#beautiful women are sleeping while i fantasize about them

[dykelylikely]

what if i was giving you a back massage and then climbed onto your legs to make the angle better and then you felt my cock pressing against you. and i couldnt help but grind against your ass while you groaned from how hard im pressing into your shoulders and waist and hips and arms and suddenly your pants were around your thighs and i was slowly stretching uou out with massage oil and pinning your hands down and fucking into you while you try to squirm out from under me. What if

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Pairing(s): Billy Butcher x Reader x Logan Howlett, Billy Butcher x Reader, Billy Butcher x Becca Butcher, Logan Howlett x Reader, brief mention of past!Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: ft.deadpool, denial of feelings, more complicated shit, soldier girl au, butcher be losing his gd mind with jealousy, crossover, marvel x the boys, brief invincible mention

Wade giggles loudly next to Logan, the binoculars pressed against his eyes so he could get a better look. "Wow! Sugar Tush really has a type!! Sexy, dark, bearded and brooding!"

"I told you not to call her that."

"Hey, I'm just calling them like I sees them! And she's got a rocking a-"

Logan snatches the binoculars out of Wade's hands before giving him a rather harsh bop on the head.

He should have never let Deadpool drag him along to stalk Billy Butcher. Damn curiosity got the better of him though. This guy was after him due to a few unfortunate casualties in Logan's escapades. You tried not to mention Butcher when you were with Logan.

This was the guy who got to have you with him every day while Logan was lucky if he could find a couple of hours with you.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Logan was old enough to know better, learn from his past mistakes with women and relationships in general. You though. . . God you drove him crazy. Your witty mouth and the cute way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. And the fact that he knew how you liked your coffee (the lightest splash of creamer accompanied by a dash of cinnamon) and your favorite show to relax to was something as simple as the Office. He was growing attached to you in a domestic way that he couldn't allow.

You preferred to sleep on the left side of the bed and always had one leg sticking out of the covers.

Butcher took you for granted. Too focused on a lost love when you were right in front of him.

"Earth to Peanut." Deadpool waves a hand in front of Logan's face. "You there space ranger? What'cha wanna do? We can take this guy out right now. Easy peasy. Then Sugar Tush is all our's."

"You're not involved in this." Snaps Logan. Pivoting on his heel, he goes for the rooftop door.

Truth was he could've killed Butcher many times now. Of course he'd fantasized about it. No one would benefit from Butcher's death. Not even Logan. He couldn't have the kind of life he desired with you for many reasons.

He can hear Wade's footsteps close behind him in the stairwell. "You're just gonna let that guy have her? That's not very romantic of you. From the noises that come out of your room when the two of you are together, it sounds more like lovemaking than raw pounding. And true lovemaking like that cannot exist without pure love!"

"Will you shut the fuck up. I don't love her. And I'm not doing anything. I got enough problems trying to evade that Butcher guy as it is. I don't want to get even more involved."

"You made beautiful love to his woman, that's pretty involved."

Logan grabs Wade and tosses him down the stairs.

He didn't love you.

He didn't love you.

A constant prayer repeated in his mind. You were just a phenomenal lay. Simple as that.

Fuck he wished it was simple. Nothing about you was simple though.

The next few days proved quiet for Logan. No sign of Butcher or even that scrawny kid you called 'Hughie'.

And there was nothing coming from your end. Dead silence. He was hoping with the quiet, you would go back to texting him. It was proving too quiet for him.

Were you okay?

He rubs his knuckles, willing his anxiety to subside.

And unconsciously Logan found himself changing the channel on his tv to Vought News. Your life was interlaced with Vought, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not.

He had to take this chance. Finally knew where his Becca was and had formulated a plan to see her. Even if it meant abandoning the team. They'd be alright. Besides Hughie, you and MM had everything under control.

And, well, Butcher was fairly sure you were moving on from his grasp. Not that you were his to begin with. Damnit you were right about there being no exclusivity between the two of you. He had no claim over your body. You were free to have sex with whomever you wished. Butcher was still married after all. Finding out that his Becca was alive put his mind back into the true focus of his mission.

Still. . .

The idea of someone else's hands touching you nagged at him relentlessly. It was starting to burn a hole in his insides. He didn't like it. Didn't like the hickeys on your neck that he KNEW weren't from him or that you smelled of another man's scent. That bothered him. Some guy leaving his scent on you like a claim to you.

Who was it? Who was the fucker that thought they were strong enough to be in your life?

No one in the Boys, that was for sure. Maybe one of your exes? That Mark Grayson hadn't reared his head in a while.

Someone from Vought? Nah. You hated Vought more than anything.

Shaking his head free of thoughts of you, Butcher pushes forward through the thicket of trees that encased his Becca's gilded cage. She was within his grasp. Before long he'd be whisking her away, saving her from this long suffering nightmare. If he had her back everything would be okay. And he wouldn't have to be feeling conflicted about you. He wouldn't be plagued by the image of you pulling your lover into one of your intoxicating kisses.

Even when he finally gets Becca alone for a moment, Butcher can't keep you out of his waking thoughts.

Now that he'd left the Boys, were you back in your lover's arms? Happy and content?

Did that man sate you the same way Butcher did? Did this stranger without a face have you producing little kitten mewls when he went down on you? Had that fucker enough time to map out all of your freckles?

He shouldn't be thinking of you.

But you were constantly on his mind.

[real-raincode-takes]

I will start from head to toe. first. her crown. so delicate. yet commanding. the way it bounces around utop her head when she laughs or recoils is utterly charming. it’s perfectly balanced on her gorgeous head. the delicate gems and small size are surprisingly humble for someone of her stature and personality. it adds a feminine charm, but still has that presence of power. she really is a sweet girl. next. those stunning horns. how many nights I’ve lain awake fantasizing of grabbing them in my hands, pulling her into me, either while im behind her or while she’s on her knees. I wonder if a death god has special erogenous zones. I hope she will allow me to test. the delicate curve, yet with such a dark, striking color… truly, most of the colors of her body are light, pink and whites, except for those horns. the only hint of the supernatural on an otherwise adorable girl. oh the way they would contrast with her pale nude body. and they sit so magically above her beautiful hair. the horns appear to manifest right at the scalp, if you look closely. the hair doesn’t part around them, and seems to grow seamlessly underneath the horns. truly, she is a goddess, capable of such impossible feats of style. her braids look hopelessly soft. the pinks and whites are sickeningly sweet and charming for a girl who purports herself to be a scary death god, another hint at her true nature as a lovely woman. I would love to brush her hair, perhaps to help her braid it. to tie those delicate white ribbons (oh, so pure, those cute ribbons, you angel, my angel, I adore you) for her, while she sits before me and tells me of her day. I certainly wouldn’t mind holding her hair, though it tempts me less than the perfect handles her horns make. I would worry of hurting her. her beautiful bangs are kept so wonderfully by that cute pin. the straight bangs, the long strands at the side, such a perfect contrast to the soft lines of her plush braids. her eyebrows rest just at the bang line. they have such a sweet, long arch, betraying her innocent nature. what a lovely girl. a beautiful woman. her lashes are beautiful, and I would die happy if only I could receive a butterfly’s kiss from her. I would very much like to feel those lashes as she rests her face on my neck, and the coolness of her beautiful skin, too… her ears are perfectly revealed by her hairstyle. her gorgeous ears, one of the only women in the game to not have them pierced. delightful in her innocence, her individuality. if those ears would listen to me, I may spontaneously combust. to nibble at the lobe might double my lifespan. now. I could never speak enough about her eyes. so suffice to say they are what I see when I close my own. every second I am not looking at those beautiful sparkling stars, I am a shell of a human. if I could bring a smile to those eyes, I would rejoice. if I filled those eyes with tears, I would be so devastated as to throw myself off a bridge, just to give her the happiness of a murder mystery. her nose is perfect, placed wonderously low and centered. her lips are surprising; no color. truly, a natural beauty, even if I mourn the idea of carrying her lipstick stains on my body. even if she did paint her lips, she would perhaps lick it all off. oh that beauiffful, overrractive tongue. such a nice, dark red. perhaps it is the most perverted part of her, for it produces her beautiful teasing words, and it must feel so well. I lose sleep wondering about that tongue, wanting to feel it on my own. wanting to feel it all across my body. her teeth, as well. her smile could revive me, and I could forever die at her feet to bring her even more smiles. those cheeky, pointed, pearls between her lips. if she desires to devour me whole, I will enthusiastically agree, lay down my arms, and peel my torso open for her to enjoy. oh, shinigami, the only one for me, my death goddess, your rapture knows no bounds. I can only hope that your face will be included in frame, if you send nudes.

-🍃

.

[yallemagne]

lmao this reminded me of when i read that article saying that in those scenes jonathan is imagining mina writing letters and yearning for him, which shows that he has a 'chivalric' view of women and he is the avatar of masculinity. sir, sir he never mentioned mina once in those scenes. it was he who was mimicking the women, writing letters and lying on couches, while musing. we see later on how much he loves it that mina has the more active role between them (even more manifest when he kisses her for solving everything for them while he was in a distressed state on a sofa). anyway i can't wait for your and others' meta because there's some good food.

Every time I open google docs to do work y'all come soliciting me. Thank you, I enjoy the company.

ijpodqfarwg ARE YOU KIDDING. Ah yes, Jonathan saying "love the decor of this room, I feel like a lovelorn woman waiting for her soldier to return <333" is definitely a manly macho man fantasizing that he's the soldier. Totally. It's like saying a man who likes expressing himself by wearing feminine clothes is enforcing gender roles. We HAVE a man who is obsessed with the hypermasculine, why can't these people go Freud Jack's shit up.

Jonathan: "I like the softer, more homely energy of this place compared to the harsh, masculine rest of the castle. It makes me feel safe and welcome."

Idiots: "YOU LIKE GIRL?! WHAT ARE YOU?! STRAIGHT?! man can't like girl thing unless for sex"

If he had said anything about how "hmm this must be how Mina feels now while I'm gone" then yeah, he would be projecting those feelings onto Mina (it would still be a lil genderqueer since he relishes this feminine expression of emotions), but no, he goes full in like "I'm roleplaying rn, I'm having the time of my life, oh, to fall asleep and be woken up by a kiss like sleeping beauty--"

I'm going off but seriously. He is not expressing the manly desire to return home with his well-earned bounty as Mina's saviour. Jesus Christ. What a willful misinterpretation of the text.

If anything, Jonathan is fantasizing that Mina is his knight. And it foreshadows when she comes to find him at the hospital. While recovering, he hadn't the strength to write a letter himself, but Sister Agatha expresses his love in her letter summoning Mina to come fetch him.

[idrawprettyboys]

Apollo's Princess chapter 1 intro

Amphiria and Prince Apollo trudged silently through the forest. It was a beautiful spring day in the Mystic Woodlands on the outskirts of Equalion Kingdom, and the sun shone brightly through the leaves. This would normally have put Amphiria into a good mood, with how in-tune she was with the weather. At that moment, however, the sun felt oppressive. Amphiria was uncharacteristically quiet, her fair face tense, as she walked in front of Apollo. She couldn’t bear to look at him. Not after what happened mere hours ago. The pair had happened upon a tribe of nomads who let them rest, eat, and bathe in their tents. Tents don’t have doors or locks, of course, but Amphiria hadn’t thought to call out and check if the tent was occupied before barging into it.

Stupid, she scolded herself as she dwelled on it.

She had walked right in on her traveling partner while he was getting dressed after bathing in the nearby lake. He had just dropped his towel from his waist at the precise moment that she opened that curtain. Why he had stripped while facing the opening of the tent, she couldn’t fathom. The man she’d been adventuring with for many months… the one she’d faced perilous obstacles with, who’d saved her from harm on multiple occasions, and whom she’d saved as well, was standing there, facing her, stark naked. She could see everything. She could have been a good girl and closed the curtain immediately, but she was too shocked and mesmerized. She stared, dumbfounded, at his tan skin, the curve of his well-developed chest muscles, his carefully chiseled abs, and his strong biceps. Just how and why was a prince so darn toned? And then of course, she couldn’t help but stare at that. She’d never seen it before. At least, in her very limited memory in the year since she woke up with amnesia, she hadn’t seen that. For all she knew, she might not be a virgin. It skeeved her out to think about it. But what didn’t skeeve her out was Apollo’s… stuff. Every inch of the man looked beautiful to her. And that’s what was so concerning.

Meanwhile, Apollo was having an equally hard time processing their time spent at the nomads’ tents. Not only did the woman he’s been traveling with see his naked body, but he had additional issues when he went back to the main tent to eat with the nomads. The men bragged about their women to each other. Such talk didn’t interest Apollo, as he believed intimate matters should be kept… well, intimate. He slurped his soup and tried to drown out the conversation, but one of the men suddenly made an effort to include him.

“Your girl’s quite a looker,” the stranger said, “I’ve never seen silver hair like that. And she’s so energetic! I’m jealous! She’s gotta be fun in bed!”

Apollo felt his face warm up. He didn’t get flustered often, but that hit him in a weak spot. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied, trying to sound unaffected.

“Wait, don’t tell me you haven’t?” the man questioned him in astonishment. “Man, if I were you, I’d be fucking that babe three times a day!”

Three times. He hit the nail on the head. That’s on average the number of times a day that he fantasized about doing her. At random times, throughout their days, something small would trigger it. She would lilt her voice, put a finger to her lip, sways her hips… Next thing he knew, he was imagining pinning her down and thrusting into her. His pleasure increased from her moans of ecstacy. Her hair and breasts bounced the way they do when she’d prance through the forest.

Damn, I’m fantasizing again.

He’d tried his best to shrug off the thoughts and pretend they didn’t happen. But often, late at night, when he tried to sleep with Amphiria close beside him, his groin would ache, and his heart would feel like it’s about to be torn in two from the guilt of wanting her.

“You should have seen how flustered she was when she ran from your tent,” another man pointed out, emphatically, which brought Apollo back to the present. “She was beet red, man! She wants you bad!”

God, Apollo thought to himself, he might be right. He thought about the way she’d be suspiciously comfortable around him when they’d go out into bandit territory, saying “I’m safe as long as you’re around.” She trusted him without a doubt. In the cold, she’d rub shoulders with him, despite his protests. She’d smile and giggle at things he said that he didn’t think were funny at all. She’d tease him and point out his little quirks and say they were cute. How did he not realize before?

Not that it changes anything.

“I’m engaged,” he said aloud, while also reminding himself.

The two men beside him blinked, unsure of what to say. The one said, “well, she isn’t around, right?”

Apollo glared daggers at the nomad. “That’s because the Fog took her.”

He dropped his nearly empty soup bowl onto the small table. The spoon clattered as the bowl rotated before coming to a stop. By the time the tableware had settled, Apollo had stood up and left the tent in a huff. The men in the tent turn solemn.

The Fog was the reason Apollo was on this journey. A little over a year ago, his betrothed was whisked away by a black cloud, commonly known as the Fog. He’d heard stories about it for a year or two prior, but he had never seen it firsthand until that day. It was a pandemic of sorts that had been spreading through the country. It moved from town to town, enveloping everything in darkness, and leaving pain, suffering, and death in its wake. Anyone who has been touched by the Fog has been harmed in some way. It differed from person to person, depending on their weakness or immunity. For some, it caused physical illness, like the plague. Most who catch illness this way die, but not all. Depending on the amount of time one has been shrouded in darkness, and depending on their own constitution, it could be better or worse. Apollo and his beloved Celeste had a different experience. Apollo had only been touched by the Fog briefly when trying to catch his beloved. What he caught was a sickness not of the body, but of the heart and mind. It made him lose all will to live, all will to find his beloved.

What Celeste suffered was something entirely unheard of, at least to Apollo. She wasn’t killed, at least as far as he could prove. Instead of turning her body to rot or ash, she was whisked away and disappeared. It’s possible that it completely disintegrated her, but it’s also possible that it simply took her somewhere. Why a malevolent force would kidnap someone without killing them, Apollo couldn’t know. But if its goal was to hurt people, it certainly succeeded in hurting Apollo by capturing the person most dear to him.

Even though the prince wanted to believe his princess might still be alive, his fog-induced illness tried to convince him that it wasn’t possible. That she had evaporated. Every inch of her, body and soul, turned to oblivion. And that he, the prince, was not only unworthy of becoming king, but unworthy of living altogether. Under the influence of this mysterious curse, he tried to take his own life multiple times. He still had some scars to remind him of this sin. But one day, in one of his darkest moments, he saw an omen.

The prince was laying in bed, looking out the window toward the balcony of his bleak Gothic castle, contemplating whether he had the energy to jump, when a bird perched on the railing. It wasn’t just any bird. He knew it well. It was Celeste’s beloved pet Finch, Penelope. She was a bright yellow finch with a distinctive black heart-like pattern on her left wing. She sang a familiar, happy tune that made Apollo rise up from his pillow for the first time in days.

Penelope was with Celeste when she was taken away.

Apollo stumbled out of bed, weak from malnutrition, and burst through the doorway to the balcony. The bird flapped its wings and flew in front of his face to greet him and sang as though it had good news. For the first time since all this happened, Apollo cried. He grasped the little goldfinch in his weak hands, to which the bird did not protest, and he collapsed onto his knees and sobbed wholeheartedly. Penelope survived the darkness, so Celeste could still be alive as well.

Thus Apollo had pulled himself together and embarked on a quest to save his beloved. On the way, he met Amphiria, a mysterious woman with no memory of her past, who possessed a miraculous immunity to the Fog. She’s helped him on numerous occasions, especially with her ability to run head-first into the deadly miasma. Anything that needed to be acquired through the Fog was a cinch with her around. And her bright personality helped ease Apollo’s spiraling thoughts at times. 

But now, this woman’s presence was really getting under his skin. He was painfully aware of the way her ass swayed in front of him. His usual difficulty in swatting away the dirty thoughts was escalated by the men egging him on. He wanted to do all sorts of things to that ass. And he hated himself for it. He could feel his depression trying to take control again. Negative thoughts battered around in his head as he walked.

Amphiria made a sound of pleasant surprise. 

Apollo looked up to see what it was.

“A butterfly flew past my face,” Amphiria said with a giggle. Then she noticed a whole kaleidoscope of them, right in the middle of their path, frolicking about the flowering bushes. “Wow, they’re all so gorgeous! Apollo, come look!” She stepped forward to get a closer look at the colorful winged creatures, when Apollo yelled.

“Stop!”

Amphiria jumped at the sudden growling volume of his voice, but she certainly stopped dead in her tracks. The alarm in his voice was apparent. Her eyes darted around warily. “Ooh, boy,” she exclaimed in exasperated relief, “I almost stepped on a switch for a hunting trap again, didn’t I? I really don’t feel like getting shot with arrows today. Or bitten by a bear trap. Or getting tied up in one of those nets. Or getting hit with one of those swinging hammers…” she rambled.

“Not that,” Apollo said, as he carefully walked up to where she was. “Look down.”

She did so, and what she saw wasn’t a bear trap or a pitfall or any of the horrors she imagined. “A little toy village?” She asked this in monotone disbelief and perhaps some disappointment. “I must say, I didn’t expect you to care so much about wrecking a kid’s diorama,” she added with something akin to a scoff.

“It’s a fairy village,” he explained, sternly. “Those things aren’t butterflies. They’re butterfly-fairies. They camouflage as butterflies so they can go undetected in human society. Touching one is a grave sin.”

“Oh, shoot,” the woman said, disappointedly. She crouched down to observe the little twig houses. “I’m sorry, guys. I don’t mean any harm.”

“Let’s get going,” Apollo says from above her. “We can go around the trees.”

“Got it,” she said. She got up and carefully avoided the little huts and the butterflies. They walked towards the other side of a tree, when she said “hold up, I gotta tie my shoe.” She leaned over to tie her boot. When she finished, without paying attention to her surroundings, she placed her hand on the tree for balance. She accidentally touched a mushroom that was growing out of the side of the trunk. It was a strange golden mushroom, and when she touched it, she instantly shrunk to the size of a fairy.

Apollo hadn’t seen this happen. He turned around, and she was gone. “Amphiria?” he called. “Amphiria!” He wandered around the tree, nearly stepping on the fairy town. He looked into the distance this way and that. “Where could she have gone? She couldn’t have gotten that far in the blink of an eye.” He began to worry, when he heard a strange sound. A small squeak like a bird or mouse. He looked around, but he couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then he felt a tickle on his pant leg. He looked down, and his eyes flew open when he saw a tiny butterfly-sized Amphiria climbing up his calf. He picked her up by her silvery-periwinkle hair and brought her up to his face.

“Ow ow ow ow ow ow,” she whined, as he held her up. “Let go of my hair, you brute!”

“Oh, sorry.” This wasn’t exactly what he imagined when he fantasized about pulling her hair. He held his palm out and let go over her little head. She plopped down gently on to his hand in a sitting position. He had the slight realization that her butt was now in his hand, but he shrugged that off to get to the matter at hand. “What the hell happened? Is this some magic power you didn’t tell me about?”

“No, I touched that mushroom on the tree!” She explained.

He looked over and saw the golden mushroom. “How the heck did you look at that and not realize it’s something that shouldn’t be touched? How daft are you?”

“I didn’t see it, you jerk!”

“Very daft, it seems.”

She groaned. “I was tying my bootlaces,” she explained, angrily. “Now bring me to it so I can touch it again and go back to my beautiful, normal sized self!”

“Hm, I don’t know,” he mused, “I kinda like you this way.”

“Now you develop a sense of humor?”

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he gave a small smile as he carefully walked up to the mushroom with her in hand. “Here you go.”

She touched the mushroom. Nothing happened. She touched it again. Something happened, but it took the two of them a second to get their bearings.

“I’m back to normal!” she cheered, when she saw Apollo beside her.

“Think again,” he groaned. The plants around them were comically large. A giant ladybug walked by and nearly knocked Apollo over.

“Oh, darn it!”

[aniandthesuns]

A slave den. Ironic, isn't it? How his life is coming full circle at such a young age, just because he desperately needs a place to take a rut or maybe just help an omega with their heat?

He's been lonely. And that loneliness has pushed him into more anger. More agitation. He wasn't going to do anything about it, due to the business of the war, but once Ben and Rex both started nagging him to 'please fix his attitude', he figured he might as well just get it over with.

And as he walks into this den, a thought occurs to him- he's actually... excited, about this. How many nights has he fucked his hand, watched some porn Rex sent him that he didn't even like, and fantasized about someone completely faceless? Just a body in the form of his hand that he could fuck and get the pleasure and stress relief from.

He had a singular one-night stand, after a night out with Rex at 79's. He didn't enjoy it. She - a beta - was boring, and her noises were absolutely ridiculous. He doesn't mind the noises, of course - he wants to know that what he's doing to the person is utterly ruining them - but she acted as if she were in a porno. 'Oh yes!' this and 'Oh my gods, right there daddy!' that- as if. That's more Rex's speed.

So since that one-night stand, it truly has just been his hand.

Now he'll get to be with a real person again. An omega. And, considering how phenomenal he's been doing as an alpha, he'd almost bet his life this omega will certainly feel very lucky that he chose them.

Because he's the Chosen One. Who doesn't want to sleep with the Chosen One? Not only that, but he's Ekkreth. People around this gods-damned planet worship the ground he walks on. The ground he came from. After so many years of his and his mother's suffering here, it's only fair he finally gets to reap the benefits that everyone else got to have while he worked his ass off just to help Shmi keep food on the table. Just to help Shmi get water.

"A room," Anakin nods to the woman at the front desk, not bothering with too many pleasantries. People fall to their knees for him anyway, all he has to do is look at them. "Two hours minimum." He lays his credits card on the desk, grabbing the pass she hands him as she swipes his card through.

"Feel free to explore," she hums, gesturing to the long hallway lined with rooms. "The rooms are-"

"Separated by species and gender," he nods once. "Thank you." He takes his card back and slips it into his wallet before sliding the whole thing into a pocket, then heads for the room labeled TWI'LEK FEMALES.

Only, his desire to experience something more 'exotic' is instantly curbed by not only his dear friend, Aayla, but his Padawan. Ahsoka. To spend time here with a togruta or a twi'lek and then go home to her, well, that seems a bit odd.

Besides... twi'lek omegas are far too whiny - no offense, Aayla - and he wants something more... civil.

So he heads into the room with human, omegan females, slowly waltzing through as he studies the women here. All of them are rather beautiful- but none of them yet have really caught his eye. It's times like these where he can afford to be picky- and so he will be.

I growl at a particular omega as she comes near my nest by the windows. I don’t like her smell and I don’t want her near me. I growl louder as she seems to test me by putting a hand on my blankets but quiet down as she moves away.

I huff and pull in my favorite stuffed animal as I curl up again and tilt my fave up towards the light of the suns streaming in through the window.

[rhodesrider]

Fantasies

Dominik M. x Fem! Reader x Rhea R.

NSFW! 18+! MINORS DNI!

Warnings: Masterbation, threesomes, Bisexual activities, Dominance, creampie, cumplay, Mommy kink

~~~

Dominik sighed in his hotel room watching tv. He stretched a bit soon thinking about Y/N. They did a home show where she helped Mama Rhea take out Mia. They both looked so hot in their ring gear. Soon he started to blush rubbing his dick some through his pajama pants. “Fuck…” he muttered. The hotel they were in had somewhat paper thin walls, what if they heard him? The thought of them finding out that he was getting horny over them would be so embarrassing. He looked in the mirror beside him on the wall. He looked so needy. He sat up pulling down his pants in the process and his dick just sprung up. Throbbing needing some type of attention. He also remembers them praising him for being a great distraction during the match. His tip started to leak Precum. “Fuck, I like being a good boy to both of you~” he whispered as he imagines the women rubbing on him and teasing him. God it would be humiliating, just seeing them play with him like a toy. He started to stroke himself some throwing his head back fantasizing that Y/N was stroking him off while Rhea kissed on him smothering him with her boobs. “Please use me mommies. Please I need it.” He whined. Stoking his dick more laying on the bed wanting them so bad. Remembering all the times he was praised and hugged, remembering that Y/N smelled of cotton candy and Rhea was like a black cherry. He was close, him holding on to the sheets imagining Y/N enjoying bouncing up and down on his dick cumming all over it praising him. He groaned and grabbed a pillow able to groan a little louder cumming in his hand. He whimpered from the overwhelming feeling. “Fuck…” he sighed riding out his orgasm still.

But then, a door knock.

He cursed to himself and went to the bathroom quick to wash off and fix himself. He went to the door peeking seeing it was Rhea and Y/N. He blushed hard hiding his bottom half. “Hey Dom we were bored and we wanted to see if you were up.” Y/N smiled as Rhea rubbed her shoulders some looking at Dom as if she was examining him. “Oh yea but I was about to go to sleep.” He faked yawned some not wanting to look suspicious. “Oh alright-“ “well weren’t you gonna ask him does he want company before he went to sleep?” Rhea asked smirking. His dick throbbed a bit, he was soon nervous. “Oh no no it’s ok I’m fine.” Rhea knew he was doing something. But what? “Please Dom?” She pouted batting her eyes and he sighed nodding. “Could you give me a minute?” He closed the door getting his pants and he opened it again letting them in.

He sat in between them as they were watching tv talking. He blushed a bit nervous. “Hey Dom you ok?” Y/N asked and Rhea looked at him as well. He nodded as he focused back on the tv. Rhea smirked putting her hand on his leg. He shivered a bit as a chill went up his spine. Rhea went to his ear. “You know the real reason why we are here Dom Dom?” She smirked. Y/N focused on the tv blushing as well hearing Rhea. Dominik looked at Rhea a bit. “Eyes forward.” She commanded and he did as told. “She wanted to play with you and so do I. If you’re not in the mood we can leave.” He gulped and looked at Y/N some biting her lip playing her with thumbs. She peeked at Dom giggling. “Don’t leave please.” Rhea smiles and kisses his cheek. Y/N saw it was her que to kiss his neck, he kept his eyes foreword blushing and wiggling around a bit from the sweet kisses planted on him. Soon Y/N put her cold hand in his pants, feeling his semi erected dick. “Rhea, he been wanted to play~” Y/N giggles and turned his face to her as she kissed him pulling out his dick. She broke the kiss spitting on her hand and went to stroke him off. He sighed out some as his dick got hard fast. Rhea removed her shirt in the process, not wearing a bra, and got on her knees in bed. He looked up at the beautiful strong woman. She kisses him some giggling as he was hungry for the taste of her and Y/Ns lips. Y/N smirked facing Dom between his legs and started to lick and suck his dick, as he licked and played with Rhea’s tits she played with Y/Ns wet pussy through her panties. Dom was so excited and yet was scared. Was this a dream? He didn’t care and yet he didn’t wanna stop.

Y/N deepthroated his cock taking him outta his own head and whimpering some from the feel of his dick deep in her throat. It felt so good. Rhea continued to kiss him as she had on shorts too, he took it upon himself to start to toy with her moving the shorts to the side and play with her pussy. She moaned a bit giggling and spread her legs more enjoying the feel. He thrusted up in Y/Ns mouth fucking her throat. He was in heaven. Y/N came up for air a drool string connected to her sweet lips and Dom’s dick, that sweet look she gave. He wanted her bad. She removed her shirt and bra, her pierced nipples shining from the TV lights, she took off her shorts and panties next and pulled Dom down the bed some giggling. “Now baby be gentle with him-“ “No it’s ok mami. She can be rough with me. You both can use me. I wanted this for a while I just couldn’t tell you guys.” He confessed. He looked at them seeing a dark lust in their eyes after being given permission.

“Such a sweet boy~” They said in unison.

Rhea had a hot make out session with Y/N as one was riding Dominik and the other was riding his face. Dom was hypnotized on how sweet Rhea was, the sweet nectar of her juices, drowning. He held on to Y/Ns ass soon thrusting up in her making her moan in the kiss, Rhea playing with her breast giggling at her close to climax. “That’s it sweetie make her cum.” She cried out as he went faster and she was held by Rhea starting to kiss again close to her orgasm. Riding his face moaning out. Soon they both came and Y/N sighed feeling his cock pump inside her, he whimpered cumming deep in her. “Gross…lucky I’m on birth control.” She sighed getting up pushing out the nutt letting it drip back on Dominik. “Dom bad boy. No one told you to cum.” Rhea said in a stern voice and got up. He shot up upset, “but-“ they ignored him giggling as they put their clothes on going to their room. Dom looked at his milked out dick sighing.

“Thanks a lot.”

[captnjacksparrow]

I just got into the fandom and I love it so much. However, there are parts where I just cringe. I’m going to be completely honest when I say I can’t see SS being a thing, a healthy one at that. A rumor said that Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him. I just... find it utterly bullshit. Hell, even I do ship narusasu, I tried to be open minded and not fall too far off canon or the characters. I don’t understand how Sasuke had those feelings for her when all he did was shown the opposite and it felt genuine. He seem always annoyed and pushes her away. She kept forcing her feelings on him when he makes it clear that he’s not interested. I don’t hate the ship because it’s not my ship but because it’s extremely toxic. It feels one-sided (Sakura’s side) more than anything and it’s makes it hard to believe he had those feelings for her. I mean, on the second episode of season five, she confessed and poured out her heart and he blew it off. I cringed hard and was beyond disappointed because she’s making it about herself. That’s literally how I feel about their damn “relationship”. She made it about her and her only. When he’s hurting, it’s about her. It’s so annoying and it makes me see how self-centered Sakura. When she said she understood Sasuke, I wanted to scream (I nearly did but my family is sleeping and I don’t need a lecture.) She doesn’t know Jackshit about Sasuke besides he’s the only survivor of his decease clan, he’s a loner who cares only about himself, and he’s attractive. She’s just like every other fangirl expect she’s on his team. I’m trying my best not to hate her but Damn she’s really pushing it. Anything that annoyed me was that she made it seem like they were dating, again making it about herself and her feelings. She sent Naruto to get Sasuke for her benefits, so she can keep him. Again, disregarding Sasuke’s feelings and what he wanted. Naruto should’ve said “I’ll bring him back because HE wants too, to keep HIM safe, not for you.” I just can’t with this ship. I’m still wondering why the hell is it even a thing? Also find it beyond pitiful how she stayed with Sasuke in Boruto when he left for 12-13 years?! No note. No checking up. Nothing. Hell, Sarada doesn’t know how her own father looks like or the truth of her mother. Both of them were miserable and I find it absolutely ridiculous when SS shippers still say “they’re in love” or they’re OTP. If that’s what true love looks like (good thing it’s not), then I’d die single. I can’t be the only one who thinks this ship is just as bad as Harley Quinn x Joker.

First off, Thanks for this lovely ask @larrycherry04 ❤️❤️❤️❤️ I've always wanted to write about this and your ask is the perfect timing.

Disclaimer: SS shippers, Sakura fans!!! Don’t read  this post!!

Me being an SNS shipper, I am just going to write this from a non-SNS perspective. Meaning, I am going to consider Naruto and Sasuke are just friends or rivals. 

Bear with my lengthy answer.

Where do I even begin?

A rumor said that Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him.

I think this rumor is from a light novel called Akatsuki Hiden or whatever shit. But for me, it looks like a pathetic attempt to convince those horny women shippers who would pay any money to read a romance which mirrors their own love life where they desire an ‘unreachable & handsome’ man who has this ‘cool & overbearing’ aura and carries this ‘bad boy badass’ vibe. They would do anything to get the attention from this boy. Until this point is where the reality ends. 

What they really wants to happen and fantasize is somehow that handsome man, one day, will look only them and recognize their love and becomes a ‘soft’ guy who would bring the heavens for them and treats her like a princess. That fantasy led them to buy these novels and believe everything while completely disregarding the canon material. And those novels are aimed at these type of women.

You must have been wondering now, ‘I have seen these type of shit somewhere’!!!!!

That’s right.

50 Shades of Grey, Twilight, Beauty and the Beast, 100′s of K-Drama, C-Drama follow this shit romance trope and it’s regrettably fucking popular. 

In other words, Don’t believe anything apart from the canonic resources. 

Let’s dissect the canon materials about SS.

TEAM 7 

This is how it all started

Does anyone see anything positive here???? 

Well, I am not.

Sakura wanted to impress Sasuke. Since, Naruto always picks fight with Sasuke, she badmouthed Naruto in the hopes that Sasuke will recognize some common ground with her which may develop into a friendship. But she shot her own foot. 

[Regardless, I hated her here and she never redeemed herself, for her being completely insensitive & oblivious towards Sasuke’s life, the boy she loves]

Technically, Sasuke should have said ‘You’re Annoying’ towards Naruto for kissing him before the class and tying him up later. Here, Sakura is simply badmouthing another guy. He, somehow, find this very annoying than anything Naruto did earlier. 

Sasuke always had feelings for Sakura but he didn’t know how to show them because hatred blinded him.

Am definitely not seeing any feelings here.  

ZABUZA ARC

Alright, much later, somehow Sasuke started to integrate into team 7 and started to see them as a Family. No denial here. He started to care about everyone in his team at some point. Which was evident from the way he thought to himself, ‘That was Sakura’s voice... What is Kakashi doing?’

But does it means he hopelessly fell in love with her??? Nope. 

It’s just a team camaraderie where he was worried about his teammate. If he has special feelings towards her, he should have said ‘I must go save Sakura’ or something along the line. 

But, later in that episode, he went on to die for Naruto and even at his dying moments he didn’t think about Sakura or Team 7. It was all about someone else.

Even seconds before falling into Naruto’s arms, Sasuke was smiling with no regrets. 

It was funny very later that after he got up from his temporary death, rather than consoling her like ‘Sakura, Don’t cry. Am alright’ or anything, he was asking ‘Where’s Naruto?’. LOL.

Even much later, when Sakura was asking him about a date, he bluntly said ‘I refuse’.

So, you’re telling me, throughout this arc, a boy blinded with hatred can able to pout, play childish games, train and die for a boy but when it comes to Sakura he can’t show his feelings???

Sorry, I don’t see romance here. Not in this arc.

Whether you agree or not, every parent has their favorite child, every child has their favorite parent. Even within your family, you always have a special person.

For Sasuke, Itachi was that person in his real family. Sakura was not that person in his Team 7 family. It was Naruto.

CHUNIN EXAMS ARC

This arc is where those SS shippers celebrates a lot and I know why. Remember earlier I talked about that shitty 50 Shades of Grey romantic trope??? The following scene vaguely falls under that pattern.

A guy loses his control because of a cursed seal and beats up the guys who hurt one of his teammates which happens to be a girl and calms down after seeing the girl. 

That Infamous back hug. 

I understand why SS people lose their mind with that scene. And I don’t blame them. I am going to throw their own proof at them.

So, this First databook, tells us that he finally sees both Naruto and Sakura as comrades and his heart softens from the path of revenge, a little bit.

Definitely, Sakura’s tears or love towards him stopped his rampage. But nothing says about whether Sasuke loves her back.  

Much later, Sasuke also stops his cursed seal on his own after thinking about worried Sakura and a screaming Naruto (Who don’t know about this seal thingy at that time). 

Well, whatever. That databook has another funny fact, that too in the same page. 

LOL. Weird!!!! This accidental kiss unravels Sasuke’s heart ❤️❤️???? 🤣🤣🤣

So, influencing Sasuke’s heart can be attributed to both his teammates,according to this databook. Atleast upto this arc. There are no special feelings for Sakura alone, guys. 

Proof?

If Sasuke really considers her in a romantic light (this is after that back hug), he doesn’t have to do this at all. Believe me, Love is all about subconsciously or purposefully enjoying or feeling little touches. Those touches can be through eyes, memories or physical. Sakura is delighted with his touch because she loves him but Sasuke just see her as a comrade and keeping his distance but this time very politely.

If Kishi really likes these couple, he doesn’t have to make this scene at all. It’s not just this one instance, he rejected her twice very bluntly before this saying ‘Don’t cling to me!!!’, ‘Sakura, you’re heavy!!!’. 

If you say her back hug is a token of romance, then I can say ‘this’ kiss is also a token of romance. You can’t ignore one while keeping the other.

Anyways, at the end of the arc, Orochimaru is the best judge to identify who can change Sasuke’s heart. And that person is not Sakura.

DEPARTURE

she confessed and poured out her heart and he blew it off. I cringed hard and was beyond disappointed because she’s making it about herself. That’s literally how I feel about their damn “relationship”. She made it about her and her only. When he’s hurting, it’s about her. It’s so annoying and it makes me see how self-centered Sakura. When she said she understood Sasuke, I wanted to scream (I nearly did but my family is sleeping and I don’t need a lecture.) She doesn’t know Jackshit about Sasuke besides he’s the only survivor of his decease clan, he’s a loner who cares only about himself, and he’s attractive.

You know what, Larry??? You are 1000% right. 

But, atleast, I thought she was genuine in the first part of the proposal, like saying ‘Revenge is not good’.....bla bla.. Because, Revenge will never satisfy a person completely and I agree. Then she took a 180 degree by saying ‘Take me with you, Sasuke-Kun. I’ll make you happy’. This is where I lost it entirely. ‘Alright Bitch, So you really don’t care about his revenge or health. As long as you have the chance to get inside his pants, you are okay with it. So you are okay with Sasuke going to Orochimaru as long as you are with him..... Fucking Shit!!!!’  This is not okay at all. 

How did Sasuke respond?

“Why should I have to tell you anything”

“I’m telling you to keep your nose out of my business”

“Stop bothering me over everything I do”

Ummm..... where I come from, this screams ‘Irritation’ to me. Added to it, throughout the whole conversation he never saw her face. There was evidently no pain or anything from his face. On top the cake, here comes the cherry

“You really are...annoying”

This is where he saw her face throughout that painful confession before knocking her out. Umm... When you love someone or atleast feel for someone, you will look in their eyes and speak some farewell words before you leave. Or atleast show some pain??? There’s visibly nothing from Sasuke’s face. 

Alright, I know what SS wankers will pull out here. That Databook 2 with some vague words. I am going to throw this at them. 

Again, like I acknowledged before, he considers her as a comrade and part of a family. So, her existence also eased his loneliness. But you have to look at the word choice here. “The one that filled his lonely existence was Sakura”. It’s not the ‘Only’ person. Before he left he said ‘Thanks’. Meaning, Thanks for all these days. That’s all between us. 

This piece was about the Team 7 picture. So he acknowledges, he was not alone during his genin days because of his companions and Kakashi (so it’s not just Sakura to ease his loneliness). Whatever he said to Sakura was real. 

So can we safely confirm “You’re annoying” is real????

But what’s really interesting is the way Sasuke projects himself before Naruto. I am going to refrain myself from attaching all those rollercoaster of emotions flowed throughout the fight in VoTE 1. Otherwise, it will become an SNS post. 

However, this particular scene caught my attention.

Ummm.... Initially Sasuke walks without looking at Naruto. Then he looks back and answers him. 

Naruto was pretty much asking the same question as Sakura. “Why does it come to this?”

But Sasuke pauses and surprised for a moment and asks him pretty much “Why do you care about me?”

Why couldn’t Sasuke do the same with Sakura???? Kishi can pretty much make a panel or two rather than making some insulting panels.

Anyways, If they throw the databook, then I can also throw the same.

Alright, can someone explain the highlighted sentence for me???? Because I want to confirm whether I have a blurry vision.

Here, Sasuke is trying to punctuate Naruto as a different person from the rest of his companions. ‘his companions as well as that with Naruto’, I mean, Come on!!!! Naruto is also one of your companions along with Sakura. Why differentiate????

‘The village, companions, Naruto,....’ . Again....He is differentiating his home (village), companions (his friends), and Naruto. So who is Naruto for him? What is the need to make exception for Naruto? It’s very clear he is placing Naruto at a high pedestal for some unknown reasons.

Before this Databook dissection, remember I said something about saying Goodbye, ‘ When you love someone or at least feel for someone, you will look into that person’s eyes and speak some farewell words before you leave‘

Sasuke is doing exactly that here in this scene without saying anything.

Am sorry SS shippers, you can scream all you want about Sasuke knocked her out and left her on the bench. But there was no emotional distraught when he left her. Sasuke seemingly spent a longer time staring at Naruto than looking at Sakura when she confessed. 

OROCHIMARU HIDEOUT

Well, there is nothing I can say about here for SS. He pretty much saw her and said, “Sakura, huh?”.. And that’s all. He didn’t give two shits about her. 

His attention was completely on someone else. 

UNDER THE BRIDGE

She sent Naruto to get Sasuke for her benefits, so she can keep him. Again, disregarding Sasuke’s feelings and what he wanted. Naruto should’ve said “I’ll bring him back because HE wants too, to keep HIM safe, not for you.”

Naruto pretty much said the same thing in this arc, Larry. Naruto, in part 1, was happy for Sakura feeling the same about Sasuke as him, that is ‘To bring him back’. And also sad that his crush really loves someone else. But after Sakura gave up on Sasuke and faking her confession, Naruto decided, ‘Alright, I want to save him personally. I don’t care about our promise anymore”. 

This is where, SS ship goes into a crazy ride and it’s not a positive one.

Sasuke was on a rampage. He lost the ability to differentiate between his friends and foes. He stabbed Karin. And when he find her alive, he was about to Chidori her. 

And then comes the pink princess, full of lies and deceit. And Sasuke being impatient and disgusted with her lies, he does this

Well, in part 1, she had a degree of power to change his heart. But not here. He, instead, got riled up more and even tried to kill her without a warning and that too by not looking at her face. Pathetic!!!!

This scene screams ‘Trust issues’ from both sides. 

Did it stop here???

Fucking Shit!!!!!! Is there any people who still ship this nonsense?. If you are a Sakura fan, you should hate her for the lack of trust and backstabbing the person she loves, 

If you are a Sasuke fan, errrrmmm.....I have nothing to say. You know what to do. 

There is nothing positive here, that can make me ship them. He is killing her like a Mosquito.

If you truly loved someone in the past, even in your darkest moments, you will be honest and you cannot fake before that person.   

Proof??

Here, Sasuke had a clear resolve to kill his brother, Itachi. He lived for this moment for about 8 years and immersed himself in Darkness for 3 years with Orochimaru. He could have run away, dodge or look away from Itachi. But Sasuke simply couldn’t!!! You know why?? Sasuke loved Itachi once more than anything in this world. At this moment, he is letting all those defense loose and embracing the moment and see what Itachi was about to do. Because somewhere in his heart he trusts Itachi. 

But killing Sakura doesn’t make Sasuke feel anything. She is just another victim like Danzo or Karin or all those Samurais or a fucking mosquito!!!!

So you are telling me that Sasuke had feelings for her but kept it hidden all along and still tried to kill her like a pest???

Give me a fucking break!!!!

And you all know, who changed Sasuke’s heart here in this scene. It was not Sakura. There’s absolutely no reason for Sasuke to listen to that person and what’s more, Sasuke even made a promise (despite being in darkness, he had it in his heart to listen to that person) to destroy Konoha only after killing that person .. 

WAR ARC

Well, this is the arc where Sakura behaves like a rabid dog on heat waiting for Sasuke and shamelessly trying to wag her tails. But Sasuke didn’t give two shits about her, not once or twice but multiple times.

MOMENT 1

An explosion was about to kill the whole shinobi alliance and this dude wants to save Jugo, his companion and Naruto, the person who will challenge his Revolution, his rival and the one whom he wants to kill. Why only Naruto??? Why not Naruto and Sakura???

Pink cherry Queen doesn’t even crossed Sasuke’s mind.  Because he already threw her away in part 1. 

MOMENT 2

Alright Bitch!!! The entire shinobi alliance was dying on the other side of the battlefield. And this asshole is doing a clownshow before Madara just to get inside Sasuke’s pants????

I mean, Come On!!!! 

Well, if Sasuke truly likes her, he should be the one to have catched her or atleast should have asked her, ‘are you alright??’ 

I am sorry, where are the romantic feelings???

MOMENT 3

ROFLLLL🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

For the first time, Kishimoto is trolling those Sakutards through Sasuke’s words, what we, readers were right about all along. He is calling her useless here. And still these fake feminazis trying to ship her with him???

Don’t you guys have any self respect??? If so, this should be the moment to jump out of this trash ship.

MOMENT 4

Geez!!! You are still on this ship????? 

He clearly doesn’t want to save her at all. The hawk can clearly lift 3 people. Sasuke is not even making an effort here. 

And you are still yapping that he is blinded by darkness??? 

MOMENT 5

This is the moment SS calls it as ‘eyesmex’... While in reality, he was just looking at her and silently thanking her for helping him out. Do you know what is a real ‘eyesmex’??? I will attach it at the end.

If you guys pull this as true love, then he should have stayed in the same love till the end. But Sasuke has other ideas. 

This is the one of the funniest thing in this arc. LOLLLLL

Instead of being relieved that Sakura was saved, Sasuke was wondering about Kakashi’s Susanoo.....and Sharingan. 

Do people still think he cares about her????

MOMENT 6

Am cackling here, while dissecting the sorry state of this ship guys 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣!!!! If something good happens to me because of SS , it’s just the way you guys are making me laugh by making a clown out of yourself!!!!

Do you guys know something? There was a man named Itachi. Before massacring his clan, the very first person he killed was his ‘supposed’ Girlfriend, named Izumi. I wouldn’t say Itachi loved her like a lover boy. It was just one sided on her part. He just talks to her when he finds a spare time and considers her a good friend. 

Do you know how he killed her? 

By putting her in a ‘Tsukuyomi’. And what kind of Tsukuyomi, you ask?

Can you see how he fulfilled her dreams gracefully before he was going to kill her???

Why didn’t Sasuke do this???? Why particularly select a murdering genjutsu????

MOMENT 7

He said it, finally.

He don’t love her at all. There was no hidden feelings. He admitted from his own mouth. 

One day later, after the final VoTE battle ends.... After exchanging some intense feelings and even crying tears of happiness with Naruto....

Sasuke tells Sakura, ‘Sorry’....

Ummm.... That’s all???

All those negative shits happened before cannot be solved by just simply saying ‘Sorry’ and ‘Thank you’. If someone has an ounce of self-respect, they should know this is not OKAY at all...🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️🙅🏻‍♀️

Am Sorry, but Sasuke was just being politely blunt, kind of insincere towards Sakura and turned his attention somewhere else in a matter of minutes. He was not even bothered by Sakura’s tears here. Instead staring at someone on his left. Remember I talked about touching the person physically and visually?

Sasuke is subconsciously or purposefully touching someone on his left through his eyes. Definitely it’s not Sakura. You know who it is. Remember SStards’ infamous ‘eyesmex’... I seriously believe this is a perfect example of ‘eyesmex’.

All these intense looks and feeling pain still doesn’t serve Sakura, even after pulled out of darkness. If there is a moment, where SS wants to shine, then this is where it should be. He should have told her, how he missed her all along, how he felt about hurting her, should have wiped her tears and some corny shit. But instead, Sasuke went for a long ass monologue for his friend and talking about sharing his pain. 

What about your kween’s pain???? 

You don’t have to ship SNS. But you should know where Sasuke’s priorities are. 

It’s not Sakura. 

Sasuke said ‘Sorry’ to Karin too. ‘Thank you’ to Kakashi as well. 

And what’s even more pathetic is, still Sakura wants to get inside Sasuke’s pants by accompanying him. Bitch, you can help your village, console your best friend Ino who lost her father, try to surpass Tsunade, improve your skills or whatever... Why bother him???

So, if you really think ‘Thank you’ as a token of love, then I can’t help it but term Sakura as a rabid dog who waits for her master to come home and throw some bones whenever he finds time. Your standards for a romantic love is piss poor and you will suffer just like Sakura in Boruto with just emptiness. All Sasuke did was poke her forehead just like Itachi which symbolizes keeping someone at a distance. He also said the same words to her just like Itachi said to him many times ‘Mata kondo da’ meaning ‘Maybe next time’. And we all knew that next time never came for Sasuke. 

Now all we see is a Sasuke as an absentee father in Boruto for which I don’t blame him. He was never a marriage material in the first place. Sakura and the Manga Editors forced him and she is paying for it. 

Hell, Sarada doesn’t know how her own father looks like or the truth of her mother. Both of them were miserable and I find it absolutely ridiculous when SS shippers still say “they’re in love” or they’re OTP.

All I want to say to SS shippers is, Your Ship Has Sailed Already. You cannot expect Sasuke to go lovey dovey towards Sakura with a 12 year old daughter around and for fuck’s sake, this is not a romance manga, it’s a battle manga. So stop dreaming about this kind of non-existential romance and pull yourself altogether.

[infinitebells]

the act (s. moran)

sebastian moran doesn’t know how to love. incessant pressure from his father to “do better” erased any kind of bond he could have formed with him. his platoon was murdered in front of his eyes, and when he woke up the realization that he was dead too wiped away any chance at love.

sebastian moran prides himself on his ability to bed women (and men if he so chooses) at the snap of a finger. taunts and mocks come at the expense of his actions, but why should he care? he’s always been the butt of the joke while working with the moriarty family. it’s not like they’re going out and picking up people left and right. they don’t have the ability to do so. the colonel claims it’s a god given gift, but fred knows better than to buy into the defense mechanism that is moran’s sexual habits.

sebastian moran doesn’t care for anyone. sure, he’ll give his life to keep william alive, but that’s simply out of pure obligation. he’s well aware that his own like is expendable. why should he spend time trying to convince himself otherwise?

sebastian moran is a defensive, brash, sexual man who does not need anyone to stay alive. that is, until he meets you.

•••

when he first sees you, it’s across the street in town. you’re arguing with a vendor, claiming the fruit you’re trying to purchase is much too expensive for the meager salary of a maid working for some self-centered noble. it’s not like the vendor will cave on their price, but you hope they’ll remember the interaction for the next time someone can’t buy any of their produce. you’re two seconds from walking away until a tall (very handsome) man slides next to you, paying for the fruit in full. he offers you a cocky smirk, but you know better than to buy into the fact that some strange man is buying the entirety of your produce just for the hell of it.

meanwhile, the colonel is trying his very hardest to not blush like a maniac. because in reality, the suave act that he puts on for the men and women swooning over him in bars and sleazy alleyways is just that. an act. so when he realizes you’re absolutely nothing like the people he puts the act on for, he’s stumped. he’s intrigued by your soft eyes, the slight downward curve of your lips as you frown at him, and the way your fingers fiddle with the thin gold chain hanging delicately off your neck.

“there’s no need for such a beautiful person to frown and mar their face. i’m simply being polite,” he’s well aware his comment strikes a bone in you, but he’s thoroughly surprised at your remark.

“i’m beautiful regardless of the face i’m making. only some people can truly appreciate such beauty,” you say with confidence, straightening your back and staring up at him (you’re just now made aware of how tall he is). his smirk fades into a childlike grin, and you come to appreciate how he almost looks like a young boy smiling widely in a candy shop. but you know better. the hard lines of his face and the small scar peaking out from beneath his buttoned shirt indicate that the man’s mind is far older than you realized. his dark eyes reflect pure joy at your challenge, but you can still detect the faint traces of panic. you’re confused as to why such a confident looking man would experience panic when talking to you. you won’t know why he’s panicked around you until much later.

“i suppose you’ll have to teach me how to appreciate your beauty then,” he hopes he maintains the same confident tone he spoke with before, but with the way you’re looking at him he’s positive you see right through him.

“you can only see true beauty once you’ve seen it in yourself. i’d suggest dropping the act, it makes it much easier to appreciate yourself if you’re true to who you are,” you finish, turning away from him and walking away. the vendor looks between you and moran, but moran’s eyes focus solely on you. he’s sure that the next time he sees you he’ll fall even farther than he already has.

•••

the second time he sees you, you’re picking up a brand new tailored suit for the nobleman you work for. you’re very clearly tired, the bags under your eyes a dark purple, but sebastian moran is still in awe of your raw beauty. he doesn’t even try to put up his usual front when he walks in line next to you, head turned down.

“if you’re having trouble with such a heavy bag, i could help you carry it,” he tries hard to keep the bubbling feeling of bashfulness out of his voice, but your small giggles prove that you’ve already detected it. when you look up at him, eyes shining with amusement and mouth wide in a breathtaking smile, he thanks every deity in existence for bringing you to him.

“i see you’ve learned to at least drop your act around me. i’m impressed, i didn’t know men like you could learn to do it so quickly,” you admit, turning back to the heavy package in your hands. at that, his face turns down into a confused frown.

“what do you mean men like me?” he’s curious, wanting to know how you see him.

“men who so clearly put up a charming front in order to seduce others when in reality it’s simply a defense mechanism to hide their insecurities,” you say it as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. sebastian on the other hand takes a moment to process your words before scoffing indignantly.

“and what do you think i’m insecure about?” he glares down at you, trying to keep the anger in his voice. it’s difficult for him to do so when you look up at him with pure mischief in your eyes.

“that would probably be a third date kind of conversation. how about we start with date number one tonight at the bar near the vendor we first met at. 8 o’clock sharp,” you say it with ease, and he’s taken aback by your brazen words.

“but i’ve never been on a date,” he blurts out without thinking, looking down as his cheeks flush a pale red. sure, he’s met people at bars, but it never escalated past the one night they shared between sheets. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart beat a little faster at his obvious embarrassment.

“i’m sure you’ll do just fine colonel moran. i look forward to tonight!” you call out, turning left at the intersection. it takes him a second to register that you just said his name, and he never said it to you in the first place, much less his military rank.

“how do you know who i am?” his voice is loud enough to catch the attention of a few noble women who giggle and stare at him. he pays no attention to them. he only watches you as you turn around to smile coyly at him.

“you’re not the only one with connections,” you say before disappearing into the crowd. it’s a simple sentence, but the implication has his head spinning dangerously fast. he’s ecstatic to see you again.

•••

the third time he sees you, it’s not at the bar. it’s in the basement of your nobleman’s house, where he had you locked up five days ago. your clothing is practically ripped to shreds, blood seeping out of angry red cuts on your arms and legs. you almost look more dead than the noble upstairs. the only tell tale sign that you’re still alive is the shallow rise of your chest with every labored breath. you barely stir when he carefully cradles you in his arms, rushing you out of the house and back to the manor.

when louis opens the door to find a frantic moran and a near-dead maid in his arms, he lets him by without a word. he knows better than to question the colonel when he looks as panicked as he did. louis helps him bandage you up without a word, washing away dried blood and cleaning old wounds as moran carefully wraps bandages around the bigger cuts. william, fred, and albert return back to the mansion all together, watching moran in awe.

“colonel, who is this?” william finally speaks up as the two men finish bandaging up your still unconscious form.

“a maid for that dead noble,” his answer is short, curt. he doesn’t speak again as he carries you bridal style out of the kitchen and into his bedroom, letting you rest. he’ll explain everything once you’re awake, but for now, he’s content with watching you sleep. as fred stares quietly from the doorway, he’s well aware that sebastian moran has never cared for anyone in his life. but with you, there’s clearly an exception.

•••

he sees you everyday after that, keeping a silent tally in his head. he’d never admit that to you though, knowing he’d never hear the end of it.

he learned your name the day you woke up, your raspy voice still ringing clearly in his head. the first time he heard your name, he had to stop a blush from spreading across his face. a beautiful name for a beautiful person.

“so colonel, are we ever going to make up that bar date? i was really looking forward to it you know,” your soft voice pulls him out of his head, staring at you from across the couch. you’re wearing his jacket, claiming it was cold in the house since winter was coming. you both knew that was a lie, that william always had measures in place to keep the house warm. yet, neither of you said a word about it.

“you want our first date to be in a bar? why can’t i take you out on a proper date?” his question is genuine, and the exasperated look on his face makes it very evident. but you couldn’t care less.

“yes i would like it to be in a bar. i’m sure that’s where you put your act on the most. it would make sense that that’s where you start to drop it as well,” you say nonchalantly. the sentence is loaded, and he can see the piercing gaze you send his way as you speak. the knot in his throat grows, and for the first time in years, sebastian moran feels nervous. downright anxious.

“no pressure colonel, i can see the cogs in your head spinning wildly. i just want to see who you really are, not the panty dropper the other maids used to fantasize about while working,” you can’t help but giggle at your own words, and the silliness of it all forces a laugh out of moran. you’ve never seen him laugh before, but it’s the most beautiful sight in the world.

•••

the seventh time he sees you, you’re dressed in nicer clothes than usual, a glass of whiskey in your hand as you giggle over another story moran’s told you that night. both of you are breathless, laughing over the story about how one time albert tried sneaking a girl into the manor, but everyone was awake and awkwardly watched as he escorted her into his bedroom. the bar incites lively conversation, patrons bumping into you two as you stand at the wooden countertop.

“i thought albert was a gentleman!” you can’t get the sentence out without giggling once more, leaning forward a bit.

“apparently he’s not as much of a gentleman as we thought he was,” moran responds, a bright smile painting his face. he looks absolutely gorgeous like this, cheeks flushed and smile so wide you could fit a coat hanger in his mouth. once your laughter dies down, both of you sigh, taking sips from your respective drinks. you’re the first one to break the silence, smiling warmly at the colonel.

“i think i could come to like this more accurate version of you colonel,” you say with sincerity. his smile grows impossibly wider at that, a heavier blush accompanying it.

“excuse me mr. moran? i was wondering if maybe you’d like to join me upstairs?” a high pitched, almost whiney voice sounds to the left of you. a woman, probably a few years older than you, bats her eyelashes seductively at the colonel. his blush fades instantly, and his smile turns sharper. you watch as his eyes glaze over with their usual cockiness, turning to face her and whispering what you can only assume are sweet nothings in her ear.

“i think i’ll be taking my leave, i seem to only be interrupting something here,” you say dryly, setting your glass down on the bar and walking away from the pair. you can feel moran’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t matter as you push your way through the crowd. the doors fly open with the force of your push, and it catches the attention of almost everyone in the bar. not that you care. all that matters is getting away from the sight of the shell of sebastian moran and the woman who was so clearly was eye fucking him right in front of you. you don’t realize your hands are shaking until you feel a larger pair envelope your own and they stop trembling. moran’s eyes are wide, trained on you. you’re positive if you look up they’ll simply take your breath away.

“why’d you leave so suddenly?” his voice is steady, but you know better. you were always terrible at reading people up until you met sebastian moran.

“i’d rather not be abandoned in a bar while you went off with some woman, so i figured i’d save myself the trouble and just leave,” you keep your voice even, eyes still on the ground. that is until his fingers lift your chin up to meet his face, and you come face to face with the softest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. it should be illegal the way he’s looking at you.

“i was telling her i was on a date with you, and that she should think twice before coming up to a man who’s clearly with someone else,” he says softly, fingers still on your chin. embarrassment washes over you as you tug your hands out of his grasp and bury your face in them. he chuckles from in front of you, and before you process what’s going on, your world is tilted sideways. the yelp that escapes you is completely involuntary, and when you open your eyes you realize you’re in sebastian moran’s arms, and he’s carrying you back towards the manor.

“why are you carrying me?” your hands wring together, desperately trying to calm yourself down before you pass out from sheer shock and humiliation.

“i heard jealousy makes people do irrational things, so i figured i’d just take you home before you could do any damage,” he speaks with confidence, but it’s not an act this time. and the teasing smirk he shoots you is genuine. so you bury your head in his chest, hands fisting his jacket.

“i’m not jealous,” you speak boldly, but it sounds muffled in his jacket.

“sure you aren’t princess, sure you aren’t,” his laughs are deep, and you whine in protest, the alcohol warming your senses.

“shut up,” you grumble, and you’re only met with more laughs.

“make me sweetheart,” his voice is right next to your ear now, breath tickling you. so you do.

the seventh time he sees you, you kiss him for the first time. you grab him by surprise, hands removing themselves from his jacket to hold his face close to yours as you push your lips onto his. your eyes are squeezed shut, and your face burns with shame as you pull away. it takes all of your self control to not kiss him again with the way he’s gazing down at you, eyes wide, lips slightly swollen from the force of your kiss, and face painted a pretty pink. you bury your face back into his chest, hands finding purchase in his jacket once again.

“keep walking,” your voice is quiet, almost scared to break the silence. moran doesn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he quietly walks back to the manor, grip on your body tightening marginally. the only thing that runs through his head is how soft your lips were against his, and how warm your hands were on his face. he prays to every god that he’ll have the chance to kiss you again.

•••

the fifteenth time he sees you, he’s beyond annoyed. you had deftly avoided him since kissing him, but now he had your cornered in your own room.

“are we just going to ignore the fact that you kissed me the other day and then completely ignored me for an entire week?” his voice is stern, commanding. any other day you’d be fighting a blush at how sexy he sounds like that, but now you’re beyond terrified.

“well that was the plan,” you hope your sarcasm is well received. judging by the way sebastian’s eyes harden and he crosses his arms across his chest, it is most definitely not well received.

“if that was the plan i would’ve appreciated a heads up you know,” his voice is somehow deeper than before.

“well i was kind of drunk so i wasn’t thinking you know,” you stumble over your words, fingers finding your thin golden chain and tugging harshly at it to fight the anxiety bubbling up in your stomach.

“so it was a mistake then?” he’s closer to you now, inches away from your trembling body. you don’t know how to answer the question, not knowing if even you knew the answer. sebastian takes your silence as your answer, turning to walk back out of the room. in an ungodly moment of clarity, your only solution is to scream a rushed ‘wait!’ and promptly jump onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. your head is tucked into the crook of his neck, and he just about falls over at the force of you flinging yourself onto him.

“what in god’s name are you doing?” his voice is loud in your ear, and despite his attempts to tug you off of him, you stay wrapped around him.

“getting you to stay!” your line of logic is borderline at best, but that doesn’t matter now.

“what? why?” his hands grip each of your ankles tightly, intending to pry them apart and pull you off of him.

“because it wasn’t a mistake!” you’re consciously aware of the fact that you’re practically yelling in his ear, but it does the trick as his hands stop tugging on your legs. both of you are silent, save for the heavy breaths falling from your mouths.

“get off of me,” he speaks lowly, practically growling. it’s a tone you’ve never heard, and it sends shudders up your spine. you don’t waste a second, nimbly detaching yourself from him and falling to your feet just behind him. you’re positive he’ll walk out and not look back, so when his hands grab your face and he kisses you harshly, you all but pass out on the spot. your hands easily find purchase in his hair, tugging lightly at the roots as he backs you into the wall behind you and pressing his body into yours. his tongue claims every inch of your mouth, hands moving from your face to hold your hips tightly. when he pulls away, both of you gasping for breath, you catch a glimpse of that same soft smile he gave you outside of the bar.

“i thought you were mad at me,” you blurt out, consciously aware of how your hands are still tightly wound in his hair. you’re scared if you let go you may float up and away from him. he laughs lightly, staring down at your wide eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“i couldn’t stay mad at you if i tried,” he confesses, forehead resting against yours. it’s calming, comforting.

“why’s that?” you’re still breathless as you stare at him.

“because i don’t think anyone has ever looked through the front i put up and proceed to call me out on it the first time we met,” his answer is blunt, straight forward. you suddenly remember how panicked he seemed when you two first met. the puzzle pieces click together nicely.

•••

the forty seventh time he sees you, sebastian wakes up to see you peering down at him in bed. he’s hyper aware of the fact that he’s only in boxers.

“rise and shine sunshine!” you’re smiling widely, and the sudden shock of waking up to your face jolts him awake.

“jesus christ why would you do that,” he groans out, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palm.

“because you have to do chores today. louis is already annoyed at you, and i’d rather not wake up one day to find you dead because you never did what he asked you,” you say, hands on your hips. he comes to realize how beautiful you look while you stand next to his bed.

“how about you just come join me in bed all day,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your arms. you yelp with the force of being pulled forward and tripping over the end of the bed. you bounce onto the bed, strong arms wrapping tightly around your smaller form. your face grows increasingly warm, hands unconsciously pressed against the firm planes of his chest and head tucked under his chin. you look down on instinct, heart practically jumping out of your chest.

“sebastian! you’re not wearing clothes!” your voice is high and strained. your hands push against his chest, but he keeps you against him, rolling over so that he’s hovering above you with both of your hands intertwined above your head. when you look up, he’s grinning down at you, but it’s completely genuine.

“i have on underwear though. does that count?” he’s teasing, you’re very aware of that.

“that is probably the thinnest piece of clothing you could possibly have on right now. can you please pu-” you’re cut off by his lips on yours. it’s not like his usual kisses that tease you and only rile you up. it’s soft, passionate. he squeezes your hands ever so slightly as he feels you kiss back. everything about it is perfect in spite of his lack of clothes. when he pulls back, your eyes are gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the window, and you have the faintest hint of a smile on your face.

“how about instead, we get you out of all these unnecessary clothes instead,” he offers wiggling his eyebrows at you. neither of you can stop the laughs that follow his words, your eyes crinkling as you’re overcome with a fit of giggles. in the midst of your laughs, you don’t see how sebastian moran stares down at you. you don’t see how his heart beats inexpicably faster. you don’t see how he blushes madly. you don’t see how he’s fallen in love with you.

but it’s okay. because he can’t see the way you’ve fallen for him too.

•••

sebastian moran doesn’t know how to love. his past all but erased any chance for him to form a deep and meaningful connection with anyone. and he’s lived that way for the majority of his adulthood. that is, until the eighty third time he sees you.

he’s woken up to see you trembling in bed beside him, and he knows it’s not from the cold. your shared body heat keeps both of you comfortably warm.

“love? what’s wrong?” it’s still dark outside, probably well into the night. that doesn’t matter as he turns your shaking body to face his, and he sees the gleam of your tears reflecting the pale moonlight filtering through the curtains. he immediately pulls your body impossibly closer to his, smoothing a hand over your hair as you sob quietly into his chest. he waits until you’re calmed down before leaning back to look at your face. his thumb rubs over fresh tears, lips brushing against your forehead as your cries quiet down to occasional sniffles.

“i had a nightmare about the man i used to work for,” you admit, hands trembling between you two. it’s not the first time you’ve had one of these nightmares, but the last time it had happened was weeks ago.

“do you want to talk about it?” his voice is soft, gentle. you’ve come to love how sweet he is, how careful he is of you.

“no. can you just hold me for now?” your eyes are still shining with unshed tears, but he nods and pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and one around your back. he pushes your head onto his chest, your ear lining up just above his heart. he’s found that hearing his heartbeat helps you calm down after the more severe nightmares. he sighs in relief when he feels your breaths come out more evenly, your stiff body relaxing significantly in his arms.

“feel better princess?” you nod at his question, pulling your head back to shoot him a watery smile.

“thank you sebastian,” your voice still shakes slightly, but it’s considerably better than it was before. 

he tried to seduce men and women in bars until he met you. he never cared for anyone until he met you. sebastian moran didn’t know how to love someone until he met you. and now that he’s met you, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to live without you. so when he murmurs those three words that he hasn’t said since he was a young child, he feels tears prick the back of his eyes. because if he can make you smile the way you are right now, tears spilling onto your cheeks and a rushed ‘i love you too’ falling from your lips just so that you can kiss him as hard as you can, he’ll gladly tell you he loves you every hour of every day for the rest of his life.

[dwellordream]

“Contemporary readers might find themselves almost suspicious of how little there is in Victorian lifewriting to shock or surprise; can their lives really have been this dull? Deficient in arresting details and blandly uniform, Victorian lifewriting does not foster any illusions that it accurately records the historical past. But lifewriting was not pure fiction, and its very adherence to rules and commitment to typical daily life makes it a far more valuable source than conduct literature, medical writings, or police records for understanding how conventions shaped lived behavior. Consider the example of transvestism. Cross-dressing could lead to scandal and arrests, but lifewriting attests that many youths who adopted the clothes of the other sex were treated as amusing pranksters. 

In her 1857 autobiography Elizabeth Davis recalled “enjoying” herself “extremely” when she dressed as a man to accompany a fellow housemaid to a party and noted that her employers simply “laughed” when they caught her. In the 1840s a young woman living in London wrote to a cousin in the country about putting on a play with other girls for their fathers and mothers: “I have two parts, the good Fairy and the Lord Chamberlain because he sings a song, and he wears a turban and baggy trousers and I wear a beard and moustache.” Other accounts described boys dressing as girls and sallying forth in public to the amusement of all in the know. 

Victorian lifewriting exposes other gaps between myth and reality. Conduct books confined women to the private sphere, but in fact, many informally participated in politics. Amanda Vickery has pointed out the dearth of research on women’s consumption of newspapers, an increasingly political medium after 1750; lifewriting shows that many ordinary middle-class women who complied with gender norms actively read newspapers and discussed political events with their fathers and husbands. Katharine Harris’s journal documents how a middle-class teenage girl tracked the revolutions and cholera epidemics of 1848 as carefully as she followed changes in fashion and the dramas of her social circle.

Women’s diaries and correspondence also modify our image of Victorian feminism as a powerful but marginal movement; though suffrage was a divisive issue, an otherwise silent majority supported female higher education, with many writers asserting that “women have brains, and given equal opportunities, can do as good work as men.” Mary, Lady Monkswell (1849–1930) never formally participated in politics except as the wife of a man who held several government positions, but in 1890 she recorded her pride that a woman had attained the highest score on the Cambridge Mathematical Tripos: “Every woman feels 2 inches taller for this success of Miss Fawcett.”

Female friendship emerges in Victorian lifewriting as a fundamental component of middle-class femininity and women’s life stories. Because the letters women exchanged with male suitors were often deemed too private or compromising for publication, and because wives had few occasions to write to husbands whom they lived with, letters between female friends and kin were the most common and copious source for documenting women’s lives. Anna Bower’s correspondence with three women who had been her friends since school days made up the bulk of a 1903 edition of her diaries and letters.

The Memoir of Mrs. Mary Lundie Duncan (1842) drew heavily on the communication between Mary Duncan and a lifelong friend. The many letters included in the published version of Mary Gladstone Drew’s diaries and correspondence were addressed to her cousin and friend Lavinia. The editor of Lady Louise Knightley’s journals identified the central figure of the early volumes as Louise’s cousin and “inseparable companion” Edith, with whom Louise exchanged daily letters when they were separated between 1856 and 1864 (12). The emphasis on female friendship in Victorian women’s lifewriting mirrored the ways in which didactic literature defined it as an expression of women’s essential femininity. 

In The Women of England and The Daughters of England, Sarah Ellis articulated the tenets of a domestic ideology based on strict divisions between men and women. She counseled women to accept their inferiority to men and to cultivate moral virtues such as selflessness and empathy as counterweights to the male virtues of competitiveness and self-determination. Ellis praised female friendship for several reasons. It trained women not to compete with men by requiring them not to compete with one another; it fostered feminine vulnerability by developing bonds based on a shared “capability of receiving pain”; and it reinforced married love by cultivating the sexual differences that fostered men’s desire for women (Women, 75, 224). 

In The Daughters of England, Ellis explicitly argued that friendship trained women to be good wives by teaching them particularly feminine ways of loving: “In the circle of her private friends . . . [woman] learns to comprehend the deep mystery of that electric chain of feeling which ever vibrates through the heart of woman, and which man, with all his philosophy, can never understand” (337). Ellis argued that female friendship produced marriageable women by intensifying the opposition between the sexes, but she then undid gender differences by positing similarities between friendship and marriage. The emotions fostered by friendship were also those required for marriage, leading Ellis to call marriage a species of friendship, and friendship “the basis of all true love” (Daughters, 388). 

Far from compromising friendship, family and marriage provided models for sustaining it; female friends exchanged the same tokens as spouses and emulated female elders who also prized their friendships with women. Marriage rarely ended friendships and many women organized part of their lives around their friends. Louise Creighton (1850–1936), married to an Anglican vicar and eventually the mother of six children, wrote letters to her mother in the 1870s that often mentioned extended visits from her childhood friend Bunnie and other married and unmarried female friends. 

Just before she acceded to the throne, Princess Victoria wrote of her governess Lehzen as “my ‘best and truest friend’ I have had for nearly 17 years and I trust I shall have for 30 or 40 and many more.” On the day Victoria married Albert, Lehzen gave the queen a ring, and their pledges of an enduring bond held true, with Lehzen ensconced at court long after the queen’s wedding. Like any monarch, Queen Victoria practiced a politics of display, but what she performed most vigorously was her adherence to domestic middle-class ideals.

It is therefore not surprising to find her commitment to lifelong friendship echoed in the aspirations of Annie Hill, a middle-class girl who in 1877 wrote to her friend Anna Richmond, “I do not see why we should not keep up writing to one another all our lives like Aunt Maria and her great friend have done.” The friendships that created bonds between individual women also forged a sense of connection between generations. Friendship and marriage could be overlapping and mutually reinforcing. While engaged to her husband-to-be, Mary Duncan sent him poems and the gift of a hair brooch, and at the same time wrote a poem for her best friend, whom she addressed as “loved one” and “dear one” (163, 179–80, 147). 

Just as Duncan experienced no conflict in loving her fiancé and her friend, other women expressed affection for friends by hoping they would happily marry. Writing in 1865 of the friend who came “to bless my life,” twenty-three-year-old Louisa Knightley fantasized about her eventual wedding with a sense of pleasure rather than incipient loss: “I have grown to love Edie very dearly—the Sleeping Beauty, whom life and the world are slowly awakening. May the enchanted Prince soon come and touch the chord that will rouse her from the dreams of childhood and make of her the perfect woman!” (105–6). 

….Lifewriting confirms the links conduct literature made between female friendship and conventional femininity, for only women invested in portraying themselves as atypical failed to write of their friendships. Women who succeeded in masculine arenas and advertised their exceptional achievements in published autobiographies often accentuated their distance from standard femininity by downplaying the role that female friends played in their lives. Battle painter Elizabeth Butler (1846–1933), pedagogue and professional author Elizabeth Sewell (1815–1906), and radical activist Annie Besant (1847–1933) all omitted the rhapsodic descriptions of friendship that characterized lifewriting by women eager to demonstrate how well they had fulfilled the dictates of their gender.

Outright disdain for female friendship was rare. One of the few extant examples of a woman mocking female friendship is an exception that proves the rule. A sophisticated transplant raised in Paris by parents from the Anglo-Irish gentry who returned to England in 1868, Alice Miles was eager to distinguish herself from her earnest English relatives. In a diary that remained unpublished until the late twentieth century, she wrote that women were obligated to marry for money, not love. Her contempt for British domestic sentiment led her to dismiss the earnest devotion between female friends she encountered in England as hypocrisy or stupidity. She believed instead in “the natural aversion women always seem to entertain towards each other and the still more decided preference they habitually evince towards mankind!”

 Nevertheless, Miles enjoyed forming a friendships with a young woman “perfectly acquainted” with every “naughty story . . . making the tour of London,” whom she praised as “a regular little rose bud . . . looking perfectly bewitching.” Even the cynical Miles, who believed that affection between woman was merely a “sign . . . that a man is at the bottom of the emotion,” could not resist the pleasure she took in a woman pretty and wicked enough to be a potential rival. Successful women who represented themselves as proper ladies defined their lives in terms of their friendships with women as well as their devotion to family and church.”

- Sharon Marcus, “Friendship and Play of the System.” in Between Women:  Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

[kissme-hs]

Tainted love: 3

Here it is!! I’m so sorry it took me so long to update it but let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy it.

~Ria

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Chris Evans

Warnings: None.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Hatred is far from the feeling you felt. You were disgusted. Utterly disgusted with the man you put your trust and faith and your heart into who did nothing but took it for granted and it all into little crumbs of pain. All this time you blamed yourself for HIS actions that he not only did while being in his complete sense but knowing how wrong it is-continued doing it. The image you had of Chris in your mind now vanished, the man you once thought deserved to be prayed now made your stomach churn because of how shameful he turned out to be.

After sending him the text you thought, oh you thought that he would realize what he lost, that he would feel a little bit at least of regret in the back of his head but you were so wrong. It not only made you feel worthless but made you realize instead how your love meant nothing to him, how all those years you spent in each other’s arm vowing to each other to be in love until the end of time was nothing but a lie to him. Where to you it meant your entire life.

One doesn’t stay with a person for three years not to just fuck and say I love you’s for fun. With the years the feelings grow strong and at some point, you start fantasizing marrying that person, having kids with the person, grow old with the person. But when one decides to go and cheat, putting all the years of love in ignorance and throwing it all in the pit of darkness not only everything changes but the dreams once knitted by the eyes of the one who remained faithful in love, who was the true lover gets struck by the lightening of reality. And once the dreams crashes, it becomes nearly impossible to dream again because the dreamer starts seeing the real world.

Fuck dreams.

Became your to go motto ever since you knocked on his door.

The heavy teal door opened after a few knocks as you held your breath getting yourself ready to face the man who ripped your heart apart. But instead you were met by a pair of green eyes, gorgeous eyes. She stood there in his hoodie and a pair of short showing her perfect toned legs. Her dirty blonde hair and fuller plumps would made any man lose his girl and go crawling to her. She was an absolute piece of art.

“Chris we have someone here for you” She yelled leaning back a bit so the man could hear her. She gave you a side smile as a gesture of kindness. She was aware she was a homewrecker, she knew how much Chris loved you and she also knew being a good friend she should’ve stopped him when things became a routine between them two but she couldn’t say no to him. Chris would make any women go crawling to him too. She was equally shameful for what she has done not as close to how Chris was feeling but still. So when Chris asked her to come over explaining her what happen which she knew would some day she didn’t hesitate coming over comforting him.

“i-im Samantha” she replied stepping aside letting you step inside of your his house. The smell of familiar cologne and candles hit your nostrils making you tear up from the past good memories. Gi ving her a tiniest sad smile and a nod, you stepped inside of the house. Turning your gaze up to the sound of approaching footsteps you saw the man, and oh sweet jesus you thought you’d hate him but how could you when the feeling of love was always greater than hatred. But the pain crept up when you saw Samantha walking to him and rubbing his side comforting him, though she was guilty, she still at some point enjoyed the attention Chris gave her.

Though she might have a portion of kindness in her heart she was known for breaking homes. She was used to getting in pants of men who were committed. It made her feel special; it made her feel like gold that everyone loved chasing. Especially in this case, knowing what a prize Chris’s girlfriend, you were she was over the moon. She loved how Chris was willing to give up a beautiful woman with a proper job and who had her life sorted for someone who was nothing compared to you.

“Y/n” he breathed out ignoring the woman rubbing his arm. His eyes getting wet seeing your face after days. Jeez only if he could kiss you and tell you how much he missed you and loved you.

“I-im sorry, I’m so sorry” He said walking to you as you raised your hand telling him to stop, which he understood nodding his head and taking a step back. He felt the ache in his heart.

“He really is sorry, he told me everything after you texted him so I came running” Samantha uttered rubbing Chris’s back. It did nothing to you but made your blood boil as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath not wanting to say something which could hurt her feelings. Opening your mouth telling her to leave you heard Chris say that instead.

“Can I ask you to leave please?” He asked her taking a deep breath trying not to yell either.

“I-“

“Get out, get off my property” you spat. You and Chris jointly brought this house so you wouldn’t feel a burden on him being the independent woman you were. Feeling like she was shamed in front of two successful people, Samantha gathered her stuff and left within the next coming minute. Though you were a softie, there was no doubt you has a powerful side too.

“I’m sorry baby, I am so sorry. Please give me a second chance.”

“Why Chris? Why did you cheat on me? Was my love was not enough for you to sleeping with her. Tell me Chris did you not feel a little bit of shame fucking on OUR bed? Tell me why did you have to go and do that making me look like a fool? Why did you waste my time? WHY DID YOU FAKED THE LOVE if you wanted to cheat?” You finally let it out. You were crying at this not giving a fuck. He deserved to see how broken he left you. You were not going to act like everything was fine, like you didn’t care when you felt dead inside.

“No. No baby. Never for once I ever faked my love for you.” He cried cupping your cheeks-you finally let him touch you because you wanted to feel his warmth on your cold skin. His own eyes crying as you sobbed yourself.

“I-I don’t know why I did that. I don’t know why I decided to chase a rock when I had the most precious diamond. She is nothing compared to you. Nothing. I love you so much” He whispered resting his forehead against yours. You knew deep down he meant what he said. You felt the words hitting your body making your knees go week but it was for the best. The separation. So pushing him back slightly you gathered your broken pieces up.

“I just came to tell you that I am moving to California. I will always cherish the good memories you gave me” you gave him a broken smile wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“No please give me one more chance” Chris pleaded grabbing your hands. His defeated eyes begged yours to give in, to see that he wasn’t lying anymore. That he was truly sorry for what he has done but being the strong headed woman you are, you shook your head and wiped his tears with your hand before cupping his cheek.

“It’s for the best. I still love you, but it’s not the same Chris. Let me let you go”

That was an year ago. An year ago you left the man standing on his porch as you turned your back on his forever, making your way to the new life that waited ahead of you in Los Angeles. The city of angels. The city that gave you a chance to put your words into songs, let your shattered voice sing it in a melody helping you reach out to him without reaching out to him.

And today you stood in front of over 100 amazing successful celebrities who warmly welcomed you in the family of Hollywood and decided to join you for your album launch party. You didn’t hesitate writing down your deepest condolences you had for yourself and singing it out. Every word people heard in the songs came from the bottom of your heart. Came within the true feeling of getting lost and found again.

Getting into the industry wasn’t hard for you. You were already a known person working for Hollywood and it not only being the reason how you met Chris it also gave you an opportunity  to let your talent out. All those months you spent working hard to get acceptance by one of the music producers was the time when Chris was fucking Samantha. Only if he stayed the night you begged him to, he would’ve known it all.

Your album was dedicated to Chris. No one knew expect you. No one could know anyways.

Stepping down the mini platform where you expressed you gratitude to the audience you made your way to where the bar was set up to drink in the emotions that were bubbling up your throat from all the love you received to the pain that still ached in every nerve in your body. It was impossible to erase the memory of him fucking Samantha from your head. You were proud to you say you tried. Tried every way of escaping his face haunting your dreams every night. The feelings choking you down. The pain eating you alive. But you couldn’t.

“What you said there was beautiful.” You heard the deep voice of the man who you left standing on the door of Boston an year ago. Turning your body around, mentally preparing yourself for the wave of mixed emotions to hit you like a truck you faced his adorningly beautiful face. His beard looked fuller and his hair fluffier. He looked the same but his eyes looked dead, just like they were when you left.

“Thank you.” You gave him a broken smile.

“Can we talk? Please?” He asked you with eyes full of hope and you nodded letting him guide you out to the balcony that had the perfect view of the city. He deserved some time with you after an year of you completely blocking him out. He deserved to know that the words coming out of your mouth in the song were written about him.

“It about you, you know. The album” You said walking over to the railing looking at the illuminous city.

“I figured, I never knew you were working on something so big.” He stood beside you.

“You would have if you stayed”

“Listen, I’m not going to waste any more time. Im here to beg you back in life, I am sorry for what I have done but please give me a chance. That one year spent without you was my living hell. Everyday I prayed for you to come back but you never did and there’s no question why. I am a horrible man but I promise if you let me prove it that I am so much better than I was I wont let you down. I will love you even more than I ever have” he said with a soft voice guilt dripping with every word he spoke making you turn around to face him. His eyes glistening with tears and his hands holding each other in front of his chest.

Man was literally begging you.

“Hey you are not a horrible man.” You whispered walking to him as you put his hands down and held his one cheek in your hand. He instantly nuzzled his nose feeling your skin after days of being away from you. His knees were giving away and so was his heart.

“We all make mistakes but learning from them and moving on is important. I forgave you the minute I stepped away from our relationship. You’re nothing but still the most precious man I ever had” you said. Your own eyes picking the tears.

“then give me a chance” he spoke kissing your palm staring down In your eyes making your belly turn in knots.

“I cant. I have moved on Chris” You said breaking his heart. He breathed out biting his lower lip as he looked on. He never felt so defeated and helpless. But this is what he deserved for throwing away the best he ever had. For not respecting the beautiful relationship and woman he was meant to guard. He opened his mouth but the lump in his throat got in the way. He could just break down.

“Then let me be your friend. I just want to be in your life. Make up for what I’ve missed. Please don’t say no.” He trembled in fear you would reject him but instead you nod your head and pull him in a hug knowing he would break if you didn’t. Still knowing him like the back of your head you gave in his request hoping you could contain the emotions.

It is said, two who once fell in love can never be friends. Once in love, always in love.

So you stood there holding him, closed your eyes letting the man calm his cries. Falling back in the chakra of tainted love.

-

Tags

@captainchrisstan

@evansphnx12

@adriannajackson

[kneamet]

Thomas Sharpe says to the portrait of reader that he has always loved, loved and will love her. He says he will not accept her engagement to Count Harrison. She belongs to him. The next day, reader wakes up in a strange room tied to an armchair. She pretends to be asleep. Thomas is talking to her now.

Trigger Warning: obsession, yandere, kidnapping, jealousy

Word Count: 2439

Character: Thomas Sharpe/reader

Summary: Thomas never wanted anything more than to marry you. When he learns of your future marriage to the hated earl Garrison, he knows that something must be done.

POV Thomas

Thomas knew he couldn't afford to be silent. He'd been silent for too long, and now was the moment to snap. He won't let anyone steal you from him.

Sharpe had never expected to find the love of his lost life. That he could find someone he would love and who would love him. A girl who would take care of him, and he would protect her from people.

But it just so happens that Thomas was born in a place where your right to vote doesn't count. Especially with Lucille. He loved her, he really did, but she probably didn't understand that it was more a need for a person than love, because Sharpe could hardly survive alone in this huge house, which also needs to be provided for. And her obsession with him, which Thomas hated, was also very annoying and dripping on his brain. It was very unpleasant to be thought of as some kind of object, thanks to which you can fulfill your desires. And these were used by all the girls in his entourage.

Parents, as Thomas noted, for the most part also did not care about the emotional outbursts of children and their hobbies. Well, why care about it? They're just kids. They can also be raised by nannies and teachers who were hired.

And the women... All those moments, all the things that his late sister controlled, mostly related to the women he married and later received money from. And he didn't particularly like it. Why is she controlling him? Why him?

However, even in the largest darkness, you can find a small corner that is dedicated to light. And that light for Thomas was you. His sweetest, most beloved, and most incredible girlfriend. He would pick up so many epithets, metaphors, and comparisons with you, fearing that even they could not describe all your beauty.

He smiled dreamily. It was so nice to think and fantasize about how you would live together, you would caress him, and he would stroke your soft, honey-scented hair, telling you how much he loved you and cherished you. But what was the point of thinking about it if they were going to be together?

Thomas looked down and passed his gentle hand, which had no bruises or wounds, for which he in turn had once been scolded by Mr. Cushing, Edith's father, perhaps the only woman who could attract his attention a little and almost even accept that he could not marry you, but his thoughts quickly dissipated then.

***

"Have I ever loved anyone before you?" Thomas spoke in a low voice that echoed small and tiny in the walls of the dilapidated but pleasant-looking room. He turned his slow gaze to the beautiful Edith, who lay beside him on the slightly stiff bed, looking straight into his eyes, blue as clear water.

Thomas sighed. He didn't want to talk about you. His favorite girl, who helped him believe in himself. I knew Edith wouldn't like it.

"Yes, I did once -" Sharpe began again in a whisper, lightly squeezing the girl's light hand in his. He did not want to share his thoughts and feelings with others, because he knew that they would betray him. Otherwise, they will use it against you, which was very insulting.

Thomas looked at Edith again with a lost look, a girl who was different from the others and who might soon be dead. Damn it. He didn't think she was beautiful. She might be pretty, but there was nothing remarkable about her. Well, maybe it was just the beautiful eyes and the unusual mole above the soft lips that she didn't even try to cover up. Perhaps it was the openness that drew him to her.

But no. No, no, no, no. He won't fall for that pretty face and possibly witty mind. He only loved you. Only her flower, which fortunately her sister did not know about.

***

Thomas shook his head quickly. He didn't care now. He and Edith had never been in love. A hobby? "yes, perhaps. But no more. He can't do more than that. After all, all his steely heart and soft soul belonged to you, his childhood friends.

Childhood friends. It's been so long... Memories of his past childhood flashed through his mind as if they were the wind that tries to impress a person. His most vivid memory of you and your current fate was when you came to visit them in Crimson Peak, as your parents were busy with his parents and spent time with Thomas while Lucille was doing something else.

That's probably what influenced him back then. After all, if you hadn't been there at that time. At that difficult moment, when he was, if I may say so correctly, beaten with his stick by his mother, with whom she always went, and even connected the rod after.

And Thomas didn't know why. What did he do wrong then? What's the big deal?

He sighed and touched the small framed portrait with his palm. Before the portrait of his favorite flower. His favorite girl, who probably doesn't even know what he thinks about her right now. He couldn't remember when the portrait had come to him. If an artist came to him who painted to order and he had a photo that his beloved sent him, then it was the portrait that sent his flower.

She was so beautiful in that picture. Her light, slightly curled hair fell gently over her shoulders; her lips smiled a soft smile that wished everyone well; her nose was slightly tilted up, but it did not show disgust or contempt; her beautiful, transparent eyes looked at him intently.

Suddenly, a fleeting but painful tear ran down Sharpe's cold cheek, and with a quick swipe, it fell to the carpet, then dissolved into water.

He always liked to imagine you — the most joyful and smiling princess-marrying him of your own accord. He has so often, since that very moment in childhood, imagined how he would put a ring on your fragile finger, which would symbolize your love.

"I loved you, my flower..."

It's true. His love was always there. She started the exodus as a child and never stopped.

"... I love you..."

But still an engagement. Yes, the damned engagement party you invited him to, apparently thinking Thomas would be thrilled that you were marrying the Earl of Harrison. But no, he already hated the hell out of him. This dirty man who was unworthy of you and probably only used you.

"... And I will always love you..."

He would not allow this engagement to happen. That's not why Thomas waited, waiting for you to fall in love with him. However, he is tired of waiting and hinting to you that he loves you. You belong to him.

"After all, my flower belongs to me."

The words spoken by the portraits were immediately swallowed up by the dark house, absorbing them.

***

POV You

Oh, how you loved Earl James Harrison. He was the very person who, at a difficult time for you, your family and your family situation in general, pulled you out of such a blizzard. He was the one who helped you.

James was probably the most attractive person you've ever seen. And both in terms of external parameters, and in terms of his spiritual and mental abilities. Being very well-read and intelligent, he always found moments in which you can learn something new. Yes, it's no secret, you both learned new things thanks to each other, because each had a field in which he understood.

And when he proposed to you, you couldn't help but agree, because you knew that he loved you just as much as you loved him.

If you were a writer, the kind of writer who delves into novels, describing the tumultuous lives of people, revealing all the mysterious secrets, then you would definitely describe your relationship as very fickle, unfathomable, and possibly equal. After all, he did not humiliate you, did not lower your abilities, but treated you as an equal person, which greatly impressed you.

Very handsome was your lover: dark, brown hair that was usually scattered in a careless hairstyle, brown eyes that were carefully watching what was happening and usually beautiful clothes. Beautiful clothes. Oh, you should have one.

***

"I love you so much, James," you murmured sleepily, resting your head on the man's strong shoulder and closing your eyes. You could feel him chuckle.

"I love you too, honey," he said after a few seconds. You no longer heard it, because you were in a perfect state of sleep. In a state where you can rest.

He never stopped looking at you, smiling a gentle smile

***

Suddenly, your wrists felt very uncomfortable. There was a persistent feeling that they were rubbing against something. But what could it be? It felt like a rope woven into several knots.

And the smell... The smell was also completely different from the one in James ' room, where you went to sleep. There was the smell of old books and tart milk, and here there was the smell of clay mixed with the smell of some metal. No, if Jim didn't decide to start making toys and drag you to the workshop, then fine. But there was a smell of something else, too. Something is unclear.

You opened your eyes a little, trying to see the place you were in. You couldn't have been kidnapped, could you? Or could they? And who could it be, if we follow this theory?

However, nothing surprised you. You were in a not particularly large room, which by its own condition was basically normal, only one thing did not paint it, so it was the smell and appearance of dust that lay on the shelves with old books. You flinched a little. A large bed stood beside you, strewn with a small number of rose petals, and covered with a dark corduroy coverlet. There were large windows nearby. Does the theory about your kidnapping include that if you jump out, you'll break every bone in your body? Or were you on the first floor?"

At the bottom, or rather the floor of the room, was decorated with a large dirty carpet with large drawings of incomprehensible shapes. It seems to have been a spontaneous fantasy. Although you could see the flowers there, too. Across from the bed was a large wardrobe that probably contained all of your captor's clothes.

"I've been waiting for this moment for so long!" an eerily familiar voice exclaimed. Such a soft, husky baritone. He was definitely familiar to you.

When you heard the voice, you immediately closed your eyes. I'd rather pretend to be asleep than face the man who kidnapped you." No, you'll talk to him later, but not now. Now is not the time.

Suddenly, you heard the floorboards creak beside you and someone blocked out the light that was continuously pouring out of the window in a cold stream.

"I love you so much, my flower," a voice murmured in your ear, barely audible. His heart was pounding at a furious rate now, replaying in his brain the words that the man had spoken earlier. Who is he? What is it about? Why had he waited for this moment? Why does he love you? Do you know each other at all?

"I know that you love me as much as I love you. I know you hate that damned Earl Garrison, and you want to marry me because you only love me."

What? You tried to focus on your thoughts, trying to remember what that familiar voice was. What kind of person would dare to do something as audacious as kidnapping?

"I loved you. I've loved you since the day you comforted me in this house, protected me from my parents, and showed me your concern... I never forgot about you."

All of a sudden, you feel like you've been electrocuted. Protection, comfort, care. The words echoed in your brain. You didn't listen to the man just now, because you realized who it was.

Thomas. Thomas Sharpe. Your first person to open up to. To whom she confided all her secrets. You didn't really know him as a person, only as a child, as children, you crossed paths a couple of times, and only because your parents and his parents collaborated.

And nothing else. What kind of love is he talking about? What do his thoughts know, which he seeks to convey? Why did he think it was love? Why not a less powerful feeling?

***

The clock ticked. They gave off a slight tinkle that broke the silence that had arisen in the room. Only the soft whispers of the children trying to comfort each other could be heard. They were quiet, almost inaudible.

"I'll always help you, Thomas, just call me," you muttered to yourself, turning to the boy and scratching his dark head with your thin hand. Trying to comfort him, to show him that you care.

***

But for this to happen — by kidnapping, by declaring love, and by binding — love simply could not arise. What kind of love is in a person's need for another person, you just didn't understand. What was the point? Unclear.

"I know that you have belonged to me since the day you comforted me..."

You didn't want to hear Thomas mutter about it. If you had been bolder, you would have screamed, trying to escape, but there was no way out now. It is better to obey him. Yes, the logic was wrong at the moment, since there was no need to think like that. It is better to resist than not to try to do anything.

"...I know you belong to me..."

No, you don't belong to anyone! Since when does he want you so badly? After all, as you remember, Thomas was quite a quiet, calm and peaceful boy. And what happened now? Why is he acting like this? What does he want? Love? So why would he fall in love with someone else?

"...And I know that you will belong to me..."

The only person you'll ever belong to is James, and that's only because he belongs to you. No more than that. Doesn't that include negotiated equality?

You felt someone's soft lips touch your lips, which were very thin, but pleasant. Spiced and slightly wounded, apparently bitten, Thomas's lips were not bad

"...Because we love each other, my flower..."

[northlight14]

A love for love

Description: Roman loved love. He always had, even as a small child. So why was it so different whenever he was involved?

TW: panic attack, mention of making out but nothing is actually shown, cursing, questioning, unrequited love, let me know if I should add anything else

Ships: unrequited royality, platonic roceit, dukeceit

Genre: high school au

Prompt: prompt 6, aromantic (prompt by @pridewrite2021)

Roman loved love. He always had. Even as a small child, he'd watch wide eyed as Prince Charming leaned down and gave sleeping beauty true loves kiss, something so powerful that it was able to break an evil witches curse. He'd stayed up till early hours in the morning, squealing with excitement as he read about two warriors able to take on an entire army, motivated by their want to keep the other safe and stealing glances at each other as their metal swords collided with the enemies weapon. He'd sing his heart out when a romance song came on the radio, gushing about their love interest with such emotion that Roman adored.

Yes, Roman loved love.

So why was it so different whenever he was involved?

The earliest memory Roman had of this was when he was in first grade. Two of his classmates ran up to him giggling as they sang "Savannah has a crush on you!" Instead of feeling that overwhelming joy like the ones described in his books and music, he felt a deep cutting disgust in his stomach. Roman felt less like he could conquer the world and more like the world was going to swallow him whole. Rather than singing any great love song that he'd sang so many times in his room or in the car, he began crying instead while the two girls looked at him in confusion.

"It was just because I don't like her." Roman told himself.

But this feeling of being out of place only grew as his fellow classmates gushed about their boyfriends and girlfriends, crushes and which cartoon character they find cute. Granted, they were in second and third grade, so the terms "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" roughly translated to "they let me borrow their crayon at break once and now we're in love and going to get married." However, this love for love spread like a virus and Romans desire to fit in only grew. So, during a sleepover with his friends, Roman looked upon the TV, at the princess Aurora and decided 'She'd make a good crush.' Before announcing it to the crowd of toddlers, the words immediately sounding wrong as he spoke them, as if he'd spoken them in a foreign language. He decided that night to never speak of his supposed "crush" ever again. Roman liked Aurora with Prince Philip much more, anyway.

Roman was in fifth grade when he was talking to one of his best friends, Valorie. The two of them just laughing and joking when his friends approached.

"Who's your girlfriend, Ro?" one laughed, putting his arm around Roman. And he knew it was a joke. He knew that. But it still felt like the arm hadn't wrapped around his shoulders and instead knocked all the air out his lungs in one hard punch. This moment lingered in his mind like a haunting apparition, quickly causing any friendships with girls to become strained. First only talking occasionally while in class or on the yard, to only talking when his guy friends weren't around, to only texting outside of school to nothing at all. Roman mourned these friendships but it had been made clear that boys and girls couldn't just be friends and the idea of people thinking he was dating any of these people made him feel like a caged bird.

Later that year Roman decided, despite his love for love, he didn't want to date. The reason for this being...

"I'm just more focused on my career."

"I just don't see the point in dating right now."

"I've never really liked anyone so what's the point?"

"I just like being more focused on myself."

And any other excuse he could possibly come up with, repeating them as many times as he needed to to believe them. Roman had always been a good actor, after all. But, of coarse, with this supposed decision came "reassurance" from adults, as if they had the ability to see the future.

"You just haven't met the right person, yet."

"You'll change your mind one day, when you get a bit older."

"All kids say that at your age."

"Roman isn't interested in dating YET."

These invalidating promises made Romans blood boil the more he heard them. It was as if he was yelling while trapped in a soundproof box, unable to escape. But, despite what seemingly everyone around him was saying, Roman knew deep down that romance just wasn't for him.

He also remained thankful that this love for love hadn't infected his friendship too much.

That was until seventh grade when what was originally a few cases of a love for love became an epidemic. It seemed that all anyone wanted to know was "do you have a crush on her?" "Did you hear that Lily and Reese are going out?" "Do you find her attractive?" This soon made its way over to his friends as they talked about how hot the girls were and teased each other relentlessly about who they liked. Roman once again felt like an outsider in his friend group. His friends conversations about their girlfriends may as well have been spoken in Latin.

Then the day came when his twin brother, Remus, came out as gay and started dating a guy named Janus. It then occurred to Roman.

"Maybe the reason I haven't been feeling anything for all these girls was because they were girls! Maybe I like boys instead!" Roman had never been a very logical person but this definitely seemed to make more sense. If he didn't like women then that surely must mean that he liked men instead, right? Because otherwise...otherwise Roman didn't know what that meant.

So Roman tried. Really God damn tried to find boys cute, to fantasize about dating them, to relate to gay experiences. But all he was met with was the same foreign and hollow feeling he'd felt when he lied about having a crush back in 2nd grade. Roman quickly began feeling his love for the concept of love diminish.

So when Roman entered grade 9, he decided to put anything to do with his romantic feelings (or lack there of) in a little box in the back of his mind to deal with later. Instead putting his passion and good acting skills to use by joining his schools drama department. The moment he stepped foot on stage, he felt himself come alive. The crowd, the praise, the creativity, it was addicting.

And it was only made better with the more friends he made. There was one person who he grew partially close to. Patton Heart. The two quickly became best friends, often hanging out outside of rehearsals and texting non stop. And, for the first time in what seemed like years, Roman was happy and comfortable.

That was until 10th grade. Roman way lying on his bed watching Netflix on his phone when a message from Patton came through. Roman clicked on the message and was caught massively off guard as he read it.

Patton: hey, Roman. So I've been thinking a lot lately. In particular about us and about you. And over the past few months I've started to realize that I have a really big crush on you. You're really handsome, funny and talented and I love spending time with you. It's totally ok if you don't like me back, but I figured it's better to be honest.

It should've been it. The moment when one of the main characters confesses their feelings for the love interest and they proclaim they feel the same way. Sparks fly and their hearts beat faster with excitement. It all becomes so clear when they hear that confession in movies and books.

But this wasn't a movie.

Roman felt time stand still as he read the message, his hands shaking so much he didn't think he would be able to respond even if he knew how to answer.

He couldn't breath. Why couldn't he breath?! The edges of his vision went fuzzy as he desperately gasped for air.

"Patton's great." He thought through his suffocating panic. "He's funny and charming and sweet. You should like him. Why don't you like him? What's wrong with you?!" Romans thoughts yelled as he tried desperately to hold back the tears threatening to spill over.

Not sure of what else to do, Roman ran to Remus' room, hoping he'd know how to respond.

Roman knocked on his brothers door and Remus responded with a very annoyed "come in" after a few beats of silence. Remus and Janus were sat on Remus' bed and Roman could tell from their slightly red lips that the two had been making out. But he wasn't in the headspace to even pretend to care that he'd interrupted them right now.

"Ugh, what do you want?" Remus said, clearly too irritated by his brothers presence to notice his distress.

"P-Patton just messaged me s-saying he likes me and I don't know what to say." Roman barely stuttered out, trying desperately not to cry in front of Remus and his boyfriend.

"Aw, cute. Roro finally got a man." Remus joked but Roman was definitely not in the mood for that kind of humor.

"Do you like him back?" Janus asked, calmly, clearly taking more notice of Romans distress.

"Well, I do. But not like that."

"Ok, so just tell him that. It doesn't have to be this whole thing. Why are you getting so upset?" Remus said, looking at Roman as if he was stupid.

Which, to be fair, Roman did feel very stupid right now.

"He's my best friend. I don't want to upset him." Yeah, that was the reason Roman was freaking out. He just didn't want to hurt Patton. That was it.

"Well, just say you don't want a relationship right now or some shit. Besides, he's probably more worried now because you've taken so long to answer." Remus pointed out. Yeah, Roman was never coming to Remus with his problems ever again.

"Yeah...ok." Roman said. Slowly, he walked out the room, noticing Janus looking at him curiously but deciding not to focus on it.

Roman: I'm really sorry Patton, but I don't feel the same way. We can still be friends tho. It doesn't have to be awkward between us. Especially because I really like being friends with you.

Patton: Yeah, that's ok. This is kinda what I was expecting to be honest. But yeah, I still wanna stay friends.

A few days later Janus came over again for dinner. Afterwards, Roman went into the living room and sat on the couch, scrolling through Instagram.

To his surprise, Janus followed after him and sat next to him. "So, how are you feeling after a few days ok. Broken his heart yet?" Janus teased.

Roman huffed out a laugh. "Uh, yeah, we agreed to just stay friends. Which I'm happy about but it's also really weird. I honestly don't know where we go from here which sucks because I really like Patton. Just not like...that." Janus nodded in understanding.

"You must care about him a lot if you had a panic attack just because you didn't want to hurt his feelings." Janus said. Roman just shrugged in response. "So, does that mean you like someone else?" Janus asked.

"No...I. I don't know. I've...I've never really liked anyone. I don't think I ever will. And people say I'll change my mind but...it isn't like I've made a choice. I've felt like this my whole life and everyone around me has had a crush on someone by now. I just... don't think I was built for romance. Which I know probably sounds stupid but that's just how I feel." He said, so honest it almost hurt.

Janus nodded slowly, taking in what Roman was saying. "It doesn't sound stupid." He said before pausing, as if considering his next choice of words. "Roman...have you ever heard of the term aromantic?" He asked.

"No." Roman answered, looking at Janus curiously.

"It basically means someone who experiences little to no romantic attraction. So they don't get crushes and stuff like that." He explained.

Roman felt his heart leap and for once it wasn't because of a fight or flight reflex. "Wait, that's a thing?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, a surprising number of people identify with it. I don't want to assume anything but I thought I might mention it just from what you've told me and what Remus has said in the past. Plus that panic on your face yesterday reminded me a bit of when I tried to force myself into romantic situations with girls." Janus smirked to himself.

That night Roman researched more on aromanticism than he did for his science test. The more he searched, the more it just made sense. Of coarse, he still had a long way to go towards self acceptance. Roman could feel himself already starting to mourn the idea that this was a choice he'd made ages ago and he was going to feel romantic love one day. It was an odd feeling, realizing that even though he knew deep down it wasn't a decision and he'd always hated when people made those comments, a part of him took comfort in adults promising that he'd change his mind one day. He was also horrified to realize that he didn't know what his future was supposed to look like now without romance. After all, media seemed to show single middle aged adults exclusively as depressed and lonely. But as he scoured through wiki articles to tumblr pages to memes, he knew this was a good start to unlearning any nonsense society had been shoving down his throat.

The more Roman learned and the more people he talked to online about it, the more he started to feel his love for love increase. But instead of it being centered on a prince and princess in a movie, two in love warriors keeping each other alive in a book or a cheesy love song on the radio, it was a different type of love Roman was finally starting to feel the more he accepted himself.

Self love.

Reblog’s >>>> likes

[13atoms]

Fic idea: reader and orlo are penpals, and when the reader finally visits Orlo for the first time, they expect a suave, intelligent, confident man... And then Orlo's very, very flustered and tongue tied around them, but still in his endearing way?

No idea where to go from there, so have fun I guess?

Oh my god i love this concept. SO much. He’d be so suave in letters. 

Since I’ve been away a while: here’s some flufffffffff

Orlo fidgeted nervously as another carriage pulled away, an elderly Lord in an oversized wig departing rather than the woman he was expecting.

What would she be like? What would she look like? Sound like? Smell like?

What would she think of him?

He tried to gulp down the worst question, buzzing around his head like a wasp he couldn’t swat, cursing his sweaty palms as he rubbed them against his waistcoat subtly. The fear she wouldn’t like him had crept up on Orlo over the last few weeks, threatening to choke him the night before her arrival and keeping him from sleep as he had anxiously considered every possible outcome of their meeting for the first time.

Ought he to have warned her, of his reputation at the palace? Did he owe her some explanation of his flaws?

He wondered who she expected, if she had tried to fantasize about him as he had about her.

Her. This stranger, who he feared might already own his heart, who knew him better than anyone else in the palace walls.

They had flirted through neat script, he had agonised over her every crossed-out work and carefully chosen phrase, and now he was finally meeting her.

It was a strange gap in his day, between coup meetings and appeasing Peter, trying to hold the country together, Orlo had carved out time to await the arrival of her carriage.

He was being ridiculous, he knew it, standing by the turning circle of the carriages for hours. He had no idea what time she would arrive, and yet he could not bare to miss a second of her presence. So her would wait, alone and hoping his intentions remained unchallenged by the gentry at large.

No one in the palace knew of his correspondence, of his flirting and his attempts at charming in letters, of his secret he had harboured in letters nestled between official correspondence and against his heart in the inside pocket of his waistcoat.

He smiled, thinking of all the times he had leaned on the strength of those letters in difficult meetings and raucous parties, eagerly awaiting each new batch of letters in the hopes it might contain a couple of pages from her.

Catherine had almost caught him once, reading a letter from her crouched in a concealed corner of the theatre, squinting in the darkness in desperation to hear more from her.

“What are you reading?” Catherine had asked haughtily, reaching for the letter.

As quickly as he could without damaging the paper, he had declined to share with her, shoving the folded letter back into his pocket.

“Nothing!”

Catherine’s silent challenge, her stormy expression and impatiently tapping foot, had forced more words from him.

“A friend,” he muttered.

Her expression had warped into a wry smile, perhaps no longer afraid of his betrayal, seeing a little more than he would have liked.

Orlo smiled to himself against the cold air, the palace looming behind him and his beau somewhere through the forest, in a carriage. He could not deny the nervousness he felt for her safety, in equal measure to the nervousness he felt for her judgement of him.

In the windows, he could see people waking up, beginning their routines. Couples and single men, children and countless visitors to the huge building flitted in and out of the windows as the Russian wind whistled through the forest and horses and carriage crunched against the road.

A polite, “thank you” drew his eye from the windows above, causing him to staggered around clumsily to see the women disembarking the carriage.

He pulled her latest letter from his pocket, wondering if it might help him identify his mystery pen pal somehow, watching as she tried subtly to stretch from the journey and smiled at the driver.

Her reaction to the huge, grand building was familiar, and it made Orlo smile as she stared up at the windows above, marvelling at what was surely the largest building she had ever seen with wide eyes.

She smiled as she caught him staring, and Orlo found himself shrinking into himself, his chest tight with nervousness as she laid eyes on him.

"I'm looking for... Grigor Orlo?" she asked gently.

His name on her tongue made his heart stutter in his chest, and Orlo knew it. He was fucked.

"That's... actually me," he choked out, wincing at the stutter in his words.

He winced as her eyebrows raised, her gaze falling subtly across his face and clothing, mouth falling open for just a second of surprise too long. Then, she smiled so sweetly he feared he might faint.

“Then I suppose I am your pen pal!” she introduced herself, holding out a hand to him.

Orlo froze, kicking himself as he finally reached for her retreating hand, pulling it to his lips. Her soft skin brushed his lips in a kiss for just a second, but it was long enough for him to feel that clenching of his heart again, almost painful.

His mind was torturing him, seeming to race and halt at once.    

Stop acting like such a fool!

“Orlo,” he choked out, “everyone just calls me Orlo.”

He released her hand and stood, struggling to meet her gaze even as he was inclined to stare at her. She regarded him curiously for a moment, before nodding mutely.

Her carriage was pulling away, her bags awaiting direction as servants stood nearby, and he wondered at what a spectacle this all must be. Still, he found himself lacking words.

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” she told him sincerely, “at long last.”

“You too,” Orlo managed to return, wondering how a man of his age could manage to have his voice break whilst attempting to pronounce so few syllables.

The conversation had not truly been volleyed back to her, and yet Orlo could do nothing but berate himself for how badly he was failing.

He had thought her his soulmate, perhaps, a life partner. Words alone had been enough to prove their connection, a smart and witty woman he had begun correspondence with quite by accident seemed too good to be true, and he had been delighted each time she flirted back with him, and seemed as eager as him to talk more. She had travelled for days to visit him, for goodness’ sakes. She could not be more perfect, and he was fucking it all up.

“Where should I have my bags sent?” she asked him politely.

He wondered at what she might think, as he fumbled and failed to carry their conversation. Fuck. He had not even welcomed her yet, told her where she would be staying, he –

“Orlo?” she inquired.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, “um, there is a guest suite prepared. Near mine. Not that… not that that is relevant. Um…”

He turned to the serf who stood nearby, longsuffering and wincing at the man’s awkwardness.

“The guest suite three doors from my own, the door will be marked.”

They nodded, and vanished with the heavy bags.

His pen pal was staring wistfully across the gardens, and he felt nothing but pity for the poor woman. He had lured her here under the pretence of someone better than him, and now she would be undergoing the worst kind of betrayal, watching him fumble his words and wring his hands nervously.

She had wandered some small distance away, entranced by the morning bustle of the residents of the palace and their finery, the sheer scale of the grounds. He watched her for a moment, taking a deep breath, before stepping by her side.

“I cannot believe you are real,” he exhaled, “I have been so nervous…”

She turned a little to face him, but spared him her gaze. Perhaps she knew that was too much for now.

“Me too,” she admitted, “I mean, that you are real. And who you say.”

Orlo allowed himself to smile, and she turned properly to him.

“I was afraid I would let you down. I still am, in some way,” he admitted, the words rolling from his tongue unpermitted.

At least you are saying something, you fool.

He frowned at her displeased look, noticed how she took him in again, wondering if she was judging him. For his stature. For his clothes. His face. His voice. His demeanour.

He wondered which repulsed her the most.

“I admit, I had the same fear,” she told him.

Orlo opened and closed his mouth in surprise, her letter to him clutched tightly in his hand, the last words she had sent him before he could finally hear her speak in person.

“Why? You could never disappoint me!” Orlo heard himself pitchy, nervous still, and cursed himself for it.

She laughed, looking towards her feet, fluffing her skirt in a gesture which betrayed her own self-consciousness.

“I am embarrassed to admit it, but I fretted for hours on what to wear today. Whether you would think it was… enough. I know things are different here, I… I did not want to embarrass myself.”

Orlo intended to interrupt, one hand raised to make a point, but she continued to speak. She was not watching him, her gaze trained instead on the ladies assembling on the lawn in their ornate jewellery and fine dresses, squinting as if in scrutiny.

“I confess I had even considered turning around, for fear you might not find me as… eloquent in person.”

Orlo caught himself chuckling, quickly reaching for his pen pal’s hand to assuage her immediate fear he was laughing at her.

“I cannot believe how thoroughly your mind seems to match mine, in its cruel patterns,” he explained.

She smiled nervously, unconvinced, and he dropped her hand.

Then, he reached for it again, leaving his fingers awkwardly outstretched as he allowed his rue thoughts to spill from his mouth.

"I find that beautiful words come to me easier than beauty, flattery and emotion are easier through a quill than they are through my own voice. I understand if you want to leave. And if I have misled you in some way... oh, god, I am sorry."

His words were left with a beat of silence, self-depreciation stamping out hope as it blossomed at her timidly upturning lips.

“Now, you are sounding rather more than my pen pal,” she teased, and Orlo caught himself smiling, though the jibe felt rather at his own expense.

“I do not measure up in person…” Orlo attempted to fill her words, to release her from the need to tell him herself that she would be leaving.

She took his hand.

“On account of beauty, you certainly do. And perhaps you might show me a little more flattery and emotion as you introduce me to the grounds?”

She adjusted his arm, and he found himself allowing his muscles to go limp at the contact, letting her manipulate him as she pleased until he had styled him to offer his elbow, and snaked her own arm through his.

He covered her hand with his, feeling butterflies returning to his stomach.

In a good way. An exciting way. She smiled across at him.

“I would truly love that,” he confessed sincerely.

She leant into his side fondly, make his heartbeat accelerate faster than the wildest jigs danced in the palace. I would like so desperately to dance with her, he realised.

Ahead the sky was a bright blue, both of them squinting at the sun as Catherine joined the women in a chorus of bottle-smashing cheers. The bark of dogs inside the palace was accompanied by gunshots, as a hunt prepared to go out.

And Orlo was about to go on a date.

A date who was chirpily hanging onto his arm, looking around at all the new sights and flinching at the new noises.

Just for a second, he wondered that she might get used to them.

And stay.

With a blink he finally took a step forwards, delighting in how she bounced excitedly alongside him, his earlier trepidation giving forwards to the kind of fond nervousness which arrived at the start of something good.

As she smiled to him, he found himself earnestly grinning back.

“Then let us begin.”

[aliaslua]

Right to live

Chapter 02 of my on going series: In broad daylight

Chapter summary: Michelangelo has a productive therapy session after his interview. April and Casey announce their wedding and in a jealousy crisis, Donatello has his first one-night-stand. Warning: This chapter contain light smut (mature, not explicit) if you're a minor please DON'T INTERACT. TW: Trauma mention (nothing too graphic or descriptive, but it does contain a short account of a panic attack).

Michelangelo started therapy after his first panic attack.

It was - maybe - the worst night of his life. At that point in time he didn’t even knew what a trigger was - and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to identify or anticipate his reaction. If felt like he was dying in a literal, visceral sense. It was like having a bomb growing inside his shell, the beating counting down to a heart attack, he felt his lips cold, his head heavy and the touch of Donatello’s hand in his shoulders felt cold against his skin for the first time in his life. He could still remembers his brothers calling to him and his inhuman effort to look them in the eyes, just as he gazed into the house he grew up in and didn’t recognize the color of the new floor tiles.

The rest was a blur.

Dr. Miller was April’s last effort to persuade Leo and Raph that Mikey needed professional counseling. At this point, Mikey didn't have enough will to have a strong opinion on his treatment, he didn't have the will to do anything, really. All his days were spent sleeping by day and having terrible night anxiety, followed by an earth-shattering cry until morning, when he went back to sleep.  Despite their best effort to care for and protect the younger sibling, all of his brothers knew that he had become impossible to handle - and more important than that, his emotional and physical dependency got so intense that it was perfectly clear that there was nothing they could do: Michelangelo need help, professional help.

On the first day they entered Dr. Miller’s office, April had reassured everybody she had send the therapist recent photos of Mikey and explained all his possible triggers in detail. The clinic would open two hours early so that they could have privacy and that this first encounter would include Mikey, his brothers and Sara Miller only.

Mikey was so nervous he felt like this situation alone would end up triggering his next attack: his hands were sweaty, his chest heavy and the feeling in his stomach made him realize that maybe he would throw up all those recent pizza slices. When the door to her office opened, he felt an immediate relief upon looking at her.

Sara (as he would start calling her later) was a 67 years old black woman, wearing a knitted cardigan and a puffy ponytail. She looked at him with eyes free from any king of judgment: any kind of feeling at all, actually, it was very… neutral. After gazing at him and his brothers she had smiled lightly and then calmly said:

"Good morning. I am Dr. Miller. Are you Michelangelo?" Mikey just nodded " Welcome. Please, come in.”

So he did, on that Monday morning and all the next yet to come, for two years straight.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“Did you see the interview?” Mikey asked just as he entered her office, not even worrying about greeting Sara.

“Yes I did.” She answered with the same peaceful deep voice, unbothered by the absence of a greet “You looked very handsome.”

“I sure did!” The mutant turtle seated at the large red sofa, his body melting in the comfortable cushions, he grabbed one of the small pillows behind him and held it tight against his chest “Ugh! It was so fun!”

Sara smiled. She always gave him a kind of smile that made Mikey feel like she was the perfect embodiment of a fairytale grandma and for the first time, Michelangelo actually considered she might actually be someone else’s grandmother.

“I am glad to hear that. Did you do the exercises he practiced?”

Mikey hummed “It helped. But what really made all difference was that Leo was there. And April. Oh, April is getting married!” He announced “She and Casey told us about the engagement just after we all saw the interview air. It was a great night.” He stopped for a minute and laid his head against the couch, focusing on the abstract painting that always caught his attention since the first day he sat there, he knew his voice let out a sadness he was trying to hide. He didn’t need to pretend there.

“It was… Weird, I guess… Like, I should be happy for them, right? Casey is a nice man, he treats her right, they already have a life together, an apartment with a huge TV and an aquarium… I can’t argue with that, right? Right?” Sara didn’t answer, Michelangelo laid his head completely on the couch, staring at the sealing “She was my first love��. Or something like it. I feel so attached to her and…” He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, trying to measure all the feelings filling his chest “...I think I… Should I feel happy for her? Because I felt… Huh, I felt betrayed.”

“Do you feel resentment?” Dr. Miller finally asked, gazing calmly at him.

“Yeah, I guess… I didn’t know what I expected... and I don’t want to marry April. Not anymore, I mean. She is like a sister to me. No! It’s more than that… She’s like… I- It just.. it was all so fast! Everything is so fast right now, and she decided to announce just as the interview ended and I felt so… I felt so overshadowed!”

“You felt it was your night.”

“It WAS my night. And I don’t mean to sound selfish, you know? I just… Wished they had waited.”

Sara looked at her patient making a conscious effort to avoid giving away her own feelings, the enormous man in front her had a gloomy expression and tired eyes.

“Mikey, is not the first time you mention feeling like this.”

“Like what?”

“ Overshadowed .” She quoted him.

“Yeah… I guess it's something I’ve been feeling for a while.”

“You mentioned once that you felt… Smushed, is the word you used.”

“Yeah. Smushed between my brothers.”

“Hmm” Sara nodded “What about that?”

“Well, you know about that… They are all special in their own way. Leo is the leader, Raph is the muscle, Donnie is the genius, I am the… Comic relief?”

“You sound like you are all characters of a cartoon.”

“We look like it!” Mikey said, humorous. Sara did her best  to contain a tiny smile that formed in her cheeks.

“Well, you are your own person, Mikey. You don’t have to fulfill an imaginary role you fantasized for yourself.”

“Yeah I feel like you’re always telling me that.” He sighed “What this has to do with April?”

“You were telling me about her engagement…”

“Yeah. It was crazy… I mean, me, Leo and Raph kept it together but Donnie just… Bolted.” A nervous laugh escaped him “She told the news and he just… Left. I guess it was too much for him. You know, April was the only person we knew for so long… It was only natural to fall for her, right? She’s so nice, kind, and after the expected first meeting shock she treated us with… Dignity is the world Master Splinter likes to use... But then we all grew out of it.”

A long silence followed before he complemented:

“I guess Donnie didn’t”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

Donatello felt his feet too tight against the leather shoe and considered for the third time on that evening that maybe this was a terrible idea.

Ignoring his own better judgement, he knocked.

Alicia Ellis awakened in him two utterly contradictory and madding feelings: disgust and lust.

Many times he had tried - and succeeded- at disguising the amount of attention he paid to her body, especially since the context they first met didn’t allowed for flirtatious endeavors and despite knowing his physical body was searching it’s hormonal peak, Donatello proud himself on being utterly respectful: an effort that he felt he was making alone. Ellis never even tried to hide her indiscreet wants, playing with their encounters just enough to not be considered harassment, but clear enough to not allow ambiguity. Was that even possible? Donnie asked himself. Did it even matter now?

He felt disgusted mostly towards himself, actually, knowing full well why he had come to her apartment after that eventful night, just as the women he thought he could win over announced her engagement to the man he honestly felt he could one day surpass - pathetic, he beat himself again, cringing at the mere fact he once imagined a possible future for them, together. What a pathetic, emotional, delusional monster you are, dreaming about the pretty girl that once held your hand… And now you surrender to your most selfish desire, luring this woman who will be stupid enough to let you in.

This is going to ruin you. Was the last thing he thought before she opened the door.

She was astonishingly beautiful, with her thick luxurious wavy hair and round plump figure, pressed against a tight outfit he didn’t have enough interest to notice in detail.

“Took you long enough.” She said in a malicious tone, grabbing him by his belt. The apartment was warm, had a delicious floral smell and it was lit in subtle yellow light that mimicked candles. It was sexy, inviting and terribly scary, just like her.

This is going to ruin me . The feeling echoed towards Donnie as he willfully closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t hard for him to understand why a woman like her would take interest in being with a man like him, the internet had allowed Donnie to have a very indiscreet access to the human world - especially since people seemed really comfortable in sharing online things they wouldn’t even tell a best friend - and he knew way before they even came out to the surface that most probably wouldn’t be difficult to find someone willing to share a bed with him. Alicia was just a part of a very niche - yet not so small as one may think - group.

The thought brought him a small relief and a strike of courage that he much needed at that moment.

“I didn’t think you would come.” She said, bringing two glasses of a clear-yellow liquid. What an inappropriate move to bring a glass of white wine to a young adult not-yet-of-age , his better judgment told him as he accepted the glass, but wasn’t he 21 yet? Yes, he was... Maybe it was just judgment.

“Me neither” He answered after a sigh, too honest for his own sake.

“What changed your mind?” She mischievously asked, crossing her legs in an angle that brushed against his knee.

Donatello considered for a minute to said the truth, my heart was broken and honestly I really want to have sex, how would she respond to that? Was there a polite way of saying it? Instead, he said: “I’ve decided to change my approach on things.”

“Oh, really?” She smiled honestly “...And how’s that gonna happen?”

I will take every opportunity that life gives me, irrespective of its consequences, “I’ll stop sabotaging my wants…” He turned his body a little bit in her direction, he had planned a second sentence to follow but it seemed like he had already said all she needed to hear.

She slid her knee between his legs to climb his lap, brushing the space between the buttons of his shirt lightly. How quickly she hopped on top of him and how quickly his body responded to the feel of her warm perfumed breath against his neck. “That’s great to hear.”

It wasn’t Donatello’s first kiss but the tension of feeling the soft lips of a woman he barely knew nothing about added to the oh-so-suggestive friction of her thighs against  his zipper made it an entirely new experience. If he granted himself a moment of reason, Donnie would most likely find her too hurried and eager - but again, what was his experience in this field? Wasn’t this how the encounter should go? What else was he expecting? Independent of what his reason may have considered, the friction of her palms against the now prominent bulge in his pants added to the delicious sounds coming from her throat made every single indecision go away.

He felt his head light and dizzy as their tongues danced against each other and the urge to feel relief made him bold. She answered the squeeze he gave her bottom with an audible moan that gave Donatello’s stomach a cold wave of shock along with the first visible stain in between his paints. She felt the thickness of his fluid against the fabric and smiled against his lips.

“Such a passionate… response.” She said in what sounded like a performative tone - well, she was a journalist.

He took her incentive and slide her tube dress above her ass, stoking it as he lowered his lips to her neck. Her skin was soft and the way it reacted to his mouth - the small flinches of her body and the building pressure between his legs could only compare to the amazing feeling of her silk soft thigh skin. She used her hands to guide his head further down, lowering the piece of garment herself, he instinctively took one of her nipples in his mouth, enjoying the contrast between the soft skin of her breasts and the beaded texture of her nipples.

When Alicia laid her body against him on the couch, he followed her moves and felt the soft pillow against his head, the discreet but unmistakable sound of his zipper being opened followed by her stocked gasp at his member followed by “Oh I’m gonna have fun tonight!”. Donatello held her waist closer to his own, trying to reach her lips again, wondering if he could say the same. The warmth between her legs and the delicious feeling that jolted through his body and she aligned him to her entry - and the irresistible pleasure of feeling his tip tease her plump lips - made him think that the most likely answer was yes .

...And what an unnecessary concern the wine proved to be: he didn’t even get to drink it.

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

“...you know, Raph made a friend.” Mikey had stood on his feet and now looked through the squared window. He had a regular habit of standing up during the sessions, usually as they were reaching the middle of the appointment. Sara it wrote down anyway, before adding:

“Really?”

Mikey hummed “...It’s a complicated story - but he left to buy a bear, this old man didn’t want to sell it to him, so he got really angry, so someone threatened to call the police, so he started to freak out and then this… girl appeared!”  He was switching his body height between his legs “Clara. What a name! Heh- I don’t get to say that, huh? Well, her name was Clara and he said she looked like an anime version of a character from Fresh prince of bel air … Can you imagine?” He turned to look at her. Sara just nodded.

“Wanna hear some really crazy stuff? Raph told me that they were talking and she told him she saw my interview… and she said she was in love with me!” He offered his therapist an incredulous happy smile “ME! Can you believe it?”

Sara hummed and made another note.

“I know she was kidding, I don’t think she loves me. But saying it like this sounds like… Like I am a celebrity! Like she would like to know me… Like…”

“Like you have been seen.”

“HELL YEAH!” He exclaimed, sitting down on the couch again grabbing his trust-worthy pillow “... And that sucker didn’t even got her number…” A deep sigh followed silence. Very discreetly, Dr. Miller checked her watch.

“It doesn’t matter, really, it just made me realize… That I wished I had someone…”

More silence.

“-I know I already have someone, if that's what you’re gonna say… I know my brothers are my care net and that I have friends and confidants, and bla bla bla”.

“Well I wasn’t going to…” She said peacefully.

“ I want… A lover . Someone to be my special one. Someone to cherish and spoil and share my life with! Someone who can say they’re in love with me… For real.”

More deep silence.

“... And why don’t you?” She finally prompted. Michelangelo turned to look at her with a impatient expression:

“Are you kiddin’ me?”

“I am definitely not.”

“You can’t be that cynical!”

“I am not.”

“Sara…” He sighed uneasily “... not this again.” she heard pain in his words.

“You have the right to live, Mikey.” She gazed at him with the same kind eyes, letting her strong words get to him “...Just like anyone else.”

This time, that was an anxious silence. Michelangelo rubbed his hands together as if he was facing a cold storm “What if it happens again?”

“Then you will do what we practiced.” She waited for an answer that didn’t come “... Do you wanna remember it once again with me?”

He simply nodded.

“I am more…” She started.

“...than people perceive me.”

“I’ve the right…”

“...to occupy space.”

“No one…”

“No one can deny me my right to live.”

“That was great, Mikey.” Dr. Miller said kindly.

He squeezed the tears away from his eyes, not even realizing they were there. “...Yeah… Yeah, it was.”

━━━━━━ • ✿ • ━━━━━━

It was certainly.... Memorable , Donatello thought, staring at his brand new shoes as they made the path back to the lair. How was it again that he found himself in that situation? That sad looking, empty feeling, walk-of-shame. Oh, yeah, Alicia Ellis.

Something felt terrible wrong about that whole endeavor. He tried to think about the details, to analyze the facts: it has been clearly consensual, sober, communicative sex. So why did he feel like some part of him had been left behind in that apartment? Was it his clear shyness when they finally consumed the act or her generous overlook at his even clearer lack of experience? Had him fail his mission? Factually not! He performed… Fine - it was hard to measure, but she seemed pleased enough. He was also pleased… Physically, at least.

So why did he feel so… Empty?

He walked among the streets of New York without the concern his older brother seemed to carry. Donatello was always really good at not carrying - just as he was good at carrying too much . Oh, yes, his overthinking nature was still going to kill him, no matter how hard he tried to pretend like it didn’t matter at all.

Nothing mattered, everything mattered. What a contradictory and childish state of mind. Could he ever find balance? Would he ever be able to take risks and still be prudent? To be disappointed and not lose all faith? To love deeply and move over from it, stronger and ready to love again? Did he ever truly love her ?

He remembered her ring shining against the light, mocking his defeat. A zirconium, Casey Jones…  Can’t even buy her a real diamond . He muttered to himself and the night, kicking a small rock in the path.

The worst part, the real strike of the devil - was the fact that she looked immensely happy. Heartbreakingly happy. And there was nothing, nothing in this world that Donnie could think that could justify taking this away from her - not even the fantasy that she could be happier.

He took a deep breath and grabbed the keys in his pocket. That was no way out of it: we would have to get over her. At least now he knew that running away to unknown women’s homes was not a viable solution.