#how could I be so blind? they were right here

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Actually, I think this does link in with a wider conversation that I have been thinking for a while Tumblr maybe needs to hear.

There's a common meme on this site now that no one here has any reading comprehension skills. The best one is, of course, the original "No offense but reading comprehension on this site is piss poor/How dare you say we piss on the poor" post, which gave rise to the nickname "pissing-on-the-poor website". There's also the "I like pancakes/How dare you say waffles are terrible" one. Both of these are great, because they're silly jokey ways to show two closely related phenomena that are probably the commonest ways to fail a reading comprehension check.

The first is someone reading certain catchphrases or buzzwords in the post, and based on their own biases or prior experiences or whatever else, their brain simply fills in what it reckons the poster is saying on the topic. Instead of reading the rest of the sentence and digesting it, the reader then just uses their assumption as the interpretation, and reacts to that.

The second is closely related, because it also uses biases and prior experiences to to interpret the post, but rather than ignoring what the OP is actually saying, it instead performs a series of gymnastic leaps to construct a whole new assertion on the OP's behalf that simply isn't there.

There's also a third, of course; that one is people being so eager to feel smug and superior over someone they perceive as Bad that they wilfully assume the OP is stupid or being serious when they're actually joking. And if the reader hadn't been so blinded by their desire to get to look down on someone, they'd have seen the very obvious tells, sometimes even including sentences like "Obviously this is a joke." (I think we have all seen examples of these. Also, in a bid to avoid as many reading comprehension fails here as possible, this does not include misunderstandings borne entirely of neurodiverse struggles to parse intentions; but, neurodiverse people are just as likely as neurotypicals to have ego play a part in their misinterpretation of others, and that is what this point is about.)

And the thing is... actually, we are all capable of any of these. I imagine a sizable chunk of people reading until this point were probably thinking "Lol, yeah, people are so stupid," but na, nage, I'm not having that. Literally everyone does these sometimes. And it becomes a particular risk when the topic under discussion is something that might brush against an issue that is a pressure point for you, like a social justice talking point that you are forever having to argue with internet strangers about, for example. Your brain holds schemas! And sometimes it likes to pattern match things before it deigns to tell you about its findings! And that can hit you right in the emotions, which if they are strong enough, really can shut down all rational thought.

But. This brings me to the real point of the post.

Because the thing is, we have all saddled up and gone to war under these conditions, or at the very least been strongly tempted to. And a vital skill that literally everyone has to learn, sooner or later, is:

Before you hit 'reply', double check the post to make sure you fucking understood it.

And that does not mean "simply re-read, confirm your bias, carry on." It means, "Is it possible to read this post from the point of view of someone who doesn't intend it the way I've taken it? If I put myself in the shoes of an innocent, could they still have written these words? Is there another interpretation for these phrases?"

And you do have to do this step. You simply do have to. Because if your desire is to 'clap back' and call someone a gargling knobskin made of garbage, fuck me sideways but you must see that it is imperative that you check if they actually deserve that kind of treatment first. You cannot spend your time claiming that we must all choose to be kind and then not bother doing your due diligence before screaming a person's various and assorted bigotries at them. If you misread it, and they were innocent - you are the raging aggressive cunt in this situation.

It does not matter that you reacted from an emotional place of normally having to defend yourself either, by the way. Sure, that makes the quality of your human soul better than that of the average Redditor who just enjoys anonymously hurting people, I guess? But it's also irrelevant. If you messaged someone and called them a misogynist because you performed several mental somersaults and landed on your own sore spot when they meant no such thing, you are the attacker. You owe them an apology. And yeah, sure, you can explain your over-reaction as the product of your normal experiences if you like, but that is only an explanation, not an excuse. You are still the asshole here. You still need to apologise and mean it.

And you could have avoided it if you'd done that due diligence, as you should have. If you're going to take a swing, make sure it's the right target. This was once described to me as donkey people - they don't think, they just kick. This is admittedly a little unkind to donkeys, who always do their due diligence, but I feel it's an apt metaphor.

TL;DR: If you feel moved to angrily reply to something, first make sure you've interpreted it right. Don't be a donkey person. And if you ask for clarification, people are innocent until proven guilty. Ask nicely. If they are a bigot, you can then smelt them for parts.

[luvyeni]

⚔️… ( drabble ) never let you leave ! ୨୧ 一 이희승 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ ヾ

yandere!heeseung・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・fingering , manipulation wc ・ ‎0.8k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. y/n & heeseung are on a break from their relationship even though hee opposed SOOO to get her to come back he kindof stalks her & makes her feel unsafe so she asks him to come back & protect her .. . ??

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 im a little rusty with yandere i hope you like it !!!

he was too controlling, he never let you be; always calling when you were out with friends, or out at work — or just in general he was always calling. he did this under the premise of “there are bad people out there” or “im just trying to protect you.” you could take it anymore. so you broke up with him, told him you just needed space.

he didn’t take it well at first; and you expected that. he cried, begged you to stay; he said he couldn’t live without you — that probably would’ve worked in the beginning, but you were tired. “i don’t even feel safe with you anymore heeseung, being with you scares me more than anything now.” and with that you left him.

he left you alone after that; you didn’t even see him anymore, in fact you didn’t see him for almost a month after that. his friends said all he did was stay home and play games, which made you sad, but this was for your happiness, so you couldn’t just back down. “as long as he gets the help he needs i wish him nothing but the best.”

heeseung in fact wasn’t getting the help he desperately needed. in fact he was getting worse, he was dying without you; he felt like he couldn’t breathe because he wasn’t near you — well not as close as he wanted to be.

you began to feel it a month later; you let your guard down, and that’s when you began to feel like you were being watched. you tried to ignore it, but it was hard when it was all the time, even in your apartment. you began to close the blinds. but that didn’t work, you felt like you were exposed in your own house.

“it’s heeseung isn’t it?” you friend said, you shook your head, quick to defend the boy. “no jake said he’s getting help.” what you didn’t know is that heeseung was always one step ahead of you, watching you. waiting for you. he saw your every move; even in your home with the cameras he installed.

you couldn’t take it anymore; you felt like you were going insane and nobody believed you, they thought you were just exhausted from work or something. “you just need sleep.” how could you sleep if you felt like someone was watching you!

you began to think maybe heeseung was right, maybe he was the only one that could protect you. maybe the world was too dangerous for you. which is why you found yourself knocking on his door. “poor baby.” he saw your tired state. “you look so tired.” he smiled to himself as you let yourself in. “i can’t sleep, i can’t go out alone, im scared someone will hurt me.” you rushed to say. “didn’t i tell you that?” he said. “you didn’t listen, now look.”

you wrapped your arms around him, and he wanted to hug you back; but he had to teach you a lesson — don’t ever think about leaving him again. “hee im so tired.” you looked up at him with those eyes. “yeah?” he said. “let’s get you to bed then.”

he guided you back to his room, laying you down on his bed. “please don’t go.” he smiled, laying next to you. “im not.” his hand was resting on your stomach. “i won't go anywhere.” his hands now moving. “you can just stay here with me.” you moaned softly. “heeseung.” he kissed the side of your head. “you don’t even have to go out, i’ll make all the money and spend it on you.” he said cupping your heat. “fuck you’re so wet.”

you couldn’t believe you fell for again, allowing his fingers to explore your insides like before. “you missed me?” you nodded. “use your fucking words.” he growled. “missed the the way i held and protected you.” he said. “the way i fucked you?” his fingers curled, hitting the spot that made you moan. “fuck hee please keep going , i need you.” you cried out. “need you so bad.”

he sped up, your hips following his movements. “you’re mine, everything you do is because i give you permission to.” you’d complain if he wasn’t fucking your open with his fingers. “you understand, you’re mines, your body is mine, your mind is mine?” you were desperate, ready to cum. “fuck yes hee im yours.” you screamed. “i’ll never leave again i promise.”

that was all he needed, before he whispered into your ear. “cum.” and it was like your body was finally at peace, your mind too. “hee.” your breathing was heavy from your orgasm, eyes heavy from your long exhaustion. “shh, go to sleep.” he said. “when you wake up we can handle me okay.” he held you softly in his arms. “im fine holding you just like this.” you slowly drifted off to sleep in what you thought was the safest place at the moment — but you couldn’t be far from wrong.

because you in fact were sleeping right in the arms of the reason you were feeling so unsettled and by time you woke up you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it… you gave yourself to him.

you were his now, all his and was never gonna share you again…

©️LUVYENI

[raichukfm]

It's a fascinating question and the answer doesn't speak to it at all. We're talking about swapping perceptions, you know, the hypothetical thing that could answer those "What if my blue is your red?" ponderings. Were that the case and you were to swap, you would start seeing everything red as blue and vice versa, but you would be able to tell this. That's a controversial point, but we aren't proposing a full qualia inversion here; your internal concepts of red and blue haven't changed, just the way that your brain maps sensory stimuli to your qualia has. You can imagine red, and it's red as you have always imagined it, you just look at a red delicious apple and you see it as blue. (Actually a fascinating question whether people would agree with this assessment, and has me wondering about people with aphantasia specifically about if they think their 'red as they have always imagined it' can be separated from the way things with that color look to them. I'm getting off track.)

But this swap is different. Semiotics refers to the meanings that things have; for instance, the way you are looking at these squiggles or hearing these sound waves and taking them as a message. I am intending a meaning now as I type these words out, and you are taking away a meaning as you perceive them, and though it won't quite be the same meaning it is related. There's a question of where exactly the meaning you perceive is; is it in the message itself? Is it just contained in the context around it? Was it put there by me? Is it only there when you read or hear it?

And now specifically we're talking about abstract objects, things which aren't concrete; for instance, words as words, not images or sounds but the thing that those patterns invoke. Things where it is already an interesting philosophical question about how exactly it is that they exist. (For those with the bent to ponder it and not just go 'Uh, they just do, duh' because yeah that's fair.) And that's just one example of an abstract object. It's not all messages. There are numbers. There are complex mathematical objects, like groups and rings and fields. Are things like "peace" abstract objects?

If we do this swap of perceptions, so you perceive the meaning of an abstract thing to be the meaning that I perceive... What are you perceiving, exactly? Is it the thing anymore? Is this even truly a swap of perceptions or is it rather a swap of thoughts? If you took one piece of my mental model of the world and swapped it out with one of yours, how would it fit in? Would it fit in at all? It's fascinating.

The world isn't shrouded in darkness. There's not some blinding fog that has settled over everything. You can observe the world, make sense of parts of it, peer into its mysteries and try to think of answers. Yeah, it's confusing and a lot of pieces of it are out of reach but that's just because the world is so fucking big and complicated and so many parts we simply lack the faculties to possess. This question is that lovely kind of philosophical pondering that is fundamentally unresolvable and by all rights has no practical purpose... But we can still talk about it, and in talking about it, we can share ideas and work through how it is we think of things. If nothing else, we can enjoy ourselves. And that's as practical a purpose as anything else.

Don't see something you can't think of how to answer and decide that it cannot be answered and that now is a time to shrink away to safe thoughts that can be trusted. Ponder whatever bullshit that strikes your fancy, and try to think about what the answers would be. Even if you can fundamentally never find out if you're right or wrong, the thinking itself is a worthwhile exercise. Encourage other people to do it too, though don't try to force it; different people have their own sorts of funtime questioning. I've got things like this, some people have how much prep time Batman would need to defeat Shrek in a fight.

equally confounded and obsessed by this quora question and response that i just stumbled onto

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

The Emperor’s Gaze Part 2

Pairing: Emperor Geta x Maid! reader

Warnings: Fluff, smut, Caracella being an ass

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy! I unintentionally made this a series and I love it-

Word Count: 3.8k

Masterlist | Previous Next

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The days following your time in the garden blurred into a strange mix of normalcy and heightened awareness. While you carried out your usual tasks, your mind wandered back to the emperor’s words, his touch, and the way he had looked at you—as though you were the only person in the world who mattered.

The garden had become your sanctuary. He summoned you there often, under the guise of needing someone to help with tasks like arranging flowers or cleaning the statues. Yet, you both knew it was an excuse.

He didn’t just speak to you as an emperor to a servant. He asked about your life—your family, your dreams, your fears. Slowly, your guarded responses began to crack, and you found yourself sharing pieces of yourself that no one else knew.

In turn, he shared fragments of his own life. He spoke of the weight of the crown, the constant fear of betrayal, and the loneliness that came with power. For all his authority, Geta was just a man, burdened by expectations and longing for something real.

But not everyone was blind to your growing connection.

One evening, as you returned to the servants’ quarters after another day spent in his presence, you were cornered by one of the senior maids. She was older, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of your flushed cheeks and the faint smile you hadn’t realized you wore.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, girl,” she hissed, her voice low but cutting.

You blinked, startled. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, don’t play innocent with me,” she snapped. “The emperor may have taken a liking to you, but do you think that makes you safe? There are people in this palace who would kill to gain his favor—or to destroy it.”

Her words sent a chill down your spine. You tried to brush past her, but she grabbed your arm, her grip surprisingly strong.

“Whatever he’s promised you, remember this: you’re replaceable. Don’t get too comfortable.”

You yanked your arm free, her words echoing in your mind as you hurried away. That night, sleep eluded you, the weight of her warning pressing heavily on your chest.

The next day, as you worked quietly in the garden, Geta noticed your unease immediately.

“You’re quiet today,” he observed, watching you as you arranged a vase of flowers.

“I’m always quiet,” you replied softly, not meeting his gaze.

“Not like this,” he said, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him. But the concern in his eyes, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you—it made it impossible to lie.

“Someone warned me,” you admitted finally, your fingers trembling as they adjusted the flowers. “They said I’m… replaceable. That being near you puts me in danger.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. “Who said this to you?”

You shook your head quickly. “It doesn’t matter. They’re right, aren’t they? I don’t belong here, my lord. I don’t belong with you.”

His hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing yours and stilling your movements. “Y/N, look at me.”

Reluctantly, you lifted your gaze to meet his. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

“No one decides where you belong but you—and me,” he said firmly. “Do you think I’d let anyone harm you?”

“It’s not just about harm,” you said, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to be used to hurt you, either. I don’t want to be a weakness for you.”

His grip tightened on your hand, though his touch remained gentle. “You’re not a weakness. You’re a reminder of the man I want to be. And if anyone thinks they can use you against me, they’ll learn how wrong they are.”

You swallowed hard, his words both comforting and terrifying. How could he be so certain? How could he promise to protect you in a palace full of schemers and spies?

Before you could respond, the distant sound of voices reached your ears. Geta’s head snapped up, his expression hardening.

“Come,” he said, pulling you toward a hidden alcove tucked behind a wall of ivy.

You barely had time to protest before a group of noblemen entered the garden, their voices loud and full of laughter. Geta’s grip on your hand remained firm as he pressed you into the shadows, his body shielding yours from view.

“Your Majesty,” one of the men called, scanning the garden. “Are you here?”

Geta sighed quietly, his breath brushing against your temple. “Stay here,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t move until I come back.”

You nodded, your heart racing as he stepped out of the alcove, his demeanor shifting instantly to that of the confident, commanding emperor.

“Gentlemen,” he greeted, his tone light but firm. “What brings you here?”

As the noblemen launched into a discussion about some trivial matter, you watched from the shadows, your chest tightening. This was the reality of being close to him—the constant need to hide, to tread carefully around those who might twist your connection into something dangerous.

And yet, as he glanced back at the alcove, his eyes briefly meeting yours, you felt a flicker of hope.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, one thing was clear: you weren’t facing them alone.

——

The next week passed in a tense haze. You tried to stay out of sight, avoiding the prying eyes and whispers that seemed to follow you wherever you went. Despite Geta’s assurances, the warning from the senior maid still lingered in your mind.

But Geta had other plans.

It was a week after the incident in the garden when a grand feast was announced. The palace erupted with activity, servants scurrying to prepare the banquet hall, polish the silverware, and arrange the finest delicacies from across the empire. You were swept up in the preparations, your every moment occupied with tasks, though you couldn’t shake the sense of unease that hung in the air.

The evening of the feast arrived, the palace glowing with the light of a thousand torches. Nobles from across the empire filled the grand hall, their laughter and conversation blending into a cacophony of sound. You stood at the edge of the room, hidden among the other servants, your gaze flickering nervously to the head of the table where Geta sat, his expression calm and composed.

The feast began as expected, with music, dancing, and an endless parade of food and wine. You kept your head down, trying to ignore the way your heart raced every time his gaze drifted in your direction.

And then, as the night wore on and the hall began to quiet, Geta rose from his seat.

The room fell silent instantly, all eyes turning to him. He surveyed the crowd with the air of a man who commanded absolute authority, his expression unreadable.

“My friends,” he began, his voice carrying effortlessly over the hall. “Tonight, we celebrate the strength and unity of our great empire. But I must confess, I have another reason for calling you here.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd, curiosity lighting the faces of the assembled nobles. You felt your stomach twist, a sense of foreboding washing over you.

“For too long, this empire has lacked an empress,” Geta continued, his gaze sweeping the room. “A partner who will stand beside me, guide me, and share in the burdens of rule.”

The murmurs grew louder, excitement and speculation buzzing through the crowd. You felt frozen in place, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure everyone could hear it.

“And so, I have made my decision,” Geta said, his voice steady and resolute. “I have chosen my empress.”

The hall fell silent once more, every eye fixed on him. He paused for a moment, letting the tension build before his gaze turned directly to you.

“Y/N.”

The sound of your name seemed to echo in the vast chamber, drawing every head in your direction. You felt the weight of their stares, a mixture of shock, disbelief, and anger radiating from the crowd.

You took a step back, your mind racing. *This can’t be happening.*

“Come forward,” Geta commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your feet moved of their own accord, carrying you toward him even as your mind screamed at you to stop. The sea of nobles parted as you passed, their whispered words slicing through the air like knives.

When you reached the dais, Geta extended his hand to you, his eyes softening as they met yours. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. But then you saw the sincerity in his eyes, the promise of protection and devotion, and you found yourself nodding.

“Yes,” you whispered.

He smiled, a genuine warmth breaking through his composed exterior. Taking your hand, he turned back to the crowd.

“This woman,” he declared, his voice strong and unwavering, “has shown me courage, kindness, and strength unlike any I have ever known. She will be your empress, and you will honor her as you honor me.”

The room erupted into chaos. Some nobles cheered, their voices filled with forced enthusiasm. Others whispered furiously among themselves, their faces dark with outrage. But Geta paid them no mind, his focus entirely on you.

“You’ve just made a lot of enemies,” you murmured, your voice shaking.

“So have they,” he replied, his grip on your hand tightening. “But let them come. I’ll face them all if it means keeping you by my side.”

In that moment, as he stood beside you, his presence a shield against the storm brewing around you, you realized there was no turning back. You were no longer just a maid—you were the chosen empress, a target for intrigue and danger.

But with Geta at your side, you felt a spark of hope. Together, perhaps you could navigate the treacherous waters of the court and forge a future where love and loyalty triumphed over fear.

——

The days following the feast were a whirlwind. The announcement of your elevation to empress had sent shockwaves through the empire. Courtiers whispered behind your back, and the palace was abuzz with speculation. Despite the overwhelming attention, Geta stood firm beside you, his presence both a comfort and a shield.

But not everyone celebrated the news.

Caracalla had been away from the palace on a campaign when the feast took place. His sudden return only days later sent a ripple of unease through the court. Known for his ruthless nature and volatile temper, Caracalla was a man who inspired both fear and respect.

The first time you saw him, you understood why.

He entered the throne room with an air of authority, his dark eyes scanning the room like a predator sizing up its prey. Taller and more imposing than Geta, his presence seemed to suck the air from the room.

Geta stood at your side, his expression carefully neutral as his brother approached.

“So,” Caracalla said, his voice low and sharp, “this is the woman who has bewitched you.”

You stiffened, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. The way he looked at you was unnerving, his gaze cold and calculating.

“She’s my chosen empress,” Geta replied evenly. “And you’ll treat her with respect.”

Caracalla’s lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. “Respect is earned, brother. Not given.”

The tension between them was palpable, the unspoken rivalry hanging thick in the air. You felt like a pawn caught between two kings, each vying for dominance.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Caracalla continued, his eyes flicking back to you. “Bringing her into the palace—it’s a bold move. But boldness doesn’t always equal wisdom.”

“She’s under my protection,” Geta said firmly. “Anyone who threatens her will answer to me.”

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Careful, little brother. Threats like that can come back to haunt you.”

With that, he turned and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him. The room remained silent until he was gone, the tension slowly dissipating like a storm passing.

“Are you all right?” Geta asked, his hand brushing yours.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. “What does he mean by ‘come back to haunt you’?”

Geta’s jaw tightened. “Caracalla doesn’t approve of anything I do. He sees me as a threat to his power, and now he’ll see you the same way. But don’t worry—I won’t let him hurt you.”

Despite his words, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Caracalla’s return marked the beginning of something dangerous.

---

In the weeks that followed, Caracalla’s presence loomed over the palace like a dark cloud. Though he remained outwardly cordial, his every word and action seemed calculated to sow doubt and discord.

He would make veiled comments in court, questioning your suitability as empress without ever addressing you directly. He lingered in places he wasn’t expected, his sharp gaze always seeming to find you.

One evening, as you walked alone in the gardens, you felt a presence behind you. Turning quickly, you found Caracalla standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You should be careful wandering alone,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with menace.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you replied, though your voice betrayed a hint of unease.

He chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Brave words for someone so far out of their depth.”

“What do you want?” you asked, your hands clenched at your sides.

“To understand,” he said, stepping closer. “What is it about you that has made my brother so reckless? What spell have you cast over him?”

“I’ve done nothing but be myself,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “If that’s a threat to you, perhaps you should look inward.”

His smile vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating expression. “You’re clever,” he said quietly. “Clever enough to know that your position is precarious. Be careful, little empress. The palace is a dangerous place, and loyalty is a fleeting thing.”

With that, he turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

——

The days following your tense encounter with Caracalla passed in a haze of unease. The palace seemed colder with him there, his shadow casting a long, dark presence that crept into every corner. But in the quiet moments, when the court had settled and the whispers died down, Geta found ways to draw you away from the chaos.

He would pull you into hidden alcoves, his hand warm against yours, his touch grounding. Sometimes, he’d bring you to the gardens at night, the moonlight casting silver over his sharp features. In those moments, it felt like the world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you.

One evening, after a particularly tense council meeting where Caracalla had all but accused you of manipulating Geta, the emperor found you in your quarters.

You were seated by the window, staring out at the flickering lights of the city below. When he entered, you glanced at him, your expression guarded.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmured, though your heart leapt at the sight of him.

“And yet here I am,” he replied, his voice low and steady. He crossed the room, his presence filling the space, and knelt before you, his hands resting on your knees. “You’re worried.”

“Of course, I am,” you admitted. “Your brother… he hates me. He hates that you’ve chosen me. I feel like I’m walking a tightrope, and one wrong step…”

He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not alone in this. I’m with you, every step of the way.”

His words were a balm, but the tension in your chest didn’t ease. “Geta, you’ve made enemies because of me. What if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” he interrupted gently. “You’re my empress. My choice. And I would choose you a thousand times over, no matter the cost.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt. But his gaze was steady, filled with a quiet resolve that stole your breath.

He leaned closer, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life,” he murmured, his voice a bare whisper.

And then his lips were on yours, soft and warm, a promise in every touch. He kissed you like you were the only thing grounding him, like the rest of the world could fall away and it wouldn’t matter as long as you were by his side.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you.

“I love you,” he confessed, the words slipping from his lips like a vow. “Not as an emperor. Not as a ruler. Just as a man who’s hopelessly, irrevocably yours.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. “Geta, I—”

“Say it when you’re ready,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

---

Later that night, Geta insisted you join him in his private chambers, away from the prying eyes of the court. The room was warm, the golden glow of the fire casting soft shadows across the walls. He had dismissed his attendants, insisting on pouring wine for the two of you himself.

You sat together on a plush divan, his arm draped casually over your shoulders. The closeness was intoxicating, the weight of his presence a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Something no one else knows.”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your goblet. “There’s not much to tell. My life before the palace was… ordinary.”

“Ordinary is relative,” he countered. “To me, everything about you is extraordinary.”

His words brought a flush to your cheeks, and you ducked your head to hide your smile. “Fine. When I was a girl, I used to sneak into the fields near my village to watch the stars. I always imagined they were the gods’ way of watching over us.”

Geta tilted his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “And what do you think now?”

You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered. “Now, I think the stars are reminders to find light in the darkness.”

He leaned closer, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. “Then you must be my star,” he murmured. “Because you’ve brought light to my life in ways I never thought possible.”

His lips found yours again, the kiss deeper this time, filled with a longing that left you breathless. You clung to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled you closer, his touch igniting a fire that burned away every fear, every doubt.

When you finally broke apart, you were both breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you shared a quiet moment of intimacy.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You nodded, your heart swelling with a love that felt too big to contain. “Always.”

Geta's hands roam your body as he pushes you down onto the silk sheets, his golden jewelry glinting in the candlelight. He kisses a trail down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "You're mine," he growls, his voice low and possessive. "Mine to claim, mine to protect."

He settles between your legs, his weight pressing you into the mattress. You can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your gown, and you arch up to meet him, desperate for more.

Geta's fingers find the hem of your dress, pushing it up inch by inch until cool air meets your heated skin. He pauses, drinking in the sight of you, his eyes dark with desire.

"Beautiful," he breathes, his hand skimming over your stomach, your ribs, your breasts. "So beautiful."

He leans down, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear. "I'm going to worship every inch of you," he promises, his words sending shivers down your spine. "I'm going to make you forget everything but my name."

His mouth trails down your body, leaving a path of fire in its wake. He kisses your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach, until he reaches the apex of your thighs.

Geta looks up at you, his eyes locked with yours as he parts your folds with his fingers. "You're already so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. "Is this all for me?"

You nod, your breath coming in short gasps as his tongue makes contact with your most sensitive parts. He groans, the sound vibrating against your skin, and he sets about his task with a single-minded determination that leaves you writhing beneath him.

He brings you to the edge again and again, his fingers and mouth working in tandem to drive you higher and higher. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he pulls back, his chest heaving with exertion.

"Not yet," he pants, his voice strained. "I'm not done with you."

He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick heat. "Tell me you're mine," he demands, his eyes boring into yours. "Tell me you belong to me."

"Yours," you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I'm yours, Geta. All yours."

With a low groan, he thrusts forward, sheathing himself inside you in one smooth stroke. You cry out at the sudden fullness, your back arching off the bed.

Geta sets a punishing pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that rocks the bed. Each thrust drives him deeper, harder, until the room is filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh and the creaking of the mattress.

You meet him thrust for thrust, your legs wrapped around his waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly until it explodes, washing over you in waves of ecstasy.

Geta follows soon after, his body tensing above you as he spills himself inside you with a guttural moan. He collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck.

"My star," he murmurs, his voice soft and sated. "My beautiful, perfect star."

You hold him close, your heart swelling with a love that feels like it could burst. In this moment, the rest of the world falls away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms.

It's a perfect moment, a rare glimpse of peace in a world that's constantly at war. And you hold onto it, cherishing it, knowing that it's a gift that can't last forever.

But for now, you're content to stay in Geta's arms, to let the rest of the world fade away. Because here, with him, you're exactly where you belong.

Previous | Next

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

Tag list: @captainostella

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter warmers day 9: Work holiday party. Maxiel. About 740 words. (yes, 9...don't look at me.)

Max hadn't been planning on going to the work party.

He had been working for the company just for two weeks, barely knows the people in his department, is comfortable having a conversation not about work only with Pierre and Lando, his desk neighbors. He didn't want to have to spend an evening milling around a too fancy banquet hall, making small talk with people he had seen maybe once, and who probably thought he was too young to even be there.

And yet, here he is, a gin tonic in his hand, leaning against the bar and pretending he's really into the conversation Christian, his direct supervisor, had dragged him into. It's something about cricket, maybe. Or golf? Some boring sport, that's for sure.

He looks around the room, fruitlessly trying to find Lando who had disappeared half an hour ago, leaving him stranded, but all he finds is Pierre, an arm thrown around Charles' shoulders, giggling together over some fruity cocktail.

He sighs a little, trying to focus back on whatever Christian is saying, only to immediately get distracted again, supremely bored.

He really should have stayed home.

He waits for a lull in the conversation to excuse himself, taking his now empty glass to the other side of the bar to get a refill.

He's not planning on getting drunk, doesn't want to imagine what he might say to these old boring people if he loses his grip on his self control for even just a little bit, but a second glass won't hurt.

"Not one for golf, then?"

Max only manages not to startle thanks to years and years of training himself not to show emotions people could gain an advantage from, but he still frowns as he turns around.

"Excuse me?" he asks, trying to put as much annoyance in his voice without sounding too rude.

In front of him there is a man with curly hair and lovely brown eyes, in a very nice suit, a glass of something amber and probably disgustingly expensive in his hand. Max has no idea who this person is, but he has learned a long time ago how to recognise people who look important enough to know he can't piss them off, and this guy is for sure one of them. And he's worked way too hard to get this job to lose it because he was rude to some higher up at a stupid Christmas party.

"I saw you run away from Christian and Toto's corner, so I assumed they were having their annual dick measuring contest."

It startles a laugh out of Max, the way he says it so straightforwardly, dick measuring contest, forcing a too posh British accent, even as his other words curl around an Australian accent.

"Dick measuring contest?" he says, still laughing, watching the way the stranger's mouth is ticking up, amusement etched into the wrinkles by his eyes.

"They have a golf competition each year," the man explains, stepping closer to Max to set his glass on the bar counter, close enough for Max to smell his cologne, something unobtrusive and elegant, just slightly musky. It makes his mouth water a little, before he remembers where he is.

"They bet on it," the man says, stepping back, "and every year they argue about cheating."

It makes Max laugh again, half of it just to see satisfaction seep into the stranger's expression, sharpening his smile a little.

"You're new, right? I don't remember seeing you around."

It's an innocent question, Max knows this, but something about the way the man is looking at him makes it sound like he's flirting. Or maybe Max is just projecting, because there is no reason why this gorgeous man would be flirting with him at a work party.

"Yes, I just started," he answers, maybe a beat too late, offering his hand. "Max Verstappen."

The stranger's hand is warm and a bit rough, callouses on his palm that make Max wonder what he does in his free time, how he got them. How they would feel against his skin.

"Daniel Ricciardo," the other says, smiling his most blinding smile yet. "Enchanté."

Then he bends slightly to kiss Max's hand, lips lingering on his skin, beard rough against his knuckles, and Max wonders if this job really is that important to him, or if he'd be willing to risk it for a blow job in the hotel's nearest bathroom.

[northern-passage]

I really don't get how Lea could ever think they and the Hunter were a team, when apparently they knew about the collar thing while the hunter didn't even know??? They are the literal embodiment of the Hunter's alienation and dehumanization. Will Lea (and the narrative) ever acknowledge how fucking despicable the order actually is??? They're a bunch of child abusers who prey on poor families and practice human trafficking. On that note I actually deeply despise the Hunter's mentor. That fight scene with him forcing us to stand up again and again? I don't care that the same was done to him and he did it to make the Hunter stronger or whatever. That was the same logic my grandmother had when she hit my mother, and she would have done the same to us if my mother hadn't cut ties with her and broke the cycle of generational violence. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't play this game right now as it very clearly trigger some things within me that I should address elsewhere than in your ask box, but I guess I needed to express how helpless the Hunter made me feel. Especially with Lea. My character (and myself I guess) couldn't sit down and have a normal conversation with them given how blind they were to the Hunter's situation, and that was even before I understood what the collar thing truly meant after replaying the demo and reading the last snippet you published. Lea comes from a powerful family with ties everywhere, they are literally called our 'handler', and they know what the ladder does to someone (both short term and long term, mentally and physically)... And they truly think them and the Hunter are the same??? Equals??? The only explanation I can find is that they grew up their entire life within the order and never knew anything else, and so this is a case of great ignorance and deep denial. They need a good wake up call and a lot of character development, but when I see Noel's reaction and Lea's behavior during their rival route, I'm kinda worried.

well... i mean most of what you've mentioned here is The Point. Lea is a hypocrite, and the hunter can argue with them and refuse their partnership because of it. Jorah is an asshole and treated the hunter poorly at times, to the point that him and Rodrick argued about it frequently, and is why Rodrick attempts to intervene when they spar. the Order does cause harm and coerces people into their ranks, usually children or those that are more vulnerable and lack other options; and this is always true no matter how the hunter tries to justify it and convince themselves otherwise. all of the people and institutions in this game are complex, none of them are righteous, and they exist as they do because i have something i want to say-- all of these are choices i've intentionally made when writing this story.

and we're only on chapter 1 right now (and even before the rerelease, only on chapter 2), all of the characters need character development, none of their arcs have even started yet.

this story is supposed to make you Feel, big feelings and little feelings, my goal is for people to connect with the characters or at the very least just empathize with them and have a desire to see their stories through. i'm not out to trigger people but this game is intended to be a dark fantasy that explores heavier topics. i'm always open to discussing my thoughts behind certain characters/narrative choices and i will always welcome suggestions if you feel i need to add something to the content warning list, but i really don't like asks like this, and i'm not really sure how to respond as a stranger on the internet. you can either trust me and my intent as the author, or maybe it would be better to not continue with the story if that's what is best and safest for you. only you can know and make that choice, not me.

[paradox-insanity]

Viktor stops short. He had had a quiet day planned - testing out his little boat that he had been tinkering with for several days on end, barely pausing to eat, sleep, or hydrate.

A flash of annoyance sparks through him. Another one of his sacred spaces of solitude, lost to the consecrated curse of shared knowledge. Then his more logical side comes online and he thinks,

What in the name of Janna.

The explosion of light should’ve been blinding, but it washed over him like a loving embrace, accompanied by the smell of cold metal and sparking wires.

There are two people at the epicentre of the blaze, dressed for climates never experienced in Piltover, and gasping for breath like oxygen cannot reach their bones.

Like Viktor gasps awake every night.

He makes his way down to the clearing cautiously, his prototype long forgotten. He’s ready to bolt, but he has never been able to turn away from someone who needed help.

He reaches the more level landing, rocks carved smooth over decades of floods and flow. He can see clearly that the two figures were an older woman, and a young boy. It soothes some of his deeply ingrained paranoias, the voice of his mother murmuring in his head to steer clear of older men, extensive tattoos or scarring, and blue uniforms.

He grips his crutch tighter as he calls out softly, “Hello? Are you alright?”

It’s not the best question. Viktor’s never alright when he’s gasping like that. But he doesn’t know what else to say.

The boy recovers faster, glancing up to Viktor and scrambling to put himself between the woman and Viktor. He’s clearly not from the Undercity, and clearly deeply afraid, despite the resolution in his stance. “Don’t- don’t come any closer!”

Viktor stops, nearly laughs at the notion someone would be afraid of him, weak and frail as he is. “Okay,” he says simply. “Are you hurt?”

Wide eyes blink rapidly, shot through with fear and disorientation. “Where are we? Where’s the mage?”

Viktor frowns. Maybe these people weren’t as low risk as he had estimated. “Mage?”

“Yes! He was- he was right here!”

“You were not right here.” Viktor points out not so helpfully.

“But- but it was real. We were trying to get to Piltover and it’s cold and then my mom fell and he came and did this thing with some symbols and his stick and there was light and then- and then-”

He’d worked himself into a haphazard panic, gasping for words and belief and Viktor couldn’t really stand it anymore. “It is okay! I believe you. Just, calm down, yes? Calm.”

The boy slumped. “You don’t believe me.”

“I do not know you. And I have no concrete proof to believe a stranger’s word,” Viktor confessed, slowly inching forward again.

His eyes lit up and he opened up his clenched fist to reveal… a piece of glass? “Look! He gave me this, it has one of the symbols he used!”

Viktor peers over, and there is, in fact, a carved symbol on it. It resembles nothing Viktor has seen in his mother’s physics notebooks, but it seems real enough for Viktor to believe that something happened, even if the flash of light had been all smoke and mirrors.

“Okay.” He says it simply, but it rings true in a way that resonates with the boy. Viktor glances over, and asks gently, “You said your mother collapsed. Is she alright?”

He gasps, the adrenaline rush that had surged to protect his mother from the stranger faded and he jumped to his mother’s side again.

“It was snowing and the cold. The cold got to her!”

“Alright, calm,” Viktor said as smoothly as he could. It confounds him how emphatically the boy displays his emotions - so clearly not from the Undercity. “We just need to warm her up then. Food and water. It will be alright.” He hopes he wasn’t putting himself in absolutely ridiculous amounts of danger. “Can you help her upright? Get the damp clothes off?”

The boy nodded furiously, jumping to follow Viktor’s direction. They roused his mother, and Viktor had a can of potable water that the boy vehemently refused to touch himself but passed on to his mother.

“I think that is all we can do here. I know an abandoned warehouse we can use for you both to recover.”

The boy looked up at Viktor with an intensity that made him mildly uncomfortable. “Thank you. You have helped so much and I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Viktor.”

He receives a blinding smile in return. “Jayce. Jayce Talis.”

They make their way to the warehouse, they get Ximena warmed up and they acquire some food for the stragglers.

When it’s far past time for the Talises to make their way topside, where they have an offshoot of their extended family awaiting their arrival, Jayce grabs onto Viktor and clings tight.

“Come with us,” he pleads, large amber eyes wide with hope.

Viktor huffs a laugh and returns the hug after a moment of hesitation. “I cannot. My mother and I are all we have. I cannot leave her. But there may come a day where I am able to visit.”

That day doesn’t come. Viktor will make his way to the academy many years later, fighting against enforcers trying to deny him access to the entrance exam, which he will ace anyway. He will break the record for nearly every academic honour in the academy - none that will ever be announced or advertised. He will become Heimerdinger’s prized assistant, will get a chance to start his own tiny lab. His mind will be coveted, his body deeply repulsive.

He will attempt to find the boy with amber eyes and vivacious dreams many times, and he will fail many times.

Until one fateful day, when an explosion will take a student housing building off the map, and put a youthful student on it.

So we know that in every timeline, Mage Viktor saved Jayce and gave him a rune, but do you think he experimented with where he dropped him off? Do you think in his efforts to save the world from himself, he tried to see what would happen if him and Jayce met sooner?

Do you think in one universe, kid Viktor was tinkering with his little boat when *poof* this sweet-eyed boy dressed in winter clothes appeared right in front of him?

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Boston Bears: Off-Limits - Rugby Player!Chris x Reader (Epilogue) AND Boston Bears: Fake Out - Rugby Player! Ari x Reader (Part 1 SNEAK PEAK)

Summary: A year has passed since the championship final and it's a rare opportunity to watch Chris play from the stands

Word Count: 707 words

Warnings: Fluff! Mention of Past Sexual Harrassment! Allusion to SMUT! 18+ ONLY

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Series Masterlist / Masterlist

Epilogue

1 year later

It was very rare for you to watch a rugby game from the stands. You were generally on the sidelines, watching and making sure you were ready to run on at a moment's notice. It meant you could never really properly enjoy the match.

It was a different story today though. Instead of your navy blue Boston Bears tracksuit and medical bib, you were wearing a white jersey with red and blue stripes and Chris’ name on the back.

You cheered loudly from the stands in the French stadium, watching Chris play in the first World Cup match of the tournament. You thought you would be the loudest person in the stadium but to your surprise, Tommi was shouting and cheering much louder than you. 

“He’s off his feet sir!” Tommi shouted gesturing to the ruck.

If you had told her two years ago that she would have travelled all the way to France for a rugby game she would have died laughing. Yet here she was, lots has changed over the last year and a bit.

One major change was Bryce’s career. Exactly a year after you left the Lion the news broke that an investigation was being launched against Bryce for several sexual harassment allegations. The head coach got in touch with you and asked you to provide a testimony on what Bryce had done to you. You had been apprehensive to go through it all again but Chris promised to be by your side the entire time. He even missed a game to do so. Thanks to you and the other women who came forward, Bryce’s career was over. It took a whole year but you finally had your justice.

“Oh my god ref are you blind!” Tommi shouted.

You chuckled and shook your head as you turned your attention back to the game. It wasn’t long until the final whistle blew and the two of you could make your way down to the sidelines.

Chris smiled as soon as he saw you, his chest still heaving as he caught his breath following an intense match. He always looked so sexy after a match, his hair was always a mess, the veins were bulging in his arms. Energy would radiate off of him which made the rest of the stadium disappear.

He walked over to you and enveloped you in a tight hug. Anyone else would feel a little grossed out because of how sweaty he was but you didn’t care. The two of you spent plenty of time getting sweaty together and it never bothered you.

“Sorry that you guys lost,” you said rubbing his biceps soothingly.

He shrugged his shoulders “We knew it was gonna be tough going against the hosts but I think we did well” 

“You did very well, I’m very proud of you” You smiled reaching up to kiss him.

“Thank you sweetheart” he grinned “Knowing you were out there wearing my jersey definitely helped” 

“I can wear it later if you want” you smirked.

“I want you to only wear it, and this of course” Chris smirked as he lifted your left hand, this thumb brushing past the ring on your fingers.

“I think I can do that” you smiled. 

Chris had proposed to you on the anniversary of the championship win. He had admitted that he planned to do it earlier on the anniversary of when you first met but with everything that went down with Bryce, he decided to hold off. It was a beautiful May evening, the stadium was deserted when he led you onto the pitch right to the centre before getting down on one knee and asking you the most important question you’ll ever have to answer. You had barely let him finish when you squealed yes multiple times and tackled him to the floor in a massive hug. The sound of his laughter echoed around the stadium as you landed on top of him. 

“God I love you so much” he beamed as he cupped your cheeks.

“I love you more” you smiled reaching up to first kiss the tip of his nose before landing on his lips, the ones you’ll call home for the rest of your life. 

Boston Bears: Fake Out - Rugby Player! Ari Levinson x Reader

A/N: Just a quick reminder that the reader from Off-Limits has now become an OFC called Elena and Tommi is now our reader!

Word Count: 796 words

Warnings: Language! Mention of Masterbation! Minor Angst!

Rugby Explained

Dividers by Me!

Boston Bears Masterlist / Masterlist

“Levinson is everything okay?” the head coach questioned with an arched brow “Everything at home?” 

Ari felt his defences go up all of a sudden “Perfect” he stated “Can I go to training now or is there more to say on how I won’t represent my country?”

Once again the head coach didn’t react, nothing more than clench his jaw “No” he said gesturing for Ari to leave. 

Ari did exactly that, storming out of the media room. The door slammed loudly behind him. He couldn’t wait to get to the weight room where he could work through his frustrations which were only getting worse. 

He was so caught up in his anger that he wasn’t really looking where he was going. He turned a corner and ran straight into someone. He looked down to see a woman he didn’t recognise, her hair up in a messy bun, and baggy clothes. She certainly didn’t work here, and only staff and players were allowed in the building.

She stuttered an apology but Ari’s anger and frustration that had been simmering since the match on Saturday boiled over “Who the hell are you? You know you can’t be back here? What are you a fan desperate for an autograph or media desperate for a scoop?” He demanded.

The woman stuttered slightly before completely breaking down in tears. Ari scoffed in frustration and moved to step around her, he’d have to go find security to deal with this. 

He’d just stepped around her when he heard someone speak up behind him “Y/N? What on earth are you doing here?” Elena said.

Ari turned around and saw Chris and Elena standing there. Elena had a look of shock on her face, while Chris was frowning at Ari. He then glanced back down at the woman beside him who was sobbing. It took him a moment but he then recognised you. You were the bombshell that had him by the balls from the moment he met you back in late April. 

“What the fuck Levinson” Chris demanded as Elena rushed over and hugged you. 

“I- I didn’t-“ Ari stuttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

“What's wrong? Why on earth are you here?” Elena asked you softly.

“I’m sorry I meant to call yesterday but I forgot and- and-“ you stuttered before breaking down into sobs again. 

“Hey, hey, hey it’s okay let’s get you out of here” Elena said shooting a glare up at Ari before wrapping an arm around you and leading you away.

Chris watched as Elena took you away and out of sight before turning back to Ari “What the hell man? Why’d you yell at her? Why’d you upset her like that?” Chris demanded.

Ari shook his head unable to think of a reason “I didn’t even recognise her” he muttered “I thought she was a crazed fan or something”

“You shouldn’t have yelled at her even if she was!” Chris argued shaking his head at him.

“I know… I- I fucked up” Ari admitted.

Fucked up was an understatement. From the moment he set eyes on you in that hotel bar you captured his attention and never let go. You looked absolutely stunning in the red sundress you’d been wearing, a beautiful smile on your face as you laughed with Elena. He’d felt this tugging sensation that drew him closer and he knew he had to at least say hello. 

He’d been secretly devastated when you held out your hand and showed off your engagement ring. He’d only just met you, he knew nothing about you but he found himself cursing the universe that he’d met you too late. He hadn’t missed his chance, he never had one. Yet despite all that he couldn’t just drop it, he wanted to get to know you, flirt with you. Maybe he hoped that your relationship was on the rocks and he had a chance, that he couldn’t leave LA without even trying. Maybe he hoped it would get you out of his system.

It didn’t.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about you for the last 5 months. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he’d fantasised about you, and thought of you whenever he needed to find a release. Ari was no stranger to finding hookups but he hadn’t even managed to do that because he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

He kicked himself for the way he behaved. If you didn’t want him before, you definitely wouldn’t want him now after he made you cry. His heart ached as he replayed the moment your face crumpled, your left hand moving to cup your mouth as if you could stop yourself from crying.

Wait.

“She wasn’t wearing her ring” Ari muttered as he looked over at Chris.

A/N: I am so sad to be sharing the offical ending of Chris' story but so excited to share the first proper sneak peak into Ari's story which will go live in the New Year!!! and for those of you who will miss Chris and his medic as you can see they will definitely be featuring in future stories! See you in the New Year!

Sharing is caring so please reblog and leave a comment to really make my day!

This series has no schedule, please don’t ask when it will be updated! Same goes for Masterlist, AO3 and Wattpad!

Off-Limits Series Masterlist / Boston Bears Masterlist / Masterlist

I don’t have a taglist but follow @secretswiftymarvelfanlibrary​ and turn on post notifications to stay up to date!

[the-blind-geisha]

In Other Words, I Love the Real You

Desc: Princess Peach expected to merely entertain royalty and agree on an alliance with this king. Nothing more. What she didn't expect was how easily she'd fall for King Bowser when he actually was the better version of himself in this disguise.

Rated: 18+

Words: 5,619K

A/N: Story commission for @untoldsoup! Keep in mind, this is not canon to his awesome comic works he makes! It was a fun idea he commissioned me to write, and I was so excited to write for this! 👀

I used Bowser's name over Koopa in the beginning, as Bowser didn't get his true name in the series till later.

Artwork by @untoldsoup!

Princess Peach was hardly a stranger to entertaining guests of nobility, but this letter came promptly out of nowhere in regards to a king wishing to have a moment of her time when it came to him and his people. She made certain her crown was in place, eyeing Toadsworth out of the corner of her eye. 

“You said his name was King Bowser?” The princess couldn't help but feel that name sounded a bit sinister. Maybe it was no thanks in kind to how many kings about the many worlds were hardly kind people. 

But she had to remember never to judge a book by its cover���in this case—it would be his title. It would be the king’s caliber she would judge over whatever exchange would take place.

“Indeed, Your Highness! Says he comes from a far off kingdom to which he…failed to mention in his letter.” Toadsworth couldn't help but find that a bit odd. Normally royalty would state where they hailed from.

“Interesting…” Her words trailed off, gloved hand to her cheek in thought. “It would be wise that I do not enter this discussion ill-equipped then.” It was there she headed for her bedroom door, finding herself properly prepared for the meeting.

Toadsworth scurried after her, staying in pace with her every move to the best of his mobility. “You read my mind then, princess. While I would like to believe the best in everyone, it is better we have some power ups nearby in case this is another scheme of sorts.”

She smiled down at her adviser. “Let us hope we are overreacting at any rate, but please—do see to it that the guards are prepared, and I at least have a fire flower at my disposal.”

Taking to her throne nearly an hour later, she anxiously awaited for whoever was to greet her. Would it be another trap? She had grown tired of those. All of her thoughts were drowned out when one of her Toads bowed before her to announce this king’s arrival.

“The Mushroom Kingdom proudly welcomes King Bowser and his advisor, Taika the Wise.”

The doors opened, having Princess Peach on the edge of her seat as the light from outside blinded her ability to see who was truly entering the throne room. Soon, the light subsided, allowing her to take in the sight of the two visitors.

They were human. Their figures said that much, but the advisor was a bit harder to see. They were hunched over with a gnarled wooden staff that they used to walk (or so it seemed). A blue, hooded robe covered most of their form, but she could tell they had a white beard with wild white hair to match. That made it impossible for her to even see his face.

But that was hardly the face she cared to examine after a point. This King Bowser caught her sight right away. His red hair was hypnotizing at first glance, but his eyes, holding a power all on their own, stole her attention away with ease. Noting that only a cape seemed to dress his upper half, she tried to still her desire to point it out.

For all she knew, it could be a clothing choice in their kingdom. It was best not to ask and offend him.

But as Peach’s eyes scanned him for anything out of the ordinary, it was there that a spiked shell on his left shoulder made her heart squeeze in fear. It reminded her so much of the Koopa King’s. Her fingers curled ever slightly on the throne’s armrest, doing her all to remain professional as she watched him bow.

“Princess Peach, it is an honor to be here before you.” Bowser waited so long to approach her in such a neutral way for what felt like years. Now with this magical crown that allowed him to dawn the appearance of one of her own kind and Kamek’s powers at his side to hide away his horns at least, everything was so much easier.

He felt like a new being all together.

“Greetings, King Bowser. You may rise.” When he did so, she too took to her feet and headed down the steps to find herself face-to-face with this foreign king. “However, I must say that I am a bit saddened to not read where you hail from.”

Even if her tone was playful, Bowser couldn't help but recoil a bit hoping she wouldn't mention that part. His attention shifted down to his advisor, feeling their eyes staring at him from even the darkness of the hood. It was a voiceless means of encouragement. That would do.

“I preferred to have said it to you in person, my Lady. What fun could be had if I told you everything in the letter?” He opened his hand, hoping she would take it and not be repulsed as she often acted around him. “Otherwise, my journey here would have been meaningless.”

Peach cocked a brow at his confession, a small smile forming upon her beautiful lips. “You have quite the way with words, Your Majesty.” Her hand slid within his, which prompted the king to kiss the back of her hand. Her heart fluttered, never expecting such a gesture.

“But to answer your question, I hail from the far east. It’s known as the Piranhabons Kingdom.” It was a bold statement to make, all things considered. But Petey wasn't there to whine about it, and Bowser wasn't blind—he saw her looking at the spiked shell on his shoulder earlier.

“Piranha?” Peach’s fingers touched upon her lips in thought. “So I’m assuming your kingdom tends to have quite a few piranha plants?”

Bowser wondered the better way to go about this, without bringing so many eyes upon him into the mix. He could proudly say most Toads were hardly clever, but it was Toadsworth he worried over. Even now, he could feel that old man staring at him in a way as if to hope the king would slip up.

“May I ask that we continue to talk about such matters elsewhere?” He looked about the castle’s throne room, finding it to be as lavish as ever. Still, it felt a bit suffocating to say the least. “You could give me a tour of your castle or your kingdom.”

Peach let a small laugh slip from her painted lips. “The kingdom might take awhile, so, castle it is.”

The Koopa King felt like he’d be pushing his luck if he tried to ask to hold her hand or anything like that again. But he couldn't deny how nice it felt to actually be able to kiss even the back of it like that. She didn't contort her face in such a way that made it look as though she wished she could squash him.

To say it felt nice was an understatement.

Stepping to the side, Bowser bowed with his arms motioning for her to lead the way. While he could easily say he knew these walls inside and out like his own, it would be nice to see what she herself had to say about it all. 

“Taika…” It was so odd calling Kamek that, but he insisted on the name. “Stay here and keep Princess Peach’s advisor entertained.”

“I have a better plan,” Peach interjected. “Toadsworth, why don't you show Taika around? I am sure he would appreciate it.”

There was something in the old Toad’s expression that would assume he would have much preferred to stay beside the princess. While he could hardly do anything to protect her, he would rather be certain that he was at least some sort of obstacle to keep evildoers from attacking her.

“I, umm.. As you wish, Your Highness.”

The moment she opened the doors and headed through the winding hallways, she playfully smiled as she glanced over her shoulder at the king. “Alright. We’re out of prying ears and eyes…”

Those beginning words made him tense. Did she actually figure him out?! How could it have failed?! The disguise was perfect!

“...Tell me a bit more about yourself,” Peach concluded, putting Bowser a bit more at ease.

He rubbed the side of his neck, sighing out his relief. “Oh, well…to answer your first question, there are quite a few different species of piranha plants out where I rule. The usual fair take up my castle grounds, though. And the Megasmilax is more like a guard of mine.”

Bowser was relieved that he managed to run himself through this speech idea back at home. He knew he couldn't sell the thought of being a king from a foreign land if he didn't jot down a few notes about this fictitious world he came from.

Peach inhaled sharply at the name. “Megasmilax?! I remember that creature not far from my own castle! It nearly took it over, had it not been for the Mario Brothers.” She inched a bit closer to Bowser, curious as to how he even managed to keep such a powerful thing under his command. “Are you certain you aren’t just being held captive, Your Majesty?”

He laughed at her playful tone, which clung to her question. “Of course, he is a bit of a handful, but once you manage to keep piranhas under control and treat them well enough, they return the favor.” Bowser tried to shrug it all off as though it were hardly anything huge.

It was there her attention returned to the spiked shell upon his shoulder. “I couldn't help but notice your rather interesting attire choice.”

“Ah. That.” He had to think of a story. Quickly. Unless she wanted to visit, he should be in the clear to lie about a few things here and there. “It came from a Spiny Boss type—we have quite a few of those Spinies in my kingdom. They can prove to be quite a handful.”

It was disheartening to talk down about his own people now and again. Yes, they could be slackers and some could rightfully get on his nerves, but a lot of them were hard workers. 

Princess Peach could hear the odd sorrow buried in his tone when he spoke of such a thing. “Oh. I see. Perhaps it is for the better we get down to business, shall we? What has brought you to my kingdom at such a short notice? You said it was urgent.”

Bowser cleared his throat as he gazed upon her without fear.

Without fear… how odd it was to admit that he was nervous to look upon her with such confidence once more. Eyes were usually the window to the soul, or so he remembered the princess herself warning him sometime ago. The last thing he wanted to do was give her too much of a peek inside of him. She mustn't see the true monster inside.

But even just then, he found it almost difficult to look away. To say she was beautiful almost felt insulting. There had to be a better word for it, but if there was, it always escaped his grasp.

“I heard you have problems with the monstrous turtle king from the Darklands.” He was trying so hard not to insult himself too much, but he really had to offer the thought that he was there to help in some manner.

Peach rolled her eyes. “Yeah, the Koopa King. He can indeed be quite an annoyance.”

Bowser flinched, as those words hit harder than any attack Mario could even dare land on him. “He seems quite persistent, or so I was told from my area of the world.”

After all of the wandering, Peach managed to find her way towards one of the balconies that allowed her to see out and about her glorious kingdom. Her gloved hands gripped the marble handrail while attempting to push the fear from her mind. “He is, but I must ask…” She stalled for a moment, turning to look at Bowser with a raise of her brow. “...what exactly do you hope to bring to my army?”

“Magic and strength,” Bowser answered without hesitation. “While my own advisor is well versed in magic abilities, I am able to handle such powers as well. They even exceed his.”

“May I ask what kind of magic it is?”

“Attack magic, among many other types.” He avoided the use of saying black magic, or he knew that might give him away. Maneuvering his fingers above his palm, he was able to conjure up a flower in his possession.

While Kamek and even Junior needed special items to call upon the magic they used, Bowser hardly needed any of that. Not to say he’d turn down any magical item that could asset him, as it could easily amplify his powers. With the rose in his possession, it was there he offered it boldly over towards the princess.

Peach looked at the gift with such confusion that Bowser worried he may have overdone it. But the expression swiftly melted into a sweet softness that encouraged the tension within him to relax.

She accepted the gift, bringing it to her nose with a pleasant hum at the aroma. “Very well, my King.” Peach kept the gift close to her chest. “I will gladly accept this proposal of yours. But still, I must say, I know so very little of your kingdom.” She thought about where to take this conversation next. “How about we talk about this all over dinner? Just you and me. Nobody else.”

Bowser’s gasp was hardly quiet, as his excitement bubbled up within him. Fist to his chest, he bowed. “It would be such an honor and a pleasure, my Lady.”

Princess Peach shook her head at his gestures. “There’s no need for formality anymore, King Bowser. Just call me Peach.” Her gloved hand touched upon his shoulder, lighting a fire within him that was hard to ignore. “And there’s no need to bow either. I promise, it’s alright.”

For the first time in forever, he smiled in return. “Then yeah. Same for me. Please, just call me Bowser.”

“Bowser it is then.” Her fingers twirled about the rose, reminding herself it would be for the better that she put the flower somewhere safe. Even if it was spawned by magic. “One of my guards will take you to a spare room in my castle.” It was there she turned and headed back inside. Beckoning to one of the Toads, she relayed the orders to him before her eyes laid upon the king once more. “I am to assume you’ll be staying the night at the very least?”

He was so lost in her vision. Never had he been able to be so close to her without her recoiling in utter fear or disgust. She was looking at him as though he were her equal. If he could cherish this moment forever, he would.

Peach found his silence odd, making her worry he may have been offended by the offer. “Bowser?”

All it took was her soothing tone to beckon to him. “Y-Yes! Of course. I would think a week would be more than long enough, if that’s not too much of a burden.”

Peach smiled, shaking her head. “No trouble at all. I will see you at dinner then, Bowser.”

Bowser and Kamek reunited, making their way to the lavish bedroom they would be allowed for their week stay. The entire room was a beautiful white marble with power star designs tucked away at the top of some of the pillars. A rug was the only thing separating the two canopy beds, making it appear as though it perhaps were an extra bedroom for some visiting royalty.

When the doors closed, leaving them alone, Kamek hurried to his king’s side. “A week?!” he asked in a raised whisper. “Sire, I appreciate your dedication to your heart, but… it would be wise to make certain we don’t test the limits of this power! That crown could possibly only do so much!”

Bowser was careful when he touched the Super Crown, not wishing for it to be removed so soon. “It’s fine, Kamek,” he grumbled, trying to ignore the old man’s worrisome attitude. “I know what I am doing. Besides, you have magic that can spawn a better bed fit for my actual size—don't you?”

The old wizard sighed, nodding. “Of course I do. But that’s beside the point! If you truly wish to have the princess’ heart, it is wise you don’t push things too far too soon. We still need to have moments to return home. What if the crown is akin to a power up? You could take damage or the power could be exhausted to where you could return to your actual self before her!”

“I know the risks!” The King roared angrily, prompting Kamek to be silenced. “But, it would take quite a bit of strength to ever wound me and release any hold a power up could be placed on me. As for its limits, magic can rest just as we do,” Bowser insisted with a low growl accompanying his words.

Kamek could sense he had lost a part of the king somewhere down the line. It made him feel dreadful. Bowser was no doubt drunk on the very thought of having Peach for himself. “I must say, I am surprised you granted her your true name.”

Pushing from the bed he had sat upon, Bowser made it over towards the vanity in the bedroom. “I know.” Again, he was trying not to be mean to his own adopted father in the matter, but to say he was intoxicated on the day would be putting it mildly. “I know what they say… that there is power in a name, and no matter where you are, magic can easily reach you to do more harm should anybody in this world have it.”

It was there he boldly removed the crown to watch as he turned back into the giant, hulking beast that laid underneath it all. Smoke huffed through his nostrils as he continued.

“But if I trust anybody with my true name, it would be her.” His brow furrowed, staring down his reflection that he still saw as imperfect. “Besides, I am no coward. I will tear apart any and all who dare try to take me down.”

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

That one week became far longer, as the king couldn't help himself when it came to entertaining the princess in hopes to obtain her heart. He did everything he could to distract her and her peoples’ minds whenever he had to actually go back to the Darklands to tend to something. Never did he want a sliver of the truth to bubble to the surface.

The Koopa King couldn't help but enjoy the stories he fed her. While not all of what he said was fictitious, he left a good bit of the lava part out when it came to his kingdom. That should be enough to throw her off from the truth underneath it all.

“All these talks about how you have such gorgeous cherry blossom trees and a pond full of multicolored Cheep Cheeps…it makes me wish I could have a moment to spend with you in your kingdom.”

Hearing Peach say such a thing, the king swallowed his fear. “More than anything I would love to, but now would be a bad time.”

He was running out of excuses. Even with having his troops at his side under their own illusion veil, Bowser was worried when the cover might be blown. The Koopas were awful at trying to act like humans. To excuse away their awful hunched over position, he just said the majority had been through a lot, but were still willing to fight.

Peach gave him a playful side eye, sighing shortly after as she knew another excuse was coming. “And how will the Mushroom Kingdom protect yours if I am left in the dark as to where it could truly be? Would you not wish to have a warp pipe put in place so we could always be connected?”

All the things he dreamed of her saying were being spoken before him, and yet, he had to keep denying her. It made him frown, thinking of the best way to talk to her about things he really wanted to know.

“Princess, may I be personal with you for a moment?” He reached over, taking her hand within his own. Over the many days they had spent together, Peach had warmed up to the thought of this strange king holding her hand in such a way. There was not a single part of her that fought him on the gesture.

She tilted her head, fingers gripping his own hand rather tightly as if to offer some form of reassurance. “I am listening.”

They were alone in the royal courtyard. That would be enough. 

“I was curious—seeing as I’ve heard why the Koopa King continued to speak with you so often—is there a reason you do not return his love?” He tried not to sound so defeated asking that, but his expression faltered all the same. Bowser worried what her answer may be.

Peach sighed, as if frustrated to be confronted with such a question. Her hand slid from his as she ventured over towards the fountain not far from where they stood. Gazing down at her reflection, she blew a sigh out of the corner of her lips. “That beast thinks that forcing me to love him will do any good to the two of us.”

Bowser bit back the desire to tell her that it was the only way to get her alone. Hearing the title of ‘beast’ made his heart twist in agony. “Sounds to me like you view him on the outside as a monster.”

“He is a monster to me because of the way he behaves!” Peach snapped, as if offended the king would think her to be so shallow. She turned, hand upon her bejeweled chest as she continued, “The Koopa King could look like any creature in this world, and I would gladly consider his love, if he wasn't so selfish and stubborn!” 

“And… what about me? Have I been a monster to you these past several weeks?”

Peach found the question odd as she approached him, grabbing his hands to hold them tightly. “Why would you ever think that? It’s been a delight to get to hear about you and your people.”

The truth hit him far harder than he expected. Breathless, he found himself fighting over the thought of just keeping the crown in place and ignoring his past life. But one way or another, he and herself would have to face the truth.

“I wish I could continue with this.” His tone was heavy with defeat as the desire to be honest was eagerly winning out. Moving his hands from hers, he took a few steps back. “But, will you continue to believe me if I told you that I love you too much to continue this lie?”

“Bowser…?”

His fingertips reluctantly grabbed the Super Crown, removing it from his head to allow the illusion to fully melt away—Kamek’s powers as well. The sight of it made Peach recoil in horror as she backed away in fear of what he would dare try to do with her now.

“You…!”

It was a nightmare. Her eyes no longer held joy and admiration—they, once again, held nothing but fear and disgust. She was gawking at him with such horror that all the beautiful moments the two spent together were melting away into oblivion. He couldn't help but feel as though she lied. That it was indeed this version of him that she hated.

Maybe if he were a beautiful human king… this would all be different…

“Forgive me. I can’t stand to see you looking at me like this. I promise to merely grab my things and leave.” Bowser placed the crown back upon his head, making it easier for him to flee from the scene without drawing attention to himself.

Peach could hardly get a word out to him as he seemed to run back to the castle in hopes to warn Kamek and see to it that his people as well left and were all safe. She hurried after him, calling for the guards to see to it that her own swiftly put in place plan could be set in motion before it was too late.

Bowser just needed to make sure that Kamek was at least the first one out. While he knew that the old wizard could handle himself, Bowser still would prefer to be the last one to head back home in case something went wrong.

There was no knock at the door. It merely swung open as Peach made her way inside. “You ran off before I even had a moment to talk to you.”

“Your voiceless expression said enough.”

“I was in shock!” Peach insisted, grabbing his hand to make him stop with the nonsense. “You lied to me…So what else did you lie to me about? Were all those sweet things you said to me a lie as well?”

Bowser recoiled in disgust. “Of course not! I meant every single one of them!” He huffed through his nostrils. “In fact, I’ve said them before to you when you only saw me as a monster. You just never bothered to listen!”

Grabbing onto the spiked collar, she forced him down to her level to where their lips met.

The king’s eyes widened, not expecting such a bold action. In fact, he half expected her to slap him. The joy within his body nearly brought him to his knees, but he dared not move in fear she would regret her actions. The kiss was simple, a mere act of honesty before she pulled away just a bit to look into his burning eyes once more.

“I am listening now,” she whispered, allowing Bowser’s lips to taste the warmth of that sentence.

Still, the negative voices were loud. “Only because I look like this.”

“No,” Peach scoffed with a shake of her head. “Only because you showed me a better side of yourself.” It was there she reached up and knocked the crown off to the side to prove her point.

The crown didn't shatter. It merely rolled upon the ground as the magic released its hold upon Bowser, prompting him to transform back into the fire-breathing Koopa he was underneath it all. He almost felt naked in the moment, had it not been for her sweet kiss earlier to subdue the tension a bit. It was there his claw curled under her chin, urging her to gaze upon him all the more. 

“It will prove a challenge to kiss you like this but…” The flat of his tongue rolled across the nook of her neck, as his hands went to work removing her dress without destroying it in the process. “...not impossible.”

Peach tilted her head to the side, a small moan slipping from her lips in the process. As her gloved fingertips caressed his scaled body, she couldn't help but do her best to urge for more.

Bowser was too drunk on the moment to question whether this would be a good idea or not. 

When she felt him about to pull away, Peach found her lips trailing down from his broad chest to his stomach and beyond. “We will be left alone.” Upon her knees, she winked up at him with a teasing smirk. “I made certain of that.”

He couldn't think straight after such an honest admission. Even with her gentle touch, it was more than enough to light a far more intense fire in his belly as she continued. Bowser closed his eyes, soaking in the trail that her caress left. The moment he felt them upon the base of his cock, he huffed through his nostrils.

“I would hardly think you to be in pain,” Peach teased, letting her lipstick mark every inch of him as she trailed from base to tip. She admired the interesting texture that caressed her lips in return. It was erotic in its own way.

“Hardly in pain,” Bowser confessed, his hand removing her crown in return so that he could fondle each gold strand in loving want. “More as though I am embraced in a dream I never wish to wake from.”

“It is quite the dream if we are both sharing it.” Her palm stroked the underside of his erection, only for him to grab onto her wrist and urge her away. It shocked her, making her assume she did something wrong.

The tip of his claw touched the gloves she wore. “Remove these. I want to feel every bit of you.”

With a smile, Peach did as he asked. The gloves accompanied her dress. She resumed what she was doing.

That euphoric warmth made his teeth clench as his palm rested on the back of her head and urged her lips to the tip of his erection. Even though she knew what he wanted, Peach played against him a bit. The way the princess saw it was revenge for times past.

But she could only fight him for so long. Her tongue flicked across the head of his cock before finally letting her mouth tend to it with a throaty moan that could easily be heard.

With a vocal cry of pleasure, the Koopa King nearly fell to his knees. He remained firm. He let her adjust to the size of him before guiding her head up and down on his length. The tight warmth of her throat embraced him soon enough, and it was there he worried he may cum far too soon.

Was he that needy for her all this time? It wouldn't surprise him, but he was hardly sober minded to think too deeply on it all.

Her hand caressed his sack in the process, and while she couldn't make it all the way to the base of his erection, it hardly mattered. Beautiful blue eyes stared up at him through her heart shaped bangs that were a bit of a mess about her features. It was there she steadily pulled back to the head of his erection with a lewd pop of a sound when she finally found her throat and mouth freed.

The string of saliva broke the connection that they had until the king found his palms on her shoulders and urged her onto the rug that decorated the floor. He didn't care where they were. He wanted her. He needed her.

It was her turn to trail her fingers through his hair, watching as the fiery red strands slipped through her caress. “So impatient. Like always.”

“With you, it’s hard to remain patient,” Bowser insisted, his own hands trailing over the perfect curves of her body. He found himself enjoying as her skin seeped through the tight hold he had upon her, as he guided her closer to the head of his erection.

Maybe she felt some sort of nervousness to the act. But all the same, she reached up and touched his cheek to try and settle whatever worries he may have had. “I can handle it,” she whispered, breaking down whatever barrier of doubt there was between them all the more.

His grip tightening upon her hips, he felt the sweet, erotic kiss of her entrance touch upon the head of his cock before urging it ever steadily down the length of him.

Peach arched her back off of the ground, a sharp cry of ecstasy filling the room as the ridges of the Koopa King’s cock encouraged her own euphoria all the more. The erotic knot within her stomach tightened blissfully as the king assisted her small frame upon his length. It was a lustful dance that had her lidded eyes gazing drunkenly up at him.

Both of their breathing grew louder and closer together where neither one of them needed to speak a single word in regards to how they felt. Bowser could even feel the warm squeeze upon his sensitive length, knowing she would cum soon.

He inched forward, sheathing himself completely within her as he pressed his forehead against hers. Lips curled as he felt himself unable to keep his climax at bay for much longer, and it was there the warm rush of his release filled her to where his cum seeped between their connection and marked her inner thighs and the rug beneath them.

“B-Bowser…!” Peach cried out in pleasure, as her own orgasm uncoiled within her body and allowed her to mark him in kind. A pleasant sigh hissed through her clenched teeth as her fingernails pricked at his skin while riding out her orgasm.

The king caught himself, not wishing to accidentally crush her with his weight as he hovered over her with sweat beading from his brow. He was assisted in returning to himself when Peach’s bare palm caressed his cheek.

“Was it everything you wanted, my King?” she asked, her words weak from the aftermath of it all.

He took her hand, keeping it there upon his cheek as he wished for it to remain where it was for as long as she would allow. “Everything and more, my Princess.” His lips found their way to her cheek, and then to her neck where he held her tightly there in a loving and protective embrace.

END

[nosyp]

Crowned by Desire

Chapter 1

A/N = This was inspired by @kupidachillea, pls check out her work too🙏

Warning = dark, yandere, toxic stuff, read at ur own risk PLEASE

Pairings = Greek Gods x reader

Summary = Thrown into the realm of gods, you become the center of their dangerous intrigue. Some see you as a temptation, others as a threat... but what will you become in their immortal world?

Word count = 1.2k words

Story down below 👇 (READ AT UR OWN RISK PLEASEEEE)

You were beautiful. Your life was pretty much amazing. You had food, shelter and clothes, you pretty much had everything you needed. Oh how you wished you could go back…

It all changed when you found yourself trapped in the realm of the gods.

At first, you thought it was a dream. One minute, you were walking down the street, the sun shining on your face, a soft breeze ruffling your hair. The next, a wave of blinding light enveloped you, pulling you into a world far beyond your understanding. This place wasn’t like Earth. It was something ancient, untouchable, dark.

You took a step forward. And another, and another. One foot after the other, you gradually got closer. You could hear a cacophony of voices behind the door. And finally… using all your might, you pushed the door open… only to reveal a whole new area. 

And it was… the gods.

At first, you couldn't believe your eyes. The moment you stepped through the threshold, you were met with a huge palace, glowing with an ethereal light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Columns of gold and marble stretched high into the heavens, and the air buzzed with an unnatural energy. It was one that made you feel small, insignificant. 

The gods were real. They weren’t just stories and myths from a book. They were here, in front of you, with… their eyes trained on you like a hungry pack of wolves waiting for their prey.

Apollo, the ever-so-radiant god of the sun, was the first to approach. His golden hair shimmered with every move of his very being, and his eyes, those eyes… saw right through you, as if he could read every thought and desire in your mind. He smiled at you, slow and deliberate, his gaze never leaving yours. "Ah, a new guest," he murmured, voice smooth like honey, but with an edge of something darker beneath. "How... quaint. Who might you be?"

You opened your mouth to say something, to demand an explanation, but the words died in your throat. Then the moment you tried to open your mouth, Zeus just had to make his presence known with a thunderous clap. The room seemed to shake as he stepped forward, his large, commanding figure overshadowing everyone around him. His gaze was both terrifying and enthralling as he took you in with an almost imperceptible smirk.

"You don't belong here," he rumbled, his voice a mixture of power and amusement. "You should go, while we still let you."

Before you could even respond, another God appeared from behind you. Hades. His eyes were like two burning embers, glowing with a strange intensity. He observed you with the same cool detachment he reserved for souls, but something in his gaze made your breath hitch.

“Wait! I think we should… keep them,” he says, with a peculiar tone.

What the? Why would they want to keep you? You were practically nothing compared to them.

Eros, the god of love, smirked as he walked past, brushing a finger along your cheek. A shiver ran down your spine. "Don’t you see? She’s special," he said with a chuckle, his voice smooth but edged with cruelty. "In a world of gods, she’s a rarity. The temptation, the ultimate prize." His lips twisted into something wicked, a stark contrast to the sweetness his domain implied.

The temptation? Your heart pounded as you silently questioned his words. What did he mean?

Before you could dwell on it, a sharp voice echoed through the grand hall, shaking you to your core.

“WHO IS THAT?”

All heads turned toward the staircase. Hera stood at the top, her figure illuminated by the divine glow of the palace. Her presence was intense, her piercing gaze like a blade.

Her finger pointed directly at you, her voice dripping with venom. "Who dares bring that... thing here?"

The room tensed. You swallowed hard, heat rising to your face as Hera's fury bore down on you.

“Woah, woah! Wait a second,” Hermes interjected, stepping forward with his usual carefree grin and a mock air of surrender. “Let’s not go burning the palace down just yet, Hera.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. Hera’s sharp gaze flicked to him, silencing whatever joke he was about to follow up with.

Your mouth acted before your brain could catch up. "Y-Yeah, Hera... maybe there’s been a misunderstanding?” You winced at how small your voice sounded, but what else could you do?

Her eyes snapped back to you, fiery and unrelenting. "Silence!"

The room was silent for a moment, the air crackling with unspoken energy. Hera’s piercing glare held steady, but it was clear the others were pondering what to do with you.

Zeus stepped forward, his imposing frame radiating authority. "Enough," he commanded, his thunderous voice cutting through the tension. "This mortal is here, whether by fate or folly. The question is… what shall we do with her?"

His words sparked a ripple of murmurs among the gods. Some exchanged curious glances, while others looked at you like a puzzle to be solved—or prey to be devoured.

"Send her back," Hera snapped, her tone sharp and unyielding. "She’s a nuisance at best, a danger at worst."

"Now, now," Dionysus chimed in with a sly grin, stepping closer to you. His gaze lingered in a way that made your skin crawl. "Why waste such… potential? What if we kept her?" He tilted his head, feigning innocence, though the glint in his eye betrayed darker intentions. "As a servant... or perhaps a plaything?"

Your heart dropped. Plaything? You took an instinctive step back, your hands trembling at your sides.

Hades, who had remained silent up until now, raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Interesting suggestion," he mused, his voice low and smooth. "But a mortal in our realm... as anything more than a servant? It’s unprecedented."

Apollo leaned casually against a nearby pillar, his golden aura shimmering faintly. "Unprecedented doesn’t mean impossible," he said, his voice laced with amusement. His gaze flickered to you, a smirk playing on his lips. "She could prove... entertaining."

"Entertaining?" Hera’s voice was practically a roar, her fury reigniting. "You would reduce our divine realm to a circus for a mortal?"

Hermes cut in, raising his hands in mock surrender once more. "Relax, Hera. We’re just brainstorming here. No one’s decided anything… yet."

"But I think we all agree on one thing," Zeus interjected, his booming voice silencing the growing bickering. His eyes locked onto you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "She’s not leaving. Not yet."

The room went still. Every gaze turned to you, their collective attention making your breath hitch.

"Let’s see," Zeus continued, his tone contemplative. "Perhaps she can prove her worth. If she’s to remain here, she’ll need to serve a purpose. A servant, a messenger... or something else entirely." His smile widened, but it wasn’t comforting. "Let’s see what fate has in store for our unexpected guest."

A/N = I'm probs js gonna short-short chapters for this series... PLS FEEDBACK IF U CAN

[babyflorencee]

Feeling Diva

Louis Tomlinson x fem!Reader

The dim light of the afternoon slanted through the blinds, casting golden stripes on the couch where Louis lay curled up, he was a tragic sight, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie two sizes too big. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and his nose was a faint shade of pink from all the tissues he’d gone through. Next to him, a box of tissues teetered precariously on the armrest, and an empty mug of tea sat abandoned on the coffee table.

Y/n emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of steaming soup, her hair pulled into a messy bun and her sweater slipping off one shoulder.

“Before you say anything,” Louis drawled from his fortress of pillows, his voice raspy but still sharp, while one of his hands draped over his forehead. “Just know I’m feeling diva today.”

Y/n stopped mid-step, her brow arching in curiosity. “You’re always a diva Lou” she asked, fighting a smirk.

He turned his head slowly, deliberately, to fix her with a look so sharp it could’ve sliced through steel. “Excuse me?” His voice dripped with disbelief, thick with the indignation only he could muster. “I am not always a diva. I am a man of refinement. There’s a difference.”

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh as she crossed the room, placing the bowl gently on the coffee table, before disappearing back into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, my bad. How could I forget?” She called out, voice slightly echoey, “Man of refinement. Got it.”

Louis sniffed, sitting up just enough to prop himself on one elbow, his other hand clutching the blanket to his chest, calling out to her. “Don’t patronize me, Y/n. I’m fragile right now. My fragility demands respect.”

Y/n came back into the room, stifling a laugh as she held out a cup of tea. “Whatever you say Lou. Now Drink this before it gets cold.”

He eyed the mug suspiciously, then looked back at her with the kind of skepticism that was usually reserved for used car salesmen. “What’s in it?”

“Tea. Honey. Lemon. Love and affection,” she said with a smile.

He squinted his eyes at her. “Hm, I don’t know if I trust the ‘love and affection’ part. Sounds toxic.”

“Lou.”

“Fine,” he said, sighing as though she were asking too much of him. He took the mug with a dramatic flair, pinky out, and sipped. “Too much lemon.”

“No, it’s perfect,” she said, stealing the mug back and setting it down.

“Well I disagree,” he muttered, sinking back into the couch.

Y/n rolled her eyes, pointing to the bowl on the table in front of him. “Well eat this before your attitude gives me a headache too.”

He stared at the soup as if it had personally offended him. “I can’t. I’m weak. My arms feel like noodles. Limp noodles, Y/n.”

She bit back a laugh, picking up the bowl. “I can feed it to you, if that’s what you’re angling for.”

Louis' eyes widened, and he leaned back, clutching the blankets back to his chest. “Oh, no. We’re not at that stage of desperation just yet.”

Y/n smirked. “But you just said—”

“Forget what I said. I’m a mystery. An enigma. Stop trying to solve me.”

She set the soup down with a sigh, leaning back against the couch. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you,” he said, turning to her with a weak but pointed look, “are underappreciative of my brilliance.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “Your brilliance?”

“Yes, my brilliance. It’s hard being this charming all while sick. You should be thanking me for gracing you with my presence in such a vulnerable state.”

Y/n leaned in, brushing a hand against his messy hair. “You’re right. I don’t deserve you.”

Louis closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head into her touch. “Finally. Some recognition around here.”

Y/n let out a sigh before pointing to the bowl of soup. “Eat.” 

Louis let out an exaggerated groan, leaning forward as if the mere act of moving was an unbearable burden. With a dramatic groan, he grabbed the bowl of soup, sighing as though the effort had physically wounded him, and began to stir the contents lazily with his spoon. “What even is this supposed to be? It looks like you’re trying to finish me off for good.”

Y/n crossed her arms, staring him down. “You’re lucky I didn’t just bring you a can of chicken noodle and call it a day.”

He gasped, clutching his chest like she’d just stabbed him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I might,” she teased, nudging his legs with hers.

“You’re a monster,” he muttered, eyeing the soup with a disgusted look. “Is this even seasoned properly?”

“You’re welcome to get up and cook your own soup,” she shot back.

“Babe, please.” He held up a hand as if to stop her. “I’m ailing. On the brink of death. You wouldn’t ask a dying man to fend for himself, now would you?”

She reached for the spoon, scooping some broth and holding it out. “Eat. Or I swear I’ll let you wither away just to get some peace and quiet.”

Louis pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing. “Well that’s just rude.”

Y/n groaned, shoving the spoon closer to his mouth. “Just. Eat. The. Damn. Soup.”

He sighed dramatically, accepting the spoon but glaring at her as he swallowed the bite. Immediately, his face twisted in over-the-top disgust. “Too much pepper,” he declared, shaking his head like a disappointed food critic.

“I didn't even put pepper in this. You're insufferable,” she muttered, putting the spoon back in the bowl.

“And yet,” he said, placing the bowl back on the table before reclining further into the pillows, “you love me.”

“Do I, though?” she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Louis' mouth dropped open in mock offense. “Y/n, if you don’t love me at my worst then you don’t deserve me in my prime.”

“Oh, please,” she said, laughing despite herself. “You don’t have a ‘prime.’”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a sly smile. “You didn’t seem to think that last week when I wore that tight black shirt that you like.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” he said, his grin widening. “I saw that blush. You’re so predictable.”

Y/n shoved a pillow at his face. “Shut up and eat your soup.”

Louis batted the pillow away, laughing weakly before groaning and clutching his head. “Ugh. You’re giving me a migraine now.”

“Love, you’ve had a headache all day,” she pointed out, her voice softening.

“Well, now it’s even worse,” he said, throwing her a pitiful look. “Congratulations babe. You broke me.”

She sighed, reaching out to brush his messy hair out of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. Do you want another cold compress?”

Louis blinked up at her, his expression suspicious. “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch, Lou. I just want you to feel better.”

He squinted at her, leaning back slightly. “Hm. This feels like a trap.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, standing up to fetch the compress.

“I saw that,” Louis called after her.

“Saw what?”

“The eye roll. So disrespectful.” He said, with a shake of his head, before flipping her off, although she couldn't see it.

When she returned with the cold compress, she carefully placed it on his forehead. Louis winced dramatically, flinging his arm over his eyes. “It's too cold!”

“It’s supposed to be cold.”

“Well, it’s doing its job a little too well.” He gave her another sharp glare.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re such a diva.”

He turned his head just enough to fix her with a glare. “If by ‘diva,’ you mean ‘icon,’ then yes, I am.” He said, with a proud smile.

Y/n leaned in close, her lips quirking into a smile. “You know, for someone who claims to be on the brink of death, you’re awfully energetic.”

Louis huffed, flipping her off again, but holding it up a little longer than before. “For someone who loves me, you’re awfully annoying.”

She rolled her eyes again, this time deliberately. “Lucky for you, I don’t mind annoying you.”

“Lucky for you, I’m too sick to retaliate properly,” he muttered, closing his eyes.

“Go to sleep, Lou,” Y/n said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

His eyes popped open, and he smirked. “Fine. But if I wake up cranky, just know that it will be all your fault.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “Go to sleep, you diva.”

He stuck his tongue out at her—a small, childish act of rebellion that made her roll her eyes so hard she was sure they’d get stuck. But instead of snapping back, Y/n just sat beside him, arms crossed, daring him to make the next move.

“Don’t sit there and judge me,” Louis said, his voice muffled as he sank deeper into the nest of blankets. “I’m not judging,” she said, though her grin betrayed her.

“Oh, you absolutely are,” he replied, popping his head out to glare at her. “I can feel it in the air. The judgment. The disgust.” 

Y/n crossed her arms, her grin widening. “You’re so dramatic.”

Louis' eyes narrowed. He sniffled loudly for effect, making it sound like the universe itself had wronged him. “Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to be gracious right now? Because my ‘unsupportive girlfriend’”—he made air quotes with exaggerated disdain—“is out here bullying me in my time of need.”

She laughed, sitting down on the coffee table across from him. “I’m not bullying you, Babe. I’m literally just trying to take care of you.”

He sighed deeply, like a tragic hero staring down the cruelty of fate. “Taking care of me? By mocking me? By rolling your eyes like I’m some kind of burden?” His hand shot up again from the depths of his blanket cocoon, middle finger raised.

Y/n swatted his hand lightly, still laughing. “I’m just trying to help you, you big baby.”

“Baby?” he echoed, gasping like she’d just slapped him. “Wow. I pour my heart out, and I get called a baby. Do you even love me anymore?”

Y/n leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I'm not so sure right now.”

Louis threw the blankets off his chest, sitting up abruptly with a gasp of betrayal. “You did not just say that.” His expression shifted into a look so exaggeratedly wounded that Y/n had to bite her lip to keep from laughing again. “I have been out here, dying, and you—you—have the audacity to question your love for me?”

He flipped her off again, both hands this time, his fingers wobbling slightly like even they were tired of his nonsense.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said through giggles, reaching to tuck him back into the blankets.

“And you’re mean,” he shot back, letting her fuss over him but glaring daggers the entire time. “But fine. If you’re going to be cruel, I’ll just... suffer in silence.”

“Finally,” Y/n muttered, smirking as she adjusted the blanket over his chest.

“Oh, don’t finally me!” Louis barked, trying to sit up again, but she pushed him back down with ease. “This is abuse. This is oppression. I will not be silenced.”

She kissed the top of his head to silence him, and for a moment, he went still. Then, his lips curled into the faintest pout. “You think that’s going to fix it?”

“Fix what?” she asked, sitting back down.

“My broken heart,” he said, clutching his chest dramatically. “But sure, just kiss me like that solves everything. So lazy you are.”

Y/n groaned, leaning back. “Louis, if I wasn’t madly in love with you, I’d have left you hours ago.”

“And yet, here you are,” he quipped, smirking through his raspy voice. “I must be pretty incredible for you to put up with all this.”

“‘Incredible’ isn’t the word I’d use,” she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh, I know what word you’d use.” He pulled the blanket up to his chin, narrowing his eyes. “Diva.”

Y/n grinned. “If the crown fits...”

Louis raised a hand, flipped her off again—this time with such deliberate slowness it felt almost ceremonial.

“You know what? I’m done. You’re done. We’re all done. I can’t even look at you right now,” he muttered, pulling the blanket over his head.  “You’ve hurt me too much.”

Y/n shook her head, pulling the blanket back slightly to peek at him. “So dramatic.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied, although it came out slightly muffled. “Which, frankly, says a lot about you.”

She sat there, watching as he huffed and wiggled to get comfortable, his grumbles growing quieter with each passing moment.

“Goodnight, my little diva,” she said softly, taking the blanket fully off of his head before leaning down to kiss his temple one last time, before brushing a hand against his messy hair.

“Yeah whatever. Goodnight,” he mumbled back.

She laughed softly, her fingers lingering for a moment before pulling back. “You’re lucky I love you.”

His eyes opened, just a sliver, and his lips curved into a small, tired smile. “I know,” he said, before pulling the blanket back over his head, finally being quiet.

[lil-artist-blog-fandoms-ocs]

Can I have Henry X Norman Polk/The Projectionist for the doodle requests they are one of my favorite pairings but theres so little content of them </3

I have never thought about this ship before, if I'm being honest. But I think they would be an amazing power couple

Ass kicking is x2 times more effective now

(Requests are open!:D)

[batsplat]

I just read your post about the motogp community and I wanted to ask: what are the things that interests you more about the sport?

oof that's a big question... got hooked on the racing itself, stuck around for the fraught interpersonal relationships. I got into the sport in a slightly odd, roundabout way, but it was something fun and new and just 'for me' (again, not a mainstream sport around here) at a time when I was going through a major life change. a lot of what I enjoy about watching sports is the research that goes into fully understanding what I'm watching. motogp is slightly odd in that regard (as I suppose are motorsports I got into more recently in similar fashion), because my technical understanding of the sport will always remain fairly limited. plus, you just understand a sport differently if you've had the chance to compete in it yourself, and obviously I have never raced on a motorbike before. so, for the sport I grew up with that I play myself and have a coaching license for, when I watch a lot of my thoughts and notes concern quite precise details about techniques and tactics and all that stuff. in concrete terms, that is a sport I feel like I could be a commentator for with a little practise... but with motogp, I couldn't do that. it's always going to be a sport I consider myself an outsider to

which does make a difference to me! of course, there's also something fun to that... it's all a bit more new and exciting and less personal. I don't really mind as much if motogp ends up developing in ways I don't approve with, because it's not a sport I feel like is mine to lose. motogp doesn't quite have the capacity to hurt me in that way. I'm just passing through, taking what I can get, and I also accept there are a lot of people out there who understand a hell of a lot more than I do. I have to take experts and the riders themselves at their word more than I would for a sport where... not to sound arrogant, but I kinda believe I know more than a lot of the equivalent people there. but, the thing is, motogp has clearly been able to sustain my interest because it's given me so much that I enjoy researching - and here a lot of it isn't necessarily super technical (though obviously I always want to understand more about those aspects). at the end of the day, motogp provides a lot of the kind of drama I'd kill for in other sports. all of the aliens are absolute gifts in this regard... it's like you're being slapped in the face with one banger of a rivalry after the other, the kind of thing you really really need to dig for in other sports. it's the difference between me having to scrape together an athlete's 2003 blog posts on defunct websites to figure out how she's publicly managing perception of the rivalry with her erstwhile friend and... okay, I mean, essentially I do the same thing in motogp, but there's also the more recent stuff to enjoy. not all other sports can claim the same is all I'll say. plus it's just so bonkers like genuinely where else do you get this sort of thing

for me, sports is all about narrative, and narrative is all about conflict. the joy is in figuring out how the competition makes athletes express themselves - it's a sort of language, in a way, where competing is a kind of constant back-and-forth that's informed by the image of the self and the image of the other and the image of the other's image of the self and so on. it's something I'm a lot lot lot worse at interpreting in motogp... at the end of the day, when I'm talking about riding styles or ways of winning races or mind games or whatever, I'm essentially poking in the dark. I don't know what I'm talking about. which also impacts the level of psychological insight you can get, because having a detailed technical understanding makes it way easier to understand the mental calculus that underlies each action an athlete is taking. but! motogp gives me so much to work with because all the drama is so insane and over the top... it might be poking in the dark - but also they're constantly setting things on fire! so there's plenty that even the layperson can see. it means I follow motogp a bit more for the actual athletes themselves than I do in other sports, though I think it's still quite balanced

but yeah, for me following motogp is primarily about a) watching races and understand as well as possible what I'm watching, and b) going down research rabbit holes, which hopefully also helps (a). with anything I'm a fan of, I'm fairly wary of how I interact with fan spaces. which in motogp terms means there's a lot of things I am extremely disinterested in arguing about, especially if it's stuff I was already sick of seeing seven years ago. I enjoy my fair share of sports discourse, but I find goat debates quite possibly the most tedious thing in the universe in any sport. I love numbers, I have many many spreadsheets dedicated to sports stats for some of the most obscure shit under this sun, but if it's just a dick measuring contest over comparing athletes' achievements, then again, goot bye. mainly I just want to have fun and I'm not going to interact with this sport in a way that doesn't spark joy... I already have a sport I'll never escape from, one is quite enough for anyone. if there comes the point where a specific fan space or even the sport as a whole is no longer fun, I'm out

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

had quite the night drive earlier this evening.

[meatriarch]

im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.

[meatriarchived]

i did not sleep yay for me im still on my fuckshit but when i think of cc maria ( by extension also nosy maria but specifically noting the isolation aspect of cc );

can you imagine one day skimming the paper. its been a few weeks since all the commotion knowing your friends' had attempted to come find you but then were chased off. never actually heard or saw any of them, but you know they were around.

but you've been moved from the cells to a mattress upstairs. you're given more freedom, more wiggle room, you're allowed to do things - little hobby-type activities - you're given better foods, you're looked after by the older woman at the other house. the man who took you, who terrifies you still to some degree, slowly doesn't feel like such a stranger anymore, you're right to still be cautious around him but as the days, the weeks, pass by, there's simply a different air about him, and in the shack. lighter, in a sense.

you find yourself growing used to the new daily - the new routine. of waking to the sound of him getting ready for the day, of being left alone in there for hours sometimes, others trailing after him like a duckling, around the older womans' property, helping with an array of tasks. and you worry about upsetting her at first, unsure if doing so will earn a knife to the throat. you listen, you do as you're told, you find some kind of way to co-exist - all the while still, in the back of your mind, there's still a ray of hope,

that maybe, maybe, since the rest of them got away - that they're merely licking their wounds, that they'll get word out and even with all the silence since they had been on the property, there's that shred of hope that maybe? someone will waltz in, guns blazing so to speak, and you'll get out of this hell finally.

that is, until that day - that you're skimming through the paper, and you recognize yourself in a little column - and you realize you're staring at your own fucking obituary.

and in that moment everything seems solidified.

you're never getting away.

there's no point in it.

there's no one out there who are still trying to find you, get you back, bring you home, back to your mothers' arms, back to being an older sister, back to the circle of friends you loved so dearly.

you're dead.

not just to the world, but to those you loved - those who claimed to have loved you, too.

what else do you have at that point? where else do you go, even if you still tried to leave? who wouldn't look at you sideways for the blood that's already stained your hands? for the flesh caught between teeth?

who else is there, except the one murmuring encouragement and praise in your ear?

the only constant you've had in all these weeks? whose words rang true - clearly - that no one cared? that they abandoned you? left you there, didn't even care to make sure you were alive or not? only thought of themselves and got the fuck outta there without confirming if you were even still alive.