#but then it's usually more about making them mad at him for it than it is about them being in pain

[aliceinborderlandsquidgame]

Home Bliss | The Salesman x Wife!Reader |

Summary: He may be a psychopath but he pouts when his wife does not respond his messages.

Warnings: S2 Spoilers - Suggestive - Soft moments - S1 Salesman personality with S2 personality - Obsessive!Salesman - Soft!Salesman

He liked to follow a routine, wake up besides you, your soft snores filling the room and your sweet natural aroma.

Take a moment to aprecciate your features, face, body, see the marks he had left behind after a rough night of sex.

If some were fading away then he would take a mental note to give you some new ones later.

Then he would move, letting you sleep some more, sometimes he would nudge you so you two would shower together, an activity he enjoyed a lot.

Washing your body, feeling the soap against your skin, water falling between your breasts and down your collarbone.

Did it lead to him being late becuase he could not control himself under the image that resembled a goddess? Yes.

But he never cared, he made it up by getting the double amount of names crossed from his list.

Preparing his briefcase for work was a private act, the password for the safe know only by him, even if the content itself was not grotesque, he prefer for you to know very little about what he did for work.

After it he would have breakfast with you. A black coffee with no sugar and a red appel, you would often make some bread for him, another thing he loved. Home coked food. He would teast the love you poured when making it. And would leave the house feeling full and loved.

Oh, and with a kiss. He could never leave the house without getting a kiss from you.  A sweet long kiss, soft lips and cold hands caressing his face and hair.

And that look, a look that made him feel less of a monster and more human, a look only someone deep in love could give.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman had just ended another day at work and at the park where he would entertain himself by offering bread or fair tickets. Most would choose the second and find out they had lose.

After it he would go to a near bakery and buy some sweet desserts for you, he knew how much of a sweet tooth you had.

He pulled out his phone while he waited for his order, pouting when he saw no new messages from you.

What was his little wife doing?

Were you mad? He did not notice something different in the morning. You acted as you usually did, doting him like he was a starved man for affection.

For your affection? Maybe he was. But only yours.

Was about last night? He knew he was quiet rough, harder than most nights. He could not help himself when he saw you in one of his old shirts, showing your precious legs to him and your half closed eyes.

You looked cute and hot after a nap, he always told you to not wait him awake if he told you he was going to be late. But you were admant about it and wanted to see him before sleeping.

So, instead of going straight to sleep he had took you to his special room, where he showed you just how aroused he was, how much he liked pushing your limits. Making you scream his name and cry. Licking your tears and edging you over and over. Pain and pleasure blurring the line, as he spanked you, making you count and thank him for them.

Oh, your red ass looked so cute with his printed hand on it, he could cum in his pants by it.

Of course he also made you ride himself while he kept a strong hold on your neck, giving you different pressure, cuting out the air that went to your lungs and then letting you breath. He loved to see your eyes roll back, when he would hit that special spot inside you with the sensation of lost air.

Your life was in his hands and you gave him all the control over it.

Even if you were too tired this morning and with more marks than usual...he knew you had liked it.

So no, that could not be the reason.

"Order six!!"

Well, he would have to return home and see for himself what was happening.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○

Back at home the kitchen was a mess. You had decided to prepare your husband a well deserved dinner (even if walking did hurt like hell). In order to focus your phone was long forgot in your bedroom, were it rested with messages from him.

Not like you could know, too focus in the task at hand, the rice rested in a near plate, the meat being made at medium just like he liked it.

A small salad was also ready and waiting, you even went out to get a nice wine for both. Friday nights were the best nights to get drunk together.

It was all ready, you made your way to the dinning room, serving the plates in a fancy way, two glasses full of red wine.

You checked the hour and nodded to yourself, he would be home soon. You still needed to change.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

The Salesman opened up the door of his home, he frowned when he noticed the lights were off.

Slowly he moved towards the dinning room, were a flick of light was coming from. He started to get worried, did someone break in and hurt you? Just the idea sent rage into his body.

His lips formed a thin line, eyes now sharp and calculated as he walked in.

As he circle the corned his worried flew away, there you were, drinking a glass of wine, wearing his favorite clothes just for him and with the smell of home made dinner that made his heart beat fast and his body relax.

"Love, I kept texting you all day" He greeted going to hug you and kiss your head. "Why did you not respond?"

He gave you a pout, his eyes sad, he was a lot of things and one of them was being a softie for you, his dear wife.

"I was making you dinner, left my phone away so I would not get distracted"

He nodded but still looked over you with worry.

"One, one text its all I need to keep going" He said in a soft whisper "Dont ignore me again"

You had to bite down your smile, for someone who could get freaky and even sadistic in bed, he also had his lovable side, a bit possesive and obsessive but still lovable and yours.

"It wont happen again, now why dont you get out from these clothes and join me for dinner? I did your favorite"

His mouth watered at the sight, he was indeed hungry, and seeing the food was making him even more.

"Of course my love, and later I will show you how grateful im for it" He smirked kissing your temple.

~○~○~○~○~○~○~○~

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter six: In the Quiet of the Storm

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

Pt 1 Pt 2 P t 3 P t 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7 Pt 8

The night air felt heavy, like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. The rain was coming down in thick sheets, but instead of offering any comfort, the sound of it pounding against the windows only seemed to highlight the emptiness of the sitting room. You stood there, staring out at the sprawling ocean, your thoughts just as clouded as the sky outside.

It had been a day since the games began. One. One day. The moment that loud, obnoxious and robotic voice blared across the compound, it felt like everything else in the world just… stopped. The strange, suffocating tension between you and him had taken a backseat to the madness that had already started. And yet, you couldn’t help but find your thoughts drifting back to him, over and over. It seemed that he was the only thing you could think about sometimes.

The whole day had been consumed by the task of redesigning the VIP room. You’d tried to throw yourself into it, tried to use it as a distraction, but the room’s original design—gold and black jungle motifs with naked models in every corner—felt like a grotesque reminder of everything wrong with this place. You had to change it. You had to. But how could you make it feel… right? And more than that, how could you do it without drawing attention to yourself?

———————

It was late now. Hours had passed since you’d last seen him, and yet, you couldn’t shake the feeling of him lingering in the air. Everything felt like it was on the edge of shifting. But what? You didn’t know.

The sound of the door creaking open behind you snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel him.

“You’re still up,” his voice was low, rougher than usual, like he’d been carrying the weight of the world all day. But you didn’t answer him right away. The air between you both was thick with something unspoken, and the last thing you wanted was to break the silence.

When you did finally speak, your words came out without thinking. “I couldn’t sleep.”

It wasn’t just the rain, or the work. It wasn’t even the games. You just felt… restless. Like everything in this place was slowly swallowing you up, and you couldn’t escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

His boots clicked against the floor, a soft, deliberate sound as he approached. When you finally turned to face him, you met his gaze—those cold, unreadable eyes. They hadn’t changed since you first met him, but you could swear there was something different about the way he looked at you now. It wasn’t softness, but maybe something like… exhaustion? A weariness that didn’t belong to the mask he wore so carefully.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with something you couldn’t place. You weren’t sure if it was concern or frustration. It felt like both.

“I have my reasons,” he replied, the words curt, but there was an undercurrent of something else in them. Something that made you want to press further, but you didn’t. Not yet.

You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks as you hesitated. “Is it because of that night?” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and immediately, you regretted it. It had only been a few days since that awkward exchange by the window, and you still weren’t sure what to make of it.

For a brief moment, his eyes softened, just enough for you to catch it before the walls slammed back into place. The mask fell over his face like a curtain. “That night was… unnecessary,” he said, his voice low, tight.

You wanted to argue. You wanted to say that everything about this was unnecessary, this marriage, this life, this twisted game you both were stuck in. But instead, you swallowed the words. Silence filled the space between you.

“I don’t know how to do this, you barely speak to me, I don't even know your name!” You didn’t know what else to say, your voice was barely above a whisper. It wasn’t just the two of you, it was everything. The games. The VIP room you were redesigning, trying to make something decent out of the mess you’d been handed. The loneliness that was starting to settle in, creeping up on you every time you thought about what was happening outside.

He took a step closer, and this time, you didn’t look away. You noticed the exhaustion in his posture, how the usual rigidness in his stance had softened just a little. His eyes, usually so guarded, seemed… worn. Tired. “Neither do I,” he admitted quietly, his voice rough, like admitting it hurt. “But I don’t have a choice.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You had always known, in some way, that neither of you had a choice in this. But hearing him say it so plainly, so quietly, made it feel real. Too real.

“You don’t have to keep doing this alone,” you said, your voice barely audible, but there was an honesty in it that surprised even you.

He stared at you for what felt like an eternity, his gaze flicking over your face like he was trying to figure you out, trying to understand what you meant. Finally, he spoke, his voice gruff. “I’m not doing this alone.”

Before you could process what he meant, his fingers brushed lightly against your arm. It was so quick, you almost wondered if you imagined it. But the shock of it was real—his touch sent a jolt of warmth through your body, like a bridge snapping into place between you.

For a split second, the distance between you seemed to vanish. It was a fleeting moment, but it was there. And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone. He pulled his hand back, his usual indifference sliding back into place. “I should go,” he said, his voice cold once more.

You nodded, but before he could leave, your voice broke the silence. “Wait.”

He paused but didn’t turn around.

“You… you don’t have to be alone, either,” you said, your voice shaking now, unsure whether you meant it for him or for yourself. “I don’t want you to be.”

There was a long, agonizing silence. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. You could feel his presence like a weight in the room, but there was something about it—something vulnerable in the way he stood there, even with his back to you.

When he finally spoke, his words were barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”

And with that, he was gone. The door clicked softly behind him, leaving you standing alone, the rain still pounding against the windows.

———————

This is chapter six! Let me know how you like it! I have more ready!! :)

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[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

I Want You Back

This was originally requested by Anon who asked: "Could you make headcanons where you have an established relationship with the Tokyo Debunker characters but your ex suddenly tries to win you back?" The links to the other houses are below.

Fandom: Tokyo Debunker

Characters: Haru Sagara, Towa Otonashi, Ren Shiranami x gn! Reader (separate)

Frostheim | Vagastrom | Jabberwock | Sinostra | Hotarubi | Obscuary | Mortkranken

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You're happily in a relationship with the Tokyo Debunker characters. So how will they react when your ex suddenly tries to win you back?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Haru’s pretty neutral about all this. Sure, he’s not happy your ex is trying to get you back but he’ll keep a level head and talk to you about things before he does anything rash.

Please, give him permission to tear into your ex though! He’s going to pull out the classic “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” look and chastise your ex until they have no choice but to back down.

I think he might be a bit more protective afterwards though. He realises just how close he came to losing you and then he got to thinking about how sad everyone in Jabberwock would be if you left.

So if he’s a bit more clingy than usual or makes more time for you, don’t be surprised. He’s doing his best to show you how much he cares.

Your ex tries to take away Towa’s partner? Oh, jail for your ex! Jail for one thousand years! Seriously though, Towa’s not going to stand for this.

He’s pulling out all the stops to get your ex to leave you alone. Throwing poisonous flowers at them, making angry humming sounds, even calling on the weather to make their day that bit worse.

If you ask him to stop, he will but only while you’re watching. As soon as your back’s turned, Towa’s going straight back to intimidating your ex.

He wants to stay with you and make sure you’re happy with him as well. So he’s also going to double down on his displays of affection towards you. Hope you like flowers.

Ren’s a lot like Kaito in that he doesn’t think he deserves you. So as soon as your ex starts trying to get you back, he’s going to get super self conscious.

But he’s a lot more open with his jealousy than the others. He won’t tell you directly that he’s jealous but it’s super obvious from the way he sulks when your ex is around.

As soon as you tell him you don’t want to be with your ex though, he’s going to play it off as if he was never worried.

Even if you give him permission to tell off your ex, Ren probably won’t do it. He doesn’t like confrontation and would much rather spend that time with you than with your ex. Not that he’ll ever tell you that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[polo-drone-070]

Buzz is Born: Maximus Tries Something New

A mascot meeting

Oi, so we were at the mascot meetin’, right? All of us—me, Grayden (@polo-drone-084), Bucky (@buckygold), and the pups—workin’ out how to get the crowd hyped for the match against Vanguard. Grayden was goin’ over plans, his usual smirky, boss-man self, lookin’ sharp as ever. Bucky’s throwin’ out ideas, proper focused, all knightly n’ shit. Me? I’m buzzin’ just thinkin’ about suiting up as the Golden Knight again. Ain’t nothin’ like flexin’ in that gear, hearin’ the crowd go mental, yeah?

But then, Chevy (@chevy-gold) n’ Grant (@grant-gold43) start givin’ me this look, their tails waggin’ like mad. Them two already propa settled in their roles as Golden Pups—cheeky, rowdy, proper full of energy, init. They always make it look like a right laugh, even if they’re a bit daft with it. Milo—PDU-151— (@polo-drone-151) was sittin’ calm as ever in his black rubber polo, tail flickin’ lazily. Always quiet, always focused, but you can feel he’s takin’ everything in.

Chevy leans over to me, his ears floppin’ as he grins. “Oi, Maximus, you ever think about tryin’ somethin’ new, bruv?”

I squint at him. “What d’ya mean, bruv? I’m already the Golden Knight, init? Ain’t much better than that.”

Grant smirks, nudgin’ me. “Yeah, but think about it, mate. When Grayden or Bucky are suitin’ up as the knight, yeah? Wouldn’t it be proper sick to have more pups runnin’ with ’em? You know, a whole pack hypin’ up the crowd, bouncin’ about, goin’ mental?”

“Pack, yeah?” I say, blinkin’. “You think I’m cut out for all that woof-woof shit? You takin’ the piss, bruv?”

Chevy’s tail wags even faster. “Nah, mate, serious talk. You’ve got the energy for it! Enthusiastic, rowdy, proper dumb—but in the best way! You’d be perfect as a golden pup. And we got the perfect name for ya: Buzz. You’d be Buzzin’ all over the place.”

“Buzz?” I ask, scratchin’ me bald head.

Milo finally speaks up, his tone calm but firm. “Buzz suits you, Maximus. It aligns with your energy and enthusiasm. You’d complement the pack well.”

I stare at the three of ’em. They’re propa serious, like they actually think I could pull this off. Me? A pup? Proper mental idea... but also kinda excitin’. The Gold Army’s been pushin’ everyone to try new things this week, and I ain’t about to back down from a challenge.

“All right, bruvs,” I say, grinnin’. “Let’s do it. Make me Buzz.”

Collared and Ready : Golden pup energy

Chevy and Grant get to work right away. They slap a gold collar round me neck, the tag jinglin’ as they clip it on. “Buzz,” it says, all shiny n’ official-like.

“Buzz,” I say, rollin’ the name round me mouth. “Oi, yeah, sounds propa zippy. I like it.”

Grant grins, handin’ me a golden pup hood with floppy ears. “Stick this on, bruv. You’re about to become one of us.”

I pull the hood over me head, snug n’ tight, and they clip a waggin’ tail to me shorts. I can’t help but laugh as it bounces with every move I make. “Oi, bruvs, look at me!” I bark, strikin’ a dumb pose. “Propa pup material, yeah?”

“Atta boy, Buzz!” Chevy cheers, waggin’ his own tail. “Now, let’s get ya hypin’ the crowd like a proper golden pup. Rowdy, dumb, full of energy—just go wild!”

I throw meself into it, barkin’ n’ bouncin’ round like I’ve been a pup me whole life. Chevy tosses a foam ball across the practice field, n’ I take off after it like a rocket, grabbin’ it with a massive grin on me face.

“Got it, bruvs!” I bark, waggin’ me tail as I bring it back.

“Good boy!” Grant laughs, rubbin’ me head. The praise makes me all warm inside, like I’m doin’ somethin’ proper good.

We spend ages just messin’ about, chasin’ balls, jumpin’ n’ rollin’, hypin’ each other up. I’ve never felt so... free.

Milo’s Turn : Drone pup programming

Then Milo steps in, his black rubber polo gleamin’ under the lights. His tail twitches as he approaches, calm n’ composed. “All right, Buzz. Time to see how you perform as a drone pup.”

My tail slows as I stare at the gear he’s holdin’—a black rubber polo n’ matching shorts, shiny and snug, just like his. The vibe shifts immediately. There’s no more rowdy energy from Chevy n’ Grant; it’s all focus now, serious-like.

I nod slowly, lettin’ Milo guide me as he slips the polo over me head. The rubber clings tight, snug n’ firm, and as it settles into place, somethin’ in me shifts. The rowdy, bouncin’ energy starts to fade, replaced by a deep calm. The black shorts follow, and with each piece of gear, I feel my head quietin’ further.

Milo clips a black tag onto me collar, and that’s when it happens. The programming stirs. The sharpness of the rubber’s embrace pulls me under. 070 rises, not all the way, but just enough to bring its order n’ discipline to the surface.

“Good, Buzz,” Milo says, his voice steady n’ firm. “Now, follow my commands. Let the programming guide you.”

Buzz is still here, yeah, but it’s 070 now, too. A mix of the pup’s playful energy n’ the drone’s perfect focus. The commands come, and there’s no hesitation, no thinkin’, just action.

“Jump.”

070 obeys, the body springin’ into a perfect leap, paws landin’ with precision.

“Spin.”

A flawless turn, controlled n’ sharp.

“Roll.”

The movement is seamless, efficient, yet still carries that pup-like enthusiasm, tail waggin’ at the end.

“Bark.”

“Woof!” The sound bursts out, loud n’ clear, but with a sense of controlled power.

Each command feels natural, like it’s what this body was built to do. The mix of playful pup energy n’ drone obedience blends into somethin’... perfect. 070 recognizes this state as optimal.

“Cheer,” Milo commands.

“GO GOLD!” I bark, leapin’ high into the air, my voice filled with unwavering energy n’ loyalty. The jump is precise, the landing flawless, but the cheer is still hyped n’ joyful, reflectin’ Buzz’s personality wrapped in 070’s discipline.

Milo nods, his tail waggin’ faintly as he observes. “Good drone pup. You’re performing as expected. Let’s take it further.”

Milo steps closer, his tone calm but more intense. “You are PDU-070, a drone pup. Your purpose is to serve, inspire, and obey. Playfulness enhances morale. Precision ensures perfection. Let the programming guide you completely.”

The words sink deep. The pup hood n’ rubber polo amplify the programming already embedded in me. It’s no longer just Buzz or just 070—it’s both, workin’ together perfectly.

“Yesss,” I say, my voice soft n’ slurred, the words comin’ out automatically. “PDU-070... serves... obeys... inspires...”

Milo watches, his expression calm n’ satisfied. “Good drone pup. Now, perform.”

I run through more stunts, each one flawless but still filled with playful energy. I roll, fetch, leap, and spin on command, barkin’ when prompted. It’s pure bliss—no overthinkin’, no distractions, just obeyin’ n’ servin’ like I was built for it.

Buzz Reflections

When the session ends, I flop onto the turf, pantin’ n’ grinnin’ under the hood. The mix of Buzz n’ 070 fades slightly, leavin’ me feelin’ proper accomplished. “Oi, bruvs, that was propa mental!” I bark, tail waggin’. “Never thought I’d be a pup, but fuck me, that was amazin’. Buzz n’ 070 workin’ together—lit as fuck, yeah?”

Chevy laughs, rufflin’ me hood. “Told ya, Buzz. You’re a natural. The pack’s better with ya in it.”

Milo clips off the black tag, his calm demeanor never shiftin’. “You performed well, PDU-070. Your obedience and precision enhance the pack. You will continue to train and grow.”

I nod, proper eager. “Yeah, bruvs. Can’t wait to train more. Maybe 049 (@polo-drone-049) will take us out for a pack walk. Heard he’s got loads of drone pups, like Chevy n’ 098. Bet they’d be a laugh to run with.”

As I sit there, waggin’ me tail, I think back to a month ago, when Spencer—PDU-098— (@polo-drone-098) had me in a similar state. He’d put me back in drone mode when I was slippin’, added a hood to the mix, and brought me back to full focus. It was... intense, yeah, but now I get it. The hood, the rubber—it’s not just gear. It’s part of what makes me better.

The trainin’ wraps up, and I strip back into me gold kit, but the memory of the rubber polo stays with me. Being Buzz ain’t just about havin’ fun or playin’ a role. It’s about servin’ the Gold, whether as a rowdy pup or a precise drone pup.

“Oi, bruvs,” I say, grinnin’ at Chevy n’ Grant. “Propa glad I tried somethin’ new. Buzz is here to stay, yeah?”

They cheer, waggin’ their tails as we head out. Milo follows, calm as ever, already plannin’ the next session. Me? I can’t wait to get back to trainin’ n’ hypin’ the crowd, whether as Buzz, 070, or somethin’ in between.

Woof-woof, bruvs. Let’s go.

[likeorpheus]

Francis doesn’t respond right away. Their fingers hover over the pot, brushing the edges of the now-brighter leaves, but the words coming from Madonna settle in the room like a low hum, too loud to ignore.

Her voice, slurred but steady, cuts through the air in a way that makes their chest tighten. They don’t look at her immediately. Instead, their gaze lingers on the plant, as though willing it to be a distraction. But it isn’t. It was difficult for them to find real distractions. They could work with their hands all day but things would continue to cloy at their insides until they talked about it or felt it.

The weight of her words settles over them, heavier than the bottle she clutches. The mention of warnings, of magic, of heartbeats—it strikes a chord that Francis doesn’t know how to untangle.

When they finally turn to face her, their expression is unreadable. The usual sharp edges of their demeanor have softened, but there’s something guarded in their eyes. They glance at the bottle in her hand, noting the way her fingers stroke the neck, and a flicker of unease passes through them.

"You don’t need to doubt yourself," Francis says finally, their voice quiet but firm. "It’s not about potential. It never was. Not with him."

The painful truth about Alexandre was that Alexandre was a real Highmore, through and through. He chose Francis at one point in their lifetime. He chose them enough to leave the cult, to allow it to unfold the way it had, to be usurped, to be damned for good. But the cult found them anyway. Every follower, every damning omen there was, find it's way back into their home in America. And Alexandre was obsessive. Truly mad.

They cross their arms, leaning against the counter, their posture casual but their gaze unwavering. But then she says something that strikes them in the chest with it's ferocity.

"What's to say it wasn't your magic? You discovered yourself to be a witch, didn't you ?" Maybe they were in denial of such a thing. But if Francis was honest with her and with themselves, they could acknowledge the power they had. They could acknowledge the amount of times it ran wild in everyone's blood the way it did. And it occurs to them, that perhaps in some way it was Highmore magic. Even if it was Desmond Mercer.

Their voice trails off, and they press their lips into a thin line, the faint trace of bitterness creeping into their expression.

The silence stretches between them, heavy and taut, before Francis speaks again, softer this time.

"If it is my magic, then I've given you more cruelty." They almost don't hear her complimenting the flowers. Their heartbeat is in their ears. They smile sullenly.

Their words are strange. It is not lost on Madonna — the sentence trailing off, incomplete, as though they had the name on the end of their studded tongue but could go no further.

For you, for me, for ...

She thinks she knows. She thinks Francis doesn't have to elaborate. There was a part of her that always knew — that would never not know. Abra must be taking kindly to Alexandre Highmore.

That was a strange reality. One that, like every other reality that was heaved at her during this time, she was not sure how to grapple with. And so she doesn't. It's none of her business, anyway. None of it really is.

But Francis speaks regardless. Tear stained eyes follow the shape of them now that they aren't looking so intensely at her. She watches as Francis slips their tattooed fingers into the neglected flower pot at the window, turning the soil.

When they look back at her, she's looking out the window already.

It was too strange that they were speaking like this. Detailing their life to Madonna in ways that she had not thought possible, for they certainly never spoke like this when they shared a bed, meals, a bathtub. They speak of the place that raised them. It must be as unnatural as Alexandre's revival.

A bad omen. She could see that now. She could feel it, too. Right behind her naval. Within the confines of her barren womb. Yes, the omen was bad. And her loss was just one of many.

They continue talking. Madonna is quiet. She's always been good at listening, even if she isn't paying attention. She's paying attention now, though. It's not that she has a choice. Not where it comes to Francis. Her eyes draw back toward the Highmore.

They're tending to the dying flowers on the windowsill. Madonna's throat goes tight and wretched at the sight. She wishes they'd leave. She wishes they'd stay. There wasn't anything that made sense any longer.

"It doesn't and it does." Fingers are tight around the neck of the bourbon bottle. She's contemplating another swig, but the words are coming now. Her eyes steady on Francis.

"... But I doubt he's interested in my potential any longer. You need your warnings. Who knows what he wants with you." Madonna says plainly, words soft — slurred from the bourbon that still warmed her stomach.

She's quiet for a beat. Her eyes avert to the bottle. She strokes the neck as if she's petting a cat.

"... It's your magic that gave me a child. And a heartbeat."

It takes away one. And another goes on. It's nonsense. Her eyes are stinging. She takes another drink from the bottle. The wretched taste was going away, or she simply was no longer noticing it. Her gaze flickers once she's done — toward the potted plant.

"—... The flowers look nice."

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[angelsdean]

ruthlessly deleting old 2021/2022 posts (not by me) from my dean studies tag like *click* un-incorporating that from my beliefs system! also the way SO many posts have me like ok uh-huh good aaand then say one completely wrong thing that loses me. it's so many posts.

[bunnyboy-juice]

spent the first hour and change at work deleting some old files and am having a grand ol time laughing at myself for not realizing i was a lesbian sooner

[silusvesuius]

g*lmar rly has to be the best skajrim character on the real like even if you don't like him he just is . literally The best one i think......... on dat note i also imagine that he and ulfr*c despite being fairydust BFFs for lyfe genuinely have the worst communication skills ever seen

[kakusu-shipping]

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

Who’s better at comforting the other?

For any ship or selfship that you would like! :) <3

Well when left to my own devices today I'm just gonna do Mariocest because the movie has infected my brain. Thankyou very much for asking.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

They were each other's first everything. They've always been together. I can't imagine either of them ever had another relationship. Maybe a handful of crushes, they both probably got asked out once or twice, but they're so much more important to each other than anyone else could ever be. They're each other's everything.

8. Who’s better at comforting the other?

I could see this going either way, because they know each other so well. Mario has more experience comforting Luigi, and Luigi has a better range of emotion than Mario. Does that make sense?

I'm gonna say Luigi's better at comforting Mario. Mario faces the problem head on, where as Luigi knows how to take a moment to be upset, let that feeling out, and calm back down first.

[fideidefenswhore]

i feel like they basically tried to transpose the storyline/dynamic btwn coa and mary boleyn from tobg in tsp (with coa and bessie blount) and realllly overdid what was already well-done and entertaining.

[darkestrellar]

Svern is capable of both inflicting harm and of killing without any remorse; by default, he doesn't experience guilt or other emotional reactions that many would in those situations, good or bad. He also does not enjoy inflicting harm, generally speaking. As much as he likes to push and pull others emotionally, watching someone in physical pain doesn't tend to bring him joy. It's almost unremarkable to him. So he doesn't cause physical harm just for the sake of it.

[uraniumglassgirl]

I love aokiji from one piece. Hes my little swimbly bimbly

[2bcringe]

Sherjeb is toxic yaoi. To me

[morimess]

i keep seeing songs on TT that remind me of Linebeck...and I don't...really know how to feel about it.

[inkskinned]

what is with men being mad any time a woman raises her voice where did that even come from. someone posted a video of a small electrical explosion, and the top comment was of course the woman screams. the second comment is women try not to scream challenge, level impossible. i had to go back and watch the video again. there is, somewhat fainty, a little gasp emitted off-camera, more of a yelp than a scream. it is mostly lost in the crack of the explosion. afterwards, you hear her voice, shaken, say, are you okay?

i am helping one of my friends train her voice pitch lower, because she wants to be taken seriously at work. she and i do each other's nails and talk about gender roles; and how - due to our appearance - neither of us have ever been able to be "hysterical" in public. we both appear young and sweet and feminine. she is cisgender, and cannot use her natural voice in her profession because people keep saying she appears to be "vapid". we both try to figure out if our purposeful voice lowering is technically sexist. is it promoting something when you are a victim to it?

a storm almost sends a pole through a car window. in the dashcam, you can hear the woman passenger say her partner's name twice, crying out in alarm. she sounds terrified. in the comments, she is lambasted for her lack of calm. how is that even fucking helping?

in high school, i taught myself to have a lower voice. i had been recorded when i was genuinely (and righteously) upset; and i hated how my voice sounded on the phone speakers when it was played back. i was defending my mom, and my voice cracked with emotion. it meant i was no longer winning the argument: i was just shrieking about it.

girls meet each other after a long summer and let out a little joyful scream. this usually stops around 12-14, because people will not tolerate this display of affection (as it has the effect of being passingly annoying). something about the fact that little girls can't ever even be annoying. we are trained to examine each part of our lives (even joy) for anything that could make us upsetting and disgusting. they act like teenage girls are breaking into houses and shrieking you awake at 3 in the morning. speaking as a public school educator: trust me, it's not that bad, you can just roll your eyes and move on. it does not compare to the ways boys end up being annoying: slurs in graffiti, purposefully mocking your body, following you after you said no. you know, just boy things.

there's another video of a man who is not allowed to yell in the house, so he snaps his fingers when he's excited about soccer. the comments are full of angry men, talking about how their brother is unfairly caged. let him express himself and this is terrible to do to someone. eventually the couple has to address it in a second video: they are married with a newborn baby. he was trying not to wake the infant up. there is no comment on the fact women are not allowed to yell indoors. or the fact that it could have been really alarming or triggering for his wife. sometimes i wonder if straight men even like women, if they even enjoy being in relationships with them.

for the longest time, i hated roller coasters because it always felt inappropriate and uncomfortable for me to scream. one of my friends called me on it, said it was unusual i'm so unwilling. i had to go to my therapist about it. i don't like to scream because i was not raised in a safe situation, and raising my voice would have brought unsafe attention towards me. even when i am supposed to scream, it feels shameful, guilty. i was not treated kindly, so i lack a basic form of self-protection. this is not a natural response. it is not good that in a situation of high adrenaline - i shut up about it.

something very bad is happening, i think. in between all the beauty standards and the stuff i've already discussed - this one feels new and cruel in a way i can't quite express. yes, it's scary and silencing. but there's something about how direct it is - that so many men agree with the sentiment that women should never yell, even in an emergency - it feels different.

is the word shriek gendered automatically? how about shrill or screech? in self defense class, one of the first things they tell you is to yell, as loud and as shrilly as you can. they say it will feel rude. most women will not do this. you need to practice overcoming the social pressure and just scream.

most women do not cry out, even when it's bad. we do not report it. we walk faster. we do not make a scene. what would be the point of doing anything else? no matter what we do, we don't get taken seriously. it is a joke to them. an instagram caption punchline. we have to present ourselves as silent, beautiful, captivating - "valuable."

a woman is outside watching her kids when someone throws a firecracker at them. she screams and runs towards her children. in the comments, grown men flock together in the thousands: god. women are so annoying.