absorption of Danny’s ambient energy, probably was best for him.
Half still lost in thought he took a cookie and promptly groaned in pleaures, it was perfect and there was no way he could keep his train of thought. It was crisp on outside and chewy in the middle, and the chocolate bits were so rich.
“You made these?” Danny exclaimed between heavenly bites and was rewarded with a quick shy smile and a glance of blue-green eyes. Fuck, why did Danny’s guest have to be both hot and cute? Life was so unfair.
But it seemed the ice had finally broken, and they were back to something comfortable.
Oo o oO
Later in his own apartment, Jason tried once again to make sense of things.
Facts. Jason woke up in Danny’s bed twice, it was likely to happen again.
Apparently Jason had needs. He shuddered at the thought, because what did that mean? But in a twisted way it also made sense, because he had woken up twice in that man’s bed through no conscious decision of his own. There was something about Danny that drew Jason to him and while it was kinda freaking him out, it was also kinda not. Which in itself was freaking him out if he allowed himself to think about it.
But another fact was that Jason felt better, lighter somehow, than… actually he didn’t really remember when he’d last felt so good. Maybe he really had just needed some proper sleep?
And Danny himself?
Jason had no idea what his deal was. It was very odd how accepting he was of the situation - he’d said it himself, this wasn’t socially normal no matter how you looked at it.
He was clearly not normal no matter how you looked at it. But neither was Jason really.
-
And this is the end of part 3.
They almost talked? They gotta get props for trying right?
You can subscribe at the masterpost
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callmeizukunotdeku · 3 days ago
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Okay, but can you imagine a world where Jason comes back and decides proper punishment is an eye for an eye?
Bruce may not be perfect but boy does he know how to torture himself.
Bruce might not have killed the Joker, but he went off the fucking rails after Jason died.
If Jason came back--if he told Bruce that his sweet little boy was back? There's no world in which Bruce wouldn't welcome him back with open arms.
So he plans it: he'll show Bruce he's alive, cry a bit over Tim as Robin, and make Bruce send the kid packing. Then, he'll push. He'll tell Bruce how unsafe he feels knowing the Joker is still alive. How that man needs to be delt with in the same way Jason was delt with.
He'll push Bruce closer and closer to his breaking point and then, to freshen the grief, he'll kill Tim.
Do it as the Red Hood.
Remind Bruce what happens when he puts people in the suit.
Imagine that's his plan.
Then, imagine how surprised he'll be when he announces his revival and Tim gets him somewhere private.
"You know, Placeholder, I don't really like you that much. Forgive me for not wanting to talk to anyone who's not family right now, but--"
"No," Tim interrupts, "no, I know. And I'll make it quick." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what you must have gone through to die and come back and see someone else in your suit like that. If I knew you'd be back, I'd have found another way to hold him back. I just...wanted to give a formal apology before going home. I know that nothing I do could ever rectify what my taking your place must have felt like to you, and I'm sorry for that, but if you ever need anything, I'll be right next door."
Jason furrowed his brow. He was planning on waiting a couple days to plant the idea of Tim leaving in Bruce's head. He didn't anticipate Tim cornering him the first day he was back. "What?"
"I mean, I know I don't really have anything unique to offer, but the offer still stands." He watched Jason for a moment, hoping, most likely, for some reaction of 'no, please, stay in my suit, in my house, where you don't belong' or 'i don't entirely hate your guts'. Tim looked away. "Um, right, so--I'm going to leave while it's still light outside. It's--I'm glad I got to talk to you," Tim said, with something nauseatingly genuine in his eyes, "goodbye."
Good manners be damned, Jason didn't say 'goodbye' back. He let Tim leave without a word.
He expected Bruce to comment on it, but he didn't even bat an eye, just kept staring at Jason like he was something precious.
After it goes on for long enough, Jason finally asks, "You good, B?"
And all he can say is, "You're home."
And he is.
Bruce announces him as alive again on the grounds that it's Gotham and weirder things have happened. Since he's seventeen, he gets to go back to school.
Since Tim is fifteen, he's there too.
"Placeholder," Jason calls him, whenever he sees him--tries to torture him with the word.
And Tim looks at him sadly, "I'm sorry."
Every fucking time.
Tim doesn't even try to justify it or anything. Just apologizes. Agrees that he is a placeholder and apologizes for it.
And it pisses him off, but Jason doesn't lay a hand on him.
Not yet.
He keeps hinting to Bruce.
I'm not safe with the Joker alive.
I can't stay in Gotham if the Joker's alive.
I'll leave you if the Joker's alive.
I'll make sure everyone will.
And he does.
It's laughably easy to make his way into Drake Manor.
Tim seems surprised to see the Red Hood.
He's less surprised when he learns it's Jason.
Jason beats him into the fucking floor and the kid whimpers and wines, but doesn't call for his mommy or daddy.
Jason leaves happy.
He's still happy the next day when he doesn't see Tim in the halls. The boy's absence is expected, even if the lack of news about his placeholder being found beaten and bloody is, for lack of a better word, disappointing.
It's a full week later when Jason is scrolling through news articles and the whole world stops around him.
The Drakes Set to Return to Gotham after Seven Months in Iran
His brain lets him process the smaller realization first.
How he came back six months ago and how Tim has been alone for half a year and his only familiar face was Jason in the halls.
Placeholder.
I'm sorry.
And then, he pukes.
Because Jason beat Tim halfway to hell, but, as long as someone was there to see him in the morning, call an ambulance and make sure he'd get help, Tim would have been fine.
A week, Jason thinks, and then he's running to Drake Manor. It's all too easy to break in, again. To find Tim, again.
Laying where Jason left him.
Jason swallows before kneeling next to Tim.
He moves Tim's hair out of his face and--
And he's still warm.
A quick check confirms that, yes, yes, there's a pulse, and then everything happens in flashes.
Call 911.
Get in the ambulance.
Sit in the hospital waiting room until Bruce bursts in.
"I was worried sick," Bruce says, "what happened?"
"Tim was attacked," he says, quietly.
Bruce nods, "And you? How are you doing?"
"I'm fine." I attacked him.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fine." Guilty.
Bruce waits over him until the nurse finally reports that Tim's out of his first round of surgery and is, for the most part, stable.
Jason asks to see Tim and is denied.
"Only family can visit," the nurse says, and Jason looks to Bruce.
In Bruce's ear, he whispers, "Tim was under your guardianship while he war Robin, right? Can you get us in?"
"I can't," Bruce says, "He's not mine. He never was. Tim has always lived with his parents."
Listen... "Placeholder" is a way more fucking tragic nickname/title than "Replacement," and thus this is the name Jason should use for Tim if ya want to max out the angst.
Because there is value in being a replacement. They aren't the original, but a replacement has their own identity. They could be better or a newer model or simply different. There's no expectation for the replacement to be traded back either (though a replacement might get traded for the next replacement). A replacement is compared to the original but they are also accepted as their own identity.
A placeholder, on the other hand, "occupies the position/place of another person." That place isn't theirs. That place is temporary. There's no value to their own existence/identity, and they don't bring anything new to the table as they are. They are a stand-in for something else. They aren't wanted or desired as they are but rather for who they are standing in for.
"Placeholder" is certainly worse :)
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bitchinbarzal · 2 days ago
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Cross the line | M Barzal
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summary: friends with benefits works until it doesn’t. when mat sees you on a date, jealousy takes over, leading to a fight that neither of you can walk away from.
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Mat knew what this was.
You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even his. You were just two people who blurred the lines too many times, who found comfort in each other’s arms when the world got too loud, and who agreed—agreed—that this was just fun. No strings. No expectations.
So why the fuck did it feel like his chest was caving in when he saw you tonight?
He was out with the team, just another regular night, drinking and joking around, when you walked in wearing that dress. The one that made his thoughts go fuzzy. The one he’d peeled off you too many times to count.
But you weren’t here for him.
You were here with someone else.
Mat watched, stomach twisted in knots, as some guy—tall, clean-cut, looking like he probably worked in finance—placed his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your seat. You laughed at something he said, leaning in just enough to make Mat grip his glass tighter.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
You weren’t supposed to be on a date.
And yet, there you were, sitting across from some asshole in a suit, sipping your drink like Mat wasn’t watching.
Like he didn’t exist.
“Dude, you okay?” Casey asked from beside him, following his gaze.
Mat forced his jaw to unclench. “Yeah. Fine.”
But he wasn’t fine.
Because the more he watched, the worse it got. The guy leaned in, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled, tilting your head just slightly. That was his move. That was what he did. And now, someone else was sitting in his place, looking at you like you were the best thing that ever happened to him.
Mat downed his drink in one go and slammed the glass onto the bar. “I need another.”
Casey raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you need to chill instead.”
But Mat was already waving over the bartender.
Your date was sweet. Nice. The kind of guy your friends always told you to go for.
Which was exactly why it felt so wrong.
Because no matter how hard you tried to focus on the man in front of you, your mind kept drifting. You felt Mat’s eyes on you all night, burning into your skin from across the bar. You knew he was watching. Knew he hated this.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s why you let your date touch your hand.
It wasn’t fair. Mat had no claim over you. The whole point of your arrangement was that neither of you got to feel like this. And yet, every time you glanced over and saw the storm brewing in his eyes, something inside you twisted.
When your date offered to drive you home, you accepted.
Not because you wanted to, but because you needed to get away from Mat before you did something reckless.
But, of course, Mat was already waiting for you when you got there.
He was leaning against your apartment door, arms crossed, eyes dark.
Your stomach dropped.
“Mat,” you sighed, fishing for your keys. “Not now.”
He pushed off the door. “Had fun tonight?”
You clenched your jaw. “Are we really doing this?”
He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know, are we? Because you sure seemed like you were having a good time with Mr. Wall Street.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t get to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you care,” you snapped.
Mat’s nostrils flared. “Maybe I do care.”
The words hung between you, heavy and loaded.
Your heart pounded. “No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “You don’t get to say that now.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s not what we are!” Your voice cracked, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded. “We agreed—no feelings. No strings.”
Mat scoffed. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t want that anymore.”
Silence.
Your breath hitched. This was dangerous territory. This was everything you had been avoiding.
Mat ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “You really think I don’t care?” His voice was lower now, raw. “You think I don’t fucking feel it every time you leave? Every time I see you with someone else?”
Your stomach twisted painfully. “Mat…”
“No,” he cut you off. “I need you to hear this. Because I can’t fucking do this anymore. I can’t sit back and pretend it doesn’t kill me to see you with another guy. I can’t be just another name on your list, someone you call when you’re lonely.”
His words sliced through you. “You’re not just another name,” you whispered.
Mat took a step closer, eyes searching yours. “Then what am I?”
You swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
His jaw clenched. “Yes, you do.”
You exhaled shakily. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. This wasn’t how your relationship—if you could even call it that—was supposed to be.
But maybe that was the problem.
Maybe you had been lying to yourself this entire time.
Because the truth was, Mat had never been just a fling. He had never been just a warm body in your bed. He was the person you thought about when you were alone. The person you compared every other guy to. The person you loved.
Your throat tightened. “I don’t know how to want you without it ruining me.”
Mat’s breath caught. His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for you. “It’s already ruined me.”
Your chest ached. “So what now?”
Mat took another step closer, voice soft but certain. “Let me be yours.”
A shuddering breath left your lips. This was it. The moment where everything changed. Where you either ran, or you finally admitted what you had known all along.
So, you did the only thing you could—you reached for him, grabbing the front of his hoodie, and kissed him like you should’ve months ago.
Mat didn’t hesitate. His hands were on you instantly, pulling you flush against him, deepening the kiss like he had been waiting forever for this moment.
And maybe he had.
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suugarbabe · 3 days ago
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slytherin boys x reader x friends!golden trio
summary: you invite the golden trio to a party and enzo tries to lighten up the party
warnings: mentions of weed
an: I really am gonna have to make a masterlist of all our yaps @musingsofahufflepuff <333
Your hand waved wildly in the air, catching the attention of the three people that seemed wildly out of place near the common room entrance. “I cannot fucking believe you invited them,” Mattheo’s arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head. Theo slung an arm over his shoulder, “It will be alright, compagno. We’ll get them many drinks, show of a very good time.”
Mattheo simply rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Teddy.” Theo flicked the back of Mattheo’s ear for use of the nickname, causing them to start bickering back and forth just as your three guests managed to make their way over to where your little group was gathered. “Erm, are we interrupting something?” Ron glanced at Mattheo and Theo with an unsure look, but you waved them off, “Oh, it’s fine. They’re usually like that.”
Ron gave Harry a sideways glance as Hermione spoke up, “Thanks for inviting us, we don’t usually come to parties much.” You nodded with a smile, “This one will be good, you guys will have a great time. You want a drink?” The three of them nodded enthusiastically, even Hermione, which was shocking to the rest of your friends.
You knew it wasn’t typical to have them here, in the Slytherin common room let alone a party. But you had a few classes with Hermione, and got paired with Harry for your last potions project and personally you found them both pleasant enough. You thought they might enjoy some time to relax, let loose, especially with exams coming up at the end of the month.
You led the trio back to your little circle, all of whom were seeming a little more relaxed at the idea of ‘the golden trio’ being in their sacred space than a few minutes before. As you approached the group, Enzo was smiling suspiciously. “What’re you up to, Berk?” Enzo held his hand to his chest in mock offense, “Me? Up to something? You must have me confused with Matt.”
Enzo then pulled a small package out of his jeans pocket and dumped a lone gummy into his palm before taking it and biting off half. “Now…who’s gonna take the other half of this thing, I can’t enjoy the party alone. Potter? Weasley?” Enzo wiggled his eyebrows while holding the half a gummy in his outstretched palm.
Both Gryffindor boys shook their heads, avoiding answering directly by taking large drinks from their cups. “I don’t know if you guys have ever done edibles before but he’s being generous only offering you half, most of the stuff he takes he makes on his own and it’ll fuck you up completely.”
Harry and Ron were adamant in their denials before Hermione stepped up to grab the edible from his hand. Enzo was quick to pull it away in a closed fist, “Woah, hold on, Granger. I don’t think you really want this.” Hermione simply rolled her eyes with a groan, “I know exactly what that’ll do and I need it immediately. Especially with these bloody NEWTS coming up, I��m stressed to hell. Hand it over. Now, Berkshire.”
Mattheo let out a low whistle, “Fucking Salazar, did that just come out of Granger’s mouth?” Enzo was beaming, holding his fist out before slowly opening it up again before Hermione’s face, “Here you go, darling. Made it myself, so I’ll be eagerly awaiting a review from you tomorrow. What’s your record for an essay…12 feet of parchment?”
“Oh fuck off, Enzo,” Hermione snatched the gummy from his palm and tossed it in her mouth. Ron and Harry looked on, gobsmacked. “‘Mione..what are you doing?” Ron placed a hand on her shoulder in concern. Hermione huffed, crossing her arms, “Honestly, Ronald..if I’m going to trust any of them, it might as well be Berkshire. Look a him,” she gestured to Enzo who then gave Ron a sweet smile, batting his eyelashes at the boy, “he’s basically a puppy dog.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, still slightly in disbelief yourself a Hermione’s blind trust, “Oh..baby girl…no. No, no, no, you’ve got the wrong one. Enzo is not to be trusted, weren’t you listening earlier?”
Enzo then grabbed Hermione by the shoulders with heighten enthusiasm, “Tonight’s gonna be so fun, Granger. Just you wait.” Mattheo gave Enzo a shove, “Fun? What do you mean fun?? Those fucking things you make have almost killed me twice!”
“What?!” Ron was rightfully panicked, giving Hermione a pleading look. “Hermione, if even his friends are warning you, maybe you should just sit down or something, let it hit you and then ride it out and sleep it off or whatever,” Harry started looking around the room for an unoccupied sofa.
Hermione, however, stood her ground, “You guys are being ridiculous. Kind of babies actually.” Enzo actually laughed out loud, slinging his arm over her shoulder with a cheeky grin, “That’s my girl…can’t wait for this to really hit us.”
You looked over at Mattheo who finally threw his hands up slightly in defeat, turning instead to make conversation with Theo. Then you looked over at Harry and Ron apologetically, “I’m really sorry for whatever is about to happen in forty-five to sixty minutes.”
It actually only took around thirty minutes for Enzo’s homemade edible to settle for her; and the reaction was vastly different than any of you could have expected.
Hermione essentially had a very high Enzo trapped on the nearest sofa, ranting profusely. “I mean seriously, Lorenzo…why do we even still use quills in the wizarding world? We have all this magic and advancements it gives us, but we have to dip a birds feather in ink over and over to write an essay? I mean, have you guys never heard of a pen before? Or gods, a freaking pencil? It’s so much easier, lasts so much longer. You can go to a corner store and buy a pack of five for less than two pounds. You guys really are wasting more money by keeping this worldly advancement to the muggles alone.”
Enzo sat facing her, eyes completely void as he stared in her general direction, but you weren’t even sure he was hearing her completely. Sure, he nodded every so often, but her words were not being heard in the slightest. And that fact was completely irrelevant as Hermione just kept. on. talking.
You had one arm crossed over your chest as you held your drink, “You know, she’s actually not wrong.” Harry nodded, “Actually, I have wondered that as well. It is kind of odd we’re doing this sort of medieval thing with the quills and ink pots.” Mattheo then leaned down between the two of you, taking a long sip of his drink before asking, “What the fuck is a pen?”
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lupinescribbler · 3 days ago
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How to tell a story with your character’s outfit
1) think about the ‘why’ of their style
You might put them in a flannel shirt and boots because that fits the vibe you’re going for, but why do they wear it? Not everything has to be super intentional, sometimes people just wear what they like/was accessible to them, but it can be a good thing to consider. If they dress for a specific subculture (punk, goth, etc) why are they drawn to it? What aspect of it is appealing to them? Same with pretty much any other style of clothes. Sometimes it might be more due to location or context, do they live somewhere that’s hot/cold? Sunny/rainy? Are they financially well off? Did the styles of their family or friends rub off on them? Some of this might seem unnecessary or trite, but thinking of it through their eyes/experience instead of purely aesthetic or arbitrary choices can help ground it in a sense of realism and make it feel like an extension of who the character is.
2) diversify
A lot of the time I think writers will get caught giving characters variations of either what they themselves wear, or a handful of specific styles/clothes that they like. This can get redundant and limit how much you can express about a character through the outfit. If you struggle with ideas, pay attention to what people around you wear, people in shows, clothing isles in stores, etc.
3) add little details that tell us something about the character
Small details can help a story be immersive, and help with some more subtle storytelling. However, do note that a single detail on its own might not speak specifically to the trait you’re thinking of. Ill fitted clothes could indicate carelessness, frugality, hand-me-downs, obliviousness, etc. On its own it might be somewhat generic, but within the context of everything else about your character it can fit in nicely to paint a picture. Get creative with these little details, and really think of what they could help say about your character. Mismatched shoelaces, how exactly they wear different articles of clothing (buttoned up/not, wrinkled, etc), whether they wear their watch with the watch-face on the top or bottom of their wrist, whether the frames of their glasses are thin and light or thick and durable, whether their boots are clean and shined or dirty and scuffed, etc.
4) think of what vibe/image the overall outfit has
When you describe the character, a small handful of traits/things should pop out at them. I would advise against being too all over the place with it, if you’re trying to use the outfit to tell your reader twenty different things about your character through one outfit, most of them are going to be lost and the overall first impression of your character is going to be muddled. Figure out what you want to come across first and primarily for your character, other details will slowly come out over time. First impressions are important!
5) leave something for the imagination (or at least for later on in the story)
Mystery is alluring. A reader wants to be intrigued by a character, for details to unravel over time instead of being told everything from the beginning. Sometimes it can be useful to seed something to find out about the character later, or at least something that would only be given depth later. Maybe there is an element of their outfit that feels out of place with the rest, and the reader only finds out later in the story that it was a gift. Or a character who is always hauling around a backpack has a fear of being caught off-guard/underprepared which only slowly becomes evident as the story progresses.
This is something that can be done with a ton of different elements in a story, from characteristics, quirks, dialogue, reactions, etc, with attire just being an additional avenue.
6) parallel and contrast different character’s outfits
This one is pretty self evident, you can use it to demonstrate two characters have very different lifestyles, personality traits, backstory, etc, or to parallel where they are similar. Is one messy, another tidy? Two siblings have the same inclination towards frugality from their shared past? Bright and flashy versus dull tones? Practical versus stylish? Etc etc. I find it especially useful to compare very different characters, or to contrast more similar characters.
*
For final notes, take everything here with a grain of salt. This is what works for me and what I enjoy in reading. Pick and choose whatever you like, and discard anything if it doesn’t fit with your goal or writing style. Writing advice isn’t hard and fast rules, it’s a craft that everyone does in their own way. Happy writing!
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moonydustx · 2 days ago
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Hiiii!! I love your writing and was wondering if you’re still accepting requests? If so could I have one where reader is dressed in a similar outfit to Nami’s purple Zou outfit and there’s a big party happening and reader gets self conscious bc no ones talking to her during said party so she leaves to go back to her room that has a balcony and as she’s staring down at the party Law comes in to see why she left so she like tells him she feels ridiculous in her outfit and it turns out that Law was jealous that other people got to see her in such an outfit because he likes her so much that he was staring people down so no one would take her attention and he confesses how he feels under the stars on the balcony? and maybe there’s smut🤭🤭🤭 You can skip this request if you want!! I know i wrote a lot 😅
hello, anyone there?
Sorry for the delay in responding to your request and sort of answering your question, yes, I still accept requests, but I've been working kind of 10 hour days + responsibilities at home, which hasn't given me much time to write.
I made some small adjustments to your suggestion, I honestly hope you don't hate me.
•••
my reach
info: what sensations can a pirate life bring? After a victory, a celebration can mean many things.
warnings: text not proofread, will possibly have some errors as English isn't my first language. a kittle bit angst, F!reader have some insecurities, smut, doing in open skies, a little dirty talk.
For those who haven't reached Zou, this is the reference dress.
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You didn't know what was echoing louder at that moment: the drunken voices, the singing or your thoughts. It was a party, you should have been happy or at least a little confident.
After so many fights and disputes, the alliance between the pirates had finally worked out and apparently you would finally have some time of peace. What didn't need many more reasons than this for Luffy, captain of one of the allied crews, to suggest a huge banquet, a party that would probably last for days and no one would question it. The good thing about having other crews together was that the reduced number of women - in the heart pirates it was the large number of two, you and Ikkaku - increased, even if not so radically, just enough to fill the fingers of one hand.
"You really didn't like it?" Nami turned you in front of a mirror, forcing you to look at yourself once more. "It suits you so much."
"I think it looks amazing." Robin added with a simple smile. "And it's a banquet between friends, there's nothing to worry about."
"I agree, but after being so stressed with so many events, I think we deserve a more dressed-up day." Nami added, adjusting one of the straps on your dress. "And also a little alcohol, a little flirting, seriously, being a pirate can't be just that and besides there are so many different people here."
"But don't you think it's a bit much?" Your voice wavered a little and you had to dodge the pillow Ikkaku threw in your direction.
"Don't listen to her. We've been underwater for so long and in our uniforms that I think she's lost her common sense."
"Don't talk nonsense." You shot back, laughing. "Okay, a little alcohol won't hurt." About the flirting part, you don't know how safe you would feel with that.
The main deck of the ship was something almost impossible to cross. Some people walked around each other, singing songs that were almost impossible to decipher, others toasted and competed over how many mugs they could down at once. You just went with the flow, keeping up with the others' hurried steps.
It wasn't long before a drink occupied your hand and you got lost in some almost frivolous conversations. The stress you had recently experienced seemed to prevent everyone from thinking about anything more serious and, to be honest, not even you wanted to get caught up in problems at that moment.
"Ladies." Sanji's voice came across the entire space, in his hand some appetizers and you tried hard to ignore the fact that he was almost drooling. "You are the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen, I would write poems about you..."
In a somewhat strange juggling act, you saw him try to balance the tray in one hand and, with the other, twist to alternate between your colleague's hands, placing a kiss on each of them. Except for you, to whom he just smiled in your direction and headed in the opposite direction. Even staring at the other women present, that seemed like a common situation so you allowed yourself to ignore it.
With an almost lame excuse, your feet took you to the other side of the ship, where you could see your captain's sullen face while being disturbed by other crewmates.
"A good victory." You raised your glass, toasting first to Shachi, then Penguin and finally Law, who seemed to be immersed in something inside his own mind.
"Look, I don't think we've ever seen you so..." Shachi couldn't finish speaking before getting elbowed by his crewmate.
"Are you enjoying the party?" Law asked as soon as the two left with some excuse that you didn't try to understand what it was about.
"Yes, as much as possible."
You even thought about commenting on how you had become an outcast, even though in the hours before you had been trying hard to achieve the exact opposite result. However, for a flash, you were sure that Law was analyzing you. From top to bottom, inch by inch.
"Is there a problem, Captain?" A smile filled your lips as you saw him startled as he was pulled out of his own mind.
"Dresses. You don't usually wear them." He seemed lost in his own words. "It looks..."
Beautiful? Interesting? God, the milliseconds of waiting before Law finished speaking seemed like a small infinity of possibilities in your mind. A place where he had a certain captive vacancy, but he wouldn't even dream of it.
"It looks different." He pointed out and you could only nod.
Different. Okay, it's not the worst answer but it's far from a good one. The relationship between the captain and the subordinate of the two of you was intrinsically... different. Strangely comfortable, uncomfortably distant. He would always prefer to discuss some decisions with you and to the jealousy filled with tantrums and laughter of some, he would insist that you were the best cook of the crew. On your side, you loved ask him for tips, from books to medicines, and whenever possible, you would insist on having him stitch you up after some battles. You hated scars and he was the only one who could prevent them. It was a different relationship, he occupied a somewhat different place in you, but that didn't need to be exposed.
Apparently, if the efforts to look even minimally pretty that night didn't affect him, it wouldn't make any difference anymore. With an almost invisible smile on your lips, you just nodded and left him there. You started talking to some, laughed with others, but it didn't seem to work. From the idea of ​​alcohol and flirting, apparently only the first part was working. Heavens, Brook hadn't even asked about the color of your panties.
Luckily, keeping the ships close to each other meant that it wasn't difficult for you to reach the empty deck of the Polar Tang. The sound of the party was getting a little more distant. The full moon illuminated the entire night and, in addition to reflecting on the sea, created an almost distorted shadow of your body. Was that what you were then? You let your hand run over your dress, analyzing every stitch. Nothing was out of place, nothing seemed wrong with the outfit. The problem must be you.
"I would invest a good amount of berries for your thoughts." Law's voice startled you, which made him laugh. "Did you need some time to breathe?"
"Yeah, I guess so." You leaned against the edge of the deck, drowning in your own frustrations.
"I still have some berries to invest." He tried to lighten the mood, leaning against your side. "I know my crew too well. What happened?"
"It's just... is that all there is to a pirate's life?" You turned around, frustrated. "Tonight I wanted to feel something different from all the stress we have. Something more interesting than the smell of gunpowder, than the sting of a blade."
"I think there's enough booze there for you to feel much more than that."
"It's not that, Law. Geez, I dressed in a way I've never dressed before. Makeup, heels, perfume and still, I'm an outcast." you said frustrated and saw a smirk escape his lips. "Man, this isn't funny. I mean, not even Brook cared about my panties?"
"About that..." he began, his fingers adjusting his hat that wasn't out of place, just like a nervous tic. "Maybe someone threatened to throw him into the sea before he could even speak."
"What do you mean?"
"And maybe I told Sanji that if he got close to you his balls would sink to the bottom of the sea too. And maybe I said something similar to Killer, but he's more rational so he didn't need that much of a threat. And I definitely punched Kid."
"You punched Kid?"
"He said some really disgusting things." Law spoke with a frighteningly ordinary naturalness.
However, for you none of that was ordinary. You just stood there, still, watching the little confessions that came out of Law's lips. So he had pushed you away from everyone? That wouldn't make any sense. Unless...
"Apparently I was brave enough to do all that, but I've been a coward in hiding what I feel. You don't look any different, you look beautiful and I can guarantee that I wasn't the only one who thought that."
"You just made sure I didn't know that, right?"
"Sorry." he commented still in a frustrated tone, but taking a few steps enough to stop in front of you. "I like you, I really do. It got to a point where I found myself reading more books just to know what to recommend to you, I found myself hating being a doctor because I have to stitch you up every time you get into a fight at the same time I wouldn't let anyone touch you for that." He sighed deeply. The short distance between the two of you made your fingers itch to hug him. "What you said makes sense, we're pirates, we shouldn't only feel war inside us."
"What else can we feel then?"
Your lips touched before his hands even reached your waist. It was hard to know what had given you goosebumps more: the cold wind against your bare skin, the way your body was leaning against the edge of the deck, making you imminent of falling, or the way he had advanced on you. Definitely the third option.
His tongue began to invade your space, tracing delicious routes through your mouth, a fight for space that you had no interest in winning. His hands traced your curves until they rested on your waist. Whoever invented the theory that two bodies occupied the same place would probably be a good spectator for the way the two of you snuggled together.
Law seemed to have no shortage of air since, when he gave you space to breathe, his lips simply slid to the hollow of your neck. Wet kisses mixed with small grunts that would be marked on your skin, drawn like a map just for him, just for Law.
His eyes met yours as his kisses continued towards the neckline of your dress. A loud request - but still silent - to explore you beyond where his lips could reach at that moment.
"We could go somewhere else." You suggested breathlessly and saw him bury his face in your breasts, sighing deeply. "I really don't plan on being naked here."
"Naked? Nah." Without even hesitating, he supported you on the edge of the deck, preventing you from falling towards the sea by slipping into the gap between your legs. "I've been looking at you in that dress for too long to want to see you without it now."
"You've been looking?"
"Tell me, wasn't that exactly why you put it on?" An involuntary sigh escaped your lips when one of his hands slid down the inside of your thigh. "You drive me insane normally, but this... do you want to know what I thought?"
The question was rhetorical since beyond the moonlight, lust illuminated the eyes of the man tied to you. A moan escaped your lips as his fingers trailed over the damp fabric between your legs.
"Shh, we need to be discreet, okay? Can you be a good girl and stay quiet?" His fingers intensified the pressure, small circles under the damp fabric sending your mind into a spiral. "I promise to take you inside, let you make all the noise you want. And then I'll leave you naked, have all my time just for you."
"What if I want to stay here?" The question sounded like a challenge and you could have sworn that behind the fabric of his pants something had pulsed. "You still haven't told me what you thought, about the dress."
"What I thought..." he gently pulled you down from the support and turned you back to him. Your body automatically leaned forward, seeking contact. "The first idea that came to mind was you like this, on my table. All beautiful ready for me."
His hands adjusted the fabric of your dress so that it was to the side. His nimble fingers traced an indecipherable pattern on the skin of your ass, outlining the thin fabric of your panties.
"May I..." He asked, still circling the piece and saw you nod. With a delicacy unfamiliar to you, you felt him pull the fabric aside.
"Fuck." The word came out of his lips involuntarily. The sight made him hungrier than any dish he had seen at the banquet.
"What else did you think?" You asked, hearing the sound of his zipper.
"You're smart, I believe you know very well what I thought."
Silent kisses ran down your exposed back. The cold night breeze made contact with your damp skin, causing shivers. The first touch of his cock against your pussy elicited a shy moan from you as his teeth scraped your skin, whispering a shh once more, even though thrusting inside you had forced him to press his face against the back of your neck. The almost inaudible sounds that escaped your lips were enough for Law to almost explode right there.
He should have stopped being a coward before. It was only the first time and he didn't know how he could consider staying without feeling you.
"I'm sorry." He said, moving slowly. "You deserved better than the deck of a submarine."
"We're under the stars. Do you want something even better?" You said breathlessly, stretching your hand to reach his dark strands of hair. Law practically put his head under your hand, sinking into your neck. "Law!"
"I told you princess, no noise." He thrust harder, watching you press your lips together and hold back another moan. "Such a good girl, my good girl."
"A p-princess, huh?"
"My princess, yes. All dressed up like that I couldn't think of anything better." You barely understood how he could form a coherent thought while he was thrusting torturously and deliciously inside you. "I could call it an angel too. The way this beautiful pussy is squeezing me is definitely divine." His laugh at your moan sounded almost devilish, however.
The thrusts began to intensify and you pulled his hand that was holding your torso to cover your mouth, vainly containing the moans that escaped. You could already be clawing at the stars when you felt him pulling out of you. An almost drastic fall from the sky you were in.
"I want to look at you, beautiful thing." He turned you around to face him, lifting you up again. "I want to see that beautiful face when you cum."
"Then come back here now." You locked your legs around him, feeling his delicious invasion of you.
His lips once again took yours, just as voracious - if not even more so - than the first time. His coming and going grew louder and louder as he felt your voice vibrate against his. Moans being censored by each other.
"Hold on to me." He pulled away just enough to ask and you readily complied.
The abyss was getting closer and closer, the knot in your belly getting tighter and tighter. You stuck your body to his at first for fear of falling, but each time it became even more of a need to merge. Your screams hid in the small gap between the two of you, your skin would surely be sore at the slightest since his teeth dug in there as he filled you with his seed.
"I think..." he supported you back, still holding your waist with one hand. With the other, he lifted the shirt he was wearing. Both your eyes and his were guided to where your bodies joined. "We made a bit of a mess."
"A bit?" Your finger caught some of your mixed cum, bringing it to your own lips. "Delicious mess."
"Keep it up and you won't be coming back to the party." A light laugh escaped him as he heard you grunt as he pulled out of you. "On second thought, we don't need to go back."
"Law, you're the captain of one of the crews that was more than essential to the conquest."
"Well, that's a good idea." He said as he adjusted his own clothes and then repeated the gesture with yours. "Some clueless people will be able to know that you are out of their reach."
"Am I?"
"If your captain says so, I believe you should agree." He pointed out.
Your hands comforted his cheeks, smoothing every inch you could touch. A calm, almost chaste kiss escaped you. Anyone who saw from afar would imagine it was just a simple kiss and would not even be able to consider what you were doing a short time ago.
"I - I mean, I really want to keep you out of their reach. Only within my reach." That was it, in so much time as captain and subordinate, you had never seen Law look so nervous.
"Sounds like a good plan to me, captain. However, I hope it is reciprocal." He nodded, stealing another kiss from you.
Going back to the party seemed different. As soon as Law led you back to the ship, you let go of each other's hands, a small agreement of secrecy silently negotiated between you. However, you could feel him in you, in unconventional - and delicious - ways. Occasionally, you could feel his gaze burning in your direction, with distant care.
"Can I talk to you?" Zoro's voice startled you before you even noticed his hand on your waist. "Would you like to have a drink somewhere more private?"
"I'm drinking..." You pointed to the mug in your hand, but it took you a few seconds to fully understand what he was saying. "Oh, no. I mean, thank you, but no. I'm accompanied."
"Accompanied? So your captain finally stopped being a wimp?" Zoro saw and glanced sideways, not surprised to see that whatever Robin was talking to Law about seemed like a distant subject. "Nami asked me to do this, to see if he would do something."
"Hey, swordsman." You could hear the irritation in Law's voice from afar and it was clear how unhappy he was at that moment. "Is there a problem with her?"
"No, Captain, everything's fine here." You smiled in his direction and waved at Zoro, who just ignored what Law had said and left.
"So..." You started, trying to give your best mischievous smile. Which was much easier after remembering everything. "My drink is gone and I think I'm tired. I'm thinking about going back to Polar Tang."
"Sure, I can accompany you." Law said in false modesty.
You could count on your fingers how many steps you took towards a more empty place before the starry night turned into a room you didn't usually visit. Your body soon found his bed, your dress turned into a pile of fabric on the floor. His kisses finally freed to explore every inch of your nudity.
"I think I need to make it even clearer that you're out of their reach."
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vin-at-thehub · 1 day ago
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Vin wrote a fic for you btw @dustcrumbs
Here it is:
It was late, probably some point when the morning would come up and kiss the night away. The time where the sun wouldn’t rise with color but the moon would fade into the background and hold everything in a soft glow. It was also the point at night where Horror trudged his way back into the palace. He had been actively out all day with the plan of visiting his brother after he handled some supplies runs from Nightmares orders. If things had gone well, he didn’t show it, if it went poorly, he still didn’t show it, having his expression in a held smile. Masking in its own way.
By the time he had made it past the kitchen, to the stairs, he paused, hearing mumbling coming from that room. He stood there for a moment, before the voice of Dust clicked into his skull. Ah, Dust was awake—and talking to himself again-? Horror wasn’t sure who or why Dust spoke to seemingly no one, but he didn’t really mind overall. They were all freaks here, weren’t they-? Why would he have the right to judge Dust-? Especially when Dust had been nothing but nonchalant with him.
Horror smiled as he went and walked himself into the kitchen, eye-lights flashing around as he tried to spot Dust—there he was, mumbling something as he heated up a pot of water over the stove, and tried to strain some leaves into it.
“Whatcha doin bud-?” He asked gruffly, being caught off guard by how low his own voice was. Stars below, he was exhausted, wasn’t he-?
Eh, hopefully the big bad boss would just let him sleep through the day—and then he could stuff his face when he ate later. Maybe. It was still hard to eat without thinking of the people back home that had so little—even though he brought them food, and well, he had noticed the boss’s brother bringing some supplies at all—but at the end of the day, making sure the food didn’t go to waste was still something good to get done.
Dust snapped his skull up at him, knocking him out of his thoughts. Dust had a habit of pulling him out of his thoughts. It was nice. Sometimes Horror would just silently find himself near Dust, knowing that fog in his mind would go away around him.
The hooded skeleton shuffled his feet, eyelights likely flickering to the boiling tea. “Was gonna make you a…er cup of tea.” He said blankly. Horror stared at him in surprise for a second. Well that was a sweet pick me up. Hell, yeah. As he opened his mouth (teeth..-?) to reply with an enthusiastic thank you, Dust had started his mumbling again.
”shut up I’m trying—it’s just tea—..” He hissed to the air. Huh. Horror reached a clawed hand out and tilted his chin up—avoiding just grabbing his face like he used to since it pissed the boss of for some reason when he yanked Dust around like that—and bringing his attention back to him.
”Yah okay bud-?” He asked, tilting his skull so he could basically stare into the others covered eyelights. In a cute, friendly way of course. Dust just nodded, using blue magic to raise the pot and pour the tea into cups, handing one to Horror. Not saying much. Which was fine to him. Whatever he wanted to do was fine. Though Horror couldn’t help but be curious to what he had heard the other say earlier.
——————————————-
“Can I ask yah who you were chattin with-?” Horror asked, and Dust could swear his soul stopped in his ribcage. Papyrus, or whatever was left of him paused. Then he left. Coward. Leaving him alone with Horror after bullying him for making the guy tea. It was just tea, not a soul proposal or something. Dust took a sip of tea as he nodded, trying to silently figure out what to say, and sipping on leaf water was one way to delay his answer.
He wasn’t afraid to tell Horror. Not really. Not like he was trying to seem more sane than he was. But…it would be nicer to still seem slightly put together. It was probably why Horror constantly seeked him out. Right-?
Oh right he had basically downed the entire cup.
Time to talk, he supposed.
”I was..chatting with my version of Paps.” He said with a shrug. Not wanting to go into too much detail, besides, Horror would probably bomb him with questions anyway. Most did.
But as he waited, that bomb never came. Horror just nodded as he sipped thoughtfully on his tea.
“That sounds nice, bein able to chat with your bro a bunch.” He said with a slight grin.
Oh.
oh.
He wasn’t judging, wasn’t pushing him to say anything more, wasn’t acting like this was world shattering news.
Of course he wasn’t.
He was Horror, his perfect fucking man that understood everything far better than anyone would, then anyone gave him credit for. He kept things simple because simple was what they both needed. What the world needed.
Dust felt himself pull into one of his older grins. He wanted to tell Horror something. How he was feeling right now maybe, how nicely his words had effected him, something to make this…partnership stronger—just something. If he wanted to be a bit drastic “that warms the inside of my soul.” Or to be a bit simpler and direct, “I need you to stay with me. You make me feel safe.” Wonderful plan.
What came out was: “I need you inside me.”
…oh he was fucked.
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familiarscars · 1 day ago
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Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 05
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adult content | minors do NOT interact.
⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.
⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.
⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.
I really need your reblog! On Tumblr, the content reaches more views and is delivered more through reblog and I really wanted more people to be able to read what I write. I'm counting on you from now on, ok?
No matter how much your fingers stirred the fork through your food, your wide eyes remained fixed on the center of the table. Ignoring the noise of the staff around you, you struggled to have a normal morning, despite the scene from the night before insisting on taking up space in your mind.
He spoke.
Noah spoke to you.
His voice low, hoarse, laced with threat… but he spoke.
Hearing his voice in such close physical proximity scrambled your senses more than the sight of the lifeless body in the cell. Not that it made the death any less shocking, but for some reason, your mind couldn’t focus on anything except the sound of his voice and the impact of his fury against your chest.
“Doctor?”
A female voice pulled you out of your daze, diverting your attention from the table. When you looked up, you met the unchanging expression of a nurse, her uniform pristine as she approached to speak to you directly.
“Yes?”
“The director would like to speak with you.”
A shiver ran down your spine in that instant, straightening your posture in the chair. Slowly, you set the utensil down on your plate. Since your arrival at the asylum, the director hadn’t even introduced himself on your first night. You had never crossed paths, and your presence had never been requested. So what the hell did he want now?
Were you in trouble? Was the asylum running out of money to pay your salary especially now, when you were still carrying student loan debt? Had Travis said something that displeased him?
Countless possibilities ran through your mind on the way up to the director’s floor and none of them seemed good.
“Excuse me.” You announced, knocking twice on the door with your fist before poking just your head inside the office.
“Come in, please.” The deep voice said.
You stepped into that office with the same fear you had felt when dissecting a body for the first time trembling hands, flushed cheeks, the suffocating dread of making an irreversible mistake.
Unlike the rest of the asylum, the spacious office was clean, well-lit, and properly maintained, making the space both inviting and luxurious. Portraits of former directors adorned the walls, and in the center stood a single desk, with a chair on either side. One of them was already occupied by an older man, his graying hair and small, time-wrinkled eyes studying you.
Dr. Steve was a renowned psychiatrist, with years of experience in the field. Despite choosing to retire in Grimshade—which, to you, didn’t seem appealing at all—he had built a respectable career. During university, you had studied several books authored by him, a reference in psychopathy, a true master of the subject.
He offered you a welcoming smile, dissolving some of the tension in your shoulders, and gestured to the empty seat before him. From his friendly demeanor, you deduced he might be a decent guy. Maybe.
“I heard you wanted to speak with me…”
“I noticed your schedule was open this morning, and I couldn’t put off this conversation any longer.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “As you’ve probably heard in the asylum’s halls, we lost a patient last night. Tom Harrow.”
“Yes… yeah, I heard.” You responded hesitantly. You didn’t want it to be obvious that you knew because you had been at Hidden outside your working hours. That wasn’t right.
“I won’t waste time with unnecessary preambles or probing, doctor, so I’ll be direct: did you notice any unusual activity?”
It was impossible not to notice the tension in his posture and how frequently he smoothed over his own fingers. He was nervous about addressing a subject that clearly displeased him.
“Why would I know anything, Dr. Steve?”
“Because when we checked the security cameras, we saw that you left Hidden shortly after the estimated time of death.” Steve stated cautiously, watching your expression closely as your mouth fell open in shock. “We’re not pointing fingers, but we’d like to understand why you were in Hidden at that exact hour, in the middle of the night.”
“I… I heard a noise and ended up getting out of bed. I followed the sound and ended up there…”
"And when you got there?" He arched an eyebrow, waiting for more details.
"He was already dead in the cell. The scene startled me, and I froze. Shortly after, Noah appeared in the hallway and told me to get out of there," you replied with all the sincerity you could gather.
The man in front of you seemed more perplexed by the fact that Noah had spoken than by anything else. First, his face showed surprise, then disbelief. He stared at you with such a mix of confused expressions that, for a moment, you doubted your own honesty.
"What did you just say?" he asked, shocked.
"That Noah spoke to me. He told me to leave Hidden."
Steve shook his head, bringing a hand to his chin and scratching it roughly.
"Have you been taking any medication?"
"WHAT?" Your voice rose, but you quickly pulled yourself together, taking a deep breath to stay calm.
"Apologies, but what you're claiming happened in Hidden is impossible. Noah hasn’t spoken to anyone in a long time. He remained silent during the university incident, in prison, during the trial… and he’s still silent here, in Grimshade," Steve stated with conviction, resting his arms on the desk. "Believe me when I say we’ve tried everything to get him to talk—I'm not exaggerating..."
He paused, watching your reaction before continuing:
"I think you may have misinterpreted things. I understand that witnessing such a..."
"I'm not misinterpreting anything, Dr. Steve," you cut him off, firm. "I know what I saw! I deal with unstable patients all the time, but I’m not one of them. I'm fully aware of everything!"
Steve reflected for a moment, his eyes fixed on the computer keyboard, on the scattered files across the desk. Everything seemed enough to hold his attention until he looked back at you.
"If you can’t believe an employee of your own asylum, then ask him!"
"We did..." Steve replied, his voice carrying a grave weight. "We brought Noah to my office early this morning. He remained silent, Doctor."
You felt your blood boil. The urge to march down to Hidden and drive a pair of gardening shears into that bastard’s neck consumed your thoughts for making you question whether it had even happened.
What if he didn’t speak?
No, no, he did speak!
Noah’s silence put you in a complicated position. Especially since everyone knew what had happened earlier in Hidden, during the patient visit how Tom Harrow had provoked you. That could easily be used as motivation for a crime as brutal as that.
If Noah wanted to get you out of his way for digging too much into his life, why resort to this?
Stupid girl. You were talking about a murderer who preferred to stay silent rather than confess to his own crime…
And to think you even considered he might be innocent.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
"The purpose of this conversation was to hear your version, but I have no intention of accusing you of anything. We will continue to investigate this thoroughly."
The calm in Steve’s voice contrasted with the subtle way he still somehow framed you as a suspect. Your fingers curled under the table until your fist clenched tight.
"Apparently, I have no choice but to wait."
"I think it’s best if you take two days off to get some rest. When you return, we can have another conversation. Your patients will be under Dr. Rune’s care until further notice."
He was analyzing you.
This entire conversation had been nothing more than a careful evaluation, and in the end, he chose to believe you were delusional rather than accept that Noah might have spoken.
Your jaw tightened, but you held your composure. There was nothing you could say that would change his mind. Steve had already drawn his conclusions, and arguing now would only make things worse.
It took you a few seconds to realize your breathing had quickened.
Two days off? That was definitely not a favor—it was a disguised suspension.
"Understood." Your voice came out steady, but you felt the frustration pulsing beneath your skin.
Steve merely nodded, his expression far too neutral to be natural.
As you left the office, the oppressive weight of that conversation settled on your shoulders like an anchor. Accepting it passively was out of the question. With determined steps, you crossed the hallway toward another closed door, ignoring any possibility of interruption. Without hesitation, you opened it and found Dr. Rune focused on some papers. He lifted his head calmly, adjusting the glasses that softened the sharpness of his blue eyes.
"Hmm..." he murmured, pursing his lips. "You definitely don’t look like Mariene German."
If you weren’t so pissed off, you might have laughed at his pathetic attempt at a joke. Instead, you walked to the chair in front of him and sat down, trying to suppress your restlessness.
"I assume you already know what happened."
"Yeah. Unfortunately, the first thing I saw this morning was Noah’s face when Steve dumped all your patients on me." He rolled his eyes, sinking further into his leather chair. "When I suggested you get a hobby, I didn’t mean taking two days off at my expense."
"You think I did this?"
"Obviously not, girl." Rune let out a sigh, as if it were obvious. "But I warned you. As fascinating as he seems, Noah is treacherous. And it’s clear what he’s trying to do here."
"Frame me?"
"Don’t flatter yourself." He smirked, his usual sarcasm intact. "He just wants to shift the weight of his own guilt because between the Blackridge heir who does whatever he wants and a newly licensed psychiatrist who took this job to pay off student loans and clearly doesn’t update her wardrobe often, who do you think they’re going to protect?"
"Great. And how the hell do I prove it, if Dr. Steve thinks I’m hallucinating just because I said he spoke to me?"
Desperation crept into your voice before you could stop it. You buried your face in your hands, feeling the weight of this situation grow heavier. You hadn’t even been here a full month, and you were already at the center of a mess this big.
"During the board meeting, I insisted they talk to Noah," Rune explained, his tone as dry as ever. "Obviously, he stayed silent. But I asked Steve to investigate further, considering the circumstances. That’s the time you have to act. You need to make him speak again."
"You say that like it’s easy…" You scoffed, crossing your arms and leaning back in the chair. "That guy clearly hates me."
"And what do I have to do with that?" Rune raised an eyebrow. "I’m showing you the way—and fast—but not because I care about helping you. I just want you to take your case back and get him off my hands."
"So bitter, Dr. Rune…" You teased, feeling a slight smirk tug at the corner of your lips. "I’m sure you’ll love his company."
Rune scoffed dismissively, crossing his arms and giving you a bored look over the rim of his glasses.
"If I could get rid of the two things that have been irritating me the most lately, I’d ship you off with him as a package deal to the neighboring island."
"But you can’t," you countered, leaning forward slightly. "So tell me, Rune, how the hell do I make Noah talk again?"
He raised an eyebrow, studying you for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.
"Good question," he muttered, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "Truth is, I have no idea. But something about you managed to do what no one else has so far. So I suggest you figure it out before Steve decides you need a psych evaluation."
You rolled your eyes, but the idea didn’t seem so far-fetched.
"The problem is, he has no reason to talk to me again."
Rune tilted his head to the side, thoughtful.
"Maybe he does," he said after a few seconds. "You were the only person who saw him in the hallway that night. And somehow, you're still here to tell the story."
The implication hung in the air, and your stomach twisted at the memory of Noah’s rough, threatening voice.
"So I should provoke him until he speaks again?"
"Or piss him off. Or push his buttons. Use your head what would trigger that response in him?" Rune shrugged. "Just don’t die in the process. That paperwork would be a nightmare, and in case you forgot… I’m busy with your patients now." He made a point of saying, gesturing to the files.
How long was he going to keep rubbing that in your face?
You let out a deep sigh and rose from the chair.
"Thanks for the motivation, Dr. Rune. It's always a pleasure talking to you."
"It'll help you more than therapy," he smirked, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk. "Enjoy your free time, take a walk."
With one last glance at him, you left the room, the weight of the situation still pressing against your chest. If there was a way to make Noah speak again, you'd have to figure it out fast. And the only way to do that... was by going back to the Hidden.
The narrow hallway of the Hidden felt even more suffocating that afternoon, with the scenes of the bloodshed still so vivid. The flickering lights buzzed, flies dancing to an inaudible tune around the yellow bulb, casting trembling shadows on the walls smeared with handprints and mud. The stench of disinfectant mixed with mold clung to the air, making it almost unbreathable. Your footsteps echoed against the cold tiled floor, each one accompanied by the thudding of your own heart.
As you neared Noah’s cell, a shiver ran down your spine. He was there, sitting at the back of the small space, his back resting against the wall, a book open in his pale hands, long tattooed fingers gently holding the pages. The dim light highlighted the sharp angles of his face and the almost insolent tranquility of his expression. As if nothing had happened. As if a man hadn't died and you weren’t there to pry a truth from him that he refused to tell.
His fingers turned the page slowly, unhurried, as if he were completely oblivious to your presence. But you knew he wasn’t. You knew that every fiber of that man absorbed his surroundings with surgical precision, every detail taken in by eyes that missed nothing.
"Are you going to pretend I’m not here?" Your voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade.
No reaction. No shift of his gaze. Just the soft rustling of paper as another page was turned.
Anger flared in your chest like an uncontrollable fire. You stepped closer to the bars, fingers tightening around the cold metal.
"You spoke to me last night." Your voice came out low, but laced with fury. "I know what I heard. I know what I saw. And now you’re hiding behind this convenient silence? What do you want, Noah? To drive me insane? Make them doubt me?"
Nothing.
"Don't you think it's unfair? Ever since I got here, all I’ve tried to do is help you. Do you really think Rune will be more empathetic? Are you eager for him to lose patience and fry your brain the first chance he gets?"
He maintained the same serene expression, eyes scanning the page, as if the printed words were far more interesting than anything you could say.
"I don’t understand why you hate me so much and, at the same time, helped me last night…"
Your heart pounded against your ribs, tension thickening with each second he refused to react. You wanted him to laugh, to mock, to threaten—anything to shatter that damn performance of indifference. But he remained there, unmoved, shadows dancing over his face, gaze fixed on the book as if the entire universe was nothing but background noise.
"Are you afraid, Noah?" You tilted your head slightly, forcing yourself not to blink. "Afraid that if you open your mouth, more than just words will slip out?"
The book stopped. It wasn’t much, just a slight tightening of his fingers, but you saw it. You felt it.
He heard you.
Silence stretched between you like an abyss, and for a moment, you thought he would finally answer. That he would lean forward and let the mask fall.
But then, without hurry, he turned another page and kept reading.
Your blood boiled.
You hated him. Hated the way he refused to play the game, how he twisted reality to his favor, how he made you question everything.
And above all, you hated that, somehow, he was winning.
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Enjoy your free time, take a walk, said that idiot, Dr. Rune.
And you obeyed when you decided to spend the rest of the afternoon walking through the city. Well, there wasn’t much to be done at the sanatorium at that moment, and a car heading downtown was passing by—this was your opportunity.
Faced with the grim scenery of the trail, you found solace in the silence while the car played a soundtrack soaked in the driver's quietness. You thought, as you watched through the window, that he had remained silent throughout your entire visit to the cell, and that was, indeed, the Noah you were used to seeing in your sessions.
The night before, he had flames in place of his usual lifeless, apathetic eyes. Noah seemed to snarl with the intonation of every word he spoke, wavering between sickly protection and visceral fury. Completely different, but undeniably even more fascinating.
For a moment, you hesitated when you realized that this memory could easily fit into one of those dreams that people with repressed desires might have at night. And if…
No way! You silenced your own mind, which was about to agree with Dr. Steve. You were certain of what you had seen and heard; it was neither a dream nor a delusion. Noah had spoken to you as he cornered you against the wall, right after killing one of your patients for assaulting you.
It had really happened.
The scarce sunlight and the humid breeze carried by the sea, not far from there—if you closed your eyes and focused, you could smell the ocean clearly. You took a deep breath before continuing your walk.
The cobblestone streets were narrow, surrounded by old buildings with facades faded by time and humidity. In the island’s center, a craft fair stretched along the square, bursting with colors, textures, and scents blending in the air. Wooden stalls displayed hand-carved sculptures, rustic jewelry, and hand-dyed fabrics. The smell of incense and dried herbs mingled with that of fresh fruit and spices.
Women in long, colorful dresses sat behind small round tables covered with embroidered cloths, offering tarot readings to curious onlookers and tourists. You watched everything with interest, letting your fingers slide over the rough surfaces of ceramic pieces, feeling the warmth of aromatic candles burning on small makeshift altars. A bell tinkled as a stronger breeze swept through the fair, making the metal wind chimes hanging from the tents sway.
Leaving the fair behind, you found yourself in a vast field teeming with young people hurrying in various directions. Weaving skillfully through the moving bodies, your eyes locked onto an imposing old building further ahead. With its majestic architecture and the constant flow of people going in and out, there was no doubt—it was the local university.
Like an insistent whisper guiding your steps, you found yourself drawn inside. The endless chatter of students, the vibrant energy of that academic environment—none of it attracted you or stirred any nostalgia. The truth was, you didn’t miss university life at all. However, something there was calling your attention in an undeniable way: answers.
The students seemed completely immersed in their own excitement, laughing loudly and exchanging playful banter as they walked toward a grand mansion. You followed them without drawing attention, just observing. The deep red jackets of the young men and the uniforms of the cheerleaders made them easily identifiable—probably members of some victorious team. The reason for their celebration, however, did not concern you.
When they finally stopped in front of the mansion, you lifted your eyes to the grand facade. The banners hung proudly bore a name you recognized instantly: Naughtiness. Given the size of the house and the way it stood out among the others along the street, it was easy to assume this was the most influential fraternity on campus.
Seizing the opportunity, you followed one of the students inside. The moment you crossed the entrance, you were met with utter chaos. The place was a complete mess—furniture out of place, bottles and cans scattered across the floor, the strong smell of beer clinging to the air. Bodies of drunk students were sprawled across the sofas and carpet, while a microwave beeped incessantly somewhere in the kitchen. Deeper inside, a dark-haired guy held a cigarette between his fingers.
"Hey!" he called out, breaking your analysis of the scene. "What are you..."
As you turned, you noticed he was staring at you intently, frowning and rubbing his eyes as if he needed to make sure he was seeing correctly. Instinctively, you glanced down at your own clothes, checking if there was something wrong with you, but everything was normal.
The guy approached slowly, still with an expression of mild perplexity and suspicion.
"Can I help you?" he asked.
"Good afternoon, how are you?" You kept your tone polite, forcing a discreet smile. "I’m a psychiatrist—more specifically, a forensic psychiatrist—and I’m investigating a case related to a patient in treatment."
He seemed genuinely intrigued, which made you relax a little.
"He studied at this university and was part of Naughtiness. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about..."
The guy pressed his lips together for a moment before responding.
"Noah Sebastian."
The name came out with a perceptible weight, and you hesitated for a brief second.
"I’d like to understand better how he behaved around here."
The guy took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled the smoke leisurely, as if carefully choosing his words. He scratched the back of his neck before finally giving a small nostalgic smile.
"Everybody loved that guy." He chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "It was impossible not to like him. He had this thing... a natural charisma, you know? He’d walk into a room, and within minutes, everyone would be laughing or paying attention to whatever he was saying."
You frowned slightly. That wasn’t exactly the image you had of him.
"So, he was popular?"
"Popular?" The guy raised his eyebrows as if it were obvious. "He was the heart of this fraternity. He was always bringing people together, organizing legendary parties. But it wasn’t just that. He genuinely cared about people. It didn’t matter if you were a senior or a lost freshman wandering the campus—Noah made sure to include you. He had this way of making you feel special, like you mattered."
That description contrasted with everything you knew about him now.
"And what about his behavior? Did he ever show signs of being aggressive or manipulative?"
The guy looked offended by the suggestion.
"Never." He shook his head. "He was the one who broke up fights, not started them. If someone had too much to drink, he took care of them. He was the kind of guy you called when you needed help, not when you wanted trouble."
A chill ran down your spine. Something didn’t add up. The Noah he was describing was completely different from the Noah you knew now.
When he turned and motioned for you to follow, you noticed the name "Patrick M." embroidered on his jacket. Walking beside him into the access room, you were met with shelves filled with sports trophies won by the fraternity. The walls were decorated with photographs of members gathered together, and your eyes quickly found a picture of Noah. You almost didn’t recognize him.
He looked... happy.
"He was our best player—wasn’t captain for nothing," Patrick commented, handing you a framed photo of Noah wearing a red uniform and holding up a trophy.
"Were you guys close?"
"Close enough. He was always surrounded by people, which made access to him a little harder," Patrick replied with a shrug. You set the framed picture back on the table. "And to be honest, I don’t think his father liked him hanging out with just anyone."
"His father?" You raised an eyebrow.
"Noah didn’t usually follow orders, but the old man had this obsession with lineage, only associating with people of the same status—rich people nonsense."
There was a slight trace of disappointment in Patrick’s tone. Even though he tried to hide it, it was clear he held some resentment.
"And did he care about that?" You asked, crossing your arms while analyzing the photo again.
Patrick let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Not exactly." He twirled a cigarette between his fingers, deep in thought. "But I think, deep down, he always knew his father had a way of influencing his decisions."
You frowned, leaning slightly forward.
"What do you mean?"
Patrick sighed, resting against the dark wooden table behind him.
"Noah was... hard to read. Sometimes, it seemed like he didn’t care about any of that—he did whatever he wanted, surrounded by friends, playing, drinking. But other times... it was like something was weighing on him. He’d disappear, become quieter, more distant."
A chill crept up your spine.
"And no one ever questioned that?"
Patrick chuckled again, but this time, the sound was more bitter.
"Around here? Everyone idolized Noah. He was charismatic, popular, talented. Who would care about what was behind all that?"
The silence that settled between you was broken only by the distant sound of loud music coming from another room in the fraternity. You shifted your gaze to the trophy shelf, feeling that something was there, hidden beneath the perfect image.
"And you?" you asked, turning your eyes back to Patrick. "Did you care?"
For a moment, he didn’t respond. He simply looked away toward the picture on the table, where Noah smiled, standing tall among the other players. Then, finally, he murmured:
"Honestly? No."
Right.
"Did Rachel care?"
"Absolutely. They had a relationship that seemed normal, happy. They’d been together since high school, and he really seemed to love her, which is why it was so shocking to find out that…" Patrick paused, carefully choosing his words. "That he had the courage to do what he did."
He watched you for a few moments longer. His gaze wasn’t hostile, but there was doubt in it—a peculiar fascination, as if he were examining you under a magnifying glass.
"Have you ever seen her, doctor?" The question sent a shiver down your spine.
The case file didn’t include any photos of Rachel. With no internet access, looking her up was impossible, and up until now, not even a local newspaper had provided you with an image.
"No… I’ve never seen Rachel before."
Patrick took a few steps back and opened one of the cabinets. Among the trophies, there was a pile of disorganized photographs. He picked out a specific set and started flipping through them. With each image he passed, a strange sensation pulsed in your ears. Sweat gathered at the nape of your neck, your body grew warm, and the space around you seemed to shrink.
Then, he placed a photograph in your hands.
Your eyes blinked several times, unable to process what they were seeing. This had to be a mistake. Your fingers slowly traced over the smiling face of the girl clinging to her boyfriend.
The girl who was identical to you.
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⭑ @bloody-spades ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lacy1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline​ ; @just-randomm-stuff ; @do-it-jakey-baby ; @flowery-mess
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mrsshabana · 18 hours ago
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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮 :・゚✧
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𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬!𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲
Happy Birthday @matsukaah !! I know you really like my mantis au Gyutaro so I decided to write this for your birthday. I know it's small but I hope you like it and I hope you have an amazing birthday!! ♡
(This is from an au I made a long time ago where Gyutaro is a mantis hybrid, like a cryptid type creature)
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The mantis boy was smart, but you never expected him to understand the concept of a birthday.
He was so feral and untouched by society that it just seemed like something he wouldn't grasp. But no, you were wrong.
Someone must have taught him about it, maybe his sister? Or perhaps he put two and two together when he saw the festivities taking place in your home.
He was kept a secret, of course, so he just watched from outside. His spectacular eyesight came in handy as he sat in a tree, watching you from the open windows in your home. Saw how people came inside, gave you gifts, sang a song around a birthday cake before digging in. He didn't quite understand why but he knew it must have been some special occasion revolving around you.
So that night, just as you were about to go outside, you heard heavy knocks at your back door.
When you open it, you're surprised to see the 7-foot tall mantis standing there with an assortment of items in his hands.
"Oh! Hello Gyutaro, I was just about to come out to see you," you smile sweetly, happy to see him as you always are.
He pushes past you, coming into your home even though you were prepared to go out.
"Erm, we can go outside-" he cuts you off with a hiss. He's never been inside your home before, but he doesn't seem to dislike it.
Even though there are plenty of chairs around, he sits on the floor. Not giving you an option, he grabs your wrist and pulls you to the floor too.
Stumbling over yourself as he pulls you down, you land in his lap. Eliciting a happy chirp from him, his mandibles twitching curiously as he sniffs your hair. You smell different today.
"Gyu, ngh-" you groan as you struggle to get out of his grasp. He holds you on his lap like he doesn't want you to leave, but eventually he lets go.
The expression on his face is shy and timid, totally different than his usual attitude, as he hands you the assortment of items he brought with him.
"What's this?" you ask.
"F-For you... gift," he mumbles.
You gladly accept the items. A bundle of wildflowers, a few shiny stones, and some fresh fruit he must've picked from the forest.
It's a simple gift, sure. But the fact that he, a wild animal, went out of his way to do something so thoughtful means the world to you. Not only that, but in a way he was trying to understand you better. You and your human ways, which seem so foreign to him. A deadly creature that was raised in the wilderness. Some would say, a monster.
"Thank you, Gyutaro," you say with tears in your eyes, "This... this means so much to me.
He smiles, a crooked grin that rarely appeared on his face before he met you. "Happy? Good, yes?" He strings together a sentence with the few words that he knows.
"Yes, I'm very happy!" You lunge towards him and hug him tight. Trying to hold back your tears.
He doesn't understand at first, but he likes it when you're close to him like this, so it's not long before he embraces you as well.
"Me happy, you happy," he chirps, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.
Even though they were simple, these gifts from Gyutaro made your day. They mean more to you than all of the gifts you received today combined.
Your sweet monster boy made an effort to celebrate this human thing that he has no concept of. And he did it all for you on your special day. But how could he not? You are his favorite human after all.
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maxdibert · 2 days ago
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My problem with Lily and James being seen as a super couple has nothing to do with Severus Snape but rather with the fact that when we look at the relationship between James and Lily through a feminist lens, it’s hard not to notice some pretty glaring issues that go beyond just whether or not they’re an “OTP” couple. Sure, on the surface it might seem like a story of two people finding love amid all the chaos, but scratch beneath the surface and you see a whole lot more about toxic masculinity, objectification, and the erasure of a woman’s agency. James is celebrated as this charming, rebellious “bad boy” with a roguish smile, while Lily gets stuck playing the role of the sacrificial, moral compass woman—someone who exists largely to balance out and even redeem the male narrative. And honestly, that’s a problem.
James is shown as this complex, active character who’s constantly surrounded by friends, enemies, and drama. His life is dynamic and full of choices—even if those choices sometimes involve manipulation and deceit. He’s the kind of guy who can easily slip out of confinement with his Invisibility Cloak, leaving Lily behind in a narrative that, over time, turns her into a background figure. This dynamic isn’t accidental; it’s reflective of how our culture often values male agency over female independence. Lily, on the other hand, is repeatedly reduced to her relationships with the men around her. Instead of being a person with her own dreams, opinions, and friendships, she becomes a symbol—a kind of emotional barometer for how “good” or “bad” a man is. Her character is used to validate the actions of others, which means her individuality gets smothered under the weight of a trope that’s all too common in literature: the idea that a woman’s worth is measured by her ability to tame or save a troubled man.
This isn’t just about a lack of depth in Lily’s character; it’s also about how her portrayal reinforces harmful gender norms. Lily is depicted as this kind of sacrificial mother figure—a person whose primary virtue is her selflessness, her willingness to suffer and sacrifice for the sake of others. While selflessness is often celebrated in women, it’s a double-edged sword when that selflessness is the only thing we see. Instead of having her own narrative, her role is defined by how much she gives up, not by what she contributes or the inner life she leads. And it’s not just a narrative oversight—it’s a reflection of a broader cultural pattern where women are expected to be nurturing, supportive, and ultimately secondary to the male characters who drive the action.
What’s even more frustrating is how Lily’s isolation is used to further the narrative of James’s redemption. Over time, we see Lily’s network of friends and her connections outside of James gradually disappear. It’s almost as if, once she falls in love, her entire world is meant to shrink around that relationship. And here’s where the feminist critique really kicks in: this isn’t a realistic depiction of a balanced, healthy relationship—it’s a story that subtly suggests that a woman’s fulfillment comes from being dependent on one man and his circle, rather than cultivating her own identity. Meanwhile, James continues to be portrayed as this larger-than-life figure who’s got a whole world beyond his romantic entanglement, a world filled with vibrant interactions, rivalries, and a legacy that extends beyond his relationship with Lily.
Another point worth mentioning is the way in which the narrative seems to excuse James’s less-than-stellar behavior. His manipulation, his lying, and his willingness to trick Lily into situations that serve his own interests are brushed off as quirks of a “bad boy” persona—a kind of charm that, in the end, makes him redeemable because Lily’s love is supposed to “tame” him. This kind of storytelling not only normalizes toxic masculinity but also puts an unfair burden on Lily. It’s like saying, “Look how amazing you are, you’re the only one who can fix him!” That’s a dangerous message because it implies that women are responsible for managing or even reforming male behavior, rather than holding men accountable for their own actions.
The imbalance in their character development is glaringly obvious when you compare how much more we learn about James versus how little we know about Lily. James is given room to be flawed, to grow, and to be complicated. His friendships, his rivalries, and even his mistakes are all part of what makes him a rounded character. Lily, however, is often just a name, a face in the background who exists mainly to serve as a counterpoint to James’s narrative. Her inner life, her ambitions, and her struggles are rarely explored in any meaningful way, leaving her as a one-dimensional character whose only real purpose is to highlight the moral journey of the man she loves.
It’s also important to recognize how this kind of narrative plays into broader cultural ideas about gender. When literature consistently portrays women as the quiet, isolated figures who are only valuable in relation to the men around them, it sends a message about what is expected of real-life women. It suggests that a woman’s worth is determined by how much she sacrifices or how well she can support a man, rather than by her own achievements or personality. This isn’t just a harmless trope—it contributes to a societal mindset that limits women’s potential and reinforces gender inequality. The way Lily is written reflects a kind of “tamed” femininity that’s supposed to be passive, supportive, and ultimately secondary to the active, adventurous masculinity that James represents.
At the heart of the issue is the lack of balance in their relationship as depicted in the texts. The idea that Lily “fell for” a man who was clearly not a paragon of virtue is problematic, but what’s even more problematic is how her role in the relationship is so narrowly defined. Rather than being seen as an independent character who makes choices and has her own voice, she is constantly portrayed as someone whose existence is meant to validate the male experience. Even when the texts mention that Lily had her own issues—like hating James at times or suffering because of the way their relationship unfolded—it’s always in a way that underlines her weakness compared to James’s dynamic, active presence.
Looking at the broader picture, it’s clear that this isn’t just about one fictional couple—it’s a reflection of how gender dynamics have long been skewed in literature. Male characters are given the freedom to be complex, flawed, and full of life, while female characters are often stuck in roles that don’t allow them to be fully realized. This isn’t to say that every story with a sacrificial female character is inherently bad, but it does mean that when a character like Lily is reduced to a mere symbol—a moral compass or a measure of male worth—it’s time to ask why and what that says about the society that produced that narrative.
So, what’s the way forward? For one, we need to start reimagining these relationships in a way that allows both partners to be fully fleshed out. Lily deserves to be more than just a side character or a moral benchmark; she should have her own narrative, her own dreams, and her own agency. And as much as it might be appealing to think of James as this redeemable rebel, it’s equally important to hold him accountable for the ways in which his behavior perpetuates harmful stereotypes about masculinity. A healthier narrative would be one in which both characters grow together, where mutual respect and equal agency are at the core of their relationship.
In the end, the story of James and Lily, as it stands, is a reminder of how deeply ingrained gender norms can shape the stories we tell. It’s a cautionary tale about the dangers of allowing toxic masculinity to go unchecked and of confining women to roles that don’t do justice to their full humanity. For anyone who’s ever felt frustrated by these imbalances, there’s hope in the idea of re-writing these narratives—of pushing for stories where both men and women are seen as complete, complex individuals. And really, that’s what literature should strive for: a reflection of the messy, beautiful, and often complicated reality of human relationships, where no one is just there to serve as a prop in someone else’s story.
Ultimately, if we can start imagining a world where characters like Lily aren’t just defined by their relationships to men, where their voices and stories are given as much weight as those of their male counterparts, then we can begin to chip away at the outdated tropes that have held us back for so long. It’s about time we celebrated the full spectrum of human experience—and that means giving women like Lily the space to shine on their own terms, without being constantly overshadowed by a “bad boy” narrative that has little to say about their true selves.
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emetophobic1 · 2 days ago
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TODAYS TOPIC : Unsympathetic!Patton.
AAUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. I love Unsympathetic!Patton, do NOT get me wrong. But the way people portray him leaves me wanting to make my own fanfics for him atp… it always tend to be the same in my personal opinion. Patton is either straight up evil with not an ounce of remorse & he split the twins apart?… or he’s just rude for no good reason. Patton represents Morality, Feelings, and overall nice things. BUT! Uns.. I’ll just say U!Patton, is not the opposite of Patton, he’s simply not sympathetic. Which means he might not care how others feel but that doesn’t make him rude for no good reason… and I don’t even know where U!Patton splitting the twins came from so I won’t touch on that one much.
Again, in at least 80% of anything U!Patton related I’ve seen, they make him rude for no good reason and without an explanation. So, how would I do it? Well, there’s a lot of reasons why he could be acting rude towards the other sides, and oh baby do I have a list! I’ve made up my own little image and idea for an U!Patton AU, to which I would love to share.
Hear this. God-Complex. Yes, yes! Bear with me friends. I don’t mean God-complex as in he thinks he’s untouchable, I mean god-complex in a religiously traumatised type of way. I can imagine this idea: Patton notices how horrid Thomas’ health is, his own esteem and overall good feelings dropping due to lack of self-care, praying to whoever’s out there to give him a hand and help Thomas, but he does this prayer again, and again, and again. He’s in his room most of the time now, thinking, pondering, and praying. What could he possibly do to fix things? And why aren’t the others helping?… the others. That’s what’s wrong! They aren’t helping Thomas being how they are now, but how can he possibly try and get them to change their ways?… he needs to assert authority, like he knows everything and can do anything, show that he’s trying to help Thomas. Trying his hardest to subtly change them won’t work, shouting won’t work, so he needs to make it happen instead of asking.
He makes one last prayer as a thank you as if someone actually helped him so he could help everyone else. He’s not exactly in his right mind here, changing his outfit to seem more… worthy, his own morality shifting from what he thought was white to a dark grey. But, he still thinks he’s correct, that he’s right in doing this! In forcing certain sides to seperate from each other, in being meaner than usual, in forcing them to change - both in outfit and personality. He isn’t, but he thinks this is the only way to get Thomas to feel better even if in reality it’s making things worse. Janus knows exactly how Patton is thinking in this situation, like it’s some last resort, a defence mechanism from all that negativity, but can he help stop Patton? Perhaps he’s the only one who can.
You see what I’m saying here? All you need to make a good U!Patton AU is a REASON as to why he’s acting that way! Plus I think him acting like some god in order to change the others for the “better” of Thomas is really neat and I’d 100% love to explore that further! But all-and-all… anyone got some good U!Patton fics they could recommend me? :3 - and uh… take this little art I made. :) (yes that’s lyrics from New God by Moon Walker, that song lowkey inspired this idea and art)
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cythiraeth · 18 hours ago
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cupid's chokehold! pt. II - i. e. the moment genshin men knew they've fallen for you
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✧ ─ ⌑ pairing: gn!reader x lyney, kaveh, childe (separate)
✧ ─ ⌑ short summary: the exact moment (or process which lead to it) when genshin men knew that they are head over heels in love with you!
✧ ─ ⌑ about the work: lowercase, fluff for lyney, more angst for kaveh and kinda angst for childe, not proof-read i think
✧ ─ ⌑ notes: hi guys! i know it's been LONG since i posted the first part of this series but hey better late than never! i actually wrote it some time ago but i kind of forgot to post it, so i don't remember if it's proof-read or not (i hope it is) lolol enjoy and until the next time! also reminding you that my requests are open <3
link to first part: ☆ (featuring al-haitham, cyno, xiao)
and my genshin impact masterlist: ☆
✧ ─ ⌑ word count: 2.2 k in total
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lyney
when you looked at him with such an amazement in your eyes and it was all about his magical performances. when you listened really carefully to what he told you and watched closely what he showed you. of course, thousands of people would come and watch his performances and give him compliments but the feeling they gave him was nowhere near the feeling your words made him feel
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the lights of the stage were dimming, the theater still buzzing with the energy of lyney’s latest magical performance. applause echoed in the grand hall, a thunderous acknowledgment of the magician's mastery. 
there were so many people there, so why were his eyes searching for you? why wouldn't it matter to him if the whole room emptied and you were the only one left there?
it was just that… he kind of felt like no-one shared those passionate feelings with him. a lot of people came to watch, they were laughing and looking impressed by his tricks, but still, something was lacking
he felt like the impression he left on the audience was rather… temporary. he couldn't do anything but watch them leave a few minutes after the performance ended without asking any questions and already talking about what they are going to have for lunch today.
after the performance, when the crowd had dispersed, and the theater was silent, he found you lingering near the edge of the stage. he was still in his performance attire, his hat tucked under his arm, his smile as dazzling as ever.
“enjoyed the show?” he asked, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt.
you looked up at him, your face lighting up in a way that made his breath catch. “enjoyed? lyney, that was incredible! how do you even come up with these tricks? the floating cards, the disappearing rabbits… it’s like you’re weaving a dream right in front of everyone’s eyes.”
you always seemed so interested in everything he showed you, you always asked questions, it was just purely visible that you cared about everything he's got to tell you
and it was actually really… hot to him
yeah, he knows, it sounds kind of pathetic but hear him out
it just felt so good when he saw those sparkles of amazement in your eyes, he was so proud of himself that he made you this excited so it was a win-win situation
“look, y/n, you see this rose, right?” he once showed you a beautiful red rose that laid on his palm
“yes, of course” you giggled, focusing your eyes on him so as not to miss any of his movements
“but what about now?” he asked, quickly turning his hand over and hiding it behind his back
“well, now i certainly don’t” you rolled your eyes but there was still a smile dancing on your lips and a bit of laughter in your voice. you cheeks were slightly blushed, probably because of the temperature that was rather high that day ( ̶o̶r̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶h̶a̶p̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶c̶a̶u̶s̶e̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶o̶w̶ ̶c̶l̶o̶s̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶, ̶̶d̶e̶f̶i̶n̶i̶t̶e̶l̶y̶ ̶c̶l̶o̶s̶e̶r̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶n̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶n̶e̶e̶d̶e̶d̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶p̶e̶r̶f̶o̶r̶m̶ ̶a̶ ̶m̶a̶g̶i̶c̶ ̶t̶r̶i̶c̶k̶)
then, he showed you his hands again, but this time there was no flower 
“easy, you just hid it behind you back…” you explained to him his own magic trick, what made him chuckle a little
“well, if i were you i wouldn’t be so sure about that” he almost whispered into your ear, leaning closer
your heart skipped a beat because you had no idea what his intentions were, but before you’ve got to say anything he returned to his place and gently touched a bit of your hair, just above you ear
(you were almost blushing, giggling and kicking your feet at that point) (AND SO WAS HE)
you too touched this spot when he withdrew his hand, only to find the red rose, fixed behind your ear
“THAT WAS AMAZING, LYNEY!” you gasped out loud, visibly excited and his heart was just about to melt for a moment. “i’ll never understand how you do all of this!”
“that’s the point, dear y/n” he said softly. “magic is meant to be felt, not understood. and i have to admit, it’s much more fun for a magician when there’s someone like you watching.”
“someone like me?” you tilted your head
“someone who doesn’t just watch,” he explained, his smile softening. “you listen, you try to understand the story behind the tricks, and you look at it all with such wonder. It’s… different.”
you flushed at his words, glancing away shyly. “well, your performances deserve that kind of attention. they’re not just tricks; they’re art. and i want to know every detail of it!”
“a great magician never reveals all of his secrets to the audience, y/n” he winked at you
though, a part of him wanted to tell you everything you wished to hear, since you were starting to definitely be more than just an ordinary audience member to him…
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kaveh
when you comforted him once after an argument with al-haitham. you were so kind and understanding to him that he literally nearly cried, because never in his life had he felt so cared of and important to. he almost immediately knew that you were the right person to spend the rest of his life with.
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when you’ve heard a loud knock at your door in the early evening, you certainly did not expect that when you open the door, the person standing in front of you would be the renowned sumeru architect himself
“kaveh? what brings you here?” you questioned and stepped aside immediately, motioning for him to come in.
it turned out that he and your other friend, who both had thought that living together would be a great idea (it wasn’t), had another fierce argument
kaveh stormed out of the shared house, his heart pounding and his mind clouded with frustration. he couldn’t even remember what had started the fight - just that it had spiraled into something ugly, leaving him feeling small and unheard, as it always did.
“just… another fight with, you know, him” he sighed, running a hand through his hair “not like it’s something new. but-” his voice cracked for a second “it feels like no matter what i say, he doesn’t care. he doesn’t even take into consideration anything i say!”
you were stunned by how eager he was to share all those thoughts with you, but you didn’t say anything - in fact, you were quite fond of this. it meant that he felt comfortable around you, enough to entrust you with his sincere feelings.
“it leaves me feeling like none of what i say matters. like i don’t matter” he added and your heart ached at the vulnerability in his voice. you sat down beside him, your hand hovering for a moment before gently resting on his. 
“you do matter, kaveh!” you said firmly “to your friends, to me and many others. i understand that al-haitham is often difficult to handle, but it doesn’t make you any less important!”
he rose his head and looked at you with those crimson eyes, and for a moment you swore that you saw them watering up a little bit 
“do you really think so?” he asked carefully
“i don’t think so, i know it” you replied, squeezing his hand to comfort him. “your passion, talent, personality - i assure you, it inspires a lot of people. and don’t even try to think otherwise because of some stupid al-haitham and his humours”
it almost caught him in this moment - a really unfamiliar feeling hidden somewhere deep down his chest. he was unable to say a word for a moment, his eyes started watering again and he tried to look away. 
so when you added a simple “you don’t need to hide your feelings when you’re with me. it’s normal to feel hurt, and to cry. you’re not alone in this world.” 
it hit him there
he always prided himself on his independence, with dealing with life's problems on his own. although in truth he often felt alone in this, he never let it show. it was only now, when you were sitting right next to him, focusing your gaze only on him, that he wished he could always feel this way - cared for and important.
a tear trickled slowly down his cheek, and when you wiped it away with your thumb, he knew. at that moment he already knew. that no one had ever made him feel so special, so safe. for the first time in a years, he allowed himself to hope for something more, for better days to come. with you, by his side.
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childe
when he was injured and you took care of him. he thought he was fine, since minor injuries happened to him all the time, but you were extremely concerned about his state. and that was the thing that moved him - he could count the people that show their genuine care for him on his fingers, and he didn't expect you to be one of them. of course it was rather a pleasant surprise, after all
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the smell of herbs filled the room as you rummaged through your first aid supplies, your hands moving with precision despite the concern etched on your face. childe sat on a chair nearby, his usual confident smirk replaced by an awkward expression.
“hey, y/n, i told you it’s not a big deal.” he said, trying to downplay the wound on his arm. “i’ve had worse”
you gave him a sharp look, from which he trembled slightly. “not a big deal? childe, you are literally bleeding.” you replied in a frustrated voice.
“i've already told you that i’ve had far worse injuries on the battlefield”.
“so what?” you snarled at him, pouring disinfectant over the wound. “that doesn't mean you should ignore all the smaller ones.”
for a moment, he wanted to spit something back, but gave up when he noticed the determination in your eyes. if he were to be honest, he wouldn't have expected it from you.
he sighed, looking around the room. at this point he looked more like a bullied child than the capable warrior he had always made himself out to be. 
he didn't fall silent because of the pain, of course not. he fell silent because of your gaze - full of concern and the aforementioned determination. there was also something gentle in it, you weren't angry with him after all. you just wanted him to finally take care of himself, and if he didn't want to do it himself, he should at least let you do it.
of course, his family often worried about him and sent letters asking if he was all right, but he had long since got used to reassuring them that he was fine.
his fatui comrades, on the other hand, treated injuries like badges of honour  - a true warrior should not be concerned about scratches.
and here you were, completely different from them all. you weren't angry at him for getting hurt or trying to play it down. you tried to help him not because you had to, but because you wanted to.
when he realised this, a pleasant feeling wrapped around him like a warm blanket, unfamiliar yet still comforting.
“done,” you said after a while, tying the bandage tightly. ‘it should be enough for now, but you’ll need to rest so it heals properly’.
“rest?” he chuckled, his voice softer than usual “this definitely does not belong in my job description”
you folded your arms and furrowed your brow, looking at him “well, it's definitely a part of my job description to make sure you don't do something stupid when you're injured. so don't think to yourself that if i needed to, i wouldn’t tie you to this chair”
your words really amused him, his eyes started shining despite the obvious fatigue on his face. “really, y/n, sometimes you amaze me”
“i’'m serious,” you countered, despite the small smile on your lips. “you need to take care of yourself, childe. you can't act as if everything doesn't matter, especially when it concerns you.” your tone has become softer “a lot of people care about you. don’t forget that.”
his breathing stopped for a moment, and your words hit him harder than any blow he had ever received in battle. in that moment, he realised how rarely someone looked at him the way you did - with genuine concern, not for his strength or skill, but for him.
“i didn't know you were that concerned about it,” he admitted in a quieter voice.
you looked at him tilting your head “why wouldn't i care? you mean a lot to me, childe”
and just like that, everything clicked into place.
the faster beat of his heart when you were next to him? the warmth in his chest caused by your words? that strange feeling of peace that your presence brought to him? 
deep down, he knows
and maybe, just maybe, he hopes that you do too
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⌞⌑ cythiraeth - 28.02.2025. please, do not copy, claim as yours or share outside tumblr! ⌑⌝
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bluemotifofsleep · 2 days ago
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Shield My Heart
knight! iwaizumi x princess! reader
-it was his duty to love her, and even if it wasn’t, he’d do it anyway. iwaizumi’s devotion came as easy as breathing.
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read part one first :)
part two: a locked cage, and a sinking ship.
~
it’s hard to be a princess, and not be grateful.
it’s hard, but you do it anyway.
it’s not like you aren’t grateful for your life, you know you are much more privileged than most. you have a warm bed with as many pillows and blankets your heart could disire. you have warm meals waiting for you every morning when the sun rises, and every evening when the sun sets. people wait on you hand and foot, people bow to you, people sugar their words and widen their smiles and praise you fraudulently, just to be on your good side.
you have a castle at your fingertips, you have a whole kingdom. you understand that you are privileged, and you’re grateful for it, really.
but sometimes, you wish you were born someone else.
and you know, if you asked any girl in the kingdom, they would switch places with you in a heartbeat. which is maybe why you always have this festering, gnawing guilt that never seems to go away. it itches at the inside of your brain like a sickness and infects your mind until all of your thoughts are tainted with it.
you know what people think being a princess is like. you’ve heard the whispers biting at your heels, the distain and jealousy that follows you around like a second skin. people cant help but resent you, when you appear to have everything they’ve ever wanted.
in reality, being a princess is not what it seems.
being a princess is having eyes on you at all times. expectations that grow so much bigger than you, sometimes you feel they will swallow you whole. it’s having the weight of a crown bear on your neck without ever putting it on. being a princess is devoting your life to appearances, to other people’s opinions. being a princess is being something that everyone thinks you are.
your duty, is being anyone but yourself.
and you know, that it’s selfish.
to have dreams outside of the castle is traitorous to your kingdom, it’s treasonous to imagine yourself as anything but a good, well behaved, charming princess. a good daughter to the King, a beacon of hope for the less-fortunate, a spokesperson of the people.
but sometimes selfishness claws its way into your mind and won’t let go. it finds its way into every thought until all you can think of is “what if”. what if you weren’t a princess? what would your life be like, what would your days be packed with instead of trying on pretty dresses that you really could care less about, learning proper table manners, and swallowing your own tongue until it feels like you might choke on it.
sometimes, you wonder if your unhappiness is coming from inside you like rot. sometimes you dread that it’s not your life that’s the problem, but it’s you.
maybe you’re a bad seed. maybe no matter where you were planted, you would shrivel and rot just the same.
if you had a different life, would you still be selfish, too?
you wish you could grow roots and stable yourself, reach them outside the castle walls and finally breath. finally be free of this glorious title, that you resent, and you never asked for.
~
iwaizumi hajime hasn’t been sleeping well.
it’s a fact that has been pointed out by many, not that it needed to be. of course, oikawa just can’t keep his damn mouth shut sometimes, so iwaizumi must suffer anyways.
“you know, a little beauty sleep never hurts! your eye bags are making me feel tired.”
“your hair looks especially spiky today. long night?”
whatever that means.
unlike his polished brunette counterpart, fluffing his well-kept hair every morning and whispering devotedly of smooth skin and the absence of frown lines, iwaizumi doesn’t care much for how he looks. he’s never really put much thought into his appearance, because it doesn’t matter. it’s not important to his job. and therefore, not important to him.
no, his “eye bags that are dark enough to scare unsuspecting women away” and “spiky hair that resembles a morningstar more than a hairstyle” are only a problem to oikawa, not iwaizumi.
it’s what’s been keeping him awake, that is the real problem. every time iwaizumi has managed to fall asleep lately, his dreams are all the same.
he’s on a ship. a large, old ship that creeks under the weight of the massive waves crashing against its ribs. at first glance, there appears to be no one around. no one in the crows nest, no one at the helm steering. he is lost at sea, a steel knight glimmering like a star amongst the entire solar system, with no one but himself to keep him afloat.
there’s a storm on the horizon. a crackling, monstrous thing with clouds that look like jaws ready to swallow him whole, and the boat is headed with utmost certainty straight into its mouth. he has a distinct urge to run, a bubble of panic in his chest subdued by a wave of insanity.
you can’t run from a sinking ship.
when it happens, it happens the same every time. the boat lurches, tips on the edge of oblivion slowly as if taunting him, making sure he has time to process what he can’t change. then, with a crash and the unforgiving grip of the icy cold water, he sinks.
iwaizumi has never swam before.
there is no method to his panic, he flails and kicks and tries to reach the surface he can’t see, but he fails.
he’s drowning.
except, there’s a beacon of light, a saving grace to his drowning. there’s a hand. a soft, delicate hand that he somehow feels he is familiar with, but he can’t place it. he reaches out and grabs the hand, and it is shockingly warm against the biting cold of the sea, and then he sees you.
it’s your hand that he holds to keep himself from sinking further. you are his beacon of light, on this rocking ship he sails on. you are his saviour, the only thing keeping him from sinking into his own mind and never coming out.
you are both sinking.
as much as he wills it, his hand won’t let go of yours. he drags the both of you, down, down, down, into somewhere he doesn’t know there is an end to. his hand feels like stone against yours, it feels as if he’s been holding you for weeks without letting go, the muscles tensed and unwilling to release.
you both sink, and he screams soundlessly with bubbles pouring out of his mouth, and you smile at him sadly.
if he could, he’d cut off his own hand to free you.
just as the dream starts getting darker, as his suffocating panic makes it seem like he’s actually drowning, waking himself up, he hears you.
you whisper his name to him and it mysteriously travels through the thick water to his ears, maybe straight into his heart.
“hajime,”
your face is the picture of elegance, even at a time like this, and it’s so like you it hurts him. even when you’re drowning, you are the perfect princess.
“you need to let me go.”
~
he wakes with a gasp, as he has for the fourth time this week.
his room is bathed in moonlight, showering his bed and himself in a deep blue that sickeningly reminds him of his dream. waves clawing at his skin, your soft, tender hand trapped in his, screaming and bubbles and your words in his head, you need to let me go, you need to let me go, you need to let me go-
he breathes in a deep breath, holds it for five seconds, and then slowly lets it out through his nose.
his clammy skin sticks to his sheets, and he’s panting from the amount of adrenaline one gets from drowning, his body trying to fight something that’s not real.
it’s not real. even when he reminds himself, he feels this enormous guilt destroying him from the inside out.
he couldn’t let you go.
even in his hypothetical dream world, where neither of you even exist, he still couldn’t let you go.
~
you’ve had a shitty day.
it was your least favourite schedule of the week. you started with table etiquette training in the dining room, going over things you’ve heard thousands of times before. so many times, you imagine a blade on the inside of your skull drawing the words into your skin. “this knife here and this spoon here”, “fold your napkin as so”, “don’t let your silverware scrape against the plate dear that’s awful-“
you’re currently trying not to let your head fall with three books balanced on you, an “etiquette officer” as you’d so fondly named them (only in the privacy of your own mind, of course) to your right telling you all the things you’re doing wrong.
because that’s what being a princess is all about; all the things you’re doing wrong.
the only thing getting you through this for the millionth time is that in today’s particular schedule, you have some free time to yourself at the end of your training. a rare occurrence that whenever it happens, you seize the opportunity with both hands and don’t let go.
you know exactly what you’re going to do with you’re free time.
“alright, that’s all for today, princess.” the title sounds mocking when pared with the indifferent and slightly peeved sounding voice of your instructor. somehow she always finds a way to make it seem like you’ve failed, and you wonder how she manages it so spectacularly.
you (with elegance and poise, of course) jump out of your seat and try your best to not look like you’re running for the exit of the dining room, but you probably fail at that, too.
there’s one thing that’s been keeping you going all day. a certain gruff, brunette, knight-shaped thing.
when you make it down through large glass doors and into the courtyard, you instantly spot him sparring with another knight, oikawa tooru, your eyes magnetized to the metal of his armour.
“princess!” it’s not your brunette knight that calls to you, but rather a lanky boy with soft pink hair.
hanamaki takahiro, with matsukawa issei bringing up the rear.
you can’t say you’re extremely familiar with most of the knights on the kings guard, the exception being iwaizumi of course and the few others who were assigned your personal guards. your lives were too different to cross paths enough for familiarity, your days filled with things so different from each other they probably aren’t even comparable at all.
of course, you always be sure to learn their names, treating them with the same respect you would any other resident of the castle. you wouldn’t let yourself be like those other snooty royals, thinking themselves above chatter with common folk who don’t know the difference between a salad fork and a regular one.
in fact, you might have more respect for them because they don’t, you envy them a bit for it.
“all done with princess duties for today?” it’s matsukawa’s lazy drawl that reaches you now, his large frame looming over you and blocking part of the sun from reaching you, and yet, you don’t feel intimidated.
you feel at ease with the knights most out of everyone in the castle. for some reason, you feel like they expect the least from you. and maybe it should offend you, but all it does is lift an imaginary weight from your shoulders. with them, you can almost pretend you aren’t who you are.
“yes, all done with princess duties. ive come to collect iwaizumi from his knight duties.”
“good, he looks like he’s on his last legs fighting off oikawa over there.” hanamaki says, and you suddenly feel worry spike your stomach.
“has something happened?” you can’t help the desperate tone of your voice, and try to peer around hanamakis shoulder to see if you can notice any injuries on your knight.
“nah, oikawa said something about him not sleeping well though. figured he can use a break before he runs himself into the ground.” and all at one you feel relieved, and guilty for not noticing he was having problems sooner.
the problem with iwaizumi is he’s just so damn stoic all the time. the true image of a perfect knight, an unshakable force. it’s hard to tell when he’s suffering, because he never shows it outwardly. he keeps a solid wall of sureness on for everyone else’s benefit and doesn’t let it crumble for his own.
sometimes you wish you could take a couple of bricks down though, and peek through.
suddenly, the object of your thoughts is walking up behind the two knights you’re speaking to, with oikawa at his side. instantly you see what hanamaki was talking about.
he’s panting heavily from his training, clearly physically spent, but there’s something else you notice. there’s a deep exhaustion in the set of his face, his eyebrows tented over his eyes that have dark circles underneath. he looks troubled. on anyone else it might look like worry, but the way he masks his face into almost neutrality, you can’t be sure.
“you two aren’t bothering her, are you?”
he’s now flanking your side, and you realize that he’s not really speaking to hanamaki or matsukawa, he’s speaking to you, a questioning and probing look on his face.
“you have so little faith in us, it hurts.” matsukawa fakes a pained expression, his voice sounding unbothered despite his words.
“we were just telling her to take your tired ass out of here before oikawa beats you and we all have to listen to him brag for the next three weeks.” oikawa squawks behind hanamaki at his words, and you hear something like “sore looser” and “i would never”.
the display of familiarity makes you smile. at least here, the infectious greed of the castle doesn’t reach. there is no need for fake smiles and even faker words between comrades fighting for the same purpose. there’s no hierarchy among the knights, just simple companionship that ties them together like brothers.
you envy them immensely.
“i beat him, so you don’t have to worry about it.” and you hear more grumbles from oikawa.
iwaizumi suddenly turns fully to you, blocking your view of the other knights with his stupidly broad shoulders.
“where to, princess?” and he smiles at you, but not the kind of smile you see frequently in the castle. instead of the glint of unnaturally white teeth and squinted, condescending eyes, his smile is something that brightens his whole face. it’s something easy, something genuine and happy and it makes you feel like you’ve just put on your favourite sweater, his infectious warmth spreading over you like melted honey.
iwaizumi has always had that affect on you. he’s just so secure in himself, so sure of his protection over you that you can’t help but be calmed by his presence. it’s a welcome security that you don’t get much of these days, something that eases over your worries like soothing water on a roaring flame. something that you indulge in greedily, even though you know you shouldn’t.
“do you even have to ask?”
~
you had few places on the castle grounds that you truly felt at peace in, places where you didn’t feel the lingering gaze of spectators on you peeling back your skin and poking around at your insides. most of the castle felt like a forest to you, with predators stalking through the trees where you couldn’t see them. people who expected greatness from you at all times, so you could never let your guard down.
located behind the castle, is a quaint stone building with stalls staggered along the side of it. a large, green paddock juts out from the stalls, where the horses are let out occasionally to graze; the stables. one place where you could truly feel at ease in.
the stable hands hardly raise a brow at your and iwaizumi’s presence. ever since you were a little girl and the king introduced you to your first pony, it was hard to keep you away from the place. any second of free time you were granted was most definitely spent around the horses, if not on horseback.
you can never tell if iwaizumi minds you dragging him here all the time. he always just says “lead the way” with that calming look on his face and follows you on the familiar trek like a shepherd protecting a lamb. giving you a leg up onto your horse and then mounting his own.
there’s a long trail that circles the back of the castle, mostly used to exercise the horses to keep them fit while they werent transporting goods or being used by the knights. the trail cuts through a small, lush forest that pushes back against the town boarder, where a large stone fence separates you from your people.
you never understood why there was a fence in the first place when you were younger. every time you’d asked your father you’d be left even more confused than before.
“because, child.” he’d have you sat on his knee, sitting atop a throne that would one day be yours. “if you never stop giving, people never stop taking.”
the words had puzzled you then. what was your duty, if not to give?
now, as your age gave you knowledge you didn’t necessarily want, you understand his words. you understand, but you’ll never agree.
~
the trail is quiet at this time of day, the sun shining through splits in the trees and decorating the path in glimmering strips.
normally you and iwaizumi don’t talk much during your trail rides, and you enjoy the reprieve of the constant conversation you have during your time at the castle. with your knight, you don’t have to sweeten your presence with words. you don’t have to make yourself tolerable by striking up hallow conversations and smiling fakely.
right now though, there’s a question burning a hole through your throat and threatening to jump out of your mouth. with anyone else, you’d keep it to yourself. you’d swallow your thoughts down into the pit of your stomach where they’d make a knot that you wouldn’t be able to untie. keeping up appearances is more important than silly questions.
with him though, it’s different. his presence tugs at your mind like no one else. pulls the thoughts from you before you even know you’ve had them. you want to spill yourself to him, make yourself easy to read and drop your facade like a mask at a masquerade party.
and so, you do.
“iwaizumi, do you ever wonder about what you would do if you weren’t a knight?” the question sounds silly coming out of your mouth, and the pessimist inside you half expects him to tell you to “stop thinking so much, princess”, but he doesn’t.
instead, he tilts his head back slightly, humming to let you know he’s thinking up and answer for you. you look up too, wanting to see what he’s looking at. wanting to see the world through his eyes, maybe even wanting to sink into his mind and let his thoughts carry you away.
all you see is the sky. a brilliant blue with clouds partially obscured by the tips of the trees lining the path. you wonder what he sees it as. does that cloud also look like a crown to him? does it also strike nausea into his stomach and make him want to gallop away on his horse?
definitely not. your shoulders sink back down from where they’d hiked up to your ears at the thought. your knight is strong, and level headed, you can’t ever see him running away from anything.
when you tear your eyes away from the sky and look to iwaizumi, you’re startled to find he’s already looking at you.
the look on his face is something that strikes you as unique to him only. something that makes you think of being a little girl again, sneaking off to the gardens and making your young knight find you among the greenery. it makes you think of the word goodnight whispered to you almost every evening, it makes you think of the smell of pine and a soft breeze and fresh linen, and it makes you think “what if” for the millionth time.
“no, princess.”
it’s a look of understanding, of looking at you and not through you, something that fills you with melancholy and hope and the bitter taste of freedom you can’t have, you will never have.
“i was meant to be your knight.”
~
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adamarks · 7 hours ago
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Good morning Fox! (Letting you know I just woke up in case any of this is incoherent) First of all, I agree with a lot of what you’re saying about the crew and the pacing and whatnot. Finding Ed on a beach WOULD have made more sense for those reasons.
ON THE OTHER HAND, hear me out, I’d say the Izzy line is more important than a throwaway explanation and it was kinda vital for Stede to see him on the revenge.
Firstly, the line. “Seeing as you’re the one who kept his body aboard.”
Frankly, this doesn’t make like HUGE surface level sense, and if it was anything it was supposed to be in conjunction with “I have…. Love 🤢… for you.” But really, what it starts hammering home once again, is that Izzy is the personification of Ed’s coping skills— what makes Ed Blackbeard. Ed was drunkenly keeping his own shambling corpse on board for months. He didn’t want to be there; he wasn’t happy. He had become the “insane shell of a man that’s merely posing as Blackbeard.” The line, like most lines surrounding Izzy, is meant to tell us where Ed’s head is at.
The scene where he tells Ed to go off and become a fisherman -> Ed’s misaligned coping skill of running when things get too real or too uncertain
Izzy throughout season 1 -> Ed’s commitment issues and self sabotage
It’s why Izzy had to die. It’s why we heard “sit with me, Eddie” after Fang says “Do you think you don’t know how to sit with yourself?” And most importantly (to this conversation) it’s why Stede had to go ask Izzy for his tiebreaker vote. It was Ed saying he wanted to leave. Stede awkwardly and miserably standing there was him trying to respect Ed’s wishes etc etc you get me. Which is important! That’s what he’d learned at the end of season 1! He’s listening when other people make their stance on him clear.
As for leaving Ed on the Revenge, a complaint I see often is that we never see the auxiliary wardrobe in s2. What no one seems to understand is that the point was less that SPECIFIC room and more “I have a bunch of secret passages on the ship.” Ed being found in a secret passage in the belly of the ship was our return to the auxiliary wardrobe. It was the “let me let you into the most intimate parts of me, my hidden self” for both of them. Ed never actually left Stede’s love, and Stede is always willing to come meet him at the worst, at the most hidden parts of him. In this way, the reunion couldn’t happen on the beach, they needed to have that “auxiliary wardrobe” moment again.
I don’t disagree that the crew stuff would’ve shaken out better the way you proposed. Ideally, they would’ve just had 10 episodes, not been working with scraps, and would’ve gotten to actually do 2.06 the way it was intended. But I WILL say I think how they did the innkeeper was perfect and that a lot of the Izzy stuff/pacing makes more sense when you see him not just as like Ed’s fatherish figure but as his metaphorical daddy issues. That itself explains everything about the swiftness of his arc, the weird romantic/not-at-all undertones, and makes oooh daddy 80x funnier. Just food for thought. I don’t have a neat way to rap this up sorry xoxo
so let's talk about david jenkins saying the idea was that the crew would dump ed overboard in the mutiny before the writers changed their minds and had him kept in the hold.
he says they changed this for pacing reasons, so that the reunion could happen in 2x03 instead of being delayed longer, and i cannot argue with that, waiting any longer sounds excruciating. so i'm not complaining about this as, like, villainous interference from the WBD suits or anything, although it might be a decision forced by cutting the number of episodes. probably still the right call under the circumstances. BUT i'm interested in it because this explains a couple things that are weird about the plot structure of the whole season as it stands.
so first of all the crew throwing the body overboard just immediately makes a lot more sense because it doesn't actually require them to have failed to notice he wasn't dead. it would be pretty tough to carry the body into the hold and lay him out and cover his face with a lil washcloth and everything and not notice at any point during this that he's still breathing or that he has a pulse. and if they did notice you'd think they'd either finish the job quickly or try to treat him if they'd had a change of heart, not leave him to die slow. however the idea that they would beat him till he stopped moving then immediately chuck the body overboard, that totally makes sense, you wouldn't stop to check if he was already dead or not because one way or another he will be pretty shortly after you dump him in the ocean.
second the line from stede to izzy about "you were the one who kept his body onboard" always bugged me because it feels like it's meant to establish something about izzy but it's really unclear WHAT it tells us about him, in a way that doesn't seem like intentional ambiguity: i've seen people interpret it as a sign of his devotion and i've seen others assume it was a practical decision that the crew should keep ed's body around to claim the bounty on blackbeard. (and i've seen both interpretations from people both in and out of the canyon, so it's not even a normal izcourse divide.) i actually wondered at one point if the purpose was to foreshadow where izzy's arc is going to end by establishing that he thinks it's more respectful to bury a pirate on land than at sea, although if that was the idea it sure didn't work on the people who'd care most.
however this new info from djenks explains it pretty neatly, which is that the reason for the line isn't to establish character stuff about izzy at all it's just there to awkwardly patch a plothole. it's that someone in the writers' room was like "but it doesn't make any sense, why WOULDN'T they dump his body overboard once they'd killed him" and somebody else was like "idk uh maybe we can put in a line about how izzy stopped them or something."
now more interestingly! this also would change something bigger about 2x04. because i'm guessing the idea here would be that ed would have actually for real washed up on an island that looks just like the one in the gravy basket and just never actually gotten up off the beach, and stede would find him there, mermaid scene, and ed would wake up mad and storm off into the woods with where he meets mary read with stede already trying to follow him and the rest of the episode proceeds as normal from there. (and probably buttons would be just, like, hanging around following stede, or maybe he was already acting as a psychopomp and led stede to ed's body, idk, lots of possible ways to play that.)
this means you completely lose the beat of the crew voting ed off the ship. you wouldn't lose the idea of the crew being pissed at him; you could still have the kitty collar onesie probation stuff after he got back. but this is a BIG change.
first of all it solves a big obvious problem LOTS of people pointed out immediately when the episode aired which is that it makes no sense that stede would just stay on the ship after letting ed be exiled. reuniting with ed has been his driving goal for months and it's not even like ed has definitively told him to fuck off, he's just stomping off angry and incoherent and not even clearly in his right mind. but they couldn't let stede actually follow ed on his own initiative immediately, because it would undermine the later fisherman breakup if stede has already established that he's willing to leave his pirate career behind if that's what it takes to be with ed. so you end up with this awkward beat where he's just kind of passively standing there until buttons tells him what to do.
i think there's something even more important it does though! one criticism a LOT of people had about s2 was feeling like the crew all hated ed now and there was no clear sign they'd forgiven him by the end, and also some people had the impression that stede had just overriden the crew's decision (even though he does say he's going to ask their permission; it DOES feel weird we don't see that). now i've said before that i think there was probably going to be a reconciliation between ed & lucius, and by extension the crew as a whole, in the lupete wedding verision of 2x06, and i still think that. but regardless of whether i'm right or wrong about that. even without a reconciliation, this would seem like WAY less of a problem if the crew hadn't voted ed of the ship.
as it is, we have THREE scenes devoted to the idea that the crew as a whole (not just lucius & izzy, who both have more complicated individual relationships with ed) are uncomfortable with ed's presence on the ship - there's the initial one where stede's holding the meat on his face where they're all yelling at him, and then there's the actual walk of shame where they've just voted him off, and THEN there's the youtube apology scene where they're heckling him and stuff. and having three separate scenes like that makes it feel like the narrative is really hammering in this idea of a big dramatic rupture in the whole crew's relationship with ed. but only the last of those scenes was originally supposed to be there! the first two were just thrown into the plot to justify why ed ends up wandering around an island to run into anne & mary! if you only had the youtube apology scene, it would be much more clear that most of the crew weren't really all that mad - as it is, roach and jim explicitly saying they aren't mad feels like it's overshadowed by the weight of the earlier scenes.
(also a minor issue, but i've mentioned before that surprisingly often people think the vote was unanimous. this doesn't actually make sense in terms of the episode, because we know it was deadlocked and izzy cast the tiebreaker. but it is sort of weird, if the idea is that the crew is split on this, that we never get any sign of who voted which way; there's nobody but stede who is clearly presented as specifically not wanting ed to be exiled. which DOES end up making it feel like it's the crew as a unanimous block that wants him off the ship. but that makes sense if the whole concept of the crew wanting him exiled was sort of hastily written to patch a plot hole instead of being a fully developed idea.)
anyway. like i said i can't really complain about this as a pacing decision. but it is really interesting to me how many knock-on problems with the whole arc of the season were created by the change, and how much cleaner the original idea sounds like it would have been.
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ilium-ilia · 19 hours ago
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In Limbo
simon "ghost" riley x fem!reader | mafia!au | masterlist
Chapter Six: no good deed ever goes unpunished
tw: violence, non-con
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Small chunks of salt stick to the tips of Simon’s fingers, dusting them like fresh snow. You were right—a simple order of chips really isn’t enough to keep him going throughout the night. 
If anything, the saltiness makes him hungrier. It pummels his stomach until it’s grumbling at an annoying frequency, and it doesn’t do much to help the dryness in his mouth either. He would have tried to order something if it wasn’t damn near impossible to get anyone to deliver to the club, and god forbid John Price actually install a proper kitchen. But there would be no use for any sort of kitchen in a place like that, as it’s not good food that makes people swarm to Terminus like brainwashed zombies. It’s the booze. The music. A quickie in the stall. 
Shady activities in an alleyway. 
Simon huffs as he tosses the empty chip container in the small bin that sits in the corner of the surveillance room. Monitors upon monitors line the wall on the far side of the room, illuminating the concrete floor with a grey glow as faint music pulses through the air. He hates this room. Small, stuffy, and overheating with the computers and servers; he’d rather be out in the bitter November winter right about now. He’s out of luck tonight, because after nearly two weeks, Johnny’s research has finally bore fruit. 
About time, too. All Simon has been able to think about for the last few days has been you. Sometimes when he closes his eyes, he can still see the outline of your body. It’s ingrained in his mind. He still sees your limp, exhausted form as you rested in the conversation pit—too overwhelmed to keep conscious. It follows him like a bad dream. He doesn’t know why you haunt him so terribly. Perhaps he has Aelin to blame; she knows how he never likes leaving a job half done. 
Or maybe it’s because you’re so… peculiar. For a woman he can only describe as being a skittish cat, you’ve suddenly melted into some other version of yourself. Your dislike of his proximity to you is obvious. Short words, gauche exchanges; yet you have this impulsive need to constantly get even with him, like you’re trying to sweep up the breadcrumbs that lead to your door lest he get hungry and follow you home. 
However, when he visited you a few days ago to check on your hands—as promised—you seemed to be a whole new person. Well, not entirely. If you were the world’s most skittish cat before, you have now become the feral stray that would maybe eat out of the palm of his hand if he doesn’t look at you while you do it. He asked you questions and you responded with something more than simple words or an uneasy, anxiety induced joke. 
I’m… glad that you’re not doing this just for me.
He still wonders what you meant by that. 
“Hey, you paying attention?” Johnny whines. 
Simon blinks the glaze out of his eyes—one which carries a now greenish-yellow hue around his cheekbone—and pushes the thought of you out of his mind as his attention fully settles on the monitors in front of him. A chair squeaks as Johnny settles back against the worn, faux leather. He’s already got everything loaded up for whatever presentation he’s about to give. 
“Waitin’ on you, Johnny,” he playfully retorts. 
“Right,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “So, I’ve been trying to do some research on your dance partner here, and he’s a slippery fucker. Whoever he is, he’s good at covering his tracks up. At least through the methods I use to find people. Nothing on the media or anything like that. Might as well not exist at all in the tech world.” 
A hum rumbles in Simon’s throat as he crosses his arms. “You drag me in here just to tell me you found nothing?” 
Johnny’s neck cranes to the side where he then looks up at him with a wide smirk. “Come on, Riley. When have I ever wasted your time?” 
Both men turn their attention back to the monitor as Johnny begins to rewind through the footage from a few days ago—the day Simon found you in the alley. Everything happens fast as he speeds through the film. Bodies dart across view like ants, and there’s a comedic speed up cars driving along the road as they slice across the monitor like knives. Static streaks across the screen as the footage warps before it suddenly pauses again. 
“Since I wasn’t able to find anything on this guy, I decided to sleuth through the footage again, and I found something a little odd about this bloke here,” Johnny explains as he points to a male figure. Whoever it is, they’re faced away from the camera with their hands shoved deep into their pockets to stave off the cold. “He enters the alley before your pal does…” 
The video plays at normal speed, and the faceless man vanishes behind the brick corner of the building a few meters down, just as Johnny described. He fast forwards, and everything plays at triple speed. Simon’s seen it all before. The man who accosted you enters the alleyway, and then you unfortunately come across him a bit later, but then something happens that he hadn’t bothered to pay attention to before. 
The man Johnny pointed out leaves the alley, this time facing the camera. He’s fiddling with something in his hands, and upon closer inspection, Simon’s able to tell it’s a small wad of cash. It’s quickly stowed away in his pocket, and that’s where Johnny pauses the video. 
“He leaves as soon as Chip arrives, shoving a couple quid into his pocket like he struck a deal,” Johnny concludes. 
Tense fingers grip the back of the office chair as Simon leans over Johnny’s shoulder, squinting at the face on the screen. He scrutinizes every detail possible through the fuzzy footage, and his jaw flexes as he huffs. 
Square jaw, visible stubble, and eyes just as shifty as his character. 
“He looks familiar,” Simon mutters. 
“He oughta. Fucker works here.” 
A rancid taste floods the back of Simon’s throat at that revelation, and his fingers tense so greatly that the imitation leather of the chair threatens to crack beneath his grip. Fury rises in the dark irises of his eyes as he leans back and grumbles. It seems like such a simple detail to miss. Something that he should have caught the other night, even in his sleep deprived state. If he had, he would have been several leaps closer to the real issue ages ago. 
“Who is he?” Simon demands. 
“Marcel Wylder,” Johnny answers as he twists in his chair to face him. “Works part time as one of the bartenders in the VIP lounge. Only really works on the weekends, and according to the floor manager, he’s a good kid. Twenty three years old. Always shows up on time, things of that sort.” 
“Good kids don’t meddle with men who like to scare women in alleyways,” Simon retorts. 
Johnny shrugs. “Guess we all have our dark sides… some are darker than others.” 
It takes a few more moments for Simon to finally get himself to look away from the screen, and his eyes land on Johnny with a malice not meant for him. He’s not quite sure why this revelation angers him so. The sting of failure pricks at his skin too violently for him to ignore it. 
“He here tonight?” he asks. 
“Yeah, he’s working on the second floor right now. Or, at least that’s where he was last, according to the cameras,” Johnny answers. He pauses to lick his lips and tilt his head. “You’re brewing something in that head of yours. I can tell. None of it looks too cheerful.” 
Swarthy eyes glare back at the monitor as Simon commits this new face and name to memory. Marcel Wylder. Twenty three. Square jaw. Stubble. Thin eyes. 
“Thanks for the intel, Johnny,” is all Simon says as he turns on his heels and walks towards the exit. 
A high pitched squeak echoes off the dull white walls of the room as Johnny excitedly watches him leave. All he can make out are a straight set of shoulders, clenched fists, and an aura that demands blood. 
“Go easy on the kid!” Johnny calls after him—his voice is too saccharine to truly mean it. 
There are very rarely any times when Simon Riley feels like a savior, but he can’t deny the fact that he feels like Moses when he’s walking through Terminus. Eyes snap to him, wary of the large brute attempting to slice through the club like a dull axe. All it takes is a single glance or a firm hand on someone’s shoulder and the mass of pulsing bodies splits open for him like the Red Sea. 
This trend continues as he jogs up the wrought iron spiral staircase that leads up to the second floor, and his path to Marcel is highlighted by the mob of patrons crowding the bar. He looks nicer tonight than he did the previous night, and his square jaw almost appears defined now that he’s shaved that fuzz off of his face. Pristine dress clothes mark him as a perfect employee as he quickly fills orders and stuffs tips in his pocket all with a thankful smile. Doesn’t look like he’s doing half bad for himself, considering there’s a near topless woman serving booze next to him. 
“Marcel!” 
Simon’s voice booms louder than the bass of the music and is so sharp all other sounds nearly seem to cease for a moment. That pathetic sod glances up from his work like a schoolboy being scolded, and his face grows pallid. All it takes is a simple gesture of his fore and middle fingers to get the man to slip from behind the bar and join him in the crowd. 
He leads Marcel out behind the building like a lamb to slaughter. Just like a good offering, he’s quiet. Hardly asks anything besides is everything alright? to which Simon doesn’t respond. Biting wind attempts to tear through the formidable fabric of Simon’s clothes, but it seems to really do a number on the kid. Hardly even ten seconds out the door and the poor boy is wrapping his arms around himself and trying hard not to shiver, lest he look pathetic in front of the head of security. 
A flickering halogen light is the only source of illumination in the shady alley, and even in the bleakness of winter the garbage spoils and festers with a stomach-churning odor. Marcel stands cornered with his back to the wall, and he watches with trepidation as Simon’s hand dives into his pocket. Relief doesn’t fill his face until his eyes catch sight of a pack of cigarettes. 
The cancer-stick sits at home between Simon’s lips as he lights it and puffs out a steady stream of smoke until it’s well lit. A gentle breeze whisks it away into the air where it quickly dissipates among the smog smothered stars. Once he’s satisfied, he holds the pack out toward Marcel. 
“You smoke?” he asks. 
“Yes sir,” Marcel answers. 
Simon shakes the pack, prompting him to take one, and a smile pulls at the boy’s lips. “Cheers.” 
As Marcel’s trembling hands work on igniting the lighter, Simon takes a better look at him. There’s hardly a single scar on him, and his hands are much too soft to truly be a part of any violent syndicate. Still, anyone can be a mole, even if they’re a smooth faced kid. 
“What do you do outside of work?” Simon asks. It’s kind enough. Simple, polite conversation—but there’s nothing civil about the look in his eyes as he chews on the filter of his cigarette. 
“School, mostly,” Marcel replies. 
Simon hums. “Uni?”
“Greenwich.” 
“Smart.” 
Another exhale of smoke dances between Simon’s lips as he huffs, dark eyes still trained on Marcel. He’s damn near shivering out of his skin as the black fabric of his uniform is designed to whisk away sweat and keep you cool in warm, humid temperatures. No matter; the boy can warm up soon enough. Simon intends for this interaction to be quick. 
“Since you’re a smart kid, you’ll do well to be truthful with me then, yeah?” Simon prompts as he flicks a bit of ash onto the ground. “That bloke you met up with the other night? Who is he?” 
Trembling muscles suddenly freeze, and the cigarette seems stuck against Marcel's lips. There’s no exhale of smoke. The embers don’t brighten at the tip to show he’s inhaling. There’s nothing. 
“Bloke?” he repeats. 
“The fucker you met up with in the alley a week or two ago,” Simon snaps, already impatient. 
Marcel jumps and the cigarette falls free from between his lips and fingers. It sputters and whines on the ground, where the boy quickly puts it out of its misery by stomping on the embers until they’re no longer glowing. 
“Right, erm, Andrei I think it was.” 
“Andrei who?” 
“I dunno. I just know him as Andrei. Honest,” Marcel insists. 
“What did he want?” Simon presses. 
“Well, he had this picture of someone. Some bitch he didn’t want hanging around here I suppose. Was asking me questions about her and stuff,” Marcel replies earnestly. 
A bright pink dusts the tips of Simon’s ears. The muscles in his jaw begin to flex. “What did she look like?” 
“She was dressed mostly in black, kind of similar to our serving uniforms. It looked like it was taken through the window of some restaurant. I don’t know which one it was. I swear!” 
Sapori. 
Teeth nearly cut through the filter of his cigarette as Simon’s jaw clenches. He rips the thing out of his mouth and tosses it on the ground, not even bothering to stomp it out. This man—this Andrei—is getting too close to you for comfort. He thinks back to the way you reacted in the alley; how petrified you were. A terrible thought plagues his mind as he wonders what has been done to you to get you to fear someone so terribly. 
Simon doesn’t like where his mind is wandering. 
“What questions did he ask about her?” Simon continues. 
“Dunno, just regular stuff? I suppose? He asked when she was here and who she was with. Things like that,” Marcel replies. 
Simon raises an eyebrow. “And?”
“And I told him the truth. About how she was here on Halloween. I mean, I didn’t see much of her so there wasn’t a lot I could tell him. Honest. I think he was mostly looking for confirmation that she was here at all. He didn’t ask for anything else after that, and he sent me on my way.” 
Acid eats away at Simon’s stomach. The chips he devoured before this seem to have a hard time settling with the heavy ire disrupting his mood. Dense feet scrape against the ground as he takes a few steps closer to Marcel, who puts his hands up in defense as if that’s going to do anything against the rating storm barreling straight for him. 
“That’s it, that’s everything, honest! I swear!” he pleads. 
“I know. I believe you,” Simon says through gritted teeth. 
Worn knuckles crash into the tense flesh just underneath Marcel’s sternum, stealing the very breath from his lungs. He sputters miserably as his back crashes against the brick wall behind him, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t breathe. A deep purple hue stains his face as his body begins to jolt and spasm uncontrollably. It’s impossible to keep himself upright with the wind knocked out of him—diaphragm screaming in protest—he slowly slides onto the ground with his hands over his stomach like he’s trying to stop blood flowing through a wound. 
“You’re a smart boy, so listen close,” Simon says as he crouches to Marcel’s new height. He rubs at his sore fist, but his eyes don’t stray even an inch from his target. “Be careful who you call a bitch ‘round here, because if I ever hear you refer to a woman like that again, I’ll knock your goddamn teeth out like the sorry sod you are, ya hear?” 
Still sputtering and heaving, Marcel nods. 
“Good. Now, that woman Andrei showed you? Forget her. She doesn’t exist to you. If he comes ‘round here askin’ about her, you tell him you haven’t seen her, because you won’t. You’ve got nothin’ for him, yeah? Nod.” Simon’s tone is too severe to deny—Marcel complies easily. “If anyone ever starts askin’ about any of our patrons or workers, you bring that shit right to me. Don’t you ever go ‘round behind my fuckin’ back again. You think there’s anything that happens here that I don’t know about? Huh?” 
After an eternity of struggle, Marcel is finally able to get a good gasp in, and a few subsequent breaths after that. That bright purple begins to fade from the paleness of his face, and he quivers and shakes his head. 
“N-No sir,” he stutters. “Sor-ry…” 
“Good. Don’t you ever fuckin’ forget that.” 
Simon pushes himself up to his feet and looks down at Marcel as he writhes and chokes on his achy diaphragm. He haphazardly digs around his pocket for his pack of smokes before he retrieves a single cigarette and tosses it toward the pathetic lump of a man at his feet. It bounces on the slimy ground before rolling to a stop with specks of dirt sticking to the filter—Simon’s half-hearted attempt at an apology. 
“Take a breather. Have yourself another smoke, then get back to work,” he orders. He turns to leave, but only gets a few steps away before he pauses. A stiff finger points at Marcel. “Keep in mind, that's not even half of what I’ve got, yeah?” 
Marcel’s pathetic response is drowned out by the uproar of music that fills Simon’s ears as he returns back inside of the club. A thick wall of heat melts the frost off of his skin as his brooding figure cuts through the crowd like a hot knife through butter. His blood continues to boil with clenched fists and heavy breaths. It’s all consuming. Swallowing him whole. Simon doesn’t like being angry. He feels too much like his father, and sometimes he fears that he looks like him, too. 
Violent, angry, sinister—his intimidating build and threatening demeanor have always been something he’s tried to rage against. A stereotype he’s been attempting to break. Yet now that he’s gotten one step closer to uncovering the monsters hiding in your shadows, he’s grateful for it. For once, it’s a tool he can use to his advantage. Something he can use to help you. 
Except, while Simon is busy taking baby steps through this web of lies, you’re already in the maw of the beast. 
Frayed string tangles around your fingers as trembling hands attempt to keep themselves busy with a solo game of cat’s cradle. It’s already the 25th again, and just like every other month, you’re in perfect position. Sitting properly on a bench with a wad of cash tucked neatly into the envelope that sits inconspicuously on your lap. This is a dance you know well. A dance you don’t think you’ll ever be free from. 
Washers and dryers hum around you and clash terribly with the ringing of your ears and the violent pounding of your heart. Trepidation plagues you worse than it usually does on your due date. Every other month is predictable. Something you have memorised. But this month? You don’t know how Marco is going to react about what Simon did to Andrei. 
You keep going through possibilities in your mind. Things you need to say to keep him off of Simon’s trail. Ways to apologize to keep him from getting upset. You’ve gone through every option your mind can come up with, yet it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s something you’re still missing. 
But you’ve run out of time. 
Frosty air slices through the warmth of the laundromat and you try your best not to shiver. Not that it does you any good—you’re already shaking. Marco’s cologne drifts along the air, mixing in dissonance with the fragrance of soap and fabric softener. Green eyes scan the small room as he takes note of the single mom folding clothes in the back of the building as her young son watches videos on her phone. It should be comforting to know that you’re not alone—but you’ve learned that you’re never safe. Horror does not wait for eyes to turn away before sinking teeth into flesh. 
Your attention stays firmly on your hands as Marco waltzes up and makes himself at home next to you on the bench. The scent of him scorches your nose as his arm wraps around your shoulders. You try not to jump as he involuntarily pulls you closer to him, and you find your fingers clamping down hard on the string in your hands. 
“Long time, no see,” he greets. 
He’s more cordial than he usually is, and that terrifies you. His thumb rubs at your arm through the fabric of your jumper and you feel your heart leap into your throat. He knows. He knows, and you’re about to pay for it. 
“Did you hear about our good friend, Andrei? Got scuffed up pretty bad the other week,” Marco prompts. 
You swallow your heart down your throat and back into your chest. “Is he alright?” 
“Define alright,” he hums. Long legs spread apart and bump into your thigh, crowding you further like he’s trying to lock you in a cage of your own flesh. “Busted lip, broken nose. His face is so goddamn swollen he sounds like he’s got a cold.” 
Images of Andrei’s wounded face sear your mind. Bright red blood trickling down his lips, an appalled expression on his face as if he had never met anyone capable of putting him in his place before. You should have known then that you wouldn’t walk away unscathed from something like that. Simon’s protection can only reach so far. 
“What were you even doing there, anyway? At Terminus?” Marco then asks. 
“I was delivering food,” you answer truthfully. 
“Oh, you’re a delivery driver now? I thought you were a waitress,” he digs. 
“Hostess…” you correct. 
“Who were you delivering to?”
“My friend… her husband owns the club and she was hungry… so… I, well…” you stumble over your lie. 
Firm fingers dig into your arm as Marco pulls you closer. You try to keep your bottom lip from trembling. “Ah, right. John fucking Price.” 
Shocked, you finally bring yourself to look at him. There’s faint amusement on his face as he stares at the washers in front of him. A mixture of soapy water and colorful clothes dance around in the machine as it gently spins and agitates the fabric. 
“You know him?” you venture to ask. 
A smirk pulls on his lips as he turns his attention to you, and your blood screams at how close his face is to yours. “Don’t worry about that, babe.” 
His eyes capture yours in a way that makes it impossible to look away—like you’re an unfortunate deer caught in the headlights of a speeding car. He wanders down. Down, down, down until he catches sight of the unmarked envelope on your thighs. He grabs it and isn’t at all courteous about where his fingers brush in the process. 
“How did that guy even know you were in that alley? That prick who fought with Andrei?” Marco ponders. 
As he waits for your response, he hits the envelope against the top of your thighs as if he’s bored. Tap, tap, tap. Each time it touches you, you feel your stomach twist. 
“I, uhm, asked the same thing. Said he heard us like… talking and… he thought I needed help. Guess he was the bouncer outside of the VIP entrance. M-My friend said he’s the head of security,” you reply, weaving truth and lies seamlessly together. 
“Yeah, I know who the bastard is,” Marco mutters in reply. 
Something lugubrious tingles up your spine as you have the slight urge to press him for an explanation. You bite that urge away as he folds up the envelope and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans, not even bothering to count the cash. Your gaze finally breaks away from him as you glance back down at your hands. They’re almost fully healed—nothng but faint scars and scabs now. You untangle the string from your fingers as you begin to wind it up, hopeful that he’ll leave soon after this interrogation. 
“Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure it was all one big misunderstanding. No use in getting worked up over it, babe,” he sighs. A pause follows his words, one that’s interrupted by the quiet giggling of the child still playing on his mother’s phone as she folds clothes somewhere to your right. “Still, some damage was done. Andrei’s been an annoying fuck ever since the altercation. As much as I would love to let you get off easy, it doesn’t really look too good if I’m letting some sweet, pretty thing walk all over me, now does it?”
Your eyes flutter shut as he speaks, and you attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever blow he’s about to deal. Of course it was naive to think you’d get out of this easily. Really, you were prepared to be hurt in some type of way from the moment you stepped foot in the laundromat. All you wanted to do was throw Marco off of Simon’s trail—to not drag someone innocent into this mess—and though it feels like you’ve succeeded for now, you’re not quite sure you even accomplished that much. 
“It doesn’t,” you pitifully agree.
Marco smirks. “Because of that, your monthly payments will be increased by five hundred starting next month. That ought to be enough.”
The very blood coursing through your veins turns to ice, and tears blur your vision as you try to make sense of his words. Five hundred. A brutal panic wreaks havoc in your chest. You want to sob, and scream, and thrash with frustration but his hand is still on your arm, keeping you chained to him. Gluttonous fingers stain your skin and his leg is still pressed against yours, and you can feel the disgusting warmth of his body and you can’t—you can’t. You want to rage, but you’re cornered and trapped, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 
“B-But that’s… that’s fifteen hundred a month, I… I’ve hardly- I can’t make that.” 
You’re crying now, and you hate it. You hate how weak and pathetic you are. You hate how you have no other choice but to be this way—malluable like molten metal and just as brittle. White hot tears cook your cheeks as they travel down your face, and you’re trying your best not to hiccup. Suddenly, you’re a kid all over again. Fawning, trying not to flinch as his hand reaches for your jaw to turn your face to him. His breath smells minty as it fans across the wet streaks on your face—he’s so close you can almost taste the menthol. There’s a small frown on his lips, something that almost looks sincere. 
Almost. His eyes are too hungry for it to be real. 
“Look at you,” he shushes. One hand moves up to cup your cheek while the other stays steady and firm around your shoulders. His thumb caresses your face, catching the briny tears and pushing them to the side. “Getting all upset over this? If it means that much to you, we can always negotiate lower, babe.” 
It takes an eternity for his lips to meet yours, and once they do, everything freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the ringing in your ears and the warm shame on your skin. It’s degrading. Humiliating. A terrible reminder that you’ve never really belonged to yourself—that you’ve never belonged to anyone or anything but him. 
Things get worse when his tongue pushes past your lips. Everything becomes overwhelming—the washers and dryers, the video on that damn phone, Marco’s slight moan against your skin. You make a pitiful attempt to fight back by pressing your hands on his chest, but you’re met with harsh resistance and rigid muscle. He pulls you closer, holding you tight like a coiling snake. 
Something in you demands blood. You feel obligated to bite down, to sink your teeth into his tongue until the mint in your mouth is replaced with iron and copper. When you were a kid, your dad had taught you how to throw a punch. You wonder what he would think if he saw you like this. Sniveling and too afraid to fight back. 
Once he’s had his fill of your fear, Marco pulls away, but you still can’t breathe. He continues to wipe more tears from your face as if he can’t comprehend why they’re flowing in the first place. 
“For that, we’ll drop it down to only two fifty,” he whispers. He places another kiss against your lips—something chaste and quick. “Unless… you wanna take me up on that deal?” 
“N-No,” you stutter, then sniff. “I’ll get you the money.” 
Humming, Marco finally releases you as he stands to his feet. He looks down at you with a self-satisfied smirk as he gently kicks the side of your foot. “See you next month, babe.” 
Marco leaves just how he arrived—with a gust of bitter, algid wind. He’s taken something from you that you won’t get back, and it’s left you feeling empty on that bench. So void, so barren of anything that you can’t even bring yourself to move. All you can do is sit there and curse yourself for being just as worthless now as you were the day when you first got yourself stuck in this mess. 
Shuffling sounds on your right, and you nearly jump out of your skin as you look up at the source. It’s that lady and her son. You’d nearly forgotten about them. A small basket of neatly folded clothes sits on her hip as she holds the boy’s hand to lead him out of the laundromat. Her face twists with disgust, like she can smell every single sin that’s ever been forced upon you. As if you are at fault for the grotesque display of affection you were made to endure. 
As if the gaping hole in your chest is your fault. 
As she exits, you try not to think about why she didn’t help you. If anything, you’re grateful for it. No more favors. No random acts of kindness. It never turns out well. No good deed ever goes unpunished. 
Instead, you rise to your feet a few minutes later once you’re able to stitch yourself back together. Wiping your face clean, you brave the cold streets of London as you take the transit back home. You swear to yourself that the moment you step foot in your apartment, you’ll rinse your mouth clean until even the thought of Marco is gone. Then, you’ll call Sapori to see if you can pick up an extra shift.
This is how your life was always going to go—you’ve known this whole time. Pathetically slow, time wasted away at work trying to scrounge up enough cash to keep yourself alive. To pay for the right to continue to draw breath. You think of Marco’s scheming words—his terrible offer that he keeps attempting to shove down your throat—and you try not to squirm in your seat on the bus. 
Maybe one day you won’t have any choice but to endure his whims, but for now you’re content on working until your hands bleed.
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