#how to reach out to someone who is struggling

[writer-freak]

hii! im having suchh kpop demon hunters brainrot rn omg, could you do sfw & nsfw headcanons for baby saja please? he's my saja boys bias lol, ty!!

A/N: Baby's also my bias, and I actually wanted to write these first but I kept going back and forth on how I see him😭. So if these seem a bit messy or all over the place, that's the reason (maybe I will rewrite them in the future). Thank you though and hope you enjoy

Casually flirty in the most annoying way. Like leaning against a doorframe while you're ranting and going, “You look so hot when you're mad at me.” He says it just to fluster you and walk off before you can react.

In general he will purposefully say the most inappropriate things at the worst possible times ,whispers“Wearing that again, huh? You trying to get punished?” right as you're about to leave the house.

Calls you a very inappropriate nickname even in public one day he just called you "my lil earthquake.” You asked him what that even meant and he just smirked and went, “Cause you shake when I—” Hand over his mouth. Immediately.

Back hugs but like he’ll wrap his arms around you real sweet, then suddenly whisper the filthiest shit in your ear just to make you choke on your coffee.

His hand is either in your back pocket or riding way too high on your thigh. Doesn’t care who might see, he likes the attention. "They should know who you belong to."

His favorite thing in the world? Annoying you for fun. He hides your stuff just to watch you lose your mind over it. “You sure you checked everywhere?” he says, absolutely knowing your phone is in his pocket.

Bored easily. If he's stuck somewhere, he’ll start texting you the wildest out-of-pocket things just to pass the time. “Do you think I’d look hot in a maid costume or should I make you wear it?”

Sometimes just pokes your cheek in public until you react, or slides his cold hands under your shirt just to hear you squeal.

Doesn't help right away when you struggle with something (like reaching a high shelf or carrying a box) because he likes watching you struggle. “Oh I know you got it” he teases from the doorway. Only helps after you call him a jerk (and even then he's grinning while doing it).

He acts innocent in front of others a bit more polite, wearing a smile, quiet. But the second you're alone, his expression changes just enough for you to realize: You're in danger. The fun kind.

Cocky. So cocky. Constantly smug about how much you love him. “You’re obsessed with me, y’know that?” If you deny it, he’ll raise a brow. “Mhm. Keep lying. See what happens later.”

Lowkey possessive. If you’re giving someone else too much attention? He’ll silently pull you onto his lap and whisper, “You’re being real loud for someone who wants to walk tomorrow.” All while sipping his drink like nothing happened.

Instead of “I love you,” he says “You’d be lost without me.” But if you say it first? He’ll blink slow and go, “Yeah. I love you too” Like it was obvious.

Surprisingly affectionate. He’ll play with your hair when you’re sitting together, doodle your name on the sides of his lyric pages, send you blurry animal memes captioned “us.”

He won’t say much, but he knows when your mood drops. Doesn’t make a big deal of it, just puts on your comfort show and hands you your favorite drink without a word.

Secretly protective. He’ll tease you mercilessly, but the moment someone else even thinks about doing the same, he switches up completely. “That’s cute, but they didn’t ask for your opinion.” Cold eyes. Tight jaw. Suddenly very serious.

He can change his tone so fast. Can go from deadpan and chill to teasing in 0.2 seconds. “You really thought you were gonna win that argument?”

NSFW

Talks. So. Much. Shit. Half of it makes you want to slap him, the other half has your legs shaking. “You get like this just from my fingers? You sure you’re ready for my cock?”

Whispers the filthiest things while he’s holding you like you’re fragile. Face buried in his chest, blanket pulled up to your chin, and he’s like, “You looked so pretty choking on my cock earlier. Gonna dream about it tonight.”

Power trips like crazy when you’re a mess for him. Will literally say things like, “Look at you can’t even think straight. I did that. That’s all me.”

WANTS you to squirm. The more flustered and needy you get, the calmer and cockier he becomes. “Aww, look at you. You can’t even talk. What happened to all that attitude, hm?”

His tone of voice drops so low when he's serious. No more playful teasing, just a sharp, commanding, almost cruel tone that makes your knees go weak. “You think I’m gonna be gentle with you after the way you acted today?”

Big on control. Likes manhandling you, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while the other is between your legs

Doesn’t let you win unless he wants you to. If you try to tease him, he’ll raise a brow like, “Cute.” And then absolutely rail you until your legs give out.

Definitely a neck-grabber. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make you squirm. Especially when you talk back. “Watch your mouth. Or I’ll find better ways to keep it busy.”

Obsessed with your thighs. Bites them. Slaps them. Sleeps with his head between them like they’re his personal comfort zone. “Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

Favorite thing? When you ride him. Claims he’s letting you take control but ends up grabbing your hips and slamming you down harder, just to watch your reaction

Calls you things like “pretty thing” and “baby” in the most degrading way possible.

Possessive in the hottest way. Leaves bite marks just below where clothes cover. Grips your jaw and makes you look at him when you’re close. “Eyes on me, babe.”

Loves to drag things out. Kisses up your thighs and just stops before touching where you need him. Smirks while you beg. “Patience, sweetheart. You’ll thank me later.”

Loves hearing you beg. The more whiny and desperate, the better. He’ll edge you for hours just to hear you plead. “Say please real sweet for me and maybe I’ll let you cum.”

Gets off on making you cry from pleasure. Not sad tears the broken, shaking, can’t-take-it-anymore kind. He’ll wipe them with his thumb and chuckle. “Tears already? We just started.”

He’ll intentionally overstimulate himself just to keep up with you. Like if you're still needy after he finishes, he'll mutter, “So fuckin' greedy,” and keep going anyway, groaning while you squirm. He lives for it.

He’s mean in the moment, but afterward? You’re immediately getting cuddled, praised, fed snacks, and hes putting you into one of his shirts. “You did so good for me. C’mere, lemme hold you.”

But if you ever use your safeword? His demeanor changes instantly. “Okay, okay. You good? Talk to me, baby.” Holds your hand, kisses your forehead. Doing anything that you ask of him

Divider by: @cafekitsune

My Kpop Demon Hunters Masterlist

[mydeimoed]

Casual sex with Mydeimos... I wonder what it would be like to be friends with benefits first.

Perhaps it was through you and the way your friendship (relationship?) turned out that Mydei realized just how starved for intimacy and touch he really was. It turned his world upside down entirely that you were an option. You were there, this real physical person that he could touch whenever he wanted. If he mindlessly reached for you, his hand trailing up your back, you wouldn't question it. Just lean into it. Give him that familiar look as you ask him if he's hungry.

It isn't often that Mydei gets to touch another person in this way. Something gentle and achingly simple, instead of torn and bloody. He finds that he prefers to touch you than for you to touch him- it isn't anything against you. He's a warrior who's bled and fought more than he's slept, and you reaching for his hand without warning will never feel comfortable (not yet).

But in the context of sex- sex is different. Touch is desired and expected here, so once the two of you find your way to bed- or whatever other unlucky surface you can find- then he can say without hesitation that he wants you to touch him more. To never spare a moment without that boiling source of contact and connection.

In fact, the more that this "beneficial relationship" goes on for, the more greedy Mydei finds himself becoming. For someone who was once so uptight and rigid beneath you, he slowly transforms into this needy little thing. Demanding in his own way, as much as he was allowed to be.

Perhaps it's no surprise that Mydei fell for you. There was an understanding that your physical relationship was casual, but because Mydei wasn't one to simply go out and find a partner- for so, so many reasons- you were his only outlet. This wasn't mutually exclusive, and he respected that. As much as he could, because he respects you.

Mydei cannot commit himself to you. He can't promise you anything because in the end he's a Prince to a struggling city- and don't even get him started on his supposed demigod status. The only way he really feels like a demigod is the fact he cannot be human- he cannot simply relax and let go, he cannot join the masses in love and relaxation because there is so much more he has to do. Especially for his people, who rely on him, who need him to succeed.

All this frustration- because yes, after you wore him down and yelled and pushed him enough, he finally admitted of course I am frustrated- it definitely comes out a few times during your time together. It's nothing cruel, if anything it makes the sex better. More painful for Mydei, perhaps, because when he's done fucking you with all that rage you always run your hands through his hair and kiss his temple and say does that feel better now? Maybe it does. Maybe it feels worse and makes his heart melt in a way it's not supposed to.

But you aren't going anywhere. Like this, no commitment, you're still his ally. His friend. Even if he finds himself thinking idly about how dangerously content he would be if you were in his bed not only to spread yourself but to relax and recover, he doesn't need it. Can live without it, has lived without it. It's better if you remain friends, he thinks. He knows how to do that, at least he thinks he does. And it is less likely that he will hurt you like this than if he tried to be a lover, and less likely that you will leave. Isn't that better?

[ne0mile]

against policy

HR rep!Jaemin x coworker!reader

Everybody hates HR reps. Especially those who take their jobs seriously. That's why Jaemin does not have the best reputation among certain employees. He's serious about applying strict policies and not making any exceptions. So Jaemin knows that office dating is prohibited. He does. Yet, he can't seem to completely brush you off whenever you bat your eyelashes at him.

warnings: smut !minors DNI!, elevator sex, idk guys atp

wordcount: 3,4k

AN: this is part of the business casual series, can’t wait to write more of those! Also I’m sorry guys ik I’m always writing for Mark or Jaemin but the brainrot is real😵‍💫

૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა ૮꒰ ˶ ༝ •˶꒱ა "૮꒰˶•⤙•˶꒱ა

Na Jaemin could have been the most beloved person in the office.

He had the charm—effortlessly magnetic, the kind of smile that made interns trip over their own feet. He had the looks—tall, unfairly pretty, with a sharp jawline that looked like it was carved just to make your breath hitch. And he had the presence—smooth, confident, the kind of man who could command a room without even trying.

If only he weren’t such a rule-enforcing nightmare.

While the other HR reps barely glanced at the company handbook, Jaemin treated office policy like sacred text. No personal calls? He’d walk by desks like a police officer, pausing just long enough to make the offender hang up. Dress code violations? He’d actually print out the policy and slide it onto the offender’s keyboard with a polite, "Just a reminder." And office relationships? 

Absolutely forbidden.

He was the sheriff of Neo Corp, and the entire office was his wild west.

Which is why the moment he stepped onto the main floor, whispers followed, as they always did.

"Ugh, he’s doing rounds again."

"I swear, if he tells me one more time to stop eating at my desk—"

"Who even cares about this job this much?"

But then there was you.

While everyone else groaned or avoided eye contact, you just… smiled at him. Leaned back in your chair. Let your gaze linger a little too long when he passed by.

And don’t get this wrong, Jaemin prided himself on his self-control.

He didn’t bend the rules. Didn’t make exceptions. Didn’t let distractions—no matter how pretty—get in the way of his job.

And he hated how much you were testing him.

It started small. A little wave when he walked by. Nothing too crazy. A playful tilt of your head when he caught you five minutes late from your lunch break. Then it escalated—lingering touches when handing him files, biting your lip to hide a smirk when he scolded someone nearby.

Today, you decided to try something different. 

You were leaning against the copier, pretending to struggle with a paper jam. Jaemin sighed. Your skirt was at the very limit of what was decent, and he’d seen you use that machine perfectly fine a dozen times before.

"Need help..." you asked innocently as he approached.

Jaemin exhaled through his nose one more time. "You’re doing this on purpose."

"Doing what?" You blinked up at him, all wide-eyed, but the curve of your lips gave you away.

He knew he should walk away. Knew he should reprimand you for wasting company time and urge you to go back to your desk. But instead, his hands moved on their own, reaching past you to "fix" the machine, close enough that his chest nearly brushed against your back.

"You're aware falsifying equipment issues is a violation of—"

"Policy 4.7B, section three," you finished for him, grinning when his eyes narrowed. "But if I was really faking..." You leaned in slightly as he reached past you to open the tray, "...wouldn't that mean you're enabling me by playing along?"

His fingers froze on the copier handle.

The office was watching. He could feel the stares on his back and immediately scolded himself internally.

Only to add more to his demise and push his buttons further, you whispered, "Careful, Jaemin. Someone might think you’re breaking your own rules."

Damn it.

By lunchtime, the copier incident had been discussed by every single person present in the company building. 

And by the time the holiday party rolled around, chit-chat hadn’t stopped.

The party was in full swing when you arrived - cheap disco lights throwing colours across the accounting team's awkward dancing, a sad cheese platter on a table... It was tragic, really, but everyone was here to make the most of it. So were you.

The entire office was there, buzzing with the kind of forced cheer that only free alcohol could bring. And there, by the fire exit like a man awaiting sentencing: Jaemin, tie slightly loosened, drink untouched in his hand.

You approached him like a predator would its prey. Stopping right in front of him, you brought the glass you just picked up to your glossy lips. You smirked, staring at him up and down as you took a sip of your drink.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said.

"I’ve been working," he corrected, his voice tight. 

"Mmm, well then you should probably write me up for inappropriate footwear…" You pointed to your black, shiny heels. 

The tone of your voice, the look in your eyes… It was all too much. Jaemin took pride in the way he did his job. He really did. No matter what his reputation among his colleagues was. But with you, it was like the devil had sent his best vessel to seduce and distract him from the right path. 

His jaw clenched.

"Policy 3.2, subsection—"

"Stop," he cut you off, his voice harsher than usual. "Just stop."

You blinked. "Stop what?"

He set his drink down and grabbed yours to do the same. "This. Whatever game you’re playing, this ends today."

Before you could argue, Jaemin grabbed your elbow and steered you toward the elevator. 

This has been going on for too long. He had to take matters into his own hands.

Mark and Chenle were chatting close to the elevator, so Jaemin pushed you inside. There was no way he would let anyone see him in that state, having this conversation. 

The doors slid shut behind you with a soft ding, sealing you both in the quiet, metallic space.

You leaned casually against the railing, watching him press the button for the top floor. "Running away from the party, already? That’s not very team-building of you."

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. "We need to talk."

"Ooh," you stepped forward to trace a finger along his tie. "Am I in trouble?" You asked, tilting your head. 

Jaemin exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers flexing at his sides. "You’ve been doing this for weeks," he stated, voice low. "The looks. The touching. The—" His eyes flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. "You know exactly what you’re doing."

You hummed, letting your finger trail up to the knot of his tie. "And if I do?" Pressing closer, you watched his pupils dilate. "What are you going to do about it, Officer Jaemin?"

His breath hitched. One large hand came up to circle your wrist, stopping your teasing movements. "This," he bit out, "is exactly what I'm talking about."

You could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. "You could always report me," you whispered, raising your chin. 

Jaemin's grip tightened fractionally. "Don't tempt me."

"Or…" you trailed off, your face now impossibly close to his. "You could—"

The elevator chose that moment to lurch violently.

Lights flickered as the car shuddered to an abrupt stop, sending you stumbling forward. Right into Jaemin's chest.

His arms instinctively wrapped themselves around you, pressing you closer against him. 

It took only a few seconds for you to regain your composure. You looked up at him. He looked just a bit distressed. Startled. Jaemin didn’t like inconveniences, unforeseen events. He needed to be in control. At all times.

"Taking advantage of the moment, huh?" You grinned, partially to tease him but mostly to get him to relax. 

His eyebrows knit together, and he released you in a heartbeat, taking a few steps back, although the space in the elevator didn’t allow for many. 

"You’re impossible," he muttered.

You grinned. "You like it."

Ignoring you, he turned around, facing the numbered buttons. As if he could fix that, too. 

There was an alarm button, at least there had been, because it was now covered by a taped piece of paper that read: "out of service". 

"Renjun was stuck as well last month," you recalled, following his gaze. "He’s claustrophobic, so he panicked and smashed the button. You even gave him a lecture on damaging company supplies, remember?"

He did. 

Now, Jaemin was growing restless. He nervously ran his hands through his hair, disheveling that always-put-together look a bit more. 

"What do we do now?" he groaned. "I told Mr Park to have the elevator reviewed last month. I told him…" 

"Someone will end up realising the elevator is stuck," you shrugged, letting your body lazily slide down the wall. 

Wrong. Everyone was partying and getting drunk. That would probably be an eternity before anyone needs the elevator. 

But Jaemin could not stay like this. Trapped in a cage with a hungry lion.

He needed to get out. Before his resolve completely crumbled. 

Your eyes followed him intently. He was examining every inch of the walls and ceiling, looking for a solution. Anescape. 

"It's so hot in here," you exhaled, your hands reaching for the buttons of your shirt as you now sat on the floor. Jaemin's eyes stuck to your fingertips as you unbuttoned two of them. 

"Yn," he called. His voice was stern, at least he tried to make it so. In reality, it was more breathless. 

Without him really wanting to, his eyes drifted inevitably to the exposed skin of your chest. He could see the inviting swell of your breasts and the black lacy cups concealing them. 

Jaemin's throat worked as he swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Button that back up," he ordered, but the command lacked its usual authority. His voice came out strained, almost hoarse.

You tilted your head, letting one finger trail along the exposed skin just above your bra. "Why? It's hot. Unless..." You licked your lips slowly. " ...It's bothering you?"

His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle jumping. "You're doing this on purpose."

"Maybe." You stretched your legs out, watching his gaze drop to your thighs before he forcibly wrenched it away. "But you’re the one looking."

The elevator suddenly felt ten degrees hotter. Jaemin tugged at his collar, his usually pristine tie now slightly crooked.

His breathing had gone shallow, chest rising and falling in quick bursts as he paced the limited space like a caged animal.

"You know," you mused, rolling up the hem of your skirt just an inch, "we could be here for hours. Might as well make the best of it."

Jaemin made a strangled noise from the back of his throat, and with defeat wearing on his face, he sank down the wall across you as well. 

His normally perfect posture had collapsed into something far more human, with his legs folding awkwardly in the confined space, elbows resting on raised knees, tie loosened, that always-impeccable hair now mussed from his nervous hands running through it.

"You look stressed," you purred, leaning on, deliberately letting more of your bra peek out from beneath your unbuttoned shirt. "Should I give you a neck massage? HR policy doesn't say anything about coworkers helping each other relax..."

Jaemin's knuckles turned white where they gripped his knees. "Stop." The word came out strangled. "Just...stop talking."

He sighed once more before he let out a nervous chuckle. "You’re going to be the death of me. Seriously."

"What a way to go," you shifted onto your hands and knees, crawling toward him with slow, deliberate movements. The fabric of your skirt rode up your thighs, the click of your nails against the elevator floor the only sound besides his ragged breathing.

His eyes darkened as you approached, his jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching.

You stopped just inches from him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Your bottom lip caught in your teeth, you stared intently into his pretty eyes. "How about you—"

Jaemin had had enough. He already told you to stop talking. So before you could even finish your sentence, his control snapped.

One hand shot out, gripping the back of your neck as he yanked you forward, his mouth crashing onto yours with a hunger that bordered on desperation. The kiss was all teeth and tongue and barely restrained frustration, on both ends. 

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed closer, your knee sliding between his thighs. He growled, the sound vibrating against your lips. 

Jaemin's grip on you tightened as your lips found the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, his breath hitching when you nipped lightly at his pulse point.

"We shouldn't—" His protest was weak, voice already ragged as your tongue traced the column of his throat. His fingers flexed against your hip, torn between pushing you away and pulling you closer.

"This is against policy..." he managed, though it came out more like a plea than a warning.

You smirked against his skin, dragging your teeth over the spot that made him shudder. "Fire me, then," you whispered, the words hot against his neck.

A broken groan escaped him, his resolve crumbling as your hands slid beneath his shirt, nails scraping lightly over the taut muscles of his abdomen. He was unravelling beneath your touch. His perfect composure, his rigid control, all of it dissolving into desperate, hungry need.

"Fuck—" His head fell back against the elevator wall with a thud as your knee pressed more insistently between his thighs, his hips jerking instinctively.

You could feel his hard-on straining against his slacks, could hear the way his breathing turned uneven and shallow. His hands, once so restrained, now roamed greedily-one tangling in your hair to yank your head back, the other gripping the curve of your ass to pull you flush against him.

You laughed, breathless, rolling your hips against him just to watch his composure shatter further. "You should reallypunish me," you taunted, fingers working at his belt with practised ease. "Show me how strict you can be."

Jaemin didn't need to be told twice. Not anymore.

His slacks were shoved down in one rough motion, your skirt pushed up around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly against the elevator wall.

To be fair, you did use all his patience, and you were needy too. So you weren’t mad when he lined himself up with your entrance and thrusted into you with one sudden stroke. 

You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the wall. His mouth was everywhere— your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts-biting and sucking marks into your skin like he needed to brand you.

"You—" he grunted, his grip bruising on your thighs. "Seriously, you've been driving me insane."

You moaned, arching into him, revelling in the way his control had completely shattered. "You love it," you purred, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. 

Jaemin snarled, slamming into you harder, his rhythm growing erratic. The elevator groaned around you, the metal shuddering with each movement, but neither of you cared. Not when he was finally, finally fucking you like you'd been imagining for weeks.

His thrusts were relentless, deep, punishing strokes that stole the breath from your lungs. Every snap of his hips drove you harder against the cold metal wall, the contrast of his burning skin and the chill of the elevator searing into you.

"You feel so good," you gasped, nails carving half-moons into his shoulders as he pistoned into you. "All this stuck-up act... just to end up fucking your colleague in an elevator—"

Jaemin's breath was hot against your neck as he growled, "You practically begged for it." 

You laughed, the sound dissolving into a moan as he angled his hips, hitting a spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Did I?" You rolled your hips, taking him impossibly deeper, relishing his choked groan. "Or was it your plan from the start?"

Jaemin slammed you against the wall, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The other gripped your thigh, hiking it higher around his waist as he drove into you with brutal precision.

"Look at you," he rasped, eyes black with hunger as he watched your breasts bounce with each thrust. "Taking it like you were made for me. Like this pussy was built for my cock."

The vulgarity, so stark against his usual polished speech, sent a shockwave of heat through you. You arched, offering yourself completely. "Do whatever you want with me," you panted, meeting his erratic rhythm. "Fuck—Jaemin!"

He swallowed your cry with a searing kiss, tongue tangling with yours, tasting your surrender. His free hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with ruthless accuracy.

The dual stimulation was too much. The stretch of him filling you, the rough circle of his thumb, the possession in his voice... Your climax ripped through you, violent and blinding. You screamed into his mouth, body clamping down around him in pulsing waves.

Jaemin swore, his rhythm faltering as your walls milked him. "Tight—fuck—so fucking tight—" With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his groan raw and shattered as he emptied himself inside you.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the hum of the stalled elevator. His forehead rested against yours, sweat-slicked and trembling, his grip on your wrists easing.

The silence stretched, thick with the scent of sex and shattered resolve. Then, faintly, a mechanical whir echoed through the shaft.

The elevator jolted violently back to life.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flooding the cramped space with harsh, unforgiving light. Jaemin froze, his breath still ragged, pupils blown wide with shock and lingering desire. For one heartbeat, then two, the world narrowed to the slick heat between your bodies, the tremble in his arms as he held you against the wall, and the raw, exposed truth in his eyes.

Then reality crashed back.

He pulled out of you with a sharp gasp, scrambling backwards as if burned. His movements were frantic, jerky. He yanked up his slacks, fumbling with his belt, fingers trembling over the buttons of his ruined dress shirt. He wouldn’t look at you. Not at the smear of your lipstick across his jaw, not at the flush high on your chest, not at the way your skirt was still rucked up around your hips.

Wincing at the ache between your thighs, you smoothed your skirt down with deliberate calm. The air reeked of sex, sweat, and Jaemin’s expensive cologne, leaving no doubt of the kind of activity you've just engaged in.

A mechanical chime echoed through the cab.

Ding.

The elevator resumed its ascent.

Jaemin finally met your eyes. His hair was wild, his tie hanging loose, his collar undone. A vein pulsed in his temple. He looked… undone. Ravaged. Beautiful.

He opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again, his voice scraped raw: "We are never speaking of this again."

The elevator doors slid open onto the empty executive floor hallway. Cold, sterile air rushed in, a sharp contrast to the hot, almost-steam that had filled the cab.

You bit your lip to hide a smile, reaching up to wipe the smudged lipstick from his jaw with your thumb. He flinched but didn’t pull away. "Whatever you say, sheriff," you murmured, your voice low and honeyed.

His eyes flashed with a mix of fury, hunger, and something dangerously close to surrender. He caught your wrist, his grip tight but not painful, holding your hand against his face for a fraction of a second too long. 

Then he released you, straightened his shoulders with visible effort, and strode out of the elevator without a backwards glance. His steps echoed down the polished marble hallway, sharp and precise once more—the perfect HR enforcer, already rebuilding his walls.

You leaned back against the cool metal wall, inhaling the fading scent of him in the elevator. The doors began to slide shut.

Just before they sealed, you saw him pause at the far end of the corridor. He didn’t turn around. But his hand rose, fingers brushing the spot on his jaw where your thumb had been.

The doors shut, and you smiled.

𝜗ৎ... business casual series masterlist

[certifiedgirlkisser0906]

I feel like something I haven’t seen much discussion of in the KPop DH fandom is how passively suicidal Rumi is. I’ve seen the comparisons between her patterns and SH scars (especially in her methods of hiding them and the shame associated with them). In the beginning it’s clear she doesn’t value her life as a person but more so her role as a hunter and idol. She learned growing up that demons were terrible and should be killed. Celine literally raised her to suppress an entire half of herself which can have drastic effects on children. She over works herself to the point of losing her singing voice (yes we’re led to believe that her patterns are the reason her voice is getting weaker, but as someone who has exhausted their voice to the point of losing it temporarily I’m 90% sure this girl just overworked herself). When her and Jinu start talking more frequently and she remains passive in her attempts, but starts to value herself more as a person. After his betrayal is when she becomes actively suicidal, to the point of asking Celine to kill her (side note: if/when we get a sequel I pray we get to see the repercussions of this scene on their relationship). But I need to see it discussed more how unhealthy Rumi’s behavior was throughout the movie because she has so much depth as a character that people don’t talk about enough. She spends the majority of her time on screen hiding her feelings and intentions from the people she loves most because she doesn’t want to hurt them or destroy what they’ve worked for. While not every case is exactly like this, Rumi exhibits behaviors that are displayed and reported by people who struggle or have struggled with suicidal thoughts and intentions.

If you or a loved one are struggling with thoughts of suicide or self harm, know you are not alone. There are resources and people online to help you. Please reach out and stay another day. You are loved and valued.

[chrrybbye]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Meta! Reader

TITLE: one last lullaby

03 | 🌸 I sit here poor for you.

CW: smoking, child abuse, non consensual body modification, mommy issues, slight instance of Stockholm, (or what it’s called when a victim loves their abuser), toxic relationships, please look at the authors note!

You hated the strange men your mother always let in.

Those men, with hands that always grabbed you, who carried around syringes full of that nauseating concoction, who would strap you down, who would kick at you when you struggled⸺You hated them.

You hated the way your mother stood aside, smoking in the doorway as those men⸺dressed in ridiculous long white coats⸺tried to strap you down to the bed. When that didn’t work, they tied you down with rope that tore your skin.

You hated them and the rope they carried. The rope that gave you burns on your ankles and wrists, which made all the adults look at you weird and the kids pick on you. The burns lasted for days, almost as terrible as a burn from a stove, or an oven, or a curling iron. The burns made you wish you could claw the rest of your skin off.

But that was nothing compared to those men and their syringes. Oh, they were terrible. They would make you scream and thrash⸺uncaring of how you were burning your skin against the rope⸺after they shoved the syringes into your arms and legs. It was so painful, and humiliating, you wished you could just die. They’d prick you like a porcupine, every single spot swelling and pulsing like a cyst. It felt like if someone touched you too hard you would explode into nothing but blood and flesh, the disgusting concoction filling up your veins with what felt like toxic fire, making you screech.

But nothing could top the way your mother just stood there. Her eyes glazed over and yet completely there, watching as all these strange men tortured her baby. How she would speak to them hushed tones⸺as if that could ever be enough to keep you from hearing her voice. How she snapped at you, instead of all these men who were holding you down and hurting you. How she would strike you across the face and hold your hair to keep you in place, screaming, “You fucking brat! If this doesn’t work then what are you good for, huh? What’s your purpose in life? What was the point of me giving birth to you!?”

And then she would reach for your⸺

You wake up to a tweet. To a bird, perched on a branch near your window. A poor thing that doesn’t know it needs to fly, to hunt, to take care of itself⸺not sing for miserable pieces of trash with no meaning like yourself.

You wake up sobbing.

After nightmares like those, your mother would comfort you, smiling and touching your face despite your heavy breathing and sweating. She’d pat your stomach, say “my little birdie was crying” and then stroke your back as you cried in her warm arms.

Your sheets are cold, smooth silk. The curtains are drawn, leaving the room in an engulfing darkness. There’s nothing you can reach out to for comfort⸺except that stupid rabbit.

Your bedding is the kind of quality you’ve only ever dreamed of, yet laying in it, you feel cold.

You began to do your own hair.

There wasn’t much of a choice, really. There was no other choice. You couldn’t ask anyone for help. Alfred, bless his soul, was absolutely clueless. You had a strong suspicion he had never dealt with a little girl’s⸺or more specifically, an afro little girl’s⸺hair before. It was impossible to ask Dr. Thompkin, who not only seemed infinitely busy, but was hardly even at the mansion most of the time.

And so, like that, the people you could ask dwindled down to zero. You could physically ask other people, of course, but you would never⸺never⸺bring yourself to do it. You could imagine it all, playing out in real time: you’d ask, and then they’d look at you with a mix of annoyance and pity, because aren’t you old enough to do it on your own? And they’d say as much, they’d say the cursed words, “didn’t your mother teach you?” And then they’d look at you with just pity, because you were just an impoverished little girl who’d lost her only parent in a house fire.

So no. There’s no one else you can ask for help.

And of course, like all things in your life, it goes terrible. By your own request, you have things like gel, curl cream, conditioner⸺and no knowledge how to use any of it. Only what you saw Mummy do.

Your hair is soaking wet before you’ve made any progress, your arms are sore, and it feels like your scalp is bleeding.

You manage to make something acceptable⸺something pretty, out of all your ugly hurt and loneliness. There’s ribbons in your hair, the cute pink ones.

You don’t look like an impoverished little girl who lost her only parent in a house fire. But you’re no stranger to hiding ugly things with jewels. Your face is gaunt and your wrist are like twigs, fragile and malnourished. You’re shining, but not everything that shines is gold.

But who said gold had to shine?

You are gold, you realize. Indestructible and unbreakable. You don’t break, yes, because you bend. You adapt.

You don’t shine, because no one has made anything of your ugly, malleable self.

You’re gold, waiting to be polished so that you can shine. Waiting for someone to come and wipe all your dirt off, chip your sharp edges off, and turn you into something valuable.

Something soft and expendable…something breakable.

But not all gold shines. Not all gold is something pretty and breakable⸺you’re still beautiful, just not easy. Not broken.

You’ve been easy before. You are malleable. You had been breakable. For your mother, you’d allowed her to chip you down. To break you down, in return for the scrapes of her love. But she hadn’t succeeded. She’d hardly gotten rid of the first layer of your shell. And beneath it⸺beneath the shell that needed to be broken for you to be broken⸺you were still you. Just slightly scratched up.

But still you. The little girl who loved ribbons and singing along to R&B music and the country blues songs the nice man who worked at the bar would play for you. Who liked to drop ice cubes into tea to make it cool faster. Who stopped for twenty minutes at a time in order to pet a cat. The little girl who stayed quiet even when her mother hit her or held her down, or even fed her strange things. Because she knew her mother loved her, even if it was only after she had been held down and beaten. Even if it was only after she had been bled dry.

(Even if she could only get her love after being stuck full of needles.)

Even if her mother’s love for her was something even more delicate than herself. Because the love had been there, it had existed.

Even if it wasn’t real, even if it had been faked as something to keep you breakable. Breakable, but not broken.

Because your mother hadn’t succeeded. She hadn’t broken you.

You would be damned if you let this family⸺or anyone else, for that matter⸺break you.

You were no longer breakable.

previous {☆||☆} next

taglist (open!) : @bunbunboysworld

A/N: oooh, tastes like abandonment issues, depression and the desperation to be loved even by someone who has hurt you. My favorite. But on another note, I need a title for this series! What should it be?

Update: this series is officially titled One Last Lullaby!

[thelawfulchaotic]

Hi! As someone who is working through an undergraduate degree and is planning to pursue law school after, I have recently been diagnosed with Adhd and it's a little world shifting. I'm adjusting to the idea that it isn't me. That there's a reason for my behavior and life-long focus and motivational issues.

I saw you mentioned taking Adderall, I'm assuming you have Adhd too? What advice would you give for managing it alongside your studies? What is the hardest struggle with the disorder you faced during school or in your career?

I'm sorry, anon, and also congratulations. I was also a late diagnosis, mine was around age 25.

ADHD can manifest in a lot of different ways for different people. For me, it's been actually pretty bad. Administrative tasks -- timekeeping, paperwork, scanning in documents, returning endless emails and phone calls -- is a lot of the job. I had a very hard time finding ways to work through all of that on my own.

And I did have to on my own. Every time I reached out to my boss for help, he would find a "solution" that essentially amounted to "now you'll do it better, right?" He completely lacked an understanding of the brain with ADHD, no matter how much I tried to explain it.

This condition sucks, a lot, because it's made into a joke. There is no understanding in general culture about how ADHD can shape you. People get impatient with inconsistent performance, not realizing that the inconsistency is the sign that you have a condition, and not some fault in how you motivate yourself.

The key is systems, as I learned from doing Cognitive Behavioral Therapy for Adults with ADHD with my therapist. Finding ways to make error-checking a part of your day. Having something with you to help with both your moment-to-moment executive function and your week-to-week deadline management. Get a planner, get a new planner if you stop using it, get a smartwatch, it'll yell at you when you have to leave for places.

If you are a woman, which is pretty likely given the late diagnosis, then I highly recommend Women with ADD by Sari Solden. It's a little antiquated at this point, but helped me emotionally with my experience.

Once you have to maintain a home, with dishes and laundry and all, try the beautiful nonjudgmental How to Keep House While Drowning.

ADHD 2.0 by Edward Hallowell and John Ratey has some excellent more modern insights about the actual function of the brain and how it is disrupted by ADHD. (Summary: the Task Positive Network is what you're using when you're focusing; the Default Mode Network is what you use when you're ruminating; in most brains, either one is on or the other but in ADHD the DMN doesn't deactivate and keeps trying to interrupt the TPN. Moreover, the toggle switch is broken and you cannot easily shift from one to the other.)

Honestly I have a thousand tips. I could do a whole-ass TED talk about this. It's my biggest struggle.

It's also a gift.

Maybe your impulsiveness got you an Amazon purchase of 100 glow in the dark bouncy balls last week that will take you YEARS to give away. Maybe it got you to crack an incredible joke that got even the deputies laughing.

Your hyperfocus took you away from clients periodically for the last few months, but you learned enough Spanish to get conversational with your clients. (Yes, you can do things THIS AMAZING when you let ADHD pull you along rather than resisting it.)

God, okay, this post is too long. LAST THING: I find that I'm not rewarded by Finishing A Task the same way others seem to be. The task itself has to be rewarding. Learn to harness the moments when your mind and body are in sync enough to do stuff. Batch tasks. Make your storage see-through. Put extras of cleaning solutions and tools in every place you use them. Have a basket or a hook for your keys.

Last last thing: Vyvanse comes in chewable and you can split the pill so you can do multiple smaller doses during the day. You can wake up twice, the first time to take your meds, and then go back to sleep, then wake up again when they kick in, and you'll feel better and get out of bed easier.

Take of that what you like.

[yourstrulynobody]

One of my short chapters for 2ET! With the maximum of 552 words + 3,119 characters :) (dont mind that hes lacking his extra arms, I was struggling on where to place them so I just didnt add them in the end </3)

I was practicing on how to color without the need of outline and being only guided by the sketch, so I thought this (poster?) would be a great way to practice it and I actually like how it turned out :D!!

(Writing is under cut)

Eclipse was slumped on the bench of his cold cell, four rose-colored eyes looking downward into the cracked ground. After hours of trying to remove the golden chains that circled his wrists, he gave up and sat in defeated silence—his heavy breathing being the only thing that tore the deafening sound.

He moved his gaze towards his hand then to his arm, seeing the display of several cuts etched into his dark skin. He hasn't even processed the explosion that landed on his other arm, making every wind blow a wave of pain all over his body, and that scar affected his right eyes, too, making it hard to keep them open under the blinding light of the cell.

He may have been a legend, but still just some immortal nontheless.

A legendary immortal with centuries worth of bloodshed he alone unleashed on the skies and the seas, not caring who died because of his actions... But that was a routine he grew weary of.

So when the gods demanded for his arrest, he surrended himself quietly as he's roughly escorted into the godly realm. No useless cursing escaped his mouth just as no defiant attacks were launced at the warriors. The only 'scene' he had caused was a desperate attempt to ease the pressure that burned his wrists like hot coals.

His head fell backwards, hitting the wall with a muted thud. Though the chill of the cell collided with the blazing heat affecting his wrists, he found a way to relax by steading his sluggish breathing—no wonder he felt as though someone was choking him.

...

Silence.

It was silent, but only for a moment. The next moment, the sounds of heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls, making Eclipse groan in irritation. Just as he found peace, some pathetic low-life had to ruin it all.

Why couldn't peaceful moments just last longer? And why can't those longer be forever?

Eclipse hisses as a sharp and cold metal slides between the chain and his neck, hooking onto it before hes pulled to his feet in an instant. His fingers scratched at the golden chains around his wrists, ignoring the sorching heat it brought to his claws.

"Got a nicer way to greet me?" Eclipse snarls as he rises to his full height, towering over the guard in an instant.

The guard's eyes narrow behind his helmet. "You've brought destruction everywhere you went." He nudges his spear closer to him, forcing Eclipse to do the same thing in a stumble. "Now, dont you keep the gods waiting any longer."

Eclipse rolls his eyes, making him wince slightly due to the new scar on his right pair. "Why should I care about how long theyve waited? Oh, how irritated they must be with their patience running out." He mocks. "Mind you, they made mine run out long ago—with all those pathetic excuses of theirs."

"Silence." The guard barks out the order though it brought nothing but another eyeroll from the prisoner. "Move along."

With another tug, Eclipse stumbles out the cell, spear still pressed harshly on his skin and hes forced to walk like this until he reaches the trial room.

So much for being feared. He was being toyed with now that the gods had their hands on him.

[salesmancarddd]

WIRES (ONESHOT)

Hwang In-ho x FEMReader

╰┈➤ 2015 timeline (basically Inho past when he was in the game)

"we'll meet again don't know when, don't know where" TW: Death/suicide, implied violence, unstable relationship (let me know if I missed any tags)

A/N: I'm not sure if I should make a series about it, I just decided to make oneshot scene of them if you're interested lemme know 👌

MASTERLIST

The other team was on the brink of winning. With only two of you gainst four of them, it seemed impossible to turn the tide. The votes had been cast, and four of them had the power to eliminate anyone they chose. That left you and Inho in the balance. The other team were laughing and joking across the room, gasping for breath as they ate, celebrating their advantage.

Throughout it all, Inho kept stealing brief glances at you. There was a hint of sadness in his eyes, though he tried to hide it, remaining as composed as possible. In his heart, he was willing to sacrifice everything his life just to keep you safe.

Later that night, the beds were separated into different corners of the room. Only you and Inho remained on one side. You struggled to fall asleep, Inho noticed. He exhaled loudly, then looked at you, who was lying on your side with your back turned to him.

Without a word, he got up, gently pulled your blanket over you, and kissed your forehead. It reminded him of when he used to do that for his wife when she was alive. Being with you rekindled memories of who he was before all this chaos.

That night was quiet. Everyone else was asleep, but Inho sat on his bed, staring into the distance. Suddenly, a guard approached him and spoke.

“He wants to see you.”

Inho turned his head to look at the guard. He didn’t reply but simply followed him, which led him to the frontman’s room.

The frontman was sitting calmly in a chair, waiting. Inho walked across the room until he reached him.

“Take a seat,” the Frontman said, eyeing him intently. Inho sat down in the chair, his hatred boiling beneath the surface. Whoever this was, after everything he'd seen, all he wanted was to tear him apart.

“I have a proposal for you,” the Frontman continued. Inho remained silent, but his piercing, murderous stare betrayed his anger. The Frontman placed a knife on the table. Inho’s eyes flicked to it, but he said nothing.

“The next game, the other team is going to vote you out. To stay alive, you need to kill them,” the Frontman explained. Inho’s gaze lingered on the weapon. “It’s either you or them. This is your only chance.” Still, no words. Killing someone wasn’t new to him, but his mind kept drifting back to you.

“And for the girl,” the Frontman added, causing Inho to look up sharply at the mention of your name. “Kill her as well.” Inho shook his head vehemently.

How could he? To kill you?

You were the only one here who didn’t deserve to die let alone be caught in this game.

There was no way he would do that. Tears welled in his eyes just thinking about everything you had done for him.

“Do it,” the Frontman ordered, breaking the silence. Inho’s hands trembled as he grasped the knife. He wouldn’t kill you, but he had to eliminate the others.

When he returned, he immediately moved toward another team sleeping unaware of what was about to happen. From a distance, he watched over you, making sure you were asleep so you wouldn’t hear.

He had to do this.

After stabbing each of them, Inho was gasping for air, sweat pouring down his face as he struggled to compose himself. His hand trembled uncontrollably. That’s when it hit him.

"Inho?" you called softly. He froze in place but didn’t respond. Blood covered him, and he was turned away from you, breathing heavily.

“What did you do...” The words caught in your throat as the terrible realization sank in. What had he done? He couldn’t face you like this. Your voice was gentle, yet each word cut through him like a blade.

“Stay there,” he muttered, his voice trembling. He kept gasping for air, eyes fixed on the wall, refusing to look at your terrified face. That was the last thing he wanted to see fear in your eyes.

You hesitated, slowly backing away. Seeing the corpses on the beds sent shivers down your spine. You fought back tears, trying to hold yourself together. The men you loved had become cold-blooded killers, yet your love for him remained unshaken.

“Are you... going to kill me next?” Your voice quivered, and a heavy silence followed. Inho slowly turned to face you. His face was streaked with blood and sweat, eyes haunted.

“Are you going to kill me next,” the words echoed in his mind, ringing like a cruel reminder. Hearing it from your lips felt like an arrow through his chest.

“No,” he finally managed to say, the only word that came out steady. His tone didn’t shake. There was so much more he wanted to say, but each attempt to speak felt as if someone was holding his words hostage. How could he kill you? After everything after all you had done for him how could he?

His hand clenched tightly around the knife, as if his life depended on it. The silence between you was deafening, filled only with your mutual stares. And the worst fear gripped him the sight of terror in your eyes, directed at him.

His mind raced. He had to say something. Explain… anything. But the words were lodged in his throat.

He took a step forward. His voice, when he spoke, was low, barely above a whisper.

"Let me explain…"

He could almost reach out and touch her. He wanted to. He wanted to take her hand, to assure her that she was safe.

But he couldn't move. He couldn't make that promise. Not when all his actions said otherwise.

"Please…" he said, his voice almost pleading.

He could see the uncertainty in her eyes. She was trying to reconcile the man she knew with the ruthless killer before her. Losing you it felt like he lost his wife again.

"What did you do.."

His heart ached at the horror in her voice. He wanted to look away, to avoid the accusation in her eyes. But he couldn't. He forced himself to meet her gaze, his own eyes betraying the storm of emotions within him.

"I had to…" he said quietly, his words almost a whisper. "I had no choice…"

"you didn't have to pick this.." Her words were like a blade to his heart. He knew she was right. He knew he had crossed a line, one he could never return from.

Inho's voice was rough, filled with desperation. He needed her to understand, to see the situation from his perspective.

"They could have killed you next game," he repeated, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't lose you…"

"So what.. you didn't have to do this"

"I had to!" he snapped, his voice louder than before. "They would have killed you! You don't understand!"

He was losing control, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

"I did what I had to do to protect you… to protect us…"

"There isn't 'US' in this Inho" Her words were like a punch to his gut. In-ho flinched, she was right. There wasn't an "us" here, not anymore.

The night felt long, the silence between them heavy with tension. But when morning came and the guard announced that she was able to switch teams or both of them could leave together, he looked at her, his expression a mix of hope and anticipation.

at the end she picked to be on other team, which meant they were going to have a final round against each other, In-ho's heart sank at her decision. But didn't say anything, he knew whatever the game was he would risk his life just for you to live.

The final round had come. In-ho and you found themselves standing across from each other, tension hanging in the air. They were given a knife.

None of them spoke as the guard explained how this round would proceed. Inho's eyes still held a desperate look from the night before—not for winning, but for losing you. Once the guard finished outlining the rules to both of them, he left.

Inho let out an exasperated sigh, tightening his grip on his knife. He looked at her, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief.

"Why are you being so stubborn?" he demanded sharply. "We could end this game and leave together." A long silence stretched between them before she finally spoke.

"How can I just leave after everything I've seen..." she trailed off.

He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw clenched as he fought to control his emotions. "I just can't, Inho."

"I don't even recognize the man I once loved," she added quietly.

Inho flinched at her words. "You think I don't feel the same?" he retorted, his voice strained as he struggled for breath. "Do you think it's easy seeing the woman I love look at me with horror in her eyes?"

"No, you're not," she shot back, her voice sharp with pain and anger. "The man I knew would never have done the things you've done."

"I did what I had to do," he said through clenched teeth. "To keep us alive. To keep you safe."

"Safe? You call this safe?" she spat. "This is a nightmare. And you're a part of it." Those words echoed loudly in his mind.

"If I'm really the nightmare, then kill me," he said, dropping the knife to the ground. The other VIPs in different rooms, overhearing their conversation, nicknamed them "The Lovebirds."

"Just know I never intended to harm you. But it seems I’ve caused more damage than I realized."

A heavy silence settled between them before she, tears in her eyes, finally spoke.

"I'm sorry." He closed his eyes, bracing himself for her to end his life. But then he heard a loud, stabbing sound skin piercing flesh.

He looked on in horror. She had stabbed herself in the heart, collapsing to the ground. Inho rushed to her, calling her name loudly, shaking her as she gazed at him with half-closed eyes.

"I love..." she whispered, pausing before finally saying, "you," then closed her eyes.

Many years later, he felt more empty than ever. He had lost her twice because of his actions. He couldn't live with himself.

[bellesdreamyprofile]

Honeybee's Picnic - Benny Cross (part 3)

previous part

All the way home, Matilda told her daddy all about the recital. Her dress, her spins, the way her hair bounced when one of the boys had to take her hand and move her to the side of the stage.

Benny raised an eyebrow. "A boy?"

But she didn't detect the distaste or jealousy in his tone. "Yeah, daddy, his name is Matt. Anyways—", she went on and on, but Benny was going to bring the topic back on the table at some point. Though he was glad that his little girl didn't hold his absence against him. It warmed up his heart a little.

Once back home, Benny and Matilda washed their hands, the little girl still blabbering about her dress and Miss Y/N. Miss Y/N did this and Miss Y/N did that. Benny never gave the little girl anything more than a hmm. It would be embarrassing for his daughter to know that her big and mighty daddy was capable of feeling certain things.

"Speaking of your teacher, baby.", Benny started saying, slowly pulling out the cassette from his jean pocket. Matilda's big blue eyes widened even more in a comical manner.

"Is that my play? Me as a ladybug?", she asked, her brows raising to her forehead. Benny's lips formed into a smirk as he nodded. Matilda let out an excited squeal. "Can I pop it in the player?"

How could he say no to her?

Benny made himself comfortable on the couch, absentmindedly reaching for his pack of cigarettes, as he watched his daughter struggle with the remote. A frown took over her face as he held back a chuckle.

"Gimme the remote, baby.", he reached his hand out, mumbling with the cigarette hanging from his lips. Matilda groaned and stomped over to her daddy.

"Here.", a slap-like motion as the remote fell on his palm. Benny rolled his eyes.

He glanced at the TV and then back at the remote. "Look, bee. It's the green button and then the yellow one."

She hummed, plopping herself beside Benny. "Like the traffic lights.", the blonde girl looked up at her daddy, who nodded impressed.

"Smart baby. Yes, like the traffic lights."

Matilda made another comment about not being a baby anymore, but the tape started finally rolling and there she was.

She let out an excited squeal, index pointing at the footage. "That's me, daddy! And that's Martha and Matt and—"

Benny shot her a look. "Which one's Matt?"

But she caught on that. She gave him a sheepish grin and shook her head. "I ain't gonna tell you, daddy. Because then you're gonna tell him that he can't play with me no more."

"Matilda Cross—", his warnings were immediately cut off by an excited squeak.

"That's Miss Y/N!", Benny didn't know if the changed topic was supposed to be a distraction or not — but his blue eyes shifted from his daughter to the footage of you. Another silly dress and another colorful bow accompanied by a bright, proud smile.

His lips involuntarily twitched.

Benny watched his baby girl, absolutely, and that's what he told her. Compliments left and right for her spins and whatever else she did on that stage. But his focus was on someone else. Someone he would never reveal to his Matilda, nor to himself. That someone was wearing the silliest accessories in her hair, hair that made him wonder about texture and whatnot.

He cleared his throat.

"Good job, baby.", Benny's arm moved her closer so he could place a kiss to her temple.

Matilda beamed at him. "Thank you, daddy."

"Again, daddy is sorry for not making it.", he apologized yet again, but those apologies mattered. For those were the missing puzzle in his childhood.

But like the sweetest little girl she was, Matilda shook her head, kissing his cheek. "That's okay, daddy. But at least Mr Waters filmed it!"

Benny raised an eyebrow. "I thought your teacher filmed the play."

"Oh, yeah, he's a teacher.", she said absentmindedly and reached for the remote, pressing play yet again. "Miss Y/N hugged him real tight when he gave her the cassette."

Oh.

"Mr Waters? I've never met him before.", his tone had picked up on speed. "Is he a new teacher?"

"I don't know daddy, you ask too many questions.", she shrugged and bounced in her seat, watching ladybugs and bluebirds scatter across the stage.

Benny's jaw set for a moment. His mind a whirlwind of thoughts — spiraling. Then he came to the realization that he was overthinking about things that didn't pertain to him — it didn't matter who you talked to, or who you hugged.

You were his little honeybee's teacher. That was all.

Since the end of the school year was nearing, there was no real educational program for the children. "Let them play and not cause any trouble.", was what the principal told the staff. Your eyes gazed out of the window, immediately taking notice of the bright sun and that was when you made your suggestion.

"What if we organized a picnic? Each class with their two headteachers and the kids' parents?"

You loved picnics — small nutritious snacks, cool drinks and someone always brought a guitar.

The principal looked among the other teachers. "Sounds good, right?", everyone nodded, immediately exchanging ideas with the other.

"So it's gonna be you and I, and the first graders?"

You looked to your right and noticed a playful smile on Sam's lips. A quiet chuckle fell from your lips.

"Us and a bunch of bugs.", you joked and turned your attention to the principal again. You folded your hands on your lap as the group of teachers quieted.

"Miss Y/N's idea is a success, I reckon.", the principal chuckled and your colleagues followed. "I trust that every headteacher is going to take care of the paperwork regarding the excursion?"

You nodded. "I can print out leaflets for everyone."

"Very well.", he nodded. "Miss Y/N and Mr Waters for classroom A, Miss Bennett and—"

"Daddy! Daddy!", Matilda exclaimed, running to Benny with wide arms.

He raised an eyebrow, hopping off his bike and huffed as his daughter jumped on him.

"Hey bee. Good day?", he asked, an amused smile on his lips at her state. Matilda breathed in and out, visibly excited over something she couldn't contain.

"There's a picnic—", she said wheezed. Benny pressed a hand to her shoulder.

"Breathe, kid."

Matilda nodded and thrusted the leaflet his way. All pink.

"That's in two days. Do we bring anything?", his eyes skimmed over the words and then at the end there was a teacher's signature.

"Miss Y/N said to bring what we like!", she beamed at her daddy, but his eyes lingered on the teacher's cursive — delicate yet sharp. "Can we bring those cookies that Auntie Betty always bakes? Pretty please?", puppy eyes looked up at him, batting eyelashes innocently.

Benny smirked briefly, then eventually nodded. "Sure baby. We'll ask Aunt Betty for them cookies."

Matilda squealed in delight. "Yay, I'm so happy.", she danced around Benny — her happy dance. He laughed, shaking his head and folding the leaflet, stuffing it in his front pocket.

"Also daddy, don't freak out.", Matilda suddenly stopped, looking at him with a second expression. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Matt is going to be there—"

Benny groaned. "Baby, lord have mercy—"

"I said don't freak out, daddy!"

"Thank you so much to all the parents for coming here today on such short notice—", you started talking to the scattered children and parents sitting on the blankets. One pair was missing though.

Your eyes scanned the space, but no, no blonde heads with big, blue eyes and sassy remarks.

"I have also baked a few cakes—", you motioned to the sweets on the makeshift table. "Help yourselves.", and with one last smile, everyone started eating and drinking.

Then there was a noise. One that you had been hearing for the past year on a regular basis.

"I knew we'd be late, daddy!"

A smile found its way on your lips, involuntarily. Your fingers tingled with something unprecedented, but you couldn't let it show. Totally unprofessional.

With the help of Benny, Matilda hopped off the bike. A huff fell from her lips as she looked around.

"We're the last ones, daddy!", she pointed out, one hand on her hip.

Benny looked at her, his eyebrow arched. "You were the one changing your dress three different times, baby. That wasn't me.", Matilda just rolled her eyes at the remark.

"Wait a second— You changed for that kid, didn't you?"

Matilda sped off, without even sparing her father a glance. "Bye daddy! I'll be over there."

Benny called her name a few times, but it was too late, she was already heading to the group of kids playing with a ball. He huffed and muttered something under his breath, automatically taking a cigarette from his pocket. Long strides took him to the blanket area and that was when the uneasiness started settling in.

His blue eyes scanned the area quickly. Moms and dads chatting animatedly with each other — and no, Benny didn't wish that upon himself for his own interest. He worried sometimes. If Matilda took a good look around herself and noticed all picture-perfect families, she would resent him for not being able to give her more than he could've.

"Benny.", an angel-like voice brought him back. He looked up, lowering the cigarette from his lips. A hint of a smile.

"Y/N.", a startling softness in his voice. That was when you realized that you had caught him unprepared. Not just about the picnic day and the muffins and whatnot. It was more than that. A feeling that cut deeper than simply belonging to a group. But you remained quiet.

You smiled at him. "I baked some cakes for everyone. Would you like to try a slice?"

Benny's breath hitched in his throat at the power such simple words held. He nodded without adding a word. You led the way to the table, waiting behind the line of parents and children, standing beside the blonde biker.

The silence wasn't overwhelming or uncomfortable, it was just right. Like something lingered between them, an understanding that none of the people present had. Just them.

Benny looked up for a moment, immediately catching Matilda playing with a boy he hadn't seen before.

"Who's that kid?", he asked, not tearing his eyes away. You followed his gaze and kept the chuckle to yourself, though a smirk settled on your lips.

"Matt.", you said and his eyes immediately met yours.

"That's the kid in the play with her, right?", he needed to make sure and you nodded, keeping from him the fact that you had paired them up together.

"He's very kind and funny.", you nodded, your tone a little playful. You grabbed two paper plates and handed one to Benny. "She's told him all about the PB&J sandwiches."

The biker's cheeks flushed. "'s just PB&J.", he muttered with nonchalance.

You smiled dimmed, but it was soft. "It's everything when it's made with love."

You both let the silence settle between you as you grabbed different cakes from the trays. There was chocolate, vanilla and a mom brought a variety of cookies.

"I, uhm, wanted to thank you for the cassette. Matilda and I watched it together and— Thank you.", your fingers tightened around the paper plate. You looked up and was almost taken aback by the emotion behind his eyes.

"It was a pleasure."

Your words were sent straight to his heart and right as he was about to say something else, a man interrupted them.

"Hey Y/N, strawberry juice as always right?", Sam was a little breathless, but his gaze was fixated solely on you. It didn't take Benny a long time to do two plus two, for he was the only male teacher in the school.

The way that guy knew what you liked and the remark "as always, right?", hurt him in unexplained ways.

You turned to glance his way, your lips parting in surprise. "Uh, yes. Uhm, Sam this is Benny Cross, Matilda's dad.", your eyes darted between the two guys, but neither of them budged. You cleared your throat.

"Can I get you anything to drink, Benny?", your focus shifted on the blonde, but his remained on the male teacher. Equally tall, somewhat muscular, brunette, though had ugly glasses perched on his nose. But he was a teacher, immediately someone more respected than a biker.

"I'm good, thanks. I'll go see what Tilly is up to.", Benny didn't glance your way as he abruptly switched route. You were left stunned with the cake in your hold.

"That's the guy I killed myself over?"

Your head snapped in his direction, your eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"

"The cassette was for him, wasn't it?"

You released a sigh. "Yes, he couldn't make it to his daughter's play.", your eyes followed Benny as he found a quiet place to eat cake with Matilda. Your heart broke a little. Why was he so bothered all of a sudden? Every time one thing went in the right direction, another thing had to fall apart.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know what's going on in your head, but— He's a biker, Y/N. You know what they're up to."

"How can you be so sure?", a crease appeared between your brows. "It's not nice to assume things about people."

He let out an incredulous laugh. "Just look at him. His existence alone is trouble."

Your jaw set as you peered at him. "That's incredibly rude.", your head shook. "I didn't expect that from you.", and you walked off, finding your own quiet corner. Sam called for you, but you blocked his voice away. 

Unwanted tears found your eyes, for reasons you couldn't explain. Maybe because an innocent man who truly trying the best he could was being judged by his appearance and peers. Or maybe for your own complicated mess in your head.

"Miss Y/N?", you looked up, swallowing the knot in your throat. Matilda Cross looked at you with curious eyes. 

"Are you sad?", she asked innocently.

You let out a little laugh, shaking your head. "No, honey. I'm not sad. Wanna sit here with me?", you patted the spot next to you. She nodded and plopped herself down.

"My Aunt Betty makes the best cookies. Here, try.", she distracted you so well as she handed you a chocolate chip cookie. You chuckled as an easy grin found her lips, waiting for your reaction.

"Mhm. That's yummy.", you nodded impressed.

Birds chirped around you as the warm sun kissed your skin.

"Can I tell you a secret?", you glanced her way, nodding with curiosity. "My daddy doesn't like Matt."

You shook your head, grinning. "Yeah, I think so too.", you thought of his skeptical face from earlier.

"But it's not fair, Miss Y/N.", Matilda pouted. "If he can like you, how come I can't like Matt? He goes to school with me. You and my daddy don't work together."

You almost choked on the cookie.

"Honey...", you trailed off, your cheeks red as crimson. "You can't say things like that... You can't lie, honey. You know what we say."

But Matilda shook her head. "I ain't lying, Miss Y/N.", she shrugged.

"He looks at you the same way I look at Matt."

A/N: I absolutely swooned writing this one! let me know what you thought about this part and what you´d like to see next 🌸 I know I was in the midst of writing for a different series, but I just couldn't resist! 🐝

tag list: @rayaskoalaland @wiseyouthinfluencer @mylatest-hyperfixation @gilli-vanilli @butlers-angels @austinswhitewolf @h0pelesslydevoted

MASTERLIST benny masterlist part 4

benny cross series

[oracularvernacular]

scars in the place above the heart

𝘡𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 (𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦) 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳 ( ദ്ദി ˙ᗜ˙ )

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿ 　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

You always thought you’d never be loved again.  At least, not fully.

Not with your body pockmarked by years upon years of picking at your skin, little red dots and brown bumps covering your arms, your back, your legs, your chest. Most embarrassingly your chest. 

You were absolutely terrified of Zayne seeing your body and feeling disappointed- or worse- disgusted. I mean, he knew there was stuff on your arms- that wasn’t hard to hide, and you had jokingly made a few offhand comments about your tits looking like you got chicken pox,  but what would happen when he saw the rest? What if it turned him off, or gave him the ick, or any other fancy schmancy word to describe that odd distasteful feeling you get that you never want anyone else to feel when looking at you? 

Yeah, you were scared down to the bone. It actually made you pick at your skin even more, funnily enough. Until that day you went to the pool.

And when you each came out of the changing rooms, you in a skimpy bikini and him without a shirt on, you both paused. Because his chest was covered in scars, too- from his evol. His arms and chest and back and legs. And honestly, he had never looked hotter. 

Or more down bad.

“You look beautiful,” Zayne mumbled, ears already slightly red. His eyes were wide like saucers, sparkling and near-wobbly with affection (you had no doubt you looked exactly the same), and you had never felt more loved in your life. 

“Thank you, baby. You look like tonight’s dinner, so get in the pool before I bite your pretty little face off.” 

He gave you a little upside-down smile and took your hand as you both stepped into the water, you shrieking from the cold as he held you to him, assuring you that it was “merely the contrast between skin temperature and that of the water” and that you would “thermally adapt” in no time. 

Neither of you mentioned anything about skin, or scars, or anything like that. But there was a quiet understanding of each other- both of you marked by your inability to control the power within your own hands, the freezing burn of an icy evol or the wounding pinch of nails drawing blood- and both of you beautiful nonetheless.

Neither of you mentioned it then, no- but times did come when you would find each other staring with loathing at those marks at your own bodies, and when they came, you would press kisses to every scar on the other’s body- every fresh wound, not caring if your lips were bloodied, for it was the blood of the person you would give every drop of your own blood for- until you both comprehended that there was nothing about you that could possibly decrease your love for each other. 

It would be impossible, with love as infinite as yours.

✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿ 　.　˚　. 　 ˚　✿.

All pics from pinterest, and the fic will be up on my ao3 (miladyofthemeece) soon!

This one was rather self indulgent and deeply personal as someone who struggles with skin picking disorder ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ

Due to looking like i got viciously pecked by a bunch of pigeons all over my chest area, arms, legs, and kinda my face, I have a pretty big fear that when I do reach the age where I have intimacy with someone that they're gonna think im actually super duper ugly.

But I think if I was dating someone and they had lots of blemishes and scars, I really wouldn't care if I love them lots! I'd think they're the prettiest darn thing to grace the earth! At least I think that's how true love works, idk. I'm a teen and nebularomantic smh. Σ(°ロ°) But yeah!

And I also thought Zayne, having scars everywhere and all, would be a perfect match for someone with skin picking disorder cause now we twinning!!!! That's my piece hehe~ mwah I love you ALLLL to BITS!

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ xoxo, Oracle~! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

[vulpixisananimal]

[A: 6 C: 98] - Left in Stitches

[Featuring a returning character from @lavender-tea-dragon!!] [!!!TRIGGER WARNING!!! There are Depictions of feeling something under your skin and parasite-like immagry.]

(Isabeau)

(You. Can’t. Breathe.)

(The strings around your neck, they tighten with every struggle, every move, every breath. Even when you hold your breath and do nothing at all, you can feel it tighten. Your chest burns for air, lungs aflame in agony, you want to breathe, you want to scream and tear these strings from your neck, from your arms, your legs, chest, heart, mind, all of it!!!)

“But all you can do is dangle helplessly like a dancing puppet.” 

(T-that, that blinding, sock-puppet! That sadness, the, t-the one that-)

“Indécision.” {You tighten the strings.} “Your life in a word; the failure to be someone, to be anyone, to be a person at all. Coward.“

“-!” (You try and talk back, but the strings constrict more. How long, how long, how long has, it, been. How long since-- You, can’t, breathe--)

(You feel yourself move, arms, reaching forward, legs in a stride. You try to cry out, you try with all your might but your body continues in its walk! You can’t see, you can’t see anything just, j-just darkness, and, that, puppet. . .)

(You can’t give up. Y-you can’t, you can’t!!! You need to find Sif, you need to find your family and, find, a way, out!!! You need to get OUT!!! You try to cry out, you try with all your might but your body continues- how, h-how much time has passed?!? How, much--)

“If only your party could see you now as a helpless puppet; finally useful for something.”

(B-but-)

“And it’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? Useless fighter, doing whatever a “hero” would do, abandoning your friends to chase a quest to save a doomed country. No, you were a coward. You would have embraced the frozen time.”

(N-no--)

“The fighter, the strong one, the one who’s reliable. That’s the story you’ve painted, isn’t it? The story that covers the truth. The truth that you. Are. A. Coward.”

(. . .)

“You would have never confessed. You would have never resolved anything. You would never have gotten anything done in your miserable life if it wasn’t for someone else stepping in and telling you what to do. Coward. Disgusting.”

(. . . . . . . . . . Y-you. . . .)

“There’s someone here~ Walk over to them.”

(N-no! NO!!!! You can’t let it control you, y-you, you, can’t--)

“Coward.”

(NO NO NO!!!)

(Your, arms, lift up, a-and- no!!! NO!!!!)

“Go on. Kill them.”

(You can’t even see who- r-run!!! RUN!!! You try to scream, you want to scream!!!! RUN!!!! PLEASE!!!!)

“Grab. Their. Neck.”

(N-NO! NO NO NO NO!!! Your hands get closer, you feel skin, you, n-no!!! You open your mouth and, a-and, try, to--)

“Kill. Them.”

(RUN! RUN!!!! GET AWAY JUST, LEAVE!!!! FIND SHELTER!!! STAY AWAY AND JUST, J-JUST RUN!!! RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN-)

(Suddenly, you have the terrifying, then bizarre, feeling of something in your mouth. Terrifying, because as you bit down you thought that with your heart of hearts that it would be blood filling your mouth; then bizarre, because what you tasted instead was. . . Mangoes?)

“It’s PEACHES!!!”

(Before you can process the words, multiple things happen at once. First, you feel something wriggle out of the peach you just ate. Then you feel your whole body freeze as that feeling of something wriggling spreads to your limbs. You feel your senses return to you, and finally, you reach out and grab the strings puppeting you and tug.)

(Indécision falls from a tree branch far above you and lands with a thud at the foot of a stranger just a few feet away. They raise their foot, then stomp on the puppet.)

“. . . Eeewwwww.” (He raises his foot and stomps a second, third, fourth time until it stops moving.) “Your sadness is crabbin’ weird.”

(You’re too busy gasping for air to respond. You can breathe, holy crab you can breathe!!! You’re, you’re alive! You’re alive AND you can breathe!!! H-haha. . . Ha. . . . .)

“Hell-oooooo!” (Your savior grumbled.) “Are you FINALLY done having a crisis?”

“O-oh! Uh, right! Haha” (You take another breath than get to your feet, stumbling just a little.) “T-thank you, Wow! You- I owe you my life! U-uh, who are you?”

“Heh.” (The person— no, a teenager not a day older than Bonnie —they wore a dark-shaded sleeveless shirt, no shoes, and an oversized netted cloak draped over them. Their hair was slightly curly, starting out gray before it faded to lightless near the ends.) “Hiroshi (they/he). And yeah, you do.”

“Haha, y-yeah.” (You rub the back of your neck and look around. There was something weird about that phrasing, but you couldn’t exactly take the time to figure it out right now because as you looked around, the world twisted in on itself, the forests were inverted, the sky shouldn’t be where it is and, and. . .) “What in Change is going on. . ?“

“I dunno, you tell me.” (Hiroshi's voice echoed in your head. There’s a peach resting at your feet with a bite taken out of it.) “Y’know, since you're so smart, ‘Za.”

“H-huh?!?” (You squint, then recoil. Something’s wrong, you can smell mint and, peach, and, sugar! How did, h-how does they know your nickname!? How did-)

(You feel something wriggling under your skin.)

“Figured it out yet, Isa?” (Hiroshi snapped their fingers impatiently.) “C’mooooon I don’t have all daaaaayyyyyyy!!!”

“. . . You. . .” (You had to take a second and close your eyes tight, breathing.) “. . . You, y-you fed me a peach, and, something was in it-”

“UGH okay too slow. Come on, bodyguard.” (Hiroshi huffed, turned, and walked away. To your own surprise, you started walking a beat behind them.) “Yeah yeah I shoved a poison peach in your mouth when you were all zombie looking and got you to actually do something. WOW, some savior you are, can’t even fight a tiny crabbing sadness like that.”

“H-hey-” 

“Zip it! God is talking.” (They held up a finger.) “Great. JUUUUST great! I wake up to see the whole crabbing world turned topsy-turvy and all my scions CUT OFF somehow, and the FIRST PERSON I RUN INTO is YOU!!!”

(You try to open your mouth, nothing.)

“Can’t even fight a tiny crabbing puppet cloth THING and you nearly got your GRUBBY MORTAL HANDS ON ME!!! No wonder what’s-his-nuts wanted me to stop you guys. GROSS!!!” (He shook their head.) “Whatever, just be a good defender for ONCE in your MISERABLE LIFE and keep following. Bleh. . .”

(. . .)

“. . . What, gonna cry?”

(. . . . . . . You, don’t want to do.)

“. . . Eugh, y’know what? I don’t need you awake, I’ll just puppet you.” (They waved a hand.) “Night night!”

(You pass out.)

>>>

(Your first thought when you woke up was that your face felt itchy and you wanted to scratch at it. Your second thought was that you absolutely should NOT do that because it would disturb Hiroshi. Your third thought was asking what in Change that meant, and asking why there’s a weight on your chest. Having gotten yourself sufficiently flummoxed, you open your eyes.)

(You were laying against a tree in a clearing, with Hiroshi lying on your lap, snoring, fast asleep. Change. . . You very carefully move your arm to rub and scratch around your face as you try to think.)

(First, physical check. You feel around your arms, neck, chest, all while making sure not to disturb Hiroshi. There were some healing wounds from the. . . The strings. But apart from that, the only normal thing wrong with you was some soreness in your legs. It was a small relief, not needing to worry if you damaged anything, but still small.)

(You still felt that wriggling under your skin. It made you want to scream, or yell, or just, jump up and run away and, and do SOMETHING! But, but. . . Change you don’t know. Just, calm down, Isabeau, just breathe. Breathe. . .)

(Hiroshi got you out of that THINGS clutches, but now you were just being controlled by someone else. You quietly sigh. What did he want, again? They called you bodyguard after all, so they probably just don’t want to be killed. They also mentioned other scions, and ‘what’s-his-nuts’, whoever that is. . . Well, if you had to be somewhere, you’d prefer here, at least.)

(As for where here is? No idea. Looking up, you were still in disbelief at the sight. The world was inverted, twisting in on itself. It gives you a headache just looking at it! You had to close your eyes. Oh crab, where would everyone be, now? You were just in Bambouche before. . . Before. . .)

(Perci.)

(Perci stabbed Siffrin. Then you saw light. Then weird shades. Then you were in a void, alone, with that puppet. You tried to fight it. You lost.)

(. . . Try not to think about it; focus on something else. Something like. . . The shades. No, no shades, colours! You remember that now, you talked with Siffrin and Madame about that a little bit ago! Something that, that you, we, the global ‘we’ used to be able to see but can’t anymore. But, why is that? And why can you see them again now, occasionally.)

(Now that you think about it, every time you’ve seen colours around here, it was out of the corner of your eye, or fading in or out, or blurry, or. . . Something. You’re not sure. The other times you saw shades was only when something to do with the. . . The thing siffrin does which is, which is. . . Siffrin is sweet, sweets are made with sugar, burnt sugar smells- WISHES! RIGHT! When a wish is being weird or breaking. Oh Change. . .)

(There’s a rustle from the bushes, and you clench your fists, ready to jump at any hostility.)

(There’s silence, birds, wind, rustling, water in the distance, snoring, rustling again, a bit more, a bit more. . . . Maybe, it’s--)

(A sadness jumps out and lunges at you. In a flash you were up, Hiroshi under one arm, and the sadness clawing at the other.)

“Whhuh? Whasgoinon-” 

“Sadness!!”  (You yell as you fling the sadness away, then put Hiroshi down.) “Get behind me, I won’t let them hurt you!”

“HEY! I GIVE THE ORDERS AROUND HERE!!” (Hiroshi pouts and you feel the slithering under your skin again.) “NOW GO AND-”

(Before they can finish, you dive at them just in time to block a sadness from slashing at him. You winced at the pain, but took the chance to smack it back, sending it flying.)

“. . . .  You. . .” (Hiroshi was talking, but you were busy counting the enemies. Two, no, three sadness, scissors, rock, heart shaped rock, you can do this.) “You, saved me?”

“You’re surprised?!?” (You don’t turn to talk, being a bit preoccupied.) “Why, wouldn’t I?!?”

“I. . .” (There’s a silence for a time, the sadness crept closer.) “. . . Just, just kill these creeps!!!”

(A sadness lunged at you and you intercepted it with an uppercut, knocking it back. Despite the unnerving feeling in your muscles, you felt powerful! Another came at you and you took the hit easily, firing back with [SMASH!])

(A scream came from the side, a rock sadness careening down on you. You had only just started to defend yourself when, in a flash, it got ensnared by a crafted bramble bush!)

(You didn't waste time, swooping in to bash the sadness! Once you stepped back, you glanced at your companion. Hiroshi had a hand lazily raised. Once he saw you staring, he scoffed.) “What?”

“What?” (You smile at him.) “Uh, thanks Hiroshi!”

“GET MY NAME OUTTA YOUR DIRTY MOUTH AND KEEP FIGHTING!”

(You SHOULD be annoyed or angry at the commanding feeling overwhelming your body, but you couldn’t help but grin. Whatever they were, they really were like a kid, heh. You flow into your next strike, then the next, and the next.)

(It didn’t take long for the first sadness to fall down dead, and after that it was only a matter of time for the other two to follow. Once you stomped the last sadness into the dirt, and made sure there wasn’t one lying in wait, you take a moment to breathe in. . . And out. . . . .)

[Isabeau is now level 61.]

(You turn to Hiroshi) “Hey Hir- kid are you okay?”

“I! AM! NOT! A! KID!!!” (He stomps towards you and puts an accusatory finger in your face.) “I AM A GOD! A GOD!!! GOT IT?!?! Not a DEMON, not a KID or a TEEN, a GOD!!!”

“!!!  S-SORRY! Sorry I-I, uh,” (You held up your arms in surrender, quickly racking your brains for a title that would fit.) “uh, sorry Ser, not a kid, got it Ser!”

“GOOD!” (They huffed and turned away, apparently satisfied with the title.) “Just, whatever! You’re stupid, and a crab, AND you smell. Just, just, whatever.”

“. . . . Uh. . .” (You bite your tongue, choose your words carefully. . .) “. . . Ser? If there’s, anything else I should or shouldn’t call you then I’d be happy to-”

“NO! Ser is FINE!” (He’s not looking at you.) “Why do you CARE anyway!!!”

“Huh?” (You blink.) “What do you mean?”

“YOU SHOULDN’T BE CARING!!!” (They turn and storm towards you again. You start backing up instinctively before your legs freeze up.) “YOU STUPID MORTALS at least TRY to be a prick and fight back but NO!!! YOU decide to save me WITHOUT me ordering you! AND THEN COME UP WITH A BETTER TITLE FOR ME ALL BY YOURSELF!!! AND YOU CHECKED IF I WAS HURT?!?!?!”

“W-wh-”

“SHUT UP!!! JUST SHUT UP!!!”  (Your throat locks up before you could even open your mouth. Hiroshi stares at you, then huffs and turns away again, and starts to walk.) “Your job is to follow me and protect me and to NOT be my FRIEND!! So just, SHUT UP! UGH, I can’t WAIT to get back to my tree and let you DIE!”

(You follow, regardless of possession or not.)

>>>

“Okay. Talk.”

(The two of you had stopped again after what felt like a few hours. You had been going in circles, that was for sure, and it looks like Hiroshi was finally tired of it; the only thing you’d seen that was different was a river. You were standing against a tree as the kid, god, sat at the base, pouting.)

“. . .” (You hadn’t talked since you’d been ordered not to. You rub your shoulders.) “. . . What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything.” (They grumble) “Just, ANYTHING. Ideas on what to do. Ideas on WHAT this place is. ANYTHING.”

“Uh. . . O-okay.” (They don’t know what’s going on? You bit your lip, you were hoping that they’d know more than you. . .) “. . . Okay. . . Well, I have an idea on why we’re, you know, here. And I also have an idea on where to go?”

“Well get on with it!”

“Right, so. . .” (You look down, closing your eyes to talk.) “So. . . I think that someone named Percival, Percival Monet, caused this.”

“Woah hold up.” (Hiroshi perks up.) “Messy dark hair? Fancy shmancy vest? Reads minds?”

(Uhoh.) “Thaaat’s the one.”

“Well, crab.” (They were back to pouting.) “That crabface made me a deal! Now he goes and breaks everything?!? HOW did he even break everything!!!”

“Made a deal?” (You ask, then an idea!) “Wait, was it just Perci you met? Was there someone else there?”

“No?” (He gives you a weird look.) “Percival came to my home, did the sacrifice, saw what I could do, took notes and talked to that. . . That. . .”

(The confused expression on their face was all you needed.) “There’s someone you can’t remember, right?”

“HEY! I mean, there IS but-!” (Hiroshi looks angry at you for a second, then just sticks his tongue out and crosses their arms.) “Yeah, sure, there was.”

“R-right.” (Oooh boy, you take a deep breath.) “Before all of this happened, that person he was traveling with did. . . Did something, and now no-one can remember who they were.”

“So?” (Hiroshi yawned and stretched.) “He forgot someone, big deal.”

“They were, really, really important to him!” (You try not to raise your voice.) “He looked devastated, broken, or, o-or. . .”

“Ugh, mortals. You and your ‘Romantic Attractions.’ Eugh.” (Hiroshi scoffed and shook his head.) “So he got desperate, and what, wanted to make a wish?”

“You know what a w-”

“YEAH! IDIOT! I GRANT WISHES!!!” (Grumbling.) “Don’t they teach you mortals ANYTHING?!?!”

“N-not about wishes, haha. . .” (You say, trying to lighten the mood.) “Well, I think, I think he made some strong wish and nowwwww everything’s gotten, like, this.”

“Wow. Just, wow. Glad I decided to be lazy and NOT attack you guys.”

“Er, w-when did you, you, uh. . . Make that deal?” 

“I dunno, like a month ago.”

“O-oh!” (You wince, remembering that about a month ago Siffrin was knocking on death's door.) “Uh, thanks!”

“Whatever.” (Huff.) “What’s the other idea, mortal?”

“Well. . .” (You look up to the sky, er, ground, above you.) “. . . Remember that creek we found?”

“Yeah? And?”

“If we can find that again, we should try and follow it upstream.” (You rubbed your chin in thought.) “If we do that we should eventually find its source, which with any luck will be in a high up place.”

“Wow. Great. Fantastic.” (Hiroshi stands, reaches up, and flicks your nose.) “How the CRAB does that help, dummy!”

“H-hey!” (You pout.) “No need for that.”

“SAYS YOU!!! I’M the one in charge!!! GOT IT?!?!”

“Yes Ser. . .” (You reply, dejected.) 

“Good, don’t forget it.” (Hiroshi huffs, and leans against the tree.) “So I ask again, how does that crabbing help.”

“Well uh, for one having a high up vintage point means we can look over a big part of the forest to find your tree.” (You try and smile as you talk.) “And, for two uh, if, if my buddy knows me at all then they’ll do the same thing and, t-they’ll be able to help you out too so. . .”

“DO YOU THINK I’M STUPID!?!” (You wince.) “Yeah, SURE! Help ME out! DUMBASS!!! CRABSTUPIDUMBFUCK!!! You’ll get your BUDDY to go after ME to try and SAVE YOU!!! UGH!!!”

“N-no I-” (Your heart quickens, you move around to try and talk to them.) “I didn’t! I promise I didn’t mean that I just-”

“ZIP IT!” (Hiroshi glares at you with those deep, dark eyes as you feel your throat constrict.) “You’re SUCH an idiot. Why the HELL would I ever fall for that!”

(You want to reply so badly, to insist that, that you didn’t mean any harm! You just want to make sure everyone’s okay, and make sure that Hiroshi ends up alright too! You didn’t want to, to make things worse or, or, o-or. . .)

“Lets find that river.” (Hiroshi turns and starts walking, dragging you along just like before.) “I’m gonna meet your buddy, then I’m gonna take control of ‘em, then we’re ALL going back to MY TREE! And if they fight back, then I’ll order you to kill ‘em! Got it?!?”

(You couldn’t respond.)

“GOOD. Idiot. . .”

[fy0lin]

i saw some mizi hate in the alnst tags and im??

the main gist of it was that she was selfish for exploding the stage and that she was a bad person for not acknowledging suas plans to lose, along with saying she was a bad person for beating up luka,,.

and like?? no shit she was being selfish?? we are shown starting in ruler of my heart that she isnt doing well mentally, and it's extremely obvious that she was struggling with suas death and that she wasnt coping very well. how did they want her to react? should she have been acting cheerful, and told the other resistance members "oh well, we'll get em next time guys!!"??

her last living friend from anakt 'died', and then hyuna died immediately after by an avoidable accident caused by luka's selfishness in wanting to see hyuna. she was already extremely shaken to the point of being unresponsive by till 'dying' just as she reached him, and then hyuna died by a misfire almost immediately after.

she has gotten the hope that she could save one of her friends, and then he 'died' in front of her and so did hyuna. there is no scenario where she does not react negatively to this, of course she acted drastically and severely.

and then, saying she was a bad person for not acknowledging suas plans, what was she meant to do there?? she had planned with sua to tie, so she was probably already aware sua didnt find it likely it would happen. even if she didnt already know that much, what would her saying something have achieved?

sua already had the idea in her head, mizi was sure her plan would work. even if it didnt, its not like they could back out of alien stage. one of the patreon comics shows that she went to anakt planning on entering alien stage, and there was no way she could convince the caretakers to pull sua out anyways, and she still wanted to compete and tie with sua.

then they say she is a bad person for beating up luka for 'no reason' and like?? what do you mean, no reason? hyuna died because of his hasty actions. sure, he didnt shoot the gun, but the gun wouldn't've been shot if he hadnt gone to her. hyuna made the decision to jump in front of the bullet, and someone else made the decision to shoot the gun, but that doesn't change that hyuna died.

mizi was already in an extremely bad mental state, and for hyuna to die to someone who had already caused her to black out and beat up once before, was it really all that surprising that she went to beat him up? im not saying it was okay, but it didnt come from nowhere and it makes sense when you look at mizi's actions so far anyways.

on top of all of that, mizi didnt do any of these things and then claim she was a good person from it. in the patreon comic and in the beginning of KARMA itself, she shows that she feels that she is a bad person. you dont need to read the patreon comic to know how she feels about it, it's the first thing said in KARMA.

specifically in KARMA, she says "stop pretending to be righteous, neither you nor i deserve to be saved." she was clearly projecting onto him her feelings about herself, she knows what she is doing is wrong, and says it out loud even. i cant even imagine how you could watch KARMA and think she did all that feeling like she was a good person.

she likely bombed the stadium and all the beings inside it because of that belief that none of them deserved to be saved or continue living after all that happened. all the aliens and human pets that watched, the person that shot hyuna, luka for causing the bullet to be shot, mizi herself for being too late to save till, none of them are in the right. none of them are righteous.

it doesnt take a lot of analysis to see that mizi wasnt acting in her right mind or that she did those things knowing that it wasnt right. as far as i see it, its even clearly stated (if not in exact words) and shown to us viewers that she isnt righteous or stable, her deterioration starting from the end of my clematis, even.

unrelated to mizi, the poster also said that it didnt make sense that there was so much media coverage over the explosion and that it was called a tragedy by the aliens when the human deaths were half the point of alien stage, and im just?? the stadium blew up?? we had 3 slow-mo shots of aliens being pelted in the head by falling debris and dying?? it obviously wasnt called a tragedy because of the human deaths??

im gonna finish this by going back to the beginning where mizi was called selfish, and im just gonna say that in alien stage, it is shown over snd over again that the characters are acting selfishly, and hating on mizi for her actions makes no sense (esp when ops favorite is luka??)

sua is selfish for deciding shed rather die than participate honestly and risk mizis death (and then for hiding this from mizi, even tho she found out lol), ivan is selfish for sacrificing himself for till, for barely giving his first opponent time to sing, and for admonishing suas similar decision, till is selfish for his sabotage against his opponent in r2, luka is selfish for his manipulation of the other contestants and his want for monopolization of hyuna, and hyuna is selfish for her decision to die and haunt luka.

tldr: alien stage shows us characters being selfish over and over again, mizi isnt some big bad evil mistress for being selfish, her actions weren't made with her feeling that she was a saint, and she even said herself that she wasnt righteous.

[sturnzsblog]

Not worth it 5

Summary: Y/N never planned on falling in love with a gangster — until she met Matt. Mysterious, dangerous, and fiercely loyal, he drags her into a world of crime, secrets, and bloodshed. What starts as passion turns into obsession, violence, and survival.

warnings: Violence & gun use, Murder / blood / graphic scenes, Kidnapping / captivity, Torture / psychological manipulation, Mentions of death, trauma, & PTSD, Toxic relationship dynamics, Jealousy / possessive behavior,Alcohol / drug mentions,Language / explicit content (sexual & violent),Loss / grief, Mental health struggles (depression, anxiety, dissociation),References to past abuse (implied),Emotional manipulation / codependency.

I was dressed to kill — literally and figuratively. A black satin dress that hugged my body like sin, with a slit that revealed just enough to keep a man staring. Gold cuffs on my wrist, thin stiletto heels that made every step louder than the silence between Matt and me lately.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Nick asked behind me, his voice low as he adjusted the mic on my dress strap.

I didn’t answer. I just looked across the room to where Matt stood, already watching me from the bar with a dark drink in one hand and darker eyes. His jaw was clenched like he was holding back everything he wanted to say — or do.

He hated this.

Me using my body. My voice. My mouth. My charm.

He hated that it worked.

But we needed information. And if I didn’t do it, someone else would.

Matt turned his face slightly when our eyes met, like the sight of me walking away from him burned.

“Ready,” I whispered, smoothing down the front of my dress. My nerves danced in my stomach, but I didn’t flinch.

Elias Russo was seated in the VIP corner booth, two models on either side of him — both pretending to be into him. His smile was smug, but hollow. Dangerous men always had that same kind of smile.

I stepped toward him, ignoring the eyes I felt trailing my hips. I knew Matt was still watching. I could feel the weight of it like a chain around my throat.

“Mr. Russo?” I asked sweetly, stopping just outside his reach.

He looked up and his expression changed instantly. “Well, well. And who might you be?”

I leaned forward slightly, giving him the illusion of control.

“Y/N. I’ve heard a lot about you. I thought it was time I got a look for myself.”

He chuckled and waved for the girls beside him to leave. They did — instantly. That told me everything I needed to know about how he operated.

“Sit, princess. Let me get a look at you.”

I slid into the booth beside him, crossing my legs slowly. I tilted my head with a small smile, pretending like this didn’t make my skin crawl.

“Rumor is you’re moving shipments through the border,” I said quietly, fingers tracing the rim of my glass. “That’s risky business.”

Elias grinned, running his fingers lightly over my knee. “Who told you that?”

I didn’t pull away. I just smiled. “Men talk when they’re drunk and stupid.”

“Good thing I’m neither.” His hand moved higher.

I let it. For now.

“Isn’t it dangerous for a girl like you to be out here with men like me?” he asked.

I tilted my head. “Isn’t it more dangerous for men like you to trust a girl like me?”

That made him chuckle. I watched as his fingers reached lazily for the gold chain resting against his dark button-down shirt.

“Feisty,” he murmured. “I like that.”

I leaned in, fingers barely grazing his wrist. “So tell me, Elias… where does a man like you get his supply from these days?”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s a bold question.”

“And you seem like a bold man.”

He stared at me a little longer than I liked. Then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, someone moved behind me.

And I felt it.

Matt.

Watching.

⸻

Ten minutes later, Elias was a little looser. Drink number two in. His hand had slid higher along my thigh—way too high—but I kept it together.

I needed just one more name. A location. Something. I could feel it coming.

“…New shipment’s supposed to hit the port this week,” Elias muttered, sliding his hand behind my back.

I swallowed. “Which port?”

He leaned in, whispering it, lips grazing my ear.

Then I felt his fingers hook along the strap of my dress.

That was it.

I pulled back fast, grabbing his wrist. My smile dropped.

“I didn’t say you could touch me,” I said coolly. “So stop.”

He blinked, surprised.

Then, surprisingly… he did. Hands raised in mock apology.

“Easy, princess. Wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“Good,” I said and slid out of the booth.

⸻

Matt was across the room, eyes locked on me.

His fists clenched. But he hadn’t moved. Not once.

When I walked past him, brushing his shoulder with mine, he muttered just loud enough for me to hear: “You push every fucking button I have.”

I didn’t look back. I just smiled, lips closed, heart racing.

Back at the penthouse, the boys talked shop. Chris counting chips, Skye giggling in the kitchen about the way Chris had stood up for her.

But me?

I walked straight upstairs.

I didn’t say a word to Matt.

⸻

Fifteen minutes later, he followed.

He opened the door slowly. Found me sitting at the edge of the bed in silence, the dress off, makeup half wiped.

“Y/N,” he said.

I didn’t answer.

He walked closer, crouched in front of me. “Say something.”

I looked at him. “You didn’t say a thing the whole night. But your eyes never left me.”

Matt sighed. “You think that shit’s easy for me? Watching you touch them? Letting them touch you?”

“You think it’s easy for me?” I snapped. “Letting men grab my waist and breathe on my neck while the one man I want barely talks to me anymore?”

His jaw clenched. “You knew what tonight was.”

“Yeah. I did. And I did my job, Matt. But you won’t even look at me after.”

He stared for a long second, then sat down beside me on the bed.

“Do you know what I was thinking the whole night?” he asked.

I didn’t answer.

“That you were too good for this shit. For me.”

That made my heart twist.

“You’re mine, Y/N. But I feel like I don’t even deserve you.”

I swallowed hard, turning to face him. “Then tell me you love me.”

He froze.

I saw it.

The hesitation.

My voice was barely a whisper. “Matt… say it.”

Silence.

I nodded slowly, breath shaking. Then pushed him gently off me and turned over in bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin.

“Y/N—”

“I’m fine.”

“Baby—”

“I’m just tired.”

My eyes burned, but I didn’t let a single tear fall until I knew his back was turned.

Then I broke.

Quiet. Alone. The kind of heartbreak that doesn’t scream—it whispers.

Because sometimes, silence is the loudest thing in the world.

taglist 💋

@n00dl3zzz @pip4444chris @sturnzzlovee @bernardmatthews @xsturnkay @katiebae333 @dummyslut00 @eszt1 @kalel2005 @nessaisabelartemas333 @sturnxvibes @jaybirdie34 @izzylovesmatt @sturnxluvv @courta13

[tarithenurse]

Destined - 4

Fandom: MCU. Pairing/starring: Loki Odinson x fem!reader. Word count: 2529. Content: Lots of angsting, opposition through sustenance refusal, threatening behaviour, happy ending. A/N: Thanks for the ride, as unplanned as it was. I hope you liked it. As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

4.

You come to in darkness, head throbbing and mouth parched. Feeling around you, you appear to be in a narrow bed beyond which there’s a little table with a candlestick and matches. Greedily you light it, uncaring of who might be alerted to you being awake.

For a moment the little flame is all you see, warm and promising like hope rekindled. Then you look further, finding that the small room has yet another cot and that your father is lying on it, his gaze fixed on you.

There’s also a small window, rounded and thick with nothing but darkness on the other side and the occasional winking star. Is this a ship? If that’s the case, then where are you heading? The realms are vast and the journey from one place to the other can be long.

“I thought my actions would scare you to change your mind,” your father begins, “make you question if it was worth giving up your life for him.”

You can’t meet his gaze, feeling the accusation of having dismissed the love your family had bestowed on you so far. But you watch his movements as he sit up, putting on his heavy boots and tying them.

“One day you’ll understand that this is for the better,” he declares.

“Why?” There’s more strength in your voice than you had imagined possible. “Why do you hate him?”

“I swore an oath and I refuse to break it...but I will not see you doom yourself.”

The dismissal is clear. More so as he leaves the cabin and locks the door behind him. You catch a glimpse of someone standing guard outside, ruining your chance of escape even if you could unlock the door. And then what? You muse bitterly. On a ship in the vastness of the Astral Sea you would have nowhere to go even if you did get out. Locking the door is no more than a display of your father’s control over your situation.

Reaching for your neck, you feel that at least the necklace from Loki is still there and it brings some comfort although you worry what he might think when you do not return at the end of the day.

How long has it been? Is it already evening at home? What will Loki do when he realizes? Sighing, you have no way of knowing and you sink back on the lumpy pillow again.

Your father returns shortly with water and food, at least he has no intention of making you suffer needlessly, it seems. Then he leaves again.

---

The journey is hard to time as there is no sunrise or sunset but judging by the times you are fed and brought out to relieve yourself, you figure it’s a journey of barely a week. Surely, you must be sought for by then – you cannot imagine that Loki would believe you’ve left of your own free will.

Your father only communicates minimally with you, telling you to follow outside or eat or drink. You’ve contemplating rejecting what he gives you but you know Loki would want you to stay strong and so not only to you eat but you’ve taken to exercising as best as you can in the cramped space.

By the time the sky lightens outside and the ship docks, you recognize the port of Alfheim’s capital city. You should. You’ve spend many years here and it almost feels like coming home if it wasn’t for the circumstances.

Your father emerges to bring you up on deck where an escort of local dockworkers are ready, surrounding you and partially guiding the two of you onto the street and to a closed off vehicle that is waiting for the sole purpose of bringing you further away.

Trying to resist, to make a scene that will draw attention, you struggle against the hold of your father and the men but there are few people nearby and the ones you see observing you are maybe too worried to get involved because they turn their heads and say nothing. Do nothing.

“Cowards!” you yell at them just as you are lifted and literally tossed onto the floor of the carriage.

Your father follows, snarling at you to shut up. “One day you’ll thank me.”

“Never! You are the monster!”

He does not raise his hand, just pulls his mouth tight as he clambers in and allowing the door to be closed. A heartbeat later, the vehicle begins to move, bumbling on the uneven cobbled stones so your brain rattles and you must struggle to get onto the seat opposite of your father.

The journey is not long before the carriage comes to a halt and your father pulls down the window, leaning out and handing off some payment to someone.

“Help me!” you scream. “I’m being taken against my will!”

Sighing, the man who claims to care for you pulls out some more coins, gold gleaming in the sunlight, and adds them to the payment. He is, once more, using his wealth to get what he wants and you know that the silence he has bought will be hard to undo.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks and you swipe angrily at them, not wanting your father to witness your despair but of course he sees it and for once he has to look away almost as if he’s ashamed. He can rot in his guilt for all you care, it’s no less than he deserves. And your mother? How could she allow this to happen to you?

This time the carriage rattles on for longer, the road eventually becoming more even as cobbled stones are replaced with a dirt road as the city falls behind you.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask, trying to keep your voice even.

“Somewhere safe.” He doesn’t look at you but rather at his nails as if trying to find just the smallest speck of dirt there.

“You think it will go over well? Abducting the love of the prince and the friend of the royal household?”

“Your mother has brought a message to the palace – a letter from you describing how you changed your mind and decided to not wreck havoc on your family.”

You gape. “They will know it’s a lie.”

“Will they?”

Of course you second guess it now that he challenges your faith but you have to believe it. Have to keep the hope alive or you’ll despair and so you nod with as much conviction as you can muster.

“He’ll come for me.”

---

You’ve been brought to a house out in the woods. It’s by no means a shabby place, but neat and tidy and with plenty of space to entertain guests or, in this case, house the rotation of guards that constantly supervise you and the butler that tends to your needs. Your father stayed with you for only a night before leaving again, telling you he will be back.

That’s the night you stop eating.

It’s hard when the hunger pulls at you, tempting you to dig into the delicious foods the butler presents you with as he kindly asks you to consider your actions and take care of your needs but you remind yourself that he’s your father’s man and not on your side.

You spend your days by the window, looking out into the wilderness and after a while it becomes easier as the hunger no longer hurts but becomes a dull gnawing instead. Spending your days bathing and caring for your appearance is not enough and you are almost thankful for the items that have been provided for recreational occupations such as embroidery, reading, writing – the latter reminding you of the note that was passed under the door when you were caught in the pantry.

Going to the dress, you find the now crumbled note and find that it indeed is from your mother.

“My dearest. I cannot soften his actions. I do not agree with him and I will find a way to set things right even if it costs me my marriage. Love, your mother.”

It is more than you had ever imagined from her but it gives you hope that she might reveal what has happened to Loki or the queen. Or Odin himself. Tugging the note away, it and the necklace you still wear becomes almost little effigies of the love and hope you must sustain.

One week turns into two and your energy is waning, your hands weak when you dress yourself and the steps sluggish. There is no lustre in your skin or hair and yet you power on, resisting your father’s will the only way you can.

You drink, knowing you must do at least that or perish too soon, and you suspect the butler tampers with the glasses of water because sometimes it tastes sweet and when that happens you put it aside, refusing to touch it until it has been replaced and tastes right again. But your senses are fooling you and often you have drunk more of the mixture than you should before realizing the mistake.

One day your father arrives, looking you over and sighing.

“You cannot continue doing this,” he admonishes you. “Will you starve yourself to death?”

“If I must,” you admit, though you would rather avoid it.

“You cannot force my hand. I will not take you back.”

Looking at him, you know he is speaking the truth. “Then so be it.”

---

You find it harder to concentrate on the small tasks you have set for yourself: the book lies open on the same page, the embroidery shows close to no progress, only a few stitches at a time. But worst is it when you stand or walk. The dizziness overtakes you then, causing you to find purchase on the wall or furniture until you can sit down again. Already your clothes do not fit you like they used to and you can see the concern on the butler’s face and in the increasingly impressive dishes he prepares for you.

And still you refuse.

You’re half asleep in the comfortable chair by the window one day when you hear a thunderous sound outside accompanied by a marvellous display of fragmented light.

All the guards jump to attention, some rushing outside while others come to you, weapons drawn but uncertain of what to do. You wonder if they would threaten you on your life to keep you there but then suppose that you will find out soon enough.

There are voices. Angry. Demanding. And you recognize that of Thor. Where is Loki?

Pushing to your feet, you want to go to them but you are pushed back into the chair only in part by the guard and mostly by your own weakness.

Thankfully, you do not have to wait long before the sound of running feet reach your room, slamming the door open and revealing an einherjar.

“Here, my lord!” she calls over her shoulder, though never fully taking the eyes of the guards by your side.

More people arrive, einherjar at first but eventually Loki and Thor stride in, parting the crowd with their presence.

You’ve never seen Loki this upset before. Nor Thor for that matter but it’s your prince your gaze is stuck on and the way his jaw works as he takes in the scene before him. Light shimmers in his hands and daggers appear but as he is about to take a step forward, Thor stops him.

“Will you let us take her without a fight?” the rumbles at the guards.

They glance at each other, clearly reaching the same conclusion that they have not been employed to deal with the princes and so they back away, lowering their weapons.

Another golden flicker and the daggers in Loki’s hands are gone although he glares not just at the guards but at his brother too as if he’d been longing for a fight.

Getting up, you take a few steps towards him before you can feel the dizziness return but then he’s by you, scooping you up as though you weighed nothing and tugging you to his chest.

“I knew you wouldn’t leave on your own accord,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Never.”

Turning, he carries you out of the house, followed by an entourage consisting of his brother, the einherjar, the guards, and a butler who looks a bit relieved.

“Hold on tight,” Loki whispers and suddenly the air around you is alive with a storm of fragmented light and wind.

It is the sensation of having left your guts behind that gets to you the most as you soar along the Bifrost – because that is what it is – but it does not take long for the slight nausea to pass and you pull yourself closer to your prince, allowing the wind to whip through your hair and clothes, knowing you are safe in his arms.

He crouches upon arrival, curling upon around your tired frame and refusing to let go even as others stretch out their arms to take you from him or to help him to his feet. Horses are waiting and as he places you upon one, briefly thereafter joining you, that is the only time he lets go of you and when he has you in his arms again, he holds you even tighter.

“You’re squishing me,” you feebly complain.

“Sorry.”

Loosening his hold only a fraction he gets the steed to move, quickly transitioning to a smooth gallop that takes you over the long rainbow bridge, through the city with the golden roofs, and to Valhalla that is stretching towards a clear blue sky.

“Thank you,” you mumble into his chest, “for coming for me.”

“Always,” is all he can get out, voice tight with emotions.

---

It takes a while for you to regain your strength and in that time you hear of the arrest of your father and the divorce he is facing. His decision.

Your mother, bless her, had finally rebelled against his decisions and gone to warn the All-Mother of your abduction at your own father’s hands but she had not known the details of your whereabouts which is why it had taken so long to find you. Your father was clever, warding you from Heimdal’s sight but it was not good enough. After losing his grip on you, when he also learned the truth of your mother’s actions, he had felt betrayed and demanded a divorce.

You haven’t seen either of them. Not yet and you aren’t certain that you will. But at least you hear that your mother has found a place to live on her own and you are certain you will go visit her some day.

You suppose it’s quite a scandal, at least if you judge it by the pitying looks from the servants you sometimes notice when they think you aren’t looking. But you couldn’t care less as you walk through the garden arm in arm with Loki or sit with him and his family at the dinner table.

You are safe.

You are loved.

[chronicallycouchbound]

There is a story told and retold in the Middle East about how to help someone who’s drowning.

The story goes that a man had fallen into a river. He was not much of a swimmer and was in real danger of drowning. A crowd of concerned people wanted to rescue him. They were standing at the edge of the water, each of them urgently shouting out to him:

“Give me your hand, give me your hand!”

The man was battling the waves and ignored their urgent plea. He kept going under and was clearly struggling to take another breath. A saintly man walked up to the scene. He too cared about the drowning man. But his approach was different. Calmly he walked up to the water, waded in up to his knees, glanced lovingly at the drowning man, and said:

“Take my hand.”

Much to everyone’s surprise, the drowning man reached out and grabbed the saint’s hand. The two came out of the dangerous water. The drowning man sat up at the edge of the water, breathing heavily, looking relieved, exhausted, and grateful. The crowd turned towards the saint and asked in complete puzzlement: “How were you able to reach him when he didn’t heed our plea?” The saint calmly said:

“You all asked him for something, his hand. I offered him something, my hand. A drowning man is in no position to give you anything.”

Let us remember not to ask anything of someone who is drowning.

From "How to Reach Out to Someone Who Is Struggling" by Omid Safi

[critter-wizard]

ep 43 had me tearing up in a fucking shopping centre ‼️‼️

b+w alt version that I truly couldn't decide if I liked it more . Also I included a lot of thoughts in the tags but they're somewhat incoherent<3