#he's a child starved for everything a child is supposed to have. because he is Simon Snow.

[wyrmswears]

shoutout to grubbs for being my favourite reject the call trope

[ebbpettier]

i should clarify that i'm specifically thinking about the heart wrenching realization (this young boy and his shorn head and the bitter way he views the world, and magic, and simon) that simon had none of this. and that for all that the humdrum was a horrifying all-consuming maw ready to devour all of magickal creation to fill a hole in his starving cosmic scar of a body that would have never been filled, he's just a child.

AU where the humdrum gets pinocchio'd into a real boy (small young simon) and SOMEONE'S gotta raise him, so ... ruth. (originalsimon has complicated feelings by this child that may essentially be his son but is mostly his little brother who almost destroyed the magickal world)

[firegirl888101]

Insatiable Madness (8)

|Sagau Yandere Fatui Harbingers x Reader|

Bedroom arrangements... You have to sort them out soon.

Reader is Gender Neutral!

"Would you stop staring at me? It's borderline creepy." You turned behind you, seeing Dottore and Sandrone peering from the doorway.

They had been doing this since you allowed the Harbingers to get comfortable. Some of them in your opinion had been too comfortable considering the current circumstances... But other than that, everything had been going shockingly smoothly.

Well, until you realised none of them could cook using modern technology.

So here you are now, cooking for 12 people with food you definitely couldn't afford everyday.

"You won't let me delve into machines of this century, like 'The Television'. Therefore, you will allow me to study what you're doing..."

"I'm cooking, you fucking weirdo."

"I do not see anywhere that could possibly let out heat, surely a fire is required to cook food?" Dottore argued.

"Just because electricity isn't hot, doesn't mean other materials can't change the temperature."

"I see... So you have an infinite source of electricity which is cooking your food. Then conducting that electricity with a material, perhaps a type of conductive ore, to warm up that pot you placed on that flat slab. To be able to do that... You truly must be powerful and knowledgeable."

"...It's just science and mechanics bro-- and it's not a 'flat slab'! It's a hob."

"Heeeeey, when will the food be ready? I'm starving over here!" Childe whined, entering the kitchen and walking past the two peepers.

Oh my god. This is the fifth time he's said that.

"Ask me that one more time and I'll pour this boiling water over your head."

"How long do you expect us to wait?" Pantalone walked up to you.

"Taking your time as usual, mortals truly are slow." Scaramouche rolled his eyes.

...Maybe it was too early to say things had been going smoothly earlier.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Getting everyone to sit at the table together proved to be a challenge.

The few who did so without complaint soon got up and left when you came back with more willing people, and some refusing to cooperate even when you got Pierro to help you out.

And then you had fuckers like Capitano insisting he 'guards the house' as if it's a fucking castle or private expensive estate.

"I do not see the point in sitting to eat if there could be danger lurking around every corner."

"This is my house. There won't be any danger unless it sneaks in from outside." You tried to convince him, truly you did.

You were so close to getting everyone to sit down. He's the last harbinger you needed... and the dinner is still warm too!

"Your argument is weak and insulting. I have offered to protect your home, and protect your honour. Yet, you force me to move away?" He questions you, his voice showing unfiltered offense.

Well, if he puts it that way.... I suppose he's doing me a favour, he thinks he is in his mind at the very least. If I challenge him I think he'll grow hostile and refuse further...

"Please," You said after a short while of thinking. "Please join us at the table. I promise the moment you finish eating you can return to your duties, Lord Capitano."

If I remember correctly, most if not all Fatui soldiers respected him due to his loyalty towards his soldiers, no matter what age or gender. He would spend his time for them after a battle, and would make sure everyone was healthy and ready for the next day.

Of course, this couldn't possibly be the full truth, he's a Fatui Harbinger! I doubt he got the first rank by just handing cakes to people.

Besides, this was all from memory. If things turned for the worst, you could always google some theories and knowledge. Or...! Or, you could wait for the game to update! Surely more would be revealed there?

"Even if I... joined you for dinner... I wouldn't dare eat." He sighed after thinking about your words.

"Why? Ohhhhh! It's because of your mask, right?" You suddenly realised.

You were just being insensitive all along! How did it take you this long to come to the conclusion he doesn't take it off?

"Could you please still join? I won't pressure you to eat, I promise." You smiled at him.

You heard a deep sigh, then he slowly nodded.

"When the first person finishes eating, I'll return here."

Wooohoo! Finally, that took way longer than you would have liked. You did lie a bit though, you were going to lock the front door so he couldn't just stand in the middle of it anymore.

It was beginning to get a bit cold in the house, and you didn't feel like hearing extra complaints from a certain banker...

You led him towards the dining room, and when you finally arrived, every single harbinger was looking at the two of you with boredom present on their faces.

"Took you long enough." Scaramouche scoffed with his arms crossed. "Why did you even make us sit together anyway?"

"When you go hungry, don't expect me to make you food then."

"They're kidding right? I don't have to eat to survive, unlike some of these mortals." He rolled his eyes.

"It's still polite, show some etiquette." Pantalone lightly scoffed in his direction, a smile present on his face.

"This all looks rather lovely." He complimented you, watching you sit down at the head of the table, opposite of Pierro.

"Thank you, but please don't compliment my cooking. This is the first time I've actually cooked a proper meal."

You didn't actually cook this. You just took all the noodles you had left in your personal cupboard and combined them into one boiling pot.

You were surprised Dottore and Sandrone didn't notice, especially since they were focusing so intently on you.

"Seriously? You're one talented chef! The noodles you made are perfect, just as good as the ones I've tried in Liyue!" Childe praised you, taking the fork on the side of his plate and dragging the noodles up to eye level.

"Wait a minute... Why has everyone else got chopsticks besides me!?" He suddenly realised.

"Because I need to get rid of them, I'm sick of my cupboards piling up with these shit ones. Plus, I'm aware you still can't use them."

Speaking of your personal and reusable chopsticks, you left them in the kitchen.

"I'm excusing myself from the table to get my own chopsticks since I forgot to grab my personal pair. If I come back and see any of you out of your chairs, I'm kicking you out of my house.

"You're not in any position to say--"

"STAY IN YOUR FUCKING CHAIR."

"Alright, alright! Psh, they can't take a joke."

"If you don't want to use the chopsticks I've provided, you may use the forks I placed in the middle of the table." You added in, almost forgetting that part.

Some harbingers let out a sigh of relief.

...I'll not question that.

You stood up and pushed your chair in, walking to the kitchen and grabbing your chopsticks with a special pattern.

Now is the time to take a deep breath, relax, prepare a couple questions you want to ask and get these Harbingers out of your house.

You've gotten too fearful. They killed your family, your neighbours, your friends. You should never forget that fact, you can't fight them or resist in fear of being killed. But, you can learn how to survive with them.

Take another deep breath. Hide your fear as best you can.

"I'm back!" You announced, a smile present on your face as you sat down where you left off.

You watched each Harbinger eat the food you prepared respectfully, some with small smiles and others looking as bored as earlier.

"So...." You started, nervously stirring your noodles.

"You want to ask questions, correct?" Pierro interrupted your collected thoughts, a sigh erupting from his lips.

"It's obvious that's why you grouped us up together, it's downright clear you know some of us can't eat or don't like to."

"Well, now that you've told me it was obvious, I won't beat around the bush."

"Beat around the... excuse me?" Arlecchino raised an eyebrow after eating another.

"Figure of speech."

"Ah, understood. Continue."

"Actually, before you get down to business I'd like to ask a question of my own." Signora raised her hand.

"And... what would that be? Don't you think I've earned the right to ask my questions first?" You turned your attention to her.

Now that you think about it, she hasn't spoken much at all. This is the first time she's directly addressed you since you first got captured.

...Apart from calling you a child of course, you could never forget that of all things.

"The noodles are a little plain, too plain for my liking. Do you have anything extra to add to it? Perchance some condiments? Your bowl looks... different to our own bowl's. What did you add to it?"

"I forgot you don't know how pot noo- I mean noodles work in this world! Sorry, I keep forgetting how you came from another place entirely different to this planet." You gasped, running to the kitchen and returning with different coloured packets.

"What... are they?" Sandrone pointed at the plastic packs.

"They look like poisons my clone's deliver for me to test out." Dottore thought outloud.

"Not at the table, please." Pantalone cringed.

"These, Harbingers, are a miracle in the making." You began, catching the attention of all of them.

'They look like puppies... It's cute.' Is what you would think if you forgot these are bloodthirsty monsters.

"Allow me to introduce you to the world of Sauce Packets. Each colour and size represents a flavour in the packet, and what garnish you'd like on top of your noodles!" You explained, placing all the packets you could find next to the pile of forks which had been unused.

"Amazing! You just get to pick like that?"

"Yup!"

"And... There's nothing else to it? No storing the packets in a cool area so they don't go off?"

"Nope!"

"Incredible... How does the food not become moldly or uneatable?" Dottore muttered.

"They're sealed really well. No air can get in or out until you rip the packet open."

"I want these two." Scaramouche rolled his eyes, grabbing two packs from the pile and holding them above his bowl.

"Be careful not to grab them too tight or they'll--!" You tried to speak as loud and quick as you could. But, unfortunately... "Burst..."

"What the actual shi--!?"

"There's a lot of sauce in those packets... Luckily for you, you held them above your bowl so the majority went in it! Thanks for not wasting any." You struggled to hold your laughter, grabbing a couple tissues from your pocket.

"Did any get on you?" You let a small giggle pass you lips.

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes burning through yours. After a couple moments, he came to reality and noticed all the harbingers laughing, giggling and chuckling at his previous actions.

"...No." He snatched the tissues from your open hand.

"How amusing and childish Scaramouche." Dottore commented, covering his mouth which hid his grin.

"I don't want to hear that kind of comment from you of all people." The puppet shook his head with a snarl, wiping his lap with the tissues.

"Alright, I only have these two flavours left, the red packet on your left being a really spicy flavour. The orange packet on your right being chicken. Oh, and, the smaller packets I have contain either basil and garlic, as well as coriander here."

The Harbingers, after hearing your explanation, picked which packets they wanted and put them in their bowls of noodles. Except Capitano, he hadn't touched anything since he sat down at the table.

Once demonstrating how to mix the noodles with the cutlery, the Harbingers began to eat once more with happier smiles than before and light chatter.

"So, you wanted to ask some questions?" Pierro coughed into his hand, his expression soon turning stern and distant.

"Yes! Thank god we're back to this topic." You shook your head, a wry smile on your face.

"...What exactly are you planning to do next?" You asked the first question.

"What do you mean by that?" Columbina smiled eagerly at you.

"You're stuck in my world, thanks to Dottore's compass breaking... which looked oddly close to an illegal chest compass - but I won't judge the design."

"Yes, thank you for adding the 'DOTTORE'S COMPASS' breaking in your reasoning." Sandrone nodded with a satisfactory smile.

"Anyway, what do you plan to do next? You can't just hideout in my house until Dottore somehow creates a new machine, with materials he won't ever get his hands on since you're all no longer in Teyvat."

"You mean you don't have the same minerals here as in Teyvat?" He questioned you, tapping the table to form a little tune.

"Did you really think an ore called 'Magical Ore Chunk' would exist here?"

"...We didn't name it."

"I suppose the one thing you could say exists would be Iron. But I have no idea whether they work the same, they could very well have different effects when mined due to different adaptations to their environment."

"Do you use Iron to craft weapons?" Capitano spoke for the first time since entering the dining room. Too bad he sounds so excited, the answer won't please him too much.

"We do... or, we did. In the past hundred years, we've developed new weapons using different minerals and... chemicals." You grimaced.

"Oooh, this is getting interesting!" Columbina laughed, finishing her noodles with a pleasant sigh. "Sooo good."

"Glad you like them." You nodded at her, before returning your attention back to Dottore.

"Don't ask me about the chemical part. It's illegal for those to know how the dangerous substances are made, unless they're working for the goverment or a specially trained company."

"How dangerous could they really be...?"

"Again," You sighed. "Don't question it."

"I'm still traumatised when you put on that surgery channel earlier this afternoon."

"Back to my question?" You asked them again, tone sounding hopeful for a proper answer.

"Truthfully, we don't know what's going to happen. Haven't had a meeting to discuss it yet." Tartaglia shrugged, finishing also and putting his fork in the bowl.

"Tartaglia." Capitano scolded.

"Yes, Captain!" Childe saluted. Capitano and Pulcinella just shook their heads as a reply.

"Tartaglia is right, we don't know what to do."

"By chance, did your parents happen to know anything revolving machinery and world travelling?"

This is unwelcome territory now.

"Maybe. However, we wouldn't be able to ask them anyway." You shook your head, resisting the urge to lash out.

"Why? Are they out of town? Or perhaps they're at work someplace else?"

"You killed them."

Silence then took hold of the Harbinger's, not one person touched the food in front of them nor moved a centimetre.

"What?" Childe broke the silence, his voice as quiet as a mouse.

"You murdered my family in cold blood, butchered their bodies when you found they had no use to you and then dumped them to the side."

They all continued to stay silent, some closing their eyes, while some's faces showing an ounce of guilt.

Like you believed that guilt though.

"Fuck this." Scaramouche rudely announced, pushing his chair out and walking out of the room.

"I wanted to ask a few more questions, but you know what, I'm not in the mood anymore. Enjoy what's left of dinner, I know I won't. With my bruised body, I'm surprised I've lasted this long without collapsing in pain."

And with that, you left the table for the final time that evening. Carrying your bowl with you, you ascended up the stairs to your bedroom with tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

A bit sad, isn't it? Well, they've got more coming to them so I wouldn't get sad just yet. You wouldn't believe what I've got planned lol

Please don't expect too many happy, nice and generally fluffy scenes.

This is Yandere, a genre which should never, under any circumstance be considered normal. It's abusive, unhealthy and leads to a lot of victims facing awful conditions which they never should or ever have to endure no matter who they are.

This is fiction that I'm writing, meaning it's all taken light-heartedly IN A FICTIONAL SENSE.

If anyone, by chance, is currently in conditions where a loved-one or yourself has suddenly become distant and/or being hurt when away from eyes please get help. Talk to them, or if it's you, talk to someone you know you can trust.

If you can't talk to anyone, find authorities who can help you. Call 999, as it is in the U.K, or your local emergency service. They will always help you, and will never deny your rights or freedom.

Thanks for reading this, I hope all who's reading knows this information already, but I thought I'd include it since who knows when it comes to where you are in the world and whether your education programs taught critical information like this.

On to more happy stuff!:

Thank you all so much for the support, I hope you'll stick with me for the rest of the parts in this series until I get to the finish line. :)

Back to the fluffy stuff convo... I'm really trying to squeeze them in, because if Y/N isn't showing kindness or anything nice to any of them, none of them will begin to grow feelings for them. It may seem out of place, but Y/N is coping right now. It's not like they can leave the house to run for help.

They saw what the Harbingers can do without thinking of other's lives being a consequence.

✨Elusive✨ Taglist!:

@valeriele3 @pale-value @pix-stuff @yumi-genshin-writer @yuii-v @itz-luna @annoying-mary @etherisy @khalhaimdad @haikyuusboringassmanager @magica-ren @sweatyexpertdeputyduck @booksandteaplusart @9140 @whatamidoing89 @raesleepyhead @nasidibakar @shikanosn @purpleamethystsblog @chihawari @esthelily @stuffyfrenchflowers @conspicuous-mayonnaise @sielt @katsumikumo @greyhoundwires707 @carminerin @raidendeeznuts123 @angelofdarkness2 @conspicuous-mayonnaise @ginnxy-galaxy @clara-maddenlin @bk-4-trash-fire @uniqaal @tnsophiaonly @vianitry @dottoreandcolumbinaslovechild

Quick Reminder Here! If you no longer want to be on the taglist that's completely fine; I take no offence whatsoever so please don't hesitate to tell me. ^^

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

first off, happy happy birthday to you!!!! Thank you for spoiling us on your birthday.

That being said, my heart is feeling angsty so I wanna request the prompt "Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't." for a fem reader x Kid (NSFW)!

Again, happy birthday lovely! :3

Hello! @limitlesstildil thank you sooo much for your birthday wishes and for your awesome prompt! Now, I've taken some liberties with it, but I do hope you don't mind! It's now a three part fic of Highlander!Kid, sharing the spotlight with another prompt (to be seen in the last chapter). The NSFW part was pushed forward too, okay? I hope this is still okay! Thank you so much for participating! ❤️

Source for Pic

Mine to Protect

Word Count: 4969

Tags for the whole story: Highlander!Kid; Fem!Reader; Alternate Universe - Scotland 13th century; Gore; Blood; Violence; Death; Mild Angst; Fluff; Nudity; Cursing; Sexual Tension; Explicit Sexual Content; Protective!Kid; Possessive!Kid; Soft!Kid; Feral!Kid; Jealous!Kid; Happy Ending; Sort of Enemies to Lovers; Teasing; Banter; NSFW; MDNI; Mature Audiences;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Your father and his allied clans are at war, and you're a liability. When you're assigned a guard to protect you - against your will - you do everything in your power to infuriate him. The problem is that he can be more infuriating than you, as you're about to find out.

Notes: Okay... it's finally here! I coudn't hold out any longer. It turned out to be 16k words, so I've divided it in three (not equal parts because the splitting would be weird, obviously). I edited the first part and plan on editing the rest soon. I will have the entire fic out by the end of the week! Gosh... I'm very proud of this one, I do hope you enjoy, let me know!

Part 1 of 3

|Masterlist| | |Part 2| | |Part 3|

“I don't need a guard!” Your angered cry echoes down the halls of the keep, but the stationed guards at the entrance barely even flinch at your outburst since it’s a regular occurrence. 

You have been at odds with your father, the laird, since early morning and, as night approaches fast, he’s tired of arguing with you. But no matter how much you argue like a wild thing, plead as if he were a deity or present your arguments politely as a lady, he doesn’t budge.

“You need a guard!” Your father says with a firm growl of your name. “We are at war and you're an easy target, daughter!” You scoff, outraged at the insinuation. You might be a lady, but you know how to defend yourself and you’re a feisty creature. “I don't want to hear any more of what you have to say! Out with you! You'll meet your guard later.”

With a screech so loud it could make a banshee blush in embarrassment, you leave the chamber, stamping your feet like a bratty child, feeling much like one since, apparently, you need nannying. And, well, if you’re to be nannied like a baby, you might as well act like one, while you still can.

Passing by the kitchen, you grab a hemp sack and fill it with anything you can get your hands on: bread, fruit, salted meat and grains. It weighs like hell but you couldn't care less. You have a point to prove. 

You don’t need a guard. You can handle yourself.

Night falls quickly and you use the waning light of the sickle moon to guide your steps, the same ones you’ve taken since you were a child. The only difference is that now you’re facing wartime and the streets aren’t as safe as they used to be.

But the people need you and you won’t sit idly by while children starve.

-*-

He was supposed to introduce himself to you as soon as he arrived at the keep, but Kid likes to observe first, so he stuck to the shadows. Despite being big, bulky and muscular, he can move like one. When Kid spots you leaving the keep just as the moon appears in the sky, he realises you're going to be trouble. 

Kid’s sick and tired of being a nursemaid to stuck-up, entitled ladies who think they alone rule the world. Yet, here he is again, his body too broken to be a proper warrior, but not broken enough to be able to retire peacefully. 

With a heavy sigh and a curse, Kid follows you into town, all the while realising just how reckless you’re being with your actions. Your father hired him because of the war, which means nowhere is safe. Especially after nightfall. Especially if you’re a noble lady.

But you don’t seem to care.

He follows you around town while you knock on doors, delivering food and even some jewellery. He hasn’t even spoken to you and your actions are already intriguing him. He’s never met a noble lady who would willingly part with jewels, let alone give them to townspeople. 

Yet, he doesn’t let that cloud his judgement. You think you’re being inconspicuous as you parade around town wearing your expensive velvet cape, with an air about you that clearly states you’re regal. No town girl would have such perfectly braided hair, and fair skin, poised grace, and natural beauty, as well as an elegance to your movements. You’re a dead giveaway for who you are.

And that’s dangerous in these streets.

Tutting silently, Kid watches as you traverse a dark alleyway and, immediately, a group of brigands follows you, their eyes already glinting with greed and something else. Kid approaches, ready to intervene as he’s being paid to do. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the way you pull out two daggers from your thighs and start fending them off.

A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth as he realises you aren’t as defenceless as he thought you to be.

Slicing your way through the brigands, you manage to cut one on the arm and another across his torso, which only makes them more enraged, but Kid nods approvingly from the shadows. There’s more to you than just a pretty face. 

Then you make a mistake. You lose sight of the largest man in the group and he gets behind you, locking your arms and incapacitating you immediately. With a grunt, Kid pushes himself off the wall he was leaning on and grips his Lochaber axe with his good arm. Time to intervene.

It takes only the blink of an eye for him to reach you. His weak arm slams a punch to the jugular of the man pinning you, causing him to let go and fall to his knees, gasping for air. Pivoting, Kid slices another brigand with a swing of his long axe, his guts splashing to the floor with a sickening sound as the man screams himself into shock. With a thrust of the weapon, Kid immediately kills the remaining brigand by piercing his neck. 

He didn’t even break a sweat. 

“I’m not scared of you!” You say, breathing hard, pants escaping your parted lips and Kid can clearly see your fists trembling as you grip the handle of your blade. You mistook him for another brigand. Smirking, Kid takes one step forward and you gasp. “Don’t come any closer.” Your voice is firmer now, a hint of aggression in your words. Good. 

He still takes another step, and with a swing of the axe, he lunges. You shriek and tense up but open your eyes as soon as you hear another sickening slice and the unmistakable gargle of a man drowning in his own blood. Kid sliced the neck of the brigand who had pinned you at the beginning of the skirmish and was getting ready to run away.

“I said back away!” You lunge, place your foot wrong and throw your weight like an amateur. Kid scoffs and easily disarms you, raising an eyebrow as if asking if that’s all you’ve got. You huff and puff like a wild beast and lunge empty-handed this time, landing a punch on his chest which he barely feels. He chuckles again and you seethe, swinging again, trying to hit his jaw, but this time he stops your mid-air, twisting your body and pinning your arm behind your back.

“Yer swingin’ like ye’ve never thrown a proper punch, lass.”

-*-

You blush from the tips of your ears to your flaming cheeks as the man twists your arm further, making you wince. Who is he? He easily took down the brigands who attacked you, but he doesn’t look like a common thief. He moves like a warrior, even though his left arm seems slower and heavier. 

“Let me go!” You hiss, feeling his taut muscles press against your back.

“Ye did alright with the daggers, but there’s a lot to be said about yer footwork. Also…” His large, calloused hand reaches out as he pulls the hood of your cloak down, his fingers brushing against the skin of your neck. “If yer gonna walk the streets of a war-torn town at night, ya better do it dressin’ like a commoner, no’ a noble, aye, lass?”

The nerve!

“Who are you, trying to tell me what to do? Let me go, right now!” He twists your arm more, and your hiss turns into a groan, but you refuse to scream in pain. You’re not going to give him that satisfaction, though it almost feels like your arm is about to fall out of its socket. 

“Who am I?” He chuckles. “That’s rich. I’m the one who just saved yer spoiled ass from gettin’ robbed. Or worse, lassie.”

You lower yourself, sensing a slight give in your arm as he loosens his grip, and elbow him hard in the stomach as you manage to break free from his grasp, hearing him grunt slightly. “I didn’t ask for your help, you brute.” You take two steps back, swiftly scanning the floor, hoping to find your fallen dagger. Since you can’t locate it, you focus back on the enemy, and your eyes widen as you finally take a good look.

He’s huge. Tall, bulky and built like a warrior, full of scars. His eyes and his hair are what make your breath catch in your throat: they’re fiery red. 

“Ye did no’, but ye sure as hell needed it.” He grins and takes another step forward, just to see you falter. “I’m no’ gonna harm ya, lass. I’m yer new guard. Yer da hired me.” He picks up the dagger you’ve been looking for but missed and hands it to you, handle first, along with the one he took. “Eustass Kid, at yer service.” 

By the resigned sound of his voice, he’d much rather be anywhere else but here. You snatch the daggers from his hands with a scowl. You’d much rather he be anywhere else as well but, alas, here you both are. 

“I don’t need a guard.” You grimace as you manoeuvre around the dead bodies, your stomach already used to the stench of blood by now, walk around Kid, and out of the alley, not even bothering to see if he’s following you. 

But of course he is. How is he so silent when he’s built like an Angus?

“Ya sure about that, lass?” His voice is clipped and dripping with sarcasm which just makes you grit your teeth as you quicken your pace. “Seemed like ya needed one back there, nae?”

“I had it covered!” You snap back, hands balled into fists as you stomp your way back into the keep. 

“Aye, I saw. Maybe I should’ve let ya finish, then. Were ye gonna use yer witty words on them? Pray they let ya go just because ya have a sharp tongue?” He scoffs and you stop abruptly, pivoting with a finger in the air, your eyebrow raised high.

“I don’t appreciate the mockery, you don’t even know me.”

He leans down, his face inches from yours with that infuriating grin on his lips. “Aye, I know ya well enough tae paint a pretty picture, lass. Stubborn, reckless, proud.” His hand rises and he stabs a finger against your forehead, pushing you back with just the strength of that one digit. “Prancin’ around a war-torn town in fancy clothes, screamin’ yer noble and ready tae be robbed… aye, real smart, lass!”

You swat his hand away with the swing of your arm, growling as your temper flares. “You don’t know shit!”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, this time, a hearty laugh that sends a tingle down your spine. “Witty and foul-mouthed? What cannae that tongue do?”

“What am I supposed to do, then? Behave like a proper lady and stay in my keep, filling my belly while my people die of starvation? I don’t think so.” Crossing your arms over your chest, you raise your chin high, defying the infuriating man to say something else. 

“No’ what I’m sayin’, lass. But at least have some sense about it.” The grin fades and his voice hardens as he becomes serious. “There’s a war ragin’ and the street’s nae place for a noble woman. And there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity. Guess which one yer tippin’ on, right now?”

Is he serious? 

You don’t even grace that remark with a proper answer. There’s no use fighting with this man. You told your father you didn’t need a guard and he went and got you the most infuriating one of the lot!

Just my luck.

-*-

You’re so pissed that  you have a shadow following you everywhere, that you don’t leave your room for the next three days, hoping he gets bored and just leaves. 

He doesn’t.

On the fourth day you’re the one who’s bored so as the sun rises, so do you. You take your breakfast in peace, your guard nowhere to be seen because you’re in the keep where it’s safe. You can almost feel him as you walk around your own home. It’s a prickling at your nape, a sensation that makes you want to caress your neck. It tingles.

Days pass and you avoid making conversation with him at all costs. You keep running away from him, trying to evade his ever-present shadow, but you fail every time. More than once you think you finally did it, only to find him leaning against a wall –trademark, infuriating smirk in place– or for him to appear whenever you're about to be robbed. 

That is also why you now avoid going into town delivering food. The increase in attacks gives your guard the satisfaction of saving you and it only infuriates you. He shadows you everywhere, always wearing that smug smirk or his infinitely bored expression. He’s insufferable. 

The morning breaks like many others but you’re so frustrated you need to vent. So you pick up a sword and decide to take your anger out on the dummies in the courtyard. The sword feels heavy in your hands since you’re more used to daggers, but the recent attacks got you thinking that perhaps the gruff guard made a valid point. It’s wartime. Two measly daggers aren’t gonna save you. The sword might.

You start swinging, hitting the dummy but not making real damage, and then you sense him watching you. That damn prickling again, it’s like a pressing need at your nape. You let out a growl paired with a curse, and a bit of straw flies out of the dummy as you strike it again. 

“Ya swing that sword like yer holdin’ a broom.” You stop, take a deep breath and don’t turn around, going for the dummy again and trying your best to ignore the annoying prick. “Yer form’s all wrong.” He continues and so do you. Whack, whack. “That’s a good way tae get killed, lass.”

Pivoting around to face him, jaw clenched and knuckles white from gripping the sword, you show him your best leave me the fuck alone look. “If you have nothing useful to say, then stay quiet!”

“Feisty.” He replies with a chuckle and you grunt in exasperation. 

You give him a few more moments of your time, eyebrows raised in defiance as you wait for more remarks, but he raises his hands in the air and you turn your back to him, continuing your dummy slaughter. 

It doesn’t take long for him to speak again. “Yer still holdin’ it wrong. Yer gonna hurt yerself first before ye hurt someone else.” You sense him approaching but don’t turn. “But, aye, let’s just be stubborn as a mule, that also works.”

Your head whips back so fast you’re certain you pulled a muscle. “Are you calling me a mule?”

“Just sayin’ yer as stubborn as one.” He takes another step, his head leaning to the side as he observes you and you feel yourself flush under his gaze. “Yer too stiff, relax yer grip on the handle.”

“I didn’t ask for your advice.” You bite back, venom in your voice and fire in your eyes.

“Lucky ye, here I am offerin’ it just the same.”

“Screw you.” You mutter but still relax your grip on the handle as he says.

“Maybe later.” He grins as you scoff, then invades your space, his hands pushing your shoulders down, the touch sending a shock through your system. “I said relax, no’ stiffen more, lass.”

You shoot him a sideways glance but still do as he says, relaxing your shoulders and your hands. 

Then he nudges your feet with his own, spreading your legs into a wider stance. “Open yer legs wider for me lass, will ye? Now try again.” You flush crimson at the insinuation but still do as he says, though you keep grumbling. When you swing though, the hit actually cuts through the dummy and you gasp. “See? Yer actually capable.” You grin, a small smug smile curving your lips. “It’s no’ that yer a good student, I’m just a great teacher.”

And there goes your good mood.

“Insufferable.” You bite back.

“That too. But damn good.”

You stop your swing mid-air and turn to him, lifting your blade to his chest. “You know, maybe I should stop practising on dummies and start practising on you.” The smirk you give him is devious. 

“Ye cannae take me, lass.”

Glaring at him through lowered lashes, you raise your chin. “Try me.”

His eyes darken and the tingling sensation at your nape intensifies tenfold. You see him tense up but you don’t wait to see what he does next. You lunge forward, sword raised, relaxed grip and a wide stance –like he taught you just now– and he easily swings out of the way. 

With a frustrated grunt, you pivot to swing your sword to the left, where he dodged, and he evades you again, a small smirk tugging the corners of his lips. You suck a deep breath through your nose before letting it out slowly through your mouth, centering yourself. Then you swing again, leg planted firmly on the ground for support.

Kid hits your elbow from below, twisting your arm and disarms you with a quick flick of his hand –the sword clatters to the floor– then, in a second he has you in his grip, your back flushed against his chest, one of his hands at your throat and his other arm pinning you against him, rendering you immobile. 

Damn.

He’s intoxicating. His scent lingers everywhere and the warmth of his body against yours crackles and burns. 

“Yer easy.” He whispers against your ear and it’s a caress that travels down your neck, through your nipples and into your throbbing core. Fuck.

“Let me go.” Lacing your voice with authority doesn’t get you far, as your words fall empty and shaky. 

“Make me.” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, sending goosebumps down your neck. “Yer no’ as tough as you think, lass.” He’s well aware of the effect he’s having on your traitorous body, and he’s using it.

Two can play that game.

You turn your head to the side and tilt your chin up, your movements slightly constricted by the hand on your throat, and brush your lips against the exposed skin of his neck. “I’m not what?” Your hot breath fans his skin and you notice how it prickles before his jaw tightens and he loosens his hold. You use that opening to your advantage and shove him, taking a step away from him and almost gaining your freedom back –he doesn’t let you.

With a swift movement his arm envelops your waist and he pulls you to him again as you let out a frustrated groan. “It’s over, lass. Yer done.” There’s more gruffness in his voice now.

“I’m not done until I say I am.” You bite back, struggling to free yourself but he’s not even making an effort to hold you against him. 

“Yer stubborn.”

“Aye! We’ve established that already. It also means I’m tenacious!”

“Ya dinnae know when tae quit, nor when tae ask for help.” He twists you in his arms with surprising ease and now you’re facing him as he places his hands on your shoulders. “Ye need tae learn tae trust someone besides yerself.”

“Trust you?” You begin and thank the gods your voice is still stable.

“Aye. I’m here tae protect ya.”

You scoff and turn your eyes away from him, his words hitting too close to the mark, making you uncomfortable. You don’t need guards and you definitely don’t need Eustass Kid as your guard. 

“You’re the last person I would trust.”

Kid removes his hands from your shoulders and takes a step back. His jaw ticks and clenches as he nods. 

“Understandable. I’ll be around, anyway, lass.”

He turns to leave and your body suddenly feels cold, though it’s still tingling from the earlier blaze. His words hang heavy in the air around you. Trust. How can you trust somebody other than yourself if you’ve been doing that your whole life?

-*-

Weeks pass and you’re getting more used to Kid being your shadow. You fight like cats and dogs. He’s insufferable and you’re, in his words, a brat. No accidents have happened while you deliver food and money to the surrounding towns, but you know that’s because nobody dares to attack you while Kid is around. His imposing figure is threat enough for any brigand who wishes to rob you. 

You train a few more times with him watching but he doesn’t give you any more pointers and you start to think that maybe it was your trust comment that got him angry at you. 

Like I care.

You try to fool yourself, but you do care. He’s not the best company but he’s not the worst. If you take away the amused snickers, the mocking undertones in his words, or his gruffness, he’s perfectly tolerable. Though he gets under your skin like no one else.

That, and the tingling sensation that doesn’t seem to go away. To add to it, there’s also a throbbing of need in your core that nights alone, pleasuring yourself, cannot push away. You hate the fact that you loathe your guard almost as much as you desire him, and that alone drives you insane. You're hyper-aware of the way his muscles flex as he moves, the grunts he releases when he exerts himself and his strong scent of steel, sweat and leather. Even worse, all you can think about is how those muscles would flex as he handles your body, or how his grunts would sound as he sinks deep into you and how you'd be smelling him on yourself afterwards. It's overwhelming. 

There's the heat and throbbing again, at your core, in your nipples, everywhere! Fuck. 

“Lass?” His voice near your ear almost releases an unbridled moan from you, since you were lost in thought, so you groan and get up from the dining table where you were reading some letters, stomping your foot. 

“I’m going to bed!”

You don’t even look back at him. 

-*-

You retired early but sleep doesn't come easily. You overheard your father's meeting today and learned that there's been unrest at the borders and another clan abandoned your cause to join the opposing army. 

You're concocting a plan to gather information from the warfront that could tip the scales of the war, and if all goes well, you'll have it by the end of the week. 

You toss again in your bed, kicking the covers off with a loud groan. It's unusually hot for the middle of the night. The window is open but there's hardly any breeze, making it difficult to sleep. It doesn't help that your mind keeps drifting to an insufferable redhead –and how there's just a wall separating you. 

Eventually sleep claims you, and you drift into a dreamless slumber. 

You're jolted awake by a calloused hand clamped over your mouth, as another rips the front of your nightgown. You try to scream as you open your eyes, meeting the lecherous gaze of a scrawny, dark-haired man. He’s trying to grope you as his filthy fingers press against your lips with such force, you're sure they will leave bruises. 

If you survive. 

“Aye, bonnie lass, keep thrashing. I don't like it when lasses lose their fight.” He's untying his breeches with one hand, pinning your arms beneath his legs, his weight pressing down on your torso, and panic floods you. You need to make noise. It's the only way to alert Kid. “I was gonna just rob ya, but ye looked so pretty with yer legs bare. I had to touch ya.” 

His hand leaves his pants to grope your bare thigh and you whimper. Then you remember that you can fight back and bite down hard on the hand that's covering your mouth. He yanks his hand back with a yelp, and – gagging at the lingering taste– you take advantage of the distraction and unbalance him. Grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside table, you smash it against his head, scattering scalding oil over his head, your hand, and legs.

The pained groan that escapes your lips brings tears to your eyes as your skin begins to burn and blister. The bastard is in worse shape, but you don’t look too long. Swinging your aching legs to the side, you try to get up and away from him, but he pins you again, spittle flying from his mouth as he leans closer, the angry red welts from the oil are already forming blisters across his face. 

“Burn me ya bitch? Ye’ll pay for this!” 

But before he can act, the door crashes open, nearly flying off its hinges, and Kid enters, his eyes burning with rage as soon as he sets eyes on the scene unfolding in front of him. He’s shirtless and you can’t help but gasp at the enormous scars covering his torso and left arm –a continuation of the ones trailing down his face and neck, scars you hadn’t yet seen. 

“Get the fuck away from her.” His growl vibrates low and deadly and you sense the man shiver for a second. He yanks you up, his filthy hand clawing at your exposed chest, forcing your back against him as he cowers behind you. A small dagger presses against your throat, and you immediately feel a trickle of hot blood running down your neck.

Kid growls again, a feral sound that bristles the hairs in your body and you smell urine as the man behind you leaks his bladder with fear. “Don’t come any closer!” He squeaks, pressing the dagger harder and you whimper softly at the sting of the blade.

Kid hesitates, then stops. One hand grabs his Lochaber axe, the other, a small dagger. You lock eyes with him and then you lower them to the dagger he’s holding, a steely determination purses your lips and you hope he understands you. “Kid, I trust you.” 

He exhales a breath, flips the dagger in his hand, catching it by the tip, and throws it in your direction. It takes a blink of an eye for you to hear the sickening thud as the blade pierces the man’s skull through the forehead, killing him instantly. Then it takes you another blink of an eye to waver forward and away from the man’s crumpling, smelly body, but in less than that time, Kid is by your side, holding you, pulling you against him with another one of his wordless grunts that, somehow, tells you much more about his relief than his words ever would. 

“Lass, yer alright?” His clipped tone masks the slight quiver in his voice, but it’s there, barely noticeable. You nod, still too shocked with what happened to do much more and Kid sits you on the bed, settling beside you. The man must’ve entered through the open window, you think, as Kid fumbles with your bedcovers, pulling a blanket loose and draping it over you. It dawns on you that your breasts were exposed and you should care, but you don’t. 

As the fabric brushes the blisters on your hands and legs, you hiss, jerking slightly. Kid’s eyes trace the red welts marking your skin. Each new one he finds just deepens his scowl. “Fucker.”

“It’s fine.” You say. “I’ll put some honey and knitbone poultice on it. It will heal.” 

“Lass…” His tone softens as his rough hands gently touch your cheeks on the area near your mouth, clearly seeing the beginnings of the bruise the man’s fingers left there. He tips your chin up to inspect the small cut the man’s dagger left on your throat. “Ye did well, but ye’ve been through hell. Let’s get ya cleaned up.” He tries to move you but you shake your head, your breath coming in gasps as the shock sets in. Kid grips your shoulders, trying to ground you. “Oi, oi, it’s over, look at me lass. Look at me.”

Tears stream down your face, blurring your vision, but you focus on his fiery eyes, your lifeline in the midst of a violent storm. “Ye did well. Ye defended yerself. But I’m here for ye, I told ye.” His hand moves up, the caress lingering softly against your cheek, a gentle contrast to his usual harshness. “Dinnae try tae do everythin’ yer own. Ask for help. I’m here for ye.”

A ragged sob makes your lips tremble and you shake your head, swatting his hand away with more force than necessary. “Stop pretending that you care! We both know you don't. You're just a hired sword and I’m a spoiled brat. So stop trying to make me feel better!”

Your breathing quickens as your heart hammers in your chest. The tears don’t stop, everything hurts and you feel so alone. You decided to trust him and he didn’t fail you so why do you feel like this? 

Because he’s paid to protect you. He’s paid to take care of you. He doesn’t really care.

Suddenly Kid leans forward, pulling you against his chest, his hand cradling your head as his lips brush the crown of your head. You cry, releasing hot tears against his bare skin. 

It’s comforting.

“I care.” He says softly, barely a whisper against your hair. “Yer mine tae protect.” A few moments pass in silence and comfort, only broken by your sobs and sniffs. The keep is quiet. You thought you’d screamed loud enough to wake the townspeople, let alone the whole house. But you must’ve been quiet, for only Kid heard you.

Kid cares. 

He cares for you.

To Be Continued...

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia

|Part 2|

[paperultra]

game.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader Word Count: 701 words Warnings: Swearing

“He's going to embarrass himself.”

You tilt your head back to look up at Geto, moving the grass stem between your teeth to the side so you can speak unhindered. “Why don’t you go and help him out, then?”

Geto makes a show of humming thoughtfully.

“Nah,” he says.

Next to him, Shoko takes a picture with her phone.

You follow the gaze of the camera back to the scene in front of you, repositioning the grass stem between your teeth once more. Your eyes narrow. Though you’d sooner drop out of Jujutsu High than admit it, you’re just as bitter as you are unamused by what you’re seeing.

Gojo Satoru is flirting with a girl. Again.

His hands are in his pockets, sunglasses perched low on his nose, hair wild and blindingly white under the afternoon sky. He says something and the girl nods; he grins wider and talks some more.

To the average person, it seems like his chances of getting her number are close to one hundred percent. The three of you know better.

“How long until he fucks it up, you think?” you ask.

“As soon as he sees a chance to make a dick joke,” Geto replies.

“If it’s clever, she might think it’s funny,” Shoko says.

You grunt.

Gojo and the girl talk for a few more minutes. Finally, the girl stands, bids goodbye, and leaves. Gojo watches her for a few minutes and then turns around to start the short trek back to where you’re all waiting.

“He fucked it up.”

Geto, ever the loyal best friend, meanders over to meet him halfway. “Satoru! What happened this time? Relied too much on your pretty face?”

Gojo pouts as the other boy slaps him on the back. “She said she already has a boyfriend.”

“Damn. What did you say?”

Gojo pouts even more, which is never a good sign.

“Hey.” You take the grass out of your mouth and toss it back into the bushes. “What did you say?”

“… If they ever break up, she should call me.” Gojo puts his infinity up when you throw a rock at him. “It was a joke! I was joking!”

“Holy shit, you have no game,” you say, getting up to jab him in the cheek. You fail, of course, and Gojo sticks his tongue out at you like a child. “Why would you even say that?”

“Because, like I just said, it was a JOKE.”

“That’s not a joke! It’s something an asshole would say!”

“Well, fuck, since you know everything about what to say, why didn’t you try to ask for her number?”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.” You hear a camera go off and whip around to snap at Shoko. “Stop taking pictures!”

She stares at you blankly. Geto snickers, and you slowly deflate as the stupidity of the situation catches up to you.

With a huff, you cross your arms.

“Idiot,” you grumble.

“You’re so mean for no reason,” complains Gojo.

“You’re stupid for no reason.” Pushing past him, you finally feel a rush of satisfaction when your shoulder knocks against his. “Now let’s go. I’m starving.”

He easily catches up to stride alongside you, simpering. “Oh, so that’s why. You’re not being fed on time.”

“Shut up.”

“Or are you jealous that I was flirting with someone?”

Every muscle in your body stiffens up. You glare at him. “What?! N-No, of course not.”

“Liar,” Gojo replies, baby blue eyes wide with delight. “Aw, that’s cute, being so shy about it.”

“I’m mad because we’re supposed to be eating by now.”

“If you want me to pay more attention to you, all you have to do is say please.”

“Please shut the fuck up.”

“No.”

The entire way to the restaurant, you keep your hands glued over your ears, face boiling as Gojo throws his lanky arm over your shoulders and pesters you with a shit-eating grin. Geto and Shoko make a point to walk behind the two of you and do nothing about it. In fact, you’re certain they think it’s hilarious.

You groan underneath your breath. You need to get new friends.

[emotionaldisaster909]

Today’s episode was heartbreaking

We’ve seen so much of Xie Lian’s pain

So much of the fall of XianLe

But now

Will you tell me that it was all his fault?

The “consequence of his actions”?

So what should we blame him for?

For being a child against the most powerful and cruel ancient evil?

The one that lived 1000 years, destroyed all the gods and deceived the entire world?

Or was he too stubborn and not listened to other people?

Well let me tell you

XIE LIAN WAS NEVER WRONG FOR NOT LISTENING TO OTHERS.

Who should he have listened to?

That very evil that told him not to try and help his people?

His guoshi who knew everything and told him nothing but to sacrifice an innocent child in “penance” to that very evil?

Should he have crushed all youngans in one go, kill the poor starving people, led to desparation?

Should he have told his own desperate people that their cure was in murder and watch the inevitable massacre?

The only thing

The only thing that he should have seriously done differently

His biggest, most fatal mistake

He did

BY LISTENING TO SOMEONE WHO TOLD HIM HE WAS WRONG

ONE TIME.

He listened to his father.

The King of Xian Le.

When at the very beginning of it all they had an argument

Where Xie Lian insisted they should melt his golden statues and let the starving homeless people into his shrines

That’s EXACTLY what they should’ve done, but they did not

Because guess what the father said

We can’t. Because we did not build the shrines and the statues.

People of Xian Le did.

Do you want to disregard your people by doing that?

SAID THE KING

Knowing VERY WELL that he is talking about THE ROYALTY OF XIAN LE.

THE RITCH PEOPLE OF XIAN LE.

THE ONES WHO LET HIM RULE.

THE ONES WHO EASILY MIGHT TAKE HIS POWER

AND LIFE AWAY

IF HE DISPLEASES THEM.

But he knows how to PHRASE IT RIGHT to his son who CHERISHES HIS PEOPLE NO MATTER THE STATUS.

And who might very much not know the intricacies behind the ruler’s chambers.

Because Xie Lian

Was

Never

Meant

TO RULE.

He was raised to be a Martial God.

To fight demons and grant wishes.

NOT

TO RULE

A COUNTRY

BUT GUESS WHO

WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO RULE THE COUNTRY????

WHO WAS SUPPOSED TO MAKE SURE A HUGE PART OF IT WON’T STARVE TO DEATH?????

THE KING

And his son had to

ABANDON HEAVEN

To come deal with his mess

You can try blaming Xie Lian for not listening to the prayers from that part of Xian Le.

But he did not NOT listen.

He DID NOT HEAR.

Because the prayers system of “the ritcher - the louder” is inherently corrupt.

And growing up in a wealthy capital

Xie Lian must’ve not even SUSPECTED that there’ll be a part of his country so poor that no offerings would be enough for him to hear the prayers.

He did not know.

BUT THE KING

DID.

There’s no way he didn’t.

Yet does anyone

Does anyone in the book

And outside, anyone of the readers

Ever thought to blame him?

No.

Not even once have i seen this take.

Not even i realised it until recently. Thanks to my dear friend @3luecactuz

And why?

Because Xie Lian tells us the story.

And he himself

Completely believes

That it was all his fault.

When his only real fault was in not standing his ground

Agains the only person

Who held authority in his eyes.

Who was the authority in his life from the very beginning of it.

Who, no matter the future arguments, was the person he loved.

His father.

In the face of the greatest crisis he’s ever seen

Under the pressure to make the right choice for so many innocent lives

He gives in and listenes to a person who he not only inherently trusts

But who objectively had much more experience and knowledge than him

Who’s flaws he has not yet seen clearly enough. And never will.

Because this person raised him to be

Perfect.

And he failed.

Because no one is perfect.

And he believed in it in the wrong time and place. He gave in.

Decided to look for another solution.

And gave the evil orchestrating his demise just enough time to pull the first string.

Of many.

So tell me.

Really, tell me.

Did he deserve this?

Should he have listened more?

Should he have?

Or maybe

Just maybe

He needed someone

Who could have told him

To do what he thinks is right.

[cinnamonest]

I'm thinking about Childe fuckboy sex pest whiny dramatic little bastard tendencies again. It's haunting my brain and compelling my fingers to type so endure my ramblings

His most infuriating tendency is just being so pushy and self-centered. Very overdramatic and whiny about it too. He's that typical boy who just cannot process there being anything that should take priority above him getting his dick wet.

He does genuinely care about you though. Like, if you get sick or something he understands. Will hold your hair back while you're sick and will get you water and stay by your side and hold you and all.... but once it's over and you're finally feeling less queasy after your multi-hour sickness session, laying there in bed, he sort of snuggles up to you, hard-on pressing into your thigh like "so you're feeling better now right 👉👈"

Or you're exhausted, you have a headache, you're just worn out and he's all "But? :( my dick tho? :(" because God forbid he have to so much as conceptualize going without getting to empty his balls in you for a span of over 12 hours. He will get sad if he can't get his dick wet at a moment's notice. As in, he expects you to just drop everything you're doing.

Which is a pesky thing of its own. You, unfortunately, have this tendency to do things, to perform tasks and activities, which is problematic because these things often get in the way. How, pray tell, is he supposed to get the necessary daily dose of pussy if you're doing things you can't immediately drop? It's literally a matter of his well-being and health?? And yet you say "just a minute" or "let me finish this" as if it's not a dire situation, because you are heartless and/or don't understand what he's going through. So he'll just be sure to stand there moping and looking dejected until you can get to a pausing point of whatever you're doing, so you understand the importance of the matter.

Sometimes it's worse and you are actually committed to some task. Yes you have that huge test you have to study for or that thing you have to do for your work but like... what about him. Where does he fit into that schedule of yours, because you mentioned how you're gonna divide up your hours for the night and not once did you mention taking regular breaks to give him attention and pussy and love. Do you just not care, is that it? You don't love him. You clearly hate him and you want him to suffer. Heartbreaking.

He gives you the standard "you wouldn't understand you're not a guy" speech, that you can't comprehend how strong the urges are, the fact that it is preposterous to expect him to exhibit any self-control when horny or to endure the agony of tfw no pussy. You wouldn't get it, it's literally a need and he can't be expected to function normally without getting to cum. No jerking off won't suffice, he can't go back to that because it's not good enough anymore, he has to cum and it has to be in you or else he will be in an unwell state of health and you will be responsible. This is literally like starving a person to death. Cruel. Barbaric. You would never do this if you really loved him. Would never want someone you really love to suffer like this.

He just lays there flopped on the bed or couch next to you, looking utterly miserable. Occasional dramatic groaning. If you're not paying enough attention he'll shuffle closer and wriggle his way under your arm to rest his head on your lap. Following by more "pay attention to me" groans.

And yes he will try to compare his lack of pussy to whatever objectively much worse ailment you're undergoing. He really does feel bad for you with your chronic pain or period cramps or migraines and all that — BUT, blue balls is equivalent to if not worse than any of those. Difference is you're inflicting this suffering on him. Imagine if he was inflicting your ailment on you, that would be unthinkably cruel right? So logically you should feel bad and pity him and fix the problem.

Why are you looking at him like that. Are you upset? ...You know what would probably make you feel better? Oh, now you look more mad. Why are you picking that thing up like you're about to throw it at him. So mean.

[burst-of-iridescent]

now that i've finished my re-read of the hunger games books, it’s even more baffling to me than before that people compare everlark to kat.aang when they are so incredibly similar to zutara.

a fundamental aspect of everlark’s characterization is that they are star-crossed lovers. and while it's true that that is a gimmick the capitol forces on them, it’s also a reflection of the reality that peeta and katniss were never supposed to fall in love, let alone make it last.

from the very beginning, the odds are stacked against katniss and peeta. their class division keeps them apart in district 12, and in the games you're naturally not expected to do anything but kill your fellow tributes. what peeta does in loudly declaring his love and respect for katniss from the beginning is revolutionary because it goes against everything he's been told his entire life. saying he's in love with her and valuing his life over hers is absolutely radical in a situation that forces you to prioritize yourself and dehumanize your fellow human beings. and this framing of love as resistance is something that repeats itself in zutara's arc, in the catacombs where zuko and katara reach out to one another against everything that tells them to do otherwise, and again in the final agni kai when zuko gives up everything for a girl he had been told was nothing.

they’re love stories because they stem, first and foremost, from love for your fellow human beings — especially in the places where it shouldn’t exist. love for a starving child from a lower class whom you’re supposed to kill. love for a weeping enemy who represents everything you were told to despise. both zutara and everlark are about the importance of unity amidst division, about coming together when the entire world is trying to force you apart. about looking at the person you're supposed to hate and saying no, i refuse, and reaching out in love, in compassion, in empathy instead because you understand that they're not as different from you as you were taught to believe.

and this carries on to the other theme that both ships represent: the need to break the cycle of violence.

one of the main themes that underlies each of these characters’ narratives is how easily (and even justifiably) they could’ve perpetuated the harm that was done to them. peeta, katniss, zuko and katara have all suffered without cause, and it would have been understandable if any of them had let that suffering twist them into vengeance and inflicted it back upon others. it would have been encouraged even, in the societies they live in, for them to unleash their rage upon those seen as deserving of it. to become like zhao or hama or gale or president coin. but what defines each of these characters is that instead of allowing their suffering to overcome them, they choose to help — not harm — others, even the people they would have every reason to hate. that’s why katniss and peeta refuse the chance to hold another hunger games with the capitol’s children, why zuko helps an earth kingdom town, why katara risks the invasion itself to free a fire nation village from tyranny. all of them have been victims of unjust violence and oppression, sometimes even at the hands of other victims, and that’s exactly why they refuse to stand by or be complicit as others suffer the way they did. both everlark and zutara are about looking at the darkest version of yourself, the person you might have been, and refusing to go down that road. to understand that you are more than what your circumstances make you into. to choose kindness over hatred, peace over war.

at their core, both ships exemplify the themes of love and unity and holding onto your humanity against impossible odds. but more importantly, they exemplify hope. the dandelion in the spring. the fire that means rebirth instead of destruction.

choosing to do better, be better, make something better, together.

[physalian]

Take A Risk and Don’t Write a Chosen One

This trope stands the test of time for some very good reasons: Audience wish-fulfillment as they live vicariously through the hero, automatic plot-induced agency for your protagonist, and automatic legitimate reasons for your protagonist to join the whirlwind adventure of the day.

I like chosen ones. We all have our favorite famous chosen ones and I’m not here to say the concept of a chosen one is bad at all.

However.

Those “automatic” windfalls that come pre-packaged with the trope can lead to the author taking shortcuts, or not thinking they have to put in more effort to write a compelling character, because they’re the “chosen one,” what more do you need?

Not writing your protagonist as commanded by the powers that be to participate in the plot forces you to get creative with why they’re here, what they want, and how they entrench themselves in the story. And most importantly, if the gods haven’t chosen them to act, they must now choose themselves to act.

—

I have never read Harry Potter and after its author-who-shan’t-be-named flushed her reputation down the toilet, I never will. I’ve seen the movies, they’re ok. I have no nostalgia-driven love for this franchise, and most of that comes from watching Harry be an incredibly boring protagonist.

Book readers correct me, but Harry is the poster child of “only exists so the audience can live vicariously” with generic heroic traits and nonexistent or at least unimportant side quirks and distinguishing hobbies, interests, or personality tics. He’s “brave” and “courageous” and “determined”... as most child protagonists of children’s books should be. He has zero flaws that come back to bite him in the ass. He acts the way he’s supposed to, not the way he should want to, as an independent being.

He’s the least interesting character in this entire cast, and I can’t stand Movie Ron. Ron, Hermione, Neville, or Draco would have made much more compelling protagonists and so much of this relies on the “Harry is important because the plot demands it” crutch.

Why is he the chosen one? Because his birthday happened at the right time of year? What is the story trying to say about the dichotomy between him and Voldemort? What about his personality, his wizard-societal stances on the many faux pas in this series, or the choices he makes, that makes him the chosen one? Why should I care?

You know who’s a great chosen one? Percy Jackson. Why? Because he understands the screwed up world he lives in on page 1. Being a demigod isn’t everything he ever dreamed and despite what Disney + wants you to believe, he’s got a crap bio dad who’s as disappointing in book one as Percy expects him to be.

He’s not even the chosen one by the end of the original series, and what a fantastic twist that was.

An infamously self-chosen protagonist has her own iconic hero quote: "I volunteer as tribute". Katniss is a nobody. She's not the evil president's daughter, she's not the child of a famously martyred revolutionary, she's just a girl who refuses to bow down to the reaping, refuses to let her sister get slaughtered, and volunteers for a death match that historically sees anyone living to survive another year cowering in relief. Yeah, she has some convenient skills in her archery and survival knowledge, but those matter because her district is starving, she learned through necessity.

Every second of her story, Katniss is fighting for her right to exist, and she only becomes a "chosen one" dragged around by the powers that be when she becomes marketable to the grand scheming of the actual revolutionaries, when, before, she didn't care about politics, she just wanted to save her sister. She matters because she chose compassion in a world where survival demands only serving yourself.

—

It’s so, so easy to start planning your book and make your cool fantasy world and figure out how your protagonist fits into it. So easy to say “well they’re the long-lost princess and the only heir to the throne” or “this magic amulet from her great great aunt is the key to saving the world” or “she’s the villain’s secret love child and the only one who can stop him because blood magic” or “this vague prophecy picked this little desert slave boy to bring balance to the Force”.

None of these stories are at fault for writing chosen ones.

But push yourself to let go of that crutch and come up with other reasons for why your hero is the hero. Usually this character has been isekai'd into magical-fantasy-land or magical-hidden-fantasy-urban-underbelly and you can still write that character.

Refusing to make them the chosen one demands one thing first and foremost: How is this outsider going to fight for their place to exist here? What do they bring to the table with their hobbies or interests or unique skillset that happens to be mighty applicable and useful in this new world? What is it about their personality that draws these strangers in? What do they want from this new world, and what are they willing to do to get it?

This choice demands you give your hero agency (though whether you give into those demands is up to you).

More importantly: I think it gives your audience agency, as they still live vicariously through their hero. Sure, lots of kids have lost their parents and live in horrid conditions like a cupboard under the stairs, but none of us will ever be “chosen” by omniscient wizard prophets. Harry would have immediately been a more compelling protagonist to me if he’d stumbled upon magical shenaniganry and fought for his place as some forgotten nobody mudblood.

Harry would have shown us his courage, instead of the story insisting he has it, we promise, just don’t think too hard about it.

Stop giving me characters who accept their destiny because God said so. Give me characters who fight tooth and nail for a destiny they discover on their own and I’ll root for them to succeed even more than someone compelled by force. Not everyone can be a chosen one, but everyone *can* choose themselves and decide to act.

—

With that said, I have an announcement! I have a new book in the works bereft of a prophecy-ordained hero. It’s time I put all my sagely writing wisdom to the test in a shiny published paperback myself. If you’ve learned anything from my blog in your writing journey, please subscribe for updates on the upcoming novel!

[extremely-judgemental]

People like to argue that Cassian showed his love through actions, not words, in ACOSF, so no 'I love you' is fine. But, if actions over words is the theme of ACOSF, then what about Nesta's actions from like, acomaf onwards? Even her encouragement of Feyre to be with the man/fae she loves, and to do what she thinks is right, in ACOTAR, right before under the mountain? I suppose none of that matters then. Oh, also what about Rhysand's actions in prostituting Nesta to Eris, or keeping the pregnancy from Feyre, or laughing at Nesta being punished for something Feyre forgave her for pretty much instantly? Some sjm fans need to get their heads out of their asses.

That’s a lot to address! You just pointed out everything I hate about SF and this fandom. (I’m trying so hard not to rant but sorry😅)

People like to argue that Cassian showed his love through actions, not words, in ACOSF, so no 'I love you' is fine.

It’s interesting how they instantly came up with this justification when these books are romances. The entire plot leading up to that one ‘I love you’ in the end is the point of a romance. When half of the plot is sex and their attraction to each other, how can one accept the MC not saying the three words to the FC (which most of them are imprinting on) even once? These reasons are similar to abuse victim talk, ‘X doesn’t say it but he takes care of me’, ‘X can be a bit rude but at least he doesn’t hit me’, ‘We don’t get along much but at least he doesn’t leave me cold at nights’. This is what Nesta is doing at the end of SF, and also the BC of HOSAF with Ember (I haven’t read it, so fact check that). If throughout the book, Cassian had supported her, took her side, cared for her, been gentle and kind with her, okay, no words are needed, but he openly flamed her insecurities with ‘I don’t know how anyone could love you’. It’s pivotal moment in Nesta’s journey and their relationship which is completely dismissed. Nesta is grovelling for his affection while Cassian is declaring his love for Rhysand instead. I’m sorry, that only happens if the guy comes out and says he’s gay for his bff. Also, let’s not forget this is a guy who is supposed to be emotionally adept and expressive. (I have so many thoughts on this and Cassian’s behaviour but I want to keep this answer about Nesta.)

But, if actions over words is the theme of ACOSF, then what about Nesta's actions from like, acomaf onwards?

I completely agree with you. ‘Action speaks louder than words’ apply to Nesta more than anyone else in the story. Even Feyre does most of the sacrificial acts because of her trauma response. Ignoring the new details added in SF because stans argue those were only included to uplift Nesta, there are many moments to prove this.

1. Nesta takes care of the household. It’s her duty but she has no resentment towards her sisters for not helping her. She even dotes on Elain and that takes a lot of strength for a child.

2. She starves herself to force her father into being a parent. It’s not a selfish act to get burdens off her shoulders, it’s her way of getting her father’s attention so her sisters don’t starve to death.

3. She has a terrible encounter with a mercenary in the past and still lurks close to Feyre afraid to leave her alone with one when she could have bolted.

4. She throws herself in front of Elain when the beast shows up in the hovel.

5. She goes to the Wall looking for Feyre alone with a mercenary (whom she doesn’t trust). At this point, Elain and her father are under the glamour. If she’d died, no one would know how or why.

6. She broke off her relationship because Tomas wouldn’t care for Elain or look for Feyre with her. She puts her family first.

7. The first thing she does when Feyre returns from SC is apologise to her. She’s the one to make the first move to fix their relationship. Knowing Feyre loves to paint, she asks her to teach her. She could have suggested reading or dancing which she enjoys but she puts her sister’s interests first.

8. She encourages Feyre to pursue a life and love with Tamlin knowing her sister isn’t happy in the mortal lands anymore.

9. Her only request in exchange for helping Feyre/IC is to protect Elain. After they are transformed, she sacrifices her own healing to care for her sister and ensuring no one traumatises her more.

10. High Lords meeting, scrying was all so Elain was left out of the war. She wants revenge on Hybern because he hurt Elain and destroyed her life. She isn’t even thinking of what was done to her.

11. She abandons the plan of getting to the Cauldron because she sensed Cassian is in danger, also exposing her location to Hybern who’s been looking for her.

12. She throws herself over Cassian knowing she’ll be killed but still does it anyway. ‘I’d rather die with you than see you die’ (Like come on! You have to be blind not to see this and still take the man child’s side.)

13. She leaves River House because she doesn’t want to burden her sisters. It’s what Feyre always wanted, her exact words in ACOTAR were ‘another mouth to feed’ which is what Nesta is trying to avoid.

14. She scries again when she’s afraid of her powers so that Elain can stay away from the Cauldron.

15. She stands up against anyone who disrespects Cassian, Elain or Feyre.

16. She saves Emerie and Gwyneth in the Blood Rite knowing she’ll probably die.

17. Her love for Cassian is so strong that when she believes he died, she unleashes her powers which she kept hidden until then. (Her powers are new too and this woman never lost control and hurt anyone unlike Rhysand, Tamlin, Feyre.)

18. She sacrifices her powers to save Feyre and her child—a power she stole as a vengeance, a power that’s part of her—because her sister is worth more than all that. For this, she makes a bargain with the Cauldron which she has spited more than once and is afraid of.

These are her specific acts of love and not ‘it’s the right thing to do’ or ‘my sister wants it’. If there’s anyone who’s proved their love in healthy way in this series, it’s Nesta. There’s no condition for her love or limits. She’s unapologetic and fiercely protective of the ones she truly cares about. Also, despite being reserved, she expresses her love and admits her mistakes in words—with Feyre, Cassian, her friends.

Oh, also what about Rhysand's actions in prostituting Nesta to Eris, or keeping the pregnancy from Feyre, or laughing at Nesta being punished for something Feyre forgave her for pretty much instantly?

These stans don’t even hide their hypocrisy. When Rhysand/Feyre/IC do something, their ‘reasons’ count and so their actions can be overlooked. When it’s anyone else, they should be judged on their acts alone. Pick a fucking side already. Nesta considers selling her body for money to care for her sisters—that’s gross. Rhysand sells Nesta to Eris without even hinting at it to anyone, not Feyre, not the WOMAN INVOLVED—feminist king giving power to women. Rhysand endangers Feyre with pregnancy—‘he cares about her!’ Is he the one going to labour? Is it his body growing a killer spawn inside? Is it his body going to tear itself apart to let that child out or bleed to death? ‘Oh, but he didn’t want to put pressure on her’ More than finding out the child is going to kill her when the hormones are riding high and she’s on the brink of labour?

And Nesta being punished is ridiculous. Who is Feyre to forgive Nesta in the first place when it was Nesta making meals for her and doing chores? All Feyre did was hunt and paint, she says so herself. Anyone who hunts knows you can’t and shouldn’t do it everyday as it’s not good for kill. So Feyre was doing nothing on some days and still didn’t know how to do chores? If Nesta deserves Feyre’s forgiveness, Feyre should apologise too and make up for treating her sisters like maids.

AND why does Nesta need Rhysand’s forgiveness? I have sisters too and we have broken up with guys for far less than this shit. It’s not romantic. It’s a red flag and a sign of immaturity, manipulation and abuse. It shows the guy is incapable of seeing perspectives and understanding others who aren’t directly related to him or beneficial to him. That he might very well isolate you from the ones who truly and deeply know you so that you’re left with no one else but him. No woman will sit around and watch her sister get punished by a man for something that happened between them unless she hates her sister and is indirectly feeding off of it.

This fandom is toxic af. If they sat down with their grandmothers, mothers, aunts, sisters, girl friends and had an honest talk, they will see how similar all these are to the ABUSE they live with. Nesta’s story is very close to my heart even if I hate to admit it. Not because I loved the book or even Nesta, but it’s the story of the women in my family and the one my cousins and my sisters are trying to avoid. Whenever anyone romanticises Nessian relationship, it’s hard to hate/be angry with these girls when I know some of them will live this and that’s when they will face the harsh reality. It doesn’t matter how hot Cassian is, how hot their sex is, none of it matters when he doesn’t care or even respect a woman for than her body.

[ist4rgirlo]

☆ - tsitp masterlist - ☆

keys : ✧ - fluff | ✵ - smut | ✣ - angst | ® - requested

series !

conrad fisher

before everything happened (conrad fisher imagine) ✣ ✧

summary: being belly & steven’s older sibling has it’s pros and cons. protecting them and taking care of them is a must, but do you really have to put their feelings first instead of your own?

chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six (COMPLETED)

after everything that happened (conrad fisher imagine) SEQUEL TO BEFORE EVERYTHING HAPPPENED.

summary: now that your life has turned upside down, are you still willing to put your siblings' feelings first? or would you rather fight for your feelings and do what makes you happy regardless of the consequences that might result in the future?

chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight (COMPLETED)

steven conklin

we were something, don’t you think so? (conrad fisher/steven conklin imagine) ®✧

summary: growing up with the conklins and the fishers has been a wonderful experience for you; you feel as if you were a part of another family. your days of stress as a child were over well, at least you thought that was the case not until you had to choose between your two childhood bestfriends, the one who did you wrong and the one who has been waiting his entire life for your decision.

chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three (COMPLETED)

one shots !

platonic

your brother Conrad Fisher taking care of you (siblings fic) ✧ ®

summary: you and Conrad were supposed to go to the deb ball to practice with your own date but you got sick and now Conrad had to take care of you because your mom and Jeremiah were out of town.

surfing lessons with your brother Conrad Fisher (siblings fic) ✧ ®

summary: you asked your brother if you can learn how to surf, both knowing that your mom doesn’t allow me, but how can your brother say no to you? he had a soft spot for you.

your brother Jeremiah and Conrad Fisher takin care of you (siblings fic) ✧ ®

summary: you went to the beach because you wanted to surf but you got stung by a jellyfish, now your two brothers are taking care of you.

jeremiah and conrad fisher helping you after your boyfriend cheated on you ✧ ®

summary: after finding out that your ex boyfriend cheated in you, your two brothers took matters with their own hands.

lovers

you’re losing me - blondie’s vault (conrad fisher imagine) ✣ ®

summary: what else can you do when you see the love of your life looking at someone else like how you look at him?

invisible string - taylor swift (conrad fisher imagine) (A SEQUEL TO YOU’RE LOSING ME) ✧ ✣

summary: they did say that when two people are meant to be together, they will eventually find a way back to each other. however, are you ready to open your heart again to a person who has broken it in the past?

conrad fisher comforting you while you are in your period ✧ ®

summary: you and conrad were supposed to hang out but you got your period so he decided to take care of you and be the good boyfriend that he is

cupid’s chokehold - gym class heroes (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad bringing his girlfriend that is absolutely all cutesy and pink home, introducing her to the conklins and the fisher.

melting - kali uchis (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad with a touch starved girlfriend. how she craves touch but doesn’t want to ask for it so she’s shy around him, but like melts into him when he hugs or cuddles her.

dont worry - the 1975 (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad came home to seeing you having a panic attack so he did everything to calm you down.

falling for u - peachy! (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad finally had the guts to confess his feelings to the girl that’s been his bestfriends since he was a kid.

i like u - NIKI (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad decided to confess to his bestfriend thinking that she’s asleep but she was awake the whole time.

sleepwell - d4vd (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad stays up with you because you are having a hard time to fall asleep.

XO - beyoncé (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: you’ve always thought about him in a such romantic way so you asked him if he felt the same way which led the both of you to sharing your first kiss.

captivated - IV of spades (conrad fisher imagine). ✧ ®

summary: conrad finally had the guts to ask you out and court you in your traditional way.

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby - cigarettes after sex (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: it was your birthday and belly decided to be a bitch to you and made jokes that weren’t funny at all so conrad being the good boyfriend he is, defended you and made sure that your day won’t be ruined.

i got you - bazzi (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary: conrad takes you to the boardwalk for a date but unfortunately you bump into your bullies.

bestfriend - rex orange country (conrad fisher imagine) ✧ ®

summary : the two of you go to the fair and share your first kiss on the ferris wheel

traitor - olivia rodrigo (conrad fisher imagine) ✣ ®

summary: you and conrad recently broke up and you just saw him on a date with your bestfriend

get you - daniel caesar (conrad fisher imagine) ✧

summary: conrad letting bimbo!reader do her own skincare on his face.

something about you - eyedress, dent may (conrad fisher imagine) ✧

summary : how bimbo!reader and conrad first met.

headcanons !

conrad

conrad fisher x filipina!reader

husband!conrad

boyfriend!conrad

conrad fisher x famous!reader

kisses with conrad fisher

conrad x cheerleader!reader

jeremiah

brother!jeremiah

[sunflowerdigs]

Was thinking about why Tim decided to portray Buck's bisexual discovery the way that he did, but Oliver saying that it was meant to happen in s5 makes it all make more sense. In 7x04, Buck acts like an insane person, mostly because he's afraid Eddie's going to leave him. The last time we saw him do that was 4x14, when he climbed the ladder against Bobby's wishes.

But Eddie wasn't watching in 4x14. It doesn't matter. It's an anxiety response ingrained in Buck since he was a kid. As an emotionally neglected child, Buck learned that, when he felt scared or unloved, if he hurt himself badly enough, someone would notice the physical pain and come and soothe him. His parents spoiled him in that way - they never made him take responsibility for his bone-headed stunts because on some level they knew that it was their neglect that caused him to act out. But they couldn't stop neglecting him because being involved in his life was too painful. They couldn't love Buck like the child they'd lost that Buck was supposed to save. So, instead, they taught him that he was only lovable when he was hurt and that he could coerce love from others by hurting himself.

In both 4x14 and 7x04, Buck is afraid that he's going to lose Eddie. So, he acts out, waiting for someone to notice and feel sorry for him and tell him that everything is going to be ok. And in both instances, someone does - in 4x14, Taylor comes over and scolds him, then kisses him right before Eddie wakes up; in 7x04, Tommy comes over and apologizes for making Buck feel left out and kisses him as well. In both instances, both people react like Buck's parents did when he was a kid - they soothe him and ignore the bad behavior. And because Buck is starving for love and is crushing on both of them, he takes the comfort and rolls with it.

Eddie has also seen Buck react in this way - when he refused to get out of bed in 3x01 and when he said that he should have been shot in 4x14. But Eddie's reaction both time has been different - instead of feeling sorry for Buck and coddling him, he has given Buck responsibility for Christopher both times. And that's been (from 911's POV) the better response, I think, because it has empoweres Buck. Eddie saw Buck feeling small and worthless and he said "no, I believe you're strong and capable, and you're going to prove it by taking care of my son".

Imo, that's why Buck's actions in 7x04, though coming from that same panicked place as in 4x14, aren't death-defying. The will means that he can't just treat his life like it's worthless anymore. Unfortunately, he then escalates to hurting other people, but that's another meta for another day

[sixhours]

Postpartum

A one-shot set in the One Day at a Time universe. This probably won't make sense unless you've read that, but you do you.

Rating: Teen Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, soft!Joel, no really super soft!Joel, mostly follows canon, angst, hurt/comfort, fluffy baby stuff, babyfic, postpartum depression-ish (not really, but could be triggering), ppd, hormones are wild y'all, breastfeeding is hard, mentions of Sarah and her being black so obviously leaning hard into the tv series and maybe racial themes if you squint? Word count: 1.8k

Notes: Sometimes I just can't get these characters out of my head.

You can also read Postpartum on AO3.

Joel wakes to the sound of crying, and not the baby’s this time. It’s Charlie, sitting up in bed with Anna at her breast, curled over the child’s nursing form and sobbing.

“Hey, whoa,” he rasps, sitting up and fumbling for the bedside lamp. “S’wrong?”

“She’s not getting enough,” she says through tears. “I don’t know…I just…it’s been three days and she needs to eat and there’s no letdown and I can barely squeeze anything out–”

“Hey, shh, s’okay,” he says. “Midwife said that’s normal, ‘member? Can take a few days for everythin’ to…uh…work.”

“But what if it doesn’t? What if I’m b-broken? What if she’s starving and she can’t tell us?”

He shakes his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and sliding over to tuck her under his arm, careful because she’s sore and tender everywhere.

“You’re not broken,” he says. “You’re just…tired. And–”

“If you say I’m hormonal I will hurt you,” she hisses, then her eyes go wide and apologetic in the dim light, lower lip quivering.

“I’m sorry,” she moans. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that–it’s these fucking hormones, isn’t it? Fuck.”

“S’alright, I know–”

“You don’t. You really don’t. Everything hurts and I’m wearing a goddamned diaper –and these fucking cloth pads are worthless, I think I’m leaking on the bed again–”

“S’why we put a towel down. It’ll wash out—”

“...and my vagina is fucking ruined . It’s g-g-grotesque.”

“Midwife said you didn’t even tear,” he says, biting down hard on his cheek to stifle a chuckle. “I’m sure your, uh…your…um y’know…is just fine.”

She doesn’t appear convinced, tears catching on her lashes and streaming down her cheeks.

“My nipples feel like they’re being rubbed with broken glass. She doesn’t even have fucking teeth yet, how can it hurt so much? And she’s not getting enough, I just know it–”

He swallows hard and rubs her back like when she was in labor, firm strokes at the base of her spine.

“I can’t do this,” she whimpers, rocking forward over the baby. “I can’t…I wanted this so bad and now I’m just going to fuck it up.”

Another sob and now the baby starts to fuss quietly. Salty tears drip from the end of Charlie’s nose and land on the shell of Anna’s tiny ear, catching in her hair, dribbling down her forehead.

“Oh, great, now I’m crying on her,” Charlie sniffs. “Take her, Joel, before I drown her, she’s gonna be soaked–”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up,” he murmurs, but he lets Charlie slide the baby into the crook of his free arm. He bounces Anna for a few seconds, watches her tiny hands and fingers flex, then relax. Soon she’s fast asleep, entirely unaware of the drama unfolding around her.

“You’re doin’ just fine,” he says, kissing the damp curl of hair at Charlie’s temple. “S’only been three days.”

“I’m so scared,” she whimpers. “How are we supposed to do this? The world is fucking over , and we’ve gone and–and brought a child into it. What the fuck were we thinking ?”

“We weren’t. We were really fuckin’ drunk,” he quips.

She glares up at him with swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, biting back the urge to laugh as he redoubles his backrubbing efforts in a silent apology. “But…you’re doin’ so good. She’s safe. She’s healthy. Look–she’s snorin’.”

Indeed, Anna’s tiny sniffles have deepened into soft baby sighs that puff against Joel’s bare chest. He finds himself unable to look away, drawn into a trance by the subtle rise and fall of her ribs, the rapid pulse of her heart thrumming under her delicate skin.

“She’s perfect, see? You’re doin’ great. Could use a little more sleep is all.”

Charlie whimpers miserably and presses her face to his side. “She can’t sleep if she’s starving, Joel.”

“She’s not gonna starve. We’ll call the midwife in the morning. She said they have—what is it, donors? If you can’t—“

This elicits another wail from Charlie. “You mean if I’m broken .”

Shit.

“No, no, that’s not what I—I meant just to—I’m—fuck,” he grits out, decides he’s better off shutting up. Instead, he rocks his daughter in one arm and holds the mother of his child in the other, waiting out the storm.

“Was it like this with Sarah?” Charlie murmurs after a while, voice laden with exhaustion.

“A little,” he says, hesitating. “Her mom was a lot younger than you an’ she wasn’t…wasn’t ready. She was a kid herself, and I prob’ly wasn’t the best partner. Hell, I was only 22. S’not an excuse, but…y’know. S’what it was.”

He shifts uncomfortably, remembering the long nights, the fighting, the abrupt dissolution of his family’s future before it had even begun.

“Anyway, she uh…she couldn’t handle it. Left when Sarah was a few months old.”

Charlie makes a sound in the back of her throat, then reaches over, gently grasping one of Anna’s impossibly small feet, rubbing at her little toes until the baby spreads them wide and pushes against her fingertips.

“She’s so perfect, I’m worried I’ll…I’ll ruin her, somehow,” she whispers. “But I can’t imagine leaving her.”

He meets her eyes, the next word rolling tender from his lips, tightening his hold around her shoulders to emphasize the point.

“Exactly.”

They stay like this until her breathing slows, until they’re drifting in that liminal space of exhausted new parents. Charlie wipes at her eyes, lets out a drained sigh.

“I wish he could have met her,” she says, her words muffled against Joel’s chest. 

He . Her late husband, one of many ghosts that floats about the edges of their lives, caught in the periphery. Joel feels a twinge of something like envy, but it’s hard to be jealous of a dead man, so he brushes it aside.

“You’ve never told me his name, y’know,” he says instead.

“I didn’t? Oh,” she trails off. “It was Marcus.”

He rumbles an mmm in acknowledgment and rests his chin on the top of her head, marveling at how perfectly she fits there, wondering if he could fill that space for her someday.

“Sometimes I could swear I see him in her,” she continues. “Isn’t that silly?”

“I dunno,” he murmurs, swallowing hard. “Sometimes…I think I see Sarah in her, too.”

She blinks up at him. “Well…at least that makes sense .”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Joel sniffs, tracing a thumb down Anna’s cheek, lost in thought. “Sarah took after her mom…she was half black. Looked nothin’ like me.”

He regards their daughter–pale complexion, silver eyes, straight dark hair. But still, she’s in there; his Sarah, his baby girl. Something about the slope of her nose, the arch of her eyebrows, the curl of her thumb against her bottom lip.

“What was Sarah like?” Charlie murmurs sleepily, nestling further into the crook of his shoulder.

“Stubborn as hell,” he says immediately, the words pouring out before he can lose his courage. “An’ you don’t have to tell me she got that from me. Already know.”

“You? Stubborn?” Charlie says, and he can feel her smiling against him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks. “When Sarah was about three, she threw a fit in the store. Wanted…somethin’ or other, I dunno. A toy, prob’ly. Wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I had to drag her outta there kickin’ and screamin’.

“Except…she doesn’t really look like my kid, y’know? So she had the whole store convinced I was tryin’ to kidnap her, and they got security askin’ me questions, and she doesn’t understand, just keeps…keeps cryin’ and holdin’ on to me–”

He breaks off, surprised at the clarity of the memory; his flailing, sobbing kid in his arms as the security guard grilled him, the creeping shame and anger at being singled out, him and his girl against the world. A lump lodges itself in his throat and he blinks back tears.

“Got us outta there as fast as I could,” he says. “God…haven’t thought about that in forever.”

“That’s…awful.”

He shrugs. “Losin’ Sarah was awful. The rest was just…life.”

“You don’t talk about her,” Charlie whispers.

“S’hard, but…this helps,” he murmurs, stroking Anna’s dark hair, ducking his head to place a gentle kiss to her crown.

“Anyway,” he sighs, a deep, shuddering breath as he brings himself back to the flour-sack weight of the baby girl in his arms, the warm comfort of Charlie’s shoulder against his ribs. 

“All that to say…I get it. Hell, sometimes I catch myself thinkin’ Ellie has my eyes,” he chuckles. “Makes no fuckin’ sense…but maybe it don’t have to.”

Charlie shifts, rests her head against his chest, slurring her words slightly. “Mmmm…she does, though, doesn’t she?”

“Sure, let’s say she does. And this li’l one has…Marcus’ smile or ears or somethin’, maybe. He’s part of you…so he’s part of her, too.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs, yawning. Soon her breathing is slow and even, her body relaxed and pliant against his.

He allows himself the luxury of staring, struck by the way Charlie’s dark lashes fan over her cheeks, the mirror image of Anna’s.

Within minutes, they’re both asleep in his arms.

“Joel…Joel, wake up. I think–”

Charlie’s voice is soft and calm, no longer frantic, her words nuzzling gently against the dim reaches of his brain. He’s vaguely aware of the weight of the baby being lifted from his chest. He blinks, stretching, neck and shoulders tight where he’s dozed off against the headboard. The light is still on and a soft early morning dawn filters through the bedroom window.

He watches with heavy eyes as Charlie puts the baby to her breast, watches Anna’s little mouth eagerly searching for the nipple, bobbing against it greedily before latching on, drawing a soft hiss from her mother at the initial sting.

The baby makes deep, wet suckling sounds and tiny, satisfied grunts, making him think of a piglet. He smiles groggily and cups her soft little head in the palm of his hand, watching frothy bubbles of milk gather at the corner of her lips as she eats and eats and eats.

“Joel, look…”

Charlie’s trying to show him something but he’s too tired, too sleep-deprived to understand until he feels her hand guiding his, placing it on her swollen breast the way she used to place it on her stomach. The flesh underneath is tight and full and definitely not broken.

He kisses her crown and breathes her in, all lavender and powder and milk, still cradling the baby’s head in his hand as he drifts off to sleep.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - “Sit” (Dual POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

a/n: this got kinda long, progressing their relationship

(nsfw, almost pure smut, some secrecy, overstimulation)

Everybody's getting on the truck after we stow away all the stuff in the other one. I'm the last one to jump in and 9 pairs of eyes are looking at me (the rest of their faces are covered by the masks) as I'm left standing. "Are you kidding me?"

Nikto is the first one to chime in. "I don't think they factored in the median size of a KorTac operator when saying that these trucks can carry 10." Some of them chuckle. "And I'm supposed to stand now?", I ask them, pulling up an eyebrow. There's a little scuffle as they rearrange when the man right next to me catches my wrist and says: "Sit."

The scuffling stops as the remaining 8 pairs of eyes land on the one offering me his lap to sit on. Even sitting down he's almost at my eye level. Aksel clears his throat and says: "We made some space on the bench." Between him and Nikto was now a hand’s breath of bench unoccupied. It isn't even enough space to fit a small child.

König scoffs and pulls me into him, so I land on his thigh. "Gonna talk to Horangi.", he says, so everybody hears it. "It's unacceptable not to have enough room for every operator." I put my hands on my own lap as he stabilizes my back with his hand, for the others not to see.

Nobody says anything else and I just try to ignore the situation. And how it makes me feel. How he makes me feel.

Last night when I was this close to him, two of his fingers were inside me and I was seeing stars. Now I can feel his thigh against the very same parts and I will my thoughts to steer away from the path they're heading down now. (Also ignoring the fact that he stole my fucking panties.)

______________________________________________________________

She's sitting on my lap.

She. Is. Sitting. On. My. Lap. Again.

The options were limited. I wasn't gonna let her sit between Aksel and Nikto, those asswipes. The gaze I shot them when they offered her the small spot between them to squeeze herself into, lesser men would've cried. I saw the reactions on their faces and I realized: I need to calm down. I gotta pump the breaks. Like the truck is doing right now and her ass gets pressed into me, onto my thigh. I grit my teeth as I feel the plump curve of her booty against me.

I said I wasn't gonna do anything, that we couldn't do anything. Then I had to go and finger her yesterday because I thought, oh, it's only for her pleasure, to give her comfort, make her feel a bit better. And then I had to taste her because I couldn't help myself. And then I wanked myself to sleep with the same hand that has been inside her.

Jetzt haben wir den Salat1.

And now what. Now she's sitting on my thigh, looking like a personified angel in tactical gear, even with the mask on. Her faint scent makes me want to eat her up, throw her down on the floor, tear her clothes off and fuck her, right here and now. Give the others something to really turn their eyes away from. I can feel my blood starting to boil as I look around the truck, every one of my mates looking away as soon as I meet their gaze on us. I'm getting annoyed and we still have some way to go.

Suddenly I feel a hand on my knee and another pair of eyes on me. I meet her eyes as she leans down a bit whispering: "Everything okay?" I can't form any words that's why I only nod. She hesitates for a few moments but accepts my short answer and looks to the front again. Her hand stays on my knee though, softly stroking ever so often, until I feel how it calms me down having her touch me. Herrgott2, I'm so fucking touch starved.

_____________________________________________________________

I'm in my room reading the dossiers for the next mission. My head is already swimming from all the information and I'm already tired. When we got home from the mission and I could finally hop off König's lap (Schoß, that's what they call it in german), everybody scrammed in an instant, something better to do than to linger around.

I went for a shower, worked out and then I went to the shooting range, to drop some more dummies. When I was content with the shots, I got back to the room. The two operators with whom I share it are still out on another mission. And now I'm studying the dossiers. And I catch my thoughts steering towards König again. I even thought about looking into my old stuff from school when I learned german. More than about german vocabulary I thought about the last few days and how it confused the shit out of me, the way he is behaving with me.

On cue or talk about the devil if you will, he comes into the room without even knocking. I turn around on my chair to look at him while he closes the door and just stands there for a moment.

His tall figure dwarfs the small room, the tactical gear is gone and he's wearing a simple black sweatpants and t-shirt. The helmet is gone, but the hood is still on. Yesterday I only saw his hands, today I can see that there are tattoos on both his forearms. Mostly black and grey shapes, I can't make out what they are in this lighting.

"What are you doing here?", I ask him which seems to pull him from his frozen state. With three quick strides he's right in front me and drops to his knees. "I need another taste of you.", he says looking me into my eyes and the lust burning in them makes it unmistakable how he means that.

"I-" His brazen offer has me at a loss for words and when I don't finish the sentence, his hand trails up my thigh. "Please, it's been driving me crazy all day, I need to feel you on my lips." My chin is making its way to the floor as I look at the man in his hood, who had been domineering before, comforting yet unapologetic yesterday, and now is begging me on his knees. "Are you begging me to let you eat me out?", I ask him for clarification. He nods. "Yes." – "Okay.", I say and he doesn't need more than that. His hands are pulling at my pants and I help to get them of, reminded of what we did not that many hours ago. He drops the pants on the floor and doesn't waste any seconds to get to my panties. They're gone and I can anticipate the moment when he finally looks at me. His eyes are glued to the spot between my legs as I open them and drop my knees to the side. I see his brows furrow and his gaze flicks up. "Don't say anything.", I tell him. I shaved when I was under shower after coming home. A little treacherous sign. Of expecting to maybe or maybe not get laid. At least that's one possible interpretation.

I can't see the full expression on his face, but just his eyes speak volumes. He doesn't say anything, just chuckles and then his fingers grip my thighs and his head dives down between my legs. There is no hesitation, no teasing, no soft lead into it. He doesn't waste a single moment and eats me out like he was starving before.

It's his mouth on me, his lips pressing against me, his tongue pushing inside me and circling my clit. My hips buck up when he does this for the first time and all I get is a soft grunt and his hands gripping my thighs even tighter, so I can't escape a single one of his touches. It's everything all at once and I'm losing my mind fast. Soft whines and moans escape my throat and as he sucks on my clit for the first time, I come. Holy shit.

"Again.", he growls, not stopping any of the movements as I still feel the waves of pleasure crash over me, and my sounds get louder and louder. Before I can even register what he's doing, he pushes a piece of fabric between my lips. My panties! "Sssh, Prinzessin3, we don't want the others to hear.", he says, his voice hoarse, his mouth not really leaving my pussy, so the huffs of breath are tickling me as he speaks.

The moans and mewls are muffled by the fabric now, but it doesn't make the sound in this room less erotic. König's kisses, the hungry licks and laps, my muffled cries, the way it sounds when his knees shuffle over the floor as he tries to get even closer. I look down at him and the sight in front of me paired with his restless licking almost makes me come again. His head is framed between my naked thighs, his hood is spilling over my stomach, obscuring the view on what he's doing, his big hands are gripping the curve of my ass moving my hips to his rhythm. Suddenly he looks up and meets my gaze as I feel his tongue dipping into my wetness again and again. I can only feel and imagine what it must look like when his tongue dips down into me. And then he fucking winks at me. I come on his tongue hard, harder than the first time, and if it hadn't been for his arms holding me up, I would have toppled off the chair.

By now I'm also glad that he stuffed my mouth with the panties because of the sounds I'm making. Someone walking by would've surely heard me. Hot tears are running down my face as I whine about how it is too much. "Please, Liebes4, only one more, I wanna be soaked in your juices.", he tells me as one of his hands finds my pussy and one of his fingers sinks into me. He chuckles, the soft sound sending shivers down my spine. "Mmh, so wet again.", he recalls his comment from when he first pushed his fingers into me.

I’m so overstimulated already, but he is not letting up. Stretching me with an added digit, finding a rhythm with his mouth and his fingers that is driving me crazy. His fingers curl inside me, pressing into the most sensitive spot inside me with every move of his hand. His tongue is mercilessly licking over my clit, the pressure being too much and not enough at the same time.

And he is right. I’m so wet, I can feel it on my inner thighs. His fingers in my pussy, his grunts and moans, the flick of his tongue, my muffled cries fill the room once again and as I see stars form in front of my eyes, the almost porny background noises keep stoking my arousal. My hips move restlessly, searching for the friction that finally sends me over edge again. I think I almost pass out, screaming incoherent ramblings into my panties, and I’m sure I’m dropping his name somewhere during my sensual high. Good thing that that is damped by fabric in my mouth, because saying his name while I actually came, out loud and clear… that would have made it all too real. Closer than it already was.

I’m shaking from all the overstimulation and orgasms as he finally lets go of me and I slump down on the chair again. He gets up, just standing there, towering over me, looking down at me. I can’t say anything, just breathe to regain some kind of composure again. He leans down a bit, sending another violent shake over me in anticipation, but he only pulls my panties from my mouth and the relief on my jaw makes me sigh.

The sight of him is sinful, godly and perverted at the same time. His muscles are taut, no doubt he's as turned on as I am. His boner is tenting the sweatpants, the outline clear against the fabric even in the dim light. His hood is stained from my arousal, wet patches from the eyes down. His chest is heaving as he takes in big breaths. His hands are formed into fists, the knuckles white like he needs to restrain himself.

It would be an easy thing to reach for his pants, free his dick and I'm almost a 100% sure he would fuck me. But the same thought that seemingly has him just standing there, looking at me, also halts me, his words “We can’t do that” in the back of my head. Without another word he turns around and leaves. The door falls shut and I’m spent and alone again. Only when I get dressed again, I realise that my panties are missing. Again. God damn it, König.

_____________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des is ja wieder super gelaufen5. I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wasn’t thinking! At least not with my brain. I can feel the weight of my boner between my legs with every step, and my balls are aching because they're so fucking blue. It almost physically hurts.

The way she was looking up at me, sitting on the lousy chair, her chest moving up and down, making her titties bounce just the slightest bit, her nipples hard against the fabric of her shirt. Her knees dropped to the side, her legs spread open, her pussy wet and ready for my cock. The wetness on her thighs glistening in the low light. The mental picture is clear in my mind, like if I still had her right in front of me.

I wanna be between her legs again. Her thighs hugging my face, my mouth pressed to her lips, my nose nudging against her clit with every eager lick. Fuck, I can still smell her. The way she tastes, smells, moves when she comes on my tongue is engrained in my brain now. After licking her taste off my fingers, it was hard not to think about her; now it's downright impossible.

I groan and the echo being thrown back at me and reminds me that I’m currently making my way down a very public hallway, sporting the hard-on of the century. Great. I take the next door right, heading to my quarters, when I almost run into someone. I curse under my breath. But it’s only Horangi. He wants to greet me, when he sees my state and just bursts into laughter. “Don’t. Fucking. Say. Anything. If you want to live to see tomorrow.”, I say between clenched teeth. Half-joking because the Korean is probably one of the few people who could actually take me. “My guy, what happened to you?”, he asks with a broad grin on his face. “Don’t fucking ask.”, I bark at him. He’s narrowing his eyes as he inspects my hood. ”What are those stains on your hood?” I freeze for a second, then I pull the hood down. Horangi is one of the few people who know how I look underneath. I groan as I see the wet patches on the fabric, they’re from… her. “Himmel, Herrgott nochmal6. Fucking hell.”, I curse in two languages as I try to push past Horangi. I see him shaking his head in the corner of my eyes as I pass him and I hear him saying something in Korean. I practically sprint to my room, shutting the door behind me with a bang and sliding down to the floor (which is a long way to go for a guy like me).

My hand dives down into my sweatpants, gripping my dick, freeing it, groaning when my fingers close around it and I just imagine that it is her touching me. My other hand lets go off my hood and pulls her panties from my pocket that are soaked in her spit. I wrap them around my base and move them along my length as I start to jerk myself off. I just need the release. Or else I’m gonna go back and take her. The pictures start to form in my mind all on their own. How it’s not my own hand that’s jerking me off, but hers. How she would kneel in front of me, taking me in her mouth, and I’d come all over her face. How I would pick her up and fuck her against the wall, burying myself deep inside her. How she would ride me, with me pulling her down on my dick. My own personal imagination porn only stops when I come all over my hands and her panties, staining my sweatpants and leaving little puddles of cum on my stomach. I sigh and curse again. I do a haphazard job at cleaning myself up, take my clothes off and just drop onto my bed, letting the post orgasm haze take me out.

Jetzt haben wir den Salat: literally 'Now we have the salad', a german way of saying: 'look at the mess we're in'

Herrgott: 'dear god'

Prinzessin: 'princess'

Liebes: 'lovely'

Verdammt. Ah, des is ja wieder super gelaufen.: 'Damn, that went well... NOT.'

Himmel, Herrgott nochmal.: 'for heaven's sake'

[entertext]

HGSN 25-2

Chapter (Japanese)

(Please hit the green thumbs up at the end of the chapter to show support)

Rough translation by me

P1

Dad: Before he died, Kouhei argued with the higher-ups that he wanted to be the last to do the ritual. Saying that "Unuki-sama isn't what you all think it is. The ritual's meaningless." And that was when he died in an accident.

Dad: I wonder if that was really an accident...

Yoshiki: ...

Yoshiki: ...Dad, what was it like when Hikaru's dad died?

Dad: There wasn't a single good thing about this village anymore. That's what I thought...

P2

Yoshiki: (It's so similar, I hate it)

Dad: Yoshiki, you know, you aren't anything like me

Dad: You have your mom's strength and kindness...

Dad: so you'll grow into a better person than your dad.

Yoshiki: ...say that stuff to Mom

Yoshiki: Why don't you ever talk to her properly?

P3

Dad: ...I'm scared to. Your mom is strong

Dad: It feels like soon there won't be a place for me to belong in this house

Yoshiki: That's so dumb

Yoshiki: ...is "belonging" that important?

Dad: People become greedy for what they've lacked. Those who couldn't eat their fill become gluttonous, and those who were starved for love want to be loved even more. I suppose someone fixated on "belonging" must not have had a place to belong.

Yoshiki: ('Hikaru' is like that too, huh...)

Dad: I have to make sure to talk to your mom too...

P4

Yoshiki: ....yeah.

Yoshiki: Hey, Dad. ...you have a lot of books right?

Dad: Yeah...you can read them if you want

Yoshiki: ...thanks

Kaoru: *whisper* Hey, Mom, big brother and Dad are talking!

P5

Mom: He's so quick to put on a good face in front of the children. *sighs*

Kaoru: Hmmmm

Kaoru: What's for dinner tonight?

Mom: Ginger fried pork

Kaoru: Come to think of it, ginger fried pork is Dad's favorite...

(sfx: RAIN)

P6

(sfx: thnk)

Rie: Tsujinaka-kun...

Rie: He's become "mixed up".

Rie: Just like my son...

P7

Hikaru: "Mixed up"?

Rie: Very rarely, there are people who, after being touched by something from the world beyond, end up with parts of it mixed up in their soul

Rie: When that happens, that person's boundary line between them and the other side becomes fuzzy...

Rie: And tons of impurities will gather to them

Rie: The impurities must want to come close because it's something within their reach.

Rie: I used to desperately protect my son who was like that...

Hikaru: If he gets any more mixed up,

Hikaru: Yoshiki will be in danger?

P8

Rie: I don't even want to imagine what could happen...

Hikaru: ...To be honest, I can't really understand human feelings

Hikaru: Even if I know what a soul is, I don't really get the value of "life". Love, friendship, familial love...humans are so complicated.

Hikaru: For me, those are all...things I can't truly understand

Hikaru: But Yoshiki...

Hikaru: He said I didn't have to understand. That I didn't have to become human

P9

Hikaru: That's why I...I don't want to hurt Yoshiki

Hikaru: But, if I'm around, everything becomes stranger and stranger...

Hikaru: And lately, sometimes I can't keep control of myself

Rie: Perhaps, like a weakened animal goes into a frenzy

Rie: you're instinctively affecting Tsujinaka-kun

Hikaru: Is it because I'm weakened? No...Either way, before long I'll...

Hikaru: lose to that "instinct" and take Yoshiki's soul...

P10

Rie: I suppose...it's in your nature

Rie: (This child is terrifying)

Rie: (An existence so big as to destroy everything if things go wrong)

Rie: (It's not as if there's no method I can think of)

Rie: (But, this child wants to stay here. Said he wants to protect the place he belongs)

Hikaru: Hey,

P11

Hikaru: If I go back to the mountain, will that solve everything?

Rie: ....

(sfx: nervous gulp)

Hikaru: If I do that, the impurities will decrease too,

(sfx: rain)

Hikaru: And everyone will be safe, ...and everything will go back to how it was before?

==

Next chapter: in a week

Twitter Extra (link):

At the hairdresser's

Mom: So I see you've just come up to Tokyo~

Dad: Yes

Mom: Isn't it tough being on your own?

Dad: I get lost a lot...and for some reason I get questioned by the police everyday...

Mom: Everyday....

Dad: Thank you

(sfx: THUNK)

Dad: Ow

(sfx: rattle)

Dad: Ah!

(sfx: clatter)

Dad: Aaah!

Mom: Ah, it's alright, I'll clean it up

Dad: I'm sorry

Mom: (Is this guy going to be ok?...)

Mom: And before I knew it, I'd married him

--

At the time, Yoshiki's dad had pushed his parents to let him go to a university in Tokyo

There, he met Yoshiki's mom who was working as a hairdresser

==

EDIT: Changed the wording one of Rie's lines and one of Yoshiki's in 23-4 because it seemed to be getting interpreted in a way that wasn't my intent. Hopefully, this reads a little better...

[mathanlin]

// mentions of past starvation/hypothermia

Witch/Hybrid AU where the SBI coven are all Piglins — and human!Tommy pretends he’s one of them. 

It’s simple. A potion he takes every morning, shifting him into the perfect Piglin child, warm and lovable.  

But when it’s time for SBI to hibernate, Tommy can’t follow. 

As they prepare, Tommy keeps frantically pretending.

“You need to eat more,” Phil says worriedly, nudging another bowl of mushrooms toward him. His supposed ‘favorite.’ Another lie. “Store up for the winter, mate.”

It’s so kind, Tommy barely has to force a tusky smile.

He’s lucky. 

For having that shapeshifting potion the first time he met them, begging for help. For being able to stay, to steal ingredients for a hundred more potions.

To have them, even if it’s only because of a lie. 

And even when he slips up, they just teach him. 

“It’s okay,” Wilbur reassures, when Tommy shakily explains he doesn’t understand the chuffing sound Phil made. “You didn’t have anyone to teach you.”

He's right. Tommy didn't have anyone for *anything.* Not until the coven.

And they're about to leave him.

“This spot’s for you.”

Techno lays a massive blanket right in the middle of the nest. Tommy’s fake, stolen instincts wail as he sets a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, smiling softly. 

(Tommy knows it’d be a snarl if he’d forgotten to take the potion that morning.)

“You tell me if it’s uncomfortable, kid.” He laughs — or at least, that’s what the short chuffs apparently mean. “Even if you’ll be fast asleep.”

*I won’t,* Tommy wants to sob. *I’ll be awake. And you’ll all leave me.*

*All winter, I’ll be alone.*

And there’s nothing he can do to stop them when the first frost comes. 

It’s Wilbur who drifts off first, buried in the nest at Tommy’s side. Then Techno, pulling him close as he slides into sleep. 

Only Phil stays awake, eyes half-lidded and voice slurred.

“Are you okay?”

Tommy nods, shivering against Techno’s slow-falling chest.

Phil huffs worriedly. He pulls another blanket over Tommy, chuffing in concern so deep it’s painful. “Sleep. I’m here. You’re safe.”

*I know you’re here,* Tommy thinks. *That’s the problem.*

But words can't convince Phil, so deep in his instincts. Only actions.

So Tommy forces his eyes to shut, breathing steadily even though all he wants to do is sob.

And when Phil curls around him, sliding into unconsciousness, Tommy doesn’t lean into his touch.

Doesn’t wake him.

For that night, he can pretend everything’s okay. That he’s not wide awake, trembling as the coven sleeps. 

It’s only when the sun rises that he lets himself cry, sobbing when the potion wears off for the first time in ages. 

Just a reminder he never belonged in the first place.

He forces himself to stand, pulling away from the coven’s embrace & flinching when they huff quietly at his absence, still deep in sleep. 

And he tries not to shiver when he slips out of the magically warmed room. 

Because being alone isn’t just an emotional war. 

He has a winter to survive. 

Food, to find (as he refuses to steal any more from them). Cold, to bear (so he doesn’t sleep in the nest & risk disturbing them). 

But without them, he’ll be right back where he started. 

And this time, they’re not awake to save him.

.

.

.

It’s Techno that wakes early, ripped out of hibernation.

He knows immediately what’s wrong — the cold spot where Tommy should be. Dazed with sleep, he rips open the nesting room’s door— 

And a human kid tumbles in from where he’d been leaning against it.

It’s not hard to piece together.

The potion ingredients that’d been stolen — potions for shapeshifting. Tommy’s confusion about Piglins (despite ‘being one’). The tattered clothes the kid’s wearing — *Tommy’s* clothes. 

And the way he slurs, “I’m s’rry,”” before passing out.

It’s a coma.

Tommy’s starved, entirely emaciated. His human skin’s icy under Techno’s hands — too cold, even for a human. 

And even when Phil & Wilbur frantically wake from their hibernations, Tommy stays in his. 

They’re all thinking it, even if it’s not said aloud — *We left him.*

So this time, they don’t leave. They hurry him into the nest, desperately using every kind of magic they can to break the coma — and it works.

But when Tommy wakes, he’s delirious. 

And utterly terrified.

“I woke you up.”

It’s spoken with horror, though Tommy’s voice is painfully weak. He lets out a sob as he looks at himself — frostbitten, starved, but worst of all, *human.*

And in their nest. 

“I’ll— I’ll leave—”

“Are you fucking serious?”

It’s Wilbur that snaps out of his relieved stupor first. 

“Leave? Look at you, you’re half fucking dead, Tommy.”

(*Look at you. You’re human,* Tommy thinks.)

“I’m sorry, I can— I’ll go—”

“No,” Wilbur cries, incredulous, “Tommy, we want you to *stay.*”

“Why?”

It’s quiet. But all of SBI hear it.

Even the words Tommy doesn’t speak — *I’m human. I lied to you.*

And Phil still reaches towards him, letting out a comforting chuff.

“C’mere, mate.”

Though Tommy stays frozen, Phil wraps a thick blanket around him, gently nudging him towards the center of the nest — the spot they’d set up for him. The spot that’s still his. 

Whether he’s a Piglin or not.

It takes months of consoling to assure Tommy he belongs there.

But they have months. Instead of hibernating, they just rest, always awake enough to attempt to Tommy’s needs. Food, water, warmth. 

But he’s most relieved to have them. 

And they’re overjoyed to have him.