#and I feel as though I am abandoning a child as I write this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

endearng · 6 days ago

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Doomed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x single mom!reader Summary: If you and Spencer had a nickel every time someone teased you after witnessing your interactions, you'd have two nickels, which isn't much — but it's weird that it happened twice. WC: 4.4k Warnings: Mentions of abandonment and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything. A/N: HI!!! I'm so obsessed with them... in a normal amount of course. I'm thinking about writing casually for them, who knows... Also,,,, who am I if not a morcia truther….. I hope you enjoy it! Feedbacks are always appreciated <3 neighbor!au masterlist | main masterlist

You were doomed from the moment he bid you goodbye.

"So, who's he?" Victoria inquired, a sly smirk on her face and a bashful expression on yours.

"Who's who?" You asked, trying to feign nonchalance.

She groaned playfully, "You know what I mean."

"I'm afraid I don't." You winked, sitting on your couch again, between the two women. Sex and the City was playing on the TV across from the three of you.

"You're acting like us as freshmen when the seniors looked at us—" she retorted.

"I thought we didn't talk about that," Jude deadpanned.

"You're 'I don't know what you're talking about' me? I thought we were friends!" Victoria poked you in the rib.

"Ouch! He's just a friendly neighbor, that's it." You said, trying to cut the subject. Jude looked at you suspiciously. "White wine time."

From Spencer's apartment, he could hear the sound of chatter, joyful laughter and opening bottles for the rest of the night. He didn't know how to feel by your invitation, now that he had calmed down after looking you in the eye for a moment, technically, all by yourselves. He would definitely feel inappropriate at a kid's birthday where he barely knew the people who invited him, but he thought that Olivia's gesture was amazingly endearing. What could possibly be more childishly adorable than an infant trying to help and making a 'mistake'? And what could possibly be more devastatingly endearing than a mother taking advantage of said mistake to make it right?

Spencer studied the card for a moment. It fit the palm of his hand, tiny and delicate. It had a different address from yours and the time of the party, all of it lovely handwritten, just like the letters from calligraphy practice notebooks. It seemed like Olivia put a lot of effort in trying to perfect her handiwork. It read:

Hey, it's Oli!

I'm turning six and I want to celebrate it with you!

The contents of the slip of paper were adorned by dainty drawings related to birthdays: party hats, cake, gifts, some decoration and so on. It suddenly dawned on him that he was actually becoming closer to the people he always thought lived a perfect life. His mind had a tendency to wander and, for a fleeting moment, he thought about what it would be like to be part of that perfect life.

Olivia was a perfectionist child. He saw the expected behavior of the age in her manners, but the care with her work almost made him think someone else had done it for her. Something told him it wasn't the case, though.

Secured by two magnets, he placed Olivia's birthday party invitation on his fridge. You know, just so he wouldn't forget it — he tried to convince himself.

Everybody knew about his otherworldly memory, but he decided to forget it purposefully.

"Good morning, good ghost. I didn't see you anymore." Olivia greeted as she saw Spencer in front of the elevator. You were just locking your door closed, hyping yourself up for the week ahead of you when you heard it and a shiver ran down your spine. This, whatever it was, was getting out of hand.

"Good morning, Miss Olivia!" He said, a sweet tone of voice. You melted. "It's true. It's been a while. I was here on the weekend, but it seemed like you had other plans." He stuck his hand out for her to shake. She did it in a heartbeat.

"I was with my grandma and grandpa. They took me to the movies and grandpa made me lasagna." She explained as you approached them, adjusting your bag and Olivia's backpack in each of your arms. "Did'ya get my birthday party invitation?"

"Yes, I did! Thank you for inviting me. But, you know, your mother probably needed the rest of them for the other guests." He said as the elevator opened. He gestured for you to enter it first, so you did it with a grateful nod.

"Sorry, mommy. I didn't mean it." Olivia looked at you briefly, ashamed that you would call her out.

"I know, baby, 's okay. Everyone has one now." You assured her with a light tone. Breathe. "Hi, Spencer. Good morning." You said as he joined you in the elevator.

He breathed out, "Good morning. Hi." He had a big smile on his face, standing right next to you, you both facing the door and Olivia in front of you. Internally, he felt like a puppy who had his owners’ undivided attention.

Olivia pressed the button to the lobby. You noticed a book in his hands. Courage. "So, what are you reading, Spencer?"

He gulped. Were you talking to him? It took him a moment to get a grip and realize that he hadn't answered you. Struggling to find the words and suddenly unable to remember what he was actually reading. "Me? I'm just re-reading one of Dostoievski's books. Notes from Underground."

"Dosto-what?" Olivia chipped in.

You looked at her, ready to tell her to not interrupt someone, but couldn't stop yourself from giggling. Spencer watched it fondly. "It's Dostoievski, baby. D'you remember that one book with the 'ugly' cover that mommy was reading the other day?" You asked her, air quoting the word 'ugly'. “It wasn’t ugly. It just wasn’t pink.” You explained it, looking at Spencer. He grinned.

"Yeah. You didn't read to me because it was work." She said, getting distracted with one of her braids.

"Are you a teacher?" He asked, intrigued.

"No. I actually work for a publishing company. Sometimes I have interesting content to revise." You said, a tinge of irony in your voice. He smiled at you, feeling comfortable enough to joke around him without the awkwardness of that first encounter.

The elevator door opened. Olivia jumped out. "I bet it's interesting," was the best he could come up with. Tongue tied.

“Yeah. It’s a good book.”

Like a fucking teenager, he watched as you left with your daughter. Your mixed laughter echoing in the lobby as Olivia spinned around while you carried the weight all by yourself.

He scolded himself for not remembering to offer you help.

Two days later, a few states over, Spencer sat on a chair at the conference room of the precinct they were working with. The case was exhausting and he just wanted it to be over, but it wasn't that simple. He waited for Derek Morgan — he was his ride that night back to the hotel they were crashing on. He was in front of Derek as he and Penelope talked, her image on the computer screen. The man's nonchalant tone was a riddle for her to unsolve — everyone else was aware that there was definitely something between them (an unspoken dictionary worth of words), even if their interactions were deemed as jokes. Penelope, feeling very shy, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and looked at her lap after a particular comment about her smile. As she did so, her eyes caught a glance of her watch. "Oh, shoot. I have to go," she murmured, relieved to have a way out of the exchange that had high chances of turning her into a nervous wreck. "I'm so sorry, handsome! Tomorrow is one of my friend's daughter's birthday."

A flash of disappointment crossed Derek's features. Not that she'd noticed. Instead of pressing her, he chose to say, "Need extra energy to keep up with the kids, babygirl?" Ah, there was it. The teasing tone. She was definitely imagining things.

"Not as much as I need to keep up with you, tiger," she replied with a wink, the dynamic between them quickly shifting back to the usual playful banter. Both of them wanted more than playful and far more than banter, but none of them had the courage to admit it, to be straightforward about it. Spencer understood it, really. Speaking made things too real. "But, seriously. I totally forgot to pick up her gift. Olivia loves reading, so I'll go to the mall. I'm glad I already bought it, so I won't get home late."

If he was a dog, Spencer's ears would have definitely perked up from how quickly he associated one thing to another. Could it be the same Olivia? Your Olivia? "Okay, mama. Be safe." Derek said.

"I will," she smiled as she hung up.

Idiots.

Maybe Derek was too serious about the "no profiling each other" rule they set.

"Let’s go, pretty boy," The dark-skinned agent stated. Spencer got up, grabbed his bag and made his way to the elevator with her.

As they chatted about nothing in particular, walking out of the precinct, he desperately wanted to ask him if she truly didn't see past Penelope's sudden shyness. It wasn't in his nature to do that, of course, but as Derek and Penelope were two of the most important people in his life, he wondered why wouldn't they be a thing by now, since they enjoyed themselves so much and were so open about their affections towards one another.

He was quickly ripped away from his thoughts when the man suddenly spoke up, “So, what's your deal lately, Reid? What's she like?"

The doctor choked on his own saliva, which made him cough like crazy. Derek laughed, but tried to help his panicked friend. "What was that, man?" he asked worriedly, once he saw Spencer had finally inhaled a gulp of air.

Face as red as a tomato, cough dying in his throat, "what was what?" Derek returned to his normal self once he noticed his friend was able to finally form a coherent sentence.

"You're gonna act dumb now that you almost died when I talked about her?" Derek questioned, teasing tone, "it was just a lucky guess, but I see you, Reid. You're daydreaming far too often for what's acceptable for the boy genius who's as focused as a laser beam."

Spencer looked straight ahead as they got to the exit. He should have cornered Derek first. "Why would you think it has anything to do with a 'her'?" He chuckled, nervous to be caught red-handed — even if he wasn't doing anything wrong.

Was it wrong to want? He felt like it was. All his life, really. Had no chance to want anything because either was a far too distant reality, person, happiness for him to grasp it or it was ripped away from him too soon, before he could even acknowledge what was happening inside him. That's why want was almost a foreign sensation for Spencer. He had been deprived of it for as long as he could remember.

"Because people get a little dumb when they're in love. At least, ordinary people do. Apparently, so do geniuses," he snickered, his mind also set on teasing Spencer.

Maybe it was dumb to reveal his secret, jaw dropping crush on his cute neighbor, but he wanted some sort of relief to that mess of tangled thoughts inside his head and the strange, to say the least, feelings brewing on his chest whenever he saw you. You barely knew each other. But he supposed it was yet another part of the want he wasn’t familiar with: it didn't need much and it took all consciousness out the door. It wasn't uncommon for him to feel like his heart was being ripped out of his chest whenever he was on the field, especially since he was often facing danger. The way the events were unfolding were scarily similar to his cases: he noticed you, made up theories based on your behavior and routine, and slowly, oh, so slowly, started to approach you. Not to put you away, but for more personal reasons.

What was different was the feeling in his heart, instead of the sensation of being squeezed painfully inside his ribcage, often leading to ragged breathing, now felt like it was being held delicately by a pair of caring, dainty hands. Either way, his heart was fighting in the frontline and relied on the other part to be calmed and saved. The least he could do was try to be careful, finally opting not saying anything to Derek.

"Just a lot on my mind lately," he chose to say, instead. Derek dropped the subject, too tired to press it further.

Olivia's party had come to an end an hour ago. You got to see old friends and talked until they got every single ounce of information about your life lately and so did you about theirs. Your daughter had enjoyed her party greatly, and hugged every. single. person. who came to wish her happy birthday and thanked them for being there. She paid little attention to the gifts, too focused on spending time with her friends, playing with them until the sugar rush wore off — all of them had a massive candy intake that day. You didn't spend much time with her, but she promised you that she would unwrap her gifts the next morning with you, the most adorable toothless grin on her face.

Despite everything flowing accordingly, all day long, your stomach churned with anticipation. You wondered if Olivia's dad would show up, since the day she was born was, quote, the happiest of his life. His parents did, and when you looked at them anxiously, his mother shot you a neutral glance. Not a word from his end was its meaning. Your daughter never asked anything about him during the day, which made you even more jittery. You feared she would have a breakdown at any time, so you paid extra attention to her.

It never came.

You had missed the deadline of a book chapter that you had to revise, too caught up on trying to balance everything in your life, so your parents told you they'd stay with her so you could go home to work and take her in the morning. Normally, you wouldn't accept it, but your father had decided you were too tired to wake her to go home, so you complied. Right after the guests left, you did all the steps of her night routine, except for the bedtime story — she was that tired of all the running around in the backyard. You were sure she would sleep all night long.

Once she dozed off, you stood for a moment in her grand-bedroom (she had come up with that and it kind of stuck with you). Your parents had decorated it while you were still pregnant. She needs to feel at home, was what your mother said when you walked in on them assembling her crib. You almost cried, overwhelmed with joy. Your fiancé, then, had rolled up his sleeves to help out. Oh, the irony.

Her room was full of photographs that held many memories of her six years of life. You could never imagine that you could love this much, let alone dedicate yourself so entirely to someone like you did for her. Even though it was hard and you often didn't feel like you were enough to raise her on your own, Olivia was a wonderful child and her gestures and overall behavior assured you you were doing a good job. The reflection brought tears to your eyes. You drove home by yourself.

Currently, in your apartment, it felt a little too big without Olivia in there — too many books, too many chairs, too much space on your sofa, too many toys scattered around with nobody to play with them. You sighed, deciding on going to the kitchen to make you a cup of tea — you felt like your brain was hammering inside your skull and you still needed to spend time in front of a computer screen. Going back to your small office to wallow in self pity and second guess yourself even as you read whatever material it was, you heard a knock on the door.

You checked your watch. 9p.m. On a Saturday.

Weird.

Through the peephole, you saw someone you truly weren't expecting. "Spencer?" You asked as you opened the door, surprise filling your being. "I didn't think you'd come, I supposed you were at work. I mean, sometimes it feels like you barely have a routine, heh. But, um, thanks for dropping by." You said, a little unfiltered. Not even five seconds in his presence and you were already making a fool of yourself in front of him.

He held a small bouquet of flowers in one of his hands and a gift in the other. To a stranger's eye, it seemed like he had missed your birthday and was trying to apologize for it. You blushed at the thought. He shut his eyes, sorry crossing his features. "I know. I'm sorry I missed it, even though I really didn't want to. You were right, I was away on a case." You smiled, dismissing his apologies and soothing his worries once you did so.

"It's alright with me. She was totally expecting you, though. Kept asking where you were for the first hour. Then she got distracted with candy," you told him, "so she's the one you're gonna need to apologize to." You joked.

"T—that's why I'm here."

"I'm just not sure if Olivia is old enough to get flowers," you said, face serious. His eyes went wide and it took him a moment to understand, but once he looked at your serious expression cracking, his shoulders shook with laughter, with you. If you had more attention, you'd seen the moment his ears turned red.

Your laughter died down. A beat of silence. "These are actually for you." He revealed.

You were stunned. "Oh," you said, suddenly at a loss of words. "Thank you so much."

He gave you the flowers and you gracefully accepted. You were mesmerized by them; colors swimming in harmony before your eyes and the scent making you feel dizzy. Maybe not the scent, but the emotions you were feeling with the surprise. He went out of his way to get you those flowers — it's safe to say that it had been a while since you felt that way. "I—I have no words, Spencer. Really. Thank you so much," your voice choked.

You looked at each other for a brief moment. You tried to show how much you appreciated his gesture. You grinned, trying to get out of that haze, "Do you want to come in? Oli's with my parents, so you won't be able to apologize today," you quipped, making room for him to enter.

"Yeah, I'd love to."

"You can place the giftbox on the coffee table." He went inside, toeing off his shoes in the small space you had before the living room. Once he was there, he saw you enter the kitchen to find a vase. He could see you from where he stood. "Make yourself at home. Do you want some tea? I have Earl Gray."

Your voice was distant as he took in his surroundings. "Yeah, I'd like it." He murmured as he looked around. Your walls were a light gray, adorned with pictures of you and Olivia, some people he assumed were some of your friends. The wall behind the sofa was entirely covered by a big bookshelf that went from one end to the other, filled with books and souvenirs from basically everywhere. The dark wood of the furniture complemented the light walls in a cozy way, some toys and kids books scattered around the floor. The apartment smelled like fresh printed sheets of paper and earl gray tea. You had a few indoor plants that looked well taken care of. Spencer was admiring your degree from Stanford, which hung on the wall beside the TV, almost close to the door.

"One of my biggest achievements. Besides Olivia, of course," you approached him with his mug of tea. Turning to you, he noticed through his peripheral vision that you had placed the flowers inside a vase and in your coffee table.

"Thanks," he said.

"So... are you okay?"

The question caught him off guard. What?

You smiled a little. "You always look kinda tired when I see you," you said, not thinking about how your words might be interpreted. Your eyes widened, realizing it. "I mean, no! Sorry! You're still pretty, don't worry. It's just— I asked because you might be going through something. Forget I said anything about your looks."

He would definitely never forget.

Spencer laughed, flustered, eyes softly gazing at you while you rambled like a madman. "I'm fine, thanks for asking. Sometimes my job is a little demanding and I'm forced to see some things that usually people don't even think exist," he confessed.

You bit your lip. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be," he retorted, "I have a great team to work with."

"I'm glad to hear that. Sorry I brought it up, you probably don't want to talk about work right now." You said, sipping on your tea.

"Yeah, you're right, again," he chuckled. "How was Olivia's birthday?" He tried a change of subject.

"That was actually the reason I was moping when you got here," you said, trying to force a chuckle. "It was nice, I guess. I was just on edge all day trying to anticipate her emotions regarding her dad, but I guess they never came. At least, not today." You beckoned him to sit with you on the couch, now facing each other directly.

"May I ask why?" He asked, tentatively.

"Why what?"

More hesitance. "Why wasn't he there?"

"From what I know, he moved away." You said, tone unreadable.

He worried that he was overstepping and wasn't sure that he would like to hear more about it. He was scared to find out unpleasant news, such as you still had feelings for him. "I'm sorry." Was all he could muster.

"Don't be. I have a great team," you repeated his words from earlier and he smiled at you.

His brain and tongue didn't seem to be working together that night, he was so avid to know more. "Did you always have support?"

"My parents didn't like the idea of having a single mother when they first heard it. It hit me hard back then, but then I realized it was better to be alone than to stay in an unhappy relationship, especially since Olivia was already in the picture." You said, setting your own mug on the coffee table.

"What happened?" Stop it.

He couldn't help it, he was too curious. It was his first opportunity to truly know the novel sort of family that you had. Apparently, not so much.

"He was distant before leaving. Someone else, maybe?" You asked, rhetorically, a crease between your eyebrows. "I never found out, but I don't want or need to, either. His parents absolutely love Olivia and they were there today, 's all that matters."

"You’re a very strong person."

"I have to be," you said, softly. "You’re a very good listener."

A rush of courage running through his veins. Deciding on not taking the road of unsaid things, like his friends were earlier. Don’t dance around the subject, take the opportunity. Dare. "And you're just as pretty."

The world stopped. You looked at him in disbelief. It didn't last much. A knock on your door. Scratch that: someone banging on your door.

You pinched your eyebrows together. Spencer stood up, almost as if he was doing something wrong. You looked at him, apologizing, "I'm not expecting anyone."

You walked to the door and he stood behind you, telling you he was going to let you be. You didn't want to and you were already chastising yourself from not trying to talk to him and focusing on your problems instead. You opened the door and in the threshold stood Penelope Garcia, gift basket in hands. Before you could speak, both of your guests spoke at the same time.

A mortified "Garcia?" from Spencer.

A surprised "Spencer?" from Penelope.

Finally, a confused "Do you know each other?" from you.

"Yeah. We work together." Spencer replied. "What are you doing here, Penelope?"

"What are you doing here, boygenius?" Her tone now was teasing, a cheshire grin on her face. You were acting confused, but you were loving to see Spencer so out of place.

"I... I was..." He trailed off.

Poor thing. "He came to drop Olivia's gift. We're neighbors." You explained, trying to save him from further embarrassment.

She glanced between you two, eyes full of mirth behind her glasses. "I'm here to do the same." She said, smiling as she handed you the basket, which you took carefully and thanked her with a side hug. "There's her present, sweetcheeks. I'm so sorry I couldn't be there, you know how much I miss you and Olivia. But I'm sure our genius told you all about it." Her sentimental words truly held emotion, but she turned her attention to Spencer once again. The opportunity was too good to let go.

Spencer looked like a fish out of water. You opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it. "Garcia, can we talk?" He asked abruptly. "I'm sorry, I have to go." He murmured in a much more soft tone to you.

He could never resume whatever was going on in there because he felt like he had been caught with his pants down.

You were so surprised you didn't even process what was your answer, forgetting to ask if Penelope wanted to come in or anything. "I—Okay. I'll see you, then." With a small smile and slight disappointment in your voice. He all but dashed out of your apartment and took Garcia, who had a mischievous expression on her face, with him. You closed your door and looked at the mix of flowers. A sigh escaped you. Damn, Garcia.

Spencer was escorting Penelope back to her car, ready to bury himself alive because he knew she would run her mouth and knew precisely to whom she would tell about it. And, of course, the endless jokes he would hear during the next few days. "Sooooo..." She trailed off, suggestively.

"I—don't want to talk." She opened her mouth, but had no success in talking. "Not. A. Word."

She entered her car and started the engine as he waited for her to go. But before she started driving, she yelled, "I knew you had it in you, Reid."

From your balcony, work long forgotten, you watched Spencer hide his face in his hands in utter embarrassment.

You were doomed.

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 1 month ago

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Werewolf // Cinna’s Monstertober Writing Challenge

Tags: Werewolf!Geto x Fem!Reader, Alpha!Geto x Omega!Reader, A/B/O mechanics, marking, scenting, nesting, fated mates, description of violence including murder, NSFW, MDNI

Synopsis: Suguru knew you were his before you even presented as an omega, but the pack elders did not take too kindly to him marking you at such a young age. He kills anyone who gets in his way to you.

An: If you don’t like a/b/o or omegaverse, skip this one :3. If you’re a freak like me, enjoy! Also, this was my first time making my own banner in Canva.. what are we thinking?? I am also so sorry that this one is so late.

“Satoru… I’m going to kill them. I’m going to murder them all. I can’t do this anymore. She needs me.”

Let’s rewind, shall we?

Living in a small pack has its perks. Everyone is protective over one another and will always offer to help no matter what. Pack relations are strongest when the pack is smaller, and the pack is more likely to survive.

There are, of course, some cons as well. Everyone knows your business, and everyone wants a say in how you live your life.

For the longest you can remember, Suguru has been by your side. You two would spend a lot of time down at the creek together as kids. You two practically learned everything together: how to hunt, fish, trap, and forage.

He was your insistent shadow, and the pack elders thought it was adorable when you two were younger. He would without fail abandon the other small children to always go hang out with you. The two of you were like little partners in crime together.

Though their adoration turned to concern when Suguru never quite left your side. In fact, it was getting worse as he grew older. By the time he turned 13, He was abandoning hunting trips early to come home to you. He’d sneak out of his tent to go to yours late at night. Your parents would have to kick him out every morning, chastising both of you.

Though, the straw that broke the camel’s back wasn’t simple sleepovers and abandoned hunting trips. It was when he presented as an alpha. Everyone knew he would with how physically gifted he was as a young teen. He was also too damn protective for his own good, going as far as to breaking another kid’s nose for simply grabbing your wrist.

You were only a few months younger than Suguru, but you hadn’t presented yet. When he presented first, your parents forbade him from sleeping over. They were just trying their best to protect you. You two were “too old” and “not old enough” at the same time to be sleeping together.

Suguru, given that he now had the talk from his parents, knew what your parents were suggesting, but he hated it. He didn’t understand how your parents could think so lowly of him overnight just from presenting.

He lasted three nights. Three whole nights of not snuggling against you, not smelling your hair while you two drifted off to sleep, not hearing your soft snores in the dead of night. It was three sleepless nights.

Suguru always had an inkling that you were his. It was a rather strange feeling of possession, like he shouldn’t have to listen to your parents’ rules because you weren’t theirs. You were his.

His frustration only heightened when the pack started to impose longer hunting trips on him. Shorter hunting trips were reserved for those who hadn’t presented and mated alphas. Since they were mated, they couldn’t be away from their mate for too long; thus, getting the smaller trips.

All these things led him to the conclusion: you’re his mate, and he needed to mark you to prove it.

After a particularly taxing hunting trip, Suguru’s eyes filtered through the camp. Everyone was as painfully jovial as usual: sitting around doing absolutely fuck all. His eyes landed on you, and he could feel the tension melting away from him almost instantaneously. You were in charge of looking after the small children, even though you yourself were still a child.

His feet stomped over toward you without a second thought, and his hand wrapped around your arm tightly, pulling you along behind him.

“Ah- Sugu. Where are we going? I’m working-!” You shout as he continues to drag you along silently. “Sugu- The kids…” You murmur as the two of you head further into the forest.

“They’ll be fine for a few minutes.” He responded calmly before he glanced behind him. The camp was far enough away now. No one would be able to see the two of you unless they were specifically looking for you.

“What are we doing, Sugu?” You asked with a small nervous smile. You had started to have to look up at him these days. It was as if he was growing taller overnight. No longer just a boy.

He also started to stink — well, it wasn’t like a smelly smell, but it was unfamiliar. Your parents had explained pheromones. You didn’t particularly like them since you hadn’t presented yet.

“I need you to sit still, and don’t scream.” He instructed before he dipped his head between your shoulder and jaw. He experimentally sniffed at your neck — completely scentless. The only smell coming from you was your strawberry shampoo that he had grown accustomed to.

“Why would I-“ His large hand covered your mouth before you could get out another word, and he opened his mouth before clamping down on your neck. His K9’s punctured your skin, allowing for blood to trickle down your skin.

A pained cry fled your mouth, but it was muffled by his hand. Suguru felt his heart begin to race. It was happening. You were finally officially his. No one could tell him otherwise — not even your silly parents.

He calmly reassured you that you were okay while you softly wept. Your hand covered the bloody mark on your neck. He was just marking you. You know, like it was no big deal.

After sweetly kissing your tears away, he proudly walked you back to camp once you had calmed down from crying, satisfied with himself. Your hands were laced together like true mates.

The first to immediately notice was Satoru, another alpha who was barely a year older than Suguru. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of your marked neck.

“Suguru, what did you do?” He asks like a mother scolding her son. Usually, this was the other way around. Satoru would’ve never expected Suguru to do something as reckless as this.

“Don’t be so dramatic, Satoru. I just marked her.” He shrugs nonchalantly, still so proud of himself.

“You don’t understand. She hasn’t presented. This isn’t good. We need to-“

Your face was flushed a bright red, and Satoru could see your breath becoming more and more labored with each passing second. He frantically looked around, trying to think of what to do. Suguru probably didn’t even know that he just inadvertently forced your body to present. Having been marked, your body was now plummeting itself into a heat.

Suguru could feel you gently tugging on his hand, trying to get his attention. When he looked back at you, his eyes widened. He could tell what your body was going through, but he was just a boy. He didn’t know how to handle it.

“What are you three up to? Why aren’t the children being tended to-“ A clan elder asked after seeing the small children running around without you to watch them. His eyes landed on you, and he immediately tensed up at the scene. “What- How… Geto.”

*** *** ***

“He’s just a boy!” Suguru’s mom pleaded with tears in her eyes. Her hands clasped the young boy’s shoulders. “He has a whole life ahead of him! Don’t do this to him.”

“You’re right. He is just a boy, so it was your responsibility to teach him about these things.” A pack elder spoke.

“He’s an alpha. Even if they taught him those things, he would’ve acted on his own volition anyways.” Another spoke.

“Who even allowed him to be around her? He was suppose to be on a hunting trip, no?”

“We got back early. It was my responsibility, but we were carrying back a large buck. My mind was preoccupied. I accept full responsibility for his actions.”

“You can’t take on the full burden of responsibility. Geto is old enough to know right from wrong, and he chose the wrong path. He took that girl in the woods and marked her before she even presented as an omega.” The pack leader spoke.

Suguru stood completely motionless in front of his parents. He stayed looking down at the ground. While they argued over his future in the pack, his mind was stuck on you. They had ripped you away from him the second that the pack elder had realized that your body was in heat. He wondered if you were being taken care of okay. He wondered if you missed him as much as he missed you already. He wondered if he’d get to see you again.

“He’s done so much for this pack at such a young age. Please.. Don’t do this to him. He has his whole life ahead of him.” His mother pleaded once again. “We’ll keep a closer eye on him. We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“What about my daughter’s life?” Your dad finally spoke up after being silent for far too long. “That bastard tainted her. She could’ve presented as anything: alpha, beta, or omega, but no, he forced biology upon her with a godforsaken mark. He should be shunned from the pack.”

“He can’t be allowed to be in the same space as her. He’s already proven that he can’t be trusted. The last thing we need is for a young omega to fall pregnant because an alpha doesn’t know restraint.”

“Don’t you two have family anywhere she can stay with… just until she’s a bit older? The mark might fade after they’ve been separated for a while.” Another pack elder spoke up to your parents.

“You’re seriously removing our daughter instead of the problem child? That’s fucking rich. So, what will happen when he marks another omega far too early, huh?” Your dad argued, clenching his jaw.

“I wouldn’t do that.” Suguru finally spoke up, looking your dad in the eye. A stare off between the two ensued.

“If this is how this pack operates, fine. I don’t want her in here if we protect alphas simply due to their gender instead of the innocent.” Your dad finally grit out before stomping away from the meeting.

It took three full grown alphas and Satoru to hold Suguru back while you were leaving. They wouldn’t even allow him to say goodbye to you, not even when you cried out his name. Not even when you begged, pleaded, asked why.

*** *** ***

Suguru was never quite the same after you and your family left. It had been years. He was just a boy when they took you. Now, he’s a twenty year old brooding alpha. He was aloof towards everyone, and he only confided in Satoru. His friend seemed to he the only one who understood that he wasn’t trying to hurt you. He didn’t know that his mark would cause a great deal of stress on your body, and had he known, he wouldn’t have done it.

The rest of the pack looked at him with reserved disdain. He was a stain upon their community. Your parents were well liked in the pack, and he was the reason they weren’t there anymore.

Words kept getting tossed around, and the pack members who weren’t there for the meeting were terribly misinformed. As the rumors spread, the story became more and more horrid. They painted him out to be a monster who held you down while you begged him not to and bit your neck forcibly.

Suguru never tried to correct the stories. He had nothing to prove to these people, the people that sent you away from him. They could all think of him as a monster, especially if it meant they stayed the hell away from him.

The only thing that kept Geto from expulsion from the pack was his innate ability to hunt. His beast from was truly that of an apex predator. He went on extravagant hunting trips often, and he kept the pack fed on wonderful meats.

He looked for you, his mate, on every hunting trip. He tried to remember the faint smell that started to emit from you when your body went into heat. He looked for every sign of you.

He knew the mate bond was still strong because he could feel everything through it. He hated when you felt sad. He knew you experienced some sort of nightmares without him there to care for you while you slept. Your happiness made him feel bittersweet. He wanted you to be happy, but the thought of you being happy without him made him sick.

Your heats were the worst. Suguru would sulk in his tent in a state of horny depression. He should be taking care of you, tending to your body and every desire you had. He should be helping you nest and kissing every spot on your body while cooing praises to you.

Instead, he’s laying in his own sweat and cum, too much of a sad sack of shit to make himself go get cleaned up. His tent stunk of potent pheromones. Your heats, even while being so far away, managed to throw him into a rut each time.

He could feel your dissatisfaction. You were pining for him to come help you. It was as if you were screaming down the mate bond for him to come save you. He missed you so damn bad that he started to hate the smell of strawberries. They smelled too much of you and reminded him of what he couldn’t have

He knew that the elders still kept in touch with your parents. They were high ranking leaders in the community after all. They knew where you were, and they still opted to keep you away from him.

You and him were suffering because of the fucking elders. They caused all of this. If they would’ve kept their fucking noses out of y’all’s business, none of this would be happening.

“Satoru… I’m going to kill them. I’m going to murder them all. I can’t do this anymore. She needs me.” Suguru was practically crying for help. He was sat in his tent, holding his head in shame. His arms and legs were practically trembling.

The homicidal thoughts started when you left. It was sneaky at first, but they only got worse over time. His friend was the only one who knew about them. He knew how badly Geto craved to end their lives.

“Let me talk to them. They might listen to me.” Satoru spoke calmly as he gazed as his heartbroken best friend. The tent was heavy with the scent of alpha rut and distress. He could tell Suguru was really going through it right now.

*** *** ***

Suguru’s beast form was nothing short of a monster. He was the strongest, right next to Satoru.

His black fur was matted with blood as he pawed at the remains of the pack leader. Satoru had tried to talk to them, but they instantly shut him down. Then, to make matters worse, they sent him away on a hunting trip that same day.

Without Satoru there to keep the thoughts at bay, Suguru literally couldn’t help himself. The beast shifted before he could even do anything about it, and he was instantly blood hungry.

Tears coated his face as he shifted back to his human form. Killing the elders didn’t even help soothe him. He just wanted his fucking mate for christ’s sake. He sat on the floor in a scatter of papers from where the two beasts had fought valiantly.

Nothing could replicate the feeling of emptiness that filled him in that moment. His best friend wasn't there. His mate had been gone for oh so long. The pack leaders were now all deceased. When tomorrow morning rolled around, he'd likely be ostracized from his pack for the murders.

He laid his head back against the wall with his hands covering his face. He just wanted to see Satoru one last time before he was expelled and shunned. He wanted to apologize and thank Gojo for sticking by him for all these years.

At some point, the sleep deprivation got to Geto, causing for him to fall asleep naked in the massacre that was the pack leader's tent. Nightmares of slaughter plagued his dreams. Your face haunted him. He wondered what could've been had he known better than to mark you at an early age.

It felt so real, that he swore he heard your voice, though it was different in his dream. Your voice wasn't as squeaky as it use to be. It was smooth with age and experience yet still soft spoken. Maybe he was forgetting the way you sounded? The thought terrified him. His memory was all he had left of you.

You were... laughing? No, it couldn't be you. The voice sounded more like Gojo's-

The tent unzipping. A gasp. "Shit. Don't-" Gojo's voice.

Geto fluttered his eyes open to see Gojo standing in the small doorway of the makeshift shelter. He had... a woman's eyes covered. Her bottom lip was trembling.

"Suguru, what did you do?" Satoru asked like he did all those years back, and suddenly, Suguru felt like a small child who had no impulse control. He quickly scrambled up to his feet, using a random sheet of paper to cover his manhood.

"You were gone, and I just... I just really fucking..." His words trailed as his eyes looked over towards the woman. His heart started to pound in his chest. She looked... so much like you. It was as if he was being confronted with the ghost of his past once again.

"I went to go get her, Suguru." Satoru calmly explained with a hint of bite in his tone. "You really think I'd listen to what those old geezers said about not going to look for her? I grilled every last one of them until they slipped up and gave me enough information to find her."

Geto's eyes were as wide as saucers, and his pupils were dilated as he stared at the woman who was quietly trembling next to Satoru. His hand covered most of her face. "Is that...?"

"In the flesh." Satoru said as his hand slowly dropped from your eyes. Chills shot through Geto's body as he saw his mate's face again.

"Sugu..." Your little nickname for him. His breath went labored as he took in the sight of you for just one moment. His eyes involuntarily filled with tears before he dropped the sheet of paper and lunged for you.

His large muscular arms wrapped around your frame, pulling you into a tight embrace against him. "I'm so sorry.." He whispered in your ear like a mantra. His hands roamed across your back as if he was double checking that this was real.

“Fuck. I’m so sorry.” He whispered again in a pained voice. This was not how he wanted you to see him. He was at his lowest. “I’ve missed you so much. It feels like I’ve been underwater this entire time.”

You gently nuzzled your face into his chest, and you took a deep breath, savoring his scent. A content hum fled your lips. He smelled like home. “I’ve missed you too, Sugu.”

Suguru had grown so much since you last saw him. His body was now muscular and toned. His hair was even longer. It was tied up in a half knot while the rest of it messily splayed down his back. He wasn’t just a boy anymore — a man now.

“I hate to be the one to ruin this reunion, but there’s dead pack elders that we have to deal with.” Satoru spoke up as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Suguru reluctantly pulled back from you, not ready to let go of his missing mate. “I have no intention of staying here.” He said, eyes glancing over to the corpse on the ground. “This pack is a shit show.”

“So, what do we do?” Satoru asked, cocking an eyebrow at his friend. It was never a question in his mind. Satoru was going to go wherever Geto went.

“We start our own pack.” Geto casually threw out the idea with a small shrug. “It’s not impossible. If those incompetent creatures could do it, so can we.”

*** *** ***

You were happy and content to follow Geto and Gojo wherever the two went. It had been so long since you’ve seen the two males. You had almost forgotten how much mischief they could get up to.

Every day was filled with hiking, trying to find a new place to settle down. Every night was spent around a small fire, listening to the stories of the two while you were sent away.

When you and Geto would finally lay together next to the fire, he’d lazily play with your hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He’d tell you how beautiful you were and how there was never a day that went by when he didn’t think of you.

“Have I mentioned how terrible it was without you?” He murmured in your ear while his large hand was gently caressing your hip. He would carefully slip it underneath your shirt. The pad of his thumb caressing your soft skin.

“Only a million times.” You giggled in response, looking up at him to meet his gaze.

“Make it a million and one then. It was terrible.” He quietly laughed, not wanting to wake up Satoru who was snuggled on the ground on the other side of the fire.

“I missed you too.” You replied. Your hand carefully reached up and cupped his cheek. Your head was resting on his bicep while your legs were intertwined. “I tried calling out to you often through the mate bond.”

“I felt it each time.” He admitted as his hand slowly snaked higher up your torso. “I felt each time you went into heat and needed me.”

The fire calmly crackling masked the small whimper that fled from your lips. “I’m sorry. I know that probably drove you crazy.”

“You have no idea.” He muttered as he leaned in and pressed a small kiss to the mark on your neck. It hadn’t faded in the slightest. Your body knew you were his before you presented as well. “I dreamt of going out to find you.”

“Yeah? What would you do had you found me while I was in heat?”

“Mmm..” He hummed in a low tone as he gazed at you with a small smirk on his face. “I would sneak into whatever tent you were in like I use to when we were kids.” He spoke softly as his hand continued to trail up your side slowly.

“I’d find you lying there, already such a mess for me.” He went on, painting the picture vividly for you. Your eyes slipped shut as you imagined it for yourself. “Then, I’d pin you down to your nest, stopping you from taking care of yourself.” He went on, and he rolled on top of you, pinning your arms down with his free hand.

The sickly sweet scent of your arousal building lingered in the air, making Suguru’s heart pound in his chest. You smelled even more yummy than he imagined you to.

“What next?” You ask softly in a breathless voice.

“I’d kiss your lips until they were bruised.” He mumbled, and he leaned down to you before pressing his lips harshly against yours. He groaned softly as soon as he could feel you kissing back. He poured all of his love and hunger into his affections. He needed you like he needed air. You were his sole salvation - his reason for living

He carefully pushed your shirt up over your chest, and he skillfully reached behind you, unclasping your bra within a few seconds. You worked with him, pulling it away from your body before you wrapped your legs around his waist.

His hand came up and carefully cupped your breast. Hs kneaded on the soft pillowy flesh with another groan. He gently bit your swollen lip, asking for entry before proceeding to deepen the kiss. He swallowed up your small moans and gasps.

"Then," he softly pant out after parting from the kiss, "I'd mark up your neck again and again. I never want you to forget who you belong to." His head dipped into your neck, and his lips latched on to the soft skin.

He sucked, nibbled, and bit his way up and down your neck, making good on his promise to mark you up. Your hips raised up to meet his, needily searching for friction to ease the ache between your thighs.

"My poor omega.." He mumbled softly against your skin before allowing his hand to trail down and to grope you at your core.

"Fuck- Sugu.." Your voice was a soft whine, forgetting all about Gojo who was asleep not even 10 feet away.

"Shhh, princess. Don't wake him." Suguru shushed you softly with a impish grin. His hands now worked to take your pants and panties off. "Want me to keep going?"

"Please..." Your face is illuminated by the warm glow of the fire before you two. A soft blush spread across your cheeks.

"Mmm, then you have to be quiet." Suguru teased before he allowed himself the pleasure of gazing at your glistening cunt. "Oh, so pretty." He mused before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your folds.

Suguru's mind was running haywire as he generously lapped at your wet heat. He had imagined this happening so many times while he fucked his own fist. It's all finally worked out. He's finally gotten to taste you, to hear you moan his name.

Your fingers entangled in his hair, holding onto him for support while he devoured you thoroughly.

"Mmn.. Sugu~ S'close... please." You quietly whimpered out, warning him of your impending release while he slurped at your cunt, drinking down your slick as if you were a fountain of youth.

"Can you hold it, baby?" His voice was muffled as he didn't dare part from you.

"N-no, I-" You softly whine, starting to rock your hips back and forth across his tongue. You were desperate for release, nearly riding his face to get there.

Suguru tugged back away from you. "That just won't do, darling." He mumbles as he unbuttons his pants and pulls his pants and boxers down just enough. "I need your first time finishing with me to be on my cock. Think you can do that for me?"

You're quick to nod in agreement with his wish, desperately needing the approval of your alpha. You had already caught a glimpse of his size when you and Satoru first arrived. Even when soft, Suguru still isn't small. Now that he's fully hard, it's almost intimidating.

"Mmm~ such a good girl." He quietly praised as he carefully guided his cock between your slick covered folds. He held your gaze as he rubbed his tip up and down, creating a wet "schlick" noise with each movement. His poor neglected cock leaked sticky pre-cum along your core, making everything so messy.

"Bite on my hand." He instructed as he placed his hand over your mouth. "Don't want you makin' too much noise." With a small huff, you bite down onto his hand.

Humping you a few more times, Geto finally decided to push himself into you. Your body immediately went rigid as you tried to cope with the new pressure between your legs. It felt as if he was trying to split you in two, completely impaling you with his thick cock.

"Ohh~ fuuu... That's it.." Geto's voice was deeper and extremely breathy. His eyes were half-lidded as he continued to watch your facial reactions. The small tears crowding the corners of your eyes made him throb. "You're so fucking tight."

"it's not gonna fit-" You quietly whined behind the palm of his hand. Meanwhile, your fingernails were embedded into his back, decorating him with scratch marks.

"It's gonna fit, baby." He quietly reassured you as he pulled back a bit and sunk back in. Your slick coated his length, making it easier for him to push in more. "Gotta let me stretch you."

"Ngh~ ah.." Your voice cracked as your leaned your head back against the ground. Suguru's hips rolled, just barely fucking into your tight cunt. He'd add another inch with each thrust, allowing you time to gradually get use to him.

The air was filled with shushed panting and breathy whines. The sound of your sopping cunt squeezing around him was like a holy song to him. You were the only slice of heaven Geto would ever see.

He had been so caring; you hadn't even realized he was all the way in until you felt a thump towards your stomach. "Ohmygod-" The gasp fell from your mouth before you could even think to stop it. "Fuuuck... feel you right here.." You meekly murmured as you pointed towards your tummy.

"Yeah baby? Feel me all the way in there?" He humors your intoxicated speech as he's lovingly thrusting into you. "You feel so fucking good." He praised as he peppered your face in sweet kisses.

Your spongy walls cling to his dick with each soft thwack of his balls clapping against the flesh of your ass. You're completely soaked around him, allowing him to glide in and out with ease.

His fat tip was damp with sweltering pre-cum gathering at his slit. With each thrust, his tip was kissing at your womb, making you feel all dumb in the head. He occupied his mouth with kissing and sucking more love bites into your shoulders. "So good, baby... ah~ so fuckin' good." He continued to mumble praises in a pussy drunk tone.

Both of your bodies were glistening in a mix of sweat and slick. The fire raged beside you two keeping you very warm while he pumped in and out. "Can't get enough. Need more.. ngh~ M-missed you so much." He growled lowly in your ear as his tender thrusts grew sloppier - fueled by an intense need.

"Suguu~ fuck me." That little needy whine was all he needed to start forcefully pounding into you. Noise level be damned; he needed his omega on a biblical level that Satoru would never be able to understand.

Plap! Plap! Plap!

Your poor cunt was practically sobbing for him - making a complete mess between your thighs as his cock rudely drilled into you. Your back arched up off of the ground, and you could feel your eyes rolling back. It felt like you were ascending to a higher being.

Suguru caught your lips in a sloppy kiss. Strings of saliva connected your mouths like strings of fate as you muffled each others moans. "Need to knot you - f-fuck, please, let me knot you."

Your legs wrap completely around Suguru's waist. "Knot me, Sugu.. hngh~ I'm s'close.."

Suguru's legs began to shake as he could feel his balls growing heavy. Instincts completely drove him to keep fucking himself into your drooling cunt. His eyes stayed on you as he felt himself growing closer and closer to the edge.

"Sh-shit!" You hissed as your gummy walls suddenly tightened around him. The squelching noises slowed as he felt his knot starting to swell. His hands gripped onto your hips as he had to force his way deep inside your wet heat. The knot locking you two in place before he completely spilled inside you.

"Fuuucking hell..." Suguru breathed out as he stayed planted on top of you. His breath was labored as his hand brushed a few stray hairs from your face. "No one will ever take you away from me again. You're mine."

Bonus Scene!

Upon waking up the next morning on Suguru's bare chest, you sighed contently. Your body ached in the best way. Though, you knew it would only make this trek even harder.

You slowly sat up with a quiet groan. Your face was slightly sticky from sweat and drool. He had really wore you out last night.

"Morning, sleepy head." Suguru mumbled as his eyes rested upon your tired face.

"Mmm.. morning." You quietly hummed as your hands instinctively smoothed out your hair, trying to make yourself look presentable.

"Good morning, Satoru." The white-haired alpha spoke to himself in a grumpy, sarcastic tone as he stared at the two of you.

"It's too early for your attitude, Satoru." Suguru quietly laughed as he looked at his friend.

"You can deal with my attitude given what I had to deal with last night." He huffed as his lips curled into a slight pout.

"You didn't-"

"Oh, I did." He confirmed. "Oooohhh, please knot me, Sugu. Oh so big and strong!" He mocked your voice in a high pitched tone.

"Oh god, please stop." You whine as you covered your ears. A nervous laugh involuntarily bubbled up from your throat.

"Mmm, fuck. Gonna knot this tight cun-"

"That's enough, Satoru." Suguru playfully warned as he shook his head with a calm smile. It didn't bother him one bit that he heard the two of you last night because he knew that Satoru was going to hear you two again tonight as well.

Read the rest of my monstertober here !

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bbluefllame · 1 month ago

Note

I love your UA Touya so muchhhh!!! If you don’t mind, can you write down UA Touya HC’s!!!🤍🤍

U.A touya hcs !!

note: I was gonna save this till I finish all my other reqs but I decided why the fuck not 😭 also thank u for loving my ua touya!! he's officially my everything‼️ also also!!! this is a sugar spice and everything nice universe<3 everyone's okay here ‼️

- nepo baby I have nothing else to say, you've def went on multiple trips w him and his family (ur basically the 5th child for them). His bday gifts go so hard and he's like "yeah yeah whateverrrr" while blushing if u hug him!!

- he's a super heavy sleeper. Like normal touya is a menace while sleeping, ua touya is double that and it's scary I fear him. Sleepovers always end up with you going to sleep in the guest room cs the mf won't stop moving, kicking, snoring, and talking (and occasionally shouting)😭 instead of js "no I don't do that." he'd go "huh don't remember doing it so it didn't happen. 🤷‍♂️" obviously you don't remember you were sleeping mf.

- he gives his all in training (esp cs he has support gear), training w him is like a full-on battle it's a fucking struggle to hold him down, but also he'd be the best training partner you'd ever have. He would NEVER and I say NEVER take it easy unless you ask him to, if he gives it his all he wants you to give it your all.

- loves SWS and PTV, has been forced into piano by Rei as a child and kind of liked it, he probably likes classical music bcs Enji played it alot as well and it helps him focus while studying. OVERALL incredibly into music and could talk abt it for hours (you probably have listened to him rant abt music for 2 hrs straight before)

- is a failure in the kitchen no questions asked, he asked Fuyumi to teach him how to make soba once, 10 minutes in he starts scratching his head going "uh huhhh got it" (HE DOES NOT GET IT!!!!!)

- loves chemistry and math, don't ask why he just does also he gives off good at drawing without trying?? like he's a natural, all the art teachers adored him!!!!

- Shoto and Touya are so silly tg. Touya rolls his eyes and pouts, shoto copies his big brother even if he doesn't know what he's doing😭😭 Touya does something remotely cool and Shoto's looking up at Touya with sparkles in his eyes like "THATS MY BIG BROTHERRR!!!" while clapping (this is when shoto is a lot younger ofc not when he's 15‼️ he still adores his big brother at 15 tho)

- touya pretends he hates how close you and shoto are but the mf adores it and thinks it's adorable and sweet!!

- natsuo and touya are gossipers. Except Touya has all the dirt and Natsuo gasps while nodding his head, after all of that they RUN to Fuyumi who tells them "At the end of the day, we shouldn't talk about people." while sighing as if she isn't noting it down in her head to run and tell it to her bsf ‼️

- you can't tell me he's not putting his hand on his head whenever he's flirted with and going "WTF DO I DO!!" and if it's you (even if it's joking and through text) he's sitting on his bed giggling at 3 am and then panicking internally before acting nonchalant and texting "ew"

- he does get girls and guys tho, he's too pretty to not have bitches 😭 he just doesn't know what to do with the bitches ‼️‼️

- loves abandoned spots, he forces you to go with him even if ur scared while you're going "bro there's a ghost I'm telling you" he's like "what is it gonna do?? eat you??" While rolling his eyes or sumn😭

- you best believe if he feels sumn though he's running for his life, like he could be on par with Iida bcs of how fucking scared he'd get he's shooting his fire behind him and RUNNING!! in the end it's probably a spider or sumn and he's like "pfff I knew that!!!"

- has some sort of rivalry with Keigo even if he didn't do anything ALSO you showing interest in keigo just makes the hate 10× more intense he tweaks the second he sees you looking at keigo.

- he swears up and down left and right that he hates roblox but he LIESSSS!! you could find him 3 am on dress to impress arguing w kids about emo vs goth cs mfs don't know the difference

- on the topic of roblox, you, shoto, and him probably play it once a week tg (shoto chooses the game 99% of the time)

- whenever he's anxious or sumn he just goes "cool yeah coolcoolcool" cool is the most overused word in his dictionary trust (he just kinda reminds me of jake Peralta in the vocabulary department..)

- makes sure shoto memorizes the lyrics to hot and cold by Katy perry just bcs it's funny to him (it's so stupid), there's a dance number and everything TRUST!!!

- 4 am in the morning, rei has walked in on touya on his knees doing the emo hand move thing while singing with a comb.

- HE TURNS THT SHIT OFF SOOOO FAST WHILE COUGHING AND COVERING HIS FACE

- rant to him all you want, he might not understand but he'd listen ‼️‼️ (the second he hears of any mistreatment he tweaks)

- during the sports festival he's burned keigo's feathers multiple times (cough cough reference)

- sorry everyone but he IS one of those "Oh you like sws? name 5 songs." God forbid he sees a preppy nirvana t-shirt, he'd burn it in the store and run away

- he's actually pretty touchy when he's comfortable, like pinkies wrapped tg or hand around ur shoulder just has to have a hand on you at all times ‼️‼️

- overall awesome bsf, awesome brother, and would be an awesome bf!!

okay I'm done now it's 2 am and i gotta sleep hope u like this anon !!! 😔😔 (soz for making this so long)

#bnha #bnha x reader #mha #touya todoroki #bnha x you #mha x reader #mha x you #bnha hcs #mha hcs #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #bnha touya todoroki #dabi x reader #mha dabi #bnha dabi #dabi hcs #shoto todoroki #todofam

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hanifamilys-blog · 5 days ago

Text

"Echoes of Isolation: Are We Still Alive in Your Eyes?"

In a world where our souls are silently folded, in a place that is unforgiving and unresponsive, I wonder: why does no one answer our messages?

I am Hani, writing to you from the heart of deadly isolation, from the remains of a shattered homeland, from unbearable pain.

I am not asking for your money, or even donations; all I want is for you to ask about us, just one word: How are you?

Why Have You Left Us Drowning in This Solitude?

Have we become just numbers in a list that no one cares about?

Did you consider us dead before we even died?

Our messages scatter in the air, as if they never reach anyone.

They are ignored by everyone, as if we don't exist.

Where are you? Are we really invisible to this extent?

We’ve Experienced the Bitterness of Displacement...

We left from the north to the south in an endless journey, leaving behind everything that once meant life to us.

Everything was destroyed, from our home to our hope for a better tomorrow.

The war struck us relentlessly, destroying everything, turning our dreams into rubble.

What is left for us now?

We live in an abandoned school that has turned into a shelter, sharing classrooms with other families, and we’ve become nothing more than a memory in a place filled with pain.

Is it possible that we’ve become a mere

shadow in your eyes?

Every day we struggle to survive...

To feel that we are still alive, even though the world has forgotten us.

I live and watch my children suffering, and I watch my elderly parents, my sick mother who can no longer bear the pain, and I can do nothing but send messages hoping they reach you.

Do you know that we have nothing but the little hope we have left?

Do you know that the families we share the rooms with in the shelter don’t even have the basics of life?

Our children have no food, no safe shelter, not even time to play as a small child should in this world.

My parents can’t even get basic medical care, and my mother is sick with diabetes and high blood pressure, and my heart breaks every time I see her in pain, and I can’t help.

Can you imagine for a moment that you might find yourselves in our place?

In a school turned into a shelter, in tight corners with others who don’t know what will happen tomorrow, while hope slowly fades away?

You can ask about us, just to make us feel we are not alone in this cruel world.

Your response to us, even with just a word, gives us the strength to continue.

And if you find you are able to help in any way, it will restore our hope and allow us to live with dignity in these harsh conditions.

To learn more details about my story and my campaign, you can visit the campaign link here:

Link Here

And if you are able to contribute, you can donate via the donation link here:

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In this moment, where nothing is more than hope, a single image can carry many words.

#EmpathyForAll KindnessMatters SupportEachOther HumanityUnited #supporteachother #kindnessmatters #spread kindness #be the change #compassioninaction

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hitomisuzuya · 11 months ago

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i remember u writing abt hybrid catboy scara and fox childe and im literally in love🤭🤭

catboy scara fluff ur fluff is literally amazinf

Hybrid! Scaramouche x fem!reader. Fluff fluffy fluff fluff.

I'm really glad you guys enjoy my fluff. I love writing it. I'm not feeling the best so I am sorry if this is shit. I don't want you guys to write me off or abandon me for inactivity 😭

You could feel Scaramouche's cat eyes staring, or rather glaring at you, peeking his little head out just so around corner. He wanted to be close to you while you did chores around the house. But, you know, people sucked. He had an image to uphold.

You turned your head to smile at him. A smile that always took his breath away, be it in his cat or human form. "Come hang out with me while I clean, Scara," You coaxed.

You swore you heard him give his trademark scoff, tinged behind a meow before he darted off around the corner out of sight. You sighed and went about your day.

You decided to try again once you finished cleaning. You knew right where he was, hiding in your room under your bed. "Scara, I'm going to the farmer's market down the road today for some fruit. Do you want to come? We can stop by the grocery store, and get your favorite, expensive cat food."

You saw his eyes staring at you from underneath the bed. You heard a low meow followed by the sound of his stomach growling. Howver, he made no move to come out from under the bed.

You hide a laugh behind your hand, making him glare at you. "Okay, I understand. I'll still pick up cat food and your favorite treats," You left your room, leaving the door open so he could wander the around the house as he liked while you were gone.

Scaramouche came out from under the bed when he heard the front door close. Trotting downstairs, he stared at the front door for a long time. He was being distant and short tempered with you, and you still were being considerate of him.

You were different from other people. He could more than see that. You'd already proved that to him when you'd found him injured. You hadn't dropped him when he clawed at you a little picking him up. You'd bandaged his leg, stayed up reading to him all night and didn't fall asleep until after he did.

He waited right by the front door for you to return, wishing with ever fiber of his being that he had gone with you. Who knows who would be lurking around the corners of the farmer's market or the grocery store, ready to take to you away from him?

"Hi, Scara," You greeted, hearing a soft meow, "you finally came out of hiding. You wanna help me put the groceries away," He trotted into the kitchen behind you, hoping up on the counter to sit with you while you put the groceries away.

"You wanna watch a movie with me after you eat?" You asked, closing the fridge and getting a can of cat food out for him. Scaramouche didn't want to eat first, though.

He just wanted to be with you.

Scaramouche followed you right to the couch, leaving his cat food untouched. You even read the titles outloud to him, scratching him behind his ears and petting him after he settled in your lap. He was just starting to purr softly when he shifted into his human form, sighing contently as he rested his head in your lap.

"Was this what you wanted the whole time, Scara?" You asked, running your fingers through his hair.

"Mhm," He admitted shyly, his cheeks flushing as his ears twitched. After the movie, he slept next to you in his human form, holding you to his chest to keep you warm.

#genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin comfort #genshin imagines #scaramouche #soft scara #hybrid scara #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you

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sarawritestories · 6 months ago

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Unwavering Presence Chapter 14 (Part 1)

Cassian X Archeron Sister (Reader)

1000 Follower Celebration Post

Summary: Cassian opens up to Y/N about his mother, Y/N giving him a second chance. When the duo returned to Velaris a confrontation ensues that leads to flashbacks to the Spring.

Content Warning: mentions of death, conversations alluding to SA, Oral Sex, M receiving, Mor not keeping her hands to herself on more than one occasion.

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken longer than anticipated. I had to split this chapter into two parts strictly because it was getting extremely long! I hope you enjoy this part. Part 2 will be up quickly!

Word Count: 5.2K

Chapter 13 1000 Celebration Masterlist UP Masterlist

Reader POV

I opened and closed my mouth as Cassian knelt beside me leaning in and pressing his large hand to the Portrait. “Your mother?”

Cassian nodded, “We never knew where the Illyrian’s who killed her buried her…If they buried her. When I expressed to Az and Rhys that I wanted to build a home here, a place I could go to clear my head, I told them I wanted a place for her. So, she could be with me.”

A gust of wind whipped my skin raw causing a shiver to run down my spine, Cassian instinctively wrapped his wing around me to block the cold. “Why bring me here?”

Cassian’s gaze met mine, his hazel eyes full of guilt. “You know why.” I look down focusing on my hands. He gripped my chin and forced me to meet his eyes, glistening in the moonlight. “Princess, I have tried giving you all the gifts that money can buy. I have tried writing you a letter. Nothing seemed to get your attention.” I went to speak but he interrupted me, “I realized why. You’re scared. You trusted me with some of your deepest fears and I took advantage of that. I brought you here as my last attempt. If want to walk away after tonight. I won’t bother you anymore. But I figured there is one last gift I can give you.”

My heartbeat skyrocketed, “What’s that?”

Cassian grabbed my hand and pressed it to his chest where I could feel his heartbeat. “My heart, Princess. Let me be open with you. Let me give you mine, the way you gave me yours.”

Silence fell between us as snow began to trickle down, I kept opening and closing my mouth unsure what to say. I looked back at the image of his mother. “Tell me about her, Cass.”

“She was my favorite person in the whole world.” Cassian began and I inched closer to him, I told myself it was to use his body heat. I was a fucking liar. Cassian curled his wing tightly around me, “She taught me how to braid hair as I told you before. She was kind, she always put others before herself. All the village kids loved to be around her, she would make sure everyone was fed and had enough to drink. Everyone loved her.” His hazel eyes met mine, “You remind me of her.”

I blushed and looked back at the portrait and instinctively my hand reached out to his as he sniffled. He laced his hand through mine, cool bite of the leather around his hand biting into my skin. “So where was your father?” You looked back to the Illyrian, his smile not reaching his eyes.

“I don’t know. He abandoned my mom when she was pregnant with me.” I squeezed his hand, and he returned the gesture, “I have no idea who he is. At this point I have no interest in knowing. Any male who leaves a pregnant female alone, is not worth knowing.” We were silent for a moment, “I’m proud of where I come from. I’m proud of my heritage as an Illyrian. What I’m not proud of though is our ancient traditions. My mother had a bastard born child. The Illyrians are traditional and believe a woman should have a child within marriage.” I could feel the pit in my stomach growing, “She always wanted what was best and protected me. So, she made me flee. Where I had to fend for myself. Find my own shelter, my own food. Until one winter evening, Rhysand found me. The bastard made me come home with him, and his mom insisted I eat and get some rest. We have been together ever since.”

“What happened, to your mother? I know you said she died but…” I whispered; Cassian’s face morphed into sadness as he swiped the tears from my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Princess. I like that you display your emotions so openly.” He places his hand down from my face. “After the blood rite, I returned to my old village. She was nowhere to be seen. I searched for her in every place I could think of. I knew in my heart, she was dead.” Tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn’t go to swipe them, “I wished I would have been able to tell her I loved her. I wish I could have told her so many things, Sweetheart.” He released my hand and placed his palms over her eyes, “I just wanted her to be proud of me.”

Not being able to contain myself I turned to face him fully and straddled his lap, gripping his wrist I pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes met mine I pressed my forehead to his, “Cassian, your mother would be so proud of you.”

The general shook my hands off and gripped my waist, “Not this past week and a half she wouldn’t. He closed his, “Baby, I’m-“

I cupped his face and pressed his lips to mine. He whimpered as he kissed me back, pulling me closer to him. We broke away and he swiped a strand of hair from my face, “I forgive you.”

“Really?” He whispered.

I cupped his face and he leaned into my touch, “We have a lot to discuss. Cassian, I don’t want to be hurt again.”

“I will make this up to you for as long as I live.”

“This was a good start.” Cassian began stroking my back. “You did give me the best gift tonight.”

“What’s that?”

I pressed my hand on his chest. “Your heart.”

“My heart has been yours to take.” He buries his face in my neck and inhaling deeply. We stayed like that for a few moments, the cold not bothering us as we simply hold each other. He lifted his head, gripped the back of his neck, “Listen to me, you are amazing, beautiful, and strong. I have never once thought of you as weak. I am so sorry for what I said. But you must know, you’re it for me. I want no one else, so I’m keeping you, so long as you’ll let me.”

I smiled, “Does this mean I get to keep you too?”

“You never lost me, Sweetheart.” He brushes his nose over mine, I do have a confession.” My face must have looked panicked because he laughed. “It’s nothing bad, I swear. When Mor had brought Feyre back from the Spring Court, I told you I was heading to Windhaven for a week. I didn’t go to Windhaven. I came here.”

I tilted my head, “Why lie about that? Seems a bit…”

“Ridiculous?” I nodded, “I didn’t want you to know that I was coming here to tell my mother about you. How I met this amazing human woman, who was kind and gentle, yet not afraid to put even a High Lord in his place. How she walks in a room and my day instantly improves. She smiles and it feels like my heart is going to combust.” I wasn’t sure I was breathing anymore. “I just wanted to share that with her.”

A shiver trails down my spine and adjusting his grip under my thighs he hoists us up as he stands holding me as though I weigh nothing, “Come on I still have one more surprise for you.” He walked us toward the cabin, and I peeked over his shoulder looking back at the memorial. A butterfly in a climate too cold landed on the frame of the portrait. Before I could acknowledge the little creature, Cassian opened the door and set me down.

I turned and I pressed my hand to my chest, the dining and living room were right where you entered the cabin, the kitchen to the right. Everything was bright and warm, though the dining room table with wildflowers and candles at the center and two plates with silverware. One plate I assumed was mine had a leather-bound journal. “Cassian, I have so many journals.”

“That one isn’t empty though.” I furrowed my brow and looked at him. “Go read it, I’ll grab our dinner.”

“Who did all the set up?”

“Azriel, he left right before we arrived.” I walked over to where the journal was and sat down as Cassian took both of our plates to fill. I opened the journal and found the book complete full. Flipping to the first page my breath hitched.

My Dear Princess,

Nothing pained me more than sitting in this chair unable to move and watch you walk away. Knowing that my anger was the thing that caused it. To see the tears in your eyes and to know that I was the one that put the sadness in your eyes has sat with me for hours now. So, I went into the village and bought this journal. I figured writing to you is the next best thing I have right now. Since I know, you won’t talk to me for a while. Gods you’ve only been gone an hour and I miss you so much.

I flip through the pages; some are fresh letters pages long. “Cassian.”

“Three days left with my thoughts. I figured I would share them all with you.” Tears welled up in my eyes. As Cassian set the plate down the aromas of potatoes and seared meat caused my stomach to rumble. “Hey, look at me.” I met his warm hazel eyes as his callous fingers kissed the nape of my neck. “I never want you to feel the way you did with Nesta, or Xavier. I want to be better. Because you deserve better.” He tapped the journal, “Read these, whenever you need a reminder, that you’re worthy of the affection you receive, or that you need to take care of yourself, or we happen to be apart, and I can’t be there to comfort you when you need it. I am no poet or author, but with you I have always been good at sharing my feelings, you made it easier to open up. This is my last gift for you…tonight that is.”

I leapt out of my chair and into his arms, “I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m glad the universe led me to you, Cassie.”

His hand cradled the back of my head, as he kissed the top of it. “So am I.” He held me tightly before pushing me away, “Shall we eat?”

I nodded and both of us sat down and began to eat, we spent all evening talking about what we had been up to since I left. His hand had a permanent spot on my thigh, he would gently rub his thumb along my thigh, and I would smile. Once dinner was done, I offered to do the dishes of which he politely told me no. Then brought out a slice of my favorite cake for us to share. When it was done I yawned.

“Want to go to bed? I had the guest bedroom prepped for you.” I blinked at him.

“Why?”

“I didn’t want to assume we were sharing a bed tonight. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My mind went to Xavier and how if he were in this position, I would have had no choice of where I slept. I shivered, “Cassian, I want to stay with you tonight. Just sleeping.”

Cassian nodded. “Just sleeping.” He led me to his master room which was quite large and handed me a shirt to change into. “We’ll go back home in the morning.”

I yawned once more, “Okay.” I looked around, “Bathroom?”

He pointed to the door next to the one we entered. I smiled, reached up and kissed his cheek and headed to the other room to change. When I emerged, I pressed my back to the wall. Cassian’s shirt was off tattoos on full display. I bit my lip as I watched his muscles flex underneath the moonlight. I would have asked Feyre to paint this and call it, the General getting ready for bed. “Princess are you ok-ohh” Cassian stumbled as he turned and faced me, “Gods you’re beautiful.” My heart fluttered as his eyes raked down my body and my bare legs. One thing I knew was his eyes met mine once more.

I needed him.

Be Brave, Archeron.

I sunk to my knees. The general’s chest stopped moving, “Princess, what are you doing?” His voice was low and husky.

I began to crawl toward him, “I missed you, General.” He swallowed, the lump in his throat bobbed. I stopped when I reached his feet. My hand sliding up his thick muscular thighs. “I want to make you feel good.” I placed kisses along his pants his thighs twitch under my touch and when I reached the center of his thighs. His erection was pressing against his pants, and I licked over his clothed cock maintaining eye contact as his hand slides through my hair as he moaned.

“Princess, we don’t have to,” his eyes held seriousness, and something warmed my heart at his words.

“Cassian, I want to. Now take off your pants.”

The Illyrian didn’t argue as he pulled down his pants. I gripped his thighs as his cock springing free. He looked down at me as his pupils consumed the hazel in his eyes, barely visible. Sticking my tongue out I swiped up his shaft. “Fuck,” He groaned leaning his head back.

I paused my mind looming back to the conversation that we had regarding safe words, “We won’t need it…I don’t think, but Ruby. He met my gaze once more, “My safe word is Ruby.”

Cassian bent down kissing me, “Use it, everything stops immediately. If you can’t use that pretty little mouth of yours.” He kissed my lips, once more. “One tap on my thigh tells me your getting close to your limit.” Another kiss, “Two taps and we’re done. Okay and I need you to be honest, Sweetheart. You need to tell me.”

“I promise,” I whispered and crashed his lips to mine.

He pulled away. “Good,” He was about to say something but that fell away as I closed my mouth at his tip, taking his length slowly. He moaned as he lightly tugged on my hair, “You really are trouble. We said just sleeping.”

I hummed in approval, taking him deeper my nails digging into his thighs as I flicked my eyes up to him. Pulling away to the tip I swiped my tongue over his slit. “Princess.” His nickname on his tongue caused my toes to curl.

Putting him out of his misery I began bobbing my head, his hand guiding me. He sunk deeper into my throat. “Sweetheart. I’m not going to last very long.” I picked up my paced, “Will you touch yourself for me, sweet girl.” I instinctively slid my hand down and massaged my clit, moaning as against him.

Cassian began thrusting, his pace sporadic and the sensation began to feel too much as I slipped my fingers into my folds. I tapped his thigh once. He slowed his pace slightly, “You, okay? Tap once if you are.”

I tapped him once. “Good Girl,” the praise shot straight to my core. He groaned, his grip on my hair tightened. “Fuck.”

I moaned continuously as I chased my own high when Cassian held my head in place as he found his release, “That’s it baby take it all.” His cum shot to the back of my throat and I drank it, greedily. “Now, come for me, Princess.” Sliding out of my mouth a trail of spit connecting my mouth to his cock, as my stomach tightened close to an orgasm, “You look so pretty, touching yourself, Cassian moved behind me and pulled my hand away. I whined as he huskily said, “Allow me.” And his mouth was on my clit and his fingers sliding into my core.

“Cassian,” I moaned out as his fingers began to curl hitting that sweet spot, making stars appear in my vision. Cassian’s tongue was relentless on my swollen bud, but it was only when he pulled away to lightly blow on the sensitive bundle of nerves that I came all over his fingers.

The general kept moving his fingers helping me ride out my orgasm. He slowly withdrew his fingers, and I felt empty. Cassian walked over to wipe his hand on his old shirt. He walked to the bathroom while I stood. When he walked back out there was a rag in his hand pants back over his hips, “Get on the bed for me will you?” I did , and Cassian gently moved my thigh.

“Cassian, I can’t take any more.” I whimpered and met his eyes. His hazel hue irises held pain in them.

“Princess, I’m cleaning you up, I’m not...” He couldn’t find the words. He sighed. “I would never force you to give more than what you are willing to offer. I just want to take care of you make you feel clean before I hold your gorgeous body to mine tonight.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. “Fuck.” I covered my face, “No one has ever done that before.”

Cassian rubbed my exposed thigh soothingly, “Get used to it, Sweetheart. Me taking care of you after is a non-negotiable for me.” calloused fingers pull my hands from my face, so I must look in his gorgeous face, “Never expect to be treated any less than the princess you are.” He wiped the tears from my face. “Especially when you’re in my care.”

“Cass-“

“Shhh, sweet girl. I have you.” I nodded as he wipes the warm rag through my center cleaning me as tears silently fell from my face. Once Cassian was done, he tossed the rag, “Scoot.” He smiled as I moved to the opposite side of the bed. The general slid into the bed, and his arm snaked around my waist pulling me close. He pressed his forehead to mine and his thumb swiped against my hip bone. “Tell me what’s on your mind.” He whispered.

My eyes fluttered closed, “I missed being in your arms.” I yawned once more, “You make me feel safe.”

“I’m not letting you go anytime soon.” Cassian whispered, exhaustion coating his own voice.

“Please don’t.” And in a matter of moments sleep overpowered me.

We walked into the town home together, hands clasped, smiles bright, the next evening and reached the dining room where the atmosphere shifted to something dark. “What’s going on?” Cassian queried.

No one answered his question. Looking over to Azriel his shadows were almost completely hidden his posture straight, Mor taking a sip of her wine next to him, her finger grazing his arm in languid strokes. Her hand slowly moving his hand around the nape of his neck twirling with his curls. Cassian led me to the two empty seats across from the blonde and the spymaster. Azriel’s face looked pain as Rhys spoke. “Glad to see you two made up.”

Cassian said something that I drowned out my gaze focusing on the two fae in front of me. I recognized the look on his face. It’s one that I had expressed too many times myself. Her touch was unwanted, unwelcome. I took a steadying breath trying to keep the rage I felt from spilling over. Azriel was kind and gentle and had always been kind. He won’t tell her to get off for those exact reasons. Memories washed over me at the sight of Mor, touching him.

I wished he would stop touching me. Xavier’s hand gripped my thigh, hiking my skirt. My orders were simple, sit and look pretty. What made that challenging is Xavier trying to expose me to everyone in Graysen’s armies as he did so. His mouth connected to my neck, and I closed my eyes and started to count. Something I had grown accustomed to when he would put me on display this way. Counting the seconds for his hands that were once loving, now grown cruel were off my body.

Voices bring me back to the present and my eyes locked with Azriel. Pain is there and Its as though I can see him counting himself until she got his hands off him. I took another breath.

Be Brave, Archeron. He needs you.

“Mind taking your hand off the Shadow Singer, Mor.” I quipped, and everyone froze the conversation long forgotten.

Mor quirked a brow, “Excuse me?”

“He’s uncomfortable with you touching him. Fix it.” I said with no room for argument in my tone.

“Or what?” Mor sneered gripping Azriel’s neck tighter. His face grimaced at her touch.

I grabbed the knife, grasping it by the tip I tossed it without thinking twice, the blade slicing her skin causing her to move her arm, just before it found purchase against the wall behind her. “Or next time I won’t miss. Read the room when someone is fucking uncomfortable with your hands on them. Azriel does not belong to you.” I snarled baring my teeth.

Mor rose to her feet, “Rhysand, Am I needed for you debriefing the love birds?”

“Go.” Rhysand said his voice even, but his eyes were distant as if he too was having haunting memories of a time when his body was not his to control. His eyes met mine, “We’ll talk about that stunt later.”

A cheshire grin appeared on my face, “Happily.” I looked at Azriel who was watching me in stunned silence. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.” I said maintaining eye contact with Az.

His shadows swarmed over him covering his face. I understood their need to protect their master and looked back at Rhys. Not ignoring the bump to my knee from Cassian as he kept his leg touching mine, a silent reminder here was there. “We go to the Hewn City in a week’s time.”

“Shit,” Cassian muttered.

I looked to my general and back at Rhysand, “What’s the Hewn City?”

Amren, who had been abnormally quiet this whole time, spoke, “A vile city where the Night Court Underbelly resides. Also lovingly referred to as Mor’s home.”

Rhys snorted at that sentiment, “Her father had thought He would be next in line. He was sorely disappointed to find out that wasn’t the case.”

“Why do we have to go there?” I asked.

Rhys looked at Cassian. “To get the Veritas Orb.”

Cassian groaned, “Shit. So, the meeting didn’t go well.”

As Rhys and Cassian started a discussion, I finally took a look at my sister. “Fey?” Her eyes met mine, her hues of blue swirled with emotion. “What happened?”

“We ran into Lucien on our way home.” I stilled. “He wanted me to come hom- to the Spring Court.” Her face paled and I gripped her hand. “Rhysand intervened at some point, but it caused me to write a letter to Tamlin.”

“Oh?”

Feyre smiled, “I told him I was never coming back and sent that over this morning.”

I smiled and squeezed her hand, “I’m proud of you.”

Feyre smiled, “Me too. Lucien was relieved to hear you were alive though. I never told you this when I got here. He was crushed when he learned about what happened. Light came back into his eyes when he found out that wasn’t the case.”

My smile faltered slightly. “I’m sure.”

Sitting in front of the fireplace on the chill spring evening I watched the wood kindle the fire, the wood popping every so often.

“You are a hard person to find.” My head snapped to the doorway to find Lucien leaning against the door frame. He was in a white tunic and tight hunting pants. He had pulled his hair up into a Bun to keep out of his face. The firelight danced across his dark tan skin but highlighted the scar over his left eye.

“Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to be found?” I glanced back at the fire. His boots clicked against the tile indicating he was coming toward me. He opted to take the seat next to me leaning to the cart and pouring himself a glass of amber liquid. I glanced over to him to see him pouring a second one and holding it out for me. “You have been noticeably absent too.” I whispered taking the glass.

“I’m sorry, Sunshine.” Lucien pressed his lips in a tight line. “I have been busy.”

“Well aware.” I murmured while sipping my drink. Lucien and I were not fast friends by any means. The nickname he called me once grated on my nerves, which was his reason for doing it. Though as Tamlin and Feyre’s relationship grew into something more, our rivalry suddenly ceased, and a friendship bloomed in its place.

Our favorite pass time being making fun at Tamlin’s horrible attempts at courting Feyre. The four of us walking through the warm spring sun, the flowers in full bloom Lucien’s arms looped in mine as we watched on as Tamlin stumbled over talking with Feyre. Lucien in turn would dramatically reenact, making me burst into laughter causing the High Lord and my sister to turn and glare. We hadn’t been able to walk together on the grounds since our return from Under the Mountain. Lucien particularly made himself scarce around Ianthe and I longed for him to take me to avoid her insufferable presence.

Lucien’s voice was quiet as he spoke once more. “Tamlin told me, I couldn’t take you. I wanted to.”

“Lucien, you don’t have to explain.” I let the burn of the alcohol coat my throat. We sat for a moment; the sound of the fire whirring was the only sound in the sitting room. “I noticed.” I could feel Lucien’s attention toward me, but I continued to look at the fire. “The way you tense when she walks into a room,” He stilled knowing who I talked about without ever having to use her name. “If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Lucien clipped finishing his drink and pouring himself another.

“Well, if you just want to sit and brood about it…we can do that together too.” I sighed downing the rest of my drink. “Survivors have to stick together, right?” I looked at the red-haired male.

Lucien slowly met my stare, his russet eyes filled with sorrow. “Sunshine...”

Then the words began to pour out of my mouth before I could stop them. “His name was Xavier…”

“He is the only good thing in the Spring Court.” I said straightening back in my chair.

“Barely, he never stands up to Tamlin.” Feyre murmured.

“Feyre, you don’t understand,” I countered picking at my food, Cassian pressing his leg deeper to mine. Reassurance.

“Understand what?”

I glanced back at her, “How hard it is to regain your voice, when someone has stolen it from you.”

Feyre’s throat bobbed, “You managed.”

I placed my fork on the table and stood from my seat, ignoring the two pairs of Hazel eyes and one violet set, staring at me with concern. “Did I?” I walked away.

Walking toward my room, a delicate hand gripped my arm and slammed me into the wall. Nails dug into my cheeks squishing them tightly together. I blinked and brown eyes and silky blonde hair came into my vision. “I’m going to make this clear.” Mor’s voice was cold and distant as I gripped her wrist trying to pull her off me. “I’m not fond of being made a fool” I tried to move she pressed her body against mine to keep me in place. Her eyes raked my face, and she tucked a loose stand of hair behind my ear. “I mean it would be a shame if something happened to poor sweet Feyre, as a result of your reckless actions.” I sobbed, clawing at her wrist and Mor cooed, “Oh, not so tough now are you. You’re such a fragile little thing.” She leaned in her sweet perfume filling my nostrils, “If I wanted to, I could-

“What’s going on here?” Amren’s voice rang through the hall causing Mor to freeze. “I would suggest letting her go, girl. Before her general finds you.” Amren crossed her arms causing her silver shirt that matched her eyes to rise to reveal a small band of skin. “Now, Morrigan. I don’t enjoy repeating myself.” Her voice was lethal, at this moment, I understood why she was Rhys’ second in command.

Mor released my face, not before she broke skin in some places. Glaring at me, “Stay in line, Human. You’re a lot more fragile than the rest of us.”

“That’s Enough, Mor.” My chest tightened to the sound of Cassian’s voice. Mor immediately took two steps back. “You need to go to the Hewn City. Rhys’ orders.” Cassian came into view, his wings tucked in tight, his siphons ablaze.

“Rhys can give them to me himself.” Mor pouted crossing her arms like a child.

Amren rolled her silver swirled eyes, “Go to the Hewn City. Maybe going to spend some time with your father will do you good.” Mor’s straightened but not before shooting me one more glare. She left not before bumping into Cassian’s shoulder.

Amren’s silver eyes gleamed at me, assessing, a smirk on her red painted lips “You are a fierce one, girl. You are not afraid to put someone in their place and you’re quickly becoming my favorite human I have come in contact with.” Her face fell slightly, “But tread carefully with Mor. She is not an enemy you wish to have; you’ll learn why when you meet who sired her.” She nodded her head toward me a silent goodbye and left Cassian and I alone in the hallway.

Cassian was on me the instant the short female made it down the stairs. He assessed my face for injuries, and his nostrils flared at the scratch on my face, “Stop.” I whispered.

His response came quickly. “No.”

“Cassian, I’m-“

“Don’t you dare say your fine when you’re trembling like a leaf.” I looked down to see my hands violently shaking. His hands covered mine to his steady fingers forcing mine to still. “I’m right here, Princess.” He whispered.

“She threatened to hurt Feyre because of me.” I met his hazel eyes.

His expression darkened, “We should tell Rhys.”

I shook my head, “Can we wait? Maybe this was a one-time thing.”

Cassian sighed kissing both of my knuckles wrapped in his warm grasp. “I don’t like it. If it happens again, we tell Rhys. Got it?”

I nodded my head and Cassian released my hands to carry me in his arms. “Come on. We’re going to bed.” I leaned my head against his shoulder and allowed him to carry me to his room. The scent of Leather and Sandalwood comforting me, so my eyes drooped closed. Cassian murmuring something I couldn’t decipher as I fell asleep.

To Be Continued...

Story Tags: @hellodarling1357 @hnyclover @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @esposadomd @sleepylunarwolf @stressed-reader @kylaisra @marvelouslovely-barnes @magicstrengthandcourage @spideytingley @awkardnerd @donttellthecats @tastydewdrops @vermillionwinter @asweetblueberry2 @bunnyredgirl @homeslices @azriels-mate2 @oksloan3 @wallacewillow0773638 @fandom-crashlanding @writingstreetspirit @hannzoaks @minnieloo @tuggboatfishin @judig92 @atrxidxs @dustyinkpages @secretlyhers @mxblobby @blogforficslol @historygeekqueen @turtleshavesoulmates @scooobies @anuttellaa @earth-to-lottie @slytherintaco @fxckmiup @tinystarfishgalaxy @cheesebookgirl @oucereeng @st0rmyt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @misslunatic1655 @azrielsmate3 @nebarious @tele86 @chelsiemp @fightmedraco @fullmoon-94 @thehighlordishere @jenniferpendragon @ray4hotchner @phoenix666stuff @misskennygirl @whitewolfsbitch @highladyivy @tenaciousperfectionunknown @packsvlog @heyyhelloohii @parabatai-winchester @julesofvolterra @lilah-asteria @lyanna133 @mp-littlebit @nickishadow139 @milswrites @eve175 @blackgirlmagicforever

#cassian x reader #acotar fanfiction #cassian acotar #acotar #cassian x you #cassian imagine #cassian fanfic #archeron sister #feyre archeron #rhysand acotar #azriel acotar #cassian smut

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mondaymelon · 2 months ago

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choose . post options (and random ass q&a) utc !!

-> temporarily pinning this . old pinned !!

"ohhh melon why did you close asks ohhhh melon why arent u taking req" - you, maybe

i closed asks bc i got burnt out answering them !! sorry sorry i suck at interaction even online , they piled up so much i lost a lot of motivation in answering them but hopefully ill get through most of em .. at some point

if you really really need to talk to me like for some reason you genuinely will explode if u don't i do have a sideblog so. just scamper over to there idk

as for reqs... oh man they havent been open for a good half year.. the day will come if i either run out of ideas (which is. uhm probably not possible) , reach record heights of delusional , or simply feel like it . though keep in mind i do selective reqs!! ill only write the ones im interested in qq

"what about the events and series you never finished melon what of them are you abandoning your children" - you, perhaps

hahahahh uhm. im really bad w commitment. so yes, most likely. that one forgotten coffee shop au with kavetham that never even got its first chapter is never coming back.

names once whispered on the breeze (smau) hasn't been posted since like last year june .. i lost interest in the formatting since i gen like writing long posts more and also i did have a plan for the plot but it was shit and i lost interest. sorry for all the people who supported and loved the series but i couldn't reciprocate that same love. i am not paying child support either

500+ and halloween events... in the former didnt expect to get so many requests, and writing 3-ish took every ounce of soul in me. as for halloween, it was fun to write but since im a stupid little 瓜 i couldn't figure out how to end the series. 4 chpaters and a cliffhanger is all yall are getting :P

"melon how could you do this you big fat meanie i am going to boohoo and shit all over u" - you, to the slightest possibility

ok now why would you do that

thanks please vote mwah ilyall

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harlothane · 28 days ago

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Theon and Fear - And at the end of fear...

George R R Martin’s ASOIAF focuses on the "human heart at war with itself". In doing so, it provides a compelling, complex and deeply touching exploration of human emotions. One of the dominant emotions the characters are faced with is fear.

I especially love how fear is shown in Theon's storyline. His backstory and the events unfolding in his six Clash of Kings chapters and seven Dance with Dragons chapters, taken alone, constitute a raw, emotional and unsettling account on the many faces of fear. What it does to people. How it changes them, motivates them, corrupts them and may regenerates them.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave.”

There is no need for a long look at Theon’s storyline to see in which ways Eddard Stark’s infamous moral lesson applies to his struggles. Here is a character that commits crimes in the beginning of his storyline, goes through hell because of his misguided choices (led by his fear), finds his courage as he faces true terror and accomplishes one of the most selfless and brave acts in the series to save a girl.

I do feel like I’m missing pieces of the puzzle writing that, aren’t I?

The misstep, I think, is to draw too hastily a parallel between Theon and the other Winterfell boys around his age – Robb and Jon (it's a common issue in fandom and actually had a negative impact on the reading of Theon's storyline, I think. Read : x).

Unlike them, at the beginning of the story, Theon already knows fear. Both Jon and Robb had a decent, secure childhood. While Jon surely has grounds to feel dissatisfied with what life has to offer a bastard like him, he did not grow up in fear. At the age of nine, he probably had faced rejection, loneliness and disdain. But not true, traumatizing fear like nine-year old Theon had to.

19 year-old Theon in Winterfell has already been scarred by fear. He is not a knight of summer in that regard, as his entire personality is a product of fear, to the point where it becomes hard to pinpoint what his true self consists of exactly (that becomes evident as we are invited to his internal monologue in Clash, which is full of inconsistencies, rewrites and contradictions related to the way he sees himself).

We know for certain that, as the story begins, Theon is already familiar with the fear of rejection and humiliation (inflicted by his brothers and felt as an outsider in the North), the fear of losing his loved ones and his home (inflicted by war and the soldiers fighting that war) and some repressed kind of fear related to Euron and possibly his magic. He’s been abused and is still suffering from the lingering fear of death, cultural isolation/exclusion and loneliness.

What fascinates me with this storyline especially is that there is never an easy answer. It is a feature of ASOIAF as a whole, to be frank. I suppose that as a horror genre lover, I am especially drawn to the way Theon's story deals with fear. How it corrupts, how it paralyzes, how it regenerates.

Fear as corruption.

Theon, a “shy” child, “in awe” of his brothers, has crafted a personality to guard himself against the threats most frightful to him (humiliation, being unloved and unwanted, abandonment).

A personality that existed to guard himself against the world and more precisely, the men in power who could use him. A personality tailored to please his captors and his father, the ones his life depended on. His clothes, in this regard, are another part of the armor. Their purpose is to please, seduce or appease the ones whose approval Theon needs at the moment (though I truly do believe he likes his velvelt and silks, he still immediately suggests his father that he would change it if it would please him).

Living with those fears of being unloved and unwanted changed him profoundly as harrowing experiences always do. Fear is the one constant in his early life. His personality developed around it.

Theon mimics Dagmer Cleftjaw’s smiles because the warrior was one of the bravest men he knew in his early days and a hostage far from home needs to channel that tough, invulnerable spirit.

Theon was a child who lived in awe of his violent brothers, so as a young man he acts accordingly, as if spilling blood makes you worthy, as if life were a game to win no matter the cost for the weak and innocent (no matter the price children and mothers pay, no matter the price he himself paid for his father’s ambition!).

I know the Theon we meet in Clash isn’t the most agreeable person ever. It’s the point.

In truth, he is a hardly a person. As in, a human entity with consistent memories to ground him (even before Dance, he represses memories, seems to have forgotten a great deal about the Iron Islands and I believe we may learn more about this in Winds), and autonomous desires and hopes (in spite of himself, he is constantly trying to fit the expectations of the men he fears/wants to emulate – Eddard and Balon).

Even the way he expresses his sexual/sensual desires feels at times as a performance meant to impress or prove a point… read : x or x).

He doesn’t even have a future, and he knows that deep down. As Robb is crowned though and devise a plan with him to ally himself with the Islands, Theon’s hopes rose up and that is how suddenly there was in the sky a comet that heralded his bright future.

He seems like a “closed book” to the world around him, but he was more of a blank page, really.

A mess of fears stitched together with a smile. Fear really is the constant.

What would you do, if you were constantly afraid? Cut from the rare people and places that gave you a sense of security?

What would you do, if – that’s the greatest irony – you were surrounded by people who thought of you as a thing to be feared, an animal to be tamed.

Interestingly, Theon is known to be brave in battle, perhaps even reckless. Robb states it plainly: “Theon has fought bravely for us.” Dagmer Cleftjaw knows Theon “is no craven”. In Winterfell, he is ready to die with the few men who stayed with him.

Being shaped by fear did not make him a coward. It made him desperate and unreasonable. For one, Theon knows fear intimately and there is no greater terror than the unknown, after all. He knows war. He knows death. He is still haunted by the battle of Pyke.

Still, he is eager to march with Robb’s army. Still, he wishes he could have faced Jaime Lannister on the battlefield. And still, he would have died for Robb, he would have died for his father.

He shouldn’t be so eager to march with an army led by the people who hurt his own family so deeply. War traumatized him already. It separated him from his family. It obliterated his future, destroyed his prospects. But his fear of humiliation, rejection, loneliness – it overtakes all. Then again, I understand that Theon in Clash can be difficult to empathize with to some, but if you read his reaction with the knowledge that this is a person who is constantly in a state of true, agonizing fear, I think it changes your perspective a little.

The horrible outcome of all this is that by trying so desperately not to be seen as a weak thing people can use for their political gain, Theon becomes it. For Ramsay and Roose. That is not karma. That is the definition of a tragedy.

It has been said before: Ramsay is a secondary-(tertiary) character, he exists to embody Theon’s worst sins and fears. That is his nightmare, breathing and living and flaying every piece of a carefully crafted personality Theon made in the North to stop being afraid, to reclaim power and control over his fate.

Fear didn’t allow him to be brave. It made him desperate, easy to manipulate. He takes Winterfell in a foolish attempt to be the person he thinks he must become. The self-made Prince. The heir who returned in glory. A worthy son of Balon Greyjoy.

That is the story he tells himself and others. In truth, it becomes apparent he took Winterfell in a desperate attempt to make his “almost-home” his at last.

In a desperate attempt to belong somewhere he could have everything – power and recognition and love. It is the type of extreme decision you make when you let fear overtake your reason. Any other choice would have been more reasonable. It wouldn’t have saved him from fear, though.

Most of Theon’s bad choices are a result of fear. It made him crave power with the same intensity as he secretly wanted love and recognition. In Clash, Winterfell itself, the castle, its people, embody his fear of rejection, of being unloved and unwanted. He represses it. Until he can't escape it even in his dreams.

The two desires, to have agency/power and love, clash violently in Winterfell, an arc in which Theon’s starts to completely unravel as he does everything in his power to be a hard man like his father, like Eddard (no matter how contradictory), while spying the tiniest hint of affection or gratefulness in his captives’ eyes.

After all, in his own experience, it is possible for a captive to admire and crave his captor’s love.

To want to help them. To be part of their family. And he seemed to expect the same from the people of Winterfell. Even in Dance (because torture doesn’t erase your past trauma!), he still believes he could have reasonably expected them to help him

His constant fear has twisted his view on loyalty (you cannot be loyal to someone who imprisons you), love and desire (he links lust and violence), power and justice (“hard men rule the world”).

It corrupts his desires, even. Of all the sexual encounters, or thoughts, he has, none seems genuine with the exception of Esgred, who is not a real person but the embodiment of the nonchalant, confidant attitude he wishes he could adopt as easily. She is everything he cannot be. She belongs. She commands respect. She has a family. And as she divulges her real identity to him, Asha becomes someone to fear. She is in his place. She is him, the heir, the son, while he is nothing and nobody.

Fear as a paralyzer

It is not surprising that Theon would smother from early on the parts of his personality that made him sensitive to fear.

His need to belong brings only fear (he will never be part of the Stark family, but he still dreams of it until he buries that dream as well).

His empathy brings only fear (he demonstrates in Dance his ability to connect with broken people used by the ones in power he could have shared experiences with but couldn’t because of his fear of humiliation).

It shows one limit to Eddard’s reasoning. Fear, sometimes, changes you in such a way that it hinders your ability to be brave (as in, to make the most moral choice against your own immediate interest).

Growing up with constant fear drove Theon to stifle his empathy, making it hard for him to protect other people, as you would expect from a prisoner whose life is a bargaining chip that hinges on his father’s and his captor’s will, from a man who cannot even help himself.

Growing up in constant fear jeopardized Theon’s ability to make long-term, realistic plans for his future, as he barely has any stable support to hold onto. His entire existence does not belong to him. NB: In this regard, it is logical that most characters he is paralleled with throughout his story (Jeyne P, Barbrey, the dead lady Hornwood, Holly who has the same cocky smile and arrogance as his old self, Alannys with her white hair and even Dany…) are women, who are more likely to be stripped of agency, must fight to claim autonomy and struggle to regain a semblance of control over their destiny.

He has many faults, though it cannot be said in my opinion that he did have a good choice to make and that he simply chose wrong by trying to please his father. There were only bad roads that led to imprisonment, death or ruin for him. Theon realizes this in Dance: he cannot bring himself to imagine a bright future. No, he regrets not to have died with Robb. He knows his path was filled with fear either way.

Fear is a paralyzer. It does, in a sense, alter Theon’s capacity to grow and evolve.

Fear makes him an apt survivor (he’d survive a horror movie in messy “final girl” fashion), with a great potential for adaptation. But it corrupted him in the process. Led him to embrace a (faux) cynical attitude, to be over-zealous with his own captors to the point of risking his life for them and most of all, to opt for cruelty over mercy contrary to his own (sometimes contradictory) values – in Winterfell, he hurt others, and it haunts him, but he stands by his choices.

His fear of being mocked, used and humiliated drowns every other motivator.

He is so afraid to be seen as he thinks the men of the world want to paint him: a weak creature to be used. Someone who needs to bargain and submit to keep his life. It is rather in line with his way of thinking that he would consider himself a whore after Ramsay subjected him to his power and abuse in Dance.

“Only a fool humbles himself when the world is so full of men eager to do that job for him.”

That’s it, that’s the philosophy. Theon has his moments of incredible self-awareness, and this is one, hidden beneath some moral lesson as a pretext.

It shows that:

He has a bleak, but rather realistic view relating to most men in power. They will abuse it. They will humiliate the weakest. They will do so eagerly.

He hasn’t met Ramsay at that point. He may instead be thinking of his brothers, of the lords who humiliated his defeated father, of his own father maybe, or perhaps (in my opinion) Euron.

His arrogance is a deliberate strategy designed to avoid the fate reserved to the most fragile people.

He doesn’t judge the men who abuse their power but doesn’t seem to view them in a positive light. Still, consciously or not, Theon sometimes acts like those men. Since he is mostly deprived of real political or military power, he does it in the context of his sexual relationships (that deserves an analysis, especially regarding how sexuality in his chapters is so often if not always depicted in a negative, degrading manner.). It’s a “eat or be eaten” kind of mentality he is struggling with during his Clash arc.

Fear instructs him to repress the slightest sign of weakness. There cannot be true loyalty, love or desire in such a state. You survive. You are barely living. You just survive.

The rare sincere relationships he forms are short-lived – Patrek Mallister is the son of an enemy family; Robb Stark cannot ever be his equal; his bond with Asha is poisoned by envy and fear, again, of his place being stolen by her.

Theon’s mind favors denial/dissociation and repression as a defense mechanism. It doesn't exactly help him to form sincere relationships with people. It’s a motif throughout his storyline that echoes the stakes relating to Ironborn culture in the story (they must remember their history or they’re condemned to repeat it – that’s the symbolic role of Rodrik the Reader in Asha’s storyline).

Most times, he tends to rewrite reality - consciously or not. Of course, he will be welcomed by Balon Greyjoy! Of course, his traditionalist father will agree to submit to Robb Stark! Of course, he, the hostage, will be given Asha's place that she (of course!) stole from him! Of course, he is destined to be one of those hard men who rule the world, not an eternal victim! Of course, he is not afraid, and even if he is, even brave men feel agonizing fear about other men seeing their weaknesses!

We soon discover how fragile this mechanism really is. The façade cracks more often than Theon would like. There are many instances of this, especially in his conversation with Dagmer ("I know you are no craven" "Does my father?") and Rodrik Cassel ("The noose I wore was not made of hempen rope but it chafed, it chafed me raw"). Worst of all, he allows Reek/Ramsay to amplify his fear. When I write "allow", I do not mean he did it on purpose naturally. But he is the one who freed Reek/Ramsay. He opened the door to a living nightmare. Reek/Ramsay quite literally haunts him in his Clash chapters.

What he cannot rewrite, Theon represses. It does not seem like it at first glance because he is prone to reckless decisions. It can lead one to categorize him as a vain egomaniac, not as a repressed person. His promiscuity doesn’t help, since we are wired to associate repression and modesty.

It is true terror that he is obligated to repress - and it is what comes flowing unbridled as he loses his armor in Dance. This kind of dread is mostly associated with Ramsay (there are so many instances I won't even go into it) and, well, Euron (the slight unease Theon felt about his uncle during ACOK can - and must - certainly be revisited with our current knowledge about him, the fact that in ASOS it is established that Theon revealed awful details about his uncle to Robb, and the now evident parallels between Aeron and Theon).

Fear as a regenerative force

In Dance, the "dread" Theon feels in the crypt of Winterfell is "familiar". And I think you can see it as his fear of being unwanted. Of belonging nowhere.

It makes sense: Theon fears what he truly is. A prisoner, a scared child and a pawn for men to use in their plans. It is the truth he can never escape, no matter how perfectly he plays the Hard Powerful Masculine Man.

Fear pursues him all his life. It is only when he has no fear left to feel (it was all spent in a cell of the Dreadfort; all his fear is caught by Ramsay, who is the embodiment of Theon’s insecurities) that he shows his more empathetic and gentle nature – although he still feels anger, bitterness and the occasional dread, of course.

Still, it is not a bed of roses. Theon is certainly more sincere. He is not putting on a performance for himself. When he lies, he is terribly conscious of it. He doesn’t manage to repress his traumatic memories anymore. It all comes back, flooding. Even such buried memories as the ones related to Euron.

In a way, Winterfell acts in his story as the theatre scene, the place where you can finally be yourself. I wrote a bit about this here. It serves as a catharsis for Theon. In Winterfell, he is able to find pieces of himself. Pieces he had forgotten. He starts to remember the childhood he had buried ("A son of the Islands" / the Euron related reaction in Winds).

Fear had been eating away at him. Fear had been controlling him, at times. Not that he wasn't responsible, but he certainly let himself be overcome by his crippling fear of humiliation (which, sidenote, I don't believe stems only from his status as a hostage but that is another story).

Fear had been breaking him piece by piece since childhood. Just like the rat he eats at the start of Dance - it had been eating him first! He had to defend himself against the threats even if it meant hurting and killing in the process.

It is in Winterfell that he finally confront his fears - that he meets the one essential fear he had been trying to escape: himself.

The lies become a motif, even. “False is all you were.” Theon never lied as a manipulator would, though. Most times, he does not seem to understand the coherence (or lack thereof) of his own actions – which is also a side effect of fear (or to be precise, the fear caused by childhood mistreatment). It causes confusion, alters your awareness and hinders such abilities as analysis and planning.

However flawed Theon was, he was a prince, he was a warrior and a friend, he was handsome, he took care of his clothes and weapons, he saw a comet and decided it shone for him. He wasn’t much of a real, sincere, coherent person, but it was the most functional version of himself he managed to be in his situation.

The man he pretended to be could never have survived the Dreadfort, though. He had to disappear. Was he even real? The façade barely made it through his Prince of Winterfell era. Chances are, had he escaped Ramsay, Theon would still have been forced to confront his true self one way or another.

He is stripped from all his usual defense mechanisms in a horrific torture labyrinth. He becomes the weak thing he always feared he’d be seen as. He cannot hide. He cannot lie. He cannot even smile.

Every single fear he ever had becomes his new reality.

Humiliation: check.

Being controlled and used as a thing: check.

Mockery and disregard: check.

Friendless and abandoned: check.

To escape from fear, he can only repeat the partition he learnt as a child hostage: apply the rules of the people who can cut off your head at any time, and be the well-behaved prisoner so you can rise again later and impress every the ones in power who can share their power with you (a very Ironborn strategy, actually).

Except, there is no escape this time. The flaying knife has cut through the armor Theon had crafted for himself. He has no way out (another motif throughout his storyline). He has no secrets left and no smile to hide behind. He cannot forget his status as Ramsay’s pet by exerting power onto others. He is the very last creature on the food chain this time.

And so, there is nothing to fear anymore.

The Dance chapters are filled with terror and dread, until Theon pieces himself together. Then he regains some composure, purpose and faith, even. He finds his courage within himself, where it always existed, in truth. And, in Jeyne, he finds a motivation. Saving her, a child prisoner, abused and terrorized, he also saves what little of himself he can.

The only time he can truly be brave is when he doesn’t have to fear becoming fully himself at last. Whatever that means, in the end. At the end of fear, something must remain. Something must be rebuilt. Piece by piece.

#theon greyjoy #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #it's not really meta #more like scattered thoughts #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf epiphany

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wild-typo-turtle · 1 month ago

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Threads - Part 1

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence

Credits: The lullaby Gil-galad sings is an original Quenya song by Forest Elves and can be found here. Sindarin phrases referenced from RealElvish.net.

A/N: I was not originally going to publish this AT ALL, but hey - it's going to be a long time till S3. I'm mostly sticking to ROP lore; other lore used when it's convenient. Beta-read by the amazing @stellar-solar-flare. This story is an original work of fanfiction; I do not own any canon characters and I am definitely not making any money on this (but if someone wants to pay me to write fanfic, LET'S TALK). No LLM/AI was used in any aspect of the creation of this work.

This is a WIP and I don't know how long it will be, but I'm having fun with it, so thanks for coming along for the ride.

Part 1

Little was left of the great realm of Eregion.

As he walked, the High King Ereinion Gil-galad grieved for the beauty of the city that had been destroyed. A few lonely buildings were still half-standing, but they were barely more than a few stones leaning atop one another; a piece of a window arch here, a twisted metal spire there. Personal effects that caused his heart to jerk each time he saw them: singed clothing, shattered works of art, a child’s doll torn to pieces.

And the library of Celebrimbor, piled at the center of the plaza. It was still smoking, even though the fire had been put out, and Elrond was kneeling next to it, tears running down his face as he sorted through the charred fragments. There was a tiny stack next to him: a few lightly-singed books and scrolls that had been toward the center of the heap, protected from burning by their brethren. But it was pitifully small, and he felt like weeping along with Elrond, seeing the hundreds of years of knowledge that had been lost.

Of Celebrimbor himself, Gil-galad could not bear to think. Not yet.

He left Elrond to it and continued onward. The wound he had taken in his leg was well on its way to healing, but the muscles still ached, and he was content to keep his pace slow. He leaned on Aeglos for support, and it also helped that he was interrupted every few moments by a steady stream of those coming to him for reports and orders; the searchers, made up mainly of those few survivors from the Lindon forces, were combing through the shattered homes and shops for anyone who might have lived. Their efforts were seldom yielding fruit, but they could not abandon all hope, especially in the face of so much loss.

He had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

He turned swiftly, looking back to Elrond behind him for confirmation that he hadn't been mistaken, and he got it - the herald was alert, his head swiveling towards the building as he slowly rose to his feet. There was something strange about the sound; hearing it had reduced the lingering pain in Gil-galad’s leg to a background throb, buried beneath the desire to find the source of that small cry, to relieve the suffering of whoever had emitted it.

They hurried, as much as he could, and he saw her as he drew closer. She was curled against one of the walls, huddled tightly into herself, and her face was a mass of grime and blood. Gil-galad dropped to his knees instantly, his leg no longer of the slightest concern, and he peered at her through the gloom. “Lady?”

A soft mutter was his only answer, but she uncurled herself slightly. Even in the dim light, he could make out that her tangled hair was a rich chestnut and her ruined dress had once been a deep forest green.

And then her eyes opened, and he lost himself.

Ice blue, in a face that would be the color and hue of fresh cream when it was clean. But not cold, frozen blue - crystalline and pure, like a drink of fresh rainwater from when the Elves had first been awakened near Cuiviénen. Eyes that promised peace, and healing, and rest - except they were glazed with pain, and it obviously took effort for her to focus on him.

“High King,” she muttered. Her voice was rough and tired. “I am sorry - please forgive me, I - “

With horror, he saw that she was struggling to rise. Her left arm was cradled against her body, and he saw - with a wave of fresh alarm - that a piece of twisted metal had embedded itself in her forearm and had pierced straight through. The arm of her dress was bloodstained and wet, and as she moved, he saw that the blood had dripped down to pool on the fabric of her skirt.

“Hush,” he said swiftly, reaching out and gently pressing on her uninjured shoulder. “Hush. Do not move, you are safe.”

Even the light touch subdued her; she sank back against the wall, her eyes fluttering closed. A great beast came to life inside him, roaring with anger at her state, and he turned to Elrond, who stood hovering behind him.

“Why has no one seen to her?” he bit out. “Do we not have healers here?”

“We do, High King,” Elrond said quickly. “I will summon one. The searchers must have missed her.”

He spoke no more, but hurried off, and Gil-galad turned back to the injured woman. His heart had stopped at the sight of the metal, fearful that it would be - like Galadriel’s injury - beyond all but the greatest power to heal. But he could see the wound well enough through the tear in her sleeve; there was no corruption that he could feel from either wound or metal, naught but torn flesh and blood.

“Elrond is fetching help,” he murmured soothingly. “What is your name, lady?”

“Linnea,” she whispered. “I was - I am a weaver…”

Even through the blood and the swelling, he could observe that her hands were elegant and fine. The wound was alarming, but did not appear to be anything that an elf could not heal from; she would not lose her craft in addition to her home.

“Was this your workshop?”

It was a foolish question for the moment, but he wanted to try and distract her from the pain. Where was Elrond with that healer? They had brought several with them from the valley to the north, where the rest of the survivors were gathering. Surely there was one close.

She lifted her head again and looked at him, and her crystalline eyes brimmed over with tears. They cut clean tracks through the dirt covering her face and dripped off her jaw - and his hand reached out of its own accord, before he could even think or decide, and he cupped her cheek in his hand and gently wiped the tears.

And he didn’t take his hand away when it was done.

The skin beneath his palm, even covered in filth, was the softest thing he had ever touched. Softer than his most comfortable robes; softer than the blankets on his bed. Soft, soft, soft, and he wanted to draw her close to him and wrap his arms around her, have her fed and her injuries tended and all else she might need. And preferably, without him having to leave her side or let her go.

“With my parents,” she whispered, answering his question.

He didn’t need to fill in the rest.

The building was almost completely destroyed. Even an Elf couldn’t withstand an entire wall falling on them. He wondered why they had still been here, why they hadn’t run - but perhaps there had been no time, or perhaps they’d thought they were safer sheltering in place and waiting out the siege. It didn’t matter, and it was the last thing he would have asked at that moment.

“High King.”

Elrond’s voice, coming over his shoulder. Gil-galad slowly removed his hand from Linnea’s face and turned, seeing a young man standing next to Elrond clutching a bag. He recognized the Elf from the Lindon supporting forces; Tinwendur was his name, young but competent. He nodded approval at Elrond’s choice.

“Sire, if I may,” the healer said softly. He was peering past Gil-galad, at Linnea, and Gil-galad understood that he was being gently urged to move out of the way.

The great beast growled, finding that idea very much not acceptable.

He settled for shuffling to the side, and Tinwendur quickly knelt beside him. “Her name is Linnea,” he said. “This was her weaving workshop.”

“Linnea. My name is Tinwendur. May I see your arm?”

And she looked to Gil-galad, uncertainty written on her face.

The urge to fold her against him roared up again, to protect her from anything, including someone who was just trying to help her but would likely cause her more pain. He stomped it down and offered her a gentle, encouraging smile.

“He is one of mine,” he murmured. “He is here to help.”

At that, she extended the arm willingly, letting Tinwendur take it. Tinwendur gently probed along the bones with careful, delicate fingers, eliciting more whimpers that Linnea tried to hide. To keep himself from throttling Tinwendur - which would have been exceedingly counterproductive - Gil-galad turned back to Elrond.

“I will stay until she is tended,” he said firmly.

“High King, there is - “

“I will stay.”

There is much to be done, had doubtlessly been what Elrond had been about to say. And he was not wrong. The choice of shield or sword was before him, now that Sauron had taken over Adar’s army of uruk; the decision to fall back and fortify their defenses, or to take the fight to their enemy. And Galadriel still lay unconscious; Nenya and Vilya had preserved her life, but he did not yet know what it might have cost.

But he could no more leave Linnea’s side than he could cease to breathe.

Elrond didn’t say any of the multitude of things that he could have. Instead, he simply dipped his head, murmured a soft High King, and left.

“The arm is not broken,” Tinwendur said. “Once the metal is removed, it will heal in a few days. I would suggest you allow me to do so now, as it will reduce your pain greatly.”

Once more she looked to him, those crystalline eyes seeking out his thoughts. In that moment Gil-galad would have bared his entire heart to her had she asked it; would have composed a poem on the spot if she had bid him to; would have single-handedly hauled the rocks free of the Glanduin and restored the river’s flow. Part of him understood what was happening, how it had been no accident that his ear had heard her cry for help - but the rest of him scarce believed it, that after so long…

He nodded at her. And the great beast purred in satisfaction as she extended her right hand to him, and he took it, closing it gently within his.

She shifted, getting herself as comfortable as she could against the wall. Tinwendur was busy removing supplies from his bag: bandages, a small knife, dried herbs, a jar of salve, flasks of water, a small bowl. He paused in his preparations, looking at Gil-galad hesitantly.

“Speak.”

“Sire, I - I carry athelas. If you would be willing…”

He needed to say no more. Gil-galad nodded, and without any further delay, the healer swiftly opened one of his bags of herbs. One of the flasks had contained hot water, and he set the herbs to steeping in the bowl. Finished with his preparations, he gently took hold of Linnea’s arm again, examining the metal carefully from all angles.

“It should draw out straight and true,” he pronounced. “I see no barbs that might tear the flesh further. Are you ready, my lady?”

“I am.”

It was going to hurt. He knew that Tinwendur was going to be as careful as possible, but it was still going to hurt. His jaw clenched, frustration building that he could do nothing to help her -

No. There was something.

“Linnea,” he said softly. “Keep your eyes on me.”

She turned, meeting his gaze, and a soft smile graced her lips. He squeezed her hand, and felt her squeeze back. Her eyes told him she was not wed, and of course she wasn't, not yet, because she'd been waiting for him and he for her and now neither of them would ever be alone, ever again.

But that would wait for later. For now, he had something to offer to take her mind off the pain, as small as it was, and he opened his mouth, and he began to sing softly.

“Ter i lóme, nai lye ómanya rahtuva,

Or i súre, nai lyenna órenya wilyuva...

Nai loruvalye,

Hendu holine...

Nai loruvalye,

Éli calime...

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar

Á pata ter fend' ex’ Ardanna,

Á papátu mina tyelepta cala

Nai loruvalye,

Hendu holine...

Nai loruvalye,

Éli calime...

Á sasta ingalya or telcunyat, nanwie nauvar ilye olorilyar.”

It was a lullaby his mother had sung to him when he was small, to soothe him when he was restless and could not sleep. And it had the effect he’d wanted it to have now: even as Tinwendur firmly and smoothly pulled the metal from her arm and she gasped, even as her blood welled up and pooled on the ground and Tinwendur worked to stanch the flow, her eyes were still on him, still listening to him sing.

The healer was quick. By the time Gil-galad had finished the song twice through, the wound was sewn shut and Linnea’s arm had been washed, and Tinwendur was handing him a clean cloth and the bowl of steeped athelas.

“All you need do is bathe the wounds again, sire,” he said softly. “The virtue of the herbs in a king’s hands will speed her healing.”

Tinwendur had sliced away the sleeve of her dress, drenched with blood and caked with grime. There was nothing in the way of his hand touching her soft skin - soft, soft, soft - and he tenderly cupped her elbow while he carefully ran the cloth over each side of her arm. And in a way it was a salve for him as well; he would never forget how helpless he had felt only a short time ago, bringing all of his might as High King to bear against Galadriel’s injury and failing. But this, he could do; the stitches still oozed blood, but Tinwendur had done good work, and it would stop soon.

Sweat had beaded Linnea’s forehead through the whole process, but she was looking much better now that the metal was out. As he finished, the healer wrapped the arm in a clean bandage, and offered them both a smile.

“You will mend soon, my lady,” he said. “Is there aught else I might do, High King?”

“No. You have my gratitude for your skill. Continue with those others who need it.”

“Sire.”

Tinwendur bowed, and departed. Gil-galad turned his attention back to Linnea; as much as he wanted to stay, he knew he could not remain for long, not when so many others needed him.

But she had needed him. And his place, as he had said to Elrond, was where the need was greatest.

“Can you stand?” he asked. “With my aid?”

She nodded. “I took no hurt to my legs. I am bruised, but that is all.”

He reached for Aeglos, realizing with a slight pang of guilt that he had carelessly let the spear clatter to the ground when he had dropped to Linnea's side. His leg was aching again, but he ignored it; once he was up, he leaned down and offered Linnea his hand, and helped her to her feet.

She hadn't missed his wince as he’d used the spear to stand, and those crystal eyes turned sharper. “You are injured,” she said softly. “The healer should have seen to you before you sent him away.”

“There are others more sorely in need of his aid than I,” he said, and despite everything, he very nearly laughed as she frowned at him. The Valar had indeed chosen well for him, when they had placed her in his path.

But instead of laughing, he dared to lift his hand, gently touching her cheek again with his fingertips. “I must go,” he murmured. “I would that I could stay.”

“Nonsense,” she smiled. Strength was coming back into her voice, and her color - even beneath the dirt - was improving. “You are the High King. You have already lingered beside one simple weaver for far too long.”

“The farthest thing from a simple weaver to me, my lady. As I think…you know?”

The last was surprisingly intent, and he couldn't help but add that tiny hint of a question at the end. He knew little of courtship, even after thousands of years - he thought she felt the same, but it was always possible he had been mistaken.

She smiled again. There was grief on her face, for her parents and for her city - but also a light in her eyes, not the light of the Trees but gentle, dappled light, like the light on the moss in the deep forests. And she leaned, just the slightest bit, into his hand, bringing his fingers more fully in contact with her face.

He wasn't mistaken.

“I think that we have much to discuss, my lord,” she whispered.

He could not have been more filled with joy if she'd just told him that Sauron had been expelled from Arda for good. The weight he carried of the decision before him; the grief for the city, for Celebrimbor, for the thousands of lives that had been lost - it was still there, but the burden was eased, as if by her mere presence she had taken part of it for him.

No, she was no simple weaver. She never had been.

He slowly released her face, but his boldness had not been exhausted; he reached down, taking her hand again. And the ease with which she gave it to him, the firmness of her grip, the lacing of her fingers with his, told him again that his heart had not been wrong when it had said yes, this is her.

“The survivors are gathering in a valley to the north,” he told her. “We return to Lindon soon. You will be safe there - if that is where you wish to go.”

He was on firmer ground now. He knew what his answer would have been had anyone proposed him going somewhere that she was not, and his certainty was rewarded with her nod. “I will see if there is anything to be saved here first.”

She looked over her shoulder sadly, her eyes sweeping over the ruins of the building. He could see the doubt on her face that it was anything but a futile effort, but he also understood that she had to try regardless. Hope is never mere, even when it is meager.

“I will send someone to help you,” he promised. “They will ensure you are cared for. And…once we return…”

He had managed to put himself back together after the battle, if only slightly. But once they returned to Lindon, he could have a real bath, and a good meal, and actually be in a proper state to begin that courtship. He had some idea of how to go about it; perhaps she could join him for that good meal, the first of many.

“There will be time,” he finished. “Once you are settled.”

He wanted to kiss her, as absurd as it was. But this was no place for that momentous step, and neither of them was in any shape to share it. Not with both their injuries, and not with the loss she'd endured, and not with his obligations as High King awaiting him. He could wait, and he could settle for lifting her hand and brushing the back with the lightest whisper of his lips.

And when he raised his head, that light in her eyes was shining bright.

“Do not make me wait too long, my lord.”

Continue to Part 2

#gil-galad #the rings of power #rings of power #fanfic #fanfiction #gil galad #fix it fic #fix it au #gil-galad x ofc #trop fanfiction

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sunshine-for-serotonin · 1 year ago

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My lord i would give you my firstborn for more Erik content, hes literally my babygirl.

Hello my darling!! I decided to do some cuddling headcannons for you as well as some random tidbit headcannons!!! {it’s extremely unorganized} this can be read as any Erik of your choosing, but some specific phantoms are mentioned once or twice!

I’m not super proud of this, but I felt like I had to feed you guys something.

I am not officially back to my full tumblr writing, but I am hoping to make a steady return! Also, I made a Lerik bot on Character.ai if you guys want me to un-private it and post the link. :)

When you cuddle with Erik, no matter which version, you basically have to plan on taking the first or second half of the day off.

He’s very touch starved, so he doesn’t like letting you go unless he absolutely has to, and even then Erik will probably throw a fit of some kind, too desperate for your touch to even think about how it may affect the rest of his opera house.

He’s not ashamed about voicing his need for you either; if you try to leave, he will drop down to his knees and blubber like a child, begging for you to stay and love on him. If it’s a specific person that is causing you to leave, Erik will threaten to kill them! It doesn’t matter if it is the managers, Meg and Madam Giry, or even Christine (should she stay there after the whole final lair scene and the phantoms activities die down)! It doesn’t matter! They don’t matter! The only thing that matters is you and your love! Erik needs you, (Y/N)! He needs you to love him until he can’t think! For you to cuddle him and kiss him like he’s your beloved pet!

Concerning you being friends with Christine, Erik absolutely despises it! She had already abandoned him for the Vicomte, she can’t take you away from him too! She mustn’t! No, if Christine even tried to advise you away from him, he would make sure she wishes she never approached you!

Please, if he starts on one of his tangents about you leaving him for someone else, make love to him and tell him what a good boy he is. It’s a sure fire way to calm him down, and Erik, even though he is likely significantly older than you, loves being coddled and reassured that you won’t leave him.

you will find that almost all versions of Erik prefer to be held rather than just hold you, with the exception of Cherik. It’s not because they’re selfish! It’s because Erik needs you to hold him in order for things to feel okay, and it feels good that you would hold him of your own free will and kindness. If he was the one completely holding you, he would be worried you didn’t actually want to be close to him!

To expand on that a little more, Cherik is the only phantom that prefers to be the big spoon. All the others want you to press against them from behind and wrap your arms around their waist, pressing kisses into the sensitive skin of their neck. {as mentioned in one of my previous posts, Kerik is a horny bastard and will probably start getting hard if you’re not careful.}

Get them to lay on top of you.

Do it. Well… do it if you can handle them crying from emotional release, anyway.

Laying on top of you will give Erik the feeling of maternal care and nurturing he never received as a child, and it’s bound to make him cry from the sheer love he feels for you and the feeling of love you’re giving him, and even then the abandonment issues and childhood trauma just overflows from him like a fountain of sadness.

For versions of Erik where his deformities are a little more open and wet, like Meriks, you’ll have to reassure him that you don’t mind touching it. That the feeling of his open flesh against your skin doesn’t bother you, and that you’d love to cuddle him regardless.

Phantoms with deformities like Meriks are almost always between a rock and a hard place when it comes to cuddling you because on one hand, they’re worried about you seeing their deformities up close and so they’ll want to lay their bad side on your chest so you can’t see it as well. On the other hand, they’re paranoid about you finding the feeling of their deformities gross against your skin and making you uncomfortable.

It’s a lot to unpack when you cuddle Erik, or even give him attention in general, but you will find that it is well worth the effort. Erik loves you and would burn down the entire world to make you smile, and yet he finds himself feeling he is unworthy of even mere scraps of your attention and love, but you always reassure him otherwise. :)

#yandere erik destler #erik destler x reader #erik destler #phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera x reader #yandere phantom of the opera #yandere poto

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jolenes-doppelganger · 4 months ago

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honestly any Rebecca Ferguson character x fem!reader preferably Lady Jessica but whatever works for you hurt/comfort maybe a lil smut idk I just read the Phantom whispers (?) fic and it was soooo good

[Hi, anon! Welcome to Iola's first crack fic! :D (No smut, I'm not feeling it. But giggles!]

Rearing the Muad'Dib

Reverend Mother Jessica x Fem! Fremen Reader

Summary: What happens when a stubborn teenage boy finds a pack of tiny mice while Jessica requires assistance? Cock Mice blocking.

Warnings: Slight NSFW undertones, allusions to sex, almost sex multiple times, and Reader + Jessica being walked in on right before doing the deed. (I'm not counting this as NSFW because it isn't QUITE smut. Equivalent of seeing an almost sex scene in a film). Implied animal abandonment.

A/N: This fic gave me LIFE to write! Usually I'm not a fan of open requests, but this fell within the time frame of a fun idea I had. Thus, crack fic. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

The Muad’Dib were sacred to the Fremen. They represented a vital part of their ecosystem, the structure of the mouse’s ears had taught them how to catch water from the air. They were also wise in the ways of the desert, so much so that the Fremen often saw themselves in them. Just as they had mystified the young Paul, they mystified the Fremen. Some of them. To the Fremen with food to eat, they were a symbol of hope. To the Fremen opening up flour bags riddled with turds and urine, they were a curse.

Paul had taken a strange name, in your opinion. Sure, the desert mouse was arguably fitting for a boy scrawny and thin compared to the Fremen boys his age, but it felt too on the nose. You supposed it was a quirk of his character, his desire to label himself as anything but the savior. The honesty, a trait he must have gotten from his father. Though you never met the man, you knew it didn’t come from the woman with eyes too angular to be high born, too familiar to be considered foreign. You tolerated the both of them, mostly Paul. That was until he came back into the Fremen sietch with a load of baby mice. They were tiny, the size of your thumb, and the boy dumped them on you.

“They need help.” Paul insisted, the teenager crossing his arms stubbornly.

You looked up at the man child with exhausted disbelief, then back at the squirming pouch of hairless mice.

“Paul, the desert is in control of the life cycles of the mice. We as Fremen do not intervene.” you sighed, explaining with more condescension than necessary.

“I disrupted the nest walking, it’s my fault.” he ardently insisted, brow furrowed.

You took a deep, long breath in through your nose. This boy was annoying, stubborn, and yet he was gaining power by the second in the Fremen camp. His mother was helping with that.

“I don’t have time to nurse baby mice, Paul. Return them to the desert where you found them.”

“I’ve been carrying them for seven days.”

“And feeding them with what, exactly?”

“... Rice water.”

The gall of this boy. To waste water? Rice water? On mice? Not even cute ones, little squirming sacks of flesh, not enough to make a handful.

“I don’t have time, take them back.”

“But Stilgar said-”

“Unless I hear it from Stilgar himself, I am not raising mice babies.” you put your foot down.

Paul stayed quiet, eyes flickering upward. The wheezing nature of Stilgar’s breathing, what you assumed to be a deviated septum, made it clear that the man had been lurking for long enough to hear you deny the prophesied savior of Arrakis. He was like a serpent, this man. Slithering between rocks and striking at the moment of weakness. And that meant you now had to change your tune before the man drove a stick through your ass.

“… If they die under my care, I will not be held liable, I have other responsibilities to attend to.”

“Like what?” Stilgar’s southern Fremen accent cut in.

“Like attending to the Reverend Mothers.” you spoke, using the plural for Jessica and her strange child.

Stilgar let out an amused snort.

“Take the mice babies and go attend to the woman.”

You did as the sietch leader told you, not bothering to do more than nod. Unbeknownst to you, the conversation continued.

“Muad’Dib.” Stilgar sighed. “You are a good fighter. You learn the ways of the desert quickly. But you are stupid. Like a hamster. Balls bigger than brains.”

Paul went silent, nodding once. Stilgar was blunt, more vulgar than Gurney had been, calmer than Dr. Yueh.

“I merely want to ensure the continuation of the ecosystem.”

“No. The desert has a balance.” Stilgar made a gesture. “Too much life, too little water. The desert balances out everything on its own. You do not recognize that trampling on a nest was the desert working through you.”

Paul, to his credit, nodded.

“I see.”

“Good. Now take the mice back from that poor woman you’ve burdened.”

“But you said-“

“No. I supported you in front of her because I am your teacher. But in private I will not tolerate such stupid mistakes.” Stilgar said, voice gentle and level, but firm.

Paul nodded, trudging off in the direction of his mother’s chambers. Sure enough, the baby mice were sat in a container that trapped water. It was warm too. He supposed it was fitting. Two pairs of feet could be seen, in an odd position. Two right feet together, and two left, like one person was sitting in another’s lap. Well no shit Paul, that was what was happening.

“Mother, I…”

Paul trailed off as he took in the scene. His mother leaning into the front of the Fremen woman from before, her hands rubbing over his mother’s swelling, bare abdomen. Bare abdomen.

“What is this?” he grew defensive, using anger to substitute his embarrassment at having walked in on a sensual scene.

“I am massaging the skin to loosen the tension.” you replied, not stopping for him.

Jessica hardly stirred, head lolling back against you. Her brow was relaxed, fine lines disappearing as she was tended to.

“Paul, what is it?” she sighed.

“The Muad’Dib pups.”

Both you and Jessica groaned internally. The crease in her brow returned.

“Stilgar said I need to release them back into the desert.”

Jessica clicked her tongue in annoyance. She had been so close to tempting the Fremen girl into going farther. Too close.

“So do that.” she retorted.

Paul fixed you with a look. It was like playing chicken. He wouldn’t back down, and neither would you. The object of debate? Jessica. How you were handling Jessica. The crease in her brow remained. You kissed it away, hands still massaging oil into her belly. His face went red.

“Does Alia appreciate that?” he snidely commented.

“She does.” you replied, massaging carefully.

“Ah.” Paul said, giving the nastiest bitch glare a boy of fifteen could muster.

But seriously, who could blame him? He was watching someone put moves on his pregnant, prophecy riddled mother. It was enough to make him vomit. Or anyone vomit.

“Paul, take the mice and go.” Jessica groaned, pulling one of your hands lower, massaging the crevice between her stomach and her hip bone.

Paul reached for the mice. Then he paused.

“They’re in your care. You said you’d take care of them.” Paul countered.

“Paul, don’t be intentionally thick. Stilgar said to release them, so do so.” Jessica instructed, voice getting tight.

“Well they’re hers. Shouldn’t she do it?”

“No. You brought the mice, they’re your responsibility. Leave (Reader) out of this.”

You added more of the reclaimed oil to your palm, continuing to massage the swelling tissue of Jessica’s stomach. Paul still continued to stand there with a comically disgusted look on his face.

“You’re wasting water.”

“Paul, this oil does not evaporate quickly. Most will be absorbed into the skin. The moisture that escapes will be collected again.” you replied, voice even.

Jessica lay still. Then she cracked both eyes open, almost glaring her son down.

“The mice.” she ordered, blue eyes sparking with fire.

Paul skittered away, taking the tiny cup of mice and leaving. Jessica waited for the boy to leave, grabbing your hand again, bringing it down beneath the light blanket covering her hips, down, down, down….

“Oh!” Jessica gasped. “Yes!”

You kissed her shoulder, slowly moving your fingers over that tiny, pulsing…

“Wait!” you heard Paul say, giving you about three seconds to pull your hand out of Jessica’s crotch before he stormed in. “These mice are holy. They cannot be left to die.”

Jessica’s hands clenched against the fabric of the blanket, taking in a long exhale through the nose.

“Paul. Out. Now.” she snapped.

“What, am I interrupting your massage?” he sassed.

Jessica was seething. What about six little thumb sized mice had him so riled up? Stubborn. A stubborn idiot of a boy. Her idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

“How do you think you were created, huh?” Jessica huffed. “Or her?” she pointed to her stomach.

Paul’s jaw dropped, looking between you and Jessica with growing moral outrage and embarrassment.

“Alia? While Alia is there?”

Jessica pulled her dress down, ensuring her entire body was covered before pulling off the blanket.

“The mice. If you want them to live, attend to them yourself.” Jessica snapped. “You’ve exhausted my patience.”

Paul huffed, walking off. You stood with Jessica, quietly taking her arms in your hands.

“Jessica, what about…?”

“I’ve lost the mood.” Jessica sighed, adjusting the fabric of her dress over her abdomen. “Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologize. You look tired. A nap, perhaps?”

Jessica nodded, working her way towards the cot. You helped her lay down, propping her on her side with pillows and other comfy things.

“I’ll figure out the mice thing. You just rest.”

“Hmm.” she smiled, for just a moment.

You had some other matters to attend to. Matters best done while the Reverend Mother slept.

←→

Paul was awful at caring for little things, you deduced. It was a miracle he’d kept these mice alive at all up to this point. He cradled them wrong, fed them wrong, housed them poorly. The list was endless.

“Paul, no. You use the tiny straws with the thumb pressing on top to maintain the vacuum.”

“Yeah, well I am!”

“No, you let too much pressure out and nearly drown them when the water comes out too fast. If your mother was here to see how much water you were wasting, she’d hang us both.”

Paul huffed, finally exerting himself to the micro attentions required to feed the mice. You huffed, focusing on feeding all six of the tiny mouse pups.

“What happens when they’re adults, hmm? They won’t be fit to live in the dunes.”

Paul rolled his eyes.

“Don’t sass your elders.” you scowled. “This is a genuine concern.”

“I’m not. You’re like five, six, maybe seven years older than me.”

“I’m a Sayyadina. A junior priestess. I outrank you, and I have sway with your mother.”

Paul let out an angry grumble.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s gross. My mother really loved my father. You’re just entertainment.” Paul glowered.

You didn’t answer, focusing your energy towards feeding one of the comically small mice pups. Soft footsteps came down the hallway, another Sayyadina whispering in Chakobsa. You nodded, setting the mini straw and mice pup down.

“Where are you going?” Paul got defensive.

“To go sway your mother.” you retorted.

Paul flushed crimson, and you chuckled a bit. He’d made it too easy.

The other Sayyadina led you to her chambers, not that you needed an escort or a guide. She delivered you to her door, as was custom. But not before whispering excitedly to you.

“Paul is raising mice? Everyone’s talking about it. He’s so sweet, caring for such tiny pups.”

“Well, he’s terrible at it. Don’t be-”

“Enough chatter.” Jessica called. “I require her, Harah.”

The Sayyadina, Harrah, blushed in shame to be caught speaking in such a way of Jessica’s son. You watched her skitter away, leaving you to breeze past the cloth drape separating Jessica’s chambers from the rest of the communal sietch living area.

“I assume you’re here to reprimand me.”

Jessica wrinkled her nose, waving away the statement like a pesky insect.

“No, no. It’s not my largest concern what the… Just come here.”

You smiled, simultaneously relieved and curious for what she required. You settled at her side, hands cautiously reaching for hers.

“This pregnancy… The bloodflow gets concentrated, you see. And I wake up just so inflamed.” she smirked, pulling you closer by your forearms. “Being my chosen confidant and healer, could you inspect me?”

It was a bawdy proposition, one that drew your mind right back to where the two of you had left off. Jessica let out a hum, pulling her skirts over her hips, laying on her back as you crawled forwards.

“Be most accommodating and skip the teasing. I don’t need it.” Jessica husked.

You nodded, bringing your face between her thighs, inhaling the concentrated smell of her sex, mouth opening, tongue extending-

“Reverend Mother, your boy is causing a ruckus.” Stilgar boomed, strolling into the tent without regard for a warning.

You reacted quickly, covering your Reverend’s body with your own until she managed to cover herself. Stilgar tilted his body, looking up at the ceiling.

“The rumors are true.” he nodded, smiling in his dumb way.

“Enough.” Jessica huffed. “What is this ruckus you speak of?”

Stilgar, still amused at having walked in on an almost moment between the Reverend and her favored Sayyadina did not change his demeanor.

“Paul is raising mice and wasting water. I want it to stop.”

“I told the boy-”

“Ahh, but you are not the only problem here.” Stilgar waggled his finger. “Someone taught him to feed them using tiny straws.”

Jessica looked up at you, crossing her arms.

“You said you were going to take care of it.”

You had said that. She wasn’t wrong.

“I’ll make him take them into the dunes.”

“No, no you won’t.”Jessica snapped, slowly pulling herself to her feet. “I will. And you will sit on this cot and not move until I am done.”

Both Jessica and Stilgar left the room, leaving you to sit and think about what you did until Jessica returned. It was boring. There were limited ways to tell time inside the sietch, thus time passed slowly mostly. But this wait? Eternal. A pair of boots stomped into the room, and angry, flushed in the face Paul staring at you.

“She just dumped them in the dunes.”

All you could do was sigh and nod.

“It was the right thing to do.”

“No, no it wasn’t!” Paul insisted. “They’re holy! They’re special mice, they collect water with their ears-”

“And they burrow into our food stores and eat our flour and grain!” you snapped. “They’re pests! The desert is a merciful, swift way to die. They will be fine.”

Paul stood there, chest heaving and face flushed.

“She just left them.” Paul huffed.

His expression and emotions weren’t correlated to the issue at hand.

“This isn’t about the mice, is it?” you asked quietly.

“No. No it’s not. My Father died and she moved on in a few months. It’s not fair. It’s like she never loved him.” Paul huffed.

Standing on two feet, you walked over to the distraught, comically skinny teenage boy.

“She does. She mourns him every night. Mostly in silence. Some nights she calls me to her chambers to catch her tears when she isn’t strong enough to bear the pain. I’m a comfort. And you will learn that sex and closeness with another can be a coping mechanism for some.” you answered, squeezing his shoulders. “I’m not replacing the man your mother loved. I’m just here to help her along and keep her upright on the days where getting up seems impossible.”

Paul stayed still. He processed quietly.

“Okay.” he said, not convinced.

“I’m a bit like how Chani is to you. She’s a companion on your journey. You lift each other up. You aren’t life partners quite yet, but you mean something to one another.”

The boy took deep, heaving breaths, restraining himself from tears. You knew how hard it was.

“Paul.” came Jessica’s gentle alto, drifting in from the entrance to her room. “I miss him every day.”

Paul turned, mother and son meeting each other's eyes, both restraining their own tears. You bid him goodbye with a squeeze, leaving the room for their privacy. When Jessica sent for you a few hours later, Paul was asleep on the cot. Her arms found your waist, and she offered a rare kiss.

“Thank you. We needed that conversation.” Jessica murmured.

You smiled, awkwardly holding her, even with her large belly in the way. Her hands strayed, taking slow paths down your shoulders and spine.

“Perhaps we can thank each other.” Jessica whispered.

“Paul is right there.” you whispered, a bit mortified.

“He won’t hear.” she promised, attempting to pull you behind a folding privacy screen.

“I heard that.” Paul sleepily commented.

Jessica, the poor, pregnant Jessica with an inflamed body, sore feet and an aching, lost it. For just a moment. The madness flickered in her eyes before she took a deep breath in. Paul stumbled to his feet, walking towards the door.

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” he sighed, slipping past the sietch curtains.

You didn’t get a break, Jessica’s mouth finding your neck to lay several long kisses there. Clothes went flying, both of you skipping the presumptives after a day of having been interrupted again and again by Paul’s antics. Jessica’s legs were over your shoulders, your mouth finally encircling her aching core when a little hand pressed out. The string of cuss words spilling from Jessica’s lips was all you needed to know.

Alia had woken up.

Tag list: @ilovehotactresses @marvelwomenrule @midnight-lestrange @bjoerkumlaut, @lovelyy-moonlight, @coffee-is-my-oxygen, @appparadox407

Send an ask/ message to be added. Ageless bios added to SFW category by default.

#rebecca ferguson x reader #rebecca ferguson x you #lady jessica x reader #lady jessica x you #rm jessica x reader #rm jessica x you #reverend mother jessica x you #reverend mother jessica x reader #dune #lady jessica #reverend mother jessica #rebecca ferguson #fanfiction #wlw #sfw #lesbian #paul atreides

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lurkingshan · 2 months ago

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Japanese QL Corner

In which I cling to the last vestiges of two of my favorite shows of the year, write a eulogy for one of the most disappointing, and rejoice over the entry of a new fav. These shows are available for weekly streaming on Gaga unless otherwise noted.

Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

Farewell to a wonderful show. @isaksbestpillow has posted all seven episodes as of last week, so if you've been waiting for a binge, now is your chance. I already said a lot about why I loved this one, so I'll just use this space to urge you again to watch! This show is a goddamn delight.

Takara's Treasure

The main narrative ended last week, but this week we got a sweet little epilogue and one more visit with Takara and Taishin. I enjoyed the brief glimpse into their near future and getting to see Taishin turn 20 with his very first fuzzy navel, though I was a bit sad we got a repeat of the finale's themes rather than treading new ground for their relationship (I could not have cared less about the fujoshi writing RPF). This was a lovely show and I will miss these characters.

Happy of the End

CWs: Assault, child abandonment, child molestation, childhood sexual slavery, dubcon (including between the main characters), human trafficking, rape, sexual coercion and exploitation, suicidal ideation/possible attempt, unsafe S&M practices, violence

A very rough week for this show in terms of the content--please mind the triggers above because these are explicit depictions and it can be hard to stomach. I am waiting to see where this show is going with its themes before I make a final judgment, but watching the fourth episode in particular, some parts felt like crossing the line into gratuitous trauma porn that provided little additional illumination. We'll see how it shakes out in the end, but please take care with this one. I continue to find the characters and relationship dynamics compelling, and I am invested in Haoren and Chihiro's attempt to have a relationship despite the metric ton of baggage they are shouldering between them. Neither is equipped to even have any idea what a healthy relationship looks like, but they see something in each other and they want to try. That tiny bit of hopeful but likely doomed thinking may be all we have to cling to in this story.

I Hear the Sunspot

Sigh. I am sad about what this show could have been. For me, the finale definitely did not succeed at sticking the landing and making the last six weeks of wheel spinning feel worth it, and this show is going down as one of the big disappointments of the year for me. As you know if you've been keeping up with this weekly post, I loved the first half of this show, and Taichi's original characterization, so much. And I don't understand what happened here. The second half has felt like a completely different, confused, demonstrably worse show. Taichi hasn't felt like himself in weeks, the plots with Maya and the job at Sign were poorly grounded, inconsistently executed, and offered little pay off either thematically or in terms of character development, and the romance writing was a complete failure. It was actually painful to see Kohei run after Taichi and confess to him again, and the directing and editing of that sequence was so muddled that I had no idea what I was supposed to understand about Taichi's emotional journey or why this was the moment he was suddenly able to reciprocate. After all that brooding and his big speech about communication, he did not communicate much of anything to Kohei in the end. And I'm supposed to be content with leaving them here? Deeply unsatisfying on just about every level.

I understand from @twig-tea that while the story followed the beats of the manga's first two volumes at a high level, this production chose to remove many of the contextual details that actually made sense of the characters' behavior. It also seems they didn't understand they were setting up character arcs that did not get resolved until a later volume the show will not cover, thus ensuring the story would end at the wrong place. Just a baffling set of adaptation choices, and so much wasted potential. It's a shame.

Love is Like a Poison

But at least we have a new favorite coming in hot a week sooner than expected! I absolutely loved this first episode, in which we meet Shiba, our cold-hearted lawyer with delusions of grandeur and a sexually charged fixation on his house plants, and Haruto, our flirty scammer who has his number. This show is really well written and packed a ton of story, comedy, and deep characterization into its first episode. It's a promising start! For now it’s only available grey outside of Japan; I am hoping it will get picked up for proper international distribution soon.

Tagging @bengiyo to add this week's anime update.

#japanese ql corner #takara no vidro #takara's treasure #happy of the end #i hear the sunspot #hidamari ga kikoeru #love is like a poison #doku koi: doku mo sugireba koi to naru #mr mitsuya's planned feeding #mitsuya sensei no keikakutekina ezuke #twilight out of focus #japanese bl #shan shouts into the void

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balkanradfem · 17 days ago

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So, in the light of sharing lesbian experiences, I thought I'd try sharing a story that makes me wary of dating; it ends in hubris, so be warned. It might make it more clear why I'm not trying to date the hot woman in my building! Click read more for a long sad lesbian story.

Years ago, I had a crush on a woman I met on tumblr. I started talking to her, and I told her honestly that I like her, and asked her if she was into women. She said yes! We started chatting and communicating daily, and after a bit we switched over to sending emails, so we could write long stories to each other. She was incredibly smart, talented, creative, she was a good storyteller, she knew so much about plants and animals, she had a garden, a dog, she lived in a country close to mine, so I could logically, at one point, sit on a train and meet her.

After we talked excitedly for a while, she told me she has a crush on me too. I was so happy. The unreachable scenario, your crush likes you back. I was living it, I was beside myself. I was dreaming of being in a relationship with her and how that would look like, and she was sending me flirty little messages in the emails. We kept talking, and slightly flirting with each other in our emails, and this went on for months. She would tell me about her life, experiences, past relationships, her art and books she wrote. I was into it all, I read anything she wrote or drew, I offered support whenever she was having a rough time or was bothered by something. I noticed at this point that if I send her my stuff, she doesn't really comment on it, but I felt okay about it, since I already had enough confidence, and wasn't looking to get praise.

During this time, I grew attached to her, I started to really love her. She was sweet and warm and so interesting to me. She knew a lot about stuff I didn't! Her stories and art were admirable and I remember fondly going trough it over and over. I felt a little bit like a child next to her, since she was 10 years older, and smarter, and I kept trying to prove that I too, am an adult, who knows stuff, and is smart. At one point we decided to have a video call, and I was so nervous, I had to go be outside to connect to a wifi, and I kept thinking what if it's awkward, what if we don't know what to say? I decided to tackle that issue by going trough a comic she drew and then using the call to give her tons of feedback, praise and opinions on it, it was a long comic so I was able to talk about it for an hour! She was happy to discuss it and our conversation went lightly and we had fun. I asked her at the end if she had a good time, and she said – yes, we talked about me the entire time! And I hadn't even realized that, until she said it. I think I felt a bit weird about it afterwards, because I do tend to fixate on people I like a lot, but ultimately, you know, we could talk about other things next time.

This is where things started feeling weird. We were talking for about 6 months then, and she was starting to disappear without notice. I wouldn't get my emails answered in a while, and every time I grew anxious and upset, wondering if I did something wrong, or she just got busy. At first I just blamed myself for, you know, being mentally ill, having abandonment issues, worrying too much. But I felt more anxious every time she'd disappear. I would sometimes have to go away too, for a few days, but I would always warn her, and let her know when I'd be away, and when I'd come back. She'd never say anything. So next time she disappeared on me, I asked her to please just let me know when she's leaving, because I easily get worried and miss her, and I do have some issues that make me feel abandoned. She said it was difficult for her to read this, because it makes her look inconsiderate in comparison to me, but she'll of course, say something next time.

She didn't. She kept both disappearing, and being too busy to respond to me. And even though we started talking with the idea of being in a relationship, it was never later discussed or prompted again, she only would add one flirty sentence to each email, so I'd know she's still interested. But now she was disappearing, or ignoring me, or - just lost interest. I had to slowly realize that we were not, in fact, going to date. Because if she wanted to be in a relationship, surely by now it would be at least discussed or mentioned, and we would want to spend more time together, find out more about each other. And instead she was responding to me less, growing away from me, but still wrote in flirty lines. I was heartbroken, but also found it too difficult to keep pretending that it's going to happen, when it clearly was not, the contrast of what she was saying, and what was happening, was too much for me.

It took me a hot minute to gather my courage, and then I wrote to her that her disappearances are heavy on my mental health, and in order for me to feel normal about it, it's best if we continue as just good friends, and then I won't have to be stressed about why she's not responding to me. And she responded to that one instantly, saying no, we're going to date, in fact we can be dating now, she wants to. But this was instead, even more confusing to me, because why now? We didn't mention it for months, there was no progression towards it, she's organically responding to me less and less, obviously losing interest in talking regularly, she didn't care to warn me of her disappearances to ease my worry and anxiety over losing her, so how could she actually want to date? I sent her an email apologizing, calling myself an idiot, offering to talk her trough my mental process of making this decision, blamed it all on myself and my mental illness, but I couldn't bring myself back in the mindset of just, waiting for her messages, worrying if she was losing interest in me, worrying if I did something wrong and she didn't want to be with me anymore. It was mortifying to me.

I sent her further two emails apologizing and asking if she was okay, now worried if I hurt her with my giving up on romance, if she's maybe upset with me. I said sorry so many times and asked her to please share with me how this has affected her.

She never replied to any. She never talked to me again.

And I didn't understand, for a long time, what had happened there. Nothing made sense to me, in one second she was asking for a relationship, and then in the next moment she was done with me forever. I waited for a reply for such a long time, before I finally accepted that it's not coming, she wasn't... she wasn't interested in even being friends with me.

This was baffling, because I believed we had, in fact, created a good friendship over those 6 months! We learned about each other's lives, interests, pasts, we discussed ideas and art and feminism and capitalism, we told each other stories, we shared our struggles and days, we had our jokes and references, I had an entire library of her works and art in my head at this point and cared for her deeply. I thought we had a bond, and regardless of it being a friendship or a romance, we cared for each other. And I could see we weren't going to progress to a relationship, because she lost interest, or at least the desire to talk to me regularly, and I accepted it, so what was wrong?

Well, it would take me months more of thinking it trough and catching little hints and signs of things that were wrong. During our conversation, since I hoped that we would date, I would regularly try to prop her up and make her feel good about herself; I always wanted her to feel special and amazing, and would often shower her in praise and admiration. I wanted her to know that being with me would mean constant support and appreciation of everything good about her, and she'd get endless warmth and adoration, because this is what I thought relationships should be like, right, and I wanted her to know that's what I wanted for us. This sentiment was not returned to me in kind, but I didn't mind since I could already feel good about myself. She also didn't react if I sent her some of my work, but I would react to her stuff for ages, because I knew how good it is to get feedback on your own creation, anyone would enjoy that. I realized belatedly, that when she'd ask for support, I'd drop everything to reassure her and comfort her, and be mad at her behalf, while when I asked for support, she'd kinda side with me but still talk about herself. But all of these things were so subtle and tiny to me, I couldn't even see them over the excitement of 'my crush likes me back'.

I wondered, if she wasn't into me at all, then why didn't she just turn me down at the start, or somewhere down the line, she could tell me if she wasn't actually interested in dating me. Because if she seriously did want to date me, then she could have tried being friends with me, speak with me more consistently, show me that she was serious and that she does want to talk to me, and then try for a relationship later; it was unlikely that I would say no, I was filled with adoration for her. So she didn't want a relationship, and she didn't want a friendship, so why didn't she just say no to me?

Because she wanted the attention. She liked being adored and having someone pursue her so passionately. And the rest... didn't really matter to her. She would have only talked to me, and flirted with me, to have me believe we were going to date, and the second I didn't believe it, and I wouldn't pursue her in that way.. I was as good as dead to her. I was just a resource in there. She didn't care when I was starting to get hurt by being ignored by her, and she didn't care when I specifically said to her that I was struggling with mental health because she was trying to have me believe in something I saw wasn't true. She still tried to push me back into pursuing her after I gave up because of pain. She wanted the attention even when it was hurting me to give it.

I also tried to put myself in her shoes, and see how I would react in her place. I imagined if I had flirted with someone, and then ignored them for a while, and they then asked to be just friends. I don't think I would have even attempted to persuade them to go back to how they were before, because I would be horrified that I set this person up with false expectations, and then caused them pain by failing them. I would be relieved that they weren't mad at me for leading them on, and would feel awful for leading them on at all. But I also wouldn't even bring myself into this situation; if I had feelings for someone, and then realized they're fading away, but this person was still hopeful, or anxious, I'd have to set them straight and tell them what's up, so they could get a chance to move on. Saying 'no I actually want to date, lets go back to that' when I'm ready to drop them in an instant would be unthinkable to me.

What happened was so much worse than being rejected, or turned down. I was at this point wishing so badly that I had just been rejected. I would have moved on from that in a day or two. I had created a whole bond with a person who could not have cared less, and who dropped me the second I did something they didn't like. If I had known that's the reality of it, I would have never wanted to be friends, or anything else. And I also had no way of knowing, it was a shock when things turned out this badly.

I left that experience with some new conclusions. One was that I'll never try to date someone who makes me feel like a child. When I would feel dumb or childish next to her, she would poke fun at it and tease me about it, when I would genuinely feel not taken seriously, and I hated every minute of it, I hated having to prove that I'm an equal to someone. I also would no longer try to pursue anyone with so much love and attention. I might have been wrong to be so honest and direct with my intentions and my feelings. I set myself up for exploitation. It wasn't the first time I was exploited in that way either, this was just one of the worst ones.

After this experience, for a while I stopped liking people in general. Considering even being friends with someone, filled me with anxiety and exhaustion. I fell depressed and had thoughts about never talking to anyone again. I just didn't want to be put trough this again, and it took time for me to believe that a person can be that selfish and cruel, and hide it for so long, I didn't believe this could happen. I guess it hit me worse than it would have because I have abandonment issues, and this falls heavy on a heart of a person who's been abandoned before.

But anyway, I am feeling better now, and I'm very careful about having any kind of ideas about dating! I'm not interested in anyone who gives even the tiniest hint of mixed signals, or wanting to play with my heart, or promise anything unlikely or far down the line. If someone says they like me I won't even believe them! But, I'm keeping my honesty, and I won't set anyone up for this kind of pain. If I don't intend to be with someone, they'll know right away :).

#sad lesbian experience #failed attempt at relationships #i still got so upset writing this!!!!#like i forgot about it mostly but when i remembered i felt the yikes and the pain #and the thing is i even considered if i was too harsh figuring out her motives #but she left #she left me to come to my own conclusions #and this is the only one that made complete sense #nothing alternative checked out

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weirdsht · 19 days ago

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Disillusioned 23 . The Consequences of Being Favoured

a/n: sorry for the late update, I'm writing this from the hospital. For some reason they charge for every gadget even tho I'm not connected to their wifi and not charging here.... anyways, I'm telling you right now, everything said here is about to become wasted potential. This fic is already too long compared to the original plan and I don't have time to dive into the concepts talked about here because I'm working on my thesis (despite me having a plan for them).

tags: GoD is enough warning

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are currently closed but my ask are still open (read pinned)

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“My child.”

_____ doesn't know where they are. Everywhere they turn all they see is darkness. However, they are aware that they are currently dreaming.

They also noticed that it wasn’t an ordinary dream.

“My child.”

The voice called out again. Hearing it was weird and made the healer have goosebumps.

_____ does not know who is calling to them but they can hear how contradictory the voice sounds.

It was cold yet warm.

Stoic yet affectionate

It called out to them longingly but it also seemed emotionless.

_____ is not sure what to make of it.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

‘Why do keep calling me your child?’

At that moment, the healer felt something akin to a cold pair of arms embracing them. But it was just a feeling as there was nothing there.

“I am the God of Death. I have come here as I wanted to check how my child is doing?”

“Your child? But I am not aligned with any church. Let alone the Church of Death”

God of Death hummed in agreement and it confuses _____.

“That is true. Nonetheless, you are still my child.”

He paused for a moment as if observing the look of confusion on the Medicus’ face.

“You _____, my dear. You are someone who is loved by the gods.”

Gods, he said it in plural form. Meaning there’s more than one.

Is that even possible? What does it take to be favoured by a single god? Much more by multiple gods?

“Dear _____, you are a child loved and blessed by multiple gods.”

Again, is that even possible?

“You are the only child that is deemed as such. Hence your contradictory blessing.”

_____ remembers how they can’t find anything about their powers. How it seemed to be from the Sun God but it can also be the cause of someone’s death if they try hard enough.

Then it clicks.

Everything started making sense.

Why their powers are such, and why no one else possessed the same thing.

It was because it was a blessing from two gods.

“What a smart child. You have figured it out. That is indeed the case. Your powers were not just from the Sun God. I had a hand in it too.”

The healer might have heard it wrong, but the god’s voice sounded a bit sad.

“That’s the reason why you can give and take vitality however you please. However…”

_____ felt that cold embrace once more.

“Wound transfer… It was an inevitable side effect of the blessing. I didn’t expect you to abuse it this much.”

Does this mean that all this time it was possible to not absorb someone else's wounds?

_____ isn’t sure.

But it sounds that way.

The God of Death says that the healer is someone loved by the gods. However, they felt the opposite. They felt as though even the gods had abandoned them.

“I’m loved? Then why don’t I feel as such?”

‘Why is it that as if no one was ever on my side?’

The god lets out a sigh before answering.

“Even the gods are not omnipotent. We too have boundaries that we cannot cross. Have instances where we cannot meddle.”

A cold wind caresses _____’s shoulders in comfort.

“One of those instances is you. An individual loved by the gods will become too powerful if allowed to interact with all of those gods. Nature cannot let that happen. As retaliation, each god is only allowed to send a blessing or do you a favour once. Just exactly once.”

God of Death chuckled to himself.

“I’ve already given my blessing so I couldn’t do more. Despite my insistence, I could only meddle a little.

…Cale Henituse.”

“Huh?”

_____ asked out loud. The mention of Cale’s name confused them. Why is he suddenly part of the conversation?

“He was the only thing I could meddle with. I made it so that you two would cross paths. The success rate of you two being intertwined is unsure as he is someone no one can read. Luckily, everything worked out.”

“...I’m glad that everything worked out too. Thank you for making him come my way.”

But that does not erase the hurt in the healer’s heart. It does not erase that they have possibly suffered all this time because they are being favoured by the gods. The God of Death says that they are very loved.

However, what is the use of that if they can’t feel it?

What is the meaning of affection when the recipient suffers because of it?

“I understand, and for that I apologize. But remember this.”

His voice shifted into something more serious.

“Don’t be afraid of running wild. It is a privilege to be the gods’ beloved. Whatever you do we will have your back. I will make sure that everything goes your way now.”

“I thought you can’t do anymore? Is this your form of apology?”

The healer raises their eyebrows. Questioning just how the god will help.

“You can think of it like that. Also, I may not be able to help you directly, but there are a lot of things I can use at my disposal.”

He must be talking about the people associated with his church.

“Well, I have kept you here for a long time already. It’s time for you to go back. Last thing...”

_____ doesn’t know why but they could sense the God of Death scratching the back of his head… sheepishly? What?

“Reassure Cale Henituse that I didn’t mean harm when you wake up.”

Before the healer could ask what those words mean they woke up.

As they do, the first thing they see is Cale’s angry scrunched-up face staring back at them.

#trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #tcf #lcf #cale henituse #lotcf #totcf #tcf x reader #lotcf x reader #lcf x reader #totcf x reader #manhwa x reader #cale x reader #cale henituse x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gn reader #x reader #disillusioned . tcf

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