#or the thing that burdens me without even joining us together…

[palms-upturned]

Revolutionary Girl Utena + Frank Bidart’s The Yoke

Image description: 26 screenshots from Revolutionary Girl Utena paired with text from Frank Bidart’s poem, The Yoke.

1) From episode 36, Anthy sits on the edge of her bed while Utena sleeps. Text (italic): “don’t worry”

2) From episode 39, Utena’s empty hand lies on the ground at Akio’s feet. Text (italic): “I know you’re dead”

3) Same shot from the first image, but now Anthy looks over her shoulder. Text (italic): “but tonight”

4) Utena smiles at Anthy in bed. Text (italic): “turn your face again”

5) Utena and Anthy’s clasped hands in bed. Text (italic): “toward me”

6) From episode 37, Utena and Anthy’s clasped hands during the cantarella scene. Text (italic): “when I hear your voice there is now”

7) From episode 37, Anthy stands on the rooftop ledge. Text (italic): “no direction in which to turn”

8) From episode 34, young Utena sleeping in a bed of roses. Text: “I sleep”

9) The same episode, young Utena standing in the spotlight in front of where Anthy was suspended on the swords. Text: “and wake”

10) From episode 1, Utena looks at her ring, thinking. Text: “and sleep”

11) The same episode, Utena sees Anthy for the first time in the rose garden. Text: “and wake”

12) From episode 34, Utena sleeping next to Anthy’s empty bed. Text: “and sleep”

13) From episode 36, Utena waking to find Anthy’s bed empty. Text: “and wake”

14) The same episode, a closeup on Utena’s face as she sees Anthy naked with Akio. Text: “and”

15) From episode 37, Utena finds Anthy on the rooftop. Anthy looks back at her. Text: “but tonight”

16) Same scene, Anthy looks over her shoulder at Utena with a torn expression. Text: “turn your face again”

17) From episode 38, Utena grasping Anthy’s wrist on the rooftop. Text: “toward me”

18) Same episode, Anthy on her hands and knees on the rooftop. The door bars resemble a cage. Text (italic): “see”

19) From episode 33, Anthy holds a red phone to her ear. Text (italic): “upon my shoulders is the yoke”

20) From episode 38, Anthy and Utena on the rooftop, huddled together behind the bars and crying. Text (italic): “that is not a yoke”

21) From the finale (along with the following images), Utena’s bloody hands try to pry open the coffin. Text: “don’t worry”

22) Utena standing before the coffin, trying to open it, with the shadows of swords all around. Text: “I know you’re dead”

23) Light pouring in through the opening in the coffin. Text: “but tonight”

24) Anthy looks at Utena from inside the coffin with shock and deep emotion. Text: “turn”

25) Utena smiles tearfully at Anthy. Her hands are still bloody and raw. Text: “your face”

26) Anthy reaches out for Utena’s bleeding hand. Their fingertips touch. Text: “again”

End description

[shkudss]

Weakened by Eywa Pt. 1

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Masterlist

Summary: Ao’nung finally realizes that his actions have consequences

Warnings: curse words, bullying, mental breakdown, English isn’t my first language

Author’s note: it my first Avatar writing, so I hope you like it! This idea was spontaneous and I’m not really good at writing, but I hope you’ll enjoy it! I’m still learning how to use Tumblr properly since I don’t really use it 🥲

Yawntutsyip - darling, little loved one

Yaymak - foolish, ignorant

You thought that all these days when you flew to the water clans were the hardest in you life. Little did you know that life with Metkayina would be harder. You expected to finally live a normal life, doing your chores without being sacred to be shot by sky people. Now you’re safe, but things didn’t get better.

Since your arrival, these boys were bullying all your siblings, including you. You have no idea why it is important for Ao’nung to see totally similar to him Na’vis. You all are same avatars with slight differences that were unavoidable due to the environment you’re supposed to live in. Oh, yeah… supposed to live.

“What are you even doing here?”

“You’re so useless to our tribe”

“Go back to your monkey house”

All these words almost engraved in you mind without leaving space for other thoughts and hope. It’s been two weeks since you arrived and you still haven’t ridden an Ilu successfully, you can’t hold your breath as Metkayinas do. This makes you feel horrible and believe all these mean words.

“C’mon, Y/N, you can do it!”

Neteyam is trying to teach you how to deal with ilu and his voice is so calming, he really believes in you as an older brother. You wish you could just believe him, but insecurity lays too deep and securely in your mind.

“I don’t know… I can’t…”

Your voice was really soft and quiet as you’re the calmest child in your family. You don’t like loud sounds and fast actions. That’s just the way you are. Neytiri says that Sylwanin was just like you.

Despite being slower and more sensitive that other Sullys they loved and protected you with all their heart. Jake knew that Kiri and Tuk are different, they can deal with their problems a lot easier, while you cannot. When something bad to your family or yourself happens, you worry a lot and you won’t tell anyone about your worries unless they make you to. That was the hardest part of you character.

“Hey, are you okay? Do you need to take a break? We can continue tomorrow, don’t worry yawntutsyip.”

Neteyam was worried about your mental state, you were too quiet these days and it never meant anything good. Trying to make you speak about your feelings was completely impossible. You always think that your family has too much to worry about to burden them with your own issues. You want to be like Kiri and Tuk. That’s hilarious, Tuk is way younger than you but she’s able to deal with her emotions way easier than you.

“I’m good. Can we just take a break for like half an hour? I think my brain melts.”

You awkwardly smiled at the end trying to lighten the mood. Neteyam smiled back, feeling relief as you seemed to be just tired. He didn’t want you to hide anything from him and your family.

“Okay, yawntutsyip. I’ll go find Lo’ak and make sure his ass hadn’t get in trouble again. Kiri is on that side of the beach by the way. You can join her, she’s probably flirting with plants again. Let’s meet here in an hour.”

You laughed at his little joke about Kiri. But that’s a fact. Since you arrived here all she’s been doing is examining all local flora and fauna. You missed your time together in the forest, maybe now you’ll have a chance to talk and just be together.

“Okay!”

“Tell me if something goes wrong.”

You knew this look. The big brother look. Sometimes you think how hard it would be for you to live without your family, the way you’re connected to them something really fascinating. And one of your love signs is time. Spending time with your family and each member is the way you show love, the way you feel protected and loved.

You see Kiri laying down in water and looking for something. She didn’t see anyone around, attracted by… water? You didn’t try to understand what’s going on in her mind.

“Hey, pandora geek.”

You stood in front of Kiri and the shadow from your body covered her. Only after that she raised her head and squinted at you.

“I thought you’re with Neteyam. What’s wrong?” She sat on the sand, water was covering her legs a little. You did the same thing, hugging your knees and placing your head on them.

“We took a break, my brain doesn’t work properly. I still can’t ride ilu.”

Hopeless sigh made your sister chuckle, but then she saw your eyes. They were full of sadness, you were not happy. Kiri felt guilt, as your sister she had to be with you, she forgot that Sullys stick together.

“What bothers you?” You were not sure if it’ll be okay to tell her everything. But you family always encourage you to speak what lays in your heart, so you decided to do it.

“There’s a lot… I miss home, I miss flying with you, Neteyam and Lo’ak around Hallelujah mountains.” You were vulnerable now and this is one of those rare moments when you opened your feelings easily. Kiri was the only one you did it with. You could feel tears coming to your eyes, you needed this. “I just miss our way of life. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to get used to it. Especially, when you always hear…”

“Hey monkeys! Still can’t ride ilu? How can you be so yaymak? You’re both freaks!” you could recognize this voice in millions. “One sister has demon blood, another is too dumb to do things that even infants can do!”

Ao’nung and his friends were coming towards you. Kiri’s body immediately tensed, you could feel it.

“What do you want? Is there nothing to do?”

Ao’nung and his friends came closer and you both stood up. Kiri was looking at him angrily, ready to fight. You were supposed to have such a good conversation, opening each other your soul, but this bully spoiled everything.

“My goal for now is to get rid of such fake Na’vis like you two and your stupid little brother.”

You were furious, how dare he talk like this about your family. Yes, he did say mean things to you, but he still picked his words. Now it’s too much. Nobody can talk about your family this way.

“Shut up and don’t get close to me and my siblings!” You tried to get into protective sister mode. Kiri was shocked by the way you raised your voice. She’s never heard such tone from you before.

“Look at this! Little girl knows how to talk?” Ao’nung was teasing you and laughing with Roxto and the rest of his friends. “Maybe you’ll learn how to swim properly soon by the time my future brother or sister will turn 10. Hopefully.”

You clenched your fists, trying to hold all your emotions. Anger, offense, sadness. It felt like a hurricane of extremely high spectrum of emotions, which was hard for you to bear.

“Don’t you dare…”

You didn’t control yourself that you were coming closer and pushing him. The reason why you felt this way was in him.

He did this to you.

You didn’t care that he was taller than you and all you faced was his shoulders. You didn’t care that he barely moved as you tried to hurt him as much as he hurt you. All he did was laughing. It seemed like Ao’nung didn’t understand anything you said, like he didn’t see you breaking into pieces right in front of you.

“Calm down, you little skxawng!” It was a joke for him. For you it was your last piece of composure.

“You’re dumb! So dumb that you can’t even understand how much pain you give me! Every day I wish I don’t meet you so you won’t shower me with all your shit! Every night I cry myself to sleep because all your mean words you’ve said hurt me! And you don’t understand me, how can you be so mean?”

You were screaming at him and trying to hit, mental breakdown took over your senses. You could physically feel how your heart hurts and legs weaken. All sounds were heard as if from under the water, you didn’t see what’s going on around you. Someone’s holding your shoulders and pushing you to their chest to not let you fall on your knees.

“Don’t touch her!”

Furious voice sounded from afar. Neteyam. Your brother who always protects you, surrounds you with love you need. That’s why he calls you yawntutsyip. Little loved one.

You could feel your brother as he came closer to you. His steps were as heavy as his mood. When he saw you breaking down in front of this asshole and because of this asshole, he almost lost his temper. The way chief’s son was holding and looking at you, finally realizing that his actions have consequences. He had to drive you crazy to understand it.

“Back off! Now!”

He pushed Ao’nung as he got closer to him, taking off his hands off you. You didn’t realize it was him, who held you all this time. Was it long? Actually, everything happened in less than 2 minutes, but for you it was like an infinity.

“What happened?”

Lo’ak was here, he saw you crying in Kiri’s hands and Neteyam fighting with Ao’nung and his friends. He didn’t need to check on all details to punch Roxto and other guys.

“It’s fine, we’re here. Don’t worry.” Kiri was sitting with you and slowly swaying, while tapping your head to calm you down.

“I’m sorry, I…” that’s all you could say.

Neither you nor Kiri noticed how the fight stopped until Neteyam came closer and examined you. His eyebrow was cut so as his lower lip, but he didn’t care. Now he could feel only your pain.

“Yawntutsyip… my sister.”

“I’m sorry, Neteyam. I didn’t…” You were gasping for breath from crying, not being able to collect your thoughts.

“Shhh, that’s fine, you’re fine. We’re here, nobody will hurt you again.” Kiri gave you to Neteyam, he was calming you down repeating the same moves as Kiri did. You were crying, letting all pain, that was suppressed inside of your soul, to flow through you.

Your siblings knew that you need to feel it to let it go. That is the only way for relief.

“Let’s go home, yawntutsyip?” Neteyam’s voice was calming as always, he hated seeing you crying.

You just nodded in agreement, hiding your face in brother’s neck and holding him as if someone can take you from him in any moment.

Yes, most Na’vis are brave, ready to fight and protect their beloved ones. But you just can’t do it. You are the one who needs to be protected. Eywa created you that way and you can do nothing about it.

“Don’t ever come to our sisters, you little bitch! Are you so insecure that you’re afraid to battle with me and choose those who are weaker than you?” Lo’ak didn’t miss to say the last goodbye before following after all of you. He didn’t wait for the answer, he didn’t need it.

Ao’nung was standing up there and looking as your figures disappear. No words are in his mind, except for one.

“Fuck”

————————————————————————

I hope you liked it! I’m not sure if I’ll write the second part🫣 I have an idea but idk if it’s worth it, we’ll see!

[adventuringblind]

Hi! Just wanted to say I love your x blind! reader pieces as a fellow visually impaired F1 fan! It makes me feel so seen. I would love to see more with any driver, but it would be cool to see more of Max or Charles with the blind sister. :)

Saftey Hazard

Oscar Piastri x Verstappen Reader

Genre: fluuuuufffff

Summary: Max volunteers a car to teach his sister how to drive. But Oscar is the one giving the lesson.

Warnings: dont try this at home? I definitely would.

Notes: reminder the blindness is a spectrum! Everybody is different!!

Masterlist

One thing about being blind is the lack of driving. It's like having an aspect of freedom ripped away. Something that other kids get to do while you're stuck being driven everywhere. The feeling of burdening other people with the constant need always exhausting.

Unless your name name is Max Verstappen. His sisters chauffer. He drives her everywhere she wants to go without hesitation or question.

In return, she comes to all his races, diligently uses her cane (even when she hates it) and listens for all the gossip. Her ears are amazing, and Max likes to use it to his advantage.

Then along came Oscar. It was inevitable that they would meet because he is Lando's teammate and Lando is Max's best friend. Similarly, her and the Brit are in cahoots to make Max fess up to Charles. There is a betting pool and everything.

She met Oscar while out clubbing. An activity that usually led to either Lando or Max going home not sober. Tonight, they would both be intoxicated because Oscar had offered himself up as the designated driver.

Sober conversations in a club with someone is an odd concept to her, considering the world she lives in.

Long story short: Her and Oscar got together before Max and Charles (much to Lando's dismay as he now owes her money).

Now, Max had been very clear that it is unsafe for her to drive. Which is true, considering she can't see much of the road let alone the cars around her. However, if the case arose where she could drive around an open track then he would provide a car if necessary.

She manages to crack Christian into making it a media thing. Perfect for the Press, give them something to chew on for a while maybe. If being a sacrificial lamb to the internet is what lets her drive, then so be it.

They do it in Austria around the Red Bull Ring. Max deemed this the best spot because of the long straight.

Even better: They've managed to convince McLaren to let their drivers join them for the occasion. Mostly because Max didn't want to be in a car with her driving, so Lando offered to teach then torcher his rookie teammate by letting his blind girlfriend drive as fast as the car will let her around the track.

Lessons go well. She's a quick study, and Lando, despite his chaotic nature, is a good teacher. Of course, it helps that she's driving an automatic, but she has a led foot like Max and wants to go as fast as possible.

After an hour, Lando gets out of the car. He's laughing like a maniac because he has no idea how well this is going to go. She may be driving an average car, but it certainly doesn't feel like it is with someone who can't see behind the wheel.

Oscar slides into the passenger seat and peers over at the female. She's vibrating with excitement. Despite the helmet, he can see the smile in her eyes.

"I have a feeling you're going to scare me and you're going to love it."

"Do you not trust me?" She feigns. Fake hurt dripping from her tone.

"Not in a car, no."

"I feel so loved."

With Oscar secured in the vehicle, she slams the gas pedal. Oscar doesn't make any noise if he's startled.

Actually, he barely makes noise at all. Aside from casually commenting every now and then on how she takes a turn. Sometimes, he makes her laugh with his commentary and usual deadpan humor.

When they do eventually step out of the the car, Oscar looks smitten. Heart eyes at his lover while they discuss how she did.

"I think I could race."

"Absolutely not. I'm not letting you anywhere near a supercar, let alone a formula one car." Oscar gives her a very serious look.

"You didn't seem scared at all!"

"Oh, that was terrifying, but I thought if I showed you I was scared, it might freak you out." He explains. Her mouth drops open in Suprise.

"I don't know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult."

"How about we say, 'I love you' instead and be grateful everyone involved is uninjured."

[jokeroutsubs]

🎈🍰Nace Birthday Special🍰🎈

Nace Jordan's interview for Suzy magazine, published 14.06.2024. English translation by drumbeat and @beeoftheanxieties, proof read by TWT klamstrakur.

📝ENG Translation: Joker Out's Nace Jordan: 60 Kilograms to Happiness

Twenty-nine-year-old Nace Jordan is considered one of the most emotional, thoughtful, and responsible Slovenian musicians.

CAPTION: He’s spreading tolerance and respect to everyone.

He was the last one to join the group of four highly admired young men, but that doesn't mean he's the fifth or the spare wheel. His inspiring story makes him a great role model for teenagers, showing that working on yourself is worthwhile, because you never know when an extraordinary opportunity will come your way. After making a major change in his lifestyle, he got rid of past burdens to focus on a bright, melodic future. With the loving support of his girlfriend, the first signs of a family are already visible. They've been joined by Pino, an adorable dachshund, who brought new responsibilities and lots of joy.

CAPTION: Joker Out gained a first-class member with Nace.

INTERVIEWER: How quickly did you feel accepted as fully fledged member, considering you were not a co-founder of Joker Out?

Nace: Initially it might have appeared as if I instantly took on the role of bass guitarist with confidence, although deep down I was quite confused. The guys already had their banter, even a kind of a jargon I didn't feel familiar with. They are after all five years younger than me, almost a different generation. But they have welcomed me in a very embracing way, we have started to develop a communal story and we have become a unit. Even after we had recorded 'Carpe Diem' and I was offered a permanent place in the band, I was still haunted by the feeling that I might not be perceived easily as a part of the band by the most devoted fans.

Was Eurovision your ultimate test?

Sort of. I was told I aced it, and as a fill-in member, it made me happy when the decision to welcome me into the family was final. The whole idea was to first try and see how compatible we were, without any pressure or expectations. On stage, it was obvious that we were a perfect match. But I tended to hold back when it came to the bigger decisions. Bojan is, after all, the frontman, the dominant one, so I didn't want to interfere with the pre-established dynamics. It was only after the Eurovision euphoria was over that a new era began and with it the most precious gift - the appreciation of the entire group. They are exceptional young individuals, extremely talented, and they wanted someone who could feel their vibe and bring them together, not tear them apart.

This opportunity has come as a reward for your challenging personal journey, a tremendous transformation of body and spirit. How has this affected your self-image?

I am still trying to work on myself. I have lost 60 kilos and broken free from the shackles of a troubled adolescence, when the slightest deviation from the average is frowned upon. It is unimaginable that you can lose so many kilograms, one whole person. It was gradual. After the first ten, you are overcome with excitement. Your reflection in the mirror gets nicer by the week, you gain confidence in yourself and see that it is not difficult to follow your goal. I gained an unstoppable will to keep going, and the most extraordinary things started to happen. I got to play in the backing band of the popular show ' V petek zvečer' ('Friday Night'), and then realised a childhood dream when I managed to join a band as skillful as the Jokers. A time came when I walked around with a huge smile on my face and I hoped that it would not fade from my face for a long time to come. At the same time, I was driven to give it my best shot, because I simply couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

You have used the dark times of COVID for something bright, inspirational. When did you decide you were tired of living in a bigger body?

The stomach pains were the first indicator that I had to roll up my sleeves and work on myself. I had always been chubbier, but I got saved by my height because the kilograms were evenly spread. I was able to exercise, go hiking, [and] be active in water sports, particularly wakeboarding. I wasn't immune to the looks of naysayers, that someone with so much weight could move so capably. I had reached a point where I no longer felt comfortable. I didn't like myself, the walks were getting more and more exhausting, I didn't have a girlfriend for a while, which was a big motivation to change my lifestyle. At the beginning, I was embarrassed to work out in front of others. Would they be thinking, 'What is this fatso doing here now'? So at home I would climb up and down the stairs from the basement to the attic. For half a year, every evening. First for 15 minutes, then I progressed to 45. It seemed like a waste to ruin this effort with unhealthy food, so I changed my diet. I eliminated all the guilty pleasures and after the first 20 lost, I decided I was ready to train outdoors. By running. It might not have been the smartest idea because of my knees, but it all worked out well in the end. Something that I resented for a long time became my norm. To this day, I still enjoy putting on my running shoes to clear my mind. Whenever my mind is in a frenzy, running saves me.

Humans are really odd, shallow creatures. We can't see what's underneath the excess weight. It was only after you have transformed that the requests for more collaborations started coming in. How did you manage to heal these emotional scars from the entertainment business, where the physical appearance still takes precedence over the heart?

That's the hardest part, not to lose faith in yourself. You question your self worth because of the labels the public has stuck on you. Of course, the medical aspect of excess weight is the first signal for a radical change. The results would be significantly better, if people around us were more sparse with negative comments and dismissive attitudes towards anything that is not to their liking. I must confess that I have never felt better than I did after saying goodbye to cigarettes, alcohol, and, for a period, even meat. Imagine you are carrying a 60 kilogram backpack. And then you put it down. A different world opens up.

In all this, music has been your most faithful companion and supporter. Would it have been possible to go through all this without it?

The power of art is amazing. The bass guitar is my lifelong love. Even if I was a butcher or a carpenter, I would play and create for myself. We are used to these kind of stories in the movies, where after a difficult ordeal you find yourself in the midst of your teenage dreams. After the third concert with the Jokers, a girl came up to me and confided that she was contemplating suicide, but our songs had saved her. She thanked us for taking the time for our fans and talking to them. Their honesty is a sign that you are part of something great. The power of music goes beyond the limits of our imagination. There are countless similar confessions. This realisation is also therapeutic for us. You receive confirmation that you are doing something right.

Have you ever wondered why you play music at all?

Many times. The doubts of who will listen to my work, or now our work, are a constant in the career of a professional musician. But if you put your heart first, you quickly get the confirmation that we are not just pretty boys on stage, but individuals with depth and a message.

As a teenager, what motivated you to follow your aspirations?

I wanted to be like my cousin. He is five years older than me and he had his own band. He introduced me to foreign bands, like Led Zeppelin. It sounded rather innocent, but it was the start of a profound passion. Recently, Jan, the guitarist, and I were talking about the role models who have defined us. I told him that there must be an aspiring young teenager in Slovenia who looks up to him and has begun strumming the strings because of him. I am convinced that we have brought a breath of fresh air to the local scene and given a boost to young bands who are not yet established. It is very healthy to encourage others, to be each other's support and competition. I didn't feel that before.

When did you first feel that the stage was your everything?

We had a kind of talent show at the school camp. I wanted to sing the ballad 'Behind Blue Eyes' by The Who, but the teacher wouldn't let me because it wasn't an appropriate song. I cried with sadness, so she mellowed down. I took advantage of her faith, put on my sunglasses and a headscarf. That's when something stirred inside of me. Finally, now that we are touring Europe and are excited to discover how the power of music brings people together, I am calmed. Even as a kid I stood my ground and I am grateful to my stubbornness for getting me this far.

You have a strong bond with your mother. How does she keep track of your exceptional progress?

She is proud to say that she is my biggest 'fan'. She was happiest at Eurovision, which she has always followed. It was the first time she was able to experience it live, she and Bojan's mum cheered loudly and I have to admit that it's the greatest thing to be able to make the most important woman in your life happy. It has only strengthened our bond. We have a trusting, friend-like relationship, but first and foremost she is my mum, with all the worries and all the loving helpfulness. I was not a typical child and she had to endure all my whims. She was constantly encouraging me to take up a sport, but I preferred to stay at home and draw. She tolerated my struggles at school because she knew I wasn't like the others and allowed me to develop to my full potential. My younger sister is also responsible for making me who I am. Her kind words are a balm for a wounded soul.

Have you always wanted to be a musician?

As a child, I had two things in mind - to be a zoo manager, because I love animals, and to be a singer, even though I later swapped the microphone for a guitar. Sculpting fascinated me. In short, expression through art.

Your love for animals has lasted. You have a three-month-old dachshund named Pino in your lap.

Finally! I've been longing for a puppy for so many years, and dachshunds are one of my favourite breeds. If music hadn't drawn me in, I would certainly be a vet. One summer break I was helping out at a wildlife sanctuary instead of playing with my friends. It was a wonderful experience.

You are away from home a lot. How do you maintain your long-distance relationship with your girlfriend?

Some people reassure us that technology helps because we can see each other through the camera. But it is not the same. It's important that all my loved ones and dear ones, meaning my girlfriend, my mum, my family, and my friends, believe in our work and are willing to sacrifice time with me so that I can follow my dreams. But we are in constant contact with each other and we let each other know how much we love each other all the time.

~ -~ - ~ - PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, AND IF YOU QUOTE, PLEASE LINK BACK TO THE ORIGINAL POST!

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

🥀 Unwary 🥀

After working on and off for MONTHS and staring at it a long time, here’s the Théodwyn story many of you have heard me agonizing over. I can’t look at it anymore, so we’re just hitting “post”!

It’s called Unwary, which is one of the few words Tolkien gives us to describe Théodwyn’s husband Éomund. He was a “hater of orcs” who often rode against them “in hot anger, unwarily and with few men.” That got him killed and, shortly thereafter, Théodwyn herself died of an illness. This story is my attempt to tie all that together.

Note that Théodwyn’s 3 (canonical but nameless) sisters are here; they came to help after Éomund’s death. You’ll see I gave 2 of them Gondorian names; more explanation of that at the bottom if you’re interested.

There is a fire inside Théodwyn that will not be doused.

It has smoldered for years, just waiting for the breath of air that would coax its glowing embers to life and send a wave of flame racing through her as though she were made not of bone and blood but of kindling and fuel. Now lit by Éomund’s inevitable death, the fire burns bigger and hotter each new day that dawns without him, and it laps at her heart, singeing and charring until there is nothing left but heat. Gone is anything soft and pliant, anything tender or understanding, replaced instead by blistering fury.

She stalks the plains outside of Aldburg in the dark, crunching heavily over glittering, frost encrusted grass. She is trying to outrun that fury, though a fortnight of this new nightly ritual has achieved no such thing so far. But if she cannot leave her anger behind, maybe she can still exhaust it, tire it enough that it can be wrestled into submission and leave her in peace. Deep down, she suspects the effort is in vain, but she has no better plan. She is bereft of ideas, just as she is now bereft of laughter and sympathy and hope. Her husband is just one of many things suddenly missing from her life, and he is not the one she most wants back.

Sweat soaks into both her dress and cloak, and large red blooms form on her cheeks. Each gale of frigid wind catches the dampness at the small of her back or along her hairline beneath her hood, and sends a wave of wracking chills across her heated skin. But her pace never falters despite the passing of long hours and long miles. Over the sound of her boots grinding delicate ice into so many shattered crystals, she mutters her mantra again and again, hissing out the words in time with the rhythm of her steps.

I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen.

The night is her time to let this anger out, far away from Éomer and Éowyn, both much too young to be burdened with the knowledge that their dead father was a reckless fool. Someone who couldn’t control his own impetuous need to act and, worse, refused to accept a cautioning hand even from one he professed to honor and cherish. She had begged him not to go, to delay for even a single hour until more men could be gathered to join his small party of riders. But he had been blind, as ever, to anything but his own rash impulses and instincts. He had scoffed at her fears, swept aside her concerns, given bold assurances that weren’t in his power to make. And now he was being hailed as a fallen hero while she was left alone with the consequences of his folly, to manage a tragic loss that she knew to be entirely of his own making.

She hadn’t always felt this way about him. There was a time when she found his passion and spontaneity exciting. Stirring. Romantic. To be the object of his attentions, to be the desire that he would overturn the world to sate, was a special brand of intoxicant, and she drank it in willingly. His quickness to action and his unfailing courage set him apart from other men, and he gained much by risking more than others could stomach. She felt his every gain as her own, and they ran heedless together through the world, two free souls as yet unchecked by the realities of life.

But what felt brave and thrilling and decisive when they were twenty had begun to look much different on the doorstep of forty, when he had already gained more than most men could dream of and only stood now to lose what had been so daringly won. Slowly, creepingly, she began to see his whims as childish, his zealotry as self indulgent. It surprised her every bit as much as him, but somewhere along the way, with age and responsibility and perspective, she became the person who would check him as life never had. The person to ask questions, to say no, to thwart his boldest ambitions and disappoint his most absurd hopes.

Whenever she did, he would look at her as though he looked upon a stranger, an unrecognizable drudge that had stolen the body of his daring and passionate wife. He would look at her as though she had broken faith with him, betraying their bond by choosing to accept that they lived in a world of constraints and limitations. And then she would hate herself, and him, too.

A dull, thudding pain hammers away in the space right behind her eyes, and her muscles and joints ache with every wearied step, calling out for rest. To sit or lay quietly for a while might ease the strain that has increasingly weighed on her body these last few days, the strain of too little sleep, too little food, too little protection from the harsh bite of winter. But she no longer cares for physical ease or comfort. She can endure without them; it has always been the way of the Rohirrim to bear such things without complaint. What she cannot bear is the seething in her mind during moments of stillness, those times of lonely silence while others sleep and she can only gnaw on the bones of her grievances and look with contempt at her memories now tainted by abandonment. And so she stomps through the cold desolation instead, the frozen cloud of her breath drifting along in the wake of a body indulging in the only escape available.

She knows she should be at home in case her children need her, and she knows that her sisters disapprove of how she has been acting. You’ll catch your death out there, says Edlenniel each night as she walks out the door. You need to start taking better care of yourself, clucks Théopryte, a critical eye cast over her increasingly bony figure, her unkempt hair. And this, too, makes her angry, the insistence of her elder sisters on treating her as though she is still a child even now. Nothing she does is ever good enough in their eyes – her home is too untidy, her language too profane, her daughter too much at liberty to run wild rather than learning the ways of respectable girlhood. And now she cannot even grieve correctly.

In truth, she had not expected to mourn this way. The day Éomund rode off, she had imagined her own reaction to the eventual return of his meager company without him. Sorrow, longing, despair, regret – these had been anticipated despite her frustrations. But when Éothain knocked at her door with the news, watery eyes rimmed with red and a battered horse-tailed helmet in hand, she felt none of those things. They vanished in an instant, disappeared from her heart and mind, perhaps never to return. Instead, she became like the cicadas that come to Rohan every dozen years and litter the ground with their delicate molted shells, perfectly formed images of themselves that have been deserted, no longer fit for use and liable to shatter under the slightest of pressures.

Now every interaction, every well-meaning friend or suffering relative, is at risk of being the next target of the dull blade of her anger, always at the ready to hack and slice ineffectually at those who draw her attention and, thus, her scorn. The neighbors who look at her pityingly as they pass by. The men of Éomund’s company who expect her to join them in their grief. Even her sweet son, all knobby knees and gangly elbows, works an inflamed nerve as he swings a sword much too big for him, vowing to protect their house now in his father’s absence. It’s a mother’s job to protect her child, not the other way around, she says to the thin frame and slight shoulders that are not yet grown enough to bear his own charge. You have years left just to be a boy, safe under my care. But it is said through gritted teeth, her tone emotionless, and he doesn’t believe her.

She has enough awareness still to see what she’s become, and though she cannot change it, she knows to try to hide it. She labors each day to be the mother her children need, sitting with them as they cry and holding her tongue when they paint Éomund in their remembrances as a valiant hero, a man to rival all the greatest legends of song. But they know that something isn’t right within her; some voice inside their childlike minds warns them of peril in the one place where they were trained never to expect it. Éomer has stopped asking why she doesn’t cry, and Éowyn now clearly prefers to seek her comfort from Tadiel, whose soft arms, doughy middle and doting indulgence provide what Théodwyn’s sharp, angular body and brittle bearing simply can’t or won’t.

As it inches toward sunrise, she reluctantly turns toward home again, where soon the rest of the household will begin to stir and her absence will be noted, frowned about and tsked over. The judgment of her sisters is no real concern, but she doesn’t want to add to the worries of her children. For them, she will fight to maintain even the barest pretense of normalcy. For her children, she will sit in that house among the remains of Éomund’s life – his belongings, his clothes, his scent – and she will struggle to breathe through the poisonous resentment that is trapped in her throat because she cannot allow it to pass her lips. For her children, she will choke.

The gate comes into view and, beyond it, the garden that she once loved and nurtured into glory, now gone dormant for the winter. She stumbles on the rise to the path, and a knee drives into the frozen ground. She rights herself with difficulty, grunting in the effort, and she curses at this clumsiness. Weakness of body has never been a challenge of hers, and she cannot understand the heavy, dragging feeling that follows her to the door. For the first time, she considers whether everything – the throbbing head, the sweating skin, the screaming joints – is not just a product of exertion but something more serious. Something brought on by the refusal to rest, to eat, to stay warm, to accept comfort and support. It is an unsettling thought, and she tries to push it from her mind as she slips quietly inside.

The frozen sting in her fingertips and toes is a strange counterpoint to the burning heat of her forehead and cheeks, and she collapses into a chair by the fire, waiting out the gradual thaw of her frost-dulled limbs and the eventual return of her body to how it is supposed to feel. But though her fingers slowly lose their bluish tinge and sensation tentatively returns to her feet, the heat in her face and the exhaustion in her muscles only grow. Time ticks by, innumerable minutes that seem like hours, and she can feel it all continue to worsen. What little energy she had now spills from her body like the blood of the stags that Éomund used to hunt, their carcasses sliced open and left to drain. A shiver runs through her, once and then again and again and again, every time stronger until the shivers are full-body spasms that clack her teeth together, threatening to catch her tongue in each jolt. A low, groaning noise fills the room, and she discovers with surprise that it is coming from her own throat.

Good gods, Théodwyn. What have you done to yourself? Edlenniel is in the doorway, and the horrified alarm in her voice is enough to smother the instinct to snap in response. What has she done? She tries to stand, but her legs don’t respond. A strange distance has crept in and inserted itself between the intentions of her mind and the obedience of her body. She wills herself up again and lurches forward with great effort. Is she standing now? She cannot be, not with the cool, smooth stone of the floor somehow pressed to her flushed cheek. She would lift her head to check, but the exhaustion is so heavy that it pins her down, the turning of a screw that secures her, motionless, to wherever she has landed.

Her mind becomes slow and hazy, her sight flickering in and out as though she is passing quickly between rooms that are brightly lit and others that are in total darkness. Théopryte is there and then not. Calls for help are relayed down the hall, and more people rush in. Tadiel pulls Éomer from the doorway, a hand over his eyes as though the sight of his mother is too frightful for him even to look upon. Clamoring, urgent voices echo around inside Théodwyn’s head until they are no longer intelligible to her, just a whirling churn of volumes and tones. She floats, alone and disconnected, in a sea of others’ panic.

A man’s face appears in her field of vision, lifting her up and carrying her to a nearby couch. Théodred? It comes out as a hoarse whisper, and the face shakes its head. No, of course not. Her beloved nephew doesn’t live in Aldburg and never has. A neighbor, then? Or servant? She loses interest before she can unravel the mystery, distracted by a painful new sensation that prickles across the surface of her skin like a thousand small needles. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to exhale the pain with her every labored breath.

Uncounted hours pass, and she is now in her own bed, though she cannot recall being brought there. It takes all her effort just to keep her eyes open, and each time she blinks, it feels like scraping her eyelids over sand. She drifts in and out of lucidity, bobbing in a current of confused thought like a small boat tied up at the edge of a running river. When she’s lost, she is certain she can see Éomund in the corner, watching her in grave silence. When she’s present, she hears bits and snatches of hushed conversation, all in the voices of her sisters. The healer says there is nothing more to be done, says one. Such an awful waste, sniffles another. I knew this would happen, sighs the third. But who could stop her from running herself into the ground this way? She’s always done just what she wanted, no matter how rash or irresponsible.

Amidst all her pains, these words hit her like a blow, and an immediate, convulsive heaving in her stomach has others running for the healer again to manage this fresh symptom of her malady. But she knows it for what it really is: the retching out of unwelcome truth, her body’s rejection of this simple distillation of her fate. Recovery is not coming. She will die here in this bed, and her death will be needless. Pointless. And all the more shameful because she should have known better. She could have heeded the cautions and warnings of others.

Edlenniel leans her over a bowl as she empties herself of what little she’s eaten in the last day, and the bitter taste in her mouth lingers even after she has swirled and spat out many mouthfuls of water. It lingers as she collapses back into the sweat-soaked sheets that cling to every inch of exposed skin. It lingers as her addled mind struggles to reckon with the weight and cost of her mistake, this tragedy of her own making. It will always linger, for all the minutes she has left in the world and for the eternity that stretches out into the boundless, unknown future beyond it.

Her head lolls weakly to one side, and she can see Éomund in the corner still watching, silent and attentive. His face is not impassive, but calm. He accepts what has happened, is happening, will happen, and she must accept it, too. He dissolves into a vague blur as hot tears begin to spill down her cheeks, and whether they are tears for him or for herself, she isn’t sure. When she blinks her eyes clear again, he has moved closer to the bedside. He smiles softly, the wistful look of one who knows what it is to carry the burden of self-blame past any hope of remedy, and he reaches toward her with an open hand. A hand of consolation and invitation.

She will take it, but not yet.

Bring the children, she rasps out.

There is a moment’s debate in the room, furious whispers that drift to her ears. Not something a child should witness, she hears. There may not be time to wait, is the response. She repeats her request, louder this time, and the debate intensifies, rising in pitch and strength. But before the argument can resolve itself, Éomer has pushed in from the hallway, towing little Éowyn by the hand. Her words have reached them on their own.

She struggles to bring her son and daughter into focus, just as they struggle to see the outlines of their strong, capable mother in this frail, spiritless form. She craves nothing more than rest, but she knows she cannot; if she rests now, she will not wake again. She takes each one by the hand, their skin cold and dry against her own clammy fingers and palms, and presses those hands to her lips.

Be good for your uncle, she tells them. Your cousin will love you as a brother.

Éomer, quicker to understand, begins to cry, and his tears trigger Éowyn’s. Soon all three are crying together, for both the first and last time.

You deserve better than this, she should say. I have failed you, she wants to say. But would it give them any comfort to know that she belatedly understands her own mistakes? That left to do it all again, she would guarantee that they would never be without their mother? What can she tell them now that will help and not hurt, that will be a gift and not a hindrance? She swallows hard, and it is like swallowing gravel. Your father and I did the best we could, she whispers. The two of you will do better, and we will be proud.

She drops back to the pillow, exhausted beyond measure, and someone bundles the children back out into the hall again. Éomund smiles at her, and she nods. Her eyes drift closed as his hand wraps around hers, and the burning in her heart and skin slowly fades, the fire extinguished at last.

A note on the sisters of Théoden: Their father, Thengel, ran away to Gondor as a young man and lived there for a huge chunk of his life. He married Morwen, a Gondorian woman, and Tolkien tells us he only went back to Rohan “unwillingly” to take up the throne after his own father died. 2 of his daughters and his son were born in Gondor before that happened, and my HC is that all 3 of them had Gondorian names because, at the time, Thengel never had any intention of ever going back. So that gives us Edlenniel (“daughter of the exile,” since that’s how he saw himself) and Tadiel (“second daughter,” so overshadowed by her siblings that Thengel couldn’t be bothered to even give her an interesting name).

Théoden himself had a Gondorian name as well (Arnhereg, “royal blood”) but he changed it to something Rohirric (Théoden means “leader of the people”) when the family went back to Rohan both because he wanted to fit in better and because it seemed only appropriate that the future king of Rohan have a Rohirric name. Then when the other two sisters were born in Rohan, they were given Rohirric names as well (Théopryte, “pride of the people,” who was extremely beautiful; and Théodwyn, “joy of the people,” who was full of spirit).

3 of the 4 sisters were dead by the time of the War of the Ring (Edlenniel from old age, Théopryte from an accident, and Théodwyn as described here), and Tadiel had gone back to Gondor. Edlenniel never had any children and Tadiel and Théopryte had only daughters, which is why we don’t hear anything about other cousins that might have competed with Éomer for the throne after Théodred’s death. I’ve made a backstory for each of the sisters, but no use putting that all here since I’ve already gone on too long!

(Dividers by the wonderful @quillofspirit !)

[eggsaladstain]

so i thoroughly enjoyed season 2 even if it was extremely rushed and the fact that it’s not a 1:1 adaptation is genuinely so fun to me.

like i get it, things are different from the books, the characters have developed in way they did not in the books, but the books still exist. the show canon does not negate the book canon in any way - we just have twice as much canon now and honestly i fail to see the downside to that.

book/show spoilers under the cut.

let me start with the not so good before i get to the good.

the crows really got shortchanged this time around and most of their storyline definitely felt more out of place this season compared to the first. and as satisfying as it was to see kaz beat pekka, all the wesper and kanej moments, and have 5 of 6 crows all together (sorry matthias, better luck next time buddy), the show was not nearly as successful integrating the crooked kingdom plot points as it was the storm and siege and ruin and rising ones. but i get it, the crows were always going to be secondary to alina.

that said, i do love the idea of taking this heist most of us are already familiar with and turning it on its head with these new character dynamics. imagine an empowered and free inej returning to ketterdam to help a less burdened, less haunted kaz plan the heist. imagine jesper in his element, confident and proud of his grisha abilities now that he’s made peace with his past. imagine wylan and jesper openly flirting at the most inopportune moments. imagine nina and matthias presumably actually getting some screen time together?? the possibilities are endless and i can’t wait to see where they go with this.

now, onto alina’s storyline, which has the biggest departure from the books.

the show ends with alina killing mal, amplifying her power to singlehandedly destroy the fold, bringing mal back to life with merzost, and then killing the fjerdan intruder with the cut summoned from shadows instead of light and seeming to enjoy her newfound shadow power. this is the story of a savior who becomes a saint who finds herself turning into a heretic - dark alina arc let’s go!!

i love this direction for the show because it’s incredibly consistent with alina’s journey and the way she is constantly presented as a foil for the darkling, following in his footsteps even without realizing it. she has tremendous power and a desire to protect those she cares about, and she’s clever and cunning and willing to do whatever it takes to reach her goal, whether that’s burning a set of maps so she can join mal in his trip across the fold or agreeing to a political engagement to give ravka hope for the future. though she has mal and nikolai and her other allies, this is really her journey and hers alone - her journey of discovery to embrace her own power, even as she becomes that very evil she worked so hard to destroy. the message of the show is that power corrupts, and it corrupts even those with the best of intentions, perhaps especially those with the best of intentions.

in contrast, the book ending is pretty much the exact opposite - alina fights the darkling’s forces inside the fold alongside both the first and second army. she kills mal to amplify her power but ends up losing it altogether. instead of amplifying her, the amplifier gives her power to the first army soldiers and other non-grisha around her and they, an army of sun summoners, destroy the fold once and for all. alina then kills the darkling, mal is resurrected using regular grisha-means, and alina and mal live a quiet life running the orphanage in keramzin. this is the story of a savior who is allowed to die a saint and live a quiet, happy life afterwards - poetic cinema, beautiful in its subtlety and restraint.

there’s a lot of criticism about the way ruin and rising ends and i get it, i really do. was it necessary for alina to lose her powers in order for the other sun summoners to gain them? why is her love for her power seen as something greedy, something to be punished and taken away? god forbid women do ANYTHING. but i will defend this ending with my last breath because it’s such a wonderfully subversive way to conclude alina’s story and i really don’t think it deserves most of the hate it gets.

the original trilogy started out as a pretty generic story about a chosen one who was destined to defeat a great evil and ended instead with a group of ordinary soldiers and orphans being the heroes instead. call me sentimental, but i ADORE how it comes full circle - alina was, after all, an ordinary soldier and orphan when we first met her. throughout the books, we see how she struggles under the weight of her power and the burden of her responsibilities, and i just really love the way ruin and rising said no, you do not have to do this alone, you are not the only light in the dark, here are your fellow countrymen to support you in your greatest hour of need. so often, these stories end with the heroine saving the world and then being expected to continue keeping watch with the knowledge that they will be called upon again the next time the world needs saving. and ruin and rising again says no, you have done your duty, let someone else stand guard, you have earned your rest and you deserve it.

all this is to say that i loved alina’s ending in the books, and i love that it’s different in the show. we get to explore the other paths her story could have taken, we are not just limited to the one. i love the crows as they are in the books as well, and i don’t entirely mind how different they are in the show for the same reasons.

this is an adaptation that knows when to pull from the source material and when to create something entirely new. it was never meant to replace the books, it was created in addition to them, and i hope we get many more new stories after this.

[crusty-chronicles]

Forgiveness and Acceptance

Ch 3: Changes

MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Despite what it may seem, Kite still struggles with his chimera body. A constant internal struggle between his rational thoughts and new instincts.

NSFW Minors DNI

Warnings: Intimacy, mentions of nudity, mentions of breeding

-------------------------

Kite awoke engulfed in a familiar warmth. A feeling that was unmistakeably you. Limbs tangled in a comfortable mess, beckoning him back into sleep. But he couldn't. Not today. Unfortunately, you both had somewhere to be. So he begrudgingly opened his eyes. Your loving smile being the first thing he saw today. One he'd be missing for the next week.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” You cooed. 

Without fail, his face reddened at your teasing. He really should have been used to it by now. But you had a habit of getting under his skin in the best way possible. No matter how much time had passed, your words would always have an effect on him.

“How many of those do you have?” He asked, snuggling deeper into the crook of your neck.

“Endless. Maybe if you weren't so pretty I'd stop calling you princess.”

He could practically hear the smirk in your voice.

“Mhmm. Sure.”

And he was right, your cheeky grin on full display as you caught the sight of red. Very much enjoying his flustered state. The two of you content to bask in the other's warmth for as long as possible. 

It was another five minutes before Kite pulled away from you enough to meet your gaze. Staring into your sleepy eyes that weren't as burdened with dark circles as they once were. That never seemed to carry the same heaviness from before. You'd come so far since then. Since the Chimera Ant Incident. Which brought him back to what he'd dreamt of last night.

The realization that he hurt you.

That you let him hurt you.

He never really asked you about what happened, or rather, you didn't like talking about it. There were bits and pieces he gathered from Ging and the boys. But other than that, he didn't pry. Maybe if he had, he wouldn't have been so caught off guard by what he did. As repulsed.

Yet despite that, you were still here next to him. Offering up your comfort and love in exchange for his. Joined together so intimately, he was hesitant to move. To disrupt this peaceful morning. It wouldn't have been fair to worry you before you left. But it seems even without your nen, you could still read him like a book. Your expression shifting into one of concern.

“About last night…” you started. Already sensing his rising discomfort.

“We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But I'd like to know at least how you're feeling.”

Because you knew what it was like to startle awake from a night terror. Forced to relive something you just couldn't escape. And you knew what it was like not wanting to talk about it. Not wanting to relive the dream a second time. If he didn't want to tell you what was bothering him, that's okay. You just needed to be sure he was fine. That whatever it was he dreamt about couldn't hurt him.

But Kite was never the type to hide things from you. He was more open than you could ever hope to be. 

“... You let yourself get hurt by me. During the ant incident.” He said after a while.

He didn't have to explain for you to know what he was talking about. The hits from when he was a puppet under Pitou’s control. The swelling and bruising that came after. Only for the process to repeat itself the next day. And the next day. Until the dreadful extermination mission from the hunter association. It was the only time he'd ever actually hurt you.

But it wasn't really him was it?

It was Pitou's nen controlling him. And you could never blame him for that. It was your decision to visit him everyday. Your decision to step in front of Gon. Your choice to give whatever negative emotions he may have been harboring an outlet. Back then, you'd been able to feel the pent up malice. 

“You weren't yourself.” You rebuttabled. 

You hadn't been sure he was even in there. But you remember what you told the boys that day. The first time you'd seen his stitched up state.

‘Being an adult is hard. I'm supposed to stay strong and tell you everything's gonna be okay. But how can I reassure you when I don't even believe that.’ 

You didn't know if he'd ever come back to you. If the consequences of your cowardness could be reversed.  So you'd taken every hit, not knowing any other way to make it up to him when you weren't even sure he was alive.

“But I still hit you.” Kite argued.

“I've been hit by a lot of people. I'm used to it. It wasn't your fault anyways. It was mine.” Your fault for running away and letting him get caught up in the aftermath.

You'd told him about your upbringing. How your clan would punish you for making a single mistake. How they always told you that you weren't good enough.

An old habit of blaming yourself for the abuse inflicted on you. 

It was something you were working on. Something he was trying to help you through. Which is why he refused to continue to let you think that way. You shouldn't have to be used to being hit, regardless of if you were a fighter. You shouldn't blame yourself for everything that's happened. 

“It wasn't your fault. What happened was not your fault.” He moved to cup your cheek with as much softness as he could muster. Making sure your eyes were focused on his. 

Yet still you avoided his gaze. As if you felt guilty. Now he had to know-needed to know just what the hell was going through your head.

“Why did you let me hit you? Did you think of it as a way for me to get even for what happened?”

He hit the nail right on the head. And for a brief moment, you regretted opening your mouth this morning. You still weren't used to being open when it came to bad memories. They were always harder to talk about. But you owed Kite that much. To reassure him that what happened was not his fault.

You would have done it all over again if it meant he was still here.

“...I thought it was the least I could do.” You said. An honest answer. He was getting better at drawing those out from you. But it only further worried him.

“I wasn't in there. Do you think if I was, I would have still lunged for you?”

Your hesitance to speak had been answer enough for him. 

“I don't know.” You responded, almost looking ashamed.

You really thought he had been hitting you on purpose? That it was his choice. Seeing it happen through his own eyes was enough to send him spiraling. But to willingly hurt you…He would never be able to forgive himself. For you to believe he ever hated you at some point, he must've been doing a terrible job of showing you the exact opposite. That he loved you more than he could put into words.

But he would show you. He had the rest of his life to prove it to you over and over again.

“I'm sorry.” He leaned up and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Why are you apologizing?” You asked. 

“Because you mean everything to me. And I don't want you to think you deserve anything less than.”

You didn't even realize you were crying until he swiped away one of your tears with his thumb. Your heart only swelling from the gesture. What did you ever do to deserve this man? Someone who only ever saw the best in you. Who had once again convinced you there was a chance he revered you just as much as you did him.

“I was supposed to be the one comforting you today. But here I am blubbering like a baby.” You said with a sad smile.

Crying had been another thing. You never liked crying in front of others. Another part of yourself you hid away, but never from him. Kite didn't like seeing you cry either. But he understood it was a part of your healing. Being able to just feel instead of bottling it up. 

That didn't mean he was just gonna sit by and do nothing when your thoughts were so self destructive.

“You've done more than enough.” He assured.

Because you'd brought him back at the risk of losing everything. Your life, your relationship with the boys, your nen. One of which you'd lost permanently. Or so it seemed.

He pressed his lips softly to yours.

“I love you.”

And once again you were struggling with those three little words. So close yet so out of reach. You just couldn't say them, but you could still tell him how you felt.

“Kite, you are so important to me. I'd do anything for you.” Anything to make him happy.

And for some reason, those words didn't sit right with him. A foreboding feeling settling in his stomach. But he brushed it off, about to offer more words of comfort before the sound of an alarm went off. Your peaceful morning had come to an end.

You let out a sigh before speaking.

“We gotta get going.”

“You go on ahead and get ready first,” Kite encouraged. 

He placed a hand on your hip. Tracing little circles with his thumb on your thigh as he finally pulled out. Mourning the loss of your warmth. He looked back up to make sure you weren't in any pain, but he caught sight of a dark bruise on your neck.

“Does that hurt?” He asked, remembering he'd bitten you last night in his haste to feel your comfort.

You reached up and skimmed the mark with your fingers, wincing slightly at the feeling.

“It feels a little sore but other than that, no.”

Before he could question you further, you'd gotten up. Placing a kiss on the tip of his nose and quickly making your way to the bathroom. The sound of the shower turning on signaled the beginning of what would be a long week.

Your doctor’s appointment was something he couldn't help but dread. A day to get there. Two days of tests. A day to get results. And one for rest. Absolute hell for him. He understood that this was important to you. Why it mattered so much.

But you'd been trying for over a year to get your nen back with no luck.

Would it really be so bad to accept it was lost forever now? After so much time had passed? It's not like anybody would think any less of you. You'd proved yourself a thousand times over during the extermination mission. Everyone did. Then there was the question of why you were trying so hard to get your abilities back.

A goal.

Something to chase after.

But what would you do once you regained your nen?

Would you become a hunter? No. Despite all that's happened, you still despised the association with everything in you. Would you follow around the boys again? It didn't seem likely. You wanted to give them space. Allow them to enjoy being kids while they still could. Would you end up doing your own thing? Find a passion completely separate from his that kept you away?

Or would you stay with him regardless?

More than anything he hoped the latter was true. That you two would continue to share this life together. And maybe it was selfish of him to think that way. To want you by his side to quell his own anxieties of losing you.

There was no denying you were strong. Managing to go head to head against Killua's brother even without your nen. But despite your physical prowess, an experienced nen user would always have an edge against you. One misstep and you'd be done. It should have pointed to him vying for you to get your nen back. So he wouldn't have to worry about you getting hurt.

Yet, the exact opposite was what he felt was best. You weren't a fighter. For as long as he's known you, you tried your best to avoid combat. And after everything that's happened, you’d never fight again. You deserved to live a normal life away from monsters and bloodshed. To stop looking over your shoulders in fear.

You were getting better. You seemed happier. Your crooked smile had never been as bright as it was now. If you got your nen back, he had a feeling it would all be gone. That you'd once again hold the weight of the world on your shoulders. 

But something was driving you desperately to regain your nen. Something he couldn't help but connect back to your earlier words. ‘I’d do anything for you.’ 

It wasn't like you were burdening him without your abilities. The kids certainly didn't mind you being normal. And none of your friends thought differently of you. So what was it? Why did it feel like you weren't doing this for yourself? Whatever it was, he just hoped you'd eventually tell him. He'd be able to help you better that way.

For now, he should be focusing on the present. You two were currently looking into getting a house. All odds pointing towards a future with both of you in it. A place to relax after traveling around for months. A home to go to instead of another hotel until the next expedition. 

Who knows, maybe you'd choose to stay there instead of following him around. He could almost see it. You lounging about, waking up at an ungodly hour now that you didn't have a deadline to meet. Carrying around comforters with you to nap where you pleased. Unawares he'd just gotten back after being gone for months. 

But that was the root of the issue wasn't it? Being away from you for so long. He couldn't imagine leaving you by yourself for a few months, let alone with a child.

Wait.

Child?

Immediately his face turned a bright red. Internally cursing himself out for thinking such a thing. Trying to ignore the way something stirred within him. The thought of you carrying around his child. Getting to create a family with you. 

Then again, hadn't you created one already? The kids you'd gone through hell and back for. His team who he'd looked after for years. Then there was the extermination team. Your friends. And Ging. Someone who he'd never be able to pay back for saving you. For giving you a reason to keep going when you thought you'd lost everything. 

They were family, yes…But what Kite had in mind felt a little more special. A life created by the two of you. A family stemming from the best parts of you and him. He mentally scolded himself for not even considering how you felt.

Would you want to have kids with him?

You'd talked about it maybe twice. And both times you'd agreed it was too soon. That both of you weren't ready yet. 

But you did want them, a part of himself immensely satisfied with the fact. And once again, Kite had to reprimand himself.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He cursed the beastly instincts inside him daily. Fighting with himself everytime the need to keep you away from other men would arise. Even though he knew you didn't have a specific preference for partners. 

The word possessive flashing through his mind.

Though territorial would have been a better descriptor.

Maybe that was why he couldn't stop himself from marking you every time you made love. A way to show that you were his and his only. Had he self-consciously bitten you yesterday because of that? A reminder to whoever saw you during the week?

Chimera Ants only had one purpose. To serve their queen and subsequent king. And even though his mind was human, his memories were human. His body was not. No matter what it looked like.

Thus the struggle to keep his new instincts at bay. The ones that wanted to cater to your every need. The ones that yearned to keep you in a safe place. To have you right next to him at all times. The ones that demanded he breed you.

As cliche and cheesy as it sounded, you were his queen.

His body refusing to accept you as anything less. His mind arguing with the extreme declaration.

What you were was his lover.

And if he got lucky enough one day, his wife.

‘Mate.’

‘His mate.’ the little voice in his head argued.

And there it went again. Fighting with himself over something so stupid. He hated these new instincts. He hated the way they prevented him from thinking with a clear head. It always seemed to get worse when you were about to leave. The panic of not having your scent around him. Of not being able to sleep without you.

Then it'd quiet down after a few days, only to come back upon seeing you again. And once his scent was back on you, it'd slink back down until the next three months when you'd have another appointment.

He wondered if any of the other ants went through this. Then again, he was the only one with a lover. They probably wouldn't be of any help. He was just thankful he never had a heat.

Now that would simply be too much. He'd die of embarrassment. He was ashamed of himself enough as it was without a heat.

The sound of your humming steadily reached his ears, effectively snapping him from his thoughts. Another one of the things that would be missing. He remembered you used to be embarrassed about singing in the shower. Always going eerily quiet when you'd hear him moving about in another room. Truthfully, he liked your voice. It had a certain calming effect that just fit with the old songs you chose. It helped with the nightmares. Both yours and his. 

He had to reassure you over and over again that he didn't mind. And while you got bolder over time, you no where near belting out lyrics the way you did when you thought he wasn't there. But like all things, you were getting there little by little.

Which reminded him, one of these days he had to take you out dancing. It was another coping method for you. Something else precious from your childhood that you liked to indulge in. That let you go back to the simplest of times. To two people who you remember treating you with kindness back then.

He knew it was the small gestures that stuck with you the most.

He glanced over to the small alarm clock and figured it was time for him to get up. No use stalling. He could hear you more clearly as he approached the bathroom. Hand hovering above the door knob before he entered. Immediately he was engulfed in a puff of steam. You always liked your showers scorching hot to make up for the cold ones you endured as a kid. 

Inversely, Kite always liked his cold.

It didn't mean he would turn a hot one down to be with you. You'd showered together frequently enough that he'd bear the heat if you bore the cold. It was most definitely a first for him during the beginning of your relationship. He was embarrassed to see your most intimate parts in a setting that was almost domestic. Being completely vulnerable and viewing your body in a way that wasn't sensual. Just you. Just Him.

It was a different intimacy from the one you shared in the bedroom. Softer. He loved you and everything you were, and you loved him. 

He spotted the pile of clothes on the floor and picked up your shirt. It would get him by the five days you were gone. Kite never could sleep properly without you. Your scent. And he knew it was the exact same for you.

“Hey! Make sure to give me your hat before we leave,” you called out from over the curtain.

You didn't have to ask for him to already have it out for you. You always took either his old blue one or his dark red when you left. This time, it'd be the red one. 

“I swear, sometimes you love snuggling that thing more than me.” He teased. 

“If you get to keep my shirt, I get to keep your hat. Besides, it smells the most like you anyways.” 

He'd been told his old hat had comforted you during the ant incident. Or rather, his scent still on it. It made sense why that was the thing you chose to take with you. He couldn't help but find it endearing.

“You almost done in there?” He asked.

“Just about.” You responded before peaking your head out of the side of the shower curtain.

“Unless you wanted to join me?” You gave a playful waggle of your eyebrows, offering up more space next to you.

Always a tease. Kite shook his head in amusement before responding. 

“Sure. As long as you lower the temperature a bit. I'd rather not explain why I have third degree burns to my team.”

“Coward.” Nevertheless, you reduced the heat. 

Kite's clothes soon joined yours on the floor. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze. It'd taken him a long time to get used to his reflection. To accept this was really him now. Although the changes had been minor, they'd been a lot to take in. 

He didn't carry any of the scars his past body had. Only the memories of where the marks should've been. The agility that came with his lean build had been replaced with an awkward clumsiness due to the increase in muscle. His height was monstrous, and the addition of a rat tail didn't help. More often than not, he found himself tucking it away from sight. His hair might've been the only thing he didn't mind as much as the others. It didn't reach the back of his knees as it once did, but it was still decently long. The color he didn't care much for. Although, half the time he still expected to see silver instead of red.

The only thing that had stayed the same were his eyes.

Wondering what was taking your partner so long, you once again peaked out. Noticing the blanked out expression on his face as he stared at his reflection. Kite, as calm and collected as he was, still had his moments where the weight of what happened hit him. This was one of those moments.

Where the differences bordered on insecurities. 

So you did the only thing you thought would help. Distract him from whatever was plaguing his mind. Soothe the doubts.

“Hey handsome. Might wanna join me before I get all pruny.” You called out.

Kite jumped at the sound of your voice. Turning to you before his eyes softened. They always did when he was looking at you.

“You've still got some suds in your hair love.” He pointed out.

You jumped back in the shower with an offended gasp. Listening to the small laugh Kite gave as he finally made his way over.

“I do not! You're just trying to gaslight me!”

The curtain pulled back for a brief moment. You could feel Kite behind you before it closed once more. 

“Did Killua teach you that one?” He asked. Cupping his hands under the stream and pouring the water on your head. 

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.” You crossed your arms, but there was no protest to his actions.

So he continued washing away the suds on your scalp. Angling your head back against him.

“Hold still for a second.” He instructed.

You leaned your full weight on him as a show of your trust. Your limpness an indicator that you were comfortable with whatever was happening around you. He ran his fingers through your hair a few times to make sure there was no more soap.

“There. All rinsed off.” 

He made sure to steal a kiss from you before he righted you up. You returned it and ushered him to switch places. The water hitting him directly now. 

“Your turn. Let me get all of you.”

You started off with his body first, lathering enough of the soap to get started. If he ever expected your hands to feel silky soft, he would've been dead wrong. They were probably more calloused than his. Never knowing a day of rest until you were 17. But it wasn't the texture of your hands that put him at ease. It was the gentleness in which you touched him. 

Taking away any knots in his shoulders and lightly scrubbing him down. Had he gotten up sooner, your body would have received the same treatment. He took over when you got lower, not wanting to turn a moment of domesticity into something steamy. 

When he was rinsed off, you moved to his hair. If he had it his way, he'd let you wash it everyday. You probably took better care of it than he did. Massaging in shampoo and conditioner without getting any tangles. Your fingers combing through in a way that almost had him purring. Moving his head down so you could reach properly. He felt completely at bliss. One of your ways of showing your love even without saying it.

Your morning had started off slower than you would've liked, but you couldn't say you regretted spending a few minutes more with your lover. You both got dressed quickly. Only forty minutes left before your flight. After double checking your suitcase one more time, you snagged Kite's red hat and made your way towards the door. 

But he had other plans for your usual routine. Hand placed on yours a top the door knob, effectively stopping your movements.

“Let me at least take you to the airport? I wanna see you off.” Something pleading in his tone.

He never seemed to have the right opportunity to go with you to your appointment. Always too busy with work. It should've come as no shock. Being a pro hunter meant you'd always be on the move. Never time to stop in one place for very long.  Already moving onto the next project by the time you returned. It was exhausting, but he loved his job. 

However, he found he loved you even more. If it weren't for your insistence that he stay, he would've booked a flight with you in a heartbeat. So if he couldn't come with you, he at least wanted to spend what time he could together. Just knowing you'd made it to your flight would be enough.

“I don't want you to be late.” You responded. The last thing you wanted for Kite to ditch his job for you. You weren't nearly as important.

But he had this habit of always knowing what to say to reassure you. 

“I won't. I promise I won't be late to the meeting point. And even if I was, it'd be worth it.”

—--------------------

Surprisingly, you made it with 15 minutes to spare. It gave enough time for both of you to eat something light for breakfast while you waited. A pair of blueberry muffins (because it was never too early for something sweet according to you) and coffee. Yours iced and his hot. You'd scrunched up your face as he took a sip of his.

“I still can't believe you like your coffee black. Your taste buds must be dead.”

He playfully nudged your shoulder at your comment.

“I still can't believe you like coffee. If it weren't for all the sweeteners you wouldn't touch it with a ten foot pole.” 

“I like to have some flavor in my life thank you. Besides, cold coffee taste stronger than hot. I get a little more of a kick from it. One of these days I'll convert you.” You gave a fake glare before crossing your arms.

“Sugar isn't really flavor, hun. And I doubt the temperature makes much of a difference.”

“I wholeheartedly disagree. You just don't like to have fun.”

Fun, huh? Not too long ago you rarely messed around. Now you were joking and laughing so freely, it was like you were a different person. Your guarded exterior no longer there. It felt lifetimes away from who'd you become.

“You're starting to sound like Ging.” Kite teased.

You'd stuck out your tongue in response. Unawares to your partner leaning over and taking a sip from your drink. Looking down and catching him in the act right as he pulled away. 

“You know, I think you might be onto something. It's not so bad.”

You gave an offended gasp and pulled the cup close to you. Your feigned glare becoming just a little more real.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” You grumbled. And as always, your banter was returned.

“I knew you were only with me for my good looks.”

“Sure. Totally not because of your kind heart. I mean, you're wearing the little friendship bracelet Gon gave you. That's totally not attractive to me.”

All at once his face flushed. You liked that he was attentive to the kids? Of course you did. They were practically your own. Still, it'd been unexpected to hear.

“Good to know,” he stammered out.

Your mind couldn't help but circle back to what he said about his appearance. Comparing it to the way he seemed to examine himself in the early morning. He looked like he had been dissociating. Spacing out at the man staring back at him with something that bordered on distaste.

“Do you ever miss your old body?” You asked. Your tone now serious.

Kite mulled over the question for a while before answering.

“Sometimes. I miss having more coordination in my body. I miss not having a stupid tail to worry about. I certainly miss not being labeled as a protected species…But I'm coming to terms with it. It's getting easier to deal with all these new instincts. Progress is progress. Why?” 

You realized that wasn't exactly what you meant to ask. But it should've been a no brainer he preferred his human body over this. 

“Sorry. I should've phrased that better. I mean, obviously you miss your old body. Who'd wanna be forced to be a chimera ant. I just meant, do you miss how you used to look?”

At that he quirked a brow. You sounded ashamed. Of what, he couldn't quite tell. Did he make it seem like he blamed you for his grievances? He was beyond grateful you'd brought him back. But why now were you asking these questions? Were you having second thoughts?

“I don't hate it. It's just surreal to see somebody else where my old reflection used to be. Sometimes I can't help but compare what's the same and what's different. I'm still recognizable with the changes, so they're not all that bad.”

His next question had caught you off guard.

“Do you miss the way I used to look?” 

You stuttered your way through a response, not really knowing how to answer.

“No! I mean, not that I didn't like the way you look! But I don't mind you now. That's not to say I don't prefer the old you! I just-!” You were cut off by the sound of Kite's laughter. Your face burning impossibly hot.

“It's fine. I can always dye my hair back silver if it’s too much for you.”

You lightly slapped his arm.

“You ass… Don't you know I'd choose you no matter what?” You'd finally gotten the right words out. And just in time too.

“Now boarding Flight 87!”

You got up and turned to Kite.

“I'll see you in five days.”

He pulled you close in a tight embrace. Your arms wrapped around him in response.

“Stay safe. Call me when you get there, okay?” He reminded.

“Always. You be careful too. Let me know if something happens.”

He bumped his head lovingly against yours.

“Always.” and sealed the promise with a kiss. Pressing his lips softly to yours until you both ran out of air.

----------------------------

An: We are so back ✨💅

[writtenjewels]

I Chose You

Shepard sat at the desk in his quarters, staring at the wall. His fingers were threaded together, his chin propped on top of the joined hands. He wanted his thoughts to drift in the same way the Normandy was currently, floating through space with no clear destination. Joker had been puzzled when Shepard gave that order, but followed without argument.

In truth, they didn't have time for drifting, either by thought or by ship. The threat of the Reapers was looming and they all knew it was only a matter of time before Saren found that last missing piece to start the invasion. They all knew this and Shepard still ordered this down-time. No one questioned him or raised an objection.

Because Ashley deserved this moment of silence.

As commanding officer, Shepard faced a lot of hard choices. He knew when he applied for officer training that he was accepting this burden. He was witness to the consequences first-hand when his entire unit was wiped out by that thresher maw. But even that loss didn't make him feel half as bad as this.

Time had slowed down there on Virmire. Kaidan was with the bomb, ready to go down with it; Ashley was with the salarians fighting for her life. It was obvious only one of them could make it out.

And Shepard chose Kaidan. No, it wasn't Shepard, commander of the Normandy making that choice. It was Jack, and it was that distinction that ate him up inside.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Shepard invited. He finally turned his eyes away from the wall. The door slid open and Kaidan stepped inside. Shepard was going to be sick. The one person he wanted to see most but felt too damn guilty to go.

“Hey.” Kaidan had two mug in his hand. He held one out. “I thought you might need some coffee.”

“Thanks.” Shepard rose to take it, sipping the drink and sighing as the hot liquid slid down his throat. He hadn't realized how cold he was. Kaidan took a sip of his own coffee. “You made a pot just for us?” Shepard asked him.

“Like I said, I thought you might need it.” They both took another drink. Shepard could sense Kaidan waiting for him to speak.

“I have a feeling you didn't come here just to have coffee with me.”

“No,” Kaidan agreed. “I wanted to offer an ear, if you needed one. You've given yours to me more than enough times.”

“I don't know what I can say. I chose you.”

“You had to make a call,” Kaidan reasoned.

“You don't get it.” Shepard set the mug on his desk. He might regret it, but it was fair for Kaidan to know the truth. “I didn't choose Staff Lieutenant Alenko; I didn't choose the valuable human biotic. I chose you. I didn't think about anything else at the time except, 'I can't lose him'.”

Kaidan went stiff, his breath catching in his lungs. His cheeks turned a little pink. The mug shook in his hand. To his credit, Kaidan didn't drop the thing. He wrapped his other hand around it to keep it more steady, dropping his eyes down to stare into the mug.

“I... think I need time to process that,” he said at last.

“Sorry, I—I thought I should tell you.”

“Is that why you ordered this ship-wide moment of silence?”

“Yeah.” Shepard let out the word in a tired breath. Kaidan pressed his lips together in that way he had when he was thinking hard. He stepped forward to place his mug on the table.

“You know, I don't think I would have done it differently, if it was between you and someone else.” The words sent a tingling energy through Shepard's body. His heart beat a little faster. Kaidan cocked his head to the side and gave him a humorless smile. “I guess that's just something we'll both have to live with.”

Shepard stood there still trying to process what he heard. Now he was the one with air caught in his lungs. He wanted to make it more clear what they were both saying, but the words were caught in his throat. He reached for his coffee and took a drink to steady himself.

“I'm going to tell Joker to set a course,” he decided. His eyes met Kaidan's. “Maybe when this thing with Saren is over, we can talk more about this.”

“For that to happen, we both have to make it through,” Kaidan pointed out. “I think, in order to spare either of us from making a tough call, we should do this together.”

Shepard managed something close to a smile. “That I can live with.”

[drawinglin]

Hello. Regarding Hellraiser III, I seem to recall you making a comment about how you believed Elliott and Unbound!Pinhead to be physical manifestations of Freud's model of the psyche - super-ego and id respectively. I am in total agreement with you there, and I have believed this same thing for a long time now. This would also make normal 'Bound' Pinhead that we meet in the first two films, and the films following Bloodline, to be the actual Ego itself. I think this makes the third film, and the characterisations so much more interesting, rather than doing what the early 90s HR comics did, which was to have Pinhead be an Aztec 'demon' who possesses Elliott, making them separate people altogether. That's boring and predictable, and just goes against everything that the movies established in the earlier films for Pinhead. By having Unbound and Elliott be one and the same, just different aspects of the same man, which is basically what HR is about - our deepest, darkest desires explored and enhanced, it builds on the HR mythology. This is why I've always loved HR3, and why I don't think it's a bad film, and why I just adore Unbound as a character. This is Pinhead off the leash. I still believe that Unbound would still be very fond of Kirsty, and still would be driven to protect her in some way. Even without his human side. But for the most part, he would be super eager to have her join him. Though he'd treat her much differently than he did the club patrons. I don't think the love/lust for Kirsty comes from just his human side. It comes from all of him.

Anyway, I thought I'd share my thoughts on the matter with you. I found this online regarding id, ego, super-ego, and it reminded me of the boys even more so. Maybe you could draw something out of this? It's an idea. I love your art. Keep up the good work! :)

Your analysis of Unbound and Elliot is exactly what I was thinking. It almost makes me cry. I’ve always found it hard to dislike HR3 for this reason. After watching the HR1 and HR2, I felt that human desires and darkness are what truly terrify us. So when I discovered that HR3 split the Hell Priest into two characters, I was super excited.

The human version of Elliot is relatively mature; after all, he carries the memories and burdens from his time as a human, as well as the PTSD of being a survivor of World War I. He is also someone who adheres strictly to rules. I guess this leadership quality and personality is what attracted Leviathan to him, eventually leading him to become the priest managing hell. In the moment of their separation, the repressed desires, dark sides, and nature of the human were individually extracted, like a newly born child without constraints. They both possess things that the other lacks. I’m really looking forward to their journey of hatred and self-destruction gradually turning into understanding, culminating in a new interpretation of a single person. It’s amazing! But unfortunately, HR3 didn’t delve into their complex psychological relationship in detail. This regret has made me want to doodle their story.

I was shocked to learn that the comic had mentioned the demon's setting before; I had no idea about that. Thank you for sharing! Like you, I’m more inclined towards the idea of the id and superego!

I agree that Elliot and Unbound have an obsession with Kirsty and surely hope that she would join their ranks as a Cenobite.

But to me,I tend to see their relationship as a complex ambiguity; I imagine it as a sense of distance rather than a romantic interaction. Their conflicts would actually bring them closer together.

For Kirsty, the Hell Priest undoubtedly intervened in her life and indirectly destroyed her family. Even if it started because of someone else’s involvement, he still cast a huge shadow over Kirsty. In their contract relationship, the Hell Priest has let her go multiple times, and Elliot himself has said that Kirsty is his friend. Therefore, I believe they share a relationship that is both contradictory and beautiful!

The existence of their relationship is so enchanting, which is probably why so many people like it!

And thank you for the pictures you provided. I love your thoughts every time you share them; they truly inspire me!🥰❤️ ❤️

[sixgunluvr]

A Love To Protect

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Mature Age 18+ Readers ONLY.

Pairing Arthur with a female reader.

There may be errors. I read through these a couple times but I still may miss things.

The next morning you are awakened by the voice of men discussing plans to rob the bank in Valentine.

You stretch your limbs as you awaken, the events from last night still fresh in your mind. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, savoring the remaining scent of Arthur clinging to your hair and pillow. You can't help but smile, feeling content and happy.

Arthur had already risen long before you and was joined in on the discussion outside.

The crisp morning air filled with boisterous laughter and animated gestures floated in as you sit up in bed.  

Arthur had already brought you fresh water to wash your face. You smiled to yourself when you saw it.

He is always thinking of you.

You feel a sense of warmth in your heart knowing that he hasn't forgotten about you, even in the midst of his gang's planning and strategizing. 

You splash your face with the crisp cool water and it awakens your senses.

After checking your reflection in the mirror you decide that you are ready to leave the tent.

You step outside and take a few moments to admire Arthur from afar, taking in the way his muscles ripple beneath his shirt as he moves-and oh, those eyes. They light up wherever they go, and it's no different now as he talks animatedly with his comrades. It's impossible not to get lost in them.

But even as you stare, the weight of last night's fears creep back in. You glance around the camp, and your stomach drops. Where is he?

Micah.

His presence lingers like a dark cloud over the group, and without him physically present, you can't shake off the feeling that he's watching you. Waiting for his moment to strike.

Arthur notices your unease, and he immediately comes over to you. "What's wrong, darlin'?" he asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

You can see the concern in his eyes, and you feel guilty for burdening him with your worries.

"Nothing, I'm just a little on edge," you admit, forcing a smile.

Arthur frowns and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly. "I won't let anything happen to you," he says with quiet intensity. "I promise."

His words make you feel safe and loved, and you lean into his embrace, breathing in his comforting scent.

"The guys and I were discussing our plan to rob the bank in Valentine," Arthur explains, breaking the silence. "I know it's dangerous, but I couldn't say no to the offer. It's a huge job, and it could set us up for a while."

You nod, understanding his predicament. Despite the risks, you couldn't deny Arthur the chance to secure a better future for himself and his gang.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," you say, looking up at him with worried eyes.

"Always, sweetheart," he replies, kissing you softly on the lips.

"That job won't happen for a few days though. Today, Charles, Lenny and I have another quick job to do. I'll be gone for most of the day but I should be back by suppertime," he adds, his hand trailing down to yours, entwining your fingers together.

As he speaks, the group of men around you both nod in agreement. They're all excited about the job, their voices hushed but filled with anticipation. You can sense the tension in the air but you push it aside, focusing on Arthur and his words.

"I don't like leaving you here alone, without me," he continues, a frown creasing his brow. "You'll have to stay with the others while we're gone."

At that moment, Micah approaches you.

You can feel Arthur's hand tightening around yours, readying himself for whatever Micah has planned next. The tension between the two of them is palpable, and you start to worry about what this day holds for all of you.

"Morning, Micah," Arthur says, his voice strained but polite.

"Arthur," Micah replies with a smarmy smile.

"I see you're leaving today. Try to make it back in one piece. You wouldn't want to leave this lovely lady alone, would you?"

His words are laced with sarcasm, and Arthur's hand tightens around yours even more. You can feel the waves of anger and disgust rolling off of him in waves, and you're grateful for his possessiveness over you.

As Micah saunters away, Arthur turns to you with a warm smile. "Don't worry about him, sweetheart.

He's just trying to get under my skin," Arthur says, brushing off Micah's earlier remark with a wave of his hand.

"I can take care of myself while you're gone," you assure him, not wanting him to worry about you.

"I know you can, but I still don't like leaving you here."

His concern for you is sweet, and you lean in to give him a reassuring kiss.

"I'll be fine, I promise. Besides, Dutch and the other guys are here.  Just come back to me in one piece," you whispered against Arthur's lips, your fingers tracing the outline of his strong jawline.

He nodded solemnly, his green eyes filled with determination and passion.

"I'll always come back to you, sweetheart," he said, before capturing your lips once more in a deep and passionate kiss.

As the day wore on, you kept busy around the camp, helping with tasks and chatting with the other women.

But your thoughts were never far from Arthur and the danger of his mission.

"Hey there, beautiful," a deep voice says behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turn around to see Dutch, one of Arthur's closest friends and the leader of gang. "What's got you so lost in thought over there?"

You smile at him and shrug. "Just thinking about Arthur and the job he's on today."

Dutch nods, his expression serious. "He's a smart guy, and he'll be careful.

Besides, I'm sure it's just a quick snatch-and-grab job. He won't be gone for long," Dutch reassures you, his voice smooth and steady.

You want to believe him, but you can't shake off the feeling of unease that's been plaguing you since this morning. You nod hesitantly and turn your attention back to the task at hand, trying to busy yourself with work.

To take your mind off of things you decide to go pick some fresh raspberries so the gang has a nice dessert for supper tonight. Pearson brought some fresh cream back to the camp this morning and that will be perfect with the raspberries.

You grab a basket and tell Dutch what you're off to do.

"Don't wander too far," he warns, "Arthur would never forgive me if anything happened to you."

"I won't!" you shout over your shoulder as you saunter off into the woods.

The wind catches your hair as you disappear among the trees, creating a trail of rippling leaves in your wake.

Your heart races as you move further and further away from the camp, making sure to keep an eye out for any juicy raspberries. You breathe in the smell of wildflowers and damp earth, letting it cleanse your mind. The sun warms your skin as it seeps through the thick canopy of leaves above, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

You breathe deeply, savoring the fresh air that fills your lungs with every inhale and exhale. You've always loved the wilderness, and this was just what you needed to calm your nerves.

As you wander deeper into the woods, you begin to lose yourself in its serenity. The only sounds audible are those of nature: the rustling leaves beneath your feet, the sound of chirping birds, and the gentle babble of a nearby brook. Your mind is clear, and you feel at peace with the world around you.

The only thing that's been weighing heavily on your mind is Arthur's safety. But you push those thoughts aside, determined to enjoy this breather from the chaotic camp life.

You continue to gather raspberries in your basket, the juicy fruit staining your fingers a deep red. As you lean down to pick some more, you feel a sudden presence behind you. Your heart skips a beat, and your senses go on high alert. You slowly turn around, and your eyes meet Micah's.

He stands there, a sly smile playing on his lips. Your heart races as you realize that you are alone with him, far away from the safety of the camp. You try to keep your voice steady as you greet him, but you can't shake off the feeling of unease that's now taken over your body.

"Hello, Micah," you say, trying to keep your composure and sound casual. "What brings you here?"

He shrugs, still smiling. "Just thought I'd see if I could find some wild raspberries too.

I have to admit, you're a pro at finding the ripest ones."

Micah steps closer to you, and your heart starts racing. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he speaks, and you take a step back. But there's nowhere for you to go; you're trapped between Micah and a tree.

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers trailing against your cheek. You shiver involuntarily, and you curse yourself for it. Don't let him see that he's affecting you.

You swallow hard, pulling your face away from his grasp. "I-I think I've gathered enough raspberries," you stammer, holding up your basket as evidence. "I should get back to camp. Dutch is gonna wonder where I am."

But Micah doesn't budge. Instead, he steps even closer to you, invading your personal space and making you feel cornered. You can feel the heat radiating off of him in waves, and your heart races as you try to come up with a way to escape.

The wind rustles through the trees, causing his scent to envelop you. It's a mix of sweat, whiskey, and musk, and it's making your stomach churn.

Micah's hand slides down your arm, and he grabs onto your wrist. "Don't be like that," he purrs. "We both know you want this."

Panic rises in your throat as you try to wriggle out of his grip, but he's too strong. "Let go of me," you stammer, your voice trembling.

But Micah just laughs and pulls you closer, his other hand sneaking around to cup your ass. "Come on, sweetheart. You know you want it just as much as I do."

The revulsion fills every inch of your body as he grinds himself against you, his erection obvious through his pants.

"Get off me!" You hiss through gritted teeth, trying to push him away, but he's like a damn animal, wild and untamed.

With a sneer, Micah tightens his grip on your wrists, forcing you to drop your basket of raspberries. They scatter on the ground, staining the earth with their juices as the wind howls through the trees.

"Come on, baby. You know you want it," he says huskily, pressing his lips against your ear as he nibbles on your lobe.

"I can make you feel so good."

His hot breath sends shivers down your spine, and you feel a lump form in your throat. "Please," you whimper, hating how pathetic you sound but unable to help the desperation in your voice. "Just let me go."

But instead of releasing you, Micah's grip on you tightens, and he pushes you harder against the tree. His erection digs into your hip, making bile rise in your throat. You can't believe this is happening. Not here, not with him. 

The thought of his hands on you, his mouth, made you nauseous. You struggled in his grip but he was too strong.

Micah slammed you against the tree, pressing his body against yours so you couldn't escape. His other hand grabbed your breast and squeezed it hard, making you cry out in pain.

"Shut up, you little whore," he snarled, grinding his hips against you. "I knew you wanted this. You've always wanted it."

His words were like a slap in the face. No, no, no. You didn't want this.

You tried to push him away with every fiber of your being, but he was too strong.

Micah's lips pressed hard against yours, his tongue forcing its way past your lips and teeth, invading your mouth in the most disgusting and invasive way possible.

You felt his hand roughly shoving its way up your skirt, fingernails scratching down your thighs as he forced your legs apart. 

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your legs were weak with fear.

You did the only thing you could think of, and bit his tongue hard.

He snapped back, "You bitch," he shouted cupping his mouth, spitting out blood.

Before you even had time to brace yourself his backhand connected with your cheek sending you to the ground where the side of your head connects with a rock.

You immediately feel a pounding in your head and your surroundings are spinning. 

Trying to shake it off you look up and see an out of focus Micah stalking towards you. You try to scramble to your feet, but he grabs onto your hair and yanks you back down. The pain is sharp and immediate, causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.

"You stupid little bitch," he hisses, his spittle hitting your face. "You think you can reject me like that?"

Fear coils in your stomach as he leans down, his breath hot on your face.

His fist connects with the side of your head.

The force of the punch sends another wave of pain crashing through your skull, and you feel yourself start to see stars. You cry out in pain but that just seems to give him fuel for his assault.

Micah tightens his grip on your hair, pulling your head back so that you're forced to look up at him. His face is twisted in rage, and his eyes are wild.

You can feel the anger rolling off of him in waves, and you know that you are in grave danger.

But even in the midst of your terror, a newfound strength rises up within you. You refuse to let yourself be a victim, and so with all of your might, you sink your teeth deep into his forearm. Releasing your hair, Micah yells in pain and recoils, giving you just enough time to scramble to your feet.  You take off running, your heart pounding in your chest as you dart through the trees. Your lungs burn, and your legs tremble, but you don't dare slow down.

Behind you, you can hear Micah cursing and crashing through the underbrush. He sounds closer than you'd like, and panic surges through you once more. But then, ahead of you, you see a glimmer of hope: the edge of the woods is just up ahead. If you can make it to the clearing where the camp is set up, maybe you'll be safe.

It's a long shot, but it's all you've got. You push yourself harder, your legs screaming in protest as you race toward the open field. You can hear Micah closing in behind you, his angry roars spurring you on.

Suddenly, you burst out of the tree line and onto the open grassy area near the camp. Your chest heaving with exertion, you scan frantically for help.

In the distance, you can see Dutch and Javier sitting by the fire, unaware of your predicament. Desperation courses through you as you attempt to gain their attention.

Micah finally emerges from the trees, pausing to catch his breath before a sinister smile spreads across his face. He slowly starts to walk towards you, relishing in your fear.

"Boss!" Micah shouts approaching me. "We need help here!"

Dutch and Javier jump to their feet and look in our direction. 

Micah grabs your shoulders as if to help you stay upright and shield you from danger. You're heaving to catch your breath as adrenaline courses through you. You could taste the blood in your mouth and your vision was blurry, your head feels like its about to explode.

Micah starts to say something, but Dutch cuts him off mid-sentence. "What the hell is going on here?" He demands, running towards you, eyes narrowed at Micah who still has hold of you. You're trembling with fear, but the sight of Dutch and Javier gives you hope that you'll be alright.

"She was attacked," Micah starts to explain, but his words barely register in your ears as everything around you becomes muffled. You can't believe what just happened, and your mind reels from the trauma.

Dutch and Javier rush over to you, taking in your disheveled appearance, the blood running from your cheek, and the fear etched onto your face.

"What the hell happened?" Dutch demands, his eyes blazing with anger as they dart between you and Micah.

Micah lets go of you as if suddenly realizing the weight of the situation.

Your legs give way, and you collapse onto the grass, your body shaking uncontrollably. Dutch reaches you first and gathers you in his arms, holding you close as he whispers soothing words into your ear. Javier stands guard, eyeing Micah warily as he tries to explain himself.

"She was out to picking raspberries," Micah begins, but Dutch cuts him off with a growl. "Shut up, Micah. Don't say another word until we get this sorted out." Dutch turns his attention back to you, his eyes filled with concern.

You couldn't make out anything else being said, everything was muffled, your head was pounding. Slowly everything went black.

The world around you faded away, and the last thing you remembered before losing consciousness was the warmth of Dutch's embrace.

[octuscle]

Hey! No suitcases left? I was interested into one oft the north-east from the US

First of all, congratulations on your MBA! Graduated with honors from Harvard. Pretty impressive. But I get it: with the burden of student loan debt on your shoulders, even with that cool new job as an investment banker, you still can't make any big leaps. There you go hoping for something to go with your Ivy League look. I'm afraid I don't have anything from BOS, BDL, PVD or even JFK…. But I could offer you a sports bag from EWR. Adidas logo, but says "Balenciaga" on it. Looks damn expensive! Anyway, I don't begrudge it to you. And I hope there are also sports clothes in it. Because let's be honest: You have neglected your body a little bit in the last years.

And indeed: There are sports clothes in the bag. Not the kind of stuff you wear to the gym. Street style gear. All new, all pretty expensive looking. All completely unusable for you. First of all, it doesn't fit you. And second, you won't need much else to wear for the next few months besides a dark blue suit with a white shirt. Unless you have that much time to change for sleep. I recommend you sleep naked, though. Saves time. And trust me, in your new job, you're going to need every freaking second of sleep you can get.

No matter, to put the whole thing on ebay or to sell it at a seconc hand store, you don't have the time. You put the bag in the corner of your small and expensive downtown apartment. After all, the gold chain is pretty cool. You can wear it sometime. Just to sleep tonight. Tomorrow you start your new job. You should do without such extravagances.

At night you dream wildly. About your new job. About university. But also about expensive sports cars racing in the city center. And of orgies in expensive clubs. You wake up with a very impressive morning wood. And obviously you came more than once tonight. Fuck, now you have to make up the bed. You don't have the time at all. Then breakfast will have to be cancelled. You're not too late on your first day at work.

Fuck! Where are your shoes? There, where they should be, are a lot of sneakers. And a few boots. But no oxfords, no loafers, no shoes that match your suit. You just take a pair of sneakers that look reasonably discreet. And in the rush you forget to take off the chain. When you see all the tie-wearers in the elevator, you notice it. You think about taking off the chain quickly. But that would look even less confident.

The first day at work is still fairly relaxed. A lot of organizational stuff. You are whipped into the company philosophy. You have to sign dozens of forms on compliance issues. And when the day is over, you're already wondering if this was the right decision to start here. As you leave, the partner who supervised you and the other newcomers during the day says "One more word about the dress code. You don't necessarily need a tie. And it's also okay not to wear sensible shoes, but to come in $1,500 sneakers." He's clearly looking in the direction of your shoes. "But it's only okay if it's Friday. And if you're a partner here. Ladies, gentlemen, just to remind you, it's Thursday."

The other new colleagues all know each other. Either their parents already work here. Or they've been to school or country club together. They don't even ask you if you want to join them to toast the start of your career. You wouldn't have wanted to anyway. You need fresh air now. And you walk home. Not far from your apartment, you pass a club. The bouncer looks you in the face, looks at your shoes, looks you in the face again. And nods appreciatively. He asks you if you would like to have a drink. You smile and say, maybe tomorrow. Today you just want to go to bed.

Fuck, if this goes on, you'll run out of sheets. Or you'll have to sleep with a condom in the future. As you dry off after your shower, you're surprised at how firm your belly feels. You have lost weight. Quite noticeably. But that doesn't happen overnight… However, not all shirts and suits usually disappear overnight. There are only black suits in your closet. And black shirts. Many made of shiny fabrics. Some, fortunately, made of office-appropriate fabrics. All in all, your closet looks completely different. A real chic spacious built-in closet, with all the clothes neatly lined up on identical hangers. And almost everything is black. Looks great. But it wasn't like this yesterday….

You can't think about it much longer now. You put on a black cotton shirt and a black virgin wool suit. Both from Italian designers. Tightly cut, emphasizing your slim body. And if you're already out of the ordinary, white sneakers with a black suit don't matter either. Yes, you don't look like a serious investment banker. But you look hot. Really hot! But you get the receipt immediately when you arrive at the office. The cute guy at the reception is still visibly excited and flirts with you. Your supervisor just yells "Hey, wetback, come to my office right now!" through the open-plan office. When you don't respond, there's a "You in the black shirt! Now!" Damn, you're off to a fantastic start at work.

Your boss asks you how long you've been in the U.S. and how good your English is. You answer in your best East Coast English that you were born here and that your English is quite good. Okay, replies your boss. That's good. Because they have a customer for whom it is important that you are fluent in English and Spanish. You want to answer that you had German, French and Latin in school, but you nod and answer "¡No hay problema, jefe, puedo hacerlo!" Fuck! Your boss grins, slaps you on the shoulder and hands you a folder. All the access codes for protected folders are in there. You should look at it until Monday morning. Then you have an appointment with the customer in New Jersey. Don't worry, he's coming with you. But he needs an interpreter. And he adds that if something doesn't seem quite legal to you, it probably isn't quite legal.

By the time you leave the office around 10:00 p.m., your skull is smoking. The client seems to be making a lot of dough with a lot of different businesses. Some are legal, some are a little bit legal, and some are obviously completely illegal. And your job now is to restructure the corporation so that everything looks at least perfectly legal. Actually, you thought that you were only supposed to trade a few shares here. You didn't expect anything like this. On your way home, the doorman greets you like an old friend. You ask if your place at the bar is still free. The bouncer answers with a grin, "Hermano, tu sitio en el bar está siempre libre para ti". Then you realize that you had greeted the bouncer in Spanish. You go into the club. You start to dance a bit to the salsa music. When you arrive at your place at the bar, your glass of Havana Club Maximo Extra Anejo is already at your seat. You smile at the bartender. He leans over the counter, gives you a kiss and unbuttons your shirt. "Jefe, pareces un contable cuando no muestras tu musculoso pecho." You grin, take a sip of your rum and look around. It's still quiet. But then, it's still early in the evening.

It is already dawn when you leave the club. Completely confused. You had fun all evening. Everyone seemed to know you. Twice someone gave you a blowjob in the toilet. And all this time you were not surprised. But when you went to the bathroom to wash your hands, you saw your reflection in the mirror. And it was not you. You are tanned. You have a carefully trimmed black beard. And your chest, shiny with sweat from dancing, is not only well worked out. It is also inked. When you arrive home, undressed and standing in front of the bathroom mirror in your black silk pajama pants, brushing your teeth, you take another close look at the tattoos. They are works of art. You've always been damn proud of them.

Actually, you can't afford to be, given your deadline on Monday, but Saturday belongs to sports. One hour of cardio, one hour of swimming, one hour of lifting weights. And to top it all off, an hour of boxing. In the gym, everyone calls you Balenciaga. Because of your sports bag, you're known as a sore thumb. You don't care. Here you are at home. There are few places where you've spent more time. And hey, there are worse nicknames! Your bros ask you if you're still coming to go drink unos vasos. Not today, tomorrow you have to be fit. On Monday you must not make a mistake.

On Sunday you are certainly not the only one who is in the office. But there you do not care what the others say about your outfit. You look good in the Prada tracksuit. When you step into the elevator at 6:00 in the morning, you don't see anyone yet. Not even the cleaning staff or security. You boot up your computer and continue reading business reports. Fuck, your client is a genius. It's almost impossible to recognize a pattern in the tangle and to get to the bottom of it. But slowly you see through the construct. You startle when someone grabs your shoulder. Your boss is standing behind you. And tells you that he has been watching you for an hour. It is now 8:00 pm. You are doing a good job. But now is a good time to call it a day on a Sunday.

On the way home you take a break for a glass of rum. But somehow you can't concentrate. You can't relax either. Even fiddling with the bartender's nipples is no fun. You say goodbye and go home. You can't say why, but your apartment isn't your home anymore either. Yes, that's your clothes hanging in the closet. Yes, those are your stuff in the bathroom. But everything feels wrong. You don't belong here. In fact, you don't belong in this body either. You definitely don't belong in an investment bank. You toss and turn in your bed. Until you fall asleep.

You wake up with the morning sun. One of the things you love about your penthouse is the view across the Hudson River to the Manhattan skyline at sunrise. Yes, New Jersey is not New York. But the view of New York is the better one. You take a few laps in the pool on the roof terrace. Until your assistant tells you the guys from the bank are here. They should sit down on the terrace.

You take a quick look at them. You haven't met the fellow yet. He looks like he's fresh out of college. Let's see if he's any good. You've been working with his boss for a while. He'll do anything for a line of coke. But he does it well. And you need good men around you to keep the place running.

[snippychicke]

Hello I hope you're fine!

I would like to make a Kuro/Reader writing proposal (a little NSFW is always welcome of course).

I imagine being in a relationship with Klahadore for a while now, Kaya is used to you coming home after his work day to find yourself in his room with him. He didn't think he was in love but finally he reconsiders his plans so as not to hurt you because you are the only person he has never trusted. Of course he's in love but he doesn't realize it because he's never been one before.

(PS: sorry for my English, I hope you understand me anyway!)

Thank you so much anon! I really hope I catch what you were going for. I appreciate and admire you for asking! Especially since English is not your first, I only wish I could be multilingual like you! 

Klahadore realizing that he loves you without realizing he *loves* you. 

You had been the gardener for Kaya's family estate for some time. You kept the place looking picturesque, and Klahadore admired not only the dedication it took, but your attention to detail. 

Then after a while and getting to know you through small moments through the day, he began to admire you as well.

Kaya notices, and starts requesting more time out in the gardens, especially when you're working. She expected a bit of a struggle in her matchmaking plans, but is delighted to see that you two quickly fall into a camaraderie when together.  

Things start to complicate when a heat wave rolls over the island. Kaya's 'poor health' doesn't tolerate the heat well, so she mainly stays in bed, allowing Klahadore more freedom than usual. 

He notices that you are still stubbornly working through the hottest part of the day, and insists you come inside to cool down. You're not used to someone fussing over you, so you insist if you take a break, he must as well. 

It becomes routine after the first few times that in the hot afternoon, you come inside for a break and he joins you. (Kaya is very excited and insists she is fine. This is also when Usopp starts taking advantage and steals time with Kaya, but I digress.) 

Klahadore starts looking forward to spending time with you, uncaring that every day the small break grows a little bit longer. Talking with you is nothing like his interactions with Kaya or Shem and Buchi. He feels like he is able to relax around you, venting some of his burdens just as you vent your own to him. His smiles are actually more genuine as you swap stories, and just hearing you laugh makes him chuckle.

He trusts you, he realizes one day. Not completely, but you definitely hold more of his trust than anyone else had before. And with it comes a need to protect you. You're special to him, and he doesn't want anything to happen to you. 

A storm rolls in unexpectedly one afternoon, causing you to take shelter in the manor. As it rages into the evening, both Klahadore and Kaya insist you stay the night. There is plenty of room, and clothes for you to borrow. 

(Klahadore also might have noticed how your clothes were plastered to you after the downpour before you changed into a borrowed outfit. It may have stuck with him all evening as well.)

If he happens to pay you special attention through supper, it's merely because you're a guest. Not because he enjoys seeing you flustered from being waited upon or anything. 

He also uses the excuse that the manor is large and rather like a maze as he waits outside the large clothing room as you pick out something to sleep in. How else are you to find where the guest bedroom is? 

Except when you step out in your chosen outfit, sleep is the last thing on his mind. A shower and a change into some elegant night clothes…

Well, he had acknowledged he had been somewhat attracted to you before, but seeing you like this realizes how much. He's actually speechless for a moment.

To the point you tease him: 'Cat got your tongue?'

It just opens up a new realm of possibilities. 

Klahadore lays on the charm as he escorts you to the guest room, your arms wrapped in his as he enjoys making you blush just by lowering his voice slightly. 

Once you arrive, he does the whole kiss-on-the-hand while he bids you goodnight. 

Flirting with you is like a game of cat and mouse to him. And he loves it. It's a different kind of hunt, teasing touches and glances. Maybe an unexpected innuendo just to watch you react. 

To his surprise and delight, you cave and act first. You boldly grab his tie and pull him close for a kiss after his hand lingered at the small of your back the entire walk to the small sitting room you often took your break in. It's a small kiss, but he takes the chance and kisses your rather firmly until you're completely out of breath. 

Things quickly heat up after your first kiss. 

Kaya notices and unknowingly helps Klahadore with his cover as she encourages the two to spend time together. 

Kaya even insists that you should move into the manor, just because it's so big and empty, and you do such a great job that free housing seems appropriate. 

And if the fact your room ended up next to Klahdore's is just a coincidence. So are any odd noises and thumps in the middle of the night. 

Buchi and Shem have their suspicions but assume it's part of the plan.

Unknown to them, while Kuro sees them as disposable in the long run and has an inclination that after his plan for Kaya comes to fruition they will be more troublesome than what they'd be worth, you are far more valuable and becoming more important every day. 

The moments he holds you in his arms brings him the peace and security he had been looking for, and he'd do anything to keep it. 

[asamary]

I'm a little new here and I love your blog! If you don't mind could you summarize your au for me? Only if you want to, but I don't know how to put it together myself 😭

Poppy playtime og:

The story is kinda the same with the game, the only different route i wanted to give angel was that they saved dogday and catnap!(poppy and kissy too) and since we still dont know what happens after chapter 3, i wont continue on. Buttt if feathers got a chance to write again(they wont be writing for a while, stress is getting to them, and im trying to comfort them.) i got the idea for a bitter sweet ending>:3

Sweethome:

The story is a bit like the og, until the hour of joy. Where the prototype had the help of some of the employees to help expose playtime co's dark secrets. But when the day they were going to get arrested, the scientists are long gone.

Years passed, yet the prototype still persuade to find the missing scientists,some of the toys had also joined. But they are unknowingly splitted in groups. The ones who will capture and secure until judgement. And the ones who will kill on sight. Those who kill, are the once who are very loyal to the prototype, and will keep a secret till the end of their lives.

To keep them all safe, the prototype want all the scientist and future more to be gone. What all of them went through, wont be experience by others anymore, even if it meant killing to prevent it.

The capture and secure group's purpose are to merly guard their Borders, to keep hostiles outsiders from harassing or harming ether the toys or the kids.

The toys and children could wander out of their borders, but they need permission is all.

And thats where the first chapter of sweet home takes.

Where bobby left without no one knowing and met angel in a very colorful flowerfield.

Luminous:

(Out of two, luminous's story change a lot, since it kinda didn't make sense even for me XD)

Angel only wanted to help. Once they helped these poor souls they were suppose to leave. But with their strength used by the being they were helping, they were weak. Even flying became difficult.

The prototype was a man made god, supposed to be controlled by their creators who made them, but an error occurred that made them unstable. In their containment, they prayed to be free. And one day, that prayer was heard. An angel helped them, this pure being helping a imperfect and false god. Held them gently, and spoke kind and reassuring words. In their fused mind, they came to a decision. Keeping their angel with them.

In their hour of joy, they met other subject their creators had made. And one in particular, became their most loyal follower.

When they achieved their goal,when they killed their creators. They found the outside world.they chained the angel to be unable to go home, To always stay by them, Even if they don't want to. Weak and all, the angel was unable to do anything.

Years passed, and the prototype's followers grew. They made a cult, to worship their savior. Yet the prototype only wished for the angel's attention.day by day, the angel grew more weak. And every visit the prototype has, is only greeted with a sleeping angel. They almost want the days the angel tried to escape, only to be brought back to them. It was entertaining, or so what they thought. Their most loyal follower on the other hand, despises the angel. Not understanding, why their god holds this weak and burden being. Why they get most of their attention instead of him. Jealousy, that was what he felt. And his fellow subordinates teases him of this, except for the heretic. Who is suspiciously close to the angel.

One day the angel never woke again, the prototype was in despair to the point they killed some of their followers.

Yet on the next day, a new born was woken up, and the first thing they do, was climb a tall tree. Which suddenly broke down all of a sudden, that was the result of little starlight's head injury. And the beginning of meeting familiar faces

(Do tell if it doesn't make sense! I'll rewrite them then:3)

[satureja13]

Jihovere, NPC Jack and NPC Jeb got up early to find the Captain. Mermaid Princess Jihovere is the fastest and since Jack and Jeb, for unknown reasons, can't sit both on the canoe, NPC Jeb is towing NPC Jack on his pizza float along...

NPC Jeb told them what they are searching for and Jihovere is postitive she eventually found the right place.

It looks just as Jeb described - but she's not so sure about the person she found. Just to be sure... Jihovere: "Are you the Captain?"

And that was the moment Tiny Can kicked Ji Ho out of the game and demanded a few rearrangements... He forces Saiwa to log in ö.Ö' Sai is confused but he followed Tiny Can's instructions, put on his gear and logged in. He's still on his peaceful Island...

- but why is NPC Ji Ho bending over him? Did Tiny Can just swap them so Sai is the current player and the others the NPCs? But why?

NPC Jihovere briefed him: "... and this is why we are looking for the One, you know? And we need a daring Captain, an experienced leader - to bring us to the cave!"

Of course Sai already knows this, he'd seen on the monitor what they were doing and why. But he had no idea that they were looking for him? How did NPC Jeb know where to find him? Before he left Bacalao Bay, Saiwa made very sure to not tell him - or anybody else - where he was heading to, because he wanted to get things sorted out here without anyone disturbing him!

NPC Jeb is nervous. The Captain is not looking very delighted... NPC Jeb: "Let's join Jihovere. The Captain will be happy to see me. He told me to find him here."

NPC Jack: "I don't know. He doesn't look like a Captain to me. These shorts are ridiculous. Are you sure he's the One?" NPC Jeb: "Yes, he is the One. And he's beautiful." And so they went ashore.

Saiwa: "How did you find me? I told no one where I went!" NPC Jeb was confused: "You told me I could find you where the Blarney Roses grow. I'm sorry it took me so long." Saiwa was even more confused. That was just a silly phrase to mislead and stop NPC Jeb from following him. But it seems NPC Jeb is just as unstoppable as real Jeb. He would find Sai everywhere and stubbornly insist that he loves him... No matter how tainted and unworthy Sai is...

Saiwa told NPC Jeb that, since he set foot on Flamingo Island, he's never seen a single rose here. NPC Jeb: "They are right before your shack?" NPC Jeb lead Sai over: "See?" Saiwa: "I don't know much about plants, but these are no roses." NPC Jeb: "They blarneyed you, hm?"

Always on the go NPC Jack decided to accelerate this tiring negotiation. He's impatient to find his heart, because: death awaits. NPC Jack: "So, Captain, are you in or are you in? We're a bit in a hurry, you know?"

So, this is a test, right? Tiny Can kicked him ingame offhand to see if he takes his therapy serious - right? It's what they'd already discussed so often. Them all carrying the burden together, him learning to delegate and accept help, right? So how much his inner control freak craves to take over again, he has to remain calm and trust them so they can learn to do stuff on their own, without him - right? ö.Ö'

Defeating his inner turmoil, Saiwa eventually said: "I can't help you. You'll have to find another Captain." NPC Jeb was devastated: "I'm sorry Jack and Jihovere. I was so sure he was the One." Jihovere: "Don't worry. We have a plan B." Had they?

NPC Jack hopped into his already prepared Captain's attire: "For I, Captain Jack, will lead dear Jihovere through dangers and across shoals, around jagged cliffs and crags - to claim back her beloved One!"

And then they left. Jihovere was already entering the route to the cave in her phone. Jack: "Come on, Jeb!" NPC Jeb kissed Sai briefly on his cheek: "I hope we meet again." And to NPC Jack he yelled: "Coming!"

Ouf - he did it! And he did right, right? Jack already prospered a lot and with them working together, they will be able to resolve this successfully without him. Phew!

Content with himself and his own personal growth, Sai sat down in his Flamingo Chair. It's their Therapy Game, after all. They have to learn and evolve and prosper. He can't always hold their backs and patronize them. Take that, Tiny Can! Test passed!

Ach! Who is he fooling here!? There's no way in hell he's going to let Jack cheerfully lead them into certain disaster! Game or not! We're talking about Jack after all! The certain Jack who is convinced his own father killed him!

Captain Duath: "WAIT!"

'To the top, what you got? Bring it on I will never be broken do-o-own Light it up, let it burn like the sun Now my life's gonna change the world Singing oh, oh, to the whole wide world Oh, oh, like a mighty echo Oh, oh, you can choose how you want to start

Come on, wake up, follow my lead Do it like this, don't you try to back up and just Do it like this, we gon' dream it loud together Do it like this, like this (Ayy-oh) Gotta do it like this Put 'em up like this, don't you dare be standing there, just Do it like this, throw your hands up, baby, come on Do it like this, like this (Ayy-oh) Gotta do it like this

Oh, we don't really care about what they say Oh, but we're flippin', flippin', we're the one Oh, together, we're the dream team We're the dream team, we're the, we're the dream team

We are illuminating Ain't nobody can stop us, yeah Hold your hands here together now'

Do it like this - P1 Harmony One of the most underrated Kpop groups! They have a lot of amazing songs and I love them so much <3 And Kee Ho's voice is outstanding.

Outtakes

These abandoned canoes are a menace. Last time, I let Sai steer the one that was there behind a rock to get it out of the way and it worked (at least for a while) but now, as soon as we move it away, another one spawn right away! argh!

Jihovere thinks it's just like magic that Jeb found the Blarney Roses ^^' And Jeb asks Sai if he got his feet wet. (Is this a phrase in english too? We say it when someone is backpedaling/refuses to do something they already agreed on.)

The Therapy Game Master Post with the sessions and places so far is -> here

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[divorcedmalewife]

KP Anniversary Event Week Five; Prompt "Favorite Platonic Relationship" and "Guilt"

Porchay is sitting on his bed, scrolling through social media when he hears a knock on his door. He knows it's his brother. Who else would come to his door?

"Chay, why didn't you go to your interview?" Porsche asks in a surprisingly calm voice as he enters Porchay's room. 

Porchay sighs and sets his phone down on the bed. He knew Porsche would find out eventually but he was hoping it would be later. 

"Why do you care," Porchay hates the words as soon as he says them. He sees his brother flinch, but his face slips with a sad look. Porchay can't look at his brother. He sighs and looks down at his hands in his lap. 

"Chay, I know things have been difficult lately,” Porsche says. 

Porchay doesn't even let him finish. 

“You have no idea what I’ve been going through,” Porchay says and brings his knees to his chest. “Hia,” Porchay’s voice cracks. 

Porsche sits on the bed next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulder. Porchay’s brain tells him to shake it off of him, to tell Porsche to leave him alone but his heart tells him to stay. To soak in his brother’s comfort. Chay’s brain tries to remind him of why he is angry with Porsche. His brain tries so hard to keep his rebellious streak burning

But trying to maintain anger can be exhausting. Who knew? 

Porchay leans into his brother’s side and cries into his shoulder. Porsche doesn’t say anything; he just silently strokes a hand up and down Chay’s back. The hand occasionally comes up to the back of his head and just rests there. 

Porchay has missed his brother so much. 

Porchay misses how they used to be. He misses how easily he could tell Porsche anything. And now there is a sea of decisions and hidden truths between them. 

Porchay hates it so much. 

Porchay is just… so tired. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been a shitty brother recently,” Porsche says, breaking the silence. “I miss you.” 

Porchay cries harder. 

“Hia,” Porchay sobs. “I’m so tired.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Porsche's voice cracks, squeezing Porchay harder. 

“Do you know how terrifying it is? Knowing that you joined the mafia to pay for the house? For my schooling? You could have died and I would have never known,” Porchay rasps. “You didn’t let me have a say in it. I never wanted you to carry that burden alone. I wanted us to be together.” 

Porchay doesn’t know how he manages to finally say it. But it feels like he can breathe again. 

“I’m sorry,” Porsche whispers, stroking the back of Porchay’s head. “I’m sorry for leaving you like that. I knew you would tell me not to go. It’s why I lied. It’s ingrained in me to protect you and I’ll never be sorry for that. But you’re right. You’re an adult now. I’m sorry for not seeing that earlier. 

"I miss our old life so much. Before… before everything," Porchay sobs. 

Porsche doesn't say anything but his grip on Porchay grows impossibly tighter. 

After a few minutes of Porsche comforting Porchay, he finally speaks. 

"There are definitely some things I wish we could have back. The house. The safety,” Porsche pauses and laughs a little. “The relative safety. When we didn’t have loan sharks breathing down our necks, anyway. The time we spent together. Even when I was barely home between jobs and you were busy with school — we always still managed to find time to spend together," Porsche says quietly. Porchay buries his face into Porsche's neck and just tries to breathe normally. 

"But," Porsche continues. "But, I'm happy we don't have to starve anymore. We don't have to worry about whether we'll have enough money to pay for school and the bills. And…" Porsche hesitates. "I'm happy with Kinn. Porchay, he makes me so incredibly happy. I can't imagine my life without him anymore." 

Porchay continues to cry into Porsche's neck. If Porchay were a more selfish person he would scream about how it was Kinn who ruined his life. Kinn took Porsche away from him. Kinn, and whatever familial obligation Kim feels he has to Kinn, took Kim away from him. Or, took away what he thought he had with Kim. Either way, Kim took his heart with him; so in a sense, Kinn took that away too. If Porchay were a more selfish person, he'd give Porsche an ultimatum. Him or Kinn. 

But Porchay can't be that selfish. He doesn't want to be either. He does want his brother to be happy. It's what he deserves after what the world put him through. And if he finds that happiness in a mafia lord who happens to be kind of dorky and awkward, Porchay won't begrudge him. It would be incredibly hypocritical of Porchay, considering his heart is still in Kim's hands. 

Porchay and Porsche continue to hold each other. Porsche continues to stroke the back of his head or his back. And Porchay manages to calm down a little bit. He calms down enough to actually speak. 

"I don't know if I want to study music anymore," Porchay rasps, voice worn from crying. "I don't know anything anymore." 

"You don't have to make a decision right now," Porsche replies. "You can take whatever time you need to figure it out again." 

Porchay blinks. He wasn't expecting that response. He was expecting the "you have to go to university. It was our parents' dying wish."

But that wasn't true, was it? Their mom was still alive. Verbally unresponsive, but alive. And Porchay has a feeling that their real wish was for them not to get involved in the mafia. In the family business, as it were. But the universe must have a sick sense of humor — making both Kittisawat brothers fall for mafia boys. 

"You're not going to ask me why? Tell me I have to go to university?" Porchay asks. 

Porchay can hear and feel Porsche sigh deeply. Porsche moves Porchay's head so they are looking each other in the eye. 

"Your happiness is the most important thing to me," Porsche says seriously. "I'm not going to make you do anything you don't want to do. You are capable of making your own decisions and you should be making them — not me, and not our parents. As for the reason why your feelings about pursuing music have changed… you'll tell me when you're ready. And if you never want to tell me, then that's okay too." 

Porchay feels like he could burst into tears again. He doesn't think he's cried so much since… since the day at Kim's.

Kim.

Porchay hates how his heart still clenches when he thinks about him. Thinks about the song that Kim sent him. Thinks about the dead bodies at Yok's bar that he fucking knows Kim was responsible for. Thinks about the night at the club when Kim stopped him from taking drugs. Thinks about how Kim broke him outside of his apartment. How he knows Kim was the one to save him from the warehouse when he was kidnapped. How Kim was the one who kissed him. How Kim was the one who looked at him like Porchay was the only thing he ever wanted to look at. 

Porchay hates how much he still doesn't hate Kim. Not even a little bit. 

“Did P’Kinn ever tell you about his younger brother?” Porchay asks. 

“Kim?” Porsche questions. “A little. I know he came to the warehouse when we were in trouble. But Kinn says he left the business and avoids coming to the main house. Kinn always said it feels like he doesn’t have a younger brother. I know he wishes they were closer. Why?”   

Porchay sighs. 

“P’Kim is Wik.” 

“Wait, he’s that singer your obsessed with?” 

Porchay feels his heart shrivel. It’s not Porsche’s fault. He doesn’t know. But hearing his brother say it like that breaks him again.

“Hia,” Porchay cries. “He told me he just used me to get information on you but he followed me when I went out with my friends. He was the one who killed all those guys at Hum Bar.” Porchay knows he’s not making sense to Porsche. But once he starts finally telling Porsche, it’s like he can’t stop. “He wrote me a song. He gave me guitar lessons and he flirted with me and he kissed me after I confessed to him and,” Porchay stutters. “And I thought he liked me back. He made me think he liked me too.” 

Porsche doesn’t say anything. He just holds Porchay as he cries out his explanation. Porchay still feels his steady hand running up and down his back in an attempt to comfort him. And then Porchay feels Porsche sigh. 

“I knew it was him at Yok’s. There was video footage of the attack. And I always thought it was weird that he went to rescue you. Kinn told me Kim hasn't been out on a mission since he moved out of the main house at 17,” Porsche says slowly. Like he’s piercing things together. Porchay has no idea what puzzle his brother is looking at, but he thinks that Porshe is jumping to the wrong conclusion. 

“I confronted him about the mafia stuff. He told me he only got close to me because he wanted information on you. I asked him if any of it was real and he just said he was sorry and walked away from me,” Porchay says quietly. “I don’t know why after that he followed me. Why he protected me at Yok’s. Or why he sent me that fucking song. I just want him to stop playing games with my heart.” 

Porsche hums a little bit. Like he’s processing what Porchay is saying and organizing something in his head. After a beat, Porsche speaks. 

“You know… Kinn, in the beginning, had a really hard time telling me the truth about his feelings. Telling himself the truth, really,” Porsche says. “With the environment they grew up in, with who their father is and how he raised them, it was hard for Kinn to let himself be selfish. It was hard for him to trust me when he felt like he couldn’t trust himself. It took Kinn being handcuffed to me for three straight days for him to actually tell me how he feels.” 

“Why are you telling me this,” Porchay asks quietly. He doesn’t like what Porsche is telling him. Not only because it solidifies the fact that Porchay couldn’t hate Kinn — but it makes something akin to hope flutter in his chest. 

“Because I have a feeling that, just because he moved out of here when he was a teenager, doesn’t mean Kim isn’t as emotionally constipated and traumatized as Tankhun and Kinn,” Porsche replies. 

Porchay tries to squash the hope that bubbles inside of him. He can’t let it grow. He can’t let himself believe that Kim could be feeling regretful. That Kim just doesn’t know how to express his emotions like a normal human being. Porchay can’t hope again because if he does and it turns out that Kim truly doesn’t care… Porchay knows his heart won’t survive that. 

“I told you there was footage from the attack at Yok’s,” Porsche says. “Kim is a hell of a fighter. And you don’t fight like that for someone you don’t care about.”

“Hia,” Porchay trembles. “I can’t. I can’t let myself hope again. I don’t know if my heart can take another rejection.” 

Porsche wraps his arms around his brother’s shoulders and lets him cry again. Porchay melts into the comfort of the hug. Above him, he hears Porsche speak again. 

“You’ll make it through this. And I’ll be with you every step of the way if you’ll let me. I love you so much,” Porsche rasps. 

Porchay cries harder and grips his brother tighter, letting whatever anger he was trying to make himself feel dissipate. Porchay lets himself sink into the feeling of comfort and lets it all out. 

[elliewiltarwyn]

FFXIV Write 2024 | #9: Lend an Ear

Word Count: 867

Third Umbral Moon, 22nd Sun

So much has happened, yet there’s only one little touch that has overtaken my mind.

Zenos lies dead by his own hand, even after channeling the might of Ilberd’s primal, Shinryu. The Empire has been driven from Gyr Abania by the combined forces of the Resistance and the Alliance. Ala Mhigo, at last, is a free nation once more.

But there are multiple things that haunt me even as the dust settles. First… Zenos. Even as we came face-to-face and crossed swords, the look in his eyes was hungry in a way I have never seen in my enemies before, continuing this strange yearning sensation that I had begun to pick up on when he defeated me in Yanxia. He spoke of the connection he and I shared even as he held Shinryu’s yoke…and he even invited me to join him. To partake in our shared interests together.

I rejected him, of course. But even so…at the end, as he held his own sword to his throat, he met my eyes…and he bade me, “my first friend. My enemy,” farewell.

I can’t untangle what that means - how his definition of friend somehow became so entwined with that of enemy. What sorts of horrors within me that he saw and empathized with.

Because it’s not quite the horror displayed by Aulus mal Asina, whom we confronted mere minutes before Zenos himself. The engineer who kidnapped and tortured Lily and Krile, who put both Fordola and Zenos under the knife to experiment with an artificial Echo.

Mia’s father.

She showed no hesitation, only grim determination and…maybe even a bit of the darkness that Zenos purported to see in me. She brutally, efficiently dismantled him, saving us from his soul-jacking maneuver and completely wrecking his mobile weapons platform. She bore down upon him as he scrambled back against the wall with a hardness in her face I’ve never seen before. And when he tried to lash out, when he blasted Lyse with some secret gadget as she tried to cuff him…

Mia stabbed him through the heart without even flinching.

None of us asked her to - but she still took it upon herself to bear the burden of patricide.

For all my messy feelings about Zenos, can they even begin to compare to what she must have felt as she looked upon the horrified face of her own father, impaled on her own blade?

I didn’t think she’d want to speak with anyone, disquieted by those feelings as much as I am with Zenos. But at the celebration that night, in the shadow of Rhalgr’s frame carved into the cliffside of his Reach, she sought me out, more soused than I’ve ever seen her and grumbling about how she definitely didn’t want to think about it, that she specifically looked for me to spend the party with because I am, to quote, “a good nonthinking buddy - I know you won’t ask me a bunch of annoying questions. Nothing about my absolute… fucker of a dad…”

So, knowing full well how much we’re both wrestling with ignominious, complex thoughts, I told her “I won’t ask, but if you need to talk… I can lend an ear.”

…and she did. I learned a lot about her past. About how little she saw her parents, how she sort of filled the void with the next-door neighbor Jullus and his family. How she didn’t realize what she was missing until she escaped Garlemald. How she had never known how starved for touch and affection and care she was until right now, right here - when she’s nestling herself into my embrace.

If you had told me when I first joined the Scions that I’d ever end up holding Mia Longhart in a caring embrace as she drunkenly unburdened her troubles, I would’ve laughed you out of the room or accused you of spinning wild faerie tales. Fuck, you can see in this very journal, in my entries from years ago, how annoyed I had been at her self-righteousness, her weird moral superiority. Yet here she was in my arms tonight, now one of my closest friends, breaking into a flood of tears as she cursed the monstrous father she had, lamenting that he couldn’t have been like mine, or Lyse’s…

And when she had worn herself out… she thanked me for being here, for listening… for showing her what she was missing. And then she kissed my cheek. And then passed out on my shoulder.

It’s been, I don’t know, maybe two hours since then; I carried her to bed and left her there to write this while watching people celebrate outside. And even with all this tumult inside me, over Zenos’s words and Lyse’s departure from the Scions and everything else… I can still feel the touch of her lips on my cheek, and I am very conscious of how tightly I’m holding on to that sensation like a port in a storm.

…Funny that I did get to comfort her about her father after all. That flame of jealousy isn’t nearly as strong anymore, at least.

Like that’s really the important issue here. Ugh.