#but if i had to suffer and see it so do you !!

[jane-asmo]

Why I think Caitlyn didn’t ask Vi for forgiveness

(Thank 'anons' for your messages. I’ll try to respond to you through this text: )

The importance of Caitlyn’s “I know”

A key moment in Caitlyn’s character narrative is her “I know”—both its content and delivery.

The content: When Caitlyn says, “I know,” it doesn’t just mean “You’re right.” It means, “I’ve taken the time to think about this.” And thinking is what Caitlyn does best. Her “I know” conveys that she has already had this conversation with herself, over and over in her head. She’s thought about it constantly, she’s already told herself these things, and she’s already blamed herself for them.

The delivery: She screams it with violence, and we can see this represented by the boat falling apart. It’s not just that she has thought about it; it’s tormenting her. Her “I know” is incredibly powerful because it’s filled with suffering.

To me, this is as valid as an apology because asking for forgiveness is outward-facing—focused on the other person. "Asking for forgiveness" says, “Whether I’ve forgiven myself or not, whether I feel guilty or not, it’s on you to decide to forgive me.”

But here, Caitlyn’s “I know” is inward-facing. It means, “I’m not asking you to forgive me because I can’t even forgive myself.”

She knows everything you’re saying, and it torments her.

This is followed by:

"I didn’t even have time to think before they hauled her off."

This line is so telling. Everything about Caitlyn is tied to thinking and reflection.

Being a sniper means aiming and shooting. Aiming is the equivalent of thinking, and shooting is the equivalent of speaking. Everything Caitlyn does is deliberate and thought through.

This is why some people dislike her: as I’ve said before, unlike other characters, Caitlyn’s actions can’t be forgiven easily because she doesn’t do anything by accident.

Then we get to:

"We can’t erase our mistakes. None of us."

Caitlyn speak in “we.”

In the prison scene with Jinx:

"No amount of good deeds can undo our crimes."

This scene mirrors the rage she felt when she threw the boat. In this moment, she’s speaking to Jinx, but also to herself.

Caitlyn and Jinx are paralleled so many times throughout the show. Caitlyn quickly realized that, in some ways, she had become like Jinx. And so, in order to forgive Jinx, she would first have to forgive herself.

At this point in the episode, the person Caitlyn hates the most is herself.

But she no longer has the "energy" to hate, neither Jinx nor herself.

Energy comes from fuel. What she perceives as a lack of strength to keep fighting is simply the fact that the fuel that powered her hatred has disappeared. And when you stop feeding a fire, it eventually dies out. She has no energy left; she has no fuel to sustain her hatred.

It's a particular way of saying, I don’t hate you anymore, and I don’t want to hate myself anymore either, because in the end, that hatred corrupts us/everything .

In her own unique way, Jinx also says, I didn’t know your mother was there, even if it wouldn’t have changed anything. And this too is a strange way of taking a step toward the other.

We have two brilliant and intelligent women who express their emotions in unconventional ways. ----------

There’s also a whole analysis that could be done about her concept of justice and rules, "but I don’t have the energy" to dive into that here. Still, it would only lead back to the fact that Caitlyn doesn’t see herself as the right person to free Jinx (and therefore to forgive her) because she believes she herself is beyond forgiveness.

[simpjaes]

ELABORATE ON OBSESSED!WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU WALK ON!HOUSEHUSBAND JAKE PLEASE!!!!!! MY MIND IS GONNA EXPLODE – byeol

i'll be the husband jake plug no worries. warnings: jake is suppppppppperrrrrrrr needy omg.

It's normal, natural to him to do these things.

You're so tired after a long day, he gets it. the days feel longer to him sometimes though, despite your tired feet and aching back. You're his wife, he needs you.

So what if he's unemployed? He's employed to you. Will do anything for you. everything for you. happily and willingly, with so much love in his eyes every single fucking time he hears that lock on the door click open.

Time to reiterate. He needs you.

It's been weeks. He gets it. Stress, big promotion you're going for or something. He can't say he cares too much lately due to the neglect he's been dealing with.

After all the cleaning, he massages you, bathes you, tucks you in, kisses you gently, and doesn't dare ask for more from you. After all, you're expected to do so much, from so many people. Not him. Not ever. Until now. He's a man. For three days now he's been trying to remind you. Trying all sorts of subtle tricks. Some blatant ones too. Generous groping that goes rejected. A few heavy makeouts dwindling to a pop kiss and a tired "goodnight." More subtle ones, where he simply tries to dress well for you, clean far better than usual, make your favorite foods. He knows it's not because you don't want him but...you're so stressed. He could kill two birds with one stone if you'd just... "Baby." He had said last night, sinking under the blankets and prying your legs apart. "Just rest, this is all i need." He continued, implying that he would be perfectly happy helping you relax with some bedtime head. You had closed your legs on him, pinching your brows together with the same stressed out face. All day today, his brows have been equally knitted together. Stressed. Fucking horny. Is it cringe for him to do this? Yes. Does he care? No. Fuck no. And so, you come home just like any other day to the smell of dinner. It's sweet smelling, which is an indication that your husband wants something. Never does he serve dessert for dinner, but tonight feels like a welcome change because everything else just started not only feeling, but tasting too mundane. You were more surprised when you werent greeted by Jake at the door. He didn't take your things, or slide your jacket off of you. Which, that's fine. You don't need him to wait on you hand and foot. He just tends to like doing that for you anyway... You search in curiosity for him, following the sound of clanking pots and pans. The sound would give you a headache if it weren't for the image of him as you enter the kitchen. There he is. Hair pinned back with one of your headbands, apron on... only an apron. Cock lending quite a large tent as he turns to you. You know he's trying to smile genuinely, but you see a hint of pain behind his eyes. Desperate pain. Almost like he's begging you for something. Anything. And he is begging. Only when he drops to his knees and looks up at you with those eyes do you recognize how terribly you've been neglecting him. So much so that you didn't even let him eat you out, which wouldn't have expected anything on your part aside from an orgasm. This moment feels almost emasculating for him, you can imagine. Like you've deprived him of everything he needs from you in order to maintain order in this household. Arguably, you have deprived him. You can tell by how big his cock looks peeking from the hem of the apron, and those sad glassy eyes looking at you as if this is a last resort. "Baby, ple-" Jake starts to plead on the floor, the dessert he was cooking long forgotten. You're speechless at the image, finally feeling a tingle between your legs for the first time in months. You feel so apologetic alongside the tingle, realizing how much suffering he must have gone through to be doing this. After all, there's no way in hell you could have satiated this need within you without him. How he's managed to do it all this time is beyond you. ''Jake," You interrupt him, dropping your hands to his cheeks and tilting his face further up to you. "What do you need?" You see those glassy eyes become more tearful, probably from happiness by now. No words and no apologies need to be said at this moment. He sees your realization, and understands the lack of seeing to his needs to an extent. But this... this can't happen again. Nothing is to be said after that when Jake immediately goes for your pants, missing the taste of you so badly. He was right in knowing that even just the smell of you could satiate him. And it does, his cock heavy and leaking just from the sensation of the apron rubbing against him paired with the scent of your pussy that has been long neglected.

And he devours you, getting off at least twice there on the kitchen floor with his palm desperately working himself to each high. You could tell he didn't want you to feel like you needed to do anything for him but...let him. God, fuck, you feel so guilty.

So you make up for it. Right here, sliding down on him raw, letting the mess he's made of himself make a mess of you too.

"Baby, wait-" Jake chokes, working against his words by helping you slide down on him entirely. "Fuck, you're-"

"Shh." You sigh deeply, realizing how much you needed this too. "Just keep going," He does. Fucking you so desperately that you believe he cums in you at least twice from you adjusting alone, messing your thighs with sticky fluids, the kitchen floor, and himself. So much of it, you're so full of it already. Plan B isn't such a difficult thing to buy anyway. Especially after he chooses to keep fucking you, as if he worries he'll never get to do it again.

[sukurarose92]

Okay, a friend of mine said "obi-wan about Anakin" and it gave me several silly ideas so i'm gonna share them. Insert random headcanons about Anakin and his catch-it-eat-it diet below the line.

I'm just imagining Anakin opening cabinets, getting down on the floor and searching. Army crawling to look under tables and cabinets, pausing to sniff once in a while.

"Its around here somewhere... i just know it"

"Did you lose something?"

"No. There's an ant in here"

"Oh?... did you see it?"

"No. I can smell it. Its taunting me"

"You can.... smell the ant?" -there is a moment of silence "AHA!" "Oh. oh no. Anakin please don-- oh stars"

It's too late. Anakin has already put it in his mouth. This ties into coming from a planet where food is a little more scarce. He was raised where if you can catch it, you eat it. and obi-wan's reaction implies that he knew it was coming. which led me to headcanon number 2. This is not a new occurrence. You ever imagine the other jedi masters watching this mid-twenties fresh baby faced knight trying to wrestle a small reptile from the grubby hands of feral desert child? Because i have.

Anakin is upset because he caught it to eat it and obi is trying to convince him that there is plenty of food in the cafeteria, please do not eat that.

Perhaps, an 11 year Anakin running by with pudgy stuffed cheeks, obi-wan hot on his heels, shouting frantically "WHAT IS IN YOUR MOUTH?!"

Hearing from another room "SPIT THAT OUT THIS INSTANT! YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT'S BEEN!" Followed by the sounds of a scuffle, which is certainly Knight Kenobi trying to wrestle Anakin's mouth open like an unruly dog with a wrapper, attempting to get it out of him mouth. then a sharp yelp "you BIT me?!" if it's small enough to fit in his mouth, it's going in. Bugs. Lizards. if he catches a small rodent he'll cook it first. but he'll eat it.

Headcanon number 3. Obi-wan is utterly devestated when he discovers that Ahsoka will also eat small critters.

Anakin spots a bug and stares at it, moving to stalk and it sets Ahsoka off. Next thing you know, her pupils have turned to slits and she's fallen into step, stalking alongside him. It doesn't matter who catches it first, Anakin gives it to Ahsoka because he's a good Master.

"here. i had one earlier. you can have this one"

"thanks master!"

Obi-wan is making an utterly despaired sound in the background.

"oh. i'm sorry master obi-wan. did you want that?"

"oh no, snips. obi-wan's a picky eater. he doesn't eat bugs"

"force have mercy. there's two of them"

Next headcanon. fuck naming them. there's too much going on here.

Obi-wan has no spice tolerance, which is a huge issue considering that he spent years hiding out on Tattooine where EVERYTHING is spicy, including the meats. This means that he has to find alternative means of getting his nutrients.

This ends up being a diet comprised of desert grasses, roots, mushrooms, legumes, and insects.

he's scooping out the insides of a giant millipede while staring into the distance, disassociating through dinner. He spends so many meals half to tears because "Anakin would've loved this" -- both the mean and watching Obi-wan suffer through eating bugs.

Next headconnon.

Anakin is a little shit.

that's not a new idea, you say. i know. that part is canon. hear me out though.

Freshly Knighted Anakin taunting Obi-wan with his own nuggets of wisdom

"a varied diet is paramount for a healthy body, master. it's important~" and he's holding up a grasshopper.

"no, thank you, anakin. there is plenty of nutritional value to the temple made meals. i'm quite alright."

"but master. i caught this just for you."

"that's very kind but i simply couldn't" Obi-wan is not very fond of bugs to begin with but he's less fond of them when Anakin decides he wants to chase him with them. "no! stop that!"

"c'mon master, eat it!"

"stop that, you menace!!! anakin no!"

obi-wan afterwards is bent over, hands on his knees after force running around the temple with Anakin chasing him. He's gasping for breath.

And then Anakin just approaches, still holding the bug and Obi-wan has clearly hit his limit of what he's willing to put up with and Anakin grins before popping it in his mouth.

"look at that, master. my force running has gotten better. i can keep up with you now~" 😇

"we-- *gasp* should've left you on Tattooine-- *wheeze* where we found you, you brat" *various dying sounds*

"but ya didn't~❤️"

Obi-wan is ready to kick his ass.

I doubt that it's the only time this has happened. Which brings me to my final points. The addition of Yoda to this horrible shit show.

Anakin's bug buddies, Ahsoka, and Yoda.

We have Anakin chasing Obi-wan once more with a different insect. This happens to be a bad time to be wandering the halls. Obi-wan head to do a, rather graceful, flip to avoid taking out Masters Yoda and Plo Koon while on the run. Anakin is close behind and he barely has time for more than a shouted apology.

Anakin has his bug held high and is excitedly telling his master that "this one is crunchy. you'll like it!" with a little too much glee.

Yoda watches Anakin pass by. takes a deep breath and uses a long frog-like tongue to snatch the bug right out of anakin's hands.

"running in the hallways, against the rules, it is." ☺️

anakin, who knew his master wouldn't eat it and had planned to have it himself when he was done tormenting obi. -- "😟 my bug"

Yoda is, fondly, referred to as "Master Steal your lunch" by Anakin the next time he sees him. Yoda, seeming to sense his error, and enjoying being a menace as much as Anakin, even if it's kept under wraps for the most part, sees an opportunity to ruin someone's day.

He snatches a fly from midair with his tongue and then wipes it off on his robes before offering it to Anakin, well aware it had his saliva on it, as a replacement for his pilfered snack.

There room is draped in horrified silence.

obi-wan is nearly in tears

"oh, merciful force. Anakin, i beg you... don't... "

Anakin seems to have a silent conversation via eyes before he smiles pleasantly, takes the fly, thanks the master so very pleasantly, and just pops it in his mouth, to the unending despair of his master.

Obi-wan has his head in his hands, mortified by this nonsense.

"please, Master Yoda, i beg you, don't encourage him"

imagine if your boyfriend was like I can smell an ant. and started tracking

[harmonysanreads]

harmony, do you have any advice on writing sunday?? been trying to write in his pov for like, days now and i feel i'm making him too generic tbh

Hi Psyscio! I apologize for the slight delay in writing this, I've just been a bit occupied with irl things ^^; I do hope you find these helpful!

— FOR POINT OF VIEW

Based on significance, we can divide Sunday's character thus far in three parts : early childhood, Bronze Melodia period and Oak Family Head.

The Stellaron disaster was undoubtedly the spark that ignited his later concerns. We see from the conversation about the Charmony dove that Sunday was an empathetic and inquisitive boy, albeit, his concerns mostly centered around others.

During his Bronze Melodia days, the segment where he's questioning Ena (I assume), we see a sort of overlap between concerns for himself and for others. It seems that he's projecting the doubts, insecurities and helplessness he feels for himself through the suffering that he's observed in the outer world. We can also see this as a kind of a protective barrier.

This is the time where he's already reached his conclusion and has started (or has already finished) the planning for the utopian dreamscape. One point which I think is very important to remember is that, despite how he presents himself, a small part of him has always doubted this method. But since he was never able to share his ideas with others (since they'd expose his entanglement with the Order) and since Gopher Wood never addressed the faulty nature of them, he wasn't able to think deeper into them. Which is why, even during his boss fight, he's inviting the Astral Express to prove him wrong — to give evidence to the doubts he's always had.

After these three, we have post-Penacony-arc Sunday. He isn't going to be a completely different person, of course. From the snippets we've gotten so far, we see this pattern : Sunday reminisces about [x] thing and how he used to do that in the past, he comments that there's no need to be as rigid as he used to be but he isn't completely ready to fully embrace that and circles back to his previous belief. Which is fine, old habits are never easy to get rid of.

When you listen to Sunday's ideas, you'll find yourself simultaneously agreeing and disagreeing. Similarly, there's a sense of obscurity in the flow of his emotions. This is intentional of course. So, I think it's alright if you notice this convolution while writing him. Emotions and thoughts are abstract by nature. But the way I'd recommend doing this, is pointing out that vagueness after that flow or an action has passed.

Thanks to Sunday's Myriad Celestia, we know that there's a sense of discord between his inner voices. We see him as both the interrogator and the answerer. The former appears to be firm, harsh and disappointed, while the latter appears nostalgic, remorseful and tired. You can use these voices to address his inner conflict.

Speaking of inner conflict, I think it's one of the most powerful tools you can use to write his perspective. I recommend not dodging it.

I've personally never agreed on the opinion of Sunday being delusional. He's quite lucid and we've received many hints of it. There's a difference between just being aware of something and acting upon that awareness. Sunday has many restraints that prevent him from acting, but it doesn't mean that he's ignorant. Oftentimes, the truth is just in his peripheral, but he can't bring himself to look at it due to a lack of support.

Sunday probably overdoses on psychoanalyzing people. Luckily, perceptive characters are very versatile. Now, I think Sunday prefers to see the best in everyone, unless he's been pushed far enough or has a particular history with an individual, he isn't one to harbor antagonist thoughts about someone. According to this post, Halovians can read the minds of people within a certain distance and use telepathy to communicate with other Halovians. Consider how you might use these together.

I like to have this mental image that Sunday is always holding onto a set number of ‘straws’ in his head. Events and people gradually come, ‘snap’ those metaphorical straws and he allows them to, to an extent — until he's left grasping onto the last of them. Use a mix of allegories and ‘telling’ to illustrate this.

— FOR BASIC CHARACTERIZATION

Sunday is in the ‘emotions revealed through unintentional body language’ group. But I think, when he's confronted with unwanted emotions, he gets even more rigid and guarded (as we saw during that scene with Gallagher). There's the popular hc that his wings flutter in certain ways in response to emotions, so, you can use that as well.

Sunday often thinks about the collective instead of the individual, which is sensible considering he's a leader and all. A romantic interest will challenge this, you can use the ways he breaks his own rules to illustrate how deep his investment in the person goes.

I think having a reader who makes him feel safe or understands him can save you a good amount of emotional turmoil. But of course, I also believe in unexpected pairings. Trust that Sunday, being who he is, can always find something worth appreciating about anyone.

One of the most fascinating things I've observed about Sunday are the similarities between him and Aventurine, as addressed by Ratio. Studying them side by side was very fruitful for me.

For resources to better understand Sunday, I recommend this video and this video.

— FOR DIALOGUE

I mentioned this in my Aventurine post, but in case you missed it, there's this channel that compiles character dialogues individually which can be helpful if you're seeking to refresh your memory. However, I'd like to add here that listening to how a character interacts with others ; as in, how they respond to what, can be even more useful for dialogues.

I've only observed Sunday's English voiceover so I'm not sure how the performance differs in other languages. Based on my observation, Sunday prefers to maintain a gentle, almost airy tone. This appears to be a result of practice though. Sometimes his manner of speech gives this impression that he's viewing you from an elevated space, where he's seeing everything about you. We hear his true voice when the people he cares about are in danger, or, when he's alone with his thoughts.

— MISC. TIPS

Sunday may appear hypocritical, you'll notice dissonance between his words, actions and subconscious — which is okay, characters and people aren't meant to be flawless. What you need to remember is that all of these discrepancies are intentional and results of his upbringing.

Sunday has been groomed by Gopher Wood for the Order's propaganda. In addition, he has survivor's guilt, religious trauma, trust and attachment issues and (possibly) Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Do your research on how these affect people in relationships.

It's okay if you struggle to fully grasp his character, he isn't understood within the game either. In my opinion, it's a very well done representation of how little we'll know about other people. Fiction allows us to gaze into the inner world of a character and see them from different perspectives. This isn't possible in reality and that's okay. Approach Sunday's character with an objective mindset, because the beauty of his writing is not centralized, but scattered.

[ponderingmoonlight]

kny men saving you

Pairings: Sanemi x reader; Obanai x reader; Rengoku x reader

Word Count: 3,1k

Warnings: near death experiences but your knights in shining armor have your back hehe, pure fluff in every part, there might be some spelling mistakes here and there, my heart is in pieces bc I deleted Rengoku's part and had to re-write it and now it's bad

Sanemi Shinazugawa

The moon hangs low tonight, its pale light pooling in the dark grooves of the forest. You always loved how tender the night looks when the full moon is out, especially during summer. It dapples your path, just barely enough to see the worn trail beneath your feet. Your sandals whisper against the ground as you clutch the heavy clay jar in your arms. It’s not far now - you know the stream is just a little farther ahead. The thought of your mother, feverish and frail in her bed, keeps you going despite the nervous twist in your stomach. You hate walking out here alone. Because even though the night looks peaceful, it certainly isn’t.

Those past nights, a lot of innocent people disappeared during night. The elders talk frequently about creatures called demons who lurk out in the shelter of the dark in order to take lives. Your mother was very clear when telling you more than once that you aren’t allowed to go outside when it’s dark, that you have to stay inside at all cost.

But does that include her being so sick that she’s barely able to move? You can’t just sit there and watch her suffer, right? You can’t just wait for something that might never happen-

A twig snaps in the distance.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat. It’s probably nothing - you hope it’s nothing. But the hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and the oppressive weight of the dark seems to grow heavier with each passing minute.

The stream, you remind yourself. Get the water. Get back home.

Then the smell hits you.

It’s foul, coppery and rancid, and so wrong that your guts turn. You stumble, the clay jar nearly slipping from your grip. You freeze. There’s something ahead. No, someone.

But the silhouette isn’t really human. Too tall. Limbs too long. The gleam of sharp teeth is the first thing you make out, the grin stretching across its distorted face.

Your legs refuse to move. The demon lunges.

A demon?

Is this…what your mother always talked about, what everyone at the village warned you about countless times? Demons really do exist, that demon right in front of you is the ultimate prove for that.

You won’t be able to tell anyone the truth, though. Those sharp teeth that draw closer and closer, aiming for your neck. This is how you’ll die. Alone in a forest like so many people before you. Tears start stinging in your eyes, your throat so tight that you can’t catch breath.

Before you can even scream, there’s a flash of silver and a roar that shakes the trees. It takes you a moment to register what’s happening - the demon is on the ground now, twitching and headless. The stench of blood intensifies, and you realize it’s not just the demon’s. Your knees wobble.

And then he’s there.

The man who killed it, a whirlwind of pale scars and wild hair, is in front of you before you can blink. His blade gleams in the moonlight, still dripping. His eyes, sharp and livid, pin you in place.

“What the hell are you doing out here?!”

The force of his voice slams into you like a physical blow. You flinch, the jar slipping from your arms and shattering against the ground.

“I-I was just-” you stammer, words tumbling over each other, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Do you have a death wish?” he snaps, taking a step closer.

“Are you stupid or just suicidal? Do you know how many of those things are out here? You’re lucky that was only one!”

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes. You can’t even bring yourself to speak now, your throat tightening with every harsh word he throws at you.

Are you…crying? Sanemi’s eyes narrow, mouth opening to yell again, but something shifts in his expression when he sees the tears spill down your cheeks. Fuck, how is he supposed to scream when you’re looking at him like that?

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration palpable.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, looking away like he’s trying to calm himself.

“Shit. Stop crying.”

You hiccup, trying to stifle the sobs that threaten to bubble up. To his own surprise, he kneels down, so suddenly and close that it startles you. His hands hover awkwardly, like he’s not sure what to do with them. His voice, though still gruff, softens ever so slightly.

“Hey. I’m not gonna hurt you, alright? Just…stop crying already.”

You nod weakly, wiping at your face with trembling hands. He sighs again, this time more resigned.

“Look,” he grumbles, reaching out hesitantly,

“I didn’t mean to scare you. But you shouldn’t be out here. Not alone.”

His hand, rough and warm, settles lightly on your shoulder. It’s surprisingly steadying, even a little bit soft. You nod again, this time more firmly.

“I…I was getting water. For my mother. She’s sick.”

He frowns at that, eyes flicking to the broken jar on the ground. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You were out there to get some water for your mother. How absolutely fucking stupid. But on the other side…he can’t help but admire your courage the slightest bit. Given your pretty weak frame and haunted eyes, you aren’t really experienced when it comes to combat. It’s obvious that you’re nothing but an ordinary villager, a girl who just tried to save her mother without having a single clue about the shit that awaits her.

Enough of that sentimental bullshit. If he looks at you one more second…

With a rough huff, he stands and turns his back to you.

“C’mon.”

You blink, trying to understand the meaning behind his rough words.

“W-What?”

“I’m taking you back. You’re gonna get yourself killed if I leave you out here.”

Before you can protest, he crouches slightly.

“Get on.”

“Wh-What?” you stammer again, heat flooding your cheeks.

No, you can’t do this. Not when he’s a stranger, not when he already saved you. He glares over his shoulder.

“Do I have to spell it out? You’re too slow, and I’m not dragging you the whole way. Now get on before I change my mind.”

Swallowing your nerves, you shuffle closer, hesitantly placing your hands on his shoulders. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he hooks his arms under your knees and lifts you like it’s nothing. You’re startled by the steadiness of his grip, the surprising warmth of him despite the chill of the night. This is…the first time a boy ever touched you like this.

The walk back is quiet save for the crunch of his boots against the forest floor. You cling to his haori, your earlier fear slowly ebbing away. His presence, though sharp-edged and intense, is strangely comforting now.

When you finally see the soft glow of your village lights through the trees, relief washes over you. He doesn’t stop until he’s at the edge of your house, where he kneels to let you down.

“You’re lucky I came along,” he mutters, his voice still rough but quieter now.

“Next time, think before you do something stupid.”

You nod meekly.

“Thank you.”

He grunts, straightening.

“Get inside. And stay there.”

But before he turns to leave, he hesitates. His hand lingers for a moment, brushing against your shoulder again, almost absentmindedly. Then he steps back, his expression unreadable under the moonlight.

“Take care of your mom,” he says gruffly, before disappearing into the night.

Your heart feels a little fuller, even as your legs wobble carrying you inside.

Iguro Obanai

The wind howls against your ears as you step cautiously closer to the cliff’s edge, the jagged rocks below barely visible through the mist. It’s a beautiful view - almost ethereal. You should stop here, you know you should, but something about the sheer drop pulls you in. Just a few more steps, you think. A little closer and you’ll be able to see that gorgeous field of tulips your friends told you about.

The world seems quieter here, the rush of blood in your ears louder than the rustling trees behind you. You feel weightless, suspended between the earth and the empty sky. It’s thrilling, in a way. Comforting in depressing times like these.

You don’t notice the loose gravel underfoot until it shifts.

Your breath catches as your sandal slips, toes curling desperately to hold onto anything solid. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, there’s nothing but air beneath you, and you’re falling straight towards the tulips, straight towards certain death-

Until a strong hand clamps onto your wrist and yanks you back.

The force sends you sprawling onto solid ground, your heart hammering in your chest. You barely have time to register what happened before a familiar voice cuts through the panic, sharp and laced with fury.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

You look up to find Obanai crouched in front of you, his mismatched eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. His hand is still gripping your wrist, tight enough that it’s almost painful, but you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

“I-I didn’t mean-” you stammer, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“You didn’t mean what? To nearly kill yourself? To fall off a cliff like it’s nothing?”

His voice rises, each word sharper than the last.

“Do you even realize how close you were?!”

Tears well up in your eyes, hot and stinging, as his words hit you like a physical blow. You hadn’t meant to be careless - it wasn’t like you wanted to fall. But hearing the raw frustration in his voice, seeing the way his knuckles are white from gripping your wrist too tightly, makes you feel like you’ve done something unforgivable.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling.

“I didn’t-”

He cuts you off again, though this time it’s not with words. He pulls you into his arms so suddenly that you barely have time to react. His embrace is firm, almost desperate, and the tension in his body makes it clear that he’s holding on more for himself than for you.

“Don’t do that again,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your hair.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Your tears spill over, and you nod against his chest, your hands clutching at his haori as if letting go would send you tumbling back over the edge. He’s warm, solid in a way that grounds you, his presence filling the air with something that feels like safety.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, the wind swirling around you but never quite reaching where he holds you. His hand moves to the back of your head, cradling it gently, and you feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur again, your voice barely audible.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He sighs, the sound heavy but softer than before.

“You didn’t just scare me,” he says quietly, his voice steady now.

“You almost—” He stops himself, shaking his head.

“Just... be more careful. It’s not like I’m able to be around you all the time.”

You nod, pressing closer to him. The anger in his tone has faded, replaced by something warmer, something that feels like relief. His grip loosens just enough for you to breathe, but he doesn’t let go entirely.

After a while, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands settling on your shoulders. His gaze, though still stern, is no longer angry. Instead, it’s filled with something you can’t quite name, a mix of worry and something softer, something more fragile.

“You’re not allowed to scare me like that again.  Promise me.”

“I promise,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

He studies you for a moment longer, as if trying to determine whether you mean it, before nodding.

“Good.”

And then, to your surprise, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, visible through the bandages that cover his inviting lips. It’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it came, but it’s there, and it warms you in a way that nothing else could.

“Come on. Let’s get away from the edge.”

You take his hand without hesitation, letting him pull you to your feet. His grip is steady, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary as if to reassure himself that you’re really there.

“But…Why were you here in the first place?”

Obanai can’t help but get lost in a wave of coughing, his cheeks turning bright pink. Maybe, just maybe because he has his eyes on you since he can remember and never misses the chance to be around you when he’s home.

“Just…because”, he mumbles.

And as the two of you walk back toward safety, his hand never quite lets go of yours.

Rengoku Kyojuro

The festival is alive with the hum of happy chatter and flickering lanterns, their golden glow dancing across the busy streets. The air is thick with the scent of grilled skewers and sweetened rice cakes, and laughter echoes around you like a warm embrace. You pause at a stall, admiring the delicate charms on display.

You've been in love with those annual festivals since you were young, always admiring the different stalls with all the goos from far away while wearing your best kimono out.

But today was even better with that tall stranger wearing that elegant red kimono and those beaming eyes. Even though he talked louder than everyone surrounding him, you never got tired of listening to his food advice.

Maybe you should really try the sweet potatos he mentioned earlier. You lean in closer, trying to decide between a bento box and a side of sweet potatos when a scream cuts through the noise like a blade.

It’s sharp, raw, and sends a chill down your spine.

The joyous energy of the crowd fractures, shattering into chaos as people scatter. The street that had been so full of life mere moments ago is now a stampede of panicked footsteps. Vendors abandon their carts, children cry out for their parents, and the cheerful festival music grinds to a halt.

You hesitate, your instincts screaming at you to run, but your feet refuse to move. You can’t see what’s happening yet - the crowd is too thick - but the smell of blood is unmistakable, metallic and sickly sweet, twisting your stomach into knots.

And then you see it.

A demon emerges from the shadows, its grotesque face twisting into a wide, terrifying grin as it prowls forward. Its claws are long, sharp, and dripping with fresh blood. It locks eyes with you—a predator that has spotted its prey.

You freeze.

You’ve heard stories about demons. You know they’re real, but knowing something and facing it are two very different things. Your legs tremble, your heart slamming against your ribs, but you can’t make yourself move. It’s as though the world has narrowed, the monster at the center, everything else falling away.

It lunges.

A blur of orange and red streaks through the air before it can reach you.

"Do not dare to touch this lady!"

The voice is booming, confident, and electrifying. The demon’s attack is intercepted, its claws clashing with a nichirin blade that burns like fire. You gasp as your rescuer appears, his haori billowing around him like flames brought to life.

Rengoku Kyojuro.

“Do not fear!” he declares, his smile broad and reassuring even as he pushes the demon back with a powerful swing of his sword.

“You are safe now, young lady! I will not allow harm to come to you!”

He is...The stranger from before, the man with the elegant kimono!

The demon snarls, lunging again with feral speed, but Rengoku meets it head-on. His blade flashes, and sparks erupt as the demon’s claws glance off his sword. He’s a blur of motion, his strikes precise and devastating, and yet there’s something graceful in the way he moves, as though the fight is a choreographed dance he has perfected.

You watch, rooted to the spot, as he delivers the final blow. Flames erupt from his blade.

"Flame Breathing, Fifth Form: Flame Tiger!"

A fiery streak takes the shape of a roaring tiger, consuming the demon in one final, dazzling strike. Its body disintegrates into ash, leaving nothing behind but the acrid smell of death.

The silence that follows is almost as shocking as the chaos that preceded it.

Rengoku turns to you, lowering his sword but keeping it at the ready. His golden eyes scan your face, his expression softening into something kinder.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice warm, though tinged with concern.

You nod shakily, though you’re not entirely sure if you’re alright. Your knees feel like jelly, and your heart is still racing, but his presence alone feels like an anchor.

“Y-Yes. I think so,” you manage to whisper.

He steps closer, his towering frame somehow not intimidating but comforting.

“You were very brave to stay so calm,” he comments, his smile returning, this time gentler.

“But next time, it’s best to run. Demons are relentless creatures.”

“I-I couldn’t move,” you admit, shame coloring your voice.

“I froze.”

His gaze softens further, and he crouches slightly, bringing himself more to your eye level.

“That’s natural,” he replies, his tone soothing.

“Fear is not weakness. It’s what reminds us to protect what’s important.”

He tilts his head, his smile growing.

“But you’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes, the overwhelming relief hitting you all at once. Before you can say anything, his warm hand gently pats the top of your head, his calloused fingers light but grounding.

“Good work holding on,” he says quietly.

“You did well.”

Your breath hitches at the kindness in his words. He straightens then, offering you his hand.

“Shall I escort you somewhere safe?” he asks, his voice as bright and steady as the flame he wields.

“There’s no need to fear - I’ll protect you.”

You take his hand, its warmth seeping into your skin, and nod. Somehow, with him beside you, the world doesn’t feel so terrifying anymore.

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix  @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld

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[marzipanandminutiae]

would you have any reading suggestions to learn more about the earrings are evil era??? I've never heard of that aspect of fashion history and I am curious

Oh man, it was wild

you saw the first stirrings of it in the 1890s, when you started to get (mostly white and middle-to-upper-class) proto-feminists arguing that ear piercing was barbaric- keep an eye on the racist undertones there; they will come up again-and forcing women to suffer for fashion. I cannot emphasize enough that, until that point, ear piercing had been pretty much normal for this race/class/gender group. For centuries. You see criticism of the practice here and there, but nothing that really stuck.

The objections slowly increased until roughly the mid-1920s, when everything reached a tipping point and pierced ears became largely taboo for most white Americans and Brits of northern/western European descent. If that sounds HIGHLY specific, it is- communities from southern and sometimes eastern Europe retained cultural practices of ear piercing, to the point where it was often used as a point against them by mainstream society. It was also associated with Latino people, Black people, and the Romani, which. Yeah. I don't need to tell you how that went down.

It also developed associations with sexual immorality and/or backwards thinking. One newspaper letter I read came from a teen girl in the 1940s, wondering why she shouldn't pierce her ears if her very respectable grandmother had piercings. The response was something like "well, they did all sorts of things in the Bad Old Days that we shouldn't do now." True in many ways, or course, but...piercing your ears? That's the hill culture decided to die on as far as antiquated behavior that we should leave behind? Apparently yes.

Earrings themselves never went out of style, which led to the birth of clip-ons and screwbacks. Ironic that the "don't surfer for fashion" crowd was so eager to embrace screwing tiny vices onto your ears, but there we are. My own mother (born 1953) remembers her mother (born 1926) always taking off her screwback earrings immediately after getting home from a party, literally in the foyer of their house the second the door shut. There had been adaptations for unpierced ears before- Little Women, published in 1868, describes Meg March hanging earrings from a flesh-colored silk ribbon tied around the base of her ear -but they'd never caught on like this before.

However, the pendulum was soon to swing back. After just 40 years of Piercing Panic, in the 1960s, girls began piercing their ears again in droves. As piercing moved from the slumber party or summer camp back to the professional jewelers whose families had been early professional piercers in the 19th century- and to befuddled doctors who had no idea what they were doing yet still received piercing requests -cultural commentators had no idea what to make of it. Some decried the new trend while most took an air of bemused neutrality. My personal favorite article expressed surprise that "Space Age misses" were adopting these "Victorian traditions."

(In 1965, my grandmother took Mom to the anesthesiologist down the street who was offering to pierce his young daughter's friends gratis, and got it done. My grandfather had strongly disapproved of the idea, but in the end it took him a week to notice the new earrings.)

As to sources...honestly, I've just gone to Google Books, specified a time frame, and typed in "ear piercing," "pierced ears," "pierce ears," etc. Tons of primary sources at your fingertips, though I'm not always great about documenting or saving what I find. There's not much written about it formally, I've found- no books or scholarly studies. It may just be too close in history to attract much academic attention, though I find it fascinating.

This little blip where something that's been normal for most of western history suddenly became taboo for a hot second.

Also my ear piercings just turned 20 five days ago, commemorating the date that I was taken with much ceremony to Piercing Pagoda (and that horrible gun; it's a wonder I didn't get keloids) to get me out from underfoot while the Thanksgiving feast was being made. Grandma got hers pierced on the same day, at age 78. Happy Birthday, Marzi's ear piercings!

[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (24/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: smut, targcest stuff, the angst, uncomfortable conversations, offensive terms and mild violence ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

He was gentle because of the baby.

Or at least that's what she kept telling herself as he made love to her again slowly and affectionately, looking deep into her eyes. He panted and murmured into her mouth between hot, messy kisses full of their saliva and tongues, his broad hand stroking her hair as he built the familiar tension in her loins with deep, sure thrusts.

It was a sweet torture; he already knew her body intimately and was aware of where to hit so that a thrill of wonderful pleasure ran through her spine each time. All she could do was run her fingers down his naked, sweaty back, stroking his long jaw, babbling and moaning beneath him like a little girl, wanting to take everything he was giving her.

He was gentle because of the baby: because he didn't want her to miscarry.

They had both suffered too much already.

So she absorbed his affection and warmth, dreading the moment when she would awaken as if from a beautiful dream, colliding again with his rougher side.

On the one hand, she also craved that part of him, dark and unpredictable, aggressive and cruel – however, now that he was vulnerable and sweet, coming each time with a loud sigh of relief, she felt with him safer than ever before.

His embrace was full of care, understanding, support.

Everything about his attitude said: I don't want to hurt you.

"I want to fly to Runestone."

Her husband, lying right next to her on the bedding, breathing heavily after their shared exertion, looked at her with shock mixed with disbelief, his eyebrows arched in consternation.

"What?" He asked dryly.

"I want to fly to Runestone." She repeated. "To see my cousin. Gain his support for your cause. To return home."

"King's Landing is your home, as is any place where I am." He hissed impatiently, his pupil narrowed like that of a cat.

He hadn't expected this, and her words came as a blow to him.

He felt threatened and was ready to attack.

He swallowed hard, taken aback as she lifted her hand up, her fingers running gently down his jaw.

"I never asked you for anything. I never expected anything. But if I'm supposed to heal, I have to do it." She said calmly.

"You are healed. And you are with child. I'm not allowing it." He replied coldly, rising from the bed, grabbing impatiently at his tunic that lay on the floor.

She swallowed hard, leaning on her elbow, feeling her heart pounding like mad.

"I will do this with or without your permission, husband."

She saw his hands freeze in half-motion as he fastened the buckles of his tunic, his nostrils twitched, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

She was stepping on the edge of a knife and she knew it, but she couldn't act otherwise.

"As the wife of the Prince Regent, I am a free woman and have the right to visit my relatives. Don't I?" She asked in a trembling voice, clenching her fingers on the fabric of the sheet.

He stood motionless for a moment, staring dully ahead, his chest rising and falling rapidly in loud, raspy breaths.

He was furious and torn internally.

"I am your family now. I thought it was enough for you." He said with some strange kind of regret that made her feel a deep, painful sting in her heart.

"You are the love of my life." She whispered.

She saw that he swallowed hard, hearing these words – they surprised him and he had not expected them at the moment. His eye grew big, like that of a little boy, filled with warm affection and a desire to believe what she said.

"Then why?" He asked. "Why do you want to leave me? Now that…"

Now that we are closer than ever, she finished for him in her mind.

"Your presence saves me during the day. It allows me to breathe. But at night I dream about my father and I won't find peace until I speak to someone who watched him and my mother. I need answers. I can't ask him anymore because I killed him myself."

She felt her body begin to tremble as she said those words aloud – she felt like they were some kind of curse, something that weighed over her like a dark, heavy cloud.

"I want to forgive myself. I want to find peace so that instead of mourning him, I can focus on our child who lives in my womb. And on you." She finished, looking at him hopefully.

She could see that he was hesitating, she could feel it in his clenched hands, in his blank stare, in his bent figure.

"I don't know him. How can I be sure that he will not make you a prisoner? That he will not hand you over to Rhaenyra so that she can threaten me? Force me to bend the knee?" He muttered, finally sharing with her what was truly troubling him.

"But I know him, my husband. He's a proud but good man. Faithful to his family. Faithful to me, just as I have always been faithful to him. He and I are alike. I know that with his support, conquering the Eyrie and striking the final blow against your sister will be easier. But I have to appear there alone to make him believe that I am doing this of my own free will. To make him accept our marriage."

"What right has he to decide whether our marriage is valid in the eyes of the gods or not?" He growled, looking at her with pain mixed with rage.

"You abducted me against his will. You humiliated him in the eyes of his men, his own servants." She muttered, shrugging her shoulders, unable to comprehend how he could not understand this.

"Perhaps he did not protect you well enough. After all, abducting you in the middle of the night was surprisingly easy. No one rushed to your aid, am I wrong? Your cousin did not storm the gates of the Red Keep at the head of his army, demanding that I return you to him." He said coldly, causing an unpleasant shiver to pass through her.

"You sound like you're proud of yourself, and just a few days ago you assured me you regretted it." She reminded him wryly.

She gasped as he turned and moved towards the door like an enraged bear, leaving the chamber with a loud slam of the door.

Why, after all she had done for him, did he not even try to understand her?

She buried her face in her hands, thinking she must have done it.

She needed to know the answers to all the questions she had in her head.

As she rose from her bed after so many weeks of misery, putting on her riding attire again, she felt powerful – a sense that she was taking her destiny into her own hands and decided who she really was gave her strength.

That was what she was missing; the freedom that, after all, had been taken from her by her own husband the day he abducted her from Runestone.

She just wanted to make it right.

To make her cousin forgive him for this insult.

She believed this could determine the fate of their war.

To her disappointment, her husband returned to his chamber very late and did not even look at her when she rose to meet him. Instead of approaching her, he sat down in a chair right by the hearth and froze like that, thoughtful, staring into the flames. He looked like a stone – his face and gaze were completely expressionless – she thought that this sight reminded her of something, and then she understood.

He looked just like he had when she met him.

Is this what she will see when she returns?

The man who had closed his heart to her anew?

"Aemond." She mumbled, approaching him slowly, feeling fearful for some reason.

She realised that he would not forgive her for this.

That there was still that vain and proud part of him that couldn't accept that she wanted to defy his command.

His will.

In his eyes she would be blamed for everything that would be the consequences of her decision.

He didn't even flinch at hearing his name – his body gave the impression that he was comfortably spread out, however, she knew it was only an illusion – she could see by his clenched jaw, by his fingers rubbing against each other in a nervous gesture that he was full of annoyance and embitterment.

"Please, my love. Let us not part in anger. Give me your blessing." She muttered with difficulty, staring at him pleadingly, but he did not look at her.

‘No,’ was his reply.

And although a moment ago she had been completely sure of what she wanted to do and that she would do it at any cost, now she wasn't certain that the price wasn't too high: whether she was able and willing to risk what she had built with him, even for herself.

"Why can't you understand me? Why, even though I always forgive you, you can't sacrifice your pride for me for once? Now, when I need you the most." She cried out in a breaking voice, feeling tear after tear begin to run down her face, making the room around her blurry.

She saw that he swallowed loudly, as if he remembered that he should breathe, but he didn't move even a bit, as if he was a stone statue.

He was punishing her because she wanted to leave him.

Or at least that's what it looked like in his mind.

She pressed her lips together as her hand undid the buckles of her coat – he flinched and raised his hands in a defensive gesture, shocked when she threw the leather material at his face. He only rose when he saw that she wanted to do the same with her boots, but he didn't make a sound – he bent down, avoiding the impact as the object flew over his head, hitting the wall on the other side.

"I'm staying. Are you satisfied? Look. I'm going back to bed where I belong. To fucking and bearing your children as you desire." She exhaled in a voice breaking with rage, hissing through her teeth as if she wanted to bite him.

She tore off her clothes, whooping with her own cry until she was left in just her nightgown, and then threw herself on the bed, snuggling into the cold sheets.

She had lost, and it was a feeling full of disappointment and bitterness; she had lost to her fear that she would lose him, to the fear that when she returned she would find him in the arms of the Witch of Harrenhal, to the fear that without his love her life would again lose meaning.

She could hear him breathing loudly and she could hear him standing exactly where he was, shocked by her outburst, by what had happened, but most of all and beyond all reason by the fact that she had stayed.

Despite everything she had told him.

It seemed to her that an eternity passed before she heard the quiet creaking of the wood beneath his feet, before she felt the weight of his body behind her back on the bed, before his hand touched her arm.

She pulled away from him, furious.

"Now you want to touch me? Now you want to graciously open your mouth? You have no shame." She growled, feeling her heart pounding like mad in her chest, heavy tears of bitterness running down her red, swollen face.

I hate you, she thought.

I hate what you made me do.

"If you wish so much to speak to your cousin: let him come to Harrenhal. Send word to him, and I will receive him with all honours." He whispered in a trembling voice.

He was terrified, for this was not what he had expected.

He had thought that he would be the one to play the victim, the wounded man whose heart had been broken by his beloved woman.

And now everything had turned against him.

She snorted, tightening her lips in exasperation at the thought.

"He is to come here like a dog to my summons? He's a proud man. He won't until he hears from your lips that what you did to me was unworthy." She said dryly.

She heard him swallow hard, tense. He was silent for a long moment, as if fighting with himself.

"I will be the one to send him a letter, then. I will ask his forgiveness. I will let him know that you wish to see him and that no harm will come to him or his men in Harrenhal." He proposed at last, surprising her.

I will ask his forgiveness.

"He will know that this is about the Eyrie and not about me. He won't believe your good intentions. He will think you are trying to use me for your own ends." She muttered, feeling her rage slowly begin to drain out of her.

He was trying to give her something in return.

To find a solution that would satisfy them both.

"What he thinks is not important: what will matter is that he will come here to see you. If, as you say, he is a wise man, he knows that the balance of power does not tip on Lady Arryn's side."

"And what if he refuses? If he remains faithful to her?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling the question hover over them like a heavy cloud.

Her husband was silent for a long time.

"I will let him leave, for the sake of my affection for you. But when it comes to the battle, you cannot expect him to experience my favour." He said at last.

She turned on her back to look at him – he was lying very close to her body, but he did not try to touch her. His gaze was the same again as it had been when he was desperate – he was looking at her, hoping that what he had said, his efforts to make things right were enough for her to forgive him.

"When will you send word to him?" She asked quietly, playing with her fingers.

"Tomorrow at the very dawn. If you wish, I will let you read what I have written." He whispered, softening with each passing moment.

His fury passed, exactly as hers had.

They both took a step back.

She shook her head.

"I don't need to read it. I trust you to write the right thing." She mumbled.

She heard him swallow hard, twisting in his place.

"Can I touch you?" He asked, and she nodded.

She sighed as his arms embraced her instantly, as his broad hand pressed her face into his chest, as his familiar, soothing scent filled her lungs. She clenched her fingers against the material of his tunic and breathed out loud, feeling relieved.

"Forgive me. I don't know what to do with myself when you enrage me, so I remain silent." He whispered at last, combing his hand through her dark curls.

I know, she thought.

That's just the way you are.

"Forgive me for throwing things at you. I didn't mean to hurt you." She replied, trailing her fingers down his arm.

"I know, my love. I know I'm a difficult person. I'm trying to change. To make you proud of me." He said and leaned in, placing a long, warm kiss on the top of her head.

My love.

"I am proud of you." She said, lifting her head up, meeting his face.

His gaze was gentle – his thumb ran over her soft cheek, sinking into the silky structure of her skin.

"I don't wish to fight you. You are my greatest ally and I need you by my side. You carry our future within you and you cannot put yourself at risk." He whispered.

She nodded with understanding and purred quietly as his full lips placed a wet, tender kiss on her forehead.

"Did you speak honestly then?" He asked suddenly, nuzzling his nose into her face.

"What do you mean?"

"You said I was the love of your life." He said, looking at her uncertainly, as if he feared he would see something in her gaze that would contradict that confession.

"You are." She whispered. "It is a difficult love that requires sacrifices, but I believe you are worth my efforts. That I know you and your heart."

She said, sliding her hand down to the area on his chest where she could clearly feel a strong beat underneath.

"You were the only one who always believed in me. You always helped me when I fell. You could have taken advantage of my weakness, but you didn't." He muttered wearily, clearly moved for some reason. "You are not to me only a vessel to conceive and bear my children. That was the fate that befell my mother and I would not condemn my own wife to the same. If this is how you feel by my side, forgive me, for it means that I am not fulfilling my duties as a husband properly."

She swallowed hard, feeling the tears under her eyelids again, however, this time for a completely different reason; he touched her heart the most at moments like this.

When he opened up at least for a moment.

"No. You are a good husband. No one has ever cared for me the way you do." She whispered, stroking his cheek tenderly.

They embraced each other and fell asleep like that at last, knowing that there was nothing more that could be said.

Indeed, as promised, the next day the first thing he did was to write a letter – she could see that he had thought long and hard about how to put his thoughts into words. They both knew that diplomacy was not his strongest asset, but she wanted him to prove to her and to himself that if he wanted it, he could behave properly.

That day she attended the council with him for the first time since the day her father died.

Although she had not expected it, her return was most warmly welcomed by Criston Cole.

"My Lady. Accept my sincerest condolences." He said before they moved on, completely surprising her.

She knew that the fact that she had chosen her husband over her father was proof to him that he had been mistaken in his judgement – she had never blamed him for thinking she was a spy, as he was, in his own way, trying to protect the royal family.

However, what touched her most was that his words were sincere.

The silent war between them had been resolved.

Although Gwayne Hightower was not thrilled with the idea of bringing Lord of Runestone to Harrenhal for fear that he would divulge information to the enemy about their troop numbers and plans, Ser Criston and her husband unanimously agreed that his support would be worth the risk.

"If the vassals of House Arryn were to turn against their lady, the Eyrie would be left completely defenceless. We would cut Rhaenyra off from her allies in the North and gain another advantage. We know she is trying to lead an army from Winterfell to the south of the Kingdom and is surely waiting for the right opportunity to exact revenge." Cole said, to which her husband nodded.

"We're in a good position and now she's the one who has to worry about how to secure victory. She's desperate and will certainly make mistakes. Let's look for allies in the Vale to further weaken the morale of her supporters. Once her own people lose faith in her, her new dragon riders will also abandon her. This could be our chance."

Her cousin had not replied to her husband's letter, but she knew full well that he would not do so. She felt, however, that he would come to see her, and she waited impatiently for that moment, which came a few days later.

"My Lady. Lord of Runestone has arrived."

For the first time in many months, she felt pure joy – only now, sitting alone in one of the stone chambers, she realised how much she had missed him.

Her husband had allowed her to speak to her relative in private – admittedly there were guards standing at the door, but she was still grateful to him for making a concession to her.

As the door opened, she rose from her chair, smiling broadly. Lord of Runestone stepped inside in full armour, as if ready to be challenged – one of the guards approached him before he had time to cross the threshold of the chamber.

"Your sword and dagger, my lord." He said, extending his hand to him.

Her cousin threw her a protracted, frustrated look and she nodded, encouraging him to do as he was asked. Admittedly reluctantly, he gave the guards his weapons – when he stepped into the room and the door finally closed behind him, she threw herself into his arms.

"Allard!" She called out, embracing him around the waist. Her relative reciprocated the embrace and sighed heavily, as if relieved.

Allard Royce was a stocky, tall man: his dark hair fell in thick curls over his shoulders, his fresh stubble adding to his age, although he was only ten years older than her. He grasped her face in his hands and lifted it so that she looked at him – she smiled even wider, seeing his familiar gaze.

"I have come to free you from this stone prison." He said.

She blinked, feeling a cold discomfort in her stomach, and laughed, shaking her head.

"There is no need for that, cousin. I'm not here against my will." She said, forcing herself to be calm and light in her voice.

Allard furrowed his thick eyebrows in displeasure and regret.

"Has his manipulation gone this far already? Has he succeeded in dragging you to his side?" He asked, lowering his hands, causing another wave of unpleasant feeling to run down her spine.

She swallowed hard and shook her head, feeling the panic rising inside her.

"What he did was undignified and reckless, it's true. But he never hurt me. I agreed to marry him of my own free will." She muttered, playing with her fingers in a nervous impulse.

Why was she convinced that this conversation would turn out very differently?

Her cousin snorted and moved forward, circling the room with a loud clang of his steel armour.

"So why all this farce? This letter? Are you trying to convince me to kneel before the Uzurpator?" He asked coldly, and she shook her head again.

"N-no. I wanted to ask you about my mother. And my father." She mumbled.

"The same one your husband killed?" He sneered, making her heart thump harder in her chest.

No.

I killed him, she thought.

But she felt ashamed to utter those words.

"Yes. My father challenged him." She explained, looking at the old wooden floor beneath her feet. "But before he fell, he told me that my mother added poison to my milk when I was a child. Is that true?"

Allard stopped in half step and threw her a surprised look full of horror. She saw in his expression that her question made him uncomfortable, as he turned his face towards the window.

"I don't know anything about it." He replied.

She swallowed hard, knowing he had lied to her face.

"My father said you were the one who informed him of this."

Her cousin closed his eyes and sighed, as if the conversation was making him very tired.

"That night you got a high fever. There were… rumours spreading around the fortress. I didn't know what to do, so I sent word to him. I hoped he would do the right thing for once. And then he killed Rhea." He said dispassionately, shrugging his shoulders.

"Because she wouldn't let him take me to King's Landing." She said wearily, feeling that this was the moment.

The moment of truth.

She felt a cold shiver run along her body as her relative burst out laughing.

"And you believed him? Then why didn't he take you with him after he murdered her, hm? Who could forbid him from doing so? Do you think King Viserys would not have supported his own brother in this matter even if I had objected?" He scoffed, making her feel the pleasant image she'd been putting together in her head for the past weeks begin to slowly crack.

She wanted to believe that he loved her.

She wanted to believe that if he could, he would have acted differently.

But the truth was that he had never fought for her and perhaps that was why he had grabbed her hand then, deep underwater.

Perhaps it was his apology.

"Do you wish to hear anything more from my lips, Princess Targaryen, or may I return to my duties?" He asked lightly, casting her a look of regret and disappointment.

As if he wanted to tell her that he had raised her differently.

She was supposed to be a Royce, not a Targaryen.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to insult you. I thought this meeting would bring you joy, as it did to me." She muttered.

"Your husband, the self-proclaimed Prince Regent, humiliated me in front of my people. He made you his whore, giving cause for gossip and mockery to the entire Kingdom, and then graciously married you because of your kinship without even asking my opinion, even though I was the one who raised you. He didn't invite me to the nuptial ceremony, he ignored me in every possible way."

"He knew that because of Lady Arryn you would not be able to attend." She mumbled with difficulty, feeling tears of shame burning under her eyelids.

He had made you his whore, giving cause for gossip and mockery to the entire Kingdom.

Was this really how the Realm perceived her?

"Do you think this cold cunt from the high mountains would have stopped me? That I would have chosen her and not you? I raised you. I did." He hissed, slamming his fist into his armour.

"I know. I know, but I swear his words and his apology are sincere." She said pleadingly, but her cousin shook his head.

"This piece of parchment is supposed to be a compensation? He can wipe his ass with it. He's just a little cripple with a big dragon who flies around the Seven Kingdoms thinking he's king. Did he burn his brother by accident too?" He exclaimed, infuriating her for some reason.

"Your words are treason." She said coldly.

Allard closed his mouth, breathing heavily, a challenge in his eyes.

"Cut off my head then. Show me who you really are and what you choose."

"No. Go back to Runestone. My husband was right. It was a mistake." She said dryly, feeling nothing but emptiness in her mind.

Although Allard had always hidden his feelings perfectly, she could see in his gaze that her words had caused him pain. He shook his head in disbelief and moved towards the door without even a word of farewell.

She collapsed onto the chair listening to his footsteps in the distance, only then letting bitter tears of disappointment run down her cheeks.

She imagined that they would throw themselves into each other's arms, that after a few cruel words they would come to an understanding, that she would tell him about the child in her womb, that there was hope for them and their lineage.

To him, however, she had become a stranger.

A Targaryen Princess.

She lowered her gaze as she heard someone's footsteps again, but this time moving closer to the chamber she was in – she knew that her husband had stopped at the threshold of the door and that he was looking at her.

She knew that he had seen how the conversation had gone.

"Hāedar." Was all he said, and that was enough.

She hid her face in her hands, feeling ashamed that she had been so naïve: suddenly her idea of travelling, all by herself, to her family stronghold seemed plainly childish to her.

She cried out loud, feeling humiliated and disappointed, believing that she could have had two families at once, that their bond was more important than politics and war.

She heard him move towards her – he stepped over her and embraced her, cuddling her head into his stomach. He stroked her hair and just looked at her, silent.

She thought he certainly felt a hot satisfaction, but wouldn't admit it out loud.

"You were right." She whispered. "It was a mistake."

"I'm sorry." He replied, though she knew he wasn't.

Perhaps some part of him felt sorry for her, but the other part was pleased that no one could take her away from him anymore.

She couldn't blame him for that.

"Did you find the answers to your questions?" He asked, combing his fingers through her dark curls.

She closed her eyes, thinking that now there was only them.

Their family.

Their bond.

Their destiny.

"Yes."

[sunfairiess]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | soft boy jj | best friends to lovers | comfort | fluff

synopsis: reader’s battling against anxiety and during one of her anxiety attacks, jj’s there to help her.

warnings: heavy depiction of anxiety, anxiety attack.

wc: 2.1k

writing this as someone who suffers from anxiety and deals with it on her own, was really emotional; if you find yourself in this position too, please don’t be afraid to ask for help. mental health matters <3

song rec: breathin - ariana grande ♡

everyone fights their own monsters, some are physically visible, others are perceived. some people have to fight against their families, some against their friends. but one of the biggest and worst challenges, was to fight against your own head.

everyone is tormented by their own monsters. hers is called anxiety, the beast who had ruined her life.

at school, her grades started to drop because she was just so tired all the time she couldn’t even bring herself to open the textbook; half of the foods she used to love were cut out of her daily routine because she would get constant heartburn and stomach problems to the point where she wasn’t able to consume a full meal for days.

when it came to sleeping, she couldn’t fall asleep because her mind was always racing with awful thoughts. what if i don’t wake up tomorrow? do my friends hate me because i didn’t go out with them today? is my heart supposed to beat so fast? my back is hurting, is this a health condition? am i going to be alone forever? usually she would go on for hours, reaching three or four in the morning, until she either cried herself to sleep or she almost passed out because of how tired she was.

going out of the house became hard. she became afraid of taking public transportation because what if someone tried to rob her or kidnap her. she couldn’t take long walks anymore because what if something happens and i’m alone. she even had to stop going to parties because she couldn’t stand big and loud crowds of people anymore.

her mental pain became physical: constantly having back problems, her chest and throat always felt too tight to breathe, her body tingling out of nowhere all the time.

it would’ve been a lie to say all of this didn’t reflected onto her relationship with others; she never told anyone about her own problems, not that they could help anyway. so when she started to hang out less with her friends, she always had to lie. i’m grounded, i can’t go out. sorry, i have too much homework to do. i have the flu, i can’t come. my dad needs my help, i’ll come next time. eventually though, she would run out of excuses, and that’s how she ended up for the first time in a month at the château, surrounded by her best friends.

“girl, we haven’t see you in forever, i almost forgot your face.” kiara joked, nudging her a bit with her elbow.

“i know, i’m so sorry guys. past month has been crazy.” which wasn’t a lie per se, she had spent the last weeks having constant anxiety and panic attacks. in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. and every single time she felt like she was about to die, the impending fear of doom creeping inside her. it really started to become unbearable, to the point where she didn’t even notice how many days would go by.

“well you’re here now, that’s what matters.” pope chimed in, giving her a smile. somehow that made her feel a little bit more lighter, knowing that her friends didn’t actually hated her. anxiety made her overthink every little detail of her life.

even though she tried to appear relaxed the whole night, she still felt like she was being chocked by an imaginary hand, pressing harder every time she breathed. she was grateful that none of her friends noticed the stiffness in her body, it would’ve been to hard to explain everything.

at least she thought no one noticed. jj noticed, he always did. he would observe every little detail about her. and from the moment she stepped into the château he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze off of her, not even for a second. he missed her. he hadn’t seen her in weeks and he had become restless. day and night he would think about her, what she was doing, if she missed him, if she too dreamed about him like he did about her. that’s how it felt being in love with your best friend.

jj knew something was up with her. she was always full of joy and energy, but bow it seemed like she had lost her spark. he knew there was something wrong, especially when he saw her fidgeting with her rings, gazing anxiously around her. he knew something was wrong when she got up, excusing herself from the conversation, and almost running to the bathroom.

following her wasn’t probably too good of an idea, but jj was impulsive, so he did it anyway. amen to that, he would’ve dealt with the consequences later, like his confused friends asking him what the heck was going on.

as he entered the bathroom, she was sat on the toilet. her face so pale you would think she was about to pass out.

he sees her as she stares into the wall, her eyes fixed in front of her, full of fear. he notices as she bring her right hand to her throat, sliding slowly down her chest and pressing hard. he hears her breathing going faster and heavier, like she couldn’t catch a full breath. her hands shaking as she tries to ground herself and not slip into the arms of her anxiety.

jj had no idea of what an anxiety attack looked like, he had been fortunate enough to never had one, but he always thought they had to feel awful for whoever got them. but seeing her, his sweet little sunshine, shaking all over the place and being surrounded by a cloud of darkness around her, made his heart break into a thousand millions pieces. he wanted to help her, but he didn’t know how to do it in the right way. he just wanted to do something, and so he did.

“sunshine, hey. baby, look at me. c’mon lemme see your pretty eyes.” he kneeled in front of her, placing both of his hands on her knees and gently rubbing his thumbs against them.

everything was spinning around her, thoughts racing with all the emotions she bottled up and all the fears she always had. she couldn’t stop them, it felt like she was going to be swallowed up by a black vortex. but then she heard his voice, it was like hearing an angel talking. her gaze slowly shifted from the white wall to his eyes, his gorgeous blue eyes, usually shining like stars when they looked at her, but now they were the depiction of concern. she felt a sharp feeling of guiltiness running through her your veins, because the last thing she wanted was to make him sad.

“that’s it, baby. you are so pretty, my pretty girl.” he gave her a soft smile, slowly moving his hands from her knees to her thighs. he wanted to pull her close and hug her, but one time— and thank god for him and the one time jj actually listened to what he said— pope told him that when people had anxiety or panic attacks, most of the time they didn’t wanted to be touched. so, instead of being the usual impulsive jj he was with everyone, he took baby steps with her, not wanting to scare her or make her even more anxious.

her breath was slowly calming down, but the aching in your chest and the lump in her throat were still there, still feeling like she was going to suffocate any moment now, but jj pulled her out of her thoughts again.

“alright pretty girl, i need you to do something for me, ‘kay? i need you to take deep breaths with me, i know it’s hard but i’m here. you’re safe, i won’t let anything happen to you. breathe with me, baby.” his voice was so sweet and gentle, she actually thought she was going to cry because of how soft he was speaking to her and how he was trying to handle the situation. she nodded slightly, following his example as he took one deep breath and then exhaled. one deep breath and exhaled. inhale and exhale. and they went on, and on, until the tension she felt before started to leave her body, making her shoulders and back relax and her hands stop shaking.

jj didn’t say anything this time, he just looked as she regained consciousness of her surroundings. even though the attack was gone, it usually took hours before she could actually calm down completely. it was hard and she always handled them alone, but this time having him with her felt like a blessing from heaven.

feeling like she had just been pulled out of a dark hole, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. he let out a sigh as soon as he felt her flesh touch his own, his arms reaching for her hips and his face buried deep into the crook of her neck. they stayed like this for a almost twenty minutes. he only pulled her in tighter, not wanting to let go of her because he knew as long as she was into his arms, she was safe.

30 minutes later they were laying next to each other in the hammock, her head resting on his chest, the sound of his heart beating calming her, like a lullaby. his hands were both placed on her back, rubbing small circles against the thin fabric of her shirt.

jj really didn’t want to break the peacefulness that surrounded them, but he had to ask her why she never told him anything. he felt like he was failing at being her best friend. “why did you never tell me?” his voice was low, sounding almost like a whisper.

“i- i don’t know. i didn’t want to bother anyone, didn’t want to be a burden.” jj stopped moving his hands on her back, instantly lifting his head to look at her.

“okay, know that i’m not mad, but, firstly, i’m not anyone. i’m your best friend, you would never be a burden to me.” his hands moved to her cheeks, lifting her face. “i’ve been through hell and back these past weeks. not seeing you, not talking to you for more than 5 minutes on the phone, not touching you. it nearly killed me, y/n. i was always on the edge of a breakdown, constantly snapping at everyone because i didn’t know how you were doing. were you safe? were you alright? not knowing made me go insane.”

he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. he was pouring his heart out, which he never do, but he just felt like he had to do it now. “and i’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, that’s the last thing i want. i just wish for you to know how much you mean to me. you’re the most important person in my life, you’re my best friend, my ride or die, my partner in crime. you- you’re my first love, and hopefully you’ll be my last one too.”

her eyes went wide at his words, and honestly she thought she heard him wrong. “jj, what- what are you saying?”

“i know the night wasn’t perfect, but please just lemme say this now because i don’t know when i’ll get the same courage again. i love you, y/n. i love everything about you. i love that weird sound you make when you laugh too much, i love how your eyes shine when you’re talking about things you like, i love how after surfing your hair become all curly. hell, i love even the things you do that should piss me off, like when you throw away my joint because i’ve been smoking too much or when you scream at me because i got in a fight with some kooks again. i love you so much it physically hurts.”

her eyes were watery now, tears threatening to coming out in flows. she didn’t know what to say. because seriously, what do you say to someone who sees you as the most incredible human being, when you can’t even love a quarter of yourself?

you say nothing. but you can do something.

that’s why, in the quietness of the night, under the stars and while she was feeling at peace for the first time in weeks, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against it.

she wasn’t magically healed, she still had things to deal with. but now, she wasn’t on her own anymore.

[lostintransist]

This is some angsty nonsense because I couldn't let the bad stay in my soul.

CW: Reader is covered in scars and is heavily dreaming of death after medical torture. It makes sense in fic but if that is not your jam today I'll see you later on happier hills!

Men in white had hurt you. You wish anything they had done would have killed you. They stole your flesh from your thighs and your womb from your body. Crooning at you that you were special, that you didn’t need what they took. You might have been special once, but now you were just a shell that converted oxygen, and poorly at that. Chemicals had burned your lungs and bare patches on your scalp turned icy when the A/C turned on. They continued to hurt you, but still, your traitorous heart refused to stop beating.

When men covered in black flinched at your movement you hoped they would end your suffering. The men in white had fled at the sounds of gunfire, leaving you locked in your cage. Crawling toward the door, elbows digging into the hard tile you heard an unfamiliar cadence of words.

“Она живет.”

When your head reaches the glass next to the door you rest your temple to the floor.

“Please kill me.” The breathless sound couldn’t have reached them. You begged for it anyway.

They didn’t listen. Men never do listen to you.

A hurried conversation in those same unfamiliar sounds led to your door being kicked open. One of the men covered in black lifts you from the floor. Darkness covers your vision as something is dropped over your head.

Whispering, you lay limp in their arms, repeating your refrains asking for death.

Nikto couldn’t leave you. No part of him had ever seen a person as scarred as he was and still breathing. Krueger didn’t fight him on the unnecessary baggage. Something about your barely audible pleas for death called out to the shreds of humanity that still existed in the two men. Exfil required no additional effort as their job was to kill everyone who worked in the facility tucked away in the mountains.

The slight weight of your form and the extra hood Kreuger dropped over your face presented no barriers to bringing you aboard the airship. No one would question Nikto. Krueger found a heat-trapping blanket somewhere. He sat hip to hip with Nikto letting their heat shift up into the blanket. Head lolling in what Nikto hopped was exhaustion he shifted your head to his shoulder. Really he followed through on one of the voices shouted in his head so loud he couldn’t prevent a flinch. Every so often either Nikto or Kreuger would reach under the hood and confirm you still breathed.

Arriving back to their base Krueger took the lead, pulling a spare cot out of storage and setting it up in Nikto’s room. They would share the care of you. The enigma of you tugged at them.

Kreuger removed the hood as Nikto settled you onto the cot and covered you with a spare blanket. Staring down at the web of scars across your cheeks, forehead, and even under the patches of hair that had grown they knew you would not judge too harshly their scars. If they could keep you alive that is. No one had ever begged them for death like you had.

Masterlist

[tanuki1029]

Hi! I very much appreciate the sentiment, and I can tell you mean well. Normal and abnormal can be pretty loaded terms.

That being said. This is extremely bad advice for someone dealing with a potential loose grasp on reality. Some hallucinations might not cause any problems for some people, and maybe for them, being told that they're not normal would be primarily hurtful.

I, however, am now learning I genuinely don't have as good a grasp on reality as I thought. I needed input on reasonable realities to figure out if I had one or not. As it turns out, I do not.

I go in and out of thinking I'm god, or being hunted by god. The one I no longer believe in, partially because believing in him made me believe that I could control spiritual forces with my mind, and the followers of that religion encouraging me to believe these things. I was told I have a gift of prophecy, and I still have trouble believing that I cannot see the future.

I didn't know any of that wasn't normal. While I was in the thick of this religion, though, I was not upset by these delusions. I was ecstatic when I could pray hard enough that I felt God's power flowing out of my paws. I was excited to learn how exactly I could use this power to end all of the world's suffering, and it was all very normal for me. So normal, that I saw them as integral to my daily functioning until I fell away from the church from life getting in the way enough for the dread of hell to overpower the ecstasy of being god's chosen Priestess.

If I was less lucid, I would be thanking you for your advice. That wouldn't be a good thing.

Proving a point to myself

[theereina]

Big Mama Pt. 9

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC

Wordcount: +2.8K

Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, teasing, heavily dialogue-centered, use of pet names (Daddy, Mama, lil' mama, pretty girl, good boy, etc.), P in V, oral (male receiving), Dom!Terry, Jealous!Terry, spanking *if you squint*, slight exhibitionism, rough sex

A/N: I don't know how many parts there will be. However, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.

Big Mama Pt. 1 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 2 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 3 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 4 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 5 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 6 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 7 => 🦋

Big Mama Pt. 8 => 🦋

*Masterlist: 🔥🔥🔥

After exiting the shower, I wanted nothing more than to nap. I wrapped the towel around my body and walked into the bedroom.

I walked to the side of the dresser where my clothes were. Terry had given me half of the eight drawers once he realized I was coming over more often. I stood before the mirrored dresser, turning around and checking myself out. My hair was poofy and falling out of my puff. I sighed deeply, knowing my arms would be suffering later. It was time for a protective style, whether box braids, micro twists, or a sew-in. I was definitely not about to be fighting with my hair any longer than I needed to.

I grabbed my vanilla cashmere body lotion from the dresser. It was not only my favorite scent but my signature. I was a vanilla girl through and through. I slowly walked over to the window and noticed the rain had slowed. The sun was slowly making an appearance through the thinning clouds. Faint streams of light beamed through the slits in the blinds.

The window was tall and almost floor-to-ceiling. It was the perfect height for me to use the window sill as a ledge. Raising the blinds, I propped my left leg on the small ledge. My foot rested in a small opening between the two sheer curtain panels. The soft creamy white color made them easier to see out of.

I pumped the lotion into the palm of my hands and began working it into my legs, alternating between the two. I took my time with every inch of my body, paying close attention to my tension areas. My thighs unintentionally became an area of extra attention. I slid the towel back on my legs a little more to work my way up my thighs. Pressing and kneading my inner thighs, I let out a small moan. I needed this. The muscles in my thighs were stiff and tense from all the running around I had been doing.

I made a mental note to ask Terry for a massage. I didn't care if it led to me getting put through a mattress. Fuck it! Terry's hands were like feathers guided by God. They knew exactly how to move and how much pressure to apply, and Lord, did they know exactly where to be to get me going.

Unknowingly, I had fallen into my own thoughts. Daydreaming about Terry's hands all over me made me put mine between my legs. I was absentmindedly rubbing my hand over the lips of my pussy. I dragged my fingers back and forth through my folds, letting my fingers stroke the underside of my clit. I slid my fingers back again, dipping into my hole. I moaned into the air as my breathing became harsh and ragged.

I quickly drew my hand back when I realized what I was doing. I instantly felt my cheeks grow hot. I had gotten so lost in pleasuring myself that I didn't even know how long I had been doing it. How had I managed to work myself up this bad?

I shook off the self-imposed sexual tension and finished lotioning my skin. I skipped over my chest because I knew I was just going to make it worse if I even so much as grazed my breasts.

Once finished, I turned to toss the lotion bottle on the bed and grabbed the underwear I had laid out. I was giving up on the idea of going outside. I was about to use this rain as an excuse to relax and get on Terry's last nerve. I slid the underwear on. While staring out the window, I got this eerie feeling that I was being watched. I looked around the open parking lot and checked the neighbors’ windows. I didn't see anyone or notice anything obvious so I tried to calm myself down.

As I turned around to walk to the bed, I ran into what felt like a brick wall. I stumbled backward but was grabbed by a set of hands I was all too familiar with— Terry's.

“Havana Rose, the hell you doin'?” Terry asked through gritted teeth. His hands tightened around my waist. I could sense the tension from his grip alone. Terry's head was tilted, and his jaw was tight. His face was scrawled with anger, but why was he angry?

I reached out to touch his forearm. “Terry, you okay?” I asked nervously.

“Nah, mama. You need to answer my damn question first. What…the…hell…were…you…doin'?” Terry asked again, annunciating every word.

“Nothin’, why? Is everything okay, baby?” I asked, moving closer to Terry.

“Nah, you know exactly what you did,” he said, placing his forehead on mine.

The intensity of Terry's stare let me know I was in deep shit. What had I done? I was at a loss because my mind was drawing a blank.

“What were you just doin' in front of that window, huh? Tell me, mama. What…were… you…doin'?” Terry asked, his hand moving to grip the side of my face.

He tilted my head back so I was looking directly at him. I stuttered through my thoughts. Nothing was coming together. I was in trouble and didn't know why.

“Daddy, can you just tell me? I wasn't doing anything that I'm aware of. I swear… this ain't me playin’. Terry?” I babbled finally able to form a semi-coherent thought.

“When you were in front of that window, where were your hands?” Terry asked, snaking his hand from my face to the back of my head.

“I was putting on lotion. So, I guess,… they were on me,” I stammered. I was praying that was the right answer.

“Nah, after that! Better yet, what were you doin' with them after puttin’ on lotion ‘Vana?” Terry snapped. His voice was low and rumbly. Every word carried through his chest like a roar.

“Fine. Come here. Maybe, this'll help!” Terry said, guiding me back to the window. “Stand right there and show me what you were doin'!” Terry boomed.

“Okay!” I yelled back as I turned to face the window.

“Oh, this ain't the time for you to have a damn attitude, ‘Vana. Now, show me!” Terry snapped.

I mentally went through all of my motions— feet, legs, arms, thighs…. Shit! My eyes widened in horror and embarrassment.

“Yeah, if I could see you doin' it, only God knows who else. Why would you stand in front of a window playin’ with yourself?” Terry said, closing in the space behind me.

His chest was now pressed into my back. He leaned down so his lips were touching my ear.

“So, we giving the neighbors a show?” Terry asked.

“No, I didn't mean to. I just thought no one could see me. I'm sorry,” I said, turning to face Terry.

“Mmm mmm, stay facing the window,” Terry said, leaning up again.

I could hear Terry moving behind me. I tried to peek over my shoulder. I was growing anxious and tense. I didn't know what Terry was doing behind me.

Out of my peripheral, I saw Terry's shirt land on the floor. Before I could question him, I heard his belt buckle clinking. He was undressing! I heard his pants rustling amidst my panicking. I could hear his pants hit the floor. Without warning, he kicked those to be in a pile with his shirt.

“Terry…,” I whined, twiddling with my thumbs. I was biting the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. I winced at the pain.

“Don't talk. Just listen,” he said, pushing up the back of the towel and pulling down my underwear.

His hands began to caress and rub all over my bare ass.

“You know I have half a mind to tear yo’ ass up, but what good would a spankin’ do? I say… since you wanna put on a show for the neighbors, let's put on a show,” he said, leaning into me.

“But I didn't mean to… I swear. I was thinkin' about… you,” I whined, shrinking underneath him.

“Thinkin’ about me, huh? What were you thinkin’ about?” Terry asked, pressing his hips into my ass. His dick was hard and begging to be released from his boxers.

“You… um… touchin’ me,” I moaned out.

“You lyin' to me, baby girl?” Terry asked, placing one of his hands between us. I could feel him free his dick, causing it to poke the back of my ass.

I shrank down, moaning into the feeling. Terry instantly pulled me back up. Throwing his hands around me, he locked me in place. I had nowhere to run.

“You know Mr. Fitz was outside near the side of the building. When I pulled up, he was looking all strange and staring at the sky. Just for me to realize… he was lookin' at you. You had that poor old man stuck, girl. How do you feel about that?” Terry asked, grabbing a patch of hair at the nape of my neck.

“I didn't see anyone. It just happened. I started daydreamin’ and got lost in it. That's why I stopped,” I mewled.

By the way Terry was moving and the tone of his voice, I knew where this was going.

“That's the problem. YOU didn't see anyone, but I did. You like showing people what's mine? You liked the thought of someone seein’ you, huh? Is that what you want ‘Vana? You want the neighbors to see how nasty you can get? Their precious little baby girl…,” Terry huffed, using his feet to push mine apart.

He used his body weight to bend me over. His hand stayed in its place, tangled in my messy hair. He dipped his hips so his dick was positioned at my entrance. His other hand disappeared between us. I felt him guide the tip of his dick inside me.

“Since you wanna give them a show, let's give them one. I wanna Oscar-worthy performance outta you. Understood?” Terry barked.

“Yes, Daddy. I understand,” I said, leaning into him. There was nothing else I could do.

“You… better… show… out,” Terry annunciated through gritted teeth.

Without another word, he pushed his dick inside of me. My pussy pushed him out, begging for a little relief. He pushed half of himself back in, stoking into me slowly.

“What’s wrong? You can’t take Daddy’s dick all of a sudden?” he asked, mocking me.

I couldn't focus on a fuckin’ word that was coming out of his mouth. I was already struggling to breathe and stay upright. I reached out to hold onto the frame of the window. Before I could gather myself, Terry's dick started knocking the Sonic rings out of my pussy. He was definitely pissed. The only time Terry delivered dick like this was when he was angry. But this time, Daddy was angry!

“Ahh, fuck!” I said, falling forward.

Between Terry’s teasing and my previous self-pleasure, it took no time for him to bottom out. My pussy swallowed Terry’s dick whole, pulling him in like a vacuum. I was so gone that I hadn't forgotten we were in front of a window.

“Don’t let that towel fall. That’s all you focus on!” Terry groaned.

“Okay!” I screamed.

I was falling under the weight of pleasure. My legs were already turning into jello.

“Baby girl, focus. You ain't gone fall. You gone stay right here with Daddy,” Terry said, using his grip on my hair to pull me back up.

My eyes were closing, and my toes were curling into the carpet. I could feel every inch of Terry’s dick inside of me— every push and every pull. The level of pleasure I was feeling had me floating. My pussy clearly had a mind of its own because the grip it had on Terry’s dick was not intentional.

“Come on, mama. I feel you, baby. I feel you. Let’em see you, baby. Show’em why Daddy ain't never leavin’. Come on,” Terry groaned as his fingertips dug into my hip.

“Please, don’t stop!” I screamed. My voice carried through the apartment. I knew the neighbors heard me, but I didn’t care. Poor, Mrs. Geraldine.

I arched my back as much as this position would allow. I started to catch Terry’s rhythm, throwing my ass back on him with fervor.

“There you go. That’s what the fuck I'm talkin’ bout. Show out for Daddy, baby. You got this!” Terry said, smacking me on my ass.

I opened my eyes to see the window fogging up, causing me to smile. Realization set in that I was letting this man fuck me in front of a window. At this point, oh fucking well. I didn't care who saw me, and I for damn sure didn't care who heard.

His strokes were knocking me down something serious right now. How was I going to tell this man I wanted to be fucked like this all the time? Just walk in, get naked, and get to fucking work.

“Fuck, baby. Daddy’s close, but I need you to finish first. Come here,” Terry said, removing his hand from my hair.

He placed his hand down the top of my towel and began twirling my left nipple.

“Ahh, fuck!” I hissed.

His other hand fell from my hip, slipping around and under the bottom of my towel. Using the pads of his fingers, he began rubbing my clit. Already sensitive, I shuddered as I felt the first wave of my orgasm approaching.

“Daddy!” I yelled, throwing my head back.

“That’s right! Let it go, baby. Cum on your dick. Wet me up, ‘Vana!” Terry yelled. I could feel his dick throbbing inside of me.

Like a tsunami, I squirted all over Terry’s dick. My cum dripped down my thighs and legs, leaving a wet spot on the carpet below us.

“That’s it. That’s my good girl! You ready for Daddy, baby?” Terry grunted.

I could feel his hips stuttering as his strokes faltered as he was still in search of his own release. His strokes became shallow but held the same power and intensity. The smacking of our bodies echoed through the room like our own version of Morse code.

“’Vana, knees. I need you… ahhh… I need you on your knees, baby. Now!” Terry barked, pulling out of me.

I turned around at the speed of light, dropping to my knees in front of Terry. I knew the routine— mouth open, tongue out, hands on my lap, eyes on Daddy.

“Good girl,” Terry said, stroking himself while slapping his dick on my tongue.

Terry’s sat his dick on my tongue and threw his head back. “Give it to me, mama,” he groaned.

I wrapped my lips around Terry’s dick and began sucking him with a hunger only he could cure. His hands went to the back of my head, not to guide me but to stabilize himself. I looked up, searching for his eyes. Seeing Terry come undone under my doing, knowing he had full intentions of probably destroying me, made me smile.

I pushed further and swallowed the rest of him until my lips reached his base. I relaxed my throat and bobbed my head back and forth.

“Fuck, mama!” Terry yelled as his head dropped to look at me.

Terry's dick stiffened in my mouth. As soon as I felt the first drop of cum, I sucked him up again and rested at the base. Ropes of cum spilled to the back of my throat as I swallowed what would have been mouthfuls. This load was different— heavy, dense, and full of emotion. Breathing through my nose and relaxing underneath him, I let Terry empty himself and ride out his high in its entirety. I had no intentions of disturbing him.

Once he was finished, Terry released himself from my mouth. Looking down at me, he cupped my face in his hands. He pulled me up from the floor and pulled me into a heated kiss. It was clear that his anger had subsided, but the passion was still there. His tongue danced around mine, dominating the kiss. He drew in a breath and sucked in my bottom lip. I moaned out, feeling myself get worked up again. Terry pulled back slowly, leaving me craving more.

“Oh, don’t worry, mama. We got all day,” he said, picking me up and carrying me to the bathroom.

Today was going to be a long day. Pray for me.

Taglist: @persethegawd @kimuzostar @brattyfics @avoidthings @5headsupremacist @insidefeelingofanadult @kirayuki22 @nayaesworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ariiijestertheklown @nayaxwrites @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair @jimmybutlrr

@creartivefairy @gg-trini @vivaalenaa @slutsareteacherstoo @skyesthebomb @blowmymbackout @blackerthings @mymindisneverhere @androgynousgaz @becauseimswagman1 @gwenda-fav @poektiou624 @keyaho @pocketsizedpanther @sageispunk @charismablu @4ftwonder @4pfsukuna @writingsbytee @babybratzmaraj @pinkpantheris @honeytoffee @talkswithdesi

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[filipfatalattractionrblog]

The thing about Episode 7, Jayvik and Timebomb

We like to joke about the whiplash from constantly shifting between Ekko's visit in paradise and Jayce's suffering, but....

I actually have to put the shipping googles back on for this one.

When Ekko and Jayce meet, Timebomb and Jayvik have basically been torpedoed. Ekko almost killed Jinx last season, and only hesitated at the last moment. He spent so much time telling himself Powder is dead and Jinx killed her, but now he is no longer so sure. Jayce meanwhile kept drifting away from Viktor and every time he thought he would bring them back together, he would fumble, last time they meet he was yelling, unable to understand why Viktor given up on him, as if Jayce haven't broken every promise he made to him by not destorying the hexcore and by weaponizing hextech. Ships aren't completely sunk, but they're gaining water fast.

And then the Wild Rune sent Jayce and Ekko to different worlds. Ekko gets the world that could have been, Jayce gets one that may be.

Ekko's life in a near-utopian version of Zaun quickly focuses on him falling in love with Powder that could have been. And why wouldn't he fall in love with her? Shems a genius, she's funny, she's creative...but I think with time he realizes that all these things can still be found in Jinx. He realizes Jinx didn't kill Powder, Jinx is Powder lashing out in pain.

And yet, this Powder is not free of pain either. It's different pain, that he actually stupidly pokes early on. Pain caused by different trauma, which she got to deal with, while having a better support network, but sitll present (I have seen somewhere a good argument she shows signs of depression, but forgot where). It's not that she deals with her pain better than Jinx, it's just different. And I see with time Ekko realizes that and realizes how wrong it would be to give up on Jinx, that the same person he loves is in her world, but she has no one to be for her what this Powder has in her Ekko, Mylo, Claggor, Vander and Silco (that last one is an assumption on my part, it's unclear how close he is with Powder in this world, but considering he apparently co-runs the bar with Vander, he has to be present in her life in some way). When Ekko decides to come back, he isn't doing it only because it would be unfair to Ekko of this timeline and to Powder and everyone who loves that Ekko. He also does it because he realzied what an asshole he'd be to give up on Jinx.

And remember, he has no fucking idea about the seven hells of bullshit that went down in his world when he was absent. He doesn't know about martial law, about Warwick, about Viktor, about Noxus. He's coming back expecting to deal with his tree being sick and Chem-Barons war.

Now let's look what Jayce goes through. He gets sent to hell where his dream goes horribly wrong, yes. But what quickly happens to him? He breaks his leg falling down the chasm. He ends at the very bottom of where Piltover used to be. Correction, where Zaun used to be. The enviroment is slowly poisoning him. He is forced to fight every second to survive. Poisoned by enviroment, limping, forced to use leg splint and a staff as a crutch. Sounds familiar? Moreover, he is then forced to climb his way from the bottom all the way to the highest tower of Piltover. I'm surprised more people aren't talking about this, the metaphor is laid down pretty thick. Jayce gets crash course version of Viktor's life, he is literally forced to walk miles after miles in his shoes. They even made his leg splint look like one League of Legends' Viktor had until 2024.

he never really could understand where Viktor is coming from, even at his lowest he still was a minor noble house, he still lived in good part of the town. And sure, he and Viktor became close, but then Jayce got seduced by the fame, by glamour, by being man of progress, by being savior of the future, by cushy council seat. Power makes it hard to see evil, and privledge makes you blind to human the suffering. This experience was eye-opening to Jayce. I wonder how many times he must have stopped himself and realize this is what Viktor goes through on daily basis. And, as we learned later, after Jayce climbed this way to the top of hell, he saw how much HE means to Viktor, how HE is the only person who can give Viktor hope and save him from his own internalized ableism. He goes back to save the world, but he also goes back to save Viktor.

These stories weren't paired jsut to fuck with us, they're pararells. Jayce and Ekko both were blinded, one by glamour, the other by hardship, they could no longer see real Viktor and Jinx, too wrapped up in the people the world forced them to become. Each one was forcefully stripped from his ideantity, and therefore his biases, and forced to actually SEE the person they love, not the false image they built, but real them. And then each one went back and each one reached to their respective love and save them. And jsut like Ekko went back in time over and over to make Jinx see he's there for her even if she hates herself, Jayce was willing to sacrifice it all to show Viktor he doesn't need to be perfect to be loved, because for Jayce he always was beautiful.

And I could probably write a whole separate essay about how this theme of tearing through your own bullshit and actually SEEING the other person is present in this season. How Jinx and Vi are forced to go through microcosm of each other's experience to rebuild their love. How Caitlyn is saved from her own descent into villainy by being forced to see how much pain she caused Vi, see a human in Warwick, see a wounded child in woman who killed her mother. How Vi stops her self-destruction by trusting Jinx and seeing Vander in Warwick. How Mel literally has to fight Illusionary Sorceres, a.k.a. LeBlac THE DECEIVER and defeats her with words "I see you". How Ambessa is the only person who doesn't go through this identity destruction this season, even i nthe opening proudly wearing red of Noxus, and that's why she fails. How Maddie being a spy is telegraphed from her first appearance, where she's blocking the sun, effectively obscuring Vi's vision and making herself harder to be seen. How Jinx and Sevika are forced to see people in one another now that Silco's gone. How even during sesbian lex Vi doesn't let Cait get bogged down in guilt because she sees the woman she loves and that's all that matters. How Ekko defeats Viktor by showing him he's wrong to think only he can achieve power of Wild Rune, but also by literally tearing off the mask of god from his eyes, so that Viktor can SEE Jayce again.

But it's 4 in the morning as I type this and I'm no longer being coherent. Episode 7 is literally the microcosm of the whole season and Ekko and Jayce go through the same character arc in it.

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

Hiii prev.

I won't go thru everything you said because a lot of it is just responding to me for being spiteful. I am incredibly sorry about that. I hadn't eaten and I suffer greatly from pride. As such, I get offended too easily and felt desperately to defend my orthodoxy. My faith is really important to me (one of the few things i feel secure and confident in) so when I felt like you were questioning it (which I understand you weren't), I felt passionately to defend it. That said, it was a failure to love you as a fellow image of God, and as you are my sibling in Christ it was also a betrayal. For that I am deeply sorry. Please forgive me.

Nuance: I do stand by the thought that it's a bit of a leap to say I was denying the eternity of hell based off of me saying that "some Christians" had that view. I understand how so many came to that conclusion, but still.

I am answering your ask; almost done, doing lots of editing so it's clear, concise, and coherent (which it still likely won't be lol. trying most of all not to be confusing)

On the eternal/temporary nature of hell: whether I think it's valid or not depends on the person. There are liberals who simply do not care what the bible says and will believe whatever they wish; their position is not valid. But, for the Christian who, when looking at the Greek, and contemplating the biblical narrative, as well as the history of interpretive tradition, asserts that hell is purgatorial (which I think is more accurate and helpful to say then temporary) I don't think it's fair to say unbiblical. From my perspective the Eastern Orthodox perspective on hell seems unbiblical. How could heaven and hell be the same place? But, thru conversation with an E.O. i know that it is deeply theologically sound, even if i disagree with it (think it's more sound than typical low church protestant fiery torment views of hell tho). My initial reaction of "that is unbiblical" is simply because I grew up in an environment completely opposite. I feel like I'm rambling; my main point is that I think I would need to talk with a purgatorial universalist about it before I could say it's unbiblical because even disagreeing I can see the philosophy and it tracks.

I am glad you liked my exegesis and thought it was "surprisingly sound" lol. Biblical studies is very dear to me and I wish I could go into it professionally. But as that's unlikely I settle with essays on tumblr

insane for parents to read the story of isaac and abraham to their kids like ok so would you also kill me if god asked you to, dad?

[tempobaekh]

Cheater!

pairings: daryl dixon x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, crack, chaos, yelling?, alcohol consumption

a/n: i saw this one video on tiktok this one and IT SOUNDS SO ACCURATE TO MAGGIE and i feel like she is the veryyy competitive type with underlying anger issues when it comes to board games LMAOOOO so i had to quickly write this before i lose motivation

The night air in Alexandria was cool, the gentle hum of distant cicadas blending with the occasional burst of laughter from inside your house.

Inside, the hum of laughter and the faint clink of glass echoed in your small Alexandria house as the six of you sat around the table. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stood proudly in the middle, surrounded by empty shot glasses, bowls of whatever slightly stale snacks you’d scavenged, and a stack of worn board games you’d brought back from the latest supply run.

After stumbling upon the box of board games on a supply run, you’d insisted on a game night.

The night had started innocently enough—Rick had vetoed Twister (his knee couldn’t handle it), Glenn had no clue how to play Scrabble, and Michonne had made it abundantly clear that Risk wasn’t an option. But when you and Carol suggested UNO, everyone agreed instantly.

The game started off simple enough. Glenn was the first to suffer Maggie’s wrath, groaning loudly when she dropped a Wild Draw Four on him.

“Seriously?” Glenn whined, stacking cards in his hand. “How do you have three of these?”

Maggie shrugged innocently, though the smug smile on her face was far from innocent.

Rick and Michonne exchanged knowing looks, already predicting Maggie’s reign of terror. Carol, sitting on your left, shook her head with a soft chuckle. “Don’t let her fool you, Glenn,” she said, her voice teasing. “She’s always had that sweet, innocent act down to an art.”

But to everyone’s surprise, Daryl was catching on—and fast.

A few rounds in, the tension was palpable. Maggie had two cards left, Glenn was drowning in a sea of colors, since she had won this round first, Carol relaxed and took a sip of her drink, and Rick was down to his last card, eyeing everyone suspiciously. Michonne was unnervingly calm, while you kept trying to suppress your giggles as Daryl muttered curses under his breath whenever the game turned against him.

Your boyfriend had been hesitant to play at first, grumbling about how he didn’t grow up playing games and didn’t see the point. But after a quick explanation of the rules and a few drinks, he’d started to get the hang of it, though his stubbornness and blunt demeanor didn’t make him the easiest player to deal with.

But again, he was getting the rhythm of the game.

“Daryl, your turn,” you said, nudging him.

He flicked through his cards, pausing dramatically before slapping down a Reverse card.

Rick groaned. “You serious, man? I was about to win!”

“That’s the point,” Daryl replied with a small, satisfied smirk.

Maggie narrowed her eyes. “You’re gettin’ too good at this, Dixon.”

“I’m just playin’ the game,” he shot back, shrugging.

You leaned over and whispered in his ear, “You’re doing great, babe.”

He grunted, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Carol chuckled softly beside you, her tone was full of sarcasm as she spoke to Daryl. “Looks like you’ve got some hidden talents, Dixon. Who knew?”

“Shut it,” Daryl muttered, though his lips twitched upward.

Now, a few rounds into the game, you were well past "simple" at this point. The table was littered with half-eaten pretzels, discarded cards, and a growing storm of drunken competitiveness. Maggie had turned out to be surprisingly vicious—who knew such a sweet, Southern farm girl could have such a cutthroat streak?

Right now everyone in the room was watching an actual showdown between Maggie and Daryl over one particularly heated round.

“Alright,” Maggie drawled, narrowing her eyes at Daryl. She had just played a Draw Four card, and he was staring at his cards like they’d personally offended him. “Your turn, Dixon.”

Daryl glared at his hand, chewing on his bottom lip. “Ain’t got nothin’,” he grumbled, drawing from the deck. He was sitting slightly hunched over, his shaggy hair casting shadows over his intense blue eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” Maggie said smugly. “Two cards left for me. Better luck next time, boys and girls.”

You leaned back, sipping your drink, enjoying the sight of your man starting to get fired up.

“Oh yeah?” Daryl suddenly said, slapping a red card on the pile with a little too much gusto. “There. Done.”

Maggie blinked at him. “Wait. Did you—did you just put your second-to-last card down?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Maggie’s Southern accent sharpened in frustration as she threw her hands up. “You cheatin’ son of a bitch! You’re supposed to say ‘UNO’ when you only got one card left!” she bellowed.

That got everyone’s attention. Glenn choked on his drink, Rick coughed into his hand to cover a laugh, and Michonne leaned back, shaking her head in disbelief. You slapped a hand over your mouth, trying desperately to stifle your giggles.

Carol, calmly munching on a pretzel, raised an eyebrow. “She’s not wrong, Daryl,” she chimed in, her tone light.

Daryl blinked at Carol then turned to Maggie and shrugged. “I said one.”

“You’re supposed to say UNO,” Maggie hissed, jabbing a finger toward him, her cheeks flushed. “It’s a Mexican game!”

Daryl squinted at Maggie, clearly trying to decide whether she was messing with him. "What the hell’s bein’ Mexican got to do with it? I said it!"

Carol smirked at the exchange, leaning toward you. “Think we should step in?” she whispered.

“Absolutely not,” you replied, grinning. “This is gold.”

The argument continued for another solid two minutes before Michonne finally intervened, smirking as she threw down a Reverse card. “You know what? Let’s settle this the old-fashioned way—Daryl gets two penalty cards, and Maggie has to sit out a turn for yelling.”

“Fair!” you said, trying to stifle your giggles.

Carol nodded sagely. “Sounds like justice to me.”

“Fine,” Maggie grumbled, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair.

“Whatever,” Daryl muttered, snatching his penalty cards and glaring at the table. But you caught the tiny, satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth—he knew he’d gotten under Maggie’s skin, and he was damn proud of it.

"Daryl Dixon, you’re the worst UNO player I’ve ever met," Maggie finally said.

"And you’re the loudest," he grumbled, glaring at her before throwing a wild card onto the pile. "Red."

As the game resumed, you leaned over and nudged him with your elbow. “Hey, Uno champ,” you whispered, grinning. “You’re lucky I am here, or Maggie might’ve actually decked you.”

Daryl gave you a side glance, his lips twitching into a small smirk. “Ain’t scared of her.”

“Sure you’re not,” you teased, watching as he focused back on his cards.

Carol laughed from her spot, shaking her head and whispering to you. “Honestly, I think Maggie was about three seconds away from throwing that deck at his face."

As the next round began, the tension dissipated, though Maggie was clearly watching Daryl like a hawk. Every time he picked up a card or played one, she muttered under her breath, and you swore he started intentionally dragging it out just to rile her up.

The last round of the game had devolved into absolute chaos, and you were pretty sure no one had played by the rules for at least three rounds. By the time the game finally ended, Rick was cuddling Michonne in the corner, while she had claimed victory, Carol began cleaning up the card, and Glenn and Maggie were bickering over who had drunk the last of the whiskey. 

After a while of just talking and joking, the others decided to call it a night and began bidding you and Daryl good night and heading out the door. 

After everyone had departed, you and Daryl started cleaning, albeit his movements were a little slower than usual because of the alcohol.

"You really did good tonight," you teased, stacking the cards into their box.

"Good?" he muttered, raising an eyebrow. "I kicked her ass."

You laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "Sure you did, Dixon. Sure you did."

Note: gifs, pictures, and header DOES NOT belong to me. CREDITS TO THE RIGHTFUL OWNERS!! Feedback and reblog is appreciated.<3

[waynes-multiverse]

Hi, I first wanted to say that I’m a big fan of your work, I’m constantly rereading your fics and they have really helped me escape from my busy Uni schedule. I was hoping you could write some smutty head canons about dean, no pressure ofc. I hope you enjoy your day and thank you for taking the time to create and post fics for people like me who need a way to escape their hectic lives.💕

Aww, thank you so much, lovely! I gladly support the escapism 🥰

Sorry this took me so long! I was on a bit of a break there, but I was so excited to get into this. God knows I have so many headcanons 😆

Hope you’re doing well and hope you enjoy this 🤍

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18 for some smutty content (duh)

Main Masterlist || Tag List

Headcanon: Gettin’ Down and Dirty with Dean

Dean is very hands-on, which means he’ll touch you whenever he can, even if it’s just a hand on the small of your back while you’re pumping gas or walking into a bar.

This also means he takes PDA to a whole new level. He teases you under the table when you’re doing research in the library or eating in the kitchen. He weaves his arms around you when you’re doing dishes. He trails kisses down your neck while you’re cooking.

Especially while you’re cooking. Something about food just turns him on. So much so that every once in a while he stands in front of your door with some whipped cream, chocolate sauce, a cute wiggle of his eyebrows, and a giant grin, begging you to be his dessert.

Sam is mostly annoyed by his brother’s indiscretions, though. Too many times (almost every damn day) Dean has walked into the kitchen in nothing but his gray robe and announced his morning wood to you, not seeing Sam sitting in the corner. That’s when Sam usually folds his paper, takes his coffee, and hurries to the library before Dean’s hands find their way to your body once more.

Sam suffers the most, however, if there’s only one motel room available and the three of you have to share. Dean has zero self-control (and also doesn’t care what Sam sees or doesn’t see). While he cuddles you, he holds you so close to his body that it’s hard to breathe. And again, hands and lips – they wander. Constantly. The man doesn’t possess an off-switch.

It got so bad that Sam has established a rule that the two of you are not allowed to share a bed anymore and Dean has to take the couch for the night. But as soon as his little brother has dozed off, he crawls right back into the warm comfort of your bed.

Speaking of rules, Dean loves breaking them. If there’s a sign that says “Do not enter,” you can be sure as hell he’ll shove you in there and will enter you. For Dean, there’s no such thing as bad timing or an inappropriate place. He even breaks rules that don’t exist and are just common sense like, “Do not have sex in a museum while you’re breaking into said museum.”

And while he loves breaking rules, he also loves following them. Especially when it’s “sexy rules.” He loves when you playfully push him around, when you shove him backwards onto the mattress and tell him what to do. He will smirk at you giddily all the way through and be the best damn boy you’ve ever seen.

Overall, he’s curious about your fantasies and constantly asks you want you want to do. He enjoys it when you take the lead in the bedroom and loves to see what you come up with. He loves being underneath you and watch you ride him with his bottom lip tugged behind his teeth. It barely hides his huge grin. He loves to see your tits bounce from this angle. According to him, it’s the best goddamn view in the world – forget the Grand Canyon.

However, when he’s had a bad day or a rough hunt, he actually likes to be in charge. It all depends on his mood. But taking control of you helps him cope with the things he can’t control in this world. So whenever he comes home with tense shoulders and a tightly creased brow, you know you’re in for a treat.

When he orders you around with his deep voice and sharp tone, you melt into a puddle and only all too happily oblige to his every command. Your legs grow weak when he dominates you with just a look. God, he loves the way you whimper and squirm underneath him, loves how you moan his name when you’re on all fours in front of him, and loves how your lips feel around his cock when you suck him off.

You love to give him comfort in whatever form he pleases. And Dean loves that you trust him with all your heart – and he knows to never betray it. He will always respect your limits, even though he gently pokes them sometimes, testing how far he actually can go.

Sometimes he bends rules like he bends you.

And truth is, he can go pretty fucking far. There’s not much you won’t let this man do. His dirty mouth can convince you to do all kinds of things – things you would for sure refuse if anyone else was asking. But it’s Dean, and one look of his sparkling green eyes will have you on your knees for him.

But honestly, Dean is the same kind of whipped for you, too. He will do anything for you, short of moving actual mountains. Massages, hot baths, ice cream at midnight? He’s got you covered and doesn’t expect anything in return, except for your unconditional love. He’s got it either way, but you do have to reassure him sometimes.

Dean’s a giver, not a taker, so you do have to force him sometimes to ask for the things he wants. But boy, when he gives, he goddamn gives with both of his massive hands. After he’s done with you, there’s not a single inch of skin left on your body that hasn’t been worshipped. You always come first – literally.

Dean takes pride in making you cum, and it doesn’t matter with which body part of his he does it. They are all equally skilled – his fingers, his lips, his tongue, and his dick. He eats you out and fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, because you both know in a life full of monsters, there actually might not be one. He makes every night and every day count.

Then, there’s his mouth. It should be no surprise, but it’s goddamn filthy. He could make you come with words alone, and not rarely, he sure likes to try. A lot of times it’s stuff you haven’t even heard, dreamed, or thought about until Dean’s said it and put it in your goddamn head.

And yes, Dean’s very sexual and a great lover through and through. He enjoys sex, but most of all, he enjoys going to sleep and waking up next to you. He loves cuddling with you on the couch during a movie, he loves holding you close at night, and he loves that special moment when you’re both coming down from your highs and are still connected, bathing in the afterglow.

Dean has been so touch-starved all his life that he enjoys the little things. He loves when your fingernails caress his back and massage his scalp. He loves using you as his freaking pillow. At this point, you’ve learned not to drink too much water before bed, because you know you won’t be able to escape his prison of strong arms – not that you’d ever want to (unless you really do have to pee).

I honestly could've went on and on and on with this one... 😂

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[thrashkink-coven]

I always find these arguments so comical, because it’s people who are taking their own interpretations based on assumptions of the text because the text itself is simply not inclusive or specific enough to be applied to all people in all situations. Obviously not, because it was originally intended as a cultural book or rules and myths for the people of Israel, not the entire world. The bible simply cannot and does not account for the nuances of modern life globally.

God who knits us together in our mother’s wombs fully states that a woman who is unfaithful will suffer a miscarriage. You can argue, “well according to this logical leap technically he’s saying this thing that aligns with my worldview.” No. I’m not adding anything to the text or theorizing. The text is very clear in what it says. If you have to go back and twist the words around to fit the context, you are bearing false witness. An intentional miscarriage is functionally the same thing as an abortion.

“19 Then the priest shall put the woman under oath and say to her, “If no other man has had sexual relations with you and you have not gone astray and become impure while married to your husband, may this bitter water that brings a curse not harm you. 20 But if you have gone astray while married to your husband and you have made yourself impure by having sexual relations with a man other than your husband”— 21 here the priest is to put the woman under this curse—“may the Lord cause you to become a curse[b] among your people when he makes your womb miscarry and your abdomen swell. 22 May this water that brings a curse enter your body so that your abdomen swells or your womb miscarries.”

In the Talmud it states that if the fetus is a threat to the mother it should be ripped out. How a woman or pregnant person defines a threat is nuanced.

And again with the trans stuff. God has a bunch of rules for how men and women should act in accordance to Jewish customs. Does he say that an intersex person should be forbade from taking life saving sex hormones, or that a woman with a hormonal disorder shouldn’t take estrogen? No, because the Bible doesn’t talk about hormones in general. Does it say anything about trans people at all? No. You have to stretch the text and apply a lot of unspoken rules to make that assertion.

“But in Genesis it says God created man and women, opposites! Like land and sky! Gotcha!”

God’s creation exists in spectrums. In between day and night we have dawn and dusk; between land and sea we have coral reefs and estuaries and beaches; between flying birds and swimming fish we have penguins and high jumping dolphins. No one would argue that a penguin is an abomination for not fitting the categories of Genesis 1, or that an estuary isn’t pleasing to God because it’s neither land nor sea.

“But! But! Deuteronomy 22:5, “A woman shall not wear a man’s apparel, nor shall a man put on a woman’s garment; for whoever does such things is abhorrent to the LORD your God,” See! God hates cross dressers!”

Boy do I love biblical context. Both affirming and non-affirming biblical scholars have a range of views on why this prohibition was written for its original audience. Some are convinced that forbidding the Hebrew people from dressing in clothes associated with a gender different than their own was a way to be set apart from Canaanite and Syrian religion where this phenomena was a part of certain worship rituals. Other scholars believe the prohibition was more of a way to reinforce previous instructions from the Torah that forbid “mixing” (for example, not blending fabrics, planting variations of seed or eating shellfish), given the way Israel’s national purity and their maintenance of rigid categorical differences were bound together. A third perspective is that Deuteronomy 22:5 was written to keep a gender-segregated society truly segregated. This would prevent things like men and women engaging in various forms of forbidden sexual contact, women from entering the temple, men evading military service, women signing up for military service and other behaviors perceived as contrary to the boundaries between the distinct parts of God’s created order.

Beyond understanding why this verse was originally penned, a more pressing question for Christians to ask is whether or not we are supposed to follow the prohibitions present throughout all of Deuteronomy. The answer for most Christians today would be no, on account of the theological conviction that Jesus, through his life and death, has fulfilled the requirements of the laws Moses presented at Mt. Sinai in the story of Exodus and because they do not believe that maintaining the integrity of God’s creation prohibits mixing. In fact, the incarnation of God as Jesus, the mixing of the fully divine and the fully human, is often viewed as the necessary context for humanity’s salvation altogether. Christians who maintain non-affirming perspectives on transgender and non-binary people must ask themselves why it is that this command is being upheld when they believe that most, if not all, of the other directives around it have been nullified

And we can go on and on forever. You can say that this is just my interpretation. Yes. Of course it is. These are all just interpretations because the people who wrote this book are long dead, and the text is not being used in its correct religious context.

This is why being capable of thinking for yourself beyond the book is extremely important. Using the bible as the basis for your morality in general is a dangerous slippery slope. If we’re nitpicking here, the bible also never condemns slavery, even chattel slavery, as the Isrealites very proudly boast that they enslaved the Canaanites after being freed from Egypt.

“No that was just indentured servitude”

Yeah no, the fellow Hebrews could only be held for up to 6 years, Canaanite (which at the time meant anyone other than Isrealites) slaves could be held in bondage for life and bequeathed to the slave owner’s children.

I’m not here to say the whole book is evil or whatever, because I also think that’s stupid. Obviously my values are going to be very different than the average Isrealite during antiquity. But using this cultural book for the basis of your discrimination is simply illogical and an insult to the guy you claim to love so much.

If Jesus died for our sins so that we could be saved, why would that sacrifice be nullified by being trans or getting an abortion? He already paid our debt. We will always be sinners because we are human, humans are imperfect. According to the Bible, anyone should be worthy of saving so long as they are committed to being a good person and proclaim Jesus as king. By those rules, transition, which is a “sin” that causes no harm against anyone else and requires no forgiveness from anyone else, should be one of these human nuances that Jesus died for, so that even if it is technically a sin by the old law, trans people can rest easy knowing their place in heaven is secured by the big guy himself. A woman who makes an incredibly hard decision and gets an abortion so she can be there for the kids she already has should have been insured for by Jesus because he died for all of our sins. This isn’t a continuous act of evil like murder or rape, trans people don’t cause harm just like gay people don’t cause harm. A mother getting an abortion (even though the bible literally does not say it at any point whatsoever) may be guilty of sin, fine. Let’s agree and say it’s a sin for the sake of the example. Woman sins by getting an abortion. Great news! Jesus already died for that 1000 years ago. So, continue to commit yourself to being a good person, and you will not go to hell.

This doesn’t mean you can continue to sin all nonchalantly, but again, nuance. There have absolutely been situations in which abortion was necessary to save the woman’s life. Jesus’ sacrifice ensures that even if we must “break” the law (again, there’s literally no law about it anyways) we are still insured by Jesus’ sacrifice. Humans mess up, but God accounted for that. Sinning does not automatically mean you’re fucked.

That’s why this argument makes no sense to me. Ideally, even the worst people should be capable of salvation. Telling women who are already in a difficult position that they’re going to hell for having an abortion doesn’t make sense according to the basic premise of Jesus Christ.

It’s okay to admit that you just want a reason to discriminate against people and feel justified in it. But pride is also a sin, and using the word or God for justification of that pride? Hoo boy.

most frustrating thing I’ve learned recently as i continue to read the bible

yeah so the bible literally never, at any point condemns abortion. Jesus never condemned abortion. In fact :) the bible actually provides instructions on how to properly have one. seriously. Look into it. Christianity takes its ethical base from Judaism, and Judaism says that you're not a person with a soul until you draw your first breath.

so :)

hahaha :) there’s literally no reason :) why Christians want to deny women and afab people healthcare :) besides the obvious, to control our bodies.

like :) there’s literally no reason :))

guys 🙏 absolutely NO scripture. :) condemning abortion even once. :)))))))

i’m about to lose my fucking MIND.