#i might be worse than Torrent

[quibble-auk]

Transformer OC lore!

Previous

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil I’m so sorry. I was gonna make more fluff but… yeah.

I actually don’t have a reason for writing this. But I had fun, got to write some angst instead of working on the next part of the Pre-war plot. And since I still can’t decide on what time I’m going to focus on I’m just going over parts I already have lol.

This would probably be more impactful if I waited until later… but I wrote it now so enjoy.

Forget Me Not’s are such a small flower, huh?

WARNINGS!!!: there is a lot of angst. Loss of self? Girlie is literally getting torn soft? It’s not very visually descriptive tho.

Sunrazor felt herself tearing apart at the seams. Everything burned.

Her processors screamed, suffocating under raw, unsorted data. It was everywhere, all at once, eating away at her thoughts. Her pain receptors burned like a wildfire. Restraints dug into her plating, leaving her at the mercy of the figures that loomed above. New directives and foreign coding pressed upon the edges of her processor, suffocating her.

Machines forced her breath steady.

Her systems buzzed erratically, fighting against the invasive code that tried to rewrite everything she had known. Protection, loyalty, and service had been directives hardcoded into her core. They had never faltered before, they were steadfast and unwavering—until now. Now, those bonds were being twisted, restructured, manipulated into something foreign, hostile, and wrong.

The mental strain was unbearable. Every thought was hazy and distorted. Sunrazor struggled to process everything, all of the data being thrust upon her along with the assault on her processor. Had it not been for the large fans basting cold air on her from above there was no doubt she would have overheated from stress by now.

Torrent’s commands seeped in like poison, twisting her thoughts until she couldn’t tell where she ended and the code began. It was maddening. She should know what was her and what was not. Sunrazor couldn’t fight back without the risk of damaging herself even more.

I protect.

The phrase burned in her mind, a mantra that had once been her foundation. Protect her charge. Protect Valkyrie. Protect the others. Protect. Protect. But there was a new command—no, a new truth—whispering louder with each passing moment.

Obey.

She recoiled internally, her processor screaming in protest as the word burrowed deeper into her subconscious. It fought to override her instincts, forcing her to abandon everything she had been built to believe in. What little was left of her plating shuttered and pressed against herself. A whine died in her throat as her systems reminded her that her vocalizer had been disabled.

Every flicker of a memory, every familiar thread of her past, was being systematically erased, overwritten by the cold, calculating order of compliance. All of the soft and gentle moments of before seemed to crackle and fade, empty static replacing them.

Evenings spent surrounded by the others—Powercase, Blight, Torque, Rapidstrike, Viliglox, Brimstone—all piling on top of eachother to recharge or watch a film. Watching the gardeners tend to the plants. Learning to dance with Valkyrie. All of it threatened to disappear like they had never mattered in the first place.

Sunrazor wanted to scream.

She didn’t want to forget. They could take her body and her mind and repurpose it for whatever they wanted. She didn’t care if they tore her apart only to rebuild her a thousand times over. But she didn’t want to forget. Not them. Anything but that. She wanted to beg that they leave the memories it tact, to let her remember.

Torrent’s onslaught of coding remained merciless and unwavering. His mental assault became even more focused once it had discovered the weakness. It attacked the very thing her fraying mind was struggling to latch onto. The more he reprogrammed her, the harder it became to remember why she fought in the first place.

Valkyrie.

Her mind screamed the name, the image of her conjunx flaring in her thoughts like a bright light trying to pierce through the fog. Her Conjunx, her world. She was everything. It was a lifeline, something to hold onto, a thread of who she had been. She had to fight for her. Valkyrie needed her. She needed Sunrazor to protect her.

But the moment the image formed, it was shattered by a cascade of new instructions. Forget her. She is irrelevant. You are mine.

Pain seared through her processor and body alike. It threatened to melt her plating and make her paint blister and peel. Sunrazor was open and exposed. They were touching and tearing and ripping her. They did not leave a single part of her unscathed, mentally or physically. It hurt. She wanted them to stop. Why wouldn’t they stop? Could they not hear her—

She needed to stay focused on not forgetting, not losing. Her body didn’t matter, they could have it. They could use it for whatever they needed it for. What mattered was the memories, Valkyrie.

FORGET HER.

OBEY.

Sunrazor’s processor burned with the conflicting commands. Forget—Remember—Obey—Fight. The harder she fought to hold onto the memories, the more they slipped away. They wilted and shriveled under her iron grip like delicate flowers.

Each time she clung to them, something inside her screamed in protest. Every time she let go of the memories something else screeched and recoiled. There was no winning. Conflicting orders tore at her mind in a constant maddening game of tug-of-war.

Forget, but don’t forget.

The new directives pressed against her thoughts like an unrelenting weight. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold it before she finally gave out. Her memories of Valkyrie and the others flickered and twisted, turning into nothing more than ghosts of a life she could no longer grasp.

Was it even her life to begin with? Were these Sunrazor’s memories or were they just fantasies her mind had created? Did these people actually exist? Or had her mind bore them into existence just to give her something to hold onto? Did the memories belong to Torrent?

No, he was trying to erase them. They couldn’t be his. They belonged to Sunrazor, they were from before. The memories were of real people. People she cared about. Valkyrie was real, she had to be. She was real and Sunrazor loved her more than anything. And Valkyrie was counting on her to come back to…

What was it she was meant to do?

Protect.

Yes, that’s what it was. Sunrazor was a guardian. She was built to protect. Valkyrie was counting on her to protect her. She had to protect—

No, Obey.

That was right. She needed to obey. To listen—

No. That was Torrent. Not Sunrazor. She didn’t have to listen, she didn’t have to obey, Valkyrie had shown her that. There was more to life than just serving. She was worth something, something more than just her body and labor. She could be more.

Torrent was helping her become more. She should listen to Torrent. He had promised to help Sunrazor become enough. He was going to make her become more so she could… she could… Protect. That's it. So she could protect Valkyrie.

So, why was he trying to make Sunrazor forget?

Every memory was tainted, every instinct questioned. Her very being was under siege. Sunrazor was designed to be loyal, to be unshakable. But loyal to who? Who was she meant to listen to when they both demanded different things? How was she expected to obey when Valkyrie and Torrent couldn’t agree on what she was meant to do?

Sunrazor was loyal to her conjunx—the word seemed to sting within her processor—not to Torrent. She needed to remember, not to forget. She didn’t want to forget, she wanted to remember. She had to remember who Sunrazor was.

Sunrazor was a guardian, she worked in towers as a sentry. She had a family of six other guardians, they were safe, they were her home. She couldn’t remember their names. She had a Conjunx, her name was Valkyrie. Sunrazor liked the rain and the stars. She liked it when her post was in the gardens so she could… She didn’t remember why the gardens were important. Sunrazor wanted to board a starship and explore the countless worlds that lay beyond. She wanted to because… because… Why did she want to see them again?

It was becoming difficult to recall who she had been before.

The person she had been, the protector, the loyal guardian—was she gone already? Could she even fight this anymore? She had lost track of what was hers and what belonged to them. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could resist what Torrent was shoving into her processor. It hurt to fight it, everything hurts.

She couldn’t move or scream and Sunrazor just wanted them to stop. There was too much. The pain, the data her sensors were picking up, the invasive coding, the harsh lights. The sensations of them tearing her apart—rearranging her—to become something she’s not. It hurt.

Primus, it hurt.

In the midst of the agony, there was a moment of clarity. For a second the damaged and jumbled coding that was her processor seemed to make sense. A brief flicker of what she had been. Valkyrie’s face. The warmth of her presence. The promise to protect her, to stand by her side no matter the cost.

A surge. More than obedience—defiance. The final embers of who she was.

I protect.

The directive that they had implemented tried to smother it. Their commands tried to extinguish it before it was able to settle. But for a moment, just a moment, Sunrazor was able to cling to it. She fought against the torrent of control that was being forced into her mind. Her internal systems shook, her frame shuddering with the strain, but she resisted.

She lay trapped on the cold table, tied down, voice stolen, her mind carved apart like she was nothing. Sunrazor might have no control of what was happening or what she was becoming. She may have been at their mercy. The assaulting programming might have been overwhelming and she may have been losing. But she wasn’t gone yet.

Not completely.

But even as the last threads of her identity flickered and fought, she could feel the inevitable coming. How much longer could she hold out before the reprogramming overwhelmed her entirely? How much longer before there was nothing left of Sunrazor, the protector, and only the obedient shell remained?

She didn’t know. But she would keep fighting, keep trying, holding onto what she had been. Even if it was hopeless. Even if there was nothing left.

Sunrazor would keep fighting for her. She wouldn’t give up yet, not when she needed her.

Sunrazor just wished she could remember what her name was.

[sun-kissy]

heart | bucky barnes

bucky barnes x reader — ★ — wc 1k

summary: bucky asks you why you love him

tw: hurt/comfort, tears, angst to fluff, bucky is so precious and needs to be protected at all costs 🥹

The rain poured violently outside, hitting the ground in torrents. But the doors muffled it to barely audible thumps. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The repetitive sound ran through your mind like some kind of mantra, too tired to think of much else. Paired with the feeling of Bucky’s hair on your fingertips, it was almost meditative.

You sat curled up on the couch with his head in your lap. You had wanted to get started on your next read, The Hobbit — but Bucky insisted on annotating it before you did, claiming it would help you understand it better. So you let yourself relax while he did.

You’re broken out of your reverie by the soft sound of your name, and look down to see Bucky gazing up at you.

“Yeah?”

“Can we… talk for a bit?”

You think he looks a little nervous, though you’re not sure why. It makes you nervous. “Sure, what’s up?”

He marks the book before closing it, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His tongue juts into the side of his mouth, eyebrows bunching up as he turns to face you.

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a bit. He just stares down at the couch. It’s like you can hear him playing with different responses on the tip of his tongue, frown widening by the second. 

You’re restless, almost dying to ask him what had happened. But you hold back for his sake.

Finally, he sighs and meets your gaze for a split second before diverting it again. “Why do you…” He clears his throat. “Why do you do this?”

You blink. “Do what?”

“Why do you —“ he sighs and runs his hand through his hair. He looks perplexed. “You know, be with me and stuff. Why do you love me?”

There’s a sensation in your heart, a tad bit worse than sinking. It’s like drowning.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

You stay quiet, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. Bucky seems to take it as his sign to continue.

“I’ve done so many awful things, doll, and you know it. I — I’ve hurt people, fuck, I even murdered them. I’m a murderer. And I —“

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“You always say that.” It felt like someone was stabbing you in the heart, right through the little atrium where your heart begins to beat. “You always say it. But it’s not true, it’s not. It’s my fucking fault. I killed those people.”

“Bucky,” you know you sound worried, and that it might freak him out. But you can’t bring yourself to care right now, seeing his head hung between his hands like that. Though it was months ago, he looks as tortured as he did on the day you first met. On the day he had just been saved from Hydra — and it scared you. 

He doesn’t respond.

“Buck,” you try again, softer, hesitantly reaching out to rub his arm. He lets you. “I mean it, you know? I mean it when I say it’s not your fault. You were brainwashed. You wouldn’t have done… any of it, if it were up to you.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? It wasn’t up to me. Brainwashed or not, I still did it.”

There’s nothing but biting anguish in his voice; self deprecation at the tip of it.

“You didn’t choose to.”

He takes a shuddering inhale, and that’s when you know he’s holding back tears. It wasn’t visible to you. But it’s audible now. “Hey. Hey, babe.”

You scoot closer towards him, hand on his arm drifting round to his back. 

You give the nape of his neck a gentle squeeze, and it seems to be all the reassurance he needs to let go. A strangled sob escapes him.

“Okay. It’s okay, Buck. You can let go, yeah? Just let go,” you say, trying to ignore the dull ache in your heart as you wrap your arm around him. 

Bucky starts to cry, softly at first. Then he starts to shake, pent up sobs coming out like a storm after rain. It’s heartbreaking. He instinctively curls into you, and you hold him.

“You didn’t choose to do it. Any of it,” you murmur again. He pushes his face into your chest, tears and snot and self-hatred and all. You take it as a sign that you’re getting through to him. “You were forced, my love. You didn’t want to do those things —“ you rub his back, hoping it conveys all the love that you need it to, “— so it’s not your fault. It never has been, and it never will be.”

Perhaps you sound a little choked up. Maybe Bucky notices, and that’s why he wraps his arms around you. Or maybe it’s because he loves you, and love is sometimes worth fighting your demons for.

You don’t say anything for a while more; you know he doesn’t need you to. What he needs is for you to hold him in your arms, let him feel safe as he cries. You do exactly that. You’ll do anything for him.

“I love you,” you murmur again after a bit, when his tears have slowed and sniffles are softer. You realised you never really answered his question in the first place. 

“I love you because you’re you, Bucky,” you start. “You’re soft, and sweet, and —“ you’re tearing up now, but you can’t help it. You hug him tighter. “— and you make my coffee just the way I like it. You kiss me and it makes me feel like the most precious thing in the world. You hold me when I cry, and buy me flowers like I’m worth it.”

“You are worth it,” he croaks quietly, voice muffled in your chest.

“I know I am. I know, because you showed me,” you warble, burying your face in his hair. “And I need you to believe the same. You are worth it. You can hate yourself every second of every day, and I will still love you. I’ll always love you.”

Bucky tilts his head upwards slightly to press a wet kiss to your collarbone. His lips graze the skin above your heart. “You really believe what you’re saying, huh?”

“I do,” you whisper, no hesitation. “I love you.”

You feel his hand in your hair, another soft kiss to your heart. “I love you.”

[imsofreakingtired]

ok since the people are asking for a sequel to this fic... i must deliver 🫡

crawling back to you

content warning(s): angst - buT THERES A HAPPY ENDING I SWEAR

"crawlin' back to you, ever thought of callin' when you've had a few? 'cause i always do maybe i'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new."

~~~

Sevika catches you halfway back to the apartment. You are bathed in the neon light of the sign of the Last Drop several steps ahead, making you feel like a hologram. That might have been all you were to Sevika. A hologram. Something pleasant to look at, not tempting enough to touch.

“Baby,” she says, “let me explain.” 

She’s not even out of breath. Your world is falling apart and she probably just decided to walk leisurely after you, as if you barely mattered more than just another one of her girls. 

You avoid her gaze. “I thought you were busy tonight.” 

“I am,” she snaps. “This is ridiculous.” 

You’re silent.

“Did you actually think I was going to Babette's every night? You think I’d lie to you that way?” 

“I don't know,” you hiss. “Would you?” 

You know people are overhearing the two of you, but your anger bubbles over like a boiling vat of undiluted Shimmer. Sevika glares down at you, and you feel a twist in your heart. This is the end of everything. Even though she’s the one at fault, she’s the one with the records in Babette’s and not you, you feel like you’re the one pulling all the wrong strings. 

Your question hurts her more than she would ever let on. Of all the people who’d accuse her of lying, she never thought the dagger would be driven home by you. She wants to tell you she’s sorry, that she doesn’t know why she went into the arms of a stranger rather than risk being vulnerable to you. She wants to tell you all she was trying to do was protect you from her. She wants to ask: if she showed you the cracks in her skin where she’d broken and put herself together again, would you still stay?

But she can’t, because now there’s a wall of ice between you and you are already turning away. This time, she doesn’t follow. 

When she comes home late that night, the apartment is empty. 

~~~

You have found a small, run-down inn where the rats skitter beneath the floorboards and the water doesn’t run half the time, and you’ve sworn every single person you know to secrecy regarding your whereabouts. Every day that goes by feels heavier without Sevika. 

You smoke Shimmer vaporizers to escape the lonely silence of the room, you find work in a scrap metal shop and spend every waking minute of the day trying not to miss her. Trying not to fall into that endless pit of remorse. Go back, go back, get the fuck back and apologize. She was a mess when you met her. You know she can’t live without you. You’re terrified she might do something dangerous and reckless to herself, that she might hurt herself or worse. You find yourself wondering at night if she had eaten dinner or if she had just gone to sleep after a smoke and a shot of whiskey. You have nightmares of seeing her dead at your feet. 

One night it rains like Zaun has never seen before. It’s like the sky has opened up like a wailing mouth, or a gaping wound. Torrents of rainwater rush between buildings and submerge basements. It’s a night no one in their right mind would ever bother going out in. 

So of course that’s the night you hear the banging on your door. 

You open it, a broken bottle in hand, ready for a threat. You think it could be the manager, a sneaking thief who stealthily raises the price of the rooms with each passing week. 

Instead you see Sevika. 

Her prosthetic arm is detached and she isn’t wearing her cloak. Her hair is plastered wetly against her face. Her clothes are drenched. 

Your first thought: is she out of her mind?

Your second: oh my gods. She’s lost her mind.

“How did you know I was here?” You demand loudly. “Are you trying to catch your death?” 

The second part of the sentence comes out as instinct, and you’re embarrassed but it’s too late. Her brows were knit together like thunderclouds, but her expression softens slightly when she hears the concern in your voice. She had been preparing herself for anything. She was convinced you had already found someone new, and were living with them. Now there’s hope. You might still care about her. 

“Get the fuck in here,” you snap, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her into the room as if she’s a misbehaving child. You yank the moth-eaten sheets off the bed and throw them around her shoulders. “Are you drunk? Why aren’t you saying anything?” 

Fear pierces through your irritation. Has something happened? Is she sick? Is she running from something?

Sevika looks down at you, watching wordlessly as you try to rub the water off her skin. When you let go of her, she lets the sheets fall to the floor. 

You throw your hands up helplessly. “What are you doing here? Who told you I was here?” 

“You think I needed a gingerbread trail to find you?” 

You fall quiet, cursing yourself inwardly. Sevika probably knew where you were since the day you left. 

You know why she’s here. You can see it in her eyes, where all her unspoken emotions betray her. But she can’t translate them into words. She can’t say the words you need to hear. 

You sit down on the bed with a heavy sigh. The room is silent but for the sound of dripping water. Finally you speak. 

“Babette says you only went there once.” You look at her. “Why?” 

She looks down. “I was drunk.” 

“You gonna use that excuse every time from now on?”

“No,” she says sharply. “I thought—I thought I didn’t have you anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She shakes her head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I just—I—” 

She comes forward suddenly, and you instinctively draw back, thinking she might hit something. There’s a desperate look in her face that you’ve never seen before. But she doesn’t raise her hand. She kneels on the floor in front of you. 

“Sevika, what—?”

“Take me back,” she pleads, her voice rough. “I swear it’ll never happen again, so—take me back.” 

You try to stay angry. You try to push her away. But when you look in her dark grey eyes and see the tears standing on the lashes, you find you can’t do either. You feel the heat of her body against your knees, and as you slowly remove the string tying her hair and run your fingers through the wet strands you realize with a pang just how badly you missed her. 

Sevika gives a sigh and lays her head down in your lap. 

“You’re not entirely forgiven yet,” you tell her. 

“I know,” she says, her voice muffled. 

It’s as close as she’ll ever come to saying she’s sorry. You think it’s not a bad start. 

~~~

note: your honor she is just a sad wet puppy in the rain and has done nothing wrong in her life ever 😭🙏

~~~

taglist~

@notlores @demothers-empty-blog @theyluvbix @archangeldyke-all @prettyinpink69 @beatdariceee @sevikaaaalover @intrnetrbl @ 00valentina-writes00  @zelluna @mamas-evil-hag @sevikassluttywaist @justhereforsubsevika @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @lez-zuha @mascdom @tiyawnyana  

[misasimagines]

all your fault / reader x Ren (Tokyo Debunker)

included characters: just ren!

rating: sfw

warnings: tsundere. dreaded there was only one bed trope. reader is forced to watch shakma.

What started as an innocent, “My door is always open,” offer to a tired, gaming withdrawing Ren became a habit you had no desire to break. You walked him back to your place after his shift at the diner and after your classes let out. He would sneak out of Jabberwock to bring a new terrible horror movie to watch. You would find an excuse to back out of plans so you would be able to be home when he would likely stop by.

It was almost starting to feel like he lived there.

You hopped up on your bed next to him, leaning up against the wall and settling in. “What are we watching tonight?”

He so rarely looked excited, but there was a mischievous, almost manic enthusiasm in his eyes, “Shakma.”

You stared at him. 

He set his laptop up on his legs and opened up the movie site.

“The movie with the killer monkey?” You ventured.

“Yes. It’s so bad.” He was giddy. In his own way.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled your blanket over your legs and accepted your fate. It wouldn’t be the first horrible, no good, very bad movie he’d made you watch.

The movie was worse than bad. The movie was so bad that the weather outside went from a cloudless night to a rolling thunderstorm. You jumped once at a particularly loud thunder clap and he had mocked you, asking if you were actually scared of the killer monkey.

“I’m not scared of the killer monkey,” you scoffed, “I’m scared of my shitty cathedral room getting flooded by the storm.”

Ren was too invested in the evil baboon killing med students to react with much nuance, “That would suck.”

The rest of the movie passed (thankfully, it seemed like it would never end) and Ren enjoyed every second of the awful film. You could appreciate his excitement, it was cute to see him so focused and invested. The light of the laptop screen flashed against his face, illuminating his eyes and accentuating his handsome features. Honestly, most of the movie you were imagining snuggling up to him, maybe using his shoulder as a pillow, and that’s what kept you from going completely insane from the terrible direction of the “plot.” You knew if you actually tried to do anything like that, he’d complain about harassment and whine until you apologized and it might just ruin everything you had with him.

You respected his boundaries, anyway, and knew that your fantasies would go unfulfilled. You were happy enough just being friends with him, getting to know about his bad taste in movies, opening whatever links he sent you to replenish his game stamina, and even starting a game or two yourself because he wanted the referral credits. Ah, the lengths you went to for this ungrateful boy.

The credits rolled and he pulled out his phone immediately, logging in to one of his mobile games to collect dailies. It must have been past midnight already. He was like a living alarm for you. You knew what hour it was based on him opening up whatever game on his phone, they all had different reset times, and this one was midnight.

Stretching your legs, you climbed up on your knees and leaned over his legs, bracing yourself against the foot-board to look out your window. The storm hadn’t let up, and you watched a torrent of rain rage against your window. The trees bowed outside from the sheer force of the wind and as you watched, a flash of lighting touched down, turning your room almost white from the brightness.

“What are you doing?” He asked, distracting you from your inspection.

Still bent over on your knees, you answered, “I don’t think the rain is going to let up.” You pushed yourself back and sat back down next to him.

If the laptop had a brighter color than black on the screen, you would have seen him blushing. For once, he was lucky, and the credits had given away to a black pause screen that kept you in the dark about his reaction. “Great,” he complained instead. “I’ll have to walk home in the dark and during a storm.”

You frowned, “Maybe it’ll be really bad for now, and then lessen up in a bit if you want to wait?”

He was quiet, and you knew he wasn’t doing anything important in the game since he just opened up the character menu, checked their stats, and then swiped to another one. He knew all of that information already by heart, he was just distracting himself and trying to appear casual. “Don’t you have an early morning tomorrow?”

You did, actually, and it surprised you he remembered it. Your surprise must have shown on your face, because he scowled at you before you could answer.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t ignore everything you say…” He pouted.

You bit back a smile, “Just 90% of it?” You teased.

“...40%.” He answered.

“Aw, so everything about how you really should treat Haru more nicely you ignore?” You poked his shoulder.

He turned his head away, “Now I’m ignoring you.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile and fell back onto your pillow, propping your knees up so you didn’t kick him. You were nice to him, even when he didn’t deserve it. “I do have an early morning tomorrow, but I don’t want you to drown out there or get struck by lightning or something, so I won’t kick you out.”

Ren set down his phone and steadied his laptop, more unnecessary movements to stall for time. 

“You don’t have to stay,” You promised him, softening your voice as to not startle him, “I have an umbrella somewhere around here if you’d be more comfortable going home.” It wasn’t your intention to push him or to try to break any boundaries he had very clearly set. Ren wasn’t a… touchy, emotional guy. He was stubborn, he was pessimistic, and he had a very small social battery. In the time you had known him, you knew he didn’t like casual touches, he didn’t respond well to verbal affection, and he could barely tolerate even calling you a friend. You understood these things and you would never want to put him in a situation where he felt obligated to put up with something that made him uncomfortable.

Another minute of silence passed, and you rolled to your side and prepared to search for that umbrella. He spoke up before you could stand fully, “You don’t expect me to sleep on the floor or something, do you?”

You bounced lightly back down on the bed. Did he really want to stay? “No…” but you only had the one bed.

He pushed his laptop further away from him, expression fully readable. He was uncertain, torn between the discomfort of walking home while the storm blew branches off of the trees and the discomfort of sleeping in a comparatively warm bed. With you. His friend who he couldn’t stop going to almost every day. Who he spent most of his time with, who didn’t run his social battery to empty, and who never tried to force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. You had just watched a truly despicable movie with him, not complaining, not nagging him to pick something else. You never asked for any kind of payment for your company and care. 

Would it really be that bad?

His cheeks flushed again at his own line of thinking and he looked out the window to avoid you seeing it. Your room was dark, only a few candles lighting up small radiuses around the room. You wouldn’t have even really been able to see it if he had stayed facing you. 

You thought carefully. You really didn’t want to send him out in the rain, and you were worried that he was going to do just that if you didn’t fix the situation quickly. What was one night on your own cold, rickety, dusty floor? It would just be one of the many things you dealt with for him,  “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor-”

He groaned, “Don’t be a martyr. It’s fine, we always sit on your bed to watch movies anyway. How different can it be?”

~~~

You took some time snuffing out your candles, changing into your most normal, modest, and not embarrassing pajamas possible. He had left a bag in your room one day that had a pair of spare joggers and a t-shirt from when he had to change last minute for work, and you had generously thrown them in with your laundry after he forgot them. One win for Ren tonight not having to sleep in jeans!

You thought it might be the only win, given the absolutely devastated look he had on his face staring down at your narrow bed.

He was not small, despite the closed off way he carried himself. His shoulders were relatively broad and his legs were long. You imagined that alone he’d feel squished in your bed. With you as well? He would be channeling the experience of a sardine. You considered again offering to sleep on your floor, but your sock-clad feet could feel the cold seeping in from the floorboards and you shuddered to think of sleeping down there.

“Wall side or door side?” You offered, trying to lighten the mood.

He frowned, “Wall side, so you don’t push me off onto the floor.” He climbed in, pulling the covers over him and keeping his face pointed at the wall. He fit exactly, with no room at the top or bottom to stretch out any further. 

You climbed in after him, plugging in your phone and blowing out the last candle on your nightstand before pulling the covers up. It felt strange. The weight of his body dipped your mattress in a way that you weren’t used to. The normally cold chill of your room seemed lessened with his additional body heat under the covers. You imagined the sensation of an invisible barrier between you two, keeping you from settling fully on your bed. One of your shoulders was resting on air.

There was silence in your room, cut only by the constant of the rain outside, the wind making your old walls moan and crack, and the occasional distant boom of thunder. It went on so long, you weren’t sure if he was already asleep or just determined to pretend to be. You were about to accept the crick you’d have in your neck when he spoke up.

“I can’t move over anymore than I already am,” he sounded annoyed, but the kind of annoyed he was when you brought him lunch and he was upset about you bringing a rice bowl instead of noodles. The kind of annoyed where he would have said thank you and been grateful, if only he weren’t cursed to be so terribly bratty.

“It’s fine! I can scoot over more,” you assured, sliding over a few more inches until you had to flex your arm to keep it from falling limp over the side of the bed.

Ren raised up on his elbow to inspect you and scowled, “You’re gonna fall off, so just-” he reached across you and grabbed your arm to pull you back up on the bed and froze.

His face turned red and you assumed yours matched from the scorching heat you felt in your cheeks. Ren was leaning over you, holding your arm, in the process of pulling you closer to him, and his face was closer to you than it ever had been. He could have lowered a few more inches and kissed you- If, big on the if, this situation were romantic and not potentially traumatizing for him. You hoped if he ever got this close to you it would be without an expression of such embarrassment and terror.

He dropped you and flipped over immediately, pulling the covers up to his ears and facing the wall, “Whatever, you can fall off if you're so determined to. I can't stop you.” 

You took a slow, careful breath to calm your racing heart. The feeling of his hand on your arm lingered until the draft stole it away. You scooted over just enough to fit on your own bed and responded, “I’ll try not to.” 

A few beats passed and he did not try to talk to you.

“Goodnight, Ren,” you mumbled, turning away from him and closing your eyes.

“...night…” he mumbled right back.

Ah, what a pair.

~~~

You started shivering in the middle of the night. He flopped over onto his back and glared at you. How was he ever going to sleep when you were shaking like a Chihuahua mere inches away from him?

“Cut it out,” he grumbled quietly.

You didn't respond and the pathetic shivers didn't cease. 

He pushed himself up and squinted at you in the darkness. The curtains were too translucent to keep out much moonlight, and he could see that your eyes were shut tight and you took slow, even breaths in your sleep. Ren frowned. It was cold here, it was no wonder that you were shivering so much.

He laid back down and stared at your ceiling. Did you spend every night like this? Whenever he left you to go home to Jabberwock, did you climb up into your rickety bed and freeze yourself to sleep? What a martyr. You should have demanded to live anywhere but a dusty, moth eaten cathedral.

He turned to look at you again.

But if you lived anywhere else, would he ever have been able to be here with you? If you lived with those nepotism babies in Frostheim, for example, he'd probably have to deal with Kaito and Luka hanging around all the time. Or worse, Jin demanding your presence at all hours of the night. He couldn't stand watching you disappear into that rich bastard’s room.

If you lived in Vagastrom, you'd what? Live in the trunk of some car and he'd have to hope no one tried to use that car in a monster truck rally before you got out of it?  Sinostra, if you didn't get eaten by Taiga, who knows where Romeo would keep you? And those ghouls in Mortkranken, who's to say they wouldn't do some freaky experiments on you?

Of course, this was not to even consider if you lived in Jabberwock. Even with you so close by, he'd never have a chance to actually be alone with you. Haru and Towa would take up all your time and you'd help out so much you'd been too tired to hang out with him. Not…not that he needed to be alone with you or anything. 

God. He sounded like such a creep even thinking that. If thought crimes were a thing, he'd be in prison. 

You continued pitifully shivering next to him, your hands curled up into fists you held close to your chest.

He pulled the sheets up to cover your hands, his fingers brushing against yours as he did so. You felt like ice, so much that he risked carefully touching you again to confirm. Yep. Prison. But also, were you going to die of frostbite in bed next to him? He could just groan to imagine that dweeb Ritsu finding a way to implicate him in your death. Or worse, charging a ridiculous fee to defend him in court. 

There was no way around it then. He scooted closer. He was only doing this to avoid the court fees. He tugged his pillow closer to yours. And it's not like you hadn't touched before. He laid down, slowly, until his chest was against your back. You'd hugged him once- well, you hugged his arm. Because you fell and grabbed onto him for balance. But it counted. Whatever.

Ren’s heart raced as he slowly wrapped an arm around you and placed a hand over your curled fists. It didn't mean anything. There wasn’t anything significant in the way your hands felt in his or how you somehow smelled like the most comforting thing he could imagine. He rested his head on his pillow and felt you slowly relax, your shivering dissipating as he warmed you up. It was like you were melting, your curled up form unwinding delicately until you fit against him like you belonged there.

He shut his eyes tightly and tried to keep from breathing too heavily and waking you up. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale- without meaning to, he started matching your rhythm. However awake and grumpy he felt moments before, now he felt like he could pass out and never wake up again. Just as long as you stayed there in bed with him…

No, there was no way. He'd just have to wake up before you did and never let you know he did this and then it would be like nothing ever happened. It didn't matter how good it felt or how there was a little sliver of his heart that ached to do this every night. He bit back a groan of annoyance. 

This was obviously your fault.

~~~

Sunlight filtered through your curtains, illuminating your room in a soft but insistently bright glow. Your phone alarm went off a few seconds later and you reached up to turn it off.

After the rough and cold start to the night, you felt certain you'd sleep horribly, but as you rubbed your eyes and stretched your legs, you thought you got the best night of sleep you'd had in a long time. You sat up in bed, pleasantly cozy and unable to keep a small smile off of your lips.

Ren was already up, shoving his night clothes into his bag.

“Good morning,” you managed mid yawn.

He made a noise at you.

“Sleep okay?” You asked, “Sorry if you were uncomfortable.” He seemed… off and you felt guilty that he had such a bad night when you felt so invigorated.

“It was fine…” he responded noncommittally before straightening up and throwing his backpack over his shoulder. 

You nodded, your good mood hanging by a thread. 

He gave you a look you didn't see as you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pawed for your phone to check your texts. He wanted to tell you a number of things he couldn't even let himself think. So he just grabbed his things and made his way to the door as he checked his own phone. “I have a bunch of raids tonight back to back.” He announced.

“Hmm, okay,” You acknowledged.

He frowned. Invite him back.

You were too tired to get it.

“Ugh, I'll be back tonight. You're not busy, right?”

You shook your head.

He frowned again, opened the door, and stood in the doorway. There were so many ways to end this better. He turned to look at you, your covers puddled in your lap, your cheek baring the red crease mark of your pillow, your eyes still foggy with sleep. He could say anything, do anything better than just saying “bye” and closing the door behind him.

You smiled softly at him, “I'll see you tonight,”

His cheeks felt hot, “Yeah. Bye.” He stepped out and shut the door behind him, that picture of you sitting in bed and smiling at him burned in his brain. He'd be able to think of nothing else all day. Ren checked his weather app. More rain tonight.

He started off back towards Jabberwock. It would be too much of a hassle to grab an umbrella and you would freeze without him… he scowled at his own thoughts as he trudged home. This was really all your fault.

[syerra-637]

The final decision is yours.

(Yandere!king x fem reader)

A/n ¹: Probably the longest fic I've posted so far and I plan on surpassing myself. Consider this my gift to start 2025 off right ;) Trigger warnings: yandere themes, anst, physical violence, murder, psychological manipulation, abuse of power, confinement, verbal abuse, abusive relationships, humiliation, sexual tension, death themes Summary: Life was like a long and quiet river, until that fateful day. How could you have known that this chain of decisions would lead to such a tragedy? Word count: 5.9k

The hunting season was open, a period you dreaded every year. The peaceful woods surrounding your modest cottage transformed into a noisy playground for arrogant nobles. They paraded on horseback, their laughter echoing through the forest, taking cruel pleasure in hunting and killing poor animals. Fortunately, your refuge was nestled in a secluded corner, far from the beaten path. It was rare for anyone to venture here, and you relied on this isolation to preserve your peace.

That evening, however, a storm was brewing. The rain poured in torrents, hammering the roof of your cottage, while lightning streaked across the dark sky. The wind, cold and violent for the season, swept through the trees, making the branches crack. Sitting at your wooden table, a steaming bowl of soup and a piece of bread in front of you, you let your thoughts wander. The fire crackled in the hearth, spreading a comforting warmth, but a dull anxiety weighed on you.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps in the mud pulled you from your reverie. You froze, straining to listen. It wasn’t a mere animal. These footsteps were heavy, assured… human. Your heart raced as someone knocked violently on your door.

You remained still, holding your breath. Maybe they would leave eventually, you thought. Maybe they would believe the house was abandoned. But this illusion was quickly shattered when a deep, authoritative voice rose from the other side of the door:

— "We know someone is here. Open the door immediately!"

You shivered. They had probably spotted the smoke rising from the chimney. You hesitated, staring at the door as if it might give way to the force of their voice.

— "Open up, or we’ll break down the door!"

The tone was unmistakable. These men were not here to ask politely. A cold fear gripped you. Who were they? Lost hunters? Or worse? You knew your refuge would not protect you for long against their determination.

Your heart pounded as you slowly approached the door. You unlocked it carefully, but left the chain in place, making sure it opened just a crack. In the doorway, you scrutinized the figures standing in the pouring rain.

There were four of them. The first, a small young boy, seemed to be a squire. He wore simple clothes, drenched by the downpour, and his face showed more nervousness than determination. The next two, clearly nobles, were more imposing. One of them, the one who had spoken earlier with an imperious voice, seemed agitated, his features tight with suppressed anger.

But it was the last man who caught all your attention. He stood slightly apart, yet he dominated the scene with his mere presence. His youth and beauty were striking; his elegant but powerful build inspired a strange combination of respect and fear. His luxurious clothes, adorned with embroidery and shimmering jewels despite the dim light, indicated he was not an ordinary noble. A member of the high nobility. There was no doubt about it. Perhaps even royalty.

You swallowed hard before asking a question in a calm but wary voice:

— What do you want?

You didn’t miss their reaction. The moment your voice broke the silence, their faces showed palpable surprise. They exchanged looks, as if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. You guessed why: they had probably assumed a man lived here, isolated from the rest of the world.

The man who had spoken earlier answered, his voice slightly softened but still authoritative:

— Shelter and food for the night.

He took a step forward, clearly trying to make you more visible in the darkness. You could analyze them in detail thanks to the firelight behind you, but to them, you were just a silhouette in the backlight.

You hesitated, but finally declared firmly:

— I am a woman, and there is no man in this house. It would not be proper to let you in.

A silence fell, broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. Then, the man who seemed to be the leader of the group exclaimed, clearly perplexed:

— What? You don’t live with any man?

You took a deep breath and lied without flinching:

— Yes, I am married. But my husband is not here at the moment.

The nobleman frowned, and you saw him exchange a quick glance with the royal figure, who had remained silent until now. The latter gave a slight smile, but it wasn’t warm. It was an enigmatic, almost predatory smile, and it chilled you to the bone.

— Then we have nothing to fear, he finally said in a low, velvety voice. We will stay only one night.

You hesitated for a long moment. Their presence was oppressive, and every fiber of your being screamed at you not to let them in. But the wind howled outside, and the storm rumbled so fiercely that even you, warm inside, shivered. If you left them outside, they might break down the door, and you weren’t sure you could resist them.

Finally, with cautious resignation, you closed the door just enough to remove the chain, then opened it reluctantly. The men entered one by one, bringing with them the smell of rain, wet leather, and earth.

The small squire apologized timidly as he dropped a soaked bag near the door. The two nobles remained standing, casting curious glances around the modest room. But it was the king who drew all your attention, despite yourself. He didn’t move much, simply staring at the flames with an almost unsettling intensity.

— You have a charming house, he finally murmured, his low, controlled voice resonating strangely in the confined space.

You didn’t respond, merely nodding as you closed the door behind them. Your instincts screamed at you not to turn your back, but you had to go fetch blankets for your guests.

— If you would follow me, you said in a voice that tried to sound assured. I only have one room for sleeping, but it will suffice.

You pointed to a small adjacent room, usually used for storing wood and provisions, but which could offer them temporary shelter. The squire and the two nobles settled there without much ceremony, removing their soaked coats.

The king, however, remained in the main room. He had moved toward the fireplace and was observing the flames with an almost disturbing intensity.

— Aren’t you joining your men? you asked, trying to mask your discomfort.

He turned his head slightly toward you, a cryptic smile curling his lips.

— No. I prefer the company here.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. It wasn’t so much his words as the way he said them. Slowly, he sat down in the chair you had occupied earlier, his eyes never truly leaving you.

— You are brave, he continued. Living alone, so far from everything. Few women would have the strength for it.

You lowered your gaze, trying not to respond to what you perceived as a provocation.

— I manage, you replied simply, grabbing a clean bowl. Would you like some soup?

— With pleasure.

You hurried to fill a bowl, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. You could feel his eyes on you, like a physical presence. When he took the bowl from your hands, his fingers briefly brushed yours. That contact felt like an electric shock.

— Thank you, he said softly, his smile still present.

The evening continued in a heavy silence. The other men seemed tired and did not leave their room, but the king stayed with you, occasionally asking innocuous questions: how long had you lived here? Why so far from civilization? Had you never been afraid?

Each of your answers seemed to fascinate him more. His dark, piercing eyes rarely left your face. At times, you felt like he was studying you, as if he were trying to uncover all your secrets.

You tried not to give him too much attention, but he had a magnetic aura that made it impossible. The later the night went, the more vulnerable you felt under his gaze, like a prey aware that it was being hunted.

— You are quite charming, he finally murmured, almost to himself. A woman like you shouldn’t be living alone in a place like this.

You didn’t respond, but your silence didn’t seem to bother him. He merely continued to watch you, his smile becoming more enigmatic, almost possessive.

It wasn’t until he finally stood up to join the others that you could breathe again. But even then, you knew this night would be long. You could still feel his gaze on you, even in his absence, like a heavy shadow that would not leave you.

The night was long and difficult. Sleep didn’t come easily, and every little noise made you jump. The creaking of the wood under the wind, the rustling of the trees in the rain… everything seemed amplified in the oppressive silence of your house. Several times, you woke up with a start, the fear of what these men might do keeping you awake.

Finally, unable to find peace, you got up and sat by the window. The sky was still cloudy, but a few stars pierced through the gaps. You stared at their distant glow, hoping their light would bring you some comfort.

Suddenly, a movement behind you made you shiver.

— You’re not sleeping, my dear?

The royal's low, smooth voice broke the silence. You slowly turned around, finding him standing in the doorway, dressed in a simple doublet that accentuated his imposing build. He was looking at you, a curious smile on his lips.

— I could say the same to you, you replied, weary and tired.

He let out a small laugh, clearly delighted by your retort.

— Touche, he said, stepping closer to look out the window. Oh, look! You can see the constellation of Cassiopeia. You know, in legends, she represents a queen. Beautiful, but proud.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

— Mhm, you replied simply, turning your gaze back to the stars.

In truth, you didn’t know much about constellations, and you had no desire for him to start talking about myths or fairy tales, especially at this hour. And if you were to be honest, you had never been very interested in such discussions, even less with him.

A silence settled, heavy and strange. For you, it was almost an enjoyable moment; you could finally savor a little tranquility, even in his presence. But it seemed that this silence bothered him.

— I hope your husband will be back soon, he suddenly said. It’s not good for a delicate creature like you to be alone here too long. Who knows who… or what you might come across.

You felt a wave of contempt rise within you. The word "husband" had been spoken in a strange way, both venomous and sarcastic, as if the idea disgusted him while not convincing him. He was staring at you with a piercing look, probably trying to detect a flaw in your lie.

Inside, you couldn’t help but mock him.

My poor, if only you knew how long “the delicate creature” I am has been living alone here…

But you showed nothing on your face.

— He’ll probably be back tomorrow, you replied in a neutral tone, hoping to end the conversation.

He looked at you for a moment longer, then a strange smile stretched across his lips. He hummed a tune you didn’t recognize before turning away, heading back to the room where his companions were sleeping.

You stayed still for a moment, your fists clenched, before returning to your room. This time, you made sure to lock the door. Yet, even behind that barrier, you couldn’t escape the oppressive feeling: his gaze, his smile… something about him made you deeply uncomfortable.

You slipped under the covers, praying that this night would finally end. But you knew that this was only the beginning of a much greater unease.

The next morning, you got up quickly, driven by the hope that by hastening the preparations, you could shorten their stay in your house. You prepared a simple breakfast: rye bread, some dry sausage, and a bowl of porridge. Sitting at the table, you savored the relative silence, a rare moment of tranquility since their arrival.

This moment was interrupted by the squire who entered discreetly. Unlike the others, he seemed less intrusive. He gave you a small, hesitant smile, as if waiting for your permission to sit. You gestured to a chair, and he sat down.

— I’ll wash your clothes after breakfast, you said calmly. You’ll probably be able to leave before lunchtime this way.

The squire looked at you with a mix of gratitude and awkwardness.

— Thank you, he replied sincerely. And I’m sorry that we imposed ourselves like this on you. Understand, your house is the only one in the area. But…

He hesitated, as if weighing his words.

— But the time of departure is not up to me, he added. It depends on the king’s will.

You stopped dead, staring at him in disbelief. The king? That insufferable, arrogant, and intrusive man, was he the king? Until now, you had thought he was just a high-ranking noble, but the king? A shiver ran through you, a mix of astonishment and apprehension.

As if to confirm your fears, the king entered at that moment, followed by his two companions. They sat at the table with an assurance that made it seem like they were at home. The king, with almost calculated precision, sat right next to you. He gave you a warm, almost charming smile, wishing you a good day in a soft, affable voice.

You furrowed your brow, confused by his behavior. Quickly clearing your dishes, you turned to him to regain some semblance of control.

— As I told your squire, I will wash your clothes after breakfast. That way, you’ll probably be able to leave before lunchtime.

The king stared at you for a moment, his gaze taking on an unreadable quality. There was something unsettling in his eyes: an intensity that seemed to probe your soul, as if he were trying to detect your every thought. Then, an almost imperceptible smile flickered on his lips.

— How kind of you, my dear, he said softly. However…

He paused, his tone turning more serious, almost solemn.

— It turns out that I wish to meet your husband. We will therefore wait for his return.

His gaze remained fixed on you, a glimmer of amusement mixed with a certain threat. He knew. He knew that you had lied, and he seemed to take a malicious pleasure in playing with you.

The atmosphere in the room immediately changed. The two nobles exchanged a glance, one of them sporting a smirk, clearly entertained by the situation. The other, more serious, seemed puzzled by the king’s insistence. As for the squire, he lowered his eyes, uncomfortable, nervously fiddling with the edge of his tunic.

You felt trapped. Your heart was racing, but you forced yourself to keep a neutral expression.

— My husband probably won’t return until late this evening, you said in a tone you hoped sounded firm.

The king didn’t respond immediately. He simply stared at you, his smile widening slightly.

— Then we have all the time in the world, he murmured finally, his voice soft, but heavy with innuendo.

This simple exchange left an overwhelming weight in the air. You now knew that his departure no longer depended on just washing clothes. And more than ever, you felt that this man was dangerous.

The day unfolded slowly, each moment stretching out like an eternity. The stares of the four men weighed heavily on you, their invasive presence seeping into every corner of your home. Even as you tried to focus on your daily tasks, every movement felt monitored, every breath scrutinized.

The squire was the most discreet, occasionally casting you a hesitant glance, as if unsure of his place but too polite to leave. The two nobles, however, seemed to revel in the situation. One of them kept glaring at you with a judgmental gaze, while the other, calmer but no less observant, appeared lost in thought, missing nothing of what transpired around him.

As for the king… He kept watching you, like a predator stalking its prey. You felt his eyes on you constantly—heavy, curious, scrutinizing. Every task you undertook seemed to serve as an opportunity for him to evaluate you. He would sometimes approach, ensuring you weren’t too busy, offering remarks that seemed casual but were, in truth, precise observations of your every move.

When you tended to the fire, he leaned in close and murmured softly: — You’re so attentive to everything; it’s admirable. You never miss a spark. The comment sent a shiver down your spine, though you tried not to let it show. You knew he was testing you, probing your resolve.

After cleaning and tidying up, you headed to the garden to tend to a few plants, hoping for a moment of respite. But even there, you weren’t alone. The king positioned himself by a window, watching you through the curtains. One of the nobles also kept his gaze fixed on you, as if every gesture needed to be observed, measured, and noted.

Finally, lunchtime arrived, though the thought of spending more time with them was far from appealing. You forced a smile, serving the food with a courtesy that grew more taxing by the moment. The king, ever charming, addressed you with kind words, but his eyes betrayed his relentless search for something more—a crack in your composure, a moment of vulnerability.

By the afternoon, you realized you couldn’t endure the tension any longer. Taking a deep breath, your heart pounding, you calmly announced: — I’m going into town. It’s been a while, and I think it would do me good.

Silence fell over the room, and all eyes turned to you. The king was the first to react, a faintly amused smile playing on his lips. — Into town? he said softly, with layers of meaning. Why not wait until your husband returns? It would be safer, wouldn’t it?

You didn’t need to think twice to recognize the trap. He was trying to cage you again, to make you feel his control over every aspect of your life. But you weren’t about to give in. — There’s nothing dangerous in town, you replied, striving for confidence. And I’ll return well before nightfall.

The nobles exchanged glances. One seemed on the verge of protesting but held back, as if a decision had been made beyond his control. The older one shrugged, appearing indifferent.

The king said nothing at first, his gaze piercing, sending a strange heat through your chest, followed by a chilling unease. Then, slowly rising from his chair, he moved toward you with measured steps, every motion deliberate, like a ruler fully aware of his authority. — Very well, he said calmly. Go ahead, but… don’t stray too far. I’d hate for anything to happen to you on the way. You know, it’s never entirely safe to be alone, especially in such an isolated place.

He turned away without another word, but his seemingly gentle tone carried an unmistakable threat. He didn’t need to say more for you to understand: he would be watching. No matter where you went, his shadow loomed over you like an invisible chain.

The other three men regarded you with varying expressions—indifference, amusement—but the king’s silent vigilance was ever-present. You had no choice but to leave, though deep down, you knew that any semblance of freedom you might feel was nothing more than a fragile illusion.

When you prepared to step out the door, the king rose again, his cold, determined smile returning. — I’ll accompany you, he said quietly but firmly. I hope you don’t mind, but I’d prefer to keep you under my watch.

He followed you without another word, and you had no choice but to accept it. The town, usually quiet, felt livelier today. People hurried to finish their errands before nightfall, and the clatter of hooves echoed on the cobblestones.

You headed first to the butcher, hoping the quick errand would go unnoticed. The king kept his distance, observing everything—the streets, the people, and most of all, you—with eyes as sharp as blades. His presence made you nervous, forcing you to move with heightened awareness of his scrutiny. — Some meat for tonight, please, you said in a calm voice, though your hands trembled slightly.

The butcher served you without question, though his gaze lingered on the king, then back to you. The tension was palpable, and no one could ignore it.

After paying, you continued on your way, maintaining a composed facade. The king remained silent, but his unrelenting eyes bore into you, as if waiting for the slightest misstep.

You stopped next at the tailor’s, hoping the visit might offer a brief reprieve from the king’s oppressive attention. The tailor, a middle-aged man, greeted you warmly. — Just a small repair for the skirt, if you don’t mind, you said, handing it over. Nothing too complicated.

The king leaned against the wall, watching every movement. You knew he disliked being here, but his desire to control you outweighed his discomfort. The tailor’s scissors seemed louder than usual, each snip amplifying the oppressive silence.

When the tailor handed back your mended skirt, you seized the moment. Taking a deep breath, you turned to the king and said calmly: — I’m going to visit a friend now. She works at a brothel nearby, and I need to deliver something to her.

The king studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. He hesitated, as though weighing his options. Then, with a faint smile, he replied: — Very well, I’ll wait here. But don’t take too long, all right? I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in a compromising situation.

Leaving him behind in the bustling street, you headed toward a quieter, shadowed part of town, where the alleys narrowed and the air grew heavier. Here, you hoped to find Jean—the one person who might help you escape the king’s grip, if only for a night.

Jean, a man with a rough demeanor, was well-known in these parts as a pimp but also as someone who didn’t hesitate to use violence to get what he wanted. You found him repulsive, but he was your only option.

Arriving at a discreet door, you knocked twice and waited. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and there stood Jean, a cynical smile on his lips.

“Well, well, well, look who it is,” he said, looking you up and down. “You must want something, don’t you?”

You took a deep breath and held out five silver coins, which he snatched with interest.

“I have a deal for you, Jean. I want you to pretend to be my husband tonight. The king, that… insufferable man, is here with his nobles, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to escape, even if it’s just for one evening. In exchange for five silver coins, you’ll be my husband and shield me from his intrusive gaze.”

Jean laughed, a harsh and joyless sound.

“Five silver coins? For one evening of a fake marriage? You care more about freedom than money, I see. But you know what? I’ll do it. For tonight, you’ll be Jean’s wife, and the king won’t be able to do a thing about it. But don’t expect it to come cheap.”

He gave you a piercing look, one that felt far too calculated. You knew you had to tread carefully, but for now, this was your only option.

“Fine,” you replied, your gaze hardening. “But after tonight, you stay away from me, Jean. This is a deal, not a commitment.”

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him.

“Don’t worry about that,” he said with a mocking grin.

Jean arrived at the cottage in the late afternoon, and you couldn’t help but feel a shiver of apprehension. Every step he took toward your door seemed heavy with consequence. When he entered, a mix of emotions overwhelmed you: a certain relief, of course, but also a growing unease. This dinner was no longer just a meal; it was a trial that could disrupt far more than your evening.

You greeted him with a reserved smile, trying to keep your composure. He settled at the table, his gaze scanning every corner of the cottage as if uncovering its secrets. The atmosphere was tense, and you sensed that nothing about what was to come would be trivial.

The others arrived shortly after—three nobles, followed by the king. They took their seats, but the air remained heavy. The king sat beside you, and you immediately felt his scrutinizing gaze on you, as though he were evaluating your every move. Then Jean turned toward him, his piercing stare as sharp as a blade.

The initial exchanges were polite, but the underlying tension was palpable. Jean, for his part, seemed intent on testing the king, pushing him to his limits, his remarks laden with innuendo.

“You have such a serene air about you, Your Majesty,” Jean began in an almost friendly tone, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper. “There’s a strange calm that emanates from you. A calm… that perhaps hides a certain vulnerability.”

The king shot you a quick glance before responding, his tone icy: “And why would you think that?”

Jean shrugged, as though he didn’t care about the answer. “Well, after spending time around powerful men, you learn to see the cracks in their facades. One might believe your power is unshakable, but I’m certain there are flaws. And when you find them, that’s when the real game begins.”

The king straightened slightly, his gaze hardening, though he maintained his composure. “You seem to underestimate what it means to be a king, Jean. You don’t understand what it entails—the sacrifices, the responsibilities. You can’t simply talk about power as if you know what it is.”

Jean smirked, a nearly provocative expression. “Oh, but I understand far more than you think. You speak of sacrifices, responsibilities, but at its core, everything is ruled by money. You, your nobles, your lands—it’s all an illusion. You think you’re at the top, but you’re just puppets in a much larger game.”

The nobles around the table exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to intervene. The tension escalated, and you could feel the air growing heavier. Jean wasn’t there to flatter; he was there to provoke, to push the king to his breaking point.

“You wear a fine crown, but it’s just an ornament. When you take it off, you’re like everyone else, aren’t you? Just a man among men, no matter how much you like to think otherwise.”

The king, visibly irritated, clenched his fists under the table. “You’re a strange man, Jean,” he murmured in a threatening tone. “You know nothing of what it means to be at the top. All you understand is money. You’re a man of the gutter.”

Jean burst into laughter, though there was an ominous edge to it. He stood abruptly, stepping closer to the king, his eyes blazing with restrained fury. “Maybe I am a man of the gutter, but tonight, you’re going to see what it feels like to lose control.”

Without warning, Jean drew his sword, the motion swift as lightning. The king, with a fluid movement, unsheathed his own and managed to parry the first strike. The violent clash of metal echoed through the room, sending a shiver down your spine. The other guests remained frozen, shocked by the sudden attack.

Jean, consumed by rage, launched into a series of brutal strikes, but the king was faster. Each of Jean’s blows was met with precise counters. The king appeared calm, but you could feel the intensity of the duel, every movement of his arms calculated and deliberate.

Finally, with a sudden burst of motion, the king disarmed Jean. Delivering a decisive strike, he sent Jean crashing to the ground. The ensuing silence was heavy, almost suffocating. Jean, groaning in pain, lay motionless.

The king, breathless but composed, stood tall and regarded Jean’s body with an icy gaze. Slowly, he turned to the other nobles. “Well. That’s settled.”

The nobles, paralyzed, said nothing. But you remained seated, frozen in place. A mix of relief and dread coursed through you. The king had killed a man during dinner, but the situation was far from resolved. On the contrary, you knew everything was about to change.

The guests eventually left, the king casting a final glance at Jean’s lifeless body before turning to you with a chilling smile. Then, he walked out the door.

You stayed behind, your eyes fixed on Jean’s motionless form, a storm of emotions swirling within you. The smell of blood and death filled the room, heavy and unbearable. The walls seemed to close in around you, and before you could fully grasp the gravity of the situation, everything went black. Darkness engulfed you as you fainted.

When you opened your eyes again, daylight filtered through the window. You sat up abruptly, dizziness overwhelming you. The nauseating smell of Jean's corpse immediately reached your nose, making you gag. The weight of what had just happened crushed you, and you felt overwhelmed by panic. What now? How could you erase what had just occurred? Jean's body was there, in the room, and you couldn't simply leave it there.

Instinctively, you got up and hurried outside, running to the back of the small house where no one would disturb you. You began digging a hole in the garden, more or less deep, but every movement felt heavy, almost mechanical. Your mind was foggy, your hands trembling. Jean's body, too heavy to handle alone, seemed almost unreal. Dried blood stained your hands and clothes as you dragged the body out of the house, each movement sending a shiver of disgust through you. The body fell into the hole you had dug without much thought. The earth slowly covered him, but your mind kept spiraling.

Was what you just did really smart? People would surely notice Jean’s disappearance. And if someone came, if someone found his body in your garden... It would be you they accused. You they judged. A cold shiver ran through you. What now? You had to flee. Find a solution before it was too late.

Panicked, you ran inside the house, hastily gathering anything you thought might be necessary. Some silver coins, a few clothes, and other small items you could carry. Each action felt more rushed than the last. But as you were gathering everything, you heard a noise. A sharp knock at the door.

You froze. It wasn’t the wind. It was another knock, more insistent this time. You approached the door cautiously, your heart pounding in your chest. Then a commanding voice rose from the other side, cutting through your thoughts.

— Open the door immediately! You are accused of high treason against the crown. We are here to escort you to your trial.

Your blood ran cold. The voice was firm, authoritative, leaving no room for negotiation. The royal guards were there, and everything was about to fall apart. You stood still, your mind racing. You had no plan, nothing. You had to face what was coming, but how? What to say? What to do?

The sound of footsteps approached, and the door began to tremble under repeated blows. Everything was collapsing around you.

The door burst open suddenly, and everything seemed to blur around you. The daylight was too bright, almost unbearable, and your eyes instinctively squinted. Before you could react, you were seized by the arm with such force that you had no time to defend yourself. The sensation was terrifying, as if an invisible rope tied you to a horse, dragging you behind it mercilessly. The pain, the anguish, everything mixed within you in a chaotic whirlwind.

Your mind wavered between reality and memory, a flood of blurry, confused recollections. The cell, the dampness of the cold walls, the heavy silence of the prison… Then the judge, the man who condemned you, and his cutting voice announcing your sentence: "Death by hanging." The sound of his words still echoed in your ears, and you felt lost, crushed by inevitability.

Now, you were there again, in that cell. A heavy silence weighed on you. The last day, the day of the condemned. You had prepared yourself for this moment, for this inevitable end. But nothing could prepare you for what happened next.

The door to your cell opened once again. You expected to see a guard, another court official, but that wasn’t the case. A malicious smile stretched across your face as you recognized the one who had entered. The king himself. He wasn’t there to carry out a sentence, no. He stepped toward you with that manic smile, the smile he always wore when he felt in control, when he knew everything was under his power. That smile, at that moment, froze your blood.

— So, here you are at last. It’s amusing to see how the wheel of fate turns, isn’t it? he murmured, his voice smooth, almost disdainful.

He stood there before you, and the air he exuded was suffocating. He seemed to take cruel pleasure in observing your distress. He advanced slowly, his gaze fixed on you, as if savoring every moment of this encounter, every second he knew you couldn’t escape.

You were there, facing him, in that cell. There was no escape. No false hope. Just him, the king, delighting in your predicament, and that predatory smile he wouldn’t stop wearing.

The king approached closer, reducing the distance between you to a mere breath. His eyes glimmered with a strange light, a mix of cruelty and desire. Then, with a chilling smile, he murmured:

— In my great mercy, I offer you a way out, a chance to live. But on one condition: you must agree to stay with me for eternity.

Your breath caught. The words echoed in the cell like a distorted, unreal sound. Your heart raced, and yet a strange sense of irony crossed your mind. You dared to speak, your voice trembling despite yourself:

— Is… is this a marriage proposal?

The king burst into clear laughter, almost joyful, but every note of that laughter was filled with condescension. He shook his head slightly, as if amused by your supposed naivety.

— No, of course not! My dear, our social classes are far too distant for such absurdity, he said, letting the words drip with disdain.

He took another step, leaning slightly toward you, his tone lower, more intense.

— What I’m offering you is far more than a simple marriage. I’m offering you life, an existence by my side, as the royal mistress. A title few could claim, a privileged place in my world.

He paused, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of your face, watching for your reaction.

— And together, we will live happily until the end of time. Until the stars themselves extinguish, and the universe is nothing but a memory.

His smile widened, triumphant, as if he already knew what your answer would be. But deep inside, a storm raged. The final decision is yours.

A/n ²: Hope you enjoyed :3. If this is the case, please let me know. Besides, I have lots of ideas for explanations and follow-ups (like: -Why did Jean act like this?, (assuming Darling chooses to live)What will life be like for Darling now that she is a royal mistress?, What if the king had a wife?)

[hd-junglebook]

Its Always Been You

Part 2 - Word Count 4932

A.N - Don't hate me for how long this is OR that it's just arguing. I needed thing to move along sue me. And if you are mad, that's why y/n got her feelings hurt. sucks to suck.

Prev - Next

Y/N stared out the window, watching the city lights blur past as Jack navigated the busy Newark streets. The silence seemed to stretch on endlessly, broken only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant sounds of traffic, each second feeling heavier than the last. Y/N had not made a peep, her thoughts racing like a freight train through her mind.

Her mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last. How could Jack have kept something like this from her? How long had he been seeing Daphne, and why had he never mentioned her before?

Y/N had always thought that she and Jack shared everything, that their bond was unbreakable. But now, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been fooling herself all along.

The thought that Jack might have known about her feelings for him made Y/N's stomach twist with humiliation. Had she been too obvious in her affection, too transparent in her longing?

The idea that he might have been pitying her all this time, or worse, laughing at her behind her back, made her want to curl up and disappear.

Y/N's eyes burned with unshed tears, but she blinked them back, refusing to let them fall.

Instead, she focused on keeping her breathing steady, on maintaining the fragile composure that was all that was keeping her from falling apart. The streetlights flickered past in a blur, casting fleeting shadows that danced across the car's interior.

The glow from the dashboard illuminated Jack's profile, his jaw clenched and his eyes focused on the road ahead, but she could feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

Beside her, Jack gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. Y/N could feel the weight of his gaze on her, but she couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She didn't trust herself not to break down if she did, to unleash the torrent of emotions that were swirling inside her like a hurricane.

The silence was now feeling unbearable, a thick fog that clouded her thoughts and stifled her words. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers twisting and turning in a nervous dance. Her heart felt like it was caught in a vice grip, each beat echoing loudly in her ears.

But still, she said nothing, the words lodged in her throat like shards of glass. What could she say, really? What words could possibly encompass the depth of her pain, the magnitude of her unrequited love?

“Can you please talk to me, Y/N? I don’t get what's the big deal," Jack pleaded.

She risked a glance in his direction. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and for a moment, Y/N felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding, a terrible joke that they could laugh about later.

But then she remembered the way Daphne had looked at Jack, the possessive gleam in her eye and the casual intimacy of her touch. There was no denying the truth of their relationship, no matter how much Y/N wished she could.

As they came to a stop, the soft purr of the engine died down, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Jack pulled into the garage of the apartment building, navigating the narrow road with ease due to the sparse traffic of the late hour, making the drive up seem even longer.

“It’s nothing, Jack. I was just shocked. You never even mentioned her to me,” Y/N began, her voice shaky. Her eyes darted to his, searching for understanding as she bit her lower lip nervously. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything, and you hid a girlfriend from me,” she continued.

 "Why didn't you tell me?"

Jack's hands tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching. "Y/N, I..."

Jack's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around her wrist. "Y/N," he said, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry. Just let me explain somehow.”

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. "Okay. Let’s just get upstairs first."

With that, Y/N pulled her wrist from his grasp, she opened the car door and stepped out into the cool night air, her legs shaking beneath her. She couldn't bear to hear whatever explanation Jack might offer, couldn't stand the thought of listening to him speak of daphne.

They made their way up the steps to their apartment, Y/N's heart felt like it was breaking with every step. She had always thought that loving Jack was the one constant in her life, the one thing she could count on no matter what.

…

As they reached their floor, Y/N fumbled with her keys, her hands shaking so badly that she nearly dropped them. She could feel Jack's eyes on her, could sense his hesitation, but she refused to meet his gaze. She didn't trust herself not to break down completely if she did.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Y/N managed to unlock the door. She stepped inside, the familiar scent of their apartment washing over her.

Behind her, Jack closed the door softly, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the heavy silence. Y/N could hear him take a deep breath, could sense him searching for the right words to say.

"Y/N," Jack said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. "It's not really what you think. Daphne and I... it's complicated."

Y/N laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Complicated? Is that what you call it when you have a girlfriend you never told your supposed best friend about?" She spun around to face him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out eventually? Did you think you could just keep living this double life and I would never know?"

“I can't lose you, Y/N. You're my best friend, the most important person in my life. I know I screwed up, but I'll do whatever it takes to make it right. I'll spend every day proving to you that you can trust me, that I'll never keep anything from you again."

Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of deception or insincerity. But all she saw was honesty and fear, a desperate need for her to believe him. She could feel the tension between them, thick and heavy.

"I know Jack," she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry, it’s just been a long night. Let’s just let it go. I mean, for Christ’s sake you’re not even dating."

“Can we just watch a movie or something. Forget about her for tonight.” He suggested.

“Maybe tomorrow jack, I’m just really tired.” Jack looked disappointed but he nodded anyway, sitting himself on the couch as y/n walked to her room.

As she pushed open her door and stepped inside, Y/N finally allowed herself to break, the tears she had been holding back spilling down her cheeks in hot, salty tracks.

She sank to the floor, her back pressed against the door, and let the sobs wrack her body, mourning the loss of a love she had never truly had.

…

Y/N groaned as the shrill sound of her alarm pierced through the fog of sleep, dragging her back to consciousness. She blinked blearily, her eyes adjusting to the soft light filtering through her curtains.

For a moment, she couldn't remember how she had gotten into bed the night before, her memories hazy and fragmented.

The events of the previous evening came rushing back, hitting her like a tidal wave. Daphne’s appearance, the breakdown she had. Y/N threw her hands over her face, huffing out a string of unintelligible words as she tried to process the whirlwind of emotions that swirled inside her.

With a heavy sigh, she pushed off the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The apartment was eerily quiet, the only sound the soft hum of the city traffic outside her window. Y/N wondered if Jack was still asleep, or if he had already left for practice.

She padded softly to the bathroom, her bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. The thought of a hot shower to soothe her aching head and wash away the remnants of last night's tears sounded like heaven. Y/N turned the water to its highest temperature, steam filling the small room as she stepped inside.

The scalding water cascaded over her skin, turning it pink and raw. Y/N tilted her head back, letting the spray hit her face and wash away the smudged mascara that had dried on her cheeks. She closed her eyes.

A nagging voice in the back of her mind that whispered that she would never be enough, that Jack would always choose someone else over her.

Y/N shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. She couldn't let herself go down that rabbit hole, couldn't let the pain and insecurity consume her. She needed to be strong, to focus on herself and her own needs, even if that meant putting some distance between herself and Jack.

She was just about to step out when she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Curious, she peeked through the sheer curtain, the gauzy material allowing her a glimpse into the hallway beyond, to see Jack standing in the doorway, his hair mussed from sleep and his eyes still heavy with exhaustion.

There, standing in the doorway, was Jack, looking like he had just rolled out of bed. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, sticking up in endearing tufts that made Y/N's fingers itch to smooth them down. His eyes were still heavy with exhaustion.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the tension from the night before still hanging heavy in the air between them.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over Jack's features and making his blue eyes appear even more vivid than usual. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she drank in the sight of him, her gaze roaming over the strong lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips.

Even disgruntled he still looked beautiful.

Jack caught sight of himself in the mirror. His eyes widened as he took in his disheveled appearance.

Unable to resist, Y/N couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him, her shoulders shaking with mirth as she watched him pout at his reflection. The sound seemed to startle him, and he turned to face her, his lower lip jutting out in an exaggerated frown.

Even as he tried to look offended, Y/N could see the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. The sound sent a shiver down Y/N's spine.

Y/N nodded, her laughter growing louder as Jack's pout deepened. She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm sorry," she said tucking herself behind the curtain, not sounding sorry at all.

"But you should see yourself right now. You look like a grumpy puppy who got woken up from a nap."

Jack's eyes narrowed, but the smile he had been trying to suppress finally broke through, lighting up his face and making Y/N's breath catch in her throat. "A puppy, huh?" he said, taking a step towards her. "I'll show you a puppy."

Jack's eyes sparked with mischief as he lunged towards Y/N, his hands outstretched as if to grab her from the shower. Y/N let out a yelp of surprise, her laughter echoing off the tiled walls as she quickly tucked herself behind the shower curtain, the flimsy material serving as a makeshift barrier between them.

"Jack, wait!" she pleaded, her voice breathless with laughter. "You can't hit a guy with glasses!"

Jack paused, his hands still hovering in the air as he raised an eyebrow at her. "You're not wearing glasses," he pointed out, his lips twitching with amusement.

Y/N peeked out from behind the curtain, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Well, no, but I could be. You never know."

Jack shook his head, a chuckle escaping his lips as he stepped back from the shower, his hands raised in a sign of peace. "Alright, alright, you win. I surrender."

Y/N emerged from behind the curtain, her hair damp and her cheeks flushed from the steam. She was suddenly acutely aware of how close they were standing, the small bathroom feeling even more cramped with Jack's tall frame taking up space. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the clean scent of soap.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away, and all Y/N could focus on was the intensity of Jack's gaze and the way his eyes seemed to darken as they roamed over her face. Her heart raced in her chest, her skin tingling with a sudden, electric awareness of his presence.

But then, the events of the previous night came rushing back, hitting her like a splash of cold water. The hurt, the betrayal, the overwhelming sense of confusion and uncertainty - it all came flooding back, making her throat tighten and her chest ache.

Y/N felt her smile fade, the laughter dying in her throat as she took a small step back, putting some distance between them.

She averted her gaze, suddenly finding the pattern of the shower curtain incredibly interesting as she tried to gather her thoughts.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles seemed to grow louder in the silence, the steady rhythm a stark contrast to the pounding of her heart. Y/N swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she struggled to find the right words.

"I'll be out in a minute, then it's all yours," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, couldn't bear to see the hurt or confusion in his eyes.

Jack's hands fell to his sides, his expression growing serious. "Are you still mad at me?” he said softly. “I meant what I said last night, Y/N. I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us."

Y/N nodded; her throat tight with emotion. "I know you will, Jack. I’m not mad at you, I’m just not feeling good right now.”

Jack was quiet for a moment. Y/N could hear him shift his weight, could sense the way he was searching for something to say. But in the end, he simply nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he took a step back.

"Okay," he said softly, his voice rough with an emotion Y/N couldn't quite place. "I'll just... I'll wait in the living room." And with that, he turned and walked out of the bathroom, the sound of his footsteps fading as he made his way down the hall.

She knew that they couldn't go on like this forever, that they would have to face the hard truths and difficult conversations sooner or later.

But for now, she simply wanted to lose herself in the warmth of the shower, to let the water wash away the pain and confusion and leave her feeling clean and new.

…

After their last awkward encounter, y/n had decided to find someone to talk to. Y/N lay sprawled on her stomach, her feet swinging lazily behind her as she cradled her phone in her hands.

The soft glow of the screen illuminated her face, casting shadows across her features as she poured her heart out to her best friend, Jenn.

"I just don't know what to do," Y/N confessed, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and despair. "I mean, I always knew that Jack and I were just friends, but I guess a part of me always hoped that maybe, someday, he would see me as something more."

Jenn’s face filled the screen, her brows furrowed in sympathy as she listened to Y/N's tale of woe. "Oh, honey," she said softly, her voice tinny through the phone's speakers. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine how you must be feeling right now."

Y/N sighed, burying her face in her pillow for a moment before lifting her head to look back at the screen. "It's just... I feel so stupid, you know? Like, how could I not have seen this coming? I really thought moving all this way together would open his eyes."

Jenn shook her head, her expression fierce. "You're not stupid, Y/N. You're human. And sometimes, when we're in love, we see what we want to see, even if it's not really there."

Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back furiously. "I just don't know what to do now," she said, her voice small and lost.

"I mean, Jack is my best friend, but how can I be around him knowing that he's with someone else? Knowing that he'll never see me the way I see him?"

They were quiet for a moment, Jenn/s face was pensive as she mulled over Y/N's words. "Maybe," she said slowly, her tone cautious. "Maybe it's time for you to start thinking about yourself for a change."

Y/N frowned, not quite wanting to get into her plan. "Not this again, we’re not playing matchmaker."

She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “whatever, but maybe it's time for you to put yourself out there, to start meeting new people and exploring new possibilities. You've been so focused on Jack for so long, but there's a whole world out there waiting for you, Y/N."

Y/N bit her lip, her heart racing at the thought. "I don't know, J. I'm not really the dating type. And besides, who would want to go out with me?"

She could feel the eye roll through the screen. "Are you kidding me? Y/N, you're gorgeous, smart, funny, and kind. Any guy would be lucky to have you." Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks at Sarah's words, a small spark of hope igniting in her chest.

Jenn nodded emphatically. “Why don't you download one of those dating apps, like Tinder or Bumble? Just to see what's out there, you know? No pressure, no expectations, just a chance to meet some new people and have some fun."

Y/N let out a surprised laugh, the sound bursting from her lips before she could stop it. "A dating app? Seriously?" The idea both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. She had never been one for casual dating, had always been more of a relationship kind of girl. But maybe Jenn was right.

Maybe it was time for her to step outside her comfort zone, to take a chance on something new. “It could be fun! And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone amazing who will make you forget all about Jack and his stupid secrets."                                

"Okay," she said slowly, her smile growing wider. "I'll do it. I'll download a dating app and see what happens."

…

The soft beat of y/ns favorite song played softly in the background as she stood in front of her mirror, taking one last look at her reflection, she debated between two pairs of heels when she heard the front door open, and the sound of familiar voices filled the apartment.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized that Jack was home, and he wasn't alone. She took a deep breath before stepping out of her room.

The black mini dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and the smokey eye makeup gave her a sultry, mysterious air. She had spent the better part of an hour getting ready, determined to make a good impression on her date.

"Hi John," Y/N said, her voice soft and slightly breathless as she caught sight of Jack's teammate standing beside him. She couldn't help but notice the way John's eyes widened as he took in her appearance, his gaze traveling up and down her body appreciatively.

"Wow, Y/N," John said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You look amazing. Got a hot date tonight?"

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks, but she forced herself to maintain eye contact, a coy smile playing on her lips. "Maybe," she said, her voice teasing. "Guess you'll have to wait and see."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jack stiffen, his jaw clenching as he watched the exchange. She tried to ignore the way her heart raced at the sight of him, the way her skin tingled with awareness of his presence.

"Well, whoever the lucky guy is, he's in for a treat," John said, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer before he turned to Jack, a knowing look in his eye. "Don't you think, Jack?" Jack's expression was unreadable, but Y/N could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides.

"Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "Y/N always looks great."

Y/N felt a thrill of satisfaction at the barely concealed jealousy in his tone, but she forced herself to keep her focus on John. "Thanks, John," she said, her voice warm. "You're too sweet." She took a step closer to him, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"You know, I've been meaning to ask you something," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "Why don’t you come over more often? It would be nice to see you more.”

John's eyes lit up, a grin spreading across his face. "Well jack here is trying to keep you to himself. Just say the word and I'll clear my schedule."

Y/N laughed, the sound light and flirtatious. "I might just take you up on that," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

She could feel Jack's gaze burning into her back, could sense the tension radiating off him in waves. But she refused to let herself be swayed. "Well, I should probably get going," she said, glancing at her watch. "Don't want to keep my date waiting."

She brushed past John, her arm grazing against his as she made her way towards the door. "It was great seeing you, John," she called over her shoulder, her voice sweet.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?" And with that, she was gone, the sound of her heels echoing down the hallway as she made her way out of the apartment. She could feel Jack's eyes on her until the very last moment.

Y/N felt Jack's hand close around her arm, his grip firm but gentle. Before she could protest, he pulled her towards him, spinning her around until she was facing him, her body pressed against his chest.

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him, their faces mere inches apart. “Supposed to tell each other everything, remember? Guess that doesn’t apply to dates or girlfriends,” he snapped, tone dripping with sarcasm. His gaze was icy, challenging him to respond. 

They both stood in the dark hallway, a silent standoff. The pale blue moonlight filtered through the narrow window, casting an eerie glow on their faces. y/n finally broke the silence, his voice as cold as the icy blue of a frozen lake. "If you're going to be like this, maybe I should find somewhere else to stay tonight."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. The once vibrant blue of his eyes had dulled to a stormy gray, reflecting the turmoil within.

"I broke up with her three months ago, okay? You've been avoiding me for a week straight," he shot back, his words tinged with frustration and a hint of desperation.

"I..." He searched for the right words, but they eluded his grasp, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand in an hourglass. The silence stretched between them, as vast and empty as a cloudless blue sky. Jack didn't know what she wanted him to say.

In fact, all he could see was her eyes, two deep pools of blue that threatened to drown him in their depths. He was at a complete loss for words, his mind as blank as a fresh canvas.

"I know you have feelings for me. I never brought it up because if I was wrong then you'd be mad at me, but I've known for years," he finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, like a thick blanket of blue smoke.

She felt a lump form in her throat as she listened to his words, each syllable carving a deeper wound in her already battered soul. The revelation was like a bolt of lightning, striking her heart with a searing pain.

She knew. Jack had known all along, yet he had chosen to remain silent, to spare her the pain of rejection. The realization settled over her like a heavy fog, obscuring her thoughts and feelings, leaving her lost and alone in a world devoid of color.

Her hand remained clasped in his, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been. She wanted to hold on, to cling to his warmth and the fleeting hope it offered, like a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline in the vast ocean of despair.

Her fingers trembled, the icy blue of her veins visible beneath her skin, as if the color had been drained from her very being. And then, like a dagger to the heart, came his final confession.

"And I wish things were different, but there's no good way to say this. I don't like you in that way, but I really hope you find someone that does.

His voice was soft, barely audible above the deafening silence that engulfed them, but he didn't let go of her hand. It stayed there, a lifeline that tethered her to the harsh reality of the moment.

Y/N felt as if the air had been sucked from her lungs, her heart shattering into a million pieces at his words. She had always known, deep down, that Jack didn't feel the same way about her, but hearing him say it out loud was like a knife to the chest, the blade twisting with every syllable.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision until all she could see was a hazy blue mist. She blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall in front of him, to show him just how deeply his words had cut her.

Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side, nails digging into her palm, the pain a welcome distraction from the agony that consumed her heart.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to reconsider, but the words lodged in her throat, as heavy and immovable as a boulder. Instead, she simply nodded, a jerky, mechanical motion that belied the turmoil within.

She forced herself to meet his gaze, her eyes a dull, lifeless blue, like the sky before a storm, void of the sparkle and warmth they once held.

The tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill over and reveal the depth of her anguish. "How long have you known?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a fragile wisp of sound that hung in the air between them.

Jack sighed, his shoulders slumping as he released her wrist, his hand falling limply to his side. The warmth of his touch lingered on her skin, a cruel reminder of the connection they once shared.

"A while," he admitted, his voice heavy with guilt. "I didn't know how to bring it up without hurting you, so I just... didn't."

Y/N nodded, her throat tight with emotion, the lump growing larger with each passing second. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the knot of pain that threatened to choke her.

"I see," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the vibrant emotion that once colored her words. "Well, I guess I should thank you for finally being honest with me, even if it is a little late."

She turned to go, her heart heavy with the weight of his rejection, each step a monumental effort as if she were wading through quicksand.

Before she could take more than a few steps, she heard Jack's voice, soft and sad, calling after her, a desperate plea for understanding.

"Y/N, I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking with emotion, the raw honesty of his words cutting through the suffocating silence. "I never meant to hurt you. You're my best friend."

She walked away, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she made her way to the elevator. Jack's words echoed in her mind like a cruel, endless loop, a haunting melody that played on repeat, taunting her with the knowledge of what could never be.

She had always known that loving him would end in heartbreak, the inevitable conclusion to a story that was doomed from the start.

But somehow, that knowledge did nothing to dull the pain that threatened to consume her, body and soul, leaving her hollow and empty, a mere shell of the person she once was.

As the elevator doors closed behind her, she leaned against the wall, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, the tears she had fought so hard to contain now flowing freely down her cheeks. The fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on her face, illuminating the tracks of her tears.

She closed her eyes, willing the pain to subside, but it only seemed to grow stronger.

…

the next chapter is going to be put off for a while since I want to get until dawn started. Also do y'all not fw Until Dawn I really think Jack could eat us up in a fic that isn't revolved around hockey. there's only so many variations. But do you guys even want until dawn, please let me know.

[autumnrose11]

Rereading Sense and Sensibility and I'm struck again by just how thoughtful and selfless and mature Elinor is.

"But it was a matter of great consolation to her, that what brought evil to herself would bring good to her sister; and Elinor, on the other hand, suspecting that it would not be in her power to avoid Edward entirely, comforted herself by thinking, that though her longer stay would therefore militate against her own happiness, it would be better for Marianne than an immediate return into Devonshire." (ch. 32)

She puts Marianne's needs above her own, thinking of what might be best for her under the present circumstances. Even though it's going to be really awkward and tough to see Edward in London. She derives comfort from Marianne's happiness. I found that really sweet.

I also liked how she comforts Marianne and handles the situation when they first receive Willoughby's breakup letter.

"Elinor, who knew that such grief, shocking as it was to witness it, must have its course, watched by her till this excess of suffering had somewhat spent itself..." (ch. 29)

Not once does she tell Marianne to stop crying. She doesn't attempt to stem the flow, just lets her cry her heart out. Because that's what we all need to do sometimes; let it all rush out in a torrent. Keeping it bottled up makes it worse. She also doesn't fuss round Marianne constantly, only tries to help in any way she can. She very gently and unobtrusively tries to make her feel better (while quietly dealing with heartbreak of her own). What a good big sister she is!

[cmncisspnandmore]

One Night Stand; Part 5

Pairings: Simon x Reader

Warnings: Hospitals

A/n: Heres another sub par part, im sorry... I feel like im losing motivation to write this story, but im gonna keep going in hopes that it kinda just hits me like a freight train. Might take a break from this and do a few oneshots.

Word Count: 3309

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Your lungs ache.

A dull creeping ache that wouldn't go away. Air was forced into your lungs, and you sputter and cough. One hand reaching up to try and bat away the intrusion, to make the air that forces your lungs to expand painfully go away. 

“Easy, Love. You need to leave that on,” A gruff voice next to you soothes. The words float over you like warm water. A blam to soothe the raw nerve endings exposed over your entire body. Slowly the world starts to come into focus, the steady hiss of an oxygen machine. The quiet beeping of a heart rate monitor, and a second faster paced one that echos it. The harsh smell of disinfectant, and the scratchy sheets on your raw skin. 

“Simon…” You mumble, your voice so hoarse you barely recognize it. Talking hurts. Breathing hurts. At this point you weren't sure there was a single thing you could do that didn't hurt. 

“I’m here Love,” Simon’s voice is soft, muffled. His large warm hand taking one of yours, a small whimper passing your lips as the heat from his hand causes the raw skin of your hand to burn. Simon quickly lets go, opting to instead brush a strand of your hair back from your face. “Sorry… I didn't mean to hurt you..” he whispers.

“S’okay…” you mumble, finally finding the strength to open your eyes. His dark brown eyes meet yours, a torrent of emotion swirling behind them. His browns pulled tight behind the black and white skull mask that covers his mouth and nose. You can’t help the small smirk that plays on your lips as you see it. Finally it made sense for him to be wearing one, you just wished you weren’t the reason he was wearing it in the correct setting. 

“What's so funny?” Simon grunts, his brows furrowed even more.

“The mask…” you cough and rasp, “finally wearing it in the correct setting.” 

Simon makes a small sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. Your eyes flickering around the bright white room. It was set up like any other hospital room, although this one seemed nicer. There was no curtain separating the room in half so another person could be in the room. It was just you and Simon, the TV on, the soundless news flashing across the screen. 

“What happened?” You rasp, sucking in a pained breath as the oxygen machine forces more air into your lungs. 

“Your apartment building caught on fire.. I found you on the stairs..” he leans forward in his chair, resting  his forearms on his thighs. Your eyes trail down to his arms and you notice the soot and ash that still clings to the fabric of his shirt. The small holes that burnt through the thin fabric, revealing the smallest parts of his tattoo. 

“How did you find me..” you mumble, your eyes burning like someone scraped them with sandpaper. 

“I was already on my way when I saw the smoke, one of your neighbors said she hadn’t seen you. The fire truck was still a few minutes out… I’ve run into worse things than burning buildings.” 

“That’s stupid of you….” 

“It’s part of my job, love,” he laughs slightly, “although you should sue your landlord. Bloody bastard didn’t even have a working fire system.” 

Silence settles over the room, the machines offering white noise. You allow your eyes to close, the burning becoming too much to ignore. As you lay there, listening to the sounds of the machines and Simon’s breathing, the soft whooshing sound catches your attention. 

You force your sore eyes open once more and turn to look at Simon, his head resting on his palm. His elbow propped up on his knee. “Is… is that the baby’s heartbeat?” You ask softly, Simon’s brown eyes meeting yours over the fabric of his mask.

“Yeah.. they wanted to monitor them… make sure the smoke inhalation didn't hurt them at all,” he whispers, behind the mask you can tell he's smiling. The way his eyes crinkle around the edges, and the way the mask moves ever so slightly.

“I still can’t get over the fact that there's an actual baby…” you mumble, dry eyes sliding closed again. 

“Me either, Love, me either…” Simon murmurs, allowing the steady whooshing sound to fill the room again. As you laid on the bed, you started to take inventory of your injuries. Nothing felt too burnt, your skin aches like a bad sunburn, and a spot on your shoulder stung. Your lungs burned with each breath but it wasn't unmanageable. Your throat felt raw and dry, and your eyes felt like you had walked into a sandstorm with them wide open. 

A soft knock on the door draws your attention back to the room. Blinking slowly the room comes back into focus, a woman stands at the door. A white coat adoring her, as she pokes her head in. Her kind blue eyes reminded you of Soap’s, as she steps into the room. Her heels clicking on the tile. 

“Hi, I'm Dr. Rykes. How are you feeling?” She asks softly, coming to stand at the foot of the bed, grabbing the metal clipboard that hangs there. She looks it over for a few minutes, flipping the pages back and forth, her brows pulled together.

“I’m okay…” you mumble, as Simon shifts in his seat. His hand comes to rest on your hand again, this time you're prepared for the slight sting of his body heat on your hand so you don't flinch. You just subtly turn your hand over so his hand rests against the less sensitive skin of your palm. 

“You’re probably going to feel like you have a sunburn for a few days, the intense heat from the fire can make your skin sensitive. You’ll also have some discomfort breathing and swallowing. But you made it out relatively okay, you did sustain a second degree burn on your shoulder, which will need to be redressed a few times a day,” she smiles, and looks up at you.

“When can she go home?” Simon’s voice startles her, and she looks over.

“In a few hours. I just want to monitor the baby and her oxygen stats,” she sets the clipboard back on the edge of the rail. “Do you have someplace to go?” She looks at me, her blue eyes filling with sympathy.

“Oh-” 

“She’ll be staying with me,” Simon cuts you off.

You look over at him, your brows pulled together, “Simon.. I can’t ju-” 

“Shh, you’ll stay with me until we can find you a new apartment,” His tone cuts off any argument that starts to form. After a few more questions and the doctor telling you that you need to take it easy and if you have any change in your breathing you are to come back immediately, she leaves. 

“Simon.. I can't just crash at your apartment.. I can get a hotel,” you turn towards him, his hand still on yours. 

“You can, and you will,” Simon's fingers tighten around yours. The warmth from his palm sends tingles over your skin. You wanted nothing more than to be wrapped in his arms to make all the anxiety that was bubbling under the surface of your skin disappear. 

“Bu-” 

“No,” Simon deadpans, “You will be staying with me, I’m not going to let you live in a hotel and then take the first available flat you find. You’ll stay with me until we can find you a nice flat, with plenty of room for you and the baby.” 

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, and chew on it. You didn't want to have to rely on Simon, but you also didn't have much of a choice. You lost everything, not that there was anything of importance in the apartment. But your laptop was gone which was your main source of income. Your eyes flicker over Simon’s face, he leans back in the chair. His arms crossed across his chest as he looked at you. His brown eyes are full of determination. 

“Okay.. fine.” 

A smile creeps across his lips under his mask, his eyes shining slightly, “good girl.”

Warmth spreads through your chest at his praise, your cheeks heating as he watches you. For the next few hours you doze off, waking up every once in a while to hear Simon on the phone with someone. Eventually the doctor comes in with your discharge papers and gives you the okay to go to Simons, with instructions to follow up with your primary care in a few days. 

~~~~

Simon pushes open the door to his place, the warm yellow lights a stark contrast from the bright LED lighting in the hospital. Simon's hands rest on your waist, his fingers pressing softly into the flesh of your hips as he guides you towards his couch. You pause as you take in the state of the living room, the entire floor is covered in shopping bags from various stores. Even a few boxes filled with unbuilt furniture, the faint sound of shuffling comes from the bedroom. 

“W-what is all this?” You look over your shoulder at Simon who removes his mask, tossing it onto the counter behind him.

“I had Soap and Gaz pick up a few things for you,” Simon grunts, pulling you over to the couch and making you sit.

“You didn't have to do that…” You mumble as he bends, picking up a few of the bags and taking the clothes from them.

“You need clothes..” Simon states, as he holds the items of clothing in his hands. They look small in his large hands, as he folds them neatly placing them in piles on the arm of the couch next to you. “If you don't like something we can return it and get you something you like.”

“Oi! Ouch!” A thick Scottish accent calls from the bedroom, a moment later Soap emerges from the bedroom rubbing the side of his head. His bright blue eyes land on you and a smile breaks out on his face. “Lass!” He calls as he comes over and wraps his arms around you.

“Hi, Soap,” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt.

“I was worried about you, I just put up some shelves in LT’s closet for ya,” he smiles as he pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your upper arms. He looks you over for a few moments, shaking his head as he takes a step back. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” you smile, “we both are.” You place your hand over your lower stomach, and Soap smiles wide.

“Well, I'll leave you two to get settled,” he turns towards Simon, “I’ll come by tomorrow to help you put together the rest of the stuff, but I think both of you need some rest after the night you had.” 

“Thank you, Johnny,” Simon nods as Soap gathers his things and heads for the door. 

As the door closes behind Soap, you look over at Simon. “You really didn't have to do all this..” You trail off, looking at all the bags again. Tears prick in your eyes as you take in the sheer quantity of stuff Simon had bought for you. There were at least a dozen bags of clothes and shoes, a few filled with bathroom products that you never even thought of using. Soaps, Shampoos, and bath oils of different scents. The last time someone did something like this for you was when your mother bought you stuff for your house when you bought it. 

Your mom.

The memory knocks the air out of your lungs. She would’ve been so excited to be a grandmother. She was always telling you how she couldn't wait to spoil her grandkids. How she wanted to make so many new traditions with them. Shower them in love like she did you and your siblings. But now she would never know what it was like to hold her first grandchild. She would never experience the joy of hearing their heartbeat. She wouldn't be able to be there for their birth, to hold your hand and coach you through it. 

She was gone, buried 6 feet under the ground. Alongside your brother and sister, the only family you ever had. Tears spill down your cheeks, leaving streams of tears that burn like fire on your sensitive skin. Your throat feels tight with emotion as you pull your hands up to your face to try and hold back the emotions bubbling over. 

You lost your family, your first house, and now your apartment in the span of a year. You had to start over again. 

The couch next to you dips, as Simon settles on it. His large arm wraps around you as he pulls you into his chest. His hand is careful of the burn on your shoulder, as he puts his other hand on the back of your hair, pressing your face gently into his chest. Your shoulders shake as the silent tears turn into heartbreaking sobs. Your fists clutching the fabric of his shirt as he holds you gently. 

“You’re okay…” He murmurs into your hair, his hands gently ghosting across your back. 

Simon holds you in his arms as you shake, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he takes in your distressed state. He expected you to be upset, you had just lost your apartment, but the way you’re breaking down in his arms makes his gut twist. This was something more than losing an apartment, more than losing a few items in a fire. 

The cries that echo around the apartment in the early morning light were filled with something deeper. They were full of pain, the type of pain you feel when your entire life is ripped away. The kind of pain he felt when he found his family murdered after being buried alive and tricked by a brainwashed Sparks. Simons hands ghost along your sensitive skin as he tries to comfort you. His lips pressed against your hair that still smells of smoke, as he murmurs soft words to you.

You look so small in his arms, your entire body shaking with emotion you are desperately trying to contain. If he really wanted to, Simon is sure he could break you in half with one squeeze. Your small frame was no match for his strength, one strong wind seemed like it could blow you over. He knew that the cries that bubbled up from your chest weren’t meant for his ears. In the short time he's known you, he's noticed how you guarded yourself despite the apparent anxiety that seems to plague you. It took a lot of courage to seek him out after finding out you were pregnant, and he admired the strength it took. But beneath the walls you put up to protect yourself there was clearly someone who had witnessed something terrible and was no longer comfortable in the world they lived in. 

As your sobs quiet into small hiccups, Simon looks at you, your eyes puffy from crying. Your cheeks flushed, lips parted as you pulled air into your aching lungs. You were still as breathtaking as you were in the alley behind the bar, even with your tear stained cheeks. Your eyes meet Simons as he looks down at you, as you look at each other Simon swears he can see the walls going back up. In a matter of moments the lost, hurt look in your eyes is replaced with the carefully constructed facade you built to fool the people around you that you were okay. 

But Simon saw through it. He could see through the fake happiness you put on for everyone else, he could see through the mirage of ‘i’m fine and i’m okay’. He could see that behind those walls you put up to protect yourself you were broken and scared.

But it didn't matter to Simon, because in the moments were breaking down in his arms, when your face was streaked with tears, and you were gasping for air. You were the most beautiful, because in those moments, you were honest. That's when he found you the most beautiful, because despite all the pain, you were still here. You were still going, and that kind of strength that no one could take away from you. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, gently wiping your cheeks with your hands despite the burning sensation.

“Don't apologize,” Simon’s arms are wrapped around you, blanketing you in warmth.

“I don't usually.. Just break down like that,” you mumble, “I was just.. Its been a long time since someone has done something like this for me.” 

“You don't have to explain it to me.”

You shift slightly so you’re sitting a little further from him, his thigh pressed against yours. His body heat seeping through the fabric of his jeans into yours, as you clear your throat. Simon leans forward his elbows resting on his thighs as he rubs a hand across his face. In the dim lighting of his flat you notice just how tired he looks. The bags under his eyes are darker, and his eyes lack the shine that they normally have. 

“Why.. why don't we go through this stuff after a few hours of sleep, yeah?”

Simon looks over at you, and nods. “That sounds like a good idea, we both need some sleep,” he stands, holding his hand out to you.

“Are you okay with sharing the bed for tonight?” he asks, “I just don't have the energy to convert the couch to a bed right now.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks,”oh, yeah of course.” 

Simon smiles, and leads you into his bedroom. It looks exactly as it did when the night you fell into bed with him. The bed is neatly made, the walls still bare of personalization, but there's a small stack of books on the nightstand. The laundry basket in the corner has a few new blankets piled on top of it to be washed. Simon walks to his closet and pulls out a shirt and pair of sweatpants, holding them out to you. 

“Here, you can wear these tonight,”

You take the items and smile, the scent of simons cologne clings to them as you head towards the bathroom. After you close the door you press them to your nose, inhaling his comforting scent for a moment before changing. As you peel off your shirt you take in the thick white bandage that covers your shoulder blade. The skin around it is slightly pink, the tape holding the bandage in place pulling your skin taught. You carefully slide the oversized shirt over your upper body and tuck the front of it into the waistband of the rolled up sweatpants. 

When you emerge from the bathroom Simon is already laying on the bed, the blankets pulled up to his waist, his chest bare. His tattooed forearm slung over his eyes, as he lays against the pillows. His breathing is soft and slow as he sleeps. Your eyes trail down his chest and stomach, before you force yourself to look away. You climb into the bed, it dips under your body weight and you turn onto your side. Your arm under your pillow, your injured shoulder off the mattress as you reach over and turn off the small bedside lamp. 

As you pull the blanket up over yourself, Simon rolls over in his sleep, his arm coming to wrap around your waist. He tugs you backwards to fit against his chest, his hand resting over your lower stomach. His breath tickles the back of your neck as your own heavy eyes fall closed and sleep pulls you under. 

Next: Part 6

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol

[green-apple-juice]

My take on the Angbang reunion when Melkor finally returns to Mairon after being separated for 3,000 years. This is part of my fanfic, which I originally wrote in Ukrainian because my English isn’t perfect, and I feel more comfortable expressing the thoughts in my native language. I liked this part, so I tried to translate it. I hope you enjoy it, but I apologize for any mistakes.

***

“You have not changed at all… my dear Mairon…” A soft chuckle came from above. “My loyal lieutenant. Rise and let me finally look at you.”

The Maia obeyed, though the words sounded more like a request than a command. When he was near Melkor, the line between the two often blurred, like a pattern in the sand washed away by the stormy sea. Still, no matter how the words were spoken, he could not ignore his master’s will.

Mairon rose to his full height before the bed, straightening his back and trying to keep his expression calm, though the tears welling in his throat were impossible to suppress entirely. He knew, of course, that hiding them was futile. Melkor knew him too well—he had always been able to read Mairon as easily as an open book.

Now wasn't the time to show weakness. Mairon feared Melkor might take it as an insult or, worse, as pity. He had no right to pity one whose name was the very embodiment of power and majesty. Melkor didn't need his tears. No matter what had happened, he was still the lord of the world, his king. Even now, injured and exhausted, he remained the one who had conquered both the world and Mairon himself.

For a long moment, Melkor was silent, simply studying his lieutenant. He neither spoke nor moved—it seemed as if he wasn’t even breathing. Mairon dared not look up, but as the silence dragged on, screaming in his ears, he could endure it no longer. Finally, he whispered:

“My lord?…”

Their eyes met. Mairon felt his knees weaken, but not from fear or despair at having disappointed his beloved. In Melkor’s black eyes, there was no disgust, no rage. Instead, he gazed upon Mairon as though he were the greatest and most beautiful being in all the universe. A gentle smile touched his lips, and in the deep darkness of his eyes, there was a glimmer like starlight reflected on the ocean’s surface. Yet to Mairon, that sight outshone even the creations of Varda.

It was with that same gaze that Melkor had welcomed Mairon on the day he arrived in Utumno, leaving behind Aulë, Yavanna, and all of Almaren to pledge the eternal devotion to his new master. And it was with that same gaze that he looked upon him each time their passionate embraces carried them into oblivion, in the whirlwind of shared ecstasy.

“You are as perfect as the day I last saw you,” Melkor whispered, his deep, low voice trembling. “As if it were only yesterday.”

“But it was so long ago,” Mairon said before he could stop himself. The words escaped more like a sob, raw with pain. “And it was hard for me. I… I missed you, my lord. So much that I thought I would lose my mind. I wanted to go to Valinor and kill Manwë and Varda with my own hands for parting us. Or fall to my knees before them and beg permission to be with you.”

His legs gave out again, and Mairon nearly collapsed, clutching the edge of the bed as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. He knew he had no right to voice such feelings. He should have been reporting to Melkor about important matters: the fortress, ready to rise above the land, grander than ever; the army, gathered and awaiting orders to kill the enemies and glorify his name. Those were the things that mattered—his own emotions did not. And yet, the words poured from him, unstoppable, breaking through all barriers and drowning him in a torrent of longing and despair.

“But you did not do it, and for that, I am proud of you,” Melkor’s hoarse whisper came again, as the rustling of leaves in the wind. “I knew you would remain strong, even when it was unbearable. In doing so, you helped me as well. It would have been far more painful to see you there—forced to humble yourself before them, to beg for mercy, to promise to amend and atone for your guilt. And then to watch them imprison you, or worse, condemn you to serve that wretched Aulë again. They… they do not deserve you. None of them do. They are unworthy even to touch a single strand of your hair, Mairon.“

Mairon held his breath, hanging on every word. Melkor’s wounded hands gripped the edge of the bedspread as he continued:

“I have endured everything that has befallen me because I held your face in my mind. I thought of you waiting for me. And I know you will wait—however long it may take. You are my most precious treasure, my fiery Maia, my other half. You belong to me—you are mine, and mine alone. More than that, you chose to be mine, and not even damn Eru can change that.”

Mairon could not find the words to fully express what he felt upon hearing this. The knowledge that Melkor had never stopped thinking of him, that their love had not faded but had only grown brighter and stronger, filled his heart. Their bond had hardened, like molten metal shaped in the flames of a forge, hammered into a weapon forged for unwavering loyalty and vengeance against their enemies.

Mairon felt as though he could destroy the entire world to avenge the suffering and loss they had endured.

But doing so would mean leaving Melkor alone in this room—and he would sooner die than abandon him now. Instead, Mairon did what he had dreamed of through all those long, lonely years, when he lay in his cold, empty bed and dared to imagine Melkor by his side.

Grasping Melkor’s pale face with trembling hands, he pressed his lips to his master’s dry, cracked ones, breathing in his familiar scent, tasting the iron tang of blood, and savoring the warmth of his breath. In that moment, it felt as though the unyielding chain that had bound his heart for all those endless years—forcing him to smother his emotions, choking him with pain—was finally breaking apart, freeing him at last.

[yvraine]

A Cherished Regret

Solas faces one of his regrets while imprisoned in the fade.

This is part of a larger work-- On Both Fronts on AO3-- but suited for posting separately, I think. There are some minor spoilers for Veilguard present.

Read on AO3

~~~

“Vhenan. Good morning.” Ethala’s voice echoed through the prison of his regrets. 

It should not be that any of the locks on his prison could bring him any comfort while he awaited the fruition of his schemes, and yet anywhere he found her, he found comfort. The memory of a cold morning at camp momentarily broke the greyscape wasteland. Within the canvas tent of that memory, she conjured a space where the rest of his regret could not touch him. He felt the weight of her body against his own. The warmth of her flesh broke the chill flowing in through the cracks in the canvas.

The vallaslin of Mythal's tree decorated his heart's face in those hours. She smiled down at him, and the limbs of that tree wrinkled in the joy on her features. Her long, dark hair gave them both a veil to hide behind. He reached for her, and for now, the prison let him cup her cheek in his hand. The touch drew her down to him, and Ethala kissed his forehead gently. 

“Cassandra's grousing about getting an early start out there… we should get up soon.” 

The memory named the thing outside their canvas hideaway Cassandra, but he saw no sign of the Seeker. Worse than that rumbled outside, whispered to him of failures that Ethala did not know herself. Shadows passed over them from the outside. He tried desperately not to hear them, to focus on the one regret he might cherish.

“Let her wait a while longer.”

“Oh? I can do a little longer…” Ethala’s voice drifted off while she remained above him, planting a soft trail of kisses down to his lips. He closed his eyes to take in the rain of her affection. It was a show of weakness when he wound his free arm about her waist and pulled her tighter to his chest.

A delighted giggle fluttered up from her throat and rumbled against his lips. That giggle drove away the accusations of failure that assaulted the canvas like a storm. She shifted, and he felt a knee at either side of his hips. Shamelessly, Ethala rolled her hips forward against him. They chased every sensation of closeness and intimacy that they could under the canvas tents of the Inquisition in those days– so long as they did not disturb their friends.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan.” 

He repeated the words back to her between kisses and panted breaths. The apex of their hushed admissions of love came, and suddenly, her feverish devouring of him ended. He dreaded the moment when it arrived. Solas opened his eyes to look up at the woman he still felt in his arms. The face that stared down at him was bear and tearstained now.

 “Were you going to tell me? At Crestwood?” Her voice quivered with sorrow. Her questions were punctuated by stifled sobs.

His throat threatened to seal itself against the torrent of a thousand practiced responses to that very question. He wanted to tell her how close he came to abandoning his designs to live beside her simply as Solas, but the air had gone from his lungs. Solas gasped for a breath. He pressed his nails into her skin in a desperate attempt to hang onto her. Ethala's shape remained beneath his fingers. His nails found purchase in the supple flesh of her back. She did not respond to the sensation.

“You could never frighten me away. I have never feared the Dread Wolf, despite every warning from my Keeper. Perhaps I always knew my heart was already in his jaws…” She shifted above him, and she reached to grab hold of his face with her left hand. Her fingers closed beneath his jaw. The shimmering green light of the Anchor slowly consumed her left arm up to her elbow. First, her fingers, then the rest.

“Vhenan–” he choked on his attempt to argue with her. The morning light that once filled the tent had gone out. The only glow by which he could see her came from the Anchor that destroyed her piece by piece in front of him. 

“I would have understood. I could have helped you, but you failed again. They’re free and I am left to clean up your mess AGAIN.” Her voice distorted angrily on that word, again, and she continued to taunt him. “What will they do to me if they find me? They won’t just kill me, will they? I am too precious to you to simply be killed…”

“No, no. I will not let them hurt you.” His hands scrambled for purchase on her evaporating form. Where once the weight of her was a comfort in itself, the sudden lack of it drove him to terror. Ethala appeared to him now split partially between a corporeal and spirit-like form.

“You couldn’t even protect me from the Anchor. You couldn’t protect me from the shemlen that tried to turn me into an idol to be martyred on your failures. You cannot protect me from Ghilan’nain. You cannot protect me from Elgar’nan. When they are through with me, there will be nothing left of me…”

The last of her flesh disintegrated, and the spirit left behind faded after it. Solas was alone beneath a shadowed canvas, staring at the ripples in the Fade where Ethala’s memory had been. With tentative hands, he reached into those ripples to try and coax her back to him. Nothing returned, and so he let his arms fall open against the stone floor beneath him. Those ripples expanded above him to dispel the illusion of the tent that once surrounded him. One of her many stone likenesses stared down at him from on high.

She was right. If the remaining Evanuris discovered her, he could do nothing to protect her from within the prison he once fashioned for them. She would suffer the fury that they held for him. Death would be mercy compared to what he knew Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain would do to his heart.

[doshmanziari]

Shadow of the Erdtree: Some Reflections

Well, folks, since no one asked, here are some thoughts I've had while exploring Elden Ring's add-on, Shadow of the Erdtree.

The existence of an alternate shadow realm has solidified my conviction that what Elden Ring is depicting on micro and macro scales is the phenomenology of etheric bodies -- extending even to the moon, the double of which is visible from the Moonlight Altar plateau (this is reflected by Rellana's Twin Moons spell). Each of these bodies possess a regulating function. Although each might be generally described as doppelgänger, the occult scientist Rudolf Steiner wrote of the Doppelgänger proper as its own sort of body, responsible for the tension between aspiration and temptation. It's interesting to me that this is such a major preoccupation of the game, because it indicates a layer of esoteric involvement, on the part of Elden Ring's narrative conceptualizations, that I don't think anyone in the so-called lore community has picked up on yet. The shadow realm helps explicate the otherwise inexplicable Godefroy the Grafted, too.

Various details have also strengthened my impression that the revolt against Nature we see in Elden Ring is a revolt against motility -- motility being the ultimate enemy of utopia: a human conceptualization reliant upon infinite stasis. In the base game, I think we see this revolt most profoundly in the narrative of Ranni, who first abandons her own flesh and then strives towards the realization of an Age of Stars, that "thousand year voyage under the wisdom of the Moon." Although the Seedbed Curse represents its own revolt against Nature, it remains within the organic order. Ranni's vision is of the inorganic and remote. And I don't think it's unrelated that, in certain esoteric cosmological systems, the moon stands as most distant from the Absolute.

The colors of the landscapes and sky are amazing: vivid, autumnal, and strange. These palettes have only made me dislike the game's rain effect all the more, which does not deepen the arboreal colors (as it should) but drains all surfaces of color and sets them into a depressing, bland grayscale. To say that the rain is a part of why I consider Raya Lucaria to be Elden Ring's low-point in the realm of major level design could be seen as a trivial complaint, but visual drudgery will wreck even the best schemes; and Raya Lucaria is as far as you can get from that anyway. FromSoftware has done fine with types of snow (see, e.g., the Frigid Outskirts or Painted World of Ariandel), but I think they've yet to figure out rain, among some other graphical technicalities.

The forges are among my favorite instances of discrete level design, even if, or maybe because, they tend to contain only two or three enemy types, feature no bosses, and severely scale back the level of challenge. I happened upon one yesterday that I did find a little dull, but the other two were wonderful, brief, atmospheric knots, quiet sequences of colossal architecture, that sort of evoked shades of Stonefang Tunnel from Demon's Souls. On that note, I'd call special attention to the forges' theme music. The only other piece of music from the DLC that's gotten my attention is the theme for Belurat.

Plants are People, Too.

Torrent is just... a terrible inclusion for this game. It's maybe obvious enough to not warrant being said, but -- any design decision has to be evaluated on what it contributes to the system it's been set into, and Torrent adds nothing outside of the occasional, brainless convenience. I could maybe see an argument for Torrent's presence if he had some emotionally charged narrative integration, maybe like what Shadow of the Colossus did. Without this, Torrent is nothing but a tool which perpetually problematizes the overworld's scale (a bit too big, yet no fun to traverse at high speed) and trivializes all of its gauntlets on a potential and actual level far worse than anything the Spirit Ashes could ever do. Better to me would've been if the only way to use a mount were by defeating a mounted knight without killing their horse and then sneaking up to the runaway to gain ownership of it.

I'm finding the map much more engaging than that of the base game because of how it plays with abstractions and builds anticipation through that. One part of the map, for instance, shows a bunch of trees with red leaves. Reaching this place reveals these "trees" to be enormous red flowers. Another section shows pink, purple, and orange specks. What are these? And what are the gray, finger-like lumps erupting from the mass next to it? I've also found it tough to figure out how to progress from one plane to another because of how densely stacked and knobby the continent's features are, so consulting the map has been helpful in a way I rarely experienced with the base game's.

Love how much the Ancient Ruins of Rauh resemble The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, from the explosion of verdure, to the crude, architectural naivety defining the pseudo-Gothic structures.

With Shadow of the Erdtree, I keep coming up against an unresolvable simultaneity like the one mentioned above regarding the overworld. There's a lot of good level design to be found here among the dungeons, castles, and forts, yet the abundance and enormity of it all seems to have deprived the game of significant contrasts, and those special spatial moments, which I found much easier to locate and reflect upon with, say, Dark Souls or Bloodborne. Sure, the sky-piercing spiral of Enir-Ilim is a sight to behold; but soon enough the sequences of grand staircase upon grand staircase, great bridge upon great bridge, creates a perpetual climatic grandiosity that diminishes the very effect of a climax (and I'm not even sure that Enir-Ilim is the DLC's intended final location). Anor Londo or the Nightmare of Mensis could feel special because the qualities and features of their spaces stood apart from everything else. Elden Ring, I think, has gotten itself into a predicament by trying to one-up its internal material and all prior FromSoftware games through the enormity of its scale -- and challenge. More and more, I've been craving a new project from them that resets these terms of engagement, even while enjoying the consistency of the material at hand.

That's all for now! In time maybe I'll turn these thoughts to an essay for my Substack page, perhaps with a focus on the first two points.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

-

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.�� The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

Next Chapter

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[modestbirdwizard]

How to Steal Youtube like your Dad Stole Cable: A non-comprehensive guide.

Piracy is cool and you should do it.

I mean it, I fully condone the theft of copyrighted material online for the masses. You should consider the relative prices of a sturdy VPN to the cost of all your monthly streaming subscriptions and see what I mean: The mere fact that so many of these services trade the same movies back and forth on a bi-monthly basis only proves one thing, They don't respect you or your hard earned money. The prices go up, the services offered get more narrow and ill-defined, and worse to boot, but the torrent sites still exist and they still have everything I could ever want.

There are other guides on how to get any movie or album you want online, and maybe I'll write another, but today I want to talk you through something different. Piracy for the modern age, stealing something that would make the eyes of any tin-foil antenna wielding cable pirate misty with pride.

Let's get around youtube's bullshit under the jump:

We're going for the big dog. We're going… for youtube premium. I'm writing this guide with Firefox and Android in mind, but as far as I'm aware this will work more or less on chromium based browsers as well.

The two web extensions you'll need for your desktop:

https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/ublock-origin/https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/sponsorblock/

If you're like me and find yourself in a youtube death spiral more often than you wish, you might want this one too:

https://addons.mozilla.org/en-US/firefox/addon/hide-youtube-shorts/

Now, we address the app on your phone. Real heads have known about this trick for years, but it recently came to my attention.

ReVanced is a revival of the original Vanced app modding tool, and what it lets us do is very simple: bypass restrictions in many of our favorite apps like youtube, duolingo and others, so that we can get back essential features that have been paywalled. Specifically for youtube, we can now access off-screen playback, windowed playback, ad-free viewing, and we even GAIN a feature for our trouble, sponsor block, which uses crowdsourced data to find and skip embedded sponsor spots in videos. Think Squarespace and raid:shadow legends.

When you're installing revanced, you need to be careful not to install a pre-made hacked .apk, you really need to apply them yourself because nefarious users are everywhere and WILL send you malware. The ReVanced Manager app makes it very easy anyway, so you shouldn't need to rely on pre-hacked apks anyway.

You can get revanced from their page. Make sure it's the real deal, because there ARE fakes around.

You can find a current or slightly out-of-date youtube app around online very easily if you search. A slightly out of date apk is preferable here, as it means more of the hacks will work out of the box. If you've already downloaded the ReVanced app, then it will suggest a version for you to download.

"What about my TV?!" I haven't done this one personally, though I do intend to soon. My understanding is that you can use the command line on your fireTV stick to download a hacked app there as well! It's not an Enter The Matrix-tier operation, you just have to type a couple lines into a console. Super simple!

"Why aren't there more links in this post?" The companies have the internet too, and you probably know how to use it a bit more than they do. Posting links is like handing info to the enemy.

[da3dm]

In the deep blue sea, there isn't a place for me

—

Yeah I got that title from the same thing sloth sent brick...but I changed it a bit! Here's the result of that mystery poll from before—Sloth kinda half helped with editing this...this is a oneshot with two parts to it bc it'll be super long otherwise and then brick would never read it

It feels rushed to me but maybe not to you guys! Also my askbox is always open

Taglist: @brick-a-doodle-do , @i-am-beckyu , @justarandomsloth , @awkwardgtace , @rosewriting-ao3 (and look rose, gentle giant!!)

If you want tagged you gotta tell me or I can't

TW: Unintentional fearplay, character believing they'll die, begging to die (won't die), blood, mild cursing there's like one curse word bc Irza is Irza, character thinking they might be eaten, mention of suicide. (If there's more please tell me)

Word Count: 4.3k

Part 1/2

Well, this was by far not how he expected his day to go, but...he never did like boring things. But maybe even this was a little too far a stretch to be seen as boredom relief. His time would've been better spent not getting in this situation. Honestly, the last thing he remembered was the pod of mer he lived with outcasting him by using a prank. He was brought out to the middle of nowhere and ditched. With that sort of result he didn't even bother trying to return…he'd had enough and been planning to leave soon anyway. Seeing as he didn't have any possessions, he simply swam away.

Then everything had started to darken. It hadn't been too concerning because looking around…there really wasn't anything there. No predators. So he continued on his way to the shore, hoping to travel through the shallows to find a new home rather than the open ocean. Only a pod could somewhat safely be in the open like this, not a lone mer. It hadn't been too long after until he discovered the water was shoving him around strangely. Lightly, at first. Then it quickly started to increase and his panic rose rapidly. If only he'd noticed that the oncoming darkness was the omen of a storm.

It swept him away helplessly, flailing through the water like a loose piece of kelp. He could faintly recall that it pushed him roughly in the direction of shore, yet another thing only making the water's abuse even worse. It was fully expected that the water's torrent would smash his rather frail body into the rocks lining the edges. Leave him stranded in a tidepool where he'd be picked at by predators. Maybe bury him in the sand where he'd have no hope of escape. It was at that point he'd crashed into something big and smooth, with a lot of clattering sounds all around him. Then it had gone black, the impact too much to withstand.

And that brings him to now. The sun was hot on his exposed skin, the water level steadily getting lower, and hotter. It felt like he was being boiled alive. He was trapped inside something. Something clear, that shifted and crinkled when he moved, and was rather uncomfortable. Sure, it had probably saved him from outright dying, but now he was too far from the water to even attempt tipping the thing over to escape. This was a rather precarious situation to find himself in. After waking up in here it had looked to be sunrise and the container was half full…but now the sun was directly above him, beating down on his vulnerable form while the water was so low he couldn't even fully submerge.

While half his body was in the water, he shifted around to try and rearrange a few more times and only got the same results each time. It was hopeless, so he worked on keeping his tail in the water as much as possible, refusing to believe he'd simply die here. There had to be a way out, even if that meant waiting for night to fall, when the tide would be higher. He might be out of water by then, but…it was likely his only chance of survival. Being out on the sand in the hot sun would both cook him and let his predators see he was there. That would be his end right then and there with how far he was. He may want out, but he wasn't suicidal.

Trying to think of what to do, more time was passing and the water was getting lower. It was maybe an hour or two later of him attempting to figure out freedom when there was a change. He was noticing that it was a little cooler, sparing him of losing all of the water, but that wasn't all. There was a new tremor motion the water reacted to. He blinked at the tiny, extra ripples his body wasn't causing. The ripples stayed that way but soon he realized they were getting bigger. Not long after, it came to his attention that he could feel a vibration traveling from the ground through the rest of his body. A rising dread filled him and he scrambled to try and see, holding himself up.

He couldn't see anything. Well…to be fair it looked like he was in a ditch, it'd be hard to see anywhere from this angle. The vibration stopped and he held his breath. Nothing. Was it gone? In his distraction however, he failed to notice that all his movement had drawn something after him. All of a sudden something crashed into his prison and he barely avoided calling out, biting his tongue and flailing for balance. He looked up in a hurry to face his attacker and froze. A bird. What even was this thing?? It was white but he didn't recognize it from the usual pelicans he'd seen where he used to live. Still, it was eyeing him like a new meal.

Stopping to wonder what it was might not have been his brightest idea as it was now sticking its beak inside the small opening, wings flapping wildly. The webbed feet pushed at the clear walls as he hurriedly pushed himself down, away from the threatening beak. He bared his teeth uselessly, but it made him feel a lot better. Truthfully all the motion was sickening and too chaotic to make right from left. It even made a loud, overbearing sound that made his head ring painfully. The noise echoed in this small space way too much and he slapped his hands over his ears reflexively. This was too much for him. He hadn't even started to escape yet…and he was being attacked.

Then the vibration from earlier came to his attention, much heavier than before. It made him bounce in place and even the bird reacted, looking at the cause and calling out again. Before much else happened, a new sound came to him, sounding like words, but way too loud to be words. It made the space around him shudder and the bird had left. He had to breathe for a moment before he even dared look up, bracing himself against the slick walls and gazing up just as a new shadow fell right before his clear cage. In some ways he'd wished he'd never looked up.

The owner of the massive shadow was just as huge, towering over him in a way he'd never seen before. His mind immediately supplied the word human. He'd been told about them, seen them from a distance…he knew they were bigger, but not like this. Why would he get stuck on the beach and run into one of them?! Did the world really hate him that much?! Unfair! Not to mention, humans were supposed to stay away from the area he'd been heading for. Had he really been swept so far off his intended path?? Anything was possible at his size in a storm that nasty, but going from stormy waters, to a bird, to a human, wasn't even bad luck. That's like an outright curse.

His thoughts were cut short when the giant being took a step closer to him, shaking the entire space and making him scramble to prevent faceplanting. It was coming closer. His dread didn't have time to build up before a hand came rushing towards his trap, one way too big for what seemed natural. Though he clawed at the smooth surface surrounding him, it was hopeless, the hand closing around it. He shuddered at the realization the hand went all the way around the bottle…he could see the fingers nearly connect. That was to say…he forgot what would happen when it's being grabbed.

Not even a second later, he was hoisted off the ground, making his stomach do a wild flip while he forced himself to stay calm. What if it wanted him to be scared? But when the space was tilted and the water began to flow away from him, he gave an involuntary yelp of surprise and looked around frantically. The tilt suddenly stopped and it went back to how it had been before, the water returning. This time when looking at the human, he found bright green, huge eyes that were both locked right on him. He fought back a shiver, meeting that, admittedly, intimidating gaze. The eyes widened and he froze up.

Way too dizzying fast, he was racing skyward, stopping only once level with the way too big face. Out of pure instinct he bared his teeth with a growl, pushing himself back against the opposite side. He pointedly ignored that the hand was on that side of it and that he could feel the warmth it gave off from inside. Except when he growled, he noticed a responding movement from above and his eyes snapped to it, only to go stiff and regret showing aggression. Those weren't the right ears. They were like triangles and kept swiveling around. Listening, he thought. He suppressed another shudder, instead choosing to glare at this giant and those horribly observant eyes.

He knew he was being stared at, his every move kept track of, but he was trying to wrack his brain for why those ears and unnerving eyes were familiar to him. There wasn't much time to think as that loud sound came at him again—the voice. Definitely a voice. He ignored the words. They were too distorted and loud to understand while stuck inside this thing anyway. Besides, he didn't want to hear the taunts or what it might be planning to do to him. He'd rather seem boring and be tossed back to the ground and ignored.

Except those eyes changed and almost looked…worried? He scowled at it, but the voice returned and everything was turning sideways at an agonizingly slow pace. His slow slide felt like torture, especially with how fast the water was already pouring past him, tugging him along faster than it was tipping. At this point all he could do was weakly scratch at it, feeling like he was being played with on his way towards the only opening. The last thing he tried was spreading his arms too wide to fit while trying to turn to keep his tail inside. If it fell out, the weight would just drag him down.

When he hit the opening he stuck, just as intended. A grim, victory smile plastered on his face as he fought to keep himself in this same position while looking to the side at the human. What he found was a look of surprise, but nothing happened. It was held in the same position, not moving even slightly. He thought he'd be shaken or something, but it never came. Instead, the voice came again, still not understandable from his position. It got quiet and motionless, as if the human was just waiting for him to change his mind or something. Not happening! That was when he noticed he was slipping. The giant jerk was waiting him out.

He growled in real anger at being treated this way, noticing those creepy ears moving as he made the sound. All he could see in those big eyes, was patience. A steady, calm, patience. Like this human already knew they'd win this. And they would, which only upset him even more. The problem was that he was still slipping, and steadily feeling like he needed to catch himself. Was he just going to fall to his death or what? Was the human dumping him out of the way? It was hard to say, but he was about to find out for himself. There wasn't even a shred of hope in his mind of holding on for longer than the human could wait…the surface and angle were simply too much and only half his body could be used to prevent it.

With one last squirm in an attempt to stay inside, he finally couldn't stay splayed anymore and fell headfirst out of the thing. His eyes screwed shut, certain he would plummet to his death…only for the result to be much less dramatic. The impact was muted, interrupted maybe only a second later by something soft that smelled heavily of herbs. For a moment all he could do was breathe, his heart racing painfully as his chest heaved from the scare. He didn't waste much time and after only a few breaths, he moved to figure out what exactly happened. Seeing it made him freeze up, his eyes landing on the tan colored, patterned floor beneath him. Skin.

Looking up while already know what would be there, his almost weary gaze trailed up the length of an arm all the way to the human's face. He was in the damn thing's hand. He inwardly groaned and pushed himself up while taking a deep breath, glancing at the fingers towering over him. A threat. It was mostly behind him and he let his head hang so he could simply see past his arms without it knowing where he was looking. It was hard to know what would happen if he was caught staring, and honestly? He'd rather be ended because he fought back, not for looking at something. That would be even worse than having been abandoned by his own pod using a prank. So he held his breath and looked up at that face again.

Then he immediately bit the hand beneath him. Hard. His aim was to draw blood at the very least, and he needed to do it before the human could stop him. The only response he seemed to get was a quiet whine of pain and a harsh flinch that nearly sent him off the hand. What stopped such a fate were the fingers, curling up over him. Without delay, since the other bite was already bleeding, he whipped around and sunk his teeth into one of those massive digits instead, his arms wrapping around it so his claws could dig in as well. He was fully aware that he couldn't win this, but that didn't stop him from trying.

What did make him pause was that finger separating itself from the rest slowly, followed by that much too loud voice ringing out above him. "Uhm…will you please let go…? That…it kinda hurts?" The voice was still too loud for him, but he could for the first time understand the words being spoken, even even what sounded like hesitation in the tone. Of course, his response to this comment was to bite even harder and snarl while he did, moving his head a little to trying twisting and make it worse. The human winced in pain, those ears drawing back as it instead muttered, "Yeah, okay, that's fair." He wanted the human to feel pain, why was it saying this was fair?!

His anger was boiling over and he grabbed onto it, using it to bury all the fear as he snapped his head to the side with an angry hiss, clawing at the finger he'd been biting before it bending forced him to let go. He fell back onto the palm, not really able to support himself with his tail. Wait. The human had a tail too. He narrowed his eyes while keeping his teeth bared as a few things clicked into place. He remembered an animal that had those ears, eyes, and tail. It was also very sharp in his mind that he'd seen it swiping fish out if the water and chasing any mer that got close. He didn't know the name, but this human looked like they were part animal. That animal. That eats fish. And probably mer too.

A very brief look of terror flashed through his eyes and he dug his claws into the palm a whole lot more to hurriedly turn it into anger. He looked this giant in the eye with as much Hate and rage as he could muster, his mind simmering as he ignored how the sun was slowly making his skin itch as it dried him out. With one deep breath, he practically screamed out, "THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN GOING TO DO?! STOP STARING AND JUST DO SOMETHING DAMNIT! YOU'RE TOO LOUD AND TOYING WITH ME! IF YOU'RE GOING TO DO SOMETHING TO ME, JUST DO IT!" His sudden volume was plenty loud enough to make those freaky animal ears go down and it felt like his own personal victory.

Until the hand finally moved. He was going up, being brought right to that face. It was impossible to fully get rid of a shudder as his eyes widened. Was he going to die now? His mouth did usually get everyone mad at him. He'd actually asked for this one though, but…he looked at the closed mouth of the face he was rapidly approaching. Was the giant going to eat him like that animal did that fish? He turned his head away to hide his face while not wanting to see what would happen to him. It was over. He'd purposely yelled at the human and said to get it over with. It was only a moment later that he felt the huge digits behind him start to close in on him. He didn't even flinch.

He was expecting to die somehow, but the human decided to speak again. "What?? You…do you think I want to hurt you? I'm sorry I was too loud…did I really scare you that badly? I wasn't trying really hard not to—" Why was this stupid giant prolonging his death? But they just continued their ramble. "—but I…I messed up? What did I do? How do I fix it? Is there something you want?" The voice was growing increasingly higher pitched and they were talking way too fast. He growled inwardly, despising that he had to listen to such idiotic lies after begging to die. Did it really thing he was that stupid? That he wasn't just some fun creature to toy with and leave to die? Lies.

He raised his head back up to stare his likely killer in the eyes, only to find out they were right in front of him. He had soared past the mouth and even the nose, being held so perfectly level with the eyes that he couldn't avoid noticing their emotions. With a shiver he didn't even try to contain, he scrambled backwards only to realize those fingers were holding him in place. His eyes were rounded at this revelation, merely glad to see his tail was at least still against the palm and not just hanging. If relieved was the right thing to feel, rather, when he was terrified. What else could he feel when staring into eyes each bigger than his head. Happiness??

Finally though, the hand moving snapped him out of it right as the human softly asked, "Hey, are you okay? Can't you speak?" Alright, so now he was going to be seen as some stupid animal that didn't even have intelligence? Like he'd allow that.

With yet another ferocious snarl, he growled, "Get the fuck away from me." His voice felt despairingly weak and he swallowed hard. Having to meet these eyes like this was…so uncomfortable. It frayed his nerves and played with his mind. The eyes looked too guilty. He leaned away. "Just…just leave me alone or kill me already. I don't want to play these games anymore." He was scared, but his tone still came out full of rage.

The huge eyes only got bigger as they widened, full of what looked to borderline horror. "Kill you?! I'm not going to kill you!" The human shouldn't be sounding so scared of his words. They should be getting mad, yelling at him, hurting him. But nothing was happening. Instead, he rapidly found himself tumbling back down into the hand, which now became two, simply cupped together. It wasn't right to be held like he was breakable. He glared at the human. They just wouldn't stop trying to mess with him.

Without thinking it through, he snapped, "Why not?! You're bigger than me, you're a predator, I shouldn't even still be alive except to be a handy little plaything for your own entertainment!" Nothing was said in response, everything going quiet. The human was…silenced? By his worthless and weak voice? This game was getting absurd and the look of pity he was receiving only served to make him retaliate with anger. He bit the hand again, trying as hard as he possibly could to be dropped or finally killed or something.

A wince of pain, but then nothing. He growled and twisted his head, eliciting a gasp and a following whine from right beside him. "Please don't do that…" Not long after, the other hand stopped being a floor for him and tilted up to cover him from above. He stopped and bit a different spot, feeling his eyes burn from tears he refused to allow free. This was it. The human was finally going to end it, by…crushing him. He finally got what he wanted…why did it make him want to escape from it? To never have asked for this? But no pain came. It was darkened, but stopped there, the other hand harmlessly held over him, making it almost reminiscent of a cave…if the walls were made of tanned flesh that kept moving around him. A muffled voice came to him next with, "I'll just put you back in the ocean…"

A spike of fear at the thought of returning, and yet he could already feel the human moving, making him roll slightly while struggling to stay in place. He stopped biting, now more intent on keeping himself still and not being given back to the ocean. Sure he'd been planning to escape there, but if he was for some reason getting free transport he wanted something else. A river or stream, something to make his boring life have some sort of meaning to it. This felt more like he'd be discarded this way than freed into it. He wasn't going to say or do anything, but his racing heart won. "WAIT WAIT WAIT!"

Everything immediately stilled and he had to cling to the skin under him to not go rolling away. He wanted to relax and maybe try to figure out why he'd said to wait, but the human of course had to butt in on it. "Don't you live there? I'll put you back, are you sure?" He inhaled sharply, thinking about being in the exposed shallows with the sheer number of those strange birds from earlier hanging around. He'd seen how many there were already. If he was put back in, not only would he be back in the place he'd grown to hate, he'd become food. Dying by the hand of a giant sounded much better than temporary, fake freedom, followed by being eaten.

He moved a bit, wincing silently at how dry his tail was feeling. "...I don't want to be in the ocean. Do whatever you want with me, just get rid of me already, but not the ocean…" He should've been asking for the ocean, not to stay away from it. This was stupid. Why would the human even listen? All he did was give it a new way to hurt—

"Okay, I won't." He stiffened greatly. Won't what? The voice sounded almost resigned with those words, making his already raised guard bristle with discomfort. Before he could demand an answer though, they spoke again, "I'll just…take you home. You're probably needing some water about now and my skin can't be helping that, not to mention it's really hot out today, huh? And it's not like there's any other water sources around…I don't even know what else you want if you don't want the ocean. Maybe you'll tell me once you're not so dried up?" He blinked at the half darkness as he listened to the disembodied voice from beyond the walls of hand.

The human was…just going to keep him? Probably to be able to toy with him better. Tools and other gadgets at their home to make his fate even worse. With an air of defeat over knowing he couldn't possibly claw his way out of the prison of hands, he hung his head. "...fine." His voice was quiet but with those ears? No doubt the human heard him. Fine. He'd accept this fate, but he'd go down fighting. He could already feel this giant moving again. For now however, he let his eyes drift shut, exhausted from his struggle and not sure if he'd even wake up later. Not without digging his claws in for good measure, smiling in grim satisfaction at the pained response he got.

Words rang out above him, "Alright, then let's go! I'll take and get a good look at you to make sure you're not injured and try to find a good place for you to stay!" That cheery voice was going to be the death of him, in more ways than one. Yet, that was the last thing he heard before his mind shut itself off. Oh well. Time to leave his fate to the mercy of this strange, giant being…even if it meant he'd die.

Maybe he wouldn't.

———

Part 2

[justatalkingface]

Bakugou and Izuku's 'Friendship'

Or, what the fuck do you think friendship is?

For the purposes of this post, we're temporarily ignoring... their entire backstory, basiclly. For all intents and purposes, these two met in UA, there's no childhood trauma, no assaults, no demands that Izuku commit suicide, none of that. We're trying to take a look at the current 'friendship' between Izuku and Bakugou.

And, in that spirit, I want to say this: why, in the the name of burning fuck, do you call this a friendship?

No, seriously: I see these posts, here and elsewhere, with clips of, like, Bakugou yelling at Izuku so hard his hair is being blown back. Or hitting Izuku. Or insulting Izuku. And these posts say, unironically (unless I'm missing some weird ass trend) that these are 'Dawww' moment.

You know, like you would go when you see a cute kitten or something.

But it's worse than that, because the manga itself seems to support this; I'll never forget that picture of All Might smiling at Izuku and Bakugou fondly as Bakugou yells his head off, absolutely losing his shit like a bratty five year old, while Izuku is just patiently trying to fight through the torrent of verbal vomit and get to the other side.

Dawww.

Bakugou screaming his head off less than a foot from Izuku's head, probably causing permanent hearing loss? Adorable. Look at what great friends they are, you love to see it!

...I'm sorry? Is... is that what you think friendship is? Do you have a friend that just spends all their free time belittling you? No, I'm being serious: do you have a friend like that? Because, in all seriousness, if you do, I really want you to reassess that relationship.

But, I can almost hear someone say, me and my friend mock each other all the time! Or, maybe, my friend calls me an idiot or some such, but they mean it affectionately!

....Alright, let's break this down a little. A good, healthy relationship, a friendship, whatever, is give and take. You get something out of it, and the other person gets something out of it. It's built off connections, something that bind you together, and mutual trust.

Let me put it like this: let's say your friend calls you a name, and because of your history, that name, that may or may not seem insulting, is in fact not insulting, but instead references your history together. Do they use your actual name? Or does using it cause them almost physical pain, to the point they've only used it once in literal years?

Or this: you fight with your friend. Or berate them. Or something like that. Do you... stop? Do you do something with them other than that? Do you yell at them, just... flat out scream at them, on the top of your lungs? Is all that you do yell at them?

Do you hurt your friends? And I'm not talking about friendly punching: do you throw frozen snowballs at their head? Do you impale them with sharp metal objects?

Yeah... that's the thing with Bakugou's 'friendship' with Izuku: there's no actual friendship to it. Bakugou insults and attacks Izuku, and in response he.... puts up with it. All friendships are different, sure, but there is a line, where things cross over into cruelty or abusive behavior: I have a friend who I mock, and I would never do to them what Bakugou does to Izuku all the fucking time. Ever. I hope with all sincerity that if I did what Bakugou does? That someone would slap me, because that is not OK.

More than that, though, is the fact that a good friendship should be more than that: even good hearted ribbing can be hurtful if it happens too much. When does Bakugou stop? When has Bakugou interact with Izuku in a healthy way? When have they just had a conversation, one where he isn't yelling, that's not loaded with hurtful subtext from the past, or with Bakugou demanding something from Izuku, anything like that? When do they.... play video games, or engage in some sort of activity together? And, before anyone says something, that is not part of the training they do as part of their school, as ordered by their teacher, because that doesn't actually count (not that he does that then, either).

And, on that topic.... 'But Bakugou saved Izuku's life!'. Well. First off that entire situation, as I've said before, is stupid forced bullshit to railroad Izuku into needing to be saved at all, while somehow giving Bakugou enough time to save him (even though Izuku could... save himself in that situation, since Bakugou had all this time to fly over?), all while making him act OOC, in that 'He's totally redeemed, guys!' way Hori loves, to make him save Izuku at all!

But let's ignore that. Let's say that, actually, Bakugou just saved Izuku in a normal way. Here's the thing: saving people is, in fact, his actual job. It doesn't matter if it was Izuku, or Bakugou's mom, or some random scrub off the street: Bakugou's actual job, as a hero, is to save people. Him doing it is something that deserves acknowledgement, sure (if only because of how wildly out of his usual behavior patterns that is), but it's not a sign of friendship. The entire point of that, as Bakugou's 'growth', is that he grew enough to get past his ego to help other people like a hero should.

And, I swear to fuck, if you try to tell me Bakugou 'apologizing' to Izuku, insincerely by his own admission, after attacking him, is a sign of friendship? I really, really, really, want you to sit down, picture your friend leading a mob of people you trust to attack you, after you've spent days alone, fighting for your life against people trying to kill you, only for them to promptly apologize while saying 'it changes nothing'.

Think about that, and think about how that would make you feel.

[stellafrin]

You're super sweet and your blog is great! 🫶

Have a good rest of your day!

Hello there JJ, one of my hornier mutuals

Thank you, I hope you're havin' a good day too

With the timing I'm guessing this in reply to the #'s I added to the top 10 post so I thought I'd add a little more, jumping off both my tags and tangentially related to a thing mentioned in the post itself.

This might be a disjointed mess if I don't figure out how to make it flow tomorrow

Since following you I've definition learned to be more open and patient with people and more open to some things in media.

In the past when I've seen someone proclaiming how they like "problematic media" in their header or bio they've almost always turned out to be the worst kind of fan. Going out of their way to harasse people because they're uncomfortable with certain topics in media, throwing around slurs, and just being all around assholes.

But you havn't, not only have you just been a decent person from what I've seen, you've also written/shared some really good thematic and literary analysis on these anime/manga I would probably have just avoided at all costs (and in some cases had already been avoiding.)

I've always had this insatiable need to know, to understand.

When I'm confused by something, I want to know more about it so I can atleast understand on a basic level and be able to make a (semi)informed decision on it.

But despite saying this, for the longest time there were still many things I'd basically completely written off, decided I'd never dig into. Which is honestly a bit hypocritical?

I mean, there's this YouTuber I used to watch consistently called NyxFears (I havn't watched her videos in like 3 years, hell I havn't really watched anything on YouTube consistently in over a year, streams and driving have just taken up so much time)

At the time I'd been keeping up she'd cover weird, grotesque, and violent films and remembering back to that all I can think is.

How is the horny worse?

They're both fictional, I know this. Media can give you different view points to see the world from and thus alter the way you see it, it's important to stay aware of this and know that it's fiction, and I am.

Why's the horny worse than the violent?

(Hell some of the films she covered were horry as hell in the weirdest fucking ways too but *waves hand* ignore that)

This is just a dumb realization I've been having every once in a while since I started following.

But yeah, seeing the thoughtful analysis (amidst the torrent of boobs and horny posts) on these anime/manga I'd usually avoid has been interesting.

I'll accepting that the character in this show is infact incredibly fucking trans but the age of these characters with how horny it gets + the incest squigs me the fuck out so I'm still not gonna watch/read it.

Finally, thank you so much for being so on point with tagging basically every anime/manga you reblog consistently. It makes it so easy to mute or look up something whenever I want to see less or more of it.

I've muted a handful of tags for media that makes me uncomfortable, but I've also found some that I actually enjoy, thanks.

...

Uh...

✨️✨️✨️how do you end a post✨️✨️✨️