#more often than not i actually trust them when they say they miss me and its easy to trust them with that

[dykedragons]

luv my friends

[medicinemane]

.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Taste of Sugar (Part 1 of 2)

Alastor x reader (Hazbin Hotel)

Part 1 rated M, Part 2 rated E 18+ for adult content

TW part 1: Light jealousy, trauma related to past food insecurity, trauma recovery.

TW Part 2: Explicate smut, see part 2 for details.

Almost 4k words for part one. Ps- Fuck you Nonny, this is what you get for trying to tell me what I'll write

~<3 Love, Kit.

As you work through the trauma of your life and starving to death, you dismantle your stash of snacks for what you hope will be the final time. Snack cakes, cookies and crackers are given to everyone around you, except one resident in the hotel whom you knew wouldn't enjoy or consume the treats. Then, as the flow of treats tricked to a stop, stash dismantled, small brown boxes containing treats began to appear at your door. Simple, delicious and seemingly homemade treats without so much as a note.

He watched and he waited, each week for your offer. Each week, no offer came and again he left his gift at your door. Why would you not think of him? Why would you not see him? What did he have to do for you to consider him?

~~~~~<3~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3~~~~~<3

A Taste of Sugar

You found yourself in Hell after a rather uneventful death that made of for its lack of excitement with lasting trauma. Now, sitting in a circle in a hotel that functioned more like a rehabilitation center and refuge than actual hotel, you were expected to recount it to the fellow residents that had become more like friends. 

It was Charlie’s latest grand idea of how to build trust and bonds between the group and process negative feelings that could hold each of you back from redemption. You didn’t think that was how redemption worked but whatever, it wasn’t your reputation on the line and it got you a safe room to sleep in and three meals a day. 

The others had grand stories of murders, crimes and addictions that all landed them in the grave, one way or another, often taking others with them. They had spoken of dark indulgences. 

Now they teased you, your crimes amounting to nothing compared to theirs. Damned for the simple crime of being born poor and attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to survive. 

You had died fairly young, having lived most of your life on the streets only to starve to death, alone, cold and in the dark. The shelters were full and the food banks near useless without somewhere to cook the food. Stealing food could only get you so far when you had little to choose from. You died dreaming of a warm meal, cooked at home. You died begging to world for a simple snack cake to quiet the pain in your stomach. You died alone, cold and hungry. 

The divine didn’t seem to care that you only stole what you thought you needed to survive. Really, not even that considering you starved to death. Maybe you didn’t pray enough. Maybe you didn’t go to the right church. Maybe you didn’t give away what little food you had often enough. 

Explaining that felt like shining a spotlight on every way you failed. You failed in life and you failed in death. Not good enough to get into heaven and yet you were also not bad enough to have a respected place in hell. Weak, unless and fueled by fear of once again going without. 

“So, that’s why you’ve always got snacks?” Angel pointed out, making you blush hard in shame. The trauma of your life hand a lasting grip around your actions even in death. 

“I’m trying to be better about it,” You felt shame in how you tended to hoard snacks in your room, rarely actually doing more than a little nibbling at them. Charlie did a great job of ensuring all residents had access to three meals a day, though someone was almost always missing from one meal or another. “I know I don’t have to worry about starving here, it’s just hard.” 

In the shadows of the hall, red eyes watched the group. A smile stretched in the distance as they discussed how the traumas of life leaked into the afterlife and the ways you could move past your traumas. 

He couldn’t say why he was drawn to you. You were little more than a lost doe and yet you plagued his mind. He wanted to cast you out so you’ll leave his thoughts as much as he wanted to keep you as a little pet for his own amusements. There was time enough to figure out what to do about the conflicting urges. For now, he can simply watch from a distance, from the shadows.

Rosie had told him that in her expert opinion he was ‘catching feelings’ when he had lamented his inability to settle on a course of action. That aggravated him more than anything else, well almost. The utter glee at the concept was more annoying by just a touch. 

He was above romantic sentiments just as he was above the carnal desires of the flesh. Rosie was mistaken, Alastor decided as he also made the decision that he would do nothing about you. There was no reason to let you plague him any longer. Simply look away, move on with his days and it would pass. 

Without the desire to do anything about this strange draw to you, Alastor settled on watching you from across the room. He watched as you ate, as you threw out the occasional small package of snacks.Turns out, he wasn’t very good at looking away from you. 

It didn’t escape him how you would frown, discussing your decision with Angel. You had decided you would no longer hoard snacks and oh, how proud of you the group was. 

You were growing. Healing. Blooming. 

If you’d talk to him, he’d tell you that very thing. Yes, he decided as you gave away snacks that he would tell you just how proud he was of you when you presented him with a part of your stash. 

He watched and he waited as you gave out cakes, crackers and cookies to everyone else. 

But never to him. No, it was always Angel and the other residents you shared your spoils with. Not once had you sought him out to offer him a cracker, cake or cookie. Not that he indulged in processed snacks or sweets on anything but the rarest occasion but that didn’t stop his shadow from bristling in annoyance behind him. 

He wanted to be offered. To be recognized. To be thought of. To be noticed. 

But he didn’t have feelings for you, he told himself. And that’s what he kept telling himself as the purging of your stash came to an end, drawer empty and flow of snacks becoming a trickle, an occasional treat purchased with the intention of sharing.

Oh, how you’d healed. 

~~~~~<3

The first time it happened, you nearly stepped on it. Someone had left a simple plain cardboard box in front of your room door without so much as a note attached to it. Inside were two equally simple cookies. Nothing large, nothing fancy. 

Setting them on your desk, you debated eating them or not. They looked good but when you had asked around, no one knew where they had come from. 

“Guess you’ve got a secret admirer,” Angel had teased you. “If the cookies are good, you should date them.” 

You didn’t know how you’d pull that off without knowing who left them though. Surely they were safe to eat, it’s not like random people came and left the hotel.

What’s the worst that could happen, if they were drugged? You were safe in your room. If they made you sick you had a private bathroom. You were already dead so what’s the harm?

The cookies were good, it turned out. You had nibbled on them over a few days, spreading out the treat. It seemed as soon as they were gone though, a new box appeared at the door. This time with a handful of crackers, some sliced cheese, fruit and sliced cured meat.

This continued for months, treats that were simple, modest and only enough to last for a few days. No matter how quickly or slowly you had consumed the gift, the night you discarded the empty box always brought a new box in the morning. 

~~~~~<3 

You leaned against the counter watching Alastor work. It was late and though you were not hungry, you often found yourself in the kitchen. Just being able to go down and look at the food you had access to had been helping you resist the urge to hoard food in your room when ever you felt that anxiety claw at you. 

It helped too, that you had been able to look forward to the small snack boxes that showed up. 

“Something on your mind, Dear?” Alastor didn’t look to you as he spoke, instead keeping his eyes on ingredients he was measuring out. 

You hadn’t expected to find him in the kitchen. It was late and those who didn’t leave to party were asleep. Husk was even passed out at the bar. 

“Not really,” You said after a moment. 

“The food is all here,” Alastor said with a hum, “If that’s what you’re here to check.” 

“Oh, No! I-”

“We’ve all got our quirks.” Alastor cut you off, pouring water into a bowl and adding yeast. 

“What are you making?” You asked rather than face admitting that he was right about what you were there to do.

“Beignets,” Alastor said, mildly annoyed.

“Those are like donuts, right?” You asked, hoping that you had imagined the sound. 

“Indeed, they’re similar.” Alastor kept his words curt. 

“For breakfast tomorrow?” 

“At this hour, it’s today.” Alastor swallowed his annoyance at the endless questions and lied, “Yes, for breakfast.”

“I’ll go, sorry for bothering you.” You stepped backward as you took the hint, smile falling from your face. 

“No,” He answered too fast, bitter sigh huffing through his always present smile, “I’ll need someone to try the test one.” 

“Oh.” 

You sat, watching Alastor work. He mixed flour into the liquid. This was a way you had never seen Alastor before. It crossed your mind that he probably didn’t let many see him with his coat and gloves off, smile turned soft and flour dusting his dark hands. 

But he was letting you. 

His coat was draped over the back of the chair you sat in, brushing against your skin as you shifted positions. His gloves were folded neatly and discarded on the table. He worked with his sleeves rolled up and a tune filling the air as he alternated between humming and softly singing to himself. 

It was beautiful. You were engrossed watching him work. The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around you, caressing you with warmth. 

You’d never spent much time with Alastor. You knew he was a deer, like yourself but until now, you’d thought his only deer trait had been the antlers and ears atop his head. It hadn’t occurred to you that he would have a little fluffy tail to match your own. 

It should have, you had fluffy ears to match his though with your longer hair, it was more obvious that they were indeed ears. You watched as his red and black tail moved with him as he put the dough in the icebox to chill.

“What now?” You asked, leaning back from him. 

“We wait, my little doe,” Alastor sat front of you across the table, leaning into your space across the small table.

“For how long?” You ask, not sure what to make of spending so much time with him. 

“A while,” Alastor said, “But I assure you the wait is well worth it.” 

“But you don’t like sweets.”

“You know what I like?” Alastor’s dark hand, stained by blood that could never be washed away dramatically rose to rest over his heart with a flourish as he leaned forward even more. “I’m ever so flattered.” 

You stuttered, not sure how to backtrack. Alastor laughed at your flustered stuttering before taking pity on you, pointing a long claw tipped finger so close to you that you swore he was going to stab you with his nail. 

“You, my dear, do enjoy sweets however.”

You didn’t know what to say to that, face warm. He knew that you cared for sweets. You were tired but seeing this relaxed side of him was thrilling. That chased away most of the fatigue, driving you to stay and find someway to push the conversation along. 

“I didn’t know you liked to cook,” You struggled to decide how to fill the silence.

“I’ve always found it rather enjoyable.” Alastor cocked his head to the side as he watched you. “My mother taught me.” 

“That must have been nice.” You weren’t sure what to say, having never really gotten to experience the love of a mother yourself. 

“It was.” Alastor watched as you leaned forward, resting your head on your arms. There was something about you that he couldn’t put down. “Did your mother not teach you to cook?” 

Your ears sagged atop your head at the question, earning a raised eyebrow from the man across from you. “She didn’t teach me much of anything. I was on my own since I was fourteen.” 

“Oh, Dear,” Alastor said as if he didn’t know that already, “How dreadful.” 

“I never really had enough food for learning to cook to be a thing.” You shrugged your shoulders, not lifting your head as you stretched out your arm to use it as a pillow. You shifted, allowing you to face him even as you used the side of the table to lounge on. 

“But you do now.” Alastor pointed out as he sat with you in a kitchen full of food.

“Full of Charlie’s and the hotel’s food.” You said, “I couldn’t risk wasting it. It’s enough that everyone shares with me what they make and,” You shake your head awkwardly against your arm, cutting off the thought.

“And?” Alastor pressed. 

“Someone’s been leaving little boxes of treats at my door. I wish I knew who it was.” 

“Why?” Alastor leaned back now, putting distance between the two of you, “Does the origin of a gift matter?” 

“I-” Your eyes teared up as your voice strangled in your throat. You sat up, not sure why you were being so open with him. 

“You~?” Alastor asked in a sing song tone as a tear slipped from your eye and ran down. His eyes followed it as it cut a path down your cheek. It was maddening to him, what you made him feel. How watching that tear captured his attention, yet he raged at the fact that it was born from pain in your heart.

“I’ve never had anyone give me treats like that.” You said, wiping the tear away much to his disappointment. 

“Never? Surely a suiter gifted you treats while courting for your attention.” Oh, why did saying that raise bile in his throat? 

“I’ve never-” You laugh, not sure why the idea of discussing this with Alastor made you feel uneasy. “There was never any suiters. No boys. No one.” 

“I struggle to believe that.” Alastor laughed as he stood from his chair, “Come my dear, wash your hands and join me.” 

You didn’t know what he wanted but Alastor was a man to be obeyed. While you were both deer, he had far more power than you could ever dream to possess. If he wanted to demand your help, you had little choice but to comply. 

Sure, the hotel offered a sense of safety but if Alastor wanted to squash you like a bug, shared demonic traits or not, there was nothing that could stop him. Well, Charlie would but she was asleep. 

Alastor had the counter floured and a small portion of dough out as you joined him, drying your hands. “Where’s the rest?” 

“That’ll be fried up in the morning, if it passes our test.”

He pulled you in front of the counter before stepping close behind you. It was hard to ignore the overwhelming presence of him looming over your shoulder as he reached around to grab the rolling pin only to pass it to you.

“Roll it out until I say,” He directed as he covered the pin in flour only to place it in your hands. 

As you worked, his hands rested on either side of you against the counter, boxing you in from behind while not touching you at all. It was hard for you to ignore how close he was. 

It was like the man was taking over your mind, something you hadn’t expected considering you hadn’t given him much thought in the months before. The smell of his cologne seemed to surround, making your head light. You weren’t sure why you were reacting to him like this but it left your nerves buzzing. 

Now all you could think of was the way his breath caressed over your ears, the way his hands looked without the gloves, dusted with flour, the sound of his voice as he hummed and the smell of his cologne. 

“There.” Alastor said, taking the pin from you and replacing it with a dough cutter. “Squares, about the size of your fist.” 

Cool air swept around you as Alastor moved away, checking the pot of oil heating on the stove. You’d only just begun to relax under his looming presence and now he was gone and damnit, you missed it. 

There was just enough dough to form two squares with some left over. Alastor scooped them up before dropping them in the oil. You stood next to him, watching as the oil came to life around the dough. 

“How long do we cook them?” You asked over the sound of the violently bubbling oil.

“Not long.” Alastor said from too close behind you once again as inky black shadow imps swept up the flour and crumbs, wiping down the counters.

On the counter, he set a plate with a rack over it and next to that was a sifter atop a container of powdered sugar. You were boxed in by Alastor as he rested his hands on either side of the fryer, looking over your shoulder as he once again boxed you in. 

“Now.” He said softly, “Scoop them out and put them on the rack.” 

You were timid, scared of being burned as you fished for the squares with the spoon made of wire. 

“Hurry, hurry!” Alastor cried, voice carrying a musical note as he only made your nerves worse, “You don’t want them to burn!” 

Finally, you got them out. Oil dripped off the puffed up pastries as they quickly drained the excess oil off. Alastor grabbed the sifter only to put it in your hands. He moved you as if you were a puppet, placing the sifter in your hands over the rack, steam wafting up to caress your hand. You stood still as he poured a few spoonfuls of powdered sugar into the basket. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He teased. “You can manage to turn the handle, can’t you?” 

“Yeah,” You stammered over the word, mind buzzing with the anxiety of having Alastor, the powerful, blood thirsty Radio Demon spending so much time in your immediate space. Your hands shook as you turned the small metal handle, causing the wire bar inside the sifter to spin, agitating the powdered sugar and helping it fall in a smooth, clump free shower over a square. 

Alastor used his hand on your forearm to move the sifter over the other pastry when he had decided there was enough dusting on the first. You didn’t know if there was any science to how much sugar each got or if he was simply measuring with his long dead heart. 

Once both were covered enough for his taste, he plucked the sifter from your fingers and set it aside. 

“What now?” You asked, unsure still of what was going on. 

“Now you try one.” Alastor said, plucking a square up. When you went to grab the other, he roughly shoved the rack out of your reach. 

“What? Why did you do that?!” Your brow furrowed as you looked at the rack, now well out of reach before looking back at the man standing too close to you. “How can I try it if you won’t let me grab it?”

“Open.” Alastor commanded as he ripped the corner off the beignet in his hand. 

“Wha-” Your question was cut off by the soft, warm, sweet taste that invaded your mouth somewhat forcefully. 

It was delicious. 

“Well?” Alastor asked as you swallowed the bite. 

You hadn’t noticed Alastor rip off another chunk of beignet but found it pushed between your lips the moment you attempted to praise the taste. This time, instead of retreating, his thumb rested against your lower lip as you took in the bite. 

His nails were long and pointed claws, not the thick claws that encased the fingertips of his gloves, but still dangerous. The sharp point of his thumbnail poked between your lips as he watched you chew for a few moments. 

You were spellbound by the way he looked down at you. What exactly was happening, you had no fucking clue but the air between you and Alastor was thick with something you couldn’t begin to understand. 

His touch left your lip to rip another chunk off the beignet slowly as you watched him. His dark bloodstained hands were covered in the white powdered sugar and flour, softening their appearance.

“It’s good,” You whispered as he slowly brought another bite to your lips. 

This time he offered it, waiting for you to open your mouth and take what he was offering on your own, knowing full well who was offering it. Somehow, it felt like something far more than a midnight snack was being offered to you but what?

“It’s been you,” You said, not asked as Alastor presented another bite that you took willingly as soon as you spoke. 

His thumb again lingered on your lips, sugar damp with oil and sticky on his skin smearing. 

“Yes,” Alastor said after a pause to toss the remaining portion of the beignet on the counter and wiping the hand that had been holding it on a hand towel on the counter, cleaning it of some of the sugar. Yet his other hand didn’t leave you. His thumb remained on your lower lip, feeling every twitch and breath. 

“Why?” You whispered, his thumb slipping against your lip and coming dangerously close to falling into your mouth. 

“You never offered me anything of your stash,” Alastor spoke softly.

“You don’t like sweets,” You hadn’t wanted to waste his time when you had made the decision to dismantle your stash. It had been a emotionally difficult choice, one that you had made before and never stuck to for long until now. “Or junk food.”

“You ignored me.” Alastor’s thumb slipped, running along her lower lip but never leaving it. “I thought if you had better options…”

“I’d share them with you?” Your voice was coming out so soft now, Alastor’s tall ears cocked forward to better pick up your words. 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I didn’t share them with anyone.” You whispered. “I didn’t want to share them with anyone.”

“Why?” 

“I wanted to keep them all to myself. They were too good to share. I-” 

Alastor’s thumb slipped into your mouth, cutting off whatever you had been about to say. Sticky sweetness exploded across your tongue as his thumb caressed it. You could feel the point of his nail against your tongue, a hint of danger coated in sweet sugar. 

Your mind was numb as you caressed the pad of his thumb, rolling the tip of your tongue under his nail softly. You were not sure what he wanted from you. The idea of overstepping Alastor’s unspoken boundaries was terrifying. This was uncharted waters. A side of Alastor you had never seen or even dared to dream of seeing. 

Alastor watched you as you stood near frozen. “Under some circumstances, I enjoy a sweet.” 

~~~~~<3

See part 2 for the smut.

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍: Make-Up Sex w/ Dean Winchester

a/n: now that i feel better, though still albeit exhausted, i'm now literally running, jumping, fucking skipping to get caught up because somehow october decided to actually speed run its own month like the hell???

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

Being with Dean Winchester was challenging at times, because no matter how much he trusts you or how good things really are, he's always expecting the rug to be pulled out from under him. Even if sometimes he is the metaphorical rug.

You've had many arguments before, but none of them have hurt like this. You often found yourself in bed alone, usually because the boys were out hunting or catching up on lore, and you were honestly okay with that because duh— they were saving the world! But, sometimes you missed having some cuddle time with your boyfriend, but apparently he did not feel the same.

When you came to peel him away from whatever article he was reading on the computer, he snapped at you, saying some things that were very unnecessary. It had sent you back to bed angrier and more hurt than you had ever been before.

It only took a few minutes of harsh silence before he came stomping down the hallway and into your shared room. You didn't dare move a muscle, remaining on your side with your arms crossed and glare settled on the wall in front of you.

He took a moment to kick off his shoes and shuck off his flannel before shuffling into bed behind you, a heavy hand resting on your plush hip that was covered by the duvet.

"Sweetheart…" He began. "Go away, Dean." You said coldly, unravelling your arms to shove his hand off of you. 

"Look— I'm sorry." He rasped quietly. "Could've fooled me." He sighed. "I— didn't mean what I said, I'm just… tired. This case has been whoppin' me and Sammy's ass." He explained. "I just wanna catch this thing before it kills anyone else, and I ended up taking my anger out on you and you didn't deserve it," Dean took your body relaxing as a sign to be able to spoon you. "Fuck, honey. I'm sorry."

You chewed on your bottom lip thoughtfully. A part of you didn't want to give in, but the other part acknowledges that Dean never apologises unless he really means it.

"You really hurt my feelings, you know?" You whispered meekly. "I know baby, I know." He murmured into your neck.

You basked in his closeness, in the strength of his arm wrapped around your softened midsection. You shivered when you felt him place gentle kisses onto the exposed skin of your neck, the arm holding you pressed your back harder onto his chest.

"Let me take care'a you." He said seductively, his palm slipping up to cup your braless breast. You whimpered at the feeling, but nonetheless grinded back on his growing bulge as he stimulated your nipples.

"Please." You breathlessly begged. 

He was quick to turn you on your back, lips slamming down on yours. He devoured your mouth, his tongue demanding entrance as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your pajama shorts. He groaned lowly at the fact that you had no panties on.

"Was this what you were gonna give me to make me feel better?" He asked with an amused smirk painted on his lips. Your skin flushed but you nodded shyly. "If it would have helped you, yeah." You confessed sheepishly. "Can't believe I was such an asshole to my sweet girl." 

His fingers teased your damp folds, sliding a finger between them to collect your slick before prodding at your entrance. Your breath caught in your throat, a small whine leaving you as he joined your lips together once more.

It was as though he was trying to destroy you from the inside-out. His strong fingers worked your entrance open, the man slipping in a second finger. Your legs twitched around his arm, loud mewls passing between the both of you whenever he'd hit your g-spot. 

You pulled away from your spit soaked kiss to cry out. "Dean, baby, 'm gonna cum!" 

He slipped in a third and final finger. He twisted his wrist torturously, his thumb reaching up to rub furiously at your clit. Your hand gripped desperately at his wrist, holding it to your body as you desperately rode his hand. 

"There you go, sweetheart. There ya go." He talked you through your orgasm. "Dean… Dean…" All you could whimper was his name.

"Fuck." You heaved after taking a few moments to catch your breath. "You okay?" He asked gruffly. You nodded your head, your own fingers tangling themselves up in his spiky hair. 

"I need you in me." You said as you cradled the back of his head. "Don't know if I deserve it." It sounded as if the big bad Dean Winchester was actually pouting! 

"Ugh, just c'mere." You said with a grin, tugging your boyfriend over your body. "If you don't fuck me, then I'll be sad again. How does that sound?" You asked playfully. "Not good." He murmured with a matching grin.

He was quick to take off his jeans, practically falling over himself to get naked as you finally stripped yourself of your own as well. Both of you were as naked as the day you were born by the time he had his cock lined up to your entrance.

His tip teased your clit, which caused you to whine in displeasure. "Dean…" He chuckled lightly. "Sorry, honey." 

With his hands on either side of your head, he entered you, your head falling back in pleasure at the feeling.

"Jesus." He groaned. "Feels so good, baby." He praised. Tiny whimpers left you as he bottomed out, sheathed all the way to the hilt as your velvety walls fluttered around him selfishly.

"Shit! Please move." You begged. 

Dean would be damned if you had to beg for fucking anything tonight. Pulling out slowly, he slammed his hips into yours. A loud smack! Resounded throughout the room, a choked moan slipping out of you.

"Ah!" His tip brushed against your g-spot pleasurably. Your nails dug into his back as he pounded into you, holding onto the older man for dear life as he continually stretched you out.

Your velvety walls sucked him in greedily, like they were practically trying to keep him inside of you. You could feel that familiar coil in your stomach tighten continuously, a feeling that Dean had made sure you were familiar with for the past years that you've been with him.

Your pussy burned with overstimulation as you neared your end, and it made it harder for Dean to move in and out of you.

"You gonna cum, baby?" He asked through gritted teeth. "Y— yes!" You stuttered. "Cum for me then, sweetheart." Your hand slipped down to rub at your clit hurriedly, your back arching at the overwhelming feeling.

"Fuck!" You swore as you came, your chest pressed against Dean's. One of his arms held himself up as the other stretched over your back to keep your plush upper body anchored to him as you rode out your high.

"Holy shit." You gasped, your chest heaved with each quick breath you attempted to take. 

"Best apology ever." You said with a hazy laugh.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

[somerandomdudelmao]

I think the thing I keep coming back to is not the enormity of their love it's the mmmm. Consistency maybe? I'm not sure that's the right word.

It's the way it manifests, right? Because of course they love each other, they're family, they're each others whole heart. Of course Mikey will sacrifice his youth to burn the kraang out of Casey. Of course Raph would give the generator at his heart to keep Leo and Mikey and Casey safe. Of course Leo would stay behind with Mikey in a ruined world. Of course Donnie would walk onto a battlefield half dead and fight the kraang off for his brothers. Of course Casey would break the laws of the universe to bring the four of them back.

Of course they would. Because they're each other's whole world. There's no ask that's too large. There's no task too impossible. There's no fight that's too dangerous. Of course they'd hand out these actions, these definitive declarations of love.

Because what other choice is there? When the options are do it or let your family suffer the answer is obvious. The answer is easy.

And those are wonderful ploy points, they're wonderful dynamics and moments and declarations. But they're not what I keep coming back to.

I keep coming back to Leo giving Mikey his hoodie when Mikey wants comfort. To Casey wrapping baby Leo in blankets. To April finding the Jupiter Jim movie and bringing it to watch with Donnie. To Donnie making Mikey young again. To Leo giving Casey piggyback rides, and swinging him around for fun. To Mikey letting Leo's scarf and tassels float with magic. To Donnie letting Casey lay on him. To Raph commiserating with Leo that Casey doesn't remember him. To Mikey comforting Raph when he lost his eye.

To Donnie showing Casey the rain.

Because when you love someone it's easy to give everything for them. To sacrifice yourself, your safety, your life. When the problem is "do something or watch them suffer, watch them die" there's no question to be asked. There's no alternative action to be taken.

But it's harder to remember to do the hundreds of insignificant things that are the actually important bits. The things that you dont have to do. Because no one will die if Mikey doesn't get Leo's hoodie. No one will be in danger if Leo's scarf doesn't blow in magical wind. No one would worry if Casey never saw the rain.

But they're love isn't just about saving each other or protecting each other. It's not about the sacrifice, it never has been.

It's about waking up each day, and spending each moment caring for someone so deeply that you take the time to find your old hoodie wherever it thrown last. Trusting someone so wholly that you share the ways you feel, even when you know there's nothing to be done about it.

Because in the end Casey wouldn't have known to miss the rain. He couldn't have cared either way about it. But Donnie wanted Casey to experience what he viewed as a small joy.

And I think that's what I've been circling for the last 500 or so words. The small joy. And the constant, consistent, never ending effort of creating that small joy for the ones you love. For comforting them. For making them smile.

And what I come back to, over and over, is that the huge moments, where it's all or nothing, when it's time to put everything on the line for those you love, means absolutely nothing unless it's backed by hundreds of thousands of moments where you sacrifice nothing more than a bit of time, or a bit of effort, or a bit of convenience. If you haven't spent your whole life doing the things that aren't a given, and aren't necessary.

Ohhh, it does things to my brain.

One thing I keep reminding myself of throughout the creation of a comic is consistency. I often want to twist some situation so that it's something new and surprising for the characters. You know, in terms of emotions and dynamics.

When Raph bot came home alive and Leo cried. A little voice inside me was saying "what if this is the first time Casey sees Leo cry? Show his reaction! Show how surprised he is!"

Or when Mikey levitates someone. "Come on, draw a surprised face. Levitation is surprising!"

All those little family moments. I keep reminding myself that they are not a group of strangers who become family. They are family. The family family. The familiest family ever jfjfbfhdksk

So instead of

"oh wow did he do that??"

it's

"well of course he did that."

It's about caring and giving and loving to the point where it's something naturally subconscious.

[s0lemnhypn0s]

(Warning for this post I'm half asleep so I might be incoherent or have disjointed topics. Bare with me, I'm trying to express my thoughts the best I can.)

(and WARNING! i discuss personal paranoias at one point during this, which include the topic of bugs and self harm)

"Billford is ironic we're shipping them ironically" "We don't actually want to see them together" "We don't think theyre a good pair" "its irreconciliably abusive" "its one sided"

ok I'm gonna put forward a take that might be poorly recieved: I think you all are misunderstanding Billford (And each character individually) and just reducing it to "bill abused ford" takes away so much of what makes their dynamic fascinating. And also claiming "Erm its a bit" while engaging in something you "recognize" as abuse only does a disservice to the topic of abuse and how it relates to the mentally ill (I will get into that later). You are treating the relationship as a joke and only acknowledging the abusive aspects when people come at you is just pretty scummy of you. Speaking as someone who experienced a near identical abusive relationship, where my paranoia was preyed upon, causing me to still suffer from the paranoia of being watched by them or that my abuser will eventually send someone after me.

In general, the existence of abuse is a complicated one and abuse is not a catch all, end all term. Not all abuse is built the same. Billford is undeniably abusive, but there is not a period after "abusive", are you picking up what I'm putting down. It's not just "Bill was exerting power over Ford and thats it"

Lets start with: We all recognize Ford is paranoid, but we don't seem to recognize Bill as paranoid in the exact same way, dare I say - Even more paranoid than Ford. I mean, ford got his "Trust no one" quote from Bill directly saying his rule of thumb for trusting people is to just trust no one. He doesn't trust others - He simply doesn't. And this is part of where Bill Cipher's manipulation of SPECIFICALLY Ford comes in.

Now I am going to speak from a personal anecdote of my experience with paranoia and delusions - Me, I will try to "safeguard" against my every little fear and belief that something will, undoubtedly, undeniably, be out to hurt me, and these safeguards are often extreme in nature. They don't make sense to the people around me, but they make sense to me. Sometimes they hurt the people around me. Sometimes, they hurt me. I believe this is the same with Bill Cipher himself. He is taking measures to make sure his worst fears do not come to pass. And because Bill is decidedly not human, only interacts with humans when he deems neccesary, those measures often take the form of something even more extreme than, idk, me shaving my head because I thought bug eggs were in my hair or trying to cut open my skin because I thought something was living in it. They take the form of something abusive (Which is also just... Something that happens with the mentally ill sometimes. I see you guys trying to separate our mental illness from our actions and claim "thats not making you do that". I see you.). Him trying to guard himself from something so terrible(facetious) as Ford's percieved betrayal ultimately becomes a self fufilling prophecy.

Not to mention, if you guys didn't notice. Bill without a doubt projects his own insecurities onto Ford. "I make you feel important" Ford makes Bill feel important. "No one loves you" He was ostracized in his dimension. "Who will miss you" He destroyed his entire home, nobody would mourn Bill, because they were all gone, long gone. "I'm sending someone to steal your eyes" Might be a stretch, but I look towards the silly straw poem "A different kind of eye doctor, who wants to make his patient blind" Obviously the use of "blind" here is metaphorical, but I feel its still in some ways applicable.

Bill very evidently experienced medical abuse and ostracization in Euclydia, something exceedingly common for those labeled as mad. (Which also brings me to the topic of people saying "I'm so glad they didn't make Bill a sympathetic villain in the book of bill" bc. Hi. I'm a guy thats experienced ostracization and medical staff forcibly medicating me in order to fix me. I think he is sympathetic actually). Not only that, Bill Cipher had a trillion years to fester in his resentment and his guilt, and you think that like. Didn't effect him at all. I really and truly beg to disagree.

Not only that: I think Bill felt a kinship with Ford. Ford was ostracized, he was betrayed by the world (and "betrayed" by his brother), he was regarded as a freak for what he was born with, just as Bill was regarded as a freak for his mutation in Euclydia. Bill thought Ford was just like him. Bill thought Ford would understand him, and furthermore would jump at the opportunity to burn the world down with him. And. to his credit. Ford does, in some capacity, understand him. As much as Ford could understand, with Bills lies within lies. Bill craves the intimacy and fears the touch. He uses fear to get Ford to love him, not only because he thinks it will safeguard him from what he fears most, but likely because it is all he knows, all he was taught. Love through fear. Our love is painful, but we only want to help. Pain in love is natural. It's right. It will only hurt a little. This is how you know we love you. He was shocked when Ford rejected him. He thought he did everything right. He had everything planned, for them to be together for eternity.

And bare in mind also that - Bill. Most evidently. Views himself as a monster. When Ford asks about what happened to his dimension, who destroyed it - Bill responds "A monster.", he says "Sixer, it would eat you alive" when Ford offers to help hunt it down. He lets his mask of jovial, mysterious mischief drop just slightly, and we understand just a little bit more of how he feels about the euclidean massacre, how he understands himself through his actions. And what he understands, is that this is just his nature. "I liberated my dimension, Stanford", a lie but not in the way you'd think. He lies, acting like what he did was intentional, as its the only way he could ascribe "reason" to what he did. It couldn't have been an accident. That is just how I am. It wasn't an accident, and I liberated them. (I wish I could go back.) And I come back to the idea of a self fufilling prophecy, because its again- That exactly. Bill decided this was all he could be, he did everything that would make him a "monster" after the accident that caused the euclidean massacre - And so, he was. A sick prognosis that he created and fufilled with his own two hands, he became the monster he and his home dimension envisioned him as.

Abuse is a complicated subject. What Bill did was abuse, yes, but I also distinctly believe it to be a case of abuse between two mentally ill people, one of which is so old, his hate his anger and his regrets, all are ancient and yet so fresh.

I feel another part of the problem is people are taking Bill at face value. Which is exactly what he wants to do because then you dont get at what hes doing all this for and why. You don't get past the exoskeleton to the tender flesh beneath. But stop taking what he says at face value. Read into it more. Analyze the triangle.

Also it might be controversial (hyperbole.) , but I do thing it means /something/ that during Ford's part of the book of bill, where Bill and Ford's relationship is recounted from his perspective, Bill is notably absent, whereas in the rest of the book, he is guiding us through it and constantly maintains a loud presence in it. You could interpret this in a lot of different ways I think, but the way I've chosen to interpret it is as a mix of shame, regret, and an unwillingness to revisit their past together. Perhaps even Bill having enough respect for Ford to not interject his telling of their story together, if you want to get real complicated about it. Paradoxal, if you will.

(Also I find the theraprism to be a most fucked "end" for Bill Cipher due to the medical abuse he experienced as a child. Something something, mad people can never escape the institutions which seek to "fix" them.)

anyway if you read through my mad sleep addled ramblings CONGRATS! i'm probably going to make edits and add to this when I wake up in the morning but i needed to get this out or id forget. billford is abusive but its way more complex than just... abuse. Abuse is a complex subject and it exists on a spectrum, for a lack of better words. and dont twist my words - That isn't saying "this is less bad abuse", this is saying "its complicated and just leaving it at abusive does their relationship a disservice"

[nyuuronfly]

On Rain World lore and it's implementation within the game.

This is kindof a random ramble I went on in a Discord chat and just feel like sharing elsewhere. (also note this is all primarily in reference to the original game, Survivor's story.)

I honestly think too many miss the forest for the trees a bit with RW, in terms of how important the lore is, if that makes sense. I talked with somebody about first-time experiences with the game and they said they'd watched a number of lore explanation videos on YT before starting, because of some reason along the lines of "I didn't trust the game to deliver its own story properly." To me this is almost saddening to hear because I really feel that misses the point of why the game has it's lore to begin with.

To me, while playing, any tidbits i learned about history or other information contributed to a feeling like the world I was navigating had a very real history that saturated it, yet one that I would be unable to grasp fully. It is an illusory feeling of realness, given how it is experienced. The game is mechanically not designed to incentivize collecting many information pearls, especially when in the original game you can literally just drop them off a cliff and lose them forever. You get the feeling often like you are bound to never be able to get everything, nor would you even probably want to put in the effort, so the illusion actually stays stronger because of that. Your mind wanders speculating about every little detail, whether intention truly existed behind it or not, because it feels like it did. You learned that it might have. Maintaining that illusion while playing I think is the primary reason they were included, not actually the experience of "knowing" the history. Rain World in general seems to have a thematic fixation on the simple idea that individuals have limited perspectives. Joar Jakobsson has said that one of the core ideas behind Rain World was to recreate the life of a "rat in Manhattan." That is to say, a creature that understands how to find food, hide, and live in a complex man-made structure, that cannot understand it's structuring purpose or why it was built. The very core issue of the iterators, is that the solution to the "great problem" intrinsically has to lie with knowledge that could only be obtained from "the other side." They are corporeal beings trying to know something that pertains to something outside corporeal reality. Yet pursuit of knowledge is very important to creatures like ourselves. Collecting any individual pearl is mostly an exercise in doing a lot just for little bits of knowledge. There is a lot of understanding of just how significant wanting to know more is, even something unimportant, when you are left in the dark the way you are in the game. Most information pearls you deliver are literally completely useless to know about, but they feel personally important, especially in how finding them relates to your connection to the iterators. My primary motivation to find pearls in my first play was to spend more time with Moon. On a very real emotional level, Moon felt like my only friend in the world while I played. On a mechanical level, she does literally nothing. But Rain World manages to operate on a very emotional, even instinctual level with how it's designed. I wanted to be in her company and have something to give her. Because I am alone, and lost. So something along those lines is why I felt saddened to hear the sentiment like Rain World somehow "fails" to deliver it's "story." The purpose of the game is not to find pearls and hear about some grand narrative. At it's core, Rain World is a game that's design was inspired by nature, and it's use of history within the world relates to us as a player the way history relates to us as people. It is relayed through people reading from records created by parties with their own perspectives, and connects us abstractly to a sensation that there is more out there than our own lives. That is a feeling you have as a player, and ultimately the true story that Rain World tells is the memories you have playing it. What you did, saw, and felt. The same as how our story is that of our own lives. That is the purpose of the game.

[thezombieprostitute]

Dragonfly

Summary: Steve has just about everything he could ever want in life. He's got you, a baby on the way, and a successful Family. No one would dare interfere with that. Right?

A/N: Reader is female, pregnant. No other descriptors used.

Warnings: Death threats, Implied violence, Pregnancy. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Steve was feeling on top of the world. He had you, the most beautiful, amazing wife in the world and soon enough you’d both have a son. He was definitely in higher spirits than usual for hosting a political fundraiser. 

He spotted you coming back from the bathroom. One of the sacrifices he had to make was that he couldn’t actually be at your side as often because of the frequent bathroom breaks you needed to make. One of the things neither of you thought about when planning for the pregnancy. But it was a worthy sacrifice. He quickly took his leave of his current discussion and went straight for you. 

Every day of your relationship Steve had made sure to tell you how beautiful you are to him. As you see him walking towards you, his face projecting nothing but love, you’re grateful. Pregnancy was already taking its toll on your body and you were regularly feeling less than attractive. But the fact that Steve’s loving expression never changed towards you really helped.

His protectiveness had also amped up considerably but that was understandable given his actual work. Ever since you started showing he also became a lot more possessive. Someone shakes your hand and Steve has to fight the urge to punch them for touching you. It’s taken some time but he’s learned to save it all for when the two of you get home and he can fuck your brains out. Possessive sex with Steve was so much fun you almost went out of your way to make sure to greet the men who insisted on kissing your hand. Steve had caught on, though, and would run interference as much as he could, giving you a look that promised some kind of funishment.

As soon as you were within reach he wrapped his arm around your waist and brought you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” he sighed.

“I was gone for two minutes,” you laugh quietly.

“And?”

“And I love you too,” you grin before kissing him. 

Now that your back at his side Steve can focus. There’s more planned idle chatter about upcoming bills and tax reforms. Boring as usual, but necessary for your community. You take pride in knowing how much Steve and his Family put into helping people. 

Steve notices some of his security team moving quickly and he instinctively brings you in closer. He trusts Bucky to handle whatever it is, but he’s ready to move you out of harm’s way at a moment’s notice. 

The talking continues for a few more minutes when Bucky approaches, giving Steve the silent signal that it was urgent. Excusing the two of you from the discussion, Steve walks with you to Bucky. 

“We’re getting you out of here,” Bucky says before turning and walking towards the exit in the back. Steve gently pushes you to follow and you do so. You focus on keeping pace with Bucky and don’t notice how alert Steve is. Even after your usual security guards take their places around you, he keeps looking around for danger.

It isn’t until you’re in the car and see Bucky take the driver’s seat that you realize how serious the situation is. 

As the car gets to moving Bucky starts talking, “we found a hitman in the upper levels of the place. Had a small smoke bomb and a sniper.”

“How’d he get that past security?” Steve’s voice is tight with anger.

“He camped out,” Bucky explained. “Some time between our initial sweep yesterday and the party starting he set himself up. He got found by a couple of our guys doing a patrol. He wasn’t able to clock how much time between patrols,” Bucky’s voice tinged with pride on that last part. He’d been a proponent of patrolling at irregular intervals to throw off would-be threats. 

“So why are we heading out,” you ask. “You secured the threat, right?”

Bucky sighs, looking at Steve in the rear-view mirror. “Yeah, but then we found the contract. It’s an open contract, with an incredibly high price tag.”

Steve sighed, “any idea who wants me dead this time?”

“It wasn’t for you,” Bucky tells him. “It was for her.” Steve’s blood runs cold as you gasp at the news. “That’s why we’re getting her out of sight. Knew you’d want to come along so I brought both of you.” Bucky looks at you in the rear-view mirror. “We’re going to find whoever put out the contract but it’s gonna take time. During that time you’re in significant danger. I’m gonna advise you stay inside, away from windows. Open windows, at least.”

You’re barely registering what he’s saying. The hit was for you. The thought makes you weak and nauseated. Staying inside definitely sounds like a good idea. You feel Steve’s arm pull you even closer to him. He’s silent, a signal as to how furious he is. 

Once you're inside the safety of Steve’s home you relax a little. This is familiar. This is secure. You rub your belly, trying to calm yourself. Normally Steve would go to his office with Bucky to discuss business but since it involves you, they sit you down in Steve’s comfiest office chair before talking.

“What intel do we have,” Steve asks, pacing the room.

“Garbage Men are getting with GBH to see if he can get them more info,” Bucky replies. “Until then, all we know is the hit is out for Mrs. Steve Rogers and the reward is almost 7 figures.”

“We’re most likely dealing with someone who wants to hit me where it hurts,” Steve reasons. “Who’ve I pissed off that’s got this kind of money?”

“Too many to really help us,” Bucky retorts. “I’ve got some of my men asking their contacts with the other families, confirming who would and who wouldn’t kill a pregnant woman just to hurt you.”

His comments have you crying. If the stress of knowing you were in danger wasn’t enough, the pregnancy hormones made everything worse. Steve is immediately at your side, holding you while Bucky brings over a box of tissues. They hold off their conversation until you’ve calmed down and caught your breath. 

“I’m so sorry, Hummingbird,” Steve gently tells you. 

“It’s not your fault,” you assure. “It’s whoever put out that contract.”

Bucky’s phone beeps with a notification and he checks it. “Well, GBH was able to provide the name that issued the contract but I don’t think it’ll help us.”

“Fake name,” Steve growls.

“Yup,” Bucky confirms. “Dragonfly.”

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Tags are based on the Hummingbird Series. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!

@alicedopey; @aryhyuuga; @cynic-spirit; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jamneuromain; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ktficworld; @leryg0; @rayofdawnworld; @rebekahdawkins; @texmexdarling

[togglesbloggle]

In Defense of Bad Things

'Bad' here meaning mostly 'amateur'; stuff made enthusiastically by people at an unprofessional level. Art with visible gaps between what the artist imagined and what they achieved, products of flawed craftsmanship. I suppose everybody can appreciate them to some extent, it's a rare parent that doesn't put up their kid's drawings on the fridge in one way or another. But it turns out to be a fully general skill you can cultivate, and the more I do, the more I'm glad I did.

Partly, it's the teacher thing; finding delight in amateur work is one of the ways to find delight in the process of learning. Cultivating a love of striving-qua-striving can help make you a force for good in the world, as people start to feel safe trying to do things when you're around, even when their efforts are wobbly. You get to participate a little more in the process of atoms spinning themselves into ideas, even when there aren't any illusions about whether you're helping cultivate some revolutionary genius in the field.

And partly it's a fabulous way to build community. By necessity, our professional-level skills tend to be at the service of other people, performed for economic benefit; that's kind of how you get professionally good at something in the first place. When we're acting for our own sake, and among friends, most of what we do with one another is amateurish. I only cook middling-okay, I can't hold a tune that well, I'll never be a speed runner for anything. If you can only enjoy singing from the hundred best singers in the whole world, manufactured and polished by major studios, then you and your friends will sit shoulder-to-shoulder and passively listen to music. But it's so much richer an experience to sit face-to-face, actually singing together, even badly; you expose yourself to so many new ways to appreciate and respect one another, building relationships on what you've accomplished and not just by witty criticism or liking the same things.

And partly it's because some of the most powerful and innovative artistic experiences are in high-churn environments with low expectations and low barriers to entry, if only because those catch the passionate and driven young people that have been otherwise overlooked by our systems. The golden age of webcomics meant that a ton of the actual art involved was pretty lousy, but it also produced work that people still talk about today. D&D began as a profoundly unpolished collection of handmade rulebooks sold at cons in a plastic baggie. By the time these products of enthusiastic amateurs filter themselves through various levels of popularity and absorb mainstream cash influx, they're often risk-averse and missing a lot of the bold spark that inspired their fans in the first place; others will simply never drift towards the mainstream at all. I'm not saying you should be the person who goes out to dig through the slush piles of the internet looking for overlooked art, unless you want to be-- but sometimes a work of actual staggering genius also happens to be a Supernatural fanfic by a first-time author who's a little hazy on commas, and if that's a dealbreaker, you're going to miss out on some profoundly valuable experiences.

And hiding behind all of these things is, like...

Our appreciation of beauty has an odd structure, right? When things are done very skillfully, by brilliant artists with years of training, we can usually appreciate those accomplishments. And when we're looking at nature without human influence, and especially when we think very deeply about natural processes and understand them in context, we often rediscover that sense of beauty. There's just this bizarre hole in the middle where we declare things 'ugly'; as if a little skill is worse than none at all.

I really don't trust that gap. It feels like a trick my brain is playing on me, you know? It has me suspicious that a lot of what I consider 'ugly' or 'bad' is not a very direct experience of the world at all, or an informed judgment. That it is, rather, a declaration of (self-, social-) identity; a desire to be seen as a person of good taste, or as somebody who does things well, or just more primitively as one of the monkeys who is in the good-stuff-tribe and not one of the monkeys who is in the bad-stuff-tribe.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

You wouldn’t believe the things I have done for her (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Daemon lives a dangerous life. You wish you could find a way to protect him, but you are too afraid of guns. Lucky you, Daemon has a plan.

A/N: Do not try this at home. Requested by the lovely @avalyaaa I am sorry it took me so long, but I wanted to give your request the attention it deserved.

Warnings: Smut. Mafia! Daemon. Gun kink. I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH: GUN KINK. Slight degradation.

You sit quietly in the back of the car. In the front seat sits Harwin, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He is bored. You can tell by the way he keeps fiddling with things. Changing the radio station, messing with the AC.

Harwin probably misses his old work. It’s not like Daemon needs a bodyguard or a driver. You know it’s more for your protection than his. And while Harwin is no stranger to guarding people who don’t need his protection, you bet the fact that Rhaenyra was fucking him made the prospect much more agreeable.

The AC gets turned off again. You would scold him for it, were it not for the fact you are deadly bored yourself. Daemon’s quick meeting has turned into an hour long one, and you have been instructed to not step out of the car. The only entertainment you have is your phone, and you can only scroll through so many TikToks before wanting to claw your own eyes out.

Instead of continuing to refresh your For you page, you turn your attention back to obsessing over your conversation with Daemon. The shame from your stupidity makes your cheeks heat up.

“I don’t trust them.” Daemon had said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He often avoided kissing you in the lips whenever you were close to his associates. As if not kissing you could trick them into thinking you were not relevant and convince them not to target you. “They are…. Not the most respectful with women.”

“You don’t trust me, you mean. To handle myself.” And by the Seven, it had even sounded bratty to your ears. You had not meant it like that at all. You had only wanted him to stop using that shitty excuse.

There were women who attended these meetings. You knew it. Hell, you had even met them. And these weren’t sex workers or strippers. These were women who held high positions in the organization. Rhaenyra, who was going to inherit it one day. Mysaria, who ran an informant network. Even Alicent pitched in from time to time. You were tired of being lied to. Sometimes, you craved the more normal boyfriend experience.

“I trust you. I don’t trust them.” Daemon had chuckled at your pout, and given you a pat in the head. “Behave.”

It had felt so dismissive. So humiliating. As if you were a child and not an actual grown woman. You hated arguing with Daemon. There was something about his tone, or his attitude, you were not sure which, that made him sound forever condescending.

You supposed inherited wealth was like that. The Targaryens had been running their schemes for nearly six generations by now. They were royalty by modern standards, even when you didn’t know about their more shady dealings.

It was no use, being upset over it. Daemon was too set in his ways to change. You needed to find a way around your problem, instead of charging right into it. But nothing comes to you at this moment, so you unlock your phone and continue your scrolling.

You save a few recipes you want to try, and like some pet videos. You are thinking of asking Daemon to adopt a puppy. A small breed would suit your apartment better, but you know Daemon. He will probably want the most intimidating dog he can get his hands on. A big, scary doberman could be something you could get behind. You had been feeling unsafe as of late.

A sudden, loud noise makes you jerk on your seat. You start to ask Harwin what’s wrong, but you don’t manage to even form the words. It's happening too fast.

“Get on your knees and do not get up until I say!” Harwin shouts. You do not need further explanations, understanding something is really wrong. You fall into the floor of the car with such haste that your phone is sent flying under the seat.

“…. Whisk the butter and the sugar…” You try to reach for it, but the space is too cramped, and suddenly the car is moving, throwing the phone around. Your knees throb from dropping yourself from the seat too hard, and you try to focus on that and not the way your heart feels like it’s in your throat. A gunshot, you realize. A gunshot. You should be used to them by now, but you still feel afraid.

Harwin drives fast and efficiently. It’s two full blocks before he orders you to get up again. You do so, legs shaking. There is a wet feeling on your knee. Blood. You had scrapped it when you threw yourself on the ground.

“What happened?” You ask him, smoothing your clothes down. Now that your panic isn’t as intense, you feel a pang of guilt. Daemon. Seven Hells, you had left him back there. “Daemon?”

Despite knowing that Harwin’s orders are first and foremost getting you out of danger, you can’t help but feel guilty. You had not even thought to worry about him. He is probably fine, considering the place was filled with Targaryens. He is also more than capable of handling himself. But to be so blinded by your fear that you did not even think of him…

“I got no fucking clue.” He asks, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “I’ll call Daemon, alright?”

“Yeah.” You say, quietly. You grab the seat’s edge and squeeze, as if you could will Daemon to your side by frustration alone. Harwin dials.

“Yeah, we are fine.” Harwin says, smiling at you through the mirror. You know he wouldn’t be so casual if something bad had happened, and so, you give him a thumbs up. Your guilt eases a bit, being replaced by relief. “She is fine, just a bit shaken up.” And he rolls his eyes because Daemon can be a bit overbearing.

“Just trouble with an errand guy.” Harwin explains, once the call is over. “He should be here soon.”

But despite how casual they made it sound, you couldn’t shake the fear and guilt away. It stayed on your mind, nestled like a worm, curling around your brain and threatening to choke it. When the night comes, and Daemon sleeps peacefully by your side, you still think of it. Of how you could die, and he could too. And there wouldn’t be a thing to be done.

You sit up on your side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around your waist. You hug your knees to your chest. The night is chilly, and the blackout curtains Daemon insists on having to ensure the room is pitch black. It only serves to disquiet you further.

There is a gun on Daemon’s nightstand. Should there be one in yours? His work is dangerous enough to warrant it. Enough to warrant you having a bodyguard, why not a weapon of your own?

You weren’t going to let him die. Nor were you going to leave him behind, like today. This was the twenty-first century, not the Middle Ages. You were tired of cowering back and acting the damsel in distress. If someone is going to try to hurt the man you love, you sure will fight back.

Daemon was yours. As much as you were his, and so, it wasn’t fair that only he protected you. You needed to be able to have his back, or at least, not be a distraction in a fight.

Your decision is not just something you can communicate to Daemon, though. He is not going to like it. You know him. Daemon is a bit old-fashioned like that. He likes gender roles a little too much for it. He is your protector and provider, and you are supposed to just be sweet and warm. The thought of you using a gun will probably cause him a heart attack.

And the thing is, Daemon doesn’t just style himself your protector. He does an outstanding job of it. He has managed to keep you away from the nastier side of his business. Never have you seen a dead body, or any of his associates beyond his family. So if you hope to achieve this, you need to be smart about it.

You decide you will tell him first thing in the morning when he is barely awake. He will be more susceptible that way. And happy with your plan, you finally manage to catch a few hours of sleep.

The next morning, you get started making breakfast with only one thing in mind. Convincing Daemon. You are barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts. It’s basic manipulation, and he will probably able to tell, but you hope it will soften him to your cause.

It’s when you are scrambling the eggs that he emerges, lured by the smell of fried bacon and a fresh pot of tea. Daemon wraps himself around you, still warm with sleep.

“Morning, love.” His voice is still a bit hoarse with sleep. He nuzzles your neck and hums, pleased. “Couldn’t I convince you to come back to bed?”

You laugh.

“Not really. The eggs are almost done.” You take the pan off the stove, letting it cool. “I would like to learn how to shoot.”

Daemon stiffens. You can feel him pull back from you. It’s not a physical thing, his arms remain wrapped around your waist, but his voice becomes colder and meaner. He is fully awake now.

“And why, in the Seven Hells, would you need to learn?”

“To feel safer.” You answer, keeping your tone steady.

“Do you not feel safe already? I could hire you another bodyguard.” Daemon hugs you slightly tighter. You lean into the counter a little bit, and sigh. Then, you detangle yourself from him.

“I don’t want a bodyguard. I need to learn how to shoot.” You state again, calmly. You turn to look at him. He looks more annoyed than angry.

“Sweetheart. You know that is not the best idea.” Daemon pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Why not?” You cross your arms over your chest.

“You are sensitive. You cry when animals die in movies.” He complains, stepping a bit closer to you. Daemon pours you a cup of tea and plates the eggs. “Go sit. I’ll wrap this up.”

You give him a sullen look but obey, watching him cut and toast the bread just in the way you like. You sit by the kitchen’s island, watching him work. Daemon is only wearing his underwear. You don’t think he owns something that resembles pajamas. Targaryens always run hot, or so they say.

Disappointing yourself, you let yourself be distracted by the view. You watch the muscles on his back shift and move as he finishes breakfast for you. You are mesmerized by the elegance of his every movement.

He is delicious, you think to yourself. You want to climb him like a tree. Despite the slight age difference, Daemon is more handsome than other men you have met. He is a bit vain, sure, but his efforts are worth it.

It’s only after he sits next to you that you remember what you were doing. You blame it on the lack of sleep.

“So?”

“You are my woman. It’s my duty to protect you. I’ll keep you safe.” Daemon rubs your shoulders, comfortingly. His voice sounds apologetic, a denial despite the soft tone he is using. “You know I keep you well away from danger.”

And he does. Not only Harwin and him have talked protocols, but Daemon has also ensured you would be protected even in the event of his death or imprisonment. You have numerous properties to your name, a few fake passports and three hidden bank accounts in different tax havens. None of which would be taken away if the two of you break up, Daemon has clearly stated. He loves you enough to want you to be protected even if you don’t love him anymore.

“I don’t like being powerless.”

“I seem to remember you do.” He squeezes your thigh, playfully. Your breath shifts despite yourself. You cover it by taking a sip of your tea and leveling a faux glare at him.

“I know.” Daemon kisses your nose. “I like that you don’t know how to shoot. That you are clean from this world.”

“It won’t sully me.” You argue because it’s a silly thing to think. It’s not like you are going to start shooting people or running illegal gambling rings. You just want to be able to defend yourself if something happens. And perhaps Daemon. If he doesn't feel too emasculated, this ridiculous man of yours.

“If I wanted a woman who knew how to shoot I would still be with Rhaenyra.” He complains.

“Plenty of women know how. I am not…” You rub at your eyes, tiredly. You want him to understand nothing is going to change between the two of you. “I do not want to go to your stupid meetings or meet your associates for dinner. I just want to know how to defend myself if something happens.”

“And I am saying you don’t need to because nothing is going to happen.” Daemon’s voice turns firmer. Now you can tell he is beginning to get angry, so you reach for his hand and squeeze.

“But if it does? If one night we wake up and there is a gun to our faces? Then what? Do I just let you die for me?” You allow your voice to break in the last part, letting him truly see your anguish. It is a fear of you that has lived on too long. You need this. You need to be able to defend both of you if something happens.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

It gets you to the firing range. Daemon takes you there in the middle of the week, hoping to inconvenience the least amount of people with him booking the entire place.

Your first impression of it is that it’s nothing like in the movies. There are neat little booths with circular targets instead of human shaped ones. You had expected only utilitarian decoration, harsh white lighting and white walls. Instead, the place looks well maintained and expensive. You should have expected so, considering this is Daemon you are talking about.

“Your first lesson…” Daemon says, eyeing you distrustfully. You stare right back at him. “Will be on safety.”

He takes two bulletproof vests out of a hanger, as well two pairs of earmuffs.

“These are protection gear, meant to be used each time you are practicing. And hopefully…” Daemon passes the bulletproof vest over your head. You let him do so, lifting your arms when he instructs you. The vest is heavier than you expect, and more solid too. It feels like what you wear when you are getting an x-ray. “You will use the vest too if you ever fire a gun outside here.”

“And not the earmuffs?”

“You should wear them to protect your ears, especially if you are firing many rounds. But you never see people wearing these because they are heavy-duty protection. In a real fight, you wouldn’t be able to hear your surroundings. Gunshots are pretty loud. So are gunfights.”

“Is that why you are losing your hearing?” You sass, with a grin. “I thought it was just your old age.”

“Oh, shut up. Little brat.” Daemon smacks your ass, playful. It doesn’t even hurt, but you jump and squeal in faux outrage. He laughs at your antics, and it does make you feel better about forcing him to teach you this.

“Should we do the whole…?” You gesture vaguely, trying to reference the classical movie or book montage where the female lead and the love interest stand very close, under the excuse to fix her posture. Daemon shakes his head.

“What is even that?” You would call him an old man for missing your reference, but you know he is sensitive about his age. Besides, you are not a great mime either. “No. You are going to stand with your legs and shoulders the same width apart and a proper posture. No slouching!”

“You know, not all of us grew up with a tutor chasing us and screaming for proper posture.” You grumble, but comply with his orders.

“Perhaps if you had, you wouldn’t need all those Pilates and Yoga classes you so enjoy.” Daemon argues right back. He circles you and pushes a bit at your hips. You try to loosen them. “Perhaps my cards would not explode then.”

“Shut up. It’s not like you don’t reap the benefits.”

Your good humor disappears when Daemon places a gun on the counter in front of you. You go quiet, suddenly unsure of your choice. He shows you how to charge it and how to put the safety on and off. You pay him all of your attention, feeling a bit numb. Most of the details about it fly over your head, despite your attempts to memorize them.

“Alright. I think you are ready for your first try.” Daemon says, handing you the gun. You grab it with trembling hands. You adjust your stance and ensure the muzzle is pointing down, and that you are not gesturing wildly with it. He puts your earmuffs on, and then his.

The world around you feels muffled. You swear you can hear your heartbeat, with how silent everything is. The gun in your hands is throwing you off. It looks odd. These can’t be your hands. You feel like you are not actually there, but watching the scene unfold from outside, watching someone else about to shoot.

Daemon adjusts your grip with his hands, casual about his proximity to the loaded weapon. You stiffen as soon as you feel him approach you, worried about accidentally shooting him.

“Come on.” He mouths, impatiently. You lift the gun, take the safety off, and aim. You pull the trigger, and it is with an awful noise and jerk, that you fire for the first time. The shot goes wide, hitting the wall next to the target.

Daemon taps your shoulder and gestures for you to go again. He watches your every move. His expression betrays nothing. If you are going at it the wrong way, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You repeat the motion, flinching at the noise. Even with the earmuffs it’s loud. It reminds you of that day in the alley, and makes your stomach clench. Daemon signals for you to put the gun down, and you do so, glad that it’s over. You can’t believe you thought you could actually do this. You feel so stupid. He was right, you are too soft.

Daemon can probably tell you are getting too in your head. He removes your earmuffs and pulls you in for a hug. The vests make it awkward, but you feel comforted by his solidness next to you.

“You did great, sweetheart.” He lies, and kisses your temple. You feel so disappointed you could cry. A laugh bubbles out of you, a bit hysterical.

Daemon tsks. He reaches for the gun and deftly discharges it.

“Come on.” He says, kissing your cheek. “I know what your problem is.”

“Yeah?” You ask him, a bit doubtful. You don’t want to feel any sort of hope, just in case that he is mistaken. Giving up so easily might be childish, yet you had not expected this to be so hard. After all, like half the people that Daemon knew could do it.

“You have to learn to love the gun.” He places it back on your hand and steps up behind you. It seems like you are doing the movie thing after all. He kicks your legs a bit, encouraging you to shift your stance.

“Love the gun?”

“You keep looking at it like it’s a weapon of mass destruction.” Daemon laughs, and mouths along your nape. You shiver. It’s an almost Pavlovian reaction by now. When Daemon’s voice gets all low and husky, and he holds you like that, your body knows it’s time for sex. It’s very inappropriate. But conditioned as you are, you can’t stop the throb of arousal between your thighs. “Stop looking like you are horrified by it.”

He fixes your grip around the gun. He steadies your hand.

“Shoot.”

You obey, pulling the trigger. The gun clicks, but nothing happens. It’s unloaded.

“Good.” Daemon says, and lightly bites your shoulder. “Again.”

You repeat the motion. He has you do it over and over again, until you no longer flinch when pulling the trigger. When you are fully desensitized to the sound, Daemon takes the gun from you.

“Great job.” He says, placing the gun right on your face. “Now kiss it.”

“Excuse me?” You stare at Daemon, sure that he must be joking. Kissing the gun? No way. But one look at his face, at the amused curve of his lips, and the mischievous glint in his eyes, tell you that he is serious.

“You heard me.” Daemon chuckles, a bit darkly. You understand then that this is both for his amusement and a punishment. He gets off on humiliating others, that you know. And he had not liked that you had forced him into giving you shooting lessons. He now intends to bring you down a few pegs. “Kiss the barrel.”

You scrunch up your face. You got your pride, too. Despite knowing that submitting to his whims is easy and will probably pacify him for a while, you can’t help but resist. Your whole body rebels at the idea of accepting such an obvious power play.

“Come on, don’t be like that. You owe me.” Daemon tilts your head up, placing a finger under your chin. He makes a show of cooing over your pout, before leaning in to kiss you.

“I don’t!” You move your head away, denying him. It’s a bit cruel, and it makes him frown, which you consider a win.

“You so do. I didn’t want to teach you, you know. At least give me good jerk off material.” He pouts at you, and you can’t help but smile a little. He is ridiculous.

It is part of why you love him. Daemon is young in spirit, if not in body, and he makes you feel younger too. Giddy and willing to do silly things. Silly things like leaning in and kissing the barrel of a gun.

The metal is cold under your lips, hard and unyielding. Daemon makes a pleased noise and pulls you in for a kiss. You can feel him smile against your mouth, before trying to deepen it. Playfully, you nip at him, until it is him who yields and opens up for you.

It is then that he presses the cold barrel against your nape. The feeling of the gun against your skin makes you tense and jerk, giving him once again the upper hand. With the control of the kiss back in his hands, he pulls you closer.

You feel yourself slowly starting to become aroused. One of Daemon’s hands finds your hip, squeezing the flesh there. His gesture is both possessive and greedy. Something swoops in your belly, dark and demanding. You want all his attention on you, you want him all for you.

Making out with Daemon is a full-bodied experience. It shouldn’t surprise you, then, that he starts to gently run the muzzle of the gun down your neck. At first, you don’t notice, too caught up on how close both of you are. Your chest is flush against his, and the feeling of his body against yours makes you whimper, before you realize what game is he playing.

“Daemon.” You warn, annoyed. He gives you a shit eating grin.

“I am just getting the two of you better acquainted. My best girls.” Daemon leans in and kisses behind your ear. He takes his time, making out with the shell of it. He is cautious to do all the right things to make you tremble against him. Yet, you can’t seem to forget about the gun, running down your sternum, between your breasts.

The muzzle gets caught against your clothes. Daemon uses it to push one of the sleeves of your top a little aside, to be able to lavish the skin there with kisses. You only feel the metal against your skin for a second, but it makes you think about how it would feel against your naked skin. Would the cold make your hairs stand up on edge, and your nipples pebble? Or would it warm up to your temperature?

The thought makes your breath hitch, and your panties even wetter.

“There is no one here.” You say, quietly. “If you were to take off my shirt…”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Daemon grins, encouraging you to lean against the counter of the firing range. “You devious little thing.”

He drops to his knees in front of you, carefully taking your clothing off. You watch him move between your legs, helping you widen your stance. Daemon kisses a path from your ankles towards your knees, mouthing along as if having the finest of banquets. His kisses feel scorching against your skin, and you can’t help but jut your hips slightly, trying to command him into touching you.

Daemon smiles at you, cheekily. He then bites your inner thighs, scratching just enough to make you arch in pleasure-pain. When you are just about to hike one of your legs over his shoulder, he sucks your clit inside his mouth, and it’s then that you feel it. The cold barrel of the gun, pressing along your inner thighs.

You moan. Daemon laughs.

“You little whore.” It sounds fond. He eats you out without any finesse, slurping noisily. The thought of anyone else being able to overhear this makes you embarrassed, so you try to keep quiet. Your eyes close, hands squeezing around the edge of the counter.

Daemon is not trying to bring you any pleasure. His movements and touches are too methodical for it. He presses a finger inside your hole, then another. Then it is scissoring them and shushing you with soft licks to your clit when you complain at the slight sting.

Any pleasure you get out of it is incidental. Instead, Daemon is getting you ready for something. And this time, you know it’s not his cock. The thought fills you with dread and arousement in equal parts. How will it feel? Metal doesn’t give the same way flesh does. But the thought of having a gun, Daemon's, inside you, makes your hips jerk.

“Impatient, aren’t you?” He pulls away, reappearing from between your legs. “Fuck. I don’t know if I want to see your face or your greedy little hole when I put it inside.”

You look at him. His hair is sticking up in all directions, but his smile is absolutely ferocious.

“My face. Just in case…” You reach for his shoulder and squeeze, gently. Despite how arousing you think the whole thing is, you are still hesitant. Sometimes, things don’t feel as you imagine they would. You don’t want this to be disappointing.

Daemon seems to understand, despite the fact that you don’t verbalize it.

“I’ll talk you through it.” He says, kindly. He then spreads your folds a little and presses the tip of the gun against your hole.

You yelp. Your grip on his shoulder turns punishing. It feels pleasant, as penetration often does, but there is a foreign quality to it as well. The gun is wide, and metal doesn’t give as flesh does. You feel as if you are rooted tp the spot by it, being impaled with each inch Daemon presses inside you.

“You are doing so well. Good girl. My little girl.” He presses a kiss to your stomach. He keeps rubbing at your clit until you relax around the barrel. It’s only then that he attempts to fuck you with it. You clench at his shoulders, overwhelmed, and moan.

It’s confusing. The ridges of it feel good, catching against your hole. The metal slowly starts to warm up, not feeling as strange as before. Daemon keeps steadily sucking your clit.

The pleasure builds. So does your need. You start to move your hips along with his thrusting, trying your best to reach your orgasm. So of course, Daemon pulls away from your clit.

“You are taking it so well.” Daemon praises, voice husky with desire. “Your pussy swallows the gun right up.”

You moan, almost without realizing. You are so close it itches. But moving your hips up and down isn’t enough. You need more.

“Daemon, please.” You beg, near tears. Never before have you been this frustrated.

“Who would have known? You are such a hungry little whore.” Daemon smirks. The crudeness of his words makes you gasp. You feel smaller than you have ever felt, yet somehow, it makes you feel deliciously dirty. He is not wrong. It’s embarrassing, how you are humping the gun he holds, but you can’t stop. “You don’t think, you are so desperate you would fuck anything. Do anything, just to fill your greedy holes.”

“Please. Fuck.” You sob. Daemon licks his thumb and starts rubbing your poor, abused clit. He keeps fucking you with the gun, building you up and up, towards the orgasm you so desperately crave. You come with a scream so loud, you thank he has booked the whole place for only yourselves.

Turns out, you don’t hate guns as much as you thought.

[definitelynotafurinasimp]

How about an jealous furina, or drunk furina?

Furina being jealous

characters: Furina x gn!reader

warnings: none

a/n: I have returned from my brief trip to get the milk. I'd love to say there were some AO3 author levels of tragic events that made me vanish for a month, but the reality is that I've been playing Persona 3 Reload and now Persona 5 Royal again.... yeah.

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Furina

While Furina loved to pretend she was above the whole “being jealous” thing, you knew better than to trust her with that. She was human after all, and if there was one emotion more human than anything, even compassion and love, it was jealousy.

And yet, her jealousness would surface quite differently from others’, the former Archon suddenly growing very talkative as she began trying to show off, donning a smug while getting into a pose only akin in confidence and pride to the great orators of old before directly or indirectly talking about how great she was. Whether it was to impress you or to make the source of her jealousy back away, you weren’t too sure. What you were sure of however, was that it was a sight to behold. More entertaining than an award winning theater play and pretty endearing.

But while you would have loved to commend her for being able to handle her negative feelings without harming anyone, you had witnessed her dig herself into a metaphorical hole far too often for that to be the truth…

When you had completely halted to a grind during one of your walks, only to stare off into the distance, a wave of confusion washed over Furina, the former Archon quickly following your gaze before her eyes landed on a woman not too far away. For a moment, she wanted to ask you about her, but when the woman spotted you, started waving and approaching the two of you, her voice got stuck in her throat.

What followed was the two of you cheerfully talking to each other, reminiscing of days gone by, leaving Furina no choice but to simply listen...

While she felt confident in saying that she had known you for quite a while now, your chat about your school days made Furina's time with you seem quite insignificant. And yet, when it finally became time for you to introduced the two to each other, describing the other person as “a former upperclassman that helped you through school”, any doubts and hesitations Furina felt seemed to vanish within an instance, her stance as proud and confident as during a speech, as she talked with a wide smug on her face.

“It is an honor meeting you. I’ve actually been a huge admirer of your works”, the other woman said, and judging from the sparkle in her eyes it made no sense to question her in the slightest, and yet, because of her pride as an artist and definitely not for any ulterior reasons whatsoever, Furina still felt the need to make sure all three of you were well aware of how fantastic she was.

“Ha, my deepest apologies. I did not expect to run into a fan today. I should have brought a pen with me, after all this happens quite frequently as well. How careless of me”, she ‘apologized’ in a voice that made it difficult to miss what her true intentions were, and yet, all you could do was smile at her act. Something the director didn’t seem to miss as her smug quickly disappeared into thin air and a faint blush settled on her cheeks. That brief moment of embarrassed silence quickly vanished however, as Furina turned her attention back towards your acquaintance. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear you like them. I’m actually working on my next play, one that will for sure become known as my magnum opus”, she proudly announced with a big smile on her face, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them however, both of your expressions could not have been more different. While the woman looked as excited as a small child, your eyes had widened in surprise.

And you had every right to. Her? Writing a new play? Where did that come from?? She hadn’t even started thinking about what it was supposed to be about! Forget “Magnum Opus”, she could count herself lucky if she even managed to finish a draft in the next year.

“Really?? That sounds wonderful! I know I shouldn’t pry and that pinpointing a date should only be done once you feel confident in it, but may I ask when we can expect the premier?”, your friend asked, eyes filled with as much excitement as those of a dog seeing its owner for the first time in a while as her voice threatened to crack any moment. And so, before Furina had the chance to stop herself, her mouth had already begun to talk once again.

“I cannot tell you a date, but considering the script is as good as done, it shouldn’t take longer than a year. If the casting and everything else goes smoothly, at least.” A YEAR?? WHAT WAS SHE SAYING?? “Well, more like nine months.” NINE MON- Furina’s knees suddenly grew weak, threatening to give way and send the rest of her body on a one way trip to the pavement.

Luckily, before Furina had any chance to dig herself an even deeper grave, your friend said her goodbyes before going on her merry way, leaving the two of you in complete silence for a few moments.

“You never mentioned working on anything. Didn’t your last play just release?”, you asked, clearly concerned for her, something only made worse when she began to lean on you to keep herself standing.

Nothing. Not a single noise came out of Furina in response, instead, you were greeted with the sight of small tears threatening to form on the corners of her eyes as she silently grinded her teeth.

“Let’s get you some coffee, I get the feeling you might need it these next few days.”

[bloggingboutburgers]

Hey, allo anon with an ace partner here. I wanted to say thank you so much for the well wishes! I figured I would send this in here again, so anyone else who is curious about what this experience looks like from the other side can see it.

My girlfriend came out to me a little over 2 years into our relationship. At the time it surprised me a lot, because she'd never given me any signs that she wasn't enjoying what we were doing. After we talked more I understood that she wasn't repulsed by sex and she didn't hate it, but she didn't really love it either and wanted to stop doing it for a while (so a sex-neutral ace).

Honestly, at the time, I did get anxious about it. Not just because of social conventions, but because I had viewed sex as an important bonding part of our relationship. I don't do well with change, and I was super worried about how a lack of sex would change our dynamic. I also had some insecurities about my own body, and my girlfriend admitting that she didn't see me as sexy was upsetting. But after speaking to my therapist, I realized that I was projecting my own issues on to the relationship. So I spoke with her again, and she reassured me that she wanted to be with me, and that she was confiding these feelings because she trusted me. She likes how I look, she just doesn't have the same sexual impulses I do.

So, I realized this was pretty much like cuddling. I love physical touch a lot, and I want to cuddle for a much longer time than she does. I like it when someone lies on top of me. She doesn't want me on top of her chest during cuddling. She still cuddles with me, but she tells me when she's satisfied, and we stop.

A few months went by, and I noticed that she wasn't spending any less time with me; she was actually spending more. We would still call every evening when we didn't meet up in person, we would still joke around, and she still told me she loved me and did everything she could to show it to me. We also began trying out new stuff together, and playing games and watching stuff more often. We also still had plenty of physical intimacy with things like cuddling and kissing, which made me really happy.

I realized that I didn't feel like anything was missing from the relationship. I just needed her to show and tell me she loved me in the ways she normally did. Sure, I am still attracted to her that way, but it wasn't something that would make or break the relationship.

It's been years since she came out, and at this point, I never expect anything sexual. It happens rarely, and I always check in with her multiple times before and during. We stop at any point she tells me. There are quite a few hard boundaries about what is and isn't off limits, and I always keep them in mind. I would rather satisfy myself forever than make her uncomfortable, and she knows it.

It's been over 5 years and we are still going strong. I am hoping to ask her to marry me in the next few years, because honestly, I can't picture wanting anyone else by my side. She is kind, funny, beautiful, intelligent, and treats me well. I could never ask for anything more from a partner.

Thank you SO MUCH for sharing. I myself definitely lack knowledge of what it feels like from an allo's perspective, so this was very educational for me, but beyond that... You have no idea how much hope this gives me.

From you being aware of how much sex meant to you in the context of your relationship and still being fine without it, to just... Heck, even your therapist for not blaming her for the situation. Therapy is still very much, in my country at least, an area where the absence or lower levels of sexual attraction will be hastily labelled as something wrong physically or mentally, so... Yeah, the amount of relief I felt reading that, you have no idea. And I can only imagine how much your partner appreciates it too.

Honestly I teared up a bit reading this - I sincerely wish you guys all the best and I hope you have a bright future ahead! (Also fun fact, seems you guys have been together as long as my partner and I have, it's nice to be able to relate to that too hehe^^)

[hazbinhappy]

If you’d like, what about Vox x a reader who’s very wary of men and it took Vox a long time to gain their trust because of this. - @am-i-interrupting

A/N: felt this in my damn core

You drop into hell and I won’t lie I think hell’s gender population is definitely more men ✋😐🤚

Anywho! You drop for whatever reason probably a dumb one because the Divine Judge was feeling silly and nitpicky

You work for Velvette in this case!

It’s not like you work for her because she’s nice, no it’s for the pay and there is wayyyyyy less men than anywhere else in Hell and that’s a win

One day she mentions that they’re doing a “Vee’s Specialty line” and that she needs you to help design the outfits

you were originally wary of this and when it came to designs you simply just emailed them solely to Velvette, but she texted explicitly "These are shit!! Vox is on his way to "consult" be here ASAP don't want him here longer than he needs to be"

you kept your distance, but quickly took the clothes he gave for inspiration

you vaguely heard Vox speak to Velvette about your weird behavior, but she was half listening

Vox checked in occasionally about how the designs were coming along because he's a damn control freak

you barely responded, often in short words or sentences

actually requesting that he emailed you instead (which he actively ignored and kept coming in person)

if you've played animal crossing new horizons think of Sable! you have to keep talking to her daily for her to open up

now i'm not saying that works here obviously (if it was me i'd be pissed off)

but occasionally he'll get a full response from you

you find it odd how interested he is in the clothes that are based of his likeness (Valentino just gave his designs the okay and left it at that)

soon enough you come to feel weird when he doesn't visit you at his regular time and feel sad and like something is missing

once the clothes are finally out to the public he has no reason to visit you until Velvette excitedly (while still being mean) that Vox is finally upgrading his wardrobe like the old man he is and that you're in charge of it

....yay more work

jk you're not ecstatic about the work in the slightest, but it means your routine is back to normal

he's probably the guy who is allowed within a normal vicinity of you that actually can get a full conversation

i wouldn't say y'all eventually date, but you guys definitely become borderline friends/acquaintances!

probably would take an eternity to date each other

but guess what! y'all have that

[xxspringmelodyxx]

That Girls A Liar~

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Here is part IV my lovelies! I hope you enjoy! Also, if you have any requests for me, or just wanna talk, please feel free to do so! I love hearing from you all! Part I Part II Part III

Word count: 4.5k Warnings: none

"Y/n..." Toru muttered under his breath, barely audible to anyone around him. The sound of your name was like a bitter pill, stuck in his throat. His eyes followed your every move as you exited the cafeteria, a mixture of confusion and sadness clouding his mind. Determined to understand what was happening, Toru decided to follow you, keeping a safe distance so as not to be noticed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeper was going on, something he wasn’t seeing. The thought of you slipping away from him filled him with a gnawing sense of dread.

You made your way down the hallway, each step echoing in Toru’s ears like a countdown to something he feared. As you pushed open the door to the school courtyard, he saw Kai waiting there, a sight that made his heart sink further. It felt like a betrayal, seeing you spend so much time with Kai, often more than with him. It was like you and Kai were best friends instead of you and him. In fact, seeing how close you two were, it seemed like Kai was becoming more than just a friend to you. The thought made Toru’s chest tighten with jealousy, a sharp pang that left him breathless.

You approached Kai with a smile, one that seemed more genuine than the one you had shown in the cafeteria. This smile reached your eyes, making them sparkle in a way that Toru hadn’t seen in a while. “Hey, Kai. You ready?” you asked, your voice light and encouraging. Kai nodded, fidgeting nervously with his hands, his anxiety palpable even from a distance.

“Yeah…I’m just…nervous. I mean, what if she says no?” he asked, his worry evident in every word. His body was tense, and his eyes darted around as if searching for reassurance.

You smiled softly at him and took his hands in yours, your touch meant to reassure him. You leaned in closer, speaking softly so only he could hear. “Trust me, Kai. After all this time of trying to get you and her alone, it’s obvious she has feelings towards you as well. Plus, you two have so much in common. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone talk about K-dramas as much as you two. It’s honestly so adorable,” you said, chuckling a bit to lighten the mood.

Toru watched from afar, his heart breaking at the sight of you being so touchy with Kai. His fists clenched involuntarily at the scene before him. It was supposed to be Y/n and Satoru, not Y/n and Kai! The thought of losing you to someone else felt like a knife twisting in his heart. It doesn’t even sound as good, he thought bitterly.

“Okay, now start. We’ll do some patching up if we need to,” you encouraged Kai, your eyes shining with determination and hope.

Toru edged closer, staying hidden behind a tree as he strained to hear your conversation. He couldn’t stand the thought of missing a single word.

“Okay…well. I’ve been thinking about this…about you. A lot. You make me feel so warm and calm whenever I am with you. When you come up to me, I feel my heart race. It beats so fast I feel like I could actually die,” Kai started, his voice trembling with nerves.

You snorted, trying to stifle your laughter. “Too much?” Kai asked, looking concerned, his eyes searching yours for validation.

“No, no. Keep going. I like it,” you spoke, making Toru frown even more. Your words were like daggers to his already wounded heart.

“Well…I really like you. And…I’m just gonna skip to the main part…will you allow me to take you to the dance…and allow me the pleasure of being your boyfriend?” Kai finally asked, his voice filled with hope and desperation.

Toru felt like everything around him paused. His breath was held in his throat, begging to be released from the tension. The thoughts of you and Kai being together was something he never wanted to imagine. Thoughts of you two laughing with one another, hugging one another, kissing one another…it was all too much for him.

Toru shook his head, trying to dispel the growing fear. There was no way you’d accept Kai's proposal. After all, Kai was nothing compared to the one and only Satoru Go-

“Of course I’ll go out with you!” you spoke, your voice filled with genuine excitement. Toru deflated within seconds. He felt his heart shatter at your words, the pieces scattering like broken glass. This was a dream, right? Any minute he would wake up, go back to school, and be with you. Right? RIGHT?!?!

But it wasn’t. No matter how much he wished for it to be a dream, he knew it was real life. The reality of your words hit him harder than any physical blow ever could.

Not wanting to hear anything else, he quickly teleported out of the school, desperate to distract himself from the pain he was feeling. The world around him blurred as he sought solace in the only way he knew how, trying to outrun the ache in his heart.

As Toru reappeared in a secluded spot far from the school, he tried to steady his breathing. The pain in his chest was unbearable, a gnawing emptiness that refused to go away. He slumped against a tree, the bark rough against his back, and let out a frustrated scream, hoping the sound would somehow alleviate the hurt. But it didn’t. The image of you accepting Kai’s confession replayed in his mind like a cruel loop.

Meanwhile, back at the school, you and Kai continued your conversation, oblivious to Toru’s turmoil.

“Thank you so much, Y/n. I don’t think I could have done it without you,” Kai said, relief washing over him. He looked at you with gratitude, his eyes softening as the tension left his body.

“Don’t mention it, Kai. I’m really happy for you. Amai is going to be thrilled,” you replied, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Just be yourself, and everything will be perfect.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch break. You and Kai exchanged a few more words before heading to your respective classes. Toru, meanwhile, spent the rest of the day in a daze, barely able to concentrate on his classes. The hours dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity. He avoided you and Kai, not trusting himself to keep his emotions in check if he saw you together. Thankfully for him, Sensei Yaga decided to postpone the practice exam until tomorrow…so at least he would get some time to himself. To try and recollect his emotions.

He loved you… but he hated you at the same time. The conflicting emotions tore at his heart every time he thought about you. He wanted to be the one to take you to the dance, to feel the warmth of your hand in his under the twinkling lights of the gymnasium. He imagined holding you close during the slow songs, feeling your heartbeat against his chest. He longed to be the one who dipped you down, held the back of your head in his hand, and then leaned down to finally, finally kiss you. At that moment, he would finally confess his love for you. This vision played out in his mind countless times, each scenario ending in a perfect, romantic moment that made his heart ache with longing.

But now… all of that was tossed down the drain after you said yes to Kai. The dream shattered, replaced by a painful reality that gnawed at him with every passing second. He felt a sharp sting of betrayal, mixed with the bitterness of unfulfilled desires. The thought of you in Kai’s arms was unbearable, yet he couldn’t escape it.

——

The next day had arrived and you and the class were out training as usual, preparing for the training exam. The field was filled with the sounds of exertion, the clashing of weapons, and the shouts of encouragement from your peers. You went with Kai to finalize the plan, the one you both had worked on so meticulously. Kai was going to ask Amai right now. His nerves were palpable, but you were there to support him, as always, your presence a calming influence.

“Go get her, Kai!” you said, giving him a playful push towards Amai. Kai stumbled a bit, turning back to give you a grateful smile before steeling himself and walking over to Amai. He straightened his posture, took a deep breath, and began to approach her with determination. Your encouragement was the last boost of confidence he needed.

As they began talking, you decided now would finally be a good time to go and talk with Toru. This whole thing that was going on between you two had gone on long enough. The distance, the misunderstandings, the unspoken words—it was all too much. You didn’t care about the fear of rejection anymore; you just needed to finally let him know how you felt. The thought of not telling him was more unbearable than the risk of losing your friendship. It was time to face your feelings head-on.

You scanned the training field, looking for Toru. He was by the edge of the field, with Aksana. They were taking a bit of a break, just talking with each other. The sight of them together made your heart clench, but you pushed the feeling aside. You needed to talk to Toru, no matter how difficult it might be.

As you approached them, you paused as you heard Toru speak.

“So there’s this dance coming up in a few days…” he started, his voice tinged with uncertainty but also a hint of something else—perhaps resignation.

Aksana nodded, her expression attentive. “Yeah, I’ve heard about it. Are you planning to go?”

Toru sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I was thinking about asking someone, but… well, things have changed,” he said, his voice sounding more defeated than excited. The heaviness in his tone made it clear he was struggling with something deep inside.

She gave Toru a mischievous smile, eyes glinting with hidden motives. “You know, sometimes things work out in unexpected ways. Who were you thinking of asking?”

Toru hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as if the weight of the world was on them. “That doesn’t matter anymore. Aksana, I was thinking… would you go to the dance with me?”

Aksana’s eyes widened in surprise. Her eyes shifted to see you, frozen like a deer in headlights. She smirked as she knew she had won, relishing in the pain she knew this would cause you.

“Aksana?” Toru asked again, making her put on her fake smile.

“Really? I mean, I’d love to, Toru. I just didn’t think you’d ask me.”

You felt a sharp pang of hurt and confusion as you overheard their conversation. H-He asked her after all? The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, knocking the breath out of you. The air around you seemed to grow heavier, harder to breathe.

Suddenly, the bright blue skies began to turn a dark and gloomy gray. The clouds began to spiral around one another, signaling a huge storm was about to hit at any moment. This sudden change grabbed everyone's attention, and chatter began to spew around. The storm mirrored the turmoil within your heart, reflecting the intensity of your emotions.

“Y/n! Y/n! Amai said yes! She is going to the dance with me…but also she said yes to being my girlfriend as well!” Kai came running towards you, only to stop mid-run as he saw your terrifying presence. The aura around you was dark… perhaps even sad. The shift in the weather only amplified the darkness emanating from you.

“Y/n?” he asked, trying to figure out what had changed your mood so terribly. He saw your eyes and how they slowly became glassy looking, tears threatening to spill at any moment. The sight of your pain struck him deeply, making his heart ache for you.

Shoko and Suguru noticed as well when they turned towards you. They exchanged worried glances, understanding that something significant had just happened. The atmosphere was tense, charged with the weight of your unspoken sorrow.

Before any of your friends could come up to help you, they looked ahead and saw Satoru and Aksana talking. They all heard them talking about the dance and figured out what was going on. The realization hit them like a wave, and they felt the sharp sting of your heartbreak as if it were their own.

“Y/n…” Shoko whispered, trying to come to your aid, Suguru quickly following suit. After finishing his talk with Aksana, Satoru noticed water droplets falling to the ground. He knew today was supposed to be sunny, so he turned around to find you. He knew this was your doing and knew that you were crying. But, when he turned, he saw you staring up at him with tears in your eyes. The look you gave him made his heart shatter once more, hating the way you stared at him. It was a look of betrayal, hurt, and unspoken love, all mixed into one.

He saw his other friends making their way towards you, and so he instinctively began to go towards you as well. But before any of them could make it, you quickly ran away, running as far away from all of them as you could. The storm intensified as your emotions overwhelmed you, the skies reflecting the turmoil in your heart. Each step you took felt like a desperate attempt to escape the unbearable pain.

“Y/n, wait!” Satoru called out, his voice desperate, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t face him, not now. The ache in your chest was too much, suffocating you with its intensity. Each step you took felt like you were trying to outrun the pain that was consuming you, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you fought to hold back the sobs threatening to break free.

Kai and Shoko shared a glance before running after you, determined to catch up and offer comfort. They could see the anguish on your face and knew they needed to be there for you. The urgency in their steps matched the worry in their eyes. Suguru, on the other hand, stayed behind, his eyes narrowing in anger as he watched Toru. He clenched his fists, his knuckles white with tension, knowing this confrontation was inevitable and bound to be explosive.

Satoru watched you run, feeling helpless and torn. He had wanted to make you feel the pain he felt, but seeing you like this was unbearable. His heart ached with regret as he realized the extent of his actions. The satisfaction he thought he would feel was replaced by a deep, gnawing sorrow that gnawed at him. The sight of your tears was like a dagger to his heart, twisting deeper with every drop that fell.

Aksana, standing off to the side, smirked to herself, satisfied with the chaos she had sown. She had gotten what she wanted, but even she could sense the depth of the rift that had just opened between you and Toru.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Suguru yelled, pulling Satoru off to the side with a rough yank. His voice was filled with fury, his eyes blazing with anger. He couldn’t believe what his best friend had done. The intensity of his anger made Satoru flinch, the harsh reality of his actions crashing down on him.

Satoru’s eyes widened in surprise, his own anger flaring for a moment before it was extinguished by guilt. “Suguru, I—”

“You what?” Suguru interrupted, his voice shaking with rage. “You wanted to hurt Y/n? Is that it? Because if it is, congratu-fucking-lations, you succeeded. But at what cost, Satoru? At what cost?” His words were like a slap to the face, each one hitting harder than the last.

Satoru looked away, unable to meet Suguru’s accusing gaze. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I just… I was hurting. I wanted her to feel what I felt.”

Suguru’s eyes narrowed, his anger not subsiding. “And now?” he snapped. “Now you see the pain you’ve caused? How could you do this, Toru? To Y/n? To yourself? You love her, and this is how you show it?” His voice was filled with disbelief and disappointment, cutting through the air like a knife.

“But she doesn’t love me!” He yelled back, his eyes glowing a bright blue hue. The rains were pouring down by this point, and everyone else went back inside to avoid getting drenched. With those words, Toru began to break. Never in his life did he think someone could have such an effect on him. Never did he think that his love for you would grow so big to the point where he could barely function. Never did he think that he would feel so broken by the thought of you not loving him back. He loved you, that was an understatement. But you didn’t love him back.

Suguru furrowed his brows, wondering where the hell Satoru got that conclusion from.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, making Satoru look down at his feet. Tears began to fall from his eyes as he told Suguru what happened.

“She is in love with that stupid boy, Kai.” He started, making Suguru scoff

“You’re joking right? Satoru, they-”

“I heard it all! I heard him ask her out…and she said yes! To him! HIM!!” He yelled, his anger and heartbreak mixing together. The moment replayed in his head like a broken record.

“You must have misheard them. Why would she be running out like that? There is no way Y/n likes-”

“I heard what I heard…I was too late.” Satoru said, his eyes slowly going dull.

—

Meanwhile, you ran through the campus, your vision blurred by tears. The storm overhead mirrored the tempest inside you, each raindrop a testament to the pain you were feeling. The sky darkened, the wind picking up, whipping your hair around your face as you pushed forward. Kai and Shoko were close behind, calling out your name, their voices filled with concern and urgency.

“Y/n, please stop!” Shoko called, her voice breaking through the noise of the storm. “We’re here for you. Just talk to us.” Her tone was gentle, yet firm, desperate to reach you. The urgency in her voice was a lifeline through the torrent of emotions you were drowning in.

Kai reached out, gently grabbing your arm to stop you. “Y/n, it’s okay. We’re here. Let’s just talk.” His grip was firm but comforting, grounding you in the moment. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the cold rain, offering a semblance of stability in your chaotic world.

You turned towards them both, your tears falling nonstop, mingling with the raindrops on your cheeks. Your breath hitched, and the sobs that you had been holding back finally broke free. “He asked her… he asked her instead of me!” you sobbed, the words coming out in a choked whisper. The reality of Toru's betrayal hits you anew with each word, cutting deeper into your heart.

Shoko pulled you close, wrapping her arms around you and rubbing your back like how a mother would with her child. Her touch was soothing, her presence a beacon of comfort in your stormy sea of emotions. “I’m sorry, Y/n.” she whispered, her voice steady despite the chaos around you.

Kai stood close, his own expression filled with concern and anger. “He’s an idiot, Y/n. He doesn’t see what he’s losing,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve so much better than this.”

The rain continued to pour, the storm overhead a reflection of the turmoil inside you. You let go of their embrace, taking a step back.

“I think…I think I need to be alone for a while.” You spoke, making the both of them worry.

“A-Are you sure-”

“I'm sure. Just please leave me be for now.” I said, turning around to go back to my place.

The two watched you leave, seeing how deflated you were. It broke them seeing you like that. But they wanted to give you some time to yourself just as you asked. Even though they didn’t want to, they did to respect your wishes.

However, that didn’t mean they were done with Satoru. They turned back around and went to go find the tall white-haired boy.

–

After a few minutes, they saw him standing in the same area with Suguru. Now it was their time to unleash their wrath on him.

“Who do you think you are?” Kai asked, walking right up to him. Toru stood above him, but Kai didn’t care. He hurt you, and that’s all that mattered. The rain continued to pour, drenching them all, but the intensity of Kai's anger made it feel like a storm within a storm.

Satoru’s eyes blazed with a mix of anger and frustration. “Step away, now,” he threatened, his voice low and dangerous, each word a challenge. Kai is the last person he wanted to see right now. He was the whole reason for this chaos.

“Or what? I don’t care that you’re the strongest in this school. The strongest in this city. Shit, maybe even the whole world. What I do care about is the fact that you hurt Y/n!” Kai yelled back, not backing down one bit. His defiance was fueled by righteous anger, every word laced with indignation. He took a step closer, his fists clenched at his sides.

Shoko stepped in, her own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “What were you thinking, Satoru? How could you do this to Y/n? You should know by now that she loves you—”

“Don’t say that! Because obviously I was wrong about how she felt about me,” Satoru interrupted Shoko, his voice rising with a mix of anger and hurt. His eyes darted between all three of them, filled with confusion and pain.

“What are you talking about?” Shoko asked, her voice filled with concern and confusion. She stepped closer, trying to understand the depth of the misunderstanding.

Satoru looked down at Kai, glaring daggers at him. “Why don’t you tell them, Kai?”

“What?” Kai asked, genuinely confused as to what Satoru was talking about.

“Why don’t you tell them how you confessed to her yesterday! And then tell them about how she accepted! How you stole her from me! How you took her heart from me! You took my everything from me!” Satoru yelled, his emotions getting the better of him. His voice cracked with the weight of his despair, each word a release of the pent-up agony he had been holding inside. His hands trembled, his eyes wild with a mix of anger and sadness.

Kai took a step back, trying to process Satoru’s words. “What are you talking about, Satoru? I didn’t confess to Y/n. We were just practicing.”

“Practicing?” Satoru scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Practicing what? How to break my heart?”

“No!” Kai shouted, exasperation clear in his voice. “I was practicing how to ask Amai out. Y/n was helping me because I was nervous. That’s all it was.”

Satoru’s expression faltered, confusion replacing some of his anger. “No, you’re lying! Stop lying!” He yelled, his eyes glowing brighter and brighter as if he were about to explode.

Kai sighed deeply, trying to keep his own temper in check. “You misunderstood, Satoru. When you heard me talking to Y/n, I was rehearsing what I was going to say to Amai. Y/n was just helping me. That’s all it ever was.”

Suddenly, there was a long silence. He tried to look for any sign of deception in Kai’s eyes…but all he could see was the truth. Satoru’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a punch to the gut. “What... what are you saying?”

Suguru sighed, jumping in while shaking his head. “You jumped to conclusions without knowing the full story. Y/n has been helping Kai because he was nervous about asking Amai out. She’s been doing everything she can to help him, not because she’s in love with him, but because she’s a good friend.”

“But I saw you two together, so many times. The way you both looked…you were so close…” Satoru’s voice trailed off, his anger subsiding into regret and sorrow.

“Yeah, because they’re friends, Satoru. Just like you and Y/n are—or were,” Suguru said, his tone softening slightly. “You let your jealousy get the best of you, and now you’ve hurt her deeply. I told you this whole ‘plan’ of yours was going to come and hit you in the back…”

Satoru’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his actions crashing down on him. Tears mingled with the rain on his face as he whispered, “I didn’t know... I thought...”

Kai took a step closer, his voice low and filled with frustration. “You thought wrong. And now, as Suguru has already stated, you’ve broken her heart. You better make this right, Satoru, or you’ll have more than just us to deal with.”

Shoko nodded, her expression unwavering. “You need to find Y/n, and you need to tell her the truth. Apologize, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll forgive you.”

Satoru looked down, his hands trembling with the realization of what he had done. “I need to find her,” he said, his voice filled with determination. “I need to fix this.”

Suguru nodded, placing a reassuring hand on Satoru’s shoulder.

“She’s headed back to her place. If I were you, I’d get there as soon as possible.” Shoko said, still filled with disappointment. Satoru nodded. With newfound resolve, Satoru turned and ran into the storm, his heart pounding with fear and hope. He knew he had to find you, to make things right, to tell you how much he truly loved you. The path ahead was uncertain, but he was ready to face it, no matter what.

_________________________

Taglist: @aria143 , @goreedo11

[theresstillgrowinghere]

I don’t often find I have much to say during chronic illness awareness months anymore. I’m tired. My words feel tired. I don’t feel like I have anything new to add. Sometimes I worry though that that in part comes from my having been in various digital chronic illness spaces for almost a decade. Of course it feels tired to me. There are things that rattle around my brain that feel so obvious and commonplace (and that have been said much more eloquently by others before me) but may still be worth expressing, just judging by the ways people in my life haven’t been able to understand

So for gastroparesis awareness month this year, there are a few things I want to note from my experiences (tw for food/eating, weight without numbers, medical trauma)

1) My relationship with food is so scarred and multifaceted. It is messy and thorny, conflicting and complicated

(I am scared of food. I miss food. I hate food. I want to eat so badly. I never want to think about eating again. Tell me in detail about how it tasted. I love food. Please don’t ask me to join you for a meal. I don’t want to miss the communal aspects of eating. I feel so disconnected and other and separate just because I don’t eat. Sometimes I do try to eat and it makes me sick. Don’t comment on it, please; it’s not helpful to scold or encourage - I feel shame either way)

2) There is no cure. There is only management. I think people understand this in theory more than actuality, because when I say this I mean please, please stop expecting any management option to be The Thing. Please don’t expect something to offer substantial improvement, even if it is a life-saving dramatic change. As I have tried to explain to people in my life, those types of interventions are often complicated and risky and, in our broken healthcare system, very difficult to access until the situation truly is dire and life-threatening. Which can mean that the body takes significant damage before getting there. Sometimes by the time you access the intervention, that damage is irreversible and the goal is just to stop further decline. It’s not making me better; it’s keeping me from getting worse. For some reason that’s difficult for people to understand

(But sometimes people do find what for them is The Thing or are The Things, and that’s an important piece of the whole picture. The problem is the persistence of unrealistic expectations among people around us)

3) My relationship with healthcare is vital but fraught and heavy. I rely on it tremendously just to stay alive. It is also my only in-person access to the world and to people, which is a weird kind of mindfuck. But I am also deeply afraid of it after so many years of trauma. I am terrified of hospitals and medical professionals. I’m sorry for the way that fear makes me irrational, makes me assume, makes me protect myself. I know so many medical professionals are so caring and kind, but it is very, very hard to go into a medical setting trusting that that will be the case

4) There are some things I wish truly were obvious. Like don’t comment on someone’s weight, ever. Don’t say you wish you could “have a little of that” to change your appearance. Don’t try to convince me to “just try to eat a little.” Trust that I know my body best. Don’t offer me unsolicited advice or recommendations. Don’t say “when you get to be my age…” because I will point out that, based on the amount of damage to my body already, it is very possible I will never reach your age. But more to the point, I am not too young to be this sick. It happens

Anyway, these are my 3am-notes-app, camped-out-on-the-bathroom-floor thoughts. It is also important to note that they exist in the context of my gastroparesis being born of and coexisting with my other chronic illnesses, and they all become so deeply entangled

Wishing everyone well. Hoping your August is kind and gentle

To everyone with gastroparesis (and other digestive disorders, really), I’m sorry your tummy hurts, and no, you actually don’t need to be very brave about it. As I heard someone say recently in a different context but definitely applies here as well, “We weren’t born to be fighters. I don’t want to be brave. I want to be okay.” I just want all of us to be okay

[lionheartedmusings]

i will never not be endlessly fascinated with pomme and q!bad's dynamic, especially now after the egg disappearance, purgatory, and returning to the island.

because pomme's adoption wasn't this huge emotional moment or him stepping in for someone who wasn't there, their bond was built out of time and care and love, to the point that it was just the next natural step in their relationship. even after that, it took a while for pomme to call q!bad dad because she was nervous and wanted it to be at the right time -- q!bad was aware of it too, because when she did call him dad for the first time he melted, took a photo of the sign, and made it not a big deal per se but acknowledged that it was a meaningful moment between them. then they moved on and kept going as usual.

their time together is cherished and not an afterthought -- yes, when her french parents are on pomme will always do the rounds with them! of course, she wants to spend time with them! q!bad's time with her is after, and they both know that in an inherently healthy and comforting way. it's their schedule, and even if she's with q!bad and one of her other parents log on off stream she'll go to hang out and q!bad only *once* interrupted that time, and it was to ask for her opinion on footage when he thought someone was in his house.

pomme is also both a mini-bad in a lot of ways inherently, and his absolute antithesis. they both share vicious anger when those they love are endangered, are fiercely protective and paranoid, are planners and worries to a fault... i don't think pomme would be surprised to hear what her dad did in purgatory at all, even if it would make her sad. that's where they're not similar at all: pomme is vengeful too, don't get me wrong, she's an eye for an eye girlie *but* she has a level of restraint that q!bad doesn't, and a moral compass that actually sees right and wrong vs. something i care about and something i don't. q!bad has been anchored by pomme before, brought to heel so to speak, in a way that needed no convincing because there's a level of trust there that's inherent.

and yet pomme knows and q!bad has acknowledged that dapper is his priority -- not in terms of love, never that, but still a priority. and that's just okay. pomme knows she's loved, she knows her dad adores her and she also knows that she has other parents that love her whereas ultimately dapper doesn't. she knows her mom q!baghera would prioritise her, and so would q!antoine, and q!aypierre, and q!etoiles -- it's okay that q!bad doesn't because he's looking out for her brother and she loves her brother more than anything.

the one thing that's interesting to me about their dynamic is the fact that pomme is loud and proud about being q!bad's daughter and has expressed frustration that people don't know / acknowledge her as his kid, but q!bad is almost reluctant to say she's his more often than not.

i can count on one hand the times he's corrected someone when they mention only dapper, or added that pomme is his too... and yet in private to him it's always dapper and pomme. he grieved them both in their time away, left pomme a message, checked her room too. he sang her happy birthday and got her the flowers she likes. he lost it when the eggs went missing not at seeing dapper's empty bed, but pomme's. he, in the throes of his memory loss and confusion, proudly said "this has got to be pomme's, this is exactly how my daughter would organise things" about the egg rooms.

there's a duality there that is fascinating and confusing and seems... purposeful on q!bad's behalf in a way i truly can't figure out entirely.

maybe he's trying to protect her, to distance himself from her in the rest of the island's minds so if something goes wrong she can be safe in a way he knows dapper could never be -- after all, elquackity didn't take pomme, he had no idea she was his.

i guess it's all about love, anyway.