#idk why my brain brained like this but it did

[seulszn]

Caitlyn is cannonically an Lesbian so don't headcannons her sexuality as anything other than that she's not straight. She's not bisexual she's a lesbian

Vi is cannonically a Lesbian don't headcannons her sexuality as anything other than that she likes woman, she's married to a woman in the LOL universe (Caitlyn). She isn't straight and she's not bisexual.

Ellie Williams is canonically a lesbian not bisexual, nor straight. All of her love interests in the show have been girls never men.

Like the amount of people trying to erase these characters queerness is insane if you can’t accept that character for their sexuality then that makes you homophobic . And who cares about people writing fem x readers about straight characters like hello did we forget straight is the default sexuality? Also just because a character has a partner of different gender doesn’t automatically make them straight.

The fetishization, sexualization of lesbian’s is absolutely sick. Woman can NEVER have a space without a man being upset about something. you guys have a SHIT ton of media out their that are directed to you. Like even lesbian porn, GL’s and Yuri’s are directed to men never the audience it is attended for which is woman.

And the transphobia that is happening in the community is also fucking sick trans women are women idk why this is another discussion that needs to be had in 2025. Writing Male X readers about Lesbian characters is a form or fetishizing which is overall very sick and homophobic and overall harmful. And getting mad and upset about something that is a very serious issue makes it seem as if you don’t see lesbians as humans but as a toy to your sexual mind.

Lesbian fetishization is the act of treating lesbians as sexual objects for the enjoyment of a privileged group, rather than accepting their sexuality. It can have real-world consequences, such as homophobic attacks and corrective grape.

And for all the men mad because Lesbians or woman in general are Men haters look at yourself and see why. You can’t respect anyone and then get so butt hurt when your called out for it. When people were speaking up about you guys writing Male readers about lesbian characters you tried to justify it when their isn’t any justification for your sick and twisted mindset.

If you maybe idk use your brain and realize why woman don’t like y’all you wouldn’t ask yourself “why doesn’t woman like me” like come on now look at the media, look at what is going on in this world right now for woman just existing. Woman in some countries can’t even speak in public without the fear of getting killed. You guys have so much privilege that it’s starting to make y’all think you are so damn superior. Its so tiring seeing discourse in the tags about something that shouldn’t even be discussed

If your a lesbian you like woman

If your bisexual you like both genders

If your straight your straight but at the same damn time it’s a default sexuality. Also majority of the characters y’all arguing about never once said or mentioned they was straight so y’all argument is pointless.

And another thing they aren’t real characters it doesn’t matter but the only things that do are their background, race, and sexuality

A space that is for woman respect it if a character is a lesbian respect it stop arguing about pointless ass shit and Men once again stop fetishizing lesbians and get a life.

Also another thing (I think the account got deleted) stop writing smut for Isha your fucking sick and twisted that’s a WHOLE ass child their ain’t no such thing as aging up a character. If you have to age up a child to fucking sexualize it you’re a whole ass pedo and need to turn yourself in. It is bizarre how many I’ve seen come up on my timeline like chat are people ok in the head? Like this is a repeat of the MHA fandom writing smut for Eri a whole ass child like it makes no sense that you looked and Isha and was like “I wanna write smut about her” like your weird and need to be called out about it.

Both the Arcane and TLOU fandom needs a cleanse and I mean fast cause this shit don’t make sense AT all like yall done lost y’all’s ever loving mind. (I sound like a black momma 😭)

Also one more thing my page is not a safe space for men I put it in my rules that I don’t want men interacting with my stuff because I am a lesbian and don’t feel comfortable with men interacting with my content and y’all don’t even listen to that so as I said before if a space is for woman don’t try to put yourself in that space if you aren’t the targeted demographic. Hopefully everything I said made sense.

[zara-renata]

So I had one holiday prompt that I couldn't include in the big holiday prompt fic I posted last week, and I also have been receiving some really sweet and cute ideas that weren't exactly requests, but the ideas were so nice that I wanted to write something for them. I've gathered them into one story that I hope isn't disappointing. I had intended to do separate, cute little drabbles, but I had a bad day the other day and somehow uh, really dark angst happened, and then I used the ideas people sent for the comfort half of the fic? So please forgive me for just... taking it as dark as you can go before including the sweet, cute ideas that people requested. I hope you like the result anyway, although please read the content warnings. Several of the people who sent requests/ideas apologized for doing so, as if sending the ideas was 'too much', but you don't have to apologize for sending asks. My requests are open, and I like seeing everyone's ideas even if I don't end up being able to write for them, or if I tweak them a little to make them work for the story that comes out of my brain despite my best laid plans to stick to an outline.

The river | ao3 | masterlist

It's Christmas Eve, you're at the end of your rope after an absolutely awful year, and you decide to end it all after pushing everyone in your life away. Sylus pulls you from the brink and convinces you to keep going.

Sylus x fem reader, Sylus x mc, hurt/comfort, angst, grief, banter, fluff. CW: attempted suicide, depressed thoughts, NSFW, Sylus penetrating reader (this is not sex ed, do not follow these idiots' example, no discussion of condom or birth control, this is fantasy and we're not going to worry about that in the fic)

Ask #1 You asked to keep sending silly little ideas for you to write so I thought I'd give my own request! After Caleb and Gran (supposedly) die it's pretty much canon that MC refuses help from their friends and isolates themself in certain ways. I always imagine MC sometimes sees Sylus as "the only one they have left" since he is the only one who goes out of his way to check up on MC. But MC kinda grows to resent this and has a moment when their drunk/really going through it and basically ask Sylus why he doesn't leave them be so they can just rot away in peace. Sorry if this is too lengthy or I'm overstepping! Brain worms are getting to me

Ask #2 Okay, so random thoughts here, but do you know that superstition that’s like, “the places where you have moles on your body show where your lover kissed you in a past life”? But like… can you imagine what it would be like if MC had a mole in the exact spot where Sylus bit her during Abyssal Mark (cus I have one there lol) and then that superstition randomly gets brought up, only for MC to show him that mole and Sylus is just s h o o k??? N e way that’s my random thoughts lol (sorry if this is a lot 💀)

Ask #3 I love the way you write the MC and I find myself relating to them at least 99% of the time. Sometimes I just imagine them giving Sylus one of those "Do you like me? Circle yes or no!" Love letters to Sylus because they are terrified of rejection -> i wrote the MC in this story really, really depressed, so if this didn't hit the spot for you in terms of fear of rejection, let me know, and I can include your prompt in another story idea I had before this one that's a lot lighter and sweeter before I got hit by the angst truck that this fic turned out to be. just let me know!

Ask #4 the last holiday prompt! -> idk if anyone sent it yet but from the xmas prompt list, i would love to see what you do with number 8 -> I'm so sorry that this is what I did with it, I hope you like it anyway😭

Thank you everyone who has sent me ideas! If you've sent me a request and I haven't answered it yet, it's because I'm still intending to do something with it.

Here you are. Again.

At the end of a long day. A long week. A long year. 

A long rope.

It’s the dark, this time of year. 

Maybe. 

You’re restless. You’ve passed through the Deepspace Hunters Association doors for the last time this year. Empty days of leave stretch before you.

Normally, it would still be light out, leaving this early. But not now, this deep into the year—it’s already full night, as you leave work early.

The bright lights of the building pour over your upturned face as you look back, just once. You don’t know what for. You’ve successfully severed most of the ties you had built before.

Before everything.

Tara, Xavier. After Caleb, Josephine—they reached out, over and over, and you bit their outstretched hands with your sharp, sharp teeth. 

You snapped enough times that they keep their distance, now. 

They’re still kind. 

Tara still comes, sits on your desk, shares tidbits of gossip during the workday. But she no longer invites you along to karaoke, to after-work drinks with other coworkers.

You and Xav work in sync, as you eliminate wanderers. He walks you to your door at the end of the day. But he no longer offers to lend you books. No longer invites you to the bookstore, or to try new restaurants.

You watch his broad back as he walks away from you, down your apartment building’s hallway. He feels as far away as a star in the velvet night sky.

It’s not their fault. You did this.

You wanted this.

You turn away from the warm light beaming from the Association as you leave early, the Christmas lights glittering in the windows, the holiday party you’re skipping still in full swing in the open, sleek company restaurant area on the ground floor. A division-wide shindig, to celebrate the end of the year, the holidays.

The night is cold. Fairy lights, nets of bright pinpricks in the dark night, cover the trees lining the sidewalk. Decorative light displays stretch across the busy road at periodic intervals, over the canals that parallel the streets, the gondolas and tour-boats festive under their own lights, red ribbons flapping in the cold winter wind.

You think about how they never recovered a body.

Only Josephine’s ashes fill an urn, sitting in a cold niche of a quiet columbarium. Caleb’s urn is empty.

You start walking, fast, along the busy sidewalk. People are out shopping, scurrying to tie up last minute errands before the city shuts down for the holiday tomorrow.

You want to unzip your coat. Unzip your uniform. Unzip your skin, your ribcage. Leave all these pieces of yourself behind, for others to puzzle over. To sweep up with the rest of the refuse left over from festive party goers on the street. You want to dissipate in the cold winter air like your breath with each cursed inhale, exhale.

You settle for beginning to jog to the metro station, your feet carrying you faster, faster, your boots heavy on the sidewalk. You see it lit in the distance, but you can’t stand the thought of being underground right now. Buried alive, with all the other people. You sprint past it. 

You’re graceful enough to duck and weave, not disturb anyone else, until the crowds thin.

You’re running, running, the city is streaming past, like the tears from your eyes. Wet from the cold, because you haven’t cried since waking up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s silver chain glittering in the firelight on the walk up to your grandmother’s burning house.

Tears won’t bring a body back.

You don’t know how much longer you can stand this.

The days, one after another. Alarm, moving through the dark to get to work. Moving through the dark to get back to your apartment at the end of the day.

The pain—your only constant, now. The only thing you expect, have to look forward to, day after blurred day. 

An echoing emptiness, like an urn without ashes. An emptiness that feels so full that your skin could burst with it.

You think about your apartment. The festive city outside its windows. The half-opened bottle of wine in the fridge, the only thing in it.

You veer from your neighborhood. Keep running. You’re sweating under your winter coat, your heavy Hunter uniform. It doesn’t matter.

You run, and run, and run, until you run out of streets, sidewalk.

Just the river, wide and black. There is a bridge, soaring over the water, in the distance. Its lights reflected in the water, along with the urban nightscape. Stars above, stars below.

You could drown in them.

You look at the bridge.

You could drown in it all.

There’s no one left, after all.

Who will miss you?

You slow. Stop.

Your breath is heavy in the quiet air. Fairy lights sparkle here, too. Pretty swooping light displays top each lamppost along the river path. 

You would have gone to identify the body, as you did with Gran. She didn’t look like herself. Not even a sleeping version of herself. They did their best, reconstructing her face. But it wasn’t the stitches, the bruising. It was that she simply wasn’t there anymore. Like a stranger’s body on display. An empty house after the residents have been forced to flee in a night of unimaginable violence. 

But running your hands through her hair, one last time. It soothed something in you. Enough that you could breathe in the cold mortuary air. Could nod. Could watch as they covered her again. As they escorted you out into the bustling hospital hallways, to stand under cold fluorescent lights. To stare vacantly at the wall, until you felt a strange, familiar feeling. You looked up, saw Zayne watching you, at the end of the long hallway. You stared at him, memorizing his beautiful face. His dark hair. His severe, cold loveliness. You let yourself look one last time, and he let you. Through the people filling the hallway, each walking with purpose, they were a blur and he was  across the world, across time, a part of your past that should never have reappeared in your present. It hurt too much, to look at his beautiful, distant face. He left you behind, once. He should have stayed gone. You can’t stand to experience the loss again, the loss you felt every time he listened to your heart, expressionless, a stranger with a beautiful, familiar face from your past, a past in which Caleb was still alive. 

You looked at Zayne one last time, across a bustling hallway in a place full of life, of death, and he let you. You then turned, headed to the reception desk. You switched doctors, hospitals.

You blocked his number, so you’ll never know if he sent you a text, tried to call and ask why, after. He let you walk out. Which is as it should be.

You wanted this.

The water churns under the whipping wind, the fast current. It looks so cold. Cold enough to numb. Cold enough to finally put out the fire that’s been burning in you, ever since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace shimmering in the flames.

You think of running your hands through his hair. Something the fire robbed you of—it would have been your first time, your last time. He would pat your head. Call you pipsqueak. Ignore your protests to not mess up your hair, to not treat you like a little kid. But he would always duck out of the way anytime you tried to return the favor, tease him, tousle his hair. His pretty brunette hair that always looked so soft. Now you’ll never know how soft it really was.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. The car headlights meteors streaking along their guardrail-gated orbit.

You think about going home. Waking up tomorrow, Christmas Day. The silence. You think about going back to work. Killing wanderer after wanderer. Wondering which one will be the one to finally kill you.

The days blur. The constant emptiness echoing inside your apartment, inside your ribcage.

You look at the water. You look at the bridge. You imagine running your hands through Caleb’s hair for the first, the last time. A tender goodbye you’ll never have, because they never found his body.

There’s no one left to miss you.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket. You fish it out.

Rafayel no longer calls, or texts you words. He just sends photos, every once in a while. Mundane details of everyday life, rendered extraordinary through his artist’s eye. Paintings he’s working on. A foreign landscape. Leaves glistening with dew. The moon, waxing full.

You haven’t answered in months. You look at each one, tuck your phone back in your pocket.

You look back at the water. Think about taking a photo of the reflected stars, the thin crescent moon in the black waves, think of sending him one last response. But even you’re not that cruel. You don’t want him to realize later, that he was the last one to say anything to you.

You don’t open his text. You block his number. Tuck the phone back into your pocket.

You start to walk toward the bridge. As you walk, you keep your eyes on the path, its edges. Decorative, smooth stones line the walkway along the river embankment. You pick them up, here and there, as you walk. Slip them into your coat pockets.

Eventually you run out of room in your coat pockets, add more to your pants pockets. 

You turn your eyes back to the bridge, looming now.

You think of your empty fridge. Josephine’s empty face. An empty urn.

You’re ready to scoop out what’s left of you, leave it behind on the sidewalk, smoldering as the cold night finally smothers the endless fire, the only thing left inside you. Maybe it will warm someone else, in passing. A last good deed, from you to someone in the world.

A metal staircase, leading up, up, into the black sky, mirroring the dark river, your heavy boots echoing. The cars are loud. If you close your eyes, they could be the rushing waves of an ocean, instead of a river of traffic, above a river of water.

You keep your eyes open. You’re not going to pretend that you’re not doing what you’re doing, now. You’re not at the ocean, its pure salt air drifting through your hair, now whipping around your face. You’re on a busy, exhaust- and oil-stained commuter bridge on the night before Christmas, having cut your ties with everyone you have always known never wanted or needed you in the first place. What’s the difference if a wanderer kills you tomorrow, or if something kills you today? Just empty time, blurry days, photo frames without pictures.

The guardrail isn’t so high as one would guess. It’s an easy step up. An easy step over. You stand, looking back over the city where you were raised. The city that contains all the past versions of yourself, from the moment you were pulled screaming into life from a mother whose face you’ll never know, through to now, an empty shell of a person. If your fellow hunters could see inside you, they’d mistake you for a wanderer and put you down, like the scientists who experimented on you, your own grandmother, did years ago.

Since learning that Gran was one of the people who fucked with your heart, you have often resented that she and her colleagues weren’t successful in finishing the job years ago, when they had the chance.

But now you wonder, standing over a dark, freezing river that reflects what’s inside you now, maybe they did finish it. You just didn’t realize it. Not till tonight, as you look down in the mirror of the rushing water, far below.

Even now, the tears won’t come.

What use are tears, when they can’t bring a body back. When they can’t wash it clean. When they can’t lovingly touch it, one last time, soft strands of hair under your fingers.

Your tears, your heart, your suffering, your existence—useless, for the entirety of a life you can only half remember.

You wonder if it’s the dark, tonight. Why tonight, and not yesterday? Why not six months ago? 

Because it took that long to sever the ties binding you here?

Now you are assured, no one will miss you. It will take days before anyone even notices your absence because of your holiday leave.

You hope that they’ll assume it was a wanderer. Bad luck. Wrong time, wrong place. A modest little plaque on the wall of heroes, even though you know you’re no hero.

In the end, it doesn’t matter why it’s tonight, and not any other night.

No need to be dramatic, pretending there’s meaning in the meaningless.

You put your hands on the guardrail, the metal colder than your freezing hands. You lift a heavy booted foot. Take a deep breath. 

It’s so cold. It will be over before you know it. You’ve read that from this height, it’s the impact, and not the drowning.

You’ve always had dreams of flying. 

You lift your other foot, arms thrown wide for balance, just for a moment. The world feels so big, here at the end. The stars above, the stars below, the doubled crescent moon. You’re ready to drown in it all.

You only have one hope.

I don’t want to be reborn.

You breathe, empty your mind of Tara’s earnest smile, Xavier’s soft laughter, Zayne’s steady hands, Rafayel’s flashing violet eyes. Josephine’s empty face. Caleb’s soft, untouchable hair.

You let yourself fall.

You’re flying. Your heart is soaring. Your heart is seizing. The relief, the terror, mingle. You can’t scream, even if you wanted to.

You’re flying and it’s everything you ever dreamt, until it’s not.

Your body jerks, abruptly. Your hair whips down, lashes your face. You grunt with the impact against… nothing. You’re suspended over the water, drifting in the air. The wind tugs at your stone-weighted coat.

You twist away from the water, craning your neck to look up, up, back at the bridge.

You have withstood the uselessness of tears for almost a year now. But now, you want to cry so badly the pain of the need steals your breath.

You knew he was cruel. You knew he was merciless. You knew that he hated you. You just didn’t realize how much, until now.

You hang suspended over a dark, rushing river, wrapped in scarlet and ink tendrils, looking up into the sneering face of the one person you refused to think about as you made your final decision tonight, at the end of your desolate, half-remembered life.

His evol begins to lift you, away from the merciful impact, the numbing water. You, your past, your heart, the memories and despair and stones filling your pockets seem weightless, wrapped in his power.

His usual mask of bored indifference is gone. He is finally showing you his true face, what he must always feel when he looks at you—fury and disgust.

He says nothing, as he pulls you from the depths, back into the world. As he sets you gently back on your heavy feet on the sidewalk in front of him. His evol evaporates, winter breath in the wind.

He looks at your face with his wine-dark eyes. Looks at the water. Flicks his gaze back to your face.

You will not cry in front of this man. This man who hates you so much he won’t even let you seek the peace of death. Death, which has always been too good for you, but not for the people you loved the most.

You clench your jaw as the fire re-ignites in your chest. The flames you had tried so hard to scoop out, to leave behind.

You don’t want to feel this much anymore.

If you speak, you know you’ll cry. You can’t stand it.

Maybe, with enough repetition, he’ll get bored. He gets bored so easily, after all.

You turn, try to launch yourself over the guardrail again.

This time, it’s not his evol, but his arms that wrap around you, pull you back from the fall.

You struggle, throwing your elbows, kicking, throwing your head back, hoping to catch his perfect nose, break it under the hardness of your stupid, useless skull.

He says nothing, just holds you tighter, wraps one arm around your waist, the other over your chest, his big hand cradling the side of your face, pressing your head back into his own chest, as he hunches over you, an immovable wall of warmth. As you fight to break free of his hold, you are wrapped in his scent—cloves, gun oil. 

Sylus.

Eventually, you tire yourself out—despite all of your strength, it is no match for his. He holds you against himself easily, as you pant, lungs burning with the effort, the sweat warm once again under your Hunter’s uniform. You become aware of a whimpering, the keening of a wounded animal.

It’s coming from your throat. Your eyes burn. You go limp in his arms.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. A voice like warm liquor in your veins. You think he’ll let you go. You prepare, hoping you can get to the guardrail again. Maybe this time he won't be so fast. But instead of releasing you, getting away from you as fast as he can, the arm around your waist moves up, cradling your upper back. He scoops his other arm under your legs, holds you against himself like you’re a delicate princess, if you were anyone else. But because it’s you, he’s probably just holding you like a useless sack of shit that would be too annoying to drop. He begins to walk, his stride steady, brisk.

He looks down into your face. “I bought a dress for you. Silk. A design like stars over a flowing river. That’s the only river you’re allowed in tonight, kitten.”

You stare at him. His breath puffs white in the cold air. The face of disgusted fury is replaced by his usual bored mask.

Why is he doing this to you? He wanted to kill you, just a few months ago. Why not let you do the job for him?

He is the only person in your life who didn’t take the hint. Who kept showing up, after you made it clear that you didn’t want their presence anymore. That you couldn’t handle the ties, because ties become nooses, snapping your neck when the other person leaves you behind.

When he showed up where you were, in a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the street, on a jog, you would turn, move in the other direction. He would match your stride, doggedly pestering you with questions, asking you about your evening or weekend plans, telling you silly stories from the N109 Zone, Luke and Kieran’s latest antics. Sometimes he’d just walk in contemplative silence, thumbs hooked through his belt loops, or jog quietly next to you, never losing his breath, never complaining about the pace.

When you would routinely see him at various restaurants you were headed to in order to pick up takeout, you’d leave your food, immediately turning and hurrying away. When the same food was delivered to your door half an hour later, you’d refuse to answer, letting the confused and irritated delivery man leave. A half hour after that, the same man would be back, yell through the door that he had instructions to leave the food even if no one answered, and then he’d make good on his promise. You were faced with the choice of either letting the food go to waste, or eating it guiltily at your kitchen island.

No matter how many times you told the delivery person of the almost daily packages you received with no return address that you didn’t want to accept delivery, they would always insist that their instructions were to deliver regardless of recipient response. You were welcome to bin the items after receipt, but if you didn’t accept, the packages would just pile so high outside of your door that you couldn’t reach your apartment anymore.

You would accept, and then donate whatever exquisite item was inside to women’s shelters, children’s homes, university museums, soup kitchens, fundraiser auctions. No matter how clear it was that you wouldn’t accept anything from him, Sylus never stopped sending you gifts.

When you were sick, he’d show up personally, barge into your apartment when you were too tired to look at the doorbell camera before answering, a duffel bag gripped in his big hand filled with fever reducing medicine, homemade soup from his home chef, painkillers, hot water bottles, cooling pads, muscle pads, vitamins. He’d lounge on your couch, manspreading, insisting that he wouldn’t leave until he saw you swallow the pills and drink a gigantic glass of water.

He’d wait until you lay back down on your messy bed, until you fell asleep. He’d be gone when you woke again, but your apartment would be clean and your fridge and freezer would be stuffed full of healthy pre-prepared food.

You were half-convinced he was just buttering, fattening his prey before getting bored and mercifully ending its life.

Tonight, you are now fully convinced.

“Did your tongue freeze in your mouth?” he asks, descending the stairs you had just walked up, thinking it was your last time ascending them. “Do you need mouth-to-mouth to warm it up again?”

You scowl at him, at how appealing the idea of Sylus’s tongue in your mouth is, even now. You hate yourself, your traitorous body for being drawn to him, even now. “What’s the point of talking, when you never listen?” you grind out, your throat sore. You hadn’t realized how much your animal wailing had wrecked your throat. At least the tears are no longer so close to the surface that they’re threatening to spill.

“I listen to every word out of your beautiful mouth,” he counters serenely, with that same inexplicable kindness that makes your heart hurt. So at odds with how you know he must really feel about you. “I just listen to more than your mouth in order to hear what you’re really saying.”

“What?” You stare at his beautiful face, the way the lamplight illuminates its sharp features for a brief moment, before the night swallows it again as he moves between lampposts on his way… somewhere. Back the way you just came from.

He spares you a glance. “Your mouth says one thing, while the rest of you is screaming something else.”

You feel the blood draining from your face. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Don’t play dumb, kitten. You’re too smart for it to be convincing.”

You were just falling into the river. You were just about to be free. How did you get here again? In this man’s arms, his smug, roguish smile filling you with the unease of being seen. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little more honest about the fact that you want people to fight for you, right?”

You begin to struggle again, shame lancing through you, making your body unbearable to be in. You know it’s weak, to have wanted so desperately that the people you were carving from your life would see what you were doing and stop you, place their hands over yours holding the cleaver, gently push it down, down, until it dropped from your grasp—how desperately you wanted them to step into your space, hold you tightly, just like this man who sees right through you is holding you now. You wanted Tara to keep inviting you out with your ridiculous colleagues, to sing your heart out at shitty karaoke clubs, to forcibly drag you to sleepovers and arcade nights. You wanted Xavier to push himself into your apartment, try to bake something horrible in your oven, sheepishly offer to go to the bakery with you instead when the fire alarm inevitably went off. You wanted Zayne to walk through the crowd to reach you at the other end of the hallway after you identified Josephine’s body, to ask to take your hand, to ask how you were doing, even though you knew you wouldn’t have been able to answer. You wanted Rafayel to keep inventing excuses for you to visit his studio, to keep insisting that he needed you to accompany him to expositions and fancy lunches as his bodyguard. 

But none of them did in the end, and that’s okay. You kept pushing them away, because your terror of their leaving was apparently bigger than your need for their presence in your life, and at least if they were already gone, as they inevitably would be, you’d finally be free. 

But the last person you would want to see this utterly humiliating need inside you, exposing you like this, is the one looking down at you right now with deceptively soft, all-seeing eyes.

You know the feeling, this need, of pulling away and pulling away and then being heartbroken when people finally let you is weak, and pathetic.

You may experience weak and pathetic feelings, but you’re not weak or pathetic. Not at your core. You were prepared to do what was necessary, to save yourself from the pain of your emptiness, the fire raging inside your chest. You weren’t asking anything of anyone. You were doing it all on your own. 

Not a burden. 

Never a fucking burden. 

You clench your teeth, buck in Sylus’s arms.

He just holds you tightly, a straightjacket for the insanity that you’re feeling, the insanity of this man, out of all the people in your life, stripping you of your masks, flaying you so that all of your most tender, shameful parts are exposed to both him and yourself.

“Stop that. You’re just going to tire yourself further, when I need you tonight.”

Of course. The quid pro quo. He helped you with the auction, the Aether Core. Now you owe him. He doesn’t give a fuck if you live or die—he just can’t let one of his assets destroy itself before it fulfills his purpose.

You go limp in his arms. Turn your head away from him.

He continues his train of thought. “No, it wouldn’t kill you to tell the truth to your friends, so you decided to take matters into your own hands, huh? Telling the people in your life that you actually need them wouldn’t kill you, so why bother, right, when you can just jump off of a fucking bridge?” His voice sounds like the night you met him. Controlled anger. Disgust. Accusation.

Then there’s something wrong with her.

You thought you had killed everything inside of you already. The yearning for human connection. The kindness of a friend. Family holding you in their arms. You thought you had scooped out most of it, even as some of it rekindled when he pulled you back from the fall.

But the way you’re hurting now, at the memory of his hate, the reminder that the people you love won’t fight for you even if it would be fighting against you, and that this man, for all of his false generosity, never cared for you from the beginning, that his gifts and his visits were all what you knew them to be, all along—a bored predator toying with its prey before using it and consuming it. 

You let your thoughts drift back to the bridge, push your pain away. Feed it to the fire. When he’s done with you, maybe you won’t even have to jump.

“Just shut up, Sylus. I’ll help you with your problem tonight. Just promise me you’ll toss me over yourself, when you’re done with me,” you tell the night, because you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

He stops walking. The wind is so cold against your face. You wish he’d snap your neck, right now. You’re so fucking tired.

“Look at me.” His voice is low. Menacing.

You watch the water. Wonder how long it would take if you just walked out into it, without jumping. Just walk in with your stone-weighted coat and let the cold paralyze you, the current pull you under.

“Look at me, my heart,” he whispers. The change in his tone, his bizarre endearment, has you turning your head, looking up into his face. “That is one promise I can never make you.” He looks like he’s in pain. You don’t know why. He leans down, rests his forehead against yours, hunching his big shoulders, lifting your body in his arms so he can meet you. His breath is warm against your lips. “Please don’t talk to me like that.”

You want to snort. It’s rich, coming from him—the same man who is telling you not to tell him to shut up, after all the things he said to you as he starved you, strangled you.

“Please don’t tell me to kill you. To hurt you. That hurts me.”

You stare up into his face. See the sincerity in his eyes. The wind whips your hair. He wasn’t upset that you told him to shut up, but that you asked him to kill you? “What does it matter? Aren’t you going to, in the end?”

“Why would I stop you tonight, if I wanted you to die?”

Of course he won’t answer outright. When has Sylus Qin ever answered a direct question?

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying. Why bother stopping me, unless you just need to use me and then be done with me? I can’t be that irreplaceable. Just get someone else to put on the dress, and let me get on with my fucking life. Someone who you can train to say just the right things, at just the right time, who’ll look good in whatever fancy shit you want to put her in. There’s gotta be easier idiots than me to serve your purpose.”

He closes his eyes, breathes in the cold night air. When he opens them, you have to look away. You can’t handle whatever is in them. “I know I hurt you, when we first met. That I said cruel things to you. I’m sorry.”

You laugh, even as your heart wrenches at this strange apology. Of course he doesn’t explain what offended him so much about your existence at the beginning. Why he treated you exactly how you deserved. Probably just whatever he saw when he used his Aether Core on you. He saw the echoing chambers of your empty, fucked up heart and was enraged that it was you, and not someone worthy, who would absorb the Aether Core. “There’s never been any need to varnish the truth, Sylus. You almost choked me to death the day we met. You should have fucking finished what you started,” you sneer. “Why does no one ever finish what they start?” You think of Josephine, her researcher cronies. Think of Caleb, his promise to return, the last text he ever sent you. Your fucking parents, who you will never know.

You don’t expect an answer.

And yet, you’re surprised when Sylus wordlessly releases his hold on you. Lets you slip from his arms, sets you back on your feet. You settle in your heavy boots, the weight of your coat, the stones in your pockets, grounding you to the earth.

The lamplight shines in his silver-sheened, wind-tousled hair. His cheeks are red from the cold.

Of course. Of course.

No tool is irreplaceable.

You’re not irreplaceable.

You finally said the right thing, to push him away.

This is it. This is it. This is it. 

Your mind returns to the bridge. Your hand is holding the cleaver, dripping with the blood from the last unwelcome tether to your life.

You try to memorize his face, just as you did Zayne’s, but for some reason looking at Sylus’s face hurts you so much more despite having known him for so little time. Just a sigh, in the timeline of your life. The warm glow of his irises. The softness of his lower lip. The pride in his shoulders, his nose. 

Maybe you didn’t want to think of him before jumping because you had fallen in love with him, despite the fact that any affection he offered was counterfeit—the steady way he breathed next to you on a jog, the way he spread out on your couch, his dry humor, his intelligence, his piercing gaze, his kindness that was actually more cruel than if he had just tossed you out and never bothered to look for you again after the auction.

You knew it was fake. You knew it was calculated. You knew that the reality was, because he had told you from the very beginning—

Don’t tell me that you like me. Is this all so you can get my attention?

Clearly you’ve read too many fairytales.

And yet you had believed, in the bright moments of receiving his kind attention, in the fairytale. Just for a heartbeat. A raindrop, splattering on the ground.

You thought that you couldn’t bear to see what it looks like when Sylus finally tires of you pushing him away, and stops reaching out, as everyone else has. 

But with just a few words, you’ve finally managed to do it. He set the burden of you down, and now he’ll walk away, replace you with some other beautiful, breathing tool.

You learn in this moment that you actually can bear it. You can bear anything, as long as you know that very soon, you won’t have to bear anything at all.

“You wanted the truth?” you say, suddenly, the relief flooding through you that the worst has happened, that you’re now actually free. You think of the fabric of the dress, liquid stars over a night river, and wonder whose body it will caress, with Sylus’s big hand on her waist, his gentle fingers drifting across her collarbone, his forehead pressed against hers, for whatever ruse he needs to run tonight, on Christmas Eve.

He grows still. Watches you carefully, as if searching your face for a trick. You look back at him steadily, scooping everything inside you out, letting it splatter onto the sidewalk, here along this dark riverbank.

“Will you give it to me?” he finally asks.

“As a parting thank you gift, for cutting me loose.” You nod. Take a shuddering breath of the frigid air. “Here is me telling you the truth: you should treat the woman who ends up wearing the dress you got with more gentleness than you did me at the beginning. You could have the world eating out of the palm of your hand, if you skip the cruelty at the beginning and just treat people the way you treated me in the last few months. She’ll do anything for you, I think, if you do. Because somehow you made me love you, despite our beginning. I could bear to cut everyone else loose but you.” You laugh, and the sound is like icicles snapping, shattering on the ground. “Thank you for doing it for me, instead. It’s probably the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

You smile at him. 

You don’t know why you’re surprised that he just frowns deeply, brow furrowing. 

Well. That’s okay. You never expected him to be pleased to see your face, smiling or not.

“Good luck, Sylus.”

You turn, begin to walk back the way you came, for the second time tonight. Your thoughts are already at the bridge. You’ve been falling for months now. Soon you’ll finally hit the crystal water and shatter. 

You hope you won’t be reborn.

“You said you love me.” His deep, low voice is carried by the wind.

You stop, turn your head. “Stupid, huh?” you ask, wondering if he wants to pour salt into the wound you just willingly exposed to him.

“Why would you love someone who treated you the way I did?”

You turn fully, face him across the night, one last time. “You’re so fucking funny. I’ve always appreciated men who can make me laugh.” You shrug. “And I’m a pathetic fool. You pretended to be kind, and I lapped it up like the thirsty dog I am.”

He tilts his head, takes a step towards you. “That’s all?”

You take a step back. You don’t need him and his pretty face, his delicious scent any closer to torment you.

You offer him more truth. “Of course not.”

“What else?”

You sigh. “What does it matter? We’ll never see each other again.”

He shakes his head. “Indulge me.”

So salt, it is. You press your fingers into the most tender part of yourself, peel yourself wide open. “Your cleverness. How sweet you can be when you want something—strangely pliant, for such a big, powerful man. The self confidence you have. I could say, do anything and you did so well pretending to never be embarrassed of me. You made me believe, very briefly, that you really wanted to be with me, do anything, go anywhere, just because I was there. It’s quite impressive, really. I can see why you’re so good at business. You’re competent. You’re beautiful to look at.” You pause, shake your head in turn. “But you already know all that. You know why you’re loveable. You made me feel cherished in a way that no one ever has, even as I was pushing you away. But honestly, those are just parts of you. They don’t fully cover what it is about you that makes my heart ache when I look at you. I love you because you’re you. Even hearing your name makes my heart race. Seeing your shoes in my foyer, because they were on your feet. The curve of your wrist, because it belongs to you. I know it’s pathetic, and stupid.” You shrug again. “Can’t help it, though.”

He stares at you. 

You prod him. “Is that enough?”

“How can you ask if that’s enough, when it’s everything?”

You look at him in confusion. “Huh?”

He takes a step towards you, frowning. “Are you only telling me all this because you think I’ve finally given up and allowed you to push me away, because I set you back on your feet?”

You take a step back, as he takes another step forward.“What do you mean ‘I think’ you’ve given up?” You squint at him.

“Did you only tell me all this because you’re going straight back to the bridge to try again?”

You take another step back at the intensity of his face, his question. “What does it matter? You don’t have to worry about what happens to me after this.”

He takes two steps. “You tell me you love everything about me, and then you plan to fuck off and leave me alone again?”

Okay, this was a mistake. You don’t know why he’s mad, but he’s mad again. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what else to say. You’ve been sorry your whole life. This is yet another miscalculation. You should have just left. What did you think would happen if you told him how you feel? That he’d be happy about your pathetic heart bleeding pitifully for him?

He strides over to you, his long legs outpacing your own. “If you’re sorry, don’t fucking do it.”

“What?”

He looks down into your face, so close you can smell him again, you can see the fine lines around his eyes as he frowns. “If you’re really sorry for loving me, for ever meeting me—which are the only things you have to be sorry for, then make it up to me by staying. Don’t leave me. Don’t push me away anymore. Just stay, and love me.”

You huff. “Are you really that desperate for help tonight?”

He lifts his hands, places his palms on your cheeks, his long fingers dipping into your hair. “No, I’m desperate for you tonight. It’s Christmas—I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do. I want to spend it with you. You made me watch you jump off of a goddamned bridge. What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?” He sounds so upset. You’ve never seen him like this. The fear is naked on his lovely face.

“What the fuck are you talking about? What does it matter? You said you could get someone else for the dress, for tonight.” You’re so confused. Why is he acting like this?

“I didn’t say any of that. You suggested that I replace you with someone else, I set you on the ground to make sure you were looking at my face, that you were listening to my words when I told you that you’re irreplaceable. That no one else will do. That after watching you almost die, I can’t continue being cautious and trying not to frighten you away anymore.”

“You… what?” 

“You love me. Right? You weren’t lying?” he looks uncertain, like he can’t quite believe it.

You can’t bring yourself to lie. The truth is out. You’re witnessing the fallout. There’s no point in backpedaling. “Yeah.”

He nods, once, decisively. “Okay. That’s enough.”

You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll let you go, finally, finally.

He checks his chunky watch, the platinum flashing in the lamplight. “There’s still time.”

“Time for what?”

“For my plans tonight. Come.” He closes the distance, sweeps you into his arms again, cradles your body against him like something fragile.

“What plans? Listen—” you start to argue.

“No. Now it’s my turn to speak, and for you to listen.” he squeezes you tightly. “Today was the last day you spend alone. If you can’t live for yourself, then you can live for me, until you remember why you want to live for yourself again. No matter what you say, or what you do to get rid of me, it’s not going to work.”

You can’t even process what is happening. “What are you—?” you begin, but he cuts you off again.

His voice is strained, rough. “You love me. So you have to take responsibility. You have to stay.”

You don’t know what to say. 

I’m desperate for you tonight.

You can’t believe this. He hates you. He has hated you from the beginning. He was so kind to you because he wanted to use you for something he never bothered explaining to you. He needs you for your resonance, your amplification of his powers.

You’re irreplaceable. No one else will do.

Because of your resonance?

I don’t give a shit about the holidays, but I know you do.

He carries you along the wind-swept riverbank, through the frigid night. Stars above, stars below.

You made me watch you jump off a goddamned bridge.

You didn’t think anyone was left to care.

You were so careful, severing ties like arteries, so that you wouldn’t leave the world with more pain than you found it. It was already bleeding so much.

You just were so tired of bleeding with it.

As if sensing the turn of your thoughts, Sylus carries you to the edge of the river’ embankment, where the concrete falls away, drops into the water.

He sets you down again, but doesn’t let you go. His big hands slide down the outside of your coat, dip into your pockets.

He pulls out a smooth stone. Turns it in his hands.

“I’ll never understand how someone so light can weigh so heavily in me,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.”

His ember eyes flick back to yours. He hands you the stone.

“This is your conviction that the world won’t miss you, if you’re gone. You will hold it in your hand, one last time. And then you will throw it in the water.” He wraps your cold fingers around the stone. Somehow, his fingers are still warm.

You grasp it, look up into his face. You see yourself in them. It hurts, to be seen so clearly. You’re so ashamed. “How did you know?”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head a little. Opens them. “I looked into your soul, the day we met. I know you’re too soft-hearted in this life to kill yourself if you thought it would hurt someone else. You don’t carry that spite, anymore.”

In this life.

Anymore.

You can’t bring yourself to ask him what he means. You only know that once again, Sylus Qin has seen inside you, has seen you, in a way no one else ever has.

“But I don’t think anyone would miss me. I made sure of it.”

He huffs. “You’re a fool, if you actually believe that. The people you’ve pushed away still love you. But if you can’t believe that yet, then you can’t pretend to yourself that you’re disposable anymore, if for no other reason than I’m standing here now, telling you that I would miss you.”

You think of Tara, sitting on your desk, nudging a steaming latte she got for you on her way to work toward you, asking if you’ve heard the latest about Simone and Andrew.

You think of Xavier, walking you to your door at the end of a nasty wanderer encounter, reaching out, brushing a bit of mud off your cheek, then smearing it across his own cheek. See, we match now.

You think of Zayne, waiting across a busy hallway, patient, letting you choose to approach him, and respecting you by letting you walk away.

You think of Raf, the beauty he shares with you with every photo, the funny strings of emoji that don’t demand an answer.

“How do you know, that they would miss me?” you ask Sylus quietly.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, sweetie. Do you think I haven’t seen your friends’ faces when you walk away from them?”

You clutch the stone in your hand. “I don’t think I can change my thoughts, my conviction, just like that.”

“You love me, so you have to try. Throw it. Every time you try to drag it back up, I’ll remind you that you threw it away, and you can let it stay at the bottom of the river.” He reaches up, caresses your cheek with his fingertips.

You want to cry. You want to cry, because you’re so afraid. If you let yourself believe that people love you, you have to stay, for them. You have to feel, every day, the weight of grief, of existence, the pain of being alive, of being inside yourself, your body. The hollowness will return, even with your friends, even with Sylus filling most of it.

It’s like he can read your thoughts as his eyes devour your face, as his fingers tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I won’t let you pretend, anymore. You love me, and I will not survive if you aren’t here with me. So you have to stay. We don’t have to accept that life is a curse. We can fight back. Make it something better.”

“I’m scared,” you say.

His eyes are so tender, as he watches your mouth form your biggest truth, set it free in the night. “I will protect you, until you can protect yourself again. There’s nothing to be afraid of, if we’re together.”

You want to believe him. Your heart beats painfully behind your ribs. The moon is a sharp crescent in the sky. 

But you’re a weight I’ll carry for as long as you let me.

“You’ll really stay?”

He finally smiles, a faint Sylus smile that feels like a grin. “I told you. Today was the last day you’ll ever be alone. You can’t get rid of me now, no matter what you do, or say.”

You turn, holding the stone in your cold hands. You think of all the lies you’ve been telling yourself, about your friends, your place in their lives, because you were so tired of living with an unnameable grief, one you carried inside you long before Caleb and Josephine died, but whose loss compounded, made unbearable the original sorrow.

And I will not survive if you aren’t here with me.

You don’t know why he feels this way. Does he love you too? He hasn’t said so. Can he even love you, in the way you love him?

Does it matter? 

It’s enough, that he says he’ll stay. That he wants you to stay alive. That he’ll help remind you, when the whispers drift back in your mind, telling you that you’re just a burden, that no one actually loves you, would miss you when you’re gone. When the hollowness echoes so loudly it’s all you can hear.

You lean back, lift the stone, throw it as hard as you can, as far as you can, into the rushing river.

You don’t hear its splash over the wind.

You turn back to Sylus.

He dips into your pocket again. Pulls out another stone. “Your guilt, for having lived. For having been born.”

You take it from him. Let your mind drift. Feel along the contours of your memories, the jagged, missing pieces, all the way back to when it fades to black. You throw the stone.

You don’t see it sink to the riverbed.

He dips into your pocket again. “Your shame, for needing others. For being human, and imperfect. For not being able to do it all alone. For wanting to be loved.”

You take the stone. “Is it really okay?” you ask, helplessly. There’s no point pretending everything he is saying isn’t true. “To want these things, when I haven’t earned them?”

He steps closer to you. Places his hands on your shoulders, draws you in. “There is no okay, or not okay. There is no crime and punishment, no transgression, no sin. How can it be shameful, to want what you were born to want? Why does love have to be earned, instead of just given?”

You lean into him, press your face into his chest, his thick wool coat soft against your skin.

“I don’t know.”

He reaches into your pocket, places a stone in your other hand. “One for your shame, one for the idea that love must be earned. Throw them.”

You lean back again, and it’s already too far away from him. But you throw each stone, and they disappear under the cold water.

“That’s enough, for now. We’ll take the rest home.” He draws you back into his arms. Lifts you without effort, stone-filled pockets and all. The weight of all of you.  “When you have thoughts of shame, of guilt, of not being loved, we’ll come back. You’ll throw them again. Until they’re all gone. We’ll gather other stones, when other feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.”

Sylus carries you along the path back to the road that snakes along the river. His motorcycle gleams under a bright lamppost.

He settles a helmet on your head, checks to make sure it’s secure. Puts his own on. You sit behind him, cling to him. Rest your head against his broad back, close your eyes. The motorcycle is loud, and he drives it carefully through the busy, holiday bustling streets, until he reaches your apartment building. He holds your hand as he leads you through the front doors, as he stands quietly beside you in the elevator, his red, warm eyes never leaving your face in the elevator mirrors. He leads you to your front door, waits patiently while you unlock it with your cold finger.

In the hallway, he kneels at your feet, unlaces your tall boots while you look down at him, the soft fall of his silver hair, his big, nimble fingers working the laces.

He then removes his own boots. His coat. He’s wearing a garishly bright Christmas sweater, with prancing reindeer. He hangs his coat on a peg in the wall. He turns, slowly unzips yours. Eyes flicking between the zipper and your face. He gently lifts it from your body, again like it’s weightless, even though it’s still filled with stones. He pulls it from your arms, hangs it next to his.

He pulls you further into your place.

The first thing you notice is the warmth. It’s so warm, like someone came in while you were gone and turned on the heating.

The next thing you notice is the Christmas tree. The one you didn’t get this year, because the thought of the holidays without Caleb and your grandmother was unbearable.

Beautifully, tastefully decorated. Silver and gold, twinkling lights. Its pine scent fills your place.

Sylus moves to a record player on one of the cabinets along your living room wall. A record player that wasn’t here before you went to work today. He fiddles with the arm, and suddenly Joni Mitchell’s River fills your house.

It’s coming on Christmas

They’re cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He walks back to you. “Is this okay?”

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

Whoa I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The music flows around you, paralyzing you. You stare into his face, into the warm glow of his eyes. How could you have missed this? The way he’s looking at you now? Through all the long months since the auction?

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

Oh, I wish I had a river I could skate away on

The words wash over you, through you. The scent of pine warms you, memories without form filling you with the sense of home, safety, love.

I made my baby cry

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

Now I've gone and lost the best baby

That I ever had

Oh I wish I had a river I could skate away on

He takes your hands in his, thumbs across your skin. “Is it too much?”

You think of how cold it was, standing on the guardrail of the bridge. 

You were running toward the bridge, while Sylus was filling your home with warmth.

What would have happened if I hadn’t already been on my way to you?

You think of him spreading out on your couch, as a fever raged through your body. You think of your freezer, filled with food. You think of the takeout boxes, still steaming, sitting in front of your closed door.

You think of him hanging delicate ornaments on a fragrant tree. 

I made my baby cry

You shake your head, the enormity of what almost happened filling you. The enormity of the choice you made, that you enacted, until Sylus pulled you back from the rushing dark.

You start to shake.

“Kitten?”

“It’s not too much,” you say, teeth chattering. “It’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stares down at you, seems to make a decision. “Shower. Now.”

You nod, moving away from him, but he follows. 

Inside your small bathroom, he takes up the entire space. He peels off your hunter’s uniform, tosses it beyond the open bathroom door. His gaze flicks from your undershirt, your underwear, to your face. “Do you want me to leave?”

You think of the dark water, an impact that never came. Sylus plugging in the record player, choosing a record with one of your favorite Christmas songs on it. Placing it delicately on the turntable.

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again.”

He smiles a little. “I mean, leave the bathroom.”

“No. You promised you’d never leave me alone again,” you repeat.

He stares into your eyes. Nods. Lifts your undershirt. He reaches behind you, unhooks your bra with the same agility that he unlaced your boots. He lifts it from your body, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales.

You shiver.

He tosses the bra behind him. Kneels. Pulls your underwear from your hips, down your legs. You step out of them. He stands again.

He leans over, his ridiculous, festive sweater soft against your cheek, as he reaches past you to turn on the shower faucet. As he messes with the knobs until steam begins to fill the small space. He nudges you forward, past the sliding glass door and into the small shower cabin, letting the hot water pour over you. You turn, watch him through the clear glass. He picks up your underwear, watches you as he lifts it to his nose, inhales as he did with your bra. His eyes close for a moment, and then open. He tucks the little slip of fabric into his pants pocket, sits on the closed toilet, rests his elbows on his knees, and continues to watch you.

You let the hot water flow over your tired, cold body. You stare at Sylus’s face, let it fill your vision, blot out the rushing river, the impact that never came, the idea of everything you would have missed, if he hadn’t pulled you out. Everything you would have missed, in such a short amount of time. What else would you miss, if he hadn’t caught you? If he could give you so much within an hour, how much would you have missed in a day? In a week?

What have you been fighting, this whole time? 

Just yourself. 

You think of the stones at the bottom of the riverbed, instead of your body. Your conviction that you’re not loved, your guilt, your shame, instead of you.

You stare at the man who handed you each one, and told you to get rid of them, instead of yourself. The man sitting in your tiny bathroom, filling it with his big body, his even bigger presence, staring at you, staring at him.

You stop shaking.

Reach for the body wash, lather your hands. Run your hands along your body, under your armpits. He frowns, eyes on your hands. You palm your breasts, dip between your legs.

He lowers his head, eyes still on your hands, rests his full lips on his long steepled fingers.

You finish lathering your body, let the water wash it away. He’s too far away, even this close, on the other side of the glass.

As you turn off the water, he stands, lifts one of your towels from the rack. Holds it out for you. You step into it, him, let him wrap it around you. He turns you both, so that you’re looking in the bathroom mirror, which is mostly fogged.

“Better?” he asks.

You nod, soaking in his warmth at your back, the steam of the bathroom. 

You have a question, a question you can’t bring yourself to say out loud yet.

You reach out with one hand. Trace a finger through the fogged mirror.

Sylus watches you, resting his chin on your shoulder. 

Letters, a question.

Do you like me? Circle yes or no

Sylus smiles again, lifts an eyebrow. He reaches out, takes your hand in his. He circles no with your finger.

You frown, heart sinking, but Sylus just whispers, “Patience, kitten,” and flattens your palm across like. Guides your finger again, just above the erased like, drags it through the moisture in an elegant script.

love

He then gently sets your hand down. Lifts his own, circles with one long finger, yes.

He watches your reaction in the mirror.

You had no idea.

This whole time, you had no idea, even though he was showing you, with every ‘chance’ encounter, his pestering you with questions about work, life, his silly stories about the N109 Zone. His packages at your door. Fever medication, a big glass of water shoved into your hands.

You think of the rushing water, what almost happened. What you almost missed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me believe you still hated me?”

He looks down at you now, away from your reflection in the mirror. His eyes trail your face, down your curved neck. He palms the back of your neck, his thumb drifting along the side, over a mole there.

“Have you heard of the myth that where we have moles is where someone kissed us in a past life?”

Even if so much has changed between you in just the last few hours, you’re reassured that Sylus Qin still can’t answer a straightforward question with a straightforward answer.

You shake your head. “No, I had never heard of that.”

Sylus smiles, and it looks a little sad. He leans down, presses the softest of kisses against your skin, the mole there. “Like most human legends, it’s a pretty lie. Not quite true.”

You laugh. “I could have guessed as much.” You tilt your neck, enjoying the press of his warm lips on your skin for the first time.

He opens his mouth, runs his teeth over where he just kissed you. Bites, gently.

You shiver again. Press your neck into, instead of away from his teeth.

He bites harder.

You gasp.

“I was afraid I’d frighten you with the enormity of my feelings for you, when in your mind, we’d only just met,” he murmurs against your neck, his saliva, the indentation of his teeth hot on your skin.

He bites again, presses himself into your ass through the towel. You realize he’s hard.

You forget about the last part of his sentence. Had you not only just met?

You lift your hands, let the towel unfurl from around your body, let it drop to the floor.

You almost died tonight.

What have you been fighting this whole time?

Just yourself. 

He tried hard to help me

You know, he put me at ease

You turn in his arms. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink.

“You love me?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them. Shakes his head. “Love isn’t intense enough.”

“Adore me?” You lift your arms, wrap them around his neck. Pull his face closer to your own.

He shakes his head again. “Still not enough.”

“You won’t survive without me?” You lift on your toes, his soft sweater almost unbearable against your sensitive nipples.

He nods. “You’re getting closer. Can’t breathe without you. When I saw you jump…” He swallows, thickly. “You might as well have pulled me down with you, beloved. If it ever gets to be too much again, take me with you. I’ll never leave you alone again. Promise me the same,” he demands, big, calloused hands running up your naked sides, the fabric of his dark jeans rough against your body, where your thighs meet, as he helplessly nudges against you again with his hips, his hard dick behind his zipper.

I'm so hard to handle

I'm selfish and I'm sad

“I wouldn’t have known, unless you told me,” you breathe against his lips. “Promise that you’ll tell me how you’re feeling from now on, and I’ll promise to take you with me if I can’t leave the stones in the riverbed, even with you here.”

His voice is deep, rough like the fabric of his pants against your sensitive skin. “Deal.” He closes the distance, presses his soft lips to yours. Licks into your mouth.

And he loved me so naughty

Made me weak in the knees

His hands drift down your sides as his tongue dips into your throat, as he swallows your noises of pleasure, just from kissing him, his hands on you. He grips your ass, urges your legs around his waist. He carries you out of the tiny, steaming bathroom, manages not to knock you against the doorway, or into any furniture on the way to your bedroom, even as he continues to kiss you, as your hands in his soft hair probably block his peripheral view. He lays you down on your bed, the puff of your duvet. It’s so warm in your place that you’re not even shivering. You watch as he pulls his cheerful sweater and undershirt over his head, tosses them to the floor. As he unzips himself, hastily yanks down his pants and boxers, his socks. He blankets you with his big body.

You wrap your arms around him, pull him tightly to you, arch your breasts into his chest. He leans down, runs his nose along your cheek, inhales the scent of your hair at your temple. You just feel each other, for a long stretch of time. His soft chest hair against your skin, the silken skin of his dick between your thighs where he just leisurely rubs himself against you, as your palms run down the muscles of his back, the line of his spine. You’ve refused to think of him like this, ever since he wrapped his hand around your throat. You couldn’t bear his beauty, through all the long months that followed. You fled, every time your heart raced at the flash of silver as he approached you, met you where you were, over and over and over.

But now he says he has loved you, through it all. That he’ll never leave you alone again.

You let yourself feel him, under your hands, under your tongue, as you lick into his ear, feel him shiver. As you squeeze your thighs together, offering him a tight, snug space for him to keep pleasuring himself, as you feel your own wetness begin to coat your inner thighs, his cock, the longer you feel him on top of you, inhale the scent of his skin, the ever-present gun oil, the cloves, his clean sweat underneath it all.

After a lifetime, or only a few minutes, he leans down, says softly into your ear. “I want you. Tell me you want me too.”

“Can’t you tell?” you ask, bucking a little, squeezing him with your legs again.

He makes a low, pleasured sound in his throat. “I want to hear you say it. You’ve gone through a lot tonight. I need to know you actually want this. That you’re not just—” his breath hitches, as you move your hips again, as his dick slips between your wet, soft places. “That you’re not too tired to say otherwise, not thinking straight.”

“Use your Aether Core on me. Then you’ll know that my body is telling you what my mouth would, if I said the words.” You smile at him, teasing. 

I wish I had a river so long

I would teach my feet to fly

You had wanted to fly. You had settled for flying for a brief moment, before shattering. 

But Sylus is offering you constant flight, under, over, along his crow’s wings.

You think of the rushing water. The tide of cars behind you, the wind whipping your hair. You almost missed this. You don’t want to waste any more time.

He lowers his forehead to yours, breathes, speaks against your saliva-slick lips with his own. “I don’t want to use my Aether Core on you. I want the words in your mouth, in your heart. I want your free will, your freely given consent. I almost lost you because I tried to force you, at the beginning. You believed I hated you, this whole time. Don’t ask me to force you again, my heart.”

You understand. You accept his request, his demand. “I want you, Sylus.”

He exhales, shifts above you, slips his wet cock between your legs, slides into your body with gentle, firm, graceful waves of his hips.

You whine, the feeling of fullness layering into the pleasure of the warmth of his skin, the taste of his tongue. For once, the feelings inside you threatening to burst out of your skin are so good, instead of painful, so pleasurable, that you can barely stand it. 

He kisses you, his velvet tongue big, heavy in your mouth. You suck, whine again as he lifts a hand, palms your breast, begins to thrust into you.

You are filled with him. His warmth. The size of him.

You widen your legs, wrap them around his thick ass. Urge him with your own body to move faster, to fuck you harder. He gives you everything you want. Just the pressure of his body against yours has you coming, the release bright, sudden—you shake with it.

Your pleasure seems to trigger his. He grunts, roots into you, buries his teeth in your neck, bites where he bit you before, over the mole on your neck. The sting makes you clench, and he whimpers, groans, comes with a jerk of his hips.

He slows, still filling you, still pleasuring you, as he lifts his head to look into your eyes.

You stare at each other, breath mingling, warm between you. 

You smile at him. 

He smiles at you. Nudges your nose with his.

“Can we do that again?” you ask.

He laughs, low and surprised. “Yeah,” he says, kissing you softly. “Just tell me, and I’m yours, anytime, anyplace.”

“I’m telling you.” You move your hips, feel his cum drip drown your ass. Feel him gasp at your movement.

“Now?” He’s surprised again.

“Problem?” you grin at him. 

“Fuck no.” He kisses you, hard. Slips out of you. Flips you over, lifts your hips with one big hand, pressing his other between your shoulder blades.

He presses his cock back between your legs, the slide easy and wet, and fucks you until you come again, until he blankets your back with his sweat-slicked, matted-hair chest.

“Was that enough, your highness?” he teases.

“I’m telling you,” you pant, wondering what he’ll do. 

“As you wish,” he murmurs, before flipping you again. Before watching your face as he slowly, leisurely works himself, his cum into you, makes you come again. 

In the morning, the sky through your windows is heavy, dark, gray. You wake slowly. Turn your head, find Sylus’s sleeping face next to yours on the pillow. He’s lying on his stomach. You take in the dark sweep of his lashes, his generous mouth, slightly parted.

You slip out of the bed, use the bathroom. You wander into the living room, gaze at the Christmas tree, its twinkling lights.

It’s Christmas.

Caleb and your grandmother are dead. 

But you’re still alive.

Your body aches from Sylus’s efforts, but it feels good. For once, it feels good to be inside your body. To breathe deeply.

You think of riverstones, sinking deep in the riverbed.

You know that the feelings tied to them will try to rise, clawing to the surface again.

We’ll gather other stones, when your feelings make life unbearable. I’ll come with you, as many times as you need.

Your eyes drift to the top of the Christmas tree. It’s empty.

“I thought we should finish it together.” Sylus’s warm arms wrap around you from behind. He leans over your shoulder, kisses your cheek softly. “Do you want to do the honors?”

You smile, wrapping your hands over his forearms around your waist. “You’re taller.”

“Use me as much as you like, kitten.” He turns, grabs a pretty golden glass tree-topper from your kitchen table, hands it to you. He lifts you up onto one shoulder, easily, and you fit it gently over the highest point of the tree. He holds you against him, as he lowers you. You slide along his body, until he sets you gently on your feet again.

You both stand, admiring it for a moment. It’s beautiful, like the rest of the decorations.

You hug him, look up into his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sylus.”

He smiles down at you, ruby eyes twinkling with reflected light from the tree. 

You would have missed this moment, and all the moments like it, if Sylus hadn’t stopped you last night. You shudder, hug him more tightly. 

You know your feelings will return. That no one person can solve a lifetime of wounds. But you promised him that you’d try. That you’d stay. You can only do your best.

You hear your phone vibrating, reluctantly pull away from him, head to your coat in the hallway where you thought you left it last night, but Sylus stops you. He points at your kitchen island. Your phone is lying on the counter. You look at him in confusion, but go to check it.

You’re shocked at how many missed texts you have.

From Tara.

Xavier.

Your eyes widen.

Zayne, who you thought you had blocked, months ago.

Rafayel, who you’re sure you blocked last night.

Each one is a response from a text you never sent. Telling them Merry Christmas. Telling them you love them. Telling them you hope to spend time with them soon.

None of them shame you, call you out on your behavior of the last year. Even Zayne simply suggests that you try a new bakery, that you’ve been in his thoughts, that he’s relieved you felt comfortable enough to reach out. Rafayel sends a bunch of firework emojis, suggests blowing shit up on the beach for New Year’s.

You turn to Sylus.

He looks steadily back at you, silver hair sleep-tousled, wine-bright eyes glowing.

Your eyes feel hot, and you realize you’re crying, the tears fat on your cheeks, dripping down your neck. 

This is the first time you’ve cried since you woke up, your ears deafening, Caleb’s necklace bright in the reflected fire.

Sylus walks over to you. Leans down, licks the tears from your cheeks with his warm tongue, one after the other. He kisses you, ignoring your suddenly snotty nose, your morning breath.

“If it’s too much, we can take it slow. We can throw more stones in the river. But please answer your friends. You need them. And you’re a fool, if you can’t see that they need you too, if that makes you feel better about your own need.”

You continue to cry as you wrap your arms around Sylus’s neck. As he gently sways with you, to music that isn’t playing. He hums, and you think it’s Joni Mitchell’s The River, but you can’t be sure. You smile against his chest.

A thought occurs to you.

“Last night, you said there was still time. That you had plans for us, a pretty dress for me. What did we miss?”

Sylus sighs, holds you closer against himself. “Don’t worry about it.”

You stop, look up into his face. “What did you have planned, Sylus? Are you sorry we missed it?”

He smiles at you. “Oh yes, so sorry I got to spend all night fucking you instead of going to a holiday concert featuring the organ.” His voice drips sarcasm. “But we can go tonight, if you’d like to make it up to me.”

You laugh, bury your face back into his chest. “And here I had planned to suck your cock while watching a black and white Christmas film marathon tonight,” you say forlornly. You smile into his chest as he chokes. “Oh well, the concert it is.”

He just laughs, rich and deep, and continues to sway you slowly in your living room.

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Sylus says against your hair, in your pine scented apartment, as snow begins to fall outside your windows, as your phone continues to vibrate, filled with the love of your friends.

Here you are. Again.

You’re so grateful, to be here, again.

[eridanusco]

All grown up

characters: Megumi Fushiguro

relationships: Megumi x Reader

summary: Childhood bff Megumi decides he’s had enough- why don’t you know you’re his? He’ll just have to show you, and your pretty virgin pussy too.

warnings: MDNI! (18+), very little plot, pwp, smutty smut, cunnilingus, nipple play, dacryphylia if you squint, afab!reader, virgin!reader, PIV intercourse, should child Megumi be a warning?, aged up character (18), size kink is kinking, idk if soft dom applies but I’m putting it here anyways

author’s note: This slithered into my brain and wouldn’t leave. feedback is always welcome :)

“Sh, you can take it,” Megumi murmurs, his thumb stroking your lip softly before pressing in, the pad of it running across your tongue. “That’s it, pretty baby. You’re being so good for ‘gumi, y’know that?”

Megumi’s broad shoulders block your vision, his muscular frame dwarfing you as he leans on a forearm planted beside your head. He watches as tears prick the corners of your eyes to track down the apples of your cheeks, leaning down to trace the tracks with his tongue.

How did you get here? Growing up with Megumi as your best friend wasn’t a walk in the park- meeting at a tender age of five, you hid behind your Aunt Shoko’s legs as she and Gojo tried to spark a friendship for their respective wards. Megumi was a little quiet, a little snarky as your friendship blossomed, always having an opinion on everything you did. Despite it all, you became fast friends, your names becoming synonymous by your middle school years. Megumi and you, you and Megumi- there was no one else, no other friends allowed, and you both made sure of that in your own ways.

Megumi, rude to every boy that tried to befriend you, tore them down with a bored tone and an expression that conveyed how lackluster he found them. You were a little more of a brat- you pushed girls off of swings and lunchroom benches if they dared to try and befriend your ‘gumi.

You and Megumi were freshmen in college, meeting at his apartment for dinner- the apartment he hated, but Gojo insisted on, having dramatically broken down as he vowed that no son of his would ever live in a dorm. As Megumi opened the door, you had been stopped by a neighbor of his- a fairly handsome boy, also newly eighteen, with blonde hair and a height difference that made your neck hurt. A friendly conversation, until Megumi dragged you into his apartment, his mouth in a flat line and his eyes angry. It didn’t take long before he’d stripped you of your clothes, lips and teeth trailing along every inch of skin he bared.

He shushes you again as you whine for him, “s’too- too big, gumi!” He rolls his hips gently, tilting to rub his nose along hers. “Not too big, baby. You’re a big girl, aren’t you? Keep takin’ it, just like that.”

The skin of his chest sticks to yours as he withdraws his thumb, running it down your arm to grasp your hand and pin it to the sheets above your heads with entwined fingers. A dark smile spreads slowly over his lips as you whimper, pressing deeper. “See? That wasn’t so- hah- hard, was it baby?” He asked as his rhythm sped up.

Whining, your free hand rakes down his back, nails leaving trails of fire that cause his hips to snap sharply. “Fuck,” he groans, forehead dropping to yours. He uses his whole body to rock into you, defined muscles of his abdomen clenching as the bed creaks. “Greedy lil’ thing, can’t - ngh- help yourself, huh?”

Sticky sweetness drips from your messy cunt down Megumi’s cock, pooling at his base in a creamy ring. He shifts to his knees, hands spreading your thighs as he takes in the sight with a low groan. He can’t help but swipe a thumb over your clit roughly, shoving his aching cock into you as you keen.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he grunts, almost to himself. “Sucking me in so good, so pretty.”

The hand not rubbing you caresses down your waist and over your hip, fingers gripping tightly enough to leave imprints when he moves to grab your knee and press it up, open over his hip. “Sh, baby girl. ‘Gumi’s got you. You’re doin’ so- ” He cuts off with a curse, eyes clenching shut as he shifts up and forward, grinding down against you in a way that has you both stuttering against each other. "Mm, fuu-uhck," he swears through his teeth. Your gummy walls tighten around him, drool seeping from the corners of your mouth as his fat tip bullies your g-spot, the rhythmic tightening of your cunt almost milking him.

“Hngh- ‘gumi!” You cry, a trembling hand lifting and tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging him down.

He grunts softly, hips stuttering as you thread your fingers through his sweaty locks before complying easily and dropping his head to yours, lips pressing against your neck. He peppers a trail of kisses up to your ear before nipping the lobe in a way that has your fingers curling against his scalp, sharp white teeth dragging over skin and causing your leg to jerk in his hold.

"That’s it, pretty baby," he hums in a soft rumble against your throat. "You like that, huh? You like it when I play with you a little rough?" You whine desperately, a plea for more, for everything. “Gumi- m’so close, please!” You warn, pressing your head back into the pillows, your back arching.

He chuckles lowly into your skin, lips curving into a smirk as you shiver, nodding. “Thought so,” he murmurs in amusement, trailing more tender kisses along the column of your neck.

His hands span your waist as he shifts back on his knees, holding you in a mean arch as his thighs tense with each mind-numbing pump of his hips.

With a low moan, he fucks into you, forcing a high, needy whine from your throat as you lift your arms to grip onto his biceps, fingers digging into the muscle. "Slutty pussy’s gonna come on my cock, yeah?” He manages to grunt. You cry out, your thighs trembling as you quickly approach your peak. “Pleasepleaseplease!” You whine.

Megumi grins at your eager response, hips snapping harder and faster, the wet squelch of flesh filling the air. “Gonna fill this pretty pussy up,” he groans, his gaze fixed on his swollen cock disappearing into your weeping cunt. He reaches again between your bodies, fingers seeking out your swollen clit. With a knowing look, he starts rubbing firm circles around it, twisting slightly to apply pressure. “Come on, baby,” he coaxes, voice husky with lust. “Soak me, lemme feel how bad you wanna be good for me. Pussy’s so tight, feel you squeezing me.”

You sob as everything goes white, your ears ringing and hands scrabbling at the sheets underneath you. That’s all it takes for Megumi to lose it, aching cock pistoning into your gushing heat as his head falls back on a groan, Adam’s apple bobbing deliciously. You feel the warmth of his come flooding you, dripping obscenely from your still twitching walls as he slumps over you, burying his face into your neck.

You both catch your breath, your hands threading through his hair to stroke soothingly as he presses panting kisses to the hollow of your throat. “Greedy girl,” he breathes, nipping at the sensitive skin before pressing his cheek to your chest. You huff an amused breath from your nose, tugging lightly on his inky locks in retaliation. You lay together, sticky and dripping, letting the silence blanket you. It takes him a few moments but he pulls out, hissing a breath as your walls try to suck him back in.

“Told you,” he murmurs, amused. “Greedy pussy.” He presses a kiss to your collarbone before shifting down, trailing his lips across your skin until he’s able to wrap his tongue around a pebbled nipple, a content hum rattling in his chest. He glances up at you, eyes filled with amused desire, as you inhale sharply, fingers clenching around his strands.

“What- ‘gumi, what are you doing?” You breathe, eyes drooping into a half-lidded stare. He doesn’t respond, flattening his tongue to drag over your nipple until you’re restlessly shifting under him. He pays attention to your other neglected bud until you’re whimpering, only pausing to move further down your body, nasty, open mouthed kisses being pressed to your stomach.

“Gumi?” You ask again, propping on your elbows. He’s settled between your legs, big hands gripping and dimpling the plush skin of your thighs. “Lay down, baby,” he urges softly, staring at the way your combined fluids drip obscenely from your swollen cunt. “Gonna clean you up.”

“Megumi, no!” You exclaim softly, face flushing. You lean on an elbow, your other hand coming to gently push his head away. He grabs your hand, squeezing warningly before pinning it to the bed beside your thigh. That’s all the warning you get before he’s burying his face into your cunt, breathing in and groaning in a way that makes your stomach flip and your face flame. Your head drops to the pillows, a soft gasp leaving your mouth as he flattens his tongue and licks a hot stripe from your filthy hole to your clit.

Megumi eats you with a single-minded intensity, drawing back to spit on your puffy clit before diving back in. His tongue presses into you, thrusting like he wishes it was his cock again to draw out any remaining fluids. “Gumi- ‘gumi, fuck!” You moan. “Please- please s’too much, too sensitive, ohmygod!”

He ignores you, stiffening the pink muscle to thrust even deeper into you before moving to your clit, sucking it into his mouth as his hips rut into the bedding. Tears prick at your closed lids, the stimulation bordering on painful for your poor, dripping cunt. Your sniffling and whimpering make his cock throb, his hips thrusting against the sheets desperately as his hands yank your thighs apart until they’re almost flat to the mattress. All it takes is his tongue lapping one, twice, the hint of teeth pressing against your clit and you’re keening, cunt pulsing around nothing. Megumi can’t help but groan, his cock spurting underneath him as his nails dig into your thighs.

He drops his forehead to your soft skin, catching his breath before climbing up to lay beside you. He draws you into his arms, shaky fingers tracing your spine. “Give me ten minutes,” he mutters hoarsely into your hair, “and I want you on my face.”

You barely have the presence of mind to register his words, laughing breathlessly when it clicks. He drops his head back to the headboard with a thunk, his eyes closing. “Fuck. Make it five.”

[hiiikiko]

𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖘 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖇𝖊

pure smut tbh, bully!ellie x reader

tw: bully!ellie, sweet!reader, sadistic notes, maschistic notes, and maybe a few more idk lol

Ellie hated you, she couldn’t put her finger on why, though. Maybe it was the stupid bows in your effortlessly curly hair, the way those pretty long lashes would bat up at her when she slammed you into a locker, or maybe… maybe it was the fact that you just had to be so fucking sweet to everyone, sweet as can be.

She bit harder on the wood of her No.2 pencil, her eyes boring a hole into the back of your head where that stupid fucking pink bow was sitting, her mind not even attempting to listen to whatever the professor was saying. Her mind was still reeling from she had witnessed earlier, you and that stupid boy flirting near the water fountains, or at least that’s what it looked like.

“Class is dismissed,” the professor’s dull voice echoed throughout the classroom.

You quickly collected your things and stuffed it into your backpack, your mind focused on getting out of there as soon as possible, before you-know-who corners you and escaping into the safety of your room.

You were so, so close to sweet freedom when she-who-must-not-be-named swooped in front of you, grabbing you by the collar like a mama lion would carry her baby cub but this time, she was the lion and you were the poor gazelle with your neck in her mouth.

“Hey Ellie,” you nervously laugh and tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, mouth running dry as her piercing green eyes rake over you.

You had no clue why she hated you so much. You were a complete sweetheart to everyone, never even accidentally stepped on someone’s toe when making your way through the crowded seats of your lecture halls and yet, this girl, hated your guts.

“Yeah, hey,” her eyes narrowed at your outfit, she clearly had a distaste for the frills, lace, and pink, “Need a favour.”

You knew that a favour from Ellie wasn’t a favour at all, it was and order, “Okay, what is it?”

She scoffed, she couldn’t believe how easy this was, “Come over to my dorm, room 328, Saint Cal Hall, need help with classowork.”

She nodded at you and left the classroom. Ellie smiled as she made her way to her next class, how could you be so fucking sweet to her, your bully? She shook her head.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Ellie’s dorm was clean.. surprisingly. Maybe you stereotyped her a bit too hard.. you had assumed that all jocks were assholes who left their socks strewn all over and waited for the weekends for their moms or girlfriends to clean up their dorms.

Studying went well.. until..

“Why were you talking with that frat boy,” she crossed her arms and leaned into the chair of her desk.

You racked your brain for a frat boy… frat boy… “Oh! Liam? I was just giving him some advice on Professor Edwards class since I took it last semester,” you truthfully admit.

“That so?” she scoffed, not buying it.

“Mhm,” you hum out, your body tensing under her gaze.. you couldn’t deny it, Ellie was objectively attractive, hell, she was hot. The way her hair was messy but in an effortlessly cool way, her piercing gaze that never seemed to falter, the way she was so close, you could count the freckles on her face, the way—.

“So you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you? He was obviously eye-fucking you,” she scoffs and eyes you up and down, “You can’t even blame him when you’re wearing a skirt that short.”

Your cheeks flushed red and tears began to prick the corners of your eyes, you should be used to the bullying by now, right? But you weren’t, if anything you had gotten more and more sensitive.. and Ellie noticed that.

“I don’t need this,” you mutter and make your way to the door.

“Aw, you crying?” she laughed dryly and pushed herself off the chair, circling you like a vulture, “Did that hurt your feelings? God, grow up.”

You wiped your tears with your sleeve and sniffle, “I’m not crying.”

The way your lashes glistened with tears stirred something deep within Ellie, “God, you’re too sweet.”

You cocked your head in confusion…. ‘too sweet?’

“What do you mean by that?” you wipe another tear away.

“You really wanna know what I mean?” she took a step closer to your front, her pale hand wiping away your fat teardrops.

You weren’t sure how to answer but then you hesitantly nod.

Within one quick motion, Ellie looks the door and with her other hand, pulls you in by your neck, hungrily kissing you, a small groan escaping her pretty lips.

You were confused, this girl who has bullied you since Freshman year is now kissing you, causing your knees to buckle as you wrap your arms around her to hold yourself up.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” she growled out and pushed you up against her bed, her hands lifting you up onto it while she nipped at your neck, “Too fucking sweet for your own good,” she muttered against your neck.

Right now, all Ellie could think of was you… the way you always smiled at your fellow classmates, the way you didn’t notice the fluttering touches that the boys in the class would leave on you. In her own sadistic way, this was almost a way to teach you a lesson, to teach you that not everyone should be treated in such a sweet manner, that not anybody can be trusted.. if it meant protecting you, she was willing to play the big bad wolf.

She roughly pulled up your skirt and moved the thin fabric of your panties to the side, her fingers grazing against your folds, “You’re so fucking wet,” she laughs cruelly, “You really getting off on this?”

Your cheeks flared red, “N-No.”

“Liar,” she laughed and pushed two fingers in, earning a sharp gasp from you. Even in this case, she was as cruel as ever.

“E-Ellie,” you whimper and move your hips so she could reach deeper.

She turned her head to not-so-subtly sniff your strawberry scented hair, groaning at the sweet smell. Everything about you is so sweet, she angled her hand in a way that would make her two fingers move further into your sweet pussy, her fingers pushing up against that sweet spot deep within you, “What? Feelin’ good?”

You eagerly nod, you were already so close, you were clenching so hard around her, “I-I’m gonna—.”

She rolled her eyes, “Already? Don’t you fucking dare, you’ll cum when I tell you to.”

She was being so mean and both of you knew it but you couldn’t deny that you didn’t like it.

Ellie knew she had to teach you a lesson like, come on. You came all the way across campus to her dorm to tutor her? To tutor your fucking bully? Get real, you were too fucking naive for your own good and like that saint she is, Ellie decided to teach you a very much needed lesson.

She moved her fingers faster, rougher, causing your eyes to flutter shut. Your hands desperately balled the sheets up into your fist, desperately trying to find anything to keep you grounded. You were so close, you were going to—.

Just as you were about to be pushed over the edge, she pulled her fingers out, they were slick and wet, “You’re such a pathetic girl,” she laughs and licks her fingers clean, “but you taste so sweet.”

“Get on all fours,” she said, roughly turning you over and watching as you get up.

You heard faint rusting and a drawer opening, you glanced back to see Ellie with a strap on tied around her.

She climbed onto the mattress and pushes you down, holding your hands against the mattress so that your face was flat against the bed as she rammed the strap into you.

You let out a loud cry at the harsh thrusts, tears pricking your eyes as your eyes rolled back.

“Gotta stop being so fucking sweet,” Ellie groans, emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust, her hand roughly circling your aching clit while the other pushed your head deeper into the mattress.

All you could do was cry out ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘won’t do it again’ over and over.

She growled at your pathetic babbling, “You’re so fucking weak.”

You whimpered, you never really cared for how harsh she could be but… it was a completely different story if it was in bed.

“You like how mean I am, baby?” she laughed as she felt you clench around the strap.

You nod, too fucked out to care about what you just admitted.

“Yeah?” she whispered against your neck, placing a soft kiss on the back of it.

“Y-yeah,” you whimper.

“You like being fucked by your bully?” she laughed and went harder, bullying the strap deeper inside you.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore, your vision turned white as you fell apart on the strap, your body shaking from the intensity of your orgasm.

As your brain came out of that fuzzy bliss, you heard Ellie laughing softly, “You’re way too sweet.”

[possiblyhuman-dotcom]

The way Mumbo said 'Ren's scute is bigger than my scute' was just so... It like itched my brain and had decided to live in my mind, like idk why, if your reading this your probably thinking: 'tf when did Mumbo even say that' BUT HE SAID IT BCS ITA BEEN PLAYING IM MY MIND ON REPEAT AND I CAN'T EXPLAIN WHYYYY

Also the Grumbo content we got in Grians tour 🫶 Omg i love them sm jbdjdbekebkebsifb

[zeherili-ankhein]

Tell me the the thakumar jhuli storie please🥰

OKK SOOO TIME FOR MY ALL TIME FAVOURITE TALE EVERRRRR

This is my favourite favourite story of all time and i was so upset not many people know this 😭 there's an animated version too by ssoftoons but it doesn't do any justice to the story... So here's me rambling it out

Also tagging y'all @randomx123 @jeahreading @krishna-priyatama @foreignink @ishaaron-ishaaron-me @igotadigbickandureadthatwrong @dwarpharini @priestessofuniverse @no-idea-where-i-am-lost @desigurlie @shubhadeep385 @stxrrynxghts @no-idea-where-i-am-lost cuz the story is soo crazy and so dear to me I wanted to share it lol

Trigger warning: bitchass people, killing those bitchass people, traumatic childhood, raw meat, arrange marriage, breast milk, lowkey mention of sh accusations, long hair, and a lot of questionable stuff... And cannibalism... If that counts... 💀 And lots of swearing

So in the starting of the story, we are introduced to this really lazy brahmin. He's so lazy him and his wife are in poverty 💀 (like I can feel you sir I am lazy too!! but get some money dude) he does begging and goes with his day with the money he gets 💀

One day brahmani get's to know that the neighbouring kingdom's prince is getting married and the king is gonna arrange a feast for all the brahmins and everyone who'll attend, and gift them money and stuff.

So brahmani tells her lazyass husband to go attend the wedding and get the gold ✨✨ but dude is so lazy he's literally like laying on the floor whinning about not wanting to do any work.

Brahmin: im too lazy we are well with the money we have no?

Brahmani: go or I'll kill myself 🗿

Brahmin: ..... 💀🤌

But bou boleche so he needs to get going... 🗿🤌

........

So now while he's going he's literally so lazy and introverted he doesn't even know the way to that kingdom and didn't ask anyone 💀 and so now he's lost in the forest doing Dora the explorer shit

Then he's roaming in the forest and notices a Korir pahar (ig this was the time period when they used shells as currency...) so he's like “wtf?? there's literally so much money and nobody noticed??” but he continues to go on.. (dude is so unbothered bruhh)

Then he notices adhulir pahar.. (idk what that is but must be some kinda currency) then takar pahar and dude skips each of them like unwanted youtube adds 💀🤌

At the end he notices a gold coin mountain (mohorer pahar 🏔️) 🗿 and brahmin is like o.O seeing all that, then he notices that there's a big palace at the foot of that mountain (red alarm bro get out of there asap)

......

Then he notices a beautiful woman standing at the door of the palace motioning him to go near her. (Ig my guy doesn't know the rule to NEVER trusts sundari aurat at the middle of nowhere... Especially the one's that's calling ya to get close... 💀)

So he's now confused but get's to the door anyways... And asks her “who tf are you and why are you here???”

Sundari: you don't remember me? :(

Brahmin: ....no..

Sundari: how will you remember me... It was so long before, when you were kids..

Sundari: that we got married in this palace, it was so beautiful...

Sundari: now come inside and take some rest

Brahmin: GURL WHA-

He legit wonders when tf did that happen and why he remembers nothing, but thinks maybe they DID get married as kids because Kulin Brahmins used to get married more than once... (Now this is where I got to know this information lol)

Tho he warns her that he can't remember shit.. and she just laughs it of by saying he doesn't need to work his brain so much and can just rest without worries 💀

.....

The palace is BIG and is as usual filled with riches and golds and silvers and gemstones, BUT sundari stays alone in that place. And if the Brahmin wanted to know why, she just said a sad story and went with it... 💀

NOW here's a big plot revealed. The sundari is actually a rakkhushi who killed all the citizens of that kingdom and everyone in the palace and, just took over the place turning it into a forest 💀 (that's why you don't trust strangers brahmin bro...)

.......

So now Brahmin is legit staying in that palace with her 💀🤌 (ig they did the deed too.. lol) and he kind of forgot about his wife at home... (Bruhhh)

Sundari tells him to bring his wife to that palace so that they all can live together happily. Saying it's not her fault he mistakenly married her... 🤡 (The audacity bro the audacity!!!)

But brahmin is intelligent 🗿 he knows if he keeps both wives together they are gonna fight. And says “nahh she can stay at the city, I'll go visit her once in a while”

But sundari forces him to go get her saying they won't fight or be jealous and she'd stay nicely with her. So brahmin agrees to go get wifey...

.....

Now this side brahmani is like worried sick because dude is missing for SO long, and all the other brahmins that had went to the wedding had returned and they all said he wasn't with them at the wedding so she's like “more gache re amar bor 💀” and she's like on the verge of calling herself a bidhoba when dude returns.

That also in expensive clothes and with riches and clothes for her. So she's like happy that her husband is back and cries happily.

Brahmin tells her about everything that happened and she's like “bruhhh you literally returned back from a rakkhushi and you wanna go back? Don't be a dumbass” and he says “bu-but she's pretty 🥺 so she can't be a rakkhoshi 🗿” (aurat ka chakkar hai babu bhaiya....)

Brahmani gets convinced that yeah that might be cuz why tf it won't be. 💀 So they leave for that random ass palace in the middle of nowhere.

........

They take their gorib manush stuff (it's a joke im not making fun of anyone's econimic status 💀👍) and set to go settle in that palace.

When they reach the palace, that Sundari was already at the gate waiting for them with a big smile. And as soon as they entered she hugged brahmani like “yooo sautan how have ya been” 💀

She legit goes “we're sisters now don't worry about me being jealous hehe” (that's a red flag that's a BIG RED FLAG!!!”

.......

So anyways they stay there well and good, and years go by and now brahmin has two kids 🗿 One with the sundari/rakshashi — Shohosrodol (see see they did the hulalala) and one with brahmani — Chompokdol

✨AND THESE TWO ARE THE HEROES OF THE STORYYY✨

Well not for me I only consider Chompok my hero (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

But whatever back to plot....

.......

Shohosro and Chompok are like besties for life, two peas in a pod, two body one soul kinda close. They literally can't leave without eachother. 🗿✨

And they go to these neighbourhood kingdom school on their POKKHIRAJ GHORA BRO THEY POKKHIRAJ GHORA!!!! And study and play around and everything, they look good (Chompok looks better idc) and everything typical rupkothar golpo hero has.

Now amidst everything, while living with the humans around her, rakkhushi bbg kinda forgot the taste of raw meat and just became like a normal married mohila living with her family 🤡

But one day finally our lazy lad brahmin finally decides he's getting too useless doing nothing “khub beshi boshe boshe shorir e jong lege jachhe shikar korte jabo” 🗿💀

So whatever he goes hunting and brings back animals and stuff like rabbits or deer or swans. And the kiddos literally jump with joy each time he brings in a deer (and from here I got to know back then deer meat was a delicacy for bengalis)

And NOW NOW NOW, seeing so much raw uncooked meat in front of her our pookie cookie rakkhushi is like “DAMN BRO I NEED MEAT IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I ATE RAW MEAT” but for obvious reasons she can't tell that to anyone

So she decides she'd just regularly sneak into the kitchen take some chunk of the meat from the dead animal before it's cooked and DEVOUR it. 💀🗿

.......

Now one day brahmani notices that meat is going missing and one day decides she'd hide in the kitchen and see what's the matter.

She waits and watch as rakkhoshi comes and pulls the meat out from the window and eats it. And get's scared cuz wtf they are ACTUALLY living with a rakkhoshi.

She doesn't says anything but the next day she's like

Brahmani: didi do you know meat is going missing nowadays...?

Rakkhoshi: ....is it?

Brahmani: yeah you know why?

Rakkhoshi: how would ik

Brahmani: ik who you are stop pretending

Rakkhoshi: yeah whatever im gonna eat you and your husband now, be prepared you two would be in my stomach by tomorrow noon, then your son too

💀 So yeah... girlie went and confronted her like a dumbass in place of running away in secret 💀🤌

.....

Now brahmani is worried that even if she dies she doesn't want her son to die (mom cares) she stays awake the entire night wondering what to do. Then at dawn she wakes up Chompok urging him not return from school that day, telling him about the rakkhoshi and everything.

She gives him a small container with her breast milk in it. And tells him, if the milk turns a little red then to know Chompok's parents are in danger, a little more red and his dad is dead, completely blood red then his mom is also dead. 💀

Even tho Chompok didn't understood it completely he still agreed to do as asked amd goes to school with Shohosro on their POKKHIRAJ GHORA

.......

But on their way he kept looking anxious and continuously checked the container so Shohosro got worried and asked what was wrong but pookie kept denying and just said everything was fine even when th milk turned a little red.

But at one point he checked and it was completely red, because on that side while the Brahmin was bathing in a pond, the rakkhoshi killed and ate him then ate the brahmani. 💀

So now after seeing the red af milk, Chompok falls down from his pokkhiraj ghora while he was busy crying and trying to run away from Shohosro.

Worried Shohosro ran behind him, landing just next to Chompok taking his head in his lap asking what's wrong as he rambles and cries to him, telling him, that his rakkhoshi maa killed his parents. Now Shohosro is like 💀 cuz he's hearing it for the first time that his mother is a rakkhoshi.

Now rakkhoshi darling comes running in her real form yelling at them for Shohosro to step aside as that's her son so she'll not do him any harm and she would just eat Chompok.

BUT our hero Shohosro is like “fuck you woman that's my brother you are talking about I ain't moving aside I'm fighting you” 🗿🗿 (we'll he's a pookie cookie) and yeah... He killed his momma using his sword (slayyyyyyy like literally)

........

Now both Shohosro and Chompok are wondering in a new place thinking what to do with their life now because it's getting late

They come accross a home and decides to ask them to let them stay there for the night and goes to sleep as soon as they hit the bed.

When they wake up later, they hear some commotion happening in the front of the house, as the members of the family are arguing about something.

They are like “na na ami buro hoye gechi ami jabo” “na na ami shobar chhoto ami jabo ami gele karor jaye ashbe na” 💀🤌

So both the brothers are like tf is going on and they go ask the head of the family that what's the matter

Buro lok: so one day a random ass rakkhosh came from nowhere and terrorized us killed people here and there

Buro lok: so our king decided that we will offer one human to him every night so that he doesn't kill anyone

Buro lok: so now each night one person from a family goes and wait at that old Shib mondir at the end

Buro lok: untill the rakkhosh comes at the third hour of the night to eat them

Buro lok: and today it's our family's turn, so we are deciding who'd go.

Then Shohosro and Chompok are like

The bros: yeah we will go

Buro lok: but tomra amader otithi you can't go

The bros: you guys let us stay so now we are family we will go

Buro lok: .....ok 😔

These two bitches really argue like some pro debater to go to the death game that's about to happen 💀

.....

Now at the Shib mondir, Chompok is like “ykw im too sleepy you stay awake and I'll go take a mosher moto ghum” 💀 So Shohosro is like “ok little bro as you wish :3” and he stays awake.

In some time the rakkhosh comes banging at the door

Rakkhosh dude: bhetore ke re?

Shohosro: ami Shohosrodol sathe bhai Chompokdol ar duto pokkhoraj ghora 🗿

Rakkhosh dude in his mind: damn that's kid got rakkhosh blood in him can't eat him, I'll come later.

This happens another time before Shohosro wakes up Chompok cause he was feeling sleepy now, so he tells Chompok what to tell when the Rakkhosh comes, telling him to say that word by word before he nake tel diye ghumiye pore. 💀

......

Time comes and the rakkhosh comes too, and asks the same question but Chompok in a panic says “ami Chompokdol sathe Shohosrodol ar pokkhiraj ghora” and as soon as he said that rakkhosh is like yessss food and tries to break the door.

Shohosro wakes up with a startle hearing all the noice and as soon as the rakkhosh breaks the door, he kills him using his sword 🗿🗿 (boi is a warrior)

So now they are like okay yeah the rakkhosh is dead? and his giant head is laying on the floor? Who cares we are gonna give a moron ghum rn...

Next day people see the big ass rakkhosh's body and the news go to the king, who at first doesn't believe that someone killed the rakkhosh but later decides to go see for himself.

He comes and sees the body and is like shocked pikachu face, and opens the door to get inside seeing the head just randomly laying just like that. Then he notices as Shohosro and Chompok wakes up fron their beauty sleep and asks who killed that bitch.

They are like “Shohosro killed him 🗿” and king is like “thats it I had planned whomever would kill the rakkhosh, I'll get him married to my daughter so now Shohosro is my jamai 🗿”

.....

So anyways they get married and rajamoshai plans to give away half of his kingdom to Shohosro, so ofcourse they starts to stay at the kingdom. (ghor jamai my dear)

BUT the queen of that kingdom has a favourite dashi who's also secretly a rakkhoshi 💀 but nobody knows that. She goes out of the palace each night to eat, somedays picking up goru or chagol or somedays a randomass manush just like that. And nobody found out who's doing that bruhhh 💀💀

So Chompok, who usually sleeps late at night (just like mehhh) starts to notice the odd behaviour of that rakkhoshi dashi 🗿(btw the king built him his own palace to stay 🗿) but now dashi is alert cuz dude is literally a threat to her identity 💀.

So what she does? Complains to the queen that Chompok can't stand her and is threatening to kill her and everything (this didn't sit well with me, I feel like this perticular part had something... I feel like she was lowkey accusing Chompok of harrasment 💀🤌 cuz the words were like that)

......

Maharani ofcourse believed her favourite dashi over a randomass stranger boy (well not completely since he's her son-in-law's brother but still) and decided she'd go tell moharaj to throw out Chompok 💀 (sed life)

BUT our man our savior Shohosro heard her and he was like💀😰 what did my brother do to get this treatment I gotta save him...

So he wrote a letter saying “my dear brather I love you forever but you gotta get out of this kingdom... leave by tonight and don't come back” and send it to Chompok's place in secret (like bkl atleast have the decency to go tell him yourself 💀🤌)

So anyways... Chompok receives the letter and after reading it my pookie is getting all the bad thoughts he's like “kya itna bura hu main ma..? 😞 why my dada don't wanna see my face ever again what did I do wrong now where do I go 🥺”

But he still leaves the kingdom that night cuz dada boleche 🗿

.......

Chompok goes around like some dishahara prani in the forest and comes across a BIG palace in the middle of nowhere (why are all the palaces in some weirdass places??)

And what does he decides?

Ignore the palace and goes by with his day? ❌

Gets inside the palace because curiosity kills the cat? ✅

(And they say kids are not like parents 💀 baap pe gaya hai)

.....

Inside the palace my baby finds NO ONE legit no one 💀 (red alert bro should leave the place...) But then he reaches a room and goes inside just to discover a gorgeous maiden sleeping on the bed :3 (she's my sleeping beauty ok idc about anything else)

And he's like o.O ummmm wtf because obviously situation is so wild why tf is a randomass mohila sleeping in a sunsan palace in the middle of a forest.

So he stands there like 🧍for quite some time not knowing what to do and tries to wake the cutie up. But when he sees that she ain't waking up like that he finally notices the golden and silver sticks on both sides of her head (sonar kathi rupor kathi bro!!!! I've always known them from here)

The golden one on her right side and the silver one on her left side, and mr big brain is like “hmm ykw? Let's see what happens when touch her with both the sticks... and bro was right 💀 she woke up as soon as the golden stick touched her 💀🤌 (he tried the silver one at first too, but didn't work)

.......

As soon as the maiden woke up and saw an handsome young man standing near her head, she's like

Babygirl: who are you? Why are you here? Go away asap or they'll kill you...

Chompok: first of all lady calm down and tell me who are YOU? And who are THEY?

Babygirl: ...

Babygirl: I- I am the princess of this place, one day somewhat a thousand rakkhosh came and killed all my family and people and ate them :'(

Babygirl: they were gonna kill me too but the mom rakkhoshi said she kinda kinda likes me cuz she said I was too pretty to die, so to not kill me... (Well isn't that questionable? 💀)

Babygirl: so now I'm held captive over here and they make me fall asleep using those sticks and go to hunt and eat humans all day

Babygirl: and then they come back at the evening and wake me up and leave again the next morning.... :(

Babygirl: so now get out of here before they come and kill you too :'(

Chompok: gurl where am I supposed to go? I have nowhere to go... :'(

.......

So Chompok rattles out his entire history of being born in a weirdass family to parents dying to being told to get out of the kingdom and everything.

Babygirl: damn your story is honestly really sad... And now I see you really have nowhere to go

Babygirl: but those bitchass rakkhosh are about to arrive so ig you can go hide on the bel gach... They fear that tree for some reasons...

Babygirl: but make me fall asleep using that silver stick before you go

After doing as she asked and making her fall asleep Chompok goes and climbs the tree waiting untill he hears a bunch of rumbling dound coming from nowhere.

.......

[ Now why I haven't revealed pookie rajkonna's name yet? Idk bro the story revealed it quite late.. so ig im also waiting to give that suspense...]

Back to plot

Chompok waits and watch as all the rakkhosh come from every angles filling the palace. Then the maa rakkhosh steps in the front, waking up princess the same way he had done.

Then..

Maa rakkhosh: hmmm why do I smell human.... 🤨 Was anyone here???

Princess: ....I am a human silly (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

Maa rakkhoshi: ohh right I forgot whatever 💀

Then normal stuff happens the rakkhosh(s) all whin about wanting to eat the rajkonna but maa rakkhoshi tells them not to and then she gives rajkonna some normal human food (idk where she got that tho) And makes her do some seba 💀 and goes to sleep 🗿 (like gurlie probably stayed awake the entire night just like that)

......

Next day after those bitchass people are gone Chompok climbs down the tree and comes to wake her up and then they do normal human shit like eating and all ig...? (Idk where they are getting the food tho, ig Chompok can cook?)

And then they apparently talk and do more normal human stuff

Idk what these bitches are “talking” about... So I just kinda assumed they are having some Aurora x Philip ahh conversations throughout.... Roaming around the garden and shit who knows...

Then again by the evening he enchants her to sleep and goes to his hiding place on the tree 💀🤌

And the same shit happens like the day before. Rakkhosh gang comes does halla, buri rakkhoshi makes rajkonna do some slavery while the other rakkhosh(s) try to threaten her and eat her, they get scolded and again they fall asleep.

.......

This goes on for some days before Chompok is like

Chompok: girl how long are we gonna do this hide and seek from the rakkhosh gang? Donchu wanna be free???

Rajkonna: I do but it what am I supposed to do

Rajkonna: 😭😭🤌

Chompok: .....

Chompok: do one thing...

Chompok: pamper the old hag today and manipulate her to tell you how the rakkhosh party can die

Rajkonna: ok (⁠.❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

......

So that night when the bitch ass gang returns she does some extra seba and when the time comes fakes some tears (i can fake tears too 🗿)

Rajkonna: what will I do when you die? 🥺

Rajkonna: your kids are gonna kill and eat me 🥺😭💀

Rakkhoshi: ....

Rakkhoshi: lol girl rakkhosh people don't die like that we keep our pran bhomra somewhere seperate

Rajkonna: then where's it?? What if someone finds it???

Rakkhoshi: no one can find it 😌 (lmao wait you fucker just wait)

Rakkhoshi: see the pond right there? Yeah in the bottom if it there's a snail

Rakkhoshi: on that snail there are two beetles on top of it

Rakkhoshi: if someone is able to dive into the pond and bring out those in one breath and then kill those beetles then only we will die

Rakkhoshi: BUT not even a drop of blood should fall on the ground tho or a thousand more of us will get born

Rakkhoshi: but you don't worry no one can do that (overconfident much burima??)

Rajkonna: ok ｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡

And then they go back to sleep

......

Next day pookie cookie tells everything to Chompok and he's like “ok yeah go get a jar of ashes and I'll do what I need to do”

Bro dives in the pond brings out the beetles and then they hear a bunch of rumbling all over the forest and if those rakkhosh gang are running back to the palace.

Chompok tells her to spread the ashes on the ground so that the blood drops will fall on it and then he cuts the beetles in half bringing an end to all the noices and the rakkhosh gang.

And then overjoyed and glad the rajkonna is like

Rajkonna: MY SAVIOUR MY HERO! YOU SAVED MY LIFE!!! PLEASE MARRY ME LET'S GET MARRIED 🥹🥹

Chompok: umm... 👉👈 ok 😳🗿

(And that's how you get a girl people, now go kill some rakkhosh to impress her 🗿 jk jk lol)

So they do the Gandharva vivah just by doing mala bodol (that's how it was said there and it got me curious to do research and then I got to know about the different types of vivah in hindu scriptures)

.....

So everything is going fine they starts to stay in the palace all happy and newly married pookie cookie meow meow honeymoon phase etc etc (they are my blorbos my otp my lifeline whatever you say I love these two so much 🥹🤌)

But NOOOOOW coming to reveal the rajkonna's name.... She got really LONG hair and that's why they call her Keshoboti (idk if she has a birth name or anything lol)

One day darling Keshoboti was bathing at the ghat and a strand of her hair fell (girlie is experiencing hairfall for the first time smh smh) and she becomes sad... ): (ask us woman I experience hairfall on a regular basis)

So she ties that hair to a lotus and floats it in the river 💀👹

And guess where that bitchass hair floats to? TO THE GHAT WHERE SHOHOSRO BATHS 💀💀💀 (you thought you saw the last of him? well you were so wrong)

....

Shohosro while bathing notices that a randomass lotus floating weirdly and picks it up and then bro is like o.O because the hair attached to it is three hand long, and he's like “WHO IS THE NARI THAT GOT THIS LONG HAIR OMFG!?!?!”

Bro comes back but gradually becomes depressed and kinda obsessed wanting to know who that sundari is. And neglects going to court and eating and everything.

So now that bitchass sasuri maa is worried because her son-in-law is always locked in his room and doing nothing and falana dhimkana.

And she asks him and he is obviously embarrassed and doesn't want to tell his sasuri that he's obsessing over another unknown woman 💀🤌 (you nasty shit, this is the moment I started to hate on Shohosro because wtf bro) but tells her everything when she pressurized him.

So now that extra bitchass favourite rakkhoshi dasi is like moharani ik what's the solution just gimme a bunch of sweets and a boat and I'll to the trick.

Moharani blindly trusts her favourite maid (that's lowkey kinda gay ngl...) gives her the things she asked for.

.....

Now that rakkhoshi maid, takes the boat and does some blah blah montro jap and tells the boat to land at the ghat that sundari kanya baths 💀

And the boat does exactly that.

Once on the ghat, she calls for Keshoboti saying

Rakkhoshi: yo girl you remember me I'm your pishima

Keshoboti: ummmm...

Rakkhoshi: you have grown so much damn last I saw you, you were a baby (this single sentence was the scariest part of the entire tale fuck)

And my lovable dumb blorbo of a girl Keshoboti just believes her thinking maybe she doesn't remember anything cuz yeah she was a baby (why doesn't anyone got trust issues in this story??? 😭😭)

And that S.O.B Chompok also doesn't question anything like bruhhh

......

So now Chompok had a habbit of sleeping in the afternoon (bhat ghum supremacy Chompok knows that 🗿) but ig Keshoboti got insomania atp after deliberately being forced to sleep for so long... So she stays awake.

And on one of those days, the fake pishima is like “babygirl come to the boat with me I got some sweets for you, no need to tell your husband anything we'll be back before he even wakes up”

And that dumbass girl again trusts her and goes with her like bruhhhh 💀💀🤌

Once they are on the boat the fake pishima again does some montro jap and tells the boat to reach Shohosro's ghat.

.....

NOW the fucker is finally like “tf tf tf im being kidnapped omg omg hubby help!!!” and cries but it's too late lol 💀

So once back at Shohosro's place, the moharani is like “tell us who are you we won't harm you we just think you're very pretty so we'll keep you with us now” (MA'AM THAT'S CALLED KIDNAPPING)

But my dumbass of a girl is too busy crying and just rambles something about having a vrat for six months in which she can't speak about herself to anyone. So they just kinda keep her in a room, finding for a brahmin who can say the broto kotha for her 💀💀💀

.....

And back to my blorbo, Chompok is in shambles (chhan se jo tute koi sapna playing in the background). After he woke up and couldn't find Keshoboti anywhere 💀🤌

He's literally crying and searching for her like a madman for months atp. Bro even looks like a rastar pagol with stress and lack of haircut 💀 (again im not shaming anyone for their looks don't come at me)

.....

So in those months everybody tried to get words out of Keshoboti but FAILED because she was adamant on her demand for teh broto kotha.

So now as the six months are coming to an end, Keshoboti is getting worried what to do.

And Chompok in those months had reached that kingdom, looking like a mad dude. He hears some advertisement for a brahmin who can say Keshoboti's brotho kotha and he's like “wait...a min...” 💀

Then he basically sneaks to where Keshoboti is forced to stay and then they have an emotional reunion before he tells her he'd be back the next day with a plan and Keshoboti is again like “ok hubby (⁠.❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)”

.....

So next day the stage is set, someone is finally found who said they are gonna tell the broto kotha, and everyone is waiting with anticipation as Keshoboti comes and takes her sit, telling the dude to start his bok bok.

And then Chompok starts to say and BOIH DOES HE SAYS

Chompok: *ranting out his own life story* am I saying it right princess??

Keshoboti: perfectly correct! please continue

Chompok: *life story life story* is it correct so far princess?? (That's some odd flirting bro but im impressed)

Keshoboti: yes yes absolutely please continue

Shohosro: ....wait... excuse moi... OMFG THAT'S MY FOOKING BROTHA WTF WTF WTF

everyone else most probably: 🧍

.....

So yeah Shohosro finally realises that the brahmin in disguise is his chhoto bhai and gets too much ashamed because he had fucking held his brother's wife hostage for so long 💀💀 (good for you bitch cuz I already hate you)

Then everyone ask Chompok why he randomly disappeared from the kingdom and Chompok rats out the truth that moharani's girltoy (opposite of boytoy shut up) is a rakkhoshi.

And then rakkhoshi is like “ughh damn I'm exposed but whatever im gonna kill and eat everyone now” and starts to run towards Chompok

Then our local rakkhosh killer Shohosro pulls out his sword (no you dirty minded people not that go fuck) and SLAYYYYS the rakkhoshi.

And then everyone lives happily ever after ig...

Unless this bitches get their asses in trouble again 💀🗿🤌

.......

So... That's it. Amar kotha ti furalo note gach ti muralo...

Lemme know how you liked my all time favorite story hehe...

This story is really dear to me and I really really enjoyed doing this commentary explanation of the story too! :D

Also I think I should be banned from ever using the terms bitchass, randomass and weirdass lol...

[bunnakit]

{cross posting from bluesky} i feel so silly crying bc i'll no longer be writing fic but i feel like i'm grieving my fics i worked so hard on.

what really solidified it for me was i put a sex scene in my recent fic update, it made sense for the story and what was going on but it didn't NEED to be there, i had put it in just to see if that would get more people to read it.

and it worked. i got several replies on my posts saying people were interested now. why did it take sex for you to be interested? it's a story full of rich world building and a complex plot about what it means to be 'human' but you wouldn't read it unless there was some dick in ass? that's not what the story is about.

so that really just frustrated me and made me realize that what i'm trying to accomplish isn't something well suited for a fanfic space that is largely just meant to be self indulgent fluff and porn. (at least in kpop fanfic spaces)

but yeah. today's update will be the last fanfic update from me. i'm not doing it anymore. sorry for leaving these stories half finished. i'll probably just leave Buried Treasure and Afterimage on ao3 for now. Afterimage might get reworked into an original story and once it does i'll probably take it down but it'll be there for now.

i really appreciate anyone that supported my fics, even if it was quietly. i just don't think i fit into the fanfic space anymore or maybe i'm just too sensitive or not built for it idk.

thanks for having me. i'll still be around reading fanfics here and there but prob not to the same degree i used to.

all this being said, i'm not quitting WRITING. i'm just moving onto original works only, so you'll still see me being annoying about stuff and posting my writing, it'll just be 100% either from my own brain or an off shoot of a world my friend has built that i've been assisting with.

[genderqueerdykes]

this is prob silly but i appreciate you being so candid about not interacting with much media (like film/tv/pop culture stuff). it's kind of hard to be on tumblr or really even exist if you're not able to interact with media but it's a big trigger for me so i just... can't. like, i've never had anyone understand that it's not a choice i'm making to be special/different/lazy i just have extreme and unhealthly reactions to most media, except some books and comics. which idk if that's how it is for you (its not my business or anything) but i've never felt seen/represented about it before so im thankful, yk?

i appreciate you for sending this! i don't find it silly at all

i think it's very good for you to acknowledge that you have an unhealthy relationship with most forms of media. i'm sorry that you're going through this, but consuming media is not a requirement nor is it something that you genuinely need for your mental health, so it's okay that that's how you feel. i appreciate this because it gives me a chance to talk about something that is important to me, but people struggle to understand why that is

my parents used to make fun of whatever i was watching or playing as a kid over my shoulder. i used to get relentlessly mocked every time i put on a show i liked or played a game in front of either of them. it caused me to have severe trauma for years where i couldn't watch or play anything around other people at all. i still don't like when people ask me to put on things that i do like for a big group. the stress i feel when other people don't enjoy it is not worth it. i'm still very uncomfortable doing this to this day

i've felt pretty alienated all my life due to this. it seems like now more than ever, media, especially fictional media, is so important to general modern culture that it creates a barrier between people who do and don't engage. and it's not like it's a passive thing, i have people get offended at me when i say i haven't seen a movie or TV show. not talking about anyone on here, or any anons i've answered about media! people have been kind and respectful here. but in my real life and in conversations with other people, i have genuinely been mocked or insulted because i don't engage with most television, movies, books and comics.

i've had people question my autism over this. when i've told people in the past that i do not engage with pop culture, fictional media and so on, i've had people actually say "but i thought you were autistic????" like it's genuinely frustrating that it seems like people have shifted to thinking that autistic people's special interests are always cartoons, games and TV shows. it worries me because at times it feels like people are turning the common definition of autism into Media Consumption Disorder. my special interests are queer history & culture, animals & nature, and medicine & psychology. i genuinely enjoy research, it's something i happily do for hours because it stimulates my brain and motivates me. it excites me just as much as i think fiction excites people who can enjoy it. it's more than okay for autistic people to have a piece of media as their special interest, i'm not saying that its not! but it frightens me that people seem to conflate "autistic" with "loves fictional media".

due to my DID, i can't remember plots. like at all. plots confuse the ever loving hell out of me because i can't keep track of what's going on. real life doesn't have a plot. science doesn't have a plot. i don't know if fully understand the point of a plot, honestly. expecting people to be able to remember such an absurd amount of information in order to figure out something that happens down the road or at the very end feels like a herculean task to me. i can't remember what happened to me 10 minutes ago, there's no way i'm remembering a tiny event that happened hours and hours and hours ago. scripted interactions feel so stiff and unnatural to me

people tell me i'm saying i don't know what they're talking about to "be an asshole". i used to have a best friend who got really into dungeons&dragons and it traumatized me for years because i got into at first, then quickly lost interest once i realized how boring actually playing the game is for me. my friend did NOT take it well. he continued to force me to play. if i would ask him to please change the conversation topic he would start insulting and berating me and telling me that i was pretending to not be interested anymore to be mean to him. he couldn't understand that i grew out of it. he never got any better with this, as he was obsessed with marvel films and would get super pissed off if i told him i had no interest or didn't know what to say to him. it was frustrating because i didn't have a choice whether or not i could like something. it was "if you don't like this, you're an asshole."

and it's not just him that's treated me that way. it's been most of my friends. for whatever reason, when you tell the average person that you haven't seen, or god forbid don't like a piece of media, they take it personally for... some reason. as if i said "no i don't watch that because that's bad" as opposed to what i actually say is "i don't know what that is" or "i haven't seen that". you would not believe how insecure people get when you tell them you don't like a piece of media they like. i'm not sure why people feel like their favorite media is an extension of themselves, but it's an unhealthy relationship. it's not healthy to get offended if your friend tells you they haven't seen a piece of media that you have.

i have aphantasia, which is the inability to picture things in my head. i don't get "sucked into" media like people with clearer mind's eyes do. i don't picture anything cool or epic or fun happening in my head because i can't. as a result, i don't get pulled into shows, i don't get invested in tabletop games, i don't really get that affected by the media that i watch because i am painfully aware that i'm staring at a pre-recorded and scripted show the entire time. i'm painfully aware that i'm staring at an actor in a costume i just cannot get immersed in most forms of media save for very rare video games but even then, i immediately stop thinking about it the second i'm done interacting with it

i just don't listen to music and that one baffles people as i'm punk. most music is just straight up overstimulating to me due to my autism. i'm not saying that music is bad, it just overstimulates the everloving hell out of me. most of the time it just hurts my ears or gives me a headache or triggers my misophonia, which results in me getting irrationally pissed off. it's not something i can control. i prefer to listen to nature sounds, very simple meditation music that is a few simple tones, or nothing at all. i actually enjoy silence. i enjoy not overloading my ears. i enjoy being alone with my own thoughts. i can't think when there's too much noise happening

video games are more enjoyable than anything else due to the interactive element, but that does not mean i am paying attention to the characters or the story. it's very rare that a game can actually make me get interested in the characters themselves. i'm just there for the gameplay. generally i prefer games like rollercoaster tycoon, tower unite and other games that don't have a plot at all and are strictly focused on gameplay. i have no idea how people memorize all the different characters and interactions and story beats in games that have an overarching plot.

it's a personal choice. you're allowed to choose what your hobbies and interests are. if pop culture stresses you out, you do not have to engage. i just straight up do not get pop culture references at all and i've had people laugh at me for it but i just really don't care, it's not what i'm interested in as a person. i feel like a lot of people aren't quite realizing that most popular media is made for profit, not to be something genuinely well written or entertaining. i'm not saying those things are bad but what i am saying is that it's a product meant to be consumed in order for you to help a generally huge company profit. there's very little soul and whimsy when it comes to most AAA games and big box office films. the artistic integrity is severely lacking

anyway, thank you for giving me a chance to talk about this more at length! it's why i'm just very honest about it because i'm not going to force myself to change my interests because some people find how i approach life strange, or take it personally. you're allowed to choose what you interact with and don't. you're allowed to define your own interests and hobbies. and i think you're doing a great thing by acknowledging that you have an unhealthy relationship with pop culture. a LOT of people do right now. it's manufactured to be addicting on purpose. binge watching things is encouraged and is becoming seen as a new norm. i don't think people like you or i deserve to be mocked for approaching life in ways that make sense to us. take care of yourself, i appreciate you!

[blitz0hno]

Let's be real. Realistically, every time we see Mikoto it might as well be a different alter.

Does that make for an easy-to-follow narrative? No. Is it what the authors intended? Not likely, but also this is a game all based around perception and life experiences.

"Mikoto" and "John" as we know them are functionally made up by the audience (and thus Es) for narrative flow. Just like how ppl w DID irl are generally assumed to be "themselves," as in their body's name/main identity. Whether you're singlet or plural, the "you" in someone else's mind is a tiny piece even to your closest people. They see you through a special lens all their own, and these interpretations reveal more about the viewer than anything (not that that is a "bad" thing; it just is). Every individual consciousness is a different lens. You really can't know shit about any system unless you ask within the system, even w alters in your own brain. Mikoto hasn't had enough time to process his different parts yet, so it's wholly ambiguous.

Oblivious as we are, we've noticed a bit of friction surrounding how people view Kayanosys and tbh it makes us kinda sad; but the subject matter is touchy, so it's understandable. In my humble opinion, while they give us many clues as to "who's who," it's all still purely hypothetical. And it's fun to guess and theorize and even make shit up! You wouldn't do it to a real system but Milgram is not real; all respectful interpretations of 09 are valid in my book.

Personally I like the idea that he has more alters than just who we see, and I like interpretations of Mikoto/John/Kataboku as their own people. I also like completely ambiguous interpretations, and everything in-between bc if we wanna be Really Realistic, there's no end to the possibilities whatsoever, especially with as little info as we have so far.

This makes writing him So Difficult for me, but it only adds all the more layers to why I love these characters so much. I am so so sick of being a system sometimes, but it's a complex worldview that few experience and even fewer fully grasp. Plurality deserves to be talked about openly and with patience, and I couldn't be happier that Milgram even dares talk about them to such a large audience.

The reasons to talk about these things, after all, won't go away even if we do stop talking about them. I'm not gonna say "it all happens for a reason," but we certainly have words to describe such experiences for many reasons. I feel like we all need to stop being afraid of not fully understanding things. I certainly don't understand a lot, but I understand a small handful of things that many do not. Sharing helps us understand more, even if we miss the mark sometimes.

Idk. I love Mikoto and I love our little mikotoverse on tumblr dot com, that is all.

[yuwuta]

feel like my brain is on fire but following that pathetic yuuta blurb u wrote, idk i’m just thinking about how fun it would be to tease him until he’s hard again. just,,,, keeping a careful balance between making fun of him for getting off to just the idea and sounds of u a few feet away but also enjoying his attention. taking off your sleep shorts,,, inviting him to lick you as an apology for what he did. pulling on his hair and teasing him more for how red and hot his ears are from how embarrassed he is at his own depravity. that he can’t even help it when his hips hump the air because he’s so lost in the feeling of eating u out that he doesn’t even hear you sighing that you’re about to cum, but he does feel it when u start clenching around his tongue. pulling him into bed with you and grinding against his hard on but not letting him put it in. you want it just as bad as he does if not more (after all you got wet listening to him get off while he thought u were asleep) but u have to punish him. and he looks so cute when he begs and his hands feel so nice on your chest as he pulls at your nipples and smooths his hands along your body disbelieving that you’re letting him do this to you. but u have to hold out, tease him, make him cum in his hands or yours a few more times. teasing him in the changing room at a store, in the showering stalls at the beach, in his car before he drops you off at your place. just teasing and teasing him, telling him he can fuck between your thighs or just the tip, just for a second until his restraint is so thin that he could cry but he’ll do it all for you. sooner or later, you’ll reward him and besides, he likes that he has to work to please you.

hey, so this is insane! and i completely agree with all of it 🙂‍↕️ idk why the part about teasing him in showering stalls at the beach in particular is speaking to me but it is....... you’ve planted thoughts of lifeguard yuuta or even caddy boy yuuta at some egriously priced country club who waits on you hand and foot, runs around remaking all your drinks, and fanning you, and rubbing sunscreen on you, he’s just easy to boss around and bends to your every whim because he’ll do anything for your attention, plus he heard you once say he looks cute in his uniform, and when he does do something right you reward him and it’s oh so worth it....

[enden-k]

NEW CONTENT TO ANALYZE 🛐

For now have a very eepy fixation on the scene where Saran is wrapped around Vika. He's not even close to being physically similar to Vika. Does that stop him at all from being his own weighted blanket/being able to wrap himself around him? Not at all. The reason he has tentacles is to better wrap around Vika

(Something about how Saran seemed to be absentmindedly petting the scars, I wonder if it was due to the texture? Or just something he likes doing. Idk something about it is very intimate, for some reason, usually you'd see a character kissing the area so i guess it's because it's something i haven't seen before that IS a display of intimacy. Rolling it over in my brain. Like a rotisserie chicken. Good concept)

Also 'VIKA CONTROL YOUR TOOL' lmao. It's giving 'GET YOUR FUCKING DOG BITCH' "It don't bite" 'YES IT DO-'. Protective Saran. Also a tasty concept. Good brain food too. Good stuff

(Also, the person who was saying that they liked Saran despite having some issues with eyes is so real. I have a horrible eye phobia. Eyes in general (specially eye contact) really creeps me out and every now and then there will be an illustration where i go 'ah yes this is the eye character. How the fuck did I forget that when IT'S HIS WHOLE THING' because genuinely you HAVE to be putting something in him! He doesn't creep me out! Genuinely i dont have any idea how Saran isn't just one walking trigger for me or why i enjoy him as much even when he does occasionally spook me

It's so weird! Fascinating! Genuinely feel like consuming Saran content (well. Your content in general but specially Saran related) has desensitized me somewhat to eyes. I even find myself particularly enjoying the way eyes have been drawn that day! Good characters good lore and now I can go a step above in my character analysis (in other fandoms) by watching their eyes without getting freaked out about it! Never have been so happy to have stumbled across someone's work)

-eepy 🦜. Still rotating the way they cuddle in my head. Saran is so attentive. So lovely....

imo, wrists are super intimate to touch (probably bc im very sensitive there and dont like them being touched unless its someone im comfortable w and trust); not to mention scars (esp if its SH)

saran stroking and tracing them gently is like him acknowledging them but not judging or pitying etc vika; not paying extreme attention/hyperfocus to them but also not ignoring them to the point of it becoming obvious. they are just a part of the person he loves. they are just there

also, saran just really likes to touch (so does vika) but very soft and gentle; hes the kind of person who will always gently run his knuckles down your face, hold your wrist and trace your veins or scars, stroke the back of your hand or palms, push stray locks of your hair behind your ear. its little but very intimate touches that say more than words could in this moment, more powerful than a bold touch imo

LMAO ITS FUNNY BC while im not scared of eyes at all or anything, im also just very uncomfortable and bad with being looked at/eye contact (i can manage when its a few seconds tho but i really do hate being perceived) but drawing saran so much and his many-eyes when theyre all staring straight at the viewer never fazed me lololol (prolly bc i stare at my own drawings longer than any of you, since i work on them n all)

i love how the eye-guy somehow managed to break through yalls fear of eyes tho!! saran was on his way to become a doctor before he died, does it count if i say bby still managed to "help" at least one a little bit even tho hes dead now? 🥹

[lesbiansforboromir]

What are your thoughts on how they portrayed Fréaláf in War of the Rohirrim? I have questions about the backstory behind this exceptionally well put together guy who doesn't look quite like he matches the rest of the population of Rohan and goes by a matronymic surname. Did Hild marry a Gondorian Prince or noble, or perhaps did she marry abDunlending as part of a peace treaty and then fled back to Meduseld to raise her son when it fell apart. I love him but I want to know more about the decisions they made about his character.

NOW it's kind of funny because up until this ask my brain had just assumed it was declared somewhere that they had given Frealaf a gondorian father. But I actually cannot think of a particular instance where it is anything but implied... STILL I am fairly sure that was the intention.

His knowledge of the haradrim is probably the clearest nod to me, but there are all the wretched themactic implications they give him too. Like he's 'peaceable', softly spoken, he does not 'love war' 😒, he's basically a film-faramir copy-paste, except that he does display some prowess in combat and when he leads a charge of horsemen it's not at a brick wall. It IS down that goddamn horse-killing hill they love so much but we all have to suspend our horse logic for Tolkien media, it is known. So actually it's a little more book!faramir, Frealaf even gets his own watered down 'think better of me father' moment with Helm too, "my sword is yours if you ask for it 😔 it's so hard to be the most correct person in the room 😔 but I'm so noble and modest about it-" I have to stop being mean, he's nice I did like him.

ALSO it would line up with film!Helm's attempt to marry his daughter off to a Gondorian prince if he also married his sister off to a gondorian prince, and she was so '''safe''' and '''protected''' there as to encourage him to do it again.

Another reason I think he's supposed to be part Gondorian is because he takes the place of Gondor by the end of the film. In book-canon it's actually Beregond who breaks the siege on Helms Deep, whilst Frealaf is retaking Edoras. There is a significant amount of time where he and Beregond are working together to win what was almost a lost war in the rest of Rohan. BUT GONDOR JUST DOESN'T GO TO WAR EVER APPARENTLY SO HAHA WE CAN FORGET ABOUT THAT <3 uvu ... No actually this might be one of the only changes the film makes which I like, it is way more impactful and important for Frealaf to have this final victory. Kind of a no-brainer. BUT THE POINT IS it would be sort of a cohesive nod to book-canon for Frealaf to be part gondorian when he's taking gondor's place in thee narrative, if you see what I mean.

In terms of the matrilineal name usage, I do not particularly agree with it's being a term used for him pre-kingship. Like the reason he is remembered as "Hildsson" in the annuls of history is to define him as the beginning of the second line of rohir kings, ie not Helm's son, which would be a completely superfluous thing to do before all Helm's heirs have died. Honestly I still can't quite believe how absent Hild was in this supposedly feminist interpretation of this story, she is by far the character I want to hear from the most out of any of them. BUT YEAH LIKE, I guess within the narrative it's a useful way to convey information to the viewer and I should not be so grumpy about it.

The questions I have about Frealaf and his history that I most want answered are; Is his mother dead or just still living in Gondor? When did Frealaf come back to Rohan? WHY did he come to Rohan, was it a sense of duty? Belonging? What does his father think? Is his Father still alive? Or did both his father AND mother die for him to be fostered by Helm at a young age? I dont think so, since Frealaf is familiar with Gondorian military information (haradrim and so forth) so it feels like he is more familiar with Gondor in an adult capacity. But I do feel like his father is not alive? IDK!!

Later on Prince Thengel, Theoden's father, will run away from home and be fostered in Gondor because his father's a monster, and then marry a Gondorian noblewoman. But that is not for a very long time. So, depending upon how you read the historical relations between Gondorian and Rohir nobility, Frealaf's parentage could be exceedingly unique for the timeframe, and he would likely be oft compared to Eldacar in Gondor (King whose non-dunedain mother caused a civil war in Gondor incited by eugenicist outrage). So like!! Frealaf could have a lot of complex experiences and emotions surrounding his family, his sense of self, of who he is, of his attachment to one land or another. Like it was probably particularly painful for Frealaf to hear Helm tell him he was no kin of his, when the lingering dunadain supremacists in Gondor might have made him feel just as outcast there.

I hope there was a satisfying answer for you in there somewhere! :)

[otome-dissection]

holy shit

CAN WE GO ONE FUCKING GAME WITHOUT ONE OF KIRYU'S CLOSE FRIENDS/ALLIES DYING IN HIS ARMS I AM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES RIGHT NOW

[zdysimps]

Life is so short, someone pass me the printing press it’s time to see how fast that thingamajig rolls.

[katabay]

WOW this has been ROUGH in the Life Events category of things, but. slowly crawling out of that. hopefully

this was the opening scene for a something I started writing after watching the Manben inverview with Nishi Keiko and thinking back to all the classic shoujo manga I stayed up reading back in the day, like damn that's so true Urasawa Naoki

it's partially a love letter to all the greats of the genre that I read, and also to the late night teleseryses that captivated me over the years lmao. it'd be nice to find the time to tackle it properly as a comic, but I'm having fun working on it recreationally :)

✨but since it's recreational, some character info✨

the first character seen is lawrence 'law' valenciano (late 30s), the one with the glasses is cris volante (mid-later 20s). law works at a karinderya, cris is an extremely broke university student.

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / insta / tip jar!

[jestroer]

Dream is a total wanker, and I don't even want to mention him on my blog really, but I honestly could never fucking forget the "WHY has GRIAN, who in my opinion is not great at PvP, killed me at least 8 times in PVP games, yet I have NEVER finished ahead of him in buildmart". Still the funniest fucking shit ever