#now the real question is do I send any of these to my therapist…
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Can you shitpost your mental illness…? Asking for a friend…










#actually ocd#~ooh I’m mentally ill~#take your mental illness and meme it#now you’re magically cured!#now the real question is do I send any of these to my therapist…#i.e. would she find them funny#hismercy’s musings#mental health#mental illness#tw: ocd#graphic design is my passion
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♡₊˚❄️₊✧ 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮 𝗶𝘀 𝗼𝗯𝘀𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗯𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝔭𝔱. 𝟐 ♡₊˚❄️₊✧
: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 king sukuna x his little queen 𖥔 lots of plot with porn 𖥔 TRUE FORM SUKUNA!!!! 𖥔 he only has eyes for you 𖥔 you're his beloved 𖥔 girl dad sukuna 𖥔 he’s doing his best 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut
: ̗̀➛ words: 7.6 k
: ̗̀➛ notes: read part one here. so i’ve been MIA because i tried to kms and got admitted to a psychiatric hospital, but now im back after months. they should’ve kept me in there for real after i told my therapist i wrote sexy fics about toji and sukuna. she gave me a notebook to jot down ideas. im doing better now tho. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy. IVE ALSO MADE AN INSTAGRAM SO GIVE ME A FOLLOW ON THERE: zarameraki

Sukuna grew weary of the infiltrator’s incessant cries.
For the past twenty minutes, he had remained perched upon his throne while Uraume interrogated the spy who had managed to breach the palace walls and infiltrate his chambers with the intent to assassinate both him and his pregnant queen.
Of course, Sukuna had sensed the presence of an unfamiliar body within his palace beforehand. He’d swiftly guided you through a concealed passageway into a secure chamber designed for handling imminent threats. As his dutiful wife, you bid him farewell with a good luck kiss, forming a chuckle from him as he departed.
Luck was unnecessary for Sukuna.
He epitomised mercilessness, an ominous force. A vile creature, insatiable for bloodshed, whose dominion rose atop a mountain of vanquished enemies. With a mere gesture, he could lay waste to entire lands; with a mere inclination of his head, shatter bones like brittle twigs. A fleeting gaze held too long invited swift death as he tore out throats without remorse. The unnatural power coursing within him was a burden to his psyche, yet a boon to his physical prowess. So long as his subjects quivered in dread, offering obeisance at his feet, yielding without question, he would ensure their safety.
Uraume delivered a kick to the assassin's face, sending the last of his teeth flying. “Enough with the fabrications. Speak the truth. Who hired you?”
“T-There was no name,” he whimpered, cradling his bruised face. “But he claimed she once dwelled within these walls, a concubine of His Lordship.”
Sukuna arched an eyebrow, skeptical.
“Most concubines were reassigned as palace servants months ago,” Uraume interjected. “The remainder were eliminated by His Lordship's orders. None of them would dare linger beyond the palace walls.”
“It may have been her brother—though I cannot be certain! Whoever he was, he harboured a deep thirst for vengeance.” The assassin let out a startled cry as Uraume strode past him, heading towards the throne.
Kneeling before Sukuna, they awaited his command.
Sukuna, idly resting his cheek on his knuckles, lowered his hand and gestured through the air. With a swift motion, the spy's body tore asunder, each half flying to opposite ends of the chamber. “Summon the families of the slain concubines.”
“As you wish, my Lord. It shall be arranged by nightfall,” Uraume replied.
“Tomorrow morning will suffice. I intend to spend the remainder of this night with my wife.”
Sukuna rose from his throne, his regal robe flowing around him as he straightened its sleeves.
“Her Ladyship is nearing the hour of delivery,” Uraume noted. "Shall I summon the physician?”
Sukuna’s glare bore into his loyal confidant. “That should have been arranged moons past.”
With a deferential nod, Uraume bowed. “Forgive my oversight, my Lord. I shall soon ensure the healer's attendance.”
He waved a dismissive hand as he descended the dais. “See to it. And have this mess tidied. Dinner shall be served in my quarters within the hour.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Sukuna strode out of the grand throne room. Subjects halted in their tracks, heads bowing low in deference as he passed by, their voices muted in respectful acknowledgement of their sovereign's presence. Only once he turned the corner did they dare to resume their activities.
Inside his chambers, Sukuna waved a hand, parting the wall to reveal the entrance to a hidden room. There, you lay serenely upon the bed, your gaze fixed upon the ceiling, one hand tenderly cradling your burgeoning belly.
At the sound of his approach, your head lifted, and you greeted him with a quizzical tilt of your head.
“Sukuna?”
A faint smirk played upon his lips as Sukuna settled beside you, his touch gentle as his hand caressed the curve of your stomach.
“Has everything been resolved?” you asked, peering up at him. “For once, you're not drenched in blood.”
Sukuna exhaled heavily, cupping your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Do you recall the vow I made to you on the night we conceived?”
How could you possibly forget?
No servant dared cast an admiring glance upon his wife, for fear of losing their sight. Those who dared to whisper even the faintest rumour about you had their tongues severed as a warning to others. Every morsel of food and sip of drink intended for your delicate lips underwent Sukuna's personal scrutiny, for he would allow no poison to touch you. Despite your protests and concerns, he reassured you of his immunity to toxins, claiming his blood flowed with an otherworldly power, not bound by mortal frailties. Any questions into the nature of his mysterious abilities were silenced by filling your mouth with a spoonful of nutritions.
That was the one question forbidden by Sukuna.
Yet despite the unanswered enigmas shrouding your husband, you pledged your unwavering love to him. He was not merely your husband; he was your sovereign, your protector, and soon, the father of your unborn child. With no other in this world, you clung to him as your sole anchor.
Each night, he reminded you of his undying devotion, promising to pursue you even beyond the veil of death, across the cycles of existence. For you, he would defy even the divine, should they dare to intervene. You belonged in his domain. You belonged with him.
“My handmaids think it’s a boy,” you murmured, fingers tracing the intricate patterns on his wrist. “They claim boys kick the most, citing it as natural male behaviour—aggression, they say.” As if on cue, the baby stirred within you, a kick rippling through your belly.
“A true reflection of his father, no doubt,” he remarked with a laugh. “Though, I have my doubts about it being a boy.”
You blinked, considering his words. Sukuna's intuition often surpassed that of mere mortals. A grin tugged at your lips. “Could it be a girl, then? Oh, how I would love a daughter. Yet, a son would be just as precious, wouldn’t he? Especially in royal circles where the preference for a male heir runs deep.”
“Perhaps I ought to curtail your visits to our neighbouring kingdoms if they continue to fill your head with such nonsensical notions,” Sukuna clipped out.
Suppressing a giggle, you countered, “Regardless of speculation, I prefer the gender to remain a surprise.”
“It’s a trifling concern,” Sukuna murmured, his hand moving in gentle circles across your swelling abdomen. “I care not for the gender of our child. Should it be a son, then so be it, I suppose. If it’s a daughter, I’ll rid my kingdom of every male soul, regardless of age. I’ll compel whatever god there is to craft the perfect husband for her. None of those wretches outside will befit her.” He laid a hand on your stomach, a tender smile gracing his lips. “Isn't that so, my little dove?”
You couldn’t help but sigh at his oversight. “My heart, what part of 'I want the gender to be a surprise' did you fail to grasp?”
Sukuna's expression remained impassive. “Speaking purely hypothetically, of course.”
Frustration brewed within you, though it dissipated instantly as you beheld his striking face. Your lips melded with his in a drawn-out kiss until the sudden movement of your unborn child interrupted the moment. “Swear to me you'll refrain from indulging in bloodshed and conflict until our hypothetical daughter comes of age.”
“I cherish you above all else, but that vow is one I cannot uphold.”
“Sukuna . . .”
“This realm teeters on the brink of chaos, my love. Without intervention, it will crumble to ash.” He brushed a lock of hair from your brow. “Tonight's events were but a glimpse into the shadows that surround us. You and our hypothetical daughter are the very heartbeat of my existence. Understand that my presence here is necessitated by . . . bloodshed and conflict.”
You sighed into a helpless smile as you propped yourself up against the headboard. “Come here, you gargantuan child.” Sukuna nestled his head against your chest, his hand resting on your swollen belly to soothe the restless movements of your child. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, your fingers threading through his thick locks. “Will you ever find peace?”
“I find it when I am with you,” he whispered.
“What if I were not—“
His head shot up. “Don't even entertain such thoughts, or I'll confine you to this room until dawn breaks.”
You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Oh, spare me the theatrics. Can you blame me? Being with a child does strange things to a woman. Just last week, I found myself in tears over a wilting flower.”
“My foolish woman, we are in the depths of winter,” he pointed out with a chuckle.
“It was an indoor plant,” you grumbled.
Sukuna buried his face in the curve of your neck, his warm breath tickling you. “You are utterly ridiculous.”
“You married this ridiculousness.” You felt his smile against your flesh, which soon turned into a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone and up to your jaw. “Can we return to our own bed now?”
“Not just yet,” he replied, reclining back and drawing your head to rest upon his chest. “Close your eyes. I'll wake you for dinner.”
You nestled closer to his warmth, contentment spreading through you like a soft caress. “As you wish, my stubborn husband.”
In a handful of days, your hypothetical daughter transformed into flesh and blood, her cries echoing through the palace as Maki entered the world.
Sukuna’s vigilance was split between safeguarding his beloved queen and their precious newborn princess, while relentlessly pursuing the malevolent siblings of one of his slain concubines who had orchestrated the assassination attempt on his family.
Whispers of the king's insatiable thirst for vengeance spread like wildfire among the populace, especially after witnessing the gruesome spectacle of the siblings' heads displayed in the bustling market square by the hand of Uraume, a chilling proclamation of Sukuna's wrath.
But as the bundle of joy was placed in his arms, swathed in the finest silk, the laws of his duties as a ruler dissipated like mist in the morning sun.
In that moment, all that existed was the delicate perfection of his daughter. His gaze fixated on Maki’s tiny features: the pursed lips, the struggle of her eyes to glimpse the world, the wisps of dark hair crowning her head, and the miniature hands that scarcely encircled Sukuna’s finger. Never before had anything held such sway over him as his wife and newborn daughter.
Overwhelmed by emotion, he sank into a nearby seat, the gravity of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Conditioned to never betray emotion, he found himself gasping for breath, tears withheld, as he cradled the precious life entrusted to his care.
Responsibility pressed upon him like an iron crown. In the corridors of his mind, ancestral expectations whispered. He was to sire an heir, a son to carry on his legacy. But fate, in its capricious dance, had blessed him with a daughter instead.
Sukuna’s overprotective instincts kicked into overdrive.
You were weary from the labour of birth and the demands of Maki’s nursing. Rested in peaceful slumber, Sukuna found himself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. What was the appropriate course of action? How should he cleanse the babe? Engage in playful antics to soothe her cries? Such simple tasks bewildered him, for his nights were consumed by the burdens of ruling and his days by the watchful eye over his weakened wife.
He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else tending to his daughter. The handmaids, no matter how loyal they seemed, were met with suspicion. Only Uruame was strictly ordered to partake in the sacred rituals of nappy changes and soothing Maki’s cries.
As months turned into a full year, every detail was meticulously attended to, from the softest silk robes to the most enchanting toys, all chosen with the utmost care. Sukuna spared no expense in creating a haven for his daughter, a chamber dedicated solely to her.
In his eyes, she was a priceless jewel to be cherished and protected at all costs.
“Say ‘Papa’. Look here, watch my mouth. ‘Pa. Pa.’ Now you try.” He sat upright, gently bouncing Maki on his knee. Despite her tender age of one, he was resolute that her inaugural word should be a tribute to his role in her life. “Come now, little dove.”
Maki erupted into a fit of giggles, responding with a string of incomprehensible babble instead.
“Spoilt brat,” he muttered under his breath.
“My Lord, forgive the intrusion upon your moment with the princess. But we must address our pressing matter,” Uraume interjected, sweeping an arm towards the little servant boy who remained prostrate before Sukuna. “Young Okkotsu, you know well that laying a hand on the princess is forbidden. Regardless of any permission granted by Her Ladyship, you are strictly forbidden from any interaction with either of them.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I’ve only just begun my duties in the palace kitchen. I assure you, it won't happen again,” the dark haired boy stammered.
Sukuna rose from his throne, his gaze piercing as he paced down the dais, encircling the young man. “What say you, my dove? Shall we sever his fingers for sullying your cheek?”
Yuta’s breath hitched in fear.
He halted in front of him, Maki nestled against his chest, her laughter tinkling like delicate bells. “Seems we have a consensus—”
“Sukuna!”
The throne room doors swung open, revealing you striding in, your robe billowing behind you, and your hair tousled from the rush of searching for your husband and daughter.
“Seven days without meals,” Sukuna declared.
Uraume seized the boy, dragging him across the carpet, but you intervened, halting their advance.
Instead, you knelt down to the child’s eye level, inspecting him for any harm. Sukuna’s displeasure simmered. He detested your softness toward the servants, loathed your belief that a hint of compassion wouldn't poison their loyalty. You possessed the skill to wield a dagger against a true threat, yet kneeling for a commoner was unforgivable in his eyes.
“Ensure that he is provided with all his meals,” you reiterated to Uraume. Sukuna’s confidant glanced back at him, but you held his gaze unwaveringly. “I stand as his equal, Uraume. If I decree that you must feed this boy, then you will do so without question.”
Sukuna shot you a glare, a flicker of admiration hidden within the depths of his eyes. Your defiance had always allured him, even as he enforced reminders of your place. Yet, your role as his queen, bearing him a healthy child, and resolute acceptance had softened the edges of his once cold heart.
His crimson gaze shifted back to Uraume, a silent command passed between them. With a single nod, the debate concluded, and Uraume ushered the boy out of the throne room, the guards sealing the doors behind them.
You strode toward Sukuna, gathering Maki into your arms, cradling her gently. “How can you be so harsh to a child?”
“And how can you permit a commoner to lay hands upon our daughter?” Sukuna retorted.
“I did what any compassionate person would do. That child was simply curious, my heart. I couldn't just turn a blind eye.”
Sukuna’s fists tightened. “Compassion has its place, but not at the risk of our daughter’s safety. She is our most precious treasure, not to be touched by just anyone.”
You sighed. His overbearing nature suffocated you sometimes. “She’s also a child, Suku. She deserves to know kindness, not just the confines of your paranoia.”
“Paranoia, you call it? You dare undermine my efforts to protect our daughter?” Sukuna’s eyes blazed with fury. “I will not have her exposed to the dangers of this world, especially not by the likes of some—some servant. That also happens to be a boy.”
You held your ground. “I understand your concerns, but she cannot grow up in isolation. She needs friends, freedom, and experiences beyond these palace walls.”
He scoffed. “I will not subject her to such frivolities. She will learn strength, resilience, and loyalty—qualities befitting a ruler, not weakness.”
Your heart ached at his words, knowing the wounds that had shaped his beliefs. “And what of her happiness, Suku? Will you deny her that, too?”
“Her happiness lies in her safety, in the certainty that no harm shall befall her. I will not compromise on that, no matter the cost.”
Your hand trembled as you reached out. “Maki is not just a creature of your realm, my heart. She is our daughter, born of both our blood. She deserves to experience the richness of human connection.”
Sukuna’s expression hardened, his features carved from stone. “Human connection? Do not presume to lecture me on such trivial matters. I am no mere mortal to be swayed by sentimentality. You speak of frailty, woman. I am the embodiment of power.”
“And yet, you chose to bind your fate with a mortal. Do you not find irony in that?”
Sukuna turned away, his silhouette casting a shadow over you.
You swallowed the lump in your throat, realising the futility of your arguments. “Very well, Sukuna. But remember this . . . a cage, no matter how gilded, is still a prison. And one day, she will yearn to spread her wings and soar beyond your grasp.”
He laughed, but the sound sent shivers down your spine instead of bringing comfort.
“Foolishness seems to be your forte, my love,” he sneered. He turned, his eyes burning with a heat that licked against your skin, as if the very oxygen had caught fire.
You found yourself inching backward, heart pounding with fear.
“Do you truly believe this palace is a prison after all I've sacrificed?" His voice rose, filling the chamber with its thunderous echo. “After enduring your relentless disobedience, after granting you the gift of our daughter, you dare to question my intentions?”
His form seemed to physically swell with anger, towering over you like a wrathful titan.
“If you find my protection stifling, then leave!” he spat. “But know this, wife, you will never escape my reach, for as long as you draw breath, you belong with me.”
“Suku . . .” Your breath caught in your throat as your husband’s face contorted, a grotesque abnormality sprouting from his right eye. Flesh twisted and warped, resembling a charred mass, obscuring his cheek. With horror, you watched as two slanted eyes formed, including a third, ominous orb below his left eye, and a strangled gasp escaped your lips.
“What was it that I asked of you during our initial meeting?” A rough, primal growl rolled through the chamber, like a beast stirring in the dark. The robe around him stretched out, a pair of formidable arms tearing out from his sides. The room quaked under his power, setting off Maki's frightened wails.
“Sukuna, cease this madness at once!” you cried out.
With a sudden burst of energy, his robe tore apart, exposing a mouth that seemed to slither its tongue across his torso. A shudder of horror ran through you, and Maki's cries grew, mirroring your own inner turmoil.
Desperately, you begged for Sukuna to regain control over his monstrous form, but his colossal hand seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze—gazes. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”
The question he had asked in the past had you answer swiftly. He was not only your husband, but also a father to your newborn daughter. He was your protector, your stronghold. You would love him even if his body bore scars, just as he loved the ones marring your back.
“It does not, Sukuna. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me.” Your hand found its place over his chest, where his heart pounded at an inhumane speed. “You are beautiful.”
“Papa,” Maki whimpered.
You tore your eyes from your husband and at your crying daughter who kept repeating her first ever word.
Sukuna’s hand slipped from your chin and reached for Maki, but his eyelids drooped, and his body swayed unsteadily.
“Su—”
Before his name could escape your lips, he collapsed with a resounding thud, sending shockwaves through your body and causing Maki to freeze. Both of you watched in horror as your protector lay unconscious on the ground.
Sukuna’s eyes felt like boulders had been placed on them, lifting up and down for a minute straight.
A familiar touch was brushing through his hair, caressing his cheek and the side of his neck, then back to his hair. A kiss laid at the corner of his mouth, and like a fable princess, he was woken from his slumber.
Your worried face came into view. The curtains around your bed were drawn, allowing only a sliver of light to shine on his wife’s face. “My heart . . . are you feeling better?”
His hand pressed firm at the nape of your neck, drawing you close until your face was buried in the hollow of his throat. He shut his eyes, though it did little to quiet the riot in his chest.
He had let his temper slip.
He ought to have held his tongue, silenced you with a kiss, humored your plea for a simple life—for your daughter’s sake, if not his own.
But he hadn’t.
And for that, he could never forgive himself.
Worse still, he could not recall your expression when you first laid eyes upon the thing he became, the thing he had kept hidden save for battles.
“I owe you an apology.” In all the months of your marriage, he had never once needed to say it. He had been careful, always ensuring you remained at ease, that you would speak to him without hesitation. “I offer it now, with all my heart, beloved.”
You swallowed hard. “I was frightened for you.”
For you. Not by you. Sukuna pressed his teeth briefly into his lower lip, then, without ceremony, gathered you into his arms.
Your quiet sobs trembled against his skin as he pressed a series of unhurried kisses to your temple.
“The Ryomen bloodline was damned in my great-great-grandfather’s time. We were wrath and ruin incarnate, unrepentant in our nature. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, believed a curse might quell us—some cruel trick of flesh meant to break our line. Instead, it only honed the beast within. My grandfather, my father, and now I . . . we were made for destruction. Trained for it.”
You leaned back, studying the face of a man who called himself a curse and found, beneath all his thunder, something painfully, unmistakably human.
“You are not your father. Nor the men before him,” you said. “Perhaps your heart does not beat like mine, but that does not mean it does not know kindness. I have seen you with our daughter, Sukuna. Whatever you think yourself to be, I know the truth: you are a man. And you are mine. No matter what shape you take, I know my Sukuna would never harm us.”
“Never,” he swore.
A small smile ghosted your lips as you kissed him twice. “I love every piece of you. You are the love of my life, Sukuna Ryomen. So do not dare take yourself from me. From her.”
“Never,” he said again. “Gods, I wouldn’t dare. You are the very reason I wake with purpose. How could I—” His lips met yours, a fleeting press as if to confirm you were not some cruel illusion. He gathered you close before shifting you beneath him, trailing kisses along the elegant line of your throat, your collarbones, your shoulders.
Then, with great reluctance, he paused. “And our Maki? She is safe, yes?”
“Quite. Uraume is tending to her in her chambers.” You brushed a knuckle across his cheek. “Tell me, did you happen to catch her first word?”
Sukuna blinked.
The question unsettled him, not because he knew the answer but because he did not. His mind, a tumult of devotion and regret, had been wholly occupied—by you, by the mere movement of your lips, by the reminder of his child’s cries. That he had missed such a moment . . . he loathed himself for it.
“What . . . what was it?”
You tapped his lips twice. “Pa. Pa.”
His breath caught. “Papa? She said ‘papa’?”
“Indeed. A grievous betrayal, I must say. Nine months of suffering, only for my own daughter to spurn me at the first opportunity.”
Sukuna pressed a hand to his chest, as though to steady the heart he barely acknowledged as his own. “And she recognized me? Even as I was?”
You tilted your head, amused by his astonishment. “You are her father, Suku, in whatever shape or form. It is this she knows.” You patted his chest, punctuating the thought.
He exhaled, forehead resting against yours. The world quieted, and together, your thoughts turned to Maki—your little dove, safe and sleeping. “I swear to you, my anger will never rule me again.”
“Darling, we are bound to argue.” You laughed softly, though he remained grave. “Only, do try to contain yourself in front of Maki. That is all I ask.”
“And so it shall be.”
You drew him close, allowing his head to rest against you as your fingers idly traced the line of his spine.
“Question,” you murmured.
“Speak.”
“If anger is not the sole catalyst, is there some means by which you might exert control over your cursed form?”
“Yes. I am capable of it,” Sukuna replied, lifting his head to regard you. “I have merely refrained from doing so for some time, which is why the shift rendered me unconscious. Though, I have summoned it on occasion for interrogations.”
You tilted your head in feigned indifference. “Interesting.”
“What is?”
“That extra set of mouth on your stomach.”
He studied you for a long moment, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. “My love—”
“No.” You cut in swiftly. “I assure you, whatever it is you’re about to suggest, I wasn’t thinking it.” A pause. “Not in that way.” Another pause. “And even if I were, it is hardly any concern of yours.”
He raised a brow. “It is my body.”
You pursed your lips, choosing instead to focus on some distant point in the room, as if that might shield you from the heat creeping up your neck.
Unmoved, Sukuna reached out, turning your face back toward him with a single finger. “Are you asking me to bed you in my cursed form?”
“N—”
“Do not lie to me.”
A long, measured sigh escaped you. “I would hardly phrase it that way.”
“But you would phrase it.”
“I am merely suggesting that it might be worth exploring.” You met his gaze with a touch of defiance he claimed to find irritating. “It is, after all, a part of you.”
A smirk played at his lips, and you refused to indulge him with a reaction.
“Well,” he drawled, stretching as though the mere thought of exertion exhausted him, “once I have gathered sufficient strength, your body shall be my first conquest. How does that sound?”
“I suppose I can endure the wait,” you said. “A few weeks isn’t too long.”
“Weeks?” Sukuna laughed in your face. “My love, I shall be in perfect condition by tomorrow morning.” His hand found its way between your thighs, fingers pressing against your sensitive spot with an unmistakable intent. “Tonight, however, I believe some preparation is in order. After all, I do expect you to accommodate both my cocks.”
Your eyes widened. “They come in a pair?”
He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “One for your cunt, one for your ass.”
You exhaled, considering the sheer audacity of the man before you, and the undeniable thrill that curled in your stomach. “In that case, I’ll see to it that Maki is well-fed early. It would be a terrible shame to be interrupted.”
A low chuckle rumbled from him as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands making quick work of your robe. Whatever lay ahead tomorrow, he was clearly intent on ensuring you were well prepared.
Maki caught a snowflake in her gloved hands, wriggling in Sukuna’s arms. He watched her, entertained, noting the red flush of her cheeks and the way the sun deepened the warm brown of her eyes. Their morning walks were a ritual—one he maintained while you rested.
She frowned as the snowflake vanished.
Sukuna’s patience with the elements was already thin, but this was outright betrayal. Useless, transient things. Could they not amuse his daughter for more than a breath? With a sigh that could have toppled lesser men, he strode to a pile of snow, scooped up a handful, and set about rectifying nature’s failure. If the heavens were incapable of producing a snowflake that lasted, then he would simply make one himself.
“Papa!” Maki’s delighted cry rang out as he presented his creation. She accepted it without hesitation, and immediately began gnawing on it.
Sukuna watched with equal parts pride and dismay. The girl had a warrior’s spirit, that much was clear, but she also had the terrible habit of treating everything as a potential meal.
“Not for eating,” he informed her, plucking the half-destroyed snowflake from her grip. She scowled at him, the beginnings of a royal tantrum brewing. “What?”
Maki made a noise of protest, reaching for her prize.
Sukuna merely held it out of her reach, watching as she squirmed in his arms like an enraged kitten. He huffed out a laugh, shifting her higher on his hip. “A fine little tyrant you’ll be,” he muttered, tapping her nose. “We’ll work on your taste in delicacies.”
Maki, evidently unimpressed with his wisdom, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve and gave it a mighty tug, glaring at him with all the righteous fury of a child denied.
He grinned. “Oh? You wish to challenge me?”
Her answer was immediate.
She seized his thumb and bit down, leaving a damp little mark on his skin.
Sukuna stared.
Then, after a long, considering pause, he laughed. A rare, unguarded sound, loud enough to shake the winter air. He had crushed civilizations beneath his heel, laid waste to entire bloodlines, and yet here he was, utterly conquered by a girl no taller than his thigh.
Still chuckling, he cradled her closer and pressed another kiss to her cheek in surrender.
“Very well, my sweet dove,” he said. “You win this round.”
Once inside the castle, they dusted off the snow and made their way to his chambers, where you lay beneath layers of fur blankets. As always, Maki would sleep between you both—an arrangement that suited Sukuna just fine. He had long since ensured that no unwelcome presence could enter without, well, ceasing to exist. The barrier fell away with a flick of his fingers as he stepped inside.
Depositing Maki onto the bed, he made quick work of stripping away her winter layers, leaving her in nothing but her nappy. With a wave of his hand, her nightgown rose from the drawer and landed neatly in his palm. Dressing her took little effort, though he prolonged the process with a series of affectionate kisses, which she suffered through with all the dignity of a girl accustomed to her father’s nonsense.
As he changed, he watched her roll onto her stomach and crawl towards you, small hands grasping at the blankets with single-minded determination.
“Mama. Mama.”
You stirred, your body already attuned to the sound of your daughter’s voice. Eyes half-lidded with sleep, you caught sight of her clambering up onto your chest, utterly undeterred by the fact that you had only just woken.
“Hello, my love,” you murmured, shifting her onto your stomach and pressing a kiss to her chilled cheeks. She let out a contented sigh, curling against you as if you were a hearthfire made just for her.
“And how was your morning stroll with Papa?”
Maki gave a tiny hum of acknowledgment before answering, her loyalty evident in the single word she deemed worth saying. “Papa.”
Sukuna smirked. A satisfactory report, indeed. “It was divine as always.”
You lifted your gaze to find him standing in nothing but his indecently loose undergarments, bare-chested and utterly self-assured. The sight did little to temper your appetite. “Good morning, my heart.”
He kissed you first, then the crown of your daughter’s head, as though bestowing a blessing upon his two greatest treasures. “I’m calling Uraume to take her to the nursery so I may have you to myself.”
“You’ll hear no objections from me,” you replied, adjusting your daughter in your arms. “Take her quickly.”
Pleased with your good sense, Sukuna kissed you again before striding out to summon his ever-loyal attendant. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to the tiny creature in your arms, her watchful eyes a precise scarlet mirror of her father’s.
“Nine months I carried you,” you whispered, “and you dare arrive looking just like your papa?” You sighed, dramatic and aggrieved, before pressing a kiss to her downy head. “Ah, but you are perfect, so I suppose I’ll allow it.”
Eventually, Uraume appeared, and carried off the sleeping princess to her nursery two doors down.
You scarcely had time to adjust your gown before Sukuna returned, giving you no chance at modesty before he was upon you, pressing you into the sheets and claiming your lips with his.
Not that you intended to complain.
Then, with a shift as effortless as the turning of a tide, he revealed himself.
His form unfurled, expanding beyond mortal proportions, a presence too great to be contained. Limbs stretched, muscle realigned, skin carved anew by dark markings that wound across his chest, his four arms, his throat. A second mouth curled into a grin at his stomach.
Magnificent. Terrifying. Yours.
Your lips parted, but no words dared forth.
Sukuna tilted his head. “What is the matter, my empress?” His voice was layered now, each syllable resonating with something beyond human. A deity speaking down to the thing that had dared summon it. “This is what you wanted, is it not?”
You swallowed hard. You had asked for this. Had traced curious fingers over his skin, whispered your intrigue, allowed the thought to take root before you could stop it.
And now Sukuna had answered.
Fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your face upward as his lips met yours. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs, sent your hands pressing against the hard plane of his chest. A second set of hands gripped your waist, pulling you forward, caging you against him.
Against all of him.
“Gods,” you whispered as the tongue on his stomach unfurled and gave a long lick to your chest.
“Sukuna Ryomen,” he corrected.
Your eyes wandered down to the tongue slowly swirling around your left nipple. Sukuna’s hand gripped your jaw and forced you to look back at him. His fingers dipped into your mouth, and like muscle memory, you sucked on the digits. He pulled them out, and using his bottom set of hands, he spread your legs out and wide.
A quiet exhale left you as he pushed his fingers inside of you. Your hands cupped his face, thumb grazing over the protruded pair of right eyes that closed at your touch. His palm cupped the back of your head and lifted your face so that your soft lips met his in a chaste kiss. Your arms locked around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair.
A low, guttural hum reverberated in his throat. His upper hands anchored you close, one splayed across your lower back, the other curling around your thigh, prying you open as though he were unfolding something sacred.
“You take to my touch as though you were born for it,” he murmured against your mouth. “As though your body remembers me before memory itself.”
Your breath stuttered as his fingers moved within you. Still, you held his face in your palms, exploring the markings. The harsh planes of his jaw, the impossible symmetry of his two mouths, the second set of eyes that shuttered so easily beneath your gentlest caress. He was carved from myth and sin, but melted under your hands like something entirely human.
“Sukuna,” you whispered.
He gave a low exhale. “I have slaughtered men for far less than hearing my name fall from trembling lips,” he said. “And yet . . . I would hear it again, from you.”
When your lips failed you, he slipped his fingers back into your mouth—those same fingers slick from your heat—and your tongue obeyed before thought could catch it. He chuckled then, a sound deep and sharp as a temple bell at dusk.
Grunting, he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “Let the heavens weep and the earth tremble,” he whispered. “For I shall have you, entire and eternal. Mine, now and beyond the grave.”
With one swift movement, the thick, burning press of his cock jolted you. Your spine arched as he filled you in a single thrust. His lower arms gripped your thighs and pinned you open around him, while his upper pair cradled your back and the side of your face, guiding your expression toward him.
“You were made for this,” he rasped into your mouth. “Every breath . . . every tremble.”
Your hands clung to his shoulders, his skin hot beneath your palms, taut over muscle that flexed with every grind of his hips. You felt him in every inch of you—filling, stretching, splitting you open until it felt like your very form had reshaped around his. And still, he demanded more.
You bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, but he only chuckled darkly. “No need for silence,” he said. “Let them hear you. Let the palace walls remember how a king takes his queen.”
One of his lower hands slipped up to press firmly against your lower belly, right where the thickest part of him struck. “Do you feel that, my love?” he whispered. “That is where I live now.”
You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it. His second length. Thick and merciless, pressing against the stretched slick of your entrance just beneath the first. Your breath caught in your throat, and your nails dug into his flesh as your body tensed instinctively.
Sukuna didn’t stop.
He leaned down, one of his lower mouths brushing hot against your collarbone, licking the sweat from your skin as he murmured, “Relax for me, beloved. You can take it.”
The second cock pushed in slowly, stretching you beyond anything you thought you could endure. You cried out—half-pain, half-bliss—as the pressure bloomed into heat, into fullness, into something sacred and obscene all at once. He groaned low in his chest, the sound shaking through both of you.
“There,” he hissed, panting against your neck, all four of his hands tightening around you. “Look how well you take me. All of me. My perfect little vessel.”
Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out. Both leaking cocks buried deep, pulsing inside you, so full you could barely breathe. And still, he held you as though you were something fragile, something precious, even as he claimed you like a conqueror razing his last battlefield.
Then he began to move.
Just mellow enough for you to feel the shift of both shafts grinding inside you in perfect, devastating sync. Your moans came broken and high, no longer intelligible, lost in the rhythm of his hips and the burning heat licking up your spine. His lower arms gripped your waist tight, keeping you moored as he started fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the chamber like a drumbeat of war.
“Mine,” he gritted out, thrusting harder. “Do you feel what you do to me? How tightly you hold me—how you pull me deeper every time I try to leave?”
You couldn’t answer. You could only hold on. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your body shaking with every thrust, the stretch now tipping into unbearable pleasure. Each stroke stroked places inside you that nothing else ever could. You weren’t making love. You weren’t just being fucked. You were being filled, over and over, until your mind blanked and your soul cried out his name.
“Sukuna!” You gasped, legs trembling as the heat inside you built to something unspeakable. “I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he snarled. “You will. You’ll come on both my cocks, and I’ll feel every flutter, every shiver of that sweet cunt. Come for me, little queen. Now.”
You did.
Your release tore through you like fire through silk. You screamed his name, body locking around him, every muscle tightening as your climax rippled through you like a storm. Sukuna groaned, and slammed into you once more, burying both cocks to the hilt as he came, filling you to the brim, warmth spilling inside you like a brand you’d wear for days.
He didn’t pull out or move any further. He only held you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple as your bodies slowly came down from the frenzy.
His voice, when it returned, was hoarse. “You were born to bear me,” he said. “To carry my heat. My name. My legacy.” One of his hands cupped your face, tilting it upward. “You are not merely my queen. You are the altar on which I ruin myself.”
The bathwater shimmered gold beneath the candlelight, laced with perfumed oils and herbs that clung to your skin in fragrant warmth. You rested with your back nestled against Sukuna’s chest, your body languid, limbs heavy from pleasure and exhaustion. His cursed form, coiled with rippling muscles, dwarfed yours.
He sat in the steaming bath with you between his legs, two of his arms holding you close, the other two gently tending to you: one pouring warm water down your spine, the other cradling a soft cloth that moved tenderly along the curve of your shoulder.
You sighed, head lolling back against his collarbone. “You’re gentle with me now,” you muttered, eyes closed. “Whatever happened to the terrifying King of Curses?”
“Still here,” Sukuna rumbled, voice low and deep in your ear. “He’s simply been conquered by a very small woman with a lovely mouth, and an impossibly sharp tongue.”
A soft laugh rose from your throat. “Careful, my love. That same small woman carried your daughter, endured your tempers, and let you fuck her until she couldn’t walk. You’d do well to show some worship.”
“I am washing your feet.” He nipped your earlobe. “If that is not worship, I do not know what is.”
You opened one eye to look down, watching his massive hand curl around your ankle. The cloth moved in slow circles across the arch of your foot. He handled you like fine porcelain, despite the monstrous claws at the end of each finger.
“I was frightened earlier,” you said quietly, the words slipping from you like ripples in the bath.
Sukuna stilled. The cloth paused. The second set of eyes blinked shut. “I lost control,” he admitted, the gravel in his voice softened by guilt. “There was no excuse for the way I behaved.”
You turned your head to look at him, cupping one side of his jaw, brushing your thumb beneath the lower pair of eyes that closed instantly at your touch. “And I love you—all of you—but I need you here. For her. For me.”
His lower arms folded around your middle. “I am not proud of what I became. Of how quickly I gave in to that part of myself.”
“You don’t need to be proud. You just need to do better,” you said gently, letting your forehead rest against his jaw. “Start by coming on a picnic.”
He grunted. “A king does not picnic.”
“A father does. And I happen to think our little Maki would quite enjoy it now that spring’s almost here.”
“She eats grass.”
“She does not.”
“She tried.”
You sighed, smiling. “Let her try. Let her taste snow, and crawl in the dirt, and pull flowers apart petal by petal. She’ll never know the world if all she sees are the iron walls of your protection.”
Sukuna’s fingers brushed up your side, the tongue at his stomach giving a sleepy little twitch against your spine. “A picnic,” he repeated.
You nodded against him. “A simple one. Just us. No guards. No nobles. Just a blanket, some honeyed rice cakes, and a daughter who insists on throwing half her food at you.”
He let out a long, reluctant exhale. “Very well.”
“Really?” You blinked up at him.
His crimson eyes softened. “I said I would do better. This is me . . . beginning.”
You smiled then, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Then we’ll go tomorrow. Near the east garden.”
“You will wear that green robe I like.”
“I’ll wear nothing at all if it means you’ll behave.”
A low growl rumbled from his chest, but he only kissed the top of your head.
You nestled deeper into his arms as he resumed bathing you, the water gently lapping against your skin, his monstrous form relaxed for the first time that day.
In that moment, the kingdom could burn, and he wouldn’t care.
Because here, in the bath, with his queen safe in his arms, and the promise of a daughter’s laughter tomorrow, Sukuna Ryomen finally knew what it meant to be at peace.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#zaraswriting#jjk smut#sukuna ryomen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk imagines#jjk x reader#jjk x you#sukuna x female reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna scenarios#sukuna ryomen smut#jjk fanfic
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CHAPTER SIX
baby, i'm talkin' crazy, i need you right in my space"
pairing — trentxblack!r&b artist
tropes — fake dating, enemies-to-lovers
warnings — sexual tension, toxic relationships, mature themes (minors dni)
word count — 8k
summary — y/n, a rising r&b star, is stuck in toxic situationships, with tabloids constantly overshadowing her music. to fix her image, her team pushes her into a fake relationship with liverpool’s trent alexander-arnold. both reluctant, they soon realize keeping things strictly business isn't so simple. will pretending to be in love stay a game, or turn into something real?
an — to the anons, thank you for waiting! let me know your thoughts
masterlist

y/n sat in the studio, her gaze fixed on the notepad in front of her. the pages were filled with half-written lyrics, scribbled thoughts, and abandoned ideas. her pen hovered over the paper, but nothing came. her mind was a foggy mess, swirling with emotions she didn’t know how to articulate. she felt like a stranger in her own skin, carrying a weight too heavy to bear.
the familiar hum of the studio equipment was a small comfort, but it didn’t stop the ache in her chest or the lump in her throat. she hadn’t spoken to anyone—not zaia, not anyone. the thought of sharing what had happened felt unbearable. she didn’t even know how to put it into words.
even cassius had tried to reach out a few times, sending her encouraging texts and asking if she wanted to go out with him and zaia despite his busy schedule and desire to spend alone time with his fiancée, but she ignored him. and trent... just thinking about him made her stomach twist painfully.
he’s nothing but a reminder of what i let happen. how could i have been so stupid?
y/n scribbled a line on the paper, then crossed it out angrily. the frustration bubbled up, but it wasn’t just about the music. it was everything. the loneliness. the silence. the echo of her own thoughts.
she was so lost in it all that she didn’t even hear the door open.
“y/n?”
she startled, looking up to see ayesha standing in the doorway, her brows furrowed in concern. “hey,” y/n said weakly, her voice barely above a whisper.
ayesha stepped inside, closing the door behind her. she set her bag down on the couch and folded her arms, her sharp gaze fixed on y/n. “what’s going on with you?”
“what do you mean?” y/n asked, avoiding her eyes.
“don’t play dumb,” ayesha said, her tone firm but not unkind. “you’ve been completely out of it. you and trent were doing so well. you had plans—events, appearances, everything. now he’s not even speaking to me, and his brother won’t stop calling me, bombarding me with questions about what’s going on.”
y/n’s stomach sank, and she looked down at the notepad in front of her, unable to meet ayesha’s gaze. “i’m just... going through a lot right now.”
“yeah, no kidding,” ayesha said, taking a seat across from her. “so, what is it? what happened?”
y/n hesitated, her mind racing for an answer—any answer that wasn’t the truth. she couldn’t tell ayesha about the night with trent, about how everything had unraveled since then. she couldn’t even bring herself to say his name.
“i... i’ve been struggling,” she said finally, her voice shaky. “mentally, i mean. i’ve been missing my family a lot. i feel... alone.”
ayesha’s expression softened slightly, but there was still a hint of skepticism in her eyes. “have you been seeing your therapist?”
y/n shook her head. “not recently.”
“then maybe it’s time to start again,” ayesha said. “you need to talk to someone, y/n. this isn’t like you. and i get it—being away from family is hard. feeling alone is hard. but you signed a contract. you have to hold up your end of the deal.”
y/n nodded slowly, her chest tightening. she wanted to tell ayesha that it wasn’t just about her family, that the loneliness she felt was so much deeper than that. but she couldn’t.
ayesha sighed, running a hand through her hair. “i’ll give you the weekend. take some time, figure out whatever you need to figure out. but after that, you and trent need to meet. it’s been too long, and people are starting to notice.”
y/n’s heart sank even further at the thought. seeing him again felt like the last thing she could handle, but she nodded anyway, knowing she didn’t have a choice.
“okay,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible.
ayesha gave her a long look, then stood up. “you’ve got this, y/n. just... don’t shut yourself off from everyone, okay? talk to someone. even if it’s not me.”
y/n nodded again, forcing a weak smile as ayesha grabbed her bag and left the studio.
the moment the door closed, y/n let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. she stared down at the notepad in front of her, the empty lines taunting her.
she picked up her pen, but her hand trembled, and she set it back down. she couldn’t focus, couldn’t think. all she could do was sit there, the silence of the studio pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t escape.
the stadium was buzzing with energy, the crowd electric as the match progressed. y/n slipped into her seat quietly, pulling the hood of her jacket further over her head to shield herself from any wandering eyes. it wasn’t her usual scene anymore. not since everything between her and trent had unraveled in ways she still couldn’t fully process.
she hadn’t planned to be there. honestly, she didn’t even know why she came. but sitting at home, drowning in her thoughts and the heavy weight of loneliness, had pushed her to move. the match seemed like a safe enough distraction, even if it wasn’t entirely safe for her heart.
trent was on the pitch, commanding attention with every touch of the ball. he looked good—he always looked good—but it was more than that. there was an ease to the way he moved, a confidence that came naturally to him.
when halftime came, she stayed in her seat, watching as the players disappeared down the tunnel. her chest tightened at the sight of him walking off with his teammates, his jersey clinging to his back. she wondered if he’d seen her. if he’d even care.
the second half kicked off, and it wasn’t long before trent’s sharp eyes caught hers. it was brief—a flicker, a moment—but she felt it. the way his gaze lingered, his lips twitching into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
the final whistle blew, the crowd erupting in cheers, and y/n stood, debating whether to slip away unnoticed or stay. but as she turned to leave, a staff member approached her, holding a note.
“trent asked me to give this to you,” they said, handing her the small slip of paper.
her heart raced as she unfolded it.
wait for me in the family tunnel. i want to see you. please. - t
she hesitated, her fingers tightening around the note. part of her wanted to ignore it, to leave and avoid the inevitable conversation. but another part—a quieter, more vulnerable part—wanted to see him just as much.
she made her way to the family tunnel, her steps slow and uncertain. the space was quieter, the echoes of the crowd still faint in the background. leaning against the wall, she tried to steady her breathing, unsure of what she’d say or how she’d even begin to explain why she was there.
when trent finally appeared, freshly showered and still in his team gear, his face lit up at the sight of her.
“you came,” he said, his voice softer than she expected.
“yeah,” she replied, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket.
he stepped closer, his smile widening. “you don’t know how good it is to see you here.”
she swallowed, her throat dry. “i didn’t think you’d want to see me.”
his brows furrowed. “why would you think that? i’ve been waiting for you to show up. i’ve been—” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “i’ve missed you, y/n.”
her chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear.
“come over after,” he said suddenly, his tone carrying an urgency that made her look up at him.
“trent…”
“i mean it,” he cut her off, his eyes pleading. “just… come over. we can talk or not talk, whatever you want. but i need to see you properly. just us.”
she hesitated, the weight of her emotions threatening to crush her. but as she looked at him—really looked at him—she saw the same longing she felt reflected in his eyes.
“okay,” she said quietly, the word barely audible.
his shoulders relaxed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “thank you,” he murmured, his voice full of something she couldn’t quite place.
as he stepped closer, his hand brushed against hers briefly, the touch sending a jolt through her. “wait for me here,” he said softly. “i’ll be quick.”
she nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as he walked away. and for the first time in weeks, she felt something other than the crushing weight of loneliness. something that scared her just as much as it comforted her. hope.
trent’s car pulled up to his house, the low hum of the engine fading as he put it in park. y/n felt the familiar tightness in her chest, the pressure of everything still hanging over her, but somehow, being in his presence helped her forget. just for a moment. she hadn’t planned on being here, not like this, but there she was, her hand already reaching for the door before he could even offer it.
he followed her as they walked to the front door, the cool evening air filling her lungs with a brief clarity. trent opened the door for her, stepping aside as she entered first. the inside of his house was cozy but had a sophistication to it—furniture placed in soft, deliberate arrangements that made everything feel welcoming, and the warm light of lamps illuminated the space in a quiet, intimate way.
"make yourself at home," trent said, taking his jacket off and tossing it onto the chair. his movements were easy, casual, but there was an edge to him tonight, a subtle tension that y/n could feel in the air. it was as if he knew something had changed between them, but neither of them spoke of it.
y/n settled herself on the couch, letting her hands rest on the cushions as she tried to focus on anything other than the pull she could feel between them. he didn’t sit right away, instead making his way into the kitchen, where the smell of something delicious filled the room.
“dinner’s almost ready,” trent called out from the kitchen, his voice light but warm. “you hungry?”
she nodded, too tired to form a full sentence. “yeah, sounds good.”
when the food came out, it was simple but comforting—pasta, fresh herbs, and a garlic bread that made her stomach growl despite herself. they ate in relative silence, save for a few exchanges about the match he had played earlier. she answered him in short sentences, trying to push the heaviness in her chest down, but it only seemed to grow.
after dinner, they moved to the living room, and it was as if everything started to slow down. they sat on opposite ends of the couch at first, both of them not quite knowing where to start, but the air was thick with something unspoken. something she couldn’t quite place.
finally, trent broke the silence. “how’s the album coming along?”
“good,” she replied, her voice quieter than usual. “almost done. just some fine-tuning left.”
the reminder of the time they had left together, the time they had spent apart, made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t ignore. she hadn’t realized how much she was holding on to, how much she was letting slip through her fingers. but she wasn’t ready to talk about it. not yet.
trent seemed to sense her shift, his posture loosening as he leaned back in his seat. he studied her for a moment, like he was trying to understand what was going on behind her guarded expression. and then, with the softest of sighs, he asked, “what happened in monaco, y/n? you’ve been distant... i’ve been racking my brain for weeks about it.”
she stiffened, the question hitting her in a way she didn’t expect. it wasn’t anger in his voice, no—it was concern. the kind of concern that made her want to shrink away, to pretend it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter.
“nothing,” she said quickly, her voice coming out a little too sharp. “i’ve just been going through some stuff.”
trent raised an eyebrow, the concern still evident on his face. “it’s more than that. i can tell. is it me? did i do something wrong?”
y/n didn’t know how to answer. the truth was, she had been feeling lost. too many things piled up, too many things unsaid. but what would saying it to him change? what was the point?
“no,” she said, her voice faltering just a bit. “it’s nothing to do with you. i’ve just been feeling... down. it comes in waves.”
he looked at her, his gaze softening, as if he were trying to understand her even more deeply. “you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
y/n forced a small smile. “i know.”
there was a pause, and she could feel the weight of it hanging between them. but then, in the quiet of the room, trent moved closer. just a little, but enough for her to notice. enough to make her breath catch.
“you’re not alone in this, y/n. if you ever need someone…” he trailed off, his voice low, soft.
she didn’t want to acknowledge the tightness in her chest, the way her pulse quickened at the warmth in his voice. instead, she simply nodded, feeling the words sit in the air like a fragile promise.
the conversation shifted, and they started talking about lighter things—his game, her music, the plans they had been working on together. things that felt safe.
the couch seemed smaller than usual with how close they were sitting. y/n was tucked into the corner, legs folded beneath her, while trent was sprawled out, his arm draped lazily along the backrest. the distance between them felt charged, as though the air carried a hum of unspoken words and lingering glances.
“you’re quiet tonight,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her face.
she shrugged, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the seam of a cushion. “just tired.”
but the way her gaze flickered to him, lingering on his lips before darting away, told a different story.
“tired of me already?” he teased, his voice low, carrying just the right amount of warmth to draw her out.
her lips quirked into a small smile. “hardly. you’re like a stray cat that keeps showing up.”
he chuckled, leaning closer. “you keep letting me in, though.”
she glanced at him, her expression softening as her gaze locked with his. there was something in his tone that made her heart skip, and she hated how easily he could get to her, how effortlessly he could unravel her defenses.
“maybe i like the company,” she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.
his brows lifted, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “just the company? nothing else?”
she rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, her cheeks warming under his stare. “don’t push your luck.”
he shifted slightly, his arm brushing hers as he moved closer. the small touch sent a shiver through her, and she hated how much she liked it.
“am i pushing it now?” he murmured, his face mere inches from hers.
her breath hitched, and she felt like the room had shrunk around them. her gaze darted to his lips, and when she looked back at his eyes, she found them dark and focused, as if waiting for her to make the first move.
“trent…” her voice wavered, her resolve slipping with each passing second.
he tilted his head, his hand brushing against hers where it rested between them. “say the word, y/n. just tell me to stop.”
but she didn’t. instead, she leaned in, closing the gap, her lips brushing his in a tentative kiss that quickly deepened. his hand found her waist, pulling her closer, and before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, her fingers tangling in his curls.
the kiss grew heated, their breaths mingling as his hands gripped her hips, anchoring her to him. but then, just as quickly as it began, trent pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his chest heaving.
“wait,” he said, his voice strained, his hands tightening on her waist to stop her from moving.
her brow furrowed, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “what? what’s wrong?”
he closed his eyes for a moment, his grip on her firm yet gentle. “we need to talk.”
her heart sank, and she searched his face, her voice barely above a whisper. “do you not want this?”
his eyes snapped open, the raw intensity in them making her breath catch. “of course i do. do you know how much i’ve fantasized about you? for months, y/n. months. but—”
“but what?” she interrupted, her voice edged with desperation.
“is this what you really want?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly. “i don’t want to take advantage of you. and i—”
“it’s what i want,” she said firmly, her hands framing his face. her voice softened, but the words carried an edge that made his heart ache. “just this.”
the word “just” felt like a blow, but before he could respond, she leaned in again, cutting off whatever he was about to say. her lips captured his, and this time, there was no hesitation.
“i don’t want to talk,” she murmured against his lips, her fingers threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss.
trent’s mind raced, torn between what he wanted and what he knew he should do. but the feel of her in his arms, the warmth of her body against his, made it impossible to think clearly. he gave in, letting himself be consumed by the moment, even as the weight of her words lingered in the back of his mind.
as the days turned into weeks, y/n and trent fell into a quiet rhythm that neither of them openly acknowledged. it wasn’t anything official, of course—just moments stolen away from the world, tucked into the spaces where no one else could see. he’d show up to her studio sessions unannounced, waiting patiently until everyone had cleared out. she’d find him leaning against the wall outside, his hands in his pockets, that signature smirk tugging at his lips.
“waiting for someone?” she’d tease, her voice light even though her heart always skipped a beat when she saw him there.
“just happened to be in the area,” he’d reply casually, but the way he looked at her made it clear that it wasn’t chance.
those late nights became their thing. sometimes he’d stay long enough to hear snippets of her songs, his quiet praise warming her in ways she didn’t want to admit. other times, they barely made it past the doorway before his lips were on hers, the studio lights dim as they lost themselves in each other.
it was dangerous, she knew that. every kiss, every lingering touch, every whispered joke felt like they were toeing a line she shouldn’t cross. and yet, y/n couldn’t help but indulge. it was almost as if, for those fleeting moments, she could pretend they were something more. pretend that this wasn’t just an arrangement, that trent wasn’t the man she’d promised herself she’d keep at arm’s length.
but then reality would creep in. she couldn’t let herself fall into fantasies, no matter how tempting. this was as good as it was going to get for her.
one evening, y/n found herself at zaia’s place, the familiar warmth of her friend’s apartment a welcome distraction. they were lounging on the couch, a bottle of wine open between them, when zaia gave her a long, calculating look.
“you’re glowing,” zaia said, tilting her head slightly as she studied y/n.
y/n blinked, caught off guard. “what are you talking about?”
“don’t ‘what’ me.” zaia grinned, sitting up straighter. “there’s no way. you’ve got that... i’m-being-well-taken-care-of glow.”
y/n’s cheeks flushed instantly. “you’re imagining things,” she muttered, taking a sip of her wine to avoid meeting zaia’s eyes.
“don’t lie to me, y/n,” zaia said, narrowing her eyes playfully. “you’re sleeping with him, aren’t you?”
y/n nearly choked on her drink, her reaction only confirming zaia’s suspicions. “what? no. that’s... that’s ridiculous.”
zaia leaned back, crossing her arms with a knowing look. “you forget how well I know you. you never lit up like this for jadon.”
“that’s different,” y/n said quickly, her voice defensive as she set her glass down.
“is it, though?” zaia asked, her teasing tone softening as concern crept into her expression. “y/n, I know how you get. you’re not the type to keep things casual, no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise.”
“zaia,” y/n started, but her friend cut her off.
“i’m serious. you’ve been through too much to put yourself in a situation where you’re going to get hurt. are you sure you can handle this?”
y/n hesitated, the words sticking in her throat. deep down, she knew zaia was right. it was different. with trent, it wasn’t just physical—it was everything else. the quiet moments, the way he looked at her like she mattered, even if it was just for a little while. and that terrified her.
“it’s fine,” she said finally, though the words felt hollow even to her own ears. “i know what i’m doing.”
zaia didn’t look convinced, but she let it go, reaching for her glass again. “just... be careful, okay? i don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“i’ll be fine,” y/n said, forcing a small smile. but as she sat there, listening to zaia’s voice fade into the background, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was lying to herself. because no matter how hard she tried to keep her heart out of it, trent had already found a way in.
trent had barely made it through the last stretch of away games without feeling like something was missing. every goal, every post-match celebration, every night in a sterile hotel room felt hollow. now, finally back in liverpool, he couldn’t shake the anticipation buzzing under his skin. his mind was already fixed on seeing y/n, her presence something he’d grown far too accustomed to.
but when he texted her, he didn’t get the response he’d hoped for.
y/n: movie night with zaia and cassius tonight.
his heart sank a little. he leaned against his kitchen counter, tapping out a reply.
trent: was really hoping to see you
it took a minute before she responded, and he was halfway through wondering if she was about to shoot him down completely when his phone buzzed again.
y/n: i wanted to see you too, but it’ll have to wait.
his lips parted, ready to type something back, when another message followed.
y/n: or maybe you could come over?
trent didn’t even hesitate. he barely registered y/n asking zaia and cassius for permission before she sent him the address. it wasn’t the setting he’d imagined for their reunion, but he wasn’t about to complain.
when he arrived at zaia and cassius’s place, it was a cozy scene. fairy lights glowed softly along the walls, the smell of popcorn lingering in the air. zaia greeted him with a polite but distant nod, barely saying anything beyond a brief introduction. cassius, on the other hand, was a bit warmer, offering him a handshake and a seat on the couch.
y/n, sitting cross-legged with a blanket draped over her lap, smiled up at him. “thanks for coming.”
“thanks for letting me crash your movie night,” he said, settling in beside her, his body relaxing for the first time in days.
everything was going smoothly until y/n’s phone buzzed, and she frowned at the screen. “it’s my parents,” she said, getting up. “they’re facetiming from back home. i’ll just be a minute.”
as soon as y/n disappeared down the hallway to take her parents’ early morning facetime call, the energy in the living room shifted. trent leaned back on the couch, feeling the weight of zaia’s unyielding gaze on him. she sat crossed-legged on the opposite couch, her arms folded across her chest in a stance that screamed “interrogation.” beside her, cassius shifted in his seat, looking somewhere between amused and resigned, the kind of man clearly dragged into a situation but far too in love to argue about it.
trent cleared his throat, his brows knitting together. “uh, everything okay?”
“perfect,” zaia replied sweetly, her smile a little too sharp. she leaned forward, her elbow resting on her knee, and cocked her head. “cass, you want to start?”
cassius groaned, running a hand over his face. “do i have to?” he grumbled, though his tone lacked any real annoyance.
“yes,” zaia snapped, her eyes not leaving trent. “because we agreed. you said you’d handle it.”
trent glanced between them, his unease growing. “handle what, exactly?”
cassius sighed dramatically, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “look, mate. zaia’s made it clear we need to have this... talk.”
“talk?” trent repeated, sitting up straighter.
zaia rolled her eyes. “yes, talk. trent, you’ve been spending a lot of time with our y/n, and as her best friend—practically her sister—it’s my job to make sure she’s okay. and honestly, it’s not just me. we’re all concerned.”
cassius nodded along, though he seemed less intense about it. “it’s not personal, man. but you know how it is. y/n is family, and we’ve seen what happens when relationships... don’t work out for her.”
trent’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone measured. “i get that. but i don’t know why you’re acting like i’m here to hurt her.”
zaia raised a brow, her sharp eyes pinning him in place. “because that’s what happens when people aren’t clear about what they want. you might think you’re being careful or taking your time, but if you’re not upfront, it can still cause damage. and y/n doesn’t need that. not from you, not from anyone.”
trent exhaled through his nose, keeping his voice calm despite the tension. “look, i’m not leading her on. i’m following her lead. whatever’s happening between us, it’s because she wants it too. and if she wants to take things slow or keep it casual, that’s her choice. i’m not going to push her into anything she’s not ready for.”
zaia squinted at him, as if trying to read his mind. “you say that, but have you told her how you feel? have you made it clear what you want, or are you just going along with this because it’s easy?”
trent hesitated for a fraction of a second, and zaia pounced. “exactly,” she said, sitting back with a triumphant look.
cassius winced. “baby, you don’t always have to go for the jugular.”
zaia shot him a look. “he can handle it. he’s a big boy, aren’t you, trent?”
trent’s lips twitched in a faint, humorless smile. “yeah, i can handle it. but like i said, i’m taking my cues from y/n. she’s been through enough without me piling on my own feelings. if she wants to keep things the way they are, that’s fine. i’m not here to make things harder for her.”
cassius nodded slowly, his tone more even than zaia’s. “fair enough. but you have to understand where we’re coming from. y/n’s not just some random girl we’re protective over. she’s been through hell in the past, and we’ve seen what it’s done to her. the last thing we want is for her to end up in another situation where she’s hurt or confused or... whatever.”
zaia crossed her arms again, her gaze softening slightly but still firm. “she doesn’t talk about her feelings, trent. not really. and if she’s letting you in, that means something. so, if you care about her, you need to figure out what that means for you. because if you’re not serious, then you need to end it before it gets worse.”
trent sighed, running a hand over his face. “i hear you, okay? but like i said, i’m not messing around. i care about her. i’m just trying to do right by her.”
cassius leaned back with a small smile. “see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
zaia glared at him. “don’t act like you weren’t just as concerned as me five minutes ago.”
cassius grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders and kissing her neck suggestively, “yeah, but you’re way scarier about it. i’m the good cop, remember?”
zaia shook her head, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “is this seriously turning you on, cash. i’m working.”
trent couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension easing slightly. “so, are we good now? or do i need to sign some sort of contract promising not to hurt her?”
zaia raised a brow. “don’t tempt me. but for now, we’re good.”
cassius nodded, his tone light again. “just know, if you mess up, you’ll have zaia to answer to. and trust me, she’s terrifying when she’s angry.”
“you’re not exactly a pushover yourself,” trent pointed out, earning a laugh from cassius.
“true. but i prefer to let zaia do the heavy lifting. she’s much better at it.”
“damn right, i am,” zaia said, leaning back with a satisfied smile.
just then, y/n returned to the room, her phone still in hand and a curious look on her face. “what did i miss?”
“nothing important,” zaia said quickly, sitting up straighter. she shot trent one last look before reaching for the remote, her expression neutral. “everything okay with your parents?”
“yeah,” y/n said, though she didn’t seem convinced. she sat back down beside trent, her hand brushing his arm briefly. “everything’s fine.”
cassius nodded, his grin giving him away. “yeah, just talking about the movie.”
y/n narrowed her eyes, clearly skeptical, but she let it go. she settled back onto the couch beside trent, her attention shifting back to the screen.
as the movie resumed, trent couldn’t help but glance at zaia, who gave him a small, knowing nod. her words echoed in his mind, pushing him to confront the truth he’d been avoiding. if he wanted y/n in his life, he needed to be honest—with her and with himself. and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what that might mean.
trent felt the weight of y/n’s body resting comfortably against his chest as the credits rolled on the movie. her steady breathing was soft, almost lulling him to sleep too, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips as he glanced at her peaceful expression. she looked so serene, her face relaxed in a way he rarely saw during the day.
on the couch opposite him, zaia was in a similar state, her head tilted against cassius’s shoulder, her limbs tangled with his. cassius was gazing down at her with an expression so full of love that it made trent’s chest ache. it wasn’t jealousy, exactly—it was more a pang of longing, a flicker of the kind of connection he hadn’t realized he wanted until recently. his hand absentmindedly smoothed over y/n’s back, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to look at her like that, openly and without hesitation.
cassius caught the look on trent’s face and smirked knowingly, shifting slightly without waking zaia. “she’s something, isn’t she?” he asked quietly, his voice low so as not to disturb either woman.
trent cleared his throat, his hand stilling on y/n’s back. “yeah, she is,” he admitted, his voice just as soft.
cassius chuckled, leaning his head back against the couch. “look, man, i’m not going to give you a hard time again. zaia’s already taken care of that. but... you should know, if you’re serious about her—”
“i am,” trent interrupted, his voice firmer this time.
cassius raised a brow, his smirk widening. “good. because the way you look at her right now? that’s the kind of thing you don’t come across often. don’t mess it up. for both of your sakes”
trent didn’t respond, his throat tightening as he glanced down at y/n again. she shifted slightly in her sleep, her nose brushing against his collarbone, and he couldn’t help but tighten his hold on her.
cassius exhaled and gently shifted zaia in his arms. “all right, i’m gonna put my wife to bed.”
“you mean your fiancée,” trent corrected, unable to resist.
cassius grinned. “nah, she’s already my wife in every way that matters. the paperwork’s just a formality at this point.”
trent couldn’t argue with that. he watched as cassius carefully scooped zaia up and carried her down the hall, her head resting against his shoulder. the sight only deepened the ache in trent’s chest, but he pushed the feeling aside.
once they disappeared, he shifted slightly to wake y/n. “hey, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle.
she let out a soft whine, her face burrowing further into his chest. “don’t wanna,” she mumbled sleepily.
he chuckled, pressing his lips to her temple. “come on, baby. let’s get you home.”
she let out another sleepy protest, her arms wrapping loosely around his torso, but he persisted, gently shaking her awake. after a few more moments, her eyes fluttered open, bleary and unfocused.
“trent?” she murmured, her voice soft and full of trust.
“yeah, it’s me,” he said, smiling down at her. “let’s get you up, yeah?”
the drive to his house was quiet, the hum of the car engine lulling y/n back into a semi-drowsy state. she leaned against the window, her eyes half-closed, but when they pulled into his driveway, she stirred, blinking herself awake.
“you didn’t have to drive,” she said sleepily, her voice tinged with guilt.
“i wanted to,” he replied simply, stepping out of the car and walking over to her side. before she could protest, he scooped her up in his arms, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
“trent,” she whined, though there was no real protest in her tone.
“you’re half asleep,” he said, carrying her inside. “let me take care of you.”
her head rested against his neck, and she murmured, “how was it? with cass and zaia?”
he smirked. “it was good.”
her head shot up slightly, her eyes still bleary but full of curiosity. “they grilled you?”
“yep,” he said, chuckling. “how’d you know?”
“they’re protective. usually harmless.” y/n murmurs. fatigue still coating her words.
“yeah they they grill all your other fake boyfriends,” he teased, her voice still soft with sleep.
she raises her head and glances a him before shaking her head, no. he froze for a moment, raising a brow as he looked down at her. “just me?”
her head dropped back against his neck, and she shook her head. “no one else ever got close enough to meet them. my dating life and family have always been separate.”
trent paused after her words, his brow furrowing as he processed the quiet confession. her head rested against his shoulder again, but this time, she wasn’t slipping into sleep—she was hiding.
“you’ve never let anyone meet them because... your family’s not around?” he asked carefully, piecing it together.
she nodded against his neck, her voice softer now. “yeah. my family’s away—always has been. did you know i’m the oldest of seven siblings?”
trent leaned back slightly, tilting his head to get a better look at her face. “seven?” he repeated, his surprise evident.
a faint smile touched her lips, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “yeah, seven. it’s a lot, i know.”
he shook his head, his hands steadying her on the counter. “i mean... i had no idea. you don’t talk about them much.”
“because it’s hard,” she admitted. “i’ve never had older siblings to rely on and get life advice. i was always the one looking out for everyone else, being the one they leaned on. but in some ways, zaia and cassius became that for me. first zaia, and then cassius. they’ve always been there for me, but even more now—especially now that my life is like this.”
trent studied her closely, his chest tightening at the vulnerability in her voice. “what do you mean, now that your life is like this? you’re successful, y/n. you’ve done things most people our age couldn’t even dream of. anyone would die to be in your position.”
her laugh was soft, but it held no humor. “sure, i’m successful. but they have things i don’t—love, stability, security. i’ll never have that. not really.”
the honesty of her words hit him harder than he expected. he didn’t know what to say, his throat tightening at the weight of her admission. her family, her career, her relationships—it all felt so far removed from the life she craved, the life she deserved.
“y/n...” he started, his voice barely above a whisper.
but she shook her head, cutting him off gently. “it’s fine, trent. really. i’ve accepted it. this is my life now, and i’m grateful for everything i’ve achieved. i just... sometimes, i wonder what it would be like to have the other stuff too.”
trent stayed silent for a moment, his hands still resting on her waist. he didn’t know how to fix it, how to ease the ache he could feel radiating from her. but as her gaze flickered to his, he found himself saying, “you deserve all of it, y/n. the love, the stability, the security—you deserve every single bit of it. and if anyone tells you otherwise, they’re lying.”
her lips parted slightly, surprise flashing across her face, but she didn’t respond. instead, she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. the gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes, her silent gratitude filling the space between them.
trent didn’t press her for more. he simply held her, grounding her in the quiet comfort of the moment, letting her know without words that she wasn’t as alone as she felt.
trent didn’t say anything, but the weight of her words settled over him. he carried her upstairs, gently setting her on the bathroom counter. she blinked up at him as he pulled out her usual oil cleanser, the familiarity of the act warming her chest.
“you bought all my stuff?” she asked, her voice soft.
he shrugged, wetting a cotton pad. “course. figured you’d need it.”
her eyes welled up slightly, and before she could stop herself, she leaned forward, her lips pressing against his. he froze for a moment before responding, his hands finding her waist as he stepped between her legs.
the kiss deepened, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. moments like this made her forget the lines between them, the unspoken truths that kept her heart guarded. but for now, with his hands steadying her and his lips against hers, she let herself fall into the fantasy, even if only for a little while.
trent leaned against the kitchen counter, shirtless, sipping a glass of water as he absentmindedly scrolled through his phone. y/n had stepped out to pick something up, leaving him to his own devices in her cozy flat. the sound of keys jingling at the front door barely registered at first—he figured it was y/n, back quicker than he’d expected.
but when the door swung open, trent looked up, his easygoing demeanor freezing in place. standing in the doorway were two people he’d never seen before, both with bags in hand, the resemblance to y/n unmistakable. the man, tall and stern-looking despite his slightly squinting eyes, zeroed in on him immediately.
“you’ve got to be joking,” the man muttered, his voice laced with disbelief and anger.
trent blinked, completely thrown off. “uh… hi?” he managed, his voice unsure, as he set the glass down on the counter.
“don’t ‘hi’ me!” the man barked, stepping further into the foyer and dropping his bags. “this is him, isn’t it? the one playing my daughter? jason?”
“jadon,” the woman beside him corrected softly, though her tone was no less disapproving.
“whatever!” y/n’s dad snapped, his eyes narrowing at trent. “you’ve got some nerve being here like this!”
trent’s hands went up defensively, his mind racing. this just his luck being mistakened for jadon, while being half naked.
before he could respond, hurried footsteps echoed on the stairs, and y/n appeared, her eyes wide as saucers as she took in the scene.
“oh my god,” she breathed, her gaze darting between her father and trent. “dad, stop!”
her dad turned to her, incredulous. “stop? you’re defending him?” he gestured wildly at trent. “this is who you’ve been letting disrespect you? this is—”
“dad, what are you talking about?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation.
her father gestured wildly at trent. “this! him! the one playing you like a fool! isn’t this the guy?”
“he’s not jadon!” y/n interrupted, rushing down the last few steps. she placed herself between trent and her dad, her hands up as if trying to create a barrier. “dad, just stop. you don’t even have your glasses on, do you?”
her mom let out a quiet sigh, her arms crossed as she gave her husband a pointed look. “i told you to wear them,” she murmured.
“i don’t need glasses to recognize trouble when i see it,” he retorted, though his confidence was starting to waver.
“dad,” y/n said firmly, her tone a mix of exasperation and exhaustion. “this is trent, not jadon.”
trent, still shirtless and very much out of place, offered an awkward wave. “uh… hi again.”
y/n’s dad squinted at him, stepping closer as if to inspect him. after a long moment, he muttered under his breath, “maybe i do need my glasses.”
y/n let out a frustrated sigh, shooting a pleading look at her mom, who simply shrugged, clearly used to her husband’s antics. “he’s harmless,” her mom said, her tone more amused now.
“harmless?” her dad scoffed, his glare returning. “then why is he half-naked in my daughter’s house?”
trent barely had time to process what was happening. the air was thick with tension as y/n's father glared at him like a man on a mission, demanding answers to questions trent didn’t even understand. shirtless and utterly unprepared, he stood frozen in the foyer, caught in a storm he didn’t see coming.
“what do you mean this isn’t jadon?” her dad spat, his tone sharp as his eyes darted accusingly between trent and the still-open door.
trent opened his mouth to say something—anything—but before he could get a word out, y/n came rushing down the stairs, her hair in disarray, eyes wide with confusion.
y/n stared at him, baffled, before her gaze shifted to trent. the absurdity of the moment dawned on her, and despite the tension, she almost laughed. “dad, what? no. this isn’t jadon—this is trent.” she hesitated for a beat, then added, “my boyfriend.”
the words hung in the air like a bomb, dropping with enough force to silence everyone in the room.
trent’s eyes snapped to y/n, his brows shooting up in surprise. boyfriend? sure, they’d agreed to keep up appearances in public, but hearing her say it out loud—introducing him to her parents that way—was a different story. something about the way she said it, so casual yet firm, sent a strange warmth coursing through him. it felt real.
“your what?” her dad barked, his voice rising with disbelief.
“boyfriend,” y/n repeated, her tone firm as she crossed her arms over her chest.
trent felt his heart thump harder in his chest. he stood there, shirtless and vulnerable, feeling both out of place and oddly… special. sure, he’d been around her often, even meeting his own family with her by his side, but this? this was something else entirely.
“y/n, are you serious?” her mom finally spoke, her tone less accusatory but still laced with surprise.
y/n nodded, glancing at trent for a split second before turning back to her parents. “yes, i’m serious. trent’s my boyfriend. he’s been around for a while now.”
“and you didn’t think to tell us?” her dad asked, his voice filled with a mixture of hurt and frustration.
“you didn’t call to say you were coming,” y/n countered, her tone sharper now. “you show up unannounced and start making wild assumptions. what was i supposed to do?”
her dad narrowed his eyes at trent again. “why would i have to call to see my first born? and why are you half-naked in my daughter’s house?”
trent scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment even more. “sir, i, uh—”
“he was helping me earlier,” y/n interjected, cutting him off before he could fumble further. “dad, just… stop, okay? you’re overreacting.”
her mom sighed, stepping forward to place a calming hand on her husband’s arm. “maybe we should all sit down and talk this through,” she suggested, her tone softer now.
her dad muttered something under his breath but reluctantly followed her lead, moving to the living room. y/n and trent exchanged a quick glance, her expression a mix of apology and something else—something he couldn’t quite read.
as they settled on the couch, trent found himself next to y/n, finally clothed, her parents across from them. her dad still looked skeptical, while her mom studied him with a more neutral expression.
“so,” her dad began, leaning forward slightly. “how long has this been going on?”
y/n hesitated, and trent decided to step in. “a few months,” he said, his voice steady despite the situation. “we’ve been taking things slow.”
her dad’s eyes narrowed. “slow, huh?”
“dad,” y/n said sharply, shooting him a warning look.
“look,” trent continued, deciding to lean into the role she’d unknowingly assigned him, “i care about y/n. a lot. i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t.”
her mom’s lips twitched, as if she were fighting back a smile. her dad, however, didn’t look convinced.
“you care about her." her dad repeated, his tone skeptical. “and what exactly do you do, trent?”
trent straightened up slightly. “i play football. for liverpool.”
her dad’s eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise. “another footballer,” he muttered, glancing at his wife. “great.”
“he’s not like that,” y/n said quickly, her voice defensive. “trent’s not jadon, okay? he’s—” she paused, her cheeks flushing slightly. “he’s different.”
as soon as the words fell from her lips, it felt like a lie. it didn’t just feel like she was trying to convince them but herself, too. because when she thought about it—truly thought about it—how different was this really? trent didn’t make promises any more than jadon had. the arrangement wasn’t built on anything solid, just fleeting moments and unspoken rules. yet, she felt it in her soul—a shift she couldn’t quite explain.
trent wasn’t like jadon, not entirely. he didn’t use words to manipulate or push her boundaries. he didn’t weaponize her vulnerability or make her feel small. but at the same time, there was no certainty with him. no reassurance that what they had wasn’t as fragile as glass.
still, when he looked at her, when he touched her, it didn’t feel hollow. it felt like something she could get lost in, even if only temporarily. and that scared her. because what if this was just another version of the same story? what if she was setting herself up for heartbreak all over again?
but her heart betrayed her mind. because despite the questions, despite the doubt, she wanted to believe in the shift. wanted to believe that maybe this time would be different.
trent glanced at her, his heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in her voice. for a moment, he forgot they were supposed to be pretending.
her mom finally spoke again, her tone lighter this time. “well, you certainly didn’t tell us you were seeing someone, y/n. it’s a bit of a surprise.”
y/n shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “you haven’t visited me in forever, so…”
her dad bristled at that. “we’re here now, aren’t we?”
“unannounced,” y/n shot back, her tone sharp.
trent, sensing the tension rising again, reached over and placed a hand on her knee. it was a small gesture, but it was enough to ground her. she glanced at him, her expression softening slightly.
the rest of the conversation was tense but civil, her dad asking question after question while her mom tried to keep the peace. trent answered as best as he could, doing his best to reassure them that he wasn’t some fleeting figure in y/n’s life.
but even as the conversation continued, he couldn’t shake the warmth that had settled in his chest. hearing y/n call him her boyfriend—whether it was real or not—felt like a step forward. it felt like something he wanted to hold onto.
y/n stormed into her room, her shoulders tense, her hands immediately reaching for anything to straighten or adjust. she pulled at the edges of her comforter, smoothed the books on her desk, and rearranged a framed photo of her siblings she hadn’t updated in years. her breaths came quick, and her lips pressed into a thin line as she paced back and forth.
trent followed her in silently, leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a worried frown. “y/n,” he called gently, his voice calm but firm.
she didn’t respond, her hands busy fixing the pillows on her bed for the third time.
“y/n,” he tried again, stepping further into the room.
“what?” she snapped, her voice sharp, her movements frantic as she moved to straighten the curtains. “what do you want, trent?”
he stayed quiet for a moment, observing her. “i want you to stop,” he said softly, his tone steady. “just… stop.”
she froze for a moment, her hands hovering over the fabric of the curtain before she dropped them to her sides. then she turned to face him, her eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper—hurt.
“stop what?” she asked, her voice shaking. “stop being angry? stop feeling like I don’t exist to them? stop pretending I’m fine when I’m not?”
trent took a cautious step closer. “stop pacing. stop carrying it all on your own.”
she let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “what else am i supposed to do, trent? who else is going to do it?”
he stayed silent, letting her continue.
“they forgot about me,” she said, her voice rising as she gestured toward the door, where her parents had disappeared downstairs. “they’ve moved on, started over, had more kids. and me? i’m just supposed to work. to send money. to be fine on my own. i don’t even know my siblings anymore, trent. i missed their first steps, their first words. i don’t even know their favorite colors or what makes them laugh.”
her voice cracked, and she turned away, her hands gripping the edge of her desk.
trent moved closer, his hand brushing her arm lightly. “y/n…”
“i’ve been alone,” she continued, her voice trembling. “ever since i got here. no one visited, no one checked in. they’re supposed to be my family, but i’ve had to be everything for myself. and now they just show up, unannounced, like none of that matters.”
trent reached out, his hands resting gently on her shoulders to still her. “you’re not alone anymore,” he said firmly.
she shrugged off his touch, spinning to face him. “don’t,” she said sharply. “don’t say that. you don’t understand.”
“then make me understand,” he said, his voice calm but insistent.
she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. “just go, trent. please.”
he didn’t move. instead, he stepped closer, his gaze steady. “no,” he said simply.
her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “what do you mean, no?”
“i mean i’m not leaving,” he said, his voice unwavering. “you don’t get to shut me out, y/n. not like this.”
her lip quivered, and she turned away, her hands gripping the edge of the desk again. “why do you even care?”
he stepped closer, his hands gently turning her to face him. “because i care about you,” he said softly. “and i’m not going anywhere. not now." not ever,
her tears spilled over, and she tried to look away, but he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “you’re not alone,” he said again, his voice steady. “you’ve got me. i’m here.”
for a moment, she just looked at him, her defenses crumbling as she let his words sink in. and then, finally, she let herself fall into his arms, her tears soaking into his shirt as he held her tightly, his hand smoothing over her back.
he didn’t say anything else—he didn’t need to. he just held her, grounding her in the moment, reminding her that, for once, she didn’t have to face it all alone.
trent held her in silence, letting her cry into his chest, her emotions unraveling in his arms. he could feel the weight of her pain, the years of feeling abandoned, of being the one left to carry everything on her own. and as much as he wanted to stay in this moment, to be her rock, a thought lingered in his mind—but for how long?
next
© PDRIESTA 2025
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Proshippers are so weird because every argument they make is so easily debunked it's actually funny
First of all let's define a proshipper since everyone loves to argue over that. I will also acknowledge the history of the word
Proship in it's early years was defined as proship/anti harassment. It was a term used by people who believed people should not be harassed over what they ship.
But that's its term years ago, and the meaning of words change. Let's not be stupid when it comes to this argument. Proshipper is a term now often used by people who ship problematic things like incest, minor x adult, and abuser x victim.
THIS IS NOT A TERM USED BY PEOPLE WHO WRITE ABOUT THOSE RELATIONSHIPS AND PROTRAY THEM AS UNHEALTHY.
It's a term NOW USED by people who ENJOY and actively ship and romantize those relationships. You can write about a victim x abuser without romantizing it. Proshippers romantize it.
Now that we have defined it, we can tear apart every argument they try to use to justify doing it.
"It's my coping mechanism! My therapist said so!"
I'm going to state my credentials right off the bat. I have a degree in psychology and am currently getting my doctorate degree in it. While yes, many therapists say it can be used as a coping mechanism, it is a TEMPORARY coping mechanism. It is not a long-term mechanism that we recommend at all. On top of that, we certainly do not tell you to post it online for the public to see. No therapist would tell you to do that, and any therapist that says it's okay to do that does have you not have your best interest. We KNOW you will harassed and attacked on the internet if you post stuff like that online. It's why we specifically tell you that if you HAVE to use this TEMPORARY coping mechanism, to not do it publicly.
"Fiction doesn't effect reality! Grow up!"
I'm not defending the people doing the attacking either. IF YOU SEND DEATH THREATS OR HARASS PROSHIPPERS, YOU ARE BAD TOO! No one deserves death threats or to be doxxed because of fictional media even if it is not everyones taste. But therapist can not control what goes down on the internet, and neither can anyone else.
"Well it's fictional! It does effect reality but it's fiction that makes it okay!"
Fiction DOES effect reality it is why we enjoy fictional things so much in the first place. Saying fiction doesn't affect reality, which ignores so much human history and the basics of WHY people create fiction in the first place. Fiction DEFINITELY affects reality, and it affects the human mind greatly. It's why people can laugh cry and get angry at media in the first place. That argument makes no sense because if it didn't affect reality, it wouldn't be a coming mechanism, which is what a lot of proshippers say why they proship.
Romantizing a relationship other people have been through and trying to portray it as a good and well thing is frankly gross and disgusting. It hurts victims a lot and can make them question their own abuse they went through. It's not a good thing at all. If you honestly think on any speck of this planet that romantizing an abusive relationship, whether incest pedophilic or rape in any way is okay because it's fiction, you are honestly not much better than actual pedophiles and abusers. They get off to hurting people, and you also get off to the hurting aspect. Yes, even if you yourself are a victim. Being a victim doesn't mean you get a pass to do whatever you want, and I think a lot of people need to remember that. You do not get a pass to romantize abuse no matter what. It's not a good thing at all to romantize and it can make you worse and question your own abuse.
"Calling us just as bad as real abusers boo!"
I will. I will stand by that, too. Because that's how it starts. My abuser also started with "just writings" and "just drawings." Because that's how it always begins. In psychology, we can tell how far someone will go based on the things they consume and how they consume it. It gets to a point where the person consuming it will be a victim or be an abuser. It's why so many pedophiles when they are caught, have CP on their computers because "it was just images." I'm not saying all proshippers are going to turn out to be pedophiles or abusers because thats obviously not true. But the route you are going down is an addiction, and you eventually won't be able to stop even if you just stop at drawn images. It's why you crave to do it so much and can not stop. It's the rush you get of posting it online to the thrill of being caught. You enjoy every aspect of it. It's an addiction.
"You are dismissing/disrespecting real victims by comparing CP to drawn/written CP!"
I myself am a victim. A very severe one. There are pictures of me out on the deep web somewhere when I wasn't even in double digits. I am not disrespecting what happened to me or other kids. While I do agree with the argument that drawing a fictional child is not as bad as real pictures of children, it is still disgusting to be making at all. It's also disrespectful to victims to be romantizing stuff like that publicly, so you aren't allowed to use that argument as if you cared for every victim, you wouldn't be posting it publicly.
"You are limiting artistic creativity! This is conservative ideologies that wants to censor work!"
If censoring the romantization of abuse being portrayed as good is wrong, then I want to be wrong. Yes, everyone should have artistic freedom, but why in any way would you WANT to be known as the author or person who portrays pedophiles in a good way. Who portrays abuse as okay and romantic. Why is that something you want in your life. No one should want that, and if you do, I encourage you to seek a strong amount of help. Censoring the portrayal of abuse as good shouldn't be a controversial statement at all, but it somehow it. If you are writing pedophiles incest and abuse as a BAD THING and you MAKE SURE, it's portrayed as a bad thing that isn't proshipping. It's when you romantize it and try to treat it as a "cute fun silly >w<." Thing that I see MANY proshippers do that's bad. Yes, I want that censored. Especially when it's easily accessible to minors. Proshippers do not care if minors can access their work, and it's very obvious seeing it. Even if it isn't inherently, nsfw minors shouldn't be seeing and interacting with ANY FORM OF MEDIA that portrays abuse as good.
"What about NSFW artist!?? You don't want them censored!?"
I don't see this argument made as often, but it's still one I want to talk about. Most nsfw artists I see make... normal art that doesn't revolve around romantizing abuse in some way. While obviously there are exceptions, nsfw art is aimed towards adults, which makes censoring a lot easier, and theres an understanding between sex vs relationship. There's a difference between porn with bdsm aspects in it vs. a fanfic writing on two characters, and the abuse is romantical. Sex is different than a romantic relationship.
"Well my artwork is aimed towards adults! Adults can understand it better!"
Adults can still have an awful time with abusive and struggling relationships. Adults can also be uncomfortable and not want to see their abuse portrayed in a good light. While I agree that many adults can understand and differ fiction from reality, that doesn't change the fact that romantizing abuse in any way isn't okay. What a lot of proshippers tend to not understand is how its portrayed that's the problem.
I am a HUGE FAN of enemies to lovers. If they didn't try to kill each other once is it really love/j. But the major thing is it's the build-up and actual relationship that's different. If two characters are in love and one is on a lower power level, then another and just keep getting abused and beaten and mistreated even when they aren't enemies anymore. There's the romantizing abuse. A majority of the time, most don't even add warnings to this kind of content, which can heavily hurt past victims as well. Adults are allowed to not be okay! Adults are allowed to not be okay with seeing literal abuse be romantized! And that shouldn't be an excuse to do it just because your content is aimed for a more mature audience. Horror movies are aimed at adults and can portray murder as awful, proshippers shouldn't be an exception. Proshippers forget that antis tend to also get on people who use excessive gore without portraying it correctly as well. Urbanspook is a recent example who was HEAVILY flamed for his excessive gore without any real meaning or care behind the topic.
"Why do I have to demonize this! That doesn't mean I'm endorsing it!"
That's... what it means. If you do not portray a topic as serious as any form of abuse as bad then... why are you writing about it. I'm not saying it should be the main story because you can write about abuse and have it be a secondary plot point. Many stories do this, and it's don't correctly. But just writing about something just for the sake of having it in there without showing it as a bad awful thing, which is in the definition of abuse, is wrong and bad.
I'm not making this post to "change proshippers." Or "harass and bully them." I'm making this post because every argument they use is wrong and incorrect and hurts other victims, me included. I frankly don't care what proshippers do, but don't make mundane arguments about it. Just admit you want to do it just because you want to not for some anti conservative idea or because you believe it helps. There are better coping mechanisms, and posting yours online doesn't help your mindset. I hope all victims get the help and strength they need to heal from whatever they have been through, but posting romantic abuse online isn't going to help your mind or help anyone else. It's not some splatterpunk idea that slaps conservatives in the face and in fact pushes the idea to censor things more when kids come across it.
And honestly if any proshipper wants to have a debate about this I'm open to it as long as its cival. But frankly I don't see any reason to publicly be posting romantic abuse online.
#proship#anti anti#proship discourse#shipping discourse#shipping discussion#proship discussion#tw r4p3#tw pedophila mention#tw inc*st
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Hello! I finally sat down and got to reading your post responding to an anon about your view on why there's a huge blindspot for incest people's ideology.
It's really interesting and not a take I've heard before, I usually get juggled between "incest and everything wrong is YUCKY to like in fiction" and "I can like whatever I want" so it's refreshing to see something out of that eternal argument.
I actually am super curious like a billion questions but no idea what they are. But I'll just ask these few to start. Feel free to respond with and talk about anything else too.
How do you feel about people liking that sort of thing in fiction. (Incest/abuse/feral/pedophilia*)
Does it change if or if not they post this stuff online or share with others?
Do you believe people should make it clear in their content if they post it online that they condemn it in real life?
Do you think any of the above is not the actual issue if it does or doesn't happen?
These are not meant to be loaded questions and you're fine to answer however or not.
(*feral is meant as anything furry that goes towards quadrupeds and allat)
i'm sorry. i'm not answering this. you can go through my talk tag if you want to find my answers, i've already posted everything i have to say about this topic and if you're not able to figure out my feelings through the. what. eighteen different multi paragraph posts i've made about it, then i don't know what to say. my take is refreshing because it isn't the dog shit black and white thinking cesspool you see on the internet because i don't give a fuck about the internet, or thought crimes, or any of this garbage. my thoughts are stop posting your "fictional" child porn where children are, which is EVERYWHERE on the internet right now due to the fact that there literally are no childfriendly spaces on the internet that are safe, and everything is being smashed into the same four fucking social medias. pedophiles are taking your porn and showing it to children to groom them if you're someone drawing csa, or beastiality, or incest. talk to anyone my age and they will tell you, and i'm sure that includes 90% of the people sending me asks too. have you ever met a gen z who wasn't groomed in someway on the internet, whether it be by people or just by chance on deviantart? imagine how bad it is now.
i am a 24 year old torture survivor in recovery, and i'm not appreciating these asks in my ask box. i'm not a therapist, i am not your friend, i am no one but someone who is begging people to wake the fuck up and realize that they are the new adults and that by being the new adults, they are actively contributing to the cycle by not growing up and actually attempting to get better. you are currently asking someone who was genuinely delusionally convinced he was a homestuck character for over ten years about what he feels about your fetishes and what he thinks you should ~do~ about it. that's insane. my opinion of what you do doesn't matter. what DOES matter is the reality of the fact that if you draw something there is a high likelyhood that a child finds it, whether because its shown to them on purpose or they come across it by accident. you get to choose what you do with that power. be smart, i'm so sick of this individualism shit. there are children all around us on social media at all times because they have had everything we had as kids ripped away from us, and we barely had shit, and all of us got groomed. so put your foot down, or join the masses of people who are totally okay with grooming. its your choice.
#chalice spill#i appreciate your kind tone but i am deleting any asks about this in the future. if i want to talk about the topic i will. i am not here t#to talk about it on command.
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The questions of Laurent’s being and behavior…
I have been informed, via @thickenmyblood’s asks (since mine were apparently not set to accept anonymous asks – which I have now changed) that my opinion about HIUH Laurent’s character is incorrect. I have been informed that he’s abusive.
My PhD isn’t in English (though it is in the humanities), but my wife was an English major and she has often told me that interpretations aren’t right or wrong, but they are stronger or weaker in the sense that they are supported by the text.
So, let’s go…
First things first. Let me be clear about the following:
The question of whether or not Laurent is abusive in this piece of fanfiction has no bearing whatsoever on whether any person you know in real life is abusive.
Similarly, any arguments that Laurent can change or that Laurent deserves a second chance have no bearing whatsoever on whether any person you know in real life can change or deserves a second chance.
Neither HIUH nor any fic should be taken as a life advice manual. Just because there are therapists in this fic does not mean that @thickenmyblood is a mental health professional or your therapist.
I am also not a therapist, nor am I trying to give you life advice when I speak of my enjoyment of HIUH.
But if I were to give you life advice, it would be this: If a piece of fanfiction makes you so angry that you feel the need to send abusive anonymous comments to the author and/or ask that author to pass on your comment “correcting” the opinion of a reader writing about that story, you should probably stop reading that fic. It is clearly not good for you. Metaphorically speaking, you are in an abusive relationship with that fic and you should end it. Write the story off and move on.
Okay, that said, the question of whether Laurent is abusive in HIUH is probably more of a series of questions:
Has HIUH Laurent engaged in abusive behaviors?
If so, do those abusive behaviors necessarily indicate that he is and will always be an abuser?
If not, what evidence do we have that HIUH Laurent can and will stop engaging in abusive behaviors?
If HIUH Laurent stops engaging in abusive behaviors, what reasons, if any, does HIUH Damen have to return to the relationship despite past abuse?
BONUS:
A. Is an HIUH Laurent who harms Damen through abusive behavior mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?
B. Is an HIUH Damen who chooses to be with Laurent despite past abuse mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?
1. Has Laurent engaged in abusive behaviors?
Yes. Although we are limited by a potentially unreliable narrator (Damen), who does not believe Laurent is abusive, we are clearly and intentionally both told and shown in the text that Laurent has engaged in abusive behavior. We are told when Neo explains as much to a skeptical Damen:
“Then you must know I’m only trying to get a feeling on how educated you are on the subject of abuse between romantic partners.” “But why ? I just told you Laurent and I never—” “Do you know what emotional abuse looks like, Damen?” “Yes.” “Give me a definition.” It’s hot in the room, all of the sudden. “It’s… making someone. Feel bad.” “It’s consistent and repeated humiliation,” Neo says. “Gaslighting. Manipulation. Verbal abuse can sometimes overlap with this. Have you ever experienced this while in your relationship with Laurent?” “We weren’t abusive.” “Did you insult each other?” “No,” Damen says. It was so long ago, it was a lifetime back. He can’t remember. “It’s—not like that. Humiliation? We never—” “You’ve said that sometimes Laurent made you feel as though the things you were feeling were inadequate.” You’re being a fucking idiot, Laurent had said about the pink sweatshirt. “What if he was right?” “It’s never right to invalidate your partner’s feelings.” “We weren’t abusive.” “Damen,” Neo says, the soft caress before a blow. “What if we think about it from—” “There’s nothing to think about. I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that. How the fuck did you get to that conclusion? Because I complained about us arguing?” Neo ruffles his notes. “Contempt. Shame. Hurt. That’s what abusers thrive on. There’s quite a lot of those things in here.” “Laurent’s not an abuser,” Damen snaps. “Maybe not, but he grew up with one, didn’t he? These are learned traits.” Damen folds forward as though to vomit. That’s—He’s made a mistake. They argued, they yelled, they said things they didn’t mean, but they never hit each other or threw cutlery at each other’s heads. They went to bed angry, and Damen slept on the couch, and there would be rolling eyes and huffs and annoyance in the following days, but that’s not—Laurent is not— You’re sweet, Damen had said, hand to Laurent’s cheek. A sweetheart. He remembers meaning it, remembers Laurent not liking it. He also remembers Laurent’s sweetness, scarcer in the end and cloying in the beginning. Breakfast in bed, letting Damen pick what show to watch, giving up half his trail mix bag because he knew Damen liked the dried fruit pieces most. You’ll do great, you always do great. A protein shake prepped and ready to go, peace and quiet the nights before important court days. But also bigger things, biggest things. There was—and sharing a bed, and curling up under Damen to read, and letting Damen carry Nicaise up the stairs, and holding his hand under the table as firm functions, and kissing just to kiss, just because, just— He’s explained Laurent wrong.
And we are shown in the moments when Damen and Laurent talk and Damen expects a belittling response from Laurent:
“There are,” Laurent starts, stops. Starts again, “I didn’t.” He has both elbows on the table, which he used to despise. Tables are for cutlery and food, not limbs. Something about the way he rubs at the skin under his eyes makes Damen’s stomach cower as if expecting a blow. “Agnes recommended it months before you—came back. It wasn’t my idea.”
“I met him?” For once, Laurent doesn’t mock him for his question. “It was at that school play I couldn’t go to. The one Nicaise got that huge part in.”
“I want to know when the twenty-four hours are up,” Damen says, loudly, too loudly, “so we can go to the police station and report him missing. For fuck’s sake, Laurent, will you stop ? He could be seriously hurt, and you’re sitting here, berating me about the way I phrased a question. Do you even give a shit about him? Do you even—” He cuts himself off when he sees Laurent’s expression. Like he did last time with Nicaise, Damen braces himself for what’s to come, goes over the list of things Laurent can hurl at him, tries to minimize the inevitable damage. The comment will be about Nikandros, about his soft childhood in Ios, about the time he tried to discipline Nicaise by himself and ended up covered in vomit. Nothing happens. There’s only Laurent, turning his face to the side so Damen can’t stare at it any longer. In the silence of the car, Laurent’s breathing shakes.
“Is his name really Dog?” Laurent says, sitting down next to Damen. Between them, the two cups of coffee and the small pile of croissants both steam. “I didn’t believe Nicaise when he told me.” “I,” Damen starts, lie ready on his tongue, and stops. It’s very meta. “I’m not good with names.” Laurent picks up his coffee instead of agreeing with Damen. Instead of mocking. The space between their bodies is comfortable enough—they’re not touching, not even their knees or thighs. They’re not looking at each other either, not with the entire park stretching green and busy in front of them.
2. If so, do those abusive behaviors necessarily indicate that he is and will always be an abuser?
I take this to be one of the major points of contention on the part of the angry readers. As you can probably guess, I don’t think the text suggests that Laurent in inherently abusive. Besides the stuff coming in my answer to question 3, we have several reasons to believe that Laurent’s abusive behavior is the product of particular circumstances rather than a generalized personality dysfunction.
We know, and Neo just reminded us above, that abusive behaviors are learned behaviors. We know Laurent was abused in multiple ways before he was able to leave his uncle’s house. We know that he is still very young and that it has not been that long since his uncle’s trial. We know he has not been comfortable talking to Damen about his abuse, which gives us reason to believe he still experiences a great deal of shame. That shame is hinted at here:
“He respects you,” Laurent says before Damen has made up his mind about the yelling. “He looks at you and sees a standard to meet. Normalcy. It’s hard to disappoint people you respect. Especially people like you.” “Like me.” “You do things your way. Everyone else does them wrong.” “That’s,” Damen starts. The absolute inaccuracy of the phrase leaves him hanging. “What the fuck?” Laurent ignores him. “He doesn’t respect me, and he also knows I have no room to judge. It’s different. We’re—it’s just different.”
We also know that Laurent is specifically and intentionally not abusive toward Nicaise. We have seen that he has been absorbing a ton of anger, vilification, derision, denigration from Nicaise almost entirely without complaint and without lashing out at Nicaise in return. In fact, after the breaking of the paperweight, when Laurent feels that he might not be able to avoid reacting in a way he will regret, he calls Damen to safely remove Nicaise from the situation. Having taken the lock off Nicaise’s door for reasons many parents would no doubt consider justified, he realizes it was a mistake:
Damen doesn’t look down at the twisted little bolts on the floor. “Actually, you should watch this part in case you ever want to dismantle it again.” “I won’t.” Damen rubs his sleeve over a weird spot on the knob. “You’re betting a lot on Nicaise’s hypothetical good behavior.” “It was dumb, taking the lock away as punishment. I…” Laurent’s thumb glides over the edge of the glass. It traces a full circle before stopping and going white, digging in. His jaw twitches like he’s munching on something. “Privacy shouldn’t be a reward.” “Wasn’t this about safety? He locked himself in, wouldn’t come out or reply when you called…” Laurent’s reply is slow to come. After a while, Damen stops expecting it to come at all. He goes back to testing the lock—twice, waiting for that click sound—opens the door, closes it, and rattles the knob a bit. Just to be sure. “My uncle made it about safety too,” Laurent says. “Locks on doors were for adults. Not children.” The lonely ice cube in his glass floats around aimlessly, not quite touching its confines. “The first to go were the bedroom locks. What if there’s a fire and you can’t get out? What if someone breaks in through the window and—well.” Laurent smiles, small and ugly. “That kind of thing. You know.”
He ensures that Nicaise sees a therapist, meets with that therapist regularly, and follows professional advice about putting Nicaise on medication.
Laurent also maintains a strong friendship with Ancel, whose judgment the text has taught us to trust, through Damen’s evolving relationship with him. Laurent is capable of non-abusive, non-superficial relationships.
3. If not, what evidence do we have that HIUH Laurent can and will stop engaging in abusive behaviors?
From the moment we see Laurent interact with Damen in the present of this story, he is trying to treat Damen better. Not because he thinks he can get back together with Damen, but because he realizes he needs to make a relationship with Damen possible for Nicaise. We have already seen above that most of the time when Damen expects Laurent’s ridicule in this story, he does not actually receive it. In very stressful conversations, when Laurent does lash out, he now tends to pull back or even to acknowledge and apologize:
Coffee. Damen takes two long sips, trying to rinse the bad taste out of his mouth. They’ve had arguments in public before, probably louder than this one. For some reason, the thought isn’t as comforting as Damen would have once found it. They broke up to be better than they were together, didn’t they? They should be better. Except this doesn’t feel better. Or different. Laurent says, “That was out of line.” Now, cooled off, Damen feels clammy. Wobbly. He knows Laurent is right, and yet the thought of sitting through a reprimand makes him want to melt away. “It was.” “I—apologize.” Damen looks up from his coffee to Laurent’s profile. He’s facing the wrong way, Damen thinks stupidly, because the window is to their left. “You apologize.” Half a question. “Go ahead,” Laurent says. “Rub it in.” Damen doesn’t want to. Nausea is curling around him, closing in. “I was out of line too, so.”
And we know now that Laurent has thought through some of his past behaviors toward Damen:
“I was angry at you,” Laurent says, “all the time. Sometimes it was justified, but when it wasn’t I just—I found ways to justify it. That wasn’t fair. Of me.” Damen’s palm is numb around the glass. “Why were you angry?” “Nicaise.” “Justified,” Damen says. “And the rest of it?” Laurent is facing him again. “Paschal says I have a tendency to expect the worst from everyone. Especially you. You’d make comments, and I’d think you were being cruel instead of…” “Instead of what? Ignorant?” Laurent doesn’t reply. “That makes no sense,” Damen says. “We never argued about me being fucking sadistic. We argued about you acting like some things were obvious and I was simply too much of an idiot to get them.” “I never thought you were an idiot.” “You said it often enough.” “I’m—sorry,” Laurent says. “It doesn’t change anything, but—even if you had been the biggest idiot in the world, you didn’t deserve…” A blinking spree follows. “I’m sorry.”
We know that Laurent is still in therapy, and we know that he has been talking about his relationship with Damen there because Paschal has suggested couples counseling for them. And Laurent has invited Damen to do that couples counseling, showing that he wants them to build a better foundation for their relationship going forward.
4. If HIUH Laurent stops engaging in abusive behaviors, what reasons, if any, does HIUH Damen have to return to the relationship despite past abuse?
Damen is deeply in love with Laurent. At the beginning of the story, he is in denial about this fact, but the uncontrollable flow of his thoughts still shows us how much he feels the loss of their relationship. Once he and Laurent are speaking again, seeing improvements in their communication, and experiencing moments of comfort and fun in their interactions – and once Laurent has broken up with Maxime – Damen admits to himself that he wants to be back together. Neo, as usual, prompts the self-recognition:
“I’m asking you to think about what life might look like in two years,” Neo says, “for you and Laurent. Time does not only pass for you, Damen.” A smile, crinkling the corners of Neo’s eyes. “That’d be ideal, wouldn’t it?” Two years. Damen sits with the question for a while, looking at it, prodding it. In two years, Nicaise will have gone away to college. Maybe Laurent will move, relocate, start over somewhere closer to Vask. He’ll post about his new life on Instagram, or details of it will make it to Damen as second-hand gossip. They could still be friends, over text or the phone or fucking letters, Damen thinks, yet there’s something bitter in the back of his throat, filling up his mouth like vomit. Maybe Laurent will date again. Probably. Most likely. And Damen— When he looks up from the armrest, Neo is looking straight back. Damen can’t say it. Earlier today, as he typed his last email of the day at the office, he kept drafting a plan for today’s session. He’d explain his argument with Laurent, then the party at Ancel’s, then the way he keeps looking at Laurent in all the wrong lights, in all the wrong ways, and still finds himself wanting to kiss him. Neo would make a disapproving face, maybe, but it would be easy to brush off; anyone that doesn’t know Laurent would find it hard to understand how easy it is to want to kiss him. Except that isn’t all Damen wants. What Damen wants isn’t a settling of the score, a cleaning of the slate. He doesn’t want to do it once for old times’ sake, or twice out of gluttony. He doesn’t want to make any long-distance phone calls, write any letters, see any pictures on Instagram of Laurent and someone that isn’t him. He doesn’t want things to stay like this, in this careful antiseptic stage. He doesn’t want them to be friends. “It’s not what I want,” Damen says, at last. Neo leans back into his chair. He rolls his wrist once. “You think it’s what I should want, right? Letting go and all.” “I wouldn’t say that,” Neo says. “Should and shouldn’t are very loaded words. It also doesn’t matter what I think you should or shouldn’t do, in general. What is it that you want, since we’ve already established what it is that you don’t?” Don’t make me say it out loud. “I want,” Damen starts, and stops. The words look so stupid, jumbled inside his head. I want him back, like Laurent is a toy someone took away and won’t return. Like Damen is a child, begging. Don’t make me say it. Seconds trickle by, piling into a minute. Then two. “Do you want to be in a relationship with Laurent again?” “I thought I already was,” Damen says. “A friendship is a kind of relationship. You said that.” Neo closes his eyes, keeps them like that for a while. “I did, yes. Let me rephrase that—do you want to be in a romantic relationship with Laurent? Again?” There is no loophole this time, no two-meaning word Damen can latch onto. The truth sits heavy in him, not on his chest but somewhere deeper, inside a little crevice between some (probably important) organs. Saying no would be lying, saying yes would be diminishing. “I want things to be good,” Damen says. “That’s all.”
And in chapter 19, Damen is brutally honest with himself about how, even after everything, he still wants Laurent:
“You meet new people,” Neo says. “You go on dates, make new friends, find new interests. Despite what you might think right now, Laurent isn’t your only option. Dare I say, Laurent might not even be your best option.” The room is dark, darker than it was when the phone call started, but Damen’s eyes hurt like he’s been staring at a ball of light for too long. Everything hurts in a strange, modest way. A throb here, faint. An ache there, heatless. “I don’t want other options,” Damen says. “Well.” “How fucked up is that?” “Pretty fucked up,” Neo says. It makes Damen stop blinking. “Luckily, you’re already doing therapy. It’s only bound to get less complicated from here on. Or more, depending on how you look at it.” “I don’t even wanna look at it, to be honest.” “Then don’t. Take time off, let things cool down, think about what’s been said… No one is asking you to choose right this second.” It’s not that anyone is asking. It’s that it feels like he’s already made his choice.
“You didn’t tell me,” Damen says before he can think not to. “Tell you what?” “How bad it was.” Laurent’s thumb traces the t in team. It’s a bit crooked, even from Damen’s perspective. “It was pretty bad,” he says, slowly, “before you came back. Things were better once he started seeing you again.” “You call that better?” “Yes,” Laurent says. I would have come back, Damen thinks, if you’d told me. Except it’s not true; he would have come back for much less. He’s here now, sitting across from Laurent in this mediocre coffee shop, talking things out, making an effort, thinking of reaching out to finally, finally, hold Laurent’s hand. It’s strange, looking at Laurent and knowing he’s the only other person on earth that feels the same way he does. Where else would Damen go? Who else would he talk to? No one will ever get it, not the way Laurent does. And Laurent knows it. He must, or else he would not be sitting here either. There is only this, Damen thinks. At least for him, there will only ever be this.
So there is that. Damen is hopelessly devoted to Laurent. But that doesn’t make getting back together with him a good decision. Love would not be a good reason to return to an abusive relationship.
Another NOT good reason would be Damen believing the fact that he made mistakes cancels out Laurent’s harmful behavior. The text makes that explicitly clear through Neo:
Neo’s pen hops; a period appears at the end of a sentence. “Apologies can be hard to navigate. It’s sort of like… You’ve wronged me, and you know that you’ve wronged me, and now you’re apologizing for it while expecting me to forgive you. It’s quite a lot to put on a person.” “There are degrees to wrong,” Damen says. His chair feels smaller, like it’s locking him in instead of holding him up. The armrests keep getting in the way of his elbows. “And it’s not like I didn’t have stuff I had to apologize for too. I don’t get why you’re trying to make this seem like a bad thing.” “I’m not.” “Then why—” “Do you think you deserved an apology from Laurent?” Damen leans back and back and back, until his shoulder blades find something solid. Did he deserve…? He’d wanted one, once. In Nikandros’s guest room, with only beige and white and terracotta everything around him, he’d had staring matches with his own phone. He’d thought Laurent might call, at the very beginning. Apologizing. Begging. But Laurent never did. “Yeah,” Damen says. Neo’s head begins to tilt. “You don’t sound too sure about that.” “I am sure.” “All right,” Neo says. “Why do you deserve an apology?” “I told you already. He treated me like I was an idiot.” “How?” “How—what?” “How exactly did he treat you like you were an idiot? What were his actions towards you?” “I,” Damen starts, but something in Neo’s face makes him pause. “He’d say things when we argued.” “Such as?” “That I was an asshole.” Neo nods. “And how did you feel when you heard him say that? Did you feel like it was fair?” “I felt like he was an asshole,” Damen says. “Sometimes.” “Whereas now you feel like he was right?” He was right about Nicaise. And maybe about Ancel, too. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “I don’t want you to say anything,” Neo says. “I’m just trying to get you to think about things from a different perspective. Laurent apologized, which is an important—not to say crucial—step in rebuilding any kind of relationship. But it seems to me that you’re holding onto this newly found belief that because you acted a certain way, because you made mistakes, you somehow deserved the way he treated you throughout the last stages of your relationship.” “That’s not what I think,” Damen says. “All right. Then you think you deserved the apology because the way he treated you was wrong.” “Yes. But…” “But…?” Damen’s face feels hot, the heat lodged right over his molars. “Doesn’t it kind of cancel out? Like, we both fucked up.” “Those are two different issues,” Neo says. “So no, they don’t cancel out. What he did to you and what you did to him are obviously connected, but someone doing something wrong or bad is not an excuse to do the wrong or bad thing back to them.” Neo gives his pen a tap. “Or it does, I suppose. It depends on your belief system. But you don’t strike me as an ‘eye for an eye’ fan.” I don’t want any eyes, Damen thinks.
I interpret the failed second try (or second strike) of Damen and Laurent’s relationship to have been somewhat based on the “cancel out” reasoning from above. The “cancel out” and move past approach did not work because they failed to address the many insecurities, communication failures, and problematic patterns that plagued the first time around. A discussion with Neo (again) makes this clear. Damen hasn’t yet learned to listen to what Laurent is saying without letting his insecurities and anger get in the way:
But Damen isn’t in Laurent’s position. You’ll never get it, Laurent had said about Nicaise. Maybe it’s true. “I get why he did it. I’ve been thinking, and it’s not—I get it. Nicaise being embarrassed, wanting Laurent in the room because he was the least angry of—” “I don’t think that’s why,” Neo says. “Or at least, that’s not what you’ve just told me Laurent said about the whole thing.” “What?” “Laurent talked extensively about roles. Did you notice that?” “No.” “He presents himself as the scapegoat for Nicaise’s anger, while you’re the one Nicaise admires and wants to impress.” Tap, tap, tap. Damen imagines Neo’s fingers flying across the keyboard. “It seems to me Nicaise wasn’t concerned about the different intensity levels of your—as in, yours and Laurent’s—anger. He knew you were both angry.” “Laurent was better at handling it.” “Was he?” “I couldn’t stop thinking about the guy,” Damen says. Guys, his brain supplies, helpful as ever. “I still can’t. Even now, I know it’s not—that’s not important. I was yelling at Nicaise. I wasn’t listening.” “And that’s why Nicaise didn’t want you to go with him to the clinic?” Damen closes his eyes. He needs to repaint his ceiling, do something about the lack of texture there. “Laurent said something about abandonment,” Neo tries. A nudge. “You’ve mentioned Nicaise doesn’t do well with change, that he’s got a tendency to latch onto routines and people. Do you think it might be possible that he was trying to preserve the relationship he has with you?” “By keeping me out of a medical examination room.” “Yes.” “That’s what Laurent said.” “Well,” Neo says. “It sounds plausible.”
Damen wanted magically for them to be over their past:
“Right,” Damen says. “You don’t do should and shouldn’t. I forgot.” “Are you upset?” Are you angry with me? “I don’t know,” Damen says. “We were supposed to be past this, and now it’s out there and I can’t—we can’t—” “How were you supposed to be past this, if this had never been discussed before today?” “You said it’s impossible to discuss everything.”
So, I don’t think it’s a strong interpretation of the text to say that @thickenmyblood is trying to present Damen in an unfairly negative light in order to excuse Laurent’s much worse behavior and thereby make it okay for them to get back together. Cancelling out isn’t what the HEA of the story is set up to be about.
That said – and given the fact that Damen is still in love with Laurent – what GOOD reasons might Damen have to try the relationship again?
For one, he is beginning to understand better what the fights with Laurent about Nicaise were about. Moreover, they have now explicitly acknowledged that they are co-parenting Nicaise and Laurent has expressed a clear commitment to them parenting Nicaise as a team.
For another, Damen has a much improved understanding of the role of therapy and the complexities of mental health. He has a long ways to go on this front, but I don’t think we’ll see him dismissing or belittling Laurent’s mental health needs. Moreover, Damen has ways of addressing his own mental health needs and talking things through with a person who doesn’t share his triggers and emotional investments around Laurent.
For a third, he has made a commitment to working through their issues in therapy and has concluded that he trusts Laurent to try just as hard as he will to repair and strengthen their relationship.
Crucially, Damen has also learned to stand up for himself when he feels Laurent is implying that he is incapable of understanding things. This means he can point it out and Laurent can recognize when he is retreating into a defensive, harmful pattern. This also allows Damen to indicate that something isn’t obvious to him and to ask Laurent to explain it kindly and clearly. I think that is the only way they can reconcile their very different life histories and relationships to social normativity.
ONCE AGAIN, believing this about HIUH Damen relative to HIUH Laurent does not mean that I believe this is something all (or even very many) real life people who were previously in unhealthy relationships should aim for or could achieve.
Which brings us to our bonus questions:
A. Is an HIUH Laurent who harms Damen through abusive behavior mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?
No, in fact, this is not a mischaracterization. Laurent abused Damen in canon. He took him as a slave. He sought Damen’s public humiliation. He had Damen whipped to an extent that would have killed most other people. He placed Damen in a situation that (for almost any other person) would have resulted in a violent public rape. He also forced Damen to engage in public and non-consensual oral sex. Later, when he understood Damen more emotionally and was feeling insecure or threatened, he lied about his feelings and motivations out of shame and self-hatred and with the aim of hurting Damen enough to drive him away.
B. Is an HIUH Damen who chooses to be with Laurent despite past abuse mischaracterized relative to the canon source material?
Damen fell in love with Laurent after all that abuse because he came to understand its source and because he saw other sides of Laurent that were caring and honorable and expressed a commitment to achieving justice, even if not by fully honest means. He came to understand Laurent as a survivor, even before he became aware of what exactly Laurent had survived. He stuck with Laurent through all of Laurent’s attempts to push him away and fought for what should have been an impossible relationship. And throughout this process, he learned about his own naivete and to question key elements of his upbringing, like the quest for war glory and the belief that “perfect treatment” justified slavery.
Captive Prince is a seductive and enthralling trilogy. And we willingly suspend any disbelief about whether Laurent’s trauma can truly be overcome simply by Damen’s noble nature and magical healing cock.
Why not do the same for HIUH? (Or, you know, just stop reading it.)
Although I do think Maca may owe us some healing cock. Just sayin’.
#captive prince#captive prince fanfic#hiuh#damen x laurent#thickenmyblood#hand in unlovable hand#neither my wife nor child reads this fic and i suck at fandom these days but i need to talk about this masterwork#clearly when you are just about to finish your academic book you experience a sudden need to analyze the fuck out of other things
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rebecca watches ds9: hard time
paramount gave me a snw s3 trailer before this ep. cannot wait for that
what is happening here
miles???
oh shit is this the episode where prison time gets beamed directly into your brain?
yes it is! i’ve heard this ep mentioned before, generally in the context of people irl trying to create this particular torment nexus
didn’t realize the episode would open with its conclusion and be all about the aftermath, but i’m down for that
love a good character-driven episode
so if you ask too many questions they beam prison directly into your mind? man fuck this system
why hasn’t the dominion taken over these guys. if you’re gonna be dicks you should at least take out the other dicks in the meanwhile
i think kira’s trying to be comforting but i feel like emphasizing that it wasn’t real isn’t gonna help
ok so we’re gonna flash to the implanted memories at least
i wonder, are the other prisoners other people undergoing prison beams, or just AI
whatever the case, i wonder why he isn’t mentioning this other guy
is there a therapist aboard ds9? that seems like something you should send miles to
molly continues to be adorable
yes! there is a counselor! unfortunately the fact that miles is already seeing him 13 minutes in means it probably won’t be very effective
dear god he looks so wrong with a beard
time for prison art class
his cellmate seems like a positive presence so he is definitely ai and a tragic fate will definitely befall him
oh the bed probably feels too soft now
I love that Keiko doesn’t try to move him, she just gives him the blanket
it’s like the fucking lamp story on reddit
miles seems to be feeling a little more like himself but that may just be a facade
miles you CANNOT be skipping therapy like that
ds9 has multiple counselors! thank god
repression is not the answer!
miles is a liar. he definitely missed julian
god this is so fucked up
honestly that probably sums up this entire episode. i could end this liveblog right here and that’d cover everything
but i won’t. there will be more to say
the hallucinating is getting out of hand
you know it’s bad when even your hallucination is worried about you
sisko is the only mf here who knows how to handle trauma
confining miles anywhere sounds like a bad idea. the trauma here is being imprisoned
oh miles is crashing the fuck out
he definitely should not be left alone
i am Worried
that’s gonna be a core memory for molly
oh jesus christ
oh no
shit shit shit
MILES DO NOT DO THAT
oh
oh my god
“fucked up” doesn’t feel like a strong enough phrase to describe this. any of this. i’m not sure if there exists a phrase strong enough for it
mankind “outgrew hate and rage” because earth became a utopia. none of that applies when you’re starving and isolated for twenty years
julian out here with the emotional intelligence!
well that was a very good and deeply disturbing episode
#liveblogging#star trek liveblog#star trek ds9#star trek deep space nine#star trek deep space 9#ds9 liveblog#deep space nine liveblog#hard time ds9
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I forgot to make a pinned post earlier and It’s long so it’s below the cut! Please read it if you’re new but I wanted it to be short so you don’t have to scroll past it every time you check out my blog :] +masterlist
Okay so Im ChronophobiaClown, Chronophobia is the fear of time (more below) and idk I like clowns. You can call me Chrono, Copper, Cop, full blog name, give me a nickname, mix and match- I don’t really care. If you have a cool nickname idea feel free to put it in my ask box!
[i tend to be a little time blind! This is all good and chill but when I kind of think about time a lot or even check the clock often in the span of a few minutes I can get very stressed out about it and I have had full on panic attacks relating to it before! If you have questions about it you’re free to ask but please don’t tell me it’s not real, I’m being overdramatic, or that it’s not a real fear. It gives me just as much fear in my system as if I was throwing myself into a pit of fire, some times more than others. So uh- chronophobia I guess]
My pronouns are They/Them currently, but also having a breakdown about if I’m transmasc or not?? I mean probably not but maybe so if ur gonna mess them up go for masculine ig but preferably androgynous
I’m a minor! Please do not forget this. Even if I post about things like helluva or inappropriate jokes- I don’t want those sent directly to me. I’m also ace which just reenforces this. Don’t be freaky. I’m serious.
You can also find me on Pinterest as

I haven’t posted there in a while but if you wanted to check it out or see what other personalities I hold you’re free to! I might show my YouTube sometime in the future but I haven’t posted anything yet so not right now
I have diagnosed depression and my therapist thinks I have anxiety and maybe adhd but she’s not sure and I always feel bad when I claim I am neurodivergent so even if I post about it I would prefer you don’t straight up say I have adhd and the like. Also please don’t dm me with anything related to killing myself or hurting myself. I tend to take those things seriously so please just don’t.
Don’t try to talk to me about religions or politics if not relating to what I’ve said. What I mean is you can agree and you can put up counter arguments for me to consider, but I wouldn’t like it if you got mad at me or left hate comments or the like
Which leads me to DNIs. They’re pretty basic, MAPs, Pedos, racist, ableist, transphobic, homophobic, MAGA, or that sort of stuff. I will block you immediately.
BASIC FACTS/INFO/MY FAVORITE THINGS
My favorite colors- black and yellow for life dude. My friends sometimes see yellow and think of me I guess???
My favorite animal- whale shark. I saw a comic once where it couldn’t figure out to go in the shark bathroom or the whale one and that resonated with 10 yo nonbinary me
Favorite food- I like these enchiladas that I make myself and If you ask I could send you the recipe. Otherwise I love salad but when it’s just the leaves like a rabbit or smth
Favorite place- I love going to Seattle. I love the weather, it’s got nirvana, Kraken, MoPOP, Dicks BURGERS, it’s perfect wish I lived there
MY INTERESTS!!!
Marvel- especially old comics, favorite characters include Loki, spider-punk, Peter Quill, squirrel girl, Hawkeye
Life series- my favorite was wildlife, I don’t want any hate and it’s mainly cause I’m a bigggg Joel fan. We love Minecraft YT here
Wes Anderson- haha I’ve memorized the entire beginning of the narrator’s script I’m totally mentally stable let’s go
COD- I love call of duty. My favorite character is captain Price but in a fatherly way not nsfw and if you tell me Soap’s dead he’s not leave
Beetlejuice- oohohohooo say my name three times! I love beetlejuice so much, both the original movie, cartoon, and musical (but ew the new movie was trash)
School of rock!!!- one of the first movies I watched, childhood comfort film and I also loved the musical
Hellaverse- I love hazbin and helluva, especially the earlier episodes. I love Alex Brightman characters so my favorite is obviously Fizz
Glitch!!- I love murder drones, amazing digital circus (and gooseworx in general Darly Boxman my beloved) plus I’m so excited for gaslight district and knights of guinevere!
Monty Python- and the holy grain go brrrrr I love this so much holy crap. I have a homemade sir Lancelot hoodie that gay loser
Musicals- I’ve already listened most of these but all together now- beeltejuice, school of rock, spamalot, and I kinda want to get into hades town but I haven’t yet. Also my first musical I went to ever was Oklahoma :]
old man music!!!- I adore the old man music. I’ve done an entire English project on Dave Grohl, so I love Nirvana, Foo Fighters, Green Day, Offspring, Ramones, Beatles, David Bowie, AC/DC, Cheap trick, Queen, Talking heads, Cage The Elephant, BO BURNHAM!!, any song sung by Alex Brightman tbh, Hozier, Fontaines, NSP, White Stripes, Blur, and THE MOST UNDERRATED BAND DURRY ITS SO GOOD
Coraline- I love Coraline! Gay awakening tbh. I was so young when I watched this like everyone says it’s so creepy and I was just desensitized to it
Cosplay/Conventions- I cosplay a lot! And I go to anime conventions. I’ll sometimes post about that but not excessively I think
Punk culture- I love the ideals, I love the style, I personally do not believe that pop punk is poser punk. This is because punk is really about the beliefs and I think even if that’s what I listen to I should still be “punk”
Museums!!- I love going to museums. I love art museums, museums for things I don’t know about, but my FAVORITE is MoPOP in Seattle it’s so fun fr like if someone took me there I’d latch onto them they’re my best friend now and I’ve spent an entire day open to close there.
ALT 94.7- it’s just for people in sac but if you are and want to know my music taste better, this is my favorite radio station!
ASKS!!!
Please ask stuff! It makes me feel so good and needed and I love it so ask me stuff! Both annon and not annon are great! I LOVEEEEEE ASKS!!!
In my asks I’ll take: normal questions about me, requests for me to do something (art, cosplay, something like that- but I might and I might not), show me cool stuff you made, give me suggestions for books or fics, give me music suggestions!, give me ideas to make stuff, tell me about ur hyperfixations! I will listen!, advice- though I can’t promise I’ll always know what to say!, or if you come up with smth else! I don’t care just give me askssss
MOOTS
My main moots :] if I forgot u please put in an ask
@thejohnlockedfemboy @autophobiastar @averylongferret @kaeruutv @kitab00m101 @the-bug-carnival @thesaltyblobfish
Go check them out! They’re all super cool and awesome nice people cause my friends are rad
My favorite blogs that aren’t moots are
Yooo-let’s-go (best cod art hands down)
Gooseworx (Y’know it’s just goose)
Rusty courage (their animatics are just chefs kiss)
And I’m not @ ing them just cause I’m too scared and I don’t want them to get notifs
I might edit this often if I forget something or if something changes or I get a new interest. Thonks for reading.
AND YEAH! THATS ME!
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Hi! How are you? I’ve been reading your blog for a while and I love it so much! I listened to your advice about therapy and how it has helped you so I’m gonna try it out and talk to my family about it since I now am old enough and that I have a job. I’m trying to get more confident and secure within myself. I also wanted to ask for more advice from you as someone who has gone to therapy, is there any advice or tips you would recommend for someone who is 17 trying to do better from in and out and build a brand new life that is wonderful? I know you have so many tips on everything and you are so wise I just don’t know where to finally begin to start or in what order is right. Or what advice from you to follow? I want a new start, and a better physical start so I can build myself up to be better and I don’t wanna go back to any old habits and I wanna build a new better me. Any advice would help
Thank you again! Love you!
It makes me so happy to hear that you're taking such amazing steps to better yourself, when it comes to therapy there are quite a few tips I can share since I was in therapy from 13 to 18. <33
Try being honest with your therapist. during my earlier years of therapy, I did nothing but lie and lie and lie and lie. I would have progressed much quicker if I had just dared to speak up, but sometimes it takes time; despite my many lies, I still learned so so so much.
If you can't say it, write it down. when I got older, I switched to a different therapist; with her, I did this thing where if I had something I needed to tell her but I couldn't get myself to say it, I would write it to her, and she would then find a way to guide me through it.
establish little routines with your therapist. just like I did with the writing thing, therapists are there to help you, so if you, for example, struggle to speak up, discuss that with your therapist and find a way to work around that.
keep a diary. many therapists suggest writing "daily or weekly reports", but I mean a REAL diary. one that's just for yourself and no one else, where you really write down how you feel and pour out all your worries and emotions because you know no one but you will ever read it. my diary literally keeps me sane.
as stupid as this may sound... the whole "work out, eat well, sleep, go outside, drink water bla bla bla" that every doctor tells you... it, unfortunately, actually works. every time someone said that to me, I just wanted to scream because it sounded so silly, but now that I'm better, those are the things I do to stay feeling good, so maybe they weren't all that wrong after all...
I hope this little list can help you get started on your journey, and if you have any more questions, need to talk, or want to update me/us on how things are going, please just feel free to send me another ask, and I'll be happy to listen or give advice in any to me possible way!!
You've got this ad I love you <33
#malusokay#girl blogger#askmalu#live laugh girlblog#girly stuff#glow up#glow up tips#mental health#mental heath support
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Asker Dos and Don'ts
I'm sorry, this is going to contain so many don'ts, I feel bad!
Do:
Send asks!
Send asks with media or links!
Share any anecdotes, other stories, anything on that line so long as it's constructive (as in, Sunny can answer it with more than "oh damn" or "cool" or "I'll check it out later")
Feel free to send fanworks based on the blog! I will appreciate you for eternity
Push Sunny if he's initially evasive about a question - he's not a very reliable narrator after all ;)
Ask about other aspects of the world, such as other characters, his school, or whatever!
Hint about ships - a whole tag is dedicated to Sunny questioning himself regarding his sexuality.
Send stuff to me, the admin - just mark it as such as I default to answering as Sunny.
Check if it's been asked before by combing the blog.
Don't
Spam a question. It won't make me get to it any faster. If you're worried Tumblr ate it, wait at least three days for the first resend, a week for the second, and a week after that if I seem dead.
Send vents. I understand you mean well and I'm touched that you consider this blog safe, but! I'm not a therapist! Neither is Sunny! We're both mentally ill recovering teenagers who have a lot in our own lives and can't handle the stress! I'm sure you're a nice person but please talk to your parents, friends, doctor, or one of the hot/text lines on this list - they're all confidential.
Send asks in languages other than English - unless you're okay with being put through Google Translate.
Send random poems, songs, etc that aren't related to the blog in an obvious way. I'm sorry for those that put a lot of time and effort into them, I've seen some real wonderful stuff! But it's been getting spammed a bit and I don't have the energy to either halfass answers or spend an hour writing an analysis on each one. And neither does Sunny!
If you send a link, understand chances are it won't exist in Sunny's time.
Talk about modern politics; I'll very occasionally bring up past political issues, though very minimally as Sunny is by default disinterested.
Push your own headcanons or ships - you could talk about knowing someone where it ended differently or whatnot, but yelling into the inbox will not make me change my mind about my world. If anything, it'd make me resent the headcanon or ship if I get spammed over it.
Send anything that would be considered crossing a line anywhere else. This includes slurs, NSFW content beyond frank discussions of those topics, and serious threats directed at me, the admin.
Advertise. Anything that encourages people to look at an external link which benefits you directly (i.e an online shop, social media account, crowdfund business start-up, fundraiser) is banned. I understand often times are tough but this is meant to be a safe space. Yes, I did make a post to signal-boost a (now taken down) Lego Ideas set in the past, but that required no money shared and was tied directly to the blog's fandom (as in, it wasn't a political petition or similar). It's an exception and not one I expect to repeat anytime in the near future.
Roleplay as a canon character, though I appreciate the enthusiasm!
Try to use Anon powers - nice try. It's as tangible as Sunny reading a blog in real life. You can't send 100 tacos to me through the inbox, so you can't do that to Sunny either.
Send anything containing gore or that is considered Not Safe For Life. If it's too violent for a PG-13 movie (as in excessive blood, guts, etc), depicts animal cruelty, or shows people with excessive untreated or lethal injuries - it doesn't belong here. I am currently a minor and you will be reported to the authorities as well as Tumblr staff if you send images of this type, especially if I can't find the image's original source.
Happy asking!
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Goth-Pod Ep 4: Community
Welcome back to Goth-Pod!
After the recent rogue attacks, Juda Boone is asking to listen to YOUR Gotham troubles! Head over to our page and click on the "Talk to Juda!" button to submit your trademark-Gotham questions, comments, concerns.
We look forward to hearing from you!
[goth-pod is a fictional in-universe podcast based on the DC comics universe. Juda Boone is an original fictional character, not based on any real person or known comic book character. The mentioned "Gotham City's Best" is not a real podcast, that I know of.]
Transcript under the cut
Hello everyone and welcome back! This is Goth-Pod, your gotham-based podcast. Speaking to you today is your favorite nocturnal mammal and host, Juda Boone.
A week ago, Rouge "Dr." Hugo Strange- and as we are in a non-visual media space, I hope you can pick up on my air quotes- “Dr.” Hugo Strange kidnapped all of Gotham's known therapists and held them hostage.
For full coverage of that story, remember to check out Gotham City's Best: A True Crime Podcast run by my friends Holly and Spence.
This ordeal was thankfully resolved quickly by the Bat and his baby bird, Robin. But the question arose: Would it be ethical for these therapists to all go back to work so soon after a rogue attack?
Obviously the answer is no. And if you are someone who is in need of mental health resources at this time, please take advantage of Wayne Enterprise's efforts- completely free to sign up.
On the lighthearted side of things, we here at Goth-Pod saw something of an opportunity. Gothamites still need a way to feel connected, to feel heard and to know they’re not alone.
We’re our best selves when we lean on our community.
So, for a limited time, we have opened our services to listen and respond to the trials and troubles Gothamites are going through. With a post that read: “Send your messages to Juda now! They are not a licensed therapist, but neither is Hugo Strange!”
I know, I know. I spoke before in a previous episode about how I do not intend to rile up any of Gotham's rogues. But I am a Gotham citizen and we tend to go down swinging.
In the next episode, we will be offering advice or just a listening ear to some of your send-ins.
I'm Juda and this is Goth-Pod. Until then, stay safe Gotham.
#gotham#gothamite#gotham city#gothamite rp#gotham rp#only in gotham#only in gotham rp#just gotham city things#gotham roleplay#batman comics#dc universe#dc comics#batman#the batman#batman and robin#hugo strange#gotham rogues#batman rogues#batman rouges gallery#rogues gallery#bruce wayne#wayne enterprises
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im sorry but saying ksoo never said Ji about his premature enlistment is the most ridiculous thing you've ever said. I mean that's something he didn't decide a week before his enlistment it might be imposible for Ji not knowing that. If that's true which I think it's not the case I directly broke up with him like that's not a decision you make alone if u are in a long term relationship
First of all guys whom are Non-Kaisooists, I saw Kadi kissing and going on Vacations in Spain, Hungary, Hawaii, L.A, Philippines and Jeju, and in Sapporo and Osaka, you will not affect me or change my mind with your asks. So spear yourself the effort and don't come here if our blog irritates you! What you believe keep it for yourself no need to come convince us what you believe. Do I make you this Angry that you had to come anonymously send such dumb questions?
So back to the main topic:
If you were a real EXOL you would know EXO said Ksoo came to them without any notice and said I'm going to be enlisted in 2 months and it was in April and they clearly said they were shocked all of them when he announced that he applied for the Military and signed all the paperwork and done some of the medical checkups.
And Honey, I didn't say it ! It's the People who know better than me and you said.
The members also said he told them nonchalantly as if it wasn't a big deal. He didn't even discuss it with the company to reschedule any future projects because simply he has had enough of SM and he sabotaged them his own way. And the members said they were all so supportive.
And Ji was there with them and after Ksoo's enlistment Ji went absent for two months straight no bubble messages no Instagram lives nothing he went disappearing. under the excuse that he forgot his password. After that he was so depressed and sad and shortly before SuperM's debut he came on RadioStar show and revealed he suffered from Depression the past few months which explains his absence , he also said he is seeking medical help with a therapist!
And I still remember the MC shamelessly and Rudely asked Suho if he knew about this and him and the members were all so taken aback and they showed sad expression and that Stupid MC again shamelessly told Suho : "Did you know about your member was mentally exhausted and depressed? You Should be more attentive to your members'mental health!!" and Suho was so embarrassed and hurt that he apologized to Jongin and told him " I'll pay more attention to you and the members from now on and always come to Hyung whenever you feel like you need to talk, don't hide it". Because Ji clearly said he didn't tell any member that he was in deep depression or that he was regularly seeing a Therapist.
And it was a very critical Kadi period that he went for hiatus for two months and even earlier that year in 2019 after jenkai, Ksoo fought with SM and was reported to have left the company remember March 13th 2019?? (if you were in this blog since 2019 they talked a lot about this and explained everything regarding how Jenkai is related to Ksoo's case with SM and how it affaceted Kadi and Ji). Ksoo went missing since Jenkai exactly since January 5th when he was seen in Blue dragon awards show or whatever I don't remember the name, until his enlistment day July 1st, he was ABSENT. AKsoo took a long vacation refusing to be on any Schedule and refused to film Underdogs2 and refused all Acting projects and even refused to be on any Exo schedule as he was in a major mental health crisis and he even filed a lawsuit saying he was being overworked for 7 years with 0 off days unlike the other members, it was his first vacation since he debuted and SM only gave him 7 days vacation in 7 years and he talked about it in The 100Days Husband Press Conference and Booklet ,it's one of the main reasons he wanted to leave which is why the rumor dropped in March 2019, it was reported that he wanted all the accumulated Vacations since 2012 SM wanted to rob from him! Which is why he went missing for 6 months and we saw him going to Japan 3 times with Chanyeol in February remember? Also Baekhyun said he met Ksoo accidentally in Japan and they had a meal together. At that time Ji went to Philippines with his friends. This time Kadi were on a break from each other. And Ji didn't speak to Ksoo and there were no sightings of the both of them together anywhere and Ksoo didn't stay with Ji at all and they weren't even on talking terms.
Every couple have downfalls like this it's normal. We all almost broke up or even broken up with our partners at one point of our lives. Especially if you're in over a decade relationship of almost 14 years.
Anyway the story is too long. I can explain it all if you DM me instead of Hiding like this.
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Fragments | Satoru Gojo x YN [TEASER]
“Wow.” Is all you can muster, but it riles him up enough. His energy is icy hot, running all over your skin as he buzzes through spots. You feel like throwing up by the time he’s taken you back to your room. You’re surprised you didn’t melt away and by the looks of it, Satoru is liking the fact you could handle him. You wonder if he’d share the same look if you were able to take his cock all the way. You’d clutch the sheets as he slowly pressed himself into your entrance, grinning like a fool when his hips snapped against your thighs. You’d be his pretty girl, a true match for him.
“YN?” Satoru is blinking down at you from where you sit on the bed. Your brows draw together in confusion. Your stomach had that conflicted mix of emotions again. Then again, maybe you just had to throw up.
“Your fucking teleportation messed up my brain.” You whack his arm, harder than you mean to. He tilts his head while you throw yourself back on the bed. The coolness of the sheets are a welcome change from the clammy mess he’d made you. He always had to put you through one thing or another.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He questions, sitting next to you.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” You grumble, shoving him to no avail. He was always pestering you. Asking for you to clarify the meaning of your words, wondering how you were feeling, if you had a good day or not. It made your stomach churn in an angry storm. He laughs softly leaning back against the wall.
“Probably, but I kind of just want to stay here.” He replies, studying the clothes you’d hung up to dry in the nice breeze. Your body cools as his words hit your brain. Which wasn’t working right. Damn it, you needed to get away from this fuck face. The only option was to push him away with your words. If that didn’t work you’d have to move onto the final card. Besides, getting some of your pent up frustration would probably feel good. Lord knows you’ve had years to think about what you’d say to him when you got the chance.
“So people can change?” You laugh dryly. Satoru sucks in a breath, picking up on your change in tone.
“Okay, obviously you want to talk about it. So let’s talk about it.” He sits up and you follow suit after a pause. Well, that worked a bit better than you’d originally thought it would.
“I’m only allowed to tell my therapist my feelings.” You shrug, moving to stand from the bed. Satoru stops you with a gentle hand reaching out for your hand.
“YN, I’m a dick.” He states. You roll your eyes. That and so much more.
“They say you are what you eat.” His serious look cracks into a smile then falls just as quickly. This whole conversation was making you feel gross.
“I missed you.” His words send a poisonous coil up your spine. You flip to look at him, a genuine scowl on your face. This asshole could send you hurling into a frenzy of confusion and then make you want to stab him about eighty-thousand times.
“But you saw me every month.” You snap in a faux sweet tone. His eyes widen and for a moment you want to stop. Stop all of it. You just wanted your best friend back. “Listen, I can’t do this right now Satoru.” Even his name feels foreign on your tongue.
“I thought you wanted to reconcile.” He whispers and it stings almost like an insult. You stand and nod your head in agreement.
“Oh I do, but it’s going to take me a while to get used to the big city again.” You shoot a look over your shoulder. “My life is still controlled by the clan and unlike you, I don’t get off when I disobey. I didn’t have a choice, at any point.” Your face twitches as your eyes well up. Fuck – this was getting to real for you. The aloof flip between just trying to get him to leave and actually having this conversation was tearing you up inside.
“Then…why are you here?” Fucking blue eyed freak. Your body feels hot and cold, both temperatures running up your nerves like pinpricks. Time for the last card.
“Want me to show you?” His brows are constantly drawn together around you. You don’t blame him, even you were perplexed on where this conversation had gone.
“What?” He sounds like he’s both asking a question and answering you. He scoots to the edge of the bed and you position yourself between his knees. His hands absentmindedly trail up the back of your thighs. The sensation of his fingertips on your bare skin make the world around you swirl. It could be the dizzy feeling or the way his hands felt against your skin, either way, you lean down to press your lips against his. His mouth moves against yours this time, wrapping his hands around the back of your knees. He pulls lightly to where you’re straddling him. With his mouth still connected to yours he shifts you back a bit more. You break for air, smothered by his presence again. “Fuck.” He hisses. He moves one of his hands to your ass, the other one playing with the dip of your hip.
“That tickles.” You say under a hitched breath while your eyes roll shut. Betrayed by your own body. By this point you should be used to those close to you betraying you. Satoru hums in content as his hand slips under your top.
“Like you fuckin’ care.” His long fingers slide against your skin, finding the soft material of your bra. You press your hips down, begging for friction against his thigh. “Slow down darlin’, enjoy the ride.”
Your eyes open suddenly and you place your hands on his chest. Don’t make it obvious. He’s looking at you expectantly. Waiting for you…willing to listen. Damn it.
“I need to go.” You blurt. His eyes widen as you scurry off of him and out of the room. Before his eyes can peer into your body, find the truth behind your words, you nearly jump off him. You scramble outside and bite down on your finger to hold in the scream. You weren’t ready for that, in no way were you ready to have Satoru touching your bare skin. Have his…burning hands all over your body, trancing the curves and dimples.
You definitely weren’t ready for it to feel that good. You weren’t supposed to like this. You cover your face and scream inside your hands. Fuck.
#smut fanfiction#smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo#gojo satoru smut#gojo smut#gojo satoru headcanons#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#satoru smut#jjk satoru#satorugojo#jujutsu satoru#jjk smut#jjk#jjk oneshot#jjk imagines#jujutsu kaisen satoru#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu gojo
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ok i just got up to the cafe scene in my totally coherent (lies) rant about this fic and DELETED IT im fucking FUMING. they should allow drafts for asks. but we move. and i will rewrite it but BETTER. OK LETS GO
Now, Matty’s in halfway in his lap and they’re looking through listings their estate agent has sent them.
in his lap 😭😭 that's so cute im gonna cry i love this. its so simple but makes me feel like 🌟 that
Matty is quiet for another few moments, then, very quietly, he says, “I think I could have died there. Either he’d push me far enough that I killed myself, or I’d overdose on accident, or he’d get violent enough.” Matty pauses, then, “In the moment, that’s not what I thought, but in retrospect, I think I could have. I think he could have, if I’d stayed. I think I would have let him.”
:( "I think I would have let him" :( this is Heartbreaking and i need to die. it's just so. weak and i cannot DEAL WITH THIS. my cat just gave me an odd look for the noise i made at this. lord. "or he'd get violent enough" :(((
Matty shakes his head. “Not now. Not yet. Maybe never. I don’t want you to hear about that, I don’t think. I don’t want you to feel like you didn’t do enough in the moment, either. You’ve done more than enough. You did all you could. I wouldn’t have let you do more.”
😭 I 😭 WOULDNT 😭 HAVE 😭 LET 😭 YOU 😭 DO 😭 MORE 😭 OHMYGOD. im gonna sob this is so :(((((( genuinely need this entire thing tattooed on my back or something
Matty’s crying, George realizes, and begging, saying, “Please, please, please, just stop it,” over and over, but he’s resigned himself to George’s hold, any fight he had gone.
i feel like a sad face emoticon. :( <- me. reading this puts like a pit in my stomach and its so beautiful i can feel my heart clenching inside my chest
Matty recoils and cries harder, begging, “Don’t touch me. Please. I don’t want it. Please don’t.”
i need a gun . im telling my therapist about this .
And then Matty tugs the blankets back up to his chin and makes a pointed effort to go back to sleep, so that’s the end of the conversation.
kind of obsessed w the implication that matty has to do this because his words werent enough for squilliam william bitchilliam...what if i cry. and also i just love it
Sometimes, George will have dreams where he loses Matty, dreams where Matty didn’t leave the man who hurt him, dreams where Matty never went to rehab, dreams where Matty overdosed in a back alley of an unfamiliar city. George never goes back to sleep after those dreams, just stays awake and watches Matty sleep, reminding himself that whatever his brain dreamed up isn’t real.
currently sad facing. oh my god. :(((( love how u get the idea that mental illness also affects the people near u and not just urself without it being Mean. im. gonna cry. i love this so much its making me unwell
The Prada store is quiet and sleek when George walks in and a sales associate is quick to greet him. He explains that he has an item on hold and the associate is quick to walk him over to the counter and pull a sleek box from behind it. She carefully opens it up to revel the chain necklace George had seen online, then, when he assures her that he’s happy with it, she wraps it back up and sends him on his way.
CHAIN NECKLACE MENTIONED!!!!!!!!!!!! CHAIN NECKLACE MY BELOVED AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH. this is so cute though pls a necklace!!! im so :')))
“I’ve got George,” Matty says, like it’s an answer to every question Denise could think to ask.
this paragraph is making me feel things that humans should not be allowed to feel. HES GOT GEORGE 😭😭😭 AND ITS THE ANSWER TO EVERY QUESTION HELLO this is romance and its going to make me explode
At some point, George drifts off, too and he wakes to Matty in the throes of another nightmare. There’s no flailing or thrashing around this time, just whimpers and begging, and he’s clinging to George’s t-shirt like it’s a lifeline. George doesn’t know what to do. He knows that you shouldn’t wake someone up when they’re having a nightmare, but that means he has to stay here and watch Matty suffer, stay here and listen to Matty whimper and beg like he’s being tortured. Maybe he is, in his head.
☹️. SAD FACE. genuinely this is so wonderful (in a sad way) i need you in the history books. the fact hes just accepted it ☹️ SAD FACE AGAIN
“You can’t. You can’t undo it. You can’t undo what he did to me. You can’t fix it. You can’t help.”
im about to be on international news...i am going to DIE. you cant undo what he did to me NO BUT I CAN STILL BUY A GUN. william when i catch u william... the rage in my soul... i need to watch carpet cleaning videos to calm down
George is silent for a moment. He’s not entirely sure what to say or how to respond to all the concerning things Matty’s just said. What comes out when he opens his mouth is, “Do you, I, you, kill yourself? Matty, fuck, Matty, do you wanna kill yourself?”
the stress in his words Oh My GOD. the way you write is so like. i can pick the words off the page and feel them im about to explode and die george NO
“It was drugs in exchange for sex no matter how you shape it, and I did that,” Matty interrupts. “I let that happen. Part of me thought that was a fair trade. All I wanted was to be high. And sure, I said no and that I didn’t want it, but I could have fought harder and the times I was so high I couldn’t do anything are my fault because he didn’t force me to use, I made that choice. That’s all on me. I could have done something, and I didn’t because I wanted a fucking supplier.”
pay for my therapy. oh my god. i genuinely cannot deal with this at all im going to cry how can you put so much SADNESS into like 30 words ?!?!
“I know what it was, George. Don’t say it. I can’t take hearing you say it.”
im going to cry so much that all of europe will be submerged in saltwater for millions of years. oh my fucking god i need DEATH i feel SICK
George wants to cry, wants to slump down to the floor right there in the hallway of this house that doesn’t even feel like home anymore because Matty has been so miserable in it and sob. He doesn’t. All George does is head back downstairs and slump down onto the couch. He needs someone to talk to, but it’s all about Matty and he’s pretty sure the only person who knows more about what how Matty’s doing is Matty. He doesn’t do anything, just lights a cigarette and blows smoke towards the ceiling. He misses Matty, he thinks. God, he misses Matty.
!!! again with how mental illness also affects people around u !!! IM SICK. theyre both so sad i just need them to hug for three hours and make everything all okay for the rest of time
Maybe, George thinks, he should text Adam. Matty told Adam about the sex that wasn’t really sex, but they can’t use the other word, the big, scary, horrible word for it because Matty won’t use it and if Matty won’t use it, George won’t either. It Matty told Adam that, then maybe Adam’s the person to talk to.
i am going to vomit and die. the way the tone is like?? childish almost?! and how that just makes it hurt more ?!?!?!? I AM GOING TO DIE. adam is always the person to speak to though. adam is the best
“I know that’s what you’re worried about. That’s what you’re always going to be worried about, what everyone is always going to be worried about, and I know if I say I just wanna sleep then I’m right back where I started, but fuck, I just wanna sleep.”
this is so sad and i love him so much and i need him to be HAPPY oh my god . he's just :((((((((( so pained :((((((( george pls just hug him and use ur george powers to make everything Good
“Maybe you should talk to someone, too,” Matty says quietly. “It might help. Same way you think it’ll help me.”
“We’re not talking about me,” George says. “We’re talking about you.”
Matty shrugs. “I’m just saying. Don’t spend all your energy trying to make me feel better so things end up shit for you.”
the noise i just made is something...so far from human. they love each other so much and matty can see hes hurting and george can see it but wont accept it and im just going to cry
“He’s still himself,” George protests. “He’s still Matty, still only sleeps on the right side of the bed, still likes his tea ridiculously sweet, still laughs at his own stupid jokes, still tries to have three different conversations at once. He’s still brilliant.”
where are the tissues. i need tissues. screaming crying throwing up as though ive just received the news that my wife of 70 years has died. oH MY GOD pls im genuinely sick george loves him so much and hes just :(:((:(:((:(:((:((:((:(
Adam nods. “You’ve always been a little bit protective of him, which seemed a little bit silly most of the time, but I think that maybe he needs that now, so it’s good that he’s got you.” He pauses again, then continues, “I don’t think I’d know what to do. I could be there for him, I have been, and I will be, but I don’t think I’d know what to do. I’ve never known what to do when he cries, but you always do.” There’s another pause, then, “You’re doin’ good, is all.”
😭 HES 😭 DOING 😭 GOOD 😭 im going to die. i looove how u write their dynamic SOSOSO MUCH like it just seems so natural and open and HQJDKWUSJKSO <- me
Matty’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I just wanna be normal.”
:((((( he just wants to be normal :((((((( this is doing damage to me im making the minecraft zombie taking damage noise currently . hes so sad i just want him to be HAPPY. see no i say i want him to be happy but repeatedly read fics that make him borderline suicidal. masochism
Matty gives a tiny nod. “It does,” he says. “’s a good reminder.”
“Then I’ll keep saying it,” George promises. “I love you.”
THEN ILL KEEP SAYING IT 😭😭😭😭😭 IM GOING TO CRY MY EYES OUT. theyre so sweet and soft and 😭❤️😭❤️😭❤️ i just love them so much and i love how you write them especially because !!! its AMAZING
After a few minutes, Matty comes out of the bathroom, curls tamed, but still looking a little bit like he’s just rolled out of bed. George can’t help but find it endearing, but he doesn’t anything. Matty doesn’t either, just gets dressed and heads downstairs, so George follows.
im getting this engraved into granite and putting it as my headstone. sobbing i love them
“I spend a lot of time thinkin’ about you,” George tries.
PUTTING THIS ON MY HEADSTONE TOO HELLO STOP THIS. i love them and their relationship and im not prepared for them to have difficult conversations again Nooooooooo (yeessssssssssss)
“I know you’re gonna do great,” George counters. The light for the crosswalk changes and he adds, “C’mon. Lemme buy you coffee and tell you you’re pretty.”
BUY U A COFFEE AND TELL U UR PRETTY 😭😭😭😭😭 this is gonna put me in my grave im so. mattys so vulnerable and george is just happy (debatable) to be there and im obsessed with it and their dynamic. LORD
George can’t help but chuckle and smile at Matty, all of his love and care obvious, and says, “You are pretty. You’re the prettiest person I’ve ever had in my bed, prettiest person I’ve ever gotten to make breakfast for, prettiest person I’ve ever been ridiculously in love with.”
hey so im not okay. theyre too cute my heart is about to burst out of my chest i CANT TAKE THIS
“You’re supposed to have a reaction to that,” Matty says quietly. “You’re supposed to have something to say.”
IM SAD AGAIN. STOP. actually no dont stop ever at all. IM SO 😭😭😭 matthew pls no i need him to feel only joy and love and peace and never be sad ever again ☹️☹️☹️
“Thanks,” Matty says quietly. He takes a drink of his coffee, then adds, “She thinks you’re good for me.”
:((((((( george is good for him :(((((( george is just good for everyone i think. an angel boy. im going to sob
Even though it’s an echo of Matty’s sentiment the day before—George can’t believe that conversation on the patio was just yesterday—but it doesn’t hurt any less to hear. All George can do is try, “You are you, Matty. You’re still the person I love, still the only person I’ve ever been ridiculously in love with. You’re still someone I recognize and know. I know you ‘cause you’re still you. I’ll always know you. You’re still my Matty.”
"MY MATTY" ☹️☹️☹️ my heart is going to pop out of my chest and explode into green glitter and when it falls down onto the floor it will say I LOVE THE BIG LIGHT SERIES BY AO3 AND TUMBLR USER BETWEENTHINGS2 and then i will explode into rainbow glitter and it will put sparkles around it. can you tell im normal about this fic
Matty agrees, and allows George to urge him to his feet and out of the café, but once they get outside, he stops and fixes George with a skeptical look, asking, “What do you mean you having something for me?”
George stops too and says, “If you’d keep walking, you’ll see.” When Matty doesn’t move, he adds, “It’s ten minutes home. You’ve anticipated much more for much longer.”
I LOVE THEM AND I LOVE EVERYTHING the way u write them. i will say this again and again. is amazing. pls. it's just so !!! and sweet and nice and even when theyre sad it's like it's got a haze of Love over it. im gonna die
“You’re adorable,” George says, coming to stand in front of Matty.
Matty offers a cheeky smile and says, “I know.”
And, god, that’s Matty. That’s George’s Matty.
HE KNOOOWSSSSS 😭😭😭 im gonna BAWL im so. thats georges matty !!!!!!!!!!! they are two parts of a whole and im going to Explode over it
Matty takes a deep breath, the kind a deep breath a person takes when they’re trying very hard to keep their emotions in check, the kind of deep breath Matty takes when he’s trying not to cry, and says, “’m good, G. ‘s good, really good.”
i feel like an exclamation mark. hes so happy and im :((((((( obsessed with them im gonna explode
Carefully, almost reverently, George drapes the chain around Matty’s neck and fastens the clasp. Before he can think twice about it, he leans forward and presses a very gentle kiss to the back of Matty’s neck, just about the clasp of the necklace.
i need to be put down because i am EMOTIONAL and this is going to make me cry plsplspls i love i love i love. reverently !!! kissing the back of his neck !!! i am !!! !!! !!!
this is a masterpiece and i REALLY hope u know it because u are amazing and everything u write is like an actual. gift from god or something like its sososo beautiful and wonderful and amazing and AAAAAHHHHH. my chest is tight and ive read this like 6 times in the past 3 days. enjoy ur day and Plsplspls know that u are amazing 🙂↕🫶🫶🫶
First of all, thank you so, so much!! Second of all, you're right--Tumblr really should let you draft asks. There are a lot of things Tumblr should let you do, though.
They're moving in together!! They're buying a house together!! They get to have a fresh start in a place that's theirs that was never a host to all the pain and misery and guilt! It's going to be so good for them!
Things are not so good for them. Poor fictional!Matty is struggling so much and hindsight and sobriety are not helping, and if he has very little self-esteem with fictional!George, he had, like, negative self-esteem with fuckin' William and he absolutely would have let himself be pushed too far. =(
I wouldn't have let you do more =(!!!!!!!!!! <- that's how I feel about that and I wrote it. Fictional!George wants to have done more, he wishes he'd have followed fictional!Matty inside and not let him be alone that first night he came home, wishes he'd have noticed sooner and done more to get fictional!Matty out, and fictional!Matty knows that, but there's no way he would have let fictional!George do anything more than he did. Fictional!George knows that, too, but he hates it. Everyone is sad, as they so often are in my fics.
The whole entire nightmare scene is just so. I just wrote this scene for the fictional!Matty!POV version of this fic and it is, dare I say, possibly even sadder. Also, tell your therapist I made you sad before you buy a gun. Maybe don't buy a gun at all, actually.
Fictional!George has nightmares, too, and they're all about losing fictional!Matty =( =( I know I keep saying it, but he loves fictional!Matty so, so much and they're maybe a little bit (maybe a lot) codependent to the point that all their hurt is shared and fictional!Matty's mental illness never has and never will be just his own, which is somehow both wonderfully poetic and horribly tragic. (I love a good tragedy. Catharsis my beloved.)
Prada chain necklace, Prada chain necklace!! I love her! I also love gift giving as an expression of love so much, and not in a materialistic, 'I love things' kind of way, but in a 'I'm always with you' kind of way. Also, a kind of possessive way. <- who said that? Not me, I'm normal.
He has fictional!George!!! It's the answer to every 'are you ok?', every 'will you be alright?', every 'do you need anything?' He's always had fictional!George, and always will, even if he's afraid he won't. There's so much love and trust in three words and fictional!George is going to think about it forever probably. We'll see if I remember this when I write the next part.
You need me in history books?!?!?!?!? (I did want to be a historian for a long time.) Oh my god. Thank you so much is not enough!! Oh my god. Also, poor, sad fictional!George. He can't make fictional!Matty uncomfortable so he can be more comfortable, but that doesn't mean he's not heartbroken.
Fictional!Matty thinks he's irreparably broken and fictional!George doesn't know how to change his mind =( Also, still don't buy a gun. Maybe get like a sword or a cool knife. Those are way better than a gun.
Poor fictional!George is so stressed!! Does fictional!Matty want to kill himself?? He doesn't know what to do with that, not in combination with everything else. I'm so thrilled by your comments on the way I wrote this--I wanted it to feel because what the hell are you supposed to do when your partner says they want to kill themself??? Thank you!!
The mental gymnastics that fictional!Matty is doing to blame himself are honestly impressive. I cannot pay for your therapy, unfortunately. I am an unemployed student. I can (and will), however, write you more fic where maybe someone is eventually happy. The secret to putting a lot of sadness in very few words is, um, commitment? I dunno.
There is, in this fic, particular attention to the language that gets used to discuss things, and part of that is fictional!Matty blaming himself for what happened, but fictional!George's willingness to use that language is partially him not wanting to think about it. If he uses the language that fictional!Matty uses, then he frames it differently in his own head and then it doesn't hurt quite so bad.
Poor fictional!George. That could be the subtitle of the whole The Big Light series: poor fictional!George. He know fictional!Matty, he's been there through everything, seen everything, but somehow it all just gets worse all the time and he misses fictional!Matty so much and he feels awful for that, but he misses hearing seeing fictional!Matty smile or hearing him laugh. He misses fictional!Matty =(
Fictional!George really, really needs a hug (probably from fictional!Matty) and he feels so unequipped to deal with this, but he's all he's got because he can't tell anyone else what fictional!Matty has told him in confidence. And he's an adult and he's dealt with a lot when it comes to fictional!Matty, but it makes him feel so young and lost and he kind of wishes they could be sixteen again so he could do better.
He'll be happy eventually, they both will!! I have a plan, they're just going to be sad first.
Fictional!Matty is trying so hard!! He knows fictional!George better than he knows himself and he knows fictional!George won't actually talk to someone unless he suggests it, even if he has the idea without fictional!Matty saying anything. They're a little bit codependent, but it's all fine. Everything's fine.
I'm sending virtual tissues =) He's still Matty!! He is but he's not and fictional!George doesn't know how to reconcile that, but he's trying. Fictional!Adam might be right here, though, fictional!George just doesn't want him to be.
I'm actually always a little worried I about how I write the relationships beyond fictional!M+G, so I'm so happy that you found it natural--thank you so much!! Fictional!George really needed to hear that he's doing things right, thank god for fictional!Adam.
They're going to be happy eventually!! I promise. Poor fictional!Matty just has a lot of feelings and a lot of shit to deal with first.
They're so in love and fictional!Matty really thinks he's making the person he loves miserable and he hates that idea so much, so fictional!George saying it is a good reminder that the love goes both ways and that they're a team.
There's something very soft and wonderful and intimate about seeing someone when they've just gotten up. I'm also pretty sure that the mark of being really in love with someone with curls is thinking they look good when they've just rolled out of bed. My hair makes me look a little bit like some kind of deranged swamp witch when I've just woken up. If someone thought I looked good then, I'd go buy a ring.
Fictional!George thinks about fictional!Matty all the time!!! There's so much love there and I will not stop!! =)
I keep thinking about all the interviews I've seen/read with Matty where he, at the very least, seems very candid and willing to have a conversation, rather than just answer some questions, and that creates this fear he has in this series about doing press because he doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't want the whole world to know about this and he's also generally a little bit scared of everything that's not existing at home with fictional!George. Fictional!Matty knows exactly the kinds of questions he'll get asked and he's so afraid he'll wind up in a position where he has to decline to answer questions or give half-answers that are very clearly just that or that he'll accidentally say too much. Fictional!George is just thrilled he got fictional!Matty to leave the house for something non-essential.
Fictional!George loves him so much!!!!! Fictional!Matty is his person and he's going to do everything he can to make sure he knows it.
Fictional!Matty had a reaction to that (he may have argued with his therapist about it), so he expects Fictional!George to have a reaction to it, too.
Fictional!George is so good for him!!! Fictional!George treats him so well and cares for him so deeply that of course he's good for fictional!Matty. How could he not be????
'My Matty'!!!!!!!!!!!!! I, too, feel insane about this. You always say the best things about this series and I can tell you're super normal about it. The normal-est.
There's so much love, even when everything is so sad!! They're trying so hard and they love each other so much!!
There's a line in The Song of Achilles, which is kind of a meh book, about knowing the person you love no matter what that I thought about in writing this in that fictional!George knows fictional!Matty no matter what. He knows fictional!Matty in every mood, every circumstance, no matter what because he loves him. There's a bit in Eurydice that I thought about too, about remembering that you love someone simply because you do. You're right, they are two halves of something bigger than themselves because they love each other and always will.
Fictional!Matty loves it!! He loves the necklace, but more than that, he loves what it represents, that fictional!George loves him and wants him and cares enough to give him a gift and also that fictional!George is almost laying a claim to him.
There's something ridiculously intimate about putting on someone else's necklace that makes me a little bit insane and also fictional!George so wanted to see fictional!Matty wear it for super normal reasons.
Thank you so, so much for the ask and the compliments!!!!! 💚💚💚 I will be thinking about this forever and ever. I have three more fics planned for this series and then it'll be done (unless someone convinces me to write more) and then I'll start the Unsent Project fic. 💚💚
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Adolescent Antichrist (Book 4) Chapter Four
Father Figure! Lucifer x Teen! Reader
Chapter Four: Someone has to Make Sure You don’t do Anything Stupid
Summary: Lucifer and Chloe struggle with the newest development in their friendship, (Y/N) and Em bond, and Kinley plots.
Lucifer calmly played piano until his phone dinged. He smiled as he read the message from Chloe asking for a make-up date. The elevator pinged and opened. He grinned and turned, expecting Chloe to be making a surprise visit for a date at that moment. Lucifer’s smile faltered as a priest stepped into the Penthouse.
“Who are you?” asked Lucifer.
“I’m Father Kinley,” said the priest. “I’m here because…there’s something you need to know about Chloe Decker.”
Lucifer sighed, got up, and poured himself a drink. “Forgive me, Father, for not offering you a drink. I have an aversion to the cloth. Daddy issues. Long story.”
“I understand,” said Kinley. “And I do apologize for the intrusion, Mr. Morningstar. Please ju—Allow me to explain myself.”
“Excellent course of action,” said Lucifer.
“You see, I’m not a normal priest,” said Kinley, beginning his tale to manipulate Lucifer.
“Was there ever such a thing?” chuckled Lucifer.
“I mean, I’m not a normal priest in the sense that I don’t have my own congregation,” said Kinley. “I am, uh—I’m an investigator for the Vatican.” He handed a business card to Lucifer.
“Vatican Investigator?” questioned Lucifer. “Sounds like a soon-to-be-canceled TV show.”
“Oh, I assure you, it’s a very real job,” said Kinley. And that is why I’m here. To stop you and the Antichrist from bringing the apocalypse. “I’ve spent the last forty years traveling the globe in pursuit of the demonic. I know the divine is real. And I also know that evil walks the Earth. And that you, Mr. Morningstar—”
“Oh, brother, here we go,” sighed Lucifer.
“—are not it,” finished Kinley, lying about his knowledge of Lucifer’s identity.
“Not quite what I was expecting,” said Lucifer.
No, because you can be handled simply by being sent back to Hell. The Antichrist is the greater evil, thought Kinley.
“So, if I’m not the Devil, then why are you here?” asked Lucifer. “And what does any of this have to do with the Detective?”
“Oh, because Ms. Decker believes that you are,” said Kinley.
“I see,” said Lucifer.
“About a month ago, she came to Rome with a most outlandish tale,” continued Kinley, spinning the truth into a tale to break Lucifer and Chloe apart. “The Devil himself is hiding in plain sight, masquerading as a nightclub owner in Los Angeles. And that he’d revealed himself to her.”
Lucifer chuckled. “Well, this is wonderful news.”
“Wonderful? How so?” said Kinley.
“Well, as my therapist or kid would say: talking about your issues was the first step in dealing with them,” said Lucifer. “So if the Detective did have issues with me, well, it sounds like they’ve been dealt with. She talked with a priest and (Y/N). Now, if that’s everything, Father, you can be on your merry way.”
“I just felt that it was my duty to warn you,” said Kinley. “Because the reason she came to Rome was to, well, ‘send the Devil back to Hell.’ ”
Lucifer chuckled. “The Detective would never do that.”
“Chloe is a good person with a good heart,” said Kinley.
“Finally, something we can agree on,” said Lucifer.
“But whatever she went through, whatever drove her to Rome, it shook her to her very core,” said Kinley gravely. “She is the reason that I’m here. You need to be careful, Mr. Morningstar. God knows what she has planned for you.” He patted Lucifer’s shoulder as Lucifer stared at him and walked to the elevator.
The doors opened before he arrived, and (Y/N) walked out holding a bag of fabric they bought. Kinley paused and watched (Y/N) give him a questioningly glance.
The Antichrist…
(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed. Something was off about him. Something in his eyes spelled anger. But Kinley turned away, and the doors of the elevator closed before (Y/N) could see anything else.
“Who was that?” asked (Y/N).
“Father Kinley, a ‘Vatican Investigator,’ ” said Lucifer absently.
“Why was he here?” said (Y/N).
“He says the Detective came to Rome looking for a way to send me back to Hell,” said Lucifer.
(Y/N) crossed their arms. “You don’t believe that shit, do you?”
“She was quite disturbed in the beginning…” said Lucifer. “And why would a priest lie?”
(Y/N) rolled their eyes. “Priests are human. Humans lie. But even if he’s telling the truth, it could’ve been just a passing thought on Decker’s part. She was shocked by your identity. It was a lot for her, and maybe she had a passing thought when speaking to a priest in Rome that it would be better to have the Devil in hell.” They smiled at Lucifer. “Decker wouldn’t hurt you. If she ever thought to, it was a random thought that was probably pretty quickly ignored. People say a lot of stuff when they’re scared and confused. Just ignore it.”
Lucifer looked at (Y/N) softly before smiling. “Perhaps. When did you get so wise?”
(Y/N) grinned. “Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”
“Me? Stupid? Nonsense,” said Lucifer with a grin.
(Y/N) rolled their eyes with a smile. “Yeah, sure, Dad.” They moved to leave the room, and Lucifer stopped them.
“Thank you for the advice,” he said honestly. He squeezed their shoulder affectionately.
(Y/N) smiled. “You’re welcome.”
l
(Y/N) looked up from their math homework as Em came into the library with an annoyed scowl.
“If I hear Maze talk to me about the best way to teach a baby to fight one more time, I’m going to send her right back to Hell,” grumbled Em, sitting down.
“She’s really concerned about Linda and her pregnancy,” observed (Y/N). “It’s…sweet for Maze.”
“Sweet? Try annoying to all Hell,” said Em. “I’m the one she runs every possible emergency scenario by. She learned what documentaries are and keeps telling me in detail what can go wrong in birth and the pain of it.”
“Can’t blame her for being a little worried. Or Linda, actually,” said (Y/N). “I mean, it’s Amenadiel’s baby, too, which is weird enough on its own, but it’s a Celestial baby. I’d be freaked out if I was having a not-human baby.”
“I wonder if there’ll be another birdie flying around,” said Em curiously.
“A flying baby? Shit, Linda shouldn’t just be worried, she should be terrified,” said (Y/N).
Em laughed and grinned, leaning on their hand and elbow. She gazed intensely at (Y/N). “Come on, you didn’t turn out that bad.”
(Y/N) turned a little pink. That was happening more and more around Em. Weird. “Shut up.”
Em just grinned wider. “Whatever you say, Birdie. Just saying, you’re pretty cool.”
“…I’m waiting for the punchline,” said (Y/N), eying Em with playful suspicion.
“No punchline. I can’t even say you’re cool for a human since you’re not one,” said Em, shrugging. She smirked.
Here it comes.
“But I can say you’re pretty cool when you’re not being moody,” teased Em.
“I’m always moody,” said (Y/N).
“Then I guess you’re actually not cool!” said Em.
“Go back to Hell,” said (Y/N) pointedly.
Em grinned wider. They liked (Y/N)’s face when they got annoyed. It was cute. Plus, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t see the slight smile of amusement. That was cute too. (Y/N) was cute.
l
“Mr. Morninstar, thank you for reaching out,” said Kinley, walking up to Lucifer. “Are you okay? Did Detective Decker…Did she do something?”
“No,” said Lucifer. “And she never will.” He smiled. “I’m just here to tell you that you’re wrong about the Detective. If she’s planning anything, it’s an apology. My kid was right. Whatever she said to you, it was just the panic of her thoughts, nothing more.”
“I certainly hope that’s the case,” said Kinley.
“Oh, ye of little faith, Father,” said Lucifer.
“Have you noticed her carrying a vial?” remarked Kinley “innocently.”
“A what?” said Lucifer.
“A vial,” repeated Kinley. “It’s, uh, an ornate thing. It’s about the size of a plum. I got word from a colleague of mine in Rome that she’d met with a priest who was hellbent on banishing the Devil from Earth.”
“And you all get paid to do this?” said Lucifer incredulously. “I’m genuinely asking.” He tried to walk away, but Kinley followed.
“Supposedly, this priest has uncovered a ceremony that would—and-and bear with me—trap the Devil in Hell for all eternity,” said Kinley. “He’s shared the details of this ceremony with Chloe.”
Lucifer chuckled. “A ceremony to banish the Devil to Hell? That is priceless. No, but seriously, you all need to take End of Days out of the Vatican movie night rotation. Definitely not one of Arnold’s best.”
“I know. I know it sounds crazy,” said Kinley. “But Chloe was very distressed the last time I saw her. Apparently, the ceremony involves giving the subject a sacramental liquid that would sedate the Devil.”
“Ooh. Let me guess, it’s inside the plum vial,” said Lucifer.
“So I’m told,” said Kinley. “And if it would sedate the Devil, I feat that it involves some poison, something that would kill a normal man.”
“You’re incorrigible, aren’t you?” chuckled Lucifer, not taking Kinley seriously.
“Do you honestly think that I would travel thousands of miles, tell you these outlandish tales, if I didn’t take them seriously?” said Kinley. He took them so seriously he was prepared to remove Lucifer and eliminate (Y/N). “I hope beyond hope that I’m wrong. But if there is any chance that Chloe could try something, you need to be careful.”
“Well, consider me warned,” said Lucifer, annoyed with how Kinley kept going on and on. “You may absolve yourself of any further responsibility in this matter. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have plans.” Lucifer patted Kinley’s shoulder and walked past the priest and out the church.
Kinley firmly brushed Lucifer’s touch off as a fellow priest appeared beside them.
“Is that the man?” said the priest, Bishop Hoffman.
“Not a man, Your Excellency,” said Kinley. “The prophecy is real. And now that the trap is set, everything will come together soon. I even saw the Antichrist.”
“The Antichrist…It must be quite formidable,” said Hoffman.
“Yes,” said Kinley. He wouldn’t tell Hoffman the age of the Antichrist. No, the Bishop might see the need to be merciful. Kinley was the only one who understood the need to remove them. The Antichrist was an evil being that would bring ruin to Earth, teenager or not. Kinley would eliminate that evil.
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Hello, I'm Melbourne (he/they)!
I'm wondering if during your deconstruction you ever found yourself having trust issues with family & friends?
Looking back, I've had major issues trusting the people who were in my life in my teens (family, friends, even some coworkers). I realized it started when I was deconverting, bc apparently doing a complete 180 on religion can be traumatic, & I didn't have any support (real & percieved) in that process. And coupled with being closeted in multiple ways, I think that just rewired my brain.
Idk if this is just a 'me' thing, and I also don't really know what to do about it while I'm looking for a therapist. I guess while I've been a deconvert for a decade, I haven't talked to many people like me bc I'm in the midwest.
Hello Melbourne, I’m Allison (they/them)!
Thanks for sending in this ask! It’s definitely not just a “you” thing. Trust is hard, even without a major change like deconversion in your life. I definitely had trust issues before, during, and after my deconversion.
Part of it was that my trust was so intertwined with my faith. It’s not so much that I trusted people, but that I trusted that the Christian god would take care of me. And even when that didn’t work out and bad things happened to me, I still felt a lot of pressure to trust that my god would make everything work out (big picture).
I was trained to distrust myself in Christianity. I'd been steeped in Christian messages like “lean not on your own understanding” and “the heart is deceitful above all things.” So when I started deconverting from Christianity and realized I’d spent years believing something that wasn’t true, I distrusted myself even more. In my experience, deconstructing Christian beliefs is sometimes easier than deconstructing Christian behaviors.
Trauma-informed therapy helped me break down my negative patterns and rebuild my ability to trust myself. I hope that you find a therapist who is a great fit for you! And remember it’s okay to find another therapist if one doesn’t feel right. (Just a bit of advice I could have used in the past.)
After I learned how to trust myself, I tried trusting a few, carefully hand-picked people. In some cases it worked out and those relationships felt deeper and more stable than before. When it didn’t work out, I had the opportunity to maintain my boundaries and keep the promises I made to myself.
Going from trusting God, to trusting no one, to trusting people who are actually trustworthy was a difficult and worthwhile journey for me. I wish you the best of luck in finding people who not only make you feel like you belong exactly as you are now but also give you room to grow.
Feel free to reach out if you have other questions or topics you'd like me to write about, I’m around.
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