#he cannot be killed in a way that matters

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 19 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You make a mistake. And for some reason you're almost sure, he cannot forgive you this time.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking/abortion, kidney failure, poisoning, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

One question.

Was one question truly enough to make your whole world crumble, the peace you had so hard worked to earn?

The fragile ghost of happiness that had surrounded you for a while, it slowly died. And what was left was the same loneliness you always felt.

Only this time, you weren’t alone. Your hand involuntarily wandered down your chest and stopped just short of your abdomen. There it was. Your child, your love. The life growing within you, the only thing you ever truly loved, except for him.

Him.

And did he love you still? Or did he simply endure you, because you were now with child - his child?

How silly you were. A silly little girl, trapped in the body of a woman, that served as the battleground of cruelty and time. To believe things would turn out warm and perfect in the end, simply because you carried his child.

How wrong you had been.

How terribly wrong.

It was all the worse, because in the beginning it truly looked like things would work out in your favor for once.

The man in the wardrobe wasn't your concern. He made sure of it. He took care of the matter somewhere else, keeping it out of your way. Whenever you'd come up with it, he'd shush you. There was no trace left of him in your home. Instead, it was filled with warmth and safety. Your mother was nowhere in sight.

Of course, there were still countless things in your way. There was no peace, no love and no happiness without a price to pay – life always did that. It made sure you paid in time.

But for this one time, you had managed to push through. Somehow you even found the strength to ignore the ache in your chest that followed every time you remembered the godforsaken word.

Transplant.

There is was, inside of you, rotting away and ready to kill you. The remnant of what was left of your own mothers hatred for you. She hated you, despised you even, you had always known that. But to hate you enough to try and end the life she had created?

It would never cease to make you sick. How could one hate so much, what he was supposed to love and protect and cherish? How could tenderness and devotion be replaced by coldness and fury? By the desire to murder.

How could she have looked at your tiny form, your innocent smile, your small hands smudged with crumbs and chocolate and think you detestable?

No matter how much you fought against it, you always felt tears well up in your eyes.

And he always came – the only refuge you had ever known. The only warmth. The only love.

“No more tears, mama. We wouldn’t want to upset our little one now, would we?”

A small tilt of your head, a warm hand against your cheek – and you were done for. It was always enough to bring you back from the depth of your sorrow. What was it that helped you through it? Was it the guilt of not wanting your unborn child to feel your pain? Or was it him?

Him.

The life before him seemed like nothing more than a distant memory. The life before this – before you, before him, before the life that was growing inside you, reminding you of the hope you carried silently, the quiet strength.

Maybe this was what you had been born for all along. To be his, to be the mother of his child.

And you clung to that hope with every fiber of your being.

Every night that you jumped up and scurried to the bathroom, holding back only enough until you reached the toilet. Dropping to you knees and throwing up took up more of your time than you ever wished for, but to your relief, he was always there.

His sleep had always been light, but ever since you had gotten the news, it seemed like he wasn’t sleeping at all. The moment you raised your head from the pillow, he was there. He never had the time to even ask what was wrong, but for most cases it was always the same. He was there in an instant, holding up your hair in a gentle grip, his free hand softly roaming over your back.

“Shh. Let it all out. It’s okay, let it out.”

The first few times had been rather hard on you. No matter how pointless or even embarrassing, you didn’t want him to see you like that. In your head, you had made up a version of your life with him, a version in which he desired you. And would he keep desiring you if he knelt by you, while you spat down, holding onto the edge of the toilet seat?

To your surprise though, he didn’t recoil in disgust. You had never thought him to be that supportive. But he was.

He was there, every night. Helping you rinse your mouth and flush the toilet, before he gently guided you back. He sat by your side, a wet cloth on your face and he didn’t dare sleep. He never fell asleep before you.

The sickness was relentless. It came every day, every night and of course, it didn’t only come in the morning, like you had hoped. It came always to all times, it seemed. When you woke up in the morning after not having eaten all night, you practically felt your blood sugar levels drop and the dizziness was nearly worse than the sickness itself. But he was always there, always jumping at the slightest of your stirring. He came every morning, carrying a tray with buttered toast, unsweetened tea and a smoothie of all colors and all fruits.

When he did it the first time, you didn’t quite believe it. By the second time, you were still trapped in confusion. And when he came in by the time the third morning rolled around, you felt tears sting your eyes.

“Why are you crying?” He had murmured, while he sat down beside you and gently lifted the teacup to your lips. “Aren’t you feeling well?”

You choked down a sip of the hot liquid and shook your head.

With a soft sigh, you leaned back against the pillow and looked at him with the softest eyes you had ever shown him. “I just love you.”

His smile was something you had grown used to by now. Of course you still needed to separate. There was the twisted smile – the only one he had ever shown you in the beginning. And then there was the genuine one.

When you spoke of the life you had before him, he forced the twisted smile.

When you kissed him, he beamed.

It was enough to make your heart leap. The way his eyes shone in the warmth of the apricot colored walls.

Everything was indeed perfect. His smile, his voice, his gentle touch and the way he was there, before you even you knew that you needed him.

His touch became gentle, his possessiveness soft. His voice cut through the silence in a way that was more soft-spoken than harsh, like he was afraid to startle you.

A part of you ached. Was it because you carried his child? Or was it because of you?

Was it, because he wanted to be better for you? Good even.

You would never know. And there was still the other thing.

The thin, barely-there wall that stood always between you. He was your kidnapper no less, a fact you couldn’t forget. He was your bane, your pain, your silent curse – the answer of the darkness to all your prayers.

But did you truly mind?

Did you mind that after all you still didn’t know his name?

No matter how gentle he was, no matter how loving. You did mind. You were still hurt.

Because you trusted him. You trusted him enough to risk your life in order to carry his child, to give birth to the tiny wonder that was half you and half him.

You trusted him in any matter, in any way – there was no a part of you he did not know yet. And still he didn’t trust you. Not fully. Not enough.

Until one day you snapped. You didn’t intend it, you wanted to blame your doubts, your fears on your condition, your hormones.

He was about to get ready for work, looking as dashing as ever. His work shifts got shorter and shorter. He blamed it on the work itself, but you knew that wasn’t the truth. No, he wanted to be there. He was afraid. Afraid something might happen in his absence. Something horrible, something that might take you away from him – both of you.

His shifts, once starting at six, now began around eight and he never arrived after eleven. Whatever job this was, it indeed had odd work hours.

Whenever you tried to gently prod his mind and find something out, he found excuses. So far you had always feared his wrath, but ever since he knew of your condition, your fragile health, your careful hopeful, he did his best. It was hard, you could tell. He dug his nails into his palms until they bled. More than one time you had been forced to gently sit him down and take care of his bloodied hands. The first time, you had hardly made any progress, because he found himself eventually locked away in the bathroom, to calm down. You knew better, you knew it was so he couldn’t cause any damage. Any damage he couldn’t undo. But you didn’t mind. At least, for you he tried. The next time was easier. He sat down willingly, held out his hands, but he didn’t look at you.

“It’s just a little blood.”

You didn’t respond, instead gently wiped his palms clean and tended to him with such softness that it brought a strange sense of comfort to both of you. No one had ever done that for you and most certainly, no one had ever done that for him, either.

The way he tensed and battled with himself, as if expecting a blow. You had never noticed that before. How vulnerable he was under his anger. How his fury served to protect him in most cases. But the softer he got, the closer he allowed you to come, it became clear as day. He didn’t hate you, didn’t resent you, didn’t even want to hurt you – unless he did, of course. But in these moments, there rare seconds he allowed you to glance under the stoic mask of his forced, tight-lipped smile, he was there. Lurking. Brooding. Holding up his hands, protecting his face, his gut, his heart. When his lips quivered in rage, it was because he expected pain to follow.

There even were the rare moments when you saw a flicker of something else. Something akin to fear. In most cases, it happened in his sleep. The rare moments you shifted and stirred, quietly waking before he could, you got a few minutes to yourself to simply watch him. On most days, he was dreaming. Having a nightmare, probably. You saw it in the way his brows furrowed and his peaceful expression was clouded by sweat and quick breaths. You touched his face, held his hand and sometimes, it helped. On other days, it didn’t and he was forced to endure the cloud and haze of whatever it was that was hurting him. Hunting him. And forcing him to re-live some horrible memory you couldn’t come close to understand. Not yet.

Maybe he would let you in someday.

Until then, you made do with the rare hints of vulnerability he showed you. There was a clear difference. He was able to be gentle and treat you well. Treat you the way a husband would treat his wife. But that didn’t mean that he was open or soft. The wall was there. Intact. In place. And high as ever.

Your outings became more and more frequent, your weekly visits to the doctor a routine on its own. The progress of your tiny, little kidney was enough to keep you alive, enough to keep your child alive and so far, there was no need for a dialysis. At least something, you thought.

By the time the first ultrasound rolled around, the wall crumbled ever so slightly. You found yourself in the chair, your feet pressed against it nervously. He stood behind you, his hand squeezing yours gently. A part of you had almost wanted to beg to find another doctor, a female one at that – but you knew it made most sense to stick with the same doctor who also checked your kidney progress. So, you stayed, but by the time you learned that the first few ultrasounds would be done internally – unlike it was shown in movies and shows – you had a strange feeling in your gut. Akin to fear. Would he get angry? Would he be furious, because another man got to see you like that?

His hand indeed tightened on yours in a way that was near painful. You swallowed and squeezed his hand back, expecting his fury and rage, but he only kept it up until suddenly the sound of a heartbeat cut through the silence. You both froze, staring at the monitor with wide eyes. You were sure your heart stopped beating in your chest. A heartbeat that wasn’t yours, but was still as steady and fierce as ever.

“Look at that.” The doctor smiled as he looked up as well. “Someone to steal horses with.”

By the time you looked up at him, he was still staring at the monitor, incredulous and soft. Eyes softer than you had ever seen before. And his grip on your hand loosened.

“It’s really in there.” He murmured absentmindedly. You smiled and looked back at the ultrasound. There it was, tiny and helpless, but real. His child. Your child. The manifestation of his love for you.

The visits to the doctor always ended with either ice cream, a walk or a trip to the supermarket to find something you could finally eat. So far, it seemed like everything disgusted you. Things you once loved turned into shakes of your head and the sound of your stomach churning.

Something you especially loved and could always eat, made your stomach drop with nausea – pasta. There was no way you could eat pasta. Any form of it made you feel like you had to throw up.

And so all you did end up eating was bread, ice cream, a little rice and eventually your morning smoothie. Everything else made you sick.

He kept bombarding the doctor with questions to make sure your lack of proper nutrition wouldn’t harm neither you nor the baby – but he assured him, once three or four months passed your appetite would most likely return. The baby took what it needed. And you just needed to make sure that you ate the things you wanted as far.

He tried to come up with recipes and ideas, taking you out to eat until it felt normal. The warmth of the sun, the smell of the rain, the stares of passers-by. It never felt truly normal. A part of you always expected him to lock you away for good. But you slowly got used to it. To the normalcy. To the way he forced himself to make life feel beautiful for your sake.

Safe.

He made you feel safe.

Until your fear finally became a distant call, a memory. Something you never anticipated, something you hardly remembered.

No, he was real. He was good. And he was yours.

But he didn’t trust you, did he? Not the same way you trusted him.

And so, you snapped. You snapped against your better will, against your better knowledge.

Neither of you expected it, he was just getting ready for work, all in all innocent.

You watched him, leaned against the doorframe, as he adjusted his tie. He didn’t see you at first, that was until you stepped forward and reached for his tie with gentle fingers. His eyes lit up with surprise and delight, his handsome smile highlighting his features in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

You forced a strained smile. “When will you be back?”

He glanced at his watch and hummed. “Not after eleven, I think. Just try and relax, okay? I’ll be back before you know it. I left some Hotteok in the fridge, just in case you feel like you can eat.”

He was perfect. So perfect. It increased the ache of your heart tenfold.

If he was so perfect, why couldn’t he be real?

The snap in your mind was nearly painful. But you needed to know.

“What is your job?”

He tensed before you, but that didn’t stop you from fidgeting with his tie. You kept your gaze glued to it.

“What?”

You nodded. “What do you do? Why can’t you tell me?”

He exhaled slowly and caught your wrists in a touch that was gentle, yet firm.

“I told you. That is nothing for you to worry about.” He said with finality.

“Fine.” You nearly spat out. “Then your name.”

His eyes darkened. “What is this about?”

“What would it be about?!” You hissed, surprised by the depth of your own anger. You had been silently resenting that part of him ever since you found out you were pregnant – and he still didn’t let you in. “I want to know your name. I want to know the name my child is going to carry for the rest of its life.”

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath, obviously ready to explode. But he didn’t. Instead, he took his hands off you and dug his fingers into his palms again. They had hardly healed. It filled you with a strange feeling of protectiveness, of guilt even – but you didn’t want to back down.

“Is it really too much to ask?” You nearly pleaded. When he shot you a glare instead of answering, your anger returned full-force.

“Fucking Hell!” You exclaimed furiously and let go of his tie. “What is wrong with you? I’m pregnant, pregnant with your child and I don’t even know how to refer to you when I speak to the doctor about you!”

“You’re not supposed to speak about me to anyone!”

You groaned in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re nothing but a ghost. All I want is your name or – or anything! Don’t you trust me?! Do you still not trust me?!”

He stared at you with a mixture of longing, pain and anger of his own. Before you knew it though, he pushed past you and grabbed his briefcase, ready to leave.

You gasped and rushed after him. “Stop! Wait!”

“I have to go.” He grumbled. “We’ll talk later.”

“Did you ask him to abort the child?” You froze in horror over your own words. You had never meant to ask them out loud, never meant to accuse him of such a vile thing. A part of your mind had always asked itself. What did he say? Why did he speak Korean? Why did he rush outside, like the Devil himself chased him? But you never dared ask that. Especially not, after he took such good and gentle care of you.

Not, after he loved you so thoroughly.

But the doubt lingered in your mind, the thought that he was still dangerous. Unpredictable. And cruel.

He stood with his back facing you, but you saw the way his body went rigid. His grip on the briefcase tightened until his knuckles turned white. You swallowed and immediately regretted the question. Not because you feared that he might harm you – even though, a part of you still expected him to. No, you felt guilty. You felt sick with guilt.

He turned around, impossibly slow and his eyes were blazing in a way you had never seen before.

“What?”

You swallowed again and took a step back. Your heart was racing in your chest and your hands felt cold and sweaty.

“I-“

He slammed the briefcase down on the table and approached you with quick steps. You stumbled backwards until he had you pressed against the wall. You stared up at him with wide eyes, silently pleading him. Suddenly you didn’t feel so safe anymore.

“What?” He hissed out. “Say that again.”

You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t mean-“

“Yes, you did.” He barked out. “You did mean it.”

Tears clouded your vision and you wrapped your arms around your torso, as though you feared you might crumble into yourself.

“I-“

“Is that how you see me?” He growled. “Is that really what you think I am?”

He caged you in with his a hand on either side of your head, his breath hot against your face. You had never seen him that angry before. Never.

And he still held himself back for you. His whole body was shaking in rage and he still held back.

You had never felt so guilty in your life.

“I’m sorry.” You cried out. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I-“

“I asked him to check my blood type.” He gritted out.

Your forehead ceased in a frown and you stared up at him with confusion. “What? Why would you-“

“I have ways. I have connections. I could get you a kidney tomorrow if I wanted.” He hissed. “But I knew you wouldn’t want that.”

You froze, before your frown deepened and your heart nearly burst in terror. “What are you talking about?” It came over your trembling lips, the ghost of a whisper.

“You know what I’m talking about. I know people. And I have the ability to save your life.” He gritted out. “But would you want that? Would forgive me for that? No. You’re too righteous for that. Too good.” He spat the word out with such disdain, it felt like a curse and it made your stomach ache.

“Please-“ You whispered, but he cut you off.

“So, I asked him to check my blood type instead. To see if we match. And guess what?” He smiled mirthlessly.

The room tilted, nausea rising within you. “What?” You whispered shakily, your face damp with tears.

He nodded, but his eyes stayed cold. Colder than ever before.

You knew you had fucked up. Worse than ever before. But the only thing you could think about was how terribly you must have hurt him.

You didn’t care, didn’t hear what he was saying. Didn’t care about whatever unholy business he was involved in. Suddenly you couldn’t have cared less about his name – or if his blood type matched yours.

You just wanted him back. To forgive you. To love you again.

“I’m so sorry.” You choked out. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have-“

“But you did.” He gritted out and took a step back, eyeing you up and down in nothing short of disgust. You choked back a sob and your chin dropped to your chest, unable to meet his cold, dark gaze any longer.

He smiled again, the scary smiled that never reached his eyes.

“Congratulations, darling.” He spat out in a sneer. “Congratulations. We have the same blood type. You have a kidney on the way.”

_______________________________

Tag list 1:

@mitsuki-dreamfree @kpopsmutty69 @heroine-chique @vkeyy @mizuwki @blu-brrys @z0mbi345 @yourpointbreak @ayieayee @freddyzeppsworld @lola11111111 @indifitel6661 @salesmanlover08 @laurenbenoit70 @lalalaa2210 @lila-marshal @auspicious-lilana @0-aubrie0 @lovelyaegyo @theredvelvetbitch @violentbluess @muriels-lover @dorayakissu @eviebuggg @muchwita @ririgy @strxlemon @obsessedwthdilfs @kiwilov3 @misty-q

Author's note: Hey guys! I'll be honest, I had some real issues considering whether or not to continue the story the way I had planned, but in the end I decided to trust my instinct. It took quite some convincing of myself and a few people who support the idea of the pregancy trope. I'm really sorry if that is disappointing to anyone. I've received a few messages of people who think it's rushed on the story/makes no sense and so on. To that I'd like to say: Absolutely. I totally agree. For those two to have a child is probably very irresponsible, especially considering her health issues. But, just like in real life, that's their decision to make. If it's a mistake, it's their mistake to make. And just because she is pregant, doesn't mean their problems will disappear and everything will be perfect out of nowhere. That being said, I hope the people who hoped for an abortion in the story can forgive me - that's a trope I just couldn't go through with. Sorry for the long text, but the thing has been weighing on my mind pretty heavily these last few days. I've even been feeling guilty, until a few very kind people reminded me that I have no reason to. It's just a story, right? Still, I hope the ones who hoped for a different outcome, can forgive me. I'm not saying anyone pressured me!!! I pressured myself, because I wanted to please everyone. But I learned that's impossible, unfortunately.

I love you, guys.

Eternally yours,

Lana 🤍

Ps. Besides the sequel, I'll be doing a "bad ending au" where things take a different and darker turn. Someone requested that and I loved the idea. I didn't answer the ask yet, but I will by the time I publish it. 🤍

[intrepidacious]

He sighed, mind wracked with indecision - should he request the ring back and ask you to forget it ever existed? Should he go inside, get down on one knee and tell you that leaving was the single biggest mistake of his life, that he was a complete wreck these last two years, let you know that he didn’t want to live another day without you and ask you to marry him? 

emily you cannot do this to me 🥲 the entirety of steve's pov in this chapter killed me like they are both pining so bad !!!!

“Last night wasn’t meant to be a proposal… I guess that ring was the only tangible proof I could give you which shows I want to spend the rest of my life loving you.”

SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN YOU CAN'T DO THAT IT'S NOT OKAY 😭😭😭

Two years was a long time to build up walls, assemble a defence system so you wouldn’t get hurt the same way again - but Steve Rogers had a way of reaching into your soul and pulling down every barricade you surrounded yourself with in a matter of seconds. He knew the solution of the labyrinth to your heart, and no matter how desperately you tried to keep him out, he had made his way to the centre of the maze again.

ALSO I'M SENDING YOU TO JAIL FOR THAT ENDING WHAT THE FUCK

On The Run (2)

Ex!Steve Rogers x Fem!Ex-SHIELD Agent!Reader

< < PART 1 | Series Masterlist | PART 3 > >

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Steve Rogers needs somewhere to stay after breaking his friends out of the Raft prison in the Atlantic. (continued)

Warnings: slight angst, swearing

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: thank you to everyone who read/liked/commented on/reblogged part one, I really hope you enjoy this second part 

Dividers by @maysdigitalarts

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

What on Earth was he thinking? Giving you the ring and then leaving without saying a word? That would go down in history books as the worst proposal ever. Although, he didn’t ask the words ‘will you marry me?’, so perhaps it didn’t count.

He hadn’t actually intended to propose, but he knew that sounded foolish considering he had just given you an engagement ring.

Nevertheless, this was just the latest screw up in a long line of mistakes Steve had made throughout your relationship. If you had, even for a moment, considered forgiving him for disappearing two years ago, you assuredly wouldn’t after that. You hadn’t spoken in two years, and after leaving you of his own volition (even if he was trying to protect your life), he proceeded to give you an engagement ring the first day after reuniting. Sometimes he couldn’t believe his own stupidity.

Steve attempted to sleep on the living room floor, but spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, replaying the scene over in his mind, contemplating what he could have done differently, if there was any scenario in which you would have exited the bathroom not resenting his guts. He could feel the unspoken sympathy radiating from Sam, who was quite clearly still awake on the couch beside him, but who would not dare say a word about the argument he couldn’t help but overhear.

What Steve didn’t know was you remained in the bathroom, just a wall away, sitting on cold tiles, staring at the velvet box with silent tears streaming down your face until the sun came up.

Keep reading

[booksooks]

knight!sylus

starts w him being knighted by your father. right. but his eyes are on you the entire time. cannot look away, and neither can you. yall have known each other since childhood. and now he's taking an oath to protect you for the rest of his life with all he has, and he's delighted. there's now no real reason for you two to be apart, and he proves it by shadowing you to every council meeting, every court appearance, and every night of revelry. (and if he happens to scare away potential suitors every time… you're not ungrateful.)

and so the next few years go on like that, your father peacefully transitions power to you so that you're now the ruler of your kingdom, loyal knight still by your side. and so duh, there's a coronation ball that doubles as a ball for you to find a spouse. because your father is insisting, and who are you to deny the request of the man who raised you? so you host the celebration, switching between taking turns around the room in the arms of someone entirely boring, or sitting in your personal box to watch the laundry list of potential suitors spinning below. and it's not until several hours later, when you're sure that you've danced with everyone and your head is killing you that sylus gently pulls you away, reassuring you that no one will notice you being gone for a few. yall sneak down to the empty kitchen and steal a few nibbles. it's peaceful, something you haven't been able to say all night. and it's not until you start thinking about going back that sylus puts a hand on your waist and asks you to wait for him, even as he steps closer. and because you trust him, because you know sylus would never, ever hurt you, when he brings his head down to hover just above your lips, you're not nervous. but he hesitates, because what if, this one time, he's wrong about you? what if he's completely misread, and you're 2 seconds away from shoving him back and excommunicating him from the kingdom?

but he's not wrong (thank god) because you're sliding your hands through his hair and pulling him closer, not wanting to delay this anymore. and really, it all unravels from there in the best way possible. the night ends, everyone goes home feeling like their time was a little bit wasted because why would you invite them out to have a chance at your hand in marriage when you knew you were in love with your personal knight? but their opinions don't matter. your father approves of the union, and the wedding is everything you've ever wanted. sylus surprisingly doesn't choose to take the title of king, instead preferring to be able to protect you at all times. sure, he'll give his opinion when he thinks it's wanted, but he doesn't crave the power that comes with being king. you are enough.

something something something timeskip, despite your best efforts the neighboring kingdom declares war on you. but not in the traditional sense, no, they poison your food, set traps for traveling parties, and even send assassins after you. and sylus, ever worried for your life but still respectful, lets you stay. you dont want to show fear or to give up, so he stands by you throughout the long ordeal.

it isnt until there's an almost successful attempt on your life (that wouldn't have been 'almost' successful had sylus not been sleeping in bed with you) that he convinces you to go on the run. your cities have all been decimated, fields have been razed to the ground, so there's really no point in defending yourselves anymore. you pack up that night, leaving the dead body of a would-be murderer on the floor in front of your bed. you're not used to the cold nights, but the water by the lake is soothing as you curl up next to sylus, your husband, under a tent for the night. it takes a few weeks for you to get adjusted, which makes you jealous of sylus who seems to know every edible and poisonous plant on the planet. you're grateful, of course, but you can't help but feel useless when it takes much longer for you to adjust to living in the wilderness.

an idea occurs to you after the fifth time of your hair, once perfectly cared for and shiny, now dull and tangled, gets caught in branches as you and sylus traipse through the woods. you bring the idea up to your husband that night, quiet in front of the bonfire as he cooks dinner for you both. the idea of cutting your hair is shocking to him, because wouldn't you want to keep a part of your old life? (he questions himself, not realizing he is all you need to remind yourself of who you once were.) but he agrees easily, and takes the knife you brought to start cutting your hair with the utmost reverence in the world. he treats your hair with every ounce of respect he can muster, as if you were still the country's leader (you still are, to him, strong and fearless and kind), and does his best to make you look good. it's choppy, sure, but you still look like you, and theres nothing sylus could be more grateful for. he loves you. yes, he's said it countless times, not one to let you forget the fact, but he truly loves you. with everything he has. and you can tell, it's so obvious with every gentle sweep against your neck to get rid of hair clippings, and in the way he presses a soft kiss just below your ear. he loves you. you love him. you don't have your fancy clothes, your castle, your kingdom, or your people, but you have each other, and you know that's enough, and that sylus feels the same.

idea by @twink-fuery ily gamer /p ty for feeding the sylus flames w me

[dostoyevsky-official]

As President Trump looks north and repeatedly presses his case to absorb Canada as the “51st state,” politically minded Democrats who are otherwise outraged by almost everything else about his agenda find themselves contemplating a potential electoral boon should it ever happen. Few in Washington take the prospect all that seriously, of course. Canada has made clear that it has no interest in joining the United States, and Mr. Trump seems unlikely to send in the 82nd Airborne Division to force the matter. But if the idea appeals to Mr. Trump’s grandiose sense of himself as an empire-building historic figure, it could also undercut his own party’s prospects. [...] “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I strongly agree with Donald Trump,” said former Representative Steve Israel of New York, who headed the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee. “Canada is largely left of center, and making it the 51st state means more Democrats in Congress and Electoral College votes, not to mention providing universal health care and combating climate change.” [...] Mr. Trump’s talk of annexing Canada appears to be a way of trolling his northern neighbors as part of his pressure for trade and other concessions. It has succeeded in getting under their skin. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau of Canada told a group of business leaders in comments that leaked out that he did not consider it a joke but in fact “a real thing.” [...] None of the provinces actually want to join the United States, though. [...] So based on that, at least, Mr. Trump should not get his hopes up — and neither should Democrats. But it does not mean that they cannot dream. “Canada is blue,” Mr. Israel said. “We’ll take all the help President Trump wants to give us.”

The New York Times, the national paper of record—the same paper that lied about WMDs in Iraq—is now running a VoxExplainer-style article smugly contemplating the electoral outcome of annexing a country by force. There is not a single mention here that annexation is illegal, that a premeditated war of conquest is a war crime. Instead, Peter Baker is laughing and entertaining the idea. Canadians aren't going to be displeased, they aren't going to be voting blue in protest: they're going to be killing every American they can get their hands on, just like the Palestinians do to Israelis, just like the Ukrainians to Russians. "Here's how Sudeten voters will dilute the Nazi vote share." This is a horror, unthinkable, this isn't a game.

[mymoshangthoughts]

new thoughts i am having lol

body-sharing svsss!mobei-jun and pidw!mobei-jun

now obviously, these two are the same person with basically the same freaking personality lol, so it's not exactly the conflict of "why are you trying to make me do something i would never do" as it would be for like og!qinghua and airplane or smth like that, rather, it's the conflict of:

life experience changing goals. there's obviously the broader shit. pidw!mobei having been a general of an army focused on conquest of both realms vs svsss!mobei having a comparatively peaceful life would mean one of them is liable to have war related ptsd issues and the other is overly naive with regards to things like war and conquest. so their ideals on how to run a kingdom would differ based on those matters. pidw!mobei would be keener on diplomacy when possible, but far more cut-throat when diplomacy fell through. in contrast, svsss!mobei is spoiled and throws around his weight more and thinks little of diplomacy. but when diplomacy fails, he's not quite as prepared for the full consequences of his arrogance. hilariously, pidw!mobei is actually more likely to have a human-friendly reign and be a lot more savvy of human customs. junshang would have had literally HUNDREDS of human brides and idk if you noticed but binghe isnt exactly understanding of his minions screwing up around his romantic partners. so pidw!mobei would have to learn how to ensure half of the harem is treated well and also deal with treaties that junshang carelessly made with this human settlement or that human settlement. after awhile, it all just bleeds together and the realms are combined so tbh he no longer can be paid to give a fuck about whether someone is human or demon. in contrast, svsss!mobei is essentially only familiar with airplane and only attached to airplane. he doesnt have any real reasons to interact with consort shen, separate from how there were hundreds of harem members who needed minding and protecting even when junshang was busy acquiring a new bride, and his dealings with the human realm are comparably sparse. so whereas svsss!mobei might be like "oh theres a famine in the western region of my kingdom, is there someone i can stab about it?", pidw!mobei is more liable to be like "/sigh/ open trade routes with human settlement on the north-western border, they specialize in grains that are suitable for demonic digestion". HOWEVER, svsss!mobei has a far more open heart (less betrayal, war, ptsd, loss, etc) and is also a lot more keen to listen to airplane. so things that airplane has said over the years have generally rubbed off on him. so sometimes he's prone to do things "the airplane way" without even thinking. like more devious and under-handed tactics than his counterpart might have thought of. it would make for an interesting combo is all im saying >:D and delicious internal conflict

romantic feelings >:D ngl, i kinda like the idea of pidw!mobei having a Thing for binghe. so if he's transported into a world where binghe is GAY, like, wtf, YOU MEAN HE MIGHT HAVE A SHOT WITH HIS LIEGE??? and the binghe he knows is poly as fuck. so he would have every reason to believe that so long as binghe is open to men, he'd be open to having a harem of men. so whereas our svsss!mobei is obsessed with qinghua, pidw!mobei is about to get them killed by hitting on junshang badly x'D. pidw!mobei never thought anything much of og!qinghua bc the dude was basically an npc to him, so he cannot fathom why svsss!mobei is so enthralled with him... until he starts to get it. altho he has STRONG suspicions that og!qinghua and airplane!qinghua are straight up different people. the differences between them are too vast. like, bingmei and bingge are clearly different, but they're still noticeably the same guy. pidw!mobei can look at him and recognize "yeah thats the guy im hopelessly crushing on alright". similar hobbies, motivations, way of thinking and problem solving, mannerisms, and just plain the same guy, albeit with a different life. pidw!mobei can also look at his svsss counterpart and be like "yeah, thats me, a dumber me, but thats def me". but airplane? that dude is NOT og!qinghua. pidw!mobei might not have cared about the dude or spent that much time with him, but the same could be said for sha hualing and he would have easily recognized if literally all of her mannerisms, personality, hobbies, and general existence changed 100% into a different person. so, at first he's paying attention to airplane bc svsss!mobei is paying attention to airplane and he's lowkey like "oki why are you interested in /that thing/ when JUNSHANG IS RIGHT THERE!!! HAVE YOU LOOKED INTO THOSE EYES?!?! THOSE PECS?! THE ADORABLE WAY HE COOKS FOR THE PEOPLE HE LOVES?!?!? ARE YOU BLIND?! WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY LIKE ABT THE RAT????" but then when he pays attention he's like "no fr wait holdup that aint fucking qinghua" and now he has a mystery to solve and while he's intent on solving that mystery, he's forced to notice the stuff that svsss!mobei finds so enchanting about airplane. things that are actually quite similar to junshang in places (both mobei's have to acknowledge they have a "type") and just stuff wholly his own that is interesting. BUT ANYWAY, prior to pidw!mobei seeing the appeal of the all mighty hamster god, we have the hilarity of two mobei's in one body just like "no ew why do you like HIM, we are not doing that" (svsss!mobei miiiiggghhhtt have been interested in bingmei.... except watching a guy fawn over a corpse for 5 years can really kill the romance. necrophilia ain't hot, junshang. at least not to mobei pfff)

older vs younger >:D. pidw!mobei, if far enough along in the plot, would be significantly older than svsss!mobei and thus he has to deal with the cringe of "ohno why did i used to do that? did i think it was cool? ohgoddammit noooooo" and svsss!mobei has to deal with pidw!mobei being more of a fuddy-duddy who keeps judging him as being immature and "too young to know whats good for him" and all that sort of shit and look, mobei's of any kind do not like being condescended at ok

anyway my broader point is that i desperately want to see these sorts of conflicts with a body sharing situation between them and my brain is fizzling with each delicious idea for how they could argue

im thinking currently of a body sharing situation where they have to wrestle for control of the body and whoever has the stronger will-power of any given moment is usually able to gain control of it. but at all times, the other one is in the back watching and commenting and criticizing (albeit in a mobei jun sort of way) and so you could have svsss!mobei trying to deal with some complicated political situation with pidw!mobei in his head like "omg you're so fucking dumb, here let me take control" and svsss!mobei is like "no fuckyou stop distracting me" and so on and so forth >:D. even more hilarious when its like pidw!mobei over like "gonna shoot my shot with junshang!" and svsss!mobei is just "what are you doing... WHAT ARE YOU DOING ARE YOU CRAZY OR STUPID" and yeah >:D

then eventually, when they get on the same page on "airplanes are hot actually" it's the jealous competition of WHO can seduce airplane properly >:D. pidw!mobei is naturally better equipped to actually know what a human likes and how to handle the situation. but also because his behavior is odd coming from svsss!mobei, it's easily misunderstood. conversely, svsss!mobei has years of knowledge of airplane based facts to help him know what airplane likes as an individual, rather than broadly as a 'human'. so that gives him a bit of an edge. the competition is FIERCE and airplane literally could not be more confused over what the fuck mobei is doing and why he sometimes seems to be... jealous of himself??????

[syrupmap]

I have been thinking about this for months. And now this post is popping up in my reblogs again. So I thought I'd write down some of my thoughts on this.

For his sixth birthday, (this might have been just after his mother died) little Benton wanted to play in the mud with a toy bulldozer. But he got a book. Was he even able to read at six? Did he at least get a book with fun pictures?

For his seventh birthday, he asked for a go-kart. Instead, he might have gotten Huckleberry Finn. For his eighth, he asked for a Johnny Seven. Maybe he got On Civil Disobedience or The Little Prince. At nine, he just wanted a guppy. He could have been handed On The Rights of Men or To Kill a Mockingbird instead. When he turned eleven, he probably put another book in his toy box and realized it didn’t contain a single toy at all.

Just books. Seditious reading material he calls it. So, banned books? Revolutionary manifestos? Things too big for the mind of a boy who's not even a teenager but given to him anyway, because his grandmother decided he didn’t need to play. He needed to learn.

And it’s sort of funny until you picture it... A little boy sitting on the floor, turning The Social Contract over in his hands, wondering if he should rip up the papers and fold them into a model airplane.

A kid who never crashed a go-kart and got scrapes and bruises, never launched a plastic missile from a Johnny Seven while dramatically yelling and fake dying. Who would he even fake go to war against? He never named a guppy something ridiculous and cried when it died (but Benton, one single guppy? In a traveling library in the freezing cold? I must agree with his grandmother on this one).

Little kid Benton wanted to play and was told, no, you get this instead.

But the person who did this to him wasn’t cruel. She was trying to make him strong, heroic, like she was. When a fire surrounded her schoolhouse, she waded into a freezing river, held onto a burning tree, and kept the children alive. The heat melted her hair and burned her skin, but she didn’t let go.

She raised him to hold on, no matter how much it burned. And now, years later, here he is, in the middle of City Hall, filibustering into the night, gripping that podium like it's the last tree standing in a fire, refusing to sit down, refusing to shut up, because this is what she taught him to do.

And maybe she was right. Maybe the books were exactly what he needed. Maybe they made him the kind of man who could stand alone in a room full of power and not blink. They made him into a hero.

But that boy with no toys is still in there, somewhere. And he never learned how to let go.

“I never give up, it's not in my nature.”

This also made me think about his Christmases. And how he didn't really get to spend a lot of time with his dad. And how that also shaped him. And about how he's even a bit too intense for Bob Fraser. How his dad is proud of him, but also finally sees what this has done to his son (the branch that cannot bend must break).

Bob: So what are you hoping to get these wise men to do?

Fraser: Their duty.

Bob: Theirs or yours? You know, son, not everyone thinks the way you think, not everyone has your dedication, your commitment, your, your, well, frankly, your rigidity.

Fraser: I'm only doing what you taught me.

Bob: Well I've learned a few things since I died.

Fraser: Such as?

Bob: Well, I wish I'd spent more Christmases with you. And the branch that cannot bend must break.

---

Fraser: Ray, just think about it, two good men, one who should be accorded the respect due his age, one little more than a boy. They are frightened. They're frightened and ashamed. And they've good reason to be frightened. They don't think they can stand up to the Warfields of this world. Well I can. And I will.

---

Fraser: Do you think I'm being selfish and single-minded?

Bob: Oh, you're more than that son. You're obsessive, overbearing, possibly even arrogant.

Fraser: Well, thanks a lot dad, that makes me feel a whole lot better.

Bob: But you've been right.

Benton Fraser's birthday wish list

Age 6: toy bulldozer

Age 7: go cart

Age 8: Johnny 7

Age 9: guppy

Received: the most seditious reading material available through mail order

[zephemeral]

Do you think when he dies, his eyes hit pause?

[shannonsketches]

[americankimchi]

realizing my recent jason posts makes it sound like i hate his character when that could not be farther from the truth. i love my unhinged toxic self sabotaging king. he has so many problems and over half of them are directly his doing. watching people grind down his sharp edges until he's a misunderstood softboy is what gets me up in arms like leave him alone he's doing absolutely horrible things to himself and everyone around him and you're going 2 accept that buddy!!

[birdseyeart]

' You told her she could do anything, and, for you, all she wanted to do… was be kind. '

Enver & Dirge

[gingermintpepper]

hi I love your tags so so much! they were so sweet and so interesting and creative and the whole Aphrodite type of beauty thing sounds really interesting do you have any articles and recommendations to read further into it??

-hogoflight

Hello my fine feathered (I am assuming possession of feathers if you are, indeed, capable of flight) @hogoflight! I'm always always happy to hear that people appreciate my frenzied rambling in the tags :D! I have a lot of articles and recommendations :D!! Ancient Greek notions of beauty and representations of it in their art and sculptures is a pretty well studied topic! There isn't any way for us now to know definitively what the beauty standard was (it varied widely from region to region and culture to culture after all) but here are a couple of my favourite reads about Aphrodite and what her representations tell us about idealised beauty!

Probably the most empirically extensive one I can list is Krönström's thesis which compares statues of Aphrodite and literary text referring to both the goddess and mortal women to determine physical ideals for women in five specific eras of Grecian antiquity. Including measurements of the statues there are many descriptions of Aphrodite as 'curvy' with a 'voluptuous figure' and with 'ample buttocks and bosom'.

"When the beauty traits are described in the texts, they are never extreme or anything that could not be found in normal people just that they are more beautiful in every aspect. Furthermore, the sculptures’ physical forms look healthy, they are tall and have distinct curves. Great examples of this are the Knida sculpture and de Milo (the Melian) sculpture."

Of course, these images are still idealised, and there was still a concept such as 'too fat' or 'too skinny' found in written records (and this thesis even includes analysis of pornographic writings and descriptions of the fashion and stylings of pubic hair of women from different regions!!) but from an interpretational standpoint? There is absolutely no reason why these can't refer to a fuller figure. Height was also a very important factor after all and over the course of many eras, it seems like being well proportioned in addition to the length and appearance of one's hair were the most important factors (and, like Apollo, greater beauty was given to those with curlier hair)

Mireille M. Lee's 'Other Ways of Seeing' essay which talks about the forgotten female viewers of Knidian Aphrodite which is also extremely illuminating on how Aphroditic sexuality and sensuality was perceived totally differently from the well documented male voyeuristic gaze (which was overly preoccupied with the statue's nakedness and therefore over-sensationalised the statue's physical appearance) vs women's perspective on the statue which is more centered on the beauty of simplicity in Aphrodite's garment and decoration and in her power and ability to captivate both in her finery and without it. I think it's especially useful in exploring the importance of finery, jewellry and adornment in representations of Aphroditic beauty.

"Some of the small-scale copies are heavily jeweled, especially those from the eastern Mediterranean, for example the Hellenistic gilded terracotta statuette in the Çanakkale Museum (Fig. 5) in which the goddess wears, in addition to the armband on her (right) arm, the following: a necklace with multiple pendants; cross-bands extending over both shoulders and hips, with a cascading pendant in the center; a coiled snake armband on the left arm and another snake on her left thigh, and a twisted anklet on her right leg. (The left leg has been restored, and might also have featured an anklet.)"

"Jewelry is especially associated with Aphrodite in Greek literature. As seen above, in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite, the goddess adorns herself with gold jewelry, dress-pins, and earrings in the shape of flowers (162–3)..."

Finally, and to me, the most important one in the argument for an interpretation of Hyacinthus as fat, beautiful and fundamentally Aphroditic comes from Brilmayer's brilliant brilliant thesis done on Aphrodite's work and influence in Archaic Greek Poetry which does away with all of that masculine preoccupation with physical proportion, measurement and bodily ideals for a focus on a Sapphic Aphroditic ideal centered in clothing, ornamentation and, most importantly cunning as symbols of Aphrodite and ultimately a feminine idealised form of beauty. This paper also discusses Pandora and Helen in these terms and it is just kind of a wonderful read tbh.

"Combining Homeric and Hesiodic elements with her own ideas, she [Sappho] alters the way female beauty is viewed. For example, the Homeric war chariot – a symbol of male, military prowess - comes to symbolise the totality of Aphrodite’s power uniting in itself male and female qualities. Having addressed the concept of beauty directly, Sappho then concludes that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. With the help of Helen of Troy and her beloved Anaktoria, Sappho sets out to reinvent the concept of female beauty as a godlike, subjective quality that may be expressed in many ways, yet remains inspired by Aphrodite."

The conclusion to all of this of course is that Aphroditic ideal beauty is much more fluid compared to its stricter Apolline masculine standard. The nuances and understandings of both are of course, constantly being studied, analysed and scrutinised but really, if Dionysus who was both bearded and clean shorn, effeminate, birthed and rebirthed (and twice gestated!) and strongly associated with vegetation can be popularly portrayed as fat and handsome, why can't Hyacinthus?!

[brawngp2009]

🔨🔨🔨

[26ja]

Bonus:

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[bacchuschucklefuck]

(chuckles) Im so good at reading comprehension and my meat is huge

[waerloge]

Bloodborne's cut dialogue altered my brain chemistry