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adverbally · 1 month

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Just Try to See in the Dark

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Childhood” | wc: 1,263 | rated: T | cw: references to physical (nonsexual) child abuse and neglect, including description of injuries inflicted by a parent | tags: teacher steve, steve and eddie’s shitbag dads, hurt/comfort, shoutout to all the awesome teachers out there | title from “Close to Me” by The Cure

And with this, I’m officially caught up, just in time for the halfway point of the month! I appreciate everyone who has read and interacted with my work so far. I haven’t written this much in years and it’s all because of contributions from viewers like you. Thank you 💕

———

When Steve gets home from work, almost an hour later than usual, he goes straight into their bathroom and shuts the door.

Eddie watches him go. It’s not unusual after a long day. Sometimes Steve just wants to take a hot shower and start his evening fresh. But after half an hour, the water hasn’t turned on and Eddie is starting to worry.

He hovers outside the bathroom door for several minutes, unsure if he should check on Steve. It doesn’t sound like he’s moving around, which makes a dark corner of Eddie’s mind worry that he’s hurt. What if he fell? What if he wasn’t feeling well and something is really wrong?

It’s that terrifying prospect that finally forces Eddie to rap on the door. “Stevie?”

“Come in,” comes the muffled response.

Eddie opens the door carefully so he doesn’t accidentally hit Steve, but Steve is sitting fully-clothed in the empty bathtub on the other side of the room. “Hi, sweetheart,” Eddie greets him as he comes to sit on the closed toilet lid.

Steve has his knees tucked up to his chin, arms wrapped around his shins. He turns his head sideways so he can speak more clearly. “I had to call Child Services.”

Jesus. Steve loves his class of second graders like they’re his own children. To have to report some kind of abuse to one of them… no wonder Steve went straight to the peace and quiet of the bathtub. “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes are dry, but Steve still rubs at his nose with the back of his wrist. “Yeah. Samantha. She had…” He gestures vaguely at his neck. “She usually has bruises somewhere, you know, she’s seven. But today she had actual fingerprints...”

Eddie drops to his knees on the rug next to the tub and gets his arms around Steve right as he starts to shake.

“And when I asked her about it, she just said, ‘He didn’t mean to!’ Like you can accidentally choke your own kid hard enough to leave marks like that.” Steve sniffs. “But he’s her dad and she loves him.”

With that, he buries his face in his knees and lets Eddie hold him.

Steve has always struggled with this part of being a teacher, even while he was working on his degree. Eddie can still see it so clearly, Steve pacing around the tiny dining table in their first apartment, ranting about mandatory reporting.

“You know what would’ve happened to me if a teacher said anything? My dad would’ve made us all smile and pretend everything was fine, and he would’ve beat the shit out of me as soon as the investigator left!” Steve had slammed his fist on the countertop as he passed.

“But we’re supposed to report immediately once we have reason to suspect abuse. Don’t take the time to make sure the kid is safe, don’t look at the broader pattern of incidents, just…” He had run out of breath there and couldn’t catch it for several minutes once he started crying, not out of sadness or worry but frustration.

It’s not frustration that drives Steve to tears now. It’s grief and fear for Samantha, for a younger version of himself, for the consequences of what the law requires of him.

“You’ve been looking out for her for a long time,” Eddie murmurs, chin hooked over Steve’s shoulder. The edge of the tub is digging into his side but he’ll be damned if he lets go of Steve right now. “This just confirms that your instincts were right. And hopefully now she’s gonna get help.”

“I’m scared that I just put her in a worse situation,” Steve admits, raising his head enough to wipe his cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater. “She shouldn’t have to deal with all this, she’s just a kid.”

Eddie vaguely remembers something about Sammy’s mom not being in the picture. “She can’t stay with an abusive parent just because she loves him. That’s why children don’t get to make the decisions here.”

Steve shakes his head. “But when she’s stuck in a foster home because of me—”

“Nuh-uh-uh, don’t even go there.” He ducks his head to look Steve in the eye. “She’s gonna be safe because of you. She’s gonna go home from school and not have to worry about her dad hurting her anymore. That’s huge.” He knows they can both understand that.

“I wish there was something else I could do,” Steve sighs.

“Just keep being the best second grade teacher in the state. Keep paying attention and listening to the kids. That’s what they need from you.”

Steve tilts his head to rest against Eddie’s shoulder. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“It’s more than you think.” Eddie kisses his temple, runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I had a teacher in fifth grade, Ms. Martin. It was, like, the year after my mom died, and I wasn’t coping at all. My dad was barely around to drop off some food for me once in a while. I was a nightmare student. Stole from the other kids, slept during lessons, started fights at recess.”

“It’s hard to care about school with stuff like that going on at home,” Steve says. Even now, he’s defending Eddie against shit that happened twenty years ago.

“Luckily for me, Ms. Martin understood that, too. She knew I was smart and I liked to draw, so she would assign me little projects. Stuff like illustrating a scene from the book we were reading or drawing a diagram of the parts of a plant or whatever. She let me work in her classroom at lunch and after school. Every day, she brought me a sandwich and a snack so I didn’t have to sneak food out of someone else’s lunchbox.”

Steve sits up to look at him with the most heartbroken expression. “Ed, that’s— she sounds incredible.”

“Yeah. She might not have fixed things for me outside of the classroom, but she made being at school a thousand times more bearable. Just by giving a shit.” He grins up at Steve. “Like you.”

“You know you do that kind of stuff, too, right? Like when you donated all those old dice sets for D&D Club, and when you helped me make Valentines for the whole class so nobody would feel left out. And when you delivered the pizzas for the Halloween party. And—“

Eddie hangs his head in an imitation of bashfulness. “I’m just your humble sidekick. All of that was your idea.”

“Then thank you for helping me make school more bearable for my kids.” Steve takes Eddie’s face between his big, gentle hands and kisses his forehead before angling his head back so their lips align.

“It’s my pleasure.” Eddie pushes himself to his feet with a groan as his knees creak. “Fuck, I’m getting to old to sit on the floor.”

Steve holds both hands out to Eddie, arms fully outstretched as if asking him to pull him upright. When Eddie doesn’t move, he whines, “C’mon, my ass is asleep. At least you were on the cushy rug!”

With a put-upon sigh, Eddie heaves Steve to his feet. “Shower first or food? I made meatballs.”

“Meatballs!” Steve throws his arms around Eddie’s neck, mostly for balance as he steps out of the bathtub. “You really do love me,” he fawns, batting his lashes for effect.

“You’re okay, I guess.” Before Steve can object, Eddie darts in for a quick kiss and darts off. “Wash up, dinner’s in five!”

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine

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legitalicat · 5 months

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Forged From Death - Sihtric Kjartansson x Widow!Reader

An: Thank you so much @foxyanon for the request and officially turning me into a Sihtric girl. I hope this is everything you wanted. And @zaldritzosrose thank you for creating the header you are amazing!

Masterlist here!

Separate from the normal CW section for a special attention. This is going to be dark as reader thinks cruelty of her husband, Sigefrid, and her father towards those around them. No explicit examples of violence or abuse. I really was just trying to capture emotions without talking of direct acts.

CW: Language, political marriage really, Sigefrid is not a good man, neither was reader's father, warlord husband and father, scared child, character death, P IN V sex, fingering, dirty talk, gets quite dirty lots of smut, breeding kink, vague talks of pregnancy kink, she/her pronouns, use of you, reader not really described or named, FLUFFY, Stepdad!Sihtric, found family trope, soulmates trope kinda, love and lust and first sight

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x reader

Word Count: 6.2k

You knew what you were. A bargaining chip, a prize. Something akin to a crown, symbolizing power. With your own father being a man who bargained in fear rather than respect, you weren’t surprised when your husband was the same.

Sigefrid Thurglison, rather quickly upon marrying you, decided his family’s wealth and power would be found in England. So, you sailed along with him and his brother to find this for yourselves. You, the dutiful wife, who knows your fate would be worse had you denied your father’s arrangement. You, who disappointed your father from birth by just being a daughter, who he could only use as a piece in his games but never actually respect. You, who married a man just like him.

You remained silent throughout. You played your part well, perhaps too well. Your name was used as a way to remind men of the force your husband could bring upon England. Even if they weren’t directly familiar with your father, they remembered the tales their fathers spoke to them, and they bowed at Sigefrid and Erik’s feet.

Until they met a man by the name of Uhtred. You couldn’t tell if he wanted to die or if he was just too stupid to realize that death was a very real possibility. But he was quick to anger your husband and his brother through way of opposition. And, apparently, Uhtred did not heed warnings well. He was unconcerned with the possibility of your father showing up.

“If he wanted England, he would be here,” said a voice from behind Uhtred upon your first meeting. You looked for the source. When you saw the man, you were certain your heart stopped for a moment.

You had seen beauty before. Land, sky, men, women, all of which held a certain captivating air about them. And yet there had been nothing as beautiful as the man who stood before you. You heard Uhtred refer to him as Sihtric, and your eyes made their way over his form. From his brown hair, to his striking yet mismatched eyes, over the angles of his face, and the swell of his muscles that already could be seen straining against the silver bands he wore, there was no part of him you felt was not hand crafted by Freyja herself to be the perfect embodiment of everything she represented.

And Sihtric noticed you. By the gods, did he notice you. You were pretty, prettier than any woman he had ever seen. He couldn’t tell what started swelling faster when he saw you looking back at him and smile: his cock or his heart.

That was the day he swore he would have you.

When he saw you again, it had been over three years. He hadn’t gone a day without thinking of you if he were honest. He was waiting so he could have his chance with you. Those few moments of seeing you was what carried him through the years. You were the face he saw with every victory and every stroke of his cock.

He only wishes it were under better circumstances.

You still resided in the fortress after Sigefrid laid dead on the ground. You knew the only way any of this would end would be if Sigefrid died. And you knew, as you listened to the herd of feet approach the room you were hidden in, that he had.

Sihtric was the first in the room. He knew that Sigefrid would never leave you far behind. It was unfortunate such a man had the honor of being your first husband. Sihtric, though, was perfectly fine being your last.

A feeling that did not waver when he saw you holding a small child close to your body. There was a fear in both of you, but you had the rage of a mother in your eyes. He could see it, and he wanted you more for it.

“He is dead?” you asked Sihtric as others, Uhtred and another you vaguely recognized, came into the room.

Despite having only seen him once, you knew Sihtric could be trusted. You couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was lust clouding your judgement. Perhaps it was a sign. Or maybe you were being stupid and crazy and you would only end up right back where you have been your whole life.

But, his eyes made you feel like that would never be the case again.

“Aye,” he said to you. “How old?” He nodded towards your child, your daughter, who looked at him in fear. He held up his arm, wordlessly keeping Uhtred and the other man from coming any closer.

“Four. She was born here, before we were sent away,” you told him truthfully.

“Her name?” he asked you. He continuously looked between your faces, barely capable of holding himself in place and not taking you in his arms.

“Astra.”

He said nothing else to you for the moment, instead crouching down to be on the same level as your daughter. She clung to you tightly.

“Hello, Astra. Are you hurt?” he said quietly to her. In silence, she shook her head. “Is your mother?”

“Mama is safe, I am safe,” she whispered.

It caused your heart to ache when you heard her repeat the words you told her when everything got quiet. Had you never left England, you would’ve been able to leave Sigefrid. You knew you would have had somewhere to take Astra to keep her safe from him. But when your husband was banished, he swore he would return with your father, and you knew better than to wait around for that. Your only saving grace now was that your father had died before you got back to Norway.

“Would you like to leave here? You and your ma can come with me, if you would like.”

Astra looked up at you, tears in her eyes as they had been all day. You knew that while Sigefrid had never touched either of you, he had given you both more than enough reason to be fearful. And you wanted so badly to make sure she never had to live with this fear again.

Your daughter looked to him and nodded silently. He extended his arms towards her slowly.

“Come then, little one. I will get you out of here,” he said softly. Astra, who had never trusted anyone but you, walked directly into his arms.

The sight of his arms wrapping themselves around her small body caused your heart to ache. It was something you had never thought to wish for, your daughter being in the arms of someone but you. Now you could only pray that this was her new normal.

“I’ve got you little one,” he whispered and stood up, holding her close. “I want you to close your eyes tight and put your forehead against my cheek until I tell you. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded. You watched as she squeezed her eyes shut, her whole face squinting up. Her forehead rested perfectly against his cheek, her brown hair matching his in a shocking way. It almost felt as she was made of him.

“You are as pretty as your ma, brave just like her too,” he told her. You were surprised when you heard her giggle. He looked to you. “Take my arm, Lady. “

You did as he said, stepping closer to him and holding tightly to his arm. He made sure you were not questioned or stopped as he led you out of the fortress. He already had stepped in as your protector and you barely knew him.

When you were outside the walls and far from the carnage, Sihtric finally stopped. You watched as he sat Astra down to stand on her own. He told her it was safe to open her eyes, and she looked relieved when she opened them and saw you.

“Lord,” Sihtric said as he saw Uhtred approach. He instinctually moved to stand between you both.

“Are more men following him?” Uhtred asked you, looking at you over Sihtric’s shoulder. His hand remained on his axe, though he did not unsheathe it.

“He was the last of them,” you told him. And that was the truth. Any men that hadn’t abandoned him before this battle laid dead.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” he asked.

You knew the truth of what he was asking. You were a widow now. Your husband’s family were meant to take care of you now, and your daughter. But Sigefrid was the last of his family, having killed his own brother during his last rampage. Their father had long since been dead and had no living brothers.

“No, Lord,” you told him. “He had no surviving family. And my own father died two winters ago. I was the only child.”

He looked past you to Astra. You could see in his eyes he did not trust you. And you did not trust him. You could not find it in you to trust anyone but Sihtric. But good men, which you ultimately believed Uhtred to be, did not harm little girls.

“You may come with me and my men, then. Until you find other…arrangements,” he said gruffly.

It was three and a half months when you began to worry about your future. You thought of Astra and worried endlessly for her. Her father’s reputation would stain her future forever, you feared. You had no way to provide for her truly. Should your fears be proven true, you wouldn’t even be able to arrange a proper marriage for her when the time would come.

But, you thought perhaps you were worrying too much for Astra. You stood in Uhtred’s hall, watching as Sihtric, Osferth, Finan, and Uhtred spoke, Astra settled peacefully on Sihtric’s lap. She was loved so deeply by Sihtric, and by extension the men he fought beside, one could be forgiven for thinking he was her father. Interestingly enough, she looked more like Sihtric than she ever did Sigefrid.

Uhtred looked to you and nodded, having noticed your presence for the first time. You two had a somewhat uneasy trust in each other now. Well, trust that if either of you betrayed Sihtric, or the others, the other would respond with a blade. And that seemed to make you friends.

Sihtric noticed you, immediately lighting up when he looked at you. He beckoned you to him, to Astra, the both of them holding your whole heart.

You were insane, you knew it. But from the moment you saw him those years ago, you loved him. He was obvious. You would burn down all of England for him if he were to ask.

He had never done anything but protected you and Astra from the very first moment. The day Sigefrid died, it could’ve been so much worse for her. But Sihtric was the one to make sure that no bad ever touched her since he met her.

It was one of many ways that everyone knew you two would find your way to each other. Sihtric would give everything for and to you. As far as he was concerned, the universe began and ended in you and at your feet he would worship. And there had never been a moment in which you doubted his devotion to you or Astra.

“Go say hello to your ma, little one,” Sihtric said softly to Astra.

“Okay, papa,” she giggled as she crawled off his lap while you knelt down.

It was not the first time she had referred to him as such, but it touched your soul every time you heard it. Sihtric looked to you immediately to make sure you did not think to correct her. He was not deluding himself into thinking his presence in Astra’s life could erase all the bad. But he knew, without a doubt, that she was his. From the moment he first held her in his arms, she was his girl and there was no argument he would listen to.

Your darling girl ran into your waiting arms. She was giggling, as she had done since your arrival in Coccham. She was happier than she had ever been. She felt more peaceful.

“Mama, mama, papa is making me an axe,” she told you excitedly.

“Oh is he?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you looked up to Sihtric. He blushed brightly, especially when Uhtred and Finan began to tease him for being in trouble.

“M-my love, I only,” he said, beginning to attempt an explanation.

“She will need an axe if she is going to be on my shield wall one day,” Uhtred told you, grinning from ear to ear. He stood from his seat, drumming a bit on the table, before he jogged over to you and Astra. “And if there is one thing my Little Star will be it is an excellent warrior.”

You watched as Uhtred picked her up and put her on his shoulders. She squealed and giggled until she was settled on her perch.

“If you are teaching her, then I consider myself lucky to have such a warrior in my home,” you said, standing, while grinning ear to ear. “Perhaps she will be knowledgeable enough to teach our next child.” You looked directly at Sihtric as you said ‘our’.

“Our next ten,” he said back to you. He was still blushing a bit, but he enjoyed these moments.

“And you shall birth them all? If it is up to me, you get five,” you said to him.

“You would give me five more children?” he asked excitedly. You could practically see him buzzing.

“Should you decide to take me as your wife,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging to him as you walked over to the table he sat at.

Once you were in his reach, his arm wrapped around you, hand resting on your hip. There was no hesitation from either of you as Sihtric pulled you onto his lap and you wrapped your arms around him.

At first, you had withheld from such public affection. You were only a few months a widow, you felt as though there was some need to respect your loss. But, when your husband had been so cruel to everyone around him and Sihtric was such a soft presence, you lasted perhaps a week before you made your affections clear.

“You honor me, my love,” he said softly. “To think you have already blessed me with one, and are willing to bless me with more. One would be a fool to deny the chance to be your husband.”

You kissed his cheek. It was truly simple with him. There was no darkness. Only love and warmth flowed between you both.

“You will make sure she is careful?” you asked him, bringing the conversation back to the idea of Astra getting an axe.

“Of course, my love,” he confirmed to you. “You know nothing means more to me than the safety of my girls.”

It was less than a month later that you were married. Sihtric made sure it was everything you dreamt of it, everything you were not afforded the first time around. He was watching as you danced with Astra. He loved both of you more than anyone had loved two people.

“Congratulations,” Uhtred said as he sat next to Sihtric. “You will make a fine husband.”

“Thank you, Lord,” he said, smiling. His eyes went between you and Uhtred rapidly, wanting to make sure you never disappeared.

“I see our Little Star got a hold of your hair,” Uhtred smirked as he grabbed a drink. Sihtric’s hand moved to his head, where there was a tiny braid in his hair.

“There is no finer braider in all of England,” he said. “Finan has offered to keep her tonight.”

“Did he tell you Osferth and I were asked to come too?” Uhtred chuckled.

“He did, Lord,” Sihtric laughed, taking a drink of his ale. He sat the cup down, looking to his Lord, his friend. “I want her to be mine.”

“She already is,” Uhtred said. “Nobody will deny that.”

“No, I mean....I want Astra to be just as the children of my blood. I want her to inherit, I want to be responsible for her. Entirely. And should she and my wife allow, I want to give her my name,” Sihtric said.

Uhtred could see a determination on his friend’s face that he had not quite seen before. It shone through in a burning heat. He lived for the family he had with you now. No oath superseded his oath to the two of you, and none ever would.

“Should they wish it, it is done. I will make it known Astra is to be no different than any child of your blood,” he promised his friend. “Now, go dance with your wife. Take her to bed. We will keep our Little Star.”

With a clap on the shoulder, Sihtric stood from the table and began to work his way through crowd to you. You were twirling Astra around, making her laugh and laugh. He could not imagine a more perfect life for himself.

Sihtric chuckled when Astra noticed him and ran into his legs. He knew she was his. She was meant to be his daughter. He could not be bothered by something as trivial as blood. He, of all people, knew family was not limited to blood. Family was created by love, and he loved her enough to create a universe.

Then there was you, his dear wife. He thought you looked stunning in your dress, the deep red color feeling like the physical representation of his love for you. You were more than he could have ever dreamed of. All of his life, he wanted to be what his father wasn’t. A good, honorable man who stayed for his family and loved his wife. A man worthy of love and respect.

And he realized that’s exactly how you saw him.

“Hello, my love,” you said to him when you saw him.

“Are you talking to me?” he asked teasingly, picking Astra up when she stopped dancing.

“Yes, my love. Though, perhaps you would much prefer my husband,” you said, smirking.

“Aye. After all, I will never call you anything but my wife again,” he said and rubbed his nose against Astra’s cheek.

“Hehe papa,” she said as she hugged him tightly. “I love you.”

Sihtric could feel his heart skip a beat. She had called him papa for months at this point, that was no surprise. But, Astra had not told him she loved him. And there was something so precious about hearing it.

“I love you, little one,” he said softly, pressing his lips against her forehead.

You smiled at the two of them. You wanted to hold this moment in your mind for the rest of your life. Capture it, freeze it for all of eternity, something you could hold onto and remember love.

“Now little one, Uncle Finan is excited to start your time together. Your ma and I will see you in the morning,” he told her as he sat her down.

“UNCLE FINAN I AM COMING!” Astra shouted as she ran off through the crowd.

Every person parted to let her through, allowing your eyes to follow her path to Finan. She was loved by most any in town. Her personality was loud and bright enough so that everyone knew her. Of course, it helped that she was always right by your side, and you were always close to Sihtric.

And you knew, at least within the confines of the town walls, she was safe to move about. Most everyone would agree that harming a child is egregious. Everyone agreed that harming your child was the fastest way to ensure a brutal death by the hands of Sihtric, and a quick one by Uhtred and Finan. Even Osferth, sweet Osferth, would pray for his God’s forgiveness as he took the life of anyone who would lay a finger on Astra. She was loved, she was safe. For the first time in her life she did not flinch when she was more than an inch from your skirts.

“Being my wife suits you,” Sihtric told you, drawing your eyes from Finan and Astra to him.

He looked at you with pure adoration. He worshipped you. Made certain that he loved you enough to make the bad parts of your life feel like another lifetime.

“Just as being my husband suits you,” you said to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you tightly to him. He breathed you in, feeling overwhelmed by you. Everything about you was intoxicating to him. From your beauty, the way you smelled, the way your body pressed against his own, there was nothing that could dampen his desire of you.

“Then it seems we are in agreement,” he said.

“That it does,” you said softly, leaning forward slightly. Your lips hovered next to his ear. “And I think I would like to feel my husband.”

You felt him shudder with your words, the unmistakable hardness of his erection beginning to dig into you. It had not been difficult to get him excited these last months. Even after both of you had agreed to wait until you were married, you had enjoyed riling him up before he returned to his own home.

“I have dreamt of this night for years,” he muttered to you. “From the moment I first saw you, I knew you were mine. I dreamt of my cock sinking deep into you for hours on end.”

It was your turn now for a shiver down your spine. There was no part of you that could deny dreaming of the same thing for just as long. In the years trying to exist outside of England, the nights where you went to bed amidst yells and cheers during another fight to the death for Sigefrid’s amusement, you dreamt of his mismatched eyes. Of his sharp beauty. Of a life you now got to share with him.

You weren’t sure who broke away first between the two of you, but it wasn’t long before you were walking down the streets to his, no your, home. The home you would grow old together in, gods be good. And the two of you couldn’t keep from stopping every few feet, pulling the other for a deep, passionate kiss.

When you finally arrived at the house, he picked you up and carried you over the threshold. In fact, he did not put you down until he could place you on the bed. You had barely recognized that you were laying on it before he was hovering over you, repeatedly kissing your neck.

“Such a pretty wife,” he muttered with every kiss. You put your head back to expose more of your sensitive skin. “Have been blessed, haven’t I? Blessed by the gods to be given such a pretty wife.”

You placed a hand on the bag of his head and gripped his hair firmly. Despite the pull on his hair, you only brought him closer into you. You could feel him starting to grind himself against your thigh, desperately looking for some relief.

“Fuck, Sihtric,” you moaned out. But when his name left your lips, he nipped at your neck quickly. It took you by surprise, causing a quiet squeak to escape you.

“Be a good, pretty wife and do not use my name tonight,” he whispered in your ear.

“Such a demanding husband I have,” you teased. “So desperate to fuck me he has to rut against me like an animal.”

He groaned into your neck at your words, his right hand beginning to fumble with the fastenings of your dress. You ignored the shaking of your own hands, your need of Sihtric outweighing your nerves. This was meant to be, after all. And you had faith it would be perfect.

“Use your mouth for better things and perhaps I will let you fuck a child into me tonight,” you told him. This time it was not a groan, but a quiet whimper, that left his lips. His fingers struggled with undressing you, the way it was held to your body being more complicated than he had thought.

He pulled back entirely, sitting up on his knees as he began reaching for the knife he carried. He cut the fabric of your dress away from your body. You stared at him, eyes heavy with lust.

“Nothing but a dress, you can replace it,” he told you. You could only nod at him as he helped remove the material away completely. After a moment, the tattered remains of the dress and his knife fell together to the floor, just as quickly forgotten.

He stared at your naked form. He could not help it, truly. Everything about you was perfect for him. He leaned forward and kissed you once more, before his lips started trailing down your body. Along your jawline, down your neck, over your collarbone. He only took pause when he got to your breasts. Sihtric’s left hand began pawing at one while his lips wrapped around your nipple.

You moaned quietly as he sucked while massaging your soft flesh. Your eyes fluttered shut, whimpering every time he decided to graze your nipple with his teeth. You wanted to beg him to give you more, to pleasure your aching cunt.

He groaned to himself before pulling away from your breasts entirely, muttering a promise he would play with them more. You almost started to laugh, only for it to catch in your throat when his fingers found your slick. He smirked down at you.

“You must really enjoy this, wife,” he whispered teasingly. His fingers ran up and down your folds, deliberate in their light touching of your pearl.

“Of course, I have only dreamt of you as my husband a few dozen times now,” you told him. Your thighs trembled a bit as you resisted the urge to buck your hips into his hand.

He hummed quietly as he allowed his finger to sink into you. While you became a whimpering mess, he just slowly thrust his finger in and out. Never had you known such bliss. His finger felt thicker than you had anticipated.

“What is it, pretty wife? Cannot think through your pleasure?” he asked you, looking directly into your eyes.

Your resolve finally broke. With a moan, you allowed your hips to move to meet his hand. All you could think of was chasing your pleasure with him.

“You say I am demanding, but you are so needy,” he cooed. He pushed another finger into you, curling his fingers slightly with every thrust of them. His touch was perfectly focused on the spongy spot inside you.

“Love, my love, please, fuck, please,” you moaned. You couldn’t finish a single thought as you felt a band tightening behind your navel.

You had only experienced such a feeling with yourself. Pleasure had never been at the forefront of your life. Until now, at least, since Sihtric seemed determined to make you reach that point. He increased the speed of his fingers movements.

“Cum for me,” he practically demanded of you. His voice was quiet, meant only for your ears, but forceful in nature. “And then I’ll give you my cock. Such a good girl, you deserve it. Don’t you, my love?”

“Y-yes,” you whispered. You gripped the furs under you tightly, the edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“Deserve my cock, deserve my love. You have both, entirely, you understand?” he asked you, his thumb barely ghosting against your pearl.

“Yes, fuck, my love, my husband,” you whined pathetically. It seemed to please him, at least enough.

His thumb finally rested against the bundle of nerves, rubbing circles in time with every thrust of his fingers. The band finally snapped as you cried out, back arching off the bed. A jumbled mess of his name, husband, love, and expletives left your tongue.

You were able to watch as Sihtric removed his touch from you entirely. He brought his fingers to his lips before he sucked them clean, earning another whimper from you. And then you got to watch him undress, his shirt and pants being flung away in a matter of moments.

You weren’t entirely sure which of the gods had blessed you, but you thanked everyone of them when Sihtric stood naked before you. His toned chest and stomach was near flawless, save for a few scars earned in battle. The Thor’s hammer pendant rested against his taut chest. Your gaze washed over the grooves of his form, able to count each muscle, until they finally landed on his cock.

He was blessed even then. His heavy cock bobbed with need. When his eyes caught yours, he smirked at your hungry gaze. He was long and thick enough to make you question just how exactly you were meant to take him in entirely.

Sihtric couldn’t hide his smirk when he grabbed you by the hips and pulled your body closer to his. He groaned softly as his cock now rested against you, already collecting your slick.

“I love you,” he said to you, his voice softer than the cocky look etched on his face would have you expect.

You tried to stutter out some response before he started rubbing himself against you. Anytime the head brushed against your pearl, the feeling stole your words and sent shockwaves through your body. There was a pride he felt at already having you responding like this before having even fucked you.

“I love…fuck, fuck me, fuck I love you,” you finally managed to get out.

“Good girl, using your words,” he cooed. He moved his cock to start pressing against your entrance. “Are you going to keep being a good girl, love?”

“Yes,” you said weakly and nodded

He smiled at you. He grabbed your leg gently, hooking it on his arm, as he leaned down to bring his face closer to you. Your knee pressed against your chest while he kissed you. You melted into his kiss, your hands releasing the furs you laid up on to hold his face gently.

Your kiss only ended on account of the way he couldn’t hold back his whines and whimpers when he pushed into you. He couldn’t help the way your name left him when you took half of him without issue.

He pulled himself away to look down at your face. After a moment, he looked between your bodies and groaned when he saw you impaled on his cock.

“Fuck, such a pretty wife I have,” he muttered. “You ready for more, my love?” he asked when he reconnected your gaze.

“Yes,” you told him, nodding eagerly.

He groaned as he moved his hips forward. It was pure bliss for both of you. His cock throbbed with every thrust, your walls clenching tightly around him. Every nerve ending in both of you felt like it was on fire as your connection only grew. Sihtric watched you every second, trying to make sure it was as mind blowing for you as it was for him.

His speed increased desperately. He needed more, you needed more. Your hands roamed his body, your moans filling his ears like a beautiful song. The head of his cock kept moving against the spongy spot inside, making your thighs tremble once again.

You watched him as he thrust into you. His pendant and your breasts moved in time with his thrusts, captivating him. You could see him teetering the line of control and instinct. He wanted this to be sweet for you, to be perfect, everything you deserved. He has heard enough stories of your life to know you deserved more than to once again be used for someone else’s pleasure.

“Such a good husband already,” you told him, gripping his biceps. His gaze softened when you spoke, his hips stuttering a bit. “We have all our lives for you to make me scream your name in pleasure, do we not? “

He nodded wordlessly. His cock never once stilled in you as he watched you. He kept grunting under his breath, every noise ending in what sounded like a whine.

“Then I say tonight, I want you to finish inside of me until there is no doubt that come morning I am carrying your child,” you commanded.

His mouth hung open, his hips slowing a bit as he stared down at you. You could see him searching for any uncertainty on your face. Yet, he could search for his entire life and never find in you any doubt of him.

You couldn’t help yourself. You leaned up and took his pendant of Thor’s hammer in between your teeth before looking directly into his eyes. His thrusts picked up in speed, going harder and deeper than before.

He closed the gap between you, his lips coming next to your ear as he finally released your leg. On one side all you could hear a symphony of skin slapping against skin as he fucked you at an almost bruising intensity. In the other, he began to whimper and whine for you.

“Pretty wife, amazing mother,” he whispered in your ear, punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips. He was throbbing inside you and you could feel just how close he was. The way he twitched and pushed against you, his weight pressing into your chest, the band started to tighten again.

“Already a desperate man for you,” he grunted. You were incapable of getting any sound to leave your mouth. All you could do was focus on his word, his sounds, his movements. He was all you knew to be true in this moment.

“Can’t wait to see you pregnant. Probably prettier, round with child and tits swollen with milk. Fuck,” he said to you as his hips started stuttering more frequently.

Your orgasm overcame you finally, causing you to cry out his name. You were barely aware of his whisperings still in your ear.

“That’s a good girl, fuck, yes, my pretty wife,” he practically growled in your ear. Finally, his thrusts stopped, his cock buried inside you as he released ropes of hot cum into you. Sihtric let out a sound with every throb.

You were trembling when he pulled himself from you, breathing heavily. Carefully, he maneuvered the furs out from under your body before carefully covering you both. You moved closer to him and laid your head on his chest. His arm wrapped around you, holding you as though he was terrified of you walking out the door.

You laid there in silence for several moments, basking in the way you felt. With being given from your father to Sigefrid, you had never known much of love or safety. You had never really known kindness. You had feared for so long that the violence and chaos both of them had brought into their lives and halls would haunt you forever.

Yet, laying here in Sihtric’s arms, you almost couldn’t remember how they made you feel. He made you feel so powerful, so loved, so worshipped beyond belief that you would now go days without thinking of the horrors of your past. Even Astra seemed to feel nothing but safety and love.

You turned your face to look at him. He was looking happily down at you, a cheesy, lazy little grin splashed on his face. You were certain nothing could get better than this.

“I love you,” you said softly. “Especially your eyes.”

He rolled them, yet the smile never faded. “Which is your favorite?” he asked.

“Oh no, that is like trying to choose a favorite mountain, or snowflake. Each so unique, so special, one would be an ignorant fool to pick a favorite,” you told him, smiling up at him. “Luckily, I do not have to. I get to enjoy them until I die.”

“Oh? And if I die before you?” he teased, kissing your forehead.

“You are not allowed. I cannot let you walk into Valhalla without me there to greet you, even if that means I will need to pick up an axe again,” you said simply. It was your truth. “I have spent my entire life waiting for the love you give me. You are not allowed to ever make me live without it again, husband.”

Sihtric tried to hide it, but you could see him wiggle just a bit, his smile spread further, when you addressed him as husband. In the moments past, he was too distracted by lust. But now it was sinking in, for both of you, and you felt just as joyful as him.

“Of course, wife. I would not dare leave you to raise our ten children alone,” he said, smirking as you laughed.

“I believe I said five more,” you told him, raising an eyebrow.

“I believe Freyja will bless us with a small army, as much as I plan to bury my cock in you,” he told you, kissing your forehead. “Speaking of.”

Sihtric smirked before kissing you again, pulling you on top of him. You felt your laugh rumble in your chest as you couldn’t help but kiss him back.

You were finally no longer a bargaining chip.

Taglist: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @gemini-mama @alexagirlie

#the last kingdom #sihtric x you #sihtric kjartansson #dividers by benkeibear #sihtric x you smut

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antispopausandstuff · 7 days

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idk if i would label c//a a proship but it’s definitely interesting that stans conveniently ignore all the sibling coding in this ship unless they want to talk about catra’s trauma and her jealousy towards adora. also “ridiculous abuse allegations” lmao sure whatever helps you sleep at night ☠️

i label it as proship because siblings, blood or not, are still siblings, especially since Shadow Weaver 'raised' them both and continued to negatively affect their lives to adulthood. after learning what 'siscon' is, i can definitely say Catra fits into that description, which makes the relationship proship material. at least, in my eyes.

that aside for a second, was the original reposter even referring to c//a or did this stan feel like it was specifically about c//a? if it's the first one, okay, makes sense, but if the stan didn't even see any evidence of c//a being mentioned or that this person was an anti, then that speaks for itself.

going back to the main conversation, though:

"wdym two people knowing each other for most of their lives is problematic now if it ends up not being platonic anymore"

these people don't know the difference between being raised in the same area and being raised in the same household.

if Catra and Adora were raised in the Horde, but by two different people, than that's a whole different story than the one we got. that isn't what happened, though. Shadow Weaver abused them both as their maternal figure and royally fucked them over.

so, this person is twisting it and making it too generalized and vague. it's not a case of them just "knowing each other", they're related.

this is the exact situation with Barry Allen and Iris West in The Flash ( 2014 ) by CW, where Joe West ( Iris' dad ) raised Barry after the death of his mother and his father being falsely accused of murdering her, but Barry and Iris still ended up together, married, and having a child together.

and, by the way, the show directly says that Joe is his adoptive father. more than once. like, in plain text. without batting an eye.

c//a is like that, but Joe wasn't an abusive father and the show was somehow a whole lot more upfront about it and not giving a single goddamn fuck. younger me should not have watched that show.

yeah, this person is just keeping out important context and just replacing it with "knowing each other".

not gonna touch the abuse allegations comment, you already know.

#spop #she ra #spop critical #spop salt #spop criticism #spop discourse #spop adora #she ra adora #adora #adora deserves better #adora deserved better #spop catra #she ra catra #catra #anti catra #anticatra #anti catradora #anticatradora

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devouringbodies · 2 months

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Hi there! Love your blog, love your tag system, and was wondering if you could share a bit about #mylimacore and your version of Mischa? I'm so intrigued! (Sorry, of course, if this has already been asked and I simply missed the post. Oops) 🦌

I was so excited to get an ask like this you have no idea. Please if anyone has questions about my tags or actually bothers to look through them ever please tell me cause I could talk about them all day haha. So thank you! I'm sorry in advance for the incoming essay 😂.

cw: cannibalism(obvs), familial abuse and incest

So the vague concept of my AU Mischa has all practically been built off this post originally, some aesthetics and ideas I've brewed on since then, as well as an Amazing conversation I had with @mortuaryboyfriend

A few key things to keep in mind to justify my thought process:

i. How would Mischa, if she lived, go on to process her trauma that she shares with Hannibal?

ii. "No one who survives Hannibal remains morally pure" - thank you to Peter for this statement it has lived in my head rent free since 🖤

Mischa has no characterization, in the novel, nor the film Hannibal rising, she is a faceless, blonde little plot devise that drives Hannibal's motives, but she also, in every sense of the word, haunts Hannibal's entire narrative. So she is basically a blank slate as far as characterization goes, but that's where the fun can happen, as we only have Hannibal to compare to, and the theories on how the experience they share would impact them if they had each other to lean on.

Hannibal has said that he "forgave" Mischa her influence on him. What "influence"? Well, in the novel, Mischa is the only thing Hannibal ever loves, he knew he was different since he was young and she was the first thing to make him feel literally anything. Bedelia in the show references the association Hannibal has with love, comparing both Will and Mischa, how it's an influence and its connotation is it makes him feel betrayed by himself, as if these feelings are a burden. So I imagine Mischa and Hannibal growing up together, with Hannibal having this ever growing resentment, but simultaneous unconditional love for Mischa. On the flip side, I imagine Mischa, a child praised and adored and perceived perfect in every way, who would grow and eventually sense her brother's torment. I see them forming an extremely codependent relationship in the wake of their trauma, and Mischa, so desperate to keep her brother, would quite possibly forgive him all his trespasses, actions, and love him for his inner monster all the more, cause he's hers, he protected her.

It's in this vein that we grow her character from here. I see her ultimately as morally grey/teetering towards evil. I'm unsure if she would ever have Hannibal's appetite, but she would love and support him regardless, I see her as being bemused by his games, but viciously protective and vengeful over him. Hannibal loves to play his games with everyone, and she would go along of course, but I think she would have difficulty with restraint if anyone got too close, and would lash out and murder without hesitation if Hannibal was threatened. Hannibal often says she's "ruining his fun". But there's a degree of spoiledness she can't help, she's his doting little sister after all.

It's also in this vein of fierce protectiveness of each other combined with their trauma-born codependency that I truly think they would spiral into something incestuous eventually. They would never, ever let another person get close to the other, and they would fulfill all of each other's needs I think. They both would be capable of living without romance or sex for their entire lives I'm sure, specifically and especially Hannibal, but I can't see them having that moral boundary personally, so for them I imagine it would just be an inevitable step.

Now diving into some of my own personal headcanon's for Mischa.

I think she would share Hannibal's love for the arts, though she would grow bored of the historic gab about it Hannibal favors quickly. I think she'd be more physical. I see her as a dancer, particularly Ballet, or into high theater arts, Shakespeare and classical tragedies.

I see her as this almost dual pointed sword of a character. She is so perfectly revered as a child forever in canon-Hannibal's mind, so I love the idea of this juxtaposition of her as this pure, innocent beauty, who often in reality is sensuous, cruel and violent. Hence my swan/black swan motifs. She lives in this spectrum of perceived innocence, but has brambles and thorns bubbling up inside her.

I made this post and decided that swans was my own personal visual motif for her, as black swans are mentioned on the Lecter estate and brought up a couple times throughout the book Hannibal Rising. The way that white swans represent innocence and purity vs the temptation and depravity of the black swan. It seemed fitting.

Also.

When thinking about Mischa in-canon narratively, as I mentioned, she seemed to haunt Hannibal's story. So when I stumbled across the concept of "black swan theory" - a metaphor that means "something that isn't supposed to exist, an impossibility," when applying that to my AU, where Mischa, who's character is a ghost in every sense, but made real against the odds, changing both everything and nothing, it felt extraordinarily apt.

Speaking of, as far as "how she survives" to quote Hannibal, I'm vague on those details lmao. BUT I know it involves cannibalism because it has to. It always has to. Whether some miracle sickness or woe befalls the brutal men who hold them captive and the children must eat them, or they get dispatched some other way and Hannibal has to start cutting his fingers off for Mischa and him to gnaw on (he starts with that extra one of course 😂) I know that it still involves cannibalism in some way.

So that's basically it! Again she's still mostly kinda just this vague blob idea in my head that has very specific Vibes. But hopefully this explains it a bit better. So sorry that this is way more than you asked for, but I get carried away lol ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thank you for the wonderful ask though! Have a great day 🖤

Also here are a few mood pieces from my Mischa Pinterest board too, just for funsies. Cause this post isn't long enough already, obviously.

Also linking my other previous posts that mention her cause tumblr has apparently ate my Mischa lecter tag </3

#🪰#hannibal #hannibal lecter #mischa lecter #hannibal rising #nbc hannibal #cw incest #I didn't even touch on the gothic themes and fairy tale themes ughhhh #I can literally never shut up I'm so sorry #also. This was primarily about Mischa so I didn't really get into how I think it would affect Hannibal in this au #and how he'd be different but spoiler alert it's not much. But I do have Thots on it if anyone wants to know those too #NOT TO EVEN MENTION WILL #cause I also have many thoughts regarding him in this au and they are all very much of a crimson peak flavor lol

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ashintheairlikesnow · 8 months

Text

His Word Goes Forth

CW: Referenced past child abuse, some emeto references (brief, vague), some dissoci@tion towards the end, alcohol references, prostitution references. Just a whole load of references. But I am so excited to finally be able to write this chapter and introduce... Gilly's children.

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

The Hotel Import, Grand Island, the Colonies

Guilford Wentworth the Fifth - who went by Ford and told everyone who didn’t already know his parentage that his name was Wilford Prose, simply a cousin to the illustrious Wentworth name - woke up to sunlight streaming in through the gauzy curtains, bright like daggers against his closed eyes.

He’d been meant to go to the symphony last night and make some sort of connection with a man whose properties his father admired, a man named Hogarth or something who owned too much land and not enough good common sense to know to avoid anything to do with the Wentworth businesses. Ford had been told to convince him a visit to the Continent would do him good, to stop by the Wentworth estate and meet the elder Guilford.

He’d been told to make many such meetings before, and usually he did as he was told. Ford had ceased to be treated as a child and had become just another tool in his father’s toolbox since his mother died and could no longer shield her children. He’d been good at it at first.

But now… He was only eighteen and already he was tired of this.

And last night, he’d decided to let tired win the day.

Instead of making contact at the symphony, he’d instead allowed himself to be distracted by the promise of further liquor in a dark men’s club down the street, and spent his night in pursuit of new ways to forget his hated name.

He had succeeded, however briefly.

Unfortunately, the end result was that Ford woke up knowing his own name very well still, but with a headache that threatened to split him in two from temple to chin, a tongue that felt like cotton stuffed into his mouth, and a stomach that was either threatening to empty itself or ravenous for food and it couldn’t seem to decide which.

“Damn the sun,” He groaned, still feeling the ebb and swell of the liquor from the night before within him, stretching against the sheets. There was an ache in his hips that he enjoyed more than he disliked it, and when he tried to open one eye to look down at himself, there were marks of red from someone’s rouge, he thought, along the insides of his thighs. “... huh.”

Rubbing his face, he slowly sat up, squinting against the pain. There was a bottle with at least two good drinks left in it on the table next to the bed, and he drank it all, feeling it burn all the way down.It would help hold off the worst of the ache, though, at least until he could find somewhere darker to hide away from the daylight and a draught of laudanum to send him back to sleep.

Then, when he woke up once more, he’d need to come up with an excuse for why Hogarth Whoever wasn’t already boarding a ship for the Continent, to be swayed by his father’s monster like everyone else was.

That could wait, though. At least for however long it took to sleep off last night, both the alcohol and the pleasures that came with the darker bars and the seedier places in the city. Ocean air and warm nights made pleasures easy to find, and there were plenty of people who wanted money to eat more than they wanted their own virtue intact.

Ford had plenty of money.

Although even the money wasn’t really his.

He sighed, dropping back into the bed. There wasn’t anyone in the bed, although there had been when he went to sleep. Or passed out. Whichever it was that he’d done.

There’d been a young man, his own age - what was his name? It didn’t matter. None of their names mattered. Once they had coins in hand he could call them anything he wanted and they’d do anything they were told. Nothing there beside him now but empty space.

When he laid his hand there, it was still warm.

“Damn,” He whispered, then checked the other side, where there had been a lovely woman. Had the two known each other? He couldn’t remember. Well, in any case, that space was equally emptied, and it wasn’t warm at all.

She’d left long before the man had.

“Well… double damn,” Ford said, voice a little rasping. One of his last clear memories had been shout-singing along with the sea shanties sung by the sailors come on shore to drink and whore with the rest. Had the young man been a sailor on leave? Might have been... “If he told me his name, I forgot it. I rather liked them.”

His eyes drifted closed again.

“Of course you did,” His sister’s voice came, warm as the ocean nearest the shore, dry as the desert wind, breaking through his thoughts. “You like them all, because you are an idiot with money and that makes them like you.”

Ford gasped, his heart half-stopped before his mind caught up and he realized she wasn’t actually in the bedroom, but out in the sitting area where he couldn’t see her - and more importantly, she couldn’t see him. Even so, he felt himself flush and yanked the blankets up to cover himself, sitting upright all at once.

“Nathalie! What in the gods’ names-”

He heard the rustle of the morning paper. “Good morning,” Nathalie said, without even the slightest change in tone. “How are you, dear beloved sister? Oh, I’m fine, Ford, thank you for asking. Did you just arrive, Natty? Why yes, Ford, I did, it is so lovely of you to ask after my health-”

“Fine, fine, Nathalie, I get it. Just-... hold on, let me dress and I’ll join you.” Ford snorted, reaching blindly towards the floor and grabbing at the first pieces of clothing he found there. The suit he’d been meant to wear to the symphony, now a wrinkled mess - but it wasn’t like his sister would care, or even as if it were the first time she’d seen him in disarray after a night wasted. He had to fight a swell of dizzy nausea as soon as he was on his feet, leaning against the wall and letting his fingers scrape the textured wallpaper there, a series of flowers in dim pastels against cream. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

“I asked at the desk if my brother was here carousing with whores,” Nathalie said. The paper rustled again as she turned the page, as if punctuating her sentence. “And the sweet young man at the desk informed me that you were, indeed, carousing with whores. I paid him to let me in and threw out the whore.”

Ford swallowed thickly, walking with slow, careful steps along the cool wooden floor to the doorway, his shirt half-buttoned and the linen a mess of wrinkles. “There were two.”

“Of course there were.” Nathalie set the paper down and turned to look at him. She looked like their mother - both Ford and Nathalie looked like her, thank any god who might have been responsible. They had her delicacy, her bright wide eyes. Nathalie looked the most like her, though. And now she turned their mother’s look of solemn, disappointed judgment on him just like she had. “There was only one when I arrived. I sent him away.”

“Hmph. I thought he was quite nice, I was hoping to seek him out again. I can’t recall if he told me his name, though.” He dropped into a chair at the little breakfast table she’d set herself up at, slumping against the hard wooden back and tipping his head back. The world swayed dangerously around him when he did.

“His name was Darren,” Nathalie said, and when he opened his eyes to look at her, he found that the disappointment had become the slightest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth. “Darren Meander.”

“That… He cannot have been speaking true to you.”

“I don’t care if he was or wasn’t, it’s what he told me. There, now you have a name if you want to find him again.”

“Thank you. Why did you bother?”

“You get on better with the whores than you do with your own class,” Nathalie said, as if the answer were obvious. “And you’re going to seek them out anyway. Besides, I use you as proof positive to myself of something I have always known.”

“What…?”

“That I, Lady Nathalie Wentworth, shall never marry, since any man of means or with a good family name may be as dissolute and pointless as you are.” She winked at him, and he might even have found it in himself to laugh if his stomach hadn’t twisted angrily at the thought. “I do enough picking up after you, I don’t think I am in need of any other man to deal with.”

“I’m sure you can find a pious man and get to him before he joins the priesthood,” Ford muttered, his face hot with guilt. She really did so often have to handle things for him, things he should have handled himself as the eldest.

Nathalie was younger than him, only just now sixteen, but she’d always seemed older, more second mother than sister some days. Maybe because, since their mother had died - when he was eleven and she was only nine - she’d done all the mothering of the twins, all the hiding them from the attention of their father, holding them in the night after nightmares or when the coastal storms raged.

Ford’s job, back then, had been to take the brunt of his father’s anger, keep Guilford’s eyes - and his fists - on him, and only him. It had kept Nathalie and the twins safe, for years… until their lordly father had split them all apart and declared the twins were old enough for finishing school, Ford was ready to take over the business interests in the Colonies, and Nathalie was old enough to run her own household and prepare for marriage.

Still.

They were all still far, far away from their father, and therefore safe from his direct influence, his attention, and his damnable monster.

Still.

Ford sighed, watching a shivery little rainbow from the sun shining through a window just right bounce off the ceiling. “In any case, I’ve hardly caused enough trouble to cross the channel and find you. What are you doing here, anyway?”

Nathalie didn’t look up from the paper she was scanning, but she gestured at a carafe before her. It had freshly-brewed coffee that steamed as he poured it into a teacup, and he sighed happily at the first sip. She hummed. “I came to see you.”

“You’re meant to be up at Howe House.”

“I was up at Howe House. I’ve been supervising it for months. It’s nearly habitable, which is lovely, considering I’ve been habiting there amongst the dust and the mouse droppings all this time.” Nathalie finally set the paper down, crossing her arms on the table and looking Ford over. She was pristine, in a light-blue linen dress made for the hot island days, her hair pulled back in a chignon to keep it from suffocating the back of her neck. “Oh, Ford. You look awful.”

“I feel awful, thank you ever so much for noticing.” He drained the first cup of coffee and poured a second, his tongue flat and numb from the too-hot liquid. He didn’t care. “So if you were at Howe House, why aren’t you there now? It’s a four-day sail to get here from there, and you sent no warning-”

“I absolutely did send you a notice, you shattered teapot of a man. You just haven’t been home in a week, I checked when I arrived. Your servants haven’t seen you since last Wednesday and not a single one had a clue where to find you except your butler.”

“Yes, well, he’s the only one I told when I left that I was going to stay here.” Ford exhaled. His sister’s constant piercing stare wasn’t helping his headache even a little bit. His stomach turned over itself and he fought back the urge to simply be sick all over this lovely table and Nathalie’s lovely dress. “... I hate the house. I avoid it whenever I can.”

“Clearly.” Something in his sister’s bristling manner softened, a little. She reached out to lay a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Ford. I know this… wasn’t how we hoped it would be, when we were young.”

Ford laid a hand over hers. His fingers felt chilled and numb - hers, by contrast, felt bright and warm and full of life. “We thought we could go farther from him, that he wouldn’t follow us. But…”

That had been when their mother was alive, and they had thought they could bring her with. Neither of them said it. Both of them heard it, anyway, even unsaid.

Ford cleared his throat. “... but if this is what our father wants, we must help to build and maintain the Wentworth name and fortune.”

“I know.” She squeezed his arm, brief but firm, and then let go of him, glancing back down at the paper. “I know. And we are, however we hate our parts, we play them. For the twins, at least.”

“For the twins. They’ll… be out of school in a few years, and by then, maybe-”

“Maybe.” She cut him off. She poured herself a coffee, then, holding it in both hands. Her nails were bitten nearly to the quick, the one bad habit that had never been broken in her no matter their father’s rages. “I should tell you, Ford, this is not a social visit. I was… sent here to pick you up.”

“You were?” Ford sat up straighter, and felt a frisson of dread like an electric eel moving inside of him. “By-... Nathalie, not by-”

“Yes. By… our father.”

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “... why?”

She took in a breath, wincing and pressing one hand to her side as the mere expansion of her ribs pushed against the tightly-fitted bodice. The style of the times, for wealthy young women, and Ford had spent more than a few nights undoing laces of young ladies wondering if ‘style’ was just a pretty way to avoid saying suffocation. At least the lower class women he spent most of his time with were allowed to breathe.

Nathalie’s voice was so soft it was nearly a whisper. “You were supposed to be packed and ready to go when I arrived, Ford. I was supposed to explain it to you on the ship.”

“... what?” He blinked.

"Father's letter to me made it clear I wasn't to tell you until we were underway, but-... but I meant to regardless, just-... I expected you to have seen my letter."

"... Ah." The mere mention of his father had made his stomach try to rise up in his throat again, and the idea of going back on a ship - the weeks of seasickness and then the week of land sickness afterward when he had to get used to being solid and still once again - made it much much worse. He had to swallow hard as bile rose and lean over, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the table and pressing one hand over his belly to try and calm it with the pressure.

The morning breeze blew in through the windows, bringing the salt-scent of ocean air with it. There came with the welcome salt the faint hint of dead fish, a simple fact of life everyone tried to ignore. You got used to it. Ford had gotten used to it, in the end. But it didn’t help his stomach feel any better now, or stop his heart from racing. “Father sent you... to pick me up? I am to live at Howe House with you now?” He groaned against the tabletop without looking up. “That house is full of ghosts!”

“It is not.” Nathalie rolled her eyes. He could hear her shoe tapping impatiently under the table and her cup clatter against the saucer as she put it back down. “That’s an old wives’ tale, I’ve never met a single one and I’ve been living there for more than a year.”

“Yeah, because you aren’t the heir, they don’t loathe you like they do me.”

“There are no spirits haunting Howe House,” Nathalie said firmly. “And if there were, why would they hate you?”

“The same reason I have such hatred for myself, due to the blood in my veins! His blood!"

Oh, he’d spoken too loud. The pain in his head spiked with his voice's volume, and he had to close his eyes tightly and breathe in quick, shallow pants until it ebbed again.

Nathalie was silent, but her hand laid on his back, then, rubbing gently up and down. Just like their mother had, when they were young and came to her with sickness. She gave him a moment or two of quiet, which... it helped, honestly. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth,” She murmured. “And remember what Mother said."

"It is only blood," Ford muttered, mouth barely moving. "She had no idea how deep the ties of blood run."

"Yes she did. And... I understand, Ford, I wish as much as you that we could change our names and be gone, but you know we can’t."

"The twins need us."

"Yes. Besides, Father-”

“Why, why would Father even think of me? I’ve done everything I can to get him to forget me entirely, Nathalie!”

“Oh, is that what the drinking and whoring were about? Being easily forgotten?” Nathalie’s humor was sharp, but it never quite cut deep. He knew her too well for that, and she was still gentling herself for his sake. He made himself sit up and look over at her. There was something in the set of her face that had his nerves singing in worry. “Listen to me, Ford. You aren’t coming to stay at Howe House.”

“Well, he can’t have sent you to scold me about… this.” He gestured at the wreckage of the hotel suite around him, bottles emptied or half-emptied. It looked as though at least one of his guests the night before had left their shirt behind. Or maybe that was one of his, and it had been unpacked… He’d never seen it before, but that didn’t mean much. Ford’s clothing was bought according to his father’s specifications, he never knew of it until he was sent for tailoring. “He doesn’t even know about it.”

“You cannot be sure, but… no, no, it’s not about this.” She licked at her lips, looking uneasily over to the window. Outside, the sun shone in a perfect, cloudless blue sky. The sound of people going about their lives down there filtered up to them. “... Ford. He calls us. We have been summoned... home.”

His heart chilled at the word. "No."

"Yes." Nathalie exhaled, folding her hands in front of her. She looked everywhere but him, and he tried without success to follow her gaze. “He’s… sent for us, Ford. You know why. You know what that means.”

“Either of us, really.” His voice was a whisper, airless. The hotel suite around him seemed suddenly transparent, as if he weren’t even seated here within it. As if it were all a pretty fiction, a daydream he had at night with Wentworth Manor crowding ever closer, his father’s eyes everywhere searching for faults, always finding them. His father’s monster with teeth bared and loathing in its dreadful eyes. “It could be for either of us. You’re sixteen, I’m eighteen, it could-... it could be for you, or for me, it could be-”

“... I think it’s for you.” She took his hand in both of hers again, and this time she held on tight. They looked at each other, with their mother’s eyes, and Ford felt the wave of fear he had spent his time here on the islands trying to escape breaking over his head, to drag him under again. “I think Father has found you a wife.”

The sun shone. Birds sang. The ocean was a constant dull, reassuring roar just outside the window. Despite the heat, Ford shivered with a depthless chill and felt water closing over his head, drowning him in the dark with all his fears coming suddenly to life.

“How-” His voice broke.

He had to swallow down terror, just like he had done since he was a child, and straighten his shoulders. He had to tell himself the world was only a play, and he was only a part his father had imperfectly cast. He had to keep his own life at a distance, and not feel it, or he would feel too much. The world had too many sharp edges, and he must stand apart from them or be slashed to ribbons. “Nathalie-”

“Please,” Nathalie whispered. “Please don’t ask, Ford. Don't, I won't know the answer, none of us know."

“How long?”

She didn’t answer, only looked away. He could see the glimmer in her eyes, knew it for what it was. It made the world feel even more distance, as if he were adrift in a lifeboat, the tide carrying him away from his own body. The escape was a gift or a curse, and he didn't know which.

His mouth still moved, without his consent. Without his decree. It asked the question neither of them knew the answer to, the question that haunted every Guilford Wentworth but the first.

“After I’m married, Nathalie... after he has given me to his bride, and the monster has taken my mind and will from me... after he has me shut up in his house again..."

His voice felt like someone else's. His body was only a creation that carried blood to a new generation, to give his father more power. He was far, far away from it.

"Nathalie-"

"Please, Ford-"

"How long will he... let me live?”

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

#bones in the ocean #child of whumper #worldbuilding stuff #fantasy whump #fantasy writing #original fantasy writing #original fantasy #writers on tumblr #writblr #original fiction #referenced captivity #dissoci@tion tw #referenced child abuse #whumpers who are also whumpees

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dappy-dappernette · 1 year

Text

IMPORTANT: PLEASE READ

Well, here it is. Since me defending myself last time without naming anyone is a “call out post” I wonder what this is.

CW: Discussion of abuse, manipulation, and accusations of gr--ming, s-icide faking.

While it may not seem like it, since last year I have been paranoid and looking over my shoulder due to certain things that have come to light regarding someone who I had once considered a friend. The person who has gone on to blatantly lie about my friends and I as well as accusing me of a serious crime based on lies and manipulations is the user @Chibidashie (on Tumblr)/ @Chibiidashie (on Twitter) also known as @Wonderful-World-Of-Hetalia, @Purin-Hime, and @hetalia-themagicalmanac on Tumblr.

I’d like to keep this as brief and concise as possible, and while she has made multiple posts vagueing my friends and I, I will be primarily responding to the claims made in this post ( https://www.tumblr.com/chibidashie/700598829666451456/alright-this-is-gonna-be-very-risky-posting-here?source=share ) she made about my friends and I on tumblr, though I will also address other notable times she has mentioned me. I will also only be responding to the claims she has made against me and/or my gf, as I don’t feel like it’s my place to speak for the rest of my friends, especially since some of them will be making their own posts regarding the situation.

Something I’d also like to address before we start is that while I do have screenshots for most of these incidents, I don’t have screenshots for all of them, as some of these conversations have happened over VC and while we are telling our truth, we understand if you are skeptical about those specific sections.

Here is my friend Mick's post about the situation, since it mostly started between him and Cheebs: Here

(The rest of the post under the cut)

Some Context:

I had met Cheebs about two years ago in my friend Mick’s (then known as Gil and who will be referred to as such in screenshots later) old Hetatwt discord server, and sometime later she would join my own (now inactive) server.

Mick and Cheebs have a much longer history together than she does with me, though I do not believe it’s my place to speak much on that as that is his story to tell. However, sometime after Cheebs and Mick had joined the friend group, Mick and Cheebs had a falling out. She reacted to this by going to most of her and Mick’s mutual friends (including me) in an attempt to turn us against him, however when we asked him, Mick told us the truth and provided full context to what happened.

Later, Cheebs contacted me to apologize once again, and while I did try to remain mature about it, after everything that had happened I was already hurt and tired enough and finally told her off. To which she apologized again, and said she’ll improve herself and come back to give us a genuine apology when she was ready.

“The Beginning of a Calamity”

(I will be starting off with this section, as it’s the start of the accusations Cheebs has levied against me. When Cheebs is referring to A she’s referring to me, P for Mick, and S for Salt, my gf. Mick is also referred to as “Gil” in some of the screenshots, as that was a name he used to go by. The reason why Cheebs calls Mick P is because an old name he went by was “Percy” and the reason why Cheebs uses A to refer to me is because my legal name starts with an A. This will become important later)

“People like P and A had suddenly decided to exclude me, saying that my oc I had since I was 16 suddenly made them uncomfortable.”

We did not “suddenly” decide to “exclude” you from the rps in our servers because we were “suddenly uncomfortable” out of nowhere. We had our own reasons as to why we were uncomfortable with your OC’s inclusion in the rp.

The main OC that Cheebs would rp in these servers is her OC Mary, a child. The main issue that we had with her rping this character isn’t “Oh an adult rping a kid is weird and gross”, it’s that she tried to push her again, child OC, into an rp where characters who were pretty awful people (much less anyone you’d trust with a kid) were discussing and engaging in scenarios that are highly inappropriate for children, with the main topics usually being about drugs and suggestive themes.

It would have been one thing if we were simply rping a fun slice of life rp or if Cheebs was rping an of age character but still excluded her, but that wasn’t the case. Many of us were very uncomfortable with her trying to insert a child into these sorts of situations and were simply trying to reinforce our boundaries.

“People, including A and their friends posted art on the art channel and would get a lot of responses from everyone on the server. I would post my art...and it seemed like I did not exist. A and their friends would post art over me, drowning my art in praise for A and their friends.”

This isn’t true, there are multiple instances where we would respond to her art. Were they lengthy comments where we would go into deep detail about what we liked? Not really but we did at least acknowledge and compliment her work and tried to show appreciation. Not only that, but Cheebs would also do the same to us, multiple times.

Also-

“this had reminded me of a similar occurrence in which a popular artist in the same fandom had done this as a tactic to harass me and send porn in servers that minors were present in.”

This came out of complete left field, and was most likely an attempt to paint me in a similar predatory light. She will try to do this again later on in the same post, which only adds weight to my concerns regarding this statement.

“Meanwhile on A's server, A would dehumanize me into nothing more than a living, breathing joke, despite knowing well that I am autistic and a survivor. One vc I clearly remember was something that went like this:A: Guys, my cat is in my room!Me: tell your cat I love them!A: Okay! [Pause] ...Oh? What's that? Cheebs, My cat says she hates you.”

I won’t deny that I’ve made this joke before, I’ve actually made it multiple times. However, what Cheebs fails to mention is that I didn’t single her out when making jokes like this, this is literally just how I joke with friends in general. The rest of the people who were on VC with us can vouch for it, and have had this joke and similar jokes directed towards them before while Cheebs was present in VC.

Not only that, but if Cheebs was so hurt by it, then she should have mentioned it to me instead of just laughing along with us. How am I supposed to magically know how others feel without them telling me? If she was honest with me and told me how it made her feel I would’ve stopped making those jokes, but she never told me, and now I’m at fault for not being able to read her mind?

“yet nobody in A's server really seemed to care that I was hurting and quite literally living a massive flashback from having so many ptsd episodes. they simply did not care at all nor asked if I was okay.”

I assume she’s talking about her vents in the vent chat and the lack of response to them, which again, something she seems to purposefully leave out is the fact that the vent chat was only accessible to people with the vent chat role. Not only that, but some of us had the vent chat muted at the time, as many of us were dealing with our own struggles and were not in the proper headspace to check on it often.

What only makes this statement even more frustrating is that even with that, there were still people who did check up on her and respond to her vents, such as Mick and my SO, Salt.

P’s server:

“They had also been uncomfortable at the fact I was venting about how A had hurt and dehumanized me countless times, and had not been held accountable by the people around them. They truly believed that I was shit-talking about A, when I was living a flashback of how A reminded me so much of our abuser personality-wise. P had sided with A.”

Held accountable for what? Not being able to read your mind on what jokes you were and weren’t comfortable with? Again, I apologize if whatever jokes I’ve made has made you uncomfortable, but you can’t vilify me for not knowing when you made no effort to tell me at the time.

And Mick wasn’t uncomfortable with you simply “venting”, he was uncomfortable with you lying about me and twisting the truth while naming me, while I was none the wiser to what was going on and still thought we were cool. Again, as I’ve repeated before, if you had simply stated your boundaries and come to me about how you felt then I would have respected them. But you never did.

safe space breached

“A had never interacted at all since joining my server, only basically watching me.”

I’m barely active on most servers I’m in, even the servers of some of my closest friends. And I’ll even admit this, I almost never checked Cheeb’s server, and whenever I did it was to get rid of the tagged notification that would pop up often. However this wasn’t out of malicious intent, I’m just the type of person who’ll join a server but barely say or do anything in it and Cheebs is reaching if she believes this is “evidence of espionage”.

“A's s/o, S, would interact and occasionally join game night with my friends, but even S had a very good facade that they were committed acts of espionage for the love of A”

This specific line makes me a lot angrier than it should. Because not only is this a fucking lie (again), but even when the rest of us were beginning to catch onto Cheeb’s true nature, Salt was the one to actually try to stick with Cheebs and try to be the best friend she could to her even when she herself was uncomfortable or hurt by Cheebs. We were even hesitant to tell Salt everything that Cheebs had done, including talking shit about Salt behind her back, because we didn’t want to force a wedge between Salt and who we perceived as a friend she loved.

Salt wasn’t spying on you Cheebs, and didn’t even know about our issues with you and how you talked about her behind closed doors until we told her. She trusted you and stuck by you even at the cost of her own comfort and mental health, and you decided to repay her by lying about her behind her back.

“(which i theorize that A had actually groomed S due to the fact that when i met them in A's server, A was 18 and S was 16 as well as the power imbalance between the two.)”

Well, this again is a blatant lie. And a really dangerous accusation to carelessly toss around without evidence. Salt and I are the same age, with the age gap between us being only 8 months. I’ve already disproven this claim with evidence in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/the-doll-house-gallery/712497364283326464?source=share

I should also mention that while she only uses the first initials of our usernames (or legal name in my case) to refer to us here on this post, she had referred to us by name in her server.

And while you might go “Well this was in private so it’s ok” word and gossip still spreads around, and I’ve lost friends because someone had lied about me like this before.

abusive conflict

Well this one is going to be a doozy to get through

“I had dmed A about the fact i was not a fool and i knew that everyone involved (P, S, F and D) were hiding something about me. I had no answer until around midnight, in which A verbally abused me by accusing me of guilt-tripping, as well as bringing up past mistakes of mine to make themselves appear morally superior. i admit, i had made mistakes that can easily be solved in A’s server from communicating with each other, but A had verbally abused me over dms to the point that i had a panic attack late at night, with only 2 hours of sleep and a long work day in the morning.”

This isn’t what happened at all, quite the opposite actually. Cheebs came crawling to me, begging for forgiveness. And while I did respond at midnight (for her, I’m CT not EST), it’s not as though Cheebs messaged me earlier in the day with me deliberately responding late at night so she could barely have energy to work the next day, because Cheebs had initially messaged me from 11:30 pm - 12:00 am EST.

I also had work the next day and was already stressed enough with preparing for upcoming classes when Cheebs had suddenly messaged me that late at night, tired, stressed, and at my wits end with Cheeb’s constant excuses, I messaged her this:

I, and many others, were tired of her not only dragging us into her falling out with Mick and her attempts to turn us against him, but also her overall two faced behaviour towards the rest of us as well. While yes, I could’ve worded this much nicer, at this point I was already tired and hurt by what she had done to us. I was the one who ended up confronting her about these problems, not the other way around.

“i had begged A to stop with the verbal abuse, but A was unrelenting. A kept going about how i was a terrible person for standing up for myself and being upset of P leaving me, in which they had told me “go apologize to P”, despite also saying "your apologies do not mean anything to us".”

I did not say this, as you can see in my message to her what I actually said and meant was “Apologies don’t mean anything if you don’t follow through with them”, and they don’t. Apologies are meant as an expression of feeling sorry for your actions and that you’ll at least try to do better, but they really don’t mean anything if you just keep repeating what you were apologizing for. It’s not a “get out of jail free card” you can use over and over again.

You also didn’t “beg” me to “stop verbally abusing you”, so I don’t know where that came from.

I also didn’t tell Cheebs to “Apologize to Mick for getting mad at him abandoning you” I told her to apologize to him for trying to drag everyone else into this situation and attempt to turn us against him, when this was all happening he was incredibly stressed out because she just kept running to anyone who knew him to tell them “He’s actually a terrible, cruel person who ABANDONED me and his friends!” while refusing to hear why he wanted to distance himself from her (which he will go into more detail in his own post).

“i had asked A if they were spying on me. what A said was something like “no, but P told me everything.”. A contradicted themselves, and i had assumed so; they too were a snake.”

“Something like” so not what I had actually said. This is how the conversation went:

But looking back on our messages, I was misremembering the situation. Before I joined, Cheebs told me that she was “cleaning her vents” and I got worried that she was shit talking Mick, but didn’t tell him immediately right away because I felt as though that was invading her privacy at the time. It wasn’t until Mick ended up venting to me that she’s been contacting everyone else, not just me, about the situation with Mick while twisting his words to make him sound worse and to try to get them to turn against him that I decided to tell him my concerns. Which is when he finally broke it to me about what she had been saying about me while naming me.

Cheebs had actually come to apologize to me about this in the past, however, she had only said that she vagued about us in her vents. When in reality, she was apparently naming us and twisting our actions into something more malicious than they actually were.

Also, I wasn’t only still hurt and mad about the “venting” about me, but I was also hurt by the implication of her suddenly deciding to “clean” the vents when I finally joined. That meant in the months after that, she: A- Didn’t even bother to delete those messages and tell the truth of what really happened

B- Still continued to lie about me to that server even after “apologizing” and didn’t want me to see it.

These potential outcomes, along with her trying to hide the truth from me and being overall dishonest, really hurt when I realized the whole truth.

“The last i spoke to A, A had said “come back to me when you apologize to P.””

I didn’t just say “come back when you apologize to Mick” I said “Come back when you resolve this with Mick.”, as in when you two talk through this and try to understand the other and stop taking worse-case assumptions and taking them as the fact and truth.

Foreword

“when A became verbally abusive, i had felt their aftershocks for around two weeks due to underlying ptsd and the fact that this confrontation was abusive in tone, and that they blamed me for all of these issues, from being excluded and all. it reminded me so much of my abuser, that i had begun to question whether i was a horrible person for the fact people had turned against me. even before A confronted me, i was already comparing myself to people like chris-chan and puppychan because of the fact these two were bad, not to mention that i was autistic.”

It was “abusive” in tone because I was angry, I was fucking tired of this situation and hurt by not only the things you had initially done, but also the way you would constantly tell us that you were “sorry” and that you’d “improve” when you never even tried.

Also no one except you compared yourself to Chris-Chan and Puppy-Chan, and no one else even brought up your autism, why are you bringing this up?

“was me venting about being harmed by people who turned against me a bad thing?”

Venting in itself isn’t bad, but what is bad is lying about people and their character while naming them. Stuff like that spreads around and can even be spread to outside your friend group. Again, I’ve lost friendships and now a portion of a community I was in thinks I’m pro-nazi/pro-pedo because of a similar situation like this where someone went around lying about my friends and I behind our backs in private while we were none the wiser.

I’d even argue that naming people while lying about them behind their backs in a private group is even worse than publicly naming them, because it’s an incredibly underhand and scummy tactic to ruin someone’s reputation where they can’t even defend themselves. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“A especially needs to hold themselves accountable, for that they used me for nothing more than jokes at my expense. A’s friends were complacent in letting A get away with being manipulative and still dehumanize me against my will, this includes P.”

Ah yes, hold myself accountable for things I didn’t even know you were uncomfortable with because you refused to tell me. I’m terribly y’all for not being able to read minds.

“they would paint me as mentally unstable and manipulative when none of that is ever true and perhaps due to the fact many of these people were not autistic.”

I don’t need to “paint” you as manipulative because you’ve already proven that you are by your actions, especially in this post. Throughout this post you’ve constantly been catering to everyone’s emotions, tried to make yourself sound smaller and weaker compared to the rest of us than you actually were and are, and bring up things that were never mentioned or have little to nothing to do with the situation to make yourself appear more sympathetic.

An example would be in this very post where you randomly brought up your Polish ancestry out of no where and accused Mick's S/O of calling you a nazi when that never happened:

“yet i had communicated my feelings (as would a therapist would recommend in a situation like this), only to get ignored or given an excuse”

Thank you for admitting that you never told us right here btw, makes it a lot easier on me.

“except these people now use a private twitter account and say things about me without me seeing what they said because they are private accounts.”

Well isn’t this statement ironic with everything that’s happened, also while you have no proof of us shittalking you in private, we do have proof of you shit talking us!

Also

"oh and the fact that i wanted to fake my death bc of them too"

Is really... Alarming, to hear. So you planned to fake your own suicide to make us look worse?

“i sure had wished that this situation was handled better, because it really sucks to see many of my mutuals follow the people involved in hurting me, and i only wish for them to be held accountable, like how i had held myself accountable so many times, but those people could not see that i was truly sorry.”

I wish it was handled better too, but I don’t think I’ll ever be getting that especially since you still vague about us (and presumably still shit talk us in private tho that’s just alleged) over literally a year later. Also how could we even hold ourselves accountable over things we weren’t even aware of??? Also, if being "truly sorry" is lying about others, especially when those lies include false grooming allegations, I'd hate to see you when you aren't.

Additional incidents:

BECAUSE YES THERE’S MORE

Issues with interrupting:

Whenever we’d VC and Cheebs would join, more often than not, she would usually interrupt others and skew the conversation to what she wanted to talk about. Barely letting others speak and often directing the conversation back to her. Multiple times we would gently tell her to stop interrupting everyone else and let other people speak, she would say sorry, but then do it again.

But one of the worst instances of this happening was when I was venting on call once. That night on call I was having a full on emotional breakdown, I was sobbing and overcome with grief at the time, and even contemplating taking my own life. Most of the server was there and were trying to be there for me, and when I tried to take a quick breath from all that crying, Cheebs thought it was a great time to go “...Sooo, moving on from that- Today is Dashcon’s anniversary!”

This really hurt me and made me feel as though the distress I was going through didn’t matter, so as calmly as I could possibly muster, I asked Cheebs to not interrupt me. Cheebs then disconnected, and Mick had to

The Fanfic:

Because yes, Cheebs has literally dedicated a chapter of her fanfic to this situation. How do we know this? Because not only is one of the villains named Percival, the extended version of the name Percy (which Mick used to go by at the time), while one of them is named Aiden whose name starts and ends with the same letters as my legal name.

But also because most of the things that these characters do is what Cheebs accused us of (along with her adding on additional worse things to appear more sympathetic), as well as her admitting that she based it on how “Old friends treated me” and looking at the timing of this message, it matches up.

The fanfic is “Those Fleeting Dreams of Mine” and the chapter is “Chapter 12: The Boy in the Beast” Here is the fic and the exact chapter where Aiden and Percival show up so you can read it yourselves: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35651113/chapters/104722581#workskin

This is where I feel Cheebs becomes more insidious in her ways of slandering us and trying to make herself look like the victim.

In this fanfic Percival, Aiden, and their friends are described as a “gang”, violently physically assault Jack (Cheeb’s self insert), are described as rowdy, violent, thieves, and “demons”. The main reason why I take issue with these things specifically, especially with the way she makes the falling out seem more violent on our end is because- Mick and I are not white. Mick is african-American and I am Southeast Asian. The rest of our friend are all Latine, while Cheebs is white.

Cheebs knows we’re darker skinned POC, she’s seen our faces in video calls before and she has listened in on our conversations regarding our experiences as racial minorities. She knows that black and brown people struggle with stereotypes of being violent and crude gang members, stereotypes that can get people attacked or even killed. Yet she still decided it was a good idea to portray characters that are blatantly based on us as violent delinquents attacking her weak and helpless self insert based on herself, a white woman.

Could she have just written this just for the sake of it? Perhaps. But going by her logic as well, with her accusing me of being ablest for simply calling her manipulative in my other post defending myself, it wouldn’t be too far of a reach to think she’s applied this logic to her fanfic. This is literally the definition of “White woman tears”. Words can’t describe how disturbed and uncomfortable I felt seeing her portray us in this way, especially when she knew of the shit we and our people have to deal with.

Also in that boat:

We never called you that, and it’s weird that you would even bring that up (this was before we found out about the fanfic, and looking back at it in retrospect…)

The “Neurotypical” comic:

Shortly after I found out that Cheebs was accusing me of being a “groomer”, I decided to make a post defending myself and showing evidence of Salt and I being the same age. Cheebs had apparently felt threatened by this, even though I never named her, never brought up her autism, and even kept her gender identity private. In response she made this comic:

This was the description:

This post was made a couple days after I posted the post where I defended myself against her accusations of grooming. Not only is this comic grossly misrepresenting the situations (my post was me defending myself against this claims with evidence, and Cheeb’s “vents” were her lying about me while using my name), but also- I’m most likely not neurotypical, and Mick isn’t either.

Mick is professionally diagnosed with ADHD and PTSD and self diagnosed with Autism, and while I’m not professionally diagnosed with anything, that doesn’t confirm whether I’m neurotypical or not, and based on my own behaviours I’ve noted growing up I believe I might have either ADHD and/or Autism.

I currently cannot get a professional diagnosis due to financial issues, familial/cultural issues, and transportation issues. I currently don’t have any means to get diagnosed, and even if I did, familial and cultural pressure from my family has scared me into being unable to ask them for help.

This is something I would bring up frequently in the server we were in, and Cheebs was well aware of this. So it feels incredibly callous of her to use this as a way to make it seem like we’re a bunch of “mean neurotypicals attacking someone for being autistic”. Which makes this situation even more baffling is that Cheebs supports self-diagnosis but still uses other’s inability to be professionally diagnosed as a point against them:

So is self-diagnosis valid until it’s inconvenient for you Cheebs?

The “Draw Your Squad” incident:

This was in response to a draw the squad picture my friend Bowie drew of us:

The reason why Cheebs wasn’t in this picture was because this “Draw Your Squad” pic was based on whenever we would actually play monopoly/Bankroll on Plato, and whenever we did Cheebs would never join us or never even asked to join. Again, Cheebs never even tried to join and never told us that she wanted to be included, how were we supposed to know if she never brought it up?

The most recent “vent” art: Recently, at the time of writing this, Cheebs has posted this piece to her art blog.

Yeah this is obviously based on me (and presumably Mick), not only do the accusations match up but the puppet master character has strong similarities to my sona, Dappy.

It’s incredibly evident that she’s still set on shit talking and vagueing us, even over a year later.

Other issues:

While these aren’t completely related to the topic of Cheebs slandering my friends and I, there are other incidents that make me incredibly uncomfortable, especially as an Asian person.

Sometimes, how Cheebs talks about Asian things (especially Japanese stuff) comes off as rather fetishy and racially/culturally insensitive.

“Nothing like Spirited Away”

In this post, Cheebs talks about going to a Korean bathhouse for an early birthday gift. While there’s obviously nothing wrong with embracing other cultures, it is off putting to see her adding “Def nothing like Spirited Away though lmao” at the end.

And while yes, she’s most likely making a small joke about a movie she likes, it seems like she decided to make the comparison because “Japan and Korea are East Asian countries”. Which not only comes off as pretty racist, but feels even more gross considering Japan’s colonization of Korea and the atrocities that happened during that time.

“Hikikomori”

Well this feels gross. Basically Cheebs is calling herself a “hikikomori”, which is a phenomenon in Japan where people become shut in from society. They don’t go outside, not to go to work, to school, or anything else. It is a serious form of severe social withdrawal that devastates the lives of many.

Which is why it feels gross that Cheebs is deciding to use the word as a “cute” synonym for being an introvert. Cheebs is definitely not a hikikomori, she goes to work, attends college, goes to cons, goes to meetups, still as irl relationships, etc. And while yes, she is introverted and shy, that alone does not make someone a hikikomori, and it feels more like she’s using the term as a “kawaii” alternative to introvert.

Conclusion:

Please don’t attack Cheebs or anyone else in this situation, all I want is for my name to be cleared and for this situation to end. I’m tired of constantly having to look over my shoulder, I’m tired of being lied about behind my back, I just want her to be held accountable and for her to stop lying about me. If any of you guys have other questions or need further context for some of these I will respond to your questions, but this is all that came to mind in regards of this situation.

Again, please don’t attack Cheebs, her friends, or anyone else in this situation. We just want this to stop and for her to stop lying about us.

#long post #discourse #drama #Hetalia #Hetalia fandoms #<- I'm adding these tags because that's the fandom we both frequent #People need to know the truth #I hate that I have to post this and I hate that I have to make it public #But this has gone on for too long and Cheebs won't stop lying about us #If we just sat back and do nothing I know it'd get worse from there #Especially from my own experience

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olderthannetfic · 1 year

Note

Hi, Olderthannetfic - I'm just sort of reaching out through the blogosphere to see if anyone in the larger proship community has any suggestions for where a community could move if not on discord. (CW for discussion of underage content and Black Butler Spoilers)

So I run a discord server for Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) but I'm also in several writing discords including one that caters to dead dove content creators. Today they posted some rule changes, due to changes in Discord's community guidelines. Any illustrations for nsfw of obviously underage characters are now banned, and written content has to be vague and not state ages of underage participants. That prompted me to read through it: And, I gotta say, its pretty bad: https://discord.com/safety/child-safety-policy-explainer Hoping the community can offer some insight on what to do since the policy is incredibly broad. Either a new platform, or what we could even reasonably do beyond our current system of gating the server heavily to avoid issues like reporting/brigading. The meat of the policy is right here, for those who want to read it:

You may not post or share the following types of content, such as [sensitive language content warning]

Portrayals of minors engaging in sex acts, or in sexually explicit or suggestive poses

Sexual comments about or desires for real or fictitious minors

Links to websites containing material that sexualizes minors

Photos or videos of non-nude minors in a sexualized or fetishistic context

Statements expressing intent to obtain materials of child abuse or engage in child sexual abuse

Promotion, encouragement or normalization of pedophilia or sexual attraction to children

Photos, videos, or drawings of nude or sexualized minors, such as “lolicon” or “shotacon”

Photos, videos or illustrations of naked or sexualized anthropomorphized minors (sometimes referred to as “cub porn”)

Also of note from their guidelines: > Given the high-harm nature of this content, we will also consider off-platform evidence as explained in our Off-Platform Behaviors Policy when reviewing content under this policy.

This is pretty horrifying for me, since under these terms, even if we weren't writing smutty fanfiction and laughing about silly nsfw headcannons, discussion even of the source material of Kuro would be completely off limits. I mean, this is a panel from the arc that was recently announced to be animated for release in 2024:

I think even on tumblr just mentioning that this looks like an intro to a porno would be flagged.

This is particularly frustrating since this is a series that is literally sold at like, Barnes and Noble. It's one of the most popular mangas in the world. Even the numerous, incredibly obnoxious antis who run this fandom on tiktok/reddit/twitter and don't ship the "evil" Sebaciel like I do would probably be forbidden from even discussing many of the canon elements under these terms, including: * The many plot points in several arcs during which it is implied that an adult character is sexually attracted to Ciel (I was going to list them all but this honestly happens at least once per arc) * Discussion of Ciel's trauma - the inciting incident of the manga (also portrayed in flashbacks) where he is sexually assaulted alongside his brother * The Green Witch Arc plot where Sieglinde interprets the situation to be that Sebastian/Ciel have invited her to a three way to take her virginity. * The many canon depictions of Ciel in various states of undress that are clearly intended to be titillating in some manner. I mean... "Photos or videos of non-nude minors in a sexualized or fetishistic context" is basically just. The entire series. In fact, even just linking to where you could read or purchase this manga legally at Barnes and Noble could technically be considered a violation under these guidelines considering how incredibly broad they are. Much has already been said on your blog and elsewhere about how this type of policy harms queer people and CSA survivors (both terms I identify with) and how censorship like this also targets books like Speak (incidentally one of my favorite books from when i was younger) so I won't rehash that here but... its disappointing to say the least.

I assume that most of this is just covering their ass due to legislation and/or the usual pressure from payment processors. Its also possible I'm overreacting entirely and this is a paranoid reading of this policy. Nonetheless, I'd appreciate any insight you or the community might have on what our options might be.

Sorry for the massive ask in your inbox :P Just don't know what we'd do if the worst happened and we got reported.

A lot hinges on how many of those instances of "minors" they think imply "real or fictitious" and how many they're interpreting as real only. They're explicitly banning some types of fictitious material like loli/shota and cub porn, but they aren't explicit about all of the items on this list.

Will discord use these rules punitively against shit they shouldn't without warning? Almost certainly yes. But as for why they're making them, it's because discord is apparently one of the current favorite places for the distribution of actual abuse images of actual children, and they need to cover their asses.

Still, it's worth exploring your options early.

If you want to host explicit shota fan art, you're looking at a very limited selection of sites. I think a lot of people went to certain Mastodon instances.

If you want to discuss Black Butler in peace... IDK... Maybe check out how Bobaboard is doing? It's going to depend on what features you need. The more you're just making a community on someone else's site, the less liability you personally have. The more you're running your own thing, the more you have to be in charge of legal compliance stuff.

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whisper-my-serenade · 1 year

Text

revelations

a hypothetical chapter in the life of neil perry (featuring a concerning amount of james dean references)

word count: 4512

cw: emotional abuse/manipulation, implied self harm

It wasn’t until Neil Perry arrived at Welton Academy that he realized his family was painfully middle-class. All the boys in his class had summer homes, trust funds, Roman numerals tacked onto the ends of their names, and not one of them, to Neil’s knowledge, had gone to public school. He was twelve years old, had more brains than he knew what to do with, and, for the first time in his short life, he was alone.

It hadn’t been his idea, of course—his father’s detractors were quick to call him a “social climber”, a name his father detested, and yet he had no hesitation sending his only child to boarding school and inundating him with schoolwork just for the chance to say he had a son who was a Harvard-graduate doctor. Neil didn’t understand the appeal of the whole scheme—it was costly, time-consuming, and had put his mother in tears on multiple occasions—but according to his father, he wasn’t supposed to. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” was the chorus that came every time Neil tried to ask why he had to leave his friends and go to a school so far away. He was not, though, too young to understand the sacrifices his father was making to send him there, and thus why it was imperative that he be the best student possible.

Neil was not much one to question what his father said. His mother had taught him that from the time he was old enough to comprehend it: his father was the man of the house and his authority was not to be questioned. It was better for everyone involved to just give in. There were incentives to being good, too—Neil always remembered the pride on his father’s face when he was told that he was the smartest kid in his elementary school, how they’d all gone out for milkshakes after, how the story was repeated at Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter to the never-ending praise of his relatives. By the time sixth grade was done and the course of his life was suddenly set in stone, Neil figured the whole Harvard thing had to be pretty easy, seeing as he was doing so well with the plan so far.

And then Welton actually happened, Neil began to mature, and it was no longer so simple.

As it turned out, it took a lot more than brains to make it in a place like that—there was a whole new social code to learn, much higher standards than he was used to, and not a familiar face to guide him. He called his mother every day that first week, feeling desperately homesick and missing her kind, soft voice, her cooking, the way she held him when he was upset. She repeatedly assured him that everything would work itself out, but he was nearly inconsolable. He was surrounded by boys he didn’t understand, teachers who were no longer impressed by his every movement, all to reach a goal that was as mysterious to him as the distant planets. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” she said, parroting his father’s words, when he asked why he was sent away. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just know now. ‘Older’ seemed a very long way away.

By the time he was fifteen, and two years into Welton, things were better. As it turned out, he was not the only outcast at the school, and it didn’t take long for him to form an inviting, if not close-knit, group of friends to lighten the weight of the constant pressure on him. His father’s expectations were as high as ever, but he was on track to make it through. His future was some vague, shiny thing that was still just a little too far away to touch, and he was okay with that.

The summer of 1957 came barreling in, Neil waving goodbye to his Welton friends and retreating back to the cold air-conditioned walls of his house, enveloped in a sense of solitude his home used to be respite from. But he was Neil—could not stand to be alone—and he sought company wherever it could be found.

Most of his friends from elementary school were still around, going to the local public school and planning on becoming electricians, construction workers, maybe working at a bank if they were real high achievers—a far cry from Neil’s Ivy League destiny. Little kids could get along with anyone, really; you pretend to be dragons with someone on the playground once and suddenly your mom is driving you to their house or you’re playing little league together. But Neil had grown since then, the others had grown too, and now he felt it was like meeting whole new people, a whole new self to introduce them to.

That summer, it was a boy named Henry who taught Neil how to smoke cigarettes and sneak into the movies and play spin-the-bottle and kiss the girls it landed on. Neil remembered him as a kid, spinning wild tales that no one ever quite believed but were all ravenous for anyways, and he still carried himself with the same bravado, the eagerness to prove his manliness, and thus, his worth. Neil sometimes felt like he was a little pet to Henry—the dandy going to a fancy boarding school who would not understand the habits of the lower class, even though they’d grown up in the same neighborhood—and the other boy would have him around for show-and-tell purposes while the rest of them play-pretended maturity. It was a summer of drinking root beers on the sidewalk in front of the corner store, pretending they were real, watching little kids kick a ball down the street and acting like you were superior while secretly wishing to be among them, to be young again. Neil felt like James Dean. It was wonderful.

☽ ☼ ☾

“You and your fucking James Dean,” Henry hissed, spitting on the ground like he was chewing tobacco. “What’s so special about him, anyways?”

Neil laughed, flicking a bottle cap over and over off his thumb. “I don’t know, I just think he’s great. You’ve seen Rebel, you’ve got to admit he looks cool as all get-out.”

That was not the full truth. Neil was, in fact, quite obsessed with James Dean, a matter he kept deeply hidden out of embarrassment. There was something alluring about the man’s smile, the gleam of mischief and discontent in his eye, the flawlessness of his slicked-back hair and the messiness of his personality. To Neil he was magical—Rebel Without a Cause had flipped his twelve-year-old self’s worldview upside down, sneaking out of Welton for the very first time to see it, then doing it twice more. He couldn’t explain the fascination, it just was what it was. His death was colossally tragic, but even the grave could not keep that man out of Neil’s head.

“‘Get-out’, what the hell is wrong with you?” Henry laughed, poking fun, as he often did, at Neil for his verbal piety. What could he say, it was the way he was raised—every time he swore, he could hear his mother’s voice in his head, telling him God didn’t like it. His friend Charlie from school said it was a Catholic thing.

Neil laughed too, not really thinking it was funny, kicking a pebble along the ground.

“I think he looked cool,” said Mary-Ellen, Henry’s girlfriend of an astonishing (for their age, and for Henry,) two months, who was the only other movie buff of the group and the closest thing to what Neil would call a true friend.

“Oh, of course you do, Mary-Ellen,” Henry said, standing and taking out a carton of cigarettes and a pack of matches, putting one white stick in his mouth and discreetly glancing at the street around them, making sure no one was watching, before he struck the match and lit it. He breathed out, gray ashy smoke filling the air. “You’re just as bad, swooning over all the hunks in Photoplay.”

Mary-Ellen shrugged, scooting closer to Neil on the curb to fill in Henry’s empty space. “They’re interesting, though, aren’t they, Neil?” That was Neil’s other guilty pleasure—reading Hollywood tabloid magazines. Movies had always been an escape for him, and dammit if he wasn’t going to try and make the magic last long after the credits finished rolling. Mary-Ellen was the only person he knew who would read them with him (and provide them—Lord knew what his father would do if he caught Neil buying thay stuff).

“Ha, Neil probably only likes them for the Jayne Masfield spreads,” Henry said, taking another hit of the cigarette and blowing the smoke to the wind. Neil had to admit, it was attractive. He couldn’t quite see whatever Mary-Ellen saw in Henry, but there was something about the easy way he carried his masculinity on his shoulders that Neil admired, his own always feeling a bit like Atlas carrying the weight of the heavens.

☽ ☼ ☾

Neil knew why his dad was the way he was. His own father died when he was only nine, killed in action somewhere in the French countryside, a closed-casket funeral. His mother had spiraled, instilling her two surviving sons with religious fervor and the willpower to defy the tragedy of their father. But then there was the Depression, Thomas Perry’s college degree doing him little good in finding stability for himself and his new wife (and the children they were supposed to be having, that kept not appearing). Several miscarriages and a New Deal government job later, Neil was born into a somewhat-satisfied middle-class family. But Thomas wanted more, more, wanted Neil to inherit the opportunities he felt he’d missed. He was their only child, their only chance—he had to be perfect.

There were things his parents didn’t talk about—Neil assumed that was the case with every family. His grandfather was not brought up; Neil assumed there was embarrassment there, bitterness about his wasted life and early death. His parent’s troubles conceiving was another sore subject—it was only brought up when Neil was being scolded, when he needed reminding about how he was lucky to be alive, how hard his parents had worked to even bring him into the world. It was his father saying those things, forcing his wife to leave the room in tears. He called her “sensitive” behind her back. “Typical woman,” he’d say to Neil with a short, clipped laugh. And then he’d glare when Neil didn’t find it funny, too.

☽ ☼ ☾

“Oh, Natalie Wood’s so pretty,” Mary-Ellen said with a sigh, staring at the cover photo of the woman in question, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a striped scarf wrapped around it. They were both on their stomachs on the dark wooden floor of Neil’s bedroom, elbows propping them up. Neil’s small portable radio bubbled in the background, playing Young Love by Tab Hunter. “I’d give anything to look like her,” Mary-Ellen went on, stroking a finger over Natalie’s pale printed cheek. Neil loved Natalie, too, remembered her from Rebel lying in James Dean’s well-built arms.

Neil gave her a little laugh. “Come on, you’re plenty pretty already.”

Mary-Ellen blushed heavily, glancing at him. “You think so?”

“‘Course. All the guys are after you for a reason.” It was true一she was really pretty, in the way Neil found most girls pretty, like looking at a painting. When he tried to think about it, he often saw girls in the same way he saw God—unearthly, distant, untouchable. Being near them, kissing them, made them tangible for a moment, but then they pulled back and the moment, the feeling, was gone. Neil never quite got the hang of religion, and he never quite got girls.

“Well, I’m not a glamorous Hollywood star yet, so I think she’s still got me beat.” The two laughed as Mary-Ellen began flipping through the magazine, looking for interesting articles or photos. Something about a musical starring Doris Day that was coming out soon, a write-up about Jayne Mansfield (Neil internally groaned, remembering Henry’s comment), and, “Oh, what's this?”

Mary-Ellen laid the magazine in front of him, revealing a full-page photo of a handsome man amid some greenery, the opposite side showing photos of him doing various manual labor tasks. “Oh, that’s George Nader,” Neil said, still studying the photos. “He was in Congo Crossing—Henry and I snuck out to see it last year.”

“Well isn’t he a dreamboat,” she said, both their eyes transfixed on the page.

“Yeah,” was all Neil could think to say.

Because he was a dreamboat. Neil figured he wasn’t supposed to say it, being a guy and all, but he’d been thinking it since he first saw the man. Dark hair perfectly slicked back, thick biceps visible below the his cut-off shirt sleeves, a playful grin on his well-carved face. He was the perfect masculine man, and yet there was something in the way he was looking into the camera that twisted something in Neil’s gut.

“Here, ‘article continued on page ninety-three,’” Mary-Ellen read, picking up the magazine and flipping to the indicated page. For a split second, Neil wanted to tell her to stop and stay on the pictures, but he retracted the thought before it could leave his mouth.

☽ ☼ ☾

Mary-Ellen left the magazine there that night, surely by accident. They got caught up in conversation (they always did) and then her mother came around asking for her home, and his mother came up asking for her to oblige, and she did, and Neil was alone again. His father wouldn’t be home from work for another few hours, and he had some algebra he knew the man would insist he start studying to give him an edge for the next upcoming school year, but Neil couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he picked up the magazine, flipped it to the page he had admittedly been thinking about all afternoon, and stared and stared and stared until his brain started to rot.

☽ ☼ ☾

“Dirty Commies, back at it again. Problem’s just been getting worse, ever since McCarthy died,” Mr. Perry said, frowning at the newspaper in front of him. It was after dinner, and the Perrys were completing their nightly ritual of sitting in the same room, fulfilling completely different tasks. Mr. Perry was reading the newspaper articles—he only read the headlines in the morning, so he could make comments at work. Mrs. Perry was mending one of her son’s shirts, the repeated motion of her hand and needle a smooth wave. “Boys will be boys,” she had said fondly when he told her of the tear. Neil was on the other end of the couch, a copy of Moby Dick in his hand but his mind making no attempt to comprehend it. Still thinking about the stupid magazine.

Mrs. Perry sighed, as she always did when her husband brought up politics. She didn’t like the subject, she’d tell her son when he was out of the room. Men making messes out of things, as per usual. She didn’t like how partisan it was—couldn’t they all learn to get along?

“Do you have something to say, honey?” Mr. Perry asked sarcastically, and Neil froze up in his seat. He hated when his dad was like this, picking fights because he knew he could win.

“No, no,” his mother replied, as quickly and casually as she could. She hated Joe McCarthy, but only Neil knew that.

His father scoffed, folding the paper and laying it on the end table next to him. “I can’t read any more of that crap. You should have gone into politics, Neil, maybe fixed a few things in this country.”

He shrugged. “Not too late,” he replied, half serious.

“Hm, no, you’re too much like your mother for that, too soft.” He smiled a little. It was not something he took pride in, his emotional hurricane of a son. But the words now were not said with malice, only a father’s fondness. All three of them smiled, because they knew it was true.

☽ ☼ ☾

The next day, he found the magazine.

It was Neil’s fault, really—he was stupid enough to leave it lying on the floor, open to the only page he thought worth looking at, when his father came in to check on the state of his summer schoolwork. It had, predictably, sent him into a rage that Neil could have no reaction to other than sitting on his bed, eyes at the floor, nails digging into where he held his arm, eyes downcast, taking the beating. Thomas Perry never laid a hand on his son, but his tongue was much sharper than his fist ever could be, and was much better at finding Neil’s weak spots.

“...son of mine reading filthy, common trash like this?” he roared, ripping the magazine apart straight down the center. “Who at Harvard is going to let in some nancy who spends all his time off in Wonderland instead of studying, huh?”

Neil felt the anger and shame rise in him, tears pricking behind his eyes and, despite his better judgment, he bit back. “It’s just fun, it’s harmless, it’s—”

“Enough out of you! I don’t work my ass off every day to send you to that school just for you to come home and fill your brain with this garbage.” He threw the tattered pieces of glossy paper on the floor. “Let me guess, it’s those friends of yours, hm? They put you up to all this nonsense? Was it that girl?”

Neil’s mouth opened and closed again, gaping like a fish. He was helpless when it came to scoldings like this.

“You stay away from her, hear me? She obviously likes you—don’t need you getting mixed up with types like that.”

Neil gulped. He knew his next line—it was practically scripted for him. “Yes, sir.”

“And I don’t want to see another glimpse of anything like that—”he pointed to the scraps on the hardwood, “—in my house ever again, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

☽ ☼ ☾

That was not the first time Neil questioned his purpose in living. It came on him in waves every so often, binding him to wherever he sat, eyes wide with terror—sometimes filled with tears, sometimes dry as a desert. Couldn’t there be something more than school and college and work? Could something be greater outside the airtight walls his father had built around him? Wasn’t there someone who thought about things the way he did—wanting, hoping, praying to break free?

That night, he felt the wrong words ringing in his head. All the opportunities he’d been given, needed to get into Harvard, yeah, he’d heard that before. She obviously likes you. That was new.

Every time he’d hung out with Mary-Ellen flashed through his head like a movie, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he��d missed something in their relationship. Was the whole thing much less uncomplicated than he’d gone through the years believing? He almost laughed at the thought that she could have a crush on him. There wasn’t anyone better to dream of than sad, soft, screwed-up Neil?

Neil stared at the scraps of the magazine. Somewhere in the pile, the warm eyes and keen grin of George Nader stared back. He knew that if this were a movie, this would be the point where he’d run back down the street calling Mary-Ellen’s name, or go to her house and try to sneak in her window, desperate to declare his love for her. If this were Rebel Without A Cause, he would whisk her away in his Mercury Coupe and take her to the old, run-down mansion to play family like small children, his father be damned. But this was not a movie, and Neil was no James Dean. Even if he was, there would be something missing—he had no Plato. The story wasn’t complete without Plato.

Why did it seem that everyone else around him was obsessed with boys and girls and relationships? Neil had never felt anything like that particularly strongly—was something wrong with him? It couldn’t be that he didn’t want any of that—he did—but why was it that every time he tried to picture it it seemed like a piece of the puzzle was always missing? And why did it hurt so much to think that? Why couldn’t he just want whatever his father wanted? Wouldn’t that be so much easier?

He thought about praying, asking the Lord for forgiveness (he wasn’t sure what for, it was just what you were supposed to do) and to iron out whatever was wrong with him so he could go on with his life and live out his father’s dreams. But the words didn’t come, and Neil begrudgingly thought that if God made everyone perfect, then this wasn’t something He could fix, was it? It was Neil’s fault, Neil was the mistake, and Neil was the one who had to find that missing piece. Maybe if he found Mary-Ellen, got his Hollywood ending, he could solve it. Maybe he would take her to that old mansion and there would be no Plato and that would be fine and no one would have to die and he would go home to his parents and they could all just go on living. Maybe if he kissed her until he couldn’t breathe he would find himself enjoying it and realize it had all been a fluke. But when he tried to picture the moment, it was James Dean’s face in his head.

He curled up on the floor, back to his bed frame, shoving the ruins of the magazine out of his sight. He couldn’t stand to look at it. He couldn’t stand himself. He kept driving his nails into his arm, coating the freckled skin until it was covered in bruised half-moons. He tried to breathe, doing his best to keep the tears from falling—and failing, like everything else he’d ever done.

☽ ☼ ☾

It must have been late at night when his mother came in, wrapped in her robe and with her hair bound in rollers. She forced open his window—the room was very stuffy, he realized—then sat down on the bed next to him, mattress spring creaking under the weight of her.

Neil loved his mother—loved her soft voice, her clear blue eyes, the softness of her wrinkled hands. She had crow’s feet from the way she smiled with her eyes, and the same dimples Neil had. The two of them were more similar than they were different, always had been. He felt more relaxed around her than he ever did his father, her expectations lighter and her words gentler. How many nights had an argument broken out between father and son and it was her arms he crawled into, that caressed his hair while he cried, told him everything would be okay?

Sometimes he wished she would speak out—stand up against the mistreatment of her son, speak her true beliefs. But how could he blame her for her cowardice when he was the same way?

He was too big to be held now—they both knew it—but that didn’t stop her from putting an arm around him, gently rubbing his neck as he buried his head into her shoulder blade.

“Did he tell you?” he asked in little more than a whisper.

“Yes,” she said quietly in return.

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he said, shifting slightly to lay his head against her.

“It’s not, darling, it will pass. These things always do.”

“But he was so mad. I don’t get it.”

“You’re different from him,” she said, staring off into some unknown distance. “You always have been.”

Neil sat up, not moving her hand from his shoulder but using his own to cover his face, sinking into his knees. “Why can’t I ever be good enough for him? What does he want from me?”

“Neil, you are good enough,” she responded tenderly. “He wants a family he can be proud of, and you make him proud.”

“But it’s not ever enough—there’s always more, more, more that I have to do, something else I have to be. What if I can’t do all of it?”

“You can, love. I know you can.”

“I can’t.” A bitter silence consumed them.

After a long minute, his mother took a deep breath, taking his face in her hands and turning him to look at her. “He loves you. No matter what you can or can’t do, he loves you.”

Neil was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening.“He doesn’t act like that’s the case.”

His mother sighed, releasing him, taking his hands instead. “Don’t take it so hard, Neil. He’s not trying to hurt you—you’re just letting your emotions get the best of you. That’s a woman’s job,” she laughed, but he didn’t laugh with her. “Why don’t you go to bed, darling? You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

He sighed, shoulders sinking down. “Alright,” he said, mostly just to please her.

She stood up, leaning down quickly to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, Neil.”

“Love you too,” he said, and watched her walk away.

☽ ☼ ☾

Life went on, as it always did.

The local movie theater was still playing Giant, so Neil snuck out to see it for a third time. He ran into Mary-Ellen on the way there, and she decided to go see it with him, so it was the two of them side-by-side in the dark, cool theater. She asked if he was excited to go back to school, back to his far-off world of yachts and nepotism. He said yes, meant it mostly. About halfway through, she curled up against him, her head on his shoulder and he knew that, if he had been there, Henry would have been furious. He didn’t really care, though; didn’t care if his parents came home early and found him gone or if he didn’t get into Harvard or anything. He’d make it through. He always did.

He watched as James Dean stumbled drunkenly around the screen, bemoaning his lost love in his career’s eleventh hour. There was something bitter in the performance, some prophetic knowledge that his actions—ironically, the very same he was portraying—would mean he’d never see this film to completion, that audiences would flood its theaters to mourn him. How unhappy had he been, Neil wondered. Was his success not all it had been cracked up to be? Had there been a part of him that maybe wanted to be crushed in the metal shell of that car?

Mary-Ellen moved her hand to rest on top of his. Neil made no motion in return. When it ended, they both sat in their seats, completely still, the brightening house lights glinting off the tear tracks on Neil’s face. He felt incredibly, fantastically alone.

(tagging folks who commented on the companion piece to this! @noblerinthemind @cowboylexapro )

#another piece of dpscu lore :)#this has actually been done for a bit but writers block is kicking my ass and I feel like feeding you people #I swear it will end up ao3 when I have an acceptable amount of it #dps #dead poets society #dead poets society fanfiction #dps fic #neil perry #anderperry #even tho todd technically isn’t in it lol #phoenix writes :D #my post

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harajuku-cookie · 4 months

Text

Letters

Note: this was something that's been on my mind for a long time now and I finally took the plunge to write it. In my IkePri OC, Rosalia's profile, I wrote how even before they met as adults, that Rosalia and Gilbert were penpals as children. I wanted to expand on that point and so here it is!

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x OC (Rosalia) (pre-relationship)

Rating: General

Tags: childhood friends, penpals, spoilers for Gilbert's route

CW: vague mentions of domestic abuse, brief mention of death (minor characters)

When Rosalia was younger and still living as Rosalie Cain in her father’s estate, the one thing she found solace in was a traveling book seller named Akatsuki. He would deliver books that were used for schooling, reading for leisure, or reference material. Even though Rosalia did get the short end of the stick, she still somehow managed to get a book or two on delivery day. Akatsuki noticed that she read a lot of advanced stuff for her age, similar to a certain boy who would pop by his stall back in the capital.

One of the days when he was at his stall, a young Gilbert came by to pick out a new book and that’s when Akatsuki recalled Rosalia. He made a comment to Gilbert about a girl a bit younger than him also being interested in the same reading material as he was. Gilbert became excited to hear that there was another child who understood those kinds of books and wished he had a chance to become her friend too. He asked if she lived in town to which Akastuki responded that no, she didn’t, she lived on the outskirts, and that’s when Gilbert got an idea. He loved receiving letters and writing them himself, especially with his mother and brother, Albert, back in Obsidian. Why not also write letters to this girl too?

Gilbert asked if he could write her a letter and for Akatsuki to deliver it to her. Akatsuki knew how lonely Rosalia was. He wasn’t one to pry into other people’s business, but even he could see the signs of mistreatment the poor girl went through. Each time he saw her, it was like seeing someone’s heart turn black, a scary concept for a child so young. The only moment where he saw a spark of joy was when she was handed a new book, the tiniest of smiles on her face and the softest thank you was uttered. He felt for her and decided at that moment that she deserved so much more than what she received, so he accepted Gilbert’s request.

The next time Akatsuki visited the estate again, he decided to go to Rosalia first. He handed her a new book Gilbert had picked out for her with his letter hidden inside. Akatsuki told her the same story he told Gilbert, but in reverse about a young boy who also loved reading the same books as her. He wanted to be her friend, but knew she was far away, so hopefully she’ll read his letter and become penpals, using the book as a starter conversation. Rosalia couldn’t believe it. Someone wanted to be her friend? Genuinely? It was a tiny glimmer of light, but she wanted to hold it close. She asked if he could come back to her after delivering books so she could quickly write a response. After accepting and going on his way, Rosalia scurried off to her room and sat in a corner to open up the letter. Even though she never met this boy before, he could feel genuine kindness overflowing from every word. At that moment she knew that he, who she now knew from his signature as Gil, would become something special to her.

Rosalia knew she didn’t have much time before Akatsuki was done, so she tried to cram as much as she could into her response letter, still making sure to put care into it, and signing it off as Rose. The moment where she handed off her letter was the start of something new. From that point on, Akatsuki would be the middleman to secretly deliver these letters to and from Gilbert and Rosalia. Gilbert was happy with his new friend and finally after seeing her heart darkened for so long, Rosalia started to look happy. Akatsuki knew it couldn’t fix everything, but if it brought some kind of happiness, then it was something. These letters were so special to Rosalia that she made sure to keep them in a special box where her siblings couldn’t damage them maliciously. As she waited for the next letter, she would lovingly re-read his past letters, where they wrote about the books they’ve read to things they liked to silly stuff that children their age would talk about. He even talked about how his mother used to read him fairytales about a prince dancing with his beloved and how he hoped he could do that too. Rosalia may have been young, but she hoped that someday, maybe she could be the one he danced with, that he would whisk her away from the sad life she lived and live happily ever after, just like in the fairytales.

When it got to the point in Rosalia’s life where she was finally going to make her big escape in Akatsuki’s book cart, she took whatever she could bundle up with her, including Gilbert’s letters, and went off onto a new life. Around the time Akatsuki had decided to take her in, that’s when the letters from Gilbert stopped since he went back to Obsidian, which Rosalia only knew as him going back home in his latest letter. She was bummed that she narrowly missed meeting him, but hoped that she would someday be able to. She was thankful to him for helping to keep her heart from turning completely black and giving her hope that kindness prevails and wished that she could repay him.

What Rosalia didn’t know was that Akatsuki had now started doing what Gilbert had done for her, but in reverse when he noticed that Gilbert’s heart was turning black in the aftermath of his mother and Albert’s execution. Akatsuki would tell Gilbert the stories of that same little girl now residing in the capital and living a much happier life and doing the best she could to spread that joy in others, whether it was a helping hand or a kind word.

What she also didn’t know was that her wish of meeting that boy and dancing with him would be granted years later at the goodwill gala hosted in Rhodolite, where Gil and Rose would finally meet as Gilbert von Obsidian and Rosalia Espinoza.

#IkePri OC #Gilbert von Obsidian #Ikemen Prince #IkePri #Pastel writes

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hadesbullshit · 5 months

Note

since you asked about kendrick and drake!

cw for misogyny/misogynoir, pedophilia, sex trafficking

gonna need to split this into two parts bc tumblr won't let me put more than 10 images in the ask

first of all i want to say that i've always hated drake and loved kendrick so this whole thing is making me so happy lmao. drake really shouldn't have gone after a pulitzer winning poet 💀

important to note bc it comes up again later: drake hid the fact that he had a son and the only reason we know he has one is bc pusha t called him out for lying about having a kid during a rap battle

anyway here we go:

okay so essentially, drake and kendrick met, drake asked kendrick to open for him on tour. then kendrick featured drake on his next album. all this was waaaaaayy back in 2011. then in like 2013 kendrick was featured on big sean's song control right and he disses a bunch of rappers, drake included. nobody really cares bc like. that happens all the time and they're still friends yk lmao. EXCEPT drake who gets all butthurt, but who cares.

so fast forward to this past october, drake released a new album, and on one of the songs he features j. cole, who refers to himself, drake, and kendrick as "the big three", as in they're like the three best rappers currently. then, in march, kendrick is featured on future's song "like that" and he says "motherfuck the big three, it's just big me".

then on april 19th, drake drops two diss tracks. the first one is "push-ups" which is just a general diss, and the second one was posted on instagram and was called "taylor made freestyle" where he disses kendrick for featuring on her song bad blood and also says kendrick probably won't respond to his diss track for another week so that he doesn't have to compete with the drop of taylor's new album. the part that REALLY pissed me off personally was that the second of the two opens with a verse using AN AI IMITATION OF TUPAC (the fucking nerve of this guy), and the following verse was an ai imitation of snoop dogg (which says a lot bc why did he have to use ai??? snoop's still alive ??? he could have just featured him ????? 💀). that song had to be taken down from instagram within hours because tupac's estate threatened legal action bc he didn't get consent to do an ai imitation of him.

this is where it starts to get interesting. on april 30th, kendrick responded with a track called euphoria. my personal favorite part was when he responded to drake's allegation that he'd wait to release a response so he wouldn't compete with taylor swift by saying, "y'all think all my life is rap? that's hoe shit, i got a son to raise, but i can see you don't know nothing about that". he also calls him out for never talking about black issues, putting on a fake accent when he raps, trying to act like he's tough (he grew up as a privileged kid in the canadian suburbs and was a child star), using ai in taylor made, etc. he also says drake shouldn't have any right to say the n word anymore (not bc he's biracial, but bc of his misogynoir and the fact that he essentially profits off of US gang culture and stereotypes while not having any experience in that community or ever saying anything about black issues or struggles). here's some of the lyrics:

then, on may 3, kendrick released a second (very short) response called "6:16 in la" where he alleges that drake's team is leaking information to him and saying that drake deserves to be taken down (OVO is drake's label).

so may 4, drake dropped another response called "family matters", baselessly claiming that kendrick abuses his wife, saying he doesn't actually care about his son because he doesn't take many pictures with him (??), and claiming kendrick only talks about black issues to be performative (he said something along the lines of "you rap like you're trying to free the slaves" or smth)

Genuinely thanks bv I had like a vague idea of who drake was (someone who had smth to do with music?) but I’d never heard of Kendrick before

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dr-fic-recs · 1 year

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Soudam Fic Recs

Happy Birthday (Soudam) Series by PekoIsBaby [CW for discussions and vague depictions of child abuse] is a mix of fluff and hurt/comfort detailing the blooming of an unlikely friendship and then relationship between Souda and Gundham. It contains two fics, one for Gundham’s birthday and the second for Souda’s. The first is roughly 4k words while the second is roughly 9k. I’ve read these two fics more times then I can count and if you’re looking for some amazing Souda characterization these fics are it. https://archiveofourown.org/series/2387599

Always Like This by In_a_Mossy_Grove [CW for detailed depictions of child abuse and violent drinking] is a hurt/comfort roughly 13k one shot that shows Souda dealing with his parents who are visiting the Hope’s Peak area and finding support in his friends. The Soudam is already well established here. This is another fic I’ve reread a number of times and it’s one of my favorite examples of the Soudam dynamic. The other characters, particularly Fuyuhiko, Sonia, and the tag team of Komahinanami are also all portrayed really nicely and their friendships with Souda are valued just as much as the romantic relationship. https://archiveofourown.org/works/32262595

i want you to stop insisting i’m not a lost cause by secretly_a_savior [CW for discussions of child abuse] is a roughly 5k hurt/comfort one shot that shows Gundham helping Souda get back on his feet after falling into a mental decline. The Soudam here is already established. I like this fic particularly for it’s depiction of the struggles a relationship can have, particularly when mental health is involved. If you’re looking for a more complicated or realistic dynamic this fic is likely for you. https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055313

Let These Wounds Heal First by strawberrylemonade1225 [CW for non-violent drinking, alcoholism, smoking, internalized homophobia, detailed depictions of panic attacks, and vague references to child abuse] is a roughly 40k angst and hurt/comfort multi-chapter fic that takes place seven years after Class 77 has graduated from Hope’s Peak, following Souda and Gundham’s complicated blooming relationship after accidentally running into one another again. If asked I would say this is the best Gundham interpretation in a Soudam fic I’ve read- though both he and Souda are depicted highly in character. The story focuses heavily on their relationship with one another and their internal issues so if you prefer a slow burn with a lot of emotional conflict this is right up your alley. Sonia and Hajime are also written very well, particularly in their friendships with Gundham and Souda respectively. https://archiveofourown.org/works/28450578/chapters/69716862

Was/Is by Idnek83 [CW for vague references to child abuse and non-malicious misgendering] is a roughly 5k angst one-shot with a happy ending where soulmates are colorblind until they hold eye contact. Souda meets his soulmate really young and afterwards he can’t find her, convinced she’s dead. Fortunately, there’s a chance he may be wrong. I’m a sucker for soulmate AUs and this one in particular is really great because it explores how easy it could be to lose/miss your soulmate when the sign isn’t super obvious. Also, trans Gundham and Hajime being the best as always. https://archiveofourown.org/works/30465303

#soudam #kazuichi souda #gundham tanaka #danganronpa #dr2 goodbye despair #fanfic rec list

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yuripoll · 1 year

Text

KNOCKOUTS: Otherside Picnic (2018 - ?)

Otherside Picnic is an ongoing light novel series by Iori Miyazawa, adapted to manga by Eita Mizuno.

The story is set in the modern world, but there exist doors that can take people to the "other side," where strange urban legends and internet stories prove to be true. College student Sorao Kamikoshi finds herself exploring one of these doors, and almost dies on the other side, when she is rescued by another girl named Toriko Nishina. Toriko is a mysterious girl, but very skilled with a gun, and she seems to be searching for someone else on the other side. Together, both girls start to explore these doors to the other side. - MAL

The original JP is available on Book Walker, and is being published in ENG by Square Enix.

CWs under the cut. General severity rating: significant. In general, prepare yourself for anything horror-typical.

a little bit of very tame nudity, no sexual content (obligatory 'yet' - its still ongoing)

violence & gore, self mutilation

horror elements, including body horror, both in reference to monster designs and what monsters do to the body.

gun violence - there isn't much actual use of guns against people, but the threat is there a lot.

loss of sanity is a big theme. delusion & unreality

cults (in backstory)

child abuse (in backstory)

grooming(?) <- kind of vague imo (in the manga, at least) but the way a certain character is described in her interactions with younger women feels predatory.

anti warning for animal death <- to save you some of the anxiety i had reading that one arc, will let you know that no cats are killed in the ninja cat arc

#knockouts #otherside picnic

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bear-momma · 1 year

Note

Hi bear!! I’m sorry if this is a complicated ask, but I wanted to know if you had any thoughts (or referrals/recommendations for blogs that deal with this kind of stuff?) on a tough situation. CW for vague ab*se reference.

So I’m technically a flip and so is my partner, but I haven’t regressed around them in years because of some past trauma with them. In the first year our relationship was really rough & they did some things that really hurt me while I was little. I know now that what happened was 100% abuse. They acknowledge it as well. They’ve done a LOT of work over the years to make sure that they never act like that again no matter how bad their mental health is. They acknowledge that their illnesses and disorders are no excuse for what happened.

And nowdays I do feel super safe around them in day to day! They’ve genuinely never slipped into their old patterns ever since they realized how much they were hurting me. We’ve both developed a lot of coping strategies & learned how to communicate better to address the root causes of their lashing out.

But whenever I start regressing around them, I still find myself hiding it or forcefully stopping myself from slipping into it. I know that I can still regress because I’ve done it around friends of mine that are caregivers for other age regressors before, but I just can’t manage it with my partner, and I’d really like to be able to regress around the person that I trust the most & am going to spend the rest of my life with.

Do you have any recommendations for regressors with a lot of fear of rejection? Am I ever gonna be able to be small and happy again?

I'm so, so sorry that you went through that. I don't have a lot of advice for such a complicated situation, but! I can offer this;

It takes a long time for trust to heal. Your inner child, your regression, is supposed to be safe, so when something threatens that it can be very difficult to overcome it. I would suggest starting with baby steps (no pun intended) and try age dreaming or half-regressing around him. See if it starts to feels okay again.

It may end up that you're never comfortable fully regressing around him again, and that might need to be a boundary you discuss with him. But that's not a bad thing! Our minds are very fragile when we're regressed, there is no shame in feeling anxious about regressing around someone. It may be disappointing, but your comfort should come first.

I'm sorry I don't have more to say, I'm sending you so much strength and love 💛 If you see a therapist of psychiatrist, I would absolutely bring it up with them. They will have much better advice than I do!!

#bear answers #tw #trigger warning

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suspicious-pools-of-blood · 2 years

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I posted 865 times in 2022

That's 544 more posts than 2021!

33 posts created (4%)

832 posts reblogged (96%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@i-can-even-burn-salad

@whumpwillow

@painsandconfusion

@winedark-whump

@emcscared-whumps

I tagged 245 of my posts in 2022

#prompts - 16 posts

#reference - 11 posts

#suspicious pools of asks - 8 posts

#whump - 7 posts

#mine - 6 posts

#oc art - 6 posts

#elvan - 6 posts

#child of korsan - 4 posts

#👀👀👀 - 4 posts

#worldbuilding - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#haven't read them in a year but lana popović's lady slayers series has 2 fantastic books out that i'm 99% sure fit all these requirements

My Top Posts in 2022:

Heroforge finally released two-character minis to the general userbase. Do y'all even understand the whumpy potential here

6 notes - Posted November 14, 2022

Do Not Compare Me To Him

CW: manhandling, minor whump (14 y/o), very vague implied allusion to past dub/noncon, allusion to past domestic abuse

The first time Elvan hit Daxe, it was an accident. Well, it was intentional, but she had only briefly lost her cool. She had already been incredibly on edge all day and when she finally left the throne room she wanted nothing but peace, quiet, and Asenath’s calming presence. So when she opened the door to her chambers, she was not thrilled to find Daxe there. Hours earlier she had told him not to follow her to the throne room, and apparently he had taken that instruction to heart; the only indication that he had even moved from where she’d left him was that he was now kneeling on the rug rather than standing.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. “Why are you like this?”

The boy looked genuinely confused. “I...I’m not sure, master. Did—did I do something wrong?”

He seemed to shrink in on himself even as he asked the question. He had followed all her commands, hadn’t he? How had he managed to screw up something as simple as this? She was clearly angry at him for something.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Elvan muttered under her breath. “Daxe, stand up. I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing here.”

He scrambled to his feet and licked his lips before answering. “I, I—I just wish to please you, master, if you would allow it.”

“Daxe...” Elvan started again, trying to keep her irritation in check. “It would please me if you stopped trying.”

“My old master, he—”

Before Daxe even realized Elvan had moved, she had grabbed the boy by the jaw, jerking his head up to look at her, fingers digging into his cheeks. For a long moment, they both stood in silence, wide-eyed and trembling, Daxe from utter terror, Elvan from a sudden tsunami of some unidentifiable emotion that wasn’t quite anger, but wasn’t far off. He had accidentally struck a chord that even Elvan didn’t know she had. She looked at him for a long moment before speaking again, quietly but forcefully.

“I am not Theos. Theos is dead, he is no one’s master now.” She clenched her jaw. “I know what he did to you. Whenever I put up too much of a fight, I know he would take it out on you. Theos was not a good man, but I’m not him, and whatever you had with him, you don’t have with me. You’re a child, Daxe. I’m not going to do that to you. Do not compare me to him.”

Elvan let go of the boy, who immediately dropped his eyes back to the ground and started stumbling through an apology. “I—I’m-m sorry, m-master, I’m—I d-didn’t mean to off-offend you. I just, just th-thought you'd—”

And with that, Elvan struck him, open palm colliding with his cheek with enough force to snap his head to the side and send him stumbling backwards, where he crashed into the table and fell to the ground. Everything was blurry through the tears that suddenly filled his eyes and he curled into a ball on the floor in anticipation of the beating that was surely about to happen.

For Elvan's part, it hadn't really been a conscious decision; it was just the most efficient way of getting him to shut up. But as the warm tingling spread across her hand where it had made contact, she felt a new sensation in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't anger this time; if anything, she felt calmer. No, it was something else.

She gazed down at the boy cowering on the floor at her feet. Daxe, realizing she wasn't actively trying to hit him again, got to his hands and knees and was sobbing incoherent apologies with his forehead pressed to the floor. In that moment she knew exactly what it was.

It was power. Total power, not like the political power she wielded as regent, dependent upon countless other people and the existence and stability of an intricate societal structure. No, this was the type of power that would remain when the rest of the world fell away.

It was intoxicating.

Elvan took a sharp breath in, shaking herself from her thoughts. She turned away abruptly and pointed to the open door.

“Get out,” she ordered. With only a moment of hesitation, the boy stumbled to his feet, ducking his head as he ran out of the room. Elvan closed the door and leaned her forehead against the rough wood, listening to the footsteps receding quickly down the hall.

“I am not Theos,” she repeated under her breath. “I am not Theos.”

11 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

WIJ Day 1: Reintroduction

❤️ Name: Ash

💛 Gender: butch (he/him)

💙 Favorite season: winter

❤️ Average amount of sleep: 7-9 hours, I used up all my not-sleeping capabilities in high school

💛 Dream job: hackerman

💙 Blog established: My first post is from June 26th, 2021 (although it's totally inaccurate now lmao don't read it), so over a year ago now!

❤️ Reason for URL: My friend from high school once described my writing style/genre from back then as "suspicious pools of blood", and really that's only ever gotten more accurate.

💛 Fave Whump Tropes: In no particular order: intimate whumpers, whumper being the closest thing to a caretaker that whumpee gets, captivity, pet whump (sometimes), whipping, branding, knives, nsfwhump (sometimes), lady whumpers

💙 Projects you’re working on: My overarching story is Legends of Kainat, which includes a few different overlapping stories, but Child of Korsan is the main one. I've also got a modern AU with the same characters.

❤️ Favorite color: black and red, because I am a caricature of myself :')

💛 Anything else you’d like to add: I'm (very slowly) working on a new and improved masterlist, but in the meantime, feel free to poke around what I've already got up (and tell me if you want to be tagged in something!)

12 notes - Posted July 1, 2022

Yeah sex is cool, but have you ever discovered your old forgotten worldbuilding notes about a part of your setting you've been procrastinating on developing and then realized your initial ideas can still totally apply and haven't been invalidated by other worldbuilding you've done since then?

12 notes - Posted September 14, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

It's hERE!!!

It is genuinely so surreal to see my OCs' names in print, like physical ink on paper in a professionally bound book. I spent a good half hour just like, running my fingers over the text, words I've read hundreds of times on a screen, now in an actual book that came from Barnes and Noble. Thank you so much @thewhumpyprintingpress for making this happen!

15 notes - Posted September 24, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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