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thesiltverses · 2 months ago

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Hello! Writing first to thank you for such an extraordinary creation - as a piece of writing and even more so in performance. Every episode manages to somehow build on and outdo the last; you navigated that transition from a smaller scale story of grisly mysteries and personal crises of faith to a grand scale of war, revolution and political satire with absolute aplomb, and never lost that throughline of exceptional characterisation and sharp writing, always steering to the most interesting conflicts. You are always very humble in your public comments, but I hope you allow yourself a little pride, because this is absolutely top notch stuff.

I was struck by Paige's final words, that she hopes what they left would be found 'flawed, inadequate, yearning'. As the show went on, I was surprised - in a good way - that the show's politics gradually crystalised into a full-on nihilist anarchism, something perhaps even along the lines of Monsieur Dupont. (Muna used the 'a' word in one of the Q&As but it was pretty evident even before that). Taking these gods as a metaphor for ideologies and social systems, the scope of it becomes pretty universal - and unsparing. And, equally, hard to answer.

I wondered when the Many Below/Wound Tree was introduced what answers they would find: what political movement could truly resist cooption or becoming its own horrible self-sustaining egregore. And in the end the answer you express I suppose is a negative one: that even Paige's god of victims is a tool, one that must eventually be discarded to go into some unknown place beyond it all (to walk away from Omelas), towards something that narrative fiction - as a form of the 'endless words' that are derided so much in the third season - can no longer address. Which I respect - to pose the question is vital, even if the tools can't reach any answers if they even exist.

I think this struggle exists in many stories that address themes of making a break from the rapacious society that created them (and take it seriously) - your Baru Cormorants and Mononoke-himes. We can describe the problem vividly, but since we do not have a counterexample to hand, any story we tell about ~what is to be done~ and what it will look like when it is feels like it will be just as hollow as the spins and angles and parasitic fantasies that so many characters advance in the Silt Verses. (How could there possibly be a time where it finally works out, after we have seen all this? But then, what are we living for?)

To try to make this a question and not a ramble, I wanted to ask - what do you see as the role of fiction in addressing the horrible machinery of this world? Is it enough to pose the question particularly sharply, skewer the bad and inadequate answers, and leave the readers/listeners to figure out how to make the killing of gods concrete? How do we punch through the bounds of it all being Content, another product to be bought and sold? What does it mean to sit here and fantasise about people making that revolutionary break when there is no revolution to be had?

I don't know what answer I'm hoping for here, but given the themes of the show, I feel like this must be a kind of thing you've thought about, and probably have a far more developed line of thought than I do. And if this is a bit too much to drop in your inbox on a Saturday morning, I will say again thank you for writing this story and all the actors for making it so strikingly concrete - it truly means a lot, and I will treasure it.

Hi, and thank you for listening and for a beautifully written and thoughtful ask! ('Horrible machinery of the world' stopped me dead in my tracks.) And I am very proud, genuinely.

I don't have a good enough answer to your questions, and for me a lot of TSV is very much about trying to figure those answers out, but let me try and sum up my perspective bit by bit.

Is it enough for fiction to pose the question, without also proposing the answer?

I don't think it's enough for fiction as a collective body of work.

I'd argue there's probably a tendency towards open-endedness and irresolution in these individual narratives simply because it feels like a more honest acknowledgement that in real life, the foe has yet to take a real body blow and will not go down easy; that the foe, in fact, is the marketplace for the work itself and ironically profits from the popularity of stories with easy heroic victories over villains who represent capitalism. That these stories inevitably become a pleasant consumable that serves our complacency within the belly of the beast, a kind of daily tonic to reassure us that good always triumphs and regular people always come out on top.

I also think that the sheer scale and scope of the topic creates its own challenges; you probably can't engage thoroughly enough with both the dystopian question and your ideas for a utopian answer all in a single story, without ultimately turning the latter into that false reassurance, a quick handwave of a happy ending.

You mention Omelas, and I think we could illustrate the problem by looking at how LeGuin handles her two successive masterpieces:

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas, which gives us the titular resource-rich u(dys)topia built on invisible suffering, and the dissidents who turn their backs on that world and walk out into the inhospitable wilderness in search of something better.

The Dispossessed, which as its premise gives us Anarres, an imperfect but sympathetic anarchist society whose adherents turned their backs on a neighbouring world of capitalist plenty to live out in the inhospitable wilderness in search of something better.

Anarres can very reasonably be viewed as LeGuin's direct answer to the question posed by Omelas, and she would have likely had it in her mind already as she wrote Omelas. But if the short story had ended with 'I hear that against all odds, the ones who walk away have successfully founded an anarchist utopia where hardship is everywhere but it's shared as equitably as possible. THE END', the amount of lazy shorthand and empty comfort involved in that happier ending would inevitably make it a dishonest and unserious offering.

Instead, Anarres is a starting premise to be interrogated at length over the course of a separate story, rather than a happy ending to simply reassure the reader that better things are possible - and even at the end of the novel LeGuin's unresolved questions are still very similar to the ones that we're left with in Omelas (and the same questions that I feel like we were knocking about in The Silt Verses, and which I guess you could argue are all lingering concerns at the end of Mononoke, as well): how and where can we find space to create and sustain a genuine alternative when the narrative environment of capitalism is so powerfully all-subsuming and constantly growing to fill the space? Do we need to disconnect entirely, vanishing as if dead? If we disconnect, how can we possibly survive and what inhumanities or ethical compromises will be required of us? If we do survive, is our isolationism a dereliction of human responsibility to those left behind?

All of which is to say that I think present-day fiction absolutely can make the attempt to meaningfully explore potential alternative-utopian solutions in more depth and with far more tangibility than we attempted with TSV - but that dystopian fiction like ours which concludes with the unexplored promise of a revolutionary utopia and the vague reassurance that the irrepressible human spirit will figure things out from here on out (Chewbacca gets a medal, everyone's in the streets wearing a Guy Fawkes mask) doesn't do much more than dramatically undermine its own goal of disrupting the audience's comfort.

That said, one of my big regrets this season was that we didn't succeed in more engagingly exploring and articulating the Woundtree camp's development into a flawed but functioning society in Dispossessed fashion ahead of the ending. That was my intention, but what quickly became clear was that in a dramatic format, with a limited cast, it was just endless static meeting-room scenes with Paige and Elgin discussing difficult responses to impossible challenges, while everyone else was out having dynamic and exciting adventures with lots of fun and exciting gods. Dystopias remain too entertaining for utopias' own good.

What do you see as the role of fiction in addressing the horrible machinery of this world?

I believe that absurdist horror fiction specifically, founded on the principle of 'people in a world that makes no sense, deluding themselves that it definitely does make sense' can play a very powerful role in that stated purpose.

Many horror traditions carry the baggage of inbuilt or inadvertent conservatism - the concept of a peaceable, passive, safe, middle-class Normality which is then disrupted by a terrifying outside threat (alien, ultra-foreign, ultra-low-class, underworldly, wild, etc). But absurdist horror very directly identifies Normality as the true source of our terror and very directly confronts our human response to it. It creates the right environment for us to ask all of the good questions. Isn't this an unsustainable nightmare we're living in? Why are we expending so much energy pretending it isn't? How do we get out and what do we do if we can't?

Probably the only listener reaction that's genuinely frustrated me about both of our shows is the folks who come away turning their noses up at the bluntness of that approach and acting like they've Solved The Art simply for figuring out where our broad sympathies lie. "Hm, just listened to The Silt Verses and I understood it at once; it's clearly trying to say that capitalism is bad. A little heavy-handed in its messaging for my liking, hm-hm!"

Not to go full Garth Marenghi, but for me the directness of the provocation and the obvious outrageousness of the nightmare is the point; it then allows us to go to places that other genres (or more understated critiques) generally can't.

How do we punch through the bounds of it all being Content, another product to be bought and sold? What does it mean to sit here and fantasise about people making that revolutionary break when there is no revolution to be had?

God, I don't know.

Maybe it means nothing; maybe we can't punch through; maybe there is no story unruly enough to be truly unco-optable, and therefore even the most radical fiction ultimately serves as a distraction, a placebo, a reassurance (that we are not alone, that better things are possible) which will impact the wider world more by keeping us subscribed to the Kindle app than by any action we might feel inspired to take.

Amazon is paying Boots Riley to make TV shows. Disney won much praise for delivering a revolutionary fantasy in a Star Wars shell. Apple is funding excellent, discomfiting and furious corporate satires about how we happily ignore invisible worker abuses for the sake of our own lifestyles, but they also cannot be considered accountable for the deaths of Congolese child-labourers in the global cobalt supply chain. The Dispossessed is in development as a limited series and the LeGuin estate are closely involved.

The master doesn't just own the tools, he's been buying up the guillotines as well.

What if, as with the unknowable nothingness outside of Omelas, the only art that cannot be reduced to product in net service of the status quo is the art that's so invisible and inaccessible and disconnected as to not exist at all? Does being relatively small and ramshackle really lend us any ideological purity, any genuine detachment? You can listen to The Silt Verses on Apple and Spotify and Amazon Music. Brought to you by Acast.

Chapter 36 with Dev and Seb was to a large extent intended as an articulation of that worry. To what extent can we still trust in the integrity of a sincere love story (one that we want to believe in) it if takes place in an insincere and predatory environment? Can any meaningful story be told honestly within such a space?

This stuff really worries me. I think it's probably right to worry. I don't know the answer. I do know that there are some folks for whom the show has made a tangible difference in terms of their life's direction, and that's a huge comfort to me.

There was someone who said it helped them find their faith, strangely and wonderfully. Someone else who said it contributed to their decision not to go down a more lucrative career path within what they view as an exploitative industry. (I hope they don't regret that decision; I hope it makes them happy.)

So there's something there. Maybe.

#silt verses spoilers #tsv spoilers #spoilers #sorry this is long

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ronwestbreeze · 1 year ago

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you're gonna go far | 6

pairing: jake sully x neytiri x tsu'tey x fem!human! reader summary: a scientist arrives on pandora (unwillingly) a year after the exile of the rda. now she must deal with the likes of a clan leader, a great warrior, and a thanator rider. . . word count: 8.5k

read on AO3

It was a little difficult to get out of bed that morning.

One of those days.

Long and exhausting. It was challenging to get stuff done. You knew things like this wouldn’t just go away instantly. But you hoped that maybe…

It wasn’t too bad like before. You were able to think about the chores that had to be done later in the day and pushed yourself out of the bedroom.

So you went through most of the day barely existing. Norm was the first to notice your slight change in behavior because he began trying to joke more with you—no matter how bad they ended up being—and tried getting you out of your head. And you were thankful for that. At least that’s what was different this time around. You weren’t entirely alone nor held up in your room.

That was progress, right? You honestly couldn’t tell. Sometimes you felt like you were still stuck, that you weren’t moving forward. Or getting better. At least back to what you used to be.

Yet, you’ve been this way—asleep—for so long that you have forgotten what you used to be like. You forgot when the last time you smiled. You forgot when you felt the most happy or any other emotion besides anger and grief.

You wondered where that part of you went. Some days you went searching. Other days you somberly accepted that it was a part of you, that you were never going to get back.

At some point, you figured it died along with your mother.

“You want me to check on the baby today?” Norm asked you as you were getting ready for your link for the day.

You shook your head as you sat on the link bed, “No, I’ll be fine. Just one of those days, you know? We all have em’.”

He frowned when you shrugged it off or appeared a little too nonchalant about it, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thanks for offering though.”

“Anytime, Doc.” He gave you a pat on the shoulder, while watching you particularly closely, “Just tell me you need a break. Don’t push yourself, okay?”

He was nice. You needed something like that.

Neytiri noticed it too.

While the two of you were in the garden that day, Neytiri had been saying words in Na’vi for you to repeat. And you did it, not perfectly of course, but you managed. It was just that you didn’t take in any information. Not in the way she knew you to.

You had a certain look that told Neytiri you were hanging onto her every word, whenever you were learning something new from her. Eyes slightly vibrant with curiosity.

That look wasn’t there today. Instead, in its place was a dullness and lifeless sort of unfocused gaze.

Your ears were low again.

Neytiri didn’t know when she became so attentive to your moods or facial expressions. So much so that she could tell when you were somewhat happy and really, painfully sad—

You were just easy to read in this form.

Yes, that was it.

“What is wrong, tanhi?” Neytiri eventually asked because she didn’t completely despise you so much to ignore your change in mood.

There was a twitch in your ears when you heard your name being called. You looked up from the newly planted mushroom seeds you had been mentally counting at Neytiri to find her staring at you expectantly. “Huh?”

She rolled her eyes, “You are not listening. I know you are distracted. What is wrong with you?”

You cringed at yourself for allowing yourself to get so distracted by your swimming thoughts. Drowning in them as usual. “It’s nothing. Just have a lot on my mind.”

But the answer did not satisfy her. Neytiri shook her head, “Sky People are always hiding their feelings. You are doing that. It is okay to be sad. It is natural.”

“I’m not hiding it—” You sighed, turning your gaze back to the mushroom seeds. “It’s just one of those days. Maybe—Maybe today I am sad. I could barely get out of bed and tomorrow it might be worse—what are you doing?”

You watched as Neytiri got up and moved behind you. A second later, you feel a brief tugging at your hair until it became loose from your short braid. “If you want to learn our ways, then you must take care of your hair. I look at it and it is a mess.”

“It was in a braid before…”

“I did not like it.”

With that, she got up again and trekked back into the forest. You watched her go in bewilderment at the sudden change of conversation and attitude from the Na’vi woman. You had no idea what had come over the woman or what made her suddenly leave, but you didn’t focus on it for too long. The confusion and startlement you had was enough energy to continue planting the rest of the mushrooms. You didn’t bother putting your hair back into a braid, not wanting to spend time threading through the thick strands until your fingers were too sore to complete your job. And the last thing you needed was something stopping you from finishing this one simple task—

A splash of cold water was suddenly dumped onto your head, leaving you soaking wet.

And terribly pissed.

You snapped your head behind you to find Neytiri placing the leaf down next to her—which was glistening with water. The same water that was now spilled all over you.

“Neytiri—ouch!”

“Hold still.” Neytiri hissed at you as she ran her long fingers through your hair.

You grumbled but reluctantly listened, still confused and a bit pissed at what was going on. And for a while, the two of you remained there. You, sitting on the ground still counting the seeds quietly to yourself while Neytiri stayed behind you. Braiding a few strands of hair.

It was then you realized just how different your hair was from the way it was in your human body. The hair length was very similar to how you used to wear it when you were a teenager. You wondered then just how old this avatar body was.

Once she was finally finished, she crouched down in front of you to get a better look. Her yellow irises scanning your face and her work. Tucking rebellious strands behind your ear, patting down some of the fuzziness, and making sure the braid was visible around your face.

You watched her quietly. And soon, when she was done obsessing over your hair, she watched you too.

It wasn’t the way you and Jake watched each other. This—this had something different about it.

Time was an illusion here. Trapped in her yellow gaze. You hadn’t realized you had been staring for so long—nor did you realize you had briefly glanced at her lips—until a sudden sound from the forest pulled the both of you out of this strange trance.

And once you snapped to your senses, your body quickly reacted. You shot to your feet and cleared your throat, “I gotta check on the avatar now.” You didn’t meet her gaze. “I’ll see you.”

Before she could stop you, you already scurried off. Stopping once you were far enough away out of her sight.

Stopping when you felt a new pair of eyes watching you rather closely.

You glanced around the forest surroundings as you approached the longhouse with a frown until your eyes locked on another pair of yellow eyes. Severe ones.

Tsu’tey was in the trees further away but enough for you to see him watching you, even when you caught him doing so. He did not look away from you. Narrowed eyes and that scowl resting on his angular face.

For a moment you wondered what the look was for. You wondered what he could yell at you about this time, even though you listened to his demands and had stayed away from the Omatikaya territory.

A scared part of you wondered if he had seen you and Neytiri just now.

Nothing happened. But still, it would give enough ammunition for him to verbally attack you. Hate you even more possibly.

Except there would be no battle today. As Tsu’tey disappeared within the trees without a word.

You were confused but relieved at the same time.

Dealing with an angry clan leader was not on your to-do list. Nor were you properly prepared for it.

After watching the trees in silence, you eventually went inside.

Neytiri watched your retreating figure with a frown, her heart…shifting—only a little bit as you disappeared. Her gaze then moved toward the trees, the area where the sound had come from before. And with an irritated frown, she got up and stalked toward the area.

They were still there. She could feel their eyes on her as she went further into the forest. With a hiss, she glared at the trees, “Come out. Enough hiding!”

Just a little bit above her, a few feet away a familiar warrior snaked out of the bushes and seated himself on the large branch with his usual expression he wore whenever he was away from their shared hut.

Neytiri frowned up at Tsu’tey, “You are watching me.”

“I am watching her.”

After a beat and a quiet sigh, Neytiri climbed up the tree and joined him. Despite his very sour mood, he tugged her close to his side as they sat together. On the branch, they had a good view of the Avatar Compound. A few dreamwalkers were running about but none of them seemed to bother Tsu’tey as much as you did. Neytiri could easily tell with how he kept glaring at the longhouse, the same place she always watched you disappear in whenever you left your false body.

“You have been spending time with her,” Tsu’tey stated more so than asking. There wasn’t much to hide, they both knew Neytiri spent some of her free time visiting you. Only when Tsu’tey or Jake are busy with their duties and she’s finished with hers before the both of them. “I do not like it.”

“She has done nothing.” Neytiri reasoned.

“Yet.”

“And what did I say if she does? I would kill her myself.”

As she said this, Neytiri felt a certain wavering in her heavy words. Like a part of her didn’t believe it anymore.

She rested her head on his shoulder, hugging his arm with a content sigh, “But I cannot ignore what the Great Mother has shown me. She has stopped my bow before and now she’s done it a second time. Do you not think it means something, yawne?”

In the corner of her, she watched as his jaw tightened, his features becoming particularly focused. “I do not trust this.”

“You do not trust the Great Mother?”

“That is not what I mean.” He corrected her calmly. Neytiri knew that Tsu’tey, like any other child of Eywa respected her and trusted in her signs. Always had. That was how he was raised. And she knew he wasn’t about to abandon that because of one demon.

But his words were still reluctant, “I do not know where our Great Mother is leading us. I do not know why she wants that demon spared—when she is just like the rest of them.”

Neytiri considered his words, “Perhaps she is like Jake—”

“There is only one Jake. And she is nothing like him.”

She made a sound of disagreement but didn’t push further on the subject. She noticed how tense he was, how tense he had been for the past week. She wondered then if he was truly upset by this or if there was something more to this quiet anger he so carefully restrained. Of course, his hatred for the Sky People was no question.

But Neytiri knew Tsu’tey.

Skin and bone. Heart and soul.

She knew her mate. Not only as a mate but as a friend. They had grown up together. Along with her sister, Sylwanin. There was nothing he could hide from her even if he tried.

“She may not be like Jake. But clearly, the Great Mother has chosen her for a reason. My mother even allows her to stay—I believe it is time you seek the answers.”

Tsu’tey scoffed but didn’t brush her off. Instead, he leaned in closer, allowing his hand to rest on her growing stomach. “You will be a great Tsahik.”

“Not as great as my mother. Nor my sister.”

Tsu’tey shook his head and cupped her cheek, “You will be great, my beautiful heart.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips only to falter when she noticed how exhausted he truly looked. How close he looked to breaking but hiding it. He could never hide it well from her. Nor Jake.

She then took his face in her hands and whispered soothingly, “What is it, my love?”

Knowing that there was no point in denying a response—knowing that Neytiri would not stop until she got what she wanted—Tsu’tey turned away from her to stare back at the compound.

“The Tipani clan are becoming reckless. They already do not like the Sky People that have stayed—but now that the demon has come, I worry they will begin to take matters into their own hands. I worry…that our clans will begin to clash.”

Neytiri took his hand in hers and pressed a gentle kiss onto his knuckles, “If it comes to it, I will stand by you. Jake will too. But I also will ask you to speak to our Great Mother about your troubles.” She caressed his exhausted lines with a small frown, “I worry for you, Tsu’tey. I do not want you to take on this task by yourself. You have Jake and I to be with you. That is why Eywa brought us together.”

Right then, he seemed to consider her words. His gaze was still unfocused while staring at the longhouse. A silence settled between them.

“Eywa has created this new path for us.” Tsu’tey mused. “Somedays I wonder if it will lead to something good in the end.”

“Do you think it won’t?”

He was silent. And Neytiri didn’t push.

When Tsu’tey went to the Vitraya Ramunong, the night had already settled around him. When he went to kneel at the tree, connecting his queue to one of the links, his prayers were silent. But his questions were clear. His intention was pure to the Great Mother.

What does it all mean? Guide me, All Mother.

So when a single atokirina flew away from the tree, Tsu’tey took to following it both out of curiosity and apprehension. The Great Mother’s answers weren’t always clear. If anything, her signs only led to more questions.

So, Tsu’tey wondered. He wondered if this would lead to any more answers.

Or just more unwanted questions.

Tsu’tey rushed through the forest, never losing sight of the spirit. He kept going and going until he was nearing the Sky People’s base. Until the trees suddenly became familiar. Until the grounds he had seen many times before unwillingly began to appear around him.

But his body never stopped moving. He never stopped following it. Too desperate for answers. Too desperate, too yearning.

Oh Eywa, he was yearning.

And then, and then, and then.

And then he was staring down at your still false body.

It was strange. Seeing no life in your face. Tsu’tey had only seen your false body from far away, but now seeing you up close. You looked so different yet the same as your human form.

Why was he here? Why did the spirit bring him to…

No.

His vision rippled. Your body morphed from your human form to your false body—impossible.

And then he woke up.

Awake.

Tsu’tey finally realized where he was. Instead of standing in the middle of the forest chasing an atokirina, instead of standing over your false body, he was back in his hut. With his mates sleeping next to him. With his son cuddled between both Jake and him. With Neytiri hugging his waist from behind.

A dream. It was only a dream.

But why you? Why you?

Why?

“Yawne?” Tsu’tey breathed out a sigh and looked over his shoulder to find Jake shifting out of his sleep, looking at him through heavy eyelids. He sat up a bit, careful not to disturb Neteyam’s sleep as he did, “Another nightmare?”

Tsu’tey hesitated—considered the question. The dream he just had. Was it a nightmare?

“No. I am fine. Go back to sleep, my love.”

Jake didn’t look entirely convinced but eventually lied back down. Usually, it took a while for Jake to fall asleep, so Tsu’tey lay back down, adjusting Neytiri’s arm around his waist and squeezing his other hand on Jake’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jake asked, his voice deep and sluggish.

Tsu’tey nodded, and tucked his nose into Neteyam’s cheek as gently as he could, “I am now.”

It took you a little longer to get out of bed the following week. But you managed. You watched a few more of your mother’s logs and even some of the other ones still in the system.

Dr. Augustine. Norm. Some guy named Quaritch. And then there was Jake Sully.

As a human.

You paused the video to examine his face. You suppose the traits matched his now blue form. The only difference was that instead of his longish dreads, he had a buzz cut in the video. And a tattoo poking out of his short sleeve shirt.

Eventually, you moved on, willing yourself to forget his face for the time being.

You also tried not to think about the fact that Neytiri hadn’t been back for about a week now. Which was normal. You didn’t overthink it. Especially not after that moment—

Eventually, you moved on, willing yourself to forget your thoughts about her.

Then you remembered Tsu’tey. Him watching you so closely. You hoped he didn’t see you and Neytiri. Frankly, you weren’t sure what would happen if he did know.

He’d kill you. That’s for sure.

Eventually, you moved on, willing yourself to forget all three of them.

When you finally got out of bed, you continued with your regular schedule and tried to think of literally anything else. You tended to your garden by yourself and continued checking the baby.

There was a bit of determination for yourself, to keep moving. To not stay in one place any longer or else you’d be stuck.

And you weren’t sure if you’d make it out if you did.

Jake continued visiting the tank room whenever he could.

Today was one of them. Only this time you made it before he did.

“How’s the baby?”

You glanced up briefly from your notes, “Healthy. It might be because Na’vi babies might grow faster in pregnancy—judging by that we might have a couple more months before it’s born.”

Jake nodded, his face serious, “Anything else?”

For a brief second you didn’t respond, too caught up in your thoughts until you realized he had asked you a question. Jake tilted his head, brows furrowed at you.

You shook your head eventually, “No, everything’s all normal.”

He stared at the belly for a moment longer before he left. You were somewhat surprised at his quick retreat but didn’t think much about it. He was some type of great warrior, he was probably busy with something else in his clan. If it meant that the two of you didn’t have to interact much with him anymore or probably a lot shorter than before, then you were okay with it.

It seemed he finally took the hint.

All you could do was keep moving.

Jake came again the next day.

This time around you brought out the ultrasound.

He watched you and the machine intensely. You noticed and gave a sound close to a huff or a snort, “Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just doing a thorough check-up today.”

A quick look of relief crossed his otherwise exhausted features, “Right, right, of course.”

Once you got the ultrasound running and connected to the avatar, you immediately found the heartbeat with the blurry image of the fetus appearing on the screen. It had grown considerably since the first time you saw it.

“There she is.” You mumbled mostly to yourself. The heartbeat was calming in a way, easing your usual tense muscles.

Jake perked up instantly, staring at you in disbelief, “She? It’s a girl?”

You glanced up at him briefly to find a soft expression on his face upon looking at the fetus. Neteyam—who you just noticed attached to his chest—sleepily snuggled closer to his father’s chest. When his head moved out of the sling, Jake held the back of his head, giving it support.

“Yes.” You gave a short nod.

Another look of relief flashed across his face, this time he didn’t try to hide it like before. A small smile tugged at his lips, “That’s—That’s nice. Amazing.”

In the corner of your eye, you watched him. That easy fatherly expression fell upon his face. How soft his smile was, for something that wasn’t even his. You weren’t sure what to think of it—no, you expected it. It was foreign. A father loving his child. To you at least.

You didn’t know your father. Nor did you have a father figure in your life. That type of love was unfamiliar to you.

Love itself was a foreign concept that you could not yet grasp. The only time you could truly say you experienced something close—similar to love—was with your mother.

And if love was like this—heavy. Leaving you…like this.

You weren’t sure you would want to experience any type of love ever again.

“You sure you’re ready to take on another?” You raised your brows, not looking up from the belly.

Jake looked at you, “Do you care for my answer?”

“I am watching over her. I suppose I should make sure she is left with somewhat tolerable parents—that is, if there aren’t any problems with her when she’s born.” You hummed, rolling your eyes at the sudden look of worry on his face. “Relax, that’s the standard check-up of any baby—well, I don’t know how different it will be compared to human ones.”

A beat went by before he finally answered, “I wouldn’t be honest if I said I wasn’t nervous. What new parent isn’t?”

“Mmm.”

The rest of the session was just the two of you, sitting in a somewhat comfortable silence. Comfortable for you because you were able to ignore him without any problems. And Jake wasn’t being too talkative or apologetic, which was a plus. But he was noticeably less hostile toward you as the time went by. Showing that he was taking the truce quite seriously and keeping his end of the bargain.

In other words, the truce was possibly the best option for you both. You could work in peace without being hammered or interrogated. And Jake would continue his visits without any problems.

You still didn’t like him. And you were sure the feelings were mutual.

But things were becoming easier.

And sometimes you like easy. Just as much as a challenge.

There was a part of him that was curious. Jake didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand Neytiri’s easy trust in you but it only made him more curious as he kept coming to see the baby.

Of course, you were guarded and curt around him. And he was quite the same but that didn’t mean he wasn’t at least a little bit interested in why you were so important to their deity.

So many questions.

A part of him wanted to ask Eywa himself—he wasn’t much used to praying to her but he would now and then out of respect for the People. If he asked, he would possibly gain an answer—which was incredibly rare—or he would gain more questions, which was the more common response.

So, Jake took to finding things out for himself. Even if it meant doing it the hard way. Even if it meant getting his head out of his ass and finally putting things into perspective.

Jake Sully was willing to at least keep this tolerable relationship with you going. Keeping this stable cord steady. You weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. It was time he had to get used to it. It was time for him to get over himself.

And he was willing to show that he did want something different. That he was ready to change, to finally understand you in a way.

But you still didn’t like him. Which was fine.

He didn’t like himself all that much either.

Another week went by and Neytiri still hadn’t come back. Surprisingly, you found yourself missing her. And when you began missing others, you got angry.

Since you didn’t feel like going through that process again, you resolved yourself to thinking that she must’ve gotten busy with her clan. Or grown tired of watching over you and your depressing personality once she realized that you weren’t a threat to her clan.

That must’ve been it. That’s what you chose to believe at that moment.

One day at a time.

You moved forward. Because you had to.

Throughout the week you focused on your work tending to the garden, checking on the baby, and even taking on more responsibilities around Hell’s Gate.

Sometimes you’d help Dr. Patel in the bio labs, other times you went with the other avatars to train your body. There were also days you would help Norm pack different human items he’d usually bring for the Na’vi children of the Omatikaya Clan. You, of course, never ventured too close to their territory whenever you went with him to drop off the items. You’d either stay in the ship you flew in or stay at the base as he left on his own.

Jake still kept coming around but his time there became shorter and shorter with each visit. Again, you didn’t bat an eye. You welcomed it and continued with your work.

Toward the end of your busy and long week, you woke up with a start when a blaring sound struck your room. It had to have been the middle of the night as you looked around frantically, only to realize the sound was coming from your tablet.

Quickly, you grabbed it to find the alarm was the system alerting you something was wrong.

And the problem was coming from the tank room.

You stumbled out of your bedroom and dashed through the long halls until you finally ended up in the tank room. Not caring that you were probably making a bunch of noise in the process.

When you got to Augustine’s tank, your heart sank when you found Grace’s avatar was violently twitching with the lights inside of the tank blaring a red.

“Fuck!” You hissed as you immediately checked for the problem.

The first thing you checked was the avatar itself. Her heart and the baby’s were fine but the avatar’s was slightly elevated, probably in response to whatever was happening to the machine which was the next thing you began to check.

There you discovered that something in it was malfunctioning. Throwing the liquid temperature off, the placentiums weren’t giving any more nutrients like they were supposed to. Whatever was going on, you didn’t have time to fix it or the machine.

If you wasted time like that more damage could be done and you weren’t going to risk that. Especially when the baby was in there. Especially when the baby could receive the worst of your mistake. Of this malfunction.

So, you worked fast.

You searched the room for an empty tank—which you were able to find and rolled it over next to the one Dr. Augustine’s avatar was in. You pulled the empty tank open just as Norm and a few other scientists entered.

“What happened?!” Norm questioned hastily.

Quickly, you jumped down from the empty tank and rushed toward Grace’s, “It’s malfunctioning. I don’t know why but we have to move her.”

Thankfully, Norm didn’t ask any more questions. He ordered the other scientists to help you.

You worked quickly. Draining the rest of the liquid from the tank, carefully moving the avatar—this required multiple hands—until you placed it in the new tank.

“Track her heart rate.” You ordered one of them.

A second later, a woman responded, “Stable but its body temperature’s dropping fast.”

By the time she said that you closed the tank. “Norm, fill it up.”

You jumped down, grabbed the heart monitor from the female scientist, and watched the lines closely. The tank was nearly filled up as Norm came up beside you.

Along with the heart monitor, your heart pounded through your ears as the tank finally filled up. You gave the monitor to Norm and went to adjust the temperature back to the usual settings.

When the blue lights came on it felt as if the room breathed a huge sigh of relief. You took the monitor back as Norm hummed, “Lucky you were the one to get here first. And quick thinking too—do you know what went wrong with the other one?”

The rest of the scientists poured out of the room as you slowly shook your head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t waste time, Spellman. Not when it could’ve risked the baby.”

Norm nodded and patted your shoulder, “You’re right. Good work, Doc.” He moved to the other side of the tank with a thoughtful expression. “You want me to stay and help with anything else?”

The lines on the monitor were stable, which brought you some sense of comfort. And yet the slight panic remained. “No, no. I’m good here. You can go back to bed. I’ll finish up here soon.”

“Okay.” Norm eventually moved toward the exit. “Get some sleep, Reeds. I’m serious.”

You nodded without looking at him. “Yeah, sure. Goodnight.”

“Good morning.” Norm corrected with a tired grin.

With that, Norm left. You breathed in a steady breath before grabbing a chair from the corner of the lab and sinking onto it. The monitor was kept nearby, the heart rate melodic in your ears as you set your tablet down on your lap.

For a while, you studied how far along the avatar was. It had been a good couple of months since you first discovered the child—which left her at about twenty-four to twenty-seven weeks at least. That’s not even counting when she first got pregnant. But compared to a human, the Na’vi pregnancy went by a lot faster, which also confirmed your theory.

Or maybe your perception of time was fucked up with how distracted and busy you had been.

Was that why the malfunction happened? Were you too distracted to notice any faults in the system during your usual sessions? What did happen?

You contemplated this for a while. Until your mind became hazy and your eyes droopy. At some point, you fell asleep next to the tank because there was no way you would leave the fetus’ side at that point. Not after all of that.

It felt as if your eyes had been closed for only a couple of seconds before you were suddenly jolted awake to find Norm standing over you.

“What happened? Is it the tank again?” You instantly asked, turning to check on the tank.

“No, no, no—the—she’s fine!” Norm quickly assured while easing you back into your chair. “I thought I told you to get some sleep.”

You stared at him for a beat, both a tired and an annoyed expression easily falling upon your face. “Well, I assure you I certainly wasn’t sitting with my eyes closed just then.”

Norm winced, “Sorry. I thought you’d want to get in your own bed before Jake gets here.” He rubbed the back of his neck as you got up from the chair. “I had to tell him what happened—he’s flying over now.”

“That’s fine.” You grumbled. “I can stand just one day in the same room with him. Besides, I should probably figure out what went wrong with that tank.”

Norm nodded, “Okay—uh, should I be a mediator for the both of you or..?”

“Oh, please.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s not like I’m meeting their clan leader.”

“You really need to try and get along with him.” Norm chuckled with a shake of his head.

You scowled, “Are you going to keep yapping in my ear about it or be useful?”

“Alright, alright, don’t an ass.” He strolled toward the doorway. “Jake’ll be here in fifteen.”

Once he left, you got to work again. You weren’t an official engineer but you knew a good amount of information from your training back on Earth. You hoisted yourself up and into the tank before you began taking it apart. You stood in it, trying to find out what exactly had gone wrong—while glancing at the heart monitor now and then.

Your brain was moving quickly yet hazily from the sleep. Eyes honed in on the mess of wires in front of you. So distracted by your silent questions and theories that you didn’t hear the incoming footsteps. Only the voice that followed after.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“Yes, she’s fine.” You replied immediately, watching in the corner of your eye as he approached the new tank. His hair was tied back and across his chest was a leather strap that carried what looked like a machete. “It was just a malfunction with the tank. We were able to get her out before any real damage could be done.”

Jake frowned, “Malfunction? How the hell did you let that happen?!”

“Look, I don’t know.” You replied calmly, ignoring the twitch in your jaw. “I’m still trying to figure all that out. But she’s out of it and fine. Norm helped if that makes you feel better—”

“I thought you had things handled? What happened to that?” Jake scowled, his tone vicious.

“I do.”

“Then what the hell happened—”

“I already said I don’t know!” You seethed, glaring down at the group of wires now hanging from your hands. Somewhere in the back of your brain, you realized that Norm really did have to stand between the two of you. That this truce wasn’t stable enough. That the two of them were just too explosive. “The hell do you think I’m trying to do? Kill the baby?!”

You missed the way Jake’s face faltered slightly, catching himself. “No…No, that’s not what I—”

“Then get off my fucking dick!” You snapped, throwing a piece of the tank to the floor with a clatter.

All sound was gone from the room then.

This was the last thing you wanted to deal with. Being scolded like some child—like you already weren’t beating yourself up over this mess.

You sunk onto the floor of the tank and continued working. Because that’s what you were best at. Not conversations. Not people. Not love.

Work. It was everything to you.

Already you were mentally drowning Jake out, ignoring the fact that there was another person in the room with you. But eventually, you realized that there was nothing wrong with the wires. It must’ve been something else. Another theory down the drain.

Jake uttered your name at one point. And you ignored him.

There was a sigh followed by a short pause before he spoke, “I’m sorry.” You continued ignoring him. There was something about his apologies. You were just tired of them. “That wasn’t fair, you’re right. I shouldn’t have come at you like that—”

“Augustine’s avatar is over there.” You mumbled. “You can check on her yourself.”

There was another silence but you were too focused on what was in front of you to notice or care. You were so determined to ignore him and the sting in the corners of your eyes.

You didn’t like to cry. Especially in front of others.

Thankfully, you ignored him long enough until you realized you were finally alone.

After a while, you breathed out a tired sigh.

Fortunately, as the days went by there were no other problems with the new tank or baby, but it didn’t stop you from always double-checking everything after that close call. So much so that you didn’t realize how much sleep you were missing until Norm pulled you away from your work and forced you back into your room. Locked the door and everything just to make his point.

With the promise of Norm taking care of your work, you eventually allowed yourself to sleep for practically the entire day. Not without the tablet on the dresser next to your bed of course.

Even after catching up on some semblance of sleep, Norm still didn’t let you get back to your schedule right away. Which irritated you of course.

“I don’t want you in my garden, Spellman.”

He rolled his eyes, “And I don’t want you stressing yourself out. As your friend and colleague who happens to care about your well-being, I demand you stay away from the garden until you’re completely rested.”

You frowned at him, “We’re friends?”

“Shut up and accept my love.”

And he kept true to his word. Norm kept you away from the gardens, even the tank room. And made sure that the scientists knew how to keep you away as well. He covered all of his bases.

Damn him.

You couldn’t sit around and do nothing though. So, at some point you were so desperate you resorted to practically begging Norm to just give you something to do that would distract you throughout the whole day. You nagged and nagged and nagged until Norm finally gave in.

“There’s an old link shack north of Hell’s Gate. We’ve been thinking about restoring all of them around the area. But that particular shack’s connection is a little wonky. Maybe you could head over and restock the supplies with your avatar. Maybe even fix the connection while you’re at it.”

You nodded quickly, “Yeah, sure thing. I’ll get on that—”

“And don’t try to sneak your way to the gardens!” Norm added sternly, sending you a look over his shoulder while clicking away at his computer. “Plus, you won’t need the Samson ships. The shack’s not too far from here.”

With that, you went to grab supplies, such as med kits, weapons—one gun and a few stacks of ammo—blankets, Na’vi weapons, a hunting knife, and a bow with a few arrows. You kept the hunting knife to yourself just in case.

After getting all of this, you placed the bag of supplies in the compound longhouse where your avatar always slept when you weren’t linked. Once you got to your link bed and linked up with your avatar, you grabbed the hunting knife and the bag of supplies before taking off north from Hell’s Gate.

The sky was grey today with a few darker clouds on the horizon instead of the shimmering blue you were used to. A storm might’ve been coming.

Which meant you had to make this trip quick. There was no telling how bad these storms could get on this planet.

Similar to how you traveled through the forest with Neytiri, you took to the trees so that you’d have less of a chance of running into or disturbing any of Pandora’s finest. Hopefully, you had learned to be quiet enough to not draw any attention your way as well.

As time went by, the sky got darker. You followed the coordinates Norm gave you while slipping through the trees like the true shadow you were. Traveling and climbing through the trees got easier as you went. You had done it enough times with Neytiri that you knew what to do and how to do it. Albeit not perfectly, but enough to get by. Blending into the environment as best as you could.

You enjoyed it, the vibrant life and colors of the forest once again. Every time felt like you were taking in Pandora for the very first time. Every time felt like a huge breath of the freshest air. Here, you were weightless. You weren’t a scientist. You weren’t human. You weren’t an avatar. You were just were.

You existed here. You were real.

Truly this place was everything you dreamed of when you were younger.

Rain began to pour by the time you spotted the shack. It was propped up and well hidden in a large tree, with moss growing out of the sides, the entire thing looking like it hadn’t been used in a long time.

You slid down from a branch as quietly as you could and landed in front of the metal entrance. By the time you got the door open and crouched inside, you were soaking wet from the rain.

The shack itself wasn’t too small, which surprised you. It must’ve been made to allow avatars to be able to roam freely through here without too much trouble.

Once the door was closed, you sunk onto the empty cot in the corner of the shack and began unpacking the supplies. The med kit went into the cabinets above a wooden table attached to the wall. The blankets went on the cot. The gun and ammo went under the cot in a long black case filled with old and rusted weapons you had to throw out into the rain. You kept the hunting knife tucked in your shorts.

The rain kept going. It was relaxing. Stopping for a moment to listen. Smelling it through the cracked window next to the cot you sat on.

It was nice. You could stay here if you wanted. This could’ve been your new home if you didn’t have responsibilities at Hell’s Gate.

Lastly, you worked on the radio that sat on the wooden table—which you assumed was connected to the main base. So, for the next few minutes, you took your time messing with the radio. Listening to either ongoing static or barely audible voices going in and out. At some point, you messed with the wires a few times before Norm’s voice finally came through.

“Tomato. Tomato. Tomato.”

You pressed one of the buttons, “Hey, Norm.”

“Oh, Jesus! Reeds!” Norm startled. “Warn a guy next time!”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, “I just wanted to test if it worked. Clearly, I fixed it.”

A snap of thunder drew you away from the radio. Seemed like it was getting worse out there. You hadn’t realized how long you’d been out there until now.

Norm seemed to realize this too, “You gonna stay there and unlink?”

“Mmm.” You paused. “I’m gonna try bringing the avatar back.”

He sighed, “Alright, good luck.”

“Don’t need it.” You said as you got up. “I’m too awesome.”

“Whatever, Reeds.”

Another clap of thunder filled the air as you stepped out of the shack. Immediately you were soaked by how heavy the rain was.

Thunder continued to boom, making your skin jump every now and then. It was just terribly cold, making you start to run so that you could get out of it faster.

You ran and ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, only to realize just how much noise you were making and that the area was too unfamiliar to you. It wasn’t long until you realized how lost you were. It was just too dark to navigate your way back or recognize any familiar spots guiding your way.

With that in mind, you went toward the nearest tree and began to climb.

But your body was yanked away from the tree bark almost instantly as you were tackled down to the ground by a large weight. Your left shoulder exploded with vicious pain as if a bunch of sharp knives buried itself into your skin and continued to tear through it.

A strangled scream left your lips as the thunder clapped in the sky once more. You could barely see the creature but it was a dark, large beast. Digging further into your shoulder.

You hadn’t even seen it coming. You hadn’t been paying attention.

Now…

Now you might die because of it.

You tried shoving at it, managing to get most of its weight off of you. But the teeth were still in your shoulder. There was still pain. There was still warm liquid dripping down your arm.

When you moved your leg, you remembered the hunting knife in your shorts. Immediately, you dug into your pocket and found the handle instantly.

After that, you didn’t waste any time stabbing at it blindly and desperately. You did this, you kept going until more warm liquid covered your knife-wielding arm. You did this until the animal was limp against your body. Until you were able to push it off and scramble to your feet and run.

The pain was awful but bearable enough for you to run back to the shack at least. Mud was all over your clothes—some of it in your mouth. If anything, you probably looked insane right now.

You ran. Ran. Ran. Ran. Ran. Way too clumsy to be quiet. What’s worse was you had no clue where you were. And there was more shuffling coming from the bushes and trees surrounding you. If anything, you were probably throwing yourself further into the lion’s den.

It wasn’t long until a black creature suddenly came out of the bushes in front of you, causing you to stumble to a stop as it made its way toward you. Sleek and dangerous. Eyes locked on you.

Thunder boomed again. An identical creature came out from your right. Another on your left. Another. And another. And another.

Until you were surrounded. Until you knew there was no way you were going to make it out of this.

You kept your knife in front of you, trying to ignore the pain in your shoulder, the warm liquid running down your arm, the shakiness in your legs. You began to wonder how much blood you were losing with your energy slowly dwindling as time went by—no, it didn’t matter.

Damn it, you weren’t going to die here! Not like this.

“Come on!” You hissed as you pointed the knife at them. “Come on!”

They growled at you, closing in. Finally, one of them pounced toward you. With the knife, you slashed at it. At that, the creature cringed away and missed you entirely but that didn’t mean the others were going to try their luck.

Out of instinct, you stumbled back as two more tried coming for you. Your back hit a tree as you yelled and swung your knife wildly at them.

Only neither the creature nor your blow landed.

The two creatures were thrown to the side as another clap of thunder struck your ears.

Another figure emerged from the trees and rushed toward you.

Instantly, you swung the knife, only for it to be caught in an iron grip.

You screamed.

“Hey, hey, easy!”

It took you only a couple of moments for you to register the words and that they were coming from a familiar avatar. The last person you ever expected to be here.

Jake lowered your arm with a hiss. You blinked as another round of thunder rattled your ears.

The creatures were closing in again. Jake turned his back to you, hissing at them. His larger arm stretched in front of you protectively when one of them got a little too close for his liking. The creature hissed back

You watched warily behind him, still clutching the dirtied knife. Both of you exhausted and animalistic. Yellow eyes glimmering. One with warning and the other with desperation.

Jake looked terrifying in this light. Just as murderous and dangerous as the animals that surrounded you.

You remained behind him, trembling but glaring. Gripping that knife like your life depended on it.

There was suddenly more shuffling, more thunder, and the creatures then scattered.

You, dumbfounded by this, spoke shakily, “Why did they—”

Jake grabbed your wrist holding the knife.

“We need to move.” He said, dragging you forward.

The two of you ran in the opposite direction of the creatures. He hauled you up a tree before climbing up himself. “Is there a link shack nearby?”

For a moment, you wondered how he knew about the link shacks. You leaned on a branch both to catch your breath and because the quick movements left you a bit dizzy. When you couldn’t come up with plausible answers to your silent question you instead said, “I just came back from one. North from here—I don’t know how far it is.”

Your body leaned a little too far. Jake was quick to grab you in his stronger, more stable arms as he pulled you away from falling off the edge, “Hey, hey, Reeds, I need you here with me, okay? Just stay awake long enough until we get to the shack and we’ll clean you up.”

“I’ve...I’m losing a lot of…” Blood. Blood was what you wanted to say. But the adrenalin was wearing out. Your shoulder throbbed horribly. Exhaustion weighed you down and placed inconvenient black spots in your vision.

“I know.” He draped your good arm over his shoulder and kept you upright. “I know, we’ll get there. I promise.”

There was no arguing with him. You were soaked to the bone and in a hell of a lot of pain. Going back to the shack was your best bet in this horrid weather.

Jake continued to support your weight as the two of you followed the same coordinates leading back to the shack—or rather you haze inaudible directions of what you could remember from the information Norm had given you while Jake haphazardly followed.

Thankfully, the rest of the way wasn’t a long journey. Or maybe you just kept blacking in and out along the way, you didn’t know.

Jake and you stumbled through the door of the shack. He closed the door while you made your way to the radio with whatever strength you had left.

“Norm.” You tapped the radio while wincing. The pain in your shoulder was getting worse. Before now you had been tolerating it. “Norm, can you hear me?”

The static went on.

“Storm must be messing with the signal,” Jake said from behind you as he rummaged through the shack. “We should stay here until the storm settles—”

You rested your head against the small table, the rest of his words becoming nothing but muffled noise to your ears. God, you’ve lost so much blood. And you were so tired.

For a moment, just for a few seconds, you wanted to sleep. Only for a moment.

“Reeds.”

A larger hand rested on the back of your neck, bringing you slightly out of your unconsciousness.

Jake kept calling your name. “Hey, where’s the med kits at? We need to work on your arm, okay? And I need you to stay awake. Can’t have you unlinking in this condition.”

Sluggishly, you nodded, “They’re in the cabinets.”

More thunder rolled by. Jake left your side briefly to search through the cabinets above you. You leaned back in your seat, staring bleakly up at the ceiling.

“How long do these storms last?” You asked.

The thunder responded with a clap.

sorry for the long wait! hopefully it was all worth the wait. another 8k chapter, yay, that wasn't difficult to write at all lol! but now jake and reeds are alone in a shack. anything could happen....

(i'm not adding anymore people anymore!)

taglist: @doggyteam2028 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @n7cje @celi-xxmoon @readerofallthingss @sillyblues @squirtlebob @saturnhas82moons @1mawh0re @aprosiacperson @loserwithnofriends @garfieldsladybird @slutforsmut4ever @lik0

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borderlinereminders · 6 months ago

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Losing someone can be so beyond words. Here is some advice for losing a FP but it can probably be applied to losing someone in general!

Some things I like to remind myself are:

The feelings are temporary. They will pass. No matter how crushing they may be, you won't feel like this forever. Sometimes it can help to remember that what we're feeling is temporary because when we forget that and think it's how we're going to feel forever, it can make us feel so hopeless. So here's your reminder. This isn't forever.

You survived without them before, and you can do it again. I promise. It doesn't mean it'll be easy but it can help to have the reminder that we existed before then, and survived before them and we can do both of those things again.

Be kind to yourself. You are valid and you are allowed your emotions.

Healing is not linear. Grief isn't linear. And for a lot of us, when we lose our FP, it is something we need to heal from. It is something we grieve about. And it's okay if we feel ourselves doing better for a bit and then falling back. It doesn't mean you've failed or anything like that.

Some things I do:

Note that these are all personal things I do and aren't rules for how you should cope. I'm sure your own list will differ! But maybe my list will inspire you to think of ideas for your own list!

Focus on myself. Even when it's uncomfortable and I don't want to, I focus on my hobbies. I focus on finding new hobbies. Sometimes I make a list of different hobbies I've never tried, and then I go through it and try them at least once to see if I enjoy something. If not, it gets scratched off. These could be new shows, books, activities, etc.

Feel the emotions. Usually not all at once because it's too much, but my instinct is to bury the emotions. To turn my emotions off entirely ((I'm sure others relate to the turning them off thing. It's like a switch I can use). And it's uncomfortable, but sometimes I force myself to feel them. In bits as I can handle it. Allow yourself time to grieve.

Focus on my DBT skills like Urge Surfing for any urges that arise or Radical Acceptance for accepting my feelings.

Come up with a Crisis Plan in case I start to spiral. Here’s my walk through on that.

I diversified my relationships. I think this is an important thing to do. Even if you have a FP currently. Diversifying your relationships to have other people in your support system can be really good.

This is a personal choice, but I cut off all ties. I used to keep screenshots of messages they wrote assuring me they cared and stuff like that. I deleted all screenshots. I also made sure I couldn't look at their profiles and check on them. I made sure their numbers were deleted and anything else.

I like to do nice things for someone else. It's hard sometimes to get there, but there's a feeling I get when I make someone smile or help someone out that makes me feel a bit lighter. It reminds me that I am valuable as I am. This is actually a part of the ACCEPTS skill if you're interested in reading more about that.

Work on forgiving myself. Maybe you don't feel you need this, and that's valid. But I did. I had to learn to forgive myself for not knowing better, for making mistakes, and I always remind myself that I am human. In connection with this, I work on letting go of any regrets I have. It's easier said than done, I know. It's important for me to remember that I can't change the past, so dwelling on any regrets doesn't help me. What I can do is learn from them and do better.

I know it's hard. But it really does get better. I have lost FP's and thought the entire world was ending and that I would never recover. I still think about them sometimes, but it's such a dull ache that I barely notice it. It might always hurt a little, but it will be manageable.

Here are some other coping ideas.

You can do this.

#faq #advice #I wrote this before on a group blog I left #so I’m putting it in my own blog

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darkuselesssomebody · 11 months ago

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𝕡𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕪 - dark!basil stitt x dark!reader

complete masterlist

words || 𝟛.𝟟𝕜

summary || in which the reader is a manipulative bitch - and basil snaps because of it

a/n || this is really, really dark lowkey eek!! also i don't know if this is too late (it's still 2023 where i am) but this is my entry for @romana-after-dark's dead dove december event! if you're into dark content, they're an s-tier pedro and oscar writer!

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider

➵ i never watched lightningface so if he's ooc excuse me, also, reader is very manipulative and lowkey a bad person too!!

➵ not proofread

➵ comment/message if you'd have a request

warnings || smut/dark (dddne)

➵ unwanted creampie and sex

➵ unprotected sex and cunnilingus

➵ spanking and slapping

➵ manipulation

➵ death threats and some pain play-ish stuff

➵ degradation/name calling

“tell me about it, right?” she giggles into the phone, feet propped up as she lays back on her couch, hearing some tinkering in the kitchen, “yeah, sorry about that, jas, that’s just - i’m getting my sink fixed right now.”

in the bathroom, basil hears that, and smiles a little to himself. she sounded appreciative, right? he’s helping make her life easier, which is what matters.

after a few more minutes, he’s done, and he sits back, sighing in relief. he sits back up, coming out and seeing her on the couch. god, is she gorgeous. her body stretches out, allowing a little glimmer of skin as her shirt rides up. she’s got a big grin on her face, talking to her friend, and she wants to just go over and press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“yeah, he was mental, i swear i’m still sore!” she jokes to her friend, and his face falls. ‘he’? who is ‘he’? basil swallows. it must just be a PT or something. yeah, that was it. after managing to convince himself, his smile returns. maybe she’d like a massage?

approaching her with that grin on his face, she looks up at him with an expectant raise of her brow, “just a second, jas.” she takes the phone away from her ear.

“done?” she points to her bathroom.

“yep!” he responds excitably, and she hums - not in appreciation, but in expectancy.

“good. thanks.” but it’s out of habit, “bye, basil” she forces a smile, shooing him off.

to him, it’s a wave, “yeah, see you! wanna - um, i was wondering if you maybe wanted me to order some food for you tonight? maybe we could eat together?” he suggests, and she has to resist a roll of her eyes.

“we’ll see.” she curtly dismisses him, and he nods, leaving and closing the door of her house, returning to his own just across the hall. returning to her phone call, she scoffs, “god, did you hear that?” her voice lowers - the walls are thin, “yeah, jas, he’s that neighbor i told you about. total loser, but he does whatever i want.” she giggles, “he thinks i’m gonna fuck him. whatever, that’s not my problem. can you imagine, he buys me food, he fixes my shit, i get him to vacuum sometimes. like my own little manservant.”

like her little dog.

basil was painfully in love with his neighbor. she was just so sweet, she paid him attention, and sometimes - when she was a little drunk or was sleepy, she’d lay against him, cuddling. the feeling of her thighs against his own, her breath on her chest, or the way her fingers teasingly toyed with the hem of his shirt - right above his cock.

maybe he didn’t have only holy intentions - yeah, maybe he did want to fuck her - but he’d never be greedy for more than what she gave him, not wanting to ruin their relationship.

and it paid off, that one night she had been wine drunk, and had invited him over, asking for only the cheap gift of thai food in return for her priceless company. as they sat back on her couch, watching tv as she ate and drank, there was a point where her hand had wandered - bored by the movie. her head laid on his chest, a leg hooked around his own, especially touchy because it was a cold night - and he was warm. as basil breathed in the smell of her perfume, he could imagine them to be dating or - if he could imagine a small glimmer on her finger - married. he held her around the waist softly, and she hadn’t yet pulled away, much to his joy.

her hand slowly trails over his chest and then his biceps, before sitting up a little, and pulling his head down to his. her lips find his, as she breathes into his mouth. it’s a lazy kiss, purely driven by the alcohol, and her need for warmth and contact.

his eyes widen in shock, but he wouldn’t let this opportunity go to waste, pulling her closer and - while he let her lead the kiss - his fingers go to her hair, pulling it out of her face to kiss her better. she whimpers softly, arms wrapping around his neck, before finally pulling away. she hums in satisfaction, burying her face in his neck.

“goodnight.” she mumbles, promptly falling asleep on top of him. his head reels, but he’s on cloud 9.

“goodnight.” he kisses the top of her head, laying back as he also lets himself fall asleep.

they never spoke about it again.

she didn’t let herself get drunk with him anymore, and he cursed himself as to how to solve the issue. nonetheless, they still spent time together, and he would still do anything for her, but things were different.

but her mind was working differently. annoyingly, that kiss with basil was getting her disgustingly hot and bothered. this wasn’t the plan: she wasn’t planning to ever actually fuck him, lest she lose all the leverage she had been building by teasing him. that’s why she’d been so strict in not touching him for the next few weeks: reducing her temptation.

but it was getting too much. she spent far too much time with her hands between her thighs, thinking of him (but nothing close to how much he’d do the same for her), and she needed an out. but, she also had to make sure basil wouldn’t become confident, and stay out of line.

she had an idea.

she called him over that night. an ordinary thing to occur, but, when he joins her shortly after, his mouth falls open.

she’s in this gorgeous, deeply hued camisole that just does down to her hips, and as his eyes travel lower, the lacy panties she wears makes his breath catch. she has to bite her lip to stop the smirk that threatens to grace it.

“basil.” she murmurs her name, and he snaps out of it, finally looking up at her.

“what… are you doing?” he thickly swallows.

“you don’t like it?” she teases, and he immediately shakes his head fervently.

“no - no - you… you look…” he doesn’t know how to describe it, “beautiful.” perhaps a cliche - but he doesn’t use it in the standard way. she exactly embodies the word. for once, a genuine smile pulls at her lips. it makes her heart warm, and she almost feels bad for what she’s about to do.

almost.

she gestures him forward, and he stumbles due to the speed at which he tries to reach her. finally, once he does, she points to the couch.

“sit.” she orders, and he agrees, getting on the couch, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “you’re not very subtle, basil.” she murmurs, slowly sitting on his lap. his cheeks burn.

“s-sorry?”

“you know how hard it is when you wanna hang out with your good friend, and you know all he’s thinking about is fucking you?” her voice is vicious, and he swallows thickly.

“i’m sorry.” he whispers, looking into her eyes, an evident begging in them. he’s pleading that she’ll forgive him. her fingers go to gently weave through his hair.

“it’s hard… you know?” she says softly, playing the victim to a tee, “i thought that… maybe that’s the only thing you see when you look at me.” she admits - but it’s a complete lie.

“never, oh - oh my god.” the thought makes basil sick. she - she thinks he sees her as an object?! “i swear, i see you as so much more than that - yes, you’re fucking gorgeous, but you’re so much more than just your body!” he assures, but she pretends to already be hurt.

“you’re just saying that, you know i’ll give myself up to you with these sweet words and-” he says her name softly.

“don’t think like that, please, don’t think like that.” he begs, taking her hands, “how - how can i show you how much you mean to me. please, tell me, and i’ll do it.” he’s holding her hands so tenderly, he wants to lavish her in ways she’s never even thought of.

she goes quiet, and he’s dead terrified he’s lost her.

“i want you to forget any insecurity you may ever have, i want to make sure you never lift a finger, i want you to never yearn and to only be satisfied.” his voice is thin - needy. “i want to worship you.”

that’s what she needs to hear.

“you do?” she murmurs.

“i’m begging you to let me show you how much you mean to me.” there it is. she smirks.

“can i… suggest something?” she asks - in faux timidness.

“anything.” he assures her.

“maybe… so i feel the most… assured… if we have sex, can i take charge?” he blinks. it’s not much different than their current relationship, so he immediately agrees.

“of course, of course. that’s totally fine.” he assures, and she smiles.

“alright, good - that’s good. thank you, basil!” she chirps, and his heart warms.

“yeah, of course.”

but that’s when the switch occurs.

“get off the couch.” she orders, and he blinks, a little shocked by her flip from a shy tone to a commanding one, but he complies, standing up.

she takes his place, sitting on the couch, before looking at him expectantly, “on your knees, c’mon.” his cheeks heat, as his brow furrows curiously, falling to his knees. “you said you wanna worship me, right?” she smirks, when he nods, “take off my socks.” she orders, the woolly socks that he knew she wore as she was always cold felt itchy against his fingers, as he pulls them off. she hums happily, and raises a brow when he presses a kiss to each sole, “fuck, i knew you were freaky.”she giggles, letting him kiss her ankles, “how much have you thought about this?” a small whimper escapes his throat.

“a-ages.” he admits, and she smiles.

“okay, stop.” she commands, and he stops his mouthing of her feet, “come closer.” he places her calves over her shoulders, shuffling closer to her - and, as much as he tried to be respectable about it, his eyes fell onto the small breadth of her covered by her underwear. she held his forehead - almost brutishly - to deter him, “behave. did i say you could look at her?” she scolds him, and he bites his lip.

“no, i’m sorry.” smiling, she lets go of his head.

“what should i do with you now?” she whispers, and he looks at her thighs pleadingly.

“can i touch your thighs? can i feel you?” he begs, and she laughs.

“go on.” she assures, as she pets his hair. he really is like her little puppy.

kissing up her thighs, she inhales her scent, brain going into overload.

“oh - oh, please, let me taste you, please!” she begs, and she smirks. he was begging - just as she wanted.

“take my panties off.” she whispers, and he sighs in relief, as if a massive weight has been taken off his shoulders.

"oh - oh, thank you - thank you," he breathes out, inching closer to let his fingers hook into the sides of her underwear, pulling them past her thighs and down, off her ankles.

when she finally spreads her legs, his mouth waters as the pretty prize between them, biting his lip.

"can i taste you?" he wants to confirm it. his body's buzzing, he needs her so bad.

"how bad do you want it?" she goads, and he bites her tongue.

"i don't think i can explain it." he admits, and her cheeks warm. what a compliment.

"yes, you can taste me." lowering his head slowly to her cunt, he spreads her legs, holding onto her thighs that are draped over his shoulders tightly. goosebumps erupt over her flesh at the sensation of his breath on her skin.

"you're wet?" he asks excitedly, unbelieving that he can coax this reaction from her.

"I'm not exactly feeling patient, basil." she warns, and he swallows.

"yeah, okay." he licks up the length of her cunt, and her breath hitches, catching in her throat as she puts her hand over her mouth, gently biting a knuckle to disguise her moan. motivated by the action, he spreads her wider, licking experimentally and quickly, sucking softly and harshly, making sure to keep trying different things until one finally breaks her dam of willpower, and her back arches as she loudly moans into the otherwise empty apartment.

"oh my god-" she cries out, panting as her hand clutches his hair, pulling him closer into her weeping cunt, desperate for his continued ministrations, "use your fingers." she gasps out, and he immediately obliges, bringing a finger to her hole as he sucks at her clit. he slowly pushes it into her, and - per more whimpered instructions from her - he curls his finger inside her, making her thighs squeeze around his head,

"just like that, keep doing just that." she assures, looking at him with the closest thing to love that she feels for him - desperation and satisfaction, because good lord, is she close. but it can't end like this. she needs to make this last longer.

just as she feels herself on the precipice of her climax, she pulls his head away from her cunt - to both her and his chagrin.

"why?" he whines, simultaneously pulling out his fingers, as she struggles to catch her breath. using him to help herself up, she stands, looking down at him.

"get on the couch." she pants, and he does as he asks, "take your shirt off," the instruction continues, and his deft fingers - one still drenched in her slick - quickly unbutton the shirt, pulling it off his broad frame. she bites her lip, bending so that her fingers can reach his fly and jean button, swiftly undoing them.

"i'm gonna fuck you. and you're just gonna take whatever i give to you, understood?" he nods silently as he looks up at her, and she hums in satisfaction and she pulls down his trousers. seeing his eyes all blown out is a crazy power trip, and it all becomes better as she straddles him. palming his hard cock through his boxers, she notices the way he twitches and how his moans gargle in his throat, all while he desperately bucks until her hips. "keep your hands behind your back." she instructs, and he nods, a whimper bubbling up to his tongue. after his hands are securely behind his back, she sighs happily. truly, she could do anything to him now, and he'd just take it. she wanted to know how much he could handle.

she started by fishing out his - inexplicably impressive cock. it was almost comical - how little sex appeal he oozed while hiding this weapon away from the rest of the world.

then, she simply ghosted her fingers over his tip, owning to a few stuttered bucks of his hips. she returned each of those with a scolding smack on any skin she could find - usually, his chest.

she slowly raised to her knees, lining him up with her entrance as she looks down at him, "don't move without permission." she whispers, and a strangled groan releases from him, making her laugh. finally, though, when he agrees, she sinks down on him, moaning out behind her hand as he does the same - though without the muffle and rather unashamedly.

she doesn’t move for a moment, and he waits.

another moment, and he waits.

another, and he’s done. he starts thrusting up, wanting the both of them to chase their pleasure, and her eyes widen, as she slaps his cheek. stunned, his movements immediately stop.

he dared to go against her word?

she hated that he undermined the power she held over him. pulling at his hair, her eyes blow out in anger.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” she hisses, and he winces.

“i’m sorry-” he tries, but she slaps him again.

“you think we’re equals? you can just pull that shit?” he wonders where all this anger is coming from, almost fearful. she doesn’t want to admit that her rage stems from the fact that she liked the sensation of his thrusts - enough to almost just… let him continue, even against her orders. she can’t lose that power she has on him, “you wanna know how little you really fucking matter?” she growls, grabbing her phone, and thrusting it in his face.

still disoriented, he swallows as he looks at what she’s showing him - a chain of texts. about him. they’re from her, to her friends, all mocking and making fun of him.

his heart, quite literally, shatters. he had thought this entire time, that - though they may be little more than friends - she at least liked his company, liked hanging out with him, appreciated him. but now, to read her stating how annoying and clingy he is, how she hated hanging out with him, but accepted it whenever he came with some gift or food, how she had used him, a heartbreak made his blood pump harshly in his ears. but when he glances at her smug smile behind the phone, it’s not just heartbreak. it’s rage.

“is this real?” he whispers, voice so low she can barely hear him.

“aww, poor puppy, thought i was - what? in love with you?” she mocks, knowing he won’t do a thing in retaliation.

that’s where she’s wrong.

trembling in rage, he grabs her phone, throwing it ferociously onto the floor, breaking it immediately. her eyes widen in shock, but before she can shout at him, his hands wrap around her throat, choking her with such a rage - she’s worried he might break her windpipe.

she claws at his hands, as he pulls her off of him, and slams her, face first, into the couch. her eyes well as she feels her nose smash into it, pained to hell as she cries out, trying to clutch it, but it’s of no help, as he’s already sinking back into her tight, wet, and suddenly rejecting cunt. but his pulling cock gets past the resistance bottoming out with a gurgled sigh of satisfaction. his hands go back to her throat, with a softer hold, as he wants to feel her pulse under his fingers. tearfully, she looks back at him in terror.

“basil, what are you-” he slaps her ass so hard, she wonders if his palm took her flesh with it. crying out, she sobs, giving up entirely, as she looks away, still clutching her nose.

“shut the fuck up, bitch.” he hisses harshly, voice and cadence not only deadly - but lethal, as his fingers flex experimentally on her throat. pulling her up so her back is pressed against his chest, and his other hand palms her tits, something he’d been wishing to do so long. but in his fantasies - he’s delicate, not so much anymore, as he roughly tweaks and pinches and grips her nipples.

then again, she’s a different woman than what he’d imagined as well.

this time, he’s not slow in his thrusts, he’s harsh and mean, thrusting in and out of her cunt to the sweet melody of her cries and sobs, muffled by the hand clutching her now bleeding nose. his moans are loud and gruff in her ear, causing an overlord of her senses, and she’s terrified.

“i should fucking kill you.” he hisses, and she whimpers, sobbing harder, “but you’re too good - of - a - fuck!” he punctuates every word with a thrust, but his voice sounds almost sweet and reassuring - only able to be distinguished as a facade due to the undertone of a growl behind every word.

“i’m sorry, please-” she begs, but he slaps her ass again, thrusting deeper, as he hits her cervix with each thrust, making her cry out in pain.

“did i say you could speak?” he hisses. she shakes her head, terrified, and shutting up. he’s getting close. unfortunately, she is too, “calling me a fucking puppy, saying you’re my fucking master - whose cunt’s the one squeezing my cock, huh? who’s the one begging - for - my - mercy?” he growls, once again, thrusting to each word, and she cums around him - a strange mix of the pain on her nose and ass, her restricted ability to breathe, and his sharp, filling thrusts are the perfect mix for her to reach climax, jolting and twitching as her cunt grips his cock, and her core tightens.

he holds her up even as she slumps in exhaustion, pulling her back by her hair to see her face as he tells her,

“i’m gonna cum in you.” he whispers, kissing her cheek tenderly. her eyes widen.

“no - no, please don’t - please, i’m not on birth control-” she begs, but he bites her earlobe to quieten her.

“shut the fuck up. you’re gonna be my cumdump. say that you understand.” he whispers, and she swallows.

“i - wait, please-” he slaps her again, and she squeaks, “yes, yes - i understand! i’ll be your cumdump!” he growls in satisfaction, finally releasing her and letting her fall forward onto the couch, as he grips her hips pulling her ass to him as he cums inside her, moaning loudly in relief.

there’s a few beats of silence, and afterwards, he looks down at her with a snarl. he’s disgusted, and pulls away - not by his actions, but that he hadn’t lived up to his expectations. she was an evil, and he was a vigilante. that - the cum dripping down her thighs, her perhaps broken nose, her whimpers and cries - that was revenge. it was necessary.

after cleaning up and getting ready, he looks back at her. she’s sitting up, curled into herself as she was turned away, crying into her palms.

she looked like a puppy - scolded for bad behaviors. and in many ways, she was.

he sighs in satisfaction.

it was necessary.

#deaddovedecember2023 #basil stitt #basil stitt oneshot #basil stitt imagine #basil stitt x reader #basil stitt smut #dark!basil stitt #lightningface #oscar isaac

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percervall · 11 months ago

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Mamma mia, here I go again {pt5}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: talk of pregnancy, mentions of a past relationship, Mark being a dick Word count: 2.5k Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stuff @roseseraj @szobosz @vellicora

Part 5 of the Mamma Mia series

Despite the fact that you had just had the summer break, not having a race weekend after Monza comes as a welcome breather. It allows you to catch up on tasks you had been neglecting. You finally managed to clean your flat and had just finished the last load of laundry that morning. It also allowed you time to finally schedule an appointment with a clinic to get a scan done. It had felt surreal, getting the black and white confirmation of the pregnancy. You’re still not sure if having a baby is the smartest move right now, but the relief you felt when you saw that the pregnancy was where it’s supposed to be and the heartbeat left you feeling even more confused about the whole situation. Trying your hardest to push all of that to the side, you change into your workout clothes and roll out your yoga mat. At this point you just need 15 minutes of not thinking about anything and you had found yoga to be a great help. As you centre yourself, focussing on your body and breathing through the poses, you begin to feel calmer. Taking another deep breath, you move into the next pose. The calm energy is rudely interrupted by your phone ringing. For a second you consider just letting it go to voicemail but the sound of the phone buzzing on the table is too much of a distraction to ignore. Huffing in annoyance, you get up from the floor.

“Hello?”

“Hello to you too, sweetheart. Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes, my workout,” you retort, rolling your eyes at Mark’s tone.

“Mm, if you need a hand let me know,” he says and you can just picture the look on his face. Smug son of a bitch.

“For fuck’s sake..” you mutter, “Get to the point or I’m hanging up.”

“Oh sweetheart, I’m only teasing.”

“Mark, I’m not doing this. Again, get to the point or I will hang up,” you reply.

“RIght, yes. I’m in your neck of the woods this week for some meetings and I was wondering whether you’d like to come over for dinner on Thursday? I know typically you’d take a girl out on a date, but I think there’s a few things that have gone left unsaid for far too long.”

“I-.. I’d like that very much, Mark.” Despite his constant flirting, you’re grateful that he offers the both of you an opportunity to talk.

“I can pick you up if you want or you can drive so you have an out if you need it. I don’t-.. I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” You can hear the sincerity in his voice and it breaks your heart a little bit that this is what is left of the relationship you once had with him.

“Thanks Mark, I don’t mind driving. Not because of the reasons you named, but I don’t want to inconvenience you by having to drive this way twice. Just text me the address and a time and I’ll be there.” Your phone buzzes against your face, indicating you have received a new message.

“You should have it now. Okay, I’ll let you get back to your workout.” You both say your goodbyes before hanging up. You put the phone down on the table and stare out of the windows in your living room, lost in memories.

Mark and you met in 2012, while he still drove in Formula 1. You had just graduated university with a degree in Mathematics and Engineering, and your thesis had somehow made its way to the desk of Christian Horner. And so, there you were: 23 years old and bright eyed, using the tool you had developed for your thesis to analyse simulator data and translating that into adjustments needed to the set up of the car to extract its maximum potential. While you mainly worked on Sebastian’s side of the garage, you often bumped into Mark during race weekends, always ready with a comment that should’ve gotten him written up. Mark was everything you needed in a man at that point in your life and it felt so good to feel wanted, to feel desired. And then 2013 happened.

You have to physically shake your head to stop going down that rabbit hole, only now noticing how hard you’re gripping the back of a chair. Exhaling deeply, you let go, flexing your fingers to get rid of the tension. Despite knowing you need to have this conversation before either of you can even think about second chances, you’re not looking forward to reliving how it all fell apart.

Thursday approaches a lot faster than you had anticipated, work keeping you busy even if there wasn’t a race. Having already showered, you’re now standing in front of your wardrobe trying to decide on what to wear. The old you would have gone for something frilly and short. Mark loved seeing you in these tiny summer dresses, and you loved how his hand felt on your bare thigh, allowing him to easily slide up under your dress while you were out for team dinners and tease you mercilessly. Chewing your bottom lip, you peruse your options. Despite it being September, it’s still a balmy 22 ℃ although it will probably cool off during the course of the evening. Feeling the need to reclaim a part of you that Mark stole from you, you decide to go for a dress. Even if you no longer wear those short, cutesy dresses, you still love how dresses make you feel. There’s a femininity that you sometimes feel out of sync with because of your job. It feels empowering, dressing up in a world built for men. Your eyes fall on a recent purchase –a flowy midi length dress in a gorgeous burnt orange. Slipping it on, you brush your fingers over the soft linen fabric, admiring the way the gold buttons catch the sunlight. It’s casual enough for tonight, but it gives you that little boost of confidence that you know you will need to make it through Mark’s relentless flirting. Closing the door of your wardrobe, you slip on a pair of sandals and grab your purse before heading out.

It turns out that Mark lives a lot closer to you than you had expected when you first looked at the address he sent you. You park the car on the paved driveway in front of the detached house in the outskirts of Oxford, taking in its grandeur. You remember Mark telling you about how his family would come over for the holidays sometimes and so the extra bedrooms make sense. As you slam your door shut, you spot Mark in the door opening.

“Hey sweetheart,” he greets you and you let him pull you into a hug.

“Hey,” you reply softly, following him inside. Mark leads you to a large open kitchen-dining space before offering you something to drink.

“Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to eat outside or not,” Mark says as he hands you a glass.

“Might as well make the most of this warm weather,” you reply with a smile. Mark returns your smile and takes you outside through the large French doors in the kitchen.

“Dinner’s almost ready. Please, sit. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll join you in a moment.”

You do as he asks, taking in the landscaping from your spot on the patio. It doesn’t take long for Mark to start bringing out the dishes, refusing your help.

“I might’ve gone a little overboard,” he admits sheepishly as he brings out the final dish. The grilled asparagus should’ve been a giveaway, but you can’t help but feel touched when Mark places a lamb roast on the table.

“I can’t believe you remembered,” you say, throat closing with tears.

“How could I forget? It’s not every day you find a pretty girl crying quietly in the corner of the garage after a race –which we won by the way– because she missed her nan’s Sunday roast. She always made lamb, right?” Mark says. You nod and try to swallow back tears.

“Thanks Mark, this-.. This means a lot to me,” you whisper. Mark smiles softly and gives your hand a squeeze.

During dinner, the conversation mainly revolves around catching up. Mark tells you all about managing McLaren’s rookie driver and how he’s finding it to work at Channel 4 with David. You update him on your appointment, showing the little sonogram picture.

“So everything’s okay with the baby?” he asks, an anxious look in his eyes.

“Uhu, so far so good. They estimated that I’m about 7 weeks along now.” Mark looks back down at the picture on your phone, a large finger tracing it gently as he smiles. Seeing him so enamoured by the tiny blob on the sonogram brings up a mix of emotions for you; it warms your heart to see him like this, but it also terrifies you that those feelings for him never went away and how easy it is to fall back in step with him.

“You’d look so hot in those maternity dresses,” Mark comments, his tone flirtatious, “You always look hot in a dress. I still dream about that pink one with the hearts you wore to dinner after Silverstone. You looked so innocent in that dress, but we both knew you were anything but.”

And then he goes and says shit like that, and it all comes tumbling down like a house of cards.

“I no longer dress for you, Mark. You lost that privilege a long time ago,” you retort, voice even but there’s an edge to it. You remember the dress he is talking about, remember what he is referring to. Before your food even arrived at the table, Mark had dragged you into the bathroom. He had made some comment about how pretty you looked but how you’d look even prettier on your knees with your mouth wrapped around his cock, and so that’s what you did. That was how your relationship worked: Mark would make a suggestive comment and you would obey without a second thought. Of course he always made sure he took care of you; he was the one who helped you discover you could experience multiple orgasms, would always clean you up afterwards and run you a bath. But despite all this, he always took what he wanted from you first. You wish you could have protected your younger self against the heartbreak that was headed your way, against the feeling of being lost at sea after Mark left you alone in that hotel room with nothing more than the remnants of his fingerprints on your skin. After the dust had settled, you had promised yourself never again; you would never allow yourself to be in that position again.

“I’m sorry,” Mark says, breaking you from your spiralling thoughts, “for- I’m sorry for how it all went down, how I treated you. You deserved so much better than that,” he adds, referring to the note he left you after that final race in Brazil.

“Why did you leave me?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I couldn’t drag you into my mess. You had your entire career still ahead of you while I needed to get out. That last season was a shitshow, despite the fact that Seb won the Driver’s and RedBull the Constructor’s. I was sick and tired of how the team favoured Seb. I had nothing left to give..”

“You shut me out, I thought we were in it together.. Or was I just a means to get back at Sebastian?” It’s impossible to not sound bitter, hurt evident in your tone.

“No, Jesus, no sweetheart. You know it started out as a way to annoy him, but my feelings for you were genuine; I loved you, and in many ways still do.” Regret is written all over his face when your eyes meet his. You know your relationship back then was complicated. Of course there was the age gap –Mark is a good 13 years older than you– which somehow trickled into the bedroom where he showed you things that made your previous boyfriends look like clueless little boys by comparison. And as every naive 20-something-year-old with daddy issues would have done, you fell head over heels in love with him, giving him your heart and your body.

“You broke a piece of me that day that I might not ever get back,” you whisper.

“And I will spend the rest of my life regretting the way I handled things. You’re right, I should’ve been open and honest with you instead of walking out on us,” Mark says, taking your hand in his.

“I’ve spent ten years avoiding you. The ghost of you haunted me in that garage and so when Mercedes called, I took it with both hands. I was a mess those first years, somehow still hoping you’d come back for me. And then it became painfully clear you weren’t and I mourned the loss of you all over again. I hated you for what you did to me, hated myself even more for ever allowing you to get close enough to hurt me, for still being in love with you despite it all. The last ten years I’ve spent building up walls so I wouldn’t have to feel like that version of me again, and look where that’s gotten me.” You laugh humorlessly, biting your lip to stop the tears from falling. “I have become the very definition of a cliche, entangled in a love square and too scared to let any of them in.”

Before you really know what’s happening, Mark pulls you out of your seat and into his lap. Your legs dangle over the arm of the chair and you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I need you to listen carefully, okay sweetheart? If anyone deserves to take the blame for what happened, it’s me. And if you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of my life showing you just how worthy of love you are. I know all three of us will. You might have a hard time letting us in right now, but baby you need to know that we’re all in if you are. You are worth waiting for.” You take a deep breath, inhaling his cologne. The scent of it helps to calm you down, it reminding you of the lazy mornings spent in bed cuddling.

“You’re the second person to tell me that,” you mumble as you look up at him. Mark smiles, brushing away your tears with his thumb and cradles your cheek in his palm.

“Then it must be true.”

You smile back at him, albeit timidly and snuggle into him once more. Alice’s words from a week prior echo in your head. “Keeping your heart shut like this, it’s safe but also lonely.” You’re beginning to wonder whether the cost has been far greater than the benefits of keeping romance at bay. Doing so hurt a good man; had you been able to allow Kevin in completely, you know he would have made you feel safe and loved. You also know Kevin deserves better –hell, you deserve better, but knowing and doing are two very different things, and right now you’re not sure if you’ll ever be ready for this level of love –from any of them.

Welp, there you have it. Date no.2 🙊

Again, a massive thank you to @curiousthyme and @szobosz for being my beta readers for this chapter, and a shoutout to @monzamash for helping me with figuring out the details for this date

Please feel free to let let me know what you think; your comments, tags and likes mean the absolute world to me 💜

I'm gonna take the holidays off from posting this fic to just relax (and maybe get some more writing done, who knows?), so the last date will be posted in the new year on the 6th. Wishing you all a merry Christmas and all the best for the new year!

#f1 fanfic #kevin magnussen x reader #kevin magnussen x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber x you #mamma mia fic

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squib-2006 · 8 months ago

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So I’ve finally got some of my thoughts on the new season in order and letting my self sit on it for a while

Dragons rising season 2 spoilers!!!!!

So first off holy shit this season has managed to completely wipe out any fears I had for season two. I’m a generally anxious person and am pretty naturally pessimistic about most things and was pretty anxious about season 2 because from the stuff shown in trailers and promotional vids it looked like a “Lloyd chosen one” plot line and I have a history of hating that kinda thing because it’s been beaten to death in ninjago at this point. While a bit of that was there I found it was done quite tastefully and didn’t overwhelm everything else story wise.

I felt that the pacing of the first 6-7ish episodes was a bit all over the place. Having the training arc and the Cole-Zane plot lines happen in the same episode with the pov switching back in forth felt a little bit off to me.

Sora and arins character arcs are shaping up to be pretty good. Soras more confident in her self than season one and she’s trying to help Arin but I feel like the whole using her elemental power to help Arin will backfire into her face. Arin’s insecurity and the whole how can I be useful if I don’t have an element I fell is being handled way better than the dumb kai arc in season 11(dw I will get to that when I get to kai) and it’s about on par with the Lloyd powerless plot from hunted. I am really excited to see what they do next and if Arin will be really mad at sora or not cuz like he’s super nice and stuff and I fell like he would be sad instead of mad.

Nya didn’t really have a lot going on personally except the stuff with Jay which I’m iffy on because so much of Nyas character in older seasons revolved around Jay and I just hope they don’t go back to that and let her character breath a bit.

In the topic of Jay I really really REALLY hope he isn’t evil. That the idea because it’s really out of character and they are already pushing my buttons with the lost memory crap because that’s something that I’ve rarely seen done well at all and it makes me very nervous and I just don’t like it. I do like that Jay just seems to be a guy who hates his job tho that’s fun.

I think the writers are just having fun with Zane and I think that’s cool. I do wanna punch the administration guy who said Zane isn’t a person because he is and he’s a bean and I will not allow this nobody to slander him.

It was nice to see more of Cole this season. I swear him and geo are so cute. The hand holding and the fact that they basically adopted two kids together is amazing and I am fully on board for this ship.

The villans were really interesting. I hope they keep up the quality with them because the mystery of ras’ master and wtf happened with jordana is really exciting. Cinder was intresting and as someone who has no interest in men what so ever I am kinda baffled at why so many people want this man but hey you do you. I do wonder what happened to ash tho. The member of the forbidden five looks interesting too and part of me is hoping that the leaked “evil jay” minifig is actually this guy just powered up cuz the color palette is similar enough and I just don’t want an evil jay.

Wyldfyre is amazing her whole leg being broken then sneaking on the ship to the exasperation of kai (like he would totally have pulled something like this a few seasons ago the hypocrite <3) and the others was so good. I am curious about her talk with egalt she mentioned one of her family members getting the wasting sickness but it can’t be heat wave cuz he seems fine so maybe she had more than one dragon guardian??? I do hope that Kai’s portal abduction does affected going into part 2 and that she bonds with nya and the others over it.

Egalt and rontu were very interesting to me and I’m glad they didn’t go the route of them being the actual creators of spinjitzu and kept the lore consistent I was slightly worried about that. Hope they come back in part 2 too.

Bonzle was a big surprise for me. I likes her personality in season 1 but I didn’t expect her to be so important. She’s really sweet and the scene with wu was great too.

And finally last but definitely not least, the best character in this entire show and my favorite comfort character to beat the shit out of

KAI

IT WAS SO FREAKING GOOD. I LITERALLY HAVE NOT BEEN THIS HAPPY WITH AN EPISODE SINCE SEASON 4 EPISODE 7 THE FORGOTTEN ELEMENT (iykyk) I was literately kicking my feet like a little girl and crying and screaming my head off to the point I woke up other family members. Him unlocking the rising dragon technique by having his sister help and being in harmony with his family is so fucking sweet and I cried like a little bitch it was so good. I am also so happy that they used his old hair and didn’t just slap a smaller version of his current hair onto him (tho I kinda wish they had used the fucked up custom hair that was in the older episodes but I doubt that model is even in their hands so whatever(side side note I love the fucked up hair so much it’s so stupid I love it and will forever miss it)) him being such a dad to wyld fire was so sweet and then using the rising dragon technique after he saw his family in danger was just perfect. I do kinda wish there was more of a dramatic reaction to him getting yeeted by ras into the portal (kinda like any of the other ninja “deaths/major injuries”) but im fine with what we got. Except I kinda hate that only nya has an outward reaction in the aftermath. No lloyd reaction no Cole reaction and nothing from Zane and it makes me mad because every other time a ninja had their moment there was a whole team reaction. But I’m feeling like that’s to nitpicky and there’s still ten more episodes to fix that so fingers crossed. But kai also encouraging bonzle to close the portal even if he’s trapped inside is such a kai thing and hit me like a truck. Also him calling bonzle kid dispite her being much much older than him is funny and sweet cuz Kai’s big brother/father figure side is coming through and it’s so sweet. And the ninja never quit line is so great I was sobbing even more after that. (Tho I don’t know why he said he got it from Lloyd when it would have made more sense to have it be from master wu cuz that’s where he learned it but eh whatever).

While im really happy about kai finally getting some well deserved angst im also very anxious about it too. This could be the perfect opportunity for the writers to just conveniently forget about him for a while and idk if i could sit through that. Kai is a huge part of why I watch ninjago and he’s always been handed the shortest stick character development wise and technically he never got his own focus season either (and no i dont count the pilots because that focused mainly on all the ninja and was only two episodes, i also don’t count season four because it was more a group season, and season 11 doesn’t count because he got a half baked b plot that sucked) I’m very worried that I will loose enjoyment in the show because I dropped the show out of disappointment after season 11 because A LOT of premonitional material made it seem like a kai season and I got my hopes up and was let down so much. I’m very cautious when getting excited about things involving kai in particular because of that and I’m just hoping the writers don’t fuck it up.

Ok that’s enough negativity for once. I’m so excited for more and am foaming at the mouth for more!

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mchlgayser · 2 years ago

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FLINCH!

starring: jude bellingham x female!reader

warning: slight mentions of reader past's relationship, very angsty but with a fluff ending & not proofread

author's note: im a big fan of how this turns out, so good, better than what i had in mind tbh, didn't mean to make jude so red flag in here but things happened lmao.

song suggestion: tv by billie eilish

It was nighttime, past midnight, the clock strike two in the morning but still no signs of your boyfriend. You are well aware of the celebration party his manager arranged for him and the guys after they won an important match this evening but one thing that you don't get is that. For this long? He was out for all day, his match supposedly ended at 21:00 and now it's almost 03:00.

You are getting furious, partially worried and anxious, if you could drive his other car, you would have already done it hours ago revving to the club he's at but the problem is you don't drive. Your boyfriend never let you to.

Your body slumping on the leather couch, eyes boring glare on the door waiting and waiting.

The constant loud knocks on the door brought you back to life, grabbing your phone from the coffee table to see that it was now 4:03 in the morning. How furious you grew after that dashing to the door

His body immediately stuck on you like glue, his hands on his side as he rested his chin over the shoulder, you see Gio over the door 'Thanks for bringing him back.' You said, he nodded 'Try to convince him to go home but you know how he is..' You rolled your eyes 'Yeah, stubborn. Still thanks again, have a good night.' You closed the door after, bringing Jude back to your room which you silently pray for it to magically be on the first floor so that you won't have to drag him all the way.

Only a few steps up and you already gave up, he was giving up his weight on you, and your legs gave up, so you threw him down as he groan and sighed with a small smile 'You should just sleep here, I think.'

Give him a small fluff blanket, you draped it over his curled-up figure and undo some of his buttons 'Night.' You left after that having your best time sleeping on the king sized bed alone.

The next morning, Jude woke up feeling sort of discomfort and throbbing all over, his whole body is aching in pain and so is his head, probably the hungover from last night's event. His eyes are blurry, looking around but his neck are too sore for him to even twist it around. A couple of minutes has passed, he gained visions and now stunned seeing himself, sleeping on the stairs, not sleeping on his bed is one thing, no pillow is one thing.

His eyes averted to the living room, seeing you with a bowl of cereal in hand, your eyes were fixated on the movie that was playing. He tried getting up but he ended up falling back. He groaned in frustration 'Hey Y/n! Why am I sleeping here?' But you ignored him.

He grew frustrated getting up forcefully and went up to you 'Y/n? I'm talking to you.'

'Jeez, you are so loud for someone with a throbbing headache, leave me alone Jude.' He grab the controller from the table and switched off the tv 'Hey!' You growled, trying to get back but he silenced you with a side glare 'Stop it I-' He drops the controller, his head is aching in so much pain

You rolled your eyes, 'Take this pill.' He yanked it from you and you scoff 'What a jerk you are.' He sighs 'Leave me alone.'

'Nah uh, I said that first, you leave me alone, Jude.' You pointed out and sit back down.

The rest of the afternoon you've been ignoring him, well it's not like he's not ignoring you too. You do your stuff staying on the living room whilst he stayed in the room, '...Hey.' You heard him say, you noticed him from the corner of your eye but didn't budge 'C'mon Y/n, you can't stay mad at me forever?'

'Watch me.'

'Look I get it, I came home late last night but it's not like it was all the time right? Am I not allowed to have fun now? Do you think you can keep me in cage here forever? Come on, have some common sense.' You scoff 'This is so irrelevant, Oh my God! Go on have all the fun you want and come back every day at 04:00! You know what, I'm not even gonna complain! Go! Go partying, get drunk whatever, I don't even care anymore...' Your breath are rigid, out of breath, your chest violently bounced up and down

He huffed in disbelief 'Sometimes, I think it's better if I just don't go home at all you know, I'm so tired of your constant yelling and annoying rants, You are always onto me, pointing my mistakes, being absolute burden! This issue of yours I'm fucking tired of it! I'm tired of these pointless arguments! I'm tired of you!' Every spiteful word that are coming out of his mouth are like a knife, slashing into your heart multiple times.

His angry exhales, it was scary, reminiscing all your horrendous memories of your past. You eyes moist with warm tears cascaded your cheeks, it was hard to contains and you ended up crying a bit despite wanting to look tough

He sighed feeling frustrated at himself, it was't his intention to say such things, he was just mad that you've been ignoring him and not to mention the hungover from last night haven't yet subsided. He bring his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose but your next actions instantly brought tears to his eyes, he was shuddering in mistrust

Both of your hands are now in front of your face guarding it, your whole body fell to the floor as you yelped, your figure are in a major trembling state. He was stunned, could't be able to move 'Y/n...Did you...?' He was so out of words. Not once, never once this would cross his mind, the day you would become scared of him. In this poor shattering state. All because of him.

His hand wanted to hold out for you but he restrained himself, turning heels and left the house grabbing his jacket and slammed the door. You try muffling your sobs but the moment he left, you could't helped but wail and sobs like a broken child. You began hating yourself for this. How could you?! How could you think he would ever hit you?! But you could not helped it, your body acts on its own. You are too scared because of the argument.

You brought your knees to your chest hug it and cry, you don't know how fast time flies but Jude came home again, you are still in the same position but you are sleeping. His eyes soften nearing your structure and picking you up, how saddening it is for him to see you in this puffy-eyed state, cheeks stained with tears, lips bleeding slightly. He gently puts you to bed and tucked you in giving your temple and the tip of your nose a chaste kiss.

He was about to leave, ready to take the guest room to sleep but you hold his hand, your eyes barely opened but he could see that it was reddish and swell 'Hey...' He croaked, tucking one strand of your hair behind your ear. He was cautious as he sat beside you by the edge of the bed with your hand still holding his.

He was hesitant 'I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean what I said, at all. I'm just... Mad because you ignored me but I understand. You can stay mad as long as you want, I'll make it up to you, months, years, decades and forever so please don't leave me.' You hold tightens, sending him a small lazy smile 'No I'm sorry Jude, I know you won't hit me it's just... I think I'm being paranoid. You know how shitty my past relationships are.' He adjusted the hold, hands now entangling

'And I promise not to make you feel that way anymore, from today onwards, no sorrow for you. At least not from me. I won't treat you like they did. I won't became the asshole and treat you like an object. You are one kind of treasure. That one that needs to be held carefully so it won't break. I promise to take a better care of you.' He boops your nose and smile giving you a long kiss on the head and hugs your form

'Come on, sleep with me.' He get under the bed beside you, his body facing you with one arm stretching out and tucks it under your head and the other arm resting on your waist caressing it. Your head against his broad chest and hugging him close to you, closing your eyes with a contempt sigh 'I love you Jude.' Her hums, kissing the top of your head and murmur; 'I love you too babe.'

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gerdy-sertorius · 8 months ago

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The Definitive Damsel Analysis (if I do say so myself)

(Disclaimer: I know it’s absurdly long, and for that I apologize. I apparently am more unwilling to make cuts than I am to present subpar work. I’m working on it. Only editing I do for my autistic ramblings is copyediting, baby! Whoo! I will be updating this for the Pristine Cut once it comes out and we get even *more* Damsel. Obviously, as I’m sure you can tell from the length, I really like Damsel. There will be all of the bias. It will be great.)

(Author’s Note: For the love of the most high God, it took me like twenty read throughs for me to standardize what I wanted to call the Scorched Grey. Here is a brief list of all the terms I used to refer to her: Scorched Grey, Burned Grey, Burning Grey, Fire Grey, Damsel Chapter 3. Sometimes but not always preceded by “the” or “The”.)

Alright, ladies and gentlemen. I have oft made the statement on here that Damsel is the best route in the game, and this began as me trying to definitively prove that, by microscopically going through the route, I could establish exactly why, it would seem, that Damsel has objective superiority. It sorta… evolved, though, so instead I will be going relatively chronologically throughout, and trying to point out a couple things that all of you know about and maybe a couple things you don’t about the best character in the game. With that preamble out of the way, let’s begin with the goofy stuff, the grab bag if you will.

This will certainly be more personal taste than anything else, but I do think there’s a lot of miscellaneous stuff that Damsel does better than the other chapters. For example, I am convinced that it has the third best music, behind Tower and her routes and then Thorn. I am genuinely obsessed with “It Was Always That Easy”. The basement has some *fantastic* art, and I think that really carries a chapter that is otherwise generally bland when it comes to actual visual activity. It’s really carried by its genuinely perfect dialogue.

Overall, and most importantly, this chapter is the undisputed master of the idea of positive ambience. You know elevator music? How it’s there to artificially increase the cheeriness of an otherwise dreary moment, like a hotel hallway or, yanno, an elevator? Well, this is the chapter that does it perfectly. Everything is designed to make it “nicer” than it actually is. The Narrator even takes that into account when describing the basement. The sound design is fresh and relaxing, the music is uplifting, the Princess’s voice is obviously fantastically done, but also the Voice of the Smitten plays a large role in making it feel “good”. It’s something that exists in order to communicate exactly the feelings it wants the player to feel, which is all warm and fuzzy inside. But let’s move on to the actual content, shall we?

Damsel has *the* best Chapter One and it isn’t even close. Certainly not in the horror department, where I think Beast and Nightmare shine, or even in the whole characterization bit, where the award can only go to Spectre and the masterclass that is her Chapter One. But Damsel has something else to it. Damsel has tragedy, almost Shakespearean in nature. Nobody else has it (except Witch, to some extent, but nowhere close to the same level), nobody manages to reach that connection, there and then broken, to honestly feel for both Princess and Slayer. Allow me to paint a picture of a playthrough.

You are on a path in the woods. At the end of that path is a cabin. In the basement of that cabin is a princess. You are here to slay her. But you don’t do that. That voice itching in the back of your skull, the one you quite literally call Hero, your moral compass even, raises some objections. You don’t want to kill *anybody*. That isn’t something you want to mark yourself with, especially not solely on the word of an individual you just met. For now, violence is a nonstarter.

You enter the cabin. And you hear her voice. And you see her. You even talk with her for a while. The moment is… hypnotizing. Despite the Narrator’s warning of manipulation, well, you cannot help but be manipulated. This is a genuinely nice, sweet, scared Princess who simply wants to be free. You have to save her. It is the right thing to do, it is the… only thing to do. Anything else marks you with the dirtiness of simply being unwilling to help someone in need when you had the full ability to.

You go to get a key. Unsuccessful. The door locks. Even worse. The Narrator is moving from irritating to downright malicious, clearly enjoying recounting the lock of the door. Disgust for Him has been present since you entered the cabin, but it shifts to anger very quickly. That shift continues with full force as you attempt with what little ability you have to save the Princess, even if you don’t quite know how you will get out. The question does not last long. For the shift to anger shifts once more, to a sort of incomprehensible fury.

For the Narrator has crossed a line. Not only has he taken away any semblance of choice, not only has he raised your own knife against an innocent, someone who has been nothing but kind to you, but you are the one who must bear the shame for it. You are the only one who is doing the foul deed in any eyes but your own. Speaking of, the Princess’s eyes are filled with genuine happiness at the moment, as you are finally giving her the freedom she has yearned for such a long time. Yet through no fault of your own, you raise the pristine blade, the one you refused to bring down to the basement in the first place. You scramble through the list of options, attempting to find anything that could provide a sliver of hope in the situation, anything without the grim finality of “Slay the Princess”.

At last, you find one, and are able to bark out a warning to the Princess. That happiness in her eyes is shifted to a look of fear, one directed at you alone, one condemning you with such a sorrowful betrayal that it almost hurts to see. She begs for you to stop, and then she says something that almost calms the internal storm of the player: “Please, I know this isn’t you.” She recognizes that it isn’t us that betrayed her, she understands that we aren’t trying to do this, that we are flat-out trying to stop it. But the eye of that storm is passing, and soon.

And as she takes the blade, as she prepares to do what she must to live, that same look of tragic betrayal crosses her eyes, this time not directed at us, but at herself. She hates that this is her only option, the only way that she can live is to kill another, one with every intention of freeing her and no intention of harming her. And in the end, she simultaneously underscores the tragedy of the moment while confirming our perception that she could never be a threat to the world. As she plunges the blade into our chest, she has failed to even do the bare minimum of making our death painless, something that fills her with even more guilt, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tries and fails to end our own agony. The last thing we see of her are her endless cascade of both tears and apologies, as everything goes dark.

This… is beautiful. A glorious tragedy, one with limited theming, simply two characters with emotions that feel natural. And, quite strangely, the first chapter has almost nothing to do with the second chapter. But it is still important. I’ll get to that later. Better things await now! For with the end of the tale of the Hero and the Princess, we have a new individual, everyone’s favorite buddy, the Voice of the Smitten.

I am certain I do not need to underscore just how popular Smitten is. Easily the most fan favorite of the fan favorites, especially solidifying his place within that roster with the Kiss from a Thorn. He is jovial, passionate, he is Don Quixote, complete with the unlimited self-delusion that comes with the territory. There’s a reason people love him. Romantic in a game entitled a love story, the largest of personalities in a game stuffed with them, he is the storybook hero come to life in a game that has just as much reverence for storybook heroes as the deconstructions of them. In short, he is the visage of likability itself, with all the bombast that comes with that. Yet that is only from a wholly external perspective.

For what I am certain I do need to underscore is just how sinister Smitten is. For all of his likability, the Smitten is also probably the single slimiest voice out of all of them with the possible exception of the Opportunist. This is not a new revelation – people have understood that since the beginning with his frankly disturbing behavior regarding the Princess. What is perhaps more interesting is his relationship with the player. For he is one of the two options that reflect the player at this point within the story. Either the player is trying to do the right thing and free an innocent, or they have somewhat… different motivations.

The former reflects the Hero. Somewhat naive, in many routes somewhat bumbling even, but first and foremost focused on the external. That is, “how can I make a positive impact on the world around me?” As contradictory as it may seem to how the Hero is presented, it’s something of an intellectualist approach. The Hero is trying to find the best possible world and working towards that with all of his might. It is, one could say, devoid of emotion except that determination to change the world, to make it a better place. While the goal remains the same, the path to get there is fundamentally continuously being calculated. The Hero is your conscience, and as such he must *always* work overtime for that.

The Smitten is not that. No, he has made no secret that he is the path of passion. Even when he is generally considered to be a better person, he declares that, “Whatever world would condemn two star-crossed lovers to a cycle of violence and despair isn’t a world worth saving.” His focus is internal, it is on ourself and our romance. There is no extensive study into what is the correct option, there is only what would assist in our relationship, which is somehow ordained by the universe. To put it into understandable terms, Hero is a modern hero while Smitten is a Romantic-era hero.

There’s an important line when going down the stairs that I think speaks volumes about the type of player and playthrough currently occurring. That is “We can still do right by her without all this over-the-top fawning.” *That* is the line of demarcation between the route of the Hero and the route of the Smitten. If you decide to embrace or repudiate the Smitten at that point, I think the route is sealed. I am convinced that the game will continue on in a fixed way based on that philosophy. The point where you must, internally that is, decide if you are doing this out of a desire for what is right, or an infatuation with the Princess.

Now, of course there isn’t anything wrong with taking the path of the Smitten, and it’s personally one of my top points in the game, but whether you admit it or not, you are long past morality being what decides your actions. That has come and gone. Now, the goal is to express the passion of the moment and delve into your romantic relationship with the Princess. I’ll be evaluating each of the routes differently, loosely organized with a focus on how it reacts to the player. After that, I’ll go on into theming of each route one by one and all that jazz.

The path of the Smitten first. The player embraces that he has been sent to save the Princess from her unjust and foul imprisonment above all else. So that is what he does. He marches downstairs, the blade being nothing but a passing afterthought as it is immediately dismissed out of hand. When it comes to the crucial point of “doing right by her”, the justification is made that two things can be done at once, that you can do this for her and do a little bit of fawning on the way. Doesn’t harm anyone.

And with that the basement arrives, and you see the Princess on the floor. She is perfect in all ways. There is nothing wrong with her. And that’s before you start talking to her. When you do begin talking to her, all of the kindness and innocence from Chapter 1 are magnified to the greatest degree possible. She can do no wrong. And, from a meta standpoint, there’s another thing that stands out – it is really, *really* funny. From everything the Smitten says to the “Then I didn’t end the world!” to the Narrator’s (a villain at this point) growing exasperation at your trust for the Princess, it endears you to the moment even more.

Because it’s not only that it’s funny. It’s not only that the Princess is genuinely nice to you. It’s something more than that. Something that I am loath to talk about but will anyway. The Princess is incredibly – *sigh* – **cute** within this chapter. This is objective, with science to back me up, I’m sure. But she is specifically designed to be as heartwarming as possible, and every line makes her more and more into someone who should be saved by you, into, well, a Damsel. While it isn’t explicitly stated, throughout the progression of dialogue, the need to protect her becomes more pronounced. You were already primed to like the Princess, you already internally committed to a romantic future. But after stepping into the bear trap willingly, you cannot escape.

And if you’re anything like me, you are perfectly fine with that. So you take in the moment, you rescue her from her chains and laugh at the way her hands slipped out of the chains and the Narrator’s comical anger at it. It’s all very feel-good, all cleanly written dialogue, and both the Princess and the Smitten are likable, they’re fun, and the Narrator is a fun enough villain for the Smitten and you to unite against. The Hero, if we’re being honest, barely registers, and if he does it’s usually as an extension to the Narrator, as a foil to yourself. And with her finally free, she embraces you, sealing the deal on her perfection.

And after that, something else happens. The deconstruction begins. You want to see if her dialogue has any more of that saccharine present throughout the rest of the chapter, and are immediately rewarded with the “The princess closes her eyes in deep reflection” and the follow up joke. Hungry for more, you click through some more of the dialogue, but something begins to happen. She begins to… unwind. The Smitten seems to reciprocate in turn, to a lesser extent. In fact, she really starts to return to the horror that this chapter was a nice respite from. So you cut your losses, decide to leave with her, and everything returns to normal. Bathed in the glow of your future, you immediately forget about the deconstruction.

After that, you finally get out of the basement, get a genuinely great moment opening the door alongside the Princess, never think twice about clicking “You’re not doing that.” as fast as humanly possible, and finally await the door at the end of the cabin. You finally get your fairytale ending. The princess goes out into the world together with you. You brought her out. And then she is taken by the Shifting Mound in a way reminiscent of her dying. Even if this wasn’t your first playthrough, it still comes as a shock. For the most part, you were being that Romantic hero, living in the moment with your passion. The thought of this happening was gone entirely. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it *hurts*. And the chapter is over.

The route of the Hero has a different point of view on the whole situation. That’s not to say it’s not easy to get drawn in by the hilarious dialogue and sheer cuteness of the Princess – far from it. It is, after all, what drives the conflict within this. For the Hero, and the player that goes along his path, has one bit of information stand out. That the world ended after the Princess killed you. Now, you can naturally be skeptical of the information, but the Princess isn’t helping her case here. Entirely vague, entirely unwilling to mention anything about it. The only thing she seems to care about is getting on your good side.

Now, you still want to save her. That much is clear. You still don’t take the knife in the beginning, and you saw her Chapter 1 incarnation. She is still a good person, kind and loving. But there are questions raised, important questions. Which is why not all Hero routers get the same ending. There is a conflict between how far you’re able to go before the risk of the world ending eclipses your distrust of the Narrator and your trust of the Princess. If the whole world really does end if she’s free, is it worth it? And as such you get to the major points of the Hero ending.

The first is the Deconstructed ending. As you question the Princess, you desperately try to figure out what the best way to go forward is for you. And that starts with getting a straight answer from the Princess on what exactly she plans on doing. The operation… does not go well. As you try and push for anything, any sign that she isn’t going to end the world, the same rejoinder comes in, alongside a distorted track. “I just want to make you happy.” The Princess is not an individual anymore, and begins to change shape. But you are locked in with a horrified inability to look away, like one who sees a car accident. And with that, the Princess is a Princess no longer, and the Shifting Mound takes her away.

There’s also the option of taking the Hero’s advice when confronted with the scenario: to leave. You don’t like what’s going on and you try to do whatever you can to undo the doing. Perhaps surprisingly, it works. And then you’re forced to deal with the cognitive dissonance of the Princess and *that* being the same individual. But you, not without a healthy dose of skepticism, still head upstairs alongside the Princess. In the end, you can’t bring yourself to kill her. Throughout it all, she still has been the beautifully endearing picture of innocence, if a questionable one, and especially with regards to the knife on the table, there is no way you can take it to her chest with no warning, especially after everything you did in the first Chapter. So you leave with her, and the “end of the world” really does come in one fell swoop with the call of the Shifting Mound. You can’t help but wonder if the decision you made was the right one, not really. Like, you still believe she didn’t deserve to die, but maybe, just maybe, it would have been a better ending.

So what if you did kill her? What happens when love *truly* melts away into skepticism. After the continuous question dodging and whatever the… other thing was, this is clearly not an ordinary Princess, it is not the same Princess that you tried to save at the beginning. There is only a sliver of her, a shadow of her former self. Slaying her, well, slaying her is probably doing her a favor. It might be doing the world a favor, too. Maybe she is an individual with malicious intent. And as you take the blade and plunge it into her chest, you instantly know you made the wrong decision. She does not oppose it. She simply lets you kill her with a single tear hanging in her eye, saying “I think this is what you want.” It’s meant to feel dirty and it does, even heartbreaking in the moment, although it is immediately counterbalanced by the effect of the Smitten killing you over it.

I won’t exactly go over Scorched Grey the same way, I think there’s generally only two frames of mind going into it, and that’s either the standard “Hero-Skeptic” framework that I’ll expand on later, or simply a completionist mindset. Plus, it’s technically not The Damsel. Plus I’m lazy. But this is the point where I will try to expand on the theming of each and every route and mindset to go through within the Chapter, and that *will* include the Scorched Grey theming.

It’s made quite clear from the chapter that one of the primary themes is objectification, the making of the Princess into nothing more than a vehicle to live one’s fantasy into. The taking of an individual and making them into an it. The destruction of humanity by your own desire, and what that says about your desires in the first place. Ironically, this is merely one fourth wall away from the rest of the Princesses, each of them being a piece of fiction that many simply engage with *because* they are an object, but with the Damsel it is directly nodded to within the narrative. One meta-layer is peeled back, if you will.

Nothing hammers this more home than the entirely jarring line that escapes the Shifting Mound’s lips when you ask about the vessel she holds. Unlike the rest of the fragments, which are all given an indication that they have been fulfilled after the Shifting Mound takes them, the only note she has to say is that the Damsel has “served her purpose”. There is nothing that she wished for, as anyone who has obtained the deconstructed ending can attest to. But even in the more standard runs, she is simply a tool to be used and discarded. And there are three general reactions to this line.

The first is the hardcore Smitten route’s preferred choice, denial. “The Princess was far more than an object, she had character, she had kindness, she had motivations from the beginning! The narrative is what is wrong, there’s nothing wrong with the Princess. She. Is. Perfect. Not just from a narrative standpoint but a metanarrative one as well. She has depth, she *is* a character.” All in the hopes that if they insist on it enough, it will become true. The Damsel was not designed to be viewed in a vacuum. There are themes that run through her character, and including negative ones, and the denial of them is a far truer denial of the character than any sort of objectification could ever be.

Then the more moderate Smitten routers get a different response. A slap in the face. They did all of this, they had fun, they laughed with her, they cried when she was taken. They were connected to her, they had a real connection to what she was. One could even accuse them of… loving her. They honest to goodness cared about this Princess, they were invested in her story. Yet, in the end, they also formed her around themselves. They “molded her to love you”. As much as they loved the Princess, that was only because they cut out a piece of the Shifting Mound that they *could* love, a caricature of her true nature. They still took an individual, and despite truly loving her, made her into something that she was not so they could do that very thing. She is not a person. She is a plot device, an individual made to love and be loved with nothing beyond that. She is an object.

Lastly, those who went on the route of the Hero get that same slap in the face, that selfsame bucket of water poured over their heads, but in a different way. They didn’t try to objectify her. They didn’t want anything of the sort. All they wanted to do was the right thing. Right? Yet even in that desire to do the right thing, they still get that same chilling text from the Shifting Mound. They have built an individual just like those who went on the route of the Smitten. Just a different one. Not one who was built around your “glorious romance”, but rather one built around something of a glorious Romance. The need to be a Hero. The desire to do what was right, to save an unjustly imprisoned Princess. The Princess became a plot device in the end anyway, just one that needed to be saved rather than one who needed to be loved.

I want to continue off of that. The player is trying to do nothing more than the right thing, he is simply doing what a Hero should. And that determination to do what is right leads to him getting impacted the most by that line in the ending, the line that implies that whatever right he was doing, he was still being driven by selfishness, by that need to be a Hero. That hits the player right within where it hurts, it almost could be said to strike at the one emotional vulnerability of them. To have your hard work, your pain, your desire for what is right to be considered nothing more than the delusions of a Don Quixote tilting at windmills in order to fight giants, just as lost as Smitten, that doesn’t feel too great. It almost minimizes your struggle, and it is genius. You play as a Hero because you want to feel like a Hero, not because the morality of this world means anything to you. It is stripping that meta-layer down one by one.

But objectification is not the only theme present. While it may seem like something of a potpourri topic to throw in, earlier on the server we were talking about the Damsel in particular’s perceptiveness with regards to perception. When the door shuts and locks, it is the first and only time the Princess gets visibly **negative** in any way during the entirety of the Chapter. Even when you kill her, she still does so with nary a frown on her face. Even as a tear rolls down her cheek, she still smiles. But not at the door. The narration points out quite clearly that she frowns. This is, I reiterate, the only thing that happens. And her response is not “we’re stuck down here”, it is not “I’m unable to leave now”.

What it is happens to be “that’s not supposed to happen”. She recognizes the construct in a way very few allude to within the game. Adding onto that note, within the Scorched Grey chapter, she (correctly) determines the very nature of the construct and that inherent “cycle of violence and despair” inherent to it, even (correctly) determining that the only way to leave was to annihilate that very construct. This is shown even clearer at the other major event at the door. When you ask if the Princess can open the door, the sole question she throws back at you is “Do you think I can?”, and after a response in the affirmative, “Then I can”. In the end, it is quite clear that she is, *heavily* ironically, one of the more aware characters in the game with regards to your circumstance.

While speaking of the Scorched Grey, I think this route also exemplifies another major theme – the nature of the Princess as a being of perception. All routes exemplify one facet of the Shifting Mound: Spectre represents the gravity of her, Tower her divinity, Prisoner the very incarnation in and of itself of her within the construct, and so on. Damsel has something different, though, and that is that she’s just a slippery little fella. Far more than anybody else, Damsel changes throughout her chapters, in ways more pronounced than anybody else. The Shifting Mound declares that we “molded her to love you”, as I quoted previously. That molding takes stage front and center throughout all of our interactions with her.

The most obvious example is her deconstruction, which when her sole true motivation (to leave) is discarded, she begins to break down, unable to offer to the player anything beyond the only desire every other Princess has. With the compulsive need to love the player, etched into her core, there is nothing she can do other than try to add to that love, losing herself within the process. But that is not the only time she changes. Because she is willing to give up that freedom in, well, a heartbeat. Attempting to kill her does not lead to any sort of resistance from her. The one goal she had, staying alive and winning her freedom, is out the window despite being (questionably) willing to kill for it in the last chapter. Now, throughout the Scorched Grey, it’s made clear that she did not, in fact, want to die, that she just wanted to be free together, but the complete unwillingness to save her own life is a stark contrast to the first chapter.

In fact, that perpetually changing nature alongside her being so objectified means that it’s really, *really* hard to figure out her true character. There is very little in her that does not change and very little remaining that isn’t specifically put there by you. She is an eel, wriggling out of your grasp and impossible to pin down, in a large way like the Shifting Mound herself. But… for the most part, there are two facets to her character beyond the already listed themes. And a sharp divide between them.

Chapter One Damsel and Chapter Two Damsel are not the same person. That’s usually true for most of them, but they also usually have some semblance of similarity between their counterparts. The only exceptions I can think off the top of my head are Spectre and *maaybe* Stranger if you want to count that. The rest of them act as exaggerated versions of the existing individuals shown. Chapter One Adversary likes fights. Chapter Two Adversary likes fights. Chapter One Witch is built on the back of distrust. Chapter Two Witch is built on the back of distrust. Everything lines up nicely.

That is not the case for the Damsel. The only thing that you can say with both of them is that they are nice and do not want to hurt you. The Chapter One incarnation (henceforth Princess) is a tragedy of a character that doesn’t want to kill you but still must to secure her own life and freedom against a renegade puppeting you. The Chapter Two incarnation (henceforth Damsel) is a Horror-”Feel-Good”-Comedic-Tragic character that shows nothing about the emotional anguish she went through in chapter one. I love both of them, but they have an unmatched disconnect. And I think that sort of adds to the character. Now, there is absolutely a benefit from an emotional through-line (there’s a reason Thorn is my second-favorite chapter), but in this case, only brief touches to the beginning enhance the story.

The most striking thing is the sense of comedic horror that comes when Damsel just completely ignores any expected trauma from the Princess’s emotional destruction. It, depending on the route you take, either makes you love her character more and more as the humor begins to entrap you, or it begins the process of getting the player unnerved, exactly like the developers wanted. It is a key dividing point in the mindset of the player and the route that they have chosen. The Damsel says nothing about what happened, heck, she barely acknowledges it except to indicate that “You died!”

Secondly, it sets up Damsel as a sympathetic figure while still allowing her to begin establishing herself. Without the setup from the Princess, the player has no idea how to view Damsel, potentially even seeing her as a less on-the-nose Razor, with her comedically hiding her sinister intentions. The Princess allows the player to begin on a note that the Princess is *actually* friendly rather than simply pretending to be so. At the same time, it’s divorced enough that apart from that frame of reference at the beginning, Damsel is still allowed to shine within her own character.

Lastly, and most importantly, it sets her up for the Scorched Grey. The guilt at causing the death of an innocent and the belief that you would be unable to cause the death of an innocent yourself leads her to blame the construct and attempt to bring it down, which seals your fate in the third Damsel chapter, the only time where the two chapters meet in a beautiful climax of Passion going too far and causing pain, in attempt of running away from that very thing, morphing into something that not even the Smitten is able to remain devoted to in an awful tragedy of love being not enough in the end.

Wait, wait, wait. Did I hear “the end” being spoken? At this time of year? Localized entirely within this essay? Well then, it’s time to talk about what puts this saga at pure perfection, shall we? I probably could just use the awesome power of Ctrl + V to get the desired effect, but I still do want to offer my narration, so I’ll compromise and do a bit of both. “Your lover drives a stake into your body. And another. And another. And another. And another. Do I miss your heart because I cannot stand to see it go? But the stakes meant nothing to you. You had a desire, and you set that desire free, you lifting me and me lifting you, forever and ever and ever, consumed by true belief, there was nothing that could hold us back.”

Do I even need to explain why that’s so good? Definitively the best poem in the end, it isn’t even close, especially when coupled with Ms. Goodnight’s awe-inspiring delivery. Did I say that the Scorched Grey was the perfect synthesis of the Princess and the Damsel? I was lying. This is. Every word so lovingly placed, the language sounds like it comes from the pen of God Himself. It is emotionally resonant, the art is beautiful, I have not run into such a short piece of dialogue that outdoes it. Gonna be honest, mostly just wrote up this essay to gush about it. Even now, it is considered by most everyone to be one of the best lines of dialogue in a game filled with magnificent ones.

And the other one, that of the Scorched Grey. It’s simpler, ironically. “I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me. Hollow eyes watch from the dry corners of a memory. A home built on all of the futures that were supposed to be, preserved until the moment of reunion. The fire of the heart sets it all ablaze. I kill you and me.”

This, this right here is one of the most slept on ending poems and it’s not even funny. So fantastic at expressing the heartbreak inherent to the Scorched Grey’s character. I don’t know how you can see the line “A home built on all the futures that were supposed to be”, especially with the Scorched Grey dead and charring in a wedding gown, and not feel *something*. It’s not as good as the standard Damsel stuff, but then again, nothing is. It’s still deserving of more praise than it currently receives, and one of my top three ending poems of all time, only edged out by Prisoner. Gosh, this game belongs in a museum.

Seems I need to debunk some stuff that happens to get a lot of traction regarding those who speculate on Damsel, too. First of all, her character motivation is not guilt nor gratitude. That sort of thing works incredibly well in fanworks, and I’m happy to see it ~~because that means I get to see Damsel in a fanwork~~. It has little to no backing within canon. Damsel is a chapter about the only motivations for the Princess being those put in place by the objectification of the player. There is nothing regarding anything beyond that, and it detracts from the existing, well-elucidated themes that are actually within the chapter. The only sort of substance to them is both Chapter 1 Princess and Scorched Grey indicating guilt for killing you, but that is almost entirely repudiated within the actual Chapter 2.

Speaking of the Scorched Grey, another thing I saw somewhat extensively is that you somehow “taught her” that killing is the way to love one another, and that’s why she kills you in Chapter 3, and I honestly do not know how that gained any traction at all. It’s pretty clear that she views all the death as a pretty terrible and messed up thing and only kills the two of you to escape the cycle of death. It’s spoken of as a means to an end, not an end in and of itself. I am genuinely confused on how this got started, because it really just… opposes the main *in-narrative* themes of the Chapter??? Like, you don’t even have to analyze it, it’s just within the text, plain and simple.

Anyway, I deeply apologize for the length of this once again, look forward to an appendix when Pristine Cut comes out. I’ve already played it because my uncle works at Black Tabby, but I don’t want to spoil it for you gents. If my opinions change massively after playing through the new update from today, I will change that too. Anyway, Damsel is the best character, literally does not do a single thing wrong within any of her chapters, has definitively the best Shifty stuff, and you should invest in her. As more people vocally become willing to throw money at anything related to Damsel, the likelier it is that we get Damsel merch. I need it so badly. Please. Anyway, if anything stands out to you or you disagree, I am begging you to tell me to get my act together and explain what I said wrong, so do that. Also please.

#slay the princess #the damsel #the princess #black tabby games #I spent an ungodly amount of time writing this up #But I honestly think this could be the be all end all work for this tiny character in a tiny game #Also #Seriously #Play Slay the Princess

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amysubmits · 2 years ago

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Dominant Power

A week or two ago I asked @cynicaldom for a spanking. He told me “good girl” and said some stuff about how it was so good of me to ask for what I needed/wanted.

Praise or positive feedback isn’t a rarity here, but I suppose I have a natural tendency to try to dismiss or downplay things in my head. There was something in the way that he expressed himself in this particular instance that has made the conversation really stick with me...I think I could just so easily see that he was proud of me so I couldn’t dismiss it.

-----

Yesterday we worked on a soft limit and got really far. It’s something that I’ve always hoped to accomplish in kink, but at times, I wasn’t sure if I’d get there...but I have a couple of times now. And it feels really good (psychologically and physically, haha).

I think these two things are connecting in my mind because early on, I think that deep down, I thought my greatest accomplishments in submission would be kinks. I thought succeeding physically would make me feel the most successful as a submissive. I am proud of the kink accomplishment, don’t get me wrong. It isn’t quite as deep, though.

And honestly? I think if CD wasn’t passionate about encouraging me to use my voice and advocate for my needs in our relationship, and/or if he prioritized kink notably more...I think I would experience it that way, too. I think I only manage to “allow myself” to feel proud of advocating for my needs because I see that he genuinely wants me to speak up so I can help him take care of me. I’m able to find pride in myself because I feel it genuinely occurring in him, first.

I hope that I’d protect myself by not submitting to someone who prioritized kinks and didn’t prioritize taking care of me...but when I think back to when we first started D/s, I’m not sure if I would have, if I’m really, really honest.

He had already hung the moon in my life by that time...so if he had taken the power of being my Dominant and used it selfishly...I think I probably would have done my best to go along with that. I get why subs can end up in ugly situations when the person they love and respect uses their dominance in selfish ways.

There can be a lot more power wrapped up in D/s relationships than what you specifically agree to submit to. When a sub has love and respect for their dom, it’s easy for their doms priorities and values to have a big impact on the sub. If something naturally makes the dom proud, or if a dom doesn’t care about something a sub does, that’s likely going to impact the sub regardless of whether you’ve specifically agreed to that being part of your D/s or not.

Anyway. I mostly got lucky, but I’m really grateful that I have a Dom who has values that I believe in and prioritize me because I don’t have to choose between taking care of myself and submitting. They’re one and the same.

@sccwriting

#writing #d/s #24/7 d/s

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

Note

“In walks König, and it seems even the birds have gone silent, the sun goes into a cloud, and he stands there at her door, barely fits to straighten to his full height under that frame, his ice blue eyes creasing in the depths of the hood – of course he's smiling. And then he tilts his head, terror and lust pool in her stomach again as he says......

...And she despises herself for the first thought she's having, the unchecked little whisper...

He came for me.

"Found you."

———-

i am literally spiralling rn this had my damn heart beat speeding up!!!!!😭😭😭😭 howwwww do you manage to outdo yourself every time, it’s like you add another twisted piece of a puzzle into building this man😭😭😭

good luck getting rid of him now, he’s gonna put a tracker on your phone, car, laptop etc making sure you don’t stray from your regular routes (he compromises after you two make up and says he’s fine with you working/studying and having a few close friends, friends he has of course done an extensive background check on without your knowledge. The private military allows one such perks)

he’d put hidden cameras all over the house, just for making sure that you’re safe when he’s out during missions no ulterior motives whatsoever he’s totally not creeping on you when you’re sleeping or showering no mam

he’ll give you the illusion of freedom, but in reality you’re only moving freely within the confines he has created for you. Everything to keep you pliant, and willing.

PLEASE my drink came out of my nose

König could just watch you for hours ❤️ (with a zoned out, blank expression). It's cute when you go into a fetal position when you're sleeping, as if you can sense you're being watched… And when he's at the base he would plug that stuff in and watch it from a bigger screen in some surveillance room. It's just to make sure you do what you said you would are safe, to check that everything's ok.

He would so watch those tapes, preferably a live stream, every chance he gets. And if he can't get it real-time he'll just watch the recording when he gets back, fast forwards through some of it but checks meticulously certain parts & that you keep to your routines. You know, go to work and come home at times you're supposed to.

Checks the tracker for your routes, that everything matches, but mostly just loves it that he put those cams inside your house. Sometimes plays the parts where you're having breakfast, sitting and sipping your drink all cute... watches you sleep, too.

And omg the shower cam??

Someone walks in the surv. room when he's having some me time and watching you shower, and is like "König…? What r u doing?" Because there's an odd scent of musk hovering in the air, and König looks at the screen completely obsessed, answers without ever moving his eyes from it:

"Mm, watching the perimeter."

And the rando soldier leaves with a feeling that someone just sent ice down their back... They think to themselves, "Why the hell is he so mesmerized by some CCTV material? There's nothing going on out there, just wind blowing and like… this is a heavily guarded secret military base we're not in some safe house wtf?"

…doesn't know König was slowly fisting himself under the table while watching his Engel rub some shower gel on those tits 💖👀

#answered #yandere könig #toxic könig #obsessive könig #cw: stalking #good god #it's getting bad again

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thewisaaaaad · 3 months ago

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@squish--squash I hope you know that you did this to me. I took a break from my narilamb oneshot for this.

Anyway here's more "Heket has a crisis" yw

After discovering the truth about Forneus's children, Heket is left with a problem. She can't really have a Narinder worshiper just wandering around her domain, but she also really doesn't want to force her love into a cage. She's already forced enough people close to her into cages. So, they just make an agreement: Forneus doesn't tell random people about her god, and Heket allows her to wander her domain. Every day, Heket fears that Forneus will forget, and that will be the end of her. Heket will not be able to protect her from War itself, after all.

So, after discovering that Shamura had gone off the deep end, Heket naturally assumes that the madness must have been caused by the damage that Narinder had done to their head. That's great, but now what?

Well, Heket of course makes the most rational decision: to sweep it under the rug! She takes over as the leader of the bishops, mainly to take the pressure off of Shamuras failing mind. This works great, even if the eldest sibling sometimes makes strange demands of them ("I thought we were meant to protect our people, not lord over them" "We need the sacrafices for more power. He cannot be allowed to overpower us." "...alright, I guess.") She is still able to keep the fractured family together. Secretly, Heket fears Narinders return, because of the damage he has already caused when they had the upper hand. Its irrational, she knows, because he's sealed away forever, but a part of her hopes he breaks free if only so that Forneus's kits can be returned to her. (little does she know that all narinder wants in this au is to have their family back.)

Then Shamura drops the bombshell of a prophesy about the sheep, and orders their siblings to begin the culling. Heket immidiately sees the problem with this (as do the other two gods). Killing all the sheep not only sends them directly to their brother, but would also give those sheep ample motivation to work with narinder to wipe out the old faith. So, behind Shamuras back, the three siblings make a plan to hide the sheep within Darkwood, given that the forest is a maze that only those with the bishop of chaos's blessing can traverse. (you can read all about that meeting HERE, you will need an ao3 account because I am afraid of AI scalpers.) So, problem solved, everything is great, right?

Shamura thinks so too! In fact, they managed to contain the red crown!

At that point Heket begins to panic, wondering what the hell Shamura meant by that, considering that the spider never extrapolated on how they were containing their brothers crown. She had never told them about how they were containing the sheep, so how did they find out? What do they mean, "contained the red crown"? Do they know about Forneus? Is her family safe?

And some years later, Heket realizes that she has someone who could answer that question: Forneus! She is a devout follower of The One Who Waits, so maybe she could tell Heket if the red crown is actually on this plane or not. And as it turns out, she can! It is in fact on the mortal plane, and it has found its destined bearer!

So Heket panics even more, and organises a meeting with her siblings individually so as to not raise alarm but still get the message out. However, when she goes to meet with Kalamar, she finds that he is ACTIVELY OPERATING ON THE BEARER OF THE RED CROWN. anyway that stuffs gonna be in the next chapter of my fanfic when I get around to it.

bye :)

ps this was thrown together so like im sorry that its not quite up to my standards I'm struggling man

#cotl forneus #forneus x heket #cult of the lamb #cotl heket #i really don't know what i'm doing #cotl #cotl au #sins of the gods au

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thrawns-babygirl · 1 year ago

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Hello there lovely, is there any chance that you could write something - anything really idc if it's a drabble, hc or oneshot- involving tatted Crosshair and his send nudes tattoo?

No pressure of course. love your stuff and keep it up^^

have a nice day <3

This was only meant to be a drabble but I got carried away.

And yes I know this fic starts off almost identically to one of my other fics (I think it was one of the follower celebration ones) but for this specific fic I needed to reuse an old trope dont @ me please I've had writers block （；¬＿¬)

This is also another one of my classic medic!reader fics because I wanted it to be gender neutral and doc is the easiest gender neutral nickname I can come up with.

I am not a creative person lmao.

anywho, this is based off of @cloned-eyes absolutely sinful art, which is honestly some of my favorite Crosshair art of all time.

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: Sexting (I think that's it lmao) Words: 2200+

Been a while since ive written anything this long so i hope my writing is still up to snuff

Masterlist

Where could he be? Where on this maker forsaken facility could he possibly be? You storm through the halls of Kamino looking for Wrecker, the errant clone needing to come and see you for updates to his immunisations before he or the rest of clone force 99 are allowed back out into the field.

It’s not surprising that he’s avoiding you, out of all of them, Wrecker is by far the worst with needles. The man can’t stand them, avoids you like the plague when he knows that it’s time to keep his vaccinations up to date and for what its worth you can’t really blame him. No one enjoys needles.

You huff and place your hands on your hips as you think about where the lovable giant could possibly be. You’ve already checked the mess, the armoury, the Marauder and the training centres with zero sign of him. When you got to the marauder Tech just gave you that look that says, “I understand you need to find him but I’m not going to rat him out” and while you often applaud clones for their loyalty to one another, when it stops you from doing your job it makes you want to rip your own hair out in frustration.

You make your way over towards their barracks, hoping and praying to whatever deities that will listen that you’ll find him and be able to get on with the rest of your job. You take a deep breath, standing out the front of their doors, before keying in your medical override and stepping inside.

You don’t find wrecker, and you wish you had knocked.

Standing in front of you is Crosshair, in just a towel, dark lines of ink on full display over his tanned body. You’ve never actually seen him without his shirt on before, never needed to. The sniper usually manages to stay out of trouble and doesn’t need any assistance when the boys return to Kamino so you had no idea he was covered in tattoos.

You run your eyes over his chest, taking in all the impressive art that litters his toned form. The silhouette of his beloved 773 Firepuncher that stretches along his chest, the artfully done letters of aurebesh that stretch above his stomach, the other smaller words and phrases that extend down his hips, tantalizingly low, slightly obscured by the fabric of the towel that’s gripped in his left hand.

You run your eyes up his arm towards his face, knowing that he’s going to be wearing that sickeningly infuriating smirk of his and wanting to avoid the cliché “Like what you see?” you know he’s going to drawl at you like you’re in some terrible holodrama.

As you brace yourself to face him, your eyes catch on a single phrase tattooed on his left arm, slightly more patchy and faded than his other ink as if it were the result of a drunken night out in some shady tattoo parlour in the Uscru District of Coruscant. Two simple words that have a profound effect on your physiology causing even more heat to rush to your face, deepening the blush that you know is already far too pronounced on your cheeks and ears.

“Send Nudes”

You finally have the courage to snap your eyes up to his and just as you expected you’re greeted by his frustratingly handsome smirk, his eyes boring into yours, as if he’s waiting for you to say something, as if this is going to be the final nail in the coffin for your poorly hidden mutual attraction to one another that’s been simmering the last few cycles that’s threatening to reach boiling point as you maintain eye contact.

You lamely open and close your mouth trying to find something to say to the barely covered man in front of you before he decides to end your suffering, breaking the silence with the just as cliché “See something you like doc?” he raises an eyebrow at you before walking over towards his bunk, reaching into a pouch on his discarded armour and producing a toothpick, slipping it between his lips as he looks you up and down.

“I um-” you finally look away from him, suddenly finding the old training posters above his bed intensely interesting trying to figure out what to say to him as if you weren’t just ogling his naked chest and arms for an unprofessionally long amount of time.

You clear your throat “I was just looking for Wrecker… he needs his shots” your eyes dart around the room, avoiding his smug, self-satisfied face for as long as humanly possible.

You cringe at how your voice falters, yours and Crosshair’s interactions are always a battle of wits and snark, constantly trying to one up each other as the rest of the batch endeavour to ignore your vague attempts at flirting with one another. Both of you trying your best to goad the other into making the first move, dancing around the invisible line you’ve both drawn in the sand but never crossed.

From the corner of your eye, you see him walk towards you, you see his arm adjusting the towel around his hips and your eyes are drawn to that stupid tattoo on his arm again, the one that makes you want to throw professionalism out the window and jump his bones regardless of any regulations or rules that would get in the way and muddy the waters.

“Wrecker’s not here” his voice has dropped an octave, as if getting you alone in his room has made him realise that there is nothing physical stopping the two of you from muddying the waters of your relationship and taking that final step. You swallow the saliva that’s started pooling in your mouth, attempting to remind yourself that you’re on duty, you’re in the barracks, any one of the rest of his squad could walk through those doors at any moment an interrupt whatever lewd and improper things you both want to do to one another.

While you were wrestling with your own thoughts and feelings you miss how close he’s managed to get to you, his silent footsteps bringing him directly in front of you and you stare up at him. Has he always been this tall? You lock eyes with him, neither of you saying anything as you just stare at one another, each of you silently willing the other to close the distance between the two of you and take the leap.

He begins moving his face closer to yours, his warm breath brushing over your face, it smells minty you vaguely register as you move your face closer to his, closing your eyes and the distance between the two of you when suddenly you hear loud, boisterous laughter approaching from the other side of the door.

You curse under your breath. Despite this being the whole reason you’re in the barracks to begin with, you would give anything for a few more moments alone with Crosshair. Both of you pull away from one another, Crosshair grabbing a spare change of blacks and walking back into the refresher before the door to the barracks opens and you see the wayward clone himself stare at you with wide eyes. He knows he’s got nowhere to run now as you fix him with a glare that one would assume is because of the amount of time and effort you put into finding him and not because of the fact he just interrupted… whatever was about to happen between you and Crosshair.

You walk out of the barracks with Wrecker in tow, attempting to push whatever it was that was happening with Crosshair to the back of your mind, at least for now.

After another few hours on duty, you finally return to your quarters, sore exhausted and replaying the interaction you had with Crosshair over and over again in your mind. No matter how you try to distract yourself, whenever you close your eyes, you see the dark lines of ink that cover his sculpted body. Does he have more tattoos? Do the go lower? You mind is reeling, and you can’t focus on anything else, you can’t even sleep all you can think about is stupid Crosshair with his stupid tattoos and that stupid send nudes tattoo he has on his stupid arm.

You sigh, picking up your datapad in a vague attempt at tricking your brain into doing something productive when you get an idea. Arguably a terrible and stupid idea that could have a negative affect on your career but… an idea, nonetheless. Sighing and shaking your head you throw your datapad down onto your bed as you stand up to take a shower.

No… this is a terrible idea.

You undress and stare at yourself in the mirror. Maybe… its not a terrible idea? Your mind keeps going back to his tattoos and you decide to throw caution to the wind. Walking back into your bedroom you snatch up your datapad and open an encoded chat with Crosshair’s personal frequency double and triple checking the recipient to make sure what you’re about to do doesn’t end up in the wrong hands before steeling your nerves and standing in front of the mirror. The lighting isn’t the most flattering but you don’t let yourself dwell on that for too long before you strike what you hope is an appealing pose and taking a series of pictures, attempting to highlight your assets.

You flick through the pictures selecting the ones you think are the most flattering and before you have a chance to second guess yourself you send them through to Crosshair with the caption “As instructed”.

You wait for a moment, encrypted chats don’t have notifications for when the recipient has seen the messages so you wait with baited breath for a response. When one doesn’t come immediately you throw your datapad down onto your bed and run your hand through your hair, deciding that maybe he’s just not looking at his datapad right now you finally take your shower, attempting to wash away your nerves and embarrassment, pushing your fear of rejection out of your head as you let the warm spray wash over you.

When you exit the shower and towel yourself off you look at your datapad and see a reply from Crosshair. Your breath catches in your throat as you move to open the message and see that it comes with an attachment.

Holding your breath, you open the attachment only to be greeted by a picture of Crosshair, standing in the refresher in his barracks, wearing only a pair of loose fitting black pants that are pulled down to his thighs revealing what can only be described as the nicest cock you have ever seen. You’ve never thought that cocks were attractive before, but somehow he’s managed to change your mind. It’s long and thick and the way his slender fingers wrap around his girth makes your mouth water.

After spending far too much time searing the sight of it into your memory you read the text that he sent along with the photo just one simple word; “More”.

You dive into bed, datapad in one hand, legs spread however before you get a chance to take and pictures you receive another message from Crosshair, this time there is no text, only a video. You open it and press play.

You watch in pure delight as the recording of Crosshair’s hand moves over his hard, weeping length, his fingers tightening as he gets to the tip creating more pressure around the head. Small sighs and choked breaths can be heard from the audio as his hand works his cock and just as the video ends you swear you hear a whisper of your name.

You scramble to return the favour, attempting to capture the best possible angle as you manoeuvre one hand down between your legs to begin working yourself over. You have the luxury of not needing to share your living space with anyone, so you put on a bit of a show, moaning and whimpering and gasping his name as you touch yourself and push yourself over the edge with a final long moan of his name. Your chest rising and falling as you hit send before you can change your mind or second guess yourself.

Not long after that you receive the final video of the night, your mouth waters and you can feel heat rushing down south again as you watch Crosshair vigorously stroking his cock, muffled gasps and groans coming from his end as he works himself, the head of his cock is so red it’s almost purple and you can see beads of precum leaking out of the tip and running onto his hands as he brings himself closer and closer to the edge. You watch as he bites his lip, face contorting in pleasure as the lines of ink on his skin move with the rise and fall of his chest as he struggles to stay quiet.

He screws his eyes shut and bites his lip so hard you think you see him break the skin, as he stifles a moan of your name, spilling ropes of cum over himself, his hand and his chest, panting before the video ends.

You get one other message from him on the encrypted channel.

>Might need to see you in medbay tomorrow for a busted lip

@where-is-my-mind-tho@antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot@ilovestarwarsmen725@vincentferard

#bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair #crosshair smut #crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader smut #crosshair x you #tbb crosshair smut #bad batch crosshair smut #bad batch x reader #bad batch x reader smut #the bad batch crosshair #crosshair #tbb smut #bad batch smut #the bad batch smut #tbb x reader #crosswifewrites

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