#i am trying not to pressure you but it's possible the end of this may literally derange! portions! of my brain! so ... fair warning 😘

[justaaveragereader]

Slashtober🔪|| Misery!Yunho

Pairing: Yunho x Reader

Word Count: 6.0k

Warnings: THE ENDING IS DARK!! Stalker!Yunho, Dom!Yunho, Sub!Reader, Unprotected Sex, Mutual Masterbation, Possesiveness, Yunho Is Toxic ASF, Primal Play, Fear Play, Degradation, Choking, CNC, YuYu Uses His Body To Restrain You, Spit, Spanking, Dacryphilia, Masterbation, Clit Play, Oral, Restraining, Fingering, Ass Play, Squirting, Cum Eating…If I Missed Anything…Lemme Know👀👀

A/N: Because tomorrow is going to be busy, busy for me, I decided to drop Yunhos slasher fic a day early😚! This whole fic is DARK, once again they are based off of the slashers in the horror film. If you’ve seen the movie Misery, you know the movie was crazy as hell, so what do you think this fic will be? Crazy as hell. I enjoyed writing this so much, I apologize for the person I was when I was writing the smut to this fic😀.

Slashtober 24’ Masterlist

NSFW UNDER CUT MDNI!!!!

All Ageless, Blank, and Bot Looking Blogs Will Be Blocked.

“Am I almost finished?” You say while eating peanut m&ms. Letting a smile grace your face you nod, holding up a stack of papers. Making sure not to turn them around you show the camera. Letting all your fans on live see the hard work you have done. You had been working on this book for quite some time. You had taken a well deserved vacation up to northern New York to add the finish touches. Squinting you get closer to the screen, trying to read the fast moving messages.

“What is the plot like?” You read out loud, munching on another m&m, you smile once more. The flood of questions coming in hot. You couldn’t help but feel proud. Pointing to your chin like you are thinking.

“Hmm…I can’t spoil the plot you guys! If I told you the plot then it would ruin the suspense.” With a small laugh, you shift through more of the comments.

“When are you coming back home?” You read. Rolling your eyes slightly, you chuckle.

“Soon Woo! I’m packing up soon, and will be on the road no later than maybe 5pm?” Eating another handful of m&ms. You grab the laptop, moving it to the side. You pull up the curtains of the window, showing all the viewers the beautiful, snowy view. A small sigh leaves your mouth..

“I swear this vacation was not long enough. Look how pretty the snowfall is.” You whisper out, getting caught up in the moment before turning back to the computer. You adjust it once more, reading all the comments on the scenery.

“Where are you?” You read, not thinking much of it, assuming that the commenter is trying to land a spot at the peaceful spot, you laugh it off.

“I can’t tell you all that! You may try to steal my vacation spot.” You let out a small laugh, grabbing another handful of candy, before wrapping up the live. You wave sheepishly, promising to go live once you make it back to New York, closing your laptop. You pack up all your items, double checking to make sure you aren’t missing a thing when you get a notification. You toss your phone in your car, not bothering to check it. As you load your car, you take in the surroundings once more. The peacefulness of quiet envelopes your body, wrapping it in a blissful hug. As a writer life wasn’t easy for you, the pressure had been crushing your windpipe. This novel was well awaited once, your fans had been waiting three years for this book, the uneasy feeling of potentially letting them down always stayed in the back of your mind, nipping away at you like a hungry disease. Getting in your car you begin your trip back home, setting your phone up to use as the gps, as you get closer to exiting the property you begin to notice just how hard it is snowing. The thick, cold flakes sticking to the ground, crunching under your tires.

Thirty minutes into the drive you turn your windshield wipers up to clear your windshield as quickly as possible, the small flakes being very mighty. Letting out a groan you grab your phone off the dashboard, dialing Wooyoungs number to let him know you are going to turn around and head back to the cabin. The snow becomes too much for you to handle, trying to balance between looking at your phone, and at the road. As you are locking more onto your phone, not even a second later you lose control of the wheel. Tossing your phone aside, you grab the wheel tightly, trying to regain steering, pumping your brakes, you wind up spinning out and fall off the small cliff. The car falling, and crashing in between trees, your head smacks onto your wheel immediately knocking you out, the last thing you see is the white flurries of the cold flakes.

Not even a full hour has gone by before Yunho is getting out of his truck, searching high and low as to where your car could’ve gone. When he spots the small puff of smoke coming from your vehicle, the tracker on your car has only done so much luck for him. Notifying him that there had been an accident in the area but not pinpointing where you were. Swifty he makes his way down the snowbank, feet sliding down the hill as he hurries to you. Flinging open your car door he sees your slumped figure over the steering wheel, head lightly bleeding. Your eyes flutter slightly at the feeling of someone grabbing you. Barely being able to put any words together, yet alone thoughts together.

“My, my, my…darling what have you gotten yourself into.” He whispers while grabbing you, head bobbing in and out of consciousness, the darkness aids no help in being able to see. You gather all the strength you have, cold hand lightly palming the strangers wrist who you are now convinced is an angel pulling you towards the pearly gates.

“Thank you..” you whisper out before slipping into a motionless state. A small smile creeps on his face before he lets out a squeal, tugging on your body, he lays you in the snow. Admiring your senseless state, body moving like it’s made of clay, that he is willing to mold to his likings. A warm finger runs down the sides of your face, bringing his face closer to yours, inhaling your scent. The warm scent you radiate tickles his nose, bending down he hooks one arm under your legs, the other arm under your shoulder blades hoisting you up. To a stranger it looks like your husband is carrying you to safety, clutching you close as he climbs up the snow bank. Placing you safely in his car, he makes his way back down grabbing your bag, taking the keys out the ignition before making his way back up. Stopping just short of his driver door, watching your collapsed body in the front passenger seat, still as a doll. Placing your items in his trunk, he climbs into the driver seat, placing your head onto his thighs. The weight of your head makes his body grow warm, admiring your features he traces the shape of your nose, finger tips barely grazing your skin, almost as if he applied any more pressure he’d ruin the masterpiece below him. Starting the truck, he begins to pull off, glee filling his body as he makes his way closer to your shared home, the home he made for the two of you, the home you would wind up never leaving.

~

Your eyes flutter at the bright light, as you try to move you wince at the pain surging through your head.

“Careful.” A deep voice speaks, startling you. Your eyes shoot open, wincing at such movements. A hand comes up to your forehead, fingertips lightly brushing over the stitches.

“You had a nasty crash, I tried to fix you up with everything I had laying around the house.”

Eyes floating to the person who was speaking. He was gorgeous, broad shoulders, button up rolled to his elbows, friendly smile on his face. You were dumbstruck just by how beautiful he was. If only you had known what you were getting yourself into. He sat in the chair across from the bed you were in. Handing you a bottle of water, he explains to you how he was traveling on the road, and came across your crashed car in a ditch. As each second passed by you started to tune out how he had saved you, focusing heavy on the features of his face. The way he bit his lip when he was heavy into detail. How he talked with his hands. When he caught you staring he gave you a shy smile, a warm blush breaking out on his neck. Nodding your head as you listened to him, you had agreed to stay in the cabin til you healed up. As you were in no shape to leave, he kept you occupied. You had even started to talk to him about your personal life and how you were a writer, soon to be wrapping up and publishing your novel soon. His eyes twinkled with each breath you spilled about your book. You intrigued him so much, he had been following you for quite sometime now, everything you were telling him about wasn’t new news to him. He was well aware of what was going on in your life. It just sounded so much sweeter coming from your lips. As a couple days went on you were up and out of bed, moving around. Becoming independent once again, this did not please him. He tried to give you any and every reason to remain in bed, the nice guy you knew was now smothering you. Swearing he couldn’t find your phone in the crash, going so far to even say that he didn’t get any signal in the cabin so he only had a landline.

Internally you were punching yourself, relying so much on technology you hadn’t memorized anyone’s number but your own. Every move you made in the house it felt like you were being watched. You couldn’t deny that the attraction you had towards him lessened the blow of him being slightly weird. You were very attracted to him but knew this would never work. He was too dominant, too overbearing. Every word you spoke to him it felt unreal, almost as if he was trying to poison you and your brain. Tainting you beyond repair. Each day you looked out the window, the heavy snowfall felt like it would never give up. Part of you wished to be like one of the cold, wet flakes. Free.

You could only get so far as Yunho was on top of everything you did, only letting you in a couple rooms, yours, the bathroom, and the kitchen. He never let you venture out farther than he felt like you needed. He would leave for hours at a time during the week. Saying he was going back to the crash site to see if he could recover any of your items. Forbidding you to leave your room, sometimes even locking you inside. You never bat an eye once at these actions as you didn’t want to alarm him or throw any red flags.

You had been keeping small items you found in certain areas. You were loaded with paper clips, bending certain ones in odd ways to try and leave your room. As the windows had been sealed shut. Keeping track of which paper clips worked perfectly to the locks of the door. You were successful many times, choosing to roam the home when you knew he was quite a distance away. But one day…one very forgetful day your freedom got to your head. Not realizing the time that had passed, and missing the large man who was currently watching you rummage around his items. As large as he was, he moved like he was one with this house. Feet missing the floorboards that squeaked, steps as quiet as a mouse. Watching as you shift around, fingers flickering through his items, you fail to miss the way he takes up the doorway to the room. In such few minutes everything had escalated so quick.

“I just knew you were up roaming around. You almost had me fooled for a while til I realized you left your little key behind.” He says ending his sentence with a snicker to his tone. Holding up your make shift key, your eyes grow wide. Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, you stand still. His presence looming over your very own. With each small step towards you, his smile grew wider. Your hands fidget by your side. Clearly confused on what to do.

“Do you know what happens to bad girls who don’t listen?” Shaking your head no very slowly, afraid to move any quicker. Your eyes never leave his, with such small sentences he carried such a heavy presence. He owned this place, he owned you, everything around you, you were his.

“Bad girls get fucked.” He says while leaning down to meet your eyes, his large stature swallowing you whole. Eyes growing wide, your breath stops for a split second. Your eyes dart to the door that he came through, empty and clear for taking off. He notices your hand twitching, eyes growing wide with anticipation. Letting out a small laugh, he steps back a bit giving you some space. You take this as a sign, you book it for the door, before you can even get three steps past him he snatches your body off the ground, feet dangling in mid air. You feel a hotter heat stead through your groin, you let out a loud groan. Clearly embarrassed at what noise you let you, your hands fly over your mouth, cupping it in shock. His large hands holding your stomach, just close to where you needed him. Flailing your body you try to break out of his hold, shaking as much as you can, praying that he is strong enough to hold you and not let you. He walks with your squirming body to the center of the living room. Moving one hand up to your neck as the other is holding your body tight to his. Your body immediately stops moving, limbs falling almost as if they are falling into a paralyzation. He smiles almost giddy at the way you so easily submit to him.

“A good hand on the neck.” He emphasizes his sentence by adding more pressure to your throat. Slowly putting you on the ground, belly first so you are laid out on the floor. Kneeling behind you he places his other hand between your shoulder blades.

“And an even firmer hand between the shoulder blades . Now that’s how you usually make a bitch submit.” He whispers into your ear. You feel your cunt clench at his dirty mouth, the more pressure he puts on your back the hotter your body grows. Your private areas are only covered by your bra and night time shorts. You are positive soon he will be able to see your arousal seep through the thin material. He looks below him at your form. The woman of his dreams right below him makes his cock grow bricked. Never did he think he’d have you in his arms. You slightly wiggle your body trying to squeeze your thighs tighter together, any stimulation to your clit will aid in the throbbing heat your body is feeling. He places more weight on your shoulder blades, taking this as a sign that you are trying to wiggle away. As your body aches with need at the more pressure he puts he squeezes your throat a bit before loosening his grip on it.

“I told you what happens to bad girls when they don’t listen.” He replies, voice as still water before the hurricane rushes through.

Squishing your face between his hands, your lips part. Nails slightly digging into your soft cheeks. Pulling your body back closer to his chest he ruts his hips against your ass. Feeling his thick member through his pants

“You like this don’t you?” You grunts into your ear, pulling down his pants with one hand, while the other holds your body in place. Your fingers are biting into your palms, trying your every to remain as quiet as possible you will not give him the satisfaction or play into games. His heavy cock smacks your bottom, the weight of it has you biting your lip, placing your forehead against the floor, letting out the quietest of whimpers. The warmth heats through the fabric of your sweat pants. Placing his body weight on you, he lays flat against you. Fiddling with your own shorts, pulling them just under the cusps of your ass. Pulling your panties to the side so your ass was exposed to him he let out a groan. Seeing the plump flesh has him in a trance. His hand still firmly gripping your face, he hikes your head up. Your eyes looking directly in the mirror, the room is dark as midnight, the soft moonlight catches his eye. Shining in a demonic way, he was up to no good, and here you were refusing to fight him off. The struggle of him on top of you did nothing but make your mouth moist, your body on fire.

“Look at you, taking it.” Your eyes squint, looking off to the side, too ashamed to admit you were getting off at this. Your cunt grows slicker by the second, his smile predatory at best. He looks like a beast in the moonlights shadow, he is the darkness. The light in his eyes died a long time ago, you are almost certain of it. He smells of warmth, but his actions prove he is anything but. You are a stray sheep who got shoved into the lions den.

Pulling his other hand forward, letting his cock go it slaps against your ass. The weight of it has you wanted to smack your forehead against the floor so the lewd thoughts flooding your brain leave. With your head still cocked up, your eyes finally flicker over to him. Wolfish smile still on display, by the end of the night you are certain he’s going to swallow you whole.

“Spit.” He says, your face still squished, while his other hand is held in front of your puckered lips. Rolling your eyes you attempt to tuck your lips into your mouth. Staring him down through the mirror you watch as his smile grows deeper, just when you thought he couldn’t fuel your adrenaline high anymore, he proves you wrong.

“You know..” he grunts, putting more of his body weight on you, placing his head by yours so you both are side by side.

“I love them obedient, but you..” he whispers, with each word he speaks your eyes dance over his lips. Feeling his cock twitch with each word he pronunciates.

“You really are making it hard to be nice.” Your eyebrows furrowed together. You glare at him, trying to rip your head out of his hand.

“Nice?” You muffle out through squished cheeks. Your eyes practically bug out of your head at his outlandish remarks. Just as you are about to continue your sentence, his hand from your cheeks moves to your throat swiftly, the sudden pressure of his large hand in your throat takes you by surprise.

“Yea, nice.” He grits out..

“I should shove my cock down your throat til you learn how to speak to me.” He grits out, hips constantly rutting against your ass. Placing his elbow on the floor so his hand can remain wrapped around your throat. He pulls his hand back, grabbing his cock and smacking it against your ass. The squishy meat makes his hard member bounce back each time he smacks it down. Grabbing one of your ass cheeks in his hand, he roughly rolls it around his palm before giving it a hard smack. Your body jolts forward. Making you let out a choked out whimper. With each smack, he pulls the flesh of your ass, before letting it go and smacking it again. This goes on for what feels like forever, your ass welted, stinging each second. Your eyes fill with tears at the sensation.

“I’ll be good, I promise.” You squeak out, throat still held tightly. The tears poking your waterline make him groan in satisfaction. Pausing his movements he moves his hand to spread your ass cheeks far enough to see where you are leaking, your thighs are drowning in your arousal.

“I’m beginning to think you enjoyed that almost more than me.” He whispers in your ear, grabbing his cock, he coats it in some of your arousal before sliding into you. His large size punches your lungs. You let out a loud moan, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Your cunt accommodating the large stretch of him stings just right, your heightened arousal making him slide in easy. The warmness wrapped around him has him hissing. Biting his lip he ruts his hips a bit forward before pulling out of you completely. The loss of his heaviness inside of you has you whining. Slapping your ass once more you let out a cry, with his hand still firmly on your face. He eases the pressure, letting it go suddenly. Your head almost thumping against the floor.

“1…2…3..” he begins to count, that adrenaline rush clouds your best judgment, pulling his body weight off of you, he sits up, kneeling while balancing on the balls of his feet. Watching your figure as you are confused about what to do. Should you flee or lay there? Your eyes shift back and forth between him in the mirror.

“Go.” He whispers out, watching you scramble to your feet as your naked body takes charge through the house. The small sound of your feet thumping against the wooden floor can be heard in the small space, your panting as you begin to move, heart feeling like in mere seconds it’s going to explode out of your chest. The true race begins now. You run down the halls trying to find any and every door that will open. Realizing all the doors are shut. Kicking yourself you let out a small whimper, you can hear him in a distance getting closer to one hundred. You duck off into a small room far back, a small closet in the corner, a three piece couch in the middle of the room. The blinds to the windows are open, with the moonlight shining in, it makes such a beautiful scenery.

“98…99…100.” He whispers, making sure to leave you on edge. As he stands, he dusts off his knees. Cock springing, hitting the bottom of his stomach with excitement. His feet begin to move quietly as he can easily tell where you are, as he has only left one door unlocked. The small study where he would watch your lives, and filter through all your social media. Letting his long legs lead the way, he can practically smell the scent you leave behind lingering in the hallway. With each quiet step he takes, the more his cock twitches on his thighs. He already had you in his trap, he wanted to play with you just a bit more before devouring you. As he steps outside of the room you are currently occupying, he grabs the handle jiggling it to give you a sign he’s arrived. As he steps in he feels the air thicken, he walks around the room, inspecting it from the side completely opposite from where you are currently hiding.

You watch from the closet as he walks around, hard cock firm in his hand. Each time the moonlight catches his eye, it mirrors off. The bright reflection practically blinding you. As he continues to stalk around the house you watch his every move. Barely being able to keep your eyes on his movements, to warped into the way he strokes himself. Firm hand around the base, twisting just to the tip, before sliding his hand back down. Letting his cock go a couple times, slapping it against his own stomach. The pre cum smearing against his smooth stomach, has your insides twisting, cunt clenching with each step he makes. Wanting to divert your eyes, you look down watching as your hand slowly lowers, two fingers pushing against your throbbing clit. You are soaked, the fabric of your panties is sopping wet. Your arousal sticks to you uncomfortably. Pushing them aside you let your fingers dance around on your clit, you let two fingers slowly slide inside of you. The feeling has you letting out a quiet gasp, biting your bottom lip, you attempt to pant as quietly as possible.

You look up only to realize he is gone. Nowhere in sight, pausing your fingers you wait a couple minutes. Fingers standing still in your cunt while you grind on them slowly. Not wanting to make too much noise. What you didn’t know was that the mirror was catching the reflection of you, you had left the closet door cracked open just a bit to much, while you were to busy grinding on yourself to almost completion, Yunho was right on the otherwise of the door, back completely against the wall, thumb rolling over the tip of his cock.

The closet wasn’t working for you, there was not enough room to get yourself to completion. You were right on the tip of orgasm but your hand was starting to cramp in the small area. Deciding that you had waited long enough and that if Yunho wanted to come out, he would’ve already done so.

Grabbing the knob you open it as quietly as possible. Pulling your other hand from your cunt, the stickiness runs down your thighs as you walk towards the couch. Plopping your body down, with youra back turned you completely face the mirror, you sink into the soft furniture. Burying your fingers back into your cunt, with your thumb stringing along your clit. The feeling begins to overwhelm you, your chest heaves with need, just as you crack your eyes open. You catch a glimpse of Yunho in the mirror, his pearly teeth shining in a wide smile. Letting out a loud moan. You try to pause your movements, fingers feeling like they are moving on their own. You lay your head on the arm of the couch. Tilting your head back slightly, watching as his figure flees into the dark depth of the house. As big as he is , he moves almost like he’s a feather, quiet, and as light as possible. He's stalking you, watching you like you are his prey. You are open, vulnerable, trying to out run him. You know he’s there, you can feel his crushing presence around, suffocating you. The feeling is almost overwhelming, it’s down right addicting. The house is eerily quiet, your low moans and whines fill the empty air. Fingers continue to pump into your wet walls, on the brink of riding your high. His deep eyes blend into the shadows, moving around as quietly as possible. He can’t help but grab his hard cock that’s leaking from the tip. Watching you stuff yourself full with your hand. Pulling himself from the shadows he makes his way quietly towards you, with your head tossed back on the arm of the chair. Eyes sealed shut with bliss, you miss the movements he’s doing. Prey that has been easily left to be eaten. Gripping your hand, his sudden intrusion stuns you, stopping your actions you slowly blink your eyes open at him, body thick with sweat. His eyes bore down at you, that wide grin never leaving his face, he was going to swallow you whole.

Bending down he pulls your hand from your cunt, the juices dripping from your fingertips as he gets lower, grabbing you he repositions your hips. Laying on the couch so he’s right in between your legs. Warm breath fanning your pussy, you buck your hips into his face. The juices brushes against his lower lip. Flicking his tongue out to catch your arousal on his skin, he’s locking eyes with you. With such a small gesture you know not to test his patience as he won’t let you get away as easily now, the chase is over. He has caught what he wants, and he’s going to drink you down.

Letting his tongue poke out, he licks a small stripe from your hole to your clit, letting the tip of his tongue rest against your throbbing clit. Letting out a weak cry, you arch once more.

“Please, please, please.” You chant over and over again like it’s a prayer. He has what you want, normally he’d play with his food a bit more but he was hungry, and tired of waiting.

Diving face first into your pussy, he rubs his tongue all over your clit, switching between sucking the swollen bud, and mopping up the fluids leaving your hole. Letting his nose bump against the bud, he rubs it back and forth making sure the point of his nose stimulates your clit with each swipe. You begin to feel your arousal and his saliva mix, dripping down to your asshole, the cool liquid has you letting out a hiss. Nose still bumping against your throbbing clit, your legs jump each nose swipe he does. Pausing for a split second to inhale your scent before diving back in, wrapping his soft lips around your clit, his long slender fingers make there way to your hole, index and middle fingers sliding in smoothly. As he is making his way through you the satisfaction of your pussy squelching around his fingers makes his cock jump against his lower belly, swiping at some of the cool fluid he coats his hand in, wrapping it around his cock.

Pumping himself to the same speed as your clit, making sure to match the same tempo. Your chest brings to heave. Toes beginning to curl, suckling on your clit, with his fingers working their way in and out of you, he coats his ring and pinky finger in more of the fluid clinging to your asshole before rubbing on it slowly. The new sensation has your body lurching forward. Gripping the sides of the couch you moan out his name, releasing his cock, he shoves you back down. Letting out a small groan at the loss of his hand, never easing up the suckling on your clit. Legs continue to buck around him.

“Pl-ple-please.” You stutter out as he slowly enters your asshole. Your mouth falling into a large O shape. Eyes fluttering in the back of your skull. The sight in front of him makes his cock jump, more precum leaking from him.

“What’s my name?” He muffles buried in your cunt. Biting your lip you helplessly whimper before answering him.

“Da-oh god, Daddy!” You shout before your legs buckle once more, cunt beginning to convulse around his fingers. Arching your back to the highest degree off of the couch. Your fingers cling to the fabric of the couch, his eyes practically turn black at the sight.

“Yeaaa…I’m your daddy.” He growls into your cunt, as your juices continue to shoot out in spurts. Some of it was too much to fit in his mouth. It drips down his chin, coating his chest. Pulling his fingers from your ass, the aftershock of the orgasm sneaks up on you, hips bucking once more against his face, juices smearing even more on his smooth skin. He pulls away, fingers still deep in your pussy. Letting his tongue flicker out against his lower lip, catching the fluid that is about to drip off. That signature smile is back. A chill runs through your body, one of fright, the other feeling just how actually cold it was in there now that your adrenaline rush has worn off.

“Can’t let anything go to waste now, can I?” He says, asking you such a rhetorical question, your eyes following his every moment. His fingers twitch inside of you, letting out a low mewl at the overstimulation. Pulling his fingers slowly from your cunt, more juices rush out. Coating the couch beneath you. You watch as he slowly licks all the juice off his fingers, before moving them to your mouth. Opening, you take his long fingers in, sucking your own juices off of them. With a relieved sigh leaving your throat, it satisfies him beyond compare. Pulling them out of your mouth, he gets off of the couch, his own cum staining his lower stomach.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up.” He whispers out, sticking two fingers on his skin to swipe off some of his cum before bringing them to your mouth. Opening you take his fingers in once more, humming around his fingers at the slight bitter taste. His eyes twinkle with satisfaction. Letting out a deep groan, he helps you stand. You both make your way to the bathroom to get cleaned up. Your obedience begins to make his cock come back to life once more. Eyes growing darker as you walk in front of him, leading the way like you own the place.

~

As you both make your way back to the room you had been in you cozy up to the side of his body. His freshly cleaned chest warms your cheek. Body slowly falling into a deep slumber as he rubs small circles on your back. Letting out a happy sigh, as he feels he finally has broke you. Letting his own eyes fall heavy, he drifts off for a couple of hours. The feeling of your warm body slipping from him. Cracking his eyes slightly he sees your figure fleeing slowly, watching you move around silently as you try the lock on the door to the room. Letting out a small click of his tongue, making your body halt in its actions. Sitting up slightly, placing his face on the palm of his hand. He watches as you tremble like a leaf. Body jittering with a billion nerves, leaning your head against the door. You are trapped, there will never be any escaping this man. Dropping the bent paper clips you walk back to the bed, head down in shame. His eyes light up at your destroyed figure. Watching you climb back into the bed. You pull the blankets over your body. Letting a quiet sigh escape your throat. Squeezing your eyes shut you try your best to drift off back into a slumber. As your body begins to grow heavy you feel the mattress shift. Slowly lowering his body weight on you, the grogginess of sleep still slumbers well within your bones. Moving slightly you feel your wrists jerk up, almost as if they are being pulled closer to the bed frame. Trying to blink yourself out of your tired state you try to sit up only to realize your hands are being held, you attempt to yank them down from the cloth that has them pinned. Jerking hard once more you groan. Letting out a small sigh he leans his body off of you. The weight of him restraining you is no more, you watch his sleeping figure stand. Looking at the footboard of the bed your ankles are being held by pieces of ripped blanket that’s scattered across the bed. As you watch him unlock the door, leaving it wide open he leaves. For a split second you wiggle your body trying to loosen the tighten restraints on you. The fabric cuts into your skin, biting it with each movement. As the darkness pours in the room, the bright moon reflects in it, the snow from outdoors fueling the small light even more. You hear a loud thud, followed by loud scraping against the floor. As his wide stature fills the door frame you feel dread enter your veins. His eyes don’t leave your own for a second before he makes his way to the footboard. His presence has never seemed so hellish, were you being fooled by his boyish charms? Or had he always been this demonic that you were too warped into his devilish ways to notice? These last couple of days you had been dancing with the devil, but soon the performance he had put on for you was about to end.

He moves swiftly placing a wooden box between your feet that are tied to the bed. He leaves the room, coming back with a sledge hammer. That darkness in his eyes never leaves, the pits of evil continue to rise in every breath he takes.

“You won’t be able to go anywhere.” He says, gripping the sledge hammer with both hands. Before raising it in the air.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

Taglist: @mingisprincesss @sanhwalvr @walkingtravesty97 @crazylittlebisexual @sheilogreen @ateezmakesmehappy @miyaluvvsyou @wisejudgedragonhairdo @star-wingz @ririnnie @ihaveaproblem98 @raindropsondragons @hongjoongsprincess @radskaddattle @suzukialice16 @a-tiny-thing @arilevenatz @multistanisms @demonlineswhore @dij-ology @yyaurii @sousydive @itza-meee @ana-stasssiaaa @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @yunyunrin @jjoongstar @kyeos4ng@peach-bearies @bitchwhytho @spooo00oky @hey-im-charisma @tearfulsparks78 @metalheadatiny @apriecotte @aurorajoye @lola-horore-553 @ayoo-bangtan @acetruepunk @tajannah-price1 @seungminsfavoritegirlll @monstacheol @pearltinyy

DO NOT REPOST.

[octoberautumnbox]

Love in the Night Train

IZ*ONE/Soloist Jo Yuri & Male Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Categories/warnings: fluff, mentions of blood, unedited as all hell

a/n: happy yuri day!! :DDDD

~~~

You stir awake gracelessly; your eyes open to an innocent white ceiling that should blind you but doesn’t. You scarcely feel your body, let alone are able to move it beyond flimsy twitches in your fingers and toes. Your neck is sore in all the appropriate spots, as if moving your head too far in one direction will snap it right off. On top of everything, a weight on your chest hinders your ability to breathe in. No way you’re dead at least, but as the memories start coming back, you begin to gather that you may as well be. 

Your back stings and prickles with every move you make, and it doesn’t take two guesses why. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily in a bind; you suppose that at this point you’ve gotten used to getting used to it. Instead of attending to everything you can as quick as possible, calm yourself back down, remind yourself that danger is far away from here, and that taking things slow sometimes is not a sin. 

The weight shifts from your chest and off to the side, giving you a slight reprieve from the pressure. It hits the mattress with a thud and a slight bounce, but ultimately you know everything is alright. Take in the air a bit more this time, and try to move again.

“Ugh, morning. You awake yet?” Yuri clears the messy hair away from her face and rubs her eyes. She sighs from the bottom of her lungs, making sure to get everything from last night out of her system. 

“Barely. I can’t fucking move, babe,” you reply with as much of a chuckle as you can manage, though it isn’t much. She giggles back and places her head on your chest again, this time in a more favorable spot. “You first?” you ask carefully, trying not to rush.

“Mmm, sure. Are you okay though?” She breathes in time with you, all the while tracing little circles on your chest. “I think you’re worse off than I am.”

The moment you try to reach for the salonpas, the stinging pain roars all over your back again. It sends you barreling back onto the mattress, but the split second is enough for Yuri to make out the damage. 

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” she pleads, “never mind. You first.”

Her movements are clunky and careless, dead giveaway to sore pairs of arms and legs. Despite this she soldiers on, and successfully reaches for the antiseptic on her side's end table. She prods at you gently to flip over, and it reveals two things: a back that looks like you kept a raccoon in your knapsack, and bedsheets right under where you were lying, formerly plain white.

She assesses the damage, and once the initial shock leaves her features it's replaced by guilt and what you could only call a mild horror. “It's that bad, huh?” you joke before planting your face onto the pillow.

“I'm sorry, babe, I got too caught up in it last night…” She spreads the antiseptic over her palm and counts, three, two, one, then the pain evolves from stinging to searing. You grimace into the pillow, sucking in what little air you could through your teeth, as Yuri mumbles tiny apologies while applying more of the medicine all over your back. 

“Okay, okay, done. I'm sorry,” she says with finality, and prods you to lie right side up again. You find on her lips a small pout, and it's the most adorable thing; you're reminded how lucky you are to land a girl that cares this much for you. 

“It's okay, as if I'd be mad about that,” and after sighing you finally make to get up. “Your turn.”

It's easier now, the pain once again evolving from searing to a polite coolness. The salonpas is miles closer within reach, and you tell Yuri, “Face down, love.”

She complies slowly, her joints and muscles still practically creaking with overuse. You peel a strip off the sheet and place it right where her shoulder meets her neck, then again for the other side. Pat them down to secure the adhesive, then move on to the next. 

Her lower back, under her shoulder blades, the backs of her thighs–each under her request based on where she aches most. As you place each strip, you rediscover every single mark you left on her, most notably the ones on her neck and chest, which are only starting to go from red to a deep purple. It brings back fond memories, and as you hover over the ones nearby, she smiles and runs her fingers over them too.

“Help me hide these?”

“I think they suit you rather well,” you tease, and after another bout of shy giggles from her she lifts herself off the bed slowly. She clambers to a sitting position in front of you and nearly crashes into your embrace, and the sensation brings you both to reminisce about last night: you kiss the same spots where her little circular bruises sit, and she runs her fingers over each tiny scratch mark she left on your back. Her eyes wander over her handiwork, a tiny sense of pride rising from her chest, when she finds one particularly nasty ring of sore red skin on your neck. 

“That one… looks bad,” she says, “I should maybe do something about that one.”  She clambers some more onto her feet and scurries off to the bathroom before coming back clutching the med kit. “Hold still,” she commands, and she pulls out a dropper of antiseptic for what you can only surmise is a bite mark, and for how Yuri even more carefully brings the spout near your neck, you gather it looks much worse than it feels. 

“I'm okay, babe, I'm–” before an inferno of stinging pain spreads outward from the spot the medicine dropped. Bolts of lightning travel all along your nerves, and it takes nearly a minute before it calms down like the rest of your wounds. Groans escape you the entire time, and Yuri's concern doesn't fade one bit. 

“Are you okay?” she asks, hopeful that she's doing more good to make up for the apparent harm. She dabs a square piece of gauze onto one of the deeper marks her teeth left and, once she's sure it's dry, covers everything with a fresh square to stick in place. She masterfully applies each strip of tape, securing it with just the right amount, before she's finally satisfied with her treatment. “All better, Oppa?”

“Yes, thank you, Yuri. How come I didn't notice that one?” A wave of relief washes over her, then moves on to you–her feeling better about things is highly contagious. 

Both of your attentions now land on the ruined bedsheet, and you start to notice the sheer amount of tiny bits of red scattered on your side. Yuri shoots you a look: “Help me change this?” and of course you oblige, partly because you feel guilty for having so much blood, but mostly because she's the kind of girl that puts magic into the mundane, as if she's the one that makes life worth living. 

You less-than-gracefully heave yourself off the bed before pulling away the covers themselves. A quick trip to the closet and Yuri hands you two corners of a fresh new fitted sheet, this time with a more joyful beige color and a fluffier texture like wool. You pull the garters over the soft edges of her mattress, and once all the pillows and covers are thrown back in place, you crash back onto the bed with her, sighing with exertion for the unbelievably menial task. 

“So,” you finally inquire after minutes of plain nothingness in her presence, “breakfast?”

“I don't wanna cook,” she whines, and yanks a pillow over her face. It's strange how cute she can be even without trying, more so when she does, and it's been lost to you a long time ago how to tell the difference. Wrap an arm around her waist, bring her close, find the warmth again that is Jo Yuri: stable yet novel and wild yet predictable. 

“Me neither. Let's just get delivery.”

“What do we order?”

“What do you want?”

She stares into your eyes, confessing a million things with each passing moment: I love you, I don't want to get up, stay with me forever, I want to eat in bed, I'm not that hungry, my back hurts, you're my everything. Her chest rises and falls as she breathes, her pupils running over each of your features like memorizing every single thing about you. 

She places a hand on your cheek, making sure you're real. The aches in her body are more proof than any pinch will ever be that she's awake, but that doesn't mean she's not in a dream. Yuri asks, “What are you thinking of?” in the quietest voice you've ever heard her make, and it melts the ice in your heart that you didn't even know was there. 

“You. Always you.”

~~~

[barcaatthemoon]

vacation || jenni hermoso x reader||

i am back with another little fic. this one is smutty. thank you for reading. there's not really a plot to this, just some soft smut.

minors do not interact, 18+

jenni stirred on the hammock beside you. whenever you had laid down and subsquently fallen asleep, jenni had been out in the water with the rest of her teammates. you had snuck away onto the balcony overlooking your private beach area. this resort was nice, and jenni had splurged to make sure that it was the best possible vacation for the two of you.

she had been very clear in communicating to you that after the first couple of days, she would be all yours. a few of her teammates stayed longer than just the weekend, but you didn't mind letting jenni run around and have fun with them. you liked the chance to sit on the balcony tanning or the random shopping trips that jenni would send you on to keep you busy.

"corazon, stay here," jenni mumbled as she pulled you closer against her body. it was then that you realized just how much skin was pressed against your body. you still had your bikini on, but jenni's top had been discarded on her way over towards you.

"i just want to stretch out a little," you told her. jenni huffed, but let you go. no matter how badly she may have wanted you to stay right by her side, jenni never physically held you back. you were always free to make your own decisions, which was how the two of you ended up playing soccer on opposite ends of the world. the distance was difficult, but jenni knew how much you enjoyed helping to push up smaller teams.

you sat up in the hammock to stretch out your arms and shoulders. behind you, jenni's eyes traced the lines of muscle definition in your back. the two of you had known each other for a long time, having played on the same youth teams growing up, and jenni couldn't believe that after all that time, you were finally hers.

"te amo," jenni muttered as she leaned forward to press a kiss to your back. slowly, you could feel jenni sit up behind you. her arms snaked around your waist as her hands fell to your thighs. you knew what was coming, mainly because it had happened every single day since you arrived at the resort.

jenni didn't move her hands until you spread your thighs for her. you could feel her smile against your skin as she pressed her lips against your shoulder. jenni trailed her fingers over your center through your bathing suit bottoms, which did little to nothing as a barrier between your skin and hers. your voice caught in your throat, cut off by a soft moan as jenni started to put a little extra pressure.

"do you like that corazon?" jenni asked you. she knew the answer already, but she liked to watch as your ability to focus melted away. you opened your mouth to tell her how much you liked the way that she was touching you when her fingers finally pushed past the bottoms.

"fuck, jenni," you moaned. jenni was smirking in between the kisses she was placing along your neck. she lifted her head just enough to nip just below your ear. you let out a little squeal and jumped back, placing yourself further onto jenni's lap. this way, it was much easier for jenni push her fingers into your entrance.

"you are so wet. surely it can't just be from this, i've barely touched you. were you thinking about me in your dreams?" jenni asked you. jenni was the girl of your dreams, quite literally. you had spent countless nights dreaming of her, especially since the two of you had been separated. jenni knew that, often teasing you about it on your facetime calls. "answer me, baby."

"yes, you're all i dream about jenni," you replied. your voice was breathy, and each word was a struggle to form. jenni loved hearing you try to speak whenever she had you so worked up. it was somewhat cruel, but you'd take that any day over some stupid showing of strength. jenni was a very dominant lover, but her dominance came with a softness and harmlessness that made you feel safe inside.

"i dream about you too. do you want to know what i dream about?" jenni asked. her fingers grazed over your entrance, spreading some of the wetness that threatened to drip in the space between your bodies.

"yes. yes, please," you breathed out. jenni knew that you weren't necessarily directly answering her question, but she would keep talking. she knew firsthand the things that her voice could do to you. it went beyond simple praises and the occasional teasing degradation. jenni knew how effective it could be to chat you up while she buried her fingers or strap deep inside of you.

"i dream about how perfect it feels to slip my fingers inside of you when you're wet." jenni slid two fingers inside of you with ease before she continued, "you feel so much better than i could ever imagine, always better than i remember. you've got such a greedy little cunt, always taking what i give while you beg for more."

"do you want me to beg?" you asked. jenni shook her head behind you. she placed a soft kiss to the side of your neck, one that felt different than the rest of the kisses. your skin would be marked up so badly that you doubted it'd go away before your next game. your teammates would definitely see it at practice and tease you later, but you didn't mind. there was nothing shameful about having a partner who was madly in love with you, both physically and emotionally.

"not on vacation. here, the both of us get exactly what we want, and i want to feel you cum all over my fingers," jenni cooed. the sound of her voice sent chills down your spine. it wasn't going to take long for you to cum, a fact that jenni knew as she moved her other hand from your hip down to your clit.

"jenni, i'm gonna cum," you warned her. jenni was careful to keep her movements consistent as she felt you clench around her fingers. you came with a small gush and piercing cry that you were sure someone else had to have heard. jenni kept both of her hands between your legs, so your cries of pleasure were free to echo out into the open space.

"that's it, get it out. you did so good for me corazon. i am proud of you." jenni placed a soft kiss against the side of your face after each of her little praises. your body slumped back against hers completely, exhaustion momentarily taking over. jenni carefully withdrew herself and repositioned her hands so that she was holding you. "thank you, corazon. te amo."

"i love you too," you muttered as you turned your head to press a kiss to jenni's cheek. she turned at just the right moment to steal a kiss from your lips, which you were more than happy with.

[petday]

your art is so so so so inspiring to me which is strange bc my style isnt very similar to yours at all. but it makes me happy to see your art, especially when you make art from things from childhood id forgotten about💫💫💫💫💫🩷🩷🩷🩷

Thanks. Your message and similar messages from others over the years inspired me to try to put into words why I draw 'nostalgic things'. I ended up writing a lot.

There was a period of time when I became cynical about being seen as an 'artist who reminds people of childhood' or a 'nostalgic artist'. I no longer feel that way but I will explain why. Some artists, who I like and respect, will sometimes mention 'nostalgia holding artist's growth back' and 'nostalgia causes learned helplessness.' But I feel differently.

Maybe I perceive time differently. I have lived long enough to witness cycles of 'what is valued, and what is not valued' repeated. For example, I loved what is now called 'Y2K' style, but during mid 2000s, for whatever reason it was derided as something to be left in the past, something embarrassing. "Aren't we glad we optimized things now, and they are 'sleeker' and less complex? Old things were childish, an embarrassing weakness for humans, we must advance and reach our ideal evolution." That became the common attitude. I felt pressure to have the same thoughts. I just couldn't make myself feel that way no matter what, though. Even with the increasing threats about, 'keep up with others or you won't ever develop positive social relationships!' I couldn't change my mind.

(If what is currently valued becomes devalued and then it becomes valuable after that… that's an odd cycle to me. For example, if we like bananas, even when bananas cannot be harvested, we still like them even though they occupy a smaller space in our minds but we don't deride them. Going even further, though, I sometimes wonder if it is possible for humans to eventually remove the 'devaluation' stage, particularly in art 'trends' as I am an artist. Whatever is considered valuable remains valuable. A counter arguement would be, 'no, the devaluation of the previous thing is exactly what causes the next thing to be valued, and then the cycle flows beautifully: X was valued -> Y is valued, X is devalued -> Y is devalued, X becomes valuable again. If you want X to always remain valuable, just develop better patience. Like we cannot pick fruit we like all year, we cannot simply keep adding onto the pile of things we like, something has to be seen as inferior by the majority of humans.' I disagree. I might explain my thoughts against this argument more in the future.)

Anyway, what people call 'Y2K style' or 'art that emulates how things commonly appeared in early years of 2000s' is popular nowadays. Even someone who did not grow up with it can become attracted to it. That 'desire' itself is a communication between past and present. Something can make someone feel 'lighter' [in sense of, "wow, the crushing weight of my circumstance feels not so crushing when I look at this'] -- a similar 'light' to how someone in the past was perceiving it when it was the present and not the past. So, even though two people were born in different eras and may not become friends or even meet, they're still connected by that 'lighthearted' feeling they both like. I know it will be seen as 'lower value' soon, but I truly cannot care because as I mentioned earlier, I might perceive 'time' weirdly.

When I started playing video games, a family member would point out, 'those games were made before you were born, interesting!' but that statement confused me at the time since my perception was, 'well, if these games are from before I was born, I don't understand why she is bringing attention to it. Why is it interesting? It's just regular. They're alive in the present now, because I'm in the present and so are they.' That was when I was a very young child. I subconsciously kept the same feeling even as I was reaching teenage and adult years. The feeling echoed when people liked to ask the question 'why are you still playing games from long ago?' as I got older but still played the same 'old' games. The answer: they are beautiful and will remain beautiful, and something made in the past is still communicating in the present, so are they really truly 'outdated inferior games'...? Just because the cycle of valued and devalued happened to be in a different position and those old things were seen as an embarrassment? (Now there are popular games inspired by the era of games many people ridiculed me for consistently enjoying, lol. Similarly, I was using 'crappy' old versions of programs even through 2017. Now people from wealthy upbringing and background use 'crappy' programs willingly. lol)

The present talks to the past all the time, nostalgia is not a dead end. In that sense I cannot see nostalgia as a death trap but rather a connection made from past to present. A string between the past and present that feelings can crawl across and communicate. Feelings such as 'I wish my life took a different direction. I can't make things like how they were back then, it won't ever be the same again, so I'll do nothing.' The criticism of 'nostalgia' is towards that last sentence. But there are things you can do with those feelings. 'Doing nothing is boring. And I keep thinking of that fun drawing I saw... I kinda wanna try to make something.' Making something while thinking of the past and present at the same time, so there is a communication between past self and present self. Pure bitterness communicating with slightly light-hearted view, the 'end result' is artwork/creation.

*I used light-hearted feeling as example, but nostalgia can exist for any feeling, and not just for people who were nice when they were younger. If someone was cruel as a child/teenager, after the person has been an adult for a while, they can communicate with their younger self about what was it about the cruelty that was enjoyable, and then extract a small part from the cruelty that they wish to bring back into the present -- example, the attraction to 'high speed activities, playful mischievousness' can be extracted from 'hurting people on purpose so they will acknowledge/react to you'. The dialogue could be something like, "'honestly, you and I both know spamming people with bad things felt pretty fun at the time, so let's just keep the 'high energy mischievousness' feeling and leave behind the crap that hurt people deeply, and let's make an animation while thinking of that high energy feeling.

^ I don't answer questions or reply to messages often because of giving answers that aren't too long or too short is tough for me. lol. Thanks for liking my art. I like a lot of art that doesn't resemble mine as well. It's fun! Like appreciating different flavours in the same meal even if you cannot make the meal yourself.

[borderlinereminders]

They left you on read, and now you feel like spiraling. So the question is, what do you do? I want to specify that for this post, I am talking about pre-established friendships.

First of all, stop and take a breath if you can. A lot of times, we have urges to spam message someone, or send messages asking if they still care about us, or even urges to be passive aggressive because we feel hurt. This can damage your relationships though. If you are struggling with urges, please read about Urge Surfing. The goal of urge surfing is to "ride the wave" of an urge. Another suggestion I have is to try some grounding exercises to pull yourself out.

In most cases, being left on read does not equal rejection, even though it can feel that way. The next thing to do is to find an alternate reason they might not be responding. Here is a list of possible reasons here, but keep in mind that there are numerous other reasons that are not on this list. People have downtime sometimes, but it doesn't mean they want to fill that downtime with talking to people. Even people who are important to them. And that's okay. It doesn't mean they care about you any less.

If you are feeling rejected, challenge those thoughts. I personally keep screenshots from my loved ones that tell me they love me that I can read back when I need a reminder. I also keep a list of things they've done that show me they love me. Here's a post on challenging thoughts.

The next thing I recommend doing is to focus on distraction. A really great skill for that is ACCEPTS. Here's a write up on that here.

Below the read more is some stuff for some long-term coping/communication. It can totally be skipped though if you were just looking to get through an immediate situation.

Sometimes, greater communication might be needed. While no one owes you unlimited access to them, it might be good to set up plans with people who may feel too drained to talk (possibly for days on end), or even friends that may open a notification and then get distracted and forget to reply (and no, this doesn't mean they don't care about you.)

In the first case, it's so valid to feel drained from talking to people. And while people are allowed to take space they need, sometimes it can be a lot for us if it's going on multiple days. It is possible to find compromise. For example, I have one friend who feels insecure if I go a few days without talking to them. For us, we've established a specific emoticon that I can send that says "Hey, it's not you at all. I just am not up to talking right now." I send the emoticon if it's going on a couple days because I don't want to leave them hanging.

For the second case, someone forgetting, in situations like this it might be good to establish beforehand what an acceptable amount of time is before you can send a follow up nudge. While my best friend and I talk a lot, sometimes she forgets to do stuff that we need for the business we run together. We've discussed that it's okay for me to nudge her once a day because she does genuinely forget.

There are also different rules for different friendships. For example, my best friend is allowed to absolutely spam me. The messages can be related or not. But we've established that it's okay if I'm not up to answering, and in this specific friendship, it doesn't drain me if she messages multiple times because there is no pressure on my end to respond.

Either way, it's okay to talk to your friends about situations like this. Is there an acceptable amount of time they're okay with you sending a follow up message? Is it okay if they aren't up to replying to your message, but have the energy to send you an emoticon or even a picture of their pet without responding to the actual message? (Sometimes I have the energy to share memes, or pet pics, but don't have the mental energy to answer a bigger question, and my friends know and are okay with me coming back to the question later while continuing on the conversation in other ways.) If they frequently go quiet because of their mental health, is there a compromise for both of you? Sometimes, it isn't even about our insecurity but that (especially with online friends) we may be concerned for their well-being and would like an indicator they're okay.

Remember that sometimes friendships aren't compatible, and it isn't a reflection on either of you. But if your friend isn't able to compromise and you feel constantly stressed/worried, then maybe the friendship isn't compatible. And that's okay! It's okay to need to walk away from a friendship even if someone hasn't actually done something "wrong."

A lot of my anxiety about being left on read went away as I worked on my own healing and coping. I used to make my life all about my relationships, and I'd feel lost if I was alone. It took me a long time for me to find an identity outside of other people, and it was so worth doing.

[liesandmischeif]

The ties that mend

Loki x reader

Masterlist

Notes: This is an old one I found, a little angsty but fluffy as hell at the end.

Warnings: I don’t think so??

The moment you step in the flat, you know it’s too quiet. Something’s not right.

“Loki?” you call out, hoping that your boyfriend has just gone out, and that the quietness is just him having nipped to the shops.

No response.

“Loki?” you call, wandering through the downstairs rooms. After coming up empty handed, you decide to make a cup of tea and go and get changed, thinking Loki must’ve just gone out. He would’ve called you if it was a mission, or if he had an emergency on Asgard. He would just be back in a bit.

It wasn’t until you went to open your bedroom door that you heard him… sniffling?

“Lo?” you called out before walking in.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking right as rain. “Hello my love,” he says, getting up to greet you “how was your day?”

“My day was fine, thank you. More to the point, how was your day?”

He just shrugged. “Slow”

“Riiiight.” You weren’t buying it. “Anything interesting happen?”

“Not really. Why do you ask?”

You just shrugged. “No reason. Wanna help with dinner?”

 

The rest of the evening went as usual. You had both made dinner, watched another episode of your favourite Netflix series, and had just settled into bed. You were virtually on the verge of falling asleep when you heard Loki sniffing next to you.

“Lo? Are you ok?”

“Fine.” His voice trembled.

You rolled over. “Darling, what’s wrong?”

He rolled away from you. “Nothing. I thought you were asleep.”

You sat up and turned the lamp on. “My love, just tell me.”

You could see the tears in his eyes now. He looked distressed. “My love, I am perfectly fine. Please, just go to sleep.”

You didn’t know what to do. To pressure him into telling you felt wrong, but you couldn’t just leave him like this. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You lay down next to him, you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your head in his neck. He tensed at first but eventually relaxed a little, although you could still feel his apprehension in the air. So you kissed his cheek, and whispered to him, “It’s ok. I know you don’t want to tell me whatever it is right now. If I’ve done something wrong, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. And if you just don’t want to tell me, that’s ok too. I love you, and I’m here for you, and I’m still going to love you no matter what.”

That was all that was needed to open the floodgates. Loki turned and sobbed into your shoulder. He clung to you like you were the only solid thing in the universe. Like you could save him from whatever he was crying over. He just held you tightly until eventually the storm passed and he lay limp in your arms. You reached across and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand, and Loki blew his nose.

The two of you lay there together, side by side in each others arms. Eventually, Loki speaks up,

“Darling?”

“Yes my love?” you say.

“Did you mean that? About you loving me no matter what?”

“Always.”

His grip on you loosens. “May I tell you something?”

You look up at him. “Of course.”

He takes a breath, then mumbles “ I am no longer a prince on Asgard”

“What?” you question. “How is that possible?”

“A multitude of reasons” he says ”One, because of me trying to take over this place. I’m not as popular as I once was, and Asgard cannot have an heir who is renowned for his genocide attempts. Two, because people found out about my heritage. I am not as pure blooded as Odin claimed I was”

“How do you mean?” you asked.

He looked away from you. “I am a frost giant. I have another form that looks more like some of my ancestors, which was accidently unveiled in front of the palace staff. Since then, my reputation on Asgard has been... tainted.”

“O, my love I’m so sorry.” You said, wiping the tears from his face. “Asgard was your home, it’s not fair.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He said. “I’m not like them”

“May I see?” you ask tentatively.

He looks bewildered. “Why would you want to?”

“Just curious. You don’t have to show me, I just wanted to know.”

“I find that very hard to believe.” He states. “Especially given that it is the cause of all this.”

“Of all what Lo?”

He sighs. “I am sorry to burden you with this darling.” He looks away. “the Jontun blood in me means that I cannot produce heirs. Like when you mate lions and tigers, or horses and donkeys. The species are to far apart, and cannot breed. Asgardian and Jontar mixing cannot create fertile offspring. It’s the legitimate reason why I can’t remain a prince” he finishes miserably “Because I am not even scientifically possible. I an a genetic mistake.”

You wrap your arms around him tighter when he tries to leave, but you don’t say anything.

“I’m sorry.” He says.

You stare up at him. “What are you sorry for?”

“My love, don’t you understand.” He says “I’m not a prince. I can’t give you titles. I can’t give you a palace, or any of the luxuries that my brother could afford you. I can’t even give you children.” He was crying again “I’ll never be able to give you the family that you deserve, never be able to have children of my own.” He goes to leave. “You deserve better than me, so much better, and I’m sorry to have wasted your time all these months but I just didn’t realise-“

“Loki, I don’t care about any of those things. I care about you.”

He stares at you. “What?”

“I don’t care about titles or palaces, and I certainly wouldn’t rather have Thor, no matter what luxuries he has. I would love you as whatever you’d want to be, prince or not. Whether you’re Jontar of Asgardian, I don’t care.

“And as for a family, if that’s something we decide we both want, there are other ways of having children. I don’t think of you any less for not being able to have kids, and I certainly don’t think of you as less for having obscure parents. None of that is your fault, and it’s not for you to try and take the blame for.”

You just hold him while he takes everything in. You press gentle kisses to the top of his head, until eventually he stops crying, and mumbles out a “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being there. Putting up with me. Loving me.” He says. “I thought that this would be it for us”

“I meant what I said. I will always be here for you, and I love you no matter what.” You say. And you both lay there, until you fell asleep in each other’s arms.

[headkiss]

annaaa im rewatching cm again and reentering my hotch phase and u are my ultimate favorite hotch writer so may i please beg for something sweet with him? maybe like making dinner or doing some other activity together? of course this is totally absolutely no pressure at all thank u i love u <33

kait my love angel bae i am so honoured to be ur fav hotch writer 😭🫶 this one’s for u and i hope u like it!!! | 0.6k of fluff

Aaron can hear you moving about in the kitchen when he gets home.

It’s something he’s had a hard time getting used to, the intimacy of it all. The sound of pots clanging and spoons scraping dishes as you stir things. It’s the reminder of having someone there, of never really being alone. Sure, he’s not used to it, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He’s good at being quiet, has to be for his job, so he shuts the door softly behind him and toes off his shoes. Sneaking down the hall, he spots you through the doorway of the kitchen, your hair up, back of your neck exposed.

Hotch leans a shoulder against the doorframe and watches you cook for a little, the stress of the day sort of melting away as he does.

You only catch him when you turn around, jumping and dropping the spoon you’d been holding onto the counter. “Aaron!” His name is dragged out in a whine, “you’ve gotta stop doing that.”

“Watching you cook?”

“Using your agent feet on me.”

He huffs a laugh at that one, a smile spreading over his face freely the way they seem to spread around you.

“Whatcha making?”

“Just some pasta. You wanna help?”

You offer him an apron, the neck dangling from your fingertips. Aaron takes it easily, tossing it over his button up that he’d worn to work. It’s a funny juxtaposition, the crisp state of his shirt and the stained canvas he wears over it.

“Where do you want me, chef?”

Whenever Aaron’s gone, you tend to worry and worry. That he’ll get hurt, that he’ll get tired of juggling you and his work. Then, he comes home to you, putting on your apron without complaining, and you’re not so worried anymore, because it makes sense. Having him beside you makes sense.

You grin at him over your shoulder, now turned back to the boiling water on the stove, “there’s some veggies in the fridge if you wanna cut those?”

“‘Course.”

As he walks behind you to get to the fridge, he pauses to push a kiss into the side of your neck, his arms weaving around your waist. You lean into his touch like an instinct, like there’s a string that shortens whenever he’s near, tugging the two of you towards each other.

You’re lucky to get him this way. Where everyone else sees Hotch, you only see Aaron.

Conversation comes easy as you cook together, Hotch getting a cutting board and setting himself up at the counter next to the stovetop. Not the most functional spot, but it’s the one closest to you, so he chooses it anyway.

Aaron’s not one to open up quickly. He doubts himself, questions whether he’ll be too much for the other person, worries that they’ll get fed up with his scattered schedule and leave. And then he met you and things were different.

He’d had to cancel your second date because of a case, and you’d barely blinked, telling him on the phone that the anticipation will only make it so much better, that it isn’t his fault and you’d be there when he got back. You said all of the right things and he sent you flowers and that was the start of the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Now, you live together and your toothbrushes share the same countertop and it might not be perfect all of the time but it’s as close as possible, he thinks.

“Hey. Try this for me?” You’re holding out a spoon, a little bit of pasta sauce on the end, your free hand cupped underneath it to catch any that might fall. “Please?”

You never need to say please with him, Aaron thinks, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like the way it sounds in your voice.

He leans towards you, bending to taste what you’re offering him.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

Hotch isn’t lying, but even if it wasn’t perfect, he’d still tell you it was. If only to see the way your face lights up with your smile, the way you bounce a little on your feet.

[dollwrites]

— ⟡ dizzy drabbles disclaimer !!

all dizzy drabbles are written when i am extremely high ( or, dizzy ) and they don’t contain a trigger warnings list. if there’s no indication by the request, you can assume that the fic is nsfw + probably dark-leaning, if not blatantly dark. noncon, dub con, and other triggering content may be present, read with caution ( enjoy your experience <3 )

just think about being femto’s chosen pet.

a hawk that should’ve been sacrificed with the others, and yet you lived. your former leader, the same as your former lover, was gone and in his place stood a looming, dark winged angel of death. however, a soulless crimson gaze remains fixed on you for what seems like hours and hours. clawed hands wrapped around the large, domed cage he’s trapped you in, as if he wants nothing more than to rip the door off and grab you.

at first, you cried and beg to be freed. you call his name in desperate shrieks. “Griffith, please! Let me out!” but, eventually, you realize that it will do no good.

femto has no reaction to your begs for mercy. he is stoic and silent, with ever-watching eyes that follow your every move. he doesn’t try to stop you from pulling at the bars- no, bones, of your cage. oh no, femto reaches his shiny, black arm into your cage, sharp claws extended, grasping for you.

though, of course, you stumble to the back wall of the cage, it is nowhere near big enough to hide from him. you turn your face, feeling the very tips of his claws, like daggers, drag along the fleshiest section of your cheek. you whine at the sensation, certain that if he applied any pressure at all, his claws would pierce your cheek. one, large thumb hooks against your jaw, pulling your face back towards him. you squint, but your body is too weak to fight against his command, and with a small sound of protest, you look up at him. he towers over your cage by at least a full head and shoulders, but his face is leaned so close to the bars that it is nearly pressed against it— his feline eyes pinned out. he looked like a beast, and you were almost surprised that he didn’t snort like one. but, you’d noticed, that femto’s chest didn’t rise and fall with breath, at all.

his obsidian talons scrape along the shape of your jaw, his thumbnail dragging against your trembling, lower lip. you wonder, as you cower in front of this demon king, if there’s a single inkling of Griffith left within him. did he, somehow, recall the taste of the lips that he touched, now? there was a glittering possibility in his eyes. as if he were deep in thought as they focused on your lips. however, his pupils started to dilate the lower his gaze, and his claws, traveled. tearing open your top with ease— as if shredding old parchment.

your chest heaved, up and down with ragged breathing as you whined and begged him under your breath not to hurt you, but he wasn’t listening. by the time his massive palm envelopes your bare breast, his pupils were so blown out that they possessed the entire eye, making them abysmal pools of wicked intent. he teases your taut nipple with his thumb and forefinger, squeezing experimentally before the sharp end of the nails poke and prod at the bud, causing you to squirm and pant, nervous. they nick your flesh, whether he means to or not, and a thin stream of rubies drip from your chest, running down the length of your belly. you gasp, and try once again to recoil from him, but the closer you press yourself into the opposite side of the cage, the closer he leans, until his body is up against the bone bars, and they creak from his weight.

“Don’t… touch…” you whisper, desperately, but it’s much too late. closing your eyes as you feel his cruel fingers tread lower, smearing your own blood into your skin before they delve between your quivering legs. you try to close them, but even his fingers are too strong to defy, and they press against your tender button hard. “A-agh!” you’re forced to bite back the sound of discomfort, the tips of his talons scoring at your most vulnerable core, the slick pads of his fore and middle finger pushing at your nether lips to spread your pussy open. your thighs, shaking but wide, do little to cover the full view of your cunt to the monster, whose smile is faint, and his tongue flicks at his own, vermilion lips. with the length of his ring finger, he rubs between your folds, pulled apart to grant him the access that he wants, and you feel the pressure from every inch of his long, thick digit. “M-monster…”

it doesn’t seem to bother him. in fact, you wonder if he even heard you. his eyes glued to your cunt, his finger rubbing from your clit to your hole, that clenches unwilling at the rough treatment. you hate that your clit swells and throbs against his finger, and that when he realizes, he focuses all of the pressure there, until you’re moaning and squirming, with tears in your eyes.

you don’t want it to feel good, but it does.

you don’t want to cum, but you do.

and you don’t want that to seal your fate as femto’s fragile, little fuckdoll. but it does.

[izvmimi]

cw: pseudocest. implied one-sided love triangle. reader is technically a silva. yandere undertones.

As in every royal family, secrets abound, some out in the open whether by force or by inevitably, like the fact that you may or may not be your father’s child, and that as a result you may not be a true royal, nor a true Silva, and others more well-kept, somehow even more scandalous.

Like the fact that your purported first cousin by murky blood is in love with you.

“Noelle will wonder where I am, Nozel,” you murmur. It’s late evening in Spring, and you’ve come back to the estate on his request for a ‘family meeting.’ By now, the four main Silva children have grown up, Nozel the oldest and head of the family, now in his early 30s and yet to marry, and as such the differences that marked growing up have now resolved. You’ve been raised in and out of their home due to your father’s inability to parent without the help of a madam, and his unwillingness to marry someone that wasn’t your mother, so naturally, you found your way back here with Noelle. Emotional support never hurts, and you love your cousin dearly. 

However, this part of any interaction with this - your - family is hardest to navigate - the fact that Nozel has wanted you for many years, and now has become bold enough to pressure you to marry him.

“But you agree that it looks bad that I’ve remained single all this time,” Nozel states. You look up at him, holding in your desire to roll your eyes before letting out a sigh. The two of you are caught up in a hallway, far from the main wing where dinner had been served, far from prying eyes. You often end up like this these days, him far too deep into your space, his face leaned into yours, that stupid front facing braid close enough that it practically grazes your nose.

“Not as bad as marrying your first cousin,” you remind him.

He rolls his eyes.

“Everyone knows that that cannot possibly be true.” He steps back, and crosses his arm. “Whatever Uncle insisted on is quite silly, I don’t understand why he was so desperate to refuse to admit that you are but his stepdaughter. We would not have treated you any differently-” he starts, but you scoff, covering your mouth with your handkerchief.

“You failed to treat your actual sister well and you dare project the illusion of fairness?”

Nozel’s pale violet eyes narrow, and you look away. You don’t know if you’ll ever stand up to him - it’s been possibly 15 years since the first time you were brought into the Silva family, holding your father’s hand at the doorstep. Nozel had looked at you with so much contempt, that your 8 year old self wondered if you were dirty or particularly hideous, while Noelle had immediately taken your hand, grin wide before she was practically dragged away by her siblings. What irony is it today that even if he’s spared you today, you can still remember him forcing your chin steady and kissing you just weeks ago, confirming your long-held suspicions that he was really crazy enough to do it. 

To try to own you completely. 

“Do you have better options, ___?” he asks. 

You’re not too old to find a suitor, even if the search has not started for you, but you know that’s not what he means. You would be hard pressed to find a man of similar rank, intelligence, beauty or magic ability, and the two of you are well aware of this fact. Even if someone were to object to your union on the basis of close parentage, your father cannot stop him from beyond the grave, and the kingdom may speak, but ultimately no one could truly prevent your union.

Except you, technically, but at times, you wonder if you even really have a choice.

“I don’t, but I would like to continue to have some time to follow my dreams.”

Nozel offers you a small smile, his hand finding its way onto your right cheek and caressing it. “I’m quite delighted you have your own dreams.” 

You don’t like the way he says that, and as his hand falls gently from your cheek to his side, you understand that the implication is that of a father entertained by his child’s dream of becoming a dolphin. Ridiculous. 

“If you are concerned about Noelle’s whereabouts, I’ll leave you to go find her,” he says, now letting his hands rest behind him, and changing the subject. Where he’s touched you is still asymmetrically warm, as though you can feel all 5 fingers, as though he’s marked you as his. You remember braiding Noelle’s hair in between your legs at age 14, and her 11, and him appearing to watch the two of you for far too long. You’d thought the psychological protective barrier you had around “talentless” Noelle is what repelled Solid and Nebra whenever you came around and fascinated Nozel, but there was something else entirely. 

As Nozel leaves you to ponder this not-quite marriage proposal, you shudder. You take a few steps down the hallway to find the banquet room, then slowly find yourself sinking to the ground.

Your legs are shaking, not from fear per se, not from desire either (although logically it’s not unfathomable that you could ever grow to like or even love him) but out of a sheer understanding that your life could so easily begin and end with him in just a few short years. 

Your time with the Black Bulls may have spoiled you these last several years, offering you freedom you’ve never had with the Silva family. It’s helped both you and Noelle grow, and while Noelle is no longer under the thumb of her siblings due to her immense power and indomitable spirit, you are simply not as strong as her, nor do you have the advantage of legitimate birth into royalty no matter how much your father tried to give it to you out of respect and adoration of your mother. 

You are far more at Nozel’s mercy than you would like to be. To think all these years you spent protecting that little girl, only to find out that she was far more safe than you’d ever be.

Do you have better options?

On paper, no, not a chance in hell. In your heart, possibly. 

Before that smile can come to mind, you shake it out of your head and scramble to your feet, Noelle rushing down to find you. 

“Gosh, where the hell have you been? We need to leave this place, I don’t even know why I bothered coming,” she starts. It was a show of kindness, but she’s naturally lost interest. Her purple eyes scan to you a little too long, and you force a smile to dispel your unrest. She cannot see it. You’ve hidden the way he looks at you for this many years, no need to reveal everything now. 

You don’t want to spend any time explaining your predicament, not to her, not to the Black Bulls. 

Not to…

“Asta was hoping we’d meet up with him and Luck and Magna in an hour. What do you think?” she asks. Then quickly, her face turns red and she rephrases herself, as she’s done for years. “Not that it matters that much, you know. I don’t care what he thinks at all! I’m actually considering not going.”

You smile. 

“Let’s go.”

You take her hand, and you are young kids again, and like a child, dirty laundry ceases to be your responsibility.

For now.

[portraitoftheoddity]

Foot Care for Hiking - A Guide

Hiking is rough on your feet. Any activity where you spend a lot of time moving around upright is going to be, but between the added weight of a pack, the irregularity of the terrain, and the intensity of conditions in the outdoors with heat, cold, wet, etc., hiking for miles can leave your feet far more sore than walking an equal distance on a flat paved road. From getting blisters to bruising toenails to even cases of trench foot among thru-hikers, there’s a lot of problems that can arise. 

But if you’re out in the backcountry and your feet are blistered and miserable... you still need them to walk out. So it’s essential that you take care of them, so they can carry you and back safely! 

Here are some tips for foot care and maintenance for the new hiker:

BEFORE YOU PLAN TO HIKE

1 - Get Hiking Shoes That Fit Well. This is honestly the biggest thing. 

Proper hiking footwear with decent support and traction is really important, not just for comfortable feet, but also for overall safety. A lot of injuries among novice hikers stem from inappropriate footwear that leads to slipping and falling. Hiking boots, hiking shoes, or hiking sandals designed for cushioning your feet and gripping the terrain are worth investing in, since even an expensive shoe is cheaper than the doctor’s bill for a broken leg (ask me how I know!)

But the right type of shoe won’t matter if it doesn’t fit your foot. If your shoe is too tight, it’s going to pinch and rub against your foot uncomfortably and give you blisters. If your shoe is too big, your foot is going to slip around in it, rubbing against the shoe... and give you blisters. If your toes repeatedly ram into the end of the toebox of your shoe because of poor fit, this will result in achy toes, bruised toenails, and possibly even toenail loss on long-haul hikes. 

When you buy hiking footwear, try to do so in person. Different brands will have different fits, and you may find one in particular is better suited to the shape of your foot. For instance: I almost exclusively wear Keens because of the wide toe box, since I have narrow heels and wide toes on my weird-ass Daffy Duck feet. An associate may be able to guide you, especially if you’re in an outdoors-oriented store.

So once you have some shoes that fit comfortably and are hiking appropriate--

2 - Break Those Bad Boys In. 

Don’t immediately go on a long hike in a brand new pair of shoes you’ve never worn. Practice first wearing them around the house, running errands in them, going for walks in them, running up and down stairs in them, and letting them mold to your feet. Then try some longer walks or short hikes before setting out on a lengthy expedition. If you’re like me and wear specific insoles, wear them in your hiking boots while breaking them in. 

If you notice certain issues, like heel slippage or pressure on the top of your foot if you have high arches, try looking into different lacing techniques. This article has some suggestions, and there’s a lot more techniques out there. Experiment with what lacing technique is most comfortable for you!

PREPARING FOR YOUR HIKE

You have your boots and you’re planning to hike. Awesome! Here are some foot care steps that should be part of your hiking prep routine:

1 - Trim Your Nails. Long toenails can snag, and also can ram into the ends of your shoes, causing bruising, pain, and even ingrown toenails. Google “Hiker’s Toe” at your own risk. Keeping your toenails neatly trimmed is a good preventative step, and one I always take the night before a hike.

2 - If you’re prone to blistering, Tape Your Feet. I know that because of some weirdness in my stance and gait and the shape of my feet, there are spots where I am always prone to blistering on a hike. If you’re a brand new hiker, you might not be aware of any problem spots yet -- or you might be the lucky sort who doesn’t have any! -- but if you know you tend to get blisters on the backs of your heels, or anywhere else, get your tape out. 

I use Leukotape P, since it’s breathable and sticks well even when it gets damp from sweat, but plain old drug store brand cloth medical tape will do in a pinch. Tape up any problem areas preventatively before setting out -- the tape will provide a barrier between your skin and the area of your boot that’s rubbing against it, reducing the friction. It also secures that top layer of skin in place, reducing the shearing effect between upper and lower layers of skin that results in blister formation from repetitive rubbing. 

3 - Put on Good Socks. Your socks should be the right height for your shoe. If you have ankle-high boots, don’t wear low-cut socks; you want your socks to be a consistent barrier between your shoe and your skin. You also want socks that-- like your shoes -- fit. You don’t want them so snug that they’re digging into your calves and cutting off circulation, but they shouldn’t be loose and moving around in your boot either, and the heel cup should line up with your foot’s heel.

For sock material, merino wool is the go-to choice among hikers, though polyester and nylon also make appearances. Wool socks are great because wool stays warm even when it gets a bit damp, and wool socks can absorb a lot of moisture before they feel wet, and dry quickly. As a bonus, wool doesn’t hold on to stink as much as some other fabrics!

4 - Stock Your First Aid Kit. You should always hike with first aid supplies, and I always keep extra blister pads, blister dressings, and medical tape in mine...

ON THE TRAIL

So now you’ve finally hit the trail and you’re heading out into the wilderness -- but you still shouldn’t forget about your feet! Pay attention to any pain, pinching, rubbing, or other discomfort in your feet, and don’t hesitate to take a pause to fix problems as they come up. Got a pebble in your shoe? Don’t suck it up-- stop and take it out! 

An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure when it comes to foot first aid, and smart hikers address small problems early on before they have a chance to become big problems and potentially incapacitate you out in the backcountry. So never be afraid or ashamed to stop if something is up with your feet -- you might feel like a pain in the ass if you’re calling a stop while hiking with a group, but I guarantee you, it’s way less trouble to stop for five minutes for someone to fix their shoe than it is to half-carry your friend with horrible blisters the last mile back to the parking lot.

KEEP YOUR FEET DRY

For hikes with a lot of water crossings, I usually pack extra socks in case I fall in and soak a foot. Wet socks and shoes can cause a whole host of problems for your feet, from blisters on a short hike  to trench foot in multi-day hikes in wet conditions. Wearing wool or quick-dry materials in your socks will help, but a spare pair if you get drenched is always helpful. If you get wet and need to change socks -- do it. If you need to take a break to dry out your feet -- do so. 

SPOT THE HOTSPOTS

If you’re hiking at an incline, such as going through hilly terrain or up a mountain, you may feel your shoes slipping and rubbing in new ways, causing chafing or pinching that didn’t happen when you were breaking your shoes in on flat ground. This is unfortunately pretty normal, as the angle of your foot and ankle are different when you’re going up a slope than on flat ground. Be very mindful of hotspots forming from this change in angle and stop to deal with them ASAP!

“Hotspots” are precursors to blisters. When you pause to take your shoe and sock off, you might see an angry red patch of skin, but no visible injury -- yet. At this point, you can still prevent a blister from forming. I mentioned earlier taping up with Leukotape, and I always keep a roll of medical tape in my pack, along with a knife I can cut it with. Blister pads (that essential thing to have in your hiking first aid kit!) are also great -- I’ve kept a bad hotspot from fully turning into a blister and rupturing by putting on a blister pad directly over the affected area, and then securing it in place by taping up the entire back of my foot before continuing. 

DEAL WITH BLISTERS SOONER THAN LATER

If you didn’t notice the warning signs until it’s too late and you’ve got blisters -- again, blister pads. Keep them as cushioned as possible to try to avoid rupturing them. If your feet are in a lot of pain and you’re still outbound, seriously consider turning around and heading back -- it’s only going to get worse, and you’ll be even further from help. There’s being tough, and then there’s being stupid. 

Again: try not to let your blisters rupture. A torn blister is an open wound and an easy vector for infection, plus they take longer than intact blisters to heal. If your blisters do tear, immediately get your first aid kit out and clean and bandage them. Don’t just slap a standard band-aid on them either -- use an actual blister dressing that seals it in on all sides to minimize infection risk. If your blisters are extremely fluid-filled and you can’t get your shoes back on and can’t hike out without draining it and have NO OTHER CHOICE... (this is anecdotal advice and NOT the advice of a medical professional)... sterilize the area and your tools with alcohol wipes, then make a small incision with a knife or pin from your repair kit (again, STERILIZE IT FIRST) at the EDGE of the blister to drain the fluid. Make the incision as small as you can while still allowing it to drain, don’t tear or remove the top of the blister, and then clean and bandage the area thoroughly. Check on your dressings periodically when you take breaks, and change them as needed. 

Side note: Do not apply medical tape directly on an unruptured blister. When you peel that tape off at the end of the day, there’s a good chance it will rip that blister right open and you will scream like a banshee and scare the dog.

TAKE REST BREAKS IF YOU NEED THEM

If you’ve been doing mile after mile and your feet are just sore, take a break, even if there isn’t a blister emergency. Sit down on a nice rock, take your shoes off, rub your feet, air out your socks, and enjoy the scenery. You’re out in nature -- enjoy it for a minute. I’ve stopped by an ice cold babbling mountain brook and let my feet soak for some nice chilling hydrotherapy and to listen to the running water, just because I could. Allow your body to rest a bit, and then continue onward.

AFTER YOUR HIKE / BETWEEN HIKES

You’ve successfully completed your hike and made it home! Now what?

Immediately:

Take off your hiking shoes, and undo the laces so they can air out. Those puppies are gonna be ripe, so maybe toss in some baking soda to soak up the stank. Hot, wet conditions inside hiking boots are a good place for bacteria and fungus to bloom, so don’t just stuff them in a dark and musty closet until they’re good and dry.

Carefully peel off any tape on your feet you’ve added, and tend to any blister dressings or injuries.

WASH YOUR FEET. I shower pretty much immediately after a hike, but always put extra attention into cleaning and scrubbing my feet -- again, don’t want bacteria or fungus. Afterwards, I often rub in some lotion.

After that: 

Take note of any issues you had, and think about how to deal with them in the future. If you got hot spots in certain places, write that down and tape those places up preemptively next time you hike. If your socks kept riding down in your boots, try different socks next time. If you forgot something in your first aid kit, or used up something that needs replacing, make sure you’re well stocked for your next hike.  

If your feet are sore after a hike, a nice hot soak can be very soothing. If they’re swollen, try icing them for 15-20 minutes and elevating them. If foot pain still persists after a couple of days and hasn’t improved, you may want to check in with your doctor as there could be a bigger problem such as tendonitis, plantar fasciitis, or a stress fracture.

You might find yourself developing calluses in certain places, and while calluses can have protective qualities as your feet’s homemade armor, letting them get too thick can also cause problems. I shave down my calluses periodically and try to keep them at the texture of “supple worn leather” and not “crunchy horn” to avoid cracking and blistering. 

--

Hiking can be a lot of fun, and it’s even more fun when your feet aren’t an absolute disaster zone. So get good shoes, be prepared to address any problems that come up, and listen to your feet. Take good care of them, and they’ll take you anywhere!

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 7: Complications Abound

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 6.7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions.

** Warning ** This chapter contains implied/attempted sexual assault. Please be careful and read at your own risk.

The Sussur Bloom’s glow pours like a phosphorescent waterfall over the delicate blue petals. You can taste the honey-sweet aroma of the flower suspended in the air.

You observe it acutely, trying to figure out where the boundary of its effect terminates.

Aldous grins deplorably, “You would not believe how much this cost to procure.”

Does he think that will impress me?

Drawing in a deep breath, you calm your rampaging heart and swallow the terror balled in your throat.

Adorning your face with an overtly sweet, innocent smile, you summon every snippet of charisma you possess, “A beautiful flower indeed.”

“Not half as beautiful as my current company,” Aldous winks.

Ew.

“Where is your father?” your eyes flash around, assessing the surroundings for advantages you may be able to exploit, “I believe he should join us.”

“Father is away on business. He will not be participating in this discussion tonight.”

Convenient.

“Perhaps we should postpone this little discourse until your father returns.”

Aldous ignores you, “Did you know that the Sussur Bloom nullifies all magic in its vicinity? A useful item against an ornery sorceress.”

“Aldous…”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sneers, wagging his finger at you, “You will give me the respect I am due.”

HA! A ludicrous notion.

You clench your teeth so hard that the nerves sing, “Saer, I’d like to-”

“Where is the man who was with you?” Aldous cuts you off, “The Elf.”

The door lock clicks, and you nearly wince, but you keep your illusion of poise intact. A grin slinks across Aldous’s lips as he stalks toward you.

“There was no other Elf. You were roaring drunk.”

He chuckles sinisterly, “You may have been able to pull the wool over my father's eyes, but I am not so easily fooled.”

The distance between you and Aldous recedes as he continues his menacing approach. You take wary steps backward, striving to retain as much space as possible.

The poorly lit gloom only deepens as you’re pressured further to the rear of the shop.

Glancing at the door behind Aldous, you concentrate on the stained-glass window. Daylight is fading fast. You silently rejoice and then scold yourself harshly for it.

I shouldn’t be counting on Astarion to save me.

You soak your voice in your most persuasive, candied inflection, “We can sort this little mishap out. There’s no need to involve anyone else.”

“Who is he?!” Aldous rasps.

Anger. A weakness I can exploit.

“No one.”

“Don’t play dull, Sorceress. I will pry it out of you one way or another.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you smirk patronizingly, “It seems you’re seeing ghosts. Perhaps a visit to a healer is in order?”

Aldous growls threateningly at your taunting. His teeth scour together harshly, sending shivers rushing up your spine, making your stomach reel and pitch.

“He means much to you,” he sneers, “You protect him by putting yourself in harm’s way,” Aldous’s finger taps his chin, “I can’t help but wonder why he would let you come alone. Perhaps you don’t mean as much to him as he does to you.”

“Perhaps,” you shrug, “I don’t."

“You shouldn’t settle for that, Sorceress.”

This little shit dares scold me?  

“As if I care what you think.”

“You deserve someone like me,” his hand comes to his puffed-up chest arrogantly, “prestigiously bred of noble blood, wealthy, handsome, and influential. Someone who can provide you with a life of luxury.”

“Gods, you sicken me.”

Aldous places the Sussur Bloom on a table behind him, but close enough that you are within the negating influence.

His face burns red, brows pinched in a nightmarish scowl, “You’re going to have a very miserable night then.”

“If you fucking touch me, I will kill you.”

Not a threat, a fucking promise.

“You’re all bark and no bite without your magic. I will take my apology in whatever form I choose.”

Your stomach warps nauseatingly, and you swallow the bile that soars into your throat.

Grabbing the hidden dagger in your boot, you swipe at Aldous frantically, grazing a weeping cut across his pudgy stomach.

Aldous lunges at you with a howl, grabbing your arm and twisting it, slamming it hard against the corner of a towering bookcase. The dagger rattles to the floor, and Aldous kicks it away swiftly.

“You miserable swine!” he barks, eyes savage and enraged.

Aldous pins you to the bookcase with a bruising grip. His chest puts so much pressure on yours that the air you inhale whines when drawn into your constricted lungs.

Gods, please, just a little longer.

Aldous wrenches at the high collar of your robe, and a snarling shriek tears from your throat. His forehead slams into your face, cutting off your scream.

Pain causes a disorienting parade of light to erupt behind your eyes, and your lip swells and aches furiously. The sharp, ferrous tang of blood coats your tongue.

You spit, and red-tinged droplets splatter across Aldous’s face, “I should have killed you.”

“My, my, what's this on your neck?” he snickers while eyeing the bite mark marring your flesh, “If you like to be bitten, all you had to do was ask nicely. I would have happily obliged.”

Your stomach churns with the insinuation. You yearn to see the little worm beg and plead for you to spare his life."

Pale hands rip Aldous backward.

Astarion’s voice resounds in the dark, “I hear you like to bite, but do you like to be bitten?”

Aldous shrieks as sharp fangs sink into the supple flesh of his neck. You stand, a wicked smile on your face, watching the life slowly drain from Aldous’s eyes.

You could ask Astarion to stop. You could spare the feeble runt his life. You could, but you don’t.

I was never a hero.

Astarion releases him when his eyes are dull and listless, and Aldous’s body crumbles to the floor.

The door creaks unexpectedly, making you jump, and you grasp at the intrinsic magic usually ever-present, only to find a yawning void.

Right. Where is that godsdamned flower?

Gale jogs in, huffing harshly out of breath. Eyeing the Sussur Bloom sitting innocently on the table, you throw it down and grind it to nothing but a blue paste smeared across the floor with your boot.

Astarion and Gale study you with apprehension as if worried you may buckle and break apart. You cross your arms and frown at them.

How soft do they think I am? 

“I don’t need mollycoddling like a spoon-fed babe,” you tut, clearly vexed, “What are we going to do about him?”

Gale’s fingers his chin, “This will certainly complicate things.”

“I will handle this,” Astarion concludes.

“No,” you stammer, “I can help.”

Astarion shakes his head, “You and Gale go for a lovely, very long, relaxing night stroll. Greet, chat, mingle with everyone you see, stop at a pub and drink; I care not, just make sure you are seen far from here.”

Gale nods, “We must set the lanceboard in our favour, so to speak. Astarion can handle this. This is hardly the first body he’s had to make disappear.”

Astarion smirks, “Far from it.”

“I could simply set this whole place ablaze,” you muse.

An excuse, more than anything, to see this place eradicated from existence.

Gale pales, “Burn all these books?”

Astarion snickers and sighs dramatically, “Truly, darling, did you not consider the books?!”

You roll your eyes, “They would make for fine kindling.”

Gale mumbles, mouth agape, “How unseemly.”

Astarion giggles at the ill-humoured scowl darkening Gale’s face before looking at you, “Still that twitchy palm of yours. Nothing screams guilty like a raging, fiery inferno.”

“I suppose you are the expert in these matters, Astarion.”

“Oh,” he grins, “Please do continue showering me with your praises.”

“Good Gods,” Gale grumbles, “We should not linger, my friend.”

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, exasperated, “I will spare the damn books.”

Astarion snaps his fingers, “Gale, the scroll, if you please.”

The scroll?

You cock your brow at him. Astarion unrolls the scroll, recites the incantation, and it vanishes.

The swell and tender ache in your lower lip dissipates. Astarion pulls a handkerchief out and wipes the leftover drops of blood from your chin that had dribbled down from the split in your lip.

“Good as new,” he purrs, but there is concern laden in his eyes.

“Your incantations need work,” you tease to relieve Astarion’s anxiety.

He grins but clicks his tongue in disapproval, “As do your manners, it seems.”

Gale weaves you through small, dim alleys and paths while avoiding the populace until you’re far from the shop.

Once you can return to the main thoroughfare, Gale skillfully greets passersby, striking up mundane conversations to ensure you’re noticed and seen.

Neither Gale nor you speak of what happened until you’re safely back in the manor.

“Fuck,” your fingers wrack through your hair, “I’m so sorry, Gale.”

“You need not be,” Gale squeezes your shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“We need a plan.”

Run. Run. Run. Take Astarion and run - your mind chants.

Hells. My inclination toward avoidance has gotten out of hand.

Gale pats your arm, “What have we always done?”

“Outflank. Outsmart,” you echo his words.

“Spot on,” he grins, “We can delve further into the particulars come morning.”

“You’re right,” you take a calming breath, “I think that’s about enough excitement for today.”

“You have a strange notion of excitement, my friend,” Gale chuckles, “Now if you will excuse me, I am in dire need of a bath. Hells. That vampiric bastard can move swiftly. Perhaps I have gotten indolent in retirement.” 

After bathing and changing, you sit on your bed and stare at the unfilled space beside you. Just this morning, you had awoken in Astarion’s room, and your eyes overindulged on the sight of him still peacefully at rest.

Can I go back to resting and waking up alone again? Moreover, do I want to?

No.

Your heart whimpers in your chest at the concept, sinking into your stomach with a quiver. The battle between your fearfulness and what you want continues to war on. Everything you crave is situated on the other side of your doubt.

Why do you keep yourself seated in the dark abyss you retreated to when he left when the light is right in front of you, and all you have to do is walk into it?

I’m still running.

Coward.

Reprimanding yourself for being so spineless, you leave the emptiness of your bed behind and make yourself some tea. Sinking into the chair on the terrace, your legs curl up under you.

The waves flourish and flaunt in the inlet, making the boats dance in concert and the tangy brine of the sea wafts in the air. Coasting clouds cause the pastel glow of the new moon to wax and wane.

The fluttering beat of wings alerts you to Tara’s approach before you see her soar and land on the terrace with a grace only she and Astarion could muster.

The pitter-patter of her little paws on the wood boards makes you smile as she draws near.

Tara stretches her wings before settling, “Would you like some company while you await the vampire’s return?”

“Tara, do you know the vampire’s name?”

“Of course,” she scowls, “You’ve been calling out to him in your sleep for months.”

Oh… 

Right.

“Why do you keep calling him vampire then?”

“He calls me cat or cat with wings, does he not?” she huffs exasperatedly, “It does not vex him as I hoped, though.”

You giggle at her, “You must try much harder if you wish to aggravate him.”

She nods curly as if she’s taken that into advisement, “I have not seen you out here recently. What is troubling you this night?”

Patting your lap, you invite her up, “It’s hard to find enough peace to rest when your heart is at war with your mind.”

Tara jumps up and lays down with a soft purr, “Have you always been so meek?”

Meek? Not a word I would have ever described myself with.

“No,” you stare off into the distance blankly.

Her round eyes reflect what little light the moon provides, “You have been lonely here, yes?”

How does she know these things?

The unmistakable glint of unshed tears brims in your eyes, “Is there a cure for loneliness?”

She cocks her head, confused, “You do not seem lonely when he is near.”

“I-” your brows pinch together, she’s right again, you think, “I suppose I’m not.”

“Then he is the cure you seek.” Tara concludes, “May I speak bluntly?”

She’s never asked before. This should be good.

“Please do.”

“You are being an idiot,” she says factually.

You laugh, almost spewing your tea at Tara’s curtness, “I’m sorry. Care to elaborate?”

“The longer you keep yourself tethered to this unhappiness, the longer you will live a life not meant for you.”

I hate how right she is.

Your fingers tap the mug fretfully as tears tiptoe out of the corners of your eyes, “What if I can’t get over my fear, Tara?”

Tara puts her paws on your chest, levelling her green eyes with yours with a stern yet empathetic glower, “Then you must do it afraid, Sorceress.”

She makes it sound so simple.

But it is really that simple, isn't it?

You stifle back a sniffle and scratch behind her ear, “Stop being so smart and wise.”

“Perhaps when you stop being an idiot.”

Another strangled laugh escapes your throat as you stroke her silky fur, making her purr loudly. Resting your head on the high-backed chair, your eyes flutter shut.

“You must do it afraid.”

I will.

I just need a little more time.  

Tara leaps off your lap, and your eyes open sleepily to see Astarion standing before you. Dirt streaks the pale skin of his face and hands, and trails, where sweat rolled down his temples and forehead, are evident.

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

You scan the sky as the haze clouding your vision disperses slowly. It must be only hours from dawn.

Your nose crinkles, “You smell like dirt.”

“I thought I would try something new; groundskeeper with a hint of grave robber,” his brow cocks seductively, “Is it working for you?”

You giggle, “Absolutely not.”

“Well,” he pouts with a dramatic sigh, “don’t be afraid to tell me what you really think.”

“I think you really need a bath.”

“I do love it when you sass me,” he tuts, “Naughty thing. What are you doing resting out there? You’re shivering fiercely.”

“I was talking to Tara,” your teeth chatter together, “I must have drifted off.”

He kisses your forehead, “Come on. Let’s get you warmed up inside,” Walking through the kitchen, Astarion turns to you, “Are you gracing my bed with your delicious self again tonight, friend?”

Hells. I was heading to his room without even thinking about it.

“Do you want me to?”

“It’s up to you,” Astarion shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but there’s a hint of hope reflected in the scarlet of his irises.

Gods, tell me we belong together. Please.

“Tell me what you want, Astarion.”

“You, my love. Always and forevermore, you,” he purrs, taking your hand, “My bed it is.”

Astarion’s room is a chasm of blackness when you enter. With a flick of your wrist, you light the candles instantly with a smug smile.

He chuckles, “I forgot how handy you are to have around.”

“Truly indispensable,” you chime back in jest.

“Better set that ablaze as well,” Astarion points to the fireplace, “You get grouchy when you’re cold.”

You gasp, hand coming to your mouth theatrically, “I’m never grouchy!”

“Oh, don’t fret, my dear,” he glowers at you playfully, “You’re adorable when you're grouchy.”

“Go bathe, you smell.”

He giggles with a shallow bow, “As the lady wishes.”

You sit on the edge of Astarion’s bed, and a smile trails across your lips. These moments with him feel so familiar, so right, and they quiet the clashing present inside you.

Why are you making things so complicated for yourself? It could be as simple as telling him you want to be with him, so why don’t you?

He would finally stop calling me “friend,” at least.

Astarion returns with only a towel hanging loosely around his waist. He nudges your legs apart with his knee and leans in close. His hands slip up the bed by your sides, forcing you to lean back until you’re propped up on your forearms. Your heart parades in your chest, seemingly skipping beats the closer he leans into you.

“Well, you’re not wrinkling your cute little nose at me anymore,” Astarion taps the tip of your nose softly, “A good sign.”

Leaning in close, you kiss his shoulder while making a dramatic show of inhaling deeply, “You stink… less.”

He giggles and gives you a gentle shove, “Less?! Darling, I’m hurt,” he imitates shock with a sulky flair, “I smell excellent.”

Hells, does he ever.

“How do you know?”

Astarion taps your chest over your heart in rhythm with the quickened pace with a sly, boyishly handsome smile, “Your body tells me everything I need to know.”

“Pleased with yourself, are you?”

“Indeed,” he coos, “Now, to bed with you, sleepy love.”

Yes, rest. Gods, I’m tired.

Astarion’s thumb sweeps lazily back and forth over your arm, and you lay your head on his chest. Your eyes feel heavy and sag closed.

Lifting your hand, you draw all the flames from the candles into an orb floating above your palm, extinguishing them. The flaming sphere winks out, bathing the room in darkness except for the glow from the ebbing embers in the fireplace.

Astarion kisses your forehead, “Braggart.”

You giggle, but your voice sounds distant to your ears as the current of your trance pulls you under. Astarion starts to hum while running his fingers through your hair.

“I love you,” you say in a whispering sigh.

Wait… did I say that out loud?

Astarion’s crooning hum cuts off, and his fingers come to your chin, guiding your face up.

The silky skin of his lips caresses yours tenderly, “I love you too. Rest, my only one.” 

Gale rubs his eyes, “Where was Mr. Blackwell?”

“Aldous said he was away on business,” your leg bounces nervously, “He didn’t elaborate further.”

Astarion’s hand slips over your thigh under the table, stilling the ferocity of its jostling.

“We have some time then,” Gale concludes, “I have business in the city today. I could make some inquiries.”

“Bloody Hells, you are terrible at this,” Astarion groans, clicking his tongue and rolling his eyes, “Gale, if you go making odd inquiries, you’ll implicate yourself.”

Gale scoffs, “Oh, my deepest apologies if I am not proficient in the matters of covering up a murder.”

“Apology accepted,” Astarion drawls, “We could always kill Mr. Blackwell. What’s one more murder?”

“Mr. Blackwell has a wife,” Gale scowls, “Aldous’s mother.”

“You say that as if it’s a problem, Gale,” Astarion shrugs, “The wife as well then.”

Gale’s skin goes a deathly white as his mouth drops open, eyes round, “You cannot seriously be suggesting we murder an entire family!”

You cut them both off, “Astarion is trying to get under your skin, Gale. Don’t let him.”

“You’re no fun,” Astarion’s lips purse into a pout, “I had the wizard going.”

Gale’s body unknots with relief, “Very funny, my sharp-toothed friend.”

You rub your temples to stifle the headache brewing, “How well connected is Mr. Blackwell, Gale?”

Gale’s fingers tap his chin, “Connected would be an understatement. The man is friends with every high-ranking official in the city.”

Certainly a complication.

Astarion’s fingers drum on the table, “Could we not convince him that his son ran off with some trollop?”

“I could try,” you nod, “but Mr. Blackwell is already suspicious of me. He will not make an easy target.”

“You do have a very delicious silver tongue,” Astarion’s hand slips up your thigh and between your legs, “I have no doubt you could persuade him.”

You sit stiffly, trying not to expose the crudeness happening below the wood tabletop as Astarion’s fingers sweep over your crotch.

“I could try,” you choke out as you clench involuntarily at the sensation, “but it’s not foolproof.”

Astarion scoffs, “If you want foolproof, my dear, we better circle back to the murder option.”

“Do you not feel any remorse for what you’ve done!” Gale explodes out of his chair, irritation creasing his forehead.

Astarion stands with bared teeth, leaning threateningly close to Gale’s face, “I feel only pristine satisfaction. You have NO idea what he was about to do to her, Gale.”

“Stop it! Both of you,” you roar, slamming your hands on the table to get their attention, “I could have stopped Astarion, and I didn’t. If you must hold someone responsible for this, the blame is mine, Gale.”

“Enough!” Astarion’s crimson eyes send shivers down your spine, “You are not accountable for my actions!”

This is about more than just this event.

“Gale,” you sigh with a forced smile, “Go make your inquiries, but be discreet.”

Gale bows shallowly and excuses himself, glancing between you and Astarion. There is a grim tension in the air.

Astarion’s finger taps rhythmically on the table, a telltale sign he’s upset with you.

“Spit it out, Astarion. What is really troubling you because it isn’t this.”

Astarion’s forehead creases as his brows pull down low, and he shouts, “You must stop holding yourself at fault for what I’ve done!”

“Aren’t I?” you scream back at him, coming to your feet abruptly, “The night you left, I made you uncomfortable, and what happened? You fucking ran from me, from our life, from us!”

He left. Gods, he left, and it nearly killed me.

“It-” Astarion’s eyes dart around, “It wasn’t because of something you did.”

“My fault or not, I paid dearly for it.”

You ran and took my heart with you.

You rush to your room, locking the door. It’s too much. It’s all too much at once, and you cannot process it quickly enough.

It was my fault Astarion left in the first place, wasn’t it?

I pushed him too hard, didn’t I?

Gods, you don’t know. You’ve been punishing yourself for all of your missteps since he disappeared, and you can’t relinquish your guilt no matter how hard you try.

Why will I not allow myself to let this go?

Astarion’s soft knock resonates on the door, and your head plummets into your hands.

You cannot do this right now, and your voice rumbles, “Go away, Astarion.”

Astarion plunks down on the floor outside your door, “I will wait until you are ready to speak to me.”

He used to do this when you lived with him, giving you space but ultimately staying close by.

Wrenching the door open, you seethe, “Go. Away.”

Astarion rights himself and pushes into your room as if nothing is amiss. Despite your fiery temper, Astarion was never easily goaded into a fight with you.

“Astarion,” you leer at him in a warning.

“You’re angry with me,” he retorts, “I’m well aware and well acquainted with your ire.”

“Then you know you should be leaving me alone,” you admonish him.

“You never used to retreat from arguments with me.”

Fuck. He’s right. I ran.

Again.

You groan, slamming your door and drop to the floor. The headache you had felt starting is now throbbing in your temples like a battering ram. Pressing your eyes shut, you kneed at your head with your fingers.

Astarion sinks to the ground opposite you, and his hand settles on your forehead, “Darling, are you alright?”

The chill of his skin eases some of your discomfort, and you push into his touch with a relieved sigh, “Just a headache.”

“You did not get much rest last night,” his fingers massage your temples, “I’m sorry. I should not have shouted at you.”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You do not have to talk, but you will listen, and listen closely,” Astarion tilts your head up, and you open your eyes to meet his, “You must stop blaming yourself for what I’ve done. The guilt is not yours to endure.”

“But…” you swallow the lump in your throat, wrench your eyes down and fidget with your fingers, “But I made you uncomfortable the night you left.”

“My leaving was not due to anything you did or did not do. I’m-” he sits back, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it, “I’m a coward,” he shrugs, “I’ve always been a coward.”

“You have never been a coward, Astarion,” you shake your head, “What’s changed? What will stop you from leaving again?”

“I am no longer afraid,” his fingers sweep across your cheek before rubbing your temples again, “Well, perhaps that’s not entirely true. I am afraid of losing you again.”

How did he get over his fear?

“Astarion,” you sigh as his fingers skillfully knead the throbbing ache, “you could never lose me.”

“I did,” the corners of Astarion’s mouth creep downward mournfully, “did I not, friend?”

This word haunts me.

“May I ask you something?”

You nod, “Anything.”

“Ever since I returned, you have been exceedingly gentle with me, far beyond customary, even for you. Why?”

“You mean,” your voice trembles slightly, “when it comes to being intimate with you?”

“Yes.”

Fuck, I don’t want to tell him this, but I must stop trying to escape from the truth.

“I-” you inhale a long, slow breath to calm your pounding heart, “You left me the night I made you uncomfortable. I suppose,” you pause, trying to gather yourself, “I suppose I have been worried that if I make that same mistake, I will scare you away again.”

Astarion takes your hands, “I promise you do not have to be afraid. I am here to stay. You need not be so gentle with me.”

Don’t I though?

“Can I trust you to tell me when it’s too much?”

“I will always tell you,” he says conclusively, “Could we please get off this floor now, beautiful?”

Right…

“Sorry. Where would you like to sit?”

“The bed,” he says, helping you to your feet, “Does your head still hurt?”

“Yes,” you groan.

Your brain is bashing against your skull, trying to escape your head.

“Sit. I will rub it for you like I used to.”

Sitting on the bed, Astarion pulls you between his legs, your back against his chest, and you let yourself sink into him. His fingers work the achy spots perfectly.

“What happened yesterday,” Astarion says in a low timbre, “with the boy. Are you alright?”

Am I?  

“It’s not the first time I’ve been attacked.”

“Yes,” Astarion looks around anxiously, “but there is a difference between being attacked and being,” he pauses, searching for a way to put it delicately.

“I know what you’re getting at,” you sigh, “I’ve lived a hard life, Astarion. This is just another one of those things that’s better forgotten."

“I understand,” Astarion kisses the top of your head, “But if you cannot forget, I am here if you need me.”

I always need you.

“Thank you.”

“You will tell me more about your life someday, yes?” Astarion’s voice is hopeful, “I wish to know everything.”

My past - another thing I run from.

“Will you tell me more about yours?”

“For you, my love, I am an open book,” Astarion murmurs, “Ask, and I will tell you to the best of my ability, but there are things I cannot recall.”

“Like your face?”

He smiles sadly, “Yes, like my face.”

You and Gale have been practicing magic together, and you asked him to teach you Mirror Image. The incantation was straightforward to learn, but Illusionary magic is not your realm of expertise and mastering the hand movements was tricky.

Mirror Image was meant to be used on yourself, but you and Gale often try to find new ways to use or cast various spells.

After many trials and failures, you’ve figured out how to use Mirror Image to mirror someone other than the caster.

Should I?

“Do you-” you trail off, wondering if this is a good idea, “I could try something - if you want. If I can pull it off, you will be able to see yourself.”

“What?” Astarion jolts off the bed, eyes round with astonishment, “How?”

You turn to look at him, “Do you remember that night in camp when Gale was inspecting a magical copy of himself?”

His red eyes shift around, crazed, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake and stepped too far.

“Of course,” he groans, “How could I forget his incessant preening?”

Astarion looks anxious, and unease blooms in your stomach, “Are you okay? Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Please,” he pleads, his scarlet eyes wide and wild, “If you can, would you please?”

“This may feel odd at first,” you warn, “like countless fingers running over your skin. Don’t be alarmed.”

I can do this. I will do this.

Grasping the Weave, you wrap it around you and Astarion with the finesse of an archmage. Reciting the incantation is as easy as breathing, and it rolls off your tongue poetically.

The hand movements are far more complicated, but you’ve practiced this, and your fingers dance the perfectly choreographed pattern.

Astarion’s eyes stay locked on you.

You pull the threads, and the Weave unravels, only for you to stitch it back together in the image of Astarion.

“It’s done,” you smile, “All you need to do is turn around.”

Astarion takes a deep, shuddering breath but doesn’t turn, “What should I expect?”

You cock a brow at him. You’re not entirely sure how you expected him to react, but hesitancy didn’t even cross your mind.

Is he scared he won’t like what he sees?

“You will see yourself as the world sees you,” you say, calm and encouraging, “You don’t have to, Astarion. If it’s too much, I can always recast this when you’re ready.”

“No, I want to. Gods. It’s been so long, and I just… I just do not know,” he swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “Will you hold my hand? I do not think I can do this without you.”

“I’ve got you,” you interlace your fingers with his, “When you’re ready, love.”

He smiles, “That’s the first time you’ve called me that since I’ve been back.”

No… No, I couldn’t be. Is it? 

“I- Uh…I-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he giggles, “I won’t get my hopes up, friend.”

Astarion takes another slow, shaky breath and turns around slowly. The image of Astarion faces him, but its eyes are closed. For a moment, you think you didn’t cast the spell correctly, but when you look at Astarion, the figure mirrors him as it should.

Giving him this moment, you lean your head on his shoulder and wait patiently.

Astarion recoils slightly when his eyes open, and he sees the image standing there. The figures stare at each other, awestruck.

Astarion takes a step closer to the image and touches his face, running his fingers along his jaw, down the bridge of his nose, and over his cheekbones. He racks his fingers through his hair. Leaning in closer, he inspects his eyes and fangs, utterly captivated.

“Good Gods,” he pants breathlessly, “That’s me?”

“It’s you, Astarion,” you can’t help but smile, “in all your earth-shatteringly, realm-ending handsome beauty.”

“I am positively magnificent, aren’t I?” he muses agog, “Now, all your fiery jealousy makes perfect sense.”

You nearly chastise him, but when you look at him to shoot back some witty retort your mind hasn’t yet formulated, he’s staring at you with tears shining down his cheeks.

Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Fuck, Astarion,” you wipe the tears spilling from his eyes with your thumb, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He looks at the image of himself again, “I- I don’t believe I’ve ever cried happy tears before,” he chuckles low, his eyes downcast, “Not that I can remember, at least.”

Happy tears?

Before you can process his words, he sweeps you up in a cradling embrace, pulling you off your feet, “Thank you, my love.”

The spell wanes, and the figures form flickers before fading away. Astarion lowers you to the floor and looks at the empty area woefully.

“Astarion,” you guide his eyes back to you, still shiny with unshed tears, “I can recast that spell whenever you want. You only have to ask. This need not be the last time you get to see yourself.”

“Gods, don’t tell me that,” he sighs dramatically, with a striking crooked smile, “I’m likely to overindulge."

“Fine,” you giggle, “You will have to earn your overindulgence.”

“Oh,” Astarion smiles devilishly, eyeing you through thick lashes and hooded eyes, “How would you have me earn it?”

“Oh,” you tap your lips, “I’m sure I can think of something like warming Tara her milk,” you taunt.

Astarion scoffs, “The cat can wait for her milk. I was thinking more along the lines of depraved carnal lust?”

“Now?”

“Well,” Astarion smirks, “Now is as good a time as any, but I need to ask something of you.”

“What?”

Astarion sweeps your hair back and looks deeply into your eyes, “Stop being excessively gentle with me. I’m not as fragile as you presume me to be.”

Isn’t he?

“I-” you stammer with worry in your voice, “I will try.”

“Good girl.”

“Lock the door,” you tug at this shirt, “and lose this.”

“Demanding thing,” he chuckles, sliding the lock into place, “As you wish.”

Astarion pulls his shirt off and stands so close that your breasts graze his chest with the rise and fall of your breath.

Astarion’s fingers curl under the hem of your top, “May I?”

You nod, and Astarion lets his cool fingers caress the warmth of your skin as he strips you. The temperature contract makes your skin prickle, and desire flushes your complexion red.

Your nipples skim across the chilled skin of Astarion’s chest, making them harden into peaks instantly, and you shudder at the sensation.

The pad of Astarion’s thumb teases your sensitive peak, “You have no idea how perfect you are, do you?”

His teasing causes a breathy whimper to escape your lips, and heat pools as your nerves are set alight. Astarion takes your lips in his. The kiss quickly becomes primal, urgent, and all-consuming.

He nips your lower lip gently, forcing your lips to part, and his tongue traverses your mouth. Bolts of electricity ripple down your spine, awakening the achy need in your centre.

Astarion grabs your hips and rolls them against his throbbing erection with an urging grunt. The swell between your thighs sings with the decadent banquet of friction, and you moan low, ghosting your lips over his ear as you melt into him.

“You have no idea how much I miss being inside you,” Astarion growls with a voice soaked in burning want.

Gods. I miss it too.

The walls of your core clench uncontrollably as depraved thoughts and memories of him stretching you, claiming you, swim through your head.

Astarion shoves you hard, and you fall onto the bed with a giggle. Pushing your legs apart, he crawls up, kissing your stomach before swirling his tongue around your nipple, making your back arch and body twitch.

Gods. He could undo me with that alone.

Your splayed fingers slip us his chest, sweeping across his nipple, eliciting a pleasant rumbling groan deep in his chest. His lips meet yours urgently, and he bucks his hips into you, pushing the throbbing bulge in his trousers against your swell.

His presence is intoxicating, and you can’t control your body. Hells, you don’t want to control your body, and you writhe against him greedily, needy for relief.

Astarion’s hand slides up your thigh and his fingers ghost over the pulsating flesh, “How wet are you?”

Embarrassingly so. Nigh on soaked.

You groan as the flush of embarrassment courses through you and cover your face with your arms.

Astarion gently moves one of your arms away from your face, “Do not hide from me. You never have to hide from me.”

He rocks his hips against you, and you convulse and tremble against him with whimpering, sputtered murmurs.

“You’re soaked, aren’t you?” he teases, “May I, friend?”

“Gods, yes.”

Astarion slips his fingers into your waistband in an agonizingly slow descent that makes you wonder if you might combust before his fingers find their target.

He parts your folds while expertly avoiding that pulsing bundle of nerves that is craving his stroke.

“Hells, you are positively soaked,” he drawls, “You’re making quite a mess. We should get these off, yes?”

Astarion hooks his fingers into your waistband. You lift your hips in silent consent, and he slips your pants off you.

You squeeze your thighs together, feeling far too vulnerable under those piercing hooded crimson eyes studying you.

“I wish to look upon you, friend,” Astarion glides his hand between your thighs, “Will you let me?”

He uses gradual force to encourage your legs to part, and you allow your legs to spread for him.

Those cardinal red eyes devour the sight of you, full of unwavering adoration, “You’re beautiful.”

His fingers roam down your thigh to your folds, slick with desire. Breathy, sputtering moans escape your lips as your hips lurch at his touch.

His fingers trace the swollen border of your achy clit, “Do all your friends make you drip with need?

“Astarion,” you gasp.

“Yes, love?”

“Please,” you beg, “For the love of all the Gods. Please.”

“How many fingers?” he growls.

What?

Your mind can’t focus enough to string together what he’s asking. You squirm, trying to motivate his fingers to move faster, but he stills and waits for you to stop your writhing.

“When was the last time you were filled?” Astarion says firmly as he eases the contact of his fingers to nothing more than a light tease.

Do I admit this?

“You.”

Astarion’s brows pop up, eyes round with surprise, “Me? You haven’t been with anyone since I left?”

You stare at him, confused by his shock, “You are all I want, Astarion.”

Wait, does his shock mean he’s been with others since he left?

Don’t be so blind and naive. Of course, he has.

He has...

Under the overwhelming realization, your heart warps and bursts, violently rocketing the razor-edged shards you’ve been cutting yourself with, trying to glue them together. You clutch your chest as they tear you asunder anew.

The world feels like it’s crumbling down around you and drowning you in it.

Your cheeks feel wet. Are you crying?

Astarion’s hand cradles your cheek, and you leap off the bed to your hands and knees on the floor, recoiling from his touch.

How many others has he touched with that hand? 

Stop.

But Hells, how many since you?

No. Stop.

Astarion is coming toward you, distress twisting his brows and shining vividly in those beautiful crimson eyes.

How many people have looked into those eyes since you while he drove them to their release?

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Fuck. How many?!

His mouth is moving, but Gods you hear nothing over the stampede of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

Run. Run. Run. Run and never stop , your mind wails.

You can’t breathe. Hells, you’re suffocating in this room as it caves in around you.

You can’t take anymore. You must escape. Picking yourself up off the floor, you throw on your clothes in a panicked scurry.

Astarion’s cool hand grazes the skin of your arm, and you shrink away, gritting your teeth.

How many? Fuck. How many?!

Astarion backs away from you, alarmed.

Run. Run. Run.

You’ve barely finished dressing before you find yourself sprinting through the manor.

You need to get away from this place, get away from him, get away from yourself.

Swinging the door open, the sunlight floods in. Someone cries out, but you barely register Astarion’s pained yelp. You launch out the door, slamming into a startled Gale, eyes wide with confusion.

Gale tries to halt you, but you push him away with a hard shove that nearly sends him toppling over.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You run. 

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I hope you're enjoying reading this! Let me know what you think :)

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes: - Well, the noble is dead (yay), but how will they deal with the consequences? - Poor Tav :(

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[yourdeepestfathoms]

hiii !!!! I've been LOVING your yaelokre headcannons since I joined the fandom :)) if I may, I'd like to share two requests I have for them !!

× the larks first show

× the larks and cooking

They're very few, but it's been lingering in my mind for quite a while !! Absolutely no pressure tho :))

hi! i’m glad you’re enjoying the hcs! 🥰

yeah, i can do those!

The Lark’s First Show

It was a mess beforehand.

Cole was basically pulling out their hair and making a nest, pacing back and forth, stressing over every little detail- “What if my voice cracks? What if I forget every lyric? What if I drop my instrument? WHAT IF I PEE MY PANTS ONSTAGE?!”

“Okay, you need to calm down,” Perrine said.

“Calm down? CALM DOWN?! How can I possibly CALM DOWN when we’re about to do the biggest thing any of us have ever done before?!” Cole squawked back. “How are YOU so calm?!”

“Oh, she’s not!” Kingsley piped up. “She’s shaking! I also heard her giving herself a pep talk beforehand we got here!”

“KINGSLEY!” Perrine yawped.

Clémentine had to step in from there. They were almost eerily calm, with a serene smile on their face. It was daunting. Even though Cole’s anxiety was blowing things a bit out of proportion, they were right- this was a huge event for all of them.

And yet, Clémentine was calm.

Cole, bewildered, asked them how that can be possible.

Laughing, Clémentine responded, “Oh, I am nervous! Very much so! Look at my hands, they’re shaking! But freaking out won’t do anything but make it worse.”

They then get the others to do some breathing exercises, and as silly as they were, it helped.

“We’re gonna do amazing. We’ll make the Harkers proud.”

And they did!

It was a bit of a rocky start- Cole’s voice did crack, but no peeing of the pants happened, so that was good! And there were a few slip ups, but as the performance went on, they all found their rhythm, and it proceeded smoothly!

Getting a standing ovation at the end was like a dream come true. (They all cried)

The Lark and Cooking

Perrine does most of the cooking for the group. She has a few cookbooks that she uses! I feel like the kids would have their own garden to grow fruits and vegetables, so she would get most ingredients from there, but for meats, she’ll fish and hunt.

When it comes to hunting, none of the others want to even TRY. Cole will cry if they have to kill an animal, Clémentine feels too bad, and Kingsley simply isn’t trusted with a weapon. Fishing, however, is different, and they all like having fishing days! Even if Kingsley does get bored after a few minutes.

Perrine doesn’t even necessarily like hunting herself, but it needs to be done. I feel like they don’t get paid that much for their performances, if they get paid at all, so it’s easier to live off the land, and that means hunting. Money needs to be saved for things like medicine, clothing, and things they can’t get from foraging. So, it’s Perrine who bites her tongue and goes out to hunt.

This is getting off topic, but I have more hunting-related headcanons, so if anyone is interested, let me know!

Anyway, yeah, Perrine does most of the cooking, and she’s very good at it! It relaxes her.

Clémentine also helps cook, and they’re also good! However, they don’t like handling meat because they always worry that they’re gonna undercook it, and the last thing anyone needs is all four of them getting food poisoning at the same time in their little house.

They’re very good at baking, though! They LOVE to make all kinds of baked goods, such as cookies or cakes or little pastries with berry filling. Everyone loves their treats!

Cole can do the bare bones cooking- soup and sandwiches. Everything beyond that somehow always gets messed up, whether that be because they added too much or too little of something or they forgot to grease the pan and the food is sticking to the bottom of it.

However, they love to bake with Clémentine! They can make a few baked goods on their own, but those are all recipes they’ve learned from watching Clémentine.

They also make really good tea!

Kingsley is not allowed near the stove.

[originalaccountname]

Remember when I made a bunch of bsd characters into Tomodachi Life miis?

Well one month later they've been doing a lot of things: finding best friends, trying to set each other up on dates, getting into fights, asking each other out... and even getting married!

I try to meddle the least amount possible in their social lives, only answering yes or no when they ask for my blessing in asking someone out or trying to set their friends up. I mostly say yes, with very few exceptions. Note that I am only sharing the funniest events.

That being said, here are some highlights of the dumb things they've been doing, featuring some of your favourite guys:

since this game is hetero relationships only, I purposefully made Dazai into a girl so he would have most of the men roster to choose from (something something Dazai's collection of boyfriends). Well, he lost no time setting his sights on his neighbour Kunikida (everyone's laid out by organization affiliation). Kunikida accepted.

Ango had a hard time maintaining friendships at first, getting into fights with them a few days, if not literal hours, after befriending them, and the fight failing to be resolved. One time, after a failed apology, I tried to cheer him up with a mobile, and the game randomly selected these miis to put in the mobile:

Atsushi befriended Akutagawa, and a few days later, decided to confess his feeling to him. Akutagawa said yes.

While at the café with some of his friends, Chuuya confessed to some concerns:

At the hilarious timing of right after chapter 113, with the infamous ADA-ensemble-but-missing-Dazai panel, Dazai and Fukuzawa had a fight, and Fukuzawa did not accept Dazai's apology. This seemed to be the end of their friendship, but Fukuzawa decided he wanted to save their relationship, and went to apologize too:

Then, Dazai and Kunikida had a fight. They managed to make up and keep their relationship going. I didn't take screenshots, but Chuuya mentionned it during Fitzgerald's pity party:

Flash round! Many characters tried to set their friends up on a date, or to confess their feelings, but ended up in failure. Ranpo tried to set up Higuchi and Tsujimura. Ango tried to ask Oda out, but Oda didn't even show up. Gin went for Kunikida even if he was already taken. Tachihara tried to set up Fukuzawa and Hirotsu. Mori tried to set up his two mafia spies. And...

I was peer-pressured (❤) into letting Fukuzawa confess "because Dazai could make 'your mom' jokes to Ranpo then". Mid-confession, someone yells "Not so fast!" from out of frame. The camera turns, and reveal... Ranpo, who also has feelings for Dazai! Who is still, may I remind you, in a relationship with Kunikida!

Love was in the air after that, and Atsushi decided he was ready to ask Akutagawa the big question! He asked him during fireworks.

They had a wonderful wedding with their friends (the game picks their guests based on friendship levels with the bride and groom)

And here they are now, the first married couple of the island!

There's still a bit more that has been going on, but I hit the picture limit and this is already long enough! I also have a bunch of silly isolated events where a mii did or said something funny.

[jyndor]

so apparently israeli workers are going on a general strike today in favor of a ceasefire because of the deaths of the six hostages. this feels like a moment where there may actually be either an end to this nightmare.

remember that the economy of israel has been wrecked - there are many factors but the pressure that bds has exerted on the israeli economy is a significant part of that. their economy has been downgraded like twice iirc, once literally a few days ago. this genocide has finally disrupted the comforts of living as a client state within and for the imperial core, and what I cannot say is if israeli society will learn any anti-racist, anti-apartheid, anti-genocide lessons from this mess (doubtful) but I do believe that it is now possible that israelis themselves will put on enough pressure to either force netanyahu to accept a real ceasefire deal or unfortunately to escalate to a level that we haven't seen before.

because while netanyahu is a symptom, not the disease of fascism in israel, he is also a particularly dangerous man because he knows that once this "war" is over, he's cooked and very likely going to be sent straight to prison for his corruption (doubtful he will see actual justice for the genocide but we will see).

now all of that being said, the biden administration still has immense power to keep this genocide going and keep supporting netanyahu if it chooses to do so. I do not see why it wants to so badly, it isn't like another israeli leader is going to be pro-palestine lmao and anyway netanyahu is imo also trying to fuck up harris's election chances (if you don't believe me... lmao he is literally in the bag for trump).

anyway keep eyes on palestine as always but especially right now because I am very worried that israel might do something even more heinous than its done so far. remember that israelis protesting for a ceasefire deal are mostly doing so because they want their hostages home, not because they've had a change of heart around palestinian liberation. there certainly are israelis who are anti-zionist and pro-palestine, but they are few and far between. and they do definitely need our support in this and every moment.

[arliedraws]

Go on about Sirius and Benjy I am listening

Well, I went down a Benjy Fenwick hc rabbithole and created a backstory, so thank you for that

Benjy Fenwick comes from a working class seaside town in North Yorkshire. His father is a mechanic and his mother works part time as a cashier. Benjy’s the oldest of five children—he and his youngest brother (born when Benjy is about twelve) are the only siblings with magic. But he almost didn’t go to Hogwarts because he could hardly afford any of his books or materials, but he worked his little eleven-year-old butt off to make extra money. A natural salesman, he finds scraps to sell to kids he knows, gambles, scams adults until he gets the money he needs.

He loves his parents, particularly his mum. He feels incredibly guilty to be leaving his family behind, convinced that he needs to take care of them, but his parents insist that he goes. When Benjy gets to school, however, it’s clear that he is Poor. The first person to point this out is Bellatrix Black, a particularly nasty Slytherin girl in his year who comes from a very old pureblood family.

But Benjy is the most shameless, charming, devil-may-care sort of boy. He’s decent at school, but doesn’t care about doing well—he just cares about doing what’s right. He’s a jock type without possessing a shred of interest in the jock activities—he doesn’t give a damn about Quidditch but gets bored sitting still, but he’ll fly a broom to see how fast it goes. Too clever for his own good—could talk his way out of anything. He doesn’t need to lie—he just tells the truth so plainly that you can’t help appreciating his candor.

All of this infuriates Bellatrix Black, and she’s determined to make this little Ravenclaw as miserable as possible by trying to turn people against him. But Benjy is a really difficult person to hate. He’s the sort of kid who, if he doesn’t get a spell correct, is the first to laugh at his mistake. He asks the “dumb” questions in class—the ones that people are too embarrassed to admit they don’t know the answer to—with a shit-eating grin. He’s the first to protest if a professor gives them an extra long essay or a pop quiz and give the most convincing argument why the teacher should spare them—and sometimes, he’s even successful.

He gets a few O.W.L.s and a couple of N.E.W.T.s but not enough for a job in the Ministry. He never really wanted to do bureaucratic shit anyway. When he finishes school, he goes back home to work with his father as a mechanic. His family has always been his first priority, after all. And he’s pretty happy! He’s probably gay and he has younger siblings who are happily married and having kids, so he feels no pressure to “settle down” and marry some girl.

Anyway, Bellatrix Black’s old rivalry with Benjy never faded, and his family is savagely murdered in one of the earliest massacres of the war. He was supposed to be killed too, but he happened to be elsewhere that night. Mr. and Mrs. Fenwick are murdered, as well as two of his siblings, their spouses, and their children. Benjy goes feral when the Ministry do very little to investigate. He decides to hunt down the perpetrators himself but accidentally ends up sabotaging an Order of the Phoenix mission led by Alastor Moody.

Dumbledore asks Benjy to join the Order, and soon, Benjy becomes a key player in the war. He’s an excellent duelist, he can make muggle explosives that evade magical detection, he hasn’t got a lot left to lose, and most importantly, he has to make the world a better place for his little brother who’s still at school.

Benjy has been with the Order for five years by 1978. He’s still cheeky but a little jaded, battle-hardened, and a bit wary of the newest recruits who are too fresh out of Hogwarts. What is Dumbledore thinking bringing on these kids? And one of them is Bellatrix Black’s cousin.

This Sirius kid is charming and reminds Benjy a bit of himself when he was that age, but Benjy is also a bit suspicious of the pureblood heir. He hides his distrust, though Sirius can sense it. When a mission goes wrong, Sirius risks his own life to save his friends and finally earns Benjy’s respect. Others in the Order still don’t entirely trust Sirius because of his family, but Benjy sees something in him and takes Sirius under his wing as Sirius’s friends become more and more distant while the war pulls them apart.

Benjy spends more time with Sirius who constantly drops in unexpectedly at his house in Yorkshire. He’s worried about Sirius who begins behaving recklessly as James becomes more entangled with Lily. Benjy has to pull him back, insisting that he’s needlessly putting himself in danger.

When Sirius is furious that James and Lily are planning to wed, Benjy initially doesn’t see the problem—then he realizes that Sirius is in love with James. Benjy attempts to comfort him, but he discovers, to his surprise, that perhaps he’s always wanted to comfort Sirius. But Sirius is too young for him and in love with someone else…though he can’t deny he wants this kid very, very badly.

Meanwhile, Sirius desires approval from someone he respects, and Benjy has always praised Sirius in exactly the way Sirius likes—sarcastic remarks and a pinch of his cheek, winks, exasperated smiles. He likes how Benjy throws his arm around his shoulders like they’re mates; he likes that Benjy treats him like an adult when they’re on missions. They drink together, share the same kind of humor, etc. Benjy even brings Sirius to work in the auto body repair shop, etc. It’s hard to resist the older wizard—and it doesn’t help that Benjy is a fit, working class hunk.

Neither is sure who made the first move, only that Sirius came directly to Benjy’s house after James proposed to Lily. Benjy lets Sirius rage about it until Sirius, exhausted, settles down next to Benjy on the sofa, and Benjy just sort of…strokes his hair. And a lightbulb turns on for both of them.

From then on, when Sirius isn’t with his friends, he’s with Benjy. He doesn’t tell anyone about his relationship with Benjy (who warns that if Moody finds out, they won’t be able to partner up anymore). As they become more involved, Sirius can’t always explain where he’s been which looks…suspicious to people.

Anyway, if this were a fic, I’d probably add the plot of Bellatrix finding out about Benjy fucking her most eligible bachelor cousin, reigniting her old hatred of him.

Yada yada, Benjy dies to save Sirius—and no one alive knows they were ever together.