#i just get scared that im fucking up really badly and am hurting her in some way its stressful

[haemosexuality]

these past few days i have been uncharacteristically. emotionally open. w my friend and it has me thinking about how truly for all of my life i just did not expect anything from anyone

[hecksupremechips]

The depression has been awful lately I feel trapped in a horrible situation but....i at least now have a kitty cat here :D

[idkwhatever580]

I’m sure you could pt. 1

Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader

Prompt: y/n follows Natasha to Norway. What happens when they go out? (Loosely based off of black widow events)

Warnings: fights, mentions of cuts and injuries, no smut but almost, mentions of death. No actual death though.

A/N: I’m working really hard on this one but it’s taking a bit out of me. I decided to create two parts to it. Because I’m basically going with the black widow movie. But including r. So have fun. Tell me if you think I should add something to part two!

Y/n’s pov

“NATALIA ALIANOVNA ROMANOVA OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR RIGHT NOW!”

I am pounding on the door of the trailer and Natasha opens it with a gun in her hand and she quickly covers my mouth and pulls me inside.

“Shut the fuck up you’re gonna get me caught!”

I storm past her and say

“No you shut the fuck up! What were you thinking?!”

She sighs and says

“Detka please-”

“No! Don’t baby me! I am so pissed with you.”

“Please let me explain”

I huff and say

“Go on then. Explain to me why you left with no note not even a call! You could have been dead for all I know and I was just at home waiting for you!”

I start pacing back and forth in the little space there is.

“I know I’m not an avenger and I’m not all special like you are, but as your wife I deserve the decency to hear when you’re running away!”

“It wasn’t safe!”

I shake my head in frustration she keeps explaining

“It never is safe right nat?”

“They are after me. Everyone is after me right now. I felt horrible but I had to get rid of my everything because of it. I double crossed tony and the government.”

I let out a frustrated groan and she finally realizes how bad my breathing is. She knows it’s gonna be bad if I don’t calm down soon so she says

“Baby. I need you to breathe with me. In. And out. In. And out.”

I take a few more breaths and then I look back up at her

“I thought you were dead”

My eyes fill with tears and she says

“Oh dorogoy. Im so sorry.”

I start to sob and she wraps her arms around me and I grab onto her shirt as if she’s going to disappear if I let go. I start to rant into her chest.

“I thought I’d never see you again and you just were going to run off. You always do this Natalia I am always so scared. I wish you’d have come home and taken me with you.”

“You know it’s not that simple”

I nod my head and keep crying.

After a long while I finally am able to calm down and we get up and go to the bedroom to talk. Natasha starts with a question naturally

“How did you know where I was?”

I sigh and say

“This guy named mason broke into the compound somehow and told me after I almost shot him.”

She laughs and says

“He’s always been like that. Stupid”

I nod my head in agreement and Natasha asks another

“How did you get here? Do you think anybody followed you?”

I shake my head and say

“Mason made sure to get me here with nobody on my trail.”

I decide it’s my turn for a question

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

She shakes her head and says

“Clint threw me on the ground pretty hard but not bad. I think I got a few bruises but not much more”

I nod my head and say

“Let me see you”

She sighs knowing I need confirmation that she is not damaged too badly. I’ve always been like that.

So she stands up and takes off her shirt and does a slow 360 for me. Before she can turn back around I wrap my arms around her waist from behind and move her hair to the side so I can kiss her neck.

I trail my hands under her breasts and then move to the back and say

“Is this okay?”

She nods her head and whispers

“Yes”

I unhook her bra and let it slide down. I immediately start kneading her boobs softly making her let out some soft moans.

Her head rolls back and she turns around eventually to do the same for me. She kisses me softly and says

“Let me make you feel good”

I sigh and say

“Natty I don’t want to make you tired”

She chuckles and shakes her head

“You give me life baby. You could never make me tired.”

I raise my eyebrow and say

“I don’t know about that. I’m sure I could if I tried”

She smiles and kisses me tenderly

“I’m sure you could detka”

Before we actually get anywhere the generator goes out and everything turns off.

I groan and say

“Why now?”

She chuckles and says

“We don’t need lights”

I smile and say

“No. But I think we should figure it out before we fall asleep and then freeze.”

She sighs and says

“You’re right”

And as she is getting off of me I mumble

“As always”

Nat turns to me

“What was that?”

I look away innocently and say

“Nothing!”

She slaps my arm and throws on her bra and shirt again. We both go outside to investigate. Well. I investigate and she stands guard.

You can never be too safe.

Unfortunately the generator has run out of gas. So we need to go into town to fill up the little gas can we have.

We load up and go on our way. I smile at her from the passenger seat until we cross a bridge and a bomb goes off throwing us around.

I black out for a few minutes and once I am fully conscious again I look around and find nat next to me unharmed. But I look around for the perpetrator and see this person in a suit. It looks weird. But Natasha already is in action.

She unbuckles and falls making the car move. I finally realize that we’re hanging over the bridge. I shakily say

“Nat?”

She turns to me and says

“Get out and get as far away as possible through the backseat okay?”

“I’m not gonna leave you here with that maniac!”

“He’s here for me. Not you. Go!”

I know she’s telling the truth. It’d be no good if I’m hurt and she’d have to handle me too so I slip out the door and she starts shooting at him.

They start fighting and I see a brief case that looks like it has important vials in it. Honestly these things look like magic. So I grab them swiftly and sneak off.

I hide in some bushes and Natasha and the robot person fight more. From the looks of it they are copying her exact moves. Like they know exactly what she’s doing.

This is terrifying since she is never predictable.

Suddenly. They end up staring right at each other and as Natasha analyzes this things armor, it turns towards me. I know I’m hiding in a bush but I think it can see me.

She says

“You’re not here for me”

And she looks around for something. I widen my eyes and realize he’s here for the briefcase that I have in my hands.

Natasha knows it too so she runs at the armored person and they fight a bit more.

Natasha clearly knows what she’s doing so she yells

“Throw the case y/n!”

I don’t think and just listen to her so I throw it on the bridge and they fight to get to it. But Natasha gets there first.

They fight again and Natasha uses the persons shield that oddly looks like caps shield. But before she can win he kicks her off the bridge and I almost scream out but I remember they might come for me too so I stay silent as tears run down my face constantly.

They end up with the briefcase and I look and see that there is nothing in it. Clearly nat took it out before they kicked her off. But there’s no fucking point.

Once they leave and I see the way is clear I run down the side of the bank to the water. It’s a little steep and I slip making me fall a lot but I don’t even care. I don’t stop running.

I get to the water and start looking around.

Nobody’s pov

“My baby! No. No no no no. No no. You can’t be gone. Please Natasha nat please. I need you.”

Words start to roll out of y/n’s throat uncontrollably, but nobody can hear.

Y/n is on her knees at the river bank with cuts and scrapes all over them.

They look around and then start crawling to the water. Somehow their brain isn’t functioning properly and they just start looking for Natasha while repeating the same things over and over like a crazy person.

Until a gasp comes from the water and y/n looks up to see Natasha coming out on the other side.

She immediately scrambles up and says

“Nat?!”

They can’t hear her speak and they just lie down. Suddenly they pull some red glowing ball out of their jacket.

Y/n’s pov

That red shit is the stuff that was in Natasha’s briefcase! It’s her!

I almost yell her name when she gets up and starts looking around. I find my phone which somehow didn’t break in the crash or my fall and I turn the flashlight on and wave it at her.

I realize that if I yell at her it might alert that person again. I don’t want that.

She sees the light and knows it’s me. So I make my way over the hill and cross the burning bridge and climb back down much slower this time.

“Nat?”

“Y/n?”

We both sigh in relief when we recognize each other.

I run to nat and say

“Are you okay?!”

She nods her head still a bit winded from being under water

I tear up and say

“I swear to god if I ever find that person I’m gonna kill them.”

She shakes her head thinking and says

“You shouldn’t be here. You need to go home”

I look at her like she’s crazy and say

“And leave you for that thing?! No fuckjng way!”

I can tell she’s in black widow mode right now

“Y/n… you don’t know what we’re dealing with right now. I need you to go home. I need you to be safe”

I huff and say

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Why won’t you listen to me!”

“Because! I am only safe with you. If you send me home nobody can protect me as well as you can. You are the only one that can help me sleep at night. You are my safety.”

She sighs and shakes her head knowing it’s a losing battle.

Suddenly I look down into her hands and in one, she is holding the red stuff, but in the other, is a little paper.

“What is that?”

She looks up at me and says

“What is what”

I look her in the eyes to be a bit confrontational and say

“What’s in your hand?”

She holds up the red vials and says

“Uh- I actually don’t know. But I’m going to figure it out”

“No no. Not that hand. That hand”

I point to the other hand.

“What? Oh- nothing.”

“Cut the act Natasha. Tell me what is in your hand.”

She hesitates but hands it to me

“Who are these kids?”

“Me. And…”

My eyes widen and I say

“Yelena…”

She nods her head and I say

“She got out?!”

Nat shrugs her shoulders and says

“We can talk about this in a bit. We need to get somewhere safe. Where they can’t get to us”

I nod my head and we walk back to the trailer making sure nobody is on our trail.

We sit down and Natasha and I take a second to look at each other and take each other in.

Only now does she realize the cut I got on my forehead because of my fall.

“I’m so sorry”

I shrug and say

“Not your fault. I went too fast down the hill looking for you and fell”

She laughs a bit at my clumsiness.

“I’m glad someone’s getting a kick out of this”

She tends to my wounds and I tend to hers as she tells me everything.

“If you’re coming with me you have to understand the dangers of this. We’re dealing with the red room here”

I nod my head and say

“I might not know much but I at least train with you for hand to hand. And I can shoot.”

She nods her head and says

“I don’t know if Yelena is truly out. She could have just been on a mission.”

“On a mission where?”

“Budapest”

I smile and say

“You’re one of the only people I know who say Budapest correctly.”

She nods her head and continues

“I’m hoping she’s still there. If not I don’t know what I’ll do. But mason brought these to me from my hideout there. So she might be laying low if she actually escaped.”

I nod my head and kiss the last wound I just cleaned up for her. Now I move on to brushing and re-braiding her hair.

“Who was that robot person?”

“I don’t know. But from the looks of it, they’re from the red room. So it’s probably not a guy. The red room utilizes women and their weaknesses. That person has been training to fight me since they were a girl.”

I nod my head and say

“Why don’t they look like any other widows?”

“I’m not sure”

I keep braiding my hair and just say what pops into my head.

“Do you think this girl is special to the red room? Like. Maybe she’s dreykovs daughter”

She shakes her head.

“Impossible. She died when I bombed the both of them. I didn’t mean to get her, but I had to get him and that was my only time slot.”

I nod my head in understanding and say

“Okay.”

She stands up when I finish the braid and says

“We’re going to Budapest. Grab your things.”

I look around and say

“I don’t have any things. For some reason I just left.”

She sighs and grabs some extra clothes for me.

Before we leave she grabs my hands and says

“Before we go, I can’t in good conscience let you come with me without telling you the dangers of this. We could very likely both die”

I nod my head and say

“I know. But there’s no one I’d rather die with than you. I’m not worried though. I know you’ll keep me safe.”

She smiles and kisses me and says.

“I could always kick your ass and make you stay here”

I smile and use her words from earlier.

“I’m sure you could baby”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A/N: I’m totally gonna make a part two don’t worry. You just might have to wait a little bit :)))

Part two

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish

[originaltravelerfun]

my biggest problem with hazbin hotel writing after everything

guys do you notice how badly vivzie doesn't want to directly mention the theme of morality?

its always there, it flashes everywhere but she chooses to walk on edges. the redemption, extermination, falling in hell, god we literally have hell vs heaven war with these themes. and after everything the question "is this the right thing to do?" just exists like small stream of wind.

never in the show charlie asks herself "is my redemption plan is right?" she should know that there are very bad people who can also badly hurt others because she is there for a long. but this knowledge never brings up and we have to accept the fact that charlie is just an infantile and too stupid to comprehend evilness despite also knowing what good means. its really weird how the princess of hell who should already know the hellish history and society acts like she for the first saw someone like valentino being evil. SHE DIDNT LIVE FOR LONG IN HEAVEN (what could explain the blindness towards evil nature), SHE LIVED FOR LONG IN HELL, FUCKING HELL. how after many years she cant deal with the evilness of her people and instead just believe in a power of friendship? WHERE SHE WAS SO SHELTERED TO GET THIS MINDSET IN THE END?

its very weird how every theme that is revelant in this show, is literally connected with defining good vs evil BUT vivzie never, never makes us think about that. we just should accept the writing telling us what happened is good or bad, or even worse, doesn't matter and it was just for funnies (like that rpe joke with Sir Pentious).

the reason why this morality thing got in my mind is that im afraid what season 2 brings to us. im afraid that they will never mention elephant in the room: possibly irredeemable people. and hearing another doubtful information makes me scared that viv goes to the route "actually, there is no evil people and it just fault of some metaphoric disease that makes people evil!". and im very afraid of this happening in the future because it seems to be that everyone just ignores the existence of Irredeemableness. like doing evil doesnt really matter and there is just winners/losers side of history.

for some reason Sir Pentious in the past got in hell because of him ignoring the situation. let me mention he is the first to be ascended of all sinners and this backstory makes him pitiful for a reason. of all backstories, they chose the most depressing one. where he is a shut-in who had no will to change the inevitable situation. bro do not tell me you didnt do this to make another point of "innocent sinners"

emily. if not for emily, i wouldn't writing this. she is the angel version of charlie who also promotes "sinners deserve redemption" but also ignores existence of serial killers, rpists and another kinds of "that evil" people. the same problem charlie has but i can understand it at least.

I am not scared for saying this. viv seems to be not mature enough to even explore the concept of her show if she is afraid of exploring complete monsters (like exploring undoubtable evil AND NOT MAKING IT CONTROVERSIAL LIKE WITH VALENTINO AND ANGEL) and just stays on the line "of pure good (every main character) and wrongful revenge (VVVs, Adam, Lute and other exorcists, not gonna be surprised of Lilith adding to this group)".

of all characters, i only feel sympathy for lute (and also sir pentious with how he was handled throughout the show). sera was just stupid and wanted bloodshed because of her special placement in an angelic hierarchy. i dont believe this bullshit of her caring about well-being of her people when she went with extermination as it was nothing. all she should have said is that there are very horrible people and hell is not worth of being a threat to her lovely power. well, they didn't go for this route for some reason. now sera got in wrong too and she got in the first group with everyone.

TELL ME

TELL ME WHY NO ONE STILL POINTS ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM AND WE JUST ACCEPT THAT HELL IS JUST MISUNDERSTOOD

This is why I only care about Lute now because she is the only who has brain to acknowledge that there's monsters in hell

im so done with this show bro

[firesnap]

i have a genuine question. i promise i am not at all trying to defend him. ive dropped him entirely, literally deleted everything i had of him and unliked his songs.

ive just been wondering like considering that he has been in therapy, and also considering how if he does take a year off and then comes back, why cant it be redeemable? like cant people change? cant we give them second chances? he is 27. is he just doomed to be an abuser forever?

its just scary and im asking as like a younger person who is in my very early 20s. i know ive made mistakes. i know ive not been a good partner or friend sometimes. (and yes i was also abusive to a past partner...im not proud of it and ive learned from it. i have never ever touched anyone in that way after that. it took awhile but my current relationship isnt toxic and i would never hurt anyone or hit them again yknow?) and it scares me that people keep insinuating that he is irredeemable. like cant abusers change and become better? dont they get second chances? if shelby has grown and healed in 10 months wouldn't it be fair to say the same for wilbur?

im just genuinely asking because based on everything i believe you are older than me and im looking for guidance and just...idk im scared. growing up on the internet has made me so scared of making mistakes and doing anything wrong because when it happens to others i look up to, its always treated as something they'll never be able to change or improve. makes me feel like imma just be a horrible person forever because i made mistakes in the past.

This is a really complicated question that multiple answers can validly fit.

I don't think, personally, that anyone is irredeemable. I think everyone is on a journey of forgiveness and some of us may need more grace than others.

This is tw// abuse even more than the current topic, but my mom was incredibly abusive. We lived in a very rural area and she had a lot of undiagnosed problems and trauma of her own that created a pressure pot of issues. After I was born, she suffered through full on post-partum psychosis that nearly ended about as well as that sentence implies it could have. She was incredibly violent, controlling, and cruel for years. My sister went no-contact with her the second she turned 18. A significant event occurred that eventually spurned her into seeking real treatment that lasted for years. It's still ongoing.

My sister is also still no contact and I support her decision 100%. Those are her wounds and what she needed to do to get peace should be respected. I decided I wanted a relationship with the person who came out of all that work and, even then, it's been hard. I don't know if she's redeemed herself, and my god do we still have bumps in the road, but I support her for trying.

With Wilbur, how he responds to this is going to really impact a lot of things. I mean, I know no matter how he responds I won't be going on whatever journey of redemption and healing he has to go through. I'm tired and I feel hurt enough. I would think, if he wanted to show he was sincere, admitting what happened would be a great sense of closure for a lot of people who put time and energy and faith into this guy for years.

Not every person that causes harm is inherently evil, but there has to be some kind of knowledge that you're aware of the harm you've caused. No one is stuck as anything forever, life is constantly moving, and most people aren't saying his life is just over. You can work on yourself. You can change. And I'm saying that specifically to you, anonymous.

(Saying this, actually, there ARE people who would argue once you've done x you're beyond redemption based entirely on their life experiences as a victim, personal histories and many other factors. Kinda like my sister, that's their choice. And you have to accept that sometimes you fuck up so badly that you will permanently lose some people from your life. But your life isn't over.)

But I do think, regardless of what he says or does about this, his time of controlling a large platform is at an end. He can still do a lot of things in his life after he works on himself -- editing, song producing, directing, writing or whatever -- but being in charge of a large impressionable audience that could enable more destructive behaviors is just not it.

[xxxsaturnxx]

False accusations

modern!au

pairing modern!abby anderson × f/reader

characters; reader*, abby anderson, readers parent(s). ellie williams (mentioned), owen moore (mentioned),

Cw: strong language, some plot, some p*rn, arguments/accusations, suggested infidelity (cheating), mentions of owen

Im kinda rusty so please be kind(I AM SO SORRY ITS SO LONG )

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾

It had been a long day. Woke up early, got ready for work, got to work, didn't have any breaks, then went to my ex's, and got home later than I wanted to. Which would definitely cause some problems with Abby. Oh, boy... I wasn't ready for the arguing and accusations. But maybe she was already asleep.

And mad at me.

Fuuuuck.

I slipped the key into the lock, slowly turning them to unlock the door, sneaking in with caution and ease. Something I've been good at since... Forever, I guess.

The coast was clear. No lights on, no tv shows playing, no music, no nothing. I let out a sigh of relief, fist pumping the air in excitement. I would rather Abs be asleep and mad at me instead of awake and arguing. She never really liked me being out late anyways unless she was there.

Flick. A light turned on, casting a big, mean shadow.

Oh fuck. No, no, no.

"Did you have fun out today?" Abby stood im the hallway, her shadow looming over me. She was beyond pissed. I did not need to look at her to know, I could feel and hear it. "Meet up with some friends?"

*What?" | dropped my bag on the floor and hung up the keys,

"Abby, I've been at work since morning. What're you on about?" turning to her with a confused look.

*You work from nine in the morning to seven at night."

"Yeah?"

"It's almost ten, Y/N! Where were you?" Abby marched over to me, crossing her huge arms across her chest and glaring down at me.

"Abby, I don't have time for this. I was getting a few things from my mom, that's all.” I partially lied. I wasn't with my mom but I was retrieving some of my belongings from my ex.

"Yeah? Or were you out fucking Ellie?"

I gave her a disgusted look, shaking my head at her. Not because of who she said I was with but because of her accusation. She knows I would never cheat on her. Not now, not ever. Why would she even think that?

"Fucking, excuse me?"

"Does this look familiar?" Abby pulled up a photo of me and Ellie speaking to one another, fiddling with our hands, a nervous smile present on both parties lips, "Owen sent me a photo of you two together.

My eyes snapped up to hers, now raging at the name coming out of her mouth, "fucking, who!? Owen!?" | scoffed, rolling my eyes at her and shaking my head, "why's he still in your contacts? Why do you have his number?"

"Don't turn the tables on me, Y/N. Answer me."

At that point, I was already fed up with her bullshit, waving my hand in her face as I walked down the hall to our shared bedroom. Abby chased me down, hot on my heels.

"Fuck you, Abigail."

"Fuck me? No, Y/N, fuck you!" Abby's voice cracked a bit, not because she was crying but because she had been raising her voice at me and she hated doing so.

I scoffed at her rebuttal and tried to slam the door but abby caught it with her foot just in time, "The reason I have his number is so he can take my shifts like how i did for our anniversary!"

I rolled my eyes and scoffed again “ Yeah right how do i know that you haven’t been fucking behind my back then!” Abby had a pained look on her face.

“Do you seriously think that i would cheat on you? After everything!” Abby swung the door open so roughly it shook the wall. “Of course not but why would you think i would do that to you? Especially since you know how my last relationship ended and how badly it fucked me up!”

My eyes were tearing up as i remember how badly it hurt when i walked in on Ellie and Dina on our anniversary a few years back. Abby sighed and rubbed her face with her hands in an attempt to calm down.

“I-i look I shouldn’t have accused you. I guess I was just scared that you’d leave me for her or something and I shouldn’t have listened to Owen for all we know he’s just trying to stir up drama. I'm sorry.” Abby looked down while rubbing the back of her neck.

“I’m sorry I tried to flip it back to you, the truth is i was just getting some of my old stuff back it was just stuff i didn’t have the balls to get back yet.” I pulled out small photos of my childhood and some souvenirs and pins.

“I know it doesn’t look like much but these mean alot to me.” Abby pulled me into a hug and kept me there “oh baby, I’m sorry but why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve gotten that stuff for you or helped.”

My face buried in her chest i sighed “ i wanted to do it myself not burden you. You already do so much for me anyway.” I wipe my face with my sleeve as i break the hug

“How about i reward you for being so brave and to make it up to you too .” Abby holds me by my waist and looks me in the eyes. “That sound good princess?” I nod eagerly and wrap my arms around her neck.

“Yeah, that sounds really good.” I squealed as she picked me up and took me to the edge of the bed. Abby pulled me into a steamy kiss and laid me down as she crawled on top of me never breaking the kiss.

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚

My chest pressed down against the sheets as one hand propped onto my hip while the other was rubbing up and down my spine. "Aren't you just the prettiest girl, huh baby?" Abby teases me her breath right on my neck.

My mouth hangs open, just at the thought of her lips on where i most need her. I can feel Abby smirk at how reactive I am to her touch and how I arch my back into her. Then that familiar, intoxicating feeling of me stretching at Abby's girth, drew out a light whimper from my lips.

"You're doin' so good baby taking me like the slut you are." Abby covers my body with hers and i can feel her chest on my back as she starts to move. Her relentless pace that she set was mind numbing to the point that i was drooling at the sensation.

The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping, Abby groaning, and my pornographic moans. Abby's large hands pushed my head down into the pillow, muffling me so her own sounds of pleasure were heard. She even seemed to be slowing her pace, one hand slipping down to my hip while the other tug my head up by my hair, lips nearing my ear.

"God baby you're grippin me so tight, I can barely move." a thin sheen of sweat covers both of our bodies. My juices forming a ring at the base of Abby's strap, the sounds the strap going in and out of me are deafening, yet so satisfying to hear on repeat.

"Abby, please," was all I could say, begging her to just ruin me.

"Please what, baby? Use your words, don't be shy now." I whimpered at her teasing, aching for all of her. I can feel a coil in my stomach tighten even more and i give in. "Please Abby let me cum, please please please!"

Abby coos and quickens her pace. Her grip becomes bruising as she shows no mercy pounding into me. "There you go baby. You sound so pretty when you beg, go ahead princess cum, you've earned it." Abby whispers through gritted teeth as she pressed her mouth to my ear.

The coil snapped and my body froze momentarily, a small shiver taking over, my eyes rolling back, and moans that ended up increasing in volume came out of my voice box. Abby didn't even stop there, still thrusting into me so I could ride out my high.

“There you go, such a pretty slut for me huh?” Abby’s thrusts slowed as she starts soothing me with gentle hands. A clear contrast of her seconds before. My hands go to hold abby’s hand on my hip and i start rubbing shapes into the back of her hand.

“I think you really made it up to me abs.” Abby slides out of me with a small chuckle leaning into my back. Abby leans up to kiss the back of my neck. “What do you say we take a nice relaxing bath right now, princess?”

I turn as much as i can to look at her, a sex drunk smile on my lips. “Mmmmm that would be amazing.”

‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･༓☾‧͙⁺˚･

[donnetellotheturtle]

Protector

Chapter 5

Decisions

Hugo was silent as they moved through the long tunnel. Their torch crackling and the dirt under their feet were the only sounds in there.

What happened to Donella? She wasn’t one to go down without a fight. Did they overtake her? Why didn’t she even look at him? It was like he was invisible. That hurt a lot.

“Four eyes?” Varian asked.

Hugo looked over.

“You okay?”

Hugo forced a smile on his face. “Oh yeah…yeah im fine.”

“Are you still mad at me for tricking you?” Varian asked.

“What? No. I…its been a long night. Lets just find a place to sleep.”

Varian still looked nervous. There was something he was thinking that Hugo wanted to understand. He usually liked the way Varians mind worked. But not when he looked so scared and nervous. Not when he was afraid and being chased.

“Varian I…” Hugo began. But where to begin? With the fact that he was a witch? The fact that Donella was his mom? The fact that he was the one who saved him with an explosion that he couldn’t repeat if he tried? No. No Varian would hate him. Varian hated witches. He made that quite clear.

The feeling of magic sparking and burning already badly hurt skin on his thighs only confirmed the thoughts.

That was until Varian came over and grabbed his hand out of his pocket. “What’s wrong, Hugo?” He said it so gently. It made Hugo’s stomach churn. “whatever it is, we can handle it. Together.”

He looked over and saw Nuru leaning against the wall, fully immersed in her book, trying to give them some semblance of privacy.

“I…” Hugos magic calmed in Varians hand. Just holding the other boys hand made him calm. Made his magic calm. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t put Varian in danger. He was dangerous. His magic was dangerous. A deep sense of panic gripped his chest.

“I cant.” He pulled his hand out of Varians.

“Can’t what?”

“I…im not who you think I am.”

“Hugo I don’t understand.”

“you’ll be safer with Nuru…not around me.”

“Hugo…” Varians voice was so gentle, so kind. “You can tell me anything.”

“I can’t.” hugos voice betrayed him. The deep sense of panic in his throat, in his chest. In his hands. The magic pooled into them and made them red hot.

Nuru stood, putting a hand on Varians shoulder. “Lets just give him a minute, okay? He’ll catch up with us.”

Varian sighed. “Don’t keep me waiting too long…please.”

Hugo just nodded as Nuru led him off down the cave. Farther and farther down until he couldn’t see the light of the torch.

Then he heard it.

Footsteps he’d learned to listen for since he was a kid. Heavy and intentional. Cyrus.

Hugo’s panic was only getting worse and Cyrus-why did it have to be fucking Cyrus-was coming. He was probably just like Donella. Under some kind of strange spell. He couldn’t even move his feet with how the panic gripped him.

He was right. Cyrus, big and intentional and burly in his armor walked towards him with a small light. Magic. Cyrus didn’t use magic.

“Boy.” It was the many voices again. Like what he heard the first night those goop monsters attacked. Only this time they were coming out of Cyrus’s mouth.

“Where is he?”

Hugo took a deep breath. “Why would I tell you that?”

“He stole what is mine.”

Hugo shook his head. “…You’re the protector of that place. Right?”

“Correct…If you brought him to me I could put something in it for you. Your magic. It is…explosive.”

“How did you-“

“I know all magic’s. I know how to take it away. Bring the boy and you will be rewarded.”

The worst part was, Hugo wanted to accept the deal. He wanted this magic gone. He wanted to be normal.

“I will be waiting at the river docks until tomorrows dawn. Should you decide to take my deal. If you do not however…I will hunt you and the boy to the ends of the earth.”

There was a long moment while him and the thing possessing Cyrus’s body stared at each other.

The words tumbled out of Hugos mouth. “Can you really…just take it away?”

“only if you comply.”

“And…and what will happen to Varian? Once it’s gone?”

“Nothing permanent…you have until dawn tomorrow.”

Cyrus turned. God Hugo wished he could go and hug Cyrus. Just like he used to when he was a kid, and Cyrus would hold him tight in his arms and make everything feel alright again.

Instead, Hugo collapsed to his knees, the surge of magic that released was bright. Too bright. He shielded his eyes.

When he opened them, in front of him was a small translucent mouse. It lit up the room with how bright it was.

“What…” The mouse crawled up into his hands. Hugo sniffled, hugging it close. “What should I do? I just…I want this to be over…I want…I want to go home.”

The little mouse blinked at him. He wanted to go home to his sleeping bag and the shared tent.

He also wanted to go home to Varian. Stupid Varian with his goggles and laugh and more kindness in a single sentence than he’d ever experienced in his life. Stupid Varian with such a smart brain that he thought of getting a sample. Who would think of that?

Stupid, stupid Hugo for thinking he ever had a goddamn chance. Not with someone as good as him. Not when he has so much magic his own father tried to kill him over it.

Hugo sobbed. The little mouse couldn’t say anything but it was comforting not to be alone in this place.

After a moment, he calmed himself and looked at the little mouse.

“You need a name, don’t you?”

It squeaked in response. Hugo thought for a second.

“how about…Oliva?”

Oliva seemed to like that name as she squeaked happily and climbed into Hugo’s coat pocket.

“So Oliva, what do we do?”

--

Varian had been quiet since they left Hugo in the cave. Nuru didn’t like it.

“…You know he just needs a couple minutes…he’ll be right back.”

Varian looked at her. “…What do you know about him?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Back at the tavern…you two were acting like you’d met before…you know something about him? Don’t you?”

Nuru looked to the side before answering. “Its not my place to tell.”

Varian rubbed his face. “What is your place? …who are you, Nuru?”

Nuru rubbed her arm. “As I told you, I’m a wizard from Estelle.”

“And why are you here? Helping us?”

“I cant tell you most things but I can tell you it’s the last mission before I become queen.”

“Queen? You’re a…”

“Yeah. Im royalty.” Nuru didn’t look extremely happy about that. “We should keep going.”

“no we’re not leaving it at that. That answers nothing about what I asked. Just…I need someone to tell me the truth here. Hugo…Hugo is being weird. I want to help him but I don’t know how.”

“Maybe you should start with channeling that magic.” Nuru said. “You didn’t see it. I doubt Hugo saw it…but I did.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the tavern. The way you thought. The way your kind works. It reeks of the eternal library. You’re the youngest alchemist to work for a royal family and your formulas are used all around the seven kingdoms. Varian I think that comes from your magic.”

“My magic is…my brain?” Varian questioned.

“That’s my running theory. Its very hard to prove though considering it’s not an obvious one…but, Varian you could be the most amazing wizard of this age if you put that mind to work in Estelle.”

“Nuru…”

“Just think about it, Varian. It makes sense.”

Varian shook his head. “I earned everything I know. And you think I was just given it cause of my mom?”

“That’s not what I was saying.”

“Sounded like it!” Varian took a deep breath. “…Lets keep going.”

Nuru sighed and the two walked in silence for a couple more minutes before they heard footsteps.

“Guys!” Hugos voice called out. Varian immediately brightened. As soon as he saw Hugo he ran to him, tackling him in a tight hug.

“Hey goggles. You miss me?”

Varian blushed, pulling away. “pfft no!”

“Boys let’s keep moving. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be stuck in this cave all night.” Nuru said.

Hugo moved to walk ahead when Varian took his hand. Hugo blushed a little.

“Don’t go away again…okay?” Varian asked quietly.

“Are you okay?”

Varian’s eyes flickered to the ground as they walked, then at Hugo. “…you’ve been my only constant the last couple days…I want to keep it that way, if that’s alright?”

Hugo softened and nodded, squeezing Varian’s hand. Oliva poked her head out of his pocket. Varian brightened at the little mouse.

“Oh my god where did you find her?” He asked as he offered a hand. Oliva climbed up onto it. Hugo quickly noticed the mouse wasn’t translucent anymore. Now she looked like a real mouse, not one born out of magic. “She’s so cute!”

“I named her Oliva.” Hugo said with a smile.

“That’s so cute.”

Nuru giggled softly. “You boys are adorable together…I think I see an exit.” She pointed up ahead. There was a latter, the top being a trap door.

Nuru climbed first with the torch. Then Varian, then Hugo. They were in an abandoned mill in a cave.

“Okay…not the best place to be.” Varian muttered. “We should try to get back to town.”

The conversation with Cyrus…not Cyrus. The protector in Cyrus’s body was gnawing at Hugo. But the feeling of Varian’s hand in his made it a little easier to deal with. It helped that he no longer felt like he was going to explode at any moment.

The three walked in quiet.

Varian noticed that Hugos mind was working overtime again. He had hoped the little bit of space given would keep this from happening again. He hated seeing Hugo so quiet. It wasn’t like him. but last time he asked about it Hugo freaked out. maybe he was still mad about him tricking him…or worse.

“Hugo?”

“Yeah?”

“Is now a good time to talk about earlier? In the cave?”

Hugo didn’t say anything for a moment, then nodded. “Whats up?”

“…Do you get those a lot? The panic attacks?”

“I…yeah.” Hugo had never heard it described that way. Thinking back, most of the time when his magic was going haywire it was because he was panicking.

“I get them too…”

Hugo had never known about that. He looked at Varian confused.

“Not that I’ve had time for it these days.” Varian sighed. “I mostly just work through them until they go away…how long have you been dealing with them?”

Hugo thought about it for a second. “All my life, basically…”

Varian nodded, not pushing the conversation further. Hugo counted himself lucky. The three slipped into silence again as they made their way into the deep woods.

“We’re pretty far away from town.” Nuru said. “We should make camp.”

“Cant you just teleport us?” Hugo asked.

She rolled her eyes. “No. im not that powerful.”

Hugo had a snarky remark but saying it would give away his magical imposition to Varian. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“Okay. I can make a campfire.” Varian said.

Finally, Hugo would get to sleep under the stars.

< >

Read this on A03!

[dollivication]

I’m so glad (☢️) anon brought up the topic! I had one in mind. I also really like that request with Daddy Vergil breeding. >_< I have another idea!

Daddy Vergil who keeps you isolated and sheltered from the world because he’s scared someone would hurt you.

He manipulates you that humans are terrible creatures who aren’t to be trusteed! He scares you that there are demons wanting to get you and corrupt you!

It works at first since you are so young and naive! You are just a good girl to him! never being defiant or throwing a tantrum. so well mannered, so…so innocent and oblivious!

As you become older, you become curious about the outside world, it cannot be that bad right? With all the books you’ve read it just seems pretty normal. Good things, bad things are normal in the world and help you learn and develop as a human.

So why does your father still refuse to let you go out even if it’s with him? It always ruins the strong bond you guys had, in the moment when you just ask to go out for at least 5 minute, Vergil gets overprotective and stern with you. Just a second ago he was just reading to you peacefully and you had to open your mouth! now he’s mad! (Ｔ＿Ｔ)

You are in your rebellious era, no longer the obedient girl who would do anything her father asked her to do! You beg and beg to go out, even sneaked out once! You don’t understand the danger you can face when you go out! Being related to him and having the sparda blood flow through you, makes you an easy target for demons!

Of course he eventually found out, when he found you, you were in trouble almost hurt. If he wasn’t there who knew what could have happened to you!?

Daddy Vergil is disappointed and furious, how could you disobey him!? He taught you better! you are no longer his obedient little girl. He doesn’t know what to do anymore…His mind isn’t in the right place. his twisted mind then thinks of a solution…to turn you into the perfect daughter, a doll. Using your own body parts to still resemble you.

You get confused why you are strapped in a table, ankles broken. You want comfort from your father! scared and in pain once you have woken up.

Once you become his perfect daughter(doll), In this form you would maintain your innocence, purity and beauty. Never getting old, dirty, and corrupted. You will still be his little girl he had always remembered! You wouldn’t have to worry about anything because he would take care of you and dress you up <3 he must begin now before you become unrecognizable to him!

you sit there pretty…Frozen in time, and forever with him!

WHAAAA SORRY IF I GOT CARRIED AWAY, I HOPE I DID NOT MAKE ANYONE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS REQUEST Σ('◉⌓◉’)

IT MIGHT BE CONFUSING AND A LOT OF BAD GRAMMAR! I JUST SHOVED MY IDEAS TOGETHER TRYING TO MAKE IT SHORT.

ALSO LOVE, LOVE YOUR DMC BOTS! I AM EXITED FOR OLDER BROTHER VERGIL 😍💕💙

IM NOT INTO RESIDENT EVIL, BUT I DO LOVE WESKER! I HAVE NO IDEAS FOR HIM SO I HOPE SOMEONE ALSO LIKES HIM TO SUGGEST! (I might try to dive deeper into RE but for now I love Vergil and dmc :P)

-🇲🇽

I SPUN SO HARD INMY CHAIR GIGGLING MERRILY OHYHMYHYGODDDD I LAUV YEW THIS SO BADLY IM GOING LOONY AHEUYRGHAGDH‼️‼️

vergil is LOST!! he was always obedient when he was a kid, he was certain his offspring would have been as well!! and this rebellious phase,, whose been feeding you these thoughts?? are you trying to leave him??? ….,,ahh, not if he has anything to say about it! >.<

this is literal perfection so i fear i have little input,, but omfghgg… FUCK i’m tweaking at the thought of vergil brushing yur hair acting as if everything is completely normal after he’s put yu in this doll like state… as if he totally didn’t fucking break ur ankles omnigod.,,, talks to yew as if you can respond anymore!! he’s SO SICK KILL HIM !!!!!!1!1!

does everything you’ve made him stop doing ever since you’ve grown up!! tucks you into bed, bathes you.. i literawy live 4 dark rapunzel-esque scenarios…. and this Freak prefers to have you this way!! so quiet, so complacent.. probably whispers shit laik that he knows what’s good for you and that this was for the best IMiuHgHhHg!!!!1!..;;; (◞‸◟) ❤️❤️

THIS BLOG IS MEANT FOR TWISTED THOUGHTS!!! DARK TOPICS ARE THE NORM SO DONT WORRY ABOUT THIS BEING TOO EXTREME BECUASE THIS COOKED SO HARD >:3

UWAA.. THNAK YU SO MAUCH TEW!! IM GIGGLING SO BADLY IM ACTISLLY SO TICKLED PINK… ANDNFNDND WELCOME TO THE FRIENDS LIST!!!1!1 JUMPING UP AND DOWN I CANT WAIT TO HEAR MORE FROM YOU!

i need wesker IMMEDIATELY.. if anyone provides a scenario i’m going to go sicko mode i Cannot lieLMFAOAOFGH i lauv yu !!! >_<!!!

[pastriibunz]

ohh the tkwdlm finale essay. im having kai thoughts. oh dear god i am having them. MOST ESPECIALLY "GOD HELP ME OUT." give me a second to get my Thoughts to translate into wording. sheeee. the fact that she A. Is a god and yet B. shows active disgust for religion and gods overlayed with her impostor syndrome is making me insane . she's spent so long feeling not worthy, simply not good enough or pure enough to *be* a god that resentment has boiled up inside her of godhood and all things holy, hatred, burning hatred of the fact that she is something that can never grow, never make a mistake, never really live, she's starved of a life, she is so angry that she could never be a child. because she by definition is a perfect being. so why, then, *isn't* she? why does she destroy herself looking to be perfect? she should be already, why the fuck isn't she? of course it doesn't occur to her that imperfection is part of being human because really she isn't human and so imperfection is a fault of hers. she looks in the mirror and she sees a god so weak and hateful that she'd have to put herself up on a stake and burn at that blue flame of apotheosis. let her own blood quench the flame so she could be worth something. AND SO that makes it even MORE insane when she pleads for god to save her because no matter the depth of her hatred, no matter the desperate need for her to be redeemed, for just one moment she is a child. she is not a god. not in this moment in this moment she breaks and the worst part of immortality is that you never, ever grow up. kai drew will never get to grow up. she is forever a hurt child. she forgets that she's supposed to be anything but for a second and she's so, so scared to die. and she calls out to the only thing she hears people say will help. she doesn't care how badly she hates it. she is so scared to die. she screams for god and god is not there. there is only her and the grenade and a song she tries to choke back like bile. and oh, how awfully, how spectacularly she fails. what if the last thing she thinks is that she really *wasn't* good enough to save anybody. anyways

YOU GET ME

OH MY GOD YOU GET ME

YES THIS. THIS IS WHAT IT IS. YOU GET ME SO WELL MAN

[matthewmoorwood]

On the last hundred pages of Ship Of Destiny FUCKING FUCK

I'm going so insane over how Kennit ALMOST became an average citizen and then he went fucking full nutter butters and now no one believes Althea was raped. FREE ME FROM THIS TORMENT RAAAAH

Same with Wintrow like I FUCKING THOUGHT for a moment that these male characters might not be utter shitheads but noooooooooo RAAAAH. Despising everything about Wintrow wanting to suck on his faux step mums tits and be an alpha male cause of his horrific inability to have an identity outside of parental figures. DAYUM.

I don't think I'll ever really get over Paragon either. the Paragon & Amber dynamic is something very precious to me.

Not a single of of Robin Hobbs characters are ever what I think they are, or even who they think they are. Yet they all act perfectly in line with their characters and what we know of them. Freaking out.

If I'm reading a Robin Hobb book and a male pov doesn't make me physically nauseous, am I even reading a Robin Hobb book? No.

Thinking about Malta, thinking about the Malta and Vivacia/Bolt parallels, thinking about how both of them are forced to give up their souls for men so that they might have a chance at freedom because the alternative is to die by those same men's brutality. Oh I am ILL

"There were, she suddenly saw, many ways to be raped." Oh I am ILL

The way Wintrow only sees Malta as her place as a Bingtown Trader and as a woman as a 'good negotiator' and sees nothing of the fucking eons of abuse she's endured. FOUL.

They're all trauma dumping to each other in the hold as Jamilla ships fuck around these guys.

I hate everyone who sees that they have power and wrangles it just for pleasure of causing harm and gaining a scrap more control at the cost of someone else's existence.

Plz i'm going to shit out my lungs. Malta who has endured so fucking much, is so terrified of having Reyn see her because he is her last hope to be loved by someone outside of the vesrit family. She's already been hurt so badly by men and had for years valued herself entirely on her usefulness as a 'pretty woman' and now here she is. Her very survival has devalued her own perception of herself to the one person she thinks can truly understand her.

Begging on hands and knees that Kennit doesn't keep the cycle of abuse going. PLEASE allow someone some peace from him.

Both Reyn and Malta have put so much weight on how they look. And both are terrified that the other will put even a quarter of that same weight on them. I'm not okaaaay about this. plz.

Alrighty I just want a dragon to come and fuck shit up. Serpent, liveship, whatever form just need some unbridled rage bc I am FEELING shrimp emotions.

Hmmm... The ghosts of Kennits past coming to kill him... Hmmm... The fact that trying to repress those memories is what caused all of this... hmm... All the people he tried to bury in order to allow his own ignorance coming together to exist in their own narrative... I am thinking.....

Hold on im losing it. Hold on im going insane. Malta kissing Reyn properly and he wakes up?? true loves kiss type shit because in the end Malta and Reyn are still a fairytale despite the shit they've been through.

"If you'll have me as I am." SHUT UP RIGHT NOW

Fucking fuck. Althea being scared to talk to Brashen about her rape because in the end he is still a man and Althea knows that on some level Brashen will always view her as a possession.

Y'know what. Kennit being killed (hopefully permanently) by someone who does not give a single Fuck about him is so good. His whole life he wanted to be something other than what he was, be respected and recognized and yet he dies at the hand of someone who thinks of him as nothing other than a shitty pirate.

Ugh. He's not dead.

Oh man. Oh dude. Paragon. Fucking fuck. ing fuck. ouch.

I am hurtinedg :C

Robin Hobb why

I actually swear to God if Kennit is still able to torment Paragon via the memories thing I'm gonna scream.

OH IM SICK.

Vivacia who is not vivacia letting go of Althea despite everything. Aughr fuck. How this means that both of them are going to begin to have their own sense of self outside of their co-dependence. awrg,

Oh for fucks sake. If Kennit in Paragon is still trying to touch Althea I'm going to bite through my desk.

Althea oh my darling. She doesn't want to hurt Kennits mum over her own anger at how Kennit abused her. I am ill.

"Neither woman could escape what he had done to them" Oh I am sick.

"We've got to survive this, I've a life to live." SOBBING

Oh thank god Kyle is dead now too. YIPPEE

I have too many feelings I fear I must throw up to process them properly.

Either that or have some cheese.

My brain is too mushy for these negotiations I'm just gonna trust that things work out (they won't)

JEK queen go get laid I respect it.

Amber, my sweet Lady Amber :C

Raise your hand if you too are tired of the Althea/Brashen miscommunication GUYS I KNOW YOU'RE STRAIGHT BUT PLEASE JUST FUCKING TALK TO EACH OTHER

Awug Serilla.

I am feeling things.

Amber plz. my soul cannot take you refrencing fitz any longer

Oh lol Paragon showing them where evil mc fuckface left all his sick pirate loot.

Oh my fucking god I hate this got dam book fucking fuck,

:C

Amber I really hope you get your happy ending. Or a least a happy moment before the ending.

OH MY FUCKING GOD

Paragon.

Althea.

I am a broken husk of a person.

No one speak to me until I have drunk this hot choccy.

[hexcryingwolf]

hey so, like,

i need somebody close to glip to confront them about the Pearl thing.

i need someone to be as upset about the idea of it as i am.

i need it to be the last straw for somebody.

because if none of that happens, i cant even articulate how horrid that is. that the prospect of this accusation doesnt upset people.

i hope its not true. i hope with every fiber of my being that it didnt happen.

but i fully believe it did. four years after leaving that space my want was still for glip to heal, stop hurting people, and become a better person. i was still pretty scared of them, but i had pretty much moved on by the beginning of this year. there was nothing i could do about it, and sharing my experiences would just put a target on my back anyway, so as a lot of huge life changes were on the horizon for me i felt prepared to let go.

but i cant let this go. after years of tending the wounds that community inflicted on my this was a knife directly into my heart.

remember that political thing that happened in november 2016? i was in the flora irc by that time, and everyone was very rattled by it. glip announced that, to put some good into the world, theyd do a commission for anyone who donated x amount to y charity (i dont remember the specifics). id been a fan of glip's for years at that point, and this was an opportunity to finally have something id wanted for a long time.

a portrait of my cat, who i got as a baby, who passed away after almost twenty-one years, from my favourite artist.

they truly did a wonderful job with it. it looked so much like him. i dont have a lot of photos of him, he lived in the pre-smartphone era, so this was a precious thing to me. i had it printed, i got a frame, i hung it on my wall. it meant everything to me.

after all of the stuff that happened to me and leaving flora, it became tainted. now instead of reminding me of something i loved dearly it reminded me of something that hurt me badly. i couldnt get rid of it though. i took it off the wall, out of the frame, and slotted it onto a shelf where i could still see it, if i wanted to. it felt really awful, but i knew i loved that cat more than i could ever fear glip, so maybe someday i could look at it again without being reminded of them. maybe someday that portrait could go back up on my wall as an expression of love for my first best friend.

then i was told about what they had supposedly done to Pearl. and when i tell you i fucking bluescreened when i heard that... it fucking shattered me. it was a cold knife in my heart. the dog stuff was horrid of course but, something about this just broke something in me.

i had to walk away from my phone. i had to go find one of my cats and just. i just sat on the floor and pet her as she lay on the futon and purred and trusted me utterly, like im sure Pearl did for you, glip. she knows i love her, that i provide for her, that i would never bring harm to her. i just sat with her and cried.

im crying now, writing this. my hands are shaking.

do you care, glip?

my husband came to check on me, i told him what i was told and he was disgusted, the correct response. he was angry. he was angry. and for the first time in years, i wasnt scared of glip anymore.

i was fucking pissed.

i wish i didnt have to explain why, because it should be damn fucking obvious, but let me lay it out: a person's pet is their ward. we have a duty and responsibility to do everything we can to give the best lives possible for the animals we bring into our lives. we are their source of food, shelter, healthcare, everything. we are their world. and they should be able to trust that we would never use them for something selfish, because here's the thing: they don't understand the world as we do. theyre animals, they simply cant. WE are the ones who know right from wrong and act for them accordingly. WE keep them fed. WE keep them safe. WE make that final decision that they cant make when their suffering is to much to bear anymore. they trust us to do the things for them they can never understand.

we dont use them for our own sexual gratification. we dont do this because they dont understand that theyre being used, they have no context for how they are being treated, they dont know it shouldnt be happening.

they are helpless.

they are voiceless.

they are the perfect victim.

like a baby who will never grow up and tell everyone the truth.

like a baby, glip. like a helpless, voiceless baby.

and dont you ever fucking try to play the "well she initiated it" card. animals initiate all kinds of shit they shouldnt, things that are dangerous, could hurt them, could make them sick. knowing better is OUR job.

also. uhm. hey. did you know that "well they started it" is a thing child predators have said, do say, will say, about their victims.

here's a 10yo who "came onto" her abuser

here's a dad who claimed his daughter was just "a sexual kid"

here's a daycare worker who said the 1yo he abused was "promiscuous"

and you, glip. using Pearl because she was just "showing you love". just because its a "nicer" reason doesnt make you any fucking different from these monsters in my eyes.

i could not look at that portrait anymore. how could i ever look at him, and not remember what you do to helpless creatures like him. how could i think about what you did and remember you telling me no, of course marl never touched the cats, when i asked you if you were concerned that he might have. seems my worry was misplaced.

i burned the portrait. i took a small cast iron pot into my yard, ripped it to shreds, and spent a two hundred count box of matches on it. one wasnt enough. ten wasnt enough. one hundred wasnt enough. i did not want this thing to exist anymore. i did not want him, my cat, my first best friend, that piece of my soul that left this earth with him, to ever be able to be associated with you. that fire is burning in me now.

i do not capitalize your name anymore explicitly because you are subhuman by my standards. i do not want you to find healing and get better. i want you to face the consequences for all the hurt youve cause. i want you deplatformed so you can finally stop putting so much agony into the world.

if you didnt do it, youll have to convince me. you know my discord.

if you did do it, admit it. tell everyone what you did. you owe it to people so they can decide whether they want to associate with you or not based on it. i think if someone asks you directly, you wont lie about it.

because you dont believe you did anything wrong, do you?

[stunies]

very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh

okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC

okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.

Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.

WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):

I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.

Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos

I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):

ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk

I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.

^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)

Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

“You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

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and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[biteonthecurb2003]

i'm splitting so hard on her and i know why but i don't fucking understand my brain.

is my personality really this fucking awful that everyone i meet either grows to hate me or hates me right off the bat? am i gonna be just like my mom, with no friends? i felt so much guilt for her growing up. and i feel so much guilt when i see her make bubbly conversation with the grocery store cashier or some random stranger she meets in line. she's sweet and funny. god she's just like me! i'm fucking doomed!!

what did we do wrong? we're narcissistic that's what. i mean, maybe not in the dsm-5 sense, but in the colloquial one. god i can't get out of my own head. but why is that ok for wveryone else and not for me? why can't i talk about me?!? why can poppy do it and not me?!?? what did i do wrong?!!????

why don't u love me!!!!!! why don't u like me too, or even see me as a friend or someone to talk to? and i'm tonna be cursed like this for fucking ever? constantly longing for someone i can't have???? and didn't i say to poppy that it was hurting my feelings? and she keeps doing it because.......?!!

my stomach hurts and i've been crying all day. we haven't even moved yet and i foresee our friendship falling apart, and whatever little bit of a relationship i would have had with angel falling apart bc she will use her stupid fucking manipulation and LYING to turn him against me. i'm so mad. i'm so mad and sad and i can't even feel this way bc it's stupid. no one wants me. i'm weird and annoying and fat and look like a fucking monkey. no one will ever love me because i am crazy, i am crazy like this.

i just want it to end. every moment of my life has been exactly the fucking same. my only joy is to have something that gives me attention, or maybe that attention is just love to me. i just want love, unconditional admiration from someone.... anyone. and if i dont have that, which is usually, because i am unlovable, i am sad. i am so miserable and fucking sad. i drank a whole bottle of wine today at work and the tears stopped but the thoughts didn't. all i can think abt is angel and how all day he texts her but has no interest in me. and WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE!!!!! he wouldn't!!!!!! think abt it lotically. but i cant. im hurting: so bad and im so fucking sad and i dont even understand it. i dont understand why im so jealous or why i cant even be the leading role in my own life. i just feel so miserable, like the same 6 year old child with her big ugly glasses and stupid crooked teeth begging for attention and being told to essentially fuck off.

i have so much more to say, but if i'm being realistic, i think i will just. be done. with all of this eventually. i think i may give it another year, to pay off my debts, to go through some more therapy, to make more art. but this will never go away. i know it won't. it hasn't since i was a child. i want so so badly to be loved. to be told that i am not annoying, mopey, ugly? needy, clingy. that my voice isnt too loud, im not too fat, im not too weird. that im just right for someone, anyone. but i'll never feel that. i will continue to search for my father in other people, and return with the same result: abandonment.

i'll give it a couple years. just scared i won't hold out that long. scared that days like this won't end. i've had these same thoughts since i was a child, throughout high achool and college. i'm so scared it won't ever get better. and when i love myself, it turns into narcissism. i cant get better.

but im not buying u shrooms. fuck off bitch.

[fleastinger]

I feel so restless. I have a wicked headache, but cant go to bed.

My life is a mess. My parents are coming to stay with me for the next 3 or more or less months, and i think he and i might really be fucked for good. Which is devastating for me.

I feel like im about to slip with my financial tracking if i let this get to me. I am 2 or 3 days late from taking my last birth control pill, which isnt good. I gotta switch to the shots at this point for now.

And my health....the time is really ticking for my wisdom teeth. I have my chest pain less but once it hits, it hurts more now.

I think that i have to admit to myself that i cant be healthy with him. That this puts so much strain that it effects me mentally, which stresses me out, which makes me sicker. And i wanted this to work out so badly, so the thought of things falling apart crushes me, which adds to it. Im scared that hes worse than i thought. That he really did fuck himself up with drugs. It makes me so fucking sad that he didnt

I wanted that damn life with him so badly. Having his kids, seeing his cute puppy grow and maybe have a litter of her own, growing old together. But he cant sustain even himself. That life with him is a fantasy. Were not grounded in reality when we see each other.

And with my parents, i feel so conflicted. I went crazy as a kid living with them in a one bedroom, and now they want me to do so again? I had no concept of a room for 4 years, and recently finally felt comfortable in my own place. Like i could stretch out there and relax. I was making a point more to go home more now.

I just feel like this is a new low that ill be entering if i dont set my boundaries up and be firm, and not feel bad about being firm.

[possiblyhumanbeing]

I just need to vent for a bit, feel free to ignore this.

There’s someone who I’ve been friends with for almost 5 years. I felt like we immediately clicked and related and understood each other perfectly from the moment we met. Soon i started considering her one of my best friends and I kept considering her a best friend the entire time I knew her. Several months ago I told her a personal secret because the was the only one I trusted to understand but she definitely didn’t, she had her own warped idea about it even when I attempted to explain but she was chill about it and she didn’t really bring it up after that. Later I found out that she told one of my other friends (they later told me what she told them) about it without telling me first. That definitely hurt but I forgave her for it pretty easily. That was all several months ago and lately I was wondering why I’d been drifting apart from her. I was blaming myself for it a lot because I’m horrible at talking to people and keeping friends and I’ve always been scared that nobody actually cares about me and they’re all just putting up with me. I decided to ask one of my other friends and it was coincidentally the same one that my friend told the secret to. When I told them they told me something else that she had said when she told them the secret, what she said was essentially that she thinks we’re going to stop being friends and drift apart soon and she’s perfectly fine and happy with that.

So yeah, turns out my fears were true. People don’t care about me or my friendship anymore. Suddenly i’m terrified that everyone is going to leave me and I desperately want to beg them all to stay. If someone I’ve been friends with for almost 5 years can stop caring like it’s nothing then I have no chance. She meant so much to me, without her I would never have become who I am today.

It’s stupid how attached I get to people. You can say one nice thing to me and never speak to me again but I’ll think about you forever. I get so attached because I just need it so badly, I need contact, I need to care, I need to have someone to care about even if i only express it in my head when I imagine conversations with people who I stupidly imagine are just as attached to me as I am to them. I’m fucking pathetic. I’ve stopped initiating conversations because while I know I probably won’t be rejected it’ll shatter my heart to know that I’m getting attached to someone who barely cares.

I know. I know that there are people who really care. But even if they looked into my eyes and said it a thousand times I’m not sure I’ll ever believe that I’m cared about or that I deserve it, because I really don’t.

Im so fucking hopeless and lonely and pathetic and desperate and I’ve got a complete fucking lack of social skills and I’ve got nobody to save me from it since there’s no normal way of saying that I’ve become supper attached to someone and I want them to be honest about whether they care about me to or if they’re just talking to me out of pity. There’s no non-desperate way of saying that I feel starved of affection and I wish there was someone here to hold me and comfort me.

[arkin-oconnell]

Hearing that Eden was more scared than anything had hurt Arkins heart. He understood where she was coming from. If he could wipe the image of her finding him from her memories he’d do it because as of now he couldn’t even imagine what she’d walked in on. Had he looked dead? Was that why she treated him with like he was made of glass sometimes? Hearing her speak it was clear that night had utterly traumatized her and he wanted nothing more than to make up for it. He couldn’t just fix it over night though. He had to do the work. “ Eden I can’t promise you I won’t relapse. It could happen with or without a baby involved. It could happen next week of five years down the line. But I want you to know I am doing everything I can to not screw up. You have to trust me and I’m doing the work to stay clean. Im working even harder now even. I don’t know what you saw that night but I’m so sorry you ever saw it. It will never get that bad again” he couldn’t make any false promises but that was one he was gonna swear on. It wouldn’t get that bad again. Because he’d never mess up his sister again with his addiction issues.

“Eden you turned out the best out of all of us. If anyone deserved greatness it was you “ Arkin replied as he closed the space and wrapped an arm around her to hug her. “ I’m really scared. I’m kind of a fuck up. But I want to do this. I want to be a dad and I want to be a present dad “ he didn’t want to be like his own who fucked off any time he found an attractive woman interested in him. He was devoted to Sterling even if the order of events had been in the wrong order.

“ I promise you that I will keep trying to take care of myself. I’m not gonna neglect any of my recovery. I’ve haven’t stopped my meetings and I don’t intend to. “ he wrapped his other arm around her and brought her close. “ I love you too. And I’m sorry if anything I’ve ever done has affected you badly. I want you to be happy too and I don’t want to be a reason that you aren’t “ @edenxoconnell

There were so many thoughts swirling in Eden's mind but what seemed to quiet them was how Arkin told her she could be angry with him, and it was then that she realized she wasn't angry. "Arkin, I'm not mad at you, I'm scared for you." Her voice shook a little at the admission and she moved to stand again, stepping closer to him as her glossy eyes finally met his again. "I don't want to see you like that again." And there was that tidal wave, coming to crash over her and destroy all the walls she'd built and tried to compartmentalize her feelings so she would never let him know just how awful and traumatizing that night was for her. To find her brother like that was stuck in her head and she feared it would always be. "I was so scared." She almost choked on her words then and she knew she needed to take a second to compose herself. Eden was just afraid that if he was pursuing relationships when he wasn't supposed to be and now having the added stress of a newborn, he may end up relapsing. It had become one of her greatest fears.

Eden wiped her face with her hands and listened to him as he spoke and she nodded, understanding what he was saying. "You're not our father. You'll never be our father, Arkin. You'll never be our mother, you aren't them and you never will be. I know you'll be a good dad. You know why?" Eden tried giving him a smile despite the tears that remained from moments before, "Because you and Addie practically raised me and I feel like I turned out pretty okay, right?" She huffed out a laugh, hoping to lighten things a little despite how she nearly fell apart in front of him.

"It's going to be okay. I just want- need you to keep trying to take care of yourself. Please." Eden hesitated for a moment but she moved again, closing the distance between them and she wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. "You're my brother and I love you and all I want is to see you happy and okay."

@arkin-oconnell