#cw unhealthy household

[voidselfshipp]

R6S s/I.

Name: Jerico Lazaro Castro (Cowden).

Place of birth: Buenos Aires,Argentina.

Callsign: Tarantula.

Role: intelligence/recon.

Squad: Ghost Eyes.

Family: Seamus "Sledge" Cowden (Adoptive older brother)

Gadget: Ocelli Goggles.

>♡Playlist♡< (Cw: Tarantula/spider as playlist cover)

《R&D notes. Elena "Mira" Alvarez & Grace "Dokkaebi" Nam.

The Ocelli Goggles (named after the eyes typically found in spiders)are an amazing gadget for spies like agent Tarantula. With its 8 panels it displays information with ADHD friendly formatting (the first few letters of each Word are in bold to Keep the attention of the reader) and they display live information relevant to the situation.

Everything from Intel on targets to pinpointing weak spots in both objects and people. Operator Castro says its the only Artificial Intelligence she tolerates, cant say I blame them.

This gadget is thoroughly thought around Jericos personality and desicion making skills. I expected nothing less from a gift by Aurelia Arnot before her retirement.

Grace is in awe of the programming,and Taina seems quite pleased with its working.

No adjustments needed.

-Elena "Mira" Álvarez,head of R&D》

》Biography (written by Harishva "Harry" Pandey pre Deimos incident)《

"Jerico was born to a less than healthy family in the middle class of Argentina. She excelled in information recalling and learning,seeing as her favorite subjects were history,language,english And sociology. Shes also quite adept at writing and researching,given she had to write a small research paper for her last year of highschool,thing she is still proud of to this day. Clearly,those kinds of skills transfer to her current job.

It was during her highschool years (more appropriately,during summer break) when she met operator Seamus "Sledge" Cowden. Her family rented out an appartment to Him and his Friends,one say he comforted her after a specially nasty fight with her grandmother. Seamus made it his life's mission to get her out of there.

Sledge befriended Jericos family and won their trust to the Point she was able to travel with him to Scotland. Eventually her family took her in,and hes been looking out for her Wether that is by paying for her life in Argentina so she can study film alongside being a spy, or out in the field when they work together.

My predecesor,Aurelia,Had allowed for this to happen. She saw great promise in Tarantula,However she didnt want the young girl to miss out on her life so she hired her as a "part time recon". She still is to this day,though some rules have changed given recent events.

She is inseparable with Sledge,and she keeps joking she'll make a movie when she has her degree in Film and Animation. Personally,i cant wait for when it comes out. "

》Psycological Profile《

"Jerico has presented a maturity for her age,despite being early twenties it seemed that her less than pleaseant past,her turbulent relationshipp with parents and bullying during her formative Years have made her an insightful young woman thats begining to discover the joy of simply being inmature and playful. Shes done this mostly with the help of her Friends and loved ones,which im thankful for.

Shes also quick on her feet, demonstrated by how often in our conversations I find her cracking jokes and making comments that would have even the most serious of the operators laughing. She is charismatic and intelligent,with pattern recognition skills that have amazed me. I suspect this is because of her undiagnosed ADHD.

We've yet to make a proper test,but she doesnt present the innatentive type. Her need to do things right have tempered her impulsiveness,though shes unsure if those impulses are because of her ADHD or just the age that behaviour presented itself. (Mid teens,a common time for these kinds of things to happen). She describes her ADHD as more obssesive, she has told me about her hyperfixations, her Rejection Senstive Dysphoria and strong emotions that shes learnt to control.

She also presents issues with her anger,shes described to me that she doesnt lash out but rather swallow her anger as to resolve things in a civil manner. Though shes still unsure what to do with all the anger shes been storing,she tells me she sees her anger as a wolf,biting at its cage and waiting to be Released. She uses this anger as fuel and only allows the "wolf" to come out when somebody hurts her loved ones.

However, Tarantula has told me that doing aerial dance has helped her with that so it might be the way to go for a healthy outlet. Im sure her Many artistic hobbies also contribute to her wellbeing.

Ive also noticed her high sensitivity to emotions and her altruistic nature. No wonder she gets along with Gustave "Doc" Kateb,however I suspect theres a lot more there given how she describes their interactions.

But this sensitivity feeds into her strict moral compass,shes unable to see unfairness and corruption. A true punk at heart. Though she has accepted the irony in her punk identity and her job. Shes unsure how to reconcile the two, but she cant choose one or the other- Not for a love of the army but those she met through it.

She is,simply,quite unique. Rainbow is lucky to have her,and so is everyone who meets her,including me♡

--Harishva "Harry" Pandey,Director of Rainbow ".

》Specialist Report by Taina "Caveira" Pereira.《

"Jerico is simply a good operator. She is thorough,she gets things done and though she can be a bit bull headed and defiant,its always in a healthy dose. Ghost Eyes is about defiance and asking questions.

She is a free thinker, often doesnt allow people to fill her head with ideas. (I suspect it comes from her past, but its not my place to talk) She likes to form her own opinions on people and situations. One prime example is her relationshipp with Fenrir and her trust in him,After she got to know him better.

She went from distrustful to dating the guy,so I guess that helps with his reputation and its as good an indicator as any that our redeemed operator is not a threat.

As her callsign indicates(originally given the nickname Queen Tarantula by a friend back in Buenos Aires) shes a master at weaving information and researching. She is an invaluable asset.

The one thing ill complain about is her proclivity to sneak off during work hours to find her Many lovers across base. She can go unnoticed when she wants to,and sometimes she uses it for less than professional goals.

But its something we'll have to live with,Ghost Eyes and Rainbow wouldnt be the same without her. "

>>End Report<<

>only mutuals allowed to reblog.

[lamiaviridis]

💚     ⸺     ​ @liecrafted 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬. ┆  “SUNDAY” THEMED PROMPTS (+18/CW)

i want you to stay, with me.

Digits combed through obsidian curls, thighs straddling his waist and lithe arms cradling him whilst willowy depths met his pleading gaze. His touch, warm, though his grip engraining itself into her bones; a desperate attempt at prolonging her presence. For, they both knew once she were off of him, once he were unsheathed from her wet heat, that would be it. She would leave, or he would, because time was but a cruel jester; tricking them into believing, foolishly, that perhaps this could be that pivotal moment in time containing a future for them.

Whilst they basked in the afterglow of lustful entanglement, conglomeration of primal grunts and whimpers, Loki's chest rose and fell 'gainst her own, his exhausted breaths enveloping her skin in warmth. He preferred to hold her like this afterwards, to ensure she'd stay. Either for the remainder of the night, or for but a few more moments, was entirely up to her. And he knew that. Hence, her languid blink and slight arch of an eyebrow 'pon hearing his request before a smile waxed upon her countenance. Cupping his face in her hands, she let out a playful, bubbly giggle.

❛ Such a needy God, though I suspect one with a keen appetite for multiple acts of lust in one night would be more than eager to leave. ❜ She jests, though there's a fickle sadness prickling her timbre. ❛ You always were one for finding a way to escape.. ❜

[sleepynoons]

Underneath the Surface

As an attendant for the first Harbinger, Il Capitano, you work to maintain his household in Snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. But that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. This is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? When will it end? And what will you do after it ends?

ooc!capitano x afab!f!reader, nsfw, 18+

word count: ~4,600

cw: power imbalance + unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder

notes: ok i know everyone is head over heels for capitano because big looming man + the mask and cape stay on during sex ikik i get it, but what if our captain had... a dark, serious, + slightly twisted personality? bc i imagine, in canon, for someone so committed to his work and the tsaritsa, his sense of justice and overpowering physical strength could prevent him from making rash decisions like being in a relationship with another... anyway, my take on capitano! tysssssm to @staraxiaa for beta-reading and letting me yap away in our discord <33 lena, could not have churned this out any earlier if it were not for your enthusiasm and hypnosis. ily queen. anyway, hope y'all enjoy!

THE HALLS are still, silent aside from the occasional clanking of metal weaponry. All of the soldiers and attendants are holding their breaths, anticipating for what is to come. You, too, wait, immobile, on the edge of your chair in front of the vanity. You avoid your reflection in the mirror, but appearances are of utmost importance, so you busy yourself by repeatedly smoothing the pleats of your silk nightgown. 

It has been two long months since you have fallen back into this routine: waking before sunrise, dressing with your finest gowns and lingerie, and awaiting his instruction throughout the day. Of course, you still behave in an appropriate manner befitting of his grace when he is not around, but there is no need to impress. Not many are aware of the nature of your agreement with him, anyway.  

A soldier’s call can be heard from outside your window, a signal of his grace’s arrival from the accompanying blare of a horn. You suck in a sharp breath, pursing your lips as you hold, before exhaling completely. You have half an hour.

Making your way around his chamber, you go about your final checks. He has always been particular with the way things should be, his sense of justice and discipline underlying and interweaving with every aspect of his own life. You blow away specks of dust from his bookshelves, tie the chiffon of the bed canopy curtains to their posts, and return your makeup on the vanity back to a pouch, not before dabbing on a bit more powder and curling your eyelashes once more.

The half hour passes quickly, and you rush to stand by the door as you hear the heavy thuds of his boots approach. You bow your head and curtsy as he steps in. It is important that you do not look at him until he permits. He does not greet you, simply strides over to the bathroom and shuts the door behind him, heading to his closet farther beyond.

You sigh with relief. He did not take you immediately.

The next step of the routine is to wait for him to change. Beyond the door, you hear the faint rustle of heavy fabric hitting the floor, silver and bronze embossings clicking against sharp nails, and the occasional low grunt. You would assist him if you could, but no one has seen him without his fur coat and mask. You consider yourself lucky to have seen him without his cloak, but you, too, have never witnessed his visage. It is strange, though. As per your contract, you are supposed to help him with such tasks. Shrugging, you figure there is no need to hypothesize. You would never dare to act like you understand his grace and how he thinks and acts.

If he still does not speak to you when he returns, the burden falls on you to initiate.

You watch as the door handle twists before the door swings open. Instinctively, you lower your gaze and nod your head once in greeting. Pausing a beat, you give him a chance to speak if he wants. But he does not.

“Your grace,” you say.

He walks over to you, standing in front of where you sit on the edge of his bed. A gloved hand rests on the crown of your head – firm, cold. It traces the shape of your skull, sliding down to your ear, sharp metal claws scraping against the cartilage and the tender skin of your neck. He continues along the path of your jawline before holding your chin between his index finger and thumb. You are still looking downwards, only able to see up to his clothed forearm. Holding you steady, he appraises you and the effort you put into yourself. You try to relax under his gaze, not as an act of defiance or resistance but rather as a demonstration of your trust and loyalty in him. His grace knows best, after all. His criticism is guidance, only out of best interest for you, his praise gospel, miraculous stories to pass down for generations.

He hums. It is a deep, satisfied rumble.

“Well done,” he praises, releasing his hold. “I am relieved to be back.”

It is not often that his grace is content. He is rarely appeased with his own efforts. Naturally, you feel a sense of giddiness, a shiver of delight threatening to shake up your still frame. You even notice an urge of want for him, hoping that he would pay just a little more attention to the way you did your hair or the new perfume you are wearing or how the color of the night gown compliments the curves and rolls of your body. A stroke of luck, you think, to keep your dangerous emotions at bay. You must reflect on tonight and emulate what went well going forward.

Before you can relay your gratitude to your captain, he continues to speak. “I would like to try something different tonight.”

He pulls a wide silk scarf out from his pocket and wraps the navy fabric around your head, thereby obscuring your vision. The lack of light in the room, along with the dark shade of the blindfold, make it impossible for you to see anything beyond the faint silhouette of your hands as you stretch them out in front of you to test the opacity of the silk. But this is nothing out of the ordinary.

You startle as he splays his palm on your back and slides an arm underneath your legs. He picks you up, as if you are but a mere feather, and repositions you so that you are lying down on the bed.

“It will hurt. Will you be able to take it?” he asks. Void of his usual assertiveness, he is shedding his role of a Harbinger, melting into a simple person who wants his desires fulfilled. He is speaking to you with caution and respect, fulfilling his end of his contract, as your master, your owner, to ensure that tonight’s experience will be pleasurable for you as well. However, you know the power and strength he holds beyond the walls of his bedroom will never fully escape your conscience. It is your obligation to protect yourself from dire harm, but you cannot deny him the opportunity to experiment, in fear of retaliation and punishment.

You reply, “How painful?”

The bed dips beside your hip, and you feel the leather of his glove rub into your thigh.

“I will use my gloves and a knife.”

Scared or excited, you cannot tell. At his words, you become acutely sensitive towards the feel of his gloved hand as he continues to glide it up and down your leg. You can almost taste the steely, icy sting of his claws digging into the fat of your thigh, breaking the skin just enough for beaded crimson to trickle, not enough to scar permanently.

“Your grace, is this a punishment?”

“Not at all.” His hand travels farther up and pushes the lace trim of your nightgown aside to reveal your underwear underneath. He pulls at the ribbons at the side, slowly untying the thong, as he chuckles, “It is a reward, for your effort and time.”

The praise is doing wonders to you. You feel dizzy, light, and hot in the head, and the pulsing in your core intensifies, your hole fluttering and throbbing in tandem with the escalating rate of your heartbeat. Even though you cannot see, you can almost sense him smiling, perhaps at the wetness that is spotting your underwear or possibly even the state of your whole being, showing his understanding of and command over your body.

The latter seems likely as he presses his claws into your skin, as if to counter and neutralize your raging internal inferno. The cold shocks the nerves at the juncture where your hip connects to your leg, where the ribbon of your panties used to be tied at.

“I will start easy,” he explains. To demonstrate, he curls his fingers and pushes, channeling all of the pressure into the tips of his claws and persists until they shallowly latch into your skin. You squirm, jump, and whimper at the pain. It hurts more than you had expected, though you really had no point of comparison in the first place. You continue to shudder as he holds his fingers in place, probably gauging your reaction.

“Th-that is alright,” you manage to stammer. The pinch may be harsh, but it does not draw blood or bring tears to your eyes, simply a scraping of the surface of your skin. You can withstand a little more, you reassure yourself. This is your reward. Without a word, he moves his hands back down to your thighs and scratches your right.

The motion is fast, clean. In fact, your body and mind do not react to the two long, slanted cuts he leaves, the blood only spilling milliseconds after the damage has been done. The pain comes even later. At first, you feel nothing, and even the thin streams of blood flowing out of the wounds only leave a wet sensation on your otherwise untainted legs. But then, the stinging comes, akin to that of an unexpected paper cut. Except, with each passing second, it gets worse, as if the paper cut is being pulled along and extended, and your leg strains against his hold to move, to distract itself from the harm inflicted. Crimson is sure to be leaking from the full length of the cuts, and at the back of your throat, you can almost taste the coppery scent of oxidizing iron.

When he moves to repeat the same onto your other leg, you bite the inside of your cheek to prepare for the incoming pain. Part of your role is to adapt quickly, and in this case, you have to sense and react to his grace’s next steps immediately. The chiseled points of his nails cut through your skin like a large kitchen knife slicing through even the toughest of ingredients – precise, swift, ignorant of any and all resistance.

You have never gone this long with just pain, let alone be deprived of one of your senses. Nights with his grace are inevitably bound to be painful, but in his own way, he softens the blows and plows of his roughness and aggression by pleasuring your body.

Your first morning after, you woke up unable to feel anything past your waist. Throughout the night, to show you just exactly what you were getting yourself into, he forced you to reach peak after peak after peak as a test of your endurance, stamina, loyalty. Though, you were more shocked to see the purpling bruises encircling your ankles and wrists, as if his grace had used cuffs on you. But he had not. Those bruises were entirely inflicted by his tight hold on you, shackling you down as you thrashed and kicked and instinctively attempted to escape, serving the same purpose in chaining your life and mercy to his will.

One’s ideals – justice – will always come at the cost of another’s freedom – autonomy.

But you are not opposed to such limitations. Out of all of the Harbingers, you are endlessly grateful that it is his grace who is your leader. Even though he may not be your direct master beyond the clauses of your contract, he is dutiful and considerate towards those who swear an oath to his name. You come from a family of Fatui soldiers, some of the best and the brightest, many trained under the watchful supervision of his grace, so from birth, you have been taught to idolize him. But to have your idol recognize you? Speak to you? Bed you? Unheard of, and to this day, you are not sure why he chooses you, time and time again. You cannot even fathom how he knows of you – a simple, one-of-several attendants who maintain his mansion of a home under the instruction of the head butler.

The nature of your contract with him is simple. (His grace often comments how he much prefers the dealings of the Liyuen people, how quick they are to draw up agreements and negotiations, compared to the conniving nature of some of his colleagues.) Whenever he returns, you shall take care of his personal desires and wants, as he will with yours. You are to fully commit yourself to him, trust in his intuition to know how to treat you accordingly, and he expects you to reciprocate, to satisfy him to the best of your abilities.

Your role is not as physically taxing as it is mentally laborious. His grace is rarely home – you recently heard he has a surge of dealings in Natlan that require his attention –, so your body is not under constant stress. However, when you are with him, you behave as if every night together is a performance review, a test of your memory, if you remember how to overcome your instincts to hold your body still enough in place, if you remember the way he gravitates towards elegant silk dresses and kimonos, if you remember that he will never apologize but will wrap gauze around your wounds when you are asleep.

You know you are expendable. As soon as you fail to satisfy him, he could – will – discard and replace you. While he has never outright pressured you, you know his grace is assessing you as well. But you cannot help but wonder – hope – that there is something about you – something so intrinsic and bespoke about you – that explains why, even in your failings, he will not let you go. You are sure there are faults that lie in you that you cannot see, that he will see. Yet, because you have not been let go, you wonder if he is alright with slight imperfections because it is no one other than you.

Regardless, you must not be too full of yourself. That is a cardinal sin with respect to his grace’s values. The strong become the weak as soon as they overestimate themselves, he would often preach.

You are brought back by a building pressure at your ankles. You raise your head to look down, to no avail. But you can feel his gloves, now slightly warm from being in contact with your body, wrapping themselves around your protruding bones, tighter and tighter, the chains locking with finality. There is a buzz in your toes from the constriction of circulation, and you bite on your lower lip to prevent yourself from whining at the bruising grip he has on you. You count beats in your head, seconds not true to time, muddled by the exhilarated racing of your heart, foolishly trying to distract yourself by examining his grace’s behavior instead. How long will he hold for? How long does it take to leave stubborn bruises that will remain for at least three days? Is it supposed to hurt this much?

But all of those questions and concerns do not matter anymore as soon as he speaks. “I was right in choosing you.”

As if his affirmation was not enough, he releases your legs and moves up the bed to embrace you. Winding his arms around you, he lifts you a margin off the bed so that your chests touch, your silk against his thick black wool. One of his hands then comes up to cradle the back of your head, gently brushing and patting you, almost like he is lulling you to sleep. You melt, and you have never felt such a strong urge to wrap him in your own arms.

Perhaps you can be a bit greedy tonight? Throwing caution to the wind, you mumble, “Y-your grace, may I…?”

His approving hum makes your heart trill with joy. To avoid any mishaps, you place your hands on his arms, following their sturdy build until you reach his shoulders. From here, your fingertips can brush against his flowing black hair. It is coarse and thick, and you muster all of your willpower to resist the urge to run your hands through the locks.

As if reading your mind, he says, “You can touch my hair, if you so wish.”

“That was not my intention,” you reply, fighting the smile threatening to bloom on your face. 

He insists by leaning closer to you, so that you are forced to feel the front, shorter strands of his hair poke at your exposed clavicles. You can even argue that you can feel his breath from here, but then again, does his grace breathe? Is he man or monster? (Benefactor or foe?)

“I shall resume.” And he proceeds to grab you at the waist, gripping you as tightly as he did to your ankles, and you feel the same pressure building within you. But you can hold on longer, after all. This is a reward.

He pushes the silk dress all the way up to your neck and exposes your upper body. As your body tenses in response to the cold, he pokes at the goosebumps appearing on your skin, as well as uses the tip of a nail to trace your areolae, centimeters away from your perked nipples. He circles them for two eight-counts, slow and drawling, before suddenly pinching and tugging at them. You yelp – an unintended mistake – and arch your back. He is still clothed, and the metal buttons and chains of his blazer dig into your skin for the briefest of moments, eliciting another wave of shudders from you.

And the worst of the pain comes. He gives one last pinch to your nipples before moving his hands to your sides where your rib cage lies right underneath. He rubs his thumbs over the bump of each bone, gliding his fingers back and forth, perpendicular to the way your bones curve inwards to protect your insides. You do not know this, but he is searching, identifying where he will lay his wreckage next, between which ribs to leave his trace. Then, he curls his claws into you, a bone or two below your breasts, and sinks them into you, slowly wounding you parallel to the slanted direction of your cage.

It is unbearable. There is no way to prevent yourself from screaming and sobbing. Tears drench the blindfold within seconds, and you can only distract yourself by tightening your embrace around his neck and digging your own nails into your forearms to somehow transfer the pain elsewhere, overwhelm your brain so that it cannot perceive the full extent of the damage being done to your chest. Otherwise, you can only hope that his grace is understanding and allows you to wail at the gashes he is leaving.

And what about appearances? Surely, your body will be marred from tonight and may not ever fully erase the signs of tonight’s activities.

You freeze. Your blood chills. Physical pain dims and recedes to the back of your mind.

Appearances… do matter. If you dared to come up with any reason as to why his grace has chosen you, it would only be sensible to conclude that it is because of the way you look, no? Prior to your first night together, you had never interacted with him before – he did not even present the contract for this partnership to you – the head butler did! Therefore, there is no possibility that his grace knows you well, aside from direct reports from the head butler and, perhaps, passing comments from your family. And he would definitely not choose you for your talents, as you have none.

In fact, the only reason you are in the castle is quite simple. Though you are not disowned by your family, you are not treated as one of them. You were sickly throughout childhood, meaning you could not start training early enough. Even if you had enrolled later on, you would have never been sufficient enough in your capabilities to reach the high official ranks that your family has held onto for decades. Lacking the combat prowess your other siblings, parents, and ancestors have, you will never be able to fulfill your lineage’s mission to the Tsaritsa. Therefore, you had to find other ways to serve the Fatui, and your search led you to his grace’s household.

There is nothing to your person besides a family crest that does not want to claim you and a corporeal weak to the natural winds and storms of Snezhnaya. And, truly, the only thing you have all to yourself is this body of yours, something you can willingly choose to offer as long as it cooperates with you.

Is this it? After he scars and carves and rips you open, not even this anatomy of yours will be yours ever again. Is he to leave his mark on you forever, only to end this arrangement soon after?

Your wails are no longer because of your flesh being torn apart by cold, ruthless hands, hands that know the feel and taste and rotting warmth of blood. Instead, these wails are ones afraid of a future without these hands, these nails that are now also stained with your blood and skin and tears. When he cleans these gloves later, you can only hope the alcohol does not eradicate all of your traces.

He does not stop until the gashes reach the ends of your rib cage. 

Taking deep breaths from your mouth, you gasp for air as he pulls away and sits back on his heels to examine your state – spent, covered in spit and blood and cold sweat, many things but your usual demureness.

You are incapable of keeping up such a ruse. You are too exhausted and tortured to even feign obedience. Though, if his grace asked, you would try for him, despite knowing you would barely be able to put on a show. Because for him, you would, without a beat of doubt or hesitation, take on any role if he asked you of it, as long as you can share a private bond with him, one that no else knows the intimate details of. 

You hear shuffling, a pocket being pulled open – good, blood stains thread quite stubbornly –, and a quick flick of something clicking into place.

“This will be the last thing I do to you tonight. Raise your arm.”

You do as he says, barely feeling your forearms and beyond. He catches your hand and turns it over so that your palm is facing the ceiling.

The smooth, cool surface is recognizable, even to someone who has not fought in years. He places the flat side of the blade against your skin, letting it soak and adjust to your broiling heat. Once it is warm enough, he makes quick work, making short cuts in various directions around your wrist, over the spot where you take your pulse. As he works, he turns your wrist around as needed. The cuts always sting a bit at first before the sensation of the next being made takes over. You miserably think how you will never be able to marry with the way his grace is etching himself into you.

It does not take long, given how skilled he is.

But the routine has been disrupted, and when he sets your arm down, you are not sure what to do next. Usually, you would be unconscious by now. But you are wide awake, body thrumming and pulsing, sending signals to all the places where your nerves are exposed.

Again, you think back to the same question. Is this supposed to be my reward?

“You will now rest.” His grace’s voice commands, leaving no space for argument.

So you ask, instead of objecting. “And my body?”

“We will leave it as is. I need them to mark.” He enunciates with finality. You are unable to probe further, unable to even get a glimpse of what he means beyond his statements.

You manage to croak, “My apologies, your grace, for failing to restrain myself this evening.”

He only places his hand on the crown of your head, soft smooths and pats, like at the very beginning of tonight, before everything that has since occurred. 

Perhaps, what you long for, whether that be his touch or his coldness or his grace himself, is salvation. Someone who can bestow you with a responsibility so you can make yourself useful, find value in your being beyond a last name and damaged flesh. Despite tonight, you still want his grace to be with you, even if that means he devours you whole by the morning. Because you are already indebted to him for your employment. And you now owe him more than ever for permitting you to invade the confines of his space, to be surrounded by everything that is his, to feel him. To be something special is what you deeply, most greedily covet, and you are fearful that, in the near future, you will not be the only person who can say they have seen the captain without his coat on. Because without his grace, what will you become? Who are you? What are you?

Rather than relieve your body of strain through arousal and pleasure, tonight, he provides tepid comfort through the slow tempo of his hand against your head, an intangible poultice against your physical wounds. Inside, you realize that, all along, the reward has been his grace’s direct kindness and generosity towards you. And you tell yourself to enjoy these last remnants of his undivided attention, and fall asleep. 

In the morning, you do as planned. Wake early. Bathe in scorching hot water even though it could rot your untended wounds. Dress in a burgundy long-sleeved gown. Prepare your hair and makeup. Pray that this dawn is not the last sunrise you will share with him.

Before you leave the bedroom to greet his grace, who is no doubt already working in his office, you sigh, filled with a deep sense of shame, disappointment, and mourning, though these words are futile in fully grasping all that festers within you.

But the walls of this bedroom know something you do not. And they think you ought to know, as they watch you leave with palpable dejection.

They have seen their owner evolve and age over time. Yet, they have only seen him exhilarated barely a few times – and rarely excited and riled up by the same thing more than twice.

The walls see, hear, smell everything about their owner.

Last night, amidst your cries, his grace was huffing with exertion, pouring effort and energy into your body. His eyes widened, pupils dilated, at the way your body struggled under his hold, yet you only held him closer. Mouth gaped in awe at how you screeched from the pain yet did not fight back even as an animalistic instinct to survive. He was practically leaking bloodlust, or more specifically, a strong urge to claim, overwhelm, overpower you. And he did so, purposely not leaving you bandages on the night table as always so that the wounds would stay intact. These cuts and gashes and tears shall never disappear from your body, and you will never forget the pain he has inflicted upon you. He has engraved himself into you because, while his righteousness and loyalty to the Tsaritsa come first, he will still return to you when he can. And he does not want you to forget that, even if this reminder comes in the form of garish wounds and the delicate traces of a bracelet in your skin.

The walls know why his grace chooses you. What you really should know is how much of an abnormality you really are. And his grace adores that about you.

[myladysapphire]

The Dragon and the Wolf (II)

You had been betrothed to Cregan stark at the start of the war. He was the noble and honourable stark that he was he supported your mother claim without restraint. So much so your mother saw it fit to betroth the two of you. So when disaster strikes and you and your younger brother are the only two survivors, you a shipped of north in your grief, leaving only Cregan to heal your wounds.

word count: 3,384

CW: MDI, 18+, SMUT, loss of viriginity, p in v, oral (f reciving), fluff, slight angst, depression, dependancy. not proofread!

Cregan Strak x Veleryon(strong)!reader

Masterlist | series masterlist | previous part | next part

(smut between the dividers by @zaldritzosrose)

“I have to go to kings landing” you started as you walked into Cregan’s’ solar. It had been a week since the letter announcing your younger brother Viserys return, and you had not stopped asking to go.

“And you shall” Cregan spoke, looking up from his papers, “but after we are wed”

You were set to marry in a matter of days. You understood the need to be wed before leaving and yet waiting to see your brother after believing he was dead was pure torture.

You were desperate to see him, all you wanted was to hug him once more and tell him how sorry you were.

But duty came first.

The lords of the north were growing angsty with how long it was taking for you and Cregan to marry.

The alliance between your houses was sure to benefit the north, and until you were married, said agreements and benefits had yet to happen. And with the winter approaching the lords were growing antsy.

“of course,” you looked down, nervously playing with your fingers. “I am just eager to see my brothers and with the journey set to take a month-“

“I understand, I do, but my hands are tied” he interrupted, looking at you with understanding, “I promise, the day after our wedding we will leave”

“perhaps we could take Silverwing?” you asked hopeful, the journey would take around a day, if they rode fast, at the most three days.

“i- im not-“

“I promise its safe, and you have ridden Silverwing before.” He had, on your first visit to Winterfell. He had been hesitant then too, but you had somehow manged to drag him onto Silverwing and flown around the north for hours.

“aye, but this would be different” he said rubbing the back of his neck, “your brother has sent a letter…requesting me to become hand of the king”

you smiled “so we would be staying?”

“yes…this also means I will be having to take a large number of my household, and… though Sara shall act as the lady of Winterfell in my stead, once you are with child you will…have to return…without me, and take over the ruling of Winterfell until I am released as hand”

you were at a loss for words, this past moon you had felt lighter, the days of rotting in your bed, finding no reason to get up, having no energy to eat.

The empty hollowness you had felt for months on end has been filled, all with the help of Cregan. And now to find out that the second you got pregnant you would be shipped of and most likely never be able to return to your brothers.

You knew that there should always be a stark in Winterfell, and that their children would rule it one day, but you did not want to live in Winterfell without him.

You relied on him, in a near unhealthy way. You were often with him, in the library, or in his solar. You had already taken on the duties as Lady of Winterfell. You had liked having responsibilities, found you were good at it. But the main part of it that you liked, was that it was all with him. The friendship you once had had returned, though with trepidation as you had a first still felt empty.

You still felt the loss of your twin. Your other half. Without him you feared you would always feel incomplete, and yet Cregan had somehow manged to fill the void the death of your twin, of Luke and Joffrey.

You felt like you could so easily love him, but now.  Now a part of you resented putting this off for so long, only to know discover that you time with Cregan may be a few months or stolen moments every year.

Your mind went back to last week.

You had spent the day in each other’s company, sat in his solar as he answered letters, and you had read.

The comfort you had found with him was like no other, sitting in each other’s company. Not talking for hours and yet you felt content.

And now to learn that you may not feel the presence of him for moons on end, perhaps even years.

“I would like to stay with you, stay in kings landing” you spoke in determination, “I will not become the wife of an absent husband”

“I would not be-“

“you would sent me a thousand leagues away! So yes that makes you an absent husband!” you shook your head “I-I understand how important being hand is, how much Egg looks up to you, and I will not ask you to refuse the offer but…but I need you.” you said tearily, “without you I will…I will only find that hollowness I felt for moons, the sadness will return without you to…to comfort me, to hold me and cherish me. I cannot be alone, I may rely on you a little too much, but I cannot bear to…” you were crying now, you knew in some sense it was manipulating, but everything you had said was true. The sadness would return, he offered you the perfect reasons for you to find a purpose, a reason to wake up in the morning.

A part of you hated that you relied on another for a purpose, but all the things that once filled you with joy, with purpose, now filled you with sadness and hate.

And now, Cregan had been the thing you found some sense of joy in, and you were excited to marry him, but now part of you dreaded it, not wanting to part from him.

He stood up from his desk moving around to you and pulling you into a hug.

Cregan was a very affection person, always holding your hand or pulling you into a hug away from prying eyes.

“Cregan” you mumbled into his chest, as he stroked your hair.

“i will not send you away if you truly do not want to, but…I know the pain kings landing gives you and I do not want to ask you to spend years in the place of your torment” he said, pulling back from you slight to hold your face, “but… the babe must be born and raised here”

“I know, and I love that you do not wish for me to live in the place of such pain for me, but before… before the-the war…I loved the red keep and…I love my brothers enough to stay there” you mumbled, “If you promise not to stay the hand forever then I shall go to Winterfell if I fall pregnant during your time as hand, but i- I do not wish to be apart form you for too long”

He smiled as you said that, “how about we talk about this when the times comes, hmm?” you smiled, reaching up to place a small kiss on his cheek.

You nodded your head, stepping back from him. “i-I hope you know that I do…that I” you were stumbling over your words unsure of what to say to him. You had somehow over the course of the past moon, returned to your shy nervous self, blushing in his presence, and stumbling over your words.

“yes?” he asked smiling curiously.

“I… I feel a lot better lately, and it is thanks to you…I truly care for you and I think that I might…” you looked down nervously, unsure of if you should tell him your feelings.

“I can tell” he said before you could finish your sentence “you seem to much happier, the light in your eyes has returned and i…I want you to know that I feel the same” he blushed, “I look forward to marry you, and I hope you do also”

You nodded smiling, as you stepped back and you both continued going about your own duties, enjoying the solace of each others company.

The day of the wedding had finally come. The lords of the north had all gathered at Winterfell. The halls now full of bustling bodies, the maids running about nonstop to fulfil all their duties.

You and Cregan had been forced to spend the last day and night apart, with the north believing it to be bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other the day before the wedding.

You had instead spent the day with Sara.

“I had hoped my sisters would make it” you said sadly as she laced up your dress.

“we still have time, they may yet arrive” she said, trying to build your spirits.

Your grandsire Corlys had arrived the day before, fulfilling his long-term promise to walk you down the aisle.

You had always been close to your grandsire, with him always saying how similar to his wife you had looked.

“granddaughter” you heard him say as he had entered the room, smiling as he saw the sea horses embroidered on your dress.

“grandsire” you smiled in greeting, moving over to kiss his cheek. “do you have any news on Balea or Rhaena?” you asked hopeful.

He smiled slyly, before moving aside and allowing Balea and Rhaena to walk into the room.

“you’re here!” you had said in disbelief..

“of course, we wouldn’t miss your wedding” Baele spoke pulling you into a hug.

They had both been married themselves recently, Baela to Alyn, Corlys newly appointed heir, and Rhaena to Corwyn Corbray.

“are your husbands here?”

“yes, there both with Cregan I believe,” Rhaena said, moving to take over from Sara as she finished lacing up your dress.

“you look beautiful, sister” Balea said, smiling kindly. “Are you nervous?”

“should I be?” you asked nervously.

“do you care for him?”

You looked over at sara, as she gave you a teasing smile. She knew of your feelings for Cregan, and it seemed from that look alone your sisters to know knew.

“yes”

“then you have nothing to worry about”

“what of the…”you looked over at Corlys to see his looking slightly uncomfortable, “the night” you whispered.

“you have been betrothed for years and you have never…?”

“no!” the question shocked you, your mother had always been insistent on you waiting for marriage, saying she didn’t want you to make the same choice she had.

“never even kissed?” Sara asked shocked.

You shook you head.

“no! I’ve only ever kissed….” You wouldn’t say his name, it hurt to much. The betrayal you had felt, how you had almost given him everything. Though you were glad you never had with Aemond, for you loved Cregan. At least you think you do. “ahh” Balea almost flinched.

“it hurts the first time, but after…it can be very nice” Sara spoke, whispering.

“and Cregan is a good man, he likes you…perhaps even loves you. He will be gentle” she said, though grimacing slightly at talking about her brother in such a way.

Corlys coughed awkwardly, moving to interrupt their whispered conversation.  “it is almost time” he said, softly moving towards you.

“we better hurry up then” you said, motioning for Sara to start your hair.

Balea, Rhaena and sara had all left once you were fully ready. Leaving you and Corlsys alone.

“you are a vision” he said, as you took his arm. You started to walk through the halls of Winterfell.

you wore a dress as white as snow. With a full skirt and long flowy sleeves covered in a lace pattern.

You wore you hair down, bar tow braids at the top your head that joined at the back. Though your hair was hidden behind a lace veil, lace that matched your sleeves. Your face was covered, though it wouldn’t be for long, as you soon approached the gods woods.

“who comes before the old gods this day?” asked the northern lord officiating the wedding, as you entered the gods woods.

“y/n, of house Veleryon, She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

“Creagan, of house stark, lord of Winterfell and Warden of the north. Who gives her?”

“Corlsy, of house Veleryon, lord of the tides and of Driftmark, her grandsire.”

“princess Y/n, do you take this man?”

“I take this man”

“lord Cregan, do you take this woman”

“I take this woman”

“Then I pronounce you man and wife, before the old gods and the new”

You smiled at him, before reaching up and taking his lips in yours. The kiss was short and short, but caused you both to blush as cheers resounded throughout the wedding guests.

“I believe it is time for a feast!” Cregan announced as the lords and ladies cheered in response.

The feast was grand, though much different from the ones you had grown up with. It was loud and bawdy, with the lords all drunk and even singing northern tunes.

You and Cregan had kept to yourself, eating your food and talking between one another.

You had been enjoying yourself, enjoying the first few hours of marital bliss.

And then the bedding was called.

You had forgotten about the tradition.

The bride and groom escorted to their chamber. The groom by the woman, there clothes pulled of them, the bride escorted by the men, often groped and fully naked by the time they reached their chambers.

Feared courses through you as lord Bolton declared it time for a bedding.

“there will be no bedding!” Cregan boomed, as the men started to approach you.

The room seemed to flinch as the anger in his tone, “my wife will be touched by no one bar me! Anyone who lays a hand on her against her will, will have it cut off!”

You looked at him with shock, it was, grateful he was doing the right thing and saving you from a night of groping.

He reached his hand out to you as he guided you to your now shared chambers alone.

She had never been in Cregan’s chambers before, they were large. Though not as big as her chambers had been on Dragonstone. The room was mostly bare, having been mostly packed up for their journey tomorrow. It was warm, much warmer than her room in the tower had been. With a blazing fire, and dozens of blankets. The walls were filled with tapestries and the floor with rugs. Not a single wall or part of the floor was bare, allowing the room to be encased in more warmth.

“wife” Cregan spoke, capturing your attention. He moved towards you, his eyes heated as he gazed at you.

“Husband” you breathed back as he now stood before you.

He reached up to caress your face, his lips nearing yours. You shared a breath, before you both pounced.

Your lips modelled together in a heated, passionate kiss. He pushed you on the bed, your body bouncing from impact, he quickly moved over you, connecting your lips once more as he started to take of his and your clothes, never once breaking the kiss.

“gods” he moaned at the sight of your bare tits. He kissed your lips quickly before moving down to your breasts and roughly taking them into his mouth.

You moaned as he licked and sucked at your tits. He alternated between the two, savouring in your moans and whimpers.

Your gripped his hair, tugging softly at each flick of his tongue.

“you lick that?” he asked teasingly, as he let go of your nipple with a pop.

You nodded your head, whimpering slightly at him stopping.

He chuckled, “good” he said before, moving off the bed and resting on his knees “then you’ll love this” he said, as he slid the rest of your dress of you, and buried himself between your thighs.

He teasingly licked your folds, causing you to whimper.

Your gripped his hair, grinding your thighs into his face, trying to get him to lick you more.

He chuckled at your actions, before moving to grip your thighs and pull them towards his face. He buried his tongue inside of you, savouring your taste as he moved to lick your clit.

“Cregan!” you moaned as you pulled on his hair. 

The pleasure was nothing like you had experienced before. It was overwhelming, filling your senses as he continued to lick at your clit, and slowly bring his fingers to your entrance.

He groaned as his fingers entered your, relishing in the tightness of your cunt. Gods” he moaned against your clit.

He continued to lap at your slit, tasting you as if you were his last meal.

You felt your peak fast approaching, your hands gripping and tugging his hair harder, your legs wrapping around his head in away you were sure would choke him.

“Cregan!” you screamed as your peak finally hit you.

He continued his actions, riding out your peak before finally moving himself from between your thighs.

He wiped his mouth on the bed before diving back in to kiss you.

He slowly moved you to the centre of the bed, his cock positioning itself between your thigs.

“can i?” he breathed against your lips.

“yes.” You moaned as he entered you.

You felt a wave of discomfort as he stretched you out, a slight burn at the sheer size of his cock.

He slowly rocked his hips into yours, allowing you time to adjust, before you reached up and pulled him into another kiss, motioning him to speed up.

He started thrusting into you at a faster pace. Your legs wrapping around his hips and his pace became faster and faster.

He groaned into your neck, as your cunt tightened around him.

Your second peak fast approaching.

“I’m going to cum” he moaned into you, as your cunt fluttered around his cock, your second peak taking.

Your hands scratched his back as you peaked, before collapsing backwards, as he started building up to his own peak.

His thrusts became hard and fast as he finally reached his own peak, his seed filling you as he rode out his orgasm.

“gods” he moaned, collapsing on the bed, pulling you in and holding you to him.

he kissed your shoulder, stroking your hair as you both slipped off into sleep, though you both got little sleep that night.

The next day you were awoken to maids barging in and readying the remained of Cregan’s belongings. It was dawn, and you were both tired from the nights events.

 The maids had dressed you both quickly, pushing your breakfast on the table and urging you both to eat.

Cregan laughed at your bewildered face as they all rushed you both.

“we were meant to leave a dawn” he chuckled, as your maid tugged your hair, attempting to braid it, as you ate.

“then why weren’t we woken earlier?”

He sent you a look, showing exactly why they hadn’t.

“oh…must we leave so soon?” you said as you food was taken of the table before you had even finished.

“you insisted we did.”

“I-“ you looked at his smug face as your tea was taken out of your hand mid sip. “I take it back, I miss the bed!”

“you can rest in carriage” he said, as he reached for your hand.

You made your way to the courtyard, the household lined up to say their farewells, though most were accompanying you.

Balea, Rhaena, stood by the carriage, both looking as tired as you felt.

“it is far too early for this” Rhaena groaned as you approached the carriage.

Balea laughed “I cant imagine how you feel” she said, talking at you, “how much sleep did you get last night?” she teased.

You laughed “shut up!”

Sara approached you, her eyes teary, “I’ll miss you” she said pulling you into a hug.

“and I, you” you kissed her check, pulling back.

“we are leaving Winterfell in capable hands” she heard Cregan say, announcing Sara as his regent.

“don’t be gone for too long” she whispered “I was not made to rule the north” she joked, pulling away from you as you were all motioned to enter the carriage.  

Cregan walked up to the carriage window, pulling you into a kiss.

“I shall join you soon” he promised, before mounting his horse and leading the procession to kings landing.

next part

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[satomatto]

. //SOFT PACK | nutrition; NSFW!vers

ch: suguru geto; nanami kento; okkotsu yuta; sukuna ryomen.

cw: cannibalism mentions; daily routine, for the most part; something about Okkotsu's preferences been in the fanbook (I guess), but it's not considered here.

wc: 900

GETŌ SUGURU

Suguru is the kind of person who prefers a diet of healthy food. At least, it's definitely a big part of his menu, and even if you're not one of the health-conscious types, your own diet will surely be much more balanced than it was before.

Usually, he rarely cooks, but if a man sees you standing at the stove, he will approach you and definitely offer his help. He'll do his best to help you in any way he can, whether it's with household chores or the daily grind. Geto likes to see your gratitude, and at the same time, he doesn't like it when you overstretch yourself.

Sometimes they bring you breakfast in bed. With notes left on top - a kind of apology if for one reason or another he can't make it to spend the morning with you, if you've already had time to plan it; or just very cute reminders of today's chores that you shouldn't ignore.

Geto is excellent hand with knife. You can ask him to carve anything, and you can be sure he knows how to do it right. If you hear something along the lines of "sorry, I can't," you can be sure he can, but he doesn't want to. He rarely will refuse you, so he's probably just too tired for that, but on days like this, you just order take-out from a nice cafe nearby.

NANAMIN

As we already know, Nanami is actually a schedule man. You can say goodbye to quick bites and unhealthy snacks while you go. In the morning you will be waited for an appetizing breakfast, for lunch you will get both first and second, and from dinner you can't refuse in principle - it looks too delicious.

He likes his coffee strong and sugar-free. In particular, double espresso or cappuccino, but will not refuse and sweetened latte, if you suddenly want to prepare a drink for him. By the way, he's a great coffee maker. And you're in luck - because you can drink it every day.

He's a stickler for a relatively healthy lifestyle - due to his experience, capabilities and the cost of a whole bunch of health-related services. Treatment is expensive nowadays, and maintaining your condition is not only more profitable, it's easier. No, it doesn't mean he's not ready to spend money on going to clinics, Kento is just a practical man who doesn't like unnecessary movements - it's much easier to prevent a situation than to deal with the consequences.

Speaking of sweets: the man doesn't like them on principle, preferring to have a light salad once instead of munching on an extra bun, which you don't quite agree with him on. After all, he can't force you to give up junk food, but he's not going to just watch you do it. Most likely he will give a lecture about the proper diet of a healthy person and offer to share a salad with him.

You're not going to say no to him, are you?

OKKOTSU YUTA

Oh, this is so hard to deal with. The poor guy just doesn't have time to eat properly - he's really busy and barely knows how to plan his time, almost always rushing off to an emergency task at the first call. At times he hasn't even had time to sit down at a meal in the morning because of a sudden phone ring, just grabbing a random piece off his plate and munching it on his way out.

Throughout the day, he eats mostly snacks or fast food on his own, but you're a different matter. You rarely cross paths, but as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you go to a cafe or diner with a proper menu. He doesn't want you to kill your stomach with ramen, like him, and you want to feed him good food accordingly. And he'd rather have a nice bland dish from there than any fast food.

This guy isn't much of a cook, but he can whip up something good if you have a recipe and detailed instructions on how and what to add. You like the food he makes - he's usually pretty good at it, and when you get the chance, you even do it together.

Yuta loves fish dishes. Whether it's surimi, sashimi, or even odori, seafood is his passion. Not that you share it, but you taste a lot of it with him. Another fun fact is that you can feed him almost anything - he won't complain, even if it's a badly burned bean that's been in an old frying pan, fried in chicken broth. After all, you've worked hard for him - how can he reject your concern when he looks right into your glistening eyes?

RYŌMEN SUKUNA

Let's start with the fact that he's some kind of king, but he's a king and has his own servants. They do the cooking, but he'll also be pleased if you decide to make something for him. His food preferences fluctuate between oily and neutral foods, but mostly what we know is human meat.

That doesn't mean he'll decline a light side dish you've prepared. Just, expect that to please him you'll have to adjust to his demands. Yes, it's hard to cook human meat, but you can make a little effort for him, right?

Just because he has cooks in the kitchen instead of him doesn't mean Sukuna is a bad cook or can't cook at all. He's very good at it. In fact, you once tasted a dish made by him, and it was really damn good. High standards have been set for a reason and woe betide anyone who can't meet them.

The man has food-related kinks. Even the affectionate nicknames sometimes sound like he wants to eat you - from morsel to sweetie, from his lips sounds like an assault (that's what it is) on your body, soul and sweet, empty head.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Like my work? Please consider commissioning me or contributing to my Ko-Fi!

Chapter Twenty-Four - At Last

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Virginity Kink, Groping, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Slow Burn, Misogyny

Notes: Ho(s) Ho(s) Ho(s)! Happy Holidays my lovelies. Here is an early Christmas present (or late Hanukkah present) to get you through the holidays. Thank you all for always having so much patience for my slow updates and I look forward to finishing this fic with you all in the New Year!

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

Door-slamming was not particularly common in the Shigaraki household. It was a fact that would be surprising to many, considering how much anger and resentment was harbored just under the surface of this “perfect” luxury, penthouse apartment. Nonetheless, it was a rarity. Perhaps due to the very fact that they were under this roof, that any weakness that led to such an outburst was kept so under wraps. The head of the household was too poised and the young successor too self-destructive to ever show the hand of their emotions like that.

So, it went without saying that when Kurogiri heard the front door slam open, hours after Tomura Shigaraki was due home, it gave him enough concern to pause his dish washing.

“Tomura Shigaraki?” he called out to the entrance.

A thunk responded. And then a twin thunk soon after. They were his shoes, hitting whatever wall or plank of floor was unlucky enough to be in Shigaraki’s way, Kurogiri realized as he left the kitchen and saw the young ward storming through the living room in bare feet.

“Is everything alright?”

He didn’t respond. Just continued to storm straight for the staircase.

Ignoring Kurogiri when he was pissed off was practically the norm for Shigaraki. That wasn’t enough to worry his ever-attentive and unphased carer. It was the dazed sway and stumble in his step. The way that he walked straight into the decorative end table, clearly hitting his foot hard enough to hurt, but not slowing down. Only throwing the offending furniture aside hard enough to splinter. Violently, but wordlessly.

Now, that behavior worried Kurogiri.

“Tomura Shigaraki, what’s wrong?”

The clear, unsettling mix of numbness and pain practically frothing at the surface, just waiting to bubble over and tear him apart.

“ Tenko .”

A forbidden word in this house, but one that was serious enough to finally stop Shigaraki in his tracks. But not for long. He tried to climb up the stairs just a second later, but it gave Kurogiri enough time to actually catch him by the shoulders and turn him around to look at him.

His expression was ragged, broken. Not unlike the way he looked when he first came into the Boss’s care. But there was a burning hatred in his eyes as well, one much more raging and self-loathing than Kurogiri had ever seen. And that was saying something.

There were no polite words Kurogiri could use to describe this expression. Frankly, it worried the shit out of him.

“Tomura, son,” Kurogiri breathed, letting himself show a sentimentality and worry that his boss would certainly fire him for if he knew of it, “What’s happened?”

Everything about him — his body movement, tense posture, the fresh blood on his neck — it all conveyed a furiousness that Kurogiri was quite used to, a tantrum-like anger that was no cause for concern. But his face read something different. A blankness, a sickness, an exhaustion.

Devastation.

Tomura Shigaraki was breaking before his very eyes.

“Nothing,” he lied through grit teeth.

Kurogiri reached into his vest pocket, pulling out a spare handkerchief he kept exactly for these purposes. He reached it forward, padding Shigaraki’s neck gently, “ This is not nothing, Tomura.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he spat, looking away and tilting his head back so that Kurogiri could get a better angle at his neck.

Now that had to be the greatest lie he’d ever heard the boy spout.

Realizing that this current path was getting him no closer to a clear answer, Kurogiri decided to try a different approach. To dig a little deeper.

“You went to see your friend today, didn’t you?” he asked, “How did that go—”

Shigaraki snapped to him, furious and frantic. He smacked Kurogiri’s hand away from him, might’ve even hit the family caretaker if he hadn’t had the quick instinct to step away.

“Don’t mention her! Don’t you ever mention that stupid bitch to me again!” 

Ah, so that was it.

“It’s alright, Tomura Shigaraki. You can tell me what happened,” Kurogiri assured gently, trying to figure out the best way to get close to him now that he’d started tearing into his neck again. He was like a cornered animal right now, a captive wolf trying to chew its own leg off and ready to bite and kill anything that got near him, “Just calm down—”

“Calm down— I don’t need to fucking calm down!” he practically screamed, “You think I give a shit what she does with her life? What she does with him ?! It doesn’t mean anything! She’s worthless! Just another whore Sensei bought me to keep me from getting bored! I hope she fucking die—!”

Shigaraki froze suddenly, unable to get that last word out of his mouth. Because it wasn’t true. 

None of it was true of course, but that especially — the idea of not only him never seeing her again, but her not existing at all? He couldn’t even pretend to think that. Just the idea of it made him sick.

 He slapped a hand over his mouth suddenly, a distress that Kurogiri knew all too well filling the young boy’s bloodshot eyes.

No more words or time was needed. Kurogiri grabbed Shigaraki by the shoulders and rushed him to the bathroom where he promptly and violently emptied the contents of his stomach.

Continue on AO3

[rainesol]

Apollyon’s childhood

Made using this prompt sheet

(CWs for child neglect/abuse. The rough parts will be in red)

Simple as, Apollyon wasn’t born. He has zero relatives. He was made using EXTREMELY taboo and illegal magic. It’s very difficult to accomplish, and takes multiple people to do.

Polly doesn’t remember much from his childhood. He can hardly recall his host parents faces, despite last seeing them at 16. His earliest memory would probably be from age six, in his early school years.

Surprisingly little. Disturbingly little. Apollyon sat and stared a lot. Also, changeling infants bite. Imagine the worst place for an infant to randomly grow barbed teeth and bite at. He was bottle-fed.

Apollyon didn’t start speaking until he was four or five. I imagine he went straight to full sentences.

He started walking EARLY. 7ish months?

I imagine later than most kids. Maybe 3/4 years? He didn’t stop wetting the bed until he was ~12.

Yeah. It’d be a little bitten, but it’s his canines you’d worry about. I don’t know when he’d stop using it :0 Either older or younger than average. Apollyon retained similar(?) behaviour into adulthood though. He will suck/chew on his sleeves or hoodie strings when anxious.

Pretty often. And it’d be about anything. Changeling children are designed to react like this more often than a typical human child.

Could probably use a post of its own. He was a lot quieter as a little kid, and then as an older child-young teen he was more volatile.

Very hard. Changelings exist to cause distress in this universe.

Walking. Gets him out of the flat.

No. Going with some myths, he’d have had a decent appetite. He lost it though, and now eats little, as he’s accustomed to.

He taught himself to cook young. He’d normally eat raw ingredients before he could. Like dry pasta.

As a baby/toddler, he’d have trouble going to bed. Currently he’s a bit of an insomniac. He can fall asleep if someone is soothing him to sleep though.

Yeah. He was scared of his host parents and would dream about them. This also meant he couldn’t go to them for comfort. Sometimes he’d stand in their doorway but being a creepy changeling kid, he’d just get yelled at to leave. Sometimes he’d dream about strange cloaked figures in the woods, too. Wonder what that’s about.

Only really the stuff the original child got from the baby shower/pre birth.

Interesting to look at. Like those sparkly water timers.

He found a lost ‘ds’ as a kid. He totally would’ve given it back, but the kids parents just got them a new one the next day, so he took it home and pirated some games for it. He still has it.

Apollyon was physically abused. As a child, he would have had very severe punishments, many of which he wouldn’t have realised weren’t normal (hitting, kneeling on rice/etc, having glassware etc thrown near or at him).

Typical day would depend on if he went to school or not. He’d spend most of the day on in school suspension.

He liked feeding pigeons and ducks. He tries to ignore bad memories. Sometimes to an unhealthy degree. One memory was of him being left in the underground. He waited for hours but his dad never came back. Eventually the police took him home. He was 7.

N/A. I doubt much celebrating happened in his household.

Apollyon had an extremely poor relationship with his host parents. He says that his father was scarier than his mother. He’d be on the receiving end of serious physical and verbal abuse from then until he was ‘big enough to fight back. Then they’d mostly ignore him. However, his adoptive mother (her name’s Maya), has an excellent relationship with him. She’s incredibly kind and understanding with him, and helps heal his poor inner child.

No friends. An acquaintance gave him his industrial piercing, though. He can’t remember her name.

His parents had a bearded dragon. It wasn’t kept very well and they gave it away when he was young.

Casual, comfy stuff. Most of his clothes came from lost and found or charity shops. One time on a non-uniform day someone pointed out he was wearing something they’d donated and he ‘just went home’. Totally not one of my experiences I’ve forced on him lol

Other than teachers, no. They weren’t any help to him. Until the age of 16, ‘every adult in Polly’s life had failed him.’

Public primary/secondary schools. He liked art class. He didn’t like much else.

N/A

I don’t know. Probably not.

Nothing friendly. That. It. Him.

Yeah. He was abused and isolated the whole time. I won’t delve too deep into specific scenarios. He tends to assume everyone just doesn’t like him.

This will probably be updated. I was sleep deprived writing it :(

[lilypadlys]

Domestic December Day 28 - Comforting Them

Primo comforts a new sibling of sin

Notes: CW for reference to unsafe/unhealthy households. Nothing graphic/explict. Prompt list by comp-lady. See prompt list here

Comfort from Peepaw below the cut or on AO3

Primo strolls through his gardens quietly. Just taking in the pleasant scenery. The cool air is a nice break from the oppressive heat of the summer but he knows the bite of winter threatens with every passing day. Best to enjoy the flowers while they last, leaves already beginning to don their red and gold hues.

He stops to admire his towering rose bush. It’s his pride and joy. He planted it years ago when he was first made charge of the ministry’s botanicals. He’s nurtured it ever since into a massive hedge of blooms. Out of all the flowers the garden has to offer, these are the most beautiful and only Primo himself is allowed to tend to it and cut flowers from it. To receive a rose from his prize bush is to have earned his deep affections. Only a handful of siblings and ghouls have received that honor.

Eventually he continues his walk. He checks on the daisies and reapplies the pest repellent salve he made to dissuade further damage to their leaves. He waters the pollinator plants, happy to see bees buzzing around even this late in the season. He makes a note to ask the earth ghouls to prune one of the branches of the oak tree. He hates to do it and risk harming the tree, but the branch overhangs the ministry building. If it were to come down in a storm, it could damage the roof.

He’s just about made his rounds when he comes across a sibling of sin, seated on one of the benches under the weeping willow. He nearly misses you, the hanging foliage creating a living curtain. It’s your quiet sobs that gives you away. Carefully, he parts the leaves and moves over to you. Your back is to him so you don’t see him approach.

Standing a couple paces away Primo softly calls out to you.

“I’m very sorry to intrude,” He starts, and winces as you flinch and whorl around in surprise.

Your eyes get huge as you see who’s addressing you. You scramble to your feet and bow your head in polite greeting.

“Hello Papa.” You can’t quite hide the slight waver in your voice nor the red puffiness of your eyes from crying.

“Hello Y/N” Primo recognizes you as a new member of the ministry. You joined only a few months back but had taken interest in the gardens so he’s spoken with you several times before.

“Ah, yes! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He stops you with a wave of his hand. “What are you apologizing for giovane? You have done nothing wrong sì?”

You shake your head. “No…”

“Then, may I ask what’s wrong?”

“I…uh…” You freeze, uncertain.

Primo gives you an encouraging smile. “Only if you would like, giovane.” He amends. “I do not wish to overstep.”

You sigh and shrug. “I’m just homesick is all.”

“Ah, sì. I understand. Being away from home and one’s family can be sad.”

“It’s just,” You sniffle. “I can’t even go home. It’s not that I can’t afford to travel…” You tack on that last part when you sense Primo is about to offer to help. “It’s…”

You trail off, unsure whether you should be talking about this. In front of a Papa for Satan’s sake. But Primo’s look of genuine concern and care makes you want to divulge everything.

“It’s not really safe for me to go home.” You admit. “I finally got out of there and I thought everything would be better, but now…how am I homesick?”

“Oh, I am sorry cara. It is nothing wrong with you. It is just a longing for the familiar that makes you feel this way.” Primo soothes. “I’m sorry you have been made to feel this way. Just know that you are safe now and will always be welcome here.”

You turn your head a little to hide how your eyes are watering all over again. Primo pretends not to notice.

“Thank you Papa.” You say finally. “Can I…uh…are you okay with hugs?” You look up at Primo shyly.

“Of course-” The words have barely left his mouth before you wrap your arms around his torso and press your face to his chest. He just smiles and gently rubs your back. He stands there as long as you need. Holding you; giving you much needed physical reassurance. It’s only when you release your own arms that he releases his.

“Thank you Papa.” You say again, this time with the beginnings of a smile on your face.

“Of course giovane. You may call me Primo if you wish.”

You smile fully. “Thank you Primo.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

You wave your hands in embarrassment. “Oh no! You’ve already done enough.”

“Alright. But don’t hesitate to ask if anything comes up.”

“Okay. Thank you again Papa-I mean Primo.”

Primo bids you adieu and you head back inside looking considerably lighter. He’s happy to have helped but sad that you’ve been carrying so much weight for so long; bottled up it would seem. He meant it when he said he would be willing to help and that you have a home here. He heads back inside after making one more round of his garden. Then he heads to his office to compose a letter.

You set down the book on gardening that you had been reading when you hear a knock on the door of your room. You open the door to a ghoul, one you recognized as an earth ghoul on the garden crew. They’re not much for words, just handing you a letter and a single rosebud, bowing, and turning to leave.

After thanking them, you return to your chair and open the letter. Inside is a kind note from Primo. And better yet, an offer for you to join the team of siblings that assist him in taking care of the gardens. You seek him out immediately, and gratefully accept.

[p4wsiez]

Flourine lore!

CW: mentions of murdering animals and humans, unhealthy parent child relationships, mentions of child neglect.

“The first thing I killed was a pigeon..I called my dad around December we were talking then I asked him if him and mom were gonna be home for Christmas because their always working… he said no and that him and mom were actually flying out for a business trip..after I told him bye and hung up I felt angry.. my parents were very absent in childhood.. no one was there for me, no one to talk to Abt my emotions..it made me mad how him and mom had kids but never payed any attention to them..I got so angry I saw the pigeon and uhm I stomped on it I crushed it very quickly because I was wearing chunky platforms.. that was the first thing I ever killed..I remember vividly from that day on any time I felt a strong emotion wether it be sadness anger envy or really anything I’d go outside.. I’d take my emotions out on the first small creature I found.. bugs,mice, birds.. I never hurt household animals however like stray cats or dogs.. I guess it was because as far back as I can remember strays were kinda like attracted to me.. they came to me when they saw me so instead of killing them i took them to a shelter.. I guess my souls not completely rotten but I still killed animals and humans so who am I to judge myself.. I’m just another human I’m no god no higher power just like how those bugs to me were just bugs I’m just a bug to the higher ups.. my life is useless and meaningless to them..”

[chadlesbianjasontodd]

the only 100% effective method of remaining completely dry and sober is when your other option is to buy alcohol at trader joe's

[sleepynoons]

genshin impact masterlist.

⊹ alhaitham – untitled // omegaverse!au // you're starting your heat, and you need relief. stat. (nsfw, cw: breeding kink, impregnation kink, size kink, sadism/masochism, mentions of pain + hurt, marking + biting, fingering, squirting, edging, allusions to dubcon + objectification, slight nipple play, implied marathon sex)

⊹ diluc ragnvindr – untitled // when you imagined married life with diluc, you thought of sleepy morning kisses, late-night conversations with glasses full of grape cider, and trips to foreign nations. in reality, you got a king-sized bed all to yourself and your spouse’s growing pile of wrinkled button-ups in the laundry hamper. (sfw, cw: n/a)

⊹ il capitano – underneath the surface // as an attendant for the first harbinger, il capitano, you work to maintain his household in snezhnaya, though you can still only admire him from afar. but that distant reverence changes completely when you are offered another role that goes beyond your day-to-day and allows you to share a bond with him that no one else knows the true nature of. this is a dream come true, of course, but what happens when the dream ends? when will it end? and what will you do after it ends? (nsfw, cw: power imbalance, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masochism, pain kink, knife kink, praise kink, predator/prey, ownership + master, use of other sharp objects (claws), temperature play, graphic descriptions of blood/injuries/bruises/pain/etc., sensory deprivation (blindfold), mentions of death + murder)

⊹ kaeya alberich – untitled // kaeya always ran cold. it was natural, being a cryo swordsman and all. but his “cold-bloodedness” – as you like to call it – proves to be a problem in the height of monstadt’s winter. (sfw, cw: n/a)

⊹ wriothesley – untitled // wriothesley shows you how much he adores you, even when he's exhausted from a long day. (nsfw, cw: unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink, dacryphilia, body worship, marking, fingering, overstimulation, mentions of mind break)

[alexs-arcade]

hey idk if ur taking requests but i was wondering if u could do like a tasm! peter parker x m!reader where Y/N has a toxic household and goes to Peters house to stay the night a lot to escape his home and one night its rlly bad and one of them confesses feelings for the other?

I liked this request so much. I didn’t know if you wanted anything really specific so I how you like this. I'm so sorry this is late I've was busy and had to delay writing for a bit but thank you for being my first writing request.

Belonging

tasm!Peter Parker x m!reader

Warnings //TW & CW//: Abuse, vulgar language, child neglect, mentions of blood, manipulation, f-slur ! FEM ALLIGNED DNI I DONT WRITE THIS FOR YOU TO SEXUALIZE GAY RELATIONSHIPS!

Your earbuds were ripped out of your ears the sounds of screaming hits your ears.

"Are you listening brat!?!?! Jeez Y/n your father and I are talking to you use your damn ears!" Your stepmother screams in your face as your father smacks you hard outside the head.

You don't even move or dare look at either of them. You aren't scared you aren't hurt. You are angry but you know screaming back will only make them stay and scream at you longer. Heart racing you exhale and look at your hands trying not to scream back.

"I'm...sorry ma'am" you say head hung low as your stepmother pats you on the back.

"It's alright kid. You just need to listen. Now your father and I are going away for a week, so you'll be here alone. I want everything clean when we get home by then. there is ramen so don't ask to order out you don't want to be unhealthy. Also, If I see such as a piece of evidence that you brought a boy home you are out of here for good. F****t." She says in a fake tone of sincerity.

You nod and keep focus on the floor as you listen for their footsteps to leave your room and far enough away for you to close your door. Getting up from your desk and you abandoned your homework and music to sleep. You were hoping by tomorrow they will be gone, and you will have a nice weekend.

You were once again sitting at your desk finishing up the homework, your guardians oh so rudely interrupted last night, your phone buzzed, and you got the message you were dreading since life started to go south after your mother passed away.

I saw you have a boyfriend named Peter Parker. I want you and your shit gone before your father and I get home. You absolute disgrace to god! All my friends know I have a cursed and sinning son! said the message from your step-mother.

In quick thought you swiped off her contact and go straight to social media to see rumors that you were dating you one and only friend Peter Parker. Pictures of you siting alone together and giggling or where you are leaning on him when you passed out during science once. You were embarrassed, frustrated and so upset. You didn't know that to do. standing up and flinging your phone on your bed sliding on shoes and grabbing a coat you race for the door and booking it to Peters house. It was cold and pouring down rain not even your coat did any good on keeping you dry. Quickly reaching the block his house was on you saw him outside taking out the trash.

You yelled for him "PETER!" your voice broken from the tears and sobbing from all the overwhelming stress of the situation.

He looked up to see you and dropped the trash in the can and ran towards you. You look like you were in trouble or danger, and you truly weren't far from it. Peter didn't know you were a part of the LGBTQ+ community. What would he think? What if he found out you liked him through the rumors? Did he even know about the rumors? you stopped. everything was spinning the lack of a full meal due to your parents limiting what you eat and running made it worse. You stood there thinking panicking and crying non-stop. You didn't even know Peter was standing in front of you were so spaced out.

"Y/N? I need you to follow my breathing, okay?" He said taking your hand and put it on his chest and you mocked his Exhale and Inhale slowly.

You slowly followed his breathing. Your tears stopped flowing gradually. Taking a few more breaths before you noticed Peter was still holding your hand and your face flushed. You quickly pulled away and looked up and down the street before speaking.

"We need to speak about a serious rumor going around about us dating." You murmured avoiding looking Peter in the eyes.

"Oh. Well- I- come inside, I guess. Aunt May won't be home for a while so we can just sit in the living room." Peter replies leading you into the house and sitting you both down on the couch.

After a couple of minutes in silenced letting you fully recollect yourself. "So, what are the rumors you are talking about Y/n?" He speaks braking he silenced.

You steal a few more breaths of air before opening your mouth. "There is a rumor that...we are- dating." You tightly close your eyes anticipating the worst to happen.

Peter just chuckles. "It kind of makes sense with how we are always around each other. I can always tell them to sto-"

"What if I don't want them to stop!?!- I mean...shit" You didn't mean to say it. You were going to mention that your stepmother just kicked you out cause of the rumor and now you have nowhere to go but your brain had other plans.

Tears were making their way back to your eyes. How could you say that!?!? You know he would never like you like that. Your hands grab at the ends of your sleeves as you quickly get up to head for the door before you make a fool of yourself.

Peter leaps up as you try to rush for the door and webs it shut. You shoot your head towards Peter surprised that he was stopping you. He pulled you into a hug and rubbed circles on your back as you sobbed again.

"You know, I like you too Y/n. I just didn't want to lose you as a friend over feelings if you didn't feel the same." Peter whispers burring his face in your shoulder.

You decide to say what you planned before and acknowledge the confession once it is fully processed. "My stepmom saw the rumors and she is kicking me out...I'm so screwed."

Peter just held you tighter and keeps you calm before pulling away to kiss your forehead.

"Aunt May and I can let you stay here. I know it will be hard, but you at least would be away from them. I love you and I want you to know that I'm here for you. so just come stay with me." Peter says cradling your face wiping your stray tears.

you felt so safe.

you felt wanted.

you belonged.

[blzzrdstryr]

could i maybe request yan! thoma and yan! childe fighting over you and then them eventually giving up and sharing? can be sfw or nsfw

CW: Yandere, unhealthy relationship, death, violence

Honestly it’s highly unlikely that they will agree to share - Childe is very possessive and Thoma can’t stand the thought that you will be near a bloodthirsty murderer like one particular Fatui Harbinger.

There will be totally a lot of arguing between the two and they will argue about any matter concerning you - what you should eat, where should you sleep, what should you, what is your schedule and so on. Partly it’s because of the scorching tension and jealousy present between the two, partly because their personalities clash a lot too.

Thoma is a person of physical comfort and predictability and while he likes some novelty time from time, years spent serving Kamisato household left him with the strong habit for routine. He likes knowing which things will happen at what time, especially if those are some major things, so he can better prepare for them

Childe, on the other hand, abhors routine - this is the very reason why he once ran away from his village when he was 14. It’s boring and Ajax deems it wasting yours and his time. He wants to go on an adventure with you, travel the world and show off his fighting skills, he’s in no mood for slow tranquil mornings and even slower evenings Thoma seems to love so much.

You won’t be able to spot their constant fighting though - both of them are more than talented in leading conversations full of subtle threats and hidden insults, all while happily smiling at each other. The only time they team up is to punish you - you must’ve been truly insufferable to make them do this. They will manipulate you to Hell and back and at the end of the punishment the chances are that you will blame yourself more than them.

This alliance is very volatile and will end once Childe gets fed up with his “rival”. Thoma, to his misfortune, doesn’t have as much political, financial and simple raw power to compete with one of the Fatui Harbingers and he won’t be able to defend himself if angered Childe decides to maim or even kill him.

[sunii-is-typing]

music

summary ; eternity is not meant to be obtained. he should’ve known better.

character ; thoma

cw ; angst : established relationship : hurt no comfort : unhealthy coping mechanisms : (implied) death : xiao’s bad writing

there is music. somewhere, somehow—there is music.

he doesn’t know what to make of it, not yet. but it’s gentle, soothing. the melody is kind, drifting through his fingers as he cleans.

the music comes from somewhere, somehow. he knows not of where it comes from, nor does he know if it’s ever been there before, but he’s okay with not knowing.

if music was playing, then it was because someone willed it to do so. and, given the fact that you were the only other resident in this household at the moment..

feet pad against the wooden flooring and thoma hides a grin. there you are—he does not turn to look, but he knows its you.

it’s unmistakably you. there is something warming about that, or maybe it was just his vision sparking quietly as he reeled in his excitement.

a gentle ringing follows the footsteps, which pad ‘round and ‘round—then they stop, and he feels hands pressing down on his shoulders. gentle, gentle, like the music that plays from somewhere, somehow.

his grin can only be subdued for so long. “good morning, honey.”

your hands drop from his shoulders to wind around his waist, the softness of your cheek pressing against his clothed back. you’re warm, as always.

he prides himself on keeping the house safe from the occasionally freezing temperatures of inazuma. occasional, but not foreign by any means.

“morning,” you reply, voice doused in sleep. thoma almost reaches back to ruffle your hair—almost, almost, but he reminds himself that he’s cleaning.

before he can ask to be freed, a bark intercepts the moment. sitting patiently beside you two is your shared dog, who’s tail thuds against the floor as they wait.

the music breezing through the house makes his heart flutter. or maybe it’s you, stifling a giggle into his back before pulling away, slowly, your touch lingering.

warmth fills his entire being. it’s not from his vision sparking this time, he’s sure of it.

there is music. somewhere, somehow—there is music.

which, honestly, should not be possible. not when he was sitting in the teahouse, hand pressed against the skin covering his hammering heart, trembling.

his mind was perpetually scathed, lightning flashing behind his radiant eyes as he saw nothing more than the silence upon the archon’s face. he could’ve died.

oh, by the archons, he could’ve died.

thoma drops his head into his hands and forces himself to breathe. in, out—over and over, yet his heart still screamed, loud and rampant in his ribs.

only when arms—gentle, soothing—slip forth to wind around his waist does he tear his hands from his eyes. he feels a searing pain, deep within his body, but it quells at the sight of groggy eyes.

it is silent, apart from the gentle melody that floats through the residence. and, for the first time, he raises a brow at you, a silent question.

you smile. that is the only answer—or lack thereof—he is given before you’re tugging him back down, tucking him against your chest and cradling his troubled head.

slowly, he melts. slowly, he closes his eyes.

he remains haunted by his nightmares, by his memories, but you make it bearable. his arms wind around you and, finally, he drifts into nothingness.

there is music. somewhere, somehow—there is music.

it’s right this time. this time, it is right.

the gramophone belts a soft, mellow tune, not unlike the one he’d been hearing again and again. gentle, soothing, kind.

your hand rests loosely upon his, fingers barely intertwined. careful steps are exchanged as he tugs you closer, holding you to his chest as the world remains still for a while.

gentle, soothing, kind.

thoma thinks you look beautiful like this—head inclined, pressed against the slope connecting his neck and shoulder. your legs knock together lightly and you laugh a bit.

quiet is the act of dancing. no matter the song, the dance remains the same, swaying in the comfort of the other’s arms. his vision sparks, as it usually does around this time.

how long has it lasted, this dance around the past? a few months? fox envoys were truly something else, he had to admit.

“tired?” and when he feels you nod against him, he smiles. there is not a smidgen of happiness in his expression, not after what he’s condemned himself to.

all because you were friends with that shrine maiden. why had he agreed to this, swaying with you during your fleeting moments and feeling his vision’s warmth seep from your body?

that fateful, decaying morning, where your vision was ripped away and inlaid upon a statue long gone. if only the traveler were here sooner.

if only he didn’t lose you to yourself, perhaps..

your hand slips from his, unwillingly, because your head remains in place. “don’t wanna go,” you murmur, and he aches.

he wants to tell you to stay, that you don’t have to go, but he cannot.

instead, thoma presses a bitter kiss against your forehead and forces himself to smile. and he closes his eyes, as if that’ll make anything better.

he feels you melt in his arms. the familiar feeling of crystalflies’ wings brush against and past him, filling the empty house with a desperate loneliness.

it’s always been there, even with a dog weaving between his legs. he wonders where they go when the day of your dismissal comes about.

a purple penchant is all that remains, settled on the floor.

thoma tucks it into his pocket, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stifles his blossoming sorrows. it’s dark outside.

to think, he’d almost forgotten. to think, a fox envoy would be able to fully, completely bring back his lost love.

there’s always next year.

there is music. somewhere, somehow—there is music.

even as the gramophone is left alone, desolate and dusty, there is music. darkness envelops the household and rest engulfs the entirety of inazuma.

a man stands before the grave of his beloved, placing a pendant upon their grave and covering it with blossoming flowers.

“goodnight, honey.”

[salmonthestoryteller]

That Scene

Yes, this is about Roswell New Mexico 02x06. And I will preface by saying that I dislike the scene. That I view certain actions and motivations in it negatively. That I find the consent dubious at best. So if you're looking for someone to defend this scene, this is not the post for you.

Usually when I write meta or thoughts, I write it by trying to understand the viewpoint of the characters involved.  I like to understand how a character got from point A to point B.  And yes, objectively, it’s because the author wanted them to. But I like for things to be logical in my fictional worlds. I like there to be an explanation for why a character behaves the way they do. I like to see cause and effect in the stories I consume. So usually I write meta in an attempt to make sense of the story as it is presented.

I’m not going to do that this time.

This is going to be more a set of bullet points from the viewpoint of a consumer of fiction, a writer, and someone in fandom spaces.

So here we go.

What this is not about. (Yes, I feel the need to precede with that.)

It's not about there being a threesome, or a potential poly relationship, in a work of fiction. I have consumed multiple works with both. My objecting to this specific scenario has nothing to do with that.

It is not about gender.  Believe me, if you genderswap these characters it will not help the situation at all in my eyes. Nor my opinion on the objectionable actions of certain characters.

This is not about ships. I personally am perfectly capable of multishipping, jumping ships, and even being sold on ships I never imagined by good writing.

So what does bother me about this scene?

For starters, a lack of communication of interest in this occurring at all by the parties involved prior to it happening, which made the situation extremely jarring for me as a viewer.

And, no, Alex discussing that he was comfortable touching Maria over a decade prior while living in an abusive household as a teenager definitely doesn't count as "prior interest."

Do you honestly think who you potentially were okay with being touched by ten years ago counts as some kind of consent for them to touch you in the present? Who you were potentially okay with touching you ten days ago doesn't even count for present consent, let alone ten years.

So the lack of any prior conversation before Maria decided to kiss her gay friend and proposition him is very much an issue for me because it seems extremely disrespectful. As a lesbian the last thing I would ever expect to have to do is explain to my straight male friend I've known for years that I don't want to have sex with him. He should be aware of that without my having to explain it. And the same is very much true for Maria's character.

Maria knows Alex is gay. She is very aware of the fact he has no sexual interest in her. I can't even wrap my brain around the concept of why it would ever occur to her to randomly ask her friend for sex in the first place, let alone to kiss or touch him in a sexual way without asking first.

This is all before considering the fact that Alex is injured and currently has no vehicle to leave the premises with. Which means to leave he has to walk all the way home - or at least to the nearest bus if Roswell has dependable public transport - on a leg that is no doubt causing him pain  considering what they just lived through.

If Alex was an injured female with no vehicle to leave with, would you really think it was okay for one of the two people with her to proposition her for sex? Because I wouldn't.  And Alex being a male character doesn't change that for me.

Maria kissing him after asking him to stay comes across very manipulative, and Alex agreeing to stay under the circumstances does not come across as "enthusiastic consent" at all in my eyes.

This is before even bringing in the situation between Maria and Michael. I really wish people would stop saying Maria is his girlfriend in this scene - she definitely is not. She kicked him out between four to six weeks ago and hasn't spoken to him since. They weren't even in a committed relationship at that time. Now? Maria actually has no claim on him at this moment at all. So truthfully, she actually has no right to be kissing him either.

Considering Maria went off on Michael kissing Lindsey in front of her, to the point of bringing it up again when Michael came back to her, how is it okay for her to kiss Michael in front of Alex? How is that not supposed to read as anything but petty and an act of jealousy, considering it occurs in the scene right after Michael addresses how important Alex is to him for the first time in front of her? ("Both of you" meaning Maria is not above Alex in his affections. Which is the first confirmation Maria has that Alex's feelings for Michael are not one sided.)

Then there's the fact that she literally told Michael "No Lindseys" when they were previously getting together, meaning she expected him to be monogamous. So why is she allowed to bring Alex into their sexual relationship?

And why is it okay for her to assume Michael wants her back, with no conversation about why they broke up to begin with? And then request he not only have sex with her, but engage in a threesome before confirming their relationship and with no prior discussion about sexual boundaries or if this is something Michael would even want to participate in?

Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't we told that Michael allowing Alex constantly back into his life after they broke up was bad? Weren't we told the fact that they kept having sex without communication a red neon sign for an unhealthy relationship? (And honestly, yes, it was, which is why I was fine with them saying that.)

How am I supposed to view Maria and Michael as healthy when she not only does the same thing, but takes it a step further and asks him to have sex with her and his ex he still has feelings for without even talking about why she cut him out of her life for weeks first?

My next problem is the morning after scene for a multitude of reasons.

If Alex's consent was so enthusiastic, why is he written as so upset over the whole thing the next day - to the point of referring to it as "what circle of hell am I in?"

Why does Michael seek out Alex to ask if they've crossed a line if he felt "loved" the previous evening? And considering the show's habit of visual clues, why is he dressed in black as opposed to the soft white shirt of the previous day?

And why does Maria listening in at the window next to her - seeing as she knew Alex had left and wouldn't have known otherwise - not feel a need to check up on the friend who sounds upset when she was the one to ask him into her bed? But instead, stays in bed and demands Michael choose between them right then?

I'm sorry, but all of this comes across as very bad to me. And especially bad for Maria, who ends up reading as jealous, petty, and manipulative.

It's not so great for Michael who seems either dense or insensitive when it comes to Alex's clear unhappiness the next day.

And how am I supposed to view it as anything but Alex being taken advantage of, regardless of how you interpret the original consent, when he ends up alone with neither of the people he shared a bed with the previous evening seeming to give a damn that he's upset?

If I had a hope in hell of any of this being addressed, I would perhaps feel less like somebody shoved in a handful of scenes they wrote while on drugs in the middle of a perfectly normal episode.  Considering you could literally chop both scenes out and nothing would change tells me the scene has absolutely no value as written.

The bottom line is that all these factors were completely ignored and  the scene itself will never even be brought up again because this is CW, and all they wanted was a big sex scene. And that is all it was.

I'm tired of hearing "but it was for comfort."

Considering I didn't see Maria having random sex with Liz any time over the last two seasons when either needed comfort, nor did I see a threesome between Alex, Kyle, and Michael after nearly being blown up at Caulfield, the notion that this is about comfort is such a pathetic excuse.

It was sex. Period.

It was for shock value and ratings. Period.

It was poor writing. Period.

[dreadnought-dear-captain]

You Asked, I Told and Update

CW: Spoilers for Baghdad Waltz up to chapter 36 and some non-graphic discussion of childhood sexual abuse 

Hello!!!

Wow, I am so, so sorry for falling off the grid like that. I thought I was going to have WAY more time in October/November to work on the fic and work on fandom stuff in general, but my professional life threw me a huge right hook and I got completely sidetracked for weeks. So I’m off schedule a bit, in terms of having the next chapter. I’m sorry for the delay. 

I’m done with the full draft of Chapter 37 (about 23k - “short” but emotionally very dense) and am working through final revisions now. However, I also had to do an extensive amount of 9/11-related research for it, and part of that research has been reviewing oral histories of New Yorkers from the day of the attacks, and I came to the shocking realization that much of the prologue is historically inaccurate. Moreover, it’s shamefully inconsistent with the way that New Yorkers would respond to such an event. I’m embarrassed by how shoddy of a job I did with it.

Thus, I’m also going to be rewriting the prologue and including more accurate details, both historically and in terms of character dynamics. I mean, there’s no way Bucky could even live in Brooklyn and be a first responder at Ground Zero! All the bridges and tunnels were shut down. Shame on me. There will be ripple effects throughout the entire fic. Sigh. This is just round one of the massive amount of revisions I will be doing to the early chapters of the fic, which I wrote years ago now. I was going to wait to post both at the same time, but I don’t want to make you wait that long. I’ll just give you a notification when I finish the prologue revisions, and it’ll be like a little bonus chapter.

Anyway, here are some asks! Starting with a two-parter

First, thank you for the kind words. I’m glad you’re finding this fic moving. It’s definitely an emotional rollercoaster for these characters, and my hope (I guess?) is to have that be a parallel process for the readers. I think you hit the nail on the head that this relationship is exhausting. And you’re also right that not everyone would have the perseverance to keep coming back to it. It would be so much easier to amputate, pack up and go home. But once these characters get back into each other’s orbit, it’s very challenging for them to not keep crashing back into each other. It’s partially because they just love each other so much, but it’s also because they have an unhealthy relationship dynamic that sets them up for these toxic cycles. This will become especially apparent in the next chapter. They love each other, yes, but they also use each other to fill the gaping holes and insecurities they have within themselves. And they’re horrible communicators to boot. It’s a perfect storm. But at least they are going to try out some of this therapy crap maybe…?? We’ll see!

Along a similar line…

Thank you so much. That is so lovely of you to say, and I’m happy that I have your trust with this story. That said, I don’t know if it’s weakness if you’re not willing to run yourself through a miserable gauntlet of suffering the way Steve and Bucky are doing in this story. Would we call Rikki weak for drawing a boundary and stepping away from Bucky when his alcoholism was destroying their family? Some people used other words, but I’m not sure if weakness is the thing that might make someone walk away from a relationship like this. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you should keep slamming your face against the same wall until you’re black and blue. This is a highly dysfunctional couple, and these men have serious issues they are grappling with personally that make them ripe for this kind of relationship. Bucky is an open wound, crippled with shame, desperate to do anything to feel better. Steve has deep attachment injuries from his chronically ill mother and deadbeat dad, as well as major control issues, and he wants to latch on and fix and make right, and if he manages every variable just right, he really thinks he can do it. And then throw in a fuckton of PTSD and TBI and alcoholism and physical injuries on top of it. So no, I wouldn’t rush to judge yourself for not envisioning yourself gutting it out in this grim scenario. 

But I also think we can identify with at least one of these characters, and we can root for people who want to overcome the shit that life has thrown at them to be with the person they love. Because they really do love each other. There’s just so much noise that it’s hard to tease out the signal sometimes. 

Good call on Bucky being a notoriously unreliable narrator, and he’s someone who is likely to underreport his suffering. Aside from his war-related injuries and his psychological struggles, Bucky’s most symptomatic issues are his GI problems. He has both peptic and esophageal ulcers, which are slightly different creatures. Peptic (stomach) ulcers, in Bucky’s case, have been caused by H. pylori and exacerbated by smoking and drinking. The esophageal ulcer was most likely caused by an excess of stomach acid due to gastroesophageal reflux disease (GERD) and, once again, exacerbated by drinking. Both of these have led to nausea, vomiting, lack of appetite, and weight loss. They have really emerged since Bucky got out of the military and pursued drinking with renewed vigor. Though he wouldn’t know it at the time because he doesn’t keep up with these things, his GERD is very possibly linked to acute, high dose exposure to the exceedingly toxic “dust” from the collapse of the World Trade Center towers. It’s one of the most widespread chronic health ailments of those exposed, aside from lower respiratory problems.

And now for some heavy-ass questions from licketysplittt — see CW above.

Yes, I am going to talk more about the context of Bucky’s abuse for sure, so I won’t go into the depths here. But I will say now that you are absolutely right that he has complex feelings for his abuser. I think it would have been easy to write him as just being unidimensionally angry or ashamed, but I know that’s not the experience of everyone who has experienced sexual abuse. This is especially the case if the person who commits the abuse it is a family member or caretaker or friend or trusted religious figure or someone who’s not just a “stranger in the bushes” type. I wanted to try to capture that experience in this fic. Bucky has also been multiply victimized by multiple people over the course of his life, which adds to this complexity and creates an internal narrative for him. Like what does it mean that this keeps happening to him? This is also not an uncommon experience for people who have been abused as children. And there’s also the added piece of this that Bucky’s gay, right? So he’s got this very, very young sexuality that’s on the verge of blooming (your Disney sexuality perhaps, sitting close, holding hands, etc) and this older male is making sexual advances toward him, and so he might ask if this person “saw” something in him aside from his social isolation that made him choose him. These are certainly questions he’s tortured himself over. I will get more into all of this, I promise. 

Winnie and George undoubtedly knew that their kid wasn’t a very popular one. But perhaps they always knew that he was a kid who wasn’t destined to have many friends because he’s “sensitive” or however they would characterize him (I’m sure they had different ways of viewing him). And I think it’s important to take into account the type of household that Bucky was in and the way he would shape his behavior. George was this total wildcard — “Best Dad in the World” most days but a screaming, violent tyrant at these odd, unpredictable times that were fucking terrifying for everyone in his path. This is a house where it’s best just to shut up and create as few problems as you can, because you don’t want to be the one that dad is gonna flip his shit at. And so everyone is walking on eggshells and Bucky is going to get very good at lying about how bad things are. And oh! Jamie finally has a friend, how wonderful. There will be more details in upcoming chapters about how this all transpires, but I think the dynamics at home made it possible for a lot of this to happen. And you’re right that these were not the most skillful parents, and their marriage was very strained and stressful for everyone. And these fictional assholes also frustrate me! The emotional content can be hard to write. It’s one reason these past few chapters have taken me soooooo painfully long. 

Great questions! You are all so thoughtful and kind. Sorry again for getting so terribly sidetracked. I am going to keep plugging away at the chapter and at comments and asks. I’m optimistic that I will have the next chapter for you within the next two weeks. I am pleased with this chapter and hope you’ll like it. Thank you for being so patient!!!