#and in case anyone who's reading the tags needs to hear this: you're not a burden for telling your loved ones when you feel this way

[ghost-proofbaby]

never love an anchor (e.m. x reader)

"On some level, I think I always understood that a ship could never really love an anchor."

warnings: severe hurt/brief comfort, suicidal ideations, severely depressed reader. again: detailed recount of suicidal ideations. dead dove: do not eat.

wc: 5.8k+

an: i cannot emphasize this enough - this fic deals with a severely depressed, and blatantly suicidal reader. it is extremely heavy. it is extremely triggering. it is extremely self-indulgent. the romance aspect is ambiguous and the comfort aspect at the end is brief. this is a genuine, and sincerely personal piece of writing. it is an outline of how suicidal ideations may present themselves to some people. of these 5k words, 4k is deeply littered with reader's ideations without sugar coating. please, please, please do not read this unless you're in the state of mind to read it. you've surely heard it before but i'll say it just to be sure: it is a permanent solution for temporary feelings. and, just in case no one has told you, i'm glad you're alive. if you're reading this, i'm glad that you're alive. you're enough.

if you find yourself feeling like reader, i urge that you find resources such as those linked. hotlines, therapists, friends, your doctor, your family - please. i do not wish these emotions upon anyone, and they should never be taken lightly.

that being said, here are my guts from a very vulnerable moment, spilled out across the page. please handle them with care if you choose to read.

Technically speaking, the pressure that the human body is capable of handling almost seems infinite. When introduced slowly, and time is given to adjust, there is no pinpointed amount of pressure that dooms the human body. Like a crab in slow boiling water, your body should be theoretically able to handle a steady increase, bit by bit, and never truly notice. 

So why does it currently feel like you’re dying?

The pressure was never an overnight thing. It was a conglomeration you’d gathered, piece by piece, collecting little souvenirs of all the responsibilities you can’t currently remember if you’d ever agreed to along the way. It hadn’t been sudden, it hadn’t been with lack of adjusting, it hadn’t been a pressure suddenly unloaded upon you all at once – you’d done this, brick by brick, all with your own two hands. 

Keeping up with friends, keeping up with work, keeping up with expectations. Always trying to run ahead of the curve, always trying to be better. You should be fine. You shouldn’t even notice. You shouldn’t be sobbing on your bathroom floor, clutching the edge of your porcelain tub, every single breath a labor of survival. 

It feels like every bone in your body is splintering. It feels like the world has cracked open your ribs, one by one, just for show. You don’t feel poetic like the movies, you don’t feel like a valuable lesson learned in the books. You feel as though you’ve become nothing more than some crude display in a contemporary art gallery, and you were the one to hang yourself on the wall. 

Needles prickle across your skin with another heaving sob, as if you can feel the push pins you’ve used to spread yourself out for consumption. 

We still on for tonight? 

The text from Eddie glares at you from your phone discarded on the floor mere inches away. You’re lucky the screen hadn’t broken when you’d thrown it down on the ground on your way to the toilet, dry heaving through all your tears. 

He wasn’t a part of the issue. If anything, he was part of the solution. 

A shining clean slate, pristine whites and a scratch-free surface for you to press your cheek to when it all got a bit much. An abyss of freedom and openness for when the world was all a bit smothering. An anchor to cling to, a rope to tie around your wrists to keep from floating too far. The willow tree in a graveyard to rest your back against, the caress of a warm sun even if only momentarily as you stared out across headstones of all the pieces of you that you can never get back. Every version of you that has long since buried, a few even with newly churned dirt resting upon them. Something soft, something sacred, to rest your hands upon. 

Why does he still let you rest your bloodied and dirtied palms on his shoulders? Did he ever agree to that to begin with? 

You can’t remember. Or maybe your brain is simply refusing to recall. 

I hate to cancel, but I’m sick. I don’t think I can come out tonight :-( 

What? Is everything okay? Are you okay? Do I need to bring you anything? 

Please don’t.

The please is what gives you away. You should have forgone it, should have offered him a lighthearted response instead. 

But there is a pit in the bottom of your stomach, and seeing all the question marks across his text only made it more terminal. Only gave it more reason to swallow you whole. Only gave it more reason to grow and to tangle up and to restrict each stuttering breath of yours that you can’t seem to steady. 

Another buzz comes from your phone, but you don’t look to read it. You resort to resting your forehead against the lip of your toilet, all attempts at a deep breath futile as you finally taste the salt across your lips. 

Were you too much? Were you not enough? Was it possible to be an odd juxtaposition of both? 

A harrowing thought crosses your mind, and you know if Eddie could read minds across the intricate webbing that connects cell phones, he’d grab you by your shoulders. Maybe shake you until you see sense, or maybe cling to you until the thought has faded into nothingness. As if he could squeeze you hard enough to press together all the splinters that are left of your bones, forming a new body – a better body. One that can handle the pressure. One that isn’t imploding upon itself. A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy. 

Does it even matter anymore? Would it even matter if I simply vanished? 

Would it be so bad to let the pit finally consume you? To just give in, to let it erase you from existence. To finally wave your white flag and let the awfulness inside of you finally win the battle, erasing you from existence and leaving behind an empty space in the world that could be filled with someone better.

Someone who could be a better friend. Someone who could be a harder worker. Someone who wasn’t choked up on their bathroom floor, beginning to contemplate if the painful gasps were even worth it. 

Were you worth it? Were you worth the air in your lungs? Or could it better serve someone who could handle all the pressure? 

And it wasn’t even that much pressure to begin with, if you pick it apart thread by thread. It was the natural weight of the human experience, and you were still crumbling. 

There was a full bottle of ibuprofen in the cabinet. There was a busy street not far from your home. There was a bathtub that could easily be filled with water – you’d never been good at holding your breath, unless someone counted the last few months, in which that seemed to be all you were good at. 

There was even a bridge, 5.27 miles away from your house exactly. You could already envision the patch of grass you could park your car at, feel the drop in temperature as you stood and overlooked the tame waves of a man-made lake.

Maybe your feet didn’t even have to leave the pavement. Maybe it would be enough to just stand in the silence and see the jump with your own two eyes. 

You felt like nothing more than a ghost of yourself, yes, but maybe. Maybe, just maybe, there would still be a broken shard within you that could stir awake at it all. Maybe if you got up off the bathroom floor and set yourself into motion, it would open its eyes just in time to scream no. 

Ghosts don’t just appear. They were a vibrant soul once – they were somebody once. 

But it’s hard to imagine that you ever were. When it gets like this, it’s hard to push through all the tumultuous thoughts and loathly emotions to remember that. A version of you vibrant, a version of you that might have been worthy, if only for a moment. 

A version of you that wasn’t insulting to compare to others. That was capable of progress, of earning your blip of existence. 

You don’t want the bottle of ibuprofen. You don’t want the busy street. You don’t want the overflowing tub. You don’t even want the calm of the bridge. You just want it to stop. 

There’s a knock on your front door that echoes through the entire apartment. You dread that you already know who it is, but you can’t get up to answer. 

You can’t move from this very spot. You’re terrified of what will happen when you do. 

Will your bones collapse into ash upon the floor? Will you make one wrong move, and in a fit of pressure, make a terribly permanent decision for what feels like a terribly permanent feeling? 

Maybe you were born with the pit in your stomach. Maybe you were born with that black hole inside of you. Cursed to always be yearning, always be a juxtaposition, always be a ghost of what could have become. 

You think you hear the click of your front door opening. You think you hear heavy footsteps across the hardwood floors. You think, you think, you think. That’s the issue. 

The tears are still coming and going in erratic tides. The salt is drying out your lips, your cheeks, the corners of your eyes. You’d thought you’d been incapable of any more emotions like this, but your tear ducts have managed to prove you wrong. 

Does it even matter anymore?

You’d left the bathroom door wide open. 

Were you worth it?

You’d been home alone – past tense.

A more durable mind, a more capable suit of skin to occupy.

A soft gasp of your name has you microscopically lifting your head from the toilet seat. You know what the scene looks like; it looks like nothing more than the excuse you’d used. You look as though you’re ill, like you’ve been spilling your guts across the bathroom floor all night. 

If you had been, would it all feel a little less heavy? 

“Hey, Eds.” 

You’re tired. You’re exhausted. Your voice is nothing more than a drag of a whisper as you look up at your anchor standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern. 

Maybe you were an anchor – maybe being an anchor wasn’t a good thing. After all, what use does an anchor have beyond weighing down the ship? 

“Jesus,” he mutters as he rushes to your side, falling to his knees carelessly as his hand flies out to brush back tendrils of your hair, “You look like shit.”

You felt like shit. 

Selfishly, you lean into his touch, desperate for comfort. Desperate for those caring palms to soothe the ache you’d carried since birth. Desperate to hear him tell you that you’re wrong – hands to promise you that you’re worthy, fingers to wrap around your bones rather than these burning ropes. You’re bloodied and raw, fully on display, and you just want to be okay. 

You don’t want the bridge. You want Eddie. You want him to magically make it okay, and that’s unfair. 

You’re not his weight to carry, not his burden to shoulder. 

After far too long of a silence, one in which he sits patiently in with you, all you can really reply is a broken, “Yeah.” 

Immediately, he knows something is wrong. Because of course he does. 

Because he’s a good friend. He’s a good person. He has the right words more often than not, and his hands were always formed to heal rather than injure. Create rather than destroy. Those warm palms are made to hold the space he’s earned in the grand scheme of the Universe, and it almost makes you nauseous as the jealousy spreads. 

He’s good. 

And you’re simply rotten.

You used to lie to yourself and say it was simply one rotted bit amongst plenty of good, but tonight, it all seemingly comes to clarity. You can’t dig out the bad, cleanse yourself of the rot, because it’s all decay. 

You don’t have to let the pit consume you – it already has. You were born with it, and it had swallowed you whole from the first cry that had ever left your lips. 

He makes himself a bit more comfortable, and you almost feel bad for reducing him to nothing more than the bathroom floor, “You wanna talk about what’s really wrong?” 

“I’m sick.” 

“This isn’t just some stomach bug.”

Your throat begins to tighten again, and suddenly, his gentle touch across the crown of your head burns. Your eyes water ferociously, and your chest caves into itself.

You can’t make a better body or a more sound mind out of the mess you’ve become. You can’t pull gold from tarnished rubble. 

Confessing to him will only be handing over something heavy, something terrible, that he shouldn’t have to struggle with as well. But not offering him a sliver of the truth almost feels more dishonoring. 

“Do you ever feel like a waste of space?” you croak, leaning back, finally accepting that the small space of the toilet that had been cooling your face has gone warm. Another thing you’ve ruined, in hindsight, “Like, this world is filled with great people, and I just… I just, I’m taking up the space- I’m wasting the space-” 

You can’t get out the proper words. You don’t know how.

How do you say you want to cease to exist when you’re not really sure if that’s the truth? You’re miserable, and you’re selfish, and you’re not entirely sure your feet would have ever left the pavement if you had driven yourself to the bridge. You’d be too scared to do it.  

Too scared to miss the day that science announces it’s found a cure to all your rot, a miracle drug to erase the pit, a way to reverse all the damage you’ve been comprised of your whole life. 

His brows furrow and his hand stops all the calming movements, “What? Are you- are you saying you feel like a waste of space?”

It feels silly to admit it to other people. To try and describe how it all feels. Like a child trying to convince their parents the Boogeyman is real, you have to make him see that you’re right. You have evidence, you have proof, and it’s not just a feeling. 

“I don’t feel like I’m a waste of space,” you finally correct, both yourself and him, “I know I’m a waste of space.” 

“Bullshit.”

“Eddie, don’t-”

“No,” he cuts you off. And somehow, in only a way that he’s capable of, it’s not offensive, “You’re not. I’m not going to sit here and listen to my favorite person claim they’re wasting space-”

“I am!” It’s your turn in the cycle of interruption. You pull away from him entirely, chest heaving with the weight presenting itself once more, tears starting to fall all over again. You can’t even distinguish where the old tears stop and the new ones begin, “I really am. All I seem to do lately is just exist. And that’s such a- such a- that’s such a waste. I can’t read any of the things I should enjoy these days, I can’t even write. All of the words feel like they just come out wrong. I’m letting everyone down left and right, I’m never living up to whatever pedestal you’ve put me on. I don’t even know what I’m doing with my life. I don’t even know where I’ll be in a year from now – I can’t even see that far in the future.”

Heaves become sobs, and the crumbling has begun once more. A cycle of breaking, a cycle of demolition. Even leaving behind the rubble feels like a crime. A waste of space. 

“I don’t think I’m a good person,” you manage to spit out between all your visceral reactions, “Every year, I tell myself the same thing – I’ll be better, I’ll be kinder, I’ll be worth it. And every year, I fail.” 

Can he see it? All the fractures and splinters and pits and metaphors? 

Can he smell it? All the rot and the destruction and hopelessness?

Can he feel it? All the pressure? 

Through your sniffles, you press your back to the tub, knees to your chin as you wrap your arms around your legs, desperately trying to shrivel up. To take up less space. To waste less space.

“I used to think I could make up for it,” you whisper, “I could offer people things that made them forget I’m… so useless. But I don’t think I’m even capable of that anymore.”

If he’s about to respond, it’s drowned out by your cries. You press your eyes hard into your kneecaps, until you see stars, and you try to swallow down all the embarrassment. Try to stop all the hurt from spilling out, to stop all your guts from painting the bathroom walls. 

He could simply sit there, let you wallow in your misery alone. Sit and stare as the artwork finally serves its purpose to the visitors of the gallery. Maybe jot down some commentary on how with your bones all spread out like this, the point the artist was attempting to make becomes oh so clear. 

And yet, he doesn’t. 

You know it’s his arms that are wrapping around you, pulling you from the chill of the tub and into the warmth of his chest.  And you let yourself smother within the fabric of his shirt the same exact way in which you’ve convinced yourself you smother everyone around you, let yourself breathe in drugstore cologne and his last cigarette rather than think about all the thoughts that had been spiraling you into dismay over the last twenty four hours – over the last twenty four years. 

He’d probably been smoking while waiting on your call tonight. Probably riddled with anxiety, if the shake of his hands pressing into your back are anything to go off of. An anxiety and waiting game that wouldn’t have to exist if you didn’t exist.

The thought makes you cry harder. 

If a ghost dies, can it even still return back as itself? Can it still find it within itself to haunt empty hallways, and watch the ones it once loved find peace?

“You’re not useless,” it sounds as though Eddie might be crying as well, if not just a little choked up, “You’re not- I swear- You’re not useless, okay? Never have been, never will be.”

His murmured words are nice, but they fuel an unimaginable guilt. It was supposed to be a nice night. A night of movie marathons and midnight coffee, of trying to remind yourself why you still stick around. A moment of incomparable joy and sweet reprieve as your stomach ached from laughter, your cheeks swelling with an infallible grin that Eddie always seems to pull out of you.

There’s no smiling, no giggling, right now. Just his favorite band shirt from the show you two had attended a few years before, soaking with a fast-growing stain from all your tears. 

When you don’t answer him, only manage to wrap your selfish arms around his waist, he continues, “How long have you felt this way, sweetheart?”

And if you hadn’t already been shattered previously, that would have finally broken you. 

You can’t pinpoint when it started. You can’t clear the smoke of memories and find an exact moment that you can point to and say, there. That’s where the hurt starts — that’s where the rot starts. 

“I don’t know.”

In your mind, it’s a wail. Loud and ferocious, efforts of all it has taken to withstand the pressure of your undoing screamed out loud. 

But on this quiet bathroom floor, it can’t even be considered a whisper. Nothing more than the spoken words lingering from a ghost who can’t give up the haunt. An echo of a memory, an echo of the piece in you that can’t let go, not yet.

Not of existing, and not of him. Your fists hold him so firmly against you, you’re scared that you’re going to bruise him. Hurt him just from the sheer effort of trying to show that you love him. 

The only way you know how to love – a violent dog who will always bite the kindest hands. Leaving behind bloodied knuckles even if you hadn’t so much as snipped this time. 

You take a sharp breath, aware of the levity of the words you’re about to say, “I don’t want to exist anymore, but I wouldn’t even make it off the bridge if I tried.”

It’s not about the bridge anymore. In all likelihood, it wouldn’t be the bridge you turn to. There’s a grand metaphor somewhere in the admittance, but your mind is just too tired to try and paint a prettier picture of it for him. 

Because exist is just a placeholder. And there’s a bigger, scarier word that should stand in its place. 

He starts to break the hold, and you nearly sob out again just at that. Losing the warmth of his chest and arms strike pain somewhere deep within you, just north of the pit that’s devoured all that’s left of you. 

“Bridge?” Phrased as a clarifying question, but when you see his face, it’s clear he knows. There are no good words left to say about it, “Sweetheart, no.”

There are worse reactions to be had. More scenarios that end in slamming doors or deafening silent treatments. Realizations that you’re right and it’s not worth it – defense mechanisms that involve them leaving first. 

“I couldn’t do it, even if I want-” 

Even if I wanted to. The words you can’t speak, dying on your tongue. 

Do you want to? Where does the pain begin? And where could it end?

“You really don’t see it, do you?” he laughs humorlessly, his hands still gripping your biceps in a death hold, “You… you just…” 

He doesn’t know what to say, and you don’t blame him. You knew this was heavy; you knew this isn’t the type of bomb to drop on someone you love. 

But if you didn’t, where would the bomb have gone? You’re not equipped to detonate it. You’re not equipped to survive the explosion. You wouldn’t want to survive that explosion. 

“I’m sorry,” your words pour out, beginning to shake beneath his palms, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Dry, cracked lips feel as though they nearly split from the apologies. More violence, more devastation, more of what you always knew you were. You can see it in his eyes – you’re dragging him down with you, right down to the bottom of the ocean. You’re being an anchor. 

He’s all stutters and harsh breaths, panic filling the space with your own as his eyes search yours, “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to apologize. Just-”

He cuts off and is pulling you close again. Slamming your bones into his, wrapping up around you as if he might be able to keep you safe from the world. From your own mind. 

“I don’t need apologies,” another squeeze of your closer to him, another attempt to pull you away from the dangers that lie within, “I don’t- I just… Can I help? How do I make it better? Just say the word. I’ll do it.” 

It’s not your job. That’s not your job. 

You don’t realize you’ve said the words out loud until he’s squeezing you so tightly that you now can’t breathe. Until all you are is him. All his old t-shirts he’s lent to you that hang in your closet, all the nights spent with tangled legs as you sit across from each other on your couch, all the phone calls in which he refused to be the first one to hang up. Cologne that is too cheap to be able to cling so ferociously as it does to all your surroundings, chain-smoked cigarettes you always chastise him for because they’re gonna kill you one day, the smoke of his latest blunt resting in an ashtray as his head finds home in your lap. 

All the inside jokes. All the hugs. All the simple texts, if for nothing more than to just check in on each other. The broken reminders of having someone out there that cares. That loves you. 

How can such rotten hands pull such love from others? How have you yet to infect him? 

“I know it’s not my job,” he finally says, and you know for a fact he’s crying along with you before the first of his tears have wet the crown of your head, “It’s never been a job. You’re not a job. Okay? Get that through your head. There’s- Fuck, there’s plenty of things I wanna drill in that pretty little head of yours right now, but I know I can’t, so just get that.”

He’s trying. A little trill of his tongue that falls a bit flat when he refers to your pretty little head, a brief squeeze of your shoulders as he tries to relax a little. He wants to make you feel better. He wants to make it better. 

But he’s still holding you like he’s terrified. You did that – you instilled that fear. 

“I’m a mess,” you whisper in bitter realization, ash on your tongue as you process what you’ve done. You’ve already apologized, but you’re seconds away from doing so again, “I’m- I’m a mess, and I’m dragging you into it, and I’m sor-”

“Stop being sorry.” Definitive words, no room for argument. The smallest of shifts as things click into place. He isn’t budging – he isn’t letting go, “Do you remember when I first met you?” 

You can’t tell if the question is meant to have a point, or if it’s meant to be a distraction. You let it grow into the latter.

“Yeah,” you breathe out against him, melting into his chest, trying to focus on his voice rather than the ones in your head, “But tell me about it anyway?” 

“Two years ago. Technically, two years and seven months,” he starts in the same voice he used to take on during Hellfire sessions, before the members had scattered from coast to coast and his D&D club only became a rarity when the stars aligned. There’s still a crack to his voice from his tears, but that doesn’t stop him, “We were in some cursed fucking diner we don’t even go to anymore, in the dead of the night, and all the servers knew your name and order,” he paints the picture with a humor that should feel out of place, but it settles some of your breathing. Omitting all the vivid details, opting for triggering the memory with words you’d just get. You can feel the stick of the plastic beneath your thighs, you can smell the grease of the kitchen. You can see the cloudy night out of the oversized windows. He’s a natural born storyteller in the most subtle of ways, always knowing his audience, “You were sitting all alone in that booth, and all of Hellfire had just left. Gareth had just told us how he was going to college in California – did you know that?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Well, he did,” his chin presses against the top of your head, a huff of a laugh escaping him, “Dropped the bomb it was our last summer as a club probably. We were happy for him, though. Real fucking happy. Got milkshakes to celebrate and made plans to get drunk off our asses the next night to keep the party going. It was dumb, and I’m getting off track, but…” 

Baited breath, you’re waiting for him to continue. No thoughts of the bridge. No thoughts of your failures. Living in a small memory with him on the floor of your bathroom. 

“Anyways, you were sitting there all alone, with a plate of fries and ranch.” 

“Oh, God,” your nose scrunches and you try to pull away, suddenly remembering how embarrassing this memory ends for you. It suddenly didn’t seem like the best way for him to make you feel better by any means, “No, I remember how this story ends, and-”

“I’m not done,” he locks his arms around you, and you can feel the whisper of a smile as it brushes against your temple, “Obviously you know where I’m going with this, but I’m not done, sweetheart. Because all the other guys had just left, and I’m sitting there, realizing the only other customer was some random person over across the diner, scribbling away in some notebook. Thought you looked cute when you were all focused like that, y’know? But then you were so focused that it became distracted, and you spilled that ranch all over yours-” 

“Please, stop.”

You’re laughing through the words, weakly, the air of desperation in the word please being far different from earlier in the night. No bridges, no failures. 

“I was probably being a weirdo, trying to run over and help you or whatever the fuck I was trying to do. I probably made it worse, right?” 

You’re there, remembering a version of Eddie that was a stranger, taking napkins to the knees of your jeans and smearing the ranch rather than really helping you clean it up. “Yeah, just a little bit.” 

“Sorry for that, by the way,” he airily apologizes before continuing, “But I just remember thinking about how focused you were on that notebook. And how you laughed with the waiter. And how you were just… lost in your own little world. And how you were so cute. You were so nice. The type of person I wanted in my life. Took one look at you with that ranch all over your lap and thought, huh. I want to get to know that person.” 

“Nice? I was not nice, I was-” you cut off, heart all but stopping as you recognize the point of it all. It wasn’t meant to just be a distraction. He was making a point. “I was a… a mess that day.” 

“Exactly.”

He pulls away again, and this time, it’s a little easier. The world has put a pause on its ending and you can handle the weight of his arms lightening for a few seconds, just so he can get a good look at your face. 

“You were a mess the day that I met you, and I still wanted you in my life,” he says each word deliberately, not breaking eye contact. Fear has broken through to determination. “And even if you’re still a mess today, I still want you. Nothing changes. You get that?” 

No bridges.

No failures.

The weight of it all had been heavy. The type of sorrow you thought was never meant to be carried by more than your own two hands. But he had taken it in his palms, lifted it from you entirely, even if it would only be temporary. One day you’d have to endure the pain again, get to the root of the problem. Figure out if all your ailments had been something wired into you since birth, or things you’d picked up along your way. But for now, you could breathe again. You could hear the drumming of your heart in your ears, and you could hear every single one of both yours and Eddie’s breaths in the silence, and that was enough. 

“I don’t want to die,” you finally quietly admit. Saying one of the bigger, scarier words. The thing you’d been too afraid to let slip off your tongue originally. “I just- sometimes it all gets a bit loud, you know? And I know you said don’t apologize, but I am sorry that I scared you. And I’m sorry that you have to take the bad to also get that little bit of the good with me.” 

His hand leaves one of your arms for the first time since he’d first wrapped you up, and it finds its way to cradle the side of your head. Holding you as if you’re porcelain still. You know that won’t go away, not tonight. “I’d rather have your bad days than have nothing at all,” he chokes up once more, and you can see tears threatening to welt in his eyes, “You get that, too. Alright? You’re worth it. Bad, good, funny, sad – give it to me. I’m asking for it. Just don’t… don’t leave me with the nothing.”

You’re worth it. 

He’s found a worth in you attached to nothing at all. He’s sitting here with you, on the bathroom floor, and his perception of you has nothing to do with what you can only offer. 

It just has to do with you. He sees you, and he’s decided you’re worth it. Even now.

He smiles softly, as if he can see the realization dawning upon you, “You wanna get up off the floor now? We can go sit on your couch or bed or something.” 

You’re quick to shake your head. Your knees are partially digging into his thighs, your breaths are matching his. 

“Okay,” his face falls slightly, but not entirely. Not entirely, “That’s okay. Do you want me…. Do you want me to go?” 

Another shake of your head. But this time, you need to offer more than just the motion of your head, especially when you can feel tears returning as your throat tightens up, “No. No, just- Stay with me? Please?” 

Your hands reach out without you even processing it, gripping his wrists, desperate and clinging and still verging on the edge of violent. The thought of being alone is terrifying, but the thought of having to watch him walk out of this room is even more petrifying. 

He doesn’t even flinch as you sink your claws in. His smile only returns, and he shuffles to pull you both to hold your backs up against the wall across from the toilet, “Of course. I’ll stay, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere – wouldn’t even dream of it.” 

His words shake just a little less than they had when he’d first entered the room. 

He can’t fix it all magically. That isn’t his job, isn’t his role, isn’t his choice. But he can sit here with you, on the floor of the bathroom, endlessly patient and tragically caring as he urges you to lay down. He stretches his legs out and pats his lap once before hovering his hands over your shoulder, guiding you until your temple is flush with his thigh. 

He can choose to not hesitate as his fingers immediately push through the baby hairs by your temple, a soft hum in the back of his throat that sounds exactly as you feel.

Hesitantly content. Just for now. It’s enough. 

The storm is receding. As hours pass by, and noises of uncertainty become more confident hums of a song you faintly recognize, it all settles. He stays. You stay. The storm passes for the time being, and the hole tempers itself for just the night. 

It’s enough for now. You’ll worry more tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. You’ll talk more about why you feel this way, and he’ll offer better solutions. The weight won’t simply be passed into his waiting hands and forgotten – one day, you’ll find a way to lighten it through dissipation rather than through catastrophe. 

One day, the seas will calm, and you’ll find yourself the ship rather than the anchor. 

And the captain can be the boy who sits on the floor with you through the sadness, content to wait out the storms with you until you find the worth he sees in you.

[yawnderu]

You make it hard to be a ghost — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Mutual pining, yearning, fluff, conflicted emotions.♡

"That's enough out of you." Ghost barked as he entered your quarters, slamming a crumpled piece of paper onto your desk. You write poetry for him, sneaking it into pieces of his gear and clothes where you know he'll find them. He reads them every single time, the strings of his heart being pulled whenever he reads them. He'd never let you know he keeps them, never let you know just how much your handwritten thoughts truly affect him, but you already know.

"What else am I supposed to do with my love for you, Ghost?" You asked teasingly, though the fear of keeping being rejected was always there, gnawing on your heart every single time he denied your affections.

"I don't need your love." He spat out, British accent making his rejection somewhat harder. How do I let you know you're the sun that casts away my shadows? I can't. His gaze flickers back and forth as you stay quiet, a mixture of guilt and anxiety playing on his expressive eyes though he tried to keep a stern mask in place. "I don't have time for this." You make me feel something.

"You say that, but I know you enjoy what I write even if you don't believe my words." You stand up from your seat, slowly approaching Ghost as your hand gently holds his wrist, examining his tattoo sleeve. His senses are overwhelmed as you touch him, by the closeness of your body, the warmth of your hands, your gentle touch. He wants this for himself, but he can't accept it, yet he doesn't push you away. "Whose dog tags are these?" You inquire, looking at his tattoo with a curious gaze.

"An old friend." He replies shortly, breath hitching slightly. Those dog tags belong to Simon Riley. The Simon Riley who died the same day Ghost was born, the same Simon Riley who gave his murdered family a funeral pyre and was left as just a Ghost. You simply hum, knowing better than to press for more details.

"Stray." His voice finally cuts the silence, his tone more gentle than what you usually hear from him, despite the turmoil in his head. "I've never loved anyone." Other than my mum and brother. It pains him to say those words, but you deserve to know.

"I know." He looked at you with a gaze full of sadness, and you responded with a gaze full of love. Ghost pulls you closer, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this way for once in his life, hand resting warmly against your cheek as he leans closer, breathing in your hair and the scent of your skin. His nightmares and past haunt him, his trauma keeps him up at night, but you keep his soul alive.

"I truly love you, Simon." Your arms gently wrap around his neck and he grits his teeth. Simon. Simon had been dead for years, yet you somehow always found a way to bring him back to life. To make his defenses come crumbling down as if he didn't spend years carefully building them. You can feel the tension leaving his body, muscles relaxing and shoulders dropping. You're aware this is a big deal for Ghost, he never lets anyone get this close. You hear his heart beating wildly, his breath on your neck as his arms wrap around your waist hesitantly, bringing you closer and closer each passing second.

"I love you too." He whispered, swallowing the knot in his throat. It's the first time he's actually been able to say it. "I love you too." He repeats, just in case you missed it the first time.

[pastafossa]

🌊TUNA-TOBER🌊 PROMPT CHALLENGE 2024 🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

Hello friends! So last month I realized that one of the reasons I'm struggling to get my writing back up to my old speed is I am seriously out of practice since Dec/Jan when shit went down and I stopped writing for a while. After some thought, I decided I was gonna set up a little prompt challenge for myself, just a general, 'here's a prompt a day' thing for about a month. And I tossed this idea out onto my fave Daredevil discord server to see if anyone would want to join. And I'm happy to say there were takers, including some of my favorite writers in the fandom! So I've set up a delicious prompt challenge for all of us, and for anyone else who wants to take part.

For each day in October, there are three prompts: an 🌧️angst/whump prompt🌧️, a 🌻fluff prompt🌻, and a 🔥kink prompt🔥. Participants are free to choose which one of the prompts they want to write or make art of, or they can try to incorporate two, or even all three prompts into a single fic or art piece. They can write a short fic/make art every day, or just on whichever days they feel like (personally I'm going to shoot for one fic a day, but we'll see), or even incorporate those prompts into the chapters of longer fics. There are also four 'backup' prompt options for each category in case anyone hits a day or prompt where they aren't really feeling what's available on the chosen day. If any of these prompts inspire you, you can feel free to take on the Tuna-Tober challenge even if you're not in the server! This challenge is also not fandom-specific (although I have a feeling I'm mostly gonna write Charlie Cox characters, a surprise to precisely zero people, but again, we'll see).

Sometime this week, I'll be setting up a sideblog specifically for Tuna-Tober. That sideblog blog will reblog any Tuna-Tober fics/art or link to those fics that are posted on Ao3 so they'll all be easy to find. That blog will also have instructions for how to tag your Tuna-Tober fics and/or art pieces. If you'd like to be notified when that sideblog is up so you can follow it, let me know in the comments.

Without further ado: our Tuna-Tober prompts!

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

Day 1: Falling Asleep In A Hospital Room ⚜ Reading To Each Other ⚜ Somnophilia

Day 2: “Why? Why do you love me?” ⚜ Flower Crowns ⚜ Mutual Masturbation

Day 3: Broken ⚜ “I feel real when i’m with you.” ⚜ Role Reversal

Day 4: “This isn’t you.” ⚜ “Are you blushing?” ⚜ Sixty-Nine

Day 5: Self-Loathing ⚜ Watergun Fight ⚜ Begging

Day 6: "Shh, I've got you now. I'm here." ⚜ Love Bites ⚜ “Spread your legs for me.”

Day 7: Nightmare ⚜ Honest Apology ⚜ Nothing Underneath

Day 8: Shaking ⚜ “You can sleep here tonight.” ⚜ Overstimulation

Day 9: Anxiety ⚜ “You don’t need to do that.” “I want to.” ⚜ “Open your mouth.”

Day 10: "I'm not good enough." ⚜ A Hug That Lasts A Little Too Long ⚜ Strap-on/Pegging

Day 11: Tears ⚜ “I’d be lost without you.” ⚜ Breast Worship

Day 12: "I did it for you.” ⚜ “You remembered?” ⚜ Deep-Throating

Day 13: Loneliness ⚜ Playful Kiss ⚜ “Beg me for it.”

Day 14: "Please look at me." ⚜ Sleep Talking ⚜ Accidental Stimulation

Day 15: Hiding An Injury ⚜ “Are you jealous?” ⚜ Threesome

Day 16: Exhaustion ⚜ Accidental Kiss ⚜ Against A Window

Day 17: "I'm not leaving you." ⚜ Tickling ⚜ “Touch yourself for me.”

Day 18: Scars ⚜ Pillow Fort ⚜ “I’m so proud of you, you’re taking me so well.”

Day 19: Touch starved ⚜ “I’ll always be there for you.” ⚜ Gags

Day 20: "Who did this to you?" ⚜ There Was Only One Bed ⚜ “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

Day 21: Fainting/Collapsing ⚜ Flustered ⚜ “Was that an order?”

Day 22: "You haven't done anything wrong." ⚜ Breathless Kiss ⚜ Aphrodisiacs

Day 23: Father ⚜ “If you won’t take care of yourself, I will.” ⚜ Toys

Day 24: Drugged ⚜ Drunken Confession ⚜ “Shh, do you want them to hear us?”

Day 25: "What's Wrong?" ⚜ Playing With Their Hair ⚜ “Did I say you could do that?”

Day 26: "You're not fine." ⚜ “Shut up and kiss me.” ⚜ Under The Desk

Day 27: Near Death Experience ⚜ Overheard Confession ⚜ “Let me see what that pretty mouth can do.”

Day 28: Chronic Pain ⚜ Sharing An Umbrella ⚜ Hair Pulling

Day 29: "Talk to me, please." ⚜ Forehead Kiss ⚜ Restraints

Day 30: Healing ⚜ Road Trip ⚜ “Take it off. Slowly.”

Day 31: "Why wasn't I enough?" ⚜ Blanket Hog ⚜ Stockings/Thigh Highs

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

🌊Tuna-Tober🌊 Backup Prompts:

Bound/Chained ⚜ Moving In Together ⚜ Almost Getting Caught

"Take me instead." ⚜ “I’m in love with you, and that scares me.” ⚜ High Heels

Insomnia ⚜ Adopting A Pet ⚜ Scent Marking

"You're not alone." ⚜ Playing A Game Together ⚜ Ass Worship

🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟🐟

[priincebutt]

Thank you @tailsbeth-writes for the early tag!! I'm gonna get a jump on WIP Wednesday because I actually got some writing done last night, and I'm feeling good about my upcoming projects!! So today you're getting another snip from Demon!Alex, because it's at the forefront of my mind and I'm very excited for it. I also think I'm going to be participating in flufftober, so some snips from those will be coming up here soon as well!

“I’ve read… so many books, Alex. And there are only a few documented cases of people surviving attacks that were as rough as yours, and none of them claim to transform. I just don’t understand it.”

“I’m one of a kind, baby,” Alex huffs, and he chuckles, which in turn makes his ribs ache and sets off a coughing fit. This prompts Henry to look over, one hand leaving the wheel and reaching for Alex – to do what exactly he isn’t sure.

His fingers flutter, then settle on the gearshift. “It would appear so,” Henry shockingly agrees with him.

“Listen, Henry… we need a contingency plan.”

“What kind of contingency plan?”

Alex takes in a deep, shaking breath and lets his lead lull so he’s looking out the windshield. “If this gets out of control, you have to do it.”

Alex hears the sharp inhale but doesn’t look over, he doesn’t think he can stand seeing Henry’s reaction.

“Do what?” Henry asks, but they both know the answer.

“You have to kill me. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and if it comes down to that… you have to. End it.”

Now for some no pressure tags! @thinkof-england , @onthewaytosomewhere , @hgejfmw-hgejhsf , @typicalopposite , @judasofsuburbia

@piratefalls , @suseagull04 , @thighzp , @thesleepyskipper , @stellarmeadow

@zwiazdziarka , @porcelainmortal , @dreamtigress , @bitbybitwrites , @caterpills

@seths-rogens , @run-for-chamo-miles , @sophie1973 , @tinyarmedtrex , @jmagnabo92

@blueeyedgrlwrites , @henrysfox , @henryspearl and also an open tag to anyone who may want to participate!!

[runningfrom2am]

michigan cherry // part seven

summary: walking into a saloon in a nowhere town, billy meets a singer who he just can't get off his mind after she slips through his fingers; onto another town, another show- following nothing but the stars in her path. until he sees her again. another nowhere town and equally dusty saloon, but this time, the band of kids who made up her family is nowhere to be found. he's running away from something, and she is storming full speed toward something else, and tangling into each other's lives may just get both of them exactly where they want to be.

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 2.9k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: singer!reader (she’s giving very much lucy gray), probably a little bit ooc billy but hey i tried- anyway he’s a sweetheart, use of guns and violence, murder and violence but i try to keep it non-descript, oh also she’s an orphan sorry (once again, lucy gray vibes), strangers to friends to lovers trope eee. also not thoroughly proofread oops

a/n: heyyy y'all little update, i just started school again for the fall and it is already a LOT. i'm surprised i got this out but i'm really glad i did!! i miss them :(

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

Walking on eggshells around Billy has been a minor yet effective form of torture. You stopped singing for him, and he stopped asking. He still attended your shows, but you can't help but believe it's out of obligation.

It's endlessly confusing. When you first met he had most definitely been hitting on you, unless you were misreading that. You're rethinking every decision you've ever made because he won't talk to you anymore. Well, he does, of course, but it's small talk, mostly. It feels like you constructed a brick wall between you even though it was his fault for reading your stupid notebook in the first place. Every time you thought about it, you spiraled back to anger again.

It doesn't help that you're staring at his back as you lead your horses into a new town, wordlessly having cycled back East this week considering your savings were starting to get close to what you needed. Soon, or maybe even on the way to Michigan, you'd be able to make enough to get your family back.

You force yourself to look away from the way his body sways on the horse, your jaw tightening as you take in your surroundings in a new city. Without discussing it, the two of you cycle a fair distance around the schoolhouse on the edge of town, the old fence falling and tipping over in several places from years of children climbing all over it.

There are children playing outside currently, and you smile despite your foul mood. You missed your family. Those kids, Josie and Harvey and Sarah, and you remember talking about sending them to school once you and Max could finally afford a more permanent place for the five of you to stay. But that day never came.

Billy is lost in his own thoughts, mostly swallowed by the tension in the air that had enveloped you both for over a week now. He just doesn't know what to say, what to do, he wants to apologize but he doesn't want to risk what comes next. As long as you're here, as long as you're still with him, he's willing to suffer the silence.

Silence that's broken when he hears you gasp and shuffle, and as soon as you stumble down from your horse, he's got his gun out ready to stop anyone who's startled you. But you don't seem scared.

You're clambering off the ground from where you fell in your haste to dismount, and sprinting toward the fence of the schoolhouse with your guitar case discarded like it was nothing on the ground behind you.

"Harvey! Harvey!" You call out the boys name as you run to the boy you swore was for all intents and purposes, your little brother, and when he turns his head, you're even more sure it's him.

He hops the fence to meet you and you're crashing into each other, falling on your knees as you catch him.

He smells different, cleaner, and he's dressed in clothes you had never seen, but it's him- and you bury your face in his hair as he clings to you. The last time you held him like this was the night Max was killed.

You don't realize you're crying until you lift your head again, gently grabbing the boy's chin to raise it and get a good look at him. "Oh, honey, what are you doing here? I've been looking for you guys, I never stopped looking, I'm coming to get all of you." You say, brushing your thumb over his round cheeks.

He doesn't answer, and you don't think he can. You just smile, pulling him close again and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I missed you, I missed you so much." You mutter into his skin, rubbing his back and holding him close to you. You'd never let him go.

Looking around at the rest of the kids watching the scene from the other side of the fence, you don't see Josie anywhere.

You hesitate for a moment before asking. "Where's Josie?"

Harvey shakes his head against you. "I don't know." He answers quietly, and your heart breaks more.

You were thrilled to see him, to see he was okay, but realization comes crashing over you and chills your bones in an instant.

They'd been separated. Adopted out, and there's no way of knowing where she is or if she's safe.

"And Sarah?" You ask, attempting to steady your voice.

Another small head shake against you. "They were both still there."

"Okay, okay..." You say, gently stroking his hair. "I'll get 'em, and if they're not there I'll find 'em, okay? And we'll all be together again, I promise. I been savin' up, I'm gonna get all of you back. I swear. It'll be okay."

You hear Billy's footsteps behind you, having just dismounted his horse and grabbed yours in his hurry to catch up. "Hey, doll, maybe we should be goin'." He says, a slight warning in his tone.

You look up past Harvey, seeing what must be a teacher coming out of the schoolhouse likely to scold you for grabbing one of the children. But she didn't know, she didn't understand- he was your brother, essentially your child, your responsibility in every form except for flesh and blood.

Harvey looks as well, before turning back to you and hugging you tighter. "I love you." He mumbles into your shirt, no doubt tearfully.

You kiss the top of his head.

"I'll be back for you. I promise." You whisper before letting him go again.

You couldn't stray far after that. You found somewhere that would let you play locally, and you used the first few shows to ask locals about Harvey as much as you could. You needed to know where he was living and who had taken him from Sarah and Josie, and you had gotten much of the same answers. The little boy, new in Crystal City, had been adopted by a kind older couple on a homestead outside of town. The Booker's were well-loved by everyone, it seemed, pillars of the community who had been around their entire lives. She used to be a teacher, and he once worked at the general store. Still does, sometimes, but they had never had children of their own despite their desire to.

Apparently, it had taken them ages to save up to make the long trip to Michigan- the woman had a cousin who lived just down the street from the orphanage you had been raised. The smallness of the world was both a blessing to you and a curse. A little boy would be a tremendous help around their home now that they were getting older, and they could love him as their own and keep him warm at night.

You knew, in theory, that you should be happy with these reviews. That they were good people, and Harvey was safe with them. But he wasn't with you. He wasn't with Max, or Sarah, or even Josie, and it hurt more than you cared to admit that he wasn't with his real family. The Booker's would never know him the way you did, couldn't sing him to sleep or teach him to write music and play the guitar the way you can.

Your fingers stray on the chord you're running, making a dissonant sound chime in the almost empty bar you were warming up in. You cringe, shaking your head and sighing as you relax your grip on the instrument. There was no use worrying about Harvey and the others now, if you couldn't play worth your salt, you'd never save up enough to get the girls back. You couldn't get him back if you weren't playing your best. Thank god the barkeep was the only one around to hear your mistake. It was minor, but you felt like it could cost you your life. Your show had to be perfect.

Shaking out your hands and cracking your knuckles, you're about to get back to practicing when the front gates of the saloon are shoved open, made louder by the force of the wind. It was a tempest afternoon, and you were starting to worry that despite the revelry your name had developed over the last few months, traveling and performing for anyone who would watch, that tonight you wouldn't make much in tips if it developed into a full-blown storm and no one could even make it to the show.

"We gotta go. Come on." Billy's saying quickly, practically running up to you from the front doors.

"What? What's going on?" You can hear the distress in his voice, making your eyes go wide as you stand up from the stool you had borrowed from the bar to drag up into the cleared area they had made into a stage.

He yanks your guitar from your hands and shoves it into the case, trying his best to be gentle in his haste. "Twister's comin', we gotta get somewhere safer. Find a cellar or somethin'."

"Doesn't the bar have one? I-"

"No, it doesn't, I checked. Come on. Let's get you out of here." Before you can say a thing, not that you'd know what to say, he's grabbing you by the hand and pulling you back out the doors with your guitar case gripped tight in his other hand.

You're holding tight onto your journal as the wind whips your hair into your face and the back behind you in the same second, giving you the chance to look out off the porch of the saloon and out to the west of town beyond the few buildings on the street.

It's like the air is sucked out of your lungs when you see the sky, a twisted yellow and green tint to it that falls over everything and tints the world in an unfamiliar way.

"Come on!" Billy shouts, not giving you time to bask in the sick quiet of it all as he tugs on your hand again, trying to pull you in the direction of the residences up the hill. It was about a mile away, if memory served, but closer than that was where Harvey was staying if you took a left off the main road and down a side path leading straight to the Booker's home.

You follow him, letting him lead you over to the horses you had tied up outside, which were clearly anxious from the storm.

You watch the sky again as Billy makes quick work of untying them both and throwing the flimsy rope on your guitar case over his shoulder, letting the more restless of the two animals take off running. He would find you another horse later, he thinks, as he grabs onto your hips and lifts you quickly into the saddle of the one he kept a grip on.

You snap out of your daze, adjusting quickly and holding on as he climbs up behind you and reaches around you for the reins. He doesn't waste a second, snapping the leather cord and kicking the horse's side to get you moving away from the main strip and up towards the residential area.

"We have to go for Harvey!" You shout over the wind, lifting one arm to cover your mouth and nose from the wind that's keeping you from getting enough air. "Left, up here!" You point at the almost indistinguishable trail, and Billy doesn't ask any questions as he follows your direction.

It takes longer than Billy would have liked for you to reach the house beyond a small forest and nestled in a field, a small cozy cabin drenched in the rain that started to pour. A sign you weren't outrunning this tornado as well as he may have hoped. You hurriedly hop down from the horse and keep your arm over your face as you run for the door, pounding on it hopelessly.

"Harvey! You in there?" You shout, moving quickly on to looking in windows that stutter and shake from the force of the wind when there's no immediate answer, not that you'd be able to hear if there was. "Harvey!"

Then Billy is grabbing your arm again, pulling you off the porch. "This way! They must be in the cellar!"

It made sense, it was smart of him to look for that first, but you couldn't think straight at the moment. You knew tornadoes were common in this area, often deadly in Missouri, but you'd never encountered one before like the one creeping up on the town that you could see in the distance through the field.

The cellar on the Booker's property was entered through a barn near the house, the front door of which was already open from Billy busting it open a moment ago before coming back for you. It's dark, mostly, the light seeping in from the door behind you as Billy pushes you in ahead of himself.

You're so overwhelmed, so scared as you stick as close to Billy as you can, that you don't notice there's someone standing in the open barn until you hear the click of a gun loading over the creaking of the unsteady barn in the wind. The last time you heard that sound, your best friend was shot dead moments later, and the fear that pulsed through your veins felt like a tangible substance- like the liquid felt thicker, heavier; weighting you onto the spot where you stood and holding you there.

"Hey, woah, we didn't mean to startle you, we just-" Billy says, taking a step in front of you and holding you back with one arm, his other hand raised defensively.

"Don't move," The man spits, and you peek over Billy's shoulder, gripping onto the back of his sweater. That must be Elliot Booker. "I know who you are." He continues, and your heart drops.

"O-okay, well, it's, it's nice to meet you, I-" You assume he was talking to you, talking about how you're Harvey's "real" family.

"We got a kid down there, I'm not lettin' you get a step closer. You best be gettin' out of here." As he speaks, he doesn't even spare you a glance. His eyes are locked on Billy.

You're confused, but neither of the men in front of you seem to be. Billy's expression hardens, you can see it in the slight tense of his jaw as he keeps the back of his hand on your waist behind himself, making sure you're still there.

"We need some place to shelter, that storm is comin' in quick. She's a friend of your kid's. If you won't take me, let her in with you." Billy says, nodding back over his shoulder toward you.

You glance back at the door as the wind roars behind you, swinging the door wide open again. Despite everything that was going on or not going on between you and Billy, you weren't going without him. You cared that much, and apparently, he still did too.

"Mister Booker, please, I know this isn't the best way for us to meet, but-" You try to cut in but he isn't having it, loading the rifle and aiming it at you again as you take a step out from behind Billy to the side.

By the time he's done cocking the gun in your direction Billy's own pistol is out as well. You didn't even hear him move, but it was loaded before you could turn your head to look at it.

"If you know who I am, you'll know that shooting her is far from a smart move." He says through gritted teeth, and you can tell he means it based only on that heavy feeling returning and pinning you in place as he corrects himself to stand in front of you again. "You'll be dead before the first hair on her head hits the ground, you hear me?"

Mr. Booker's grip on the rifle remains firm, and he doesn't back down. You don't even know what's going on, you can't even begin to process or try and understand what Billy meant by that besides the obvious.

"If you know who I am..."

You look up at the back of Billy's head and the hat you'd worn a handful of times over the last several months when the sun was a little too bright or too hot on your skin, and where the frayed old rope tied to your guitar case still held it over his shoulder, the rope rubbing red into the skin of his neck. His broad shoulders that you'd dreamt of running your hands over but had only done so when he was helping you up onto the horse he had got for you with a good deal, exchanged for an afternoons work on a ranch somewhere in Texas, and out of nowhere, you don't think you know him.

But you do. You know he lost his family and his best friend like you did, and you know where he went to sleep on nights he couldn't stomach being under the same roof as his mother's awful husband. You know how his eyes crinkle when he laughs, and that he doesn't shave often and he doesn't need to. You know his favourite songs, and you know he can kind of play the guitar and with practice and your help he's getting better. You know he likes to sing too, though he doesn't admit it. You thought you knew he was a good man.

"You're lucky I haven't shot you yet to turn in your body tomorrow." The man responds after what feels like an eternity, and you're hardly sure you can hear anything anymore. "Go."

Billy keeps his eyes and his gun trained on Harvey's new caretaker as he pushes you slowly back toward the door, out into the storm again.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[mazeinthemiroh]

you need a holiday. [part 1]

pairing: hongjoong x best friend! reader

genre: friends to lovers, slow burn / slow romance, slight angst, and, of course, a sprinkle of crack

word count: 1.6k

warnings: cursing, allusions to mental health issues + insomnia

summary: hongjoong feels like he is just going through the motions in his life. the spark has gone. but you have the perfect solution that will solve all his problems... [part 2, part 3]

author's notes: to get in the summer holiday spirit, i present to you part 1 of this hongjoong holiday series. we all deserve a rest every now and then, and time off is just what you need to get back on track. stay tuned for part 2 which will be published shortly! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next one <3

Hongjoong felt all his days blended into one. He was, quite truly, going through the motions. Sometimes he woke up not knowing what to do. Not feeling like he had a purpose. Which, of course, was not the case. He was a captain, a producer of fine music, a rapper, a dancer, a writer. His work was his life and people relied on him for things only he could accomplish. So he had a purpose. Of course, he did.

But things started to feel vacuous. They held no meaning. 'What was the point of it all?' He would think to himself as he stared at the keyboard in front of him, sitting by himself in the studio in the early hours of the morning yet again. Alone. Very much alone.

He needed something else. Something. Just a little kick up the ass, a slap in the face to give him the wake-up call he needed. He wanted someone to say 'You've got it good, you ungrateful bastard. Money, fame, charm. You've got it all, so stop whining about such trivial things and get back to work.' He needed to hear those words.

So he picked up the phone one night, another night in the studio, and his thumbs lingered over the screen before deciding to search for a name. Your name.

'Let's meet up for coffee tomorrow. If you're free, that is.'

He couldn't tell if his text sounded abrupt and rude due to his sleep-deprived mind waning slowly away. He knew you might not be up at the same time he was so he decide to wait until morning.

And a couple of hours later, he was fighting the urge to settle and sleep for the hours he deserved, instead getting ready for work. He shoved himself into the shower and 'cleaned the tiredness away', as he liked to put it. Because apparently, according to the wise Kim Hongjoong himself, a shower could cure you of most things, especially sleep deprivation.

So he went to work, going about his business, knowing that he would see you for a coffee break at around lunchtime. You had replied to him in the late hours of the morning, ignoring the fact that he had texted you at 3 am. It was typical Hongjoong behaviour and you knew him all too well to question the time in which he was up.

Lunchtime came around and there you were together, opposite each other as you tucked into the delicious sandwiches before you.

"So, how have you been?" Your voice was light, but you had your suspicions on your friend, who never usually made plans so out-of-the-blue, instead preferring a week in advance to prepare himself, ideally. That's why you were so surprised to have read his message.

"Me?" Hongjoong asked as if you were talking to anyone else in the café, which obviously you were not, "I've been good."

'This is not why you invited them out' Hongjoong's mind scolded him. 'There's a reason why you're here with them. Speak.'

Hongjoong let out a sigh, knowing that he was right. He needed to just... express himself.

"Well actually..." Hongjoong winced at the upcoming awkwardness, as if trying to brace himself for having to open up to you. He hated burdening people with his problems. A burden is truly what they felt like when expressed and left hanging in the air like that, all exposed and vulnerable. A person's problems could change your perception about someone, which Hongjoong never liked risking because his reputation was important.

But you were his friend. And if you ever confided in him about something, he would embrace your openness with a kind heart. Why did he think you wouldn't do the same?

So, taking a deep breath, he tried his best.

"I've been struggling, to be honest."

Already he could feel a lump form in his throat. That felt like a massive confession in itself, when it really, in hindsight, was just a simple statement. Everyone struggles, sure. But saying it out loud and solidifying these feelings verbally felt intense.

You nodded, already understanding where he was coming from. He looked tired. Not only because of the dark circles under his eyes and the occasional yawn that rose in between sentences. But also, in his eyes, the casual and chipper sparkle that he always held had dwindled tremendously. He was still as handsome as always, but his spark had gone. And that very concept exhausted him more than any lack of sleep could.

"You need a holiday," you decided aloud. It felt like more of a command than a suggestion. But after you had heard all of Hongjoong's worries and concerns and rants about anything and everything, you confirm that it was the only right thing to say.

He looked at you in bewilderment. In utter fascination.

"No, that's not what you should be saying," Hongjoong shook his head, "you should be telling me to get a grip and stop moping about."

You laughed at his reasoning, but he looked dead serious, biting the inside of his cheek impatiently.

"What good will that do?" You hummed, not waiting for an answer, "You're allowed to feel this way, Joong. And you're allowed a holiday too."

"Okay, if I went on holiday every time I had a problem, I wouldn't be at work at all. I'm not like you, I can't just run when things get tough," he snapped, one hand turning into a fist, before unclenching. He realised he sounded very harsh there and his eyes grew wide.

"I..." he swallowed harshly. "I'm sorry. That was over the line."

"No, no," you shook your head, trying hard not to take offence at his harsh words. You knew he was stressed. "You're right. I don't have the same circumstances as you. But I don't run away when things get tough. I just allow myself to get away, just for a little bit, every now and then. A slice of fantasy before going back to reality. Everyone needs a holiday. Everyone needs to get away from the mundane routine of their lives. So when you do have some time off, why not embrace it?"

Hongjoong stared at his now empty plate, still feeling guilty about being hurtful with his words. What had gotten into him? He sighed and sank back in the chair.

You watched him for a moment, before continuing:

"You want me to be serious and honest with you? Fine. You will destroy yourself if you don't give yourself a break. A little rest, Hongjoong, you owe yourself at least that. And if your life is not full of joy like it used to be in, despite having your dream job and dream life, a little break will do you good. Otherwise, you will drive yourself crazy," you shrugged, a frown on your face to match his, "which you're in the process of doing now."

Hongjoong looked up. It wasn't the sternness he was expecting, but it did make sense. He licked his dry lips and fixed his hunched posture.

When he didn't say anything you said your last bit.

"I am going away to Spain for 5 days in about a fortnight," you placed the cutlery delicately on the plate, "just 5 days, that's all. You're more than welcome to join me, if you feel it's worth your while. Because, trust me, it will be."

On getting up, you had slipped your jacket on elegantly as he watched you, eyes glazed over with deep thought. You pushed him out of his daze by placing a kiss on his cheek, something you wouldn't usually do. He blinked and looked over at you curiously.

"See you, Joong. Thanks for lunch. And I hope to see you soon."

"Y/N thinks I need a holiday."

Hongjoong didn't know why he was confiding in yet another person today. But here he was, talking to Seonghwa about the conversation you had with him earlier that day.

They were both standing in the kitchen, Hongjoong unmoving whilst Seonghwa worked around him, making himself a late dinner.

"Of course you need a holiday," Seonghwa said without looking at Hongjoong as he reached for the top shelf, moving around his standing friend who gazed at him, baffled.

"You think I need a holiday too?" Hongjoong was perplexed, clearly not seeing what everyone else was.

"We all need a holiday," Seonghwa looked at him now with a playful smile, before sinking into seriousness, "but you need it just a little bit more than the rest of us."

Hongjoong pursed his lips and sighed, shaking his head.

"You work so hard for all of us. 5 days is nothing, Joong. We can cope without you for 5 days!" Seonghwa tried to convince his friend.

"Oh is Hongjoong leaving? That means I get to be captain, right?" Wooyoung butted in, reaching over Seonghwa in an awkward position just to ram his mouth full of the already opened popcorn left on the counter.

"You wish. I'll be in charge when Hongjoong is gone, obviously," Seonghwa rolled his eyes and gently shooed Wooyoung away, who shrugged and disappeared without another word.

"Good to know I'll be missed," Hongjoong snorted as his gaze followed the disappearing Wooyoung.

"You won't be missed," Seonghwa stated, "because we would all have peace of mind knowing that you were finally relaxing for once. Or, at least, I will."

Seonghwa always knew what to say, and Hongjoong couldn't help but feel a little better about entertaining the idea of going on holiday with you.

But that doesn't mean he had been fully convinced.

"I'll think about it," Hongjoong nodded, before making his way back to his room.

He wasn't convinced. Not yet.

taglist: @a-wandering-stay, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou, @honeysugarbby, @dutchessskarma, @saltedplum-squid (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[prettyboykatsuki]

ari if u don’t write sae i’ll actually go crazy/lh

ordinary business | i. sae

✮ tags ; alcohol, gn!reader, reader has an accent that progressively worsens as the night goes on, setting is in japan, reader is sae's manager, sae is an acts of service kind of guy, they eat ramen tgt

✮ wc ; 1.2k

✮ a /n ; stop. i dont want this man.

"Ramen," You moan, face flush and nearly stumbling over yourself clumsily "Oh my god, I want ramen. And I wan' a popsicle. Fuck it's so cold."

Sae puts an arm out to keep you from stumbling, but you regain your strength before you notice. He sighs, as you confidently march down the sidewalks and turn into the nearest 7/11.

He hasn't seen you like this in the three years he's been under your management. You're a professional, and you always hold your drinks well. Tonight was one of his mandatory public events he needed to keep sponsorship, and you went as his plus one. He's back in Japan only for this, and he'll leave the day after tomorrow.

You were well-behaved for the entire night, but the minute you got in the limousine - your words were slurring asking the driver to take you to the closest bar so you could party.

Sae doesn't usually worry and fuss over people like this, except for Rin on the occasion. It's just that it's you, and he's never really seen you in this state. He's never going to claim being a good guy, but even he has enough of a conscious to do this. To stop you? No. But to make sure you don't get into anything you'd regret.

So, he's following you. He's still in his suit but he has his security nearby just in case and to make sure there's no paparazzi.

It's also a little funny seeing you drunk. There's an apathetic college student at the counter who doesn't even look up when you walk in. You don't seem to care though, rifling through the snack isles with a hazy look on your face and no awareness of your surroundings. Every few minutes you hiccup, remembering he's here.

"Do you want anythin'?" You say, only vaguely aware of what's going on. He stares at you.

"Can't."

"Fooey," You say, and Sae has to keep himself from laughing "Jus' a lil. I won't tell anyone. Scouts honor."

"Why do you want me to have some in the first place?"

"It's fun to share," You say, giving him a heart with both of your hands, ramen tucked under your arm "Don't wanna eat alone. Please."

"I've never seen you this drunk before."

"Don't usually drink a lot," You say, going to back to stare at snacks with a thoughtful look on your face "But. Ugh. Y'know?"

"Ugh?"

You nod emphatically.

"So super ugh. Anyway. Have ramen with me? It can be healthy if we get you an egg, I think."

"I'm not eating the pre-made eggs. But fine,"

"Yaayy. Thank you."

"And I'm paying for it." He says, not turning around to let you protest. You whine a little behind him, a quiet and thoughtful nooo that he has another good laugh at. He'd be amiss to let you pay, especially since he makes much more than you.

That and the fact he's trying to confess his feelings. It doesn't seem very romantic to do otherwise.

It doesn't take any effort to grab up the stuff you've secured in your arms. The cashier rings it out quietly, not paying much attention at all. He only makes an impressed face when Sae pulls out his black card.

When the ramen is finally paid for, he takes his out of the bag and hands it to you. And you scurry over to the hot-water station and microwave, where he follows suit. He looks away for one minute, and hears you yell. You've burned yourself slightly on the electric kettle.

He sighs, stepping in. He flicks your forehead with his thumb and forefinger.

"Oi. Go sit before you do something stupid."

You fumble, protesting for a minute about the fact you can do it but again - it doesn't take much effort to redirect you to your set. You rest your feet on the place for them on your stool, swishing back and forth. Sae reads the instructions, making each ramen and returning. He grabs your ice cream from the bag and places it in the nearby cooler so it doesn't melt.

He watches you stare at your ramen while it cooks, a pair of wooden chopsticks sitting ontop. He just barely stops himself from teasing you about being impatient. You place your elbows on the table in front, drowsy and huffing - glancing over at him until he tells you it's been enough time.

"Should be done. Don't burn your tongue."

"Woo!" You cheer, tearing off the top part off, chopsticks in hand. You look pleased as you eat, not hesitating to shovel as much as you can into your mouth.

Sae eats too, though probably a little less enthused. The ramen is good. It's not easy to find good instant stuff like this abroad and he hasn't had it in a long time.

"Oh, I feel better. Eating... it fixes everything,"

"What exactly were you feeling bad about?" He asks between bites. You open the soda you bought and drink it down, before wiping your mouth.

"Ma wants me to get married soon," You say, with all the annoyance. He stops chewing "Which is sooo stupid. Says she ain't getting any younger so I should start looking. Keeps setting me up on blind dates."

"...You don't want to get married?"

You sigh.

"Mm, no. 's not like that. Just that," You put your chopsticks down, elbows on the table - chin resting on your palms "Want it to happen a more naturally. You're gonna make funna me if I keep talkin"

"I won't this time."

You snort with laughter, before glancing over at him.

"If ya say so," You turn yourself slightly, looking around before giggling "I want it to be love. Stupid right? Least for me."

"Why would that be stupid? Isn't that pretty common?"

"Hn. Yeah, maybe. But I dunno. Who's out there to fall for me naturally, y'know. I don't wanna force it is all. Just want it happen without me havin' ta chase it," You say, thoughtfully, leaning back but not falling "I work hard for everythin'. Just one time, I thought - I wish it'd fall into my lap."

For a minute he sees your usual self. For a minute, Sae is shocked by the feelings he's experiencing. He's always known it. Felt it, lingering in the back of his mind. He knew it intrinsically like some kind of base instinct.

But hearing you talk, the usual smile and level eyes about something so important makes him really feel every extent. For a minute Sae thinks, he probably doesn't just like you.

It'd be nice, yknow. To see the look on your face when it does really just fall into your lap.

"Yeah, you're right. That's pretty stupid."

"Hey, c'mon. You just said—"

"Not wanting to work for it when you're married to your job is fair."

"Are you tryin' to console me? That's not—"

"So," He says, pausing to glance at you "Tell your mom you're seeing someone."

"I don't wanna lie to my Ma."

"It's not a lie." He says, straight-faced and finishing the last of his ramen before turning to you "Go out with me."

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapters 5 & 6

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

Laurent glanced at their surroundings, and said, ‘It’s the wrong terrain for an ambush.’ ‘The town isn’t,’ said Damen. For good measure, he took hold of Laurent’s horse’s bridle. ‘Consider alternatives. Can you entrust the task to someone else?’ ‘No,’ said Laurent. He said it as a calm statement of fact. Damen forced down his frustration, reminded himself that Laurent was in possession of an able mind, and that therefore his, ‘No,’ had a reason behind it other than pure stubbornness. Probably.

i love this entire passage! damen taking control of laurent's horse is great

‘This doesn’t suit me,’ he said, meaning that it didn’t suit him to wear them. ‘No. It doesn’t. You look like one of us,’ said Laurent.

well this definitely helps laurent with his evolving self-delusion and cognitive dissonance. also i like how damen's pov specifies that he is not calling himself unfit for the clothing physically, bc he's hot enough to wear anything, it's more of a figurative unfitness

‘The Prince has business away from the camp,’ said Damen. ‘He plans to return mid-morning. He wants you to captain the men as usual while he’s gone.’ ‘Whatever he needs. How many men is he taking with him?’ ‘One,’ said Damen. ‘Good luck,’ was all Jord said.

jord, immediately assuming that the one man is damen:

Vistas of endless ridiculousness opened up before him.

Laurent was considering the women. He was far from wide-eyed, but there was a certain quality to his gaze. For Laurent, Damen realised, this experience was wholly new and highly illicit. Compounding Damen’s sense of the ridiculous was the sudden acute awareness that he was accompanying the chaste Crown Prince of Vere to his first brothel. From elsewhere in the house, you could hear the sound of fucking.

damen you’ve seen the court of vere, why the fuck do you think laurent would be flustered by this. is it the heterosexuality?

You’re sitting so far away,’ said the blonde. ‘Then get up,’ said Laurent. She got up. The brunette rose too, and made for Laurent. The blonde came to sit beside Damen.

not the blonde going to damen and the brunette going to laurent 😭

‘Unlace his jacket,’ said Laurent. The blonde looked from Damen to Laurent. Damen looked at him too. Laurent had dispensed with his own woman wordlessly, perhaps with a single dismissive flick of his fingers. Elegant and relaxed, he was regarding them without urgency. It was familiar. Damen felt the moment when his pulse kicked in, remembering the love seat in the garden bower, and Laurent’s cool voice giving explicit instructions: suck it, and, tongue the slit. Damen caught the blonde’s wrist. There was not going to be a repeat performance.

“do it yourself coward”

it is interesting, to get some insight re: how damen feels about the garden scene. he seems to regard it as less of a personal violation, and more of an insult or annoyance. it might even be something he’s intentionally avoiding BECAUSE he knows how much laurent’s instruction turns him on.

the use of “performance” is interesting here, too. damen’s reactions in the garden had been real, and he knows they would be real here again. but he seems to assume that to laurent, it’s all just an act. which at this point, i think it pretty much is, although… i’m not quite sure what this specific gesture would have gotten laurent, if damen had allowed it. is it possible that laurent genuinely wanted to do damen a favor by getting him laid? or was he just “yes, and”-ing the situation on damen’s behalf, for fun?

‘The plaster’s old,’ said Damen. ‘Here.’ He took hold of the grille, and gave it a tug. Bits of plaster rained down from the edges of the window, but it wasn’t enough to detach the grille from the frame. He changed his grip, braced his stance and put his shoulder into it. On the third attempt, the whole grille came away from the window. It was surprisingly heavy. He placed it carefully on the floor. The thick carpet muffled any sound, as it had done when he had moved the chest. ‘After you,’ he said to Laurent, who was staring at him. Laurent almost looked as though he was going to speak, but then he just nodded, pulled himself through the window and dropped soundlessly into the alley behind the brothel.

another rare early instance of obvious laurent attraction. i think he is smitten by damen’s irreverent blunt efficiency, as well as the display of raw strength. seeing this, laurent might be thinking to himself, “he could have snapped me in half this whole time, but he hasn’t.” kind of foreshadowing of the “i could have done this...” line in book 3.

anyway, laurent’s attraction here seems to consist of 1) respect for damen’s competence, 2) intrigue regarding his usual restraint, and 3) physical attraction to big hot strong guy. #3 is the one i personally have the most trouble analyzing, and i’d bet laurent would be equally confused by that aspect of his own reaction. but he’s definitely feeling Something here, whether or not he’s able to understand or verbalize it. he can’t even manage to make the expected snarky comment!

‘Here. Take this,’ said Laurent when they were half the town away, tossing Damen his coin purse. ‘It’s better if we’re not recognised. And you should do up the collar on your jacket.’

when exactly do you think laurent came up with the role reversal plan? was it before or after damen ripped a metal grate off a wall with his bare hands?

whatever the case, he’s preparing for it now. damen will just have to play along.

Anyone seeing a young blond man of noble birth is going to guess it’s you.’ ‘I brought a disguise,’ said Laurent. ‘A disguise,’ said Damen.

did he only make this specific disguise plan after damen agreed to come with him? if not, was he just going to pretend to be an unaccompanied pet????

After no more than a brief, dismissive glance at Laurent, the innkeeper gave Damen his full attention, greeting him respectfully. ‘Welcome, my lord. Will you and your pet require lodgings for the evening?’

(the noise i made when i read this for the first time…)

every single uncomfortable, indulgent detail about veretian pets in book 1 justifies itself in this moment.

some disorganized thoughts:

from the moment they left, laurent knew this is where they were heading. and he intentionally did not inform damen of the role he would have to play. there might have been a slight strategic advantage to keep damen in the dark, but i also think laurent just figured it would be funny to make it a surprise. a little treat, to get himself through the horrors.

if laurent was asked to examine WHY this specific arrangement is a fun treat, he’d probably jump out of a window to escape the question. (damen, too, but for different reasons.)

like, there… really is no strategic reason for laurent to be a pet here. he could have disguised himself and damen in plenty of other ways, but laurent chose this specific bit for them both. interesting.

i'd like to think that laurent would eventually unpack this choice. i’m sure there’s plenty of fic exploring the idea of him roleplaying as a pet, relinquishing his authority, and reclaiming his sexual identity in a controlled environment. maybe he and damen can do it on purpose, without the high-stakes mission to justify the act.

craft note: this subversion is incredible, in terms of characterization, plot, romance, and sexual tension. the perfect payoff to nicaise’s earring, the focus on pets in book 1, and laurent’s affinity for “performance.”

as i begin close-reading chapter 6 of prince’s gambit, i remind myself that this is meant to be rational and eloquent literary analysis.

'I want your best room,’ said Laurent, ‘with a big bed and a private bath, and if you send up the house boy, you’ll find out the hard way that I don’t like sharing.’ He delivered the innkeeper a long, cool look. ‘He’s expensive,’ said Damen to the innkeeper, by way of apology.

And then watched as the innkeeper sized up the cost of Laurent’s clothes, and his sapphire earring—a royal gift to a favourite—and the likely cost of Laurent himself, the face, the body. Damen realised that he was about to be charged three times the going rate for everything. He decided with good humour that he didn’t mind being generous with Laurent’s coin.

i’m obsessed with how quickly damen commits to the bit with good humor. i wonder if it surprises laurent, even delights him to have such a willing scene partner

Why don’t you find us a table. Pet.’ Enjoying the moment. And the sobriquet.

“A sobriquet is a descriptive nickname, sometimes assumed, but often given by another. A sobriquet is distinct from a pseudonym in that it is typically a familiar name used in place of a real name without the need for explanation; it may become more familiar than the original name.” (Wiktionary)

damen is enjoying the sobriquiet. he is enjoying calling laurent “pet.”

craft note: i can’t do this. i don’t know. something something, role reversals and subversion. there.

Being the best table, it was occupied. Laurent emptied it with what appeared to be a glance, or a word, or the simple fact of his approach.

okay so what do we think this was. like, he’s not using his prince privileges here. he’s being perceived as essentially a very expensive prostitute. it happens quickly, it couldn’t have been a long con. what did laurent say or do, subtly enough that damen couldn’t make it out, to empty an entire table of people???

The earring was not a discreet disguise. Every man in the common room of the inn was taking the time to have a good look at Laurent. Pet. Laurent’s cool-eyed arrogance proclaimed that no one could touch him. The earring said that one man could. It transformed him from unattainable to exclusive, an elite pleasure no one here could afford.

has anyone ever drawn laurent in the “i am a luxury few can afford” sweater

But that was an illusion. Damen sat down across the table from Laurent on one of the long benches. ‘What now?’ said Damen. ‘Now we wait,’ said Laurent.

previous line “… no one could afford.” there’s a sort of double meaning here, i think, when damen says this is an illusion. what he means, consciously, is that laurent’s entire act is an illusion. but what i can imply, from the following action and dialogue, is that damen IS that one person who can touch laurent—the real laurent, behind the disguise. damen sits with him unceremoniously and speaks to him like an ally, not a pet.

their dynamic drives me fucking insaneeeeeee

Then Laurent rose and made his way around the table, sitting himself beside Damen, close as a lover. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Verisimilitude,’ said Laurent. The earring winked at him.

nothing sexier than vocab

‘I’m glad I brought you along. I wasn’t expecting to have to tear things out of walls. Do you visit brothels often?’

i ask again: was laurent planning to do the pet thing without damen???

‘Not brothels. Camp followers?’ said Laurent. And then: ‘Slaves.’ And then, after the satisfaction of a pause: ‘Akielos, the garden of delights. So you enjoy slavery in others. Just not in yourself.’

get his ass laurent

Damen shifted on the long bench, and regarded him. ‘Don’t strain yourself,’ said Laurent. ‘You talk more,’ said Damen, ‘when you’re uncomfortable.’

i love this moment so much. damen is not giving laurent the satisfaction of his attempted blindsiding. if he's going to join laurent in this, they are going to commit to the bit as equals. laurent teases damen for his discomfort and damen teases him right back.

between the brothel and this scene, damen is correcting the dynamic he and laurent shared in the court and gardens of arles. it’s not that he refuses to play the game—but now, he insists upon playing with equal advantage.

(also: “you talk more when you’re uncomfortable” is a very true observation, and they both know it! after a few chapters of laurent being a boss ass bitch, it’s good to see him slightly humbled. especially when it’s damen doing the humbling.)

‘We’ll try to entertain ourselves. Who’s that?’ said Laurent.

kid in a candy shop behavior

Laurent was watching Volo with the same expression with which he had regarded the women in the brothel.

it’s like he’s playing the sims. like he took his self-made “laurent ofvere” sim to the club in a cunty outfit and now he’s trying to figure out what kinds of entertaining Situations he can provoke.

‘All right. Give me some coin. I want to play that man at cards.’ Laurent rose, leaning his weight against the table. Damen reached for the purse, then paused. ‘Aren’t you supposed to earn gifts with service?’ Laurent said, ‘Is there something you want?’ His voice was sinuous with promise; his gaze was steady as a cat’s. Damen, who preferred not to be eviscerated, tossed Laurent the purse. Laurent caught it in one hand, and took for himself a handful of copper and silver. He tossed the purse back to Damen as he made his way across the inn floor, seating himself opposite Volo.

I LOVE THEMMMM

Charls trusted the Prince to stand firm in negotiations with the bastard Akielon King more than he trusted the Regent uncle.

charls knows what he’s talking about

The Crown Prince was camped at Nesson this very minute, on his way to the border to stand up to Akielos. He was a young man serious about his responsibilities, Charls said. Damen had to make an effort not to look over at Laurent, gambling, when he said it.

incredible writing. 10/10

Laurent took the drink and picked his way back across the room, where he put it, untouched, in front of Damen. ‘Spoils of someone else’s victory.’

thoughtful <3 like when a cat brings its owner something it’s killed <3

Damen said, ‘If you wanted a drink and an old hat that badly, you could have just bought them from him. Cheaper and quicker.’ ‘It’s the game I like,’ said Laurent.

character-defining quote! laurent takes pleasure and pride in the chaos of improvisation. if everything was made simple for him, he wouldn’t be having any fun.

laurent has spent the last seven years of his life starved for enrichment in his enclosure. but he’s not in arles anymore—still a captive prince figuratively, but he’s finally having some fun >:)

He reached over and appropriated another coin out of the purse Damen carried, then palmed it. ‘Look, I’ve learned a new trick.’ When he opened his hand, it was empty, as if by magic. A second later, the coin dropped out of his sleeve onto the floor. Laurent frowned at it. ‘Well, I don’t have it quite yet.’ ‘If the trick is making coins disappear, I think you do have it, actually.’

they’d have this interaction in literally any au. modern, role reversal, whatever. just a cringefail theater nerd and his affectionately teasing prep-jock boyfriend.

(yes, damen is a prep. i’m sorry. look inside your heart and you’ll know it to be true.)

‘What’s the food like?’ said Laurent, his eyes on the table. Damen tore off a piece of bread, and held it like a treat to a house cat. ‘Try it.’ Laurent looked at the bread, and then he looked at the men by the fire, and then he looked at Damen, a long, cool look that would have been difficult to hold if Damen had not had, by now, a great deal of practice. And then he said, ‘All right.’ It took a moment for those words to penetrate. By the time they did, Laurent had settled next to him on the long bench. Laurent straddled it, facing Damen. Laurent was really going to do it. Pets in Vere made a teasing production out of this, flirting and making love to their masters’ hands. Laurent, when Damen brought the mouthful of bread to his lips, did none of those things. He maintained an essential fastidiousness. There was almost nothing of pet and master about it at all, except that Damen felt, just for an instant, the warmth of Laurent’s breath against his fingertips. Verisimilitude, thought Damen.

Laurent ate the bread. It was like feeding a predator, the same feeling. Laurent was so close that it would be easy to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and draw him closer. He remembered the feel of Laurent’s hair, his skin, and fought the urge to press against Laurent’s lips with the pads of his fingers. It was the earring. Laurent was always so austere. The earring reframed him. It gave the appearance of a sensual side, sophisticated and subtle. But that side didn’t exist. The glint of sapphires was dangerous. As Nicaise had been dangerous. Nothing in Vere was as it seemed. Another piece of bread. Laurent’s lips brushed against his fingertips. It was brief and soft. This wasn’t what he’d intended when he picked up the bread. He had some sense that his plans had been overturned, that Laurent knew exactly what he was doing. The touch resembled the first brush of lips in the kind of sensual kiss that begins as a series of smaller kisses, and then, slowly, deepens. Damen felt his breathing change.

He reminded himself forcefully of who this was. Laurent, his captor. He made himself recall the fall of each lash on his back, but thanks to some misfiring of the brain, found himself instead in the memory of Laurent’s wet skin in the baths, the way his limbs fitted together like a hilt fitted to the blade of a balanced sword. Laurent finished the morsel, then rested a hand on Damen’s thigh, and slowly slid it upward. ‘Control yourself,’ said Laurent. And shifted in, until, facing one another on the straddled bench, they were almost chest to chest. Laurent’s hair tickled against Damen’s cheek as he brought his lips to Damen’s ear. ‘You and I are almost the last ones here,’ Laurent murmured. ‘And so?’ The next murmur slid softly into Damen’s ear, so that he felt the shape of each word, made of lips and breath. ‘And so, take me upstairs,’ said Laurent. ‘Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough?’

craft… note…

i said i was going to analyze scenes like this in order to understand how they work and improve my own writing. like laurent, i take pride in committing to the bit.

overall, the eroticism here is in the improv. i’m sorry, but it’s true. "yes, and” is basically dirty talk in lamen. the long pauses, the mutual unspoken challenge, the suggestive performance… it all builds tension towards something exciting and unknown. damen and laurent’s connection, in this scene and the majority of the book, is like a string that they’re both pulling taut—and neither of them has any idea what will happen when it finally snaps.

i think it’s helpful to compare this moment with the garden scene from book 1. that erotic interaction was instructive and detached—laurent was completely in control, and ancel was there, doing something, probably. but here, damen and laurent are both actively and exclusively partaking, and encouraging each other to take it just a little bit further. they are close in a way they’ve never been before, figuratively and literally. they are exploring the space of the unfamiliar scene with good humor, mutual investment, and (from damen at least) unsubtle attraction.

if they weren’t so attracted to each other, it could truly just be an act. a performance. something they can put on to accomplish their mission, but drop as soon as it’s done. but here, i think, is when it becomes clear to damen that he and laurent can’t DO that. this territory is both unpredictable and too close for comfort, whether they’re approaching it ironically or earnestly. there’s no way for them to perform eroticism and remain instructive and detached. they are playing with fire.

damen realizes, when he feels laurent’s breath against his fingertips, that he can’t be normal about this. and he continues to think that, as i recall, for the remainder of the series.

laurent, meanwhile, will take much longer to have a similar realization, because that would mean inescapable attachment—something damen has never feared, but laurent fears more than anything else. like… emotional captivity, almost. (am i suggesting that attachment is emotional captivity? i think i am. hm, okay. anyway.)

with the way that this scene is written, we can see that things between damen and laurent are real. they’ve always been real, and they will continue to be real. the eroticism is in the improv, and we want them to continue “yes,and”-ing each other into a satisfying resolution. but, of course, the story is going to make us wait. and that just makes this scene even hotter.

from my breakdown of the book 1 garden scene:

i think what i like here, is that… yeah, it’s horny. it’s indulgent, easily the most blatant instance of kink we’ve seen so far. but it’s not really what i think frequent readers of this kink genre would expect, or even want to read—it is a subversion, with laurent completely disrupting the basic scenario that everyone else (but damen) in the scene wants to mindlessly enjoy.

how can i replicate this? set up a thing that follows expectations. don’t actually do the thing. do something significantly more insane than the expected thing. do not elaborate on the insane thing, leaving more questions than answers, and move on as if it wasn’t insane at all.

set up a thing that follows expectations = damen is playing master and laurent is playing pet. i think most people would expect damen’s archetype to exercise power over laurent’s archetype in that sort of situation, especially since he’s been denied the opportunity to assert his dominance in previous circumstances. i don’t know a lot about common dynamics in this specific kink space, but i do kind of assume that people would want to see laurent submit, both because of his characterization and physical appearance. and this would be an ideal place to indulge that expectation, characterization and plot be damned, since it can be called an act and stripped of actual consequences.

don’t actually do the thing = pacat doesn’t give an inch of her characterization to provide easy fanservice. the scene is erotic simply by suggestion, and laurent is almost entirely in charge—the instigator and the star of the show. damen, meanwhile, is physically passive and deeply confused by his own feelings and reactions. this is all consistent with their characterization in non-erotic scenes so far. they are acting here, but not as a “normal” master and pet. i don’t think they could be normal, even if they tried.

do something significantly more insane than the expected thing = check. see analysis above.

do not elaborate on the insane thing, leaving more questions than answers, and move on as if it wasn’t insane at all = check. yaoi break’s over, back to the secret mission.

The lobe of Laurent’s ear was pierced through with the ornament of his uncle’s child-lover. It suited him, in the mundane sense that it matched his colouring.

this happens during the bread scene, but i wanted it quarantined. way to harsh the vibe, damen

And there was a man of about thirty with a dark, closely trimmed beard sitting on the bed, who propelled himself off it and onto one knee when he saw Laurent. Damen sat down rather heavily on the chair by the door.

laurent launching into a clandestine business meeting while damen is still trying desperately to fight off the horny. lmao

The man drew a piece of sealed parchment from inside his jacket. Laurent took it, broke the seal, and read the contents. He read it slowly. From the glimpse Damen caught, it looked like it was written in a cipher. When he was done, he dropped the parchment into the fire, where it curled up and blacked over.

context: fuck, i don’t remember what this is. i don’t know. it doesn’t matter. like damen, i'm still thinking about the bread scene

‘I’m the type who takes a great deal of pleasure in small victories,’ Laurent said.

Laurent unpinned the earring. ‘I think we’ll be safe on the road in the morning. The men who followed us seemed more interested in finding him than harming me. They didn’t attack us when they had the chance tonight.’ And then, ‘Does that door lead to the bath?’ And then, halfway to the door, ‘Don’t worry, your services aren’t required.’

laurent drops the act so quickly. at a loss for any logical conclusion about what the fuck just happened, i think damen just decides to pretend he’s equally unaffected

i do wonder how laurent acted as soon as he shut the door and got some priavcy, though. hm.

When he was gone, Damen wordlessly picked up an armful of bedding and dumped it on the floor by the hearth. Then there was nothing to do. He went downstairs. The only patrons now remaining were Volo and the house boy, who weren’t paying any attention to anyone else. The house boy’s sand-coloured hair was a tousled mess. He went all the way outside the inn and stood for a moment; the cool night air was calming. The street was empty. The messenger was gone. It was very late. It was peaceful here. He couldn’t stay out here all night. Recalling that Laurent had eaten nothing but a few fraught mouthfuls of bread, he stopped by the kitchens on his way back upstairs and requisitioned a plate of bread and meats. When he went back into the room, Laurent had emerged from the bath and was half clothed and sitting drying his damp hair by the fire, taking up the majority of the space on Damen’s impromptu bed. ‘Here,’ said Damen, and passed him the plate.

okay, so here’s my read of this entire sequence: damen tries to get some space from his own recently-realized attraction to laurent. he remarks that it is peaceful outside, where he manages to get himself that space. and THEN he immediately tells himself to go back inside, because he can’t stay out there all night—can’t leave laurent alone for too long. he picks up food specifically for laurent on his way back up, sets things up nicely for them both, and greets him as if he never even left at all.

this is a parallel, i think, to the scene where damen abandons laurent in book 1. i just want to get that easy part of the analysis out of the way.

what i really find interesting here, is that it’s almost like… damen’s decision to accept his own attachment to laurent. he accepted his attraction to laurent during the bread scene, but attraction is a passive response. attachment is an active choice.

if attachment is emotional captivity, then this interlude is damen admitting to himself that he doesn’t want to be free. he knows what his heart wants—and unlike laurent, damen isn’t afraid to trust others with his heart. he doesn’t yet believe that laurent would treat his heart gently, which is exactly why he doesn’t give it to him. but privately, i think this is when damen finally admits to himself that his feelings are not only real, but also worth pursuing.

so he “yes, and”s the feeling, goes back inside, and fully commits to the bit, making sure that laurent is well-fed and cared for. if he’s going to do this, he might as well do it right.

‘Thank you,’ said Laurent, looking at the plate with a blink. ‘The bath is free. If you like.’

laurent’s little blink is very cute. and then he tells damen to go take a bath, so he (laurent) can privately process whatever the hell this is all supposed to mean

He told himself that this was no different from two dozen nights together inside of a warfield tent.

… but he knew that he was totally lyinggggggg

When he returned, Laurent had carefully eaten half of everything on the plate, and had placed it on the chest where Damen could get at it if he wanted it. Damen, who had eaten his fill downstairs and who didn’t think Laurent should be able to take over his bed when he had left untouched the vast comfort of his own, ignored the plate and came to stake his claim beside Laurent, on the blankets by the hearth.

head in my fucking hands. i love them so much. no thoughts, just domestic comfort. and they were roommates.

‘I thought that Volo was your contact,’ said Damen. ‘I just wanted to play him at cards,’ said Laurent.

great exchange. damen assumes that laurent does everything for a strategic reason. laurent just wanted to have fun. they’re breaking down their preconceived notions of each other, finally.

After a moment, Laurent said, ‘I don’t think I would have arrived here without your help, at least not without being followed. I am glad you came. I meant that. You were right. I’m not used to . . .’ He broke off.

from chapter 5: “You’re too used to doing everything on your own.” :’)

‘You’re in a strange mood,’ said Damen. ‘Stranger than usual.’ ‘I’d say I’m in a good mood.’ ‘A good mood.’ ‘Well, not as good a mood as Volo,’ said Laurent. ‘But the food’s decent, the fire’s warm, and no one’s tried to kill me in the last three hours. Why not?’

‘I’ve seen your court,’ Damen reminded him gently. ‘You’ve seen my uncle’s court,’ said Laurent.

excellent response for both damen and the reader to chew on

Would yours be any different? He didn’t say it. Maybe he didn’t need to know the answer. The king that Laurent would be, he was becoming with every passing day, but the future was another life. Laurent would not then be leaning back on his hands, lazily drying his hair before an inn-room fire, or climbing in and out of brothel windows. Nor would Damen.

a kingdom or this?

so far, damen has been able to tell himself that helping laurent is a way for him to help akielos—that he will leave laurent, as soon as he feels that his country is safe.

it’s going to get harder and harder for him to believe that, though, from now on. he did not just go back inside for akielos. if he had, he wouldn’t have stopped to find laurent a meal.

the lives in damen and laurent’s futures are just as real as their ruse downstairs. as in, only as real as they choose for them to be. so far, they’ve both assumed their own eventual choices, and each other’s, to be very set in stone. after this outing, i think damen at least begins to reconsider.

‘What really happened to make Kastor send you here? I know it was not a lover’s quarrel,’ said Laurent.

context reminder: he is asking this, fully knowing that damen is damianos. this definitely threatens his own cognitive dissonance. but he still asks, because he is vulnerable and relaxed.

I don’t know what I did to make him hate me as much as this. Why we couldn’t go as brothers to mourn— —our father—

i love damen as a character so much. beneath his determination to conflate niceness with goodness, is the crushing despair of knowing deep down that he can't trust people to treat him in the honorable way he treats them. he’s not angry or spiteful about this, even though he has every reason to be—just confused, and sad, and betrayed.

a younger laurent must have felt this way after his brother’s death and during his uncle’s abuse. but then came anger and spite, because he had no one to trust.

these characters were literally made for each other, like on a construction/craft level, and you can tell. it is really, really well-done.

‘My honourable barbarian. I wouldn’t have picked that as your type.’ ‘Type?’ ‘A pretty face, a devious mind and a ruthless nature.’

i love the mild anachronism of “type” here. also, lol. a rare moment of laurent not realizing his own dramatic irony, because there’s no way in hell he thinks at this point that damen genuinely likes him. also, i’m not sure if laurent sees himself as ruthless at all. he is pragmatic, but i don’t think he considers himself merciless or cruel.

‘Perhaps I . . . I knew she was ruled by her mind, not her heart. I knew she was ambitious, and, yes, at times ruthless. I admit there was something . . . attractive about it. But I never guessed that she would betray me for Kastor. That I learned too late.’ ‘Auguste was like you,’ said Laurent. ‘He had no instinct for deception; it meant he couldn’t recognise it in other people.’

i love it when my previous analysis is further reinforced by the text

And what about you?’ said Damen, after a difficult breath. ‘I have a highly developed instinct for deception.’ ‘No, I meant—’ ‘I know what you meant.’

when he’s relaxed, laurent talks like a total nerd. awkward attempts at irony, defensive self-awareness, and an obvious desire to be the most clever person in the room.

Now, after a night of earrings and brothels, he thought: Why not ask him about it? Laurent didn’t look uncomfortable.

the fact that damen has not only noticed laurent’s discomfort with the topic of sex, but is also considerate and thoughtful about it, makes my heart ache

‘I wondered,’ Damen said, carefully, ‘if you reserved your love for women.’ ‘No, I—’ Laurent sounded surprised. Then he seemed to realise that his surprise gave something fundamental away, and he looked away with a muttered breath; when he looked back at Damen there was a wry smile on his lips, but he said, steadily, ‘No.’

i’m guessing laurent’s thought process went something like this:

me, straight? lmfao i’ve had sex with a man

but that man was [redacted]. shit.

but damen doesn’t know about [redacted], so why does he assume i’m straight?

oh, i’ve got it. in my culture heterosexuality is taboo with the nobility, so damen would assume that i’m secretly straight and hiding it. dumbass. (smiles, because now he gets to call damen a dumbass)

‘It’s not my fault that no one in your country can think in a straight line,’ said Damen, frowning a touch defensively.

not the veretian homonormativity 😭

‘That isn’t why. She would have chosen him even if you’d had royal blood in your veins, even if you’d had the same blood as Kastor. You don’t understand the way a mind like that thinks. I do. If I were Jokaste and a king maker, I’d have chosen Kastor over you too.’

i’m pretty sure laurent means this as both a comfort and compliment. it also helps to reinforce his own cognitive dissonance between damen and damianos.

‘Because a king maker would always choose the weaker man. The weaker the man, the easier he is to control.’ Damen felt the shock of surprise, and looked at Laurent only to find Laurent gazing back at him without rancour. The moment stretched out. It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t what he had expected Laurent to say. As he gazed at Laurent, the words moved through him in unexpected ways, and he felt them touch something jagged-edged within him, felt them shift it a first, tiny fraction, something lodged hard and deep, that he had thought immovable. He said: ‘What makes you think Kastor is the weaker man? You don’t know him.’ ‘But I’m coming to know you,’ said Laurent.

this pulls everything between the lines of this chapter together beautifully. the mutual re-evaluation, the undeniable reality of their connection, a kingdom or this. i would love to know just how many drafts and editing passes this specific chapter went through, to achieve this degree of excellence.

also, a theme from book 1: "there is no honor in obedience."

[malectober]

Welcome, one and all - to Malectober Edition 2.0!!!!!!

In case you've forgotten about Malectober, or this is the first time hearing of us - here's a refresher.

And obviously, we're back this year with a fresh new theme, a whole new set of prompts - including a very special one celebrating the release of 1989 (Taylor's Version)!

Now, lemme just rehash some rules -

Tag this account on all your malectober posts on tumblr!! Also include the tag "#malectober" within the first five tags on your post (or else it won't show up in the #malectober tag). This will help me find your posts so I can reblog them!

If you're posting on Ao3, make sure to add your fic to the official Malectober 2023 collection. Please make sure to add it on your own, since it's tedious to send out invites to anyone who hasn't added it to the collection.

I'll just repeat this here - ANYTHING GOES. Fics, art, moodboards, headcanons, playlists, picrews even.

AI work however is strictly forbidden.

Tag appropriately! And if you're posting NSFW work on tumblr, please put it under a "read more"!

If you're stuck on a prompt, replace it with one of the extras!!!

There's no right way to post your works. Post a prompt two days early, two days late, hell even after October if you want. Only rule is that posting starts from October 1st.

If you can't complete every single prompt, that's fine! Remember, this is only for fun. There's no need to stress yourself out.

If you have any questions, post them to my inbox!!

Happy Malectober in advance!!

Prompt list in text under the cut -

Daywise Prompts:

Angel

Baby

First

Mold

Salt

Ramen

Winter

Life

Bow

Bitter

Strip

Cry

Grin

Sense

Sweet

Eyes

Water

Dessert

Hotel

Sour

Lace

Client

Copy

Burn

Spicy

New

Taylor Swift

Kiss

Wound

Birth

Demon

Extra/Alternate Prompts:

Mystery

Control

Prince

Brave

[orchideous-nox]

Ohh yippee!! When's the pirate fjc and where :3

Hi hello anon, I'm so glad you asked!! I love getting asks about my fics because it gives me an excuse to yap about them more knowing people want to hear it.

I'm assuming you mean like when and where I'm posting it? If not then correct me!

I can't say when but I do have nearly 3k words down for chapter 1 so keep watching my tumblr because I usually will yap about if a chapter is coming soon and I post links for each chapter when it's up. I only post my fics on ao3 but they're open for anyone to read, you don't need an account.

Just in case you're new and for anyone else who isn't familiar with my pirate au, I will preface that this fic I'm writing is the 3rd in a series. You can technically read it stand alone I guess but you'll be super confused because it is set 5/6 years after events of the other 2 fics so I wouldn't recommend it.

The first fic was Wolfstar with background Jily, the second fic is a Rosekiller prequel explaining the circumstances that led directly up to the Wolfstar one with like a scene of overlap! You can find the series on ao3 here:

I would recommend reading them in the order they're on the series page so you can understand them both fully without ruining the twist of the Wolfstar one.

Also please be responsible and read tags because there's some violence and homophobia, etc. it's all in the tags.

[gothgril69]

Levi Ackerman/Fem!Reader Royalty!AU

Summary: You dream of another life, a simpler one under the rays of the warm sun, where you find love and your brothers live happily.

But you're destined to serve, to be the black sheep of the family and married off to whoever your father pleases because your parents can't seem to harbor any love for you. Your brothers will serve in the war, side by side with their Chevaliers, and you'll be left to pick up the pieces or die trying.

And the one you thought always hated you, will be right by your side to catch you when you fall.

Overall Warnings: themes of sexism, minor character death, angst, depression, minor character death, smut (please check ao3 for all tags)

Chapter warnings: masturbation (MDNI)

Chapter Length: 10.2k

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

ao3 link

You never do this, but your dream has made you feel on the edge of euphoria. A wet dream, Isabel had called it one evening when the two of you were discussing a taboo romance novel you had snuck onto your bookshelf. Your mind had conjured up a scene you’ve read multiple times of the main character to get yourself to this point. A raunchy sex scene that you would be ashamed about if anyone knew you consumed such literature. You had awoken to the feeling of your arousal pooling between your thighs, creating a damp spot on the sheer white nightgown you sleep in.

Now, your fingers had traveled down, over your naval and between your legs where you were currently rubbing small circles over your clit. Your other hand lifts the fabric further up your body so you can grasp one of your breasts, lightly pinching your nipple for stimulation. You let out a small gasp, followed by breathless moans as you react to your own touch, but you need more. You arch your hand to gently plunge two fingers deep inside of you, curling them upwards and feeling your own walls clench around you as your palm rubs against your clit as you push them in and out.

You’re close, already breathing heavier with the inevitable on the cusp of your reach. Your left hand hasn’t stopped squeezing and prodding at your breast, but the stimulation slows on your nipple as you lose your concentration. You wish you had more hands. You sacrifice the contact with your breast in favor of rubbing quick circles on your clit, enabling your fingers to reach as deep as they can in your eager attempts to cum.

When you hit your peak you let out a louder moan than you intended, practically yanking your fingers out of you to use them against your clit while your dry hand slaps itself over your mouth in attempts to muffle your sounds. Your back arches off the bed, debilitating bliss coursing through you for a moment until you settle back down, slightly sticky from sweat. It’s only when you feel the cool breeze on your skin that you realize you left your balcony doors open and hope no one heard you.

But Levi heard you. Down below he was walking in the gardens of the castle, making his way to Auguste’s bedroom before their morning meeting when he heard it. Sweet, breathless moans coming from an open window above him. He couldn’t figure out where it was coming from at first until he saw open balcony doors, making him look down the castle wall to figure out who’s room he stood below when he realized it was yours.

Levi could feel the heat behind his cheeks and knew his ears were pink from the blush that now fell over his skin. He hasn’t seen you in weeks and this is the first reminder he receives of your presence? He hates how sweet your breathlessness sounds, the only sound besides the birds chirping as the sun makes it’s way over the horizon. He wants to scold you for leaving your balcony doors open at night in case there was an intruder, but then you would know he heard you.

He stands there in shock until he hears a louder moan leave your room, followed by a series of muffled noises as you finish. Levi shakes his head to clear his thoughts and walks away before the chances of you noticing him below become significant. The heat between his legs and the rapid pace of his heart bothers him.

You just needed a stress reliever. It’s been three weeks of servants bustling around the castle, preparing for the departure to the frontlines. Levi has been with Auguste in meetings about strategy and travel details you presume. Theo has been brushing up on his training with Furlan ever since you expressed your concerns about his skill level.

It’s been significantly more lonely than usual. Your walks are no longer filled with Levi’s snarky remarks, only the wind that seems to play it’s sorrowful song everyday graces your ears. Isabel has at least been making attempts at visiting you more throughout the day, giving you tea during lunch hours as well now instead of skipping that meal time, knowing you won’t eat anything until dinner. You know you could summon her presence, but you suppose you should get used to the feeling of being alone while your brothers and their Chevaliers would be gone on duty.

You sit up in your bed, hair out of place and your sheer nightgown draped back over your body. You had finally taken down at least two of the pieces of harrateen that created the curtains for your bed, allowing the sun to fall on the foot of your mattress and naturally waking you up at dawn. Isabel and Mrs. Kirstein would be in soon to prepare you a hot bath, something you were immensely grateful for in the mornings.

You pushed the navy blue blanket off your body, crawling out of the grey silk sheets to wrap a robe around yourself. The coming spring equinox justifies the chill in the air that still graces your mornings, the biting breeze nipping at your sticky skin as winter makes it’s end. You wander out onto your balcony, peering over the edge of the ornate stone railing to see if anyone was below. Thankfully, you spot no one before a knock sounds at your door, perfectly on time as always.

You open the door to see Isabel standing there, water spots on the front of her dress and two giant buckets that look like they’re about to rip her arms out of their sockets dangling from her hands. Her bright red hair plastered to her forehead makes her look like a drowned rat. Mrs. Kirstein is nowhere to be found.

You let out a small gasp and reach for one of the buckets, relieving Isabel of some of the weight. “Is, what are you doing? Where’s Mrs. Kirstein?”

You hold the door open for her, both hands holding the heavy bucket in front of you as she walks inside. “Your mother,” Isabel starts with absolute venom in her voice, “apparently needs her until supper. A load of shit, if you ask me.”

You let the heavy door close behind you, following her to your ensuite bathroom to fill the tub with the hot water she had carried all the way here. “Levi influenced your developing years too much,” you comment, referring to her language. She’s never been one to speak eloquently, simply stating things as they were, but swearing was something she had only started to do with Levi’s growing presence around her. “What could she possibly need her all day for?” you ask once the two buckets are emptied in your bathtub.

“She doesn’t. Your mother is already ready for the day,” Isabel grumbles with a huff, taking a seat on the storage bench at the foot of your bed. “They requested your presence at dinner tonight.”

“What? They never need me there.” You frown, confused and angry over the notion of you joining them for dinner. Isabel shrugs as you take off your robe to undress.

“Your mother didn’t elaborate on any discussion points,” She stands up to prepare your bath, adding a sachet of lavender like usual and making sure you have enough lavender oil on your vanity. “Apparently it’s important. Furlan and Levi are going to be there along with the Marquis and Brigadier.”

“Commander Erwin and Hange Zoë never make appearances at our family dinners,” you scowl, pulling your nightgown over your head and tossing it into a basket that Isabel will collect tomorrow for washing. “I’m assuming she wants me to wear a dress.”

“You know how your mother is,” Isabel sighs, knowing your disdain towards the fine silks your parents always insist you wear. “She’s asked for you to wear the maroon one with a black lace cravat for modesty.”

You scoff at your mother’s unbelievable outdated notions of modesty. “The one with the large skirt?” You step into your bathtub, Isabel following to sit down on a stool next to you.

“Precisely.” She hands you your lavender soap and a fresh wash cloth.

“That thing is twice my size and unbearably warm for the season.” You lather the soap, handing it to Isabel once you have enough on your wash cloth and begin bathing yourself.

She’s always offered to do it for you, but you’ve never been comfortable with the concept of anyone touching you to wash you. You’ll let your handmaidens dress you and see your body, but the feeling of someone’s hands on your skin in a private matter makes you squeamish.

“Unfortunately, I need you to be dressed perfectly with your makeup ready by four o’clock.”

“Four?!” you shout incredulously. “That’s hardly dinner. We might as well have tea.”

“Your mother–”

“Insists. Yes,” you sigh. “Sorry, Is, you know how I feel about all of this.”

“I know,” she smiles at you reassuringly, “I’ll make it as bearable as possible, but I’m just letting you know now that your mother wants everything a specific way. That includes an updo for your hair.”

With reluctance, you hurriedly finish your bath and allow Isabel to dress you in the many layers required for such an ostentatious dress. She throws your chemise over your body, straightening it out before she laces your corset over it. You brace yourself against the post at the end of your bed, allowing Isabel to tug the laces as tight as possible to cinch your waist and lift your breasts sufficiently. You tended to wear a corset day to day, but never this tight. No, it was only when your mother wanted to flaunt you as a show animal to people of importance that you were forced to wear it as tight as possible.

“You’re going to break my ribs if you pull any tighter, Is,” you choke out.

“Sorry!” she yelps and ties the laces together now instead of pulling further.

You take a moment to catch your breath, albeit a bit challenging, and let Isabel tie the skirt support around your waist to accentuate your figure once the fabric lays over it. You feel like you’re already sweating, breathing labored and uncomfortable as you let Isabel dress you completely. A black skirt made of silk is tied around your waist next, followed by the heavy, main component of your dress; a skirt made out of thick cotton that had been dyed a deep maroon color. The final piece to it all was a petticoat made from the same cotton and dyed the same color to match with a mock neckline. Isabel would have to do your makeup and hair before tying the black lace cravat around your neck.

“I feel like a walking sculpture,” you laugh humorlessly at yourself in the mirror. You do look pretty, especially after Isabel adds a small amount of blush to your cheeks and tints your lips red. Your hair is elaborately done in an updo, pins poking into your scalp but not uncomfortably so, and pomade was used to ensure the curls Isabel had worked so hard on stayed in place all evening.

“A beautiful sculpture,” she says as she takes a step back to admire her work. You smile at her in the mirror, appreciative that you could have such a close friend there for you when it felt like you had no one else. She knew what these kinds of events meant to you; a reminder of your isolation from your family. “One more thing.”

She steps in front of you and ties the black lace cravat around your neck, completing the look just in time to be escorted to dinner by one of the castle guards. You never had your own Chevalier, considering you were merely just a woman and could not go out on the battlefield. It would be silly to waste resources on you since you would just be wandering the halls of the castle. At least, that’s what your father had told you when you had voiced your concerns about being left alone. “Levi is around sometimes,” he had told you, waving his hand in dismissal.

You turn and grab the redhead’s hands. “Thank you Isabel. Always.”

“You deserve it Aeron,” she beams. You don’t try to argue that you don’t. “Armin will be escorting you today. Levi has been instructed to accompany Auguste at all times by your father.”

“Ah, of course.” It’s not like Levi would give you any insight beforehand about what this meal would really entail. Perhaps you could weasel information out of Armin on the way there, but you could never take advantage of the boy with those innocent blue eyes.

You kiss Isabel on both her cheeks before opening the door to Armin waiting, hands behind his back and dutifully standing off to the side of your door. You bid her farewell and begin making your way to the dining hall where you’re sure bad news would arise, Armin closely in tow. He seems anxious as he fails to hide his nerves that show themselves through shaky limbs and wide eyes. You don’t know him very well, but you can tell something is amiss.

You’ve grown quite tired of being subjected to unfavorable news being thrown in your direction.

The same white doors greet you as you step towards the dining hall, allowing Armin to pass you so he can open the doors and allow you to enter with the same bow Levi performed. You‘re met with silence, only Auguste standing so he can help you settle into your chair at the dining table – the Commander and Brigadier have not arrived yet. You’re grateful for his assistance as you haul your heavy skirts with you, sitting down in the chair and blindly trusting Auguste as you can’t see anything below you.

Once you’re situated, you take a look at the dining hall and notice Furlan and Levi stationed by the entrance. Armin had already taken his leave the moment you stepped through the doors. Furlan gives you a small smile while Levi has a look plastered on his face you’ve never seen before, but you have a feeling it’s nothing good and his eyes are only taking in how miserable you probably look in your formal attire.

You look away, noticing how the dining hall remains silent as your family sits in wait. It feels awkward, almost as if they are afraid to speak now that you’re here, but you’ll chalk it up to the anticipation of the Marquis and Brigadier making an appearance. You fiddle with your skirt, anxious to get this over with and know what the hell is going on since you always seemed to be left in the dark.

Levi looks at you with both sympathy and embarrassment. Not embarrassment because of your current situation or because you’re being forced to wear a dress that he knows you find uncomfortable. His thoughts are only wandering to this morning when he heard your sweet sounds floating down from your balcony. You look ethereal with the way Isabel did your hair and makeup, a rare occurrence from the usual bare face you wear and natural locks that fall on your shoulders. The dress and petticoat may be uncomfortable for you to wear, but it flatters you well, the black lace cravat around your neck attempting at sultry modesty, but in all honesty he’s just imagining what it was like this morning when you probably wore nothing but a nightgown.

He attempts to preoccupy his mind with what’s to come with this dinner. Auguste had already informed him of the news on his way here as he walked through the halls and attempted to hide the stutter in his steps when your brother told him. You were going to be heartbroken – devastated. And as much as he hated having you around, he would never wish such a thing on even his enemies. He watches as you now fiddle with the hem of your petticoat instead of your skirt.

The large doors open to reveal the tall, muscular blond man you’ve met only once before and the bespectacled person next to them; your military Commander and Brigadier. You remain seated as your father stands, greeting Erwin and Hange before motioning to the nearby servants to pull out their chairs for them. Erwin allows, being well-versed in diplomacy while Hange simply sits and pulls their chair in by themselves. You hide your smile at the look on your father’s face.

“Please, excuse our tardiness, your grace,” Erwin politely greets your father.

“Nonsense, we’re happy to welcome our home to you in any circumstance.” Your father snaps his finger at one of the servants, signaling to begin service and irking you beyond belief. You hate when your father treats the working people of your castle like peasants, commanding them with austerity and unkindness. You keep your mouth shut, knowing the way this castle worked would not be changing under his ruling. It didn’t matter what their skin tone was, or their gender, your father treated the wide variety of people in Mirlenas as if they were hardly human.

The food is brought out and placed on the table; servings of roasted duck and seasonal vegetables lining the table, a much more lavish meal than usual, followed by a red wine that was poured into each of your glasses. You eat quietly while your father and the commander conversed, only sometimes listening in if your mother has something ignorant to say and observing Hange’s reactions to it. By the looks of it, Hange can also tell your mother is oblivious to the ways of war and politics. She never did bother to try and further her education.

By the time the meal was over you had an empty wine glass after your second refill and Auguste had joined the conversation. It was only when he had placed a hand on yours that you started to pay attention again, slightly inebriated from the alcohol.

“Aeron, we have some news for you,” Auguste gently starts, only to be cut off by your father.

“Let’s cut to it, Auguste. I’m sure Erwin has much better things to be doing than worrying about the standing of her relationships,” your father impatiently sighs.

You sit there, anxiously waiting to be told the bad news you’ve been anticipating all night.

“Quite the contrary,” Erwin politely interjects, “I would like to make sure this arrangement is settled before I take my leave.”

“What arrangement?” you interrupt before anyone can say anything. You’ve sobered up now, the anxiety of the next words to flow out of anyone’s mouth getting to you.

“Aeron–”

“You’ll be meeting Zeke Jaeger in a week's time as his new fiancé and future mate,” your father interrupts.

You sit there, stunned into silence, and absorb what your father has just told you. You’re almost grateful for the blunt way he had told you, knowing Auguste would have gone for a gentle approach to try and spare your feelings.

“They’ve been on their journey for about two weeks now. I just wanted to give you some notice to prepare yourself to meet with another high standing individual since you seem to lack basic diplomacy skills.” Your father just keeps talking, as if he isn’t signing away his own daughter’s life.

Zeke Jaeger. The current prince of Kaslogon, son of Grisha Jaeger and his late wife Dina Fritz, and an absolute tyrant of a man. He’s known to be the most ruthless in his kingdom with only his father standing in the way of total control and dictatorship of his country. He’s the next heir to the throne with his brother Eren, son of Grisha Jaeger and his now wife Carla Jaeger, behind him.

“We’ve negotiated through letters and Zeke and Grisha will only accept the terms for your hand in marriage. This will end the war once the two of you are mated and there’s no other option. Our resources are running out and if saving the kingdom means marrying off my only daughter to a man like Zeke Jaeger, then I will,” your father casually drones on. You look up from your fixed gaze on the edge of the grey placemat in front of you to meet his stare. His eyes are empty, lips turned in a slight frown, but you’re almost positive his face always looks like that.

You look over at Auguste, feeling the tears that are puddling on your waterline break and trail down your cheeks, ruining all the hard work Isabel put in for you today. “Auguste…” you meekly plead. He’s the only one that can manage to save you.

He grabs both of your hands, preventing you from practically tearing apart the seam of your petticoat. “You’ll be courted until you’re twenty-five. In two years time is when you will marry,” Auguste provides details for you in attempts to quell your anxiety.

But truthfully, your emotions are bubbling over. You look over at Theo who’s looking at you with sad eyes, his sandy blonde hair styled for the evening, but still shadowing the look of sorrow he’s sending your way now. Your eyes flicker to Hange next, skipping over your own mother in favor of not seeing her impassive features, and instead seeing the overwhelming amount of sympathy in their eyes. Erwin’s face is stoic, giving you nothing on how the man truly feels, before you look at Auguste again. Those big, stupid brown eyes staring back at you with his own tears threatening to spill over.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe. I promise,” Auguste tells you, giving a squeeze to your hands in reassurance before your father starts speaking again.

“When you are of age to rule Kaslogon, you’ll be married to Zeke and hopefully provide peace for our nations in the future.”

“What about the war now? You’re just going to marry me off to some feral monkey to end a war in two years?” you spit at your father. You’re outraged now, ripping your hands out of Auguste’s grasp as you stand up from the table, your chair skidding across the polished floors behind you. You could handle being ignored or looked down upon inside the castle walls, knowing eventually Auguste would take the throne and your life would improve, but marriage was never on the table for you. You refused to be shipped off across seas and into a man’s grimy awaiting hands.

“The war will be put on hold and will only resume if you do not mate with Zeke. However, you will be, so this will inevitably end the war for good once your meeting with him is complete in a week,” your father tells you as if it’s obvious.

You scoff. You’ve heard enough. “It was a pleasure seeing you,” you nod at Erwin and Hange cordially before stomping your way to the dining hall doors.

“Levi, please escort her to her room,” Auguste calls before you make it out of the now opening doors.

“I don’t need an escort!” you shout without looking behind you.

Levi follows anyway, obeying Auguste’s orders despite knowing you’re going to take your anger out on him. He watches as you take the petticoat off, revealing just your chemise and corset underneath, but he’s too focused on preparing for your rage. He feels relieved when you don’t say a word the whole time, only silently fuming as he follows your brisk pace through the halls, until you reach your door and you’re spinning on your feet so you can face him.

“You knew, didn’t you,” you seethe, throwing your petticoat on the ground and crossing your arms in front of your chest. Levi doesn’t say anything, only looking at you with a blank face to hide his emotions and you let out a dry laugh. “I knew you hated me, Ackerman, but fuck. Enough to get rid of me to the worst man alive?” You huff and uncross your arms, taking a few harsh steps until you’re only a mere foot away from him. “You could’ve given me a warning. Anything that could have prepared me for that!”

For the first time, Levi grimaces at your tone. He can hear the hurt in your voice, the sound of you realizing your family’s complete and utter betrayal. Even Auguste had seemed to turn his back on you, but you had no idea of the plans that went through that man’s head to protect you.

“It wasn’t my place, Aeron,” is all Levi can offer.

“Yeah?” You lean forward, a scowl and a snarl on your features. “Are you too much of a coward to go against my father’s command just once in your life?!”

“You’re going to cause a scene,” Levi grits out between his teeth. He’s trying to hold it in, for your sake and due to his own fear of being overheard talking to you in an improper manner. He already knows he’s a coward. He’s been one his whole life while he just watches from the edge, never able to step up and actually do something.

“I don’t fucking care anymore!” you shout, tears forming in your eyes. “I’ll be mated to the worst man alive and out of your hair soon Levi. Don’t you worry.” You laugh, but your expression is empty, like you’ve finally given up.

“You’ll be living in another castle. I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Levi snaps. You’re ungrateful. Ungrateful of your brothers and everything that’s handed to you. Ungrateful of Isabel’s hard work. Ungrateful of Levi’s protection.

You slap Levi across his face without hesitation. “How dare you?” You’ve completely snapped. “Are you blind? Do you think I enjoyed being treated like human garbage my whole childhood? Sure, at least now they ignore my presence instead of berate me all the time, but fucking hell do you honestly think I enjoy living like this? I would give it all up if it meant I didn’t have to deal with this.”

“You get everything you could ever want!” Levi matches your volume, completely letting his pent up anger flow through him instead of keeping it in check as he feels the sting on the side of his face. “You’re fed, Isabel does whatever you want her to, your brothers would do anything for you. I– I’m always there for you.”

“Do you honestly think I enjoy your presence when all you do is insult me?” you bite back, turning so you’re no longer facing him. “I’m tired Levi. I’m tired of everything and now the rest of my life has been sealed in some sort of agreement over a pointless war I have no part of.”

Levi’s anger falters hearing your defeated voice, no longer the threatening and hate-filled woman standing before him, but rather someone who’s had enough. “You’ve always hated me, Aeron. Ever since we were little. I was only ever returning the sentiment.” It’s a pathetic lie and Levi knows it. He knows how cruel he was when the two of you were children, but he thought the two of you were merely bickering as adults. He had never realized that your witty comebacks were only a defense mechanism you had built up and that you were simply tired of having any real arguments with him.

He’s never thought of himself as your friend, and he still doesn’t, but part of his heart aches seeing this. He knows how cruel Zeke Jaeger’s reputation paints him to be, but he also knows Auguste is scheming a plan in his mind to protect you.

“Aeron,” he calls to you when you still haven’t turned back around to face him, his voice uncharacteristically soft. When you turn he can see the trails your tears left behind, the small amount of blush that was on your cheeks now ruined. It takes all of his effort to keep his features neutral.

“You never gave me a chance, Levi,” you meekly respond. “You shot me down right from the beginning.”

“You had grass stains on your trousers Aeron–”

“You think I was upset over you not liking the grass stains on my fucking trousers?” you interrupt him, actual shock at his stupidity taking over your features. “You hated me. You made me feel like I would never belong, and I never did.”

Levi blinks as he recalls the moment you’re so clearly remembering. He thinks he had said something about the name Aeron being a boys name, but in all honesty he was having a hard time remembering the events from twelve years ago. “We were kids. I only teased you because you always shot it right back at me.”

“Well I guess you’ve dug yourself into a hole Levi.” You turn and reach for the handle of your door after picking up your petticoat. “You’ve made me hate you, and I can’t find a redeemable quality that might change my mind.”

You close your door behind you, leaving Levi stranded in the halls as he thinks about your words. You truly hated him and Levi could only suppose he hated you too. He didn’t know what else to call the strong feelings he got whenever he was in your presence, the annoyance of your actions usually affecting him more than anyone else in this household. His feet don’t move for at least five minutes before he realizes he should check in with your brother before he heads to his own small bedroom on the other side of the castle.

You climb in bed after shedding off the pounds of clothing that adorned your body and remembering to close your balcony doors. You finally release the rest of your tears, crying until you have no more to give and you’re sleeping on your tear and makeup stained pillow.

—

You stare at yourself in your bedroom mirror, shaking like a leaf and trying to compose yourself. Isabel had done her best, styling your hair with curls to perfection in an updo that allowed your dress to shine. Your face was lightly powdered to match society’s absurd beauty standards, along with your lips being stained a bright red with blush on your cheeks that flattered your skin tone.

Your dress was the most extravagant thing about your appearance tonight, your mother opting for the least modesty possible it seems in front of your unofficial fiancé. You wore a less modest chemise, one that didn’t cover your shoulders in any way and is mostly just guarding your midriff so your corset didn’t irritate your soft skin. A skirt support had been tightly tied around your waist, allowing the soft, silky red fabric of your dress to flow down perfectly.

The neckline is what stood out the most – if you moved the wrong way you’re sure your breasts would fall out. It was low cut, with short sleeves that fell off your shoulders and allowed your collarbones to be prominent. Your breasts were pushed up by your corset, allowing your bust to steal the attention from anything else – you would not be bending over tonight.

It wasn’t your dress, or your hair and makeup that concerned you, no, it was the evening you had been dreading since you received the news.

The moment you would officially meet Zeke Jaeger and his brother, Eren Jaeger, was mere minutes away. Auguste was due any moment now that Isabel had taken her leave, wishing you the best with the saddest look in her eyes despite you telling her you would never accept pity. That didn’t stop her from embracing you before she left, straightening out your skirts before wiping her tears and closing the door behind her.

There was a soft knock on your door followed by Auguste’s gentle voice announcing his visit. You gave him a meek “come in” as permission to enter, fidgeting with your skirts and obsessively smoothing out the front of your torso. You watch Auguste’s form enter in the mirror, turning to close the door behind him before he meets your gaze through the glass.

“You look beautiful, sister,” Auguste compliments, finding his seat on the bench at the end of your bed.

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning around to properly address him. Your hands are held in front of you as you try your best not to touch your dress further.

“I’ll be escorting you tonight,” he tells you with a small smile. “I wanted to speak to you candidly about something pertinent to your situation.”

“Please, Auguste.” You wave your hand with impatience. “If you’re going to speak candidly, please, do so already.”

“I will not allow you to marry Zeke.”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“The man is a tyrant. Did you honestly believe I would stand by and allow my sister to be married, let alone mated, to a man like that?” He scoffs, standing up to cross the room to you.

“I thought…” your voice trails off. You thought you were truly alone, with even Auguste feeding you to the wolves.

“I know. I’ve had… a conversation… with Erwin Smith,” he looks away, a light blush gracing his cheeks before he turns back to you. “He has a plan. A plan that he says is a gamble, but assures me you will be protected. When I return we will discuss details.”

You take his words in for a moment, noticing his flustered appearance at the Commander’s name. “How can you trust that he’ll follow his word? He’s loyal to father, is he not?”

“I can promise you he’s a man of his word. I know he would not do me wrong and go against that,” Auguste assures you.

And then it hits you. The flushed features, the fondness in his voice – they’re all telling signs of what you had yet to confirm. If you didn’t know Auguste as well as you did, you would simply assume that he admired your kingdom’s commander for his position and strength, but you can see that while Auguste does admire him, it’s not simply for his strength as a leader.

“I will trust your judgment of the man, Auguste,” you tell him for now. “If he gave you his word and you trust him, he must be an exceptional man.”

Auguste simply takes your gaze in, clears his throat, and turns on his heel. For the first time ever you’re sure you’ve just made your charismatic brother speechless. He walks over to your vanity, grabs your bottle of lavender oil, and returns in front of you.

“You forgot something,” he mutters, not meeting your gaze. You stifle a small laugh, sparing him from his own embarrassment, and hold your wrists out for him to place two small droplets on each with the dropper inside the bottle. You pat your wrists together, bringing each one to the sides of your neck to spread the scent, and thank him.

“Shall we?” he offers his arm after placing the small bottle back in it’s place.

“I suppose,” you sigh. You’ll never be quite ready.

Auguste guides you out of your bedroom into the halls, greeting Levi as he stands straight from his place of leaning against your doorframe in wait. You don’t bother with a greeting. You haven’t seen the man for a week, choosing to avoid your daily outings and evening walks in favor of not being accompanied by him. You would rather stay in your bedroom and read with your balcony doors open. At least the men in your stories did not betray the people they were closest to, being honest and genuine instead.

It takes all of your willpower to not fidget with your dress, instead opting to just clench and unclench the fist that was not preoccupied by squeezing Auguste’s forearm too hard. It was your best option to just press crescent moon shapes into your palms, allowing your nails to almost draw blood from the pressure.

The familiar halls feel like they’re caving in on you, their grey and white painted wood collapsing in on itself with the navy blue curtains shrouding any light that might have had a glimmer of hope at peeking through the windows. You feel claustrophobic, breathless – and not from the corset Isabel cinched too tight again. Everything was getting to you and it felt like you might hyperventilate and pass out before you make it to the ballroom.

You hear Levi clear his throat behind you, briefly pulling you out of the abyss your mind was drowning in. “Monsieur, if I may.”

Auguste stops, in turn making you stop, before turning around to face Levi. “Yes? What is it?” You simply choose to look down at the parquet floor below you, but after too much silence you look up and meet his gaze.

He’s looking at you, but he actually looks quite nervous to even be speaking at the moment – almost as if he wishes he never opened his mouth. He looks to Auguste. “The princess appears as though she might faint,” he enunciates clearly, “I just wanted to be cautious, monsieur.”

You look down again, surprised by Levi’s candor and more surprised by how much better you feel from the distraction. “Ah,” Auguste nods, “the nerves are certainly overwhelming tonight. Thank you for your concern, Levi. I’m sure Aeron will be fine once the night is over, but she should know we will all be in her presence as well during tonight’s events.”

“Of course,” Levi nods curtly.

You carry on to the ballroom, resisting the overwhelming urge to look behind you at Levi to read his expressions in an attempt to figure out what’s going on in his mind. When you reach the doors to the ballroom your resolve breaks and you spare a glance behind you, a bewildered expression no doubt painting your features. His eyes seem to soften for a moment, hardening again in an instant as he gives you a brief nod. Trust your brother, his actions seem to tell you.

You take a deep breath to take in all the oxygen you can so you don’t hyperventilate. Your brothers will be with you, Furlan will be on guard, Levi will be on guard. You’re not alone.

You struggle to swallow the lump in your throat as Jean and Marco open the silver lined ballroom doors, and especially when you see everyone turn to appreciate your entrance. It’s quite horrifying to see every person’s eyes on you, especially when you don’t recognize anyone besides the same people that joined you at dinner a week ago.

It takes all of your courage to take that first step forward, allowing Auguste to guide you down the very few steps of stairs so you don’t fall. It’s only when you reach the main floor that your breath hitches.

A man you don’t recognize is standing next to your father, in between him and Erwin Smith. Commander Smith’s gaze looks determined, but his eyes also hold a hint of affection when you realize he’s not looking at you, but your brother next to you.

You look next to him to take in the unfamiliar man and you instantly know you’re looking at Zeke Jaeger. He holds himself with a level of confidence that seems to radiate his arrogance, his posture proper and the smile on his face makes you feel uncomfortable. His blonde hair is parted in the middle and you’re grateful that he at least hasn’t succumbed to society’s typical ballroom appearances of powdered faces and wigs.

The one thing that catches your eye is the red cravat he wears – the fabric is identical to your dress.

He takes a step forward when the rest of the guests seem to turn away and occupy themselves with food and drinks. Auguste leans into your ear and whispers, “trust us and your Chevaliers.” He excuses himself and navigates through the crowd directly to Erwin’s side, nodding to Zeke on his way.

You look behind you briefly to find Furlan and Levi, double checking to make sure they were assigned duty inside the ballroom. You’re relieved when you meet Furlan’s eyes, a small smile greeting you back and alleviating some of your anxiety. You find Levi already staring at you and he gives you the smallest nod, one barely noticeable by anyone else, but something that still gives you the comfort you need.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, darling,” Zeke greets you as soon as you turn around and find yourself face to face with him. He’s only standing a couple feet away, maybe a meter if you’re generous, but his presence already feels overwhelming.

“The pleasure is mine,” you choke out, clearing your throat when you hear how weak you truly sound. He reaches out for your hand and you simply give it to him, not wanting him to come any closer than he has to, and he kisses your knuckles. You wish you could recoil and jerk away your hand, but you watch as his rough lips make contact with your soft skin.

“May I get you a drink?” he asks politely, holding onto your hand still in front of the two of you. Perhaps his suggestion isn’t such a bad idea.

“That would be wonderful, monsieur,” you give him a small smile, being as polite as you can manage.

“Please, call me Zeke,” he grins at you. “You are my fiancé after all.” You try not to grimace at the declaration, but it seems that he enjoys your presence. You didn’t want to be around him anymore than you needed to, but it would appease your mother and father and you could only hope that Commander Smith’s plan would work out in your favor.

He simply waves at a nearby servant that’s carrying a tray of champagne, summoning their service and grabbing two glasses for the both of you. You take a greedy sip once it’s in your hands, eager to relieve some of your stress, but remain composed. It’s going to be a long night of draining chivalry and manners, something you’ve never been fond of in the first place let alone with a man you already hate. The two of you make your way over to your father after Zeke offers you his arm – you’re grateful he’s at least remained a gentleman.

You’re soon joined by Grisha, Carla, and Eren Jaeger and you find yourself surrounded by people that seem to radiate confidence. You feel like the black sheep of the herd, simply standing there to look like a prize on Zeke’s arm. “It’s so wonderful for you to have us,” Grisha greets your father diplomatically.

“It’s a pleasure to welcome you into our home,” your father nods, “I’m overjoyed by the union of your son and my daughter. It’s truly something to celebrate.”

You try to remain stoic, a small smile remaining on your features while they converse around you. When you look around you accidentally lock eyes with Eren – he was already staring at you – and the look on his face concerns you. It’s as if he knows how you’re feeling already without you speaking a word to him, his emerald eyes regarding you with sympathy and silent scheming.

“It’s so delightful to meet my future daughter-in-law,” Carla’s voice breaks you out of your staring match with Eren as she grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze while she smiles at you.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Jaeger. I’m overjoyed to be engaged to Zeke,” you feign happiness, turning your head to look at Zeke with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. If he notices he doesn’t show it, only returning your smile with one that actually does seem to show his affection in the rest of his features.

Carla let’s out a small laugh. “Please, sweetheart, call me Carla.” She smiles and let’s go of your hand.

“I hope your journey went well?” you ask out of politeness.

“Ah yes, darling,” Zeke intervenes, “the traveling was well worth it to see you in person for the first time. Shall we dance?”

You try not to frown at Zeke’s attempt to drag you away from the conversation. It may not have been the ideal situation, but at least you weren’t alone with the man like you were going to be now.

“Of course, Zeke.” You give him a small smile. He pulls you away from the group and you give an apologetic smile to Carla before you’re on the dance floor with Zeke.

The music is slow enough for you to just sway, a hand on his shoulder and the other grasped by his. His other hand finds purchase on the small of your back, too low for your taste and bordering inappropriate. Your eyes meet and you can see the admiration gone from his gaze, instead replaced by a look that unsettles you.

“You are quite beautiful, Aeron,” Zeke starts, “I’ll be staying in the castle tonight before I leave tomorrow morning and I’d like for you to spend it with me.”

You furrow your eyebrows before managing to get a grasp on your composure. “Zeke, respectfully, I don’t think that’s appropriate,” you hesitantly tell him. You can only imagine what a man like him would do to you.

He roughly pulls you in so your chest is pressed to his, looking down at your cleavage and back up at you. Your eyes widen at his nerve, feeling the grip on your back tighten while your hands remain loosely on his form. “I can tell you are not fond of this arrangement, but I suggest you get accustomed to my presence,” he harshly whispers in your ear, practically scolding you for denying him.

He backs his face up only enough to look you in the eyes, noses just about to touch. “Need I remind you we are not married yet,” you hiss at him, quietly enough to not alert any of the nearby guests.

“I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind an early ceremony if I were to put my seed inside of you and you were blessed with my child.” Zeke smirks at you, a glint of hunger in his eyes clear as day to you. Your heart is racing and you’re sure he can feel it with how tight you’re pressed against him. You feel like a deer being hunted, a tool merely meant for breeding and nothing else. “You wouldn’t want me to stop once you feel me and I bite that sweet spot on your neck.”

Levi watches from the edge of the ballroom, eyes like a hawk on you as Zeke manhandles you. He’s silently fuming, wishing with every fiber of his being that he could aid you in some way and rip Zeke’s hands off of you. How dare he touch a member of the royal family in such a way?

He watches as you separate yourself from Zeke with what looks like “excuse me” coming out of your mouth as he watches your lips move, a bewildered look in your eyes. He briefly looks over at Auguste to see him already staring at you before he makes eye contact with Levi, mouthing the word “go.”

And so Levi follows you as you push your way through the crowd and to a staircase that leads to the gardens outside, ensuring that you��re safe from any harm. When he manages to make it through the crowd and out of the ballroom, he’s surprised to see you running with your dress in your hands. He doesn’t blame you for wanting to get as far away as possible.

You’re running as soon as your feet touch the pathway leading into the gardens, trying your best to just get away from everything. You feel like you’re going to vomit, Zeke’s words already haunting you. You never want that man to touch you, you never want him to be the one to claim you, but there was only so much Auguste could do to keep the man away from you for now before Commander Erwin’s plan could be put in effect. You would have to do all that you could to keep his hands off of you if you were ever alone with the man.

“Aeron!” a voice sounds behind you and in all of your panic you don’t recognize who it is. You keep running, only coming to a stop when you reach the end of the gardens, and you turn around.

You see Levi, jogging a few short steps so that he’s in front of you. “Levi,” you whisper. You’re not sure if you’re happy to see him or not – at least it’s not Zeke.

“You can’t just run off, brat.”

“I–” you look down, dropping the skirts gathered in your hands from running. Your voice is weak, fear evidently laced within your words. “He’s a monster,” you whisper, more to yourself than anything.

“What did he say to you?” Levi asks, only the furrow of his brows alert you that he’s angry when you look up at him, his voice remaining composed.

“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter, “Auguste has a plan right? I’ll be fine?” You meant for it to be a statement, a reassurance to yourself that everything would work out the way it was supposed to without you getting hurt, but it came out as a question – an uncertainty for your future. You trusted Auguste with your life, but the Jaegers were a powerful family with just as much influence as yours, if not more. What could someone like you do against a man like that? Someone who's known for being a tyrant and getting everything he wants. Eren’s look tells you he’s well aware of his brother's insanity, but what can he do about it when he’s the younger heir?

“It matters, you idiot,” Levi rebukes. You frown at his insult, not in the mood for him to start berating you while you’re so mentally sensitive.

“He wants me to spend the night with him in his quarters tonight,” you murmur, barely loud enough for Levi to hear.

“Absolutely not,” he says vehemently. “I’ll speak with Auguste and you won’t be let out of his sight, or mine for that matter.”

“He’s my fiancé, Levi,” you helplessly tell him. “What else am I supposed to do when the man summons me? I know my father expects me to give the man everything he wants and–”

“We’ll get you through tonight and hopefully your brother’s plan will be put into effect before you meet with him again,” Levi interrupts you.

“You’re leaving for the frontlines in a week,” you point out to him. “If he visits then what will I do?”

You look over at a stone bench that’s placed against the hedge bordering the gardens and take a seat. Your hands are visibly shaking and you’ve given up on trying not to fidget with something, grabbing at the fabric of your dress in your lap. Levi follows, choosing to stand a meter in front of you to still respectfully address you – well, respectful in Levi terms.

“You stubborn woman,” Levi curses, “It’s going to be a short expedition with the war ending. Your engagement ensures that Kaslogon’s forces will pull back and we will be doing the same. You worry too much about nonsense that won’t happen.”

“You can’t predict the future, Levi.” You scowl at him, looking up from your seat on the bench.

“Do you always have to argue with me?” Levi scoffs. “Trust me, for once in your life, trust me.”

“It seems I’m needing to do a lot of that lately,” you mutter with a roll of your eyes.

“It’s a month long voyage. Zeke won’t make that within the time we’re gone,” Levi sighs. He takes two steps forward and kneels in front of you, surprisingly letting his knee touch the grass below him. “I promise the man will never touch you, Aeron. It’s my duty to protect you no matter where our personal relationship stands.” He looks up at you and you’re speechless by not only his words, but the soft look he’s giving you now. You can see that he means every word and for once you feel at ease, the nerves from Zeke’s touch and words diminishing into background noise.

Levi looks up at you and he’s never seen your eyes reflect more disbelief and peace all at once. He wants to grab your hands to stop them from fidgeting – you’re starting to wrinkle the fabric of your dress. The most he can offer you is the one promise he can keep; he’ll always protect you and your brothers.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Levi stands up. “Your presence is still, unfortunately, needed inside.”

“Right,” you mutter, glancing down at the hand Levi has extended to help you from your seat on the stone bench.

You accept it for the first time.

—

You spend the rest of your evening attached to Zeke with your arm intertwined with his, feigning happiness to be next to him despite your rapid heart rate that never ceases. Levi found Auguste the moment the two of you entered the ballroom, alerting him to the situation and escorting you directly to him. It was only when Zeke found you that you were forced to entertain the idea of being engaged to him, acting like the happy fiancè.

Luckily, Auguste has been accompanied by Commander Smith for most of the evening and now that you are back inside they both never seem to leave your side. Both of their charisma combined manages to keep you within close proximity, never straying too far despite Zeke’s attempts as you’re pulled into the conversation multiple times. Normally, you would hate conversing this much, but you couldn’t be more grateful for their help and Levi’s. Theo has joined as well, normally not keen on the idea of attending a ball, but he’s here for you.

“You are such a pleasure to have around, your royal highness,” Commander Smith addresses you. “It’s no wonder your brother speaks about you often in our meetings.”

You give him a knowing smile. “Please, Commander Smith, you may call me Aeron.”

“Only if you call me Erwin,” he grins at you. You can see how Auguste could be so taken by him, his bright smile and blue eyes hold you with such endearment that you can only imagine the way he looks at your brother when the two are in private. You nod, acknowledging that the two of you are on equal standings with each other.

“Alright, darling, I think I am going to retire for the evening,” Zeke interrupts. He puts a hand on your jaw, pulling your gaze to him so you’re looking him in the eyes. “Won’t you join me?” You try not to cower from his touch and eyes that are telling you there’s no other option.

“My sincerest apologies, Zeke, but my sister and I had a prior engagement to attend to after the gathering. I’m sure you understand,” Auguste smiles at Zeke as he let’s your face go, turning to look at your brother.

“Of course,” He responds, but you can hear the hostility in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning before my departure,” he addresses you.

He roughly places a hand on your jaw again, turning your face towards him, and plants a rough, sloppy kiss on your lips. You have no time to react before he’s pulled away and he’s walking out of the ballroom, Eren in tow.

You stand there, stunned, as Levi and Furlan join you, your brothers, and Erwin. “Furlan, please escort Theo back to his bedroom. I think the party is over.” Auguste requests. “Levi, I’ll have Erwin escort me to my own bedroom. Please take Aeron to hers. I don’t trust our guests enough to allow her to wander the halls by herself.” He places a hand on your shoulder, pulling you out of your frozen state to look at him.

I’m sorry, his eyes tell you.

I know, your’s reassure him.

You notice the crowd of people already leaving as Furlan and Theo make their exit before your eyes meet Levi’s. You don’t say a word, only putting your arm through his and grabbing onto his bicep so he can lead you out. You’re too frazzled to stand strong, the feeling of Zeke’s rough lips still lingering on your own. If Levi is surprised he doesn’t show it, only guiding you out with a strong arm and protective aura, ready to defend you if needed. You push your personal issues aside, needing him as your Chevalier the most. The two of you don’t say a word the whole walk back and it isn’t until you turn down the hallway for your bedroom that you’re truly grateful for his presence.

Zeke stands, waiting outside your bedroom door as he leans against it. You don’t question how he found out it was your room to begin with, only unintentionally gripping Levi’s arm tighter as your steps stutter. You barely recognize the noise of a growl coming from the man next to you as the two of you step closer.

Zeke looks up, a sinister grin painting his features. “I don’t think you should have your hands on what's mine,” he sneers. “Levi, is it? Take your lowlife paws off of her. I’ll take her from here.”

“Sorry, monsieur,” Levi grits out between his teeth. “I have direct orders to ensure she makes it to her own room, alone.”

“Surely, you understand that this is my fiancè. You can trust me with her,” Zeke feigns innocence, opening his arms wide in surrender.

“Leave willingly or I can summon guards to escort you to your own quarters for the evening, monsieur,” Levi spits. You look over at him, hardly recognizing the protective aura radiating from him.

“No need to get so hostile, Levi,” Zeke chuckles, “I’ll find her in the morning then.” He walks away, but not before winking at your trembling form.

You don’t release the breath you’re holding until you see him disappear behind the corner of the hallway in the opposite direction. If it weren’t for your iron grip on Levi’s bicep, you’re sure you would have fallen to the floor by now. He guides you to your bedroom door, walking as slow as you need him to.

“I’ll fetch Isabel for you to help you undress and bathe. Don’t forget to lock your balcony doors and windows.”

“Thank you,” you mutter weakly. You’re utterly drained, exhausted from Zeke’s overbearing presence and the constant fear from the evening. It’s hardly the time you’re used to going to bed and you’re glad Isabel would still be awake. You need the comfort of a friend right now.

You untangle your arm from Levi’s, noticing his stiff stature as he remains ready to catch you if you need it. You don’t spare him a glance, embarrassed by your neediness and too tired to entertain formalities as you open the door to your bedroom. You lock the door behind you and make sure your windows and balcony doors are locked as you wait for Isabel to make her appearance.

Once Isabel shows up, Levi doesn’t leave his position outside of your door. He doesn’t feel like he’s able to walk away as long as Zeke is on castle grounds. The man is a nightmare, someone that didn’t deserve even just your presence and could only cause problems for women in general, let alone the age gap of ten years between the two of you that bothers Levi more than he would admit.

He leans against the wall, hearing the quiet and indistinguishable murmurs of you and Isabel’s conversation for what feels like at least a couple hours. Levi plans on standing here until morning, ensuring that Zeke is unable to access your room, and send him on his way without a single goodbye to you. Levi will spare you the trouble of Zeke’s presence again by doing so.

He straightens when he hears footsteps approaching your door from the other side before it opens and Isabel exits. She doesn’t seem to be surprised to see him there, giving him a sad smile.

“Thank you for staying here,” Isabel whispers softly. “Someone needs to protect her. I don’t feel okay about Zeke being anywhere near her. She’s– She’s scared to death, Levi.”

“I know,” is all he can say back to her. He saw the panic in your features when Zeke undoubtedly whispered disgusting things to you. “I’ll be here until he leaves the castle grounds.”

“Thank you,” Isabel tells him, placing a small hand on his shoulder before making her leave down the hallway in the direction of the opposite side of the castle where the handmaiden’s quarters are.

You don’t see Zeke in the morning.

[dododrawsstuff]

OF AU (Mel/ Chev) MINORS DNI

Some hc of this AU, a special thanks to @scummy-writes for inspiring me to write this with her own OF hc of the princes, and for letting me ramble about this, a lot of these are her ideas ajdhahjsjsjs

I'm not tagging anyone bc Nsfw lmao I also didn't revise it bc if I read it too much I won't post it, so there will be errors, sorry

The hcs:

- Mel starts an OF account because she need the money and a follower from her instagram asked if she’d ever post nude reference photos (her instagram is filled with photos to be used as reference for artists)

- After thinking a lot and talking with some friends who also have OF accounts (and seeing hoe much they earn per month) she caves in and creates one

- Her first photos are her wearing lingerie, costumes (like the bunny suit) or in her underwear, in more timid poses

- Then after a while she starts posing nude and making live videos, though she doesn't really take requests. They are also kinda short since she’s still shy about it -it’s one of the main reasons her subscribers like her, with every praise she receives her cheeks burn bright red

- One day Clavis subscribes Chev to Mel’s OF account as a prank and when opens the site to cancel the subscription he stumbles upon the bunny suit photo and then he stays subscribed lmao

- In the beginning he just logs in occasionally to see the new photos, not caring about the schedule of lives, or updates (his tier is the most basic one, only for photos). Then after a few months he decides to pay for the live tier, at this point she has started to take some requests, only the ones she feels comfortable doing tho

- He doesn't miss one single live since he upgraded his subscription and logs in daily in case there is any update. He doesn't chat and sometimes donate anonymously

- Some months pass and Mel receives a message asking if she’d be okay with doing a private session (?) with them, and that they’re willing to pay 10x the highest tier (it's Chev messaging her lol). She’s very hesitant at first because she doesn't know him and she’s never done it before, in the end she agrees as long as she has the right to deny any request that makes her uncomfortable, he accepts and they arrange a date for it

- She’s super nervous, what if he’s a creep?, what if he makes really disgusting requests? He only asks her to read a book, naked, for him (that he wrote because in this AU he is a writer, but Mel doesn't know that) she’s taken aback at first, because it's odd in the sense that it's too simple, she only has to read a book?

- She starts reading it and when it gets to a spicy part (Ik he wouldn't write smut, but pls bare with me, Mel wouldn't have an OF account in canon either but here we are) she feels hot and starts to rub her tights together after Chevalier tells her she can't touch herself. She keeps reading until her mind become too mushy for her to be able to comprehend what she is reading and then begs him to let her touch herself, Chev is much more talkative in the chat than usual, after she comes back from her high they keep talking for a bit about random things, and she finds it enjoyable to talk to him

- This becomes a routine between them, she says he doesn't need to pay that outrageous amount every time, because he doesn't want him to waste so much money on her, but he only dismiss her and continues paying lmao

- Chev is down bad for Mel but refuses to admit it to himself, so Clavis acts as a wingman for him ~~he actually annoy and tease Chev until he confesses~~ Eg: he is also an OF creator and jokes about doing a colab with Mel (he almost died that day), he teases Chev for having a normal pic of Mel as his lock screen one time (he didn't see the secret folder dedicated to her, because if he did it would be over for Chev, Clavis would tease him until the day he died)

- After a while they go to calls instead of lives, because Mel asked him to “It’s not fair you're the only one who gets to hear my voice, I want to hear you too!”

- Once he admits his feelings for Mel, but before they are together he asks her what it would take for her to delete her OF account, she says that she’s in it for the money, so Chev tells her he can pay what she earns if she deletes it. She’s like “haha, that's a funny joke” not realizing he was serious, this happens a couple more times before he gets fed up and calls her a simpleton for not being able to get what he means

- After they get together she deletes her account but still takes some pics for him exclusively

Extra:

- I wanted to make Mel have a small crush on Clavis at the beginning, but I couldn't find a way to properly weave it into the hc, and it’s already way too long than it should be lol

- I want to make some short comics and illustrations for this AU, but they’ll be posted on my server, I can post the comics if they're not explicit

[sehtoast]

Writer Tag

Thanks for the tag @venus-haze <3

How many works do you have on AO3? 29

What's your total AO3 word count? 230k

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Tender Threads

Satisfy Me

One Big Wet Spot

Say Please

The Hand That Feeds

(All Homelander fics) ^

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Most of the time, but lately I haven't had the energy or the time. My social battery is pretty fucked, but I do read every single one of them and love them

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending? So it's technically unpublished, but it basically ends with Ben (my oc) sentencing himself to die pretty painfully alongside Homelander with that thing that got revealed in Gen V. If you know you know

What’s the fic you've written with the happiest ending? Honestly, Envy.

Do you write crossovers? I've done an AU crossover for the same fandom, but not really

Have you ever received hate on a fic? Most of the hate I get is in my tumblr inbox. I haven't really done/said anything about it bc no one really wants to see or hear about it tbh, but I've gotten a fair amount of shit for pairing homie with a guy and then also more for pairing him with a trans guy. I think the only ao3 hate i ever got was barely even hate, more like someone bitching that my tender threads formatting wasn't to their liking bc it's Y/n formatted

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yessir yessir. Honestly just whatever i'm vibin with

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i'm aware although i don't think i've written anything steal-worthy

Have you ever had a fic translated? no, but @anon-nee has been my personal jesus christ in helping me make sure my english to german translations in tender threads has been accurate. love you nonnums <3

Have you ever co-written a fic before? technically no, but @homelanderbutbig did a collab with me and made this to pair with a fic i wrote, which i feel like is co-creation so i'm gonna say yes anyway. love you HBB <3

What's your all-time favorite ship? honestly i don't really have one, unless i can count my ocxcanon ship in which case it's benlander

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will? i have a depowered homelander fic where ben answers the door one day and ryan, now in his late teens, is there to finally see homie again after all those years went by. i adore the concept but i'm like NEVER in the mindset i need to actually write something like that

What are your writing strengths? yall got strengths?

What are your writing weaknesses? all of them

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? i think it's fine so long as there's clarification shortly after for the readers who may not understand, and also that you've somehow gotten it cross checked by someone who actually speaks the langauge so ensure you're not just saying some wild shit. but ultimately do whatever makes you happy idk bro i don't make the rules

What was the first fandom you wrote for? Prometheus! i was am down so bad for david omg

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to? astarion/tav. i wanna write something sooooo bad but i just can't get in the headspace for it

What's your favorite fic you've written? probably satisfy me because the role swap was incredibly fun and it's REALLY fucking cool to unbind homelander from his own behavioral patterns and manifest them into a reader's concept. like, of everything i've written, i could most clearly imagine everything that happened in that fic and i'd find myself grinning like a sick fuck while writing about literally eviscerating a man's chest cavity lmao

No pressure tags: @blindmagdalena @hom3landr @irenadel @slasher-smasher and anyone else who wants to participate

[hyperlexichypatia]

Hey so I just read your post on the right to die movement and I thought it was really interesting. Do people who are hospitalized/on life support/in intensive care count as disabled, or do you think there are different “rules” in that case? Also, I would be interested to hear your thoughts on the argument that: for someone to make the decision to get killed, they need to be a certain level of “sane” for true consent, and asking someone to kill you definitively constitutes “insanity”.

Second part is easy: I don't believe that "sanity" or "insanity" are meaningful concepts that exist, and bodily autonomy should be for all people all the time. I've written a lot about this topic, which you can find under my tags "mad liberation," "psych abolition," "anti psychiatry"... I'm not a good tagger, but I try. And a lot of Mad/neurodivergent/psych abolition/etc people have made some resource roundups like this one and this one. One of my favorite books I've read most recently is "Psychiatric Hegemony: A Marxist Theory of Mental Illness" by Bruce M.Z. Cohen (you can download it here).

Sorry if this is too much of an infodump, but tl;dr: I completely reject the concepts of "sanity" and "insanity", and the concept of restricting anyone's bodily autonomy based on their so-called "sanity."

The first question is a little more complicated -- definitions of "disability" usually include some component of "permanent" or "long-term," so someone who's (temporarily) sick, injured, hospitalized, etc. may not be counted as "disabled" per se. But I don't think it's necessarily that simple. I'm looking at "disability" as the relationship between a person's body/mind and their environment's expectations of them, not really as a stable identity category or a binary. So, say somebody is hospitalized with a broken leg that's projected to heal in six weeks. You could argue that this person isn't disabled, because the condition is temporary, and also, people with temporary injuries/illnesses/etc are subjected to much less systemic and cultural ableism than "long-term" disabled people are, because they're seen as sympathetic victims of misfortune rather than useless eaters. On the other hand, someone who's temporarily impaired is actively living with that impairment in that moment. If this hypothetical person with a broken leg uses a wheelchair, he can't get into an inaccessible building any more than a lifelong chair-user can. And then you get into questions of projected medical timelines, and what constitutes being "no longer disabled." Suppose this guy's broken leg heals, and he no longer uses a wheelchair, but for the rest of his life, he has chronic pain in his leg, and he can't walk as far as he could before the injury. Now is he disabled?

So... it depends? But in general, I would say yes.

Specifically, in the case of physician-assisted death, this is generally only done to people whose disabilities are considered permanent.

So, put another way: If your government thinks you're too disabled to live, you're definitely disabled.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

The Reaper and the Death Angel Part 65

So, I know I only planned for there to be one or two more chapters but it looks like the prewedding took up more than I thought I want to do the story justice so you're getting a lot more chapter (all two of you who are still reading)

Part 64

Series Masterlist

Contains: So much fluff, all the fluff.

4.1K words

Comment if you want to be tagged/removed or follow #the reaper and the death angel.

If I get married, I want to be very married.” - Audrey Hepburn

"There's a look on you face and I'm worried about it."

Ima smiled, "don't be, I'm Lyla and I are going to make sure Jax gets the best wedding gift ever."

You huffed, "not likely with what I bought him but ok."

"Go get all the things Jax loves to see you in, sexy things and come back here." She paused at your quizzical expression, "trust me."

You sighed, "Fine but if this is what I think it is, I'm going to need some convincing."

That didn't seem to be a problem, "Don't worry, I already have all my points planned."

You waved your hand, "I'll be back in ten."

Her smile widened, "Great, Lyla will be here in five."

When you returned, Lyla was sitting with Ima on the couch, "hello."

You waved, "Hello. Now please tell me why a boudoir shoot is a good idea, I already send him sexy pictures all the time but these ones don't have my face in them."

Lyla smiled, "Exactly that. This was he can have hard copies that put the digital ones to shame."

You gave her a look, "I'm not saying yes but how is this done so my bare ass doesn't end up all over the internet?"

"We do it old school, professional film that we'll develop, anything that doesn't go into the book gets burned." Ima said it like it was simple.

"And you'll both be taking them?" They nodded, "alright, but no editing and I'm not putting on makeup, Jax likes my natural face and I want them to be classy, please."

Ima smiled, "that's the spirit, we weren't going to do that anyway. Sam and Opie loved theirs, I'm sure Jax will be the same."

You held up a hand, "Ima, I'm not a prude but I don't need to hear that. Where are we doing this?"

Lyla reached into her bag and pulled out a film camera that must have been worth thousands, "the library is perfect."

You rubbed your face, "ok, what about my hair?"

Ima tapped the bag, "we've got that all sorted. Jax is kinda obvious about it when he stares, we know what he likes and lucky for you that's you as you are."

You smiled, "yes, he is good like that. You've convinced me, just let me make sure no one's coming home early, I don't want anyone seeing this go down."

You headed to the library and locked the door behind everyone, placing the pile of clothes on one of the display cases. Lyla went through it, picking up your lab coat with a smile, "really?"

You nodded, "yeah, ninety per cent of the sexy photos I send to him are just me in nothing but the lab coat."

Lyla waved her hand, "well go for it."

You sighed, "I'm not even going to bother going behind the bookcases to change, you're about to see everything anyway." You stipped off, threw on the lab coat, and waited for them to direct you.

"Slide it off one shoulder and stand by longe. You did as you were asked, "you said classy so we're not going to make you pose like a centrefold, just relax and smile." You understood why CaraCara made so much money, Lyla was great.

You took a deep breath, trying not to flinch as the camera flashed, "See, that was easy." Ima was good too, just the right amount of encouragement without being patronising.

"No, it wasn't. He better be grateful for this or I'm selling them for charity." You knew Jax would be more than grateful.

Ima shook her head, "put on his favourite pair on lingerie under it, if he has a few we'll do all of them."

You smiled, "I'm embracing my embarrassment and going for it. I'm trusting both of you to make sure this isn't cringy."

Lyla placed her hand over her heart, "We swear it will be great."

****

As you stood before the stacked tables and chairs, you thought planning and setting up your own wedding might have been a bad idea. There were only two days left and it felt like there was so much left to do.

"Go on darlin, we'll be fine here." Jax had been amazing the last three weeks, his excitement clear in every moment.

"Are you sure, all I'll be doing is cooking and putting the wedding favours together." Anvil had been busy all morning accepting deliveries so the kitchens would be stocked.

"I'm sure. I'll keep you updated." Jax moved from standing at your side to behind you so he could wrap his arms around your body, "go on, go be amazing and I'll hold down the fort."

You sighed and spun in his arms before kissing him, "you have no idea how amazing you are."

Jax smiled, "I'm sure you can tell me later."

****

Jax sighed and leaned against a tree, watching half the wedding party that was at the house position the rows and rows of chairs for the ceremony while the other half arranged everything for the reception afterwards.

Opie wandered over with a smile and raised his hand, cigar in hand, "because we didn't get to do it at the farm."

Jax shook his head and took it from Opie, lighting it with a contemplative expression, "did you ever think we'd end up here?"

Opie shook his head and took a drag, "With you marrying an ex CIA operative with six PhDs? No, I did not. Did you?"

Jax huffed, "nope, I didn't."

Opie gave him a strange look, "Have you written your vows?"

Jax swallowed, "no, I've got no fucking idea what I want to say. I know hers are going to be amazing."

Opie huffed, "you got that right, she's going to use so many big words, it's going to be all poetic and heartfelt and shit."

Jax snorted, "Don't I fucking know it.

Opie tipped the cigar towards Jax to emphasise the point he was about to make, "In fact, I can remember us having a conversation up at the cabin when we were prospects all about this and I remember you saying what kind a girl you wanted."

The memory overtook Jax in a rush.

"You were popular last night." Jax snorted, he had been popular every night since becoming a prospect. 

"Not all of us are happy with one woman Ope. How is Donna taking you joining up?" 

Opie shrugged, "she's happy to have so many new friends but I don't know how she feels about the other shit, I'm not telling her anything but she knows something is going on. What do you want in a Old Lady? Gemma's going to get on your back to start looking soon." 

"She gotta love riding, I couldn't be with a woman who hated bikes. I'm going to be running this Club one day so she's gotta be a good host, I want everyone to know how good she treats me and she can't stick her nose where it doesn't belong, she's got to be ok with Club." 

Opie rolled his eyes, "you're not helping the mommy's boy thing there brother." 

Jax screwed up his face, "I do not want to marry my mother. I don't know man, how many relationships have we watched fall apart? Sometimes I don't think long term and the Club go together." 

Opie shook his head, "you don't know. Good old ladies make a Club, I think you've just got to use your head and not your dick." 

Jax huffed, "since when did you get so mature?" 

"You've grown a lot since then." Opie's tone only had a hint of judgement.

Jax sighed, "yeah, I have. I think y/n might be responsible for a lot of that."

Opie chuckled, "Yeah, she's responsible for most of it."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing, or do I need to show you again?"

****

You stuck your head in the Anvil kitchen door and servery the scene, "how is everything going, does Booby need help with the cake?"

Bobby held up a hand, "I know I haven't done the best in the past but I can do this, go off and enjoy making your wedding favours, Juice and I can handle it."

Juice smiled, "yep, this is going to be the best bread I've ever made."

You smiled, "thank you. I'll be just around the corner if you need me."

You headed into the office and sat at the table with Ima, Audrey, Lyla and Billy, "I mean, I love the idea but don't you think that a native plant and these cute little fans are a bit much?"

You shook your head, "Well Billy, I wanted it to be practical and for everything to match. The native plants are useful and the foral fans fit out theme and the guest can use them to stay cool. Now get to folding or I'll send you to the house to stack chairs."

Billy laughed, "sorry y/n, I think everyone will love them."

Lyla smiled, "the photos turned out great. The book should be done by tomorrow so you can wrap it up nice."

Your eyes went wide, "Wow, in only four days. That's amazing."

Billy looked from Lyla to you, "What photos?"

"Oh, Ima and Lyla did some photos for me for Jax," you paused, hoping Billy would figure out what you were trying to say, "sexy pictures Billy."

He blinked, "oh ok, I didn't need to hear that but good for you."

You laughed, "sorry Bill."

****

You sighed and kicked off your shoes before beelining to the couch and sitting on Jax's lap, "the outside looks amazing."

Jax smiled and wrapped his arms around you, "yeah, we did a good job. You sound tired, did everything go ok today?"

You nodded, "it went great, all the food is set, so they'll do the prep work and cook some of it tomorrow night, but most of it will be cooked in the portal garage kitchen the morning of and the party favours and done. We can take it pretty easy tomorrow."

Jax buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath, "we are very good at this. You'll be planning Jess and Juice's wedding next."

You pulled back and shook your head, "I think I'm all wedding out right now and Jess is too young, maybe next year."

Jax chuckled, "sure darlin. In the meantime, I'll get you some dinner."

You pressed your lips to his, "thank you my love."

Jax kissed you back, his hand coming to cup your cheek, "love you too darlin."

****

"Good morning beloved." You snuggled further into his side and Jax pressed his lips to your forehead.

Jax squeezed your shoulder lovingly, "Good morning darlin, I know it's only one night but I'm going to miss sleeping next to you tonight."

You stretched out with a groan, "well it's that in exchange for the rest of our lives so I'm sure you'll be ok."

Jax looked over your face, his eyes filled with affection, "it will be well worth it."

Jax sighed, threw his legs over the side of the bed and got up, reaching out his hand for you to come with him, "As much as I would love to lay around with you all day, I think you and your friends are going to the spa."

You nodded, "yes, we are."

You got a shock when you came down for breakfast and the house was filled with the wedding party, "what's this?"

Sam smiled, "I wanted to do breakfast for everyone, well I didn't plan to but everyone came early and I had no choice." He handed the spatula to Opie and took Adurey for Ima's arms, "but right now, I'm going to feed my little girl." He tapped her nose, "isn't that right, you must be hungry."

You shook your head, "very cute Sam."

Frank sipped his coffee with a sigh, "what is this place anyway?"

You shrugged, "I don't know, some high end place in Oakland, it was a wedding gift from Otto and Luanne, it's called Green River Spa."

Happy made a face, "wait, the bridal party is getting a spa day? Why can't we come?"

You held back a laugh, "do you want a spa day Hap?"

He nodded, "Yes, we've been working hard too."

You shook your head, "Well how about we bring some stuff home and you guys can use it tonight?"

The seemed to make him happy, "I'd like that."

Billy sighed, "well, we better head off soon so finish your breakfast."

Jax smiled and swaggered over to you, pressing his lips to your cheek, "enjoy your day darlin."

You smiled, "thank you my love, I'll make sure to bring you back something nice."

****

"Ohhhh, this feels nice." You couldn't remember the last time you did anything more than ask Jax to help you with a homemade mask while he washed your hair.

"Yeah, we have to do this more often. When this is done I'm going to look like I didn't just have a baby." Ima sounded half asleep.

Billy chuckled, "Next time we have to thank our staff we're sending them here, fuck gender roles, this is great."

Frank sighed, "Good idea Billy, I've gotta buy Maria spa day, she deserves it."

"I don't know what you're all going on about, Balder and I do this all the time, it's nice but it's not special." Aden was always one to brag.

You huffed, "Well Buddy, we can't all be semi retired, plus your husband half owns a Scandinavia wellness spa of course you get this all the time."

Derek's voice filled the room, "Can you all shut up, I'm trying to enjoy my facial."

You giggled, "sorry D, we'll be quiet."

****

You hopped out of the car and rushed over to Happy before handing a container, "there you go, it's a green tea and honey mask, Lyla is bringing the rest inside now."

Happy smiled, "thanks. We've got it all planned for tonight, we've even got hand cream." He was dead serious.

You nodded, "I'm glad you guys are having fun."

****

Dinner was a quiet affair, the dishes being passed back and forth while everyone went over the wedding. By the end, everyone was yawning and rubbing their eyes and Jax approached as you cleaned the kitchen with a smile, "I guess this is where we say goodnight?"

You nodded, "It is but we'll see each other tomorrow."

Jax pressed his lips to yours, "we will. Goodnight darlin."

"Goodnight beloved."

****

Jax looked over the container in curiosity, "yogurt and honey face mask for glowing, soft skin, does anyone know how to use these?"

Juice chuckled and reached over, flipping the container in Jax's hands to show him the instructions, "it's easy man, you just wash your face then put it on."

Jax headed to the bathroom to wash his face, followed by everyone else and they stood before the long mirror in Sam's room, ready for the next instructions "what do we do now?" Kozik was looking at the white tub in front of him, half worried half excited.

Juice sighed, "take a little bit on your finger and rub it on your face anywhere you don't have hair."

Juice and Sam were already done, sitting there watching as the others struggled. Bobby turned to Sam, ready to ask him how he knew what he was doing but Sam answered preemptively, "I used to do this with y/n all the time. We should take a picture, they'll all get a kick out of this."

Happy sighed, "can we just relax? If we don't turn on the TV now we'll miss the fight."

Jax chuckled, "sure man."

****

Sam's tone buzzed on your phone and you picked it up only to be greeted by a photo of all the groomsmen with masks smeared on their faces and bellinis in their hands, "holy shit, you have to come and take a look at this."

Ima's face burst into a grin when she saw the photo, "they look like they're having fun."

Frank huffed, "a little too early, it looks like, bellinis are for the day of."

Billy chuckled, "You jealous Franky?"

Frank shook his head, "no, we're going to have all our fun tomorrow while they wake up with champagne headaches."

You sighed, "Sam will make sure they don't drink too much."

Ima nodded, "well he's got Addie tonight so you can be sure of that."

****

You rubbed your face as your alarm rang, Ima popping up beside you with a groan, "happy wedding."

You grunted, "tell me that when it's not the ass crack of dawn."

She laughed, "come on, we got to get everyone showered and ready to go. What do you need me to handle this morning?"

You thought for a moment, "just make sure all the food is ready to go, the guys did a great job yesterday so everything outside is sorted."

She nodded, "No worries, go downstairs and enjoy breakfast, we'll look after everything."

You smiled, "Thank you."

When you came downstairs, Frank was working the stove while Billy cut up fruit, "morning."

You glared, "morning. I'm happy I promise, I just don't show it this early."

Frank laughed, "Don't worry, we know."

Billy waved the knife, using it like a pointer while he spoke, "why is Sam a groomsman anyway? He's your brother."

You yawned, "because Jax can't have Thomas and Sam is about to be his brother in law. It felt like the right thing to do."

Billy blinked, "oh, that's really sweet."

You looked at the clock and sighed, "we better get our breakfast to go, we need to start getting ready."

****

"When do you need help with your dress?" Ima and Lyla were already half dressed, the simple green bridesmaids' dresses fitting them perfectly.

"Not for a while. I'll put it on at the last moment." You turned to Ima, "can you please give Jax his gift? Ask him to open it in another room please. The box is under the bed." Ima smiled and rushed to get it before hurrying out the door.

Ima headed to Sam's side of the house and knocked on the main door, and Opie opened it with a worried look of his face, "is everything alright?"

Ima nodded, "everything's wonderful, can I steal Jax for a moment?" Opie waved to Jax popped out and closed the door behind you, "this is for you from y/n, please go somewhere private to open it."

"Ok?" Jax took it from her, turning behind to yell that he would be back before Ima waved him a quick goodbye. Jax went into a spare room, sat down and unwrapped the box slowly, his eyes going wide as he took the book out of the box and thumbed through the pages, "Jesus Christ."

He thought about calling you to say thank you but he knew you'd be too busy to answer so he settled spending back to your side of the house to leave it somewhere safe and thanking you tonight.

Bobby jutted his head at the door, "What was that about?"

Jax blinked, hoping his face didn't give away the fact that he was desperately trying not to get hard, "nothing, y/n got me a wedding gift."

"Can we see it?" The last thing Jax was going to do was show it to Tig.

"Nope." Jax tried the think of an excuse when Opie cut in.

"He's saying no because it's fancy nudes." He ducked as Sam threw something at his head, "sorry man."

Jax sighed, "Can we drop it please? We've got an hour and we all have so much shit to do."

Sam held a finger and disappeared around the corner before coming up with Jax's favourite blue flannel, "speaking of, it's been ironed to perfection."

He could tell Sam was wrestling with something, "thanks man."

Sam smiled, "no worries, you're marrying my only sister, you got to look your best."

****

"How does the make up look?" You turned towards Lyla and she held up both thumbs "Ok, what about the photos?"

Angela smiled and lowered her camera, "they are turning out amazing. Stop worrying."

You sighed, "ok, I just need to check on the food and put my dress on and then we'll be ready to go. Are we running on time." There was a pause, clearly everyone trying to hold back their laughs.

Billy placed a warm hand on your shoulder, "we are great for time, Frank and Derek are going to check the food and we're going to wait out here while your bridesmaids help you with your dress because we don't need to see in your fancy underpants."

You smiled, "who says I'm wearing any underpants at all?"

Aden shook his head, "not appropriate."

Frank and Derek hopped up with a sigh, "don't worry, the food will be fine, we'll be back before you know it."

They headed to the garage and were assaulted by the wonderful smell of fresh bread and delicious food. Juice's head shot up when he saw them and tried to toss a tea towel over a stack of personal bread rolls. When he failed, Frank walked over and realised why he was being so secretive, "does y/n know?"

Juice shook his head, "no, it's a surprise so please don't tell her."

Derek smiled, "we'll keep your secret, don't worry. How is everything going?"

Bobby exhaled, "we're all good here, the food will be ready for dinner, all your staff have to do is follow the recipes that y/n left for them. You guys can go back upstairs, there's not long left."

Billy nodded, "thank you, I guess we'll be seeing you soon."

Juice smiled, "yep."

****

They hurried back upstairs and went back inside, Billy smiling when he saw you, "you look ready to go?"

You nodded, "I am. Ima and Lyla are going to help me with my dress while Angela takes photos," you took a deep breath, "Give me five minutes."

You plucked the garment bag off the hook and headed into the bathroom with the other women. After having a quick look at the lighting, Angela smiled and waved her hand, "go ahead."

You unzipped the bag and pulled the dress out with a sigh, "it's looks great."

Lyla shook her head, "wow, I can't believe you made that."

You smiled, "I did. It's pretty easy to get into, I'll just need help lacing up the back." You slid your robe off your shoulders while Ima unlaced the back, holding the dress opening so you could step through. You held the bodice up to your chest as Lyla pulled the dress together, the click click on Angela's camera filling the air.

"Ah, Jax just texted, they're heading down now." Frank's tone was filled with joy and affection.

Lyla had just finished lacing the dress, "thank you, I'm coming out now so get ready."

You paused at the door before twisting the handle and throwing it open,

Their face split into a grin, Billy speaking first, "Holy shit."

Derek twisted his fingers, "well, give us a spin." You spun around and the full skirt flared out as you went.

Frank walked up to your and wrapped you in his arms, "we better go downstairs and say hello to your guests, you look very beautiful."

You smiled, "thank you."

Ima sighed, "We're going to go in to the main room, Sam will be here soon."

You nodded, "I know, thank you for everything today."

Lyla smiled, "hey, what are friends for. We'll see you in a bit."

You took a deep breath, "that you will."

They left you in the quiet while you waited for Sam, his knock on the door pulling your from your thoughts, "wow, you look, wow."

"Thank Sammy." He reached out his fingers brushing the dress, "it's not white?"

You shook your head, "no, it's blush."

His eyes were damp, "And the flowers? There's so many"

"Chiffon, all natives. That's they the invites said no floras." Sam looked like he was going to ask more questions, "it's a full skirt with off the shoulder sleeves and a corset bodice. I don't know what the flower pattern is called."

Sam chuckled, "you look like a princess."

He hugged you before you could reply, "you good little brother?"

You felt him nod, "I'm great." He pulled away and offered you his arm, "are you ready?"

You smiled and looped your arm in his, "more than anything."

Part 66

@watercolorskyy @withmyteeth @camelia35

[rpcburnbook]

TLDR: The rpc identifies or fantasizes about life through their character's perspective far too prevalently for me to believe in the widespread separation of art and artist in this hobby. Also, a lot of people who write dark shit do it specifically to upset or goad people irl even when they know specific boundaries exist. // i respect that you have boundaries and know what makes you comfortable, but I am curious how you know what other rpers motivations are? there's a lot of assumption here. // I should have stated this more carefully. i also saw there was another reply too so I'll do my best to address both. fwiw, I've been in the pbp rp scene for 20 years and I absolutely don't know other people's motivations. I can only go on the basis of patterns. I have written about lots of darker stuff in my time- sa, dv, child abuse, etc, always on board where those things fit the setting. I don't actually think most dark theme writers set off to upset people, that was badly stated. However I think the behavior - in general - reveals most rpers don't have the maturity to be handling some of these topics in a communal setting, so I usually approach with caution and a fair amount of suspicion at this point. Sasha is a *really* extreme example of deliberately instigating, obviously, and I've never personally run across someone that far off the deep end. I'll instead speak to what I usually see which is more tame and probably less conscious but still in poor taste imo. I've been approached several times about what I'm writing making people uncomfortable, and only in 2 cases has the person been so overwrought or aggressive that there was no good solution. Sometimes the solution was moving plotting for certain characters to dm or a specific channel, other times it was putting things in a doc, and in some cases it was just talking to people about why I was writing those things. On the flipside I have talked to a few people in my time about keeping certain topics siloed in similar ways and seen many conversations where someone else did and they've rarely gone well. About half the time, I have seen whoever is being asked to pull back instead: get really passive/aggressive towards the asker, start soliciting similar plots from characters directly adjacent to that persons characters, start talking about the topics more, start tagging those people when they post like 'lol @ person don't read I know you'll hate it', or leaving the site altogether. I've also seen writers cut their partners off for realizing a topic was too much to write explicitly and backing out of graphic depictions of some of this. To me this says someone is too personally entangled with a character or theme to be writing them in a community, and more often than not I don't have a problem with anyone until that's been demonstrated. Again, I get squicked by these things because it shows me someone can't separate their personal feelings and self image from criticism or distaste for those topics. [pt 1]

[pt 2] I think if you're going to write these topics, you need to be prepared to handle the occasional pushback or discomfort gracefully and respectfully. Since I have seen that so rarely, I can't help but believe that most people aren't doing a good job of separating themselves from the topic or the character, much less considering other people when they're writing things which can genuinely be disturbing. If you can't do that, I don't think you should write those things outside 1x1s, and even then only with people you can hear criticism from without spinning out. In a public context, to another replier's point, there are certainly people who are looking for reasons to be upset or are at least coming into those conversations with a lot of sensitivity, which speaks to part of my original ask in that I don't think many admin teams are equipped to moderate well when one or both of those things are true. And in other contexts, rping those kind of topics is a left field kind of decision based on the setting/overall tone and shouldn't be done. All of that means I just regard most writers who focus on dark themes with caution. Like I originally said, most of the time I just ignore stuff I don't like, it's just hard for anyone (myself included) to do that if an individual has decided people are being too sensitive and the right medicine is to push harder or carry resentment instead of respecting other people.

Again, I don't think that's everyone. But my experiences on both sides of those conversations make me think a small fraction of people are genuinely equipped to handle these topics in public responsibly.