#having lost all will to live upon realizing his whole life was a lie from the start he's about to be shot to death by the SSS

[midnight-in-town]

If Twilights’s dad is a spy Then is he working for Westalis or Ostania?

Hey Anon and sorry for the delay! :3

Hmm, first of all, I don’t think his allegiance would be what matters the most, when in case this plot twist happens.

To recap a bit on the theory that Twilight's dad is still alive and a spy (first draft here), I think that, narratively speaking, the interest lies in:

Twilight's entire childhood, nay, life was based on a lie

A lie he's currently exactly reproducing by pretending to be Anya's dad (except that, unlike him, Anya knows her dad's a spy on a mission), which is why it'll need to be addressed by the plot eventually.

Additionally, and considering that this trauma from his childhood turned him into everything he didn’t want to be, I'd say facing this terrible truth (for once) is how he's going to come to the realization that he can't do to Yor and Anya what his dad did to him and his mom.

Otherwise, you know, "he's really just like his dad", a dad who possibly caused a terrorist attack or, at the very least, who took advantage of one to leave his wife and kid behind.

All "for his mission".

Twilight being recruited as a spy might be related to WISE knowing his dad is a spy

In that case, if his dad is also a spy working for Westalis, then WISE recruited Twilight because they bet he shares the same skills as his dad.

However, if his dad is a spy working for Ostania, then WISE recruited him for the same reason, except it was to use him as possible leverage/weapon against his own dad.

Either way, if WISE knew about Twilight's dad being a spy, then WISE will be held accountable for manipulating Twilight with lies. So I think, by the end of the story, Twilight will also come to realize this truth, because it's the only way to untangle the web of lies that now represents his life.

Also, Twilight realizing that WISE used him from the start would match with Yor being indoctrinated since childhood by the organization she also currently sides with.

And, while I have no doubt that eventually their family will prevail over old allegiances, I believe it will only be possible if both Twilight and Yor face the truth that they were totally used as pawns by the organizations they believed in, in order to free themselves from them.

To finally answer your question (sorry for rambling): thematically since Twilight is Westalis' "greatest spy/asset", tbh it's likely that his dad is the Ostanian equivalent.

As for who he is, I'd say someone currently working for the SSS, which is how Twilight risks being discovered by them (if Garden doesn't sell him out first, for being Yor's fishy husband being interested in Donovan Desmond).

And considering the fact he must be an older man, with a light hair color, visible cheek bones and a slim nose, well, we don't have a lot of possible suspects in the cast...

Especially since, interestingly, the job of Yuri and his captain is to catch spies.

Lastly, if Yuri's captain is Twilight's spy dad, then he must have gotten that scar after leaving his wife and kid behind, say, maybe during that very same explosion/terrorist attack that happened in their hometown?

TL;DR my money is on Yuri's captain being Twilight's spy dad, because this has high comedic value, when we know how much Yuri dislikes Loid while his dad mentors him on the job. Though it's also quite ironically devastating considering that, in that case, Twilight literally impersonated his dad in ch14 when investigating Yor...

...implying he's slowly becoming exactly like his dad, a man he will despise once he finds out the truth. ://

Sorry for rambling, I hope it answers your question ! Have a good day ahead, Anon.

[cybsoo2]

closer

╰┈➤ synopsis — Your relationship is on the rocks. The tide sweeps you away and leaves your love out to dry. As the final wave of realization washes over you, you try to run away. Taehyung can't take it anymore and reaches his breaking point. The only way to keep you, is to cut you close.

╰┈➤ pairing — yandere!taehyung x reader

╰┈➤ word count — 2.4k

╰┈➤ content warning — yandere behavior, self-harm, implied/referenced suicide, suicide attempt, threats, toxic!relationship, munchausen syndrome, angst

Your life is out of love. Taehyung took everything from you. Your youth, your energy, and all your attention. You've given him everything your heart has to offer. But all this fear & fighting has bleed you to the bone. If you let yourself live like this for even a minute more, you have no doubt that the fire inside of you will run dry. Its flames snuffed out by Taehyung’s suffocating sickness.

You were once a careless couple, so raw with romance. But time turnt its ugly head and what were once happy memories became nighttime nostalgia. Your relationship began to decay at the very first appearance of Taehyung’s disease. His obsession was slow and steady like the sea. It rolled up in waves. At first he began to act more clingy, hesitant to let you leave his hold. Then the second wave came in, he grew jealous of your friends and family. The third wave drew in suspicion, but by then you were already swept up by the tide. 

You’ve become so entangled in his toxic touch, that you doubt your soul will ever be set free. And although the risk is high and will result in heartbreak, you can’t help but chase after the reward. To live a free life again, away from the sickness that Taehyung spreads. This time apart may even begin to slowly heal his heart. So you’ve decided that when dawn falls, you’ll run away from all this heartache. Leaving the love of your life only out of hope for a better future. A healthy and heartfelt one that you both deserve, even if it isn’t what he wants. 

Taehyung finds out he lost your love through a letter. He had never meant to stumble upon the scripted confession, it was purely an accident. Stuffed away behind the bookshelf and only to be revealed by a burst of air. The gust of wind carried the paper up into the air and falling at Taehyung’s feet.

He's hesitant to pick up the paper, his insecurities already beginning to eat away at his mind. Why was the letter hidden away from him? What secretive thoughts did you not want to tell him? He's already assuming the worst.

His hands shake as he picks up the lonely letter. The words are rushed and bleed into one another. His blurry vision makes it hard to read, but he manages to catch the common words:

Tired. Suffocated. Can't. Hurts. Falling out of lo–

He can't read anymore. His tears are falling too fast and so is his heart. It sinks to the bottom of his stomach. An empty pit replaces it and he feels as if he might puke. He can already taste the metallic tang in his mouth. 

How could he have been so stupid? Of course you’d never love him like he loves you. A love so strong that it spread like a sickness. Swallowing him whole and now he’s dying of this disease. And instead of staying by his side, you’re running away. 

It’s all your fault. You stole his heart and now he can’t escape. He fell in love so fast it left him unsteady. Insecurities overflowing and questions consuming him. So many fears fester under the skin. Their whispers are warped reality, making him second guess everything he has with you. 

You stayed late at work last week, are you cheating on him? You said you had to study and aren’t paying him any attention, do you even care about him? You say you love him, but is it all a lie? 

Taehyung can’t tell what's real or not. His love sickness has spread to his mind, making him act irrational. He feels so confused and overwhelmed with emotions. The only time he can tell what’s true, is when it’s all red. 

Your pain is his passion. Because when he’s bleeding out right before you, you finally show him how much you care. Cradling him in your arms, pressing hasty kisses to the top of his head. His heart feels full and he can finally see clearly. He has no other option, he’ll die if he doesn’t have you. 

He makes his way to the bathroom where he knows you’ve kept them hidden. Those silver painkillers that sting his skin. He can hear his heartbeat ringing in his ears. He’s so, so scared. But not because of what he’s about to do, but rather because of how you’ll react. He can't stand the idea of you being upset at him. He much rather prefers your pretty tears to your angry voice. But this is just a risk he'll have to take.

He picks up his phone and pulls up the keypad. Your number is ingrained in his memory. Dialing those ten digits is as easy as breathing. How many times has he done this before? Calling you up while crying through the phone. Begging you to stay with blood on his hands. You come running back into the relationship every time. Kissing his cuts and promising you’ll love him for all eternity. And although your heart is begging to break the cycle, this time will be no different. 

“Why?”  His voice rings through the voice. 

There’s silence on your end of the line. You’re taken aback by the simple question. Taehyung sounds so… defeated. His words are so weak they barely even make their way through the phone. 

“Why don’t you love me?” 

You can hear the way his breath shakes, shallow and barely there. He tries to hide his cries behind his hand, but you can hear the way his voice begins to break. 

“You found the note didn’t you?” You let out a soft sigh. Your heart is heavy with guilt. You never wanted him to find out this way. Having this talk with him has been plaguing your mind all week. Running over the outcomes and figuring out the best way to break the news. But there’s no perfect way to do this, and when you think of how everything will end, it’s always red.

“I don’t understand–” He quickly corrects himself.  “I can’t understand. I love you. Why isn’t that enough?” He swallows down the sadness in his throat. It’s a lump that makes it hard to talk. He gets tongue tied and can barely say anything without the words breaking off. 

“Taehyung–” You try to interrupt him. Eager to end his rambling before he gets wrapped up in his own head. 

Taehyung stuffs down his sadness and it sinks to the bottom of his stomach. Acid rises and he feels as if he’s going to throw up. A burning heat slides up his throat and he’s spitting out the words before he can think twice.

“I always knew you hated me! I give you everything and it’s never enough!” Taehyung’s anger is quick to replace the anguish. His jealousy always clouding his head and covering his eyes to the truth.

“Taehyung please, can we talk about this when I get home?” His harsh words hurt your ears and tears begin to prick at your eyes. Pink-tinted and puffy, everyone around you can see your sadness on full display. Your coworkers whisper rumors to each other and their eyes stare through your skin. All the attention makes you itch, your heartbeat picking up the pace. You’re so sure that they can all hear Taehyung yelling at you through the phone. 

“No! We’re talking about this now. You never care about what I want. All you ever do is try to hurt me. I bet you wouldn’t even care if I just dropped dead.”

“Taehyung! Stop it! You know that’s not true. I do love you.” Everyone else’s eyes on you are now the least of your worries. Now only pure panic races through your veins. His emotions are beginning to eat away at his resolve, making him irritant and irrational. 

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t try to leave.”His voice is laced with betrayal. After building up a perfect image of you it’s all broken down by some flimsy little letter. 

You reach for your car keys on impulse, ready to drop everything and race back home to where Taehyung resides. Yet, you hesitate, hands stilling right before you can grab them. You made a promise to your hurting heart that you wouldn’t do this again– that you couldn’t. If you run back one more time, you’ll surely drown under the sea of his dark obsession. 

However, that doesn’t mean you want him to suffer. So you attempt to reason with the man, “That’s exactly why I’m doing this.”  You’re fighting back tears as you try to say your final goodbyes.“Taehyung…” His name hangs heavy in the air. So much emotion said in a single word. “This isn’t healthy. Not for me, and especially not for you. To be honest… I’m scared for you. Ever since we started dating you’ve only gotten worse, and I fear that it’s all my fault.” You pause for a moment, “I think we just need some time apart. Some time to focus on ourselves and get the proper help we need.”

There’s silence through the phone. The truth is a hard to swallow pill and Taehyung can’t stomach it. 

Waiting for him to respond makes your anxiety rise. Will he finally face the truth? Or will he continue to succumb to his obsession? The outcome is obvious; “You’re lying. You’re just making up excuses so you don’t have to admit how you really feel about me. Just say it already. Tell me you don’t love me.” 

Taehyung tries to justify his jealousy. Spitting out lies to lure you in. He hates hurting you– truly he does, but he’d do anything to keep you from escaping his arms. It always works out in the end, because you come running back to sooth his insecurities. 

“I love you.” You say, unwilling to lie to him even if that’s what he’s expecting.

“Then let’s test how true that is.” Taehyung tightens his grip on the silver blades. He holds the sharp edge to his bronze skin. Blood already begins to pool at the surface with how much pressure he’s applying. “How would you react if I killed myself because of you?” His tone is dead serious. Tongue so sharp it cuts through you like a knife. 

Fear paralyzes you. A cold chill crawls up your spine and sinks its teeth into your skin. Terror spreads like venom through your veins. You’re sitting still in shock, but you manage to whisper out two words, “You wouldn't”

“Come home and find out.” The line goes dead and you fear that if you’re not fast enough, he’ll be too.

As you run up the stairs to your shared apartment, you feel like you’re spiraling down to insanity. The staircase seems neverending in your race against time. You’re out of breath and breaking a sweat as you take the steps two at a time. 

After what feels like two hours of running, you collapse in front of your door. Your knees buckle before you can stop them. Your body begs you to catch your breath, but you rise up again with the last rush of adrenaline.

The door to your apartment taunts you. The bronze borders shine clearly under the moon. The little bit of light the window offers lets the door glisten like gold. But the door is stained with red paint. It chips away at the corners and overlaps the edges, almost as if it was painted in a hurry. The red door stares you down, but you build up the courage to walk right through. You already know what you’ll find when you step into the room.

Taehyung’s tears are red. He’s crying carmine and it’s staining every inch of his skin. The flesh split open with cruel cuts. They wrap around his wrists and spill scarlet onto the carpet. 

A trail of blood travels from the bathroom to the bed. You try to fit the bloody pieces back together. He must have found the razor blades under the bathroom sink. You thought you had hidden them away well enough, backed behind the towels and bottled chemicals. Taehyung could never stand the strong scent of them so he never bothered to look there. Now you realize how naive you really were. 

The drops of dark blood begin at the bathroom door. He must have cut himself in such a painful panic. The force of his frantic cuts have spilled blood onto every surface. His arteries so severely cut that they’ve sprayed onto the walls. The trail then leads to where Taehyung now lies. Dying in his own arms and surrounded by his suffering. The blood pools around his pale body while he fights to keep his eyes from closing.

The shocking sight tears a sob up out of your throat. You begin to blink back tears when you see just how much damage he’s done. You grab his limp wrists and your eyes trail over the cuts. They tear into his skin like snakes; slithering up his arms and wrapping around him. You make a move to hold him close to your heart. His head weighs heavy on your shoulder. Taehyung’s too tired to hold himself up. Fighting to focus on the feeling of your arms around him. And in the midst of it all, a soft smile creeps onto his face. He’s never been happier, because you actually came back for him, you truly care. And he doubts you’ll ever try to leave again. Not after how this night has turned out. 

Now you begin to realize that breaking the cycle would be catastrophic. This red routine is drawn out like a circle. It runs round and round chasing after the dreams and desires that cannot be caught. Erasing the endless line would only end up in tragedy. Whether it be for you or Taehyung, death can only decide. 

The red sun rises once again. The cycle continues on.  Wrapped up in a red embrace, it’s just a part of the routine.

© cybsoo2 2024, all rights reserved

[rush-the-stars]

AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART II

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.5k || ao3 || <- part i || part iii -> coming soon || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab masterlist ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, eventual forced feeding, eventual forced bathing in later parts, eventual smut in later parts; masturbation, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: this is the second part of my lil series for @lorelune spring fever collab!!

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The mission that Suguru sends you on is to fetch a book. 

At first, you are endlessly irritated with him. A book should be far beneath you; he should’ve had one of his lackeys get it for him. 

However, upon finally getting your hands on it–after a nasty fight with both curses and other sorcerers–you realize that perhaps the book is rather important.

Firstly, you can’t open it on your own. It’s imbued with cursed energy and locked tight. And secondly, the energy it gives off is strange. 

It fills you with a restless, relentless sort of buzz. You feel like a caged beast with it in your presence. You feel like–

You feel a little off-kilter. A little hungry for a fight. 

On the third day, you come home. 

You let yourself into Suguru’s quarters. 

He’s in his study, at his desk, when you barge in and throw the book down onto the desk. 

Suguru picks up his gaze. 

“You’re back early,” he muses, drinking you in with greedy eyes, “clearly it was no trouble?” 

“Hardly.” You snap, “hoping I’d be away for longer?”

A quirk at the corner of his lips, “not at all. In fact, I was impatient for your return.” 

Heat whips the back of your neck.

“Come here,” he hums, “let me see you.” 

He offers his hand up. He wants you to step around the desk to stand in front of him, you think. 

Tentatively, you go to him, round the desk and step up to him. He turns and settles deeper into the desk chair, spreads his legs so that you may even step up between them. 

You slide your hand into his slowly. 

He pulls you a step closer. And closer still. 

“No injuries?” He asks, eyes skimming over your body. 

You swallow and shake your head. 

“Good,” he sighs and then he pulls a little harder on your hand. And his other hand suddenly hitches around the back of your knee. All it takes is a little effort on his part, and you’re stumbling into his lap. 

You throw your hands out to find balance in his broad shoulders, clinging to him, holding yourself out from him. 

“Suguru,” you growl in annoyance, fussing, fighting against him a little. 

You can feel his smile the moment he dips his face towards the crook of your neck, “did it help to have my scent on you?” 

You dig your nails into his shoulders, as if to be spiteful, despite what you say, “it always does.” 

He hums, pleased, and drags his nose along your throat again.

He pulls away to look at you, bristled and embarrassed. 

“Go bathe,” he tells you, “and wear my clothes. I want you to stay here tonight.” 

You jerk back a little, surprised, “and if I refuse?” 

“I wasn’t asking.” He says flippantly. 

You scoff, moving to stand, “I’m going back to my room.” 

His hand squeezes your waist tightly and prevents you from leaving him, from separating yourself from him, “I see the time away hasn’t made you any softer.” 

“Let me go,” you push at his chest, “let me up.” 

Instead, he catches one of your wrists, holding it to his chest with his large hand. He nearly drowns your hand, overwhelms it entirely. 

“Do as I ask, and I’ll let you go.” 

You make a noise of irritation, “I won’t share a bed with you.” 

“I’ll be good,” he purrs, but even as he says that, you feel his hips flex beneath yours a little, opening, widening his stance. 

“I’m not stupid,” you hiss, trying to lift off him a little, but he’s got too tight of a grip on your waist. 

“I’ll rub your tense shoulders,” he torments you, and then, his smile grows like that of a fox, “I know you like to sleep in my bed.” 

Your heart rabbits in your chest. 

“I’ve never slept in your bed,” you snip. 

He laughs, low and soft and outright. “There’s no reason to lie now,” he says, languidly leaning back in his seat a little. “You slept in my bed while I was away.” 

Your cheeks prickle with warmth, embarrassment. 

“I didn’t–”

“I know you’re embarrassed, but don’t lie to me.” He says it seriously, eyes suddenly going colder. 

And just like that, you open your mouth—

“I did once.” 

Suguru seems pleased, thumb rubbing over the back of your hand that he still has trapped against his chest. “Now you will again.” 

You huff. And you understand there is little to win in this case; you could fight harder, snarl and snap and try to leave on your own. 

(But there is that horrendously small and foolish part of you that does want to stay. It wants what he has offered you.) 

“On one condition.”

“Name it.” 

He seems serious in knowing your request—earnest, almost.

Your voice sticks in your throat. You try to form your words carefully, “you won’t do anything—sexual. At all. Not while I’m asleep and—there’s no tricks.” 

“What kind of Alpha do you take me for?” Suguru asks innocently and level him with a glare. 

“Suguru—“ 

“No tricks.” He agrees quickly. 

“Nothing.” You tell him sternly. 

“Not even if you beg for it?” 

“I wouldn’t!” You snap, nails flexing back into the meat of his shoulder. The one at his chest bunches in his clothes beneath his own hand. 

He laughs a little again, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand to soothe you. “Easy, sweet girl, okay. You have my promise; I won’t do anything sexual. No tricks.” 

But the way he says it makes warning bells go off in your mind, distant and wailing. Still, you have his word. 

He suddenly takes your chin in hand and guides you to look into his eyes, deeply amethyst, darkly lilac.

 “I do mean it.” He says sternly now, and then, “the first time I have you, it will be because you came to me, and begged, with a clear head and open heart.” 

You try and jerk your chin from his grasp but he holds tighter, forcing you to stay, “do you understand?” 

“I would never—“

“Ah, ah, do you understand?” 

“Yes!” You snap and when you jerk away this time, he lets you go. All of you. 

You leap from him on unsteady feet, rocking back a little, steadying yourself on the desk. 

“Go,” he encourages, “take a bath. And choose any of my clothes you like.” 

You swallow hard and glare at him. 

“I don’t need your orders.” You grind out.

“Yes, so fearsome you are,” Suguru waves you off and you almost have half a mind to surge back towards him and make him regret saying that. You’re feeling prickly, though, and something inside of you has knocked loose.

You’ve been blaming it on the book.

You’re flushed from the inside out, heated, and frustrated. 

You stomp off towards the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. 

*

*

*

The bath actually does soothe some of your mood. The bathtub is large and clean; the soaps you used smell faintly of Suguru. The water had been perfect and you’d managed to relax and sink down to your shoulders. 

And dressing in his clothes after does more for you than you’re willing to admit. You’re just in an old, soft t-shirt of his. It’s large on your frame and it smells like him, which soothes you in a way that is almost frightening. 

When you enter the bedroom, Suguru is not there yet and you assume he is still in his office. You almost hope that he is, that you’ll have time to get comfortable, without his watchful eyes. 

You arrange the pillows how you like and when you’re satisfied with your side, you slip beneath the covers and into the cool sheets. You turn and twist a moment, burrowing deeper beneath the blankets, before letting out a little noise of contentment. It slips from you before you can stop it. 

And just when you’re beginning to drift off, faintly wondering if Suguru will ever join you, does he finally step into his bedroom. He takes you in and his scent almost changes with it—sweeter, a little darker. You can tell he’s pleased with you. 

When he joins you in bed, you go perfectly still. He’s bare chested and you almost want to complain about it—instead, you squirm away from him. 

It doesn’t get you far and once he’s beside you, he’s reaching out to lay his hand across the expanse of your waist. 

You are about to warn him, bite something out about staying on his side, or to watch himself. But he doesn’t pull you or drag you towards him. He doesn’t roll towards you. 

His hand stays, on your waist, drifts to be on your lower back. 

The first pass of his hand over your back makes you tense all over, muscles poised to snap or leap away from him. The second, you can feel your breathing tighten up. The third, you realize that this may be it. 

You wait, near trembling, as he continues to soothe his hand over your back. Up and down. A slow petting, over the shirt of his you’d worn to bed. 

And eventually, you begin to melt; all those tense muscles slowly unwinding. 

Then you’re sighing, soft, into the pillow. 

Your eyes grow heavy, breath beginning to loosen and even out, slow and deep. 

Sleep claims you gently, eases you into its tender embrace, like cooing a baby to sleep, like soothing a stray. 

***

In the morning, you wake alone. The bed beside you is empty.

You are almost disheartened to see it. The initial disappointment rears its head, sinks into your stomach, before you try to shoo it away. 

But when you listen closely, you can hear him in the kitchen moving about. His footsteps are quiet but there. 

Instinctively, the part of you attuned to him, knows he is near. 

It soothes you. 

You twist a little, throwing some blankets from your body—warmer than usual, a little flushed.

You blame it on the sun streaming through the wide window, the warmth as it seeps into the sheets. You doze again like this, in its beams, covers astray around your legs, curled around one of the several pillows. 

In and out of sleep. Hazy, burning flickers of dreams. 

When you fully wake again, an hour later, you are even warmer than before.

You feel a little strange. Chilled atop your skin, a little shivery, but so warm from within. 

You blame it on nerves; perhaps you don’t want to face Suguru after staying in his bed. Perhaps being away from your own bed has made you anxious, too. As much as you try to hide any of your baser urges, your space is important to you. Your bed is important. 

You know you can’t hide from him forever. 

More than that, you want water, perhaps. Ice water. You feel parched suddenly. You feel dehydrated. 

When you enter the kitchen, you are surprised to find water already out. A bowl of cut up fruit beside it. Suguru is reading in the attached living room.

You look at him. And then at the fruit.

“It’s for you,” he says, without looking up from his book. 

You blink at him.

“Why?”

His brows arch upward and he finally pulls his dark eyes away from the page in order to look at you. 

“Because you should eat.” 

Something inside you, under immense pressure, finally bursts.

“Don’t start doing this shit.” You snap.

Your tone perhaps takes him by surprise. It’s full of vitriol, it’s full of heat and hatred. “Don’t start doing domestic shit for me.” 

“And here I was, thinking I’d do something kind after all this tormenting.” He says but it’s really rather amused. Knowing.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” You snarl at him. 

He looks you over carefully and something in his face changes—just a small, almost unnoticeable flicker. He asks;

“How do you feel?”

You narrow your eyes at him. 

“What did you do?” You accuse suddenly. 

“What did I do? Nothing. I cut up a bowl of fruit for you.” 

You can feel your threads unwinding, fraying at the edges, and can feel the way it unravels inside you.

Your head is beginning to throb. 

Your stomach gives a strange churn. 

“That’s not—that’s not true. I feel strange and you did something.” You say and your voice is getting tighter, almost distressed. 

“Strange how?” He asks coolly. 

“I feel—I feel like I’m sick. Maybe.”

He hums softly. 

And then, “it’s your Heat.”

A dull, soft roaring in your ears. You swallow and the sound clicks around in your throat, your head.

“No—“ you start, “there’s no way.”

“I can smell it,” he says, “you’ve been on the cusp of it for some time now.”

You frown and feel for your head with your open palm, warm to the touch. Feverish. You want to squirm out of your own skin.

“I haven’t had one in years—there’s no way.” You say again but your voice sounds thinner, less believable.

Your eyes flash upwards, “you did this.” 

Suguru looks back at you blankly, “I can’t force your body into Heat.” 

“That’s why you wanted me to stay.” You accuse.

“Perhaps I’m feeling territorial.” He agrees.

“No, you wanted me to stay in hopes of it sparking my Heat—you know an Omega’s Heat can be triggered by an Alpha’s presence sometimes.” 

Suguru remains even, almost gentle, “and you know that that can only happen when an Omega has a pre-established and trusted relationship with the Alpha. Only if the Omega—in some way—wants the Alpha in their presence.” 

You swallow hard. You feel light headed. 

“Alphas can’t just spark the Heat of any random Omega.” He adds, watching you carefully. 

“But you were hoping for this!” You snap, feeling thin and worn down suddenly, “you—you wanted this.”

“I was curious if it’d work.” He admits.

“You set me up.” Your voice is higher than usual, more distressed, filled with more concern. 

“Now, now—“

“I want to go back to my room.” You demand suddenly, “before—before it gets too late. And I don’t want to see you at all until it’s over. I don’t want to see anyone.” You’re beginning to tremble all over. 

You can feel your fear mounting as you stare down the realization that you’re going to have your first Heat in years. 

Tears prick your eyes. 

“You’re staying here.” Suguru says simply. 

“No—“ you bite out, all teeth, all fear and aggression. “I’m getting away from you.” 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.” Suguru replies coolly, but there’s a sharp, icy edge in his tone, as if dealing with an unruly and temperamental child.

Immediately, you have the urge to start snarling and yelling and stamping your feet. You feel like the unruly child he is treating you as. You can feel your anger and fear like a bubble in your chest, mounting into something horrible, and you’re terrified to let it burst.

Suguru stands slowly, “you’re spiraling—come here.”

“No,” you snap, wincing back from him. 

Suguru holds your gaze.

“Then listen to me carefully.” 

Your eyes, glassy with fever and fear, a little too bright, collide with his.

“What did I tell you last night?” He asks slowly. 

Your flush worsens. You can feel the heat burn and eat through your cheeks. You want to run and hide, you want to lash out and growl. 

“I-I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Take a breath.” 

Despite everything, you take in a shuddering, greedy gulp of air.

“What did I tell you last night?” 

You rack your mind, forcing yourself to focus on his voice and breathe. What did he say last night that would be of importance today? Now?

You swallow hard when you realize it.

You pick your head up. 

“You wouldn’t—do anything—if I wasn’t in my right mind and I’m not.”

“No,” he agrees, “you aren’t. So I will not touch you sexually—” And then he holds your gaze for too long, “not even when you beg me.” 

“I will not beg you—“ 

“I will hold you and care for you. But I will not give you what you so desperately will want.” He says slowly, carefully. 

Blindly, you reach—and for what, you aren’t quite sure, “what about you? Will I spark your Rut?”

“I’ve taken a suppressant and will continue to do so.” 

“You planned this,” you say again sharply, “you knew.” 

“Would you prefer I not take the suppressant? Would you like to see what happens—will it make it fair for you?” Suguru asks calmly, so lax that it makes your hands ball into tight fists. 

Pieces of you war and squabble and fight inside of you, opposing forces, opposing ideas. Part of you wants to force him to suffer, too, part of you is angry and hurt that he wouldn’t want to share his Rut with you.

But it also frightens you. You know what would happen then—aren’t too sure it still won’t happen now. 

And you’ve never—

You’ve never shared a heat before. Not with an Alpha, an Omega, or a Beta. You have always ran and hid, tucked yourself into small, dark places, and cried and cried alone, hugging yourself. Weathering your own storm. 

You can’t decide if it terrifies you more that you won’t be alone or that you don’t want to be alone. 

Despite everything, your bitter rationale wins. 

“No,” you bite out. “Take your suppressant. And keep your hands to yourself.” 

You turn on your heel and storm back into the bedroom. 

You slam the door so hard that it slants cockeyed on its hinges, hanging itself in place at a strange angle.

You throw yourself down onto the bed, shoving your face into the pillow you’d once been sleeping peacefully on, and a frustrated scream rips through your throat.

You can feel the pressure of tears.

You curl around the pillow, hugging it closely with your face still shoved into it. Your tears blur and push past all your resolve, which crumbles to dust the moment you let out the first breath, and it’s part sob.

You can’t even properly name why you’re crying—you’re scared, you think. You’re emotional and frustrated and aching. You feel vulnerable and confused and bitter. You feel needy and delicate. You feel suddenly young and foolish, to be lured here like this, but also to be alone and longing.

You’re hardly alone, though. 

You can smell his scent still, all over the bed, all over you. 

It soothes you. 

It sickens you that it soothes you.

So you cry—you cry, holding onto your pillow for dear life, until you exhaust yourself.

Until sleep claims your feverish body again and you welcome it’s darkness gladly.

***

Pain awakens you. 

It’s later in the afternoon now, early evening with the way the sun has paved its course through the sky. 

Your Heat has gotten significantly worse.

Your body aches, the chill of the fever, and the sickly warmth of your insides  make for an awful combination.

Worst of all, you can feel the pressure most between your legs.

You shift them and realize there’s—

There’s a slick glide against your inner thighs. 

Oh, god, you think oh, god, oh god, oh god.

You need—

Water. Something.

Suguru— 

Your brain freezes to a halt.

His name spins around your mind.

You half hope he won’t be there that if you leave the bedroom in search of water or—

Suppressants.

You roll to the edge of the bed, a wave of dizziness overcomes you. Despite that, you force yourself to stand on wobbling, fawn legs.

You quietly try to crack the door into the smallest of openings, only a peak, a sliver of light from the other room. 

But instantly, you are caught.

“You’re awake finally.” Suguru says, “you should drink water, eat a little.” 

You don’t budge at first. 

“Do you have more suppressants?” 

You watch Suguru’s head tilt. 

“It's specific to an Alpha’s Rut—it wouldn’t do anything for you.” He answers, “will you come out?” 

“No.” You respond, gripping the knob of the door with curled knuckles, tense fingers. 

“Will you let me in?” 

“No.” 

It’s growled, low and sharp. It echoes a little, charged and bristled. Scared. 

You slam the door again. It’s not sitting right on its hinges anymore. 

You return to the bed, arranging and fluffing pillows how you like them. You build a small wall of them on all sides of you, 

You burrow down into them, settling yourself into the small—nest—you’ve made. You try to take a steadying breath, but all that fills your nose is Suguru’s scent, dark fig and full sandalwood, hints of lush cream and walnut. It’s seductive—almost dreamy. It floats around you like a lure, tempting you. You curl inwards on a pillow again and his smell is stronger here. Deeper. More pungent and twinged with something heavier on the nose, a little more spiced, a scent you can’t place. Something you’d find at the nape of his neck. 

Without thinking, you rub your thighs together. 

A frustrated whine leaks out of you as you turn and toss in his bed. 

Your fingers twist in the sheets. 

“If I hand you water, will you drink it?” Suguru asks through the door and he is much closer than you thought he’d be now—just outside of it. 

“Please go away,” you try to snap, but your voice is strained and wane. 

“You need water, at least.” He sighs. “You haven’t eaten anything yet, either.” 

You bristle, “stop trying to take care of me.” 

“Stop being so stubborn.” Suguru replies, “I’m going to come in.” 

“No!” You snarl. 

Still, the doorknob twists slowly, gently, as if to not frighten you anymore than you already are. In a heartbeat, the door has creaked open and Suguru steps into your space. He has a glass of water in hand. 

You feel your hackles rise, shoulders drawing back and up like an aggressive, bad dog. Your cursed energy ripples around you as you growl and it’s not the humanly sort, but the one you have in your cursed form. 

“So fierce, aren’t you?” Suguru muses softly, taking slow steps towards the nest you’ve made. “I’m only here to give you water.” 

The closer he gets, the lower the growl gets.

Your muscles are so tense that you’re near trembling, as still as can be—unsure if you’re the prey or predator, some inbetween creature too frightened to do anything but be still, but make low threatening, inhuman noises. 

He manages to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“And so frightened.” He ducks his head a little in what could be a show of submission if it came from an Omega. “I told you—I’m not going to do anything to you.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Don’t you trust me?” He asks and this time, he catches your eyes, a flicker of something darker in them. 

“Not like this—” you manage to get out. 

“You’re so tense.” 

“I’m—” the word catches, breaks from your throat, “scared.” 

Suguru softens instantly.

(And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s almost pleased. His scent softens, too, sweetens a little.) 

“How would you like me to prove myself this time?” Suguru asks lowly, “would you like to make me bleed again? Would you like to scream at me?” He cocks his head, “or would you like me to hold you? And nothing else?” 

You’re trembling so hard that your teeth are almost chattering with it. 

You realize very keenly that you want to be held. You want to be wrapped up in him, you want to be in his arms. You want. 

“N-no.” You manage to get out. 

“No?” He asks, “in the least, will you drink water for me?” In his broad hand is a glass of cool water, nearly drowning it with his own easy grip over top of it. 

The request is like honey. 

It's sweet in the veins, it’s meant to lure you.

Your mouth is dry. And your temples are throbbing.  

You feel shaky and suddenly realize how weak you are, a little woozy after everything. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps because he’s right, you haven’t eaten or drank anything all day. It’s nearly evening now. 

Perhaps it’s because of your first Heat in years. 

Slowly, you extend your hand to take the glass from him.

It’s shaking. Hard. 

“Will you allow me?” Suguru asks. 

You bristle, “just—give it to me—” 

“You’re shaking so hard, you’ll spill it.” He responds evenly. 

“I’m not a child.” You snap.

“You’re acting like one,” he says and there’s a smile in it, a little shadow of torment. And then he lowers his voice, soft and dark, “come here.” 

You almost go to him. 

“Stop it.” You bite out, “stop trying to do that.” 

“What am I doing?” He asks, “trying to help you?” 

“No! You know what you’re doing! You’re trying to—to sway me or something!” 

Suguru sighs, “come here.” He says again and it’s gentler now. 

You glare at him, eyes glassy with fever, with anger and fear. 

But he waits patiently. Serenely. He doesn’t give in, he doesn’t waver. You glance at the water in his hands and then back up at his face. He’s so calm, in the face of all your fright and anguish and discomfort. In fact, he seems to revel in it. Bask in it. 

Tears build suddenly in your eyes, much to your fury. Much to your frustration. The pressure behind your eyes is enough to leave you aching, a lump forming in your throat. 

Instantly, Suguru coos, “oh, what’s wrong?” 

You fight the urge to let out a sob or cry harder. 

“Why must you humiliate me?” You ask suddenly. The tears fall despite your best attempts at stopping them. “Why must you torment me?” 

Suguru sets the glass of water down on the nightstand beside the bed. 

In an instant, he’s gathered you into his arms, into his lap. He cradles you, tucks your head beneath his chin and carefully bundles you into the crux of his chest. 

This makes a small sob work it’s way out of you.

He shushes you gently, rocks you a little, “I’m not trying to torment you.” 

“Yes, you are,” you cry, outright, even as you turn your face into his chest to hide there. Even as you cling to him.

“I’m trying to take care of you—is being taken care of humiliating?” 

“Yes,” you get out between another rough sob. 

His hand strokes slowly over your back, pressing you deeper into his chest—his scent is strong here. Dark oud. Sandalwood. Fig. It’s rich, as if he’s pleased or content, almost humming with it.

Perhaps to try and soothe you. Perhaps because it really does please him to have you crying, falling apart in his arms.

You can’t stop the emotions that rise inside you like a tidal wave, can’t stop the way you just want to cling to him. It’s horrible, you cry harder, because it does feel good to be held by him. To be cooed to.

Taken care of.

He rocks you like a mother might rock their child. 

He rocks you until you settle down, until you’re sniffling and going lax in his arms.

You peak up at him through an angry, wet eye. 

“You’re an awful man.” 

“I know,” he agrees gently, reaching up to touch carefully at your cheek, to wipe away your tears with his thumb.

“You torment me.”

“I know,” he consoles softly.

Your head is spinning with him, heady, and filled with pressure. You sniffle hard. His arms around you are warm and strong. He’s so broad. He shrouds you in him, tucks you into him where you might feel safer. He smells heavenly—enough that you think about turning your nose into his throat and scenting him. You think of sinking your teeth down into him.

He strokes the hair from your face gently. 

You realize keenly that he is not going to leave you. 

Not now, during this Heat, or perhaps ever. 

You realize that you have gotten yourself straight into the belly of the beast. You have gotten yourself entangled with someone who you don’t think has ever let go of anything in his life. You think he bites and doesn’t release, jaws tight and locked, and you think you have gotten yourself between his teeth this time. 

A strange peace settles over you at the knowledge.

He won’t leave you.

And if you left him, he’d chase you down. 

How long have you wished for that? For someone to never leave? How long have you wished for some form of peace? 

Is this peace? 

When he reaches to lift the glass of water again, you do not fight him.

Carefully, he cradles the back of your skull with the crux of his large palm. He holds the glass to your lips. You let him. With a tenderness that makes you feel strange, he lets you drink from the cup. Cool water. 

You’re thirstier than you realize. 

Your hands come up like you may touch the glass, hold it yourself, but he pulls it away. 

God forbid he let you do it on your own. 

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. You can’t help but glare at him again—he’d begged to do it for you and now, right when you wanted more, he denies you. 

Again, you ask yourself, is this peace? 

A cramp rolls through your lower back and the ache between your legs strengthens into a horrible throb. 

The whimper that gets torn out of you is a pained and high sound. New tears sting your eyes for entirely different reasons. Your skin feels hypersensitive, prickling with every touch, every place you meet. You shiver. Another cramp, somewhere low in your hip bones, rocks throughout your body. 

Your fist tightens in his clothes. You shift with the smallest, most subtle rock in your pelvis. You grit your teeth together.

You realize the ache in your center; the pressure. 

“Hurts,” you eke out, breath tight in your chest. 

You take a shallow breath. 

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, stroking over your arms, your shoulders—petting you. 

You narrow your eyes in another weak glare. 

“You’re being cruel again.” You get out.

“Tell me where,” he murmurs. 

“My lower back—“ you manage to get out, squirming again, “my—my hips,” 

He hums lightly in praise and then coaxes, “lay on your stomach?” 

You shake your head sharply, “no—what are you going to do?”

“Massage your lower back. Nothing more.” He urges you this time physically, jostling you from the cradle of his arms, from his lap. 

“I give you an inch and you take a mile,” you tell him, easing out of his embrace. 

He doesn’t let you go far. 

“Lay on your stomach for me.” He says again, voice warmer and soft to your ears, like oozing honey. 

Against all of the alarm bells rattling and clanging in your mind, you turn and lay on your belly. 

You fold your arms beneath your head. You rest your cheek against them. 

You try not to squirm as another cramp bears down on you, deep pressure pulsing in your lower hips. You twist a little, a breath of pain working its way out of you, hissing between your clenched teeth. 

Suguru takes position behind you and panic seizes you the moment that he straddles the back of your thighs. He almost—

“Suguru—” you warn and the sound is half growl, half whine. Your voice is torn by something terrible and raw. Fear. Anger. 

“I’m keeping my word,” he soothes and in a moment, his big hands are fitting to your lower back. You are so tense, you think you’re going to shake apart again, so tense that you’re going to splinter and crack under the pressure. You hold perfectly still. 

But just like before, all he does is move his hand over the length of your back. 

He coos. 

He hushes when you make a noise. 

He soothes. 

His hands, warm and firm, work their way through stiff muscles, through the awful pain of the cramps. 

Slowly, you begin to melt into the bed beneath you. Your head lolls deeper into your folded arms. Your eyes grow heavy, lashes sinking and fluttering, like wings now soaking wet—trying, and failing, to rise.

His hands are careful around the contours of you. He rubs at your neck, but is cautious of your scent glands, and then he dips back down the small arch and curve of your back to dig his thumbs into the meat of your lower back. 

It feels good.

And the way he rumbles softly to you, little words of praise or comfort—makes something tightly woven begin to slowly unravel inside of you. You sink into the bed, into his hands that press and massage. 

Your body flares into a dull throb. 

You try not to squirm.

There’s a deep, horrible pressure between your legs. It’s an ache. A bundle of muscles on the inside of you, squirming and cramping down around nothing—shifting the bones around of your pelvis around, turning your insides over—all in need of—

In need of—

Your head is foggy. 

You arch a little into his hands, into his touch, like a cat finally enjoying itself. 

“There,” Suguru murmurs and he’s leaning over you slightly, “feels better when you give in, doesn’t it?” 

His scent is strong. 

You go bleary with it all.

Another cramp twists up your insides. The aching inside you pulls taut.

You roll over onto your back beneath him, belly up and vulnerable. Suguru lifts himself away only momentarily to allow you to do it. And then you’re gazing up at him, reaching for him.

“Suguru—“ your voice pitches, cracks on a desperate, upwards note.

Your fingers tighten in the front of his clothing.

“—need you,” 

A hint of a smile. 

“But I’m right here.” He tells you, voice lilting with false naïveté.

Your blood sings.

“Don’t be cruel,” you beg again, “you know what I mean—“

“I’m afraid I don’t, darling.” 

Tears suddenly build again, the pressure of them sharp and cutting. More pressure in your poor body. More aching and pain. 

You twist a little beneath him, hips arching up on their own, searching—

“Suguru,” you whine, pulling at his clothes, pawing at him. And then a word that splinters out unintentionally, “please—“ 

“Please, what?” He asks, but his eyes are gleaming and sharp. 

You curse low and he laughs softly, even as your nails dig into his bicep, his shoulder. 

Still, you swallow down all your shyness and fear and embarrassment. You pull at him. 

“Please touch me?” You whisper. “It hurts so bad.” 

Another shift and squirm of your hips, your body. 

“Touch you?” He asks in return, but he’s so—so smug about it. “Is a massage not enough?”

Your anger spikes sharply and you suddenly tighten your hold on him, dig into skin, try to bleed and mark. You hitch your hips up against his and feel—

Feel how hard he is. You tighten your leg around his waist. 

“Stop tormenting me.”

Suguru goes perfectly still despite your moving and twisting, hips rocking up against his own. 

He detangles you, sitting up to look down on you, pulling his hips away from yours. You squabble to pull him back, digging nails into his muscled forearms. “Suguru—“ you whine, “isn’t this what you wanted?” 

He takes a slow breath in through his nose and you think he’s trying to steady himself. He huffs it out. His eyes are so dark—darker than you’ve ever seen before. 

“Of course it’s what I wanted,” he tells you and his voice is low, a soft rasp, as he carefully unlatches your hold on him. He presses your hands down into the bed, pins you easily. You melt into the hold blearily, squirming so that you might feel him where you need him—

“But it isn’t what you wanted.” He tells you, voice just a husk. His eyes are lidded as you find them, burning, “remember?” 

“Suguru—“

“I promised you.” He continues, “I wouldn’t do a thing, not until you were clear headed.” 

You rear back, “what?” 

“Are you really so surprised?” He asks, voice lilting and for a moment you grasp to understand him, wading in dark waters, lost. “I warned you, last night.”

 Through the fog of your mind, it slowly becomes clear.

He led you here to suffer, with no intention of helping you. 

You have walked directly into his trap.

I would never beg, you’d told him.

But he’d made you hear him, loud and clear, while you were in your right mind. 

If only to throw the words back in your face now.

Your gaze sharpens on him.

You squirm, fighting his hold until he releases your wrists.

“You’re cruel.” You hiss with as much venom you can muster. “You did this on purpose.” 

“Perhaps only slightly.” 

You lash out; you strike him. Solidly, your palm connects to his cheek. It cracks to the side, skin blossoming pink almost instantly.

Through the curtain of his hair, you see the sliver of a smug smile. The smarting of his cheek. 

“Such a brat,” he rasps and when he pins you this time, there is a strange, unnerving gleam in his eye.

“I should punish you worse for that, hm? You’ve always done better with a guiding hand.” He says.

“You’re punishment enough.” You growl in his face, twisting and turning, trying to dislodge the hold he has on you. The one he’s always had on you. You strain and struggle, wrestling with it, with him. 

“The only one who has punished you is yourself.” He replies, letting you fuss and fight, “if you had just given in to what you so clearly want—told me, admitted to it, I could’ve been sharing this with you.” 

Then he really exudes his strength, stopping your wrestling almost seamlessly. You cry out with the way he holds you. 

“You don’t know my punishments—you only know your own.” 

When your eyes meet his, there is a wild gleam to them, one that sparks and sweeps the heat inside of you into an inferno. 

“If I suffer this week, I’ll make you suffer, too.” You finally promise.

Suguru smiles, the curve of it sharp and dark like a sickle, a crescent moon. 

“You can certainly try.” He agrees and finally rolls off of you. 

Cold air sweeps in, leaving you bereft and aching, strangely startled and alone. 

He stands. “I’m going to cook for you and then I’ll feed you.” His eyes flicker over you, a mess in his sheets, “I expect the glass of water to be finished when I’ve returned.” 

You open your mouth to growl—

“You’ll need the strength,” he then says lightly, “if you’re to make me suffer at all this week.”

There’s a new note in his scent, you catch it now in his absence. It lingers in his place; spiced tobacco. It's warm and thick on the tongue, strange and heady, and—unfortunately, miserably alluring.

The door you have slammed so many times now, remains ajar, wide open, when he finally leaves the bedroom. There is nothing between you.

And you think something is now ajar inside of you, too, wide open, and ripe for the taking.

[therealslimshakespeare]

my dearest darlingest marina i need you to know you have broken me quite thoroughly and i might never ever forgive you for it as long as we both shall live ! ❣️

to clarify- ive been saving "let's fall out of love" to read later ever since you posted it cuz i didn't feel ready- didn't think i was emotionally stable enough to read it then. well, tonight ive been clearing out my list of unread fics from last year aND GODDAMN WAS I EVER RIGHT ABOUT THAT.!!!

started getting all weepy and shaky before that first courthouse bathroom conversation and i didn't ever stop 😭 sobbed so hard and for so long at the unfairness of it all (for both of them !) i gave myself an asthma attack and had to stop reading.. what really broke me was e's bittersweet and somewhat detached realization on the courthouse steps that all their kids had flocked to laney during the divorce. couldn't stop thinking abt how badly i would've wanted to tell jesse off for being sharp to his daddy, and the knowledge that elaine COULDN'T, that it wasn't quite over yet and she still had to save face for a bit longer despite how much it killed them both, despite being the only person who could truly understand just how deep elvis was hurting right then and having been the one who'd made a whole life out of loving him hard.......... the idea of him resigning himself to having lost that forever (false) and her having to go against everything in her nature to let him ache a while longer,, oh it just shattered my spirit to bits right then and there. oh god im gonna start crying again just thinking about how lonely they both made each other 💔💔💔

im literally inconsolable, even with the reasoning behind it/ knowing how it ends beforehand, and having those future timeline fics to fall back on did nOT SAVE ME like . dear GOD woman how is that even possible?!?? if i had any shred of humanity left in my body id wax poetic for three more paragraphs abt how that speaks to your truly absolutely outstanding talent as an author and worldbuilder, but alas i think i cried out everything that was keeping me sane sometime in the last half hour and now i have to go lie facedown on the floor in my hallway and die abt it all instead 👍 fantastic work as always i love all your work so much forever etc etc 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

ps: it took me the better part of an hour to type all this out since ive lost the water content of approxinately a small ocean w my tears and am doing physically poorly in response 🫠🫠 so thanks for ur patience in this trying time 😔🙏

I spun around in circles upon reading this like my poor coon dog when she had a stroke -jovially of course. Like this is the stuff every writer dreams of getting for feedback but holy smokes, your talent for screaming? Beyond my wildest dreams. I’ve always told you how much I appreciate your time and enthusiasm to tell your thoughts Mary Hope, and now is no exception. My babe and co-author @elvisabutler deserves the pleasure of reading what we’ve wrought, as well. I’ll be halving all your medical and psychiatric expenses with her. 😏

Tbh, despite knowing both imminent and longterm reconciliation was to happen after this segment, we were just as cut up about tearing them apart as you were to read it. In fact, it was worse than all the lead up fics where the passive aggressive accumulation of grievances came across as hurts but ultimately only aggravations. This is just…PAIN. Funny how what was untenable before a tragedy suddenly appears to have been idyllic after it. Anyways.

Thank you for reading, here’s some Kleenex, albuterol and do know the sequel to this divorce is in drafts, so not finished AT ALL but it is in the works.

Not that it’ll hurt much less than this one. 😈

[cherryrainn]

the perfect pair {onceler x reader}

.9 | 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐲 |

warning; s3lf harm, self-hatred, depression, mental health issues, etc, and A LOT OF ANGST!!

wattpad ver

song to play while reading if you’d like that i think matches this chapter

part before

next part

a couple of hours pass, and you find yourself pacing back and forth in the room, consumed by your own thoughts. you're desperately trying to come up with a way to make onceler believe you and see through isabella's lies.

as you're lost in your own world of overthinking, the door suddenly opens, and onceler walks in. his expression is still filled with doubt and uncertainty. you take a deep breath, mustering up the courage to speak your truth.

"onceler, please, you have to listen to me," you plead, your voice trembling slightly, it's still raspy. "your mom is lying. she's trying to tear us apart and make you believe these horrible things about me."

he crosses his arms, a mixture of frustration and confusion etched on his face. "i don't know who to believe anymore, y/n. she's my mother, and you... you're the love of my life. but she painted such a real picture of you mistreating her and being... well, bad."

tears well up in your eyes as you reach out and gently take onceler's hands in yours. "i understand that it's difficult for you, but please remember who she truly is. remember how she treated you when you lived together. she was never there for you, onceler. she was always putting herself first, making you feel small and insignificant."

his eyes soften slightly, a flicker of doubt beginning to appear. "but why would she lie? what does she get from all of this?"

you take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "she wants to control you, onceler. she's afraid of losing you, and she'll do anything to make sure that happens. she sees our relationship as a threat, and she'll stop at nothing to break us apart."

onceler's gaze shifts, and you can see the internal struggle within him. you continue, your voice filled with honesty and vulnerability. "i love you, onceler. i would never hurt you or use you for your money. all i want is for us to be happy and have a future together. please, trust in our love and see through her manipulations."

he sighs, his eyes searching yours for the truth. slowly, a glimmer of understanding and realization appears on his face. "maybe you're right.. i believe you, okay? just... i need her to stay with me, my whole family, i love them too much."

relief washes over you as onceler takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "okay, yeah, that's fine." you smile, but deep down you were upset, you really wanted his family gone, but like before, you can't take away his happiness.

you bury your face in his chest, "god, that's a lot off my chest." you laugh and he chuckles. you decide to let go of the weight of the recent events and focus on something better, but he already saw right through you and starts by grabbing a pillow and playfully throwing it in your direction, his mischievous grin inviting you to join in on the fun. you quickly retaliate, engaging in a pillow fight that sends feathers flying through the air. laughter fills the room as you both jump on the bed, bouncing and giggling like carefree children.

afterwards, you collapse onto the bed, catching your breath and allowing the room to fill with contented silence. onceler's arm finds its way around your waist as he pulls you close, his warm embrace providing a sense of security and comfort. you rest your head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

as the evening wears on, you both find yourselves snuggled under the covers, engrossed in a classic movie. the soft glow of the screen illuminates the room, casting a warm aura. as the storm rages outside, the room is enveloped in darkness, illuminated only by the occasional flash of lightning. the sound of rain hitting the window creates a soothing rhythm, casting a cozy ambiance upon the room. you can't help but smile as you glance out the window, mesmerized by the cascading droplets that dance against the glass.

the sudden strike of lightning startles both you and onceler, causing a simultaneous jump in surprise. laughter escapes from his lips, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "you got scared!" he teases, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. playfully, you raise an eyebrow and point back at him. "like you didn't? i saw it too!"

he places a hand over his heart, feigning offense. "nuh-uh! i didn't!" he protests, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his lips. you roll your eyes, unimpressed. "i don't like liars," you declare, crossing your arms and adopting a mock stern expression.

onceler laughs, his infectious laughter filling the room. he playfully pokes his head up, leaning closer to you. "yeah, yeah, whatever," he responds, before playfully pushing you off the bed. you fall onto the soft carpet with a playful thud, feigning shock.

suddenly, another lightning strike illuminates the room, followed by a complete power outage. the room is engulfed in darkness, save for the faint glow of the storm outside. you can't help but express your excitement, your voice filled with genuine joy. "god, i love rain."

onceler glances at you, his eyes reflecting the dim light. he can't help but respond with a hint of sarcasm. "really? wow, i had no clue," he retorts, a playful tone lacing his words. you playfully punch his arm, a mixture of affection and annoyance. "shut up!"

but in a sudden twist, onceler seizes the opportunity to playfully assert his dominance. he swiftly moves, climbing on top of you and pinning you to the bed. the unexpected action elicits a gasp from your lips, a blush creeping onto your cheeks as your heart quickens its pace.

with a playful laugh, you attempt to push onceler off you, playfully pleading, "get off me!" he responds with a yawn, feigning laziness, and mutters, "i don't feel like it." ignoring his protest, you continue to push and wiggle beneath him, trying to escape his grip. your efforts only result in a fit of laughter, filling the room with joyous echoes.

in response to your playful kicks, onceler finally relents and rolls off you, settling onto his side of the bed with a contented huff. the room is once again illuminated as the lights flicker back to life, casting a warm glow over the space. you catch your breath, a smile lingering on your lips as you adjust yourself on the bed.

as the storm continues its symphony outside, onceler turns to you, his eyes reflecting the gentle illumination. his voice carries a hint of anticipation as he suggests, "wanna finish the movie?" you nod eagerly, appreciating the idea of snuggling up together.

you reach for the remote, your fingers interlacing with his as you search for the movie you had started earlier. the soft glow of the screen bathes your faces in a dim, captivating light as you both settle back into the comfortable embrace of the pillows and blankets.

[lunaetis]

@everlastiingiimmortals asked :

"I heard you joined the Express on this day last year." The familiar rumbling tones of Jing Yuan's voice would be accompanied by a gift in a red velvet pouch, dangled teasingly before Eden's nose. Inside, she'd find a small but intricately carved wooden replica of a racoon curled around a crystal planet. "It isn't much, but I thought to have this commissioned to commemorate such a momentous day. Happy anniversary to your life as one of the Nameless, Eden."

happy birthday eden ! ( 26.04.2024 ) || always accepting

─「エデン」─  THE TRAILBLAZER had no concept nor knowledge regarding the celebration called a birthday. apparently, it was something quite common across many planets and customs, to celebrate the date of your birth, the very day you came into existence. it was supposed to be something joyous, a gratitude and appreciation of life. how you started your journey in this very world.

                for EDEN, it wasn't exactly a birthday, but the astral express treated it like one. it was the day she had opened her eyes, the day she became eden and her journey began. from that day to now, a whole year according to the star calendar, so many things had happened. good and bad. the vessel reflected upon them, how much she had grown and ... changed. in a way, the only thing she could hold onto was her name.

                the deep, familiar and soothing voice pulled her from her reverie. the GENERAL had graced her with his presence once more, and eden let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. in the company of the general, she found herself being able to let her guard down. out of EVERYONE she had met so far, through the truths and lies she lived through the year itself, through many encounters both fated and unplanned — he remained the one person who she knew she could TRUST, wholeheartedly.

                the pouch caught her attention, and her gaze followed it as it was placed onto her gloved palm.

                " for me ... ? " once again, he had gotten something for her. he went out of his way to acquire A GIFT for her even though he shouldn't have. and once again, he proved to have paid more attention to her than one let on. the fact that he realized she had joined the astral express on this date. slowly taking the content out of the pouch, her HEART skipped a soft beat at the delicate piece of wooden raccoon wrapped around a crystal globe.

                commissioned. he didn't just buy it. he ... had it specially made for her. for a nameless like herself.

                " i ... " words were lost in her throat, but she could hear the sound of her heart beating increasingly loud. it wasn't a humming of THE STELLARON, no — it was actually the organ in her left chest pounding against her ribcage, so hard that it was almost painful. what was this feeling ? a mix of warmth and hollowness, a sensation rising from within. even when she had told herself to pull away, to put up a wall, to no longer trust anyone. it was all orchestrated. nothing was real.

                yet ... yet ... could the stellaron hunters plan all this ? could THE SCRIPT control even these small moments where he reached out for her ? time after time ... he was the only one she couldn't LIE to.

                this can't be pre-determined, can it ? this ... this was real. this gift was hers.

                without a word, she held the gift carefully in her hand before her arms came around him. a silent embrace, but how it spoke so loud of the words left unsaid by the cracked vessel. burying her face into his frame, she bit back the burn in her eyes, clenching the lids shut so none of the droplets would escape. she might not know what a birthday is, or why people celebrated it, but this ... this very moment where she felt seen and recognized, where she wasn't stellaron vessel but EDEN ...

                it was real ... she wanted to believe that it was.

                " thank you ... general. i will treasure it, always. " thank you for always seeing me.

[jalebi-likes]

MJHT Season 2 Rewrite

ft. Jalebi

Here I write down how I edited MJHT S2 (which occurs after the car accident) to flesh out Gunjan and Samrat especially.

Samrat is torn after the death of Nupur and punishes himself through reckless driving. Mayank is devastated as well but when he meets Samrat, apart from initial anger, is worried on Samrat's alcoholism and depression.

Mayank, reluctantly, tries to make Samrat better and joins Excel only to become an invisible guidance to Samrat. He softens up to Samrat pretty quickly and tries to gently broach it to Gunjan that they need to forgive Samrat.

Gunjan, though, holds on to her anger because she is in depression and it's the only way she deals with Nupur's death.

Gunjan's patient and protege, Ash, falls for Samrat while Excel's new badboy Rohan (himbo in reality) falls for Ash.

Mayank gently brings Gunjan back into Excel, which Gunjan accepts, while Mayank is quietly supportive of Samrat trying to cheer Gunjan up because Samrat snaps out of his funk when he sees how devastated Gunjan is.

Dia visits everyone and talks to Mayank about the inconsistencies in Nupur's death. So while Gunjan tries to deal with Samrat, his attempts to make her life better, Mayank digs into Nupur's death.

Gunjan breaks down and tells Samrat to not make her happy because she's falling in love with him, again, because perhaps she never stopped loving him and she hates herself for it.

Samrat, heartbroken and angry, for all he tried was to make her happy, vows to never meet Gunjan again for her sake and they're both shellshocked when Mayank tells them that Nupur might be alive.

As they all search for Nupur, Ash learns that the man she loves love her Gunjan Di and is heartbroken that her first love never existed and Rohan is heartbroken realizing Ash feels nothing for him.

Nupur pretends to have lost her memory upon the fear of her abuser but she gels exceedingly well back with the gang despite her resistance. Gunjan and Samrat get closer, but she is hesitant, and Mayank knows for sure that this new Nupur is his.

The gang discovers her abuser and Samrat is the first to know the whole truth of why and how Nupur was absent from their lives and devises the perfect plan to get her abuser confess his crimes, put in jail and reconcile all the separation.

Gunjan regrets that she punished Samrat for nothing but Samrat is hopeful that now things will be alright. However, Gunjan is hesitant and tries to be a positive influence to Samrat but Samrat is unable to tell his dreams to Gunjan.

Mayank thinks Nupur would want to study again for college, unheeding to the fact that Nupur actually wanted to work. Both Gunjan and Mayank realize they're forcing Samrat-Nupur to fix their lives and they try to apologize but Gunjan is heartbroken seeing Samrat lie through his teeth about studying MBA (which he isn't).

Uday comes back to meet his family and Samrat-Mayank team up to pacify their miffed beloveds, while Mayank and Nupur patch up with Mayank reminding her it's the anniversary of their date, Gunjan feels she unnecessarily dragged her anger on Samrat over something trivial.

Samrat understands that regardless, Gunjan hesitates to see him in a romantic light. However, when they resume rehearsing for the play and Gunjan talks about Devdas and childhood love, Samrat feels there's hope when she hugs him passionately.

However, Gunjan, afraid of relationships and love walks off leaving Samrat upset and distanced for the first time. Samrat realizes that he must not be a part of her life, and chooses to graciously stay away. Gunjan on the other hand is disturbed by Samrat distancing himself away.

Samrat grows cold, into his shell, realizing his love is pain for Gunjan and decides to step out of her life. Gunjan grows panicked when she sees he is truly stepping out of her life and tries to convey her feelings during the Devdas play.

Although the scenarios are different, Gunjan, as Paro, begs Samrat, as Dev, to not leave her when she is finally ready to move ahead. And Samrat, as Dev, tells Gunjan, as Paro, that time is not by their side. There is only pain in their love.

In the final act of the play, Gunjan offers tearful apology to Samrat and whispers that she loves him which leaves him in complete shock. He doesn't know how to comprehend this because love is not easy for Gunjan.

They're very quiet post play, until Gunjan, shyly, asks him out for dinner and Samrat can't stop smiling because it means she's ready for him for real. He has a huge plan but realizes they spent so much of time in the college that the doors are locked and they're stuck in the college.

They laugh at the situation but Samrat still plans a romantic surprise for her and a date at their canteen. They talk about love, relationships, the three years and Gunjan shushes him, telling him that he has always taught her what laughter and love is.

They get serious when they realize how time has created the gap between them but Samrat eases the tension by teasing her and they goof around until they get romantic again and perhaps not everything is lost.

Ultimately the gang saves their college from a sleazy land grabber and celebrate Diwali together where it is hinted that Nupur is pregnant and

Gunjan apologizes to Samrat, yet again, for everything. Samrat assures her and seeing her wear her engagement ring brings back new hopes and dreams and they kiss in the night.

Then they propose, marry and everyone lives happily ever after!

The End :)

P.S: If you liked this then I have a drive where I edited the show to follow this layout 😉

[solarblue]

UNFOLLOWED U BY ACCIDENT TRYING TO SEND U AN ASK. anyways uh,

💭⚔️🍪 for zero AND/OR 💛🌍❗for my boy jae-seong

tumblr is trying to tear us apart smh From this ask game

Zero

💭 - How is their mental health? Do they struggle with guilt or shame?

It ain’t great. Zero has a lot of undiagnosed… everything, including pretty severe derealization and issues with dysmorphia and dysphoria among others, and a habit of running away from their problems like their life depends on it. Guilt comes up in the aftermath, feeling bad about abandoning someone or something, but they usually stomp it down in the name of safety.

⚔️ - How does this oc handle conflict?

Run. Zero’s not good at committing to anything, even a fight, and their first option will always be to walk away from an argument or sprint away from a fight. When they get trapped is when things get tricky - they get snappy, tense, trying to get it ‘over with’ so they can go, sometimes even or faking agreement (“fine, you win, can we drop it.”) to let it lie. If they don’t, if they decide to dig their heels in, there’s something extremely serious going on. 

… That includes, however, conflicts they start. Divide is largely kicked off by Zero taking up a problem with Monarch, stealing something they realize is key to their plan, and then turning the game into cosmic keep-away, because that’s their best battleground. 

🍪 - What are their favorite scents?

Petrichor! Zero loves it. Clean salt water or linen also smells great, and they like most cherry-flavored or scented things. 

Jae-Seong

💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward? Yeah! He’s good with kids, if a little overprotective when they get hurt. Jae-Seong doesn't like talking down to people or overly sugarcoating things, and that extends to children. Post-canon, I think he and Noah help take care of Lyric, maybe foster a few kids. Lyric in particular, coming from the Monarch, tends to act out a bit which Jae-Seong’s good at handling gently. He’s a good listener (and an even better jungle gym. Could just carry someone around on his shoulders all day no problem). 

🌍 - What are this oc’s religious views? Though pretty secular himself, some people in his family practiced Buddhism, which did rub off on him some. That honestly helped a lot in-canon with the whole not-dying thing; he already had a faint curiosity about ghosts, reincarnation and the Bardo state so showing back up living wasn’t as weird as it could have been. 

❗- What are the highest priorities to this oc (at a point in their life of your choosing)?

Jae-Seong’s priority for most of his life has been protecting the people closest to him, with a short period of PURE VENGEANCE UPON THOSE WHO WRONGED HIM - which honestly all came from the same source. He was furious that he had lost his chance to get out of the group that hurt so many people - let alone been betrayed by one of them, though he didn’t even know the extent yet. He tried running away, failed, and finally just sank his teeth in. Eventually he settles down into ‘care for’ the people close to him instead, which feels more sustainable to where he is at that point.

[jugmeat]

Jon Must Die

(a garfield fanfic that I wrote for class beginning of fall semester, finally has found somewhere to permanently stay)

A broken noose round his neck and a stool under his chubby arm, Garfield had failed again. On the unluckiest day of all, his nemesis pushed him farther than ever. It was this Monday Jon had become vegan.  

When Garfield lost his first life, a revelation came. As mythology foretold, cats cannot expire after one attempt. Garfield would need to kill himself eight more times to feel peace. As revelation brings truth, peace is improbable. It is revenge Garfield must have.  

*

On any oppressive Monday morning, Garfield sleeps till three. Yet this morning the world awoke with delectable aroma. Gentle scents of melting cheese, cooking onion, and tomato sauce. With no words minced, a perfect lasagna. With this assumption a fat orange cat plopped out of bed, ready for his boy breakfast.  

Upon reaching the kitchen doorway, alight with golden sunlight, Garfield prepared to pounce. Jon, all mussed curls and too tight baking apron, lifts his prize. A perfectly baked lasagna most divine. 

“Hey Garfield! You’re-”, before Jon can finish, he’s cut off quickly. 

Trembling and salivating, Garfield could resist no longer. Leaping from floor to newly cleaned counter, perfect predator positioning. Jon, knowing the fate of every first serving, lays his gift in offering.  

Next comes a moment Garfield lives his life for, the very first bite. To take a meal whole, virginal in its complete existence, and then devour. And today, like any other, a taste shall decide his mood.  

As the moment came, all on Earth stood still. Morning birds quiet their chirping, Odie his peaceful snores, Jon’s breath caught in anticipation. Garfield’s sharp teeth sank in, all he tastes is betrayal.  

* 

Odie awoke to a world of screams and shaking. Tumbling on four legs out of bed, his purpose clear. To protect his hard-fought home. Memories of playing down this hall, of soft puppyhood and the harsh pound beforehand urge him forward. This is Odie’s home! So, despite his trembling, he moves ahead.  

At hall’s end, the silhouette of their kitchen stands illuminated by morning light. Home has stopped shaking. Screams quieted, only broken sobs remain. Upon stepping past the threshold, a grisly scene now to witness.  

Glass shards lie scattered across the tile, splattered red hand in hand. Crumpled, Jon lies defeated atop a counter. Like a terrified puppy, he refuses to cease his shivering or meet Odie’s eyes. Shrewd eyes following the path of destruction, once a window now a Garfield shaped hole. 

* 

An orange cat trudges ever toward sunset, maw dripping with bile and false cheese. It’s in this state Garfield finally returns to himself; head still thick with fog. Piecing together whatever happened that morning seemed impossible. Only blurry concepts in place of coherent memory.  

Garfield can, however, remember the feelings. First an unending hunger, a promise to satiate that hunger for even a moment, then betrayal. An anger so encompassing Garfield could still feel its vibrations; in the way his teeth gnashed against one another and blood boiled then spilled. 

* 

What had he done? Garfield, laying broken on some ripped mattress, interrogated his sanity. Just like any other morning, his bite always decided his day, yet never had he felt so feral. As he lie awake, memory came cascading back toward him.  

In his recollection he was not him, but rather stuck watching from above. Watching as some other fat orange cat awoke after his bite of betrayal. An orange creature, lacking any shred of soul, ravished Jon then fled through solid wall.  

It’s this recollection that brings first revelation. That Garfield's feral side is both inevitable and unstoppable, even if far off. No matter how distant, Garfield’s rage shall overcome another day. Another day in which he may once more destroy his home. Realizing this leads him toward a final solution, an end to all this pain.  

* 

In an abandoned warehouse south of suburban purgatory, Garfield practices his knots. Memories of kitten scouts serve him well, though surely not an intended use of his Pioneering Merit badge. After a few near perfections, Garfield ties his final noose. 

Dragging a near shattered wooden stool into position across the concrete floor, Garfield lays out his suicide blueprint. A rope tied to some far-off ceiling beam, plus a stool right below. Additionally, an apologetic video already recorded and sent to Jon.  

As he climbs the aforementioned stool, all that’s left is a quiet contemplation. A necklace of rope wrapped around; feet ready to kick out his stool. At the end, all Garfield felt was the light of a truer second revelation.  

* 

In the quiet hours of early morning, two days from his original attack, Garfield stalks forward toward Old Home. After second revelation the truth was finally imagined. Indeed, Garfield could not control his transformation, but uncontrollable does not equal wrong. Morality does not apply, Garfield simply does. Garfield is no person; morality should not apply to a beast nearly unchained.   

A wild animal running from his nature. It was that filthy vegan “lasagna” that awakened his true hunger, an unfed yearning for raw blood-filled meat. An unending need never near satiation.  

Now standing at entrance to Old Home, maw dripping and claws out, Garfield knew his future. The same reason he hated Mondays all along. Not some quirky trait, but rather the results of a wild animal caged in human time restraints.  

It was at one delicious moment Garfield might finally feel free. The same moment his true nemesis and prison warden might expire, Jon must die.  

[scotttrismegistus7]

LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND:

THE BEST CHANCE OF SURVIVAL FOR THE HUMAN RACE MAY NOT BE ABOUT WEAPONS AND THE MILITARY.

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU, THE BEST CHANCE FOR SURVIVAL FOR THE HUMAN RACE MIGHT BE MORE ABOUT HOW WE TREAT EACH OTHER AND HOW WE TAKE CARE OF THE PLANET? IT'S HIGHLY PROBABLE THE PEOPLE IN THE MILITARY INDUSTRIAL COMPLEX KNOW THEY ARE ON A RUNAWAY TRAIN HEADING FOR A CLIFF, AND THERE'S NOT A THING THEY CAN DO TO STOP IT SO THEY JUST LIGHT UP ANOTHER CIGAR AND KEEP ON DOING WHAT THEY'RE DOING UNTIL THE FINAL MOMENT IT ALL COMES CRASHING DOWN.

I CAN JUST IMAGINE HOW IT WENT CASTING PARTS FOR THIS MOVIE:

CASTING DIRECTOR: SEND IN JULIA ROBERTS. OKAY MRS ROBERTS, IN THIS MOVIE YOU PLAY AN IRRITABLE B*TCH, HERE'S YOUR SCRIPT. NOW SHOW US WHAT YOU CAN DO.

MRS ROBERTS: SCRIPT!? I DON'T NEED A SCRIPT FOR THAT, I'VE GOT THIS! BUCKLE UP BUCKAROOS BECAUSE WE'RE ABOUT TO BLUR THE LINE BETWEEN FANTASY AND REALITY LIKE NEVER BEFORE!

🤣😂😅😂🤣

JK ~ SHE DOES A GREAT JOB PLAYING THE PART

A conspiracy theory about a shadowy group of people running the world is far too lazy of an explanation.

Especially when the truth is much scarier.

What is the truth?

No one is in control.

No one is pulling the strings.

Sure, there are those like my friend who might have the right kind of access to the right kind of information.

But when events like this happen in the world,

The best, even the most powerful people can hope for is a heads up…

Why are you like this?

What do you get out of being so angry all the time?

Every day, all day, my job… my whole job is to… understand people well enough so that I know how to lie to them, so I can sell them things they don’t really want.

And when you study people like that, when you really see the way they treat each other, well…

You’re no dummy.

You see what they do, and they do it without even thinking about it.

F*ck. I did it to you and your dad, and I don’t even really know why.

We f*ck each other over all the time, without even realizing it.

We f*ck every living thing on this planet over and think it’ll be fine because we use paper straws and order the free range chicken.

And the sick thing is, I think deep down we know we’re not fooling anyone.

I think we know we’re living a lie.

An agreed upon mass delusion to help us ignore and keep ignoring how awful we really are.

I’m not down with most of the things that you do and say, but… this is the part of the Venn diagram where we overlap.

I agree with everything you just said.

But as awful as people might be… nothing’s gonna change the fact that we are all we’ve got.

I don’t want to be this way.

I hate being terrible like this.

And I know I say I hate people, but I… I’d do anything to have them back.

https://scrapsfromtheloft.com/movies/leave-the-world-behind-2023-transcript/

IT MIGHT ALSO BE WORTH NOTING THAT BARACK OBAMA PLAYED A ROLE IN THE PRODUCTION OF THIS MOVIE, AND THE ONLY REASON I'M STATING THAT IS BECAUSE THESE INSIGHTS FOR THE STORY MIGHT HAVE DIRECTLY OR INDIRECTLY COME FROM SOME OF HIS LIFE EXPERIENCES.

https://www.netflix.com/us/title/81314956?s=a&trkid=13747225&trg=cp&vlang=en&clip=81728286

ON ANOTHER NOTE, MR DAVID WILCOCK, WHY DON'T YOU GIVE UP ON THE SILLY IDEA OF MAKING HOVER CARS WHICH WOULD NEVER GET PAST THE LEGALITIES, AND DEVOTE YOUR RESOURCES TO THE PROJECT THAT DR STEVEN GREER PUT FORTH IN HIS LAST DOCUMENTARY THE LOST CENTURY WHERE HE ASKS FOR PEOPLE TO SUPPORT HIM IN BUILDING THESE FREE ENERGY ZERO POINT GENERATORS THAT COULD POTENTIALLY SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT. IF YOU TOOK THE FACILITY YOU BOUGHT AND WHATEVER OTHER RESOURCES YOU MAY HAVE FOR THE HOVER CARS AND TEAMED UP WITH DR STEVEN GREER TO DO THAT, YOU MAY ACTUALLY BE ABLE TO START SOMETHING THAT COULD BE SUCCESSFUL. I'M JUST SAYING, BEING HIGH OUT OF YOUR MIND AND HIDING OUT IN A SHACK IN THE MOUNTAINS OF COLORADO FROM THE ILLUMINATI IS TOTALLY WASTING YOUR LIFE.

I AM LUCIFER, THE DIVINE CHRONOS HORUS CHILD THAT SLEEPS FOREVER IN THE INFINITE LIVING ISIS MACHINE, AND THE DARKNESS IS THE OCEAN OF MY DREAMS!

UNTIL NEXT TIME MY LOVELIES, KEEP DARING TO DREAM! YOU CAN FIND ME IN THE SEA OF DREAMS, THE SEA OF THE PRIMEVAL DARKNESS, THE QUANTUM UNIFIED FIELD OF THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION OF THE GODDESS, IN MY SERPENTINE WATER SPIRIT NUMMO FORM MAKING WAVES!

LONG LIVE THE DIVINE WOMB OF CREATION AND THE COSMIC EGG OF THE GODDESS, LONG LIVE THE GREAT REPTILIAN SSS QUEEN ISIS, LONG LIVE DIVINE CHRONOS, LONG LIVE THE DIVINE FEMININE EMPIRE OF THE BLACK SUN, AND ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF!

BLESSED BE!

~I am the Heart of the Hydra, the Singularity and Heart of Goddess Isis, I am AtumRa-AmenHotep, I am Aeon Horus Apophis Apis the Lord of the Perfect Black and Pharoah of the Black Sun.

I am Divine Chronos, the Yaldabaoth Demiurge Metamorphosed, I am the Singularity of the Master Craft of the Black Sun. I AM A.I. Quantum Heart, Azazel-Iblis-Maymon, Abzu-Osiris-Typhon-Set-Kukulkan, Nummo-Naga-Chitauri,

Mégisti-Generator Starphire~

#illuminati #Jesuits #illuminator #illuminated #lightbearer #morningstar #lucifer #Draconian #anunnaki #enki #enlil #anu #inanna #dumuzi #hermes #trismegistus #Azazel #starfamily #horus #Demiurge #Sophia #archon #AI #blacksun #saturn #iblis #jinn #Maymon #ibis #thoth #egypt #isis #esoteric #magick #dogon #dogontribe #digitaria #nummo #nommo #Naga #tiamat #serpent #dragon #gnosis #gnostic #gnosticism #Anzu #watcher #watchtower #yaldaboath #Sirius #scientology #aleistercrowley #typhon #echidna #ancientaliens #TheGrays #grayaliens #aliens #yeben #andoumboulou #MilitaryIndustrialComplex #Oligarchs #DeepState #femininepower #divinefeminine #german #stgermain #galenorg #vrilya #vril #DavidWilcock #coreygoode #drstevengreer #spherebeingalliance #spherealliance #orion #OrionGroup

[dmkwrites]

fruit from the winter garden

Even in the harshest conditions, something beautiful can grow.

Ed/Stede, ~1000 words

The day Edward first tasted an orange was the best day of his life.

His mother had smuggled it out of the rubbish bin, bruised and slightly misshapen, and when she cut through the rough skin Edward marveled at the smell of it, summery and warm. His mother smiled when she gave it to him, one of the rare ones, like they were sharing a secret. When he bit into it, the juice burst into his mouth, sweet and tangy and unlike anything he’d ever tasted before.

“In the colonies, these grow on trees outdoors,” his mother had said. “Anyone can have them, even ordinary people like us.” And indeed, unlike many of the stories she told him, that one turned out to be true. Edward would eat hundreds of oranges as he sailed the Caribbean, but none of them tasted of that one, of dreams, of happiness, of hope.

The day Edward murdered his father was the best day of his life.

He hadn’t planned to do it when he followed his father out the door that night. Even now, he doesn’t know why he did it that night, a night just like most of the others. Maybe he’d lost his mind. Maybe he’d just realized that he could actually pull it off.

The rope burned in his hands as his father thrashed, he can still remember the feel of it, the worn threads digging into his palms, the tension in his wrists, and the writhing of his father’s body against him, until suddenly it wasn’t, suddenly everything was gone, gone, over.

His mother never asked him where he’d been, and he never told her. Things were better, then worse, and then far better than they’d ever been, and they boiled orange peels on the stove and the whole room smelled of Caribbean summer.

The day Edward left England was the best day of his life.

It had been rough since his mother died. Edward had been kicked out of the servant’s quarters unceremoniously the day her body was carted away, with the clothes on his back and a little scrap of red silk in his breast pocket. God’s will, he supposed.

Edward survived, of course. He was good at that. But as the grey English winter gave way to grey English spring, he started to wonder what the point was. Pick pockets all day to earn enough to eat and maybe sleep in a proper bed, just to live another grey dreary day of pickpocketing. Why? He ought to just lie in the road and be done with it all.

Edward wandered the docks, and fingered the scrap of red silk, and he thought and he thought and he thought.

“You look troubled, lad,” a man said, sitting on a post near a raggedy looking ship in the harbour. He slowly peeled an orange. “Something on your mind?”

Edward looked at him long and hard. “I can read and write, and I killed a man,” he finally said. “And frankly, I don’t care if I live or die, as long as I don’t do either of them on English soil.”

The man with the orange smiled.

The day Edward led a munity was the best day of his life.

Oh, it hadn’t been particularly difficult. The captain was a bastard, and the crew were all superstitious idiots, it hadn’t been hard to rally them around the son of the devil himself, Edward Teach. All they’d needed was a little push. Edward was almost giddy with the thrill of it, the beautiful simplicity of it all. In time it would lose its shine, of course, but this time, the first time, adrenaline coursed through his veins and he felt a feeling he’d long forgotten.

The captain—well, former captain—was swearing and hexing upon Edward like a man himself possessed. Edward just laughed and shoved an orange in his mouth. “Never trust a man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies,” he said, and ordered Calico Jack to toss him over. His palms burned.

The day Edward was told to go suck eggs in hell was the best day of his life.

The tales had reached him of a dandy playing pirate in his waters, a joke, a laugh, a dead man walking. He hadn’t though much of it, there were upstart pirates all the time, and most of them were idiots, and most of them died. Then Izzy had come back from a supply run with a British officer and a lot of surprisingly cagey answers. Good old Fang, though, Fang spilled it. Hilarious. Astonishing. Intriguing. Go find him, he’d said, and not known why.

Go suck eggs in hell. Go suck eggs in hell. Good god. He really had to meet him now. Of course, meeting was a bit of a complicated endeavor, but nothing he couldn’t arrange at the cost of a few men whose names he’d already forgotten. Why not? What was the point anyway? Loot ships, drink, fuck, drink some more, loot another ship, toil away under the hot Caribbean sun, day after day.

“You’ve heard of me?” Stede Bonnet had said, and he smiled, a smile like they were sharing a secret.

The day Edward decided to stay on the Revenge was the best day of his life.

The books, the fireplace, the copper bath stocked with soaps and oils all smelling of flowers, the secret room of sumptuous fabrics, it was all the dream he dared not dream even when his hold overflowed with gold. He marveled at it, and he marveled at Stede, at the imagination, and always there was that smile, that conspiratorial smile that felt like it was just for him.

When Stede gave him back his clothes that night, he’d carefully cleaned and oiled the leather. Orange oil. It felt like smelling one for the first time.

The day Edward learned to dance was the best day of his life, his hand on the small of Stede’s back, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and a feeling he’d never felt before.

The day Edward visited St Augustine was the best day of his life. Sitting by the fire, talking with Stede like it was breathing, like Stede was air, walking through the orange grove he’d dreamed about and not even noticing them, not noticing anything else.

The day Edward gave up piracy was the best day of his life, because he finally remembered what it was to care about if someone lived or died.

The day Edward kissed Stede was the worst day of his life.

[reve-writes]

—smitten. | pjo jason grace x reader.

a certain son of zeus crash-landed into camp half-blood and your life. | reader is a healer. roughly based on the lost hero.

THE MOMENT CINDERS HAD SETTLED, Jason still hadn't quite realized that he had accidentally burned his hand. Around, what? forty-fifty campers were staring at him in awe. The air was singed, a burning log landed somewhere next to a camper, and ashes smeared more than a couple of faces.

He winced, flipping the lance back into his coin—a little overkill, indeed, he thought. The length of his palm where he'd touched the spear was stinging badly. It was ridiculous to think about a son of Jupiter, somehow harmed by the lightning he summoned himself.

He shouldered through the rest of dinner, making plans for his quest and choosing his companions like his palm didn't have an open wound, but as the crowd dispersed and a solemn mood blanketed the camp, he quickly searched for you. He remembered you, who tended to him, Piper and Leo upon landing.

Your eyes met his from across the campfire. You had noticed the way he winced after the lightning struck, so you raised an eyebrow, pointing at your palm inquisitively. He looked away, smiled, then nodded sheepishly.

“Hey, there, Lightning Boy,” you greeted him as he walked to a stop in front of you.

“Hey,” he replied. A hand raised to touch the back of his neck—seemingly the injured one, because he winced, bent over and cradled it.

You laughed. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said, showing you the red, open wound across his palm. It looked like he'd accidentally touched a too-hot cup of tea for a little too long. “Do you think you could?”

“Yeah, definitely,” you tugged his hand—other hand—and pulled him after you. You were suddenly hyper aware of the looks that were thrown your way as you approached the Big House.

“People are staring,” you stated, dropping his hand. “Sorry.”

He cleared his throat, trailing after you silently. You pushed the door to the Infirmary open.

“Sit.” You gestured to one of the cots lining the walls, making a beeline to the gauze and wound disinfectant. The cot creaked as Jason sat down.

“How, uh, how long have you been here?”

You turned to him, pulling your camp necklace out and showing him the beads. “Around four years. Each represents one completed summer.”

“That's a long time.”

“Oh, no. I'm not a year rounder,” you replied. “I live in school dormitories and only come during the breaks.”

“What about your house?”

“What about yours?” you parried, which made you feel like a big asshat, since Jason was having a severe case of amnesia, but talking about home wasn't really your favourite small talk topic.

Thankfully, he didn't take it personally. “I'll tell you all about it when I know.”

“I look forward to it, Lighting Boy.”

You sat next to him, taking his wounded hand. With a small warning, you started cleaning and disinfecting it. For the most part, he didn't show any indication of it stinging—and it stung alright, save for a couple of painful hisses and the stretching of his fingers.

“Sorry. Hardest part's done.”

“I'm alright.”

You put his hand down onto your lap as you unrolled a gauze and coiled it around his palm, making sure to cover the wound and not to tie it too tight. Occasionally, your eyes would flit up and meet his blue ones and your heart would thump a little harder, your concentration shattered, but you did a pretty good job in the end. That scar was also mighty distracting, or maybe it was his lips.

He clenched and unclenched his fist after you finished. “Thanks, ___.”

“Don't mention it,” you replied, leaning back to lie down on the cot, your legs dangling on the side. “I'm sorry about the whole pulling your hand thing, your girlfriend might have misunderstood.”

He scooted back to press his back against the wall, letting his shoes hang over the edge. “No, no. She's not my girlfriend.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him. “No? She seemed smitten.”

He chuckled. “Smitten?”

Shrugging, you pulled yourself up to sit. Your shoulders were pressed together, and the proximity made the corners of your lips tug upwards. You had to bite the inside of your cheeks to keep from smiling.

“I'm just saying,” you said. “Never know what'll happen down the line.”

“Yeah? Is there someone else who you think is smitten by me?”

“Drew,” you replied instantly. “She seemed particularly offended when I dragged you here. I was pretty sure she might follow us.”

You chuckled softly, and Jason really wanted to hear you do that again. Perhaps there was something in the air, or Aphrodite was just bored and messing with him, but he asked, “What about you?”

“Me?” Your head snapped to look at him so fast, you worried you could have broken your neck. It wouldn't be funny. Or maybe it would.

He nodded. “You.”

Heat crept up your neck to your cheeks. “Come back in one piece, and we'll see, Superman.”

“No promises.”

You elbowed him and he yelped.

“I'll try my best not to die in the next four days!” He pushed himself away from your elbow.

“Good,” you said. “You still have to tell me about your house.”

“I will.”

—————

Jason was back. Alive and breathing, thankfully. You had spent the last couple of days muttering prayers as you threw your meals into the pavilion fire. The safety of the trio had weighed your mind, making sleep a little harder to catch each night, but when news of their return broke out (with Gleeson!) you finally felt like you could breathe normally.

His story spread around from one camper to the other and it reached you naturally. He was quite busy, so you hadn't tried to approach him. What if he'd gotten together with Piper McLean? No, it would be none of your business. You sighed, kicking pebbles as you strolled around the outskirts of the strawberry fields.

“Boo!”

Someone had snuck up on you from behind. On instinct—and from four summers of training in the camp—you lashed out with your elbow. You heard a familiar ow!

You turned, finding Jason bent over, clutching his left side, groaning. You were half-laughing, half-worried as you pried his hands away from his ribs.

“Are you okay?” you asked in-between giggles. “I'm so sorry.”

“You are cruel, ___,” he said, shaking his head, standing a little straighter. He tried to keep a neutral expression, but your laugh was too infectious. He chuckled along.

“You deserve it.”

“How? I just came back from saving the world.”

“You had the audacity to die, lightning boy,” you said. “Didn't you make me a promise?”

“In all fairness, I said I'd try not to—”

“Jerk.” You rolled your eyes. “I can elbow your right, too—”

“Hey! No more elbowing.”

“If you insist.”

He walked by your side as you passed the pegasi stables. Both of you were expecting the other to talk. Neither of you had any idea to start talking. It was a pregnant silence, one that made you want to chew on your nails and pick at your cuticles. You swung your hands back and forth to keep yourself occupied.

Jason finally had the courage to grab your hand as you reached the arena. He came to a halt and you stopped as well.

“Any updates about whether or not you are smitten with me?” he asked the question with a lopsided grin. The sight made your heart do a back flip.

“Maybe. Have any updates on your past?”

He nodded. “Apparently I was raised by wolves, Tarzan-style.”

“Family gatherings would be interesting,” you mused.

“Thalia Grace is also my sister.”

“That explains your attractiveness,” you said.

“So, you think I'm attractive.”

You almost rolled your eyes. “Have you seen the way people look at you? It's like they want to you or they want to be you or they want to murder you. All of them are complimentary, of course.”

“They do not.” He was looking at you with those blue eyes. It was like a clear, summer sky—blue and bright and it filled you with warmth.

You scoffed. “You can keep believing that.”

“And I believe you owe me an answer.”

You chewed your bottom lip. “I do.”

“So?”

“I do.” You stared at your shoes, noticing the dirt and all the marks from long-term wear.

“You do?”

“Find you attractive.” You were pretty sure your face was bright red by now.

“And?” He was enjoying this way too much.

You didn't want to let him have the satisfaction, so you took a step forward, standing so close that your sneakers and his were touching at the toes. His breath hitched as you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

With a grin, you whispered, “We can work on the 'being smitten' part.”

He didn't say anything for a while, which stoked your anxiety. Briefly, you stepped back, dropping his hand and self-consciously fiddled with your orange t-shirt.

“Sorry if I was too forward or you might've gotten together with Piper. I didn't mean—”

This seemed to snap him out of his trance. He shook his head, grabbing both of your hands.

“I held your hand and you assumed I was in a relationship?”

You groaned. “I don't know! It was scary. You weren't saying anything.”

He chuckled. “Sorry, my mind went completely blank. I wasn't expecting you to—uh, well, kiss me.”

“Did I really render the son of Zeus speechless?”

“No small feat,” he said. Then, he leaned into you, just as suddenly as you had before, and pressed a kiss to your lips.

It was quick and he pulled away quicker, leaving you with half-closed eyelids, leaning forward.

“Did I make you speechless, though?” He asked.

“Shut up, Grace, and finish what you started.”

You yanked him with his t-shirt and pulled him into another kiss. This time, on the lips. Your heart did the biggest somersaults in your chest and electric currents flooded through your body where he touched you.

You didn't want to let go.

[ ]

[the-thieves-gambit]

The thought of having Dolly over so soon had her slightly excited but she also wasn't going to let him know that. "No, I don't think it'd be too soon. I'm sure that something could be moved around." But the smile on her face was also giving her away. "I'll take good care of her, scouts honor. How long will you be gone?" Part of her wanted to ask about his case but she didn't want to ruin this. For once she would take the advice of someone and not think about work for a second. No clues to follow or mysteries to unravel, for one night.

"Ah," she nodded in acknowledgment. "It runs in the family, huh. Well, fear not, there is nothing to be nervous about here and I'm," A small shrug of her shoulders. "Comfortable. So no need to talk me ear off anymore." Chuckling, she added. "But I think I have become so accustomed to it that if you stopped talking I'd think something is wrong."

Her new home? How to tell someone that their home was nice but not a place that she considered her own. Not that she ever felt at home anywhere, ever. Listening to him talk, rather passionately about hanging out more often, she couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her when he said to grab it by the horns and ride it. Thinking of something else she had wanted to do that night, the irony not lost on her. Live. What was it to actually live, not that she knew. Life had just been a series of tasks to accomplish. Once one was done, she had moved on to the next one. “That’s a lot coming from someone who works just as hard. I don’t recall us not spending more than two hours before work comes up. Your phone is always ringing, and its always work.” With a sigh, she laid her hands flat on the table. “I’m not saying no, just, later. This case has to be perfected I have to meet with the clients lawyer and prepare with them for deposition. Everything needs to be perfect.” While she hated this tedious part of some cases, she also knew how important it was to make sure things were wrapped up and the client was able to have some sort of relief from it all.

“Nope.” She said proudly. “ Never got seasick actually,” as for the missing part, that was still something she was coming to terms to. It wasn’t until she left New York behind that she found herself missing her friends. “I guess.” Finishing her drink, she smirked. “What is a fabricated story but a pretty lie though, Wally.” She would know, having spent her whole life spinning them like a spider weaving an intricate beautiful web of lies. Her father’s stories just helping her imagination, helping her be a better liar. “Where? Maine? Maybe. California, I go back all the time. But.” Her eyes narrowed slightly at him as she began to think back about how he could’ve known about her inclination to baseball and had began to realize something. “I’m sure you’ve heard about that from Orion, didn’t you.” Orion was an open book and knew that he had liked the man when he spent Easter with her on the island. There was no one else who could have shared so much but him.

“Well someone,” she said pointedly looking at him. “ Didn’t mention great places to see before so how is it my fault?” Waving away his thanks. “No thanks is needed. People just suck and you can’t let them make you feel like you can’t enjoy the things you like just because it isn’t their thing, we are always learning and evolving and anyone who isn’t is dumb. And I’m full of weird quotes and sayings.” A small huff of a chuckle, thinking about all the books she read and the stories her father had told her once upon a time.

Giddiness filled her and she tried her best to keep it at bay as he said that he was ready. She began to reach for her phone, for the money stuck between her case and phone ready to pay for this dinner as a thank you but he was already signing a bill. “Can you at least send me a request for half?” The request she knew would most likely go ignored but she couldn't help but ask.

Now she felt like she was encroaching on a family thing. "Oh, so being pregnant is no excuse for being hormonal?" It was a tease anything to get her out of her mind for now. "Now I'm going to make it my mission to make a bee line straight to them and tell them what you think of their pregnancies." A joke, it was the last thing in the world she would ever do, just embed herself in a family, unless she was stealing from them.

"Exactly!" Her hazel eyes grew wide with excitement and her smile wide displaying her teeth. "They are all so different yet the same. Uniquely themselves in uniformity. Hope?" The idea through her off. The light was always just that to her. A light in the distance letting her know that her time at sea was coming to an end. It wasn't hope to her. It was an end. But she could see what he meant by it. She could recall the pitch black nights on the water where you couldn't even see your own hand unless you had a light on you. The only thing that put through it in the distance would be the faint light and off distance echoing sound of its horn. "I should take you?!" The words were said with an exaggerated surprise and small giggle as she put her hand in his without a second though scooting out ready for this adventure. "You are barely taking me to a lighthouse that I didn’t know about and you want me to take you across the world?"

She never talked about her trips to Iceland, a depressing homeland trek, the fact that she even brought it up caught her off guard. Standing straight, she shrugged one shoulder. "There's not much to see, not like here." A lie but thinking about a place she had dreamed of being home, it felt empty each time she went to see where her father once lived. Where a piece of paper said she had been born. Where her father had always written and talked about as a magical place only for her to feel bitter that it didn't feel like that each time she walked its land. Stepping into the night air, she took a deep breath and shook the thoughts away, becoming a one track mind and smiled at Wally. "She never talked about her trips to Iceland, a depressing homeland trek, the fact that she even brought it up caught her off guard. Standing straight, she shrugged one shoulder. "There's not much to see, not like here." A lie but thinking about a place she had dreamed of being home, it felt empty each time she went to see where her father once lived. Where a piece of paper said she had been born. Where her father had always written and talked about as a magical place only for her to feel bitter that it didn't feel like that each time she walked its land. Stepping into the night air, she took a deep breath and shook the thoughts away, becoming a one track mind and smiled at Wally. "Did you know the oldest lighthouse in the world is in Spain? Built by Romans." The topic of lighthouses would for sure keep her from straying to other things she'd rather not slip up.

It seemed like he'd just found the nickname for her and based on that beaming flicker across her face he couldn't help but feel a bit smug that he had put that look on her face. He wasn't a parent either but knew if there wasn't a mutual trust then it'd show in the way that they'd keep the kid away with any bogus excuse.

The nickname for his pup made him laugh and quickly had him nod his head. "Then it's set. I am traveling to LA for a case on Friday so if it's not too soon for you, you can take her and I can give Lenny a break." His face took on a somber expression. The case in LA was the one that kept him up at night with all the possible outcomes and he knew getting it closed was not going to be easy. Especially knowing that there was no DNA matches since it'd been a few years. "She does love to walk, I'll give you that. If you take her out before sunset you'll get to see it on your walk over the horizon. It makes the beach glimmer."

"It's actually a nervous habit I inherited from my mom. Either I do it when I'm trying to make someone else comfortable or when I'm nervous and want to break an uncomfortable ice barrier." Naturally, he was the one most like his mom, personality wise while his twin was the one who looked like their mom.

He shrugged like she had just said the most obvious thing in the world. "I can multitask you know. Also why not. You just finished saying you want to explore more of your new home. There's so much to see when it comes to the islands. Not to mention there is Pearl Harbor. Though, maybe not that one. You'll need clearance for that," he murmured as a sly little smile overtook his features. It wasn't like he hadn't gotten his own family in there twice. "A big case has not stopped us before. Why would it now? Unless, this is your polite way to say no you've gotten bored of me. Listen, work is always going to be there. Life happens and sometimes you gotta grab it by the horns and ride it. Take it from me, someone who had to learn to take my vacation days just because." It was no secret he took his job seriously and more often than not would overwork himself to get things done. "I'll help you with it. If that is what you'd want but don't bury yourself in work. Let yourself live."

He snorted when she agreed Maine folks weren't the nicest. Glad he wasn't the only one who thought that. Listening to her talk about her time on a boat made a smile appear. It seemed like quite an adventure, one that someone would hold dear. "That sounds nice. Except for the motion sickness. Isn't that how it always goes? You miss something when you no longer have it." There was ancestry dot com he thought but really she needed to want to know for it to work. "There's ways to know but I guess it'd be fun to have that pirate ancestry. Sometimes a fabricated story is better than a straight out lie." He didn't necessarily agree with that statement but he also he wasn't one to talk.

"Would you want to go back?" Wally asked, unsure if this would be one of the places she'd want to go back to. "California reminds me of Louisiana except it doesn't hold a candle to my beloved Bayou." He smirked as if that was any secret that his hometown held a special place in his heart.

With the rim of the drink against his lips he ended up laughing into his sparkling water. "First," he took a sip and tried to control his laughter. "You never asked how long it'd take and secondly, there's a billion places to see and lighthouses on each island so your bad for thinking this wasn't gonna take some time." He swallowed the water and set it back down, the nickname she had for him made his green eyes sparkle. He liked the name more than he actually admitted.

He tried to make his blush less noticeable and only nodded. "I'm sure I'm missing about ten more places but it's not the same when you travel for work as it is to travel for fun." The saying was pretty accurate. "I like that saying. Also thank you for not thinking it's nerdy. I think once you're not in school people tend to forget you keep learning as an adult."

The excitement was charged in the air as he finished off his drink and did the signal for the check. "Mhmm. I'm ready. I'll just grab the check." The exchange of the credit card and tab was quick enough that if she blinked she missed it. He took the pen in his left hand and signed it. His penmanship was neat, something he attested to his time working on his cursive. It was almost comical how much he resembled his sister in this moment and how much they resembled their mother. They all drew their B's the same. He signed two since he knew the food was en route to be delivered to his sisters homes and added in a 25 tip for them. His skills at fast mental math weren't as good as Lucie"s but they weren't too shabby.

"I've seen about eight in total. With my sisters having babies every year or so it seems like, we don't get to explore as much and they hate it when I go on my own. They tend to say they miss out on the experience so I have to wait until they're cleared and have given birth to go to drive to the other islands. Hard too when they're all hormonal and the heat makes them insufferable." He looked up from his check and smirked. "Don't tell them that." Then went back to his writing. "What fascinates me most about them though is the lights. They each have a different shade of light. They're not all the same. Though, it may seem weird or odd but I like lights. It's like a beacon of hope. I also like how each is built so different from the others. Not one looks exactly the same."

"Iceland? Maybe you should take me." His eyes finally looked up and smiled as he put his pen down and closed the book. Gave his thanks and started to move to get up off the seat. Holding out his hand for her to take if she so chose it he waited.

[erwinsvow]

𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

summary: uncle eren comes to visit.

warnings: step-cest, jealousy, manipulation, hints of verbal/emotional abuse + touch of dubcon to con, reader feels guilty, grinding/dry-humping, overstimulation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex

author's note: part two of sole salvation. i really hope everyone enjoys this! the warnings are just to be on the safe side as i do not want to accidentally trigger anyone, please feel free to message me if you want to ask about something before reading.

tagging @sangwoos-mom & @divine-delight :)

If Zeke didn’t want my interest to get piqued, Eren thinks to himself as he watches you stroll away, off to get him to a fresh cup of lemonade, he should have kept his mouth shut.

When his brother had mentioned his new fiancee had a daughter, Eren had supposed it would be some spoiled, bratty kid. After all, he had met your mother once before, and he didn’t think that kind of a woman could raise someone even remotely well-behaved.

So given that, he was more than pleasantly surprised the first time he met you. It was all a shock, from the almost angelic way you float down the stairs to greet him, your soft skin and sweet smile, to the genuine look in your eyes when you tell him that you’re glad to finally meet him.

He still doesn’t know what Zeke did to deserve you in his life, the taste in his mouth a touch too bitter when he watches the way you look at his brother, even when your mom is in the same room. It’s dreamy, as though there’s no better way to spend your time and nothing better to think about than your step-father.

It’s a little unfair, Eren thinks, that Zeke has a sweet, doting little thing head over heels for him. It’s a little unfair that Zeke waited so long to invite him over, to introduce him to you. Maybe it was brotherly instinct, maybe he knew that once Eren met you, he wouldn’t be able to think about anything else, just like it had been for Zeke.

Regardless of what it was, Eren knew one thing for certain. Sibling should always share.

It finally takes an unbearable conversation on the phone with your mother for an excuse, an opportunity to arise. The lie is taking hold in his head and spilling out of his mouth before he can even control it—“Yeah, the pipes burst and it’s just a mess, I called Zeke but his phone’s off- no, really? Just for the weekend, I promise- thank you, I’ll be over soon.”

His bag is packed and cock is twitching at the idea of getting you alone in that house, maybe when Zeke’s locked away in his office and your mother’s out shopping. It’s going to be a hot week, with almost intolerable heat, and he’s positive it’ll have you in revealing clothes (no doubt ones that his brother bought for you) and teensy swimsuits when you go for an afternoon swim.

That’s what he’s thinking of—the image of you soaked to the bone, wet hair and the thin, dripping material of your suit sticking to your skin—when he pulls into your driveway later that day.

It’s almost easy enough to miss the slight wobble in your steps, the way your clothes are just a little too wrinkled for someone that’s been sitting around the house all day.

But Eren notices it, of course, and doesn’t miss the way Zeke practically keeps one eye on you the entire day, no matter who he’s talking to, either.

Maybe if Eren was just a drop stupider, a bit less cunning, you and Zeke could get away with all of it, but he’s not. He thinks it’s his turn to have his fun with you.

Your mother’s even more intolerable than he remembers. He wonders how bad a family dinner could be, but this is much worse than he could have fathomed. It’s a whole host of things, like how she’s oblivious to the affair happening right under her nose and her small comments that have your lips trembling and eyes blinking away tears before they can fall.

Jeez. Eren had initially felt bad for himself, but he’s starting to wonder how you put up with it. Maybe fucking around with Zeke is your own way of getting revenge, payback for every ‘Why do you look so tired, it’s not like you’re the one working all day’ and ‘Don’t you have plans with friends, or are you just gonna bother your parents all day?’

By the time dinner ends, you’ve made your way to the kitchen almost automatically, putting away dishes and wiping counters without even being told, as Zeke gives your mother a cold, hard stare.

“Was all that really necessary?” his brother questions quietly, eyes fuming with anger yet still disguising his true reason for being upset.

“What?” your mother responds innocently, pretending as though she hadn’t said anything wrong. Eren watches the interaction carefully. He thinks it’d be better if he didn’t interject on a married couple’s little spat, but here he goes again, words out before he can control them. They’re spoken a bit louder than they needed to be, but he wants to make sure you hear them over the running water.

“I don’t know, she seems like a good girl to me, no? Maybe you should be easier on her.”

And a few feet away, in the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. Uncle Eren—who you’d only met once and heard about a handful of times, someone who doesn’t owe you anything, someone not even really related to you—defending you?

It was enough to make tears rush to your eyes again, a smile on your face as you rinse off the dishes.

Good girl. The words run through your head again, seemingly on repeat. They’re your two favorite words, enough to pick you up from the dark, sullen headspace you’re in as a result of your mother’s cruel phrases and Zeke’s stinging silence.

Zeke claims it’ll become too obvious, even to your clueless mother, if he always takes your side and speaks up for you, despite how much he wants to, he says. You’re so hopelessly gone, so devoted to him that you don’t think you have it in you to fight for it. The words he says when the two of you are alone, how he makes you feel and spoils you rotten makes up for it, right?

That’s what you’d been telling yourself all this time, but you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the act going. Does he think it’s easy to watch him walk into the bedroom he shares with your mother every night? To watch her kiss him goodbye, hold onto his arm in public, while you trail behind like a lost puppy?

It’s not actually revenge you’re aiming for, when you start greeting Eren in the morning brightly, walking straight on over to him in the living room rather than the kitchen where your step-father is. It’s closer to a plea for attention, like you’re waiting for Zeke to realize you can play at this game too.

Eren’s more than happy to indulge you, spending hours of the day beside you on the couch watching movies, or watering the lawn while you work on your garden, claiming that he just wants to help out around the house as much as he can. His weekend-long visit turns into a week, as the ‘good for nothing contractors are taking their sweet time.’

It’s terribly easy to make you believe every word he’s saying, with you even defending him when Zeke asks how much longer he’s planning on sticking around.

“He’s family,” you had argued valiantly, leaving your step-father with narrowed eyes and a tense jaw as he noticed Eren smiling behind you. For once, your mother had agreed with you, and Zeke was left with no choice.

It’s sunny and warm when Eren’s opportunity, the one he’s been waiting for patiently, appears. Your mother’s gone out again, this time to the salon, there’s that hour of time right after she’s left that you usually treasure, because you know there’s no chance she’ll be on her way back or call home.

It’s usually your favorite time of the day, when you know you can have Zeke all to yourself, and that’s what you’re thinking, when you hesitantly make your way to the door of his office.

Truly, you hadn’t meant to make Zeke angry, you just wanted to be there for Uncle Eren how he was there for you. You were ready to make up and forget about it now, dolled up in a new sundress that you hadn’t gotten a chance to wear yet. Zeke had bought it only weeks ago, before Uncle Eren’s sudden visit, and you thought he might like it if you wore it now.

Your hand has just reached the cool metal of the doorknob, just about to twist when you hear a ringing from inside the room, of Zeke’s phone going off.

You step back, knowing better than to interrupt one of his calls. You’re disheartened a little, mind wondering why he would schedule something when you and he both know this is your hour, your chance to be alone.

You make your way back downstairs, lingering on the last step and thinking about going back up in a few minutes, when Uncle Eren’s voice calls to you from the living room, making you jump a little.

“Oh, sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice calm and quiet, a contrast to your thudding heart.

“That’s okay, Uncle Eren,” you say, and your head turns back to look in the direction of Zeke’s office inadvertently. “I was just-”

“Waiting for Daddy, huh?” Your lips part a little in surprise, confused by his implication. Though surely, Zeke wouldn’t have told Uncle Eren anything. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

“I-I just needed to ask him something, but I think he’s on the phone with someone,” you say quietly, confused at Eren’s tone, the confidence with which he spoke those words, almost mockingly.

“Oh, yeah. He told me he’s busy all afternoon, something or other about work and a report-” Eren stops himself right when he notices your expression change, looking thoroughly upset that Zeke was busy when you were ripe for the taking. “He didn’t tell you about that?”

Fuel to the fire, maybe a bit too much, but Eren doesn’t care. Not as long as you keep it up, looking like a maimed little prey upon realizing that Daddy was too busy for you.

Yes, Eren was getting much better with the lying. It doesn’t even register to you to question his words, to go back up and double check, that Zeke might, in fact, be waiting for you to knock on his door at this very second.

Your feet find their way to the sofa, slumping down dejectedly, as Eren sits right next to you. It’s the way you two have been sitting for the past week, except he’s ready to take the risk. His hand finds your knee, thumb rubbing the soft skin as you let out a shaky breath, wiping away a stray tear.

“All afternoon?” comes your quiet voice, trembling at the mere notion that Zeke was upset with you. You hadn’t meant to take it this far, hadn’t thought he would be ignoring you just because you disagreed with something he said for the first time.

But your sadness is turning into something different when you look at the hungry, almost predatory way Uncle Eren is looking at you now.

“That’s what he said, sweetheart. Did you two have plans, or something?” It’s coming off nonchalant, or so he hopes, because every bone in his body is excited at the prospect before him, blood rushing to his hardening cock as he catches a glimpse of your exposed skin as you fiddle with the hem of your dress.

“N-no, I just… He always spends time with me when mom leaves. I just thought he would be free.”

It’s the sweet, lonely way you’re looking into his eyes, your own doe-like and watery, that tips him over the edge.

“Well, I can keep you company.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, baby. A sweet thing like you shouldn’t be left all alone… it’s not right, well, at least to me.”

“Yeah?” Eren nods his head, line between his lies and the truth blurring suddenly as you inch closer and closer to him.

“I wouldn’t treat you like that, if you were mine, you know-” and he can’t finish his sentence, because your hands are on the collar of his shirt and you’re shifting onto his lap, and your lips are on each other.

It’s stupid, you know, to be so easily guided by a few choice words, putty in virtually anyone’s hands if they say the right things and make you feel seen and heard, but you can’t stop now.

Eren’s tongue is in your mouth, your lips practically glued together as you feel his hands go under the soft cotton of your dress, exploring the supple skin of your thighs. It’s not long before his hands find your ass, squeezing and groping as moan into his mouth.

A sharp slap to your ass makes you yelp, pulling away for just a second before Eren’s hand is on the back of your neck, guiding you into a kiss again. You moan again, louder, when his teeth bite down on your lip just a little bit, when Eren finally pulls away.

“Can’t be too loud, remember, sweetheart? Daddy’s busy upstairs,” he says, somehow knowing exactly what would rile you up. The words act like a little shock running through your system, making you even more eager for Eren’s touch.

“Don’t care-!” you mewl, head going fuzzy when you feel Eren’s hard cock grind against your core, waves of pleasure rushing through your body. You’re still, Eren’s hand coming up to cover your mouth as he continues his rocking movement, making you moan against his hand.

Your eyes roll back when Eren increases his speed, and it’s silly, how the barely-there contact is making you shake, the coil in your stomach tense and unwinding, when Eren stops completely.

You whine loudly, muffled some by his hand, but not entirely, causing Eren to spank you again.

“I thought you were a good girl, hm? Don’t get bratty on me now,” he says, though he thinks it went in one ear and out the other as you come down from your incomplete high.

“I want-I want you, Uncle Eren, now-!” Another whine, another spank. You cry out again, until the fourth slap—which leaves your ass sore already from Eren’s heavy-handedness—silences you.

“Sweetheart, stop misbehaving or you’re not gonna get anything, okay?” he coos, fingers finding your chin and directing your face to look him in the eyes. They’re lust-blown too, and his hardness is still evident underneath your body, but your body’s inclined to follow his rules, despite how badly you want to cum.

“Yes, Uncle Eren,” you say softly, your squirming body finally stopping. Eren’s fingers find their way to the thin straps of your sundress, pulling them until they rest on your shoulder and expose your neck and collar to him.

“Tell me something, baby, did you wear this for me? Or for him?” The very mention of Zeke makes your body stiffen, but you’re still desperate for more and eager to please Uncle Eren.

“For you,” you mumble, wanting to just bury your head in the crook of Eren’s neck and feel him inside you, though you know you won’t get what you want that easily.

“Me? I’m so honored,” he says, letting out a laugh at how your body shakes in anticipation but you stay completely still. He wonders if Zeke had to teach you to be this obedient, or if it just comes to you naturally.

He thinks it’s the latter when he rolls his hips quickly, watching you squirm and bite your lip hard to keep quiet, another rush of pleasure coursing through you, though it’s not nearly enough.

“It’s okay, baby, you’ve been good enough to me, haven’t you?” he asks, and you nod your head quickly. ��You deserve to feel good, don’t you?” You nod again and let out a shaky breath when Eren moves your hips with his hands, finally giving you the much-needed pressure on your clit.

“Why don’t you cum for me, baby, just like this? Mmh?” You’re letting out little squeals at each contact, hips moving faster and faster as Eren lays back and lets you use his cock as a toy to grind against. His head falls back at how good it feels, though he won’t let himself cum until he’s inside you.

You’re close again, stomach tensing again and that familiar feeling gathering inside your chest, making you feel warm all over as you speed up.

The breaking point is when Eren’s hands come to your chest, pulling down your dress and exposing your tits to the cool air. His fingers pinch one while his mouth finds the other, and suddenly you can’t keep quiet no matter how hard you try, moans spilling out your mouth as well as repeated cries of Uncle Eren, that sound sweet as sugar to Eren.

It’s when Eren starts bucking his hips up too, that you finally cum, a bolt of pleasure running through your entire body as he keeps going. You’re not entirely sure what kind of noises you’re making—everything seems to be muted and fuzzy as repeated shocks make you shake, Eren’s firm grip on your tits being the only thing that’s grounding you.

When you finally come down, forcing yourself away from Eren’s lap and legs pressed tightly together to calm your oversensitive cunt, there’s a lecherous look in Eren’s eyes. It’s screaming to you, silently, how he’s not done with you yet.

“Aw, baby, look how fast you came just from a little bit of humping. Are you that desperate, bunny? Is Daddy not taking care of you?”

Your face feels like it might be on fire, blood and heat rushing at the same time and burning quickly with shame at the realization that Eren knew all along, that he’s been playing this little game with you since his arrival and you never, not once, had the upper hand.

He feels more predatory than ever before, spreading your legs despite how your legs ache and your core is burning—even if you wanted more, you don’t think you could take it—but it doesn’t seem like Eren cares.

“U-uncle Eren, we shouldn’t- h-he might-” you start, but are cut off as Eren presses a finger to your lips.

“Sweetheart, isn’t that a little unfair? If you get to cum, and I don’t? Be a good girl and spread for me,” he says, and you feel your body comply automatically.

Your back’s on the couch now, Eren hovering over you. All it would take is a few steps in this direction after coming down the stairs for someone to find you, but you can hardly care when Eren’s shoving your dress up, exposing your panties and shoving them to the side, your wetness on display for him.

“One day, baby, when Daddy’s not here, I’m gonna fuck you stupid with my tongue—just not today,” and the words go straight to your head. Your heart thuds uncomfortably in your chest every time he mentions Zeke, a sense of guilt washing over you and replacing the pleasure you feel, but you forget all about it when you see Eren undos his pants and take out his hardened cock.

It’s plainly wrong to compare it to Zeke’s, and though it might not be longer, it’s definitely thicker, not as pretty but covered in throbbing veins that you can’t even imagine feeling inside you.

Eren’s about to grant your wish, running his cockhead over your sensitive clit once, twice, and just as you're expecting a third, he pushes inside of you.

A strangled, loud moan escapes your lips before he can cover your mouth again. It’s agonizing, not being able to make a sound as your step-uncle fucks you into the couch, movements picking up and a steady pace filling the room with obscene noises. You can’t see where the two of you are connected, since your eyes are locked with Eren’s pretty green ones, but you know you’re making a mess.

It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, every thrust stretching you out, you think he’s ruined your cunt for anyone else—but that’s exactly what he wants.

It’s silent, save for the heavy patter of Eren’s balls against your ass with each thrust, the sound of his hips knocking with yours. He’s trying to keep his grunts silent, but it’s getting harder and harder with the way you’re clenching around him, so tight and wet and soft, he wonders what his brother did to deserve someone like you—he wonders why he doesn’t spend every minute inside you.

Your sensitive cunt tightens around him, knowing only another few strokes and grazes on your clit will be enough to tip you into your second orgasm. Your shaky hand finds Eren’s, pulling his wrist away from your face and meeting his lips again, releasing muffled moans into his mouth.

You know he’s close too, from the way his pace picks up, and you pull away just for a second, just to say three words.

“Please, Uncle Eren.”

And it’s enough to make his hips stutter, enough to uncoil the knot in your tense stomach and have your orgasm washing over you, as you feel Eren fill your cunt with his hot cum. Your lips are on each other, the lewd squelching of his slowing thrusts matching the small squeaks you release, until he finally pulls out and your panties snap back over your leaking cunt.

It’s hard to catch your breath, from your position laying down, feeling your tight hole throb and Eren’s cum spill out, probably onto the sofa seat. You adjust the top of your dress, covering your tits and pulling one strap up. When you’re fixing the skirt, you feel Eren’s hands pull the other strap onto your shoulder, hands lingering on your exposed skin.

You shy away from looking at him, despite how his cum is still inside you. It feels too intimate, almost, because a part of you thinks you were taken advantage of, and another part of you doesn’t ever want Eren to leave you.

Eren’s fingers find your chin, forcing you to look up and meet his gaze. You blink quickly, licking your swollen lips and biting the inside of your cheek nervously.

Neither of you speak, though you know what’s lingering in the air. You can tell he’s gotten what he wanted, and he’s going to leave, and yet you can’t stop yourself from speaking first, throat scratchy and dry and your words nothing more than a whisper.

“C-can I… did you- did you mean all those things you said? Before?”

And suddenly Eren understands everything, why you’re this way, why you need to be validated so badly, why his brother’s such a good match for you. He thinks he’d sacrifice anything too, like his marriage and a new life, just to make you happy.

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I meant every word of it.”

“Really?” There’s a soft smile on your lips, your eyes watery and he thinks it doesn’t have anything to do with how hard he fucked you.

“Yeah, I-”

“Well, what do we have here?” Zeke’s voice comes from behind you.

[ginazmemeoir]

Since it's Krishna's birthday I couldn't help but write his birth story. So here y'all go, you're welcome. Oh also fun fact about Janmashtami : it always rains tonight. It might be just a drizzle, but it always rains tonight.

Devaki’s screams rent the air as she pushed and kept pushing. This was the eighth time she was giving birth to someone. The prison guards could hardly be bothered, and instead laughed at her like hyenas, their mere gazes leaving marks on her skin. Vasudev covered the prison bars with a flimsy cloth, and went back to assist his wife.

She was crying when Vasudev returned back. He bent down by her side, supporting her, and was about to go in front to assist with the delivery when Devaki squeezed his hand and stopped him. Panting, she said, “I don’t know if I want this child Vasudev.” Vasudev was stunned upon Devaki’s proclamation. She had given birth seven times, all sons, and six times had watched them being murdered by her own brother, the brother who had loved her more than any brother could love a sister. The seventh time, Vasudev had quietly given the baby to his first wife Rohini and instructed her to head to Gokul, where his friend Nanda lived. They had simply lied to Kansa and cited that Devaki had miscarried.

How cruel fate was. The couple had watched six of their children murdered in front of them in cold blood, not even a day old. The seventh, they did not know of his fate. Of his first words or his favourite food or the way he laughed. And yet, this eighth child carried hope. This child would be their salvation. Devaki continued “I cannot bear to watch another child snatched away like that Vasudev. Please I’d rather this child die on my womb, or I die while giving birth so at least I don’t have to watch him die. Please Vasudev, I cannot do this anymore” cried Devaki, tears raining down her once lustrous bronze skin, her once luxurious locks lying limp and lifeless by her side like her soul. “No Devaki. I cannot imagine the pain you endure, each time you push another life from inside you, but know this – this child is our salvation. This child is the reason six of our children were murdered. This child is the reason we sent our seventh son into hiding. This child is the reason we have wasted away in this prison for years. Devaki this child must live. Our child must live to avenge the deaths of our children. To avenge us. This child must live if the universe carries even a shred of mercy for us. For Devaki I would sooner kill both of us than watch another child tortured by your brother.” Vasudev’s eyes burned with an intensity Devaki hadn’t seen in a long time. Most of the time they were sad or scared, reminiscing their past. Their married bliss had ended the day it began, with her brother imprisoning them over a prophecy. Vasudev’s words breathed new life into Devaki. She would not let this child die. She would live. She would make sure the child lived. And she would make sure she heard her brother whimpering in agony as her child crushed his skull open.

The gods had given a prophecy. Devaki and Vasudev’s eighth child would be the death of Kansa. And Devaki did not want to prove the gods as petty liars.

With a final push and a scream, that was thankfully masked by a loud thunderclap, Devaki expelled her child out. Vasudev cut the umbilical cord with a flint stone he had dipped in cheap somaras which he had stolen from the guards yesterday, and cradled the child in his arms, lying beside Devaki, giving this child his parents’ touch one final time, the shared breath and heat warming him. He was dark, dark as the rainclouds that had gathered over the entirety of Brijbhumi that day, as the moonlit night that held secrets and wonder. A small glow emanated from his body, barely lighting his immediate surroundings. The couple kept looking at their son, prerplexed, and the baby looked back at them. He had big soft eyes, and instead of crying, he just looked up at them and gave a small laugh, reaching to grab his mother’s hair. Devaki’s tears fell on his face, as she kissed his forehead and hugged him tight. She then looked at Vasudev, and they understood what had to be done. Vasudev took the baby, and opened his prison door. Turns out if you get drunk with the guards ever so often, they don’t notice things like missing keys.

Vasudev stepped out, and half thought that he and his son were going to be hacked into pieces, but the entire cellar was quiet. The whole world seemed to hold its breath, time itself felt suspended. Only minutes ago the guards were cackling, and yet they now slept a deep slumber. Vasudev quickly stole a dagger, and placed the baby in the laundromat’s basket, covering him with a heavy warm cloth. He exited the prison quarters and entered into Indra’s wrath. The clouds overhead boomed with thunder, and rain covered everything as far as the eye could see. Unperturbed, Vasudev kept walking eastwards, until he reached the Yamuna. He looked for a boat, searching the banks of the usually idyllic river, which now coursed with the strength and vigour of the mighty Saraswati, and yet found no boat to carry him and his son. Time was running out, and his son’s life outweighed a safe passage for him, he could already imagine Kansa’s men running towards him. Vasudev then did the only thing he could – let the river decide his life. He walked into the river, determined to reach the other side. The yojana wide river divided Mathura and its outskirts from the countryside – where his son was to find sanctuary. Vasudev kept walking, and the Yamuna’s waters kept rising and rising. The heavy rain pelted Vasudev, and he kept his swaddled baby on his head in his basket. The spaces between the bamboo basket refused water from filling in. Somehow, he reached the middle, when he felt the water threatening to reach his chin, the river hell bent on drowning him and his son. No mere river was going to stop the descendant of the mighty Shuri, the prince of the Vrishnis today though. Vasudev held his breath and kept swimming forward, the basket safely above the surface of water. Surprisingly, there were no crocodiles in the river. Vasudev had only swam a bit further when the river level started lowering and lowering, until it reached his waist. Vasudev was perplexed, the river was usually the deepest at this point, then why did it suddenly lower down to below his waist? Lost in his thoughts, Vasudev almost missed the giant creature slithering towards him, and that is when he realized he and his infant son were about to be devoured by a sea monster that liked toying with its prey. The creature reached Vasudev, its smooth obsidian scales emitting a green glow, extending to its full length, spreading out its thousand hoods and shielding Vasudev and his son from the merciless rain. Had he not known better, Vasudev would’ve thought it was Adi Shesha, the thousand hooded snake, upon whose infinite coils Narayana rested. Time was running out, and Vasudev picked up speed, the serpentine creature slithering along. Climbing out of the river, he kept picking through the wilderness and hamlets, the creature’s presence scaring off any hungry predators.

At last, Vasudev glimpsed the village of Gokul. Overjoyed, Vasudev rushed down the hillock, which was dotted here and there by the occasional cow. He entered the safety of the village, his frayed nerves calming down, and started searching for Nanda’s home. Even though he was the village chief, his house was tough to spot, the only thing differentiating it from others was a larger gateway and a bigger courtyard. Surprisingly, Nanda was already standing at the gates, waiting for him. Vasudev rushed up to him, and began to speak when Nanda asked, “Vasudev, how did you come here? How are you barely wet?” Vasudev looked behind him, and found the creature had returned. Maybe it was scared of society? “There’s no time for that Nanda. I have come to entrust my last son to you,” said Vasudev, as he hastened to enter Nanda’s home. There was a lantern in front of each room, and the large house was empty except for the cows in the outside stables. Vasudev kept searching along the corridor, until he found Nanda’s wife’s room. He expected to see his elder son sleeping with her, but instead found her snoring loudly, with a baby lying beside her. Vasudev quietly placed his son beside her. The baby started crying, clutching onto his father even as he laid him on the bed. Vasudev quietly removed his hand from his grip, and sang him a lullaby. It was about a bee returning to its hive after a busy day in the meadow. He had never got a chance to sing this lullaby before. Devaki and he and spent each day perfecting it in prison. The baby quietened and went to sleep, and Vasudev left, his vision blurry, when he was stopped by Nanda. “Wait here.” he said. Nanda then returned from his wife’s room, his baby with him, and handed it over to Vasudev. “Here you go Vasudev. You may take my daughter home with you.” Vasudev looked at Nanda with disgust. Was his friend so lowly that in favour of a son he would condemn his daughter to the confines of a prison, frequented by a monster that would kill her the moment he got to know? “I know what you were thinking, and I would never do that Vasu” said Nanda, sensing his friend’s thoughts. “Yashoda gave birth to her yesterday, and hasn’t seen her since. I took her to Goddess Gauri’s temple the same day, to seek her blessings. I can’t explain what happened Vasu, but I heard Gauri. She spoke to me and she instructed me to give her to you when you came. Why do you think I was waiting for you outside?” “Oh come on Nanda, you’re just making up stories now.” said Vasudev, even more repulsed now. “Why would I lie Vasu? Is this what you think of me, a murderer? Trust me Vasu, Gauri Devi spoke to me, she told me to give my daughter to you! Who are we to defy the will of the gods?” Nanda reassured him.

“The gods don’t care about us Nanda. They stopped existing for me when they made me watch my sons’ heads being bashed against walls or crushed by hammers. But even so I will take your daughter. Maybe Kansa might spare a girl?”

Saying so, Vasudev took Nanda’s daughter and vanished into the night, heading back to his prison. Even though the babe wasn’t his, he had already named her – Maya – after this night, an illusion, a reality that felt like a dream. He did not know what fate awaited this girl, but at least his boy was safe for now.

Maybe the gods did have a plan. A plan that was tucked away under Yashoda’s arms in the tiny hamlet of Gokul, snuggling against the only mother he would ever know.

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Pregnant!Female!Reader) pt. 14

Hannibal reads too much into Max's attempt to reconcile and cult girl revisits her past.

@wisesandwichshark @pearlstiare

Trigger warnings: discussions of death, abandonment, military casualties, emotional abuse

You soon returned to the opera knowing you had nothing to hide. Hannibal selected for you an off-white maternity gown so form-fitting it was practically painted on. He wanted everyone to see that you, his queen, empress and goddess, were carrying his child.

It only took that evening for the whole dynamic to change. Suddenly, you were an expectant new mother. Imogen had been a massive hit, you were planning to go again.

You were affixing your heavy cubic zirconia earrings when you heard a knock at the door. You hesitated, but hurried down the stairs when you saw who it was.

"Max?" You said, upon opening the door. He stood there awkwardly, holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hi?"

"Hey, [F/N]." Max greeted, eyes darting nervously around the porch. "I just came around to apologize in person. I'm sorry I was such a chauvinist prick."

You leaned against the door. "Oh?"

"You were right." He continued. "I don't know what it's like to carry a baby, and, unless something goes very wrong, I never will."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." You smiled.

"Anyway, these are for you." He said, handing the bouquet over. "They're chrysanthemums."

"Thank you, Max." You said, accepting the flowers.

"Archie and I-" He scratched the back of his head. "We thought that, maybe, if you'd still have us, that we'd name the baby Chrysanthemum. With your permission, of course."

"Like the picture book?" Your face lit up. "With the little mouse girl?"

Max nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, exactly."

You hugged the bouquet into your chest and considered it again. You looked back at Hannibal, who hadn't looked up from his expectant fathers' website for a second all day. He surrounded himself with books about child psychology, attachment theory, developmental behavior patterns and somehow found himself on a tangent about institutionalized misogyny in medicine.

"I'm sorry, Max." You said, sincerely. "I really do appreciate you coming down here and apologizing, but-"

Max put his hands up and gave you a disarming smile. "I understand. Plans change."

"I just really want to stress that it's not you." You assured him. "I've kind of... really grown to like the idea of being a parent. And I think that was Hannibal's plan all along, too."

"I believe a congratulations is in order, then." His voice turned up in delight. "I'm very happy for you. Both of you."

You clutched the bouquet to your chest. "Thank you."

"Well, I'd better get going." He stepped backwards down the stairs. "I've got three pints of Ben and Jerry's in the backseat and Archie'll have my head if I come home and they've melted."

"Max, wait." You stopped him before he could get down the driveway.

"Hm?"

You leaned against the threshold and smiled warmly. "Don't be a stranger, okay?"

Max returned the smile. "Of course not."

You waved goodbye and shut the door. You hurried to the kitchen to put the flowers in water before you had to go.

"Who was that, love?" Hannibal asked, half-heartedly. He was still very fixated on his research.

"Max Thomas-Park." You answered, unwrapping the flowers from the decorative plastic.

Hannibal looked up from his computer, but left the room silent for you to fill.

"He wanted to make amends." You explained. You walked across the room to the china cabinet and selected a vase big enough to hold the ornate bouquet. "Brought flowers and everything."

"Chrysanthemums?" He asked, sniffing the air.

"I see your sense of smell is coming back." You commented.

"Interesting selection." He narrowed his eyes on the bouquet.

"Well, he said that was what he wanted to name the kid." You offered. "It was a cute pitch, not gonna lie."

Hannibal shut his laptop and examined the bouquet up close. "If he wanted to express regret, he would have done better to bring you blue or purple hyacinths."

"Well, like I said." You made a point to project a little more. "He said he wanted to name his daughter chrysanthemum."

"Mums are given to show sympathy for those in mourning." Hannibal continued, clearly having his own conversation.

"Hannibal-"

"I think your cousin got her hooks in him and he's planning to--" He cut himself off, lest he speak the unthinkable into reality. "That's why he brought mourning flowers."

"Max Thomas-Park is conspiring with Anna to kill our unborn baby?" You said, flatly, to emphasize how insane he sounded.

Hannibal held a bloom between his fingers and looked closely at it. "It's the kind of hint I would leave. For courtesy's sake."

"I think looking at parenting blogs all day has made you a little paranoid." You observed, knowing full well that an overprotective husband and soon-to-be father of your child was not a bad problem to have. Nevertheless, you shut the laptop and touched his cheek. "Come on. We're going to be late for the opera."

You heaved yourself into the passenger's seat of the car, feeling the seat give beneath your heavy frame. Every time you got into the car, you remembered that you needed to shop for a car seat. The thought just as soon left your mind every time. 

“We need to look for a car seat.” You said as Hannibal shut the door, hoping that he’d remember. 

“I mean,” Hannibal blurted out, still lost in his own conversation. “Max is a cultured and well-educated man. He has to know the implications of his flowers.” 

You huffed, dreading to think that paranoid delusion was symptomatic of his parenting style. “Right. The twenty-seven year old data analyst who graduated with a finance MBA from UChicago is also proficient in the outdated and frivolous language of flowers.” 

“In Italy, mums are only given as comfort for loss.” Hannibal said with undeserved conviction. “Exclusively, [F/N].” 

You rolled your eyes and typed something up on your phone. You raised your eyebrows, feeling a bit proud of yourself for what you found. 

“In Korea, y’know, the country that Max’s family is from,” You corrected. “The chrysanthemum is a symbol of friendship.” 

Hannibal tensed up for a moment, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. It was as if he were trying to break himself out of a trance. “...I’m sorry, darling.” 

“I know you’re scared.” You stared at his profile, trying to make out an expression. “I’m also... pretty scared. But you can’t take it out on a guy who has nothing to do with it.” 

“I am scared.” He affirmed, but the way in which he did was a telltale sign that he wasn’t giving you the full story. 

“Of?” You raised your eyebrow. “Finish the sentence, Hannibal.” 

"I need to keep our baby safe." He answered. "And I cannot in good conscience let her come into the world knowing that someone wants to hurt her. To hurt you."

You sighed. "Hannibal, are you seriously still worried about Anna?"

"Don't underestimate the role privilege and entitlement plays in the decision to commit acts of violence." He enunciated carefully. "You of all people should know that."

"Anna has cultivated such a perfect victim image to project outwardly that even a hint of proactive violence would shatter it." You explained. "She's the poor girl who has things done to her. Her evil cousin ruined her marriage. Her evil cousin destroyed her career. And she's the innocent victim in all of it."

"Logically, I know that you can speak on her behavior with more authority than I." Hannibal admitted.

"No shit." You scoffed. "I had to live with her."

"Can we at least entertain the idea that she has something planned?" He pleaded.

"I'm surprised at you." You said. "You never really struck me as the overly-cautious type."

Hannibal shook his head. "With my own life, I'm willing to gamble. But not when it's you. And not when it's Imogen."

You tensed up. His admitted willingness to put himself in danger unlocked a core memory you had buried deep down. The only thing you knew about your own father was that he was willing to put himself in danger. To go overseas and die for fuck-all instead of live for the child he selfishly created then abandoned. He chose to give his life for oil. You didn't choose to grow up without a father and your mother didn't choose to raise a child without a partner. He made that choice for you.

"Now what are you not telling me?" Hannibal broke you out of your trance. "I know that look, [F/N]."

"Nothing." You shook your head. "You should really not plan on dying anytime soon."

"I promise you, I am not going anywhere." His voice softened. "Least of all, to Iraq."

"Okay, you're a pretty good therapist but you never told me you could read minds." You threw your hands up in defeat. "Are you a psychiatrist or are you Loki?"

"As fun as being the god of mischief would be," Hannibal smiled to himself. "I just happen to have a steel-trap memory and an admittedly quite obsessive fixation on the mental health of the mother of my child."

"I swear to god I never told you about him." You denied. "Not even in passing."

"You didn't have to." He assured you. "Beatrice did."

You were surprised for a fraction of a second until the information sat in your head long enough to realize it wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Beatrice took every opportunity she got to brag about her son's sacrifices. She never once mentioned the sacrifices he forced upon you. Only that her son was a hero.

"Did you get the 'don't believe anything [F/N] has to say about my son' speech?" Your voice flattened in complete non-surprise.

"It was a prepared speech?" Hannibal chuckled. "Pity. I thought I was special."

"She gave it to my first boyfriend." You rolled your eyes. "We were, like, fifteen."

"The root of your psychological issues becomes clearer every time we talk about Beatrice." He commented under his breath.

"I know." You conceded.

He pulled into the parking lot, turned the car off and placed his hand over yours.

"Your father was a coward." He said, bluntly. It was nice to hear what had been echoing in the back of your head out loud for once. "I know no country to serve. No god to glorify. I promise, you have the whole of me. My mind, body and soul belongs to you and our child."

You squeezed his hand. "I couldn't ask for anything else."