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fluentmoviequoter · 3 days ago

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Stood Too Close to a Devil

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!UC!reader

Summary: While investigating a human trafficking ring, you get in too deep. You're abducted and meet a group of women you can't leave behind. After months of fighting, you find your way home to the one safety they couldn't take from you.

Warnings: recommended 16+, human trafficking, child abduction and trafficking, allusions to SA, physical/emotional abuse, imprisonment, r is harmed numerous times, drugging, discussion of scars, depiction of corrupt politicians, comfort and early healing at the end

Word Count: 7.3k+ words

A/N: I used one of @nevereclipse 's fantastic ideas for this! The length clearly got away from me, but I love the idea of Tim being home and providing safety for someone that really needs it. Hopefully this is along of the lines of the original post and please feel free to let me know what you think!🫶🏼

You walk up the metal stairs of the cheap motel, feeling your shirt rise up on your waist with each step. The bag in your hands prevents you from pulling the worn fabric down, but it’s okay. Anything that draws attention is appreciated right now. You knock on the door with one hip pushed out to hold the bag.

“Hey, handsome,” you greet when the door opens. “I got everything you asked for.”

Stepping into the room, you set the overfilled bag on the bed and wait for the door to close. Your shoulders droop as you exhale heavily and pull your shirt down to your hips. “Twenty.”

Nyla’s eyes widen as she repeats, “Twenty? Two-zero?”

Nodding, you push your forefinger and your thumb against your eyebrows. “I know. This is way bigger than I thought.”

“It’s bigger than any of us thought,” the chief of Major Crimes agrees. “How’s your cover?”

Tim interrupts your answer and asks, “How are you?”

Licking your lips, you consider lying. “It’s rough,” you admit. “But I can do it. My cover is intact, no one suspects anything, and I’ve gotten more attention the last three nights.”

“What kind of attention?” Nyla inquires.

“Rich has been watching me while I’m working, and the guy at the front desk of the motel asks me about work every day.”

“They’re prying,” Major Crimes Chief Rodriguez says. “Trying to decide if you’re in a position to be asked.”

“Am I?”

“Not yet,” Nyla answers. “People with steady jobs and the income to stay in a long-term motel aren’t usually desperate enough to traffic.”

“Which we aren’t doing,” Tim reminds you. “We need proof, not for you to get sucked in.”

You nod, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Doesn’t make it easier to watch the twenty women they do choose get trafficked.”

“We’re doing everything we can to recover them,” Rodriguez promises. “Keep your eyes open, head down, get information, and we’ll go from there.”

“Rich got violent last night,” you tell them. “I didn’t see the knife but I heard he had one. Got up in a girl’s face because she asked if he was paying.”

“For?” Nyla asks.

“A dance.”

Tim crosses his arms tightly against his chest. He’d been against the idea of your cover job being in a sleazy bar, but there was no better option. You’re close enough to see what you need to see, yet separated just enough to not be easily pulled into it.

“Any idea when they’re planning to act next?” Rodriguez asks as he jots notes on a small black pad.

“I heard someone say something about ‘payday Friday,’ but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re pulling someone new in,” you reply.

“And it’s still too early for a hotel sting,” Tim complains.

“I’ll ask around with some of the girls, see what I can find out,” you offer. “Anything else?”

“Do you think you could get someone to take you to ‘payday Friday’?” Nyla asks. “I know it’s dangerous, but it they trust you enough, it could help.”

You nod and agree to try, though you know Tim is concerned about it. Tim wraps his hand around your arm as you pick up the emptied bag and prepare to leave. His touch is gentle and warm, and you wish you could melt into it and leave this undercover operation in the past. But you need to infiltrate this organization before they traffic even more innocent women.

“Be careful,” Tim urges you quietly. “This is way bigger than anyone knew, so if you need to get out, pull the ripcord.”

“I will,” you assure. “Thank you. You’ll be close?”

“Always.”

You leave the motel room with the promise that Tim is with you, and though it doesn’t make what you’re about to see any better, it makes your practiced confidence come a bit easier.

The black SUV waiting one block away is probably your backup. Tim’s metro team can’t be far, but as you walk deeper into an alley, following three armed men and their dates, your chest tightens. One of these women may be the target, or they could be compliant witnesses to the cruelty these men get pleasure and monetary gain from daily.

“You’ve met, right?” Rich, a regular at your cover job, asks as he gestures between you and his date.

“I don’t think so,” you answer with a smile. “I’m Jewel.”

“Do you speak Spanish, Jewel?” Rich inquires.

“A little bit.”

“Renata here doesn’t speak any English, but she’s very nice.”

You smile and introduce yourself in Spanish.

“No conozco a estos hombres,” Renata says. Her voice is strained, but her smile remains as she confides in you that she doesn’t know these men.

“What’d she say?” Rich's best friend Kol demands.

With an airy laugh, you answer, “She said she doesn’t know where to meet friends here.” Turning to her, you promise, “Te ayudaré. I told her I’d help her.”

Rich and Kol look at one another, then smile.

“I’m sure she’ll really appreciate your help,” Kol says.

His date snickers as she takes the other woman’s hand. So, they do know, you realize. And I just promised to help a woman who’s probably going to be trafficked while I stand here and watch.

“Hey, is Jewel your real name or just, you know, something you go by?” Rich wonders.

“It’s my real name,” you say, staying close to Renata.

“Sounds like a stripper,” one of the women whispers.

“Do you mind if I ask Renata for her phone number? I’d like to introduce her to some of my friends if she’s free sometime.”

Rich nods before he turns to converse privately with Kol and their dates. You raise your phone and text ‘Landlord,’ who is Tim, that something is about to go down and a woman is in immediate danger. You delete the text from your phone after it says it was delivered.

“¿Tienes un número de teléfono?” you ask Renata.

“Me dijo que la diera a la gente siete números. Me dará un teléfono antes de ayudarme a contactar a mi familia en Venezuela,” she answers quickly.

That’s not good. Rich told her to give seven random numbers and promised to get her a phone after she starts working for him to support her family in Venezuela. You know, like most cops, that if a trafficker thinks someone is willing to work to help their family in another country, they are prime targets.

Given that Rich and Kol are proven traffickers – in addition to committing other crimes – you know that you have to get Renata out of here before it is too late. She’s clearly scared, and if they catch onto her fear or realize that you’re not talking to her about meeting friends, this will go bad quickly. Tim hasn’t answered, and no police have descended on the alley, so you have to think fast. A truck approaches from the southern end of the alley, less than a quarter mile from the freeway. The men are still talking, and you take a deep breath.

“Huir,” you demand under your breath. Run away.

Renata looks at you, then takes off. Kol moves to chase her, but you step out to block his path. You’re too deep, and it will be too late to get out if Tim doesn’t bring Metro in now. But you had to help Renata. Her blood would have been on your hands if you hadn’t. Now, you’re risking your life to let her run to safety.

Rich steps forward and smiles as Kol asks what to do.

“Way I see it?” Rich answers. “We came down here to get another girl. I’m looking at one.”

“I’m not going with you,” you say, stepping back.

Kol pulls a gun from his waistband and replies, “Yeah, you are.”

You prepare to run, hoping that Tim will come around the corner. You’re still undercover, you remind yourself, and whatever happens now could save another life. Your arms are pulled tightly behind you, and you’re pushed into the back of a large white truck.

After the door closes and the truck lurches into motion, someone lights a match, and you see three women huddled in the corner, shaking and scared.

“¿Hablas ingles?” you ask.

“Yes,” one of them answers.

“I’m a police officer, okay? I’m going to do everything I can to help you and get you out of here. Are you hurt?”

“Ilsa is,” the woman with the match says. “They hit her with a metal belt.”

You move deeper into the truck and introduce yourself.

“I’m Maria, and this is my cousin Becca.”

You glance at Becca as you lift the back of Ilsa’s shirt. “How old is Becca?” you whisper.

“Fifteen, she just had her quinceañera," Maria answers.

Exhaling sharply, you examine the swollen red strip spanning Ilsa’s back. As you pull a miniature first aid kit from inside your boot, you say, “We’re going to have to work together, especially to keep Becca safe.”

“Of course,” Maria answers.

“They’re monsters,” Ilsa says. You notice immediately that her accent sounds Russian. “I’ll do anything I can to protect her. She’s only a child.”

“You’ve done more than enough.”

Looking away from Ilsa’s back, you face Maria, who says, “The man with the belt was trying to keep Becca from crying.”

“Least I could do,” Ilsa murmurs before hissing in pain when you swipe an antibiotic wipe across her wound.

“It’s more than that,” you say. “I won’t lie, I’m not supposed to be here, so this is going to get worse before it gets better. Do either of you have any idea where we’re going?”

“Tijuana,” they answer together.

Your eyes widen at the information that they’re moving you across state lines, country borders, and right out of your jurisdiction. The tracker sewn into the seam of your underwear only works for a few miles, so you’re completely disconnected from your station and the people who could help. Worse, you realize as you fall back, is that you have been trafficked. You’re no longer an investigator. You’re a victim.

As the truck shakes while you head south, you remove the jacket tied around your waist and hold it to your chest as you think. It still smells like Tim’s cologne, and you breathe it in as if it will disappear at any moment. Racking your brain for an idea of what to do, you try to think like Tim and Nyla. Every thought you have of trying to stop these men ends with you dead and the women beside you living in fear in a place where they’ll likely never be found.

“Do you need anything?” you ask them.

They shake their heads, and Ilsa’s chin drops as if she’s asleep.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Maria whispers. “You’re the angel we prayed for.”

She closes her eyes as the match burns out, and you tip your head back to look at the dark ceiling above you. I’m not an angel. I just stood too close to the devil.

The truck door rolls open loudly before a blindingly bright light greets you.

“Bienvenidos a Mexico,” Rich greets. “Send the little one, we’ve got someone here who wants to meet our newest helper.”

“Take me instead,” you reply, moving toward your abductors. “I’m new, too.”

“Not exactly what I meant.”

You jump from the truck and move to stand mere inches from Rich. “You just shoved that girl in the back of a truck and drove her to another country, you’re going to have to take it easier with her. She doesn’t know what you’ve done yet.”

“She’ll have to learn,” he seethes. “And we don’t have much time for teaching.”

Leveling your gaze on his, you wait for him to give. Kol mumbles something behind him, and Rich says, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Hours later, your face feels tight from all the dried tears on it when you are shoved into a damp room lined with cots. Ilsa recites a story to Becca while Maria braids her hair, but they look up at you when the door slams and locks.

“Have you seen any other women?” you ask.

“Two more. They came in for a few minutes, then the ugly man came and took them back out,” Ilsa answers.

“They didn’t speak,” Maria adds quietly. “Do you think their spirits are gone?”

You tug the roots of your hair and answer, “For their sakes, I’m beginning to hope so.”

“Are you okay?” Becca whispers.

It’s the first time she’s spoken to you, the first you’ve heard of her voice, and you smile at her. “I’m okay, and you’re going to be okay, too.”

“What is this place?”

“It’s a bad place, and they’re going to try to let bad people do bad things to us, but I’m not going to let them,” you promise.

“You can’t,” Ilsa argues.

“I took an oath to serve and protect, and that didn’t end at the border. They’re not going to do anything to you as long as I can help it.”

“Did…” Maria begins.

“No,” you answer. “He.. No, I’m okay.”

“Knock, knock,” Kol calls obnoxiously. He sets food on the nearest cot and asks, “How’s the little princess?”

Ilsa says something in Russian as Maria moves to sit in front of Becca.

“What do you want, Kol?” you demand.

“It’s a question,” he snaps. “I want an answer.”

“You want to know how she is? She’d be better if you weren’t around.”

Kol looks over his shoulder, then demands, “Come with me.”

“No.”

“Come. With. Me. Or I’ll come in there and get you.”

You clench your jaw as you stand and follow him. The moment the soundproof door is closed, he shoves you against the concrete wall and presses his weight against your back.

“I don’t like people that talk back to me,” he seethes in your ear.

“And I don’t like people who traffic humans,” you argue, pushing back against him.

Kol raises one hand to your head, pulling it back enough to slam your nose into the wall. You can feel it break, but you’re out of tears, and he doesn’t deserve them anyway.

“Beat me, sell me all day everyday, do whatever you want, but I’m not letting you put one more finger on that little girl,” you say though the blood running over your lips.

“Sounds like a challenge!” Rich exclaims. He comes to your side and adds, “I love challenges.”

“Who are you working for?” you ask. “You two morons are barely smart enough to drive, so there’s no way you’re the masterminds.”

“What does it matter to you?”

“When someone smarter than you comes along and gets free, I want to make sure she knows who the police should be looking for.”

“They’ll never find the Vaquero.”

“Doubtful you could find him either,” you reply, attempting to kick free of Kol.

He slams his foot against the back of your ankle, and you buckle forward at the pain.

“You want to work more? I’ll get right on it,” he says before pushing you back into your prison.

In a heap on the floor, you barely manage to tell Maria to back away from you before you puke. Sitting up, you see that Becca is asleep. Ilsa watches you lean against the concrete wall, and you point to the bucket of clothes beside her. There isn’t much in it, but a bra at the bottom catches your attention. It’s wireless, of course, because these people are smart enough to avoid giving scared women anything that could be used as a weapon. You fold it so the cups are together, making it thicker, then place it between your teeth. It holds your tongue down and catches your scream as you use the sides of your palms to straighten your broken nose.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Maria chides as she looks for something to stop your bleeding.

“Hand me the jacket?” you ask.

She passes you Tim’s jacket, and you watch a tear fall onto it before you hold it against your face. “I’m sorry,” you whisper into it.

“Will he come for you?” Ilsa inquires, walking toward you.

“I don’t think I left him enough clues,” you admit, though it’s muffled.

“You’re smart, I’m sure you did.”

Looking at Maria, you say, “If I get killed, don’t let it be for nothing.”

“We’ll protect each other,” she counters.

“No matter what,” Ilsa adds.

The following day, no one enters the room. There’s water in the corner and Becca snacks on the food from the night before, but nothing changes. Tim’s jacket still holds the scent of his cologne on the end of the sleeves, and you keep it beside you as you attempt to rest. It dries your tears and holds your blood, but it’s nothing like being near Tim. It’s a reminder that you can get home, and that’s all you need it to be.

“There’s a first aid kit,” Becca says, standing from the corner. “It looks new.”

You extend your hands, and she places the metal box in your hold. Opening it, you sigh at the sight.

“It is new,” you announce. “Ilsa, let me see your back again?”

She lifts her shirt, and you begin treating the stripe. “It looks better. Hopefully this will help more.”

“I can’t feel it,” she says.

“That’s not good,” you reply immediately.

“I should say, I choose not to. We have more important things.”

“Your health is important.”

“And yours isn’t?”

After a month of preventing Ilsa, Maria, and Becca from being removed from the room, you are exhausted. Rich has taken pleasure in coming to retrieve you every time, and when he opens the door for the eighth time in five days, you stumble as you stand.

“If you’re too tired,” he taunts.

“I’m fine,” you answer. “Get out.”

“We have guests coming tomorrow,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to have to get along with me, or they’ll show you a different kind of punishment.”

“It can’t get much worse.”

Rich walks toward you, and you notice a rope in his hand. “Trust me, it can. Now, let’s go.”

“What are you doing?” Ilsa demands.

“Leashing the dog,” he answers darkly. He steps behind you, his breath warm and too close to your skin. “Walk.”

You exit the room and decide not to fight back as he secures your wrists and up to your elbows with the rope. It’s uncomfortable and pulls your shoulders into a dangerous position, but talking too much will only feed his ego and endanger every woman in this bunker.

“Open your mouth,” he says as he walks before you. “Now.”

After you lick your lips, he pries your mouth open and pours something inside. He taps your neck, forcing you to swallow, and you feel your muscles weaken as he leads you toward the exit. You urge yourself to remember the route to reach the door where the sunlight shines beneath it, but each step is heavier than the last and requires concentration.

Rich uses your restraints to pull you to a stop. You tip back and can’t catch yourself with your hands, so you fall to your butt and groan. To stay upright, you cross your legs and wait.

“I said I wanted someone who could look the part of a cop,” someone with a familiar voice complains. “She can barely stand.”

“When the drug wears off, she’ll be fine,” Rich explains. “Did you bring it?”

“You induced myopathy to walk her to the door? What is she, a fighter?”

“She’s an annoyance. Remind her that we’re here alone with her friends. She’ll do whatever you want.”

You can hear the man's smile as he repeats, “Whatever I want.”

However, he doesn’t have to remind you of anything because you do what he asks. There’s a feeling in the air like something big is happening, and you want to be out of your cell for it. You can only hope that Ilsa, Becca, and Maria are safe while you’re gone, but believing they are makes it even more important to obey and keep them safe.

“Put this on,” the man – tall, older, and clearly not Mexican – demands as he tosses a small costume package to you.

You catch it, fully recovered from the drug’s effects, and look at the skimpy black fabric within. As you remove it from the package, you realize who the man is and why he sounded familiar in the bunker. Councilman Brek has been demanding in every interview he’s done, and it’s been rumored he has the city and government employees in Los Angeles in his wallet to stay in office so long.

“You’re Vaquero?” you guess.

“Maybe I am, which means you do precisely what I say. I don’t trust you, so you’re going to have to change here and now,” he instructs slowly.

Nodding, you begin to change as quickly as possible. The so-called police uniform is little more than a too-small vest and a tube-style skirt with a light badge hanging from it.

“Perfect,” the man applauds, blatantly looking at your body rather than your face. “Let me introduce you to the girls. Ladies!”

You follow him into another room where seven women are dressed in similar outfits, in different colors, and bearing agency badges.

“Tonight, you will be known as your badges. So, we’ve got DEA, NSA, CIA, FBI, LAPD, NYPD, ICE, and CSI, how needs some glasses.”

You look at each woman as he speaks and wonder where they’re from. You can't guess if they’re working for him legitimately or if they’re all like you. For all anyone knows, they could be undercover, too, though the pleased smile on CSI’s face after she receives glasses makes you think otherwise.

“Finish your shift without incident and we’ll talk. Anything happens, tell my assistant Mark and he’ll handle it. The rules are simple: You work, they pay. If someone tries to do anything without paying, Mark is your first contact. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply with the other women.

The clock on the wall says four a.m. when you consider calling for Brek's assistant Mark, but remember Rodriguez’s advice: keep your head down. If you can get through tonight without causing any problems, maybe Rich and Kol will trust you enough to give you more freedom. It’s unlikely, but lives are at stake, including your own.

“Come to papa, LAPD!”

You turn and smile at the short Latino man beckoning you closer. Extending your hand, you wait for him to pay you with one hand on your hip.

“I said come here,” he repeats.

Rubbing your fingers together, you remind him, “I’m supposed to receive payment first.”

He twists his head to crack his neck and then extends his arms. His hands grip your barely covered hips before he pulls you into his lap.

“Let go,” you demand under your breath, looking around for Mark and wishing it was Tim coming to help you.

If you were undercover in LA, Tim would have already had this guy off of you, and tears prick your eyes when you remember how long it has been since you saw him and worked with him.

“Stop fighting,” the man says.

His demand is punctuated by the telltale sound of a switchblade. NYPD slows as she walks behind you, and when the man shifts his hand to squeeze your thigh instead, she screams Mark’s name.

Before he reaches you, you press your hands against the man’s shoulders and shove yourself away from him. You realize then that the knife was closer than you thought. Mark hauls the man out of his chair and disappears. NYPD and DEA escort you back to the room where you got dressed and encourage you to sit.

“Is this yours?” DEA asks, raising Tim’s jacket.

“Yeah,” you answer.

She presses it against your bleeding inner thigh, and you dig your fingers into the chair beneath you.

“This needs stitches,” NYPD says. She looks around before whispering, “Are you working here?”

You shake your head in a small motion, and she chews her bottom lip.

“We have a sewing kit,” DEA whispers. “But I don’t know if that would work.”

“I do,” you interject. “Bring it to me?”

She hesitates but does as you ask. NYPD threads the needle after DEA sterilizes it over a nearby burning candle. You remove Tim’s jacket and put the end of the sleeve in your mouth to bite down on. Each stitch burns worse than the last, and your fight to stay conscious makes your hands shake.

NYPD takes the needle, tugs the jacket sleeve free, and says, “Breathe, LAPD.”

You mumble your name, and she smiles as she says, “I’m Jessica. I’ve been watching, so I can try to finish them if you want.”

“Please.”

“You’ll scar her!” DEA argues.

“It’s going to scar no matter what,” you say. “I’m not that good. Please just help me.”

NYPD nods as you let your eyes close momentarily.

Tim could have kept it from scarring you think just before Mark enters the room to escort you back to work.

Kol doesn’t see the wound when he arrives to take you back to the bunker. Not that you think he’d care, but you covered it just in case he’d make you stop taking the “jobs” intended for Becca, Maria, and Ilsa.

Lowering carefully onto your cot, you let the pain in again and acknowledge it with a groan.

“What happened?” Ilsa asks, rushing to your side.

“I need the first aid kit, please.”

Maria turns away to distract Becca when she sees your patched-together stitches, but Ilsa kneels beside you to help.

“It’s gonna be a long night,” she murmurs.

“It’s been a long month,” you correct her.

She chuckles wetly, and you smile as she wraps bandages around your thigh. The bloody jacket is clutched to your chest, and you once again wish that it was Tim holding you, and not you desperately gripping the idea of him.

“It’s been months without a word, Tim,” Nyla says. “Rodriguez has other cases, but that doesn’t mean he’s giving up on her.”

“He closed the case!” Tim yells. “It has been weeks since he looked at anything related to the traffickers, and suddenly it’s time? She’s still out there, Nyla!”

“I understand, Bradford, I do, but until we can pick up their trail again, there is nothing we can do.”

“So, you expect me to just go back to work while one of our own is being trafficked?”

“I expect you to do what you need to do to make Rodriguez think you’re not undermining him,” Nyla says quietly. “I’ve been looking too. We’re not going to let her disappear.”

“And if she’s already gone?”

“We find the people who took her and make them pay with everything they have left.”

“Everybody pack up and drink up,” Rich demands as he kicks the door open.

“Drink what?” Maria asks, leaning up to look at the clear glasses on his tray.

“You’re going home.”

“What?” you, Ilsa, and Maria exclaim together.

“The Vaquero bailed you out. The drink is a celebration.”

“We’re going home?” Becca asks Maria, gripping her hand tightly.

“Three of you.” Rich looks at you, and you nod. They're freedom is your hush money, and it will work... for now. You'll stay quiet about Councilman Brek being Vaquero if it gets these women home.

“No,” Ilsa says. “I’m not drinking that if she’s not going with us.”

“Yes, you are,” you tell her. “You’re going home because that was always the goal.”

“What about the other women?!” she exclaims.

“I’ll work to free them next.”

“You’d die before you did that,” Rich says. “It took you over five months to free these three. You think we don’t have replacements for them already on the way?”

“You got what you wanted, Rich,” you say. “Ladies, pack and drink. I’ll cheers with you.”

You wrap Tim’s jacket around your waist, tap your glass against theirs, drink, set the glass down, and fall into darkness.

“Where are the tracking records?” Angela asks.

“From the underwear tracker?” Nyla clarifies as she leans over Tim’s table.

“That’s where her tracker was?” Tim asks, furrowing his brows.

“I guess Rodriguez didn’t put them in the file,” Nyla says, frowning. “Or they’re digital and he couldn’t figure out control-P. Let me check.”

Tim looks at surveillance pictures of you as Nyla clicks through the laptop before her.

“Printer is full if you need to use it,” he murmurs.

“Thanks.”

Angela stands to retrieve the papers as Nyla lifts your undercover phone from the charger.

“Tim,” Angela calls, looking at the top page. “Did you get a text from her the day she was abducted?”

“No,” he answers, raising his head.

“She deleted it, but the metadata is still there.”

Nyla extends her hand and reads the information on the page before looking up at Tim. “It says it delivered.”

Tim takes his phone from his pocket and checks, but there are no messages from you. Angela checks the other undercover phone, but there are no messages there either.

“Where did it deliver, then?” Nyla wonders. “It says she sent it to ‘Landlord.’”

“Landlord?” Tim asks. “On the last day she was here?”

“Right.”

“Rodriguez changed our covers the morning before. He told me he let her know. Landlord texts went to Rodriguez.”

Nyla purses her lips before she asks, “Which city council member endorsed Rodriguez for chief?”

“Brek,” Angela answers. “It fueled the pay-off rumors.”

“There’s something else going on here,” Nyla says. “And Rodriguez knows about it.”

“I’ll call-“ Tim begins.

“We don’t know who we can trust,” Angela interrupts.

“Wade,” he finishes. He pauses and looks up rather than making the call.

“Call him,” Angela and Nyla say together.

You blink your eyes open, realize you don't recognize the room around you, and sit up quickly.

“I gave you a very thorough description,” Councilman Brek complains. “She looks nothing like what I asked for. If I’m paying for you to bring them up to LA, I expect to get what I pay for.”

“Sir, we don’t have anyone fitting that description,” Rich explains. “And you liked her before.”

“But this isn’t before, is it? She's cost me enough money without this screw up.”

“Excuse me?” you interrupt. “I- I’m from LA, and I know a lot of women willing to do anything for money. Maybe I can help you get what you want.”

You bite your tongue after you speak to keep your stomach from flipping. You’re offering to traffic someone else, and even though it’s a cover to get these men in custody, it still feels wrong.

“I’m not sure I feel comfortable divulging that information to you,” Councilman Brek replies.

“Who is she gonna tell?” Kol points out. "She's been quiet about everything else."

Brek sighs, then says, “I want a dark woman with natural hair, shorter than me, relatively small, and mouthy.”

You manage to keep your eyes from widening at his precise desire and somewhat racist description. “Yeah, I know someone like that.”

“You do?” Brek and Kol ask together.

“I only know her first name,” you reply. “It’s Crystal. I know where she lives, like geographically, not the address.”

“I want Crystal,” Brek decides, turning toward Rich. “Take LAPD here to fetch Crystal and bring them both back.”

“Yes, sir,” Rich and Kol answer together.

You walk out to the car with them and slide into the passenger seat. They brought your clothes with you during the overnight transport back to LA. Now, Tim’s jacket hangs off one shoulder as you give Rich directions to an undercover residence. He parks, and you’re surprised when he and Kol unbuckle their seatbelts. Your hand moves to release yours, and Rich backhands you. His ring draws blood on your cheek.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you waltz up there, did you?” Rich asks.

“Just surprised you wear seatbelts,” you answer meekly.

He locks the doors behind him, trapping you in the car, and you watch as they walk to the door you pointed out and ask for Crystal. A nearby Metro team that was likely on standby ambushes them nearly immediately after hearing Detective Harper's previous undercover name. Without time to react, they’re cuffed and placed in patrol cars before they even realize what’s happening.

When more officers arrive to keep up appearances, you know you must get out of here. With Tim’s jacket protecting your skin, you break the passenger side window, climb out, and run through the night.

When you finally reach the door you’ve dreamed of walking through for nearly half a year, it is dark, and the city is as asleep as it gets. You haven’t had a home in too long, and thinking of going to the station to answer questions about every little thing you saw and did makes you nauseous. So, you linger outside the one place you can think to go. Raising your hand, you grip the sleeve in your fist and knock.

The door opens harshly as if the person is grumpy from being woken or unimpressed by such a late visit. You forget to breathe when you see the man at the door and the first breath you force yourself to take causes a tear to roll over your cheek. Tim steps toward you, his shoulders dropping as his eyes widen and his gaze softens. He sees the blood on your cheek but doesn’t try to touch you.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admit quietly.

Tim nods and pushes the door open wider for you. With the sleeves of his old jacket grasped between your hands, you step into his home and wait.

“I… What do you need?” he asks.

You look down, unsure about where to start answering that question. “A shower would be nice,” you reply.

Tim leads you through his house and into his bedroom. He tells you where all of his clothes are, where the fresh towels are under the sink, and invites you to use whatever you want.

“I’ll be close, if you need anything,” he says before closing the door behind him. “You can lock the door,” he adds through the wood.

You lay your hand on the doorknob, then let your fingers slip off without locking it. Navigating carefully and quietly through Tim's room, you take a few pieces of his clothing into the bathroom. The warm shower feels good, but you hate that you can’t hear well over the falling water, so you cut your time in the cleansing stream short. Dressed in Tim’s clothes, you walk through his bedroom and open the door. Tim stands from his position on the floor, where he’d been waiting down the hall in case you called for him.

“I’m not going to ask if you’re okay,” he says. “Do you know what you want to do?”

“Can I just…” You trail off and gesture weakly in an around motion.

“Yeah, of course,” Tim answers. “I’ll be on the couch.”

He listens as you pace through his hallway and into his bedroom. You’re not the woman he knew before, and he understands that, but his worry about you and concerns about what you’ve been through threaten to overwhelm him.

Ten minutes later, you enter the living room and sit on the other end of the couch. You pinch Tim’s sweatpants between your fingers and avoid looking at him, but you’ve never been happier to be in his presence, to be sitting beside him.

“I’m here,” Tim says. “I don’t want to push anything on you, but whatever you need, whatever I can do – or not do – to help you, I am here.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking up to see him. “I missed you.”

“You had my jacket.” Tim’s eyes drop momentarily like he’s trying to place what else is different about you.

“I couldn’t look in the mirror,” you confide. “Is my nose crooked? Or crookeder than before?”

Tim hesitates before he answers. Not because your nose is crooked and he’s preparing to lie, but because he’s wondering what happened to your nose and who caused it.

“It looks perfect,” he says. “Like before.”

You place your hand gently over your nose and say, “Kol broke it.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispers.

You drop your hand and nod at him. Moving closer, you close some of the distance between you. “I want to feel like me again.”

“You will,” he promises. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“I might’ve used all that strength.”

“Then you’ll use ours. Everyone around you is ready to help you.”

“Until they find out what I did and have to hear my word against his,” you murmur.

Tim wants to know more about what that means, but your head drops against his shoulder, and suddenly, you are the only thing in the world that matters.

“How’d it go?” Tim asks as you exit the locker room a week later.

“Okay,” you answer carefully. “I don’t think the DA completely believed me about Councilman Brek, but everyone else in the room did. Hopefully Rich and Kol are cowardly enough to take a plea deal and testify against him.”

Someone calls your name as you enter the station’s lobby with Tim.

“Ilsa?!” you exclaim, rushing to hug her. “Are you okay? What are you doing here?”

“My father hired a PI after my return, and the man found more women. We are here to talk to the detective.”

“Which detective?” you inquire, hoping it isn’t Rodriguez.

“That would be me,” Nyla says. “Major crimes was stretched a little thin, and when I saw your name in Ms. Alekseev’s report, Lopez and I jumped on it.”

“Thank you. Ilsa, here’s my number,” you say, handing her a card.

She hugs you again and turns around just before she reaches the door. “Thank you for saving our lives. Maria and Becca went to the embassy when we returned. They’re with their family.”

Nyla mouths safehouse and you nod in understanding.

“You’re brave, Ilsa. Thanks for keeping me safe.”

“I don’t think one bandage makes us even.”

“We’re survivors, that makes us even.”

She waves and follows Nyla into the station as you and Tim exit. He leads you to his truck and opens the passenger door for you, repeating one bandage over and over in his mind. Realistically, he knew you had to have received injuries, but other than the broken nose, he doesn’t know exactly what you went through. Only that Councilman Brek was involved.

“Want me to order dinner?” you ask as Tim backs out of the parking space.

“Whatever you want,” he answers, meaning it in more ways than dinner.

An hour after you wish Tim goodnight and retreat to his extra bedroom, you knock on his partially open door. He invites you in, and you don’t hesitate to enter and tuck one leg under you as you sit on his bed.

“Can we talk?” you ask.

“Of course,” he answers, turning to focus completely on you.

“First, thank you for letting me stay here. I’m working on finding a new place, but I really didn’t want to be alone.” Tim nods, so you continue, “The day they took me, I texted who I thought was you, as you know, but when they put me in the truck, there were three women inside.”

“Ilsa?” Tim guesses.

“Yeah, and she had just been injured. And then Becca and Maria. Becca- She’s 15, Tim. I couldn’t leave them in there, defenseless.”

“Wait,” Tim murmurs, laying his hand over yours. “No one blames you for getting trapped. You were abducted, that’s not something anyone is going to be mad about.”

“I probably could’ve fought and gotten out. I couldn’t leave them.” Tim nods, so you tell him about your first few nights in Mexico, about the bunker and Rich and Kol, and about how you kept Becca as far from everything as possible.

“And Brek bought their freedom to keep me quiet about him being Vaquero,” you finish, leaving out the worst of your experiences. “I think about it a lot, but the worst memories come when I’m trying to sleep.”

“I get it,” Tim assures you. “I’ve got a past that plagues me too. It gets better, and you’re not alone.”

“I feel safe with you,” you admit, dropping your eyes to where Tim’s hand rests on yours. “When I convinced them to let me lead them to Crystal, I was scared I’d never find who I was before.”

“And now?”

“I know I can,” you say. “With you.”

“Can I ask something?” Tim requests. “You can say no, and you don’t have to answer.”

“Of course.”

“There was dried blood on your clothes when you showed up. Was it all yours?”

You nod and unconsciously shift closer to Tim.

“Some of it was from the broken nose. Tim, your jacket kept me alive. It held a lot of blood and tears, but it reminded me of home, of you, and it helped me fight when I thought I had nothing left.”

Tim swallows, and his eyes drop. You follow his gaze, then lay your hands over the jagged scar on your thigh.

“You’re safe,” you repeat. “I can be me again with you. And I can never thank you enough for that.”

Tim slowly raises his hand to your face to catch the escaping tear with his thumb. You lean into his touch, and Tim promises to stay close.

“Brek has some illegal strip club or bar, I don’t know exactly what it is, down there,” you begin. “I was there for a night, dressed – which is a generous term for the uniform – like a cop, and some guy didn’t like the order of how things happened.”

“You’re okay,” Tim promises.

You lean into him, resting against his chest as he shifts his arms to hold you. With your shoulder tucked beneath his, your face on his chest, and your legs pulled over his, Tim holds you like he never wants to let you go. You’re a cop and are far from naïve about the dangers and the evil of the world, but right here, you feel completely safe and more at home than anywhere else. Tim’s finger drags lightly over the scar as he kisses your forehead.

“We’re going to get him, and get all of those women home,” you say. “Nyla told me that you didn’t give up on me, even when Rodriguez tried to sweep everything.”

“Of course not. I knew you’d be fighting even harder to get home.”

After a moment, Tim asks, “Did you get a tetanus shot?”

You laugh. For the first time since returning home, you truly, joyfully laugh. “Yes, I did,” you answer with a smile. “Thank you for seeing me through the scars.”

Tim smiles, gently tracing your cheekbone and jaw, and silently promises to make every single person involved pay for what they did. He'll start with the man who assaulted you with a knife and work down the list.

“Tim,” you say. It draws his attention back to this moment. “Do things have to go back to exactly how they were before?”

Tim looks down your body, then raises his brows. Clearly, your position says no, but you want confirmation from Tim that you’re more than you were before.

“Can I show you?” he asks.

“I’d love that.”

Tim flattens his palm against your cheek and drops his chin to kiss you. It’s slow, and though his hands are on you, it’s different than before. You’re not scared of touch, you realize, leaning into his hands. Tim Bradford is home, he’s safe, and you love him. Despite the scars, the trauma, and the unforgettable horrors you’ve seen and experienced, he loves you too.

“Does that answer your question?” he whispers against your lips.

His hand drops to your leg once more, and when he doesn’t hesitate to brush it over your scar, you smile and say, “Maybe repeat it? Make sure I got everything?”

Smiling, Tim says, “If anything ever feels wrong, or brings up something you don’t like, promise to tell me?”

You offer your pinky to promise, and Tim takes your wrist gently in his hand. The scars circling your wrists and forearms have lightened, but the deep rope burn carved into them will never disappear entirely. After Tim kisses a darker scar, he hooks his pinky in yours.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford angst #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#cw human trafficking #tw human trafficking #cw injury

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coolemmasulivan2 · 2 days ago

Text

There For You

Pairing: Mason Mount x Physician!Reader

Summary: You’re a physician at the club who’s grown close to Mason. However, after he suffers another injury, he begins to distance himself, leaving you confused and unsure of how to help him.

Word count: 2729

I'll be there when you need me most I'll be there if you're ever alone Together, we can grow old I can't leave you

It was your first day back at the training camp after two weeks off, and your stomach twisted in pain as you scanned the list of injured players and Mason’s name was at the top.

You hated seeing his name there. He’d been through so much already, and every setback felt like life was testing him a little too harshly. Ever since moving to the club, he’d spent more time in your office than any player should. It seemed like he couldn’t catch a break.

In those long hours spent tending to his injuries and working on his recovery plans, the two of you had built a beautiful friendship, not because he was a regular in your office, but because of who he was.

Even when he was hurting, Mason had a way of lightening the mood. He always managed a smile. It was the kind of smile that said, I’ll get through this. Somehow, I always do.

Maybe that’s why, little by little, you’d fallen for him. It wasn’t just his courage or his never-quit attitude, it was the way he smiled, even when life knocked him down.

The night before, you had watched the game against City, and you didn’t need to be there in person to know it had happened again. The moment you saw Mason sitting on the field, head down in defeat, your heart broke for him.

"No! Bloody hell! Someone get this guy to a witch." Your dad shouted at the TV, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Someone’s playing with his voodoo doll!"

"Dad!" You called out, shooting him a look as your little nephew that was Mason's fan sank on the sofa.

"What? It’s true!" He replied, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The United scarf around his neck swayed as he turned back to the screen. "The guy’s got more than bad luck."

You opened the door and stepped into the medical office. Mason was already sitting on the examination bed, his head down, eyes fixed on his hands as they opened and closed into tight fists.

"Hey, Mason!" You greeted softly.

His head shot up, his expression briefly surprised. "Hey!" He said, his voice deeper than usual. He didn’t smile like he normally did. "I thought you were still on holiday."

"They don't let me have three weeks off during the Premier League." You said with a small chuckle as you pulled on a pair of blue gloves. "And it’s a good thing they don't Let's have a look?"

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and laid back on the bed, stretching out his legs.

As you started examining his leg, you kept your tone light, hoping to break through his mood. "You've been through worse, right? I mean, you're basically indestructible at this point." That earned you nothing. No laugh, no smile, not even a glance. Just silence.

You focused on your work, carefully testing for swelling and tender areas. Mason didn't flinch, didn't make a sound, but the tension in his jaw told you everything you needed to know.

You sighed softly, stepping back. "Okay."

"It's bad, isn't it?" He asked, his tone clipped, as though he already knew the answer.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "It's not great." You admitted, keeping your voice steady. "The scans will give us the full picture, but you'll need to rest for a few weeks, at least."

At that, Mason let out a short, bitter laugh. "A few weeks. Of course." He shook his head and sat up, his movements stiff and frustrated.

"I know it's frustrating." You said gently, trying to reach him. "But we'll make sure you heal properly, and you'll come back even stronger. You've done it before."

"Yeah." He said flatly, his tone ice-cold. "And look where that got me."

The sharpness of his words stung, catching you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze. His face was hard, his usual warmth replaced with a wall of indifference.

"You're allowed to be upset." You said softly. "This is a tough break, but it's not the end. You're one of the strongest people I know, Mason."

He let out a small, humorless smile that never reached his eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll add it to my collection."

Before you could respond, Mason pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his phone from the desk and walked out of the office without a second glance.

You stood there, speechless, the weight of his frustration and pain settling heavily in the room.

"So, he just left?" Your best friend asked, setting her beer down on the table with a thud.

"Yeah!" You said, still in disbelief. "I mean… I get it. He's angry and frustrated with everything going on, but I... I was just trying to help him." You took a long sip of your beer, then lowered your voice to a whisper. "I just want to help him."

Your friend gave you a knowing smile, leaning back in her chair. "You're so down bad for him."

You groaned, running your hands through your hair. "I know."

Your friend chuckled. "Honestly, I don't blame you. The guy's gorgeous. Moody, apparently, but gorgeous."

"It's not just that. It's… He's been through so much, and he still manages to stay so positive. He works harder than anyone I've ever seen. He deserves more than this."

"And yet, he shut you out."

"Yeah." You sighed, slumping back in your chair. "I don’t think it's personal. I think he's just… overwhelmed. But it still stung, you know? We've talked so much before. I thought I..." You paused, trying to find the words. "I thought I could be someone he leaned on."

Your friend reached across the table, squeezing your hand. "He will, eventually. Sometimes guys like him need time. Doesn't mean you're not important to him."

You gave her a grateful look. "I hope you're right."

The next morning, you were in your office early, sipping coffee and organizing your notes. You had barely slept, your mind replaying the tension with Mason over and over.

With a sigh, you shook off the memory and focused on the task at hand, jotting down follow-up plans for a few players. The knock on your door startled you.

"Come in!" You called, glancing up.

Your coworker, James, stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Morning." He said, his tone casual but hesitant, like he was bracing himself for something.

"Morning." You replied, eyeing him curiously. "What's up?"

He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh… just wanted to give you a heads-up. Mason requested to transfer to me for his treatment plan."

You froze. "What?"

James gave a small shrug. "He asked me this morning. Said he wanted to switch."

"Why?" You asked, the word coming out sharper than you intended.

"I don't know." James said carefully "He didn't say much, just that he thought it would be better for him."

You stared at him, stunned. "Better for him? I don't understand. Why would he…" You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

James sighed. "Look, I didn't want to get into it. I know you two are friends, you have a close relationship, but If you want to know why, you're going to have to ask him."

For a moment, you just sat there, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard.

"I see." You said finally, your voice quieter now. "Thanks for letting me know, James."

James gave you a sympathetic look. "Hey, don't take it personally, okay? He's going through a lot. You know how players can get when they're injured. It's probably just his way of dealing with it."

"Yeah." You murmured, forcing a small smile. "I get it."

But as James left, you found yourself staring at your desk, Mason’s name at the top of your notes. Why didn’t he want your help anymore?

Mason was sitting on the bench in the locker room, phone in hand, as he responded to a text from his brother. He barely looked up when Bruno walked in.

"Hey!" Bruno said casually, shrugging off his jacket with an air of ease.

"Hey!" Mason replied, his eyes still glued to his phone. "How was training?"

Bruno snorted, tugging on a clean shirt. "Good." He said shortly, clearly uninterested in lingering on the topic. Instead, he glanced over at Mason. "James told me you switched to him for physio."

Mason shrugged, leaning back. "Yeah. Figured it's better this way."

Bruno raised an eyebrow as he sat down, pulling off his trainers. "Better for you or for her?" His tone was light, but his words hit home.

Mason's jaw tightened as he turned to look at Bruno. "What?"

"You and Y/n seemed close." Bruno said. "She's solid, actually gives a crap about us, which, let's be real, doesn't happen every day."

"James is solid too."

Bruno held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, she might be wondering why you're icing her out." Mason didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Bruno sighed as he stood, slinging his towel over his shoulder. "Whatever you're running from, just make sure you're not pushing the wrong people away, mate."

Mason stayed silent, the weight of Bruno's words settling over him. He kept his head down, listening to the sound of Bruno's footsteps as he disappeared toward the showers.

A week had passed, and you still hadn't managed to speak to Mason in person. You'd tried texting him multiple times, asking if something was wrong, if you'd upset him somehow, but he always left you on read.

Today, you were determined to put an end to the silence. It was your day off, but you knew Mason would be at the camp. So, you drove there, parking directly in front of his car and waiting.

As usual, Mason was one of the last to leave, even though he hadn't been training with the team. He emerged from the building, his bag over his shoulder and his coat zipped all the way up against the cold, as he made his way toward his car.

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your car. He didn't notice you at first, his focus elsewhere, but as you moved closer, emerging from the shadows, he froze on his tracks.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there under the dim parking lot lights.

You suddenly felt nervous and exposed. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Slowly, both of you began to move, closing the distance until you were close enough to reach out and touch him.

"Hi?" You shot back. An avalanche of words was threatening to tumble out. "That's it? That's all you've got to say? Hi?" Mason opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance. "No, Mason, I don't want your 'Hi.' I want answers. I want to know why. Why did you ask to be transferred to James? Why have you been ignoring me?" You kept going, every bottled-up thought spilling out. Mason stood there, silent, his gaze fixed on you. Even in anger, you were still cute. "Mason?" You demanded, pulling him out of his trance.

He blinked, suddenly lifting his eyes from your lips to meet yours. "What?"

You shook your head, letting out a sigh. "Have I done something wrong?"

Mason's swallowed hard, his gaze breaking away from yours. "You haven't done anything wrong, Y/n!" He said quietly.

Your chest tightened at his words. "Then why?" Your voice cracked, trembling under the weight of your emotions. "I thought we were friends, Mason."

Mason let out a sarcastic chuckle. "That's the problem!"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What?"

"I-- I don't want to be your friend." He said, his voice just enough to make you freeze. "I don't want to be your friend because I want to be so much more! I want to be the one who carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the sofa. I want to be the one you ask to open jars, the one whose hoodies you steal. I want to be the person who holds you when you cry and makes you laugh when you need it. I want to take care of you—not the other way around." His words knocked the wind out of you.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You weren't one to be left speechless, but somehow Mason had managed it.

"I... do you like me?" You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mason bit his lip, almost nervously. "Was that not obvious?"

"But… why would you push me away? Wait--" Your eyes widened. "Did you do this because you were my patient?"

Mason let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the chilly Manchester air. "I'm tired, Y/n." He said, his voice low and pained. "You've seen me at my worst since the day we met. And I hate that. I hate that you've only ever seen this version of me: the injured, broken version."

"Mase--"

"No!" He interrupted, his voice cracking. "I feel like everything's going wrong. I feel like I’m failing as a footballer, as a person. And I hate that all you've seen is that failure."

You reached for him, your hands trembling as they rested on his arms. "Mason, listen to me." You said firmly. "The last thing I see you as is a failure." He turned his face away, but you cupped his face, gently forcing him to meet your gaze. "You’re the strongest, most hardworking person I know. Maybe you’ve had more setbacks than most, but you work three times harder than anyone else. I’m your physician, yes, but I’m also your friend. And I just want to help you. I want to be there for you, no matter what."

For a moment, he looked at you like you had hung the moon and stars. His hand rose hesitantly, cupping your cheek as if he were afraid you might disappear.

Slowly, his face leaned closer to yours, his lips brushing yours gently. When you didn’t pull away, your lips parted, and he kissed you.

The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, carrying the weight of everything unsaid until now. For that moment, there was no cold air, no frustration, no confusion, just the warmth of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingled in the frosty air. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read you.

"I'm sorry." Mason whispered.

"For what?" You asked softly.

"For pushing you away. For being such a mess." He admitted, his eyes dropping to the ground. "You deserve someone who's got it all together, not someone who's barely holding on."

You shook your head. "Mason, no one has it all together. We're all just doing our best. And you're not a mess, you're human. You're allowed to feel frustrated, to have bad days. But you don't have to go through it alone."

"You make me want to be better." He said quietly.

"And you make me want to fight harder." You replied with a shy smile.

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you burried your face in his neck. The weight of his struggles seemed to melt away. The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. When you pulled apart, he looked down at you and smiled.

You gave him a gentle smile, tucking your hands into your pockets, suddenly feeling shy. "So… go home, rest, and we'll talk... tomorrow? Properly this time."

"Properly." He repeated with a nod.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The night air was cold, but the warmth of the moment made it easy to ignore. Finally, you took a small step back as you said goodbye, offering him one last glance before turning to leave.

"Y/n." His voice stopped you in your tracks.

You turned. "Yes?"

He hesitated. "Do you… do you want to have dinner? Like... today!"

A smile spread across your face. "I'd love that."

#mason mount #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football imagine #mm7

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mamaclownhunter · 2 days ago

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FUCK you are so right- It’s the love of someone who understood the one he loved.

Wei Ying who was just and kind. Wei Ying who took on his title of the Yiling Patriarch to protect the Wen remnants. Wei Ying who was charming and generous.

Lan Wangji would never burn the world for someone who loved the world. Wei Ying fought the sects yes. The world may of hated him but we see through out the books he never really hates anyone for it. He it hurts sure (more so how it hurts Jiang Cheng or reminds him what he lost) , it annoys him sometimes (why do they draw him ugly?) most of the time he takes it in humor. But he never curses the world for it.

He keeps making friends, he helps anything living or dead if asked. He tries to be diplomatic and choses safe options if others are involved.

Wei Wuxian doesn’t blame anyone for his death. And it who’s Lan Wangji understood that. Even if Lan Wangji blames himself- he knows deep down Wei Ying, Wei Wuxian- loved deeper than any resentment could get to.

So he travels. He helps. He is kind to the disciples. I can go ON about Sizhui’s personality and how it shows he was raised in a secure trusting environment. He destroys expensive nets because he can. He stands in defense of others. He is someone Wei Wuxian may of been proud of. He keeps the world spinning in his grief. He can. He would fight 33 elders after spending hours healing him, he would destroy his sect and burn himself.

But (accurately) he knows even if Wei Wuxian was mad at him- he would be devastated that Lan Wangji was wasting away, hurting others, burning the world, himself. He would want the “Great Haunguang-Jun” to live up to his name.

So he does. For his love. For their son. For himself.

So he takes up his title and uses it to protect those who need it.

Genuinely- the love of a man who spent way too much time turning his crush in his head like a rotisserie chicken

One of the things I love most about Lan Zhan is that he didn't make Wei Yings death about himself. About his anger or his loneliness or his regret. It was all about keeping Wei Ying alive in any way he could. In the way he worked to change his sect. In how he went out of his way to help people who needed it most. In making sure Sizhui grew up healthy and surrounded by people who cared for him. I think the only 'selfish' thing he did do was allow himself to be freely angry and annoyed with Jiang Cheng. To be the little menace he always holds himself back from truly being.

Lan Zhan had every right to bring down his fury onto the cultivation world for what they did to Wei Ying and the Wen Remnants but he didn't because that was never what Wei Ying truly wanted. I think there's more nuance to that kind of love then the kind that demands one side to burn the world for the other.

#and Wei Ying comes back unsuprised at the good Lan Wangji has done for the world #because LWJ is a righteous wonderful person to WWX #so of COURSE he is doing good- why is everyone looking sad??? he does these actions in mourning????#this made me realize so many things you are so right #FUCK #LWJ living up to who HE though WWX was #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #mxtx mdzs

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mythalism · 2 days ago

Note

Watching a video of the "fight Solas" ending and I find myself really disliking the fact that Rook declares that the Veil must be tied to the life of an elven god. It is treated like a fitting punishment for Solas, and even in the redemption ending, Rook all but orders Solas to sacrifice himself to maintain the Veil (or the status quo). I also can't help but feel that Solas, the last of the elven gods, is being sacrificed to maintain the Veil that he, alone, is somehow expected to magically maintain, allowing everyone else to go on their merry way. The implication here is that the elves are losing the last of their history, or pantheon, and this is a GOOD thing, and now we can all move forward and live peacefully. Am I overthinking this? 'Cause if this was the intention it does sound kind of bad.

yeah. i do agree and i dont think you're overthinking. and even if you were, im about to overthink way harder so don't worry. forgive me for getting on my legal philosophy soapbox but thats my whole brand at this point so here we go: it is a very retributive view of punishment and desert (deserved-ness) that i morally disagree with and feels outdated in the political landscape of 2024 to me PERSONALLY!! the foundation of retributive justice is:

(1) that those who commit certain kinds of wrongful acts, paradigmatically serious crimes, morally deserve to suffer a proportionate punishment; (2) that it is intrinsically morally good—good without reference to any other goods that might arise—if some legitimate punisher gives them the punishment they deserve;

obviously this is how much of the western world conceives of punishment and western media is consequently saturated with narratives that espouse this. most of the time, restorative justice is seen as mutually exclusive with retributive justice, though there are some people who say they can be used in tandem. i disagree anyway.

i think solas's endings grapple with these ideas in a way that is... messy. its confusing because we dont actually know if he is truly imprisoned, in the sense that he cannot leave. we know he is in A prison, though its unclear whether its the new regret prison that rook was in, or the black city (epler refused to clarify this during the AMA because of "spoilers", while trick said the implication is he is "going back to the prison", the epilogue slides imply he is in the black/golden city, as does his quest to heal the blight which only exists in the black city). we also do not know what capacity he has to leave. with lavellan or after being "redeemed" by willingly binding himself to the veil, he does not have the lyrium dagger but he does have the capacity to free himself from his regrets (if hes in the regret prison) or heal the blight (if he's in the black city), exemplified by his golden epilogue slides. if he is tricked or fought, he is not in a mental space to overcome his regrets and does not swear to atone by healing the blight, but he does have the lyrium dagger with him, so we can assume he can just use it to leave, the way we literally see him do earlier in the game lol. whatever message they are trying to send with his "punishment", i think it is muddied by the vagueness of what actually happens to him in the end and where he goes.

if the message truly is that he "deserves" to be imprisoned in the fade for his long list of crimes, i find that lazy and nonsensical. first of all, he loves the fade and has been dying to return to it so thats not really a gotcha, but more importantly, which crime warrants this punishment? and is his punishment proportional? this is impossible to answer because we do not know what the punishment truly is. we also dont really even know what crime he's being imprisoned for. taking down the veil? he didnt actually get to do that. are we punishing him for something he didn't do yet? is it for killing varric? sure, i guess that one works. its the strongest of the options we have, but the game is also pretty clear that its not what varric would want. what about all of the other people he has killed? the spirits he sacrifced in that siege on elgar'nans temple? the mages who summoned and corrupted wisdom which he incinerates alive? flemythal and felassan? do they deserve retribution via solas's imprisonment? would they want that? would they find it just and satisfying? the game does not ask these questions. so we dont know. does he deserve to be imprisoned for for what he did to the titans? ok, maybe. this is stronger than the others at least. but in the trick/fight endings he doesnt vow to heal the blight, so what does his imprisonment do for the dwarves and the titans spirits? this is what i mean when i say his imprisonment is retributive, but it is not even thoroughly retributive. it does not think deeply about what solas deserves for his crimes and the proportionality of such a punishment, but it is clear that we are supposed to that he deserves to be in prison, it is morally good that he is receiving "justice", and rook is a hero for imprisoning him. his punishment is presented as a moral good because he deserves it. unfortunately for veilguard, i dont think i would ever be convinced by this message in any narrative anywhere, even if it was better written, because this is not a moral philosophy that i subscribe to.

his redemption endings feel so much better and more satisfying because his vow to use his immortality and knowledge to heal the blight that he created is restorative and has a direct correlation to his crime of creating the blight by tranquilizing the titans in the first place. his imprisonment achieves nothing outside of removing him as a "threat", which is ruined by the fact that he has the dagger and can just leave lol. devoting the next significant portion of his life to alleviating the titans suffering is not just reparative remedy that directly affects the people and creatures he has harmed, it also actively makes the world of thedas a better place. to be clear, im not saying solas is innocent. he is guilty. of a lot of things. he bears responsibility for a lot of things. he would qualify as a war criminal. but i do not believe in retributive justice. veilguard having solas kill varric because trespasser made me sympathize with him "too much" is not going to make me believe in retributive justice. for the non-atonement imprisonment endings to feel satisfying you have to subscribe to this ideology of moral desert and punishment and a lot of people do. the entire american carceral system is founded on it. so is christianity. and bioware clearly subscribes to it as well. you might disagree with me and subscribe to it yourself. thats fine. but i believe it has caused a lot of harm to our world and continues to do so. seeing it manifested in media is always disappointing to me.

regardless of the technicalities of his imprisonment, his binding to the veil is the one thing that happens regardless of his ending, and i agree that it is icky for similar reasons. the veil is his responsibility, as is the blight which he will be keeping contained with his life, so i guess you can interpret it as proportional? but again, what crime is he paying for with binding his life to the veil? is he not paying for a crime at all? is binding his life to the veil even part of his punishment? or is it just something he has to do because he's the only person alive that can do it? if that is the case, that it has to be him because he is the only proper sacrifice, and not that he deserves it, then what does it say about rook that they sacrifice someone undeserving? if he is deserving, why exactly? if he wasn't the only elven god left alive, would he still be deserving of such a fate? if the answer is no, then he does not deserve to be bound. what gives rook the right to make this call? based on the convo they have before the ending where they plan to bind him to the veil, its not clear if rook binds him because they think he deserves to be bound to one of his greatest regrets, or because he's quite literally the only option. either way, i think there is an argument for it being cruel, and unearned coming from someone like rook, who really has barely been a victim of solas's sins outside of a 2 week time-out. literally harding binding him would've been far more satisfying. or imagine if fragment mythal went rogue and did it, or morrigythal did. mythal would not be justified either but at least it would be fucking banger and evil and interesting of her. anyway.

i think your point about what it means for the elves to lose their final living god, outside of mythal who is [redacted] ? is a fantastic point. through solas's binding, they also lose the veil-less future he represented that was promised to be a better world for them. would it really have been? probably not. solas clearly thinks so. but we will never know lol. the failure of the story to grapple with the dissolution of the elves entire belief system is one of its most egregious ones, and i think this is a symptom of it. dragon age's elven lore got itself into a weird spot by veilguard and i think they just abandoned it rather than attempting to write themselves out of it. i love stories that grapple with the average person's culpability as complacent in imperialism. this is part of why fullmetal alchemist is my fav story of all time and you should watch it (fullmetal alchemist:brotherhood on hulu please im begging. but you have to watch the "brotherhood" one not the other one. its complicated dont ask). veilguard seemed to want to do something like this, but they got themselves into weird spot with the elves because their evil, slavery-based empire is a thing of the distant past, and in the present they are systemically oppressed and have no social or political power.

usually in these sorts of stories, someone currently living in an imperialist society who is directly benefiting from that imperialism is confronted with their complacency and asked to rise to the occasion of standing up for what is right, despite their material best interest. they often sacrifice their privilege as a benefactor of imperialism in the present to attempt to make up for the evils that system has inflicted on others. fmab does a wonderful job of this. there is at once both an acknowledgement that no, this is not literally YOUR FAULT, you did not order a genocide or press the nuke button, but you have benefited from it and/or participated every day of your life, whether that is through the stolen land you live on, the fact that you have never seen war in your home country, the way you can buy whatever fruit you want at the grocery store any time of year, or the way your tax dollars fund the bombs being dropped on children thousands of miles away, and you do have a moral obligation to do whatever you can to fight back. i believe this is a very important lesson for the average american (and canadian since we are talking about bioware), and anyone that lives in an imperialist country, that a lot of people have not yet learned ... lol.

this feels along the lines of what veilguard was going for (or maybe they werent and this was accidental, idk which is worse), but it fails because the elves are not currently benefiting from their past empire, like at all. actually, they live in squalor and at risk of constant violence from human empires. they have experienced centuries of genocide, violence and slavery at this point in modern thedas. the imperialistic success of the elvhen empire has absolutely no bearing on their current lives, it provides them with no privilege, and it gives them no culpability in its evils. they are thousands of years removed from it. and its not like "oh the british empire was dissolved 50 years ago so imperialism is over" no. because britain's wealth and power are a direct result of that imperialism, thus they do still benefit from it presently, even if the "official empire" is dissolved. this is true for most empires. but with the elves of thedas, they have none of the power or privilege that the elvhen empire accrued through its evils. if anything, it is tevinter that benefits most from the lost elven empire considering how much of their society is founded on its technology, and the fact that. you know. they are currently, modernly, presently an empire based on slavery. OF ELVES. so why, then, does veilguard present the elves as culpable? why does the angry titan harding creature say they are "thriving" at the titans expense? why does bellara take personal responsibility for the evils that elgar'nan and ghilan'nain commit when she had nothing to do with them? the messaging with this is so strange. it would make sense if elves were still the ruling class but... they're not. the only remnants of the empire that they have access to is their own bodies... which are systemically, bought, sold, and mutilated. though the game does erase much of the racism they face in what i can only assume was an attempt to make this work.

the combo of this + solas's trick/fight endings for what is fundamentally, according to this game itself, a desire for a better world for elves and spirits, no matter if it is misled or his methods are violent, is a depressing, bleak message that i find to be irresponsible to be sending in 2024 and considering the real world groups of people that elves are based on, most notably of the dalish as indigenous north americans. veilguard sees elves lose not just their understanding of their past, dissolving their entire worldview, their conception of their cultural identity, and their relationship to their religion, all without sufficient (or any) exploration of how devastating such a process would be, but by imprisoning solas, erasing his followers and supporters from existence, and binding him to the veil, it also robs them of the possibility of a more just future... while asking you to cheer because he deserved it. dont try to make the world a better place unless you do it the right way. work with the world as it is. your attachment to the past (when you werent being genocided regularly) is a disease. you deserve to go to jail because you tried to change the world in a way that that was too disruptive. get over it! move on! rot in jail!

#thanks for prompting this anon xoxo #didnt expect to write today but it came out of me like it always does #veilguard critical #character analysis #mine.txt

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jenosbliss · 1 day ago

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Hellooo!! Can I request a fic where the mc is being cheated on by another member and when she finds out she turns into a mess (the sad one, not the one that parties and things like that) until she randomly meets jisung (like at the park or the convenience store) and she starts to heal with his help and they end up in a relationship

— he healed something he didn’t break

pairing. fem!reader x jisung (ft. sion) | genre. angst, fluff | wc. 1.3k | warnings. mentions of infidelity and depression

a/n:: hey anon! i loved your request, the way you asked for the reader’s emotional state… i relate to it sm. and i hope sion as your ex is okay? bcs i just can’t imagine any dreamie there :(

It didn’t break you all at once.

When you discovered the truth about Sion—his betrayal, the lies he so effortlessly told—it felt more like a slow unraveling than a sudden crash. At first, there was disbelief. You stared at the picture on your phone, the image of him with someone else, their bodies too close, their smiles too intimate. You’d convinced yourself there had to be an explanation.

But when you confronted him, the betrayal solidified into something colder, sharper. His excuses were pathetic at best: “It’s not like we were serious-serious.” “You’re overreacting.” “Maybe we weren’t working out anyway.”

His words played on repeat in your head, each one a hammer blow to your self-worth.

We weren’t working out anyway? He hadn’t even given you the chance to know there was a problem. You’d been investing your time, your energy, your love—only to find that he’d been giving his to someone else.

In the days that followed, you fell into a dark haze of heartbreak. The lively, hopeful version of you seemed to vanish. You stopped answering calls from friends, retreating into your small apartment, leaving texts unread and the world outside your door ignored.

Self-doubt crept in like an unwanted guest, whispering cruel questions. Was I not enough? Was it something I did? Did I deserve this? Every memory you’d shared with Sion felt tainted, every happy moment now twisted into something painful.

You barely ate. Barely slept. Your reflection in the mirror became unfamiliar—eyes dull, shoulders slumped, the energy you once carried replaced by a weariness you couldn’t shake.

The convenience store was your only escape.

You went there late at night when the world was quiet, hoping to avoid seeing anyone who might recognize you. The bright, sterile lights and rows of snacks were strangely comforting in their mundanity.

It was during one of those visits that you met him.

You were staring blankly at a shelf of instant noodles when someone accidentally bumped into you. The impact knocked a pack from your hand, and you barely had the energy to bend down and pick it up.

“Oh—sorry!”

The voice was warm and apologetic, and when you turned, you were met with a pair of wide, kind eyes. A boyish-looking guy crouched to retrieve the noodles, holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.

“Didn’t see you there,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as you took the packet.

The question caught you off guard, your lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“You just… look like you’re having a rough day,” he said, his voice soft but earnest. “Sorry, that was probably rude.”

You shook your head, hugging your arms around yourself. “No, it’s fine. I’m just… tired.”

He nodded, seemingly unsure whether to say more. “Well, uh… I hope it gets better,” he said finally, offering you a small, sincere smile before stepping past you.

You watched as he stepped past you, his presence lingering even after he disappeared down another aisle. For the first time in weeks, something stirred inside you—an unfamiliar warmth cutting through the numbness.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But a few nights later, there he was, standing by the freezer section, holding two tubs of ice cream and looking impossibly indecisive.

“Hey,” he said when he noticed you, his face lighting up. “Noodles, right?”

“What?”

“Last time,” he said, grinning. “You were holding noodles. I’m terrible with names, so I gave you one based on context.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—a small, involuntary sound that felt foreign after weeks of silence. “That’s a terrible nickname.”

“Better than nothing,” he teased, setting one of the ice cream tubs back on the shelf. “I’m Jisung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, the weight in your chest lifting slightly.

“Nice to officially meet you, Y/N,” he said, offering a lopsided smile.

The convenience store became your accidental meeting place.

You’d run into Jisung every few nights, sometimes exchanging quick hellos, other times lingering to chat about nothing in particular. He had a way of making the world feel lighter, like the heaviness that followed you around could be momentarily lifted by his presence.

He never pushed, never asked more than you were willing to share. Instead, he filled the silence with stories—about his quirky neighbors, his obsession with trying every snack in the store, the stray cat that sometimes followed him home.

Slowly, you found yourself opening up.

One night, as the two of you stood by the drinks cooler, you broke the silence with a quiet confession. “I don’t understand why people cheat.”

Jisung turned to you, his expression softening.

“If they fall out of love,” you continued, your voice trembling, “why can’t they just… say it? Why fake it? Why pretend to care?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “But it’s not your fault. Some people don’t know how to value what they have. That doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing a wound you hadn’t realized was still raw.

As weeks turned into months, your conversations with Jisung grew longer. You started texting, too—random memes, late-night snack recommendations, and the occasional check-in when he hadn’t seen you at the store.

With him, you felt safe. He never treated you like you were broken, never made you feel like you had to rush to “move on.” Instead, he showed you that healing wasn’t linear—it was messy and slow, but it didn’t have to be lonely.

He was patient, warm, and consistent in a way that felt like a balm to your battered heart.

One evening, the two of you sat on a bench in the park, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Jisung was telling a story about a stray dog that had followed him home, his hands animated as he described the encounter.

“You’re smiling,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with surprise. “What?”

“You’re smiling,” he repeated, his lips curving into a soft grin. “It’s nice. I’ve missed seeing that.”

Your cheeks flushed as you looked away, but his words stayed with you, a warmth blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t until another late-night walk that everything changed.

The two of you were strolling through your neighborhood, the quiet hum of crickets filling the space between your words. You’d been talking about your plans for the future, your voice lighter than it had been in months.

Jisung stopped suddenly, his gaze turning serious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You turned to face him, your brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve been through so much, but you’re still here. Still strong. Still kind. And…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “You make me want to be better, just by being you.”

Your breath caught, your heart racing as his words hung in the air. “Jisung…”

“I know this might be too soon,” he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly. “But if there’s even a chance you might feel the same way—”

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the distance between you, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I feel the same.”

Relief flooded his expression as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like they’d been meant to hold you all along.

You realized that piece by piece, Jisung had helped you put yourself back together. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

#nct dream #jisung #nct dream fluff #nct dream x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung imagines #jisung fluff #park jisung #nct #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #nct scenarios #jisung scenarios #sion #nct jisung #breakup #hurt/comfort

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fantaxzia · 2 days ago

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Whenever the gwynriels (and eluciens) talk about Azriel's DarknessTM, they expose their barely concealed contempt for him so easily, it's laughable.

They don't even know wtf they're talking about, what this DarknessTM is. They're never able to define it. It's only vague hand waving and word salad.

In truth, Azriel is as gentle as a male can get, someone who always extends a kind hand to others whenever he can. He's never cruel or harsh with others, except when dealing with the enemy (you know, doing his job).

His relationship with the Archeron sisters speaks volumes about his nature. He was kind and patient with Feyre, with hints of teasing and sarcastic humour, especially when he taught her how to fly or when he carried her. Plus, he understands how her tactical mind works and knows how to work with her in tense situations.

With Nesta, he initially kept his distance and was civil in his interactions, and as their familiarity grew, he offered her a solid friendship. This is especially clear in the way he brought her conscious mind back from the Mask's influence.

With Elain, he noticed even the minutest things, like her holding the fork too tight, understanding the reason behind it immediately. He offered her the comfort of companionship and friendship when she was depressed and in shock due to her transformation and estrangement from Greysen. He was the one who figured out what was going on with her when others thought that she was broken. He talked to her about it directly, rather than discussing about her with others while she was right there. He didn't merely show her the gardens, he showed her a way to come out of her depression, he gently guided her into the sunlight, letting her set the pace for her healing while he supported her.

He has helped the sisters in overcoming some sort of darkness of their own, he has stood with them like a rock, as a friend, a teacher, a silent guardian, a tactical and combat partner...

Where he needs to be ruthless and efficient, he is. That's his work. He doesn't enjoy any of it but understands that it's required. That doesn't equal to a DarknessTM that the gwynriels so love to point out.

His issues and resentment with his biological father and family, his childhood abuse at their hands, the Illyrians, etc., is what we call trauma.

Every ACOTAR character, including the Archeron sisters, has that, but we don't point it out as their DarknessTM. It doesn't make them incapable of love or having a relationship with the person they love.

I just wish the gwynriels and eluciens would stop yapping about things they clearly do not comprehend. They make themselves look like idiots just to claim that a ship is canon.

#azriel shadowsinger #elain archeron #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #elriel #azriel acotar

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erin-unknown · 15 hours ago

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I don't really enough of a following anymore to actually play this game and wait for asks, but I still wanted to answer these questions. I'll just leave the answers here 💕

A little background for Dalgar Thorne, Grey Warden mage:

Born to elven farmers in the northeastern Anderfels, Dalgar was orphaned at the age of twelve and taken in by a pair of passing Grey Wardens, Casilda (Caz) Thorne and Olivier du Lac. He spent much of the next fifteen years of his life at a small outpost near Kassel, learning from several of his fellow Wardens, but primarily Caz and Olivier (who felt the most responsible for him). Caz was born in Rivain and trained as a seer until circumstances brought her to the Wardens. Olivier is a disgraced Orlesian duelist, once rather famous for their skill and showmanship, if only in the Free Marches.

Dalgar is personable and kind with a bit of a dumb, sometimes dark sense of humor. He can tap into a deep well of magic for some potent (if chaotic) spellwork and tends to act before thinking. He tries not to think too much in general, if he can help it.

He is very close with both Neve and Lucanis and romances Neve in the game, but I'm entertaining the idea that these three work out a polyam triad in the following years. The chemistry is just there. What can I say?

🌻 Dalgar is twenty eight. I think he’s forgotten that people celebrate birthdays; he never did back on the farm and Caz never thought to celebrate either (she’d defend herself by insisting that she wasn’t his mother). Her partner, Olivier, made up for this by frequently giving him useful items or sweets (an easy win with Dalgar).

The gift that has meant the most to him wasn’t a birthday gift; after Caz died (Dalgar was 21), Olivier gifted him her old, enchanted greatcoat. He's worn it every day since.

🪻 Dalgar suffered burns across his face and body from an accident at the age of 12. He awoke from a nightmare (a common occurrence) surrounded by fire that he had summoned in his sleep (not common). The fire burned down his home, the family farm, and his neighbors’ farms.

He was barely conscious for several days and has no real recollection of this time; the first solid memory he has is Caz healing the worst of his burns with the help of a spirit. She and Olivier inform him that he has been brought into Warden custody (his neighbors were out for blood) and present him with two choices: agree to train as a Warden and eventually take the Joining, or go to the Chantry, where Caz warns he will likely be forced into Tranquility (she doesn’t elaborate on why she is so certain of this and he never asks).

🌹 First fight? I’m actually not sure; he’ll avoid an argument forever, so it probably wouldn’t happen until after the game is over and the realities of day-to-day life start to settle in. Maybe something that seems small but is symptomatic of a larger issue.

🌸 Dalgar is an only child and, although he was one of several children nearby, he was the only elven child, so he resorted to being a clown so as not to be singled out or left behind. It's something he still relies on as an adult. When he came into his magic at nine years old, he was told to hide it (so he could stay on the farm), and it became harder to maintain any connections outside his father.

After joining the Wardens, he was the only child for miles but he grew very fond of the Wardens at the outpost and treated several of them like family (including Caz and Olivier).

🌾 Dalgar would be very susceptible to a Despair or Isolation spirit; he clings hard to hope, or the idea of hope at least, in as many ways as he can. He also finds what reassurance he can in the people around him. Any reminder at all, literal or figurative, that he’s not alone in his fight could help him find his way out.

🌱 Growing up with the Wardens left him pretty free with his physical affection. Caz and Olivier were committed but not exclusive, and the few Wardens around his age were living with the notion of death around every corner, so why not seize the day? Dalgar had never been in anything committed or long-term until Neve.

🌼 Dalgar smells like sorrow, the Fade, and hearth fire.

🌷 Dalgar would look for a tavern or café – somewhere he can sit in a corner and people-watch. He’s not used to not being surrounded by people, so this is the closest he’ll venture towards solitude. There he might read something or draw (he likes to draw).

If he’s not looking for solitude, he’d pester Davrin into taking Assan out for a walk or drag Neve and Lucanis out for a meal or something.

🥀 Caz would definitely be in Dalgar’s regret prison; although she was the one who made him swear to become a Warden when he was of age, she actually changed her mind over the years. Caz never told him directly, but instead kept finding reasons for him not to take the Joining until her death out in the field. This frustrated and confused him and ultimately complicated his grief.

When Dalgar was finally free to partake in the Joining, he did, determined to prove something to Caz’s memory and his own growing doubts. He struggles with this decision to this day; vaguely aware that Caz didn’t want this life for him, it feels a like a betrayal. He also feels guilty for wondering what might have been if he had gone his own way.

🪷 Dalgar is afraid of the dark.

🍀 Dalgar’s almost died several times in his life, starting with nearly being trampled by horses as a small child and most recently avoiding getting torn in half by a Reaver. He tries not to think about any of it too much, during or after. He survived, after all.

💐 Dalgar adores Evka and Antoine. He’s grateful that they put up with him and, although he’s mostly unconscious of this, their support and encouragement have gone a long way in making him feel at home again among the Wardens since he lost Caz.

🌺 He doesn’t remember much from before he joined the Wardens and everything he owned burned with his home, but he does fondly remember evenings with the Wardens during the colder months, toasting chestnuts at the hearth in the mess hall.

Olivier started this annual tradition after Dalgar first arrived at the outpost, to get him and the Wardens at the outpost accustomed to each other. Dalgar doesn’t know that.

🌿 No tattoos. (I might change my mind)

🍂 Dalgar doesn’t think about killing if he can help it. Darkspawn are a plague to be eradicated and it’s his sworn duty to combat the blight, so his feelings around them are not particularly complex.

In contrast, the first time he killed a person (a Venatori cult member), he accidentally looked them in the eye, and it kept him up at night for weeks afterwards. He’s grateful most of their enemies wear masks.

Spirits dying feel like a breaking wave to him. He doesn’t enjoy the sensation at all, but it does make him curious; it’s almost like a part of them still exists out in the ether. Dalgar finds something reassuring in that, although he couldn’t articulate why.

I have a handful of different Rooks, but Dalgar has been my favorite so far. When I have the energy, I'm writing for him! It's been nice.

Woe! Rook ask game be upon ye!

🌻 How old is your Rook? How do they feel about celebrating their birthday? What gift has meant the most to them? 🪻 What is the most painful injury your Rook has received? How has it affected them once it healed/scarred? 🌹 What’s the first genuine fight Rook got in with their love interest about? How was it resolved? 🌸 Does your Rook have any siblings or close friends they see as such? Where are they during the events of Veilguard? 🌾 If there was a demon trying to trap/take over Rook, what kind would be the most successful? What would break their hold? 🌱 Was Rook involved romantically with anyone before Veilguard? What was their partner like? How did the relationship end? 🌼 If someone was to ask Spite what Rook smells like, what would he say? 🌷If Rook needed to get away from their responsibilities for a moment, where would they go? Where is their safe space outside the Lighthouse? 🥀 What figure from Rook’s personal past would be added to the regret prison? 🪷 Does your Rook have an irrational phobia? (ie spiders or large man-made objects submerged underwater) 🍀 Has Rook had any near-death experiences? What went through their mind during what they thought was going to be their final moments? 💐 What is the relationship Rook has with their faction mentor? What was the moment they sent Rook away like? 🌺 Is there an object from Rook’s childhood they look back on fondly? (ie a favorite stuffed animal, book, or food) 🌿 Does your Rook have any tattoos? What was the moment when they got them like? If they’re a Crow where is their de Riva brand located? What vallaslin do they have/how did they earn it if they’re Dalish? 🍂 What was it like the first time Rook killed someone? How did they react afterwards?

#dragon age ask game

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karinadele · 2 days ago

Text

Heaven

Ratchet x Reader

NSFW

Cept ur not even there. Just a deadass ramble spinoff of the main story.

Warnings: Angst, 18+ (ofc) just solo action + obsessed ratchet

…How? When did he have these feelings?

Under the starry night, he sits by the ledge of the cliff. Groaning as he runs a servo down his faceplate. She’s a human girl Ratchet. How did you fall so hard for her?

He could count the consolation, bore himself until he mapped out Cybertron. He could go for a drive, letting nothing stop him. But he won’t. His thoughts always came back to you. Fragile like glass, yet stronger than a dark energon infused scraplet. A bug that’s wiggled itself into him. He didn’t know when these feelings developed, just that now they’ve consumed every part of his circuitry. The longing for you is so painful. He’s lost the chance to hold you, and doesn’t know when he’ll have the chance again.

Was it the day he met you? Perhaps he was unconsciously already had his spark drawn to you at that moment? Or was it when you got the ekg tattoo on your forearm? A simple line symbolizing life, the very exact one on his arm. Whatever it was, you warmed into him. The unconditional love and care you gave him… Annoying as he felt in the moment, always telling him to refuel, to recharge… Now, missing it more than ever.

He remembered when you first got the tattoo, surprised that a human would physically change their looks permanently, and one to dedicate to him. Remembering the time when he ran his digit over it as soon as it was healed, the softness of your skin as well as the scabs from healing, sending jolts right to his own frame. Landing where his own markings were.

Sighing as he feels his spike pressurize, pressing against the plating. Something about a soft human– No. You. One he thought was the same as him, worn and tired of conflict, but you quickly proved that even with trauma, one can stand strong. One can still be kind. Not just in their line of work, but even in their personal lives. You told him it was years of therapy and work, but even he knew. That was not all it was. It takes the strength of steel, no. Something even stronger than the hardest alloy on Cybertron to be able to accomplish what you did.

A spark he long thought he’d lost. Yet you’ve managed to slide it back into him. Igniting it again.

Popping open his plating, as he glances around to make sure no one is nearby. He thought about how kind and gentle you were, always doing whatever to help out. What would those arms be if they were not holding energon cubes, but his spike? Slowly wrapping his servo around the base, as he imagines it to be your hand. Letting out a soft guttural groan as he deluded himself into feeling your warmth.

You often laid on his chassis. After finally coaxing him into recharge, everytime you would lay on him until you were sure he’s deep in stasis. A moment cut too short. If he knew you would be gone, he would have never allowed himself to shut down. Chasing the feeling of you again, he ran his free servo over his chassis, placing it where you always laid. Picking up pace with the other servo, he imagined if you were with him. Laying there, soothing him that it’s okay. Encouraging him to let loose, indulge in desires, and to overload.

Feeling his spark glow stronger. His energon lines pulsing through him, as he remembered how you would sit by his shoulder, patting and soothing his helm. What would those palms feel like on his spike? Running his servo up the length, he palms the tip, the feeling being softer than it actually is. Overwriting his sensors that it’s your palm, Gently rubbing him, as you wrap your hands over his shaft, stroking it up and down.

Now going at the steady pace, letting out groans as he continues to work himself. Only seeing and feeling you. He knows transfluid probably isn’t safe for you, but he wants to see you covered in it. To be dripping in his blue marking. Or perhaps filling it in you– even the thought of it just brings him closer. Pants chasing after pants, he moans out your name. Static gargling his vents as he flutters his optics. Picking up the pace, faster and faster as he hears you encourage him for his release.

He can hear you being proud of him, long has the guilt of doing something like this left. Replaced with kind words of encouragement, sweet nothings and a mutual desperate need of release. Grunting a static groan as he shuts his optics, other servo on the ground, propping himself up as he overloads. Spilling the blue glowing liquid all over his servo, wishing it was your hands.

A moment of calmness washes over him. It’s been so long he’s indulged himself in any sort of pleasure, and the fact that it was you that melted his exterior to tell him he should enjoy it, absolutely sends jolts down his spinal strut. Still feeling aftershocks as his abdomen plating shifts and clenches, dribbles of transfluid still oozing out.

He tells himself he needs to find you. Chase you to whatever depths you may be in. All that matters is that you’re with him. Pulling out a cloth from his subspace as he wipes himself off, processors running overtime to plan his next move.

#transformers #ratchet x reader #transformers x reader #rambles #transformers x human #lmaaoo im fucked #i have that tattoo.. just on my wrist instead of forearm #obsessed!ratchet #depeche mode infused writing istg

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drdemonprince · 2 days ago

Note

difficult question. how do i know if my sexual expression as a child is a symptom of repressed sexual trauma or of autistic hypersexuality

The real answer is that you will never know and that it does not matter.

It is impossible to create a clone of you and run that alternate version of yourself through a completely difference childhood with far less trauma, and see if that child still goes on to develop the fetishes that you have. That kind of experiment is what would be necessary to rule out potential "causes" of your kinks.

We only live one life, and that life is shaped by a vast array of experiences: abuse, neglect, love, longing, unmet need, aspiration, neurodivergence, media exposure, social conditioning, environmental change, and random chance. There is no separating the you who was sexually abused from the you who is Autistic from the you who has kinks. They are one and the same, and they all deserve to enjoy themselves.

Perhaps you think your kinks would be more permissible if you got into them for trauma recovery reasons? That simply isn't true. People are allowed to feel good in their bodies, and to enjoy fantasies that are strange or dark. Maybe your sexual fantasies disturb you, and therefore you think they must indicate something is wrong with you? That's just not true. People get into strange or dark things for any number of reasons, largely unknowable to us, and the only problem with that is the shame we are made to feel about it. The desire has nothing wrong with it at all.

Whether you are into rapeplay, sadism, intoxication, age regression, feral, diapers, predator/prey, home abduction, or anything else, it's a part of you that you feel very deeply and there is nothing wrong with it. There's no making it go away. There's no making it any less a part of yourself. Find ways to nourish and delight in that part of you. It can help heal the others as well.

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inlovewithpandora · 2 days ago

Text

ꕥ — Found Someone Better / A New Tide

Genre — Chapter four: Part One

Artists — Tonowari x fem!avatar!reader

Lyrics — You’re finally adjusting to your new life among the Metkayina and your relationship with Tonowari is progressing into something more. While Tonowari is out in the village, fulfilling his Olo’eyktan duties, he hears some of his warriors talking about you when the topic of mating season comes up, which catches his attention.

Music Advisory — Pre-Atwow, implied timeskip, fluff, comfort, implied courting/courtship, act of courting [acts of service], kissing, mentions of Tonowari’s past relationship, emotional moment, Olo’eyktan!Tonowari, jealous!Tonowari, mention of mating season, secret relationship trope, featuring Ralak [Tonowari’s right hand man/best friend]

Notes — Reader and Tonowari’s relationship is slightly sped up [between chapter three and four] due to the length of series and that I believe the Na’vi (especially a traditional man like Tonowari) wouldn’t take longer than a few months before starting the courting process.

Duration — 5.2k

Index — Kaltxì - Hello・Syulang - Flower

Words From Artist — Chapter four is finally here!! I hope yall enjoy seeing this side of Reader and Tonowari’s relationship! I’m hoping to have part 2 of this completed in a few weeks so stay tuned! I hope y’all enjoy and always feel free to comment and reblog, I love reading y’all reactions!

Current Platforms — Chapter One ・Chapter Two・Chapter Three・Series M.list ・Series Taglist・Main M.list

After months of living in Awa’atlu you’ve finally found your place in the clan, becoming a healer. When you lived in the forest you were a healer, working under Mo’at and learning all her ways and techniques. It’s a position you excel in and you were tired of doing odd tasks around the island so you spoke to the head healer and showed her your skills and after that she was happy to allow you a place in the healing pod.

You’ve learned to navigate the island’s resources, gathering medicinal herbs and understanding the local flora. Some flora is similar to what was back in the forest while other plants were completely different which sparked your interest. The knowledge you gained from Mo’at feels even more valuable here, as you adapt her teachings to the unique plants of Awa’atlu. You can now identify the subtle differences in the herbs and their uses, finding satisfaction in the skills you’ve obtained.

Your relationships with the villagers have grown since you first arrived, the initial curiosity that surrounded your arrival has shifted into friendship, with most members of the clan seeking your advice and sharing their stories. Even though it took a while for most of the clan to come around, Padma, who is now your best friend, is one person you’ve always been able to lean on. The kindness she showed you from the very beginning has helped you feel at home in Awa’atlu and it also helped show the clan that you were a good person and that they could trust you.

In addition to Padma, you’ve also grown close to other women in the clan. They’ve welcomed you into their circles. The camaraderie you share during communal activities, whether it’s preparing meals or participating in rituals, it has created a sense of sisterhood, something you’ve always wished for. Through all these connections, you find strength and support, enriching your experience in Awa’atlu.

While you’re sitting in your mauri, allowing the sun to shine its light into your home as you get ready for the day and start your duties, you can hear a familiar set of footsteps come through the entryway, causing a blush to creep onto your face. “Kaltxì, syulang.” The nickname ‘Flower’ was bestowed upon you a little after your relationship with the Olo’eyktan started to blossom. He thought it was perfect for you after he took you on a walk in the jungle and you couldn’t help but stop at almost every flora to take a whiff of its natural scent and focus on the beauty it held.

Tonowari's voice makes his presence known and soon after you hear a loud thud, making you slightly jump at the unexpected sound. When you turn around to see where the sound came from you see him standing next to a net full of descaled and fileted fish with a smile on his face, making a grin tug at your lips from yet another one of his gifts. You can always see the effort he puts into delivering these packages, whether it’s fish or some sort of meat from an animal that roams in the jungle he always makes sure it’s cleaned, skinned, and cut so all you have to worry about is taking them out of their leaf wrappings and cooking them anyway you see fit. “Another? I thought I told you I could hunt for myself. You don’t have to keep bringing me food.”

“Yes, you did tell me but why would I allow you to when you have a man that is fully capable of taking care of that for you.” Tonowari walks up to you, still wearing his bright smile while his hands rest on your hips once he’s in front of you, making the blush that’s rising on your cheeks even more apparent. “Plus, when I bring them to you it allows me to see the most beautiful woman in the village before I start my morning rounds.”

Tonowari knows exactly the words to use to make you feel swoon, his compliments always make your smile widen, making you feel like the luckiest woman on the planet to have such a loving and kind man. “Mmm, well who am I to deny you from that?” There’s an undertone of playfulness and affection in your tone while you speak and wrap your arms around Tonowari’s neck, allowing you the perfect opportunity to press your lips upon his. The Metkayina wasn’t expecting a kiss but he definitely isn’t mad at it. It's clear that his thoughtfulness and the fact he can provide is noticed by you and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride.

As you pull away from after the kiss, a playful glint shines in Tonowari’s eyes, and the world around you feels a little brighter. The connection you two share has grown effortlessly since the moment you shared on the beach. Since then you both have been spending more time together, going on dates, exchanging gifts, and learning more about each other in deeper ways. Since deciding to explore the potential of your relationship, both of you have prioritized open communication about your feelings. You both wanted to ensure that you were on the same page regarding how things were progressing and to avoid any sense of rushing into the next phase. After a few months, it became clear that you and Tonowari were on the brink of something deeper—courtship.

When the topic came up it felt natural and exciting but you were also nervous. The scars from your past marriage were still fresh and you didn’t want to deal with the same hurt and mistreatment again but you know that Tonowari aren’t your ex-mates, you know that he is so much different than them so it didn’t take too much thought before you agreed with Tonowari that courting was the right choice for your relationship.

“Alright, my mighty hunter.” You say with a teasing lilt, stepping a little bit closer to him while moving one of your hands and placing it on his shoulder. “How about I finish getting ready while you get the fish out of the walkway and into the cooking area? I don’t want to trip over them.”

Tonowari lets out a soft laugh, a hint of sheepishness in his expression as he glances down at the nets of fish he’d dropped right in front of the entryway instead of somewhere out of the way. “I suppose I was too focused on you to think about where I was putting them.” He admits, shaking his head slightly.

With a nod of determination Tonowari separates from you and allows you to finish your routine as he begins to move the fish. You can’t help but admire the sight of him lifting the heavy net, watching the muscles in his arms and back flex as he picks it up and walk it over to another area of the mauri. His strength and charm makes your heart flutter and makes you appreciate that you can have these small moments with him.

As Tonowari bends down to lower the fish in the area you want them to be in, your eyes catch a glimpse of something on his back. A thin dark line carved into his skin, a wound that looks fresh, meaning it could be causing him pain. “‘Wari,” you walk up to him and get a closer look, your voice laced with worry while you inspect the wound, gently running your finger over it. “What happened to your back?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” He replies dismissively while he stands straight up and shifts his weight in the process, meaning it’s not ‘nothing’ like he claims it to be.

“It’s definitely something, Tonowari.” Your healer instincts kick in and you walk over to your herbs and grab a salve and a liquid that will act as a disinfectant so the wound doesn’t become infected. “I can tell you're in pain, you must let me take a look at it.” At first, Tonowari wants to tell you that it’s fine and he’ll just patch it up later but he allows you to take a look, knowing you’ll take better care of it than he will. You bring over a wooden stool for him to sit on and you start working on him, cleaning off the droplets of dried blood before pouring a few drops of disinfectant. “How did you get this?”

“Accident from hunting,” He explains, trying to brush it off since it isn’t a big deal to him. “I was more focused on the catch than what was around me.”

A frown casts upon your face at how Tonowari just ignores his wounds and swallows the pain. “Well, you need to be more careful. You shouldn’t ignore wounds, even if they are small.”

Tonowari's expression relaxes as he feels your fingers across his back, a hint of admiration comes across his face, feeling grateful that he has someone in life that takes care of him again. "You always worry too much about me."

"It's my job," you reply playfully, but your tone is serious. "And I care about you."

“I know you do,” The Olo’eyktan murmurs, his gaze softening as he glances back at you, his usual stoic demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. As you tend to his wound, Tonowari’s mind begins to drift, memories of Ronal slipping through his thoughts like the gentle pull of the tide. She’d always been the one to patch him up after his hunting or sparring accidents, her hands steady and sure, her voice lightly scolding him for being reckless. She’d always tell him that his strength didn’t mean he could ignore his injuries, and despite his grumbling, he’d let her care for him, feeling both humbled and cherished in those moments.

Now, as he feels the same careful touch in your hands and hears the same gentle concern in your voice, a pang of bittersweet longing stirs within him. It’s different with you, of course, but he realizes he’s missed this feeling of being looked after, having someone who sees past his strength to the person beneath. In some quiet, comforting way, your presence eases a part of him he thought he’d long buried, reminding him of the warmth he once felt with his widow.

As you finish dressing Tonowari’s wound, you notice that his gaze has drifted somewhere distant, a shadow passing over his usually calm expression. His expression is filled with something you can’t quite name—grief, maybe, or longing, like he’s carrying a memory too heavy to put into words. “‘Wari,” you say softly, catching his attention. “Is something on your mind?” You keep your hand on his shoulder, hoping to offer whatever comfort you can.

Tonowari hesitates, looking at you with an intensity that suggests he’s debating whether to answer. You and him haven’t talked much about your past marriages. Both of you are still hesitant to discuss those parts of your lives, and neither of you want to push the other to share before they’re ready. You both agreed early on to open up when the time feels right. Tonowari has only shared little details here and there about Ronal, he mentions her from time to time but it's usually quick and he breezes over it, not wanting to stay on the topic for too long or his emotions will get the best of him. He’s thought about having a full discussion about her with you before but he always chickens out, not wanting to be vulnerable in front of you but he also doesn't want to continue keeping you in the dark about his feelings.

After a long moment, he sighs, glancing away as though the words are easier to say to the air than to you. “My mate,” he says finally, his voice rougher than usual. “Ronal.” He looks down, his jaw tight, trying to hold himself together to tell you the story as emotions resurface in his heart. “She was… everything to me. Strong, kind, stubborn as the sea,” he continues, a small bittersweet smile tugging at his lips, memories of her reeling in his mind from the years they shared as a mated pair. “She always looked after me, kept me in line when I needed it.”

There’s a quiet, aching pause as he gathers himself, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, trying to collect his words and make sure he correctly phrases them based on how he feels in his heart. “She passed when an illness casted over the clan,” he says, his voice full of sorrow when he thinks about how the illness took over her body in a matter of days and soon after he could barely recognize the woman he fell in love with. “She went to help those who were sick, as she always did. She believed it was her duty as Tsahìk to protect others, even when it meant… risking herself in the process.”

You feel a pang in your chest as you watch him speak, seeing the grief he’s been carrying around all this time, a grief that’s only now finding voice. “After she was gone… I didn’t think I’d let anyone take care of me like that again,” he admits, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “I told myself I didn’t need it. But being here with you now, it… reminds me of her.” It was true, even though you and Ronal are different in many ways there are a few similarities he sees in the both of you. The way you care for others, how fiercely you protect those you love, sometimes when he looks at you he feels like he’s seeing pieces of Ronal again.

Your heart aches for him, you know how hard it was for him to share and you’re so glad that he felt brave enough to say how he feels. To show that you're here with him in the moment and are listening, you glide your hand down his arm until you reach his hand. When he feels your hand wrap around his he glances at you and you notice his expression softening from the painful one he once had. Tonowari’s grip tightens around your hand, a silent appreciation of your presence and support.

You take a moment, letting the weight of his confession settle between you before taking a deep breath and speaking, wanting to make sure you say the right things to him, wanting to give him the comfort he needs. “Tonowari,” you say gently, “I’m so glad you had Ronal as a mate, if you hadn’t had all those wonderful years with her you wouldn’t be the amazing man you are today or have your two beautiful children. She took care of you for as long as Eywa allowed and now she watches over you.”

Tonowari’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and he nods slowly, absorbing your words. “You’re right,” he admits, a soft smile breaking through his sorrow. “Ronal taught me about love, strength and sacrifice.”

“And you carry everything you learned from her with you. You’re not alone on this journey of life, Tonowari. I’m here for you. I want to be that person that cares for you now, the one who always tends to your wounds and keeps you in line if you need it.”

Tonowari’s gaze deepens, reflecting a number of emotions—grief, gratitude, and an unmistakable warmth that radiates from the bond you share. Your words wrap around him like a gentle embrace, showing him that he can be in the present while honoring his past. “I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that,” he admits, his voice steadying, though it remains with hints of emotion.

You squeeze his hand tighter, feeling the strength of his grip and the connection that sparks between you. “It’s the truth,” you reply, your heart swelling with love for this man who has faced so much yet he continues to stand tall. “You’re a great father and a leader, and the love you shared with Ronal doesn’t diminish what we can build together.” You know that Ronal will always be a part of him, she’s the mother of his children and his first true love. Ronal will always be in his heart and you’re completely fine with that but you also want him to know that there is enough room for the love you both now share to grow as well.

A soft smile crosses his lips, the heaviness in his eyes lifting ever so slightly. “And I’m grateful for that, for everything.” He pauses for a moment, his earlier playfulness returning to his demeanor. “Besides, I’d be lost without you keeping me out of trouble.”

“Yes, you definitely need me to keep a close eye on you,” you tease, relief flooding through you as the mood lightens, meaning Tonowari is feeling better than he did a few minutes ago. “Just don’t expect me to let you get away with anything.”

Tonowari chuckles, the sound music to your ears. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, causing you to melt in the process. “Thank you for being my light. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Of course! Just keep bringing me gifts, and we’ll be just fine,” you tease once again, a playful grin stretching across your face as you look up at him. The warmth of the moment fills the small space of your mauri. You rise from your stool and begin to organize the salve and healing items, your fingers dancing over the familiar textures of the herbs and containers.

As you tidy up, sunlight shines brightly through the woven walls, casting a golden glow that warms up the air and takes away the coldness from the early morning breeze. The air is rich with the invigorating scent of fresh herbs, mingling with the distant sounds of Awa’atlu coming to life—laughter and chatter drifting in from outside, a gentle reminder of the community that surrounds you.

“You truly have a gift for healing, both the body and spirit.” Tonowari says in a low tone as he fills the space behind you, his presence a comforting weight as he rests his head in the crook of your neck, along with his warm breath sending a delightful shiver down your spine and his hands wrapping around your waist.

“Well, it’s easy when I have someone worth caring for.” you reply, raising your hand and placing it on his cheek, gently rubbing your thumb against his skin while your smile softens at the sincerity of your own words.

“And you make it impossible for me to focus on my duties. I could stay here with you all day,” he admits, using a playful yet serious tone as he starts to trail soft kisses across your neck, making your stomach flip.

“As tempting as that sounds, I think the clan might have something to say about it.” Thinking of the clan brings a familiar sense of responsibility, reminding you both of the lives that rely on your work. If you both disappeared for the day, when you’re both known to be dedicated to your duties, it would certainly raise suspicions.

Truthfully, the idea of spending the day in the quiet of your home with him is hard to resist, especially with the way his lips are brushing against your neck, causing your body to tingle all over. But you know, despite the attraction of staying close to him, that your duties come first, especially his come first. With a soft sigh, you gently pull away from and turn so you can look into his eyes, giving him a lingering look that speaks of how much you’d rather stay wrapped in his arms.

He chuckles, nodding with a sense of understanding, though his gaze still lingers on you with a quiet intensity. “You’re right, as usual,” he says, his tone resigned yet affectionate. “They need us, and I need to get started on my rounds.” Leaning in, he brushes a gentle kiss against your lips, his touch lingering, wanting one last kiss before you have to part ways. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will,” you assure him firmly, your voice resolute. “And you better do the same. I won’t be patching you up twice in one day.” The banter is light, but beneath it lies a genuine concern for his well-being. You and Tonowari walk out of your home at the same time and you both hold hands for as long as possible before you have to take different paths. You and him exchange loving gazes one more time before the two of you start to split off to different places on the island.

As you start walking towards the heart of the village and making your way to the healing pod, the vibrant colors of the village greet you, alive with the sounds of laughter and the salty breeze of the sea. The sun rises higher, illuminating the faces of your neighbors as they go about their morning tasks, a scene of harmony that fills you with purpose.

—

The early afternoon sun cast long shadows over the village as the Olo’eyktan gathered his warriors for a meeting. Tonowari finished his rounds a while ago, assessing the well-being of his people, making sure the hunters were collecting enough food to feed the clan, that the healers had sufficient supplies, and making sure that the warriors-in-training are up to par. Every so often Tonowari calls a meeting with all his warriors to discuss whatever he deems necessary for them to have knowledge of so currently he’s standing in front of a group of seasoned warriors with a steady and focused expression on his face. The warriors listen intently as he speaks, discussing plans for the coming weeks, the new resources they’ve gathered, and trade strategies with neighboring clans and how they’ll be conducted.

Once the meeting is concluded, the warriors begin to relax, their expressions easing as they fall into conversation. Mating season is approaching for the Metkayina, and the topic quickly shifts to the thrill of potential partners and possible courtships.

One of the younger warriors, a grinning Na’vi with bright eyes, leans in toward the group. “So, do any of you have someone in mind? I hear a few of the women in the northern pods are particularly interested this year.”

Another warrior laughs, elbowing his friend. “The northern pods? Well, I have my eye on someone a little closer.”

The group chuckles, sharing knowing looks and nudges. A third warrior, braver and bolder than his peers, leans back against a nearby tree and crosses his arms with a smirk. “Well, if we’re speaking of those who’ve been catching our eyes, I’d say that the newcomer is quite… intriguing.”

Tonowari’s ears perked up at that, his expression carefully neutral as he listened in on what his subordinates were saying. He feels a tightening in his chest as they continue their conversation and he can’t stop the slight clench of his jaw. He knows exactly who they mean when they say ‘newcomer’ and it’s stirring up a nasty emotion inside the Olo’eyktan at the mention of you.

The warriors exchange looks, some nodding their heads in agreement. “Ah, yes,” one said with a grin. “She has a spirit about her. There’s something different. And she’s been here long enough now, I’d say she’s part of the clan.”

Another warrior chimes in, his tone lighthearted but admiring. “She’s smart, too. Not to mention skilled in healing. I think any one of us would be lucky to court her.”

Tonowari’s fists tighten behind his back, his fingertips pressing into his palms as he fights the urge to respond. The mask of calm he wears, cultivated through years of leadership, is beginning to slip, and his tail flicks in irritation despite his best efforts to remain composed. His ears, trained on the voices of his warriors, catch every casual, careless words they speak about you—the admiration in their voices, the hints of desire, the presumptuous confidence they hold in their tone when they discuss you as if you’re an unclaimed woman waiting to be courted.

Each remark feels like a tiny ember dropped into his chest, sparking a jealousy he’s struggling to contain. He reminds himself of the choice you both made to keep your bond private, to protect the quiet intimacy of what you share, away from the curious eyes of the clan. And yet, in this moment, he feels the weight of that choice bearing down on him. These warriors—his own warriors, those who have fought by his side—speak of you like a prize to be won, an object of competition.

The restraint he shows is as much for himself as it is for them, for he knows that one slip in his expression, one moment of sharpness in his voice, would reveal more than he’s currently prepared to share. But with every laugh, every nudge, and every insinuation, the irritation coils tighter within him, a reminder of how fiercely he feels for you.

A laugh echoes from the group, and one of the warriors, with a mischievous smirk, declares his intent to “try his luck” with you, claiming you might need “someone strong to keep you grounded.” The remark brings a sharp, almost feral look to Tonowari’s eyes, a dangerous edge beneath his calm. He reminds himself—again—that they don’t know, that their casual interest is not meant as an offense. But his jaw clenches, and his heart beats faster, wrestling with the possessive surge that threatens to overtake him.

While the Olo’eyktan is having an emotional debate within himself, Ralak, looks across the circle of warriors, reading the slight tension in his leader’s stance. With a small, knowing smile, Ralak excuses himself from the conversation and walks over to Tonowari.

“Walk with me, Olo’eyktan.” Ralak says, his voice calm but with a hint of humor in his gaze. Tonowari gives him a nod, eager for the chance to leave the warriors’ chatter behind before he blows a fuse. They move a few paces away, leaving the others deep in their discussions about their pursuit for future mates. Once they’re out of earshot, Ralak chuckles softly. “You know, it’s quite amusing to see you like this, Tonowari. You, of all people, should be used to admiration. But hearing it directed at her—now that’s something new.”

Tonowari exhales, the tension easing slightly at Ralak’s teasing tone but not leaving completely. “They speak as if she’s theirs to court,” he mutters, his voice barely concealing his frustration. “As if they have any idea who she is.”

Ralak chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans against a nearby tree. “Of course they don’t know. You’ve kept things quiet. They see her as a woman who’s simply here, one who’s… available. And, well,” he smirks, “you cannot blame them for noticing. She’s a rare presence.” The Metkayina have always been curious of what Na’vi from different parts of Pandora look like so now that they’ve laid eyes on you a new curiosity has grown, what it’s like to be with a woman that's the opposite of them.

Tonowari sighs, a mixture of pride and frustration filling his chest as he knows that men in the clan want you yet you only have eyes for him. “I know that. But to hear them talk so casually, as if they could just… approach her, as if she would give them a second glance…” He shakes his head, fighting the urge to march back and make it clear that you shouldn’t be discussed this way.

“And yet, you’ve kept her hidden. Why?”

Tonowari hesitates, glancing toward the village beyond where he’s spent countless evenings with you. “She and I… we wanted something just for ourselves. Something apart from the clan’s expectations, the constant eyes on us. She wanted time to settle in, to find her place here, without everyone immediately knowing.”

Ralak nods, his expression softening as he begins to understand his reasoning for keeping your relationship under wraps. “Then don’t let their words get under your skin. They speak in ignorance, not knowing what you and her share.” He places a firm hand on Tonowari’s shoulder. “But… I would suggest you think about telling them soon. With mating season approaching, the interest in her will only grow.”

Tonowari grimaces, knowing his friend was right. His warriors are respectful, but also persistent when it comes to finding their potential mate. The last thing he wants is for you to be put in a situation where you feel uncomfortable, or worse, pressured by their advances.

Ralak raises an eyebrow, seeing that the Olo’eyktan is still facing an internal battle with his feelings and thoughts so he decides to give him a few more pieces of sound advice. “Or maybe, you should remind her just how deeply you feel. Make sure she knows she doesn’t need to keep your bond a secret if it causes you both trouble.”

A small smile breaks through Tonowari’s tense expression, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “She knows,” he says softly. “But I’ll admit, it’s hard to hide it when I feel this strongly.”

“Then perhaps a little less hiding wouldn’t hurt. You are the Olo’eyktan, after all. You have every right to make your intentions known.”

Tonowari nods, his resolve strengthening. The quiet, private moments with you are cherished by him when he wants to escape from the demands of his role, but he can’t deny the desire to stand by you openly, to show everyone that you are his.

Tonowari takes a steadying breath, the weight of his friend’s words settling into his mind. He knows now that if he doesn’t make his intentions clear, others will continue to see you as someone they could pursue and that is something he can no longer allow. “Thank you, Ralak,” he says, giving his friend a firm nod. “I’ll speak with her.”

Ralak nods with a smile, satisfied with Tonowari’s decision and glad to see him happy. “Good. She deserves to be seen as the one you’ve chosen, not just another face in the clan.”

As the two men part, Tonowari feels a new sense of purpose filling him. His jealousy sparked something that needs addressing, but more than that, it reminds him of how fully his heart has opened up for you. And if claiming you publicly means drawing a few surprised looks, he’ll gladly accept that challenge.

Previous — Chapter Three・Next — Chapter Four / Part Two

If you would like to be tagged in this series click here!

Fanbase — @moonchildxoxx @ikeyniofthetayrangi @unholycheesesnack @luchicm04 @anemonelovesfiction @thebiggestwhorearound @taronyuhunter @hot15936 @v4mp1rr3 @avatarobsessedgirly @ikeyniofthetayrangi @rivatar @avatarsslut @kodzuvk @32saucy-minx @xxannyxx @certainkittenpeach @mimisweetz @eme1hyst @neteyamyawne @scrumptiouslampwobblercop @lexasaurs634 @beautiful-brown-skin-05 @breadnchocolate-blog @reading-doll @trashf0x @avatarloverfrfr @alyssa23145678910 @eywas-heir @neptunesbbby @n7cje @hinekoto @lovedheartsss @introvertednoah @sweetdayme4427 @tenshiasuhara @livvie1512-blog @jakesullyfatjuicypeen @daenerysluvrr @marsymars-world @sassyqueen15 @yawnetu @mudimar @baybaybear1 @yuliya-13 @nia-channel-taylor @lakeli @pitypinkabyss @otakusef @svnnynostalgia

#❖ — 🌳: 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑯𝑨𝑽𝑬 𝑨 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻.!#tonowari x you #avatar tonowari #tonowari x f!reader #tonowari avatar #tonowari x fem!reader #tonowari fluff #tonowari fanfiction #tonowari x reader #atwow tonowari #avatar x female reader #atwow x you #atwow x reader #avatar x na'vi reader #tonowari x human reader #tonowari smut

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isaacsapphire · 3 days ago

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I’m not sure quite how long ago you started following me, but I’ve always sprinkled my writing with some naughty words (and extremely long and convoluted sentences) both because the people who are going to clutch their pearls at no-no words aren’t people who are capable of reading for more than “clap” and “boo” lights aren’t really going to interact usefully with my writing or be potential friends, and also I really enjoy using those taboo words because fuck language taboos. Certainly I have evolved substantially since I joined Tumblr looking for more information on this elusive new ideology that was on display at Everyday Feminism and that my non hierarchical poly activist internet anarchist friend seemed to have known already as if it was beamed into their head, because I have continued to take in information, have experiences, and modify my beliefs accordingly.

This is hardly my first slapfight of this type I’ve gotten into though.

I should point out that by reblogging, you are also now at the devil’s sacrament, and so ridiculous too. I don’t particularly care if I look ridiculous calling a spade a spade.

Adults who pointedly and proudly identify as people who only read children’s books have something wrong with them. People who have had their legs run over also have something wrong with them, as do people who were born without legs. This doesn’t mean they’re bad people for not having legs, but trying to claim that there’s nothing wrong with them would be insane.

In the same vein, I very specifically chose the terms I used; some adults consume only children’s media and make this part of their identities because something bad happened to them or was done to them. Trauma can cause this type of behavior, as can ideological abuse, to name some possible causes. I myself was in this state for a while when I had a traumatic experience. I got better, but I was fully aware that there was something wrong with me (I had recently been through a traumatic experience was what was wrong with) Being mentally incapable of reading beyond a fourth grade level can also be caused by (including and not limited to) being beaten with metal pipes, drug use, carbon monoxide poisoning, sleep apnea, and just being congenitally dumb. But they’re still not capable of reading and understanding a rigorously researched political biography, through no fault of their own, because they are too stupid to read and understand a book so complex. There is something wrong with them, denying that fact is no kindness.

The proper treatment of each cause is not the same; emotional cripples may heal, so nurturing and helping them grow and heal may be fruitful. Dumbasses aren’t going to get any less stupid with time; neither nurturing or browbeating will change that, and it’s a waste of your time and energy to only cause them stress, so be kind and don’t try to change these people if they’re happy as they are.

I do find it increasingly uncomfortable how much of an expectation there is for adults, even childless adults, to be delighted by and engaged with media that is made for children. No adult needs to “broaden” their horizons by reading YA books. It’s is weird and shameful to read primarily children’s’ books if you are not a child! You deserve to be looked down upon for this! It’s weird for childless adults to watch Bluey, though I agree with my parenting friends that it’s excellent SEL content, which I will never watch because I am a fucking grown-up. The great privilege and joy of childlessness is being free from the dumb shit that innocent children love. It’s contemptible that adults deny themselves this privilege and it’s creepy that mass culture encourages this. Let’s celebrate the freedom of our barren wombs with some fucking Robert Caro and some bitter-tasting foods.

#fandom #children’s media #put away childish things #grow up #i am not going to mince words or oathes

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aventurineswife · 23 hours ago

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pookie please write some more Sunday x f!reader stuff :33

“Let this moment be forever ours”

Summary: Sunday and you share a quiet evening together in a cozy home. Sunday, usually burdened with his deep thoughts and responsibilities, finds comfort in your presence, and you gently encourage him to embrace relaxation and peace. Over dinner, your bond deepens, and Sunday reveals his fears about deserving happiness and peace. The evening culminates in a tender, affectionate moment, where Sunday allows himself to feel the love and warmth of the moment.

Tags: Sunday x Female!Reader (can be read as GN!Reader too), Established Relationship, Fluff, Romance, Intimacy, Emotional Healing, Comfort, Slow Burn, Domestic Moments.

A/N: I GOTCHU POOKIEE!! 🤭💖🫣 HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!!

Sunday sat quietly on the shared house balcony, his hair catching softly in the twilight hues. The setting sun's golden light reflected in his eyes, the color of his navy pupils creating an ethereal contrast. His halo hung serenely behind his head, spinning gently as he absently tapped his fingers against the edge of his tea cup. Gone were his usual formal clothes; instead, he wore a loose, light sweater in soft lavender and dark blue lounge pants. He looked more at ease, though the quiet depth in his gaze remained.

Inside, you moved around the small but cozy kitchen, humming softly as you prepared dinner. The smell of spices and fresh herbs wafted through the air, mingling with the faint creaks of the old house and the distant sounds of the world outside. You couldn't help but glance out the window every so often, your heart fluttering at the sight of Sunday bathed in the golden light. There was something captivating about the way he sat there, so serene yet unknowingly pensive.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” you called, poking your head out of the doorway to catch his attention.

Sunday turned toward you, his eyes softening as a faint smile graced his lips. “Do you need a hand?” he asked, his voice a gentle melody that matched the evening's calm.

You shook your head, grinning. “I’ve got it under control. You just enjoy the sunset for a bit longer.”

He laughed and stood, moving slowly as the hem of his sweater brushed against his hips with each step. “Relaxation is something I’m still trying to learn,” he said, resting against the counter. His ear-wings fluttered delicately as he watched you stir the pot on the stove. “But I suppose I can give it a try—for you.”

“You should,” you joked, looking up at him. “You’re always so serious. Don’t you think you’ve earned a break?”

Sunday tilted his head slightly, his halo shimmering faintly under the warm light. “Perhaps. Even in times such as this, though, my mind won’t rest. It’s... hard to mute the noise.”

You paused, letting the wooden spoon clatter to the side as you turned to him. “What’s on your mind now?” you asked softly, wiping your hands on a towel.

He hesitated, his eyes darting up toward the window where stars were beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky. “You,” he said in a low, honest voice. “And how moments like these feel so fragile. Like a dream I’m afraid to wake from.”

Your breath caught at his honesty, and warmth bloomed in your chest. “You don’t have to worry about waking up,” you said, moving closer. “This is real, Sunday. We’re real.”

His eyes met yours, their depths shimmering with unspoken emotions. “I want to believe that,” he murmured. “But sometimes I wonder if I deserve this kind of peace.”

You reached out, taking his hand in yours, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric of his sleeve. “You do,” you said firmly, “and I will remind you every day, whether you want me to or not.”

A soft laugh escaped him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little. “You’re persistent,” he said, a note of fondness in his tone. “I admire that about you.”

“Good,” you replied with a playful grin, tugging him toward the small dining table. “Now sit down, and let me spoil you with food.”

Sunday allowed himself to be led, his wings fluttering slightly as if in quiet amusement. As you set the table and served the meal, he watched you with quiet reverence. The simple domesticity of the scene—the clinking of dishes, the soft glow of the pendant lamp, and the warmth of your laughter—filled a space in his heart he hadn’t realized was so empty.

As you both sat down to eat, Sunday found himself smiling more freely. The food was delicious, but it was the company that nourished him more. You talked of little things: the peculiarities of the house, plans for tomorrow, and he listened intently, tempering his usual melancholy with the lightness of the moment.

Later, as you were standing together at the sink washing and drying dishes, he caught your wrist gently, stopping you mid-motion. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft but full of emotion. “For this. For being here.”

You turned to him, your eyes scanning his face. “Always,” you said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek. His halo flickered faintly, its golden light reflecting the warmth in his expression.

As the sun dipped toward dusk and you lay across the couch, Sunday tucked himself into the contours of your body. His wings curved over the sides to create a tight, delicate embrace, sheltering you within the world of the other side.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Sunday let himself relax. It was a fragile but undeniable truth that he found in your arms, amidst the soft glow of the house and the faint whispers of the night—that this peace, this love—it was his to hold on to.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday #sunday hsr #fluff #established relationship #romance #intimacy #emotional healing #comfort #slow burn #domestic moments

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allthinky · 3 days ago

Text

OFMD fans on Bsky and to a lesser extent here are suggesting that we need to come together as a fandom, get over the divisions, etc. and in principle I am well in favor of that. The last thing we need is to show up as unhinged as we try to get the show picked up somewhere and Season 3 ordered.

But. A lot of folks were really harmed by the bullying, the name-calling, even doxxing? (I missed that, luckily, but certainly have been accused both of bad faith arguments and hatred for Izzy. [Ha. He's not real, for one thing -- also, he was drawn to be hated, right up until the middle of Season 2.] It's whatever. I've been trained in both argument and advocacy and can show up pretty...blunt? But still don't think people should encourage others to actually kill themselves over a tv show.)

I do think healing the rift is important. But.

It's not more important than respecting BIPOC and queer folks. I won't stop calling out racism and misogyny/homophobia where I see it, or at least suggesting that we can and should do better, especially for this show. For this show, omg!

That's the thing: for me, OFMD showed up not only during Covid but also during a huge life upheaval. One that made me incredibly cynical about the odds of justice anywhere in the world. And it said, in every episode: cruelty is wrong. Misogyny is wrong. Homophobia is wrong. Trying to protect your family, trying to become yourself, trying to make amends for your wrongs: these are still good. You can still choose a family, a life, a way in which you fight racism, colonialism, patriarchy. You may find only a grubby little band of weirdos, but they will make your life good. And also, late bloomers can still find true, queer, love.

I love how so many fans have recognized this and are willing to fight for it. But when there are fans who decide that Ed or Stede are clearly the bad guys, or need to suffer! Or that S1 Izzy is the good guy, or Izzy "deserved" a better ending ... These takes pull me out of the little home that the show built for me. I know, rationally, that such interpretations don't actually threaten what the show is, but they still pain me in a way I'm not sure I can fully explain.

(Worse yet, the attachment some folks have to Izzy seems to mirror my own attachment to the crew and the themes. We're all just unhinged. I can't help but feel it's messed up to love Izzy so much he should be front and center, when we finally had a show where the white masc dude wasnt front and center. Even while I think people have the right to enjoy what they want to enjoy. And who doesn't enjoy that little rat, losing when he thinks he should win. It's perfection!)

By 2.4 or whatever, Izzy is fine, he's learning how to be family, he is still a mess in all kinds of ways but whatever. He can be their dick. Their nightmare. Fine. But make him the "hero"? That's an insult. He can do heroic things -- as we all can -- but it's not his story. It's just not, and man, it feels good that someone else gets to be the hero for a change.

I'm really putting this here for my own edification. This isn't meta, this is just: why is allthinky so touchy about OFMD? I'm not done, but I'm done for now.

#ofmd #our flag means death

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somereaderinblue · 3 days ago

Note

As someone who's recently gone down the LMK rabbithole, binge read this fic & also loves this song, this has to be a sign. Decided to try rewriting the lyrics into a simplified & child-friendly story MK would sing. Hope you don't mind, @smilesatdawnmain!

[MK]

Okay, put on your listening ears for five minutes. Got them on? Good. Now here’s the story:

Long ago, there lived a monkey

With six bright ears and he ran

An ancient theatre where he was its very star

With me?

[RED SON]

Monkey’s a star, yeah.

[MK]

No! The monkey's name is

Liu-er Mihou, and he's famous

People come to see his plays from near and far.

[RED SON]

Got it.

[MK]

Good!

Now, there's a rumor going round

That in the mountains far away, there lives-

[RED SON]

Oh wait, I know! Can I guess?

[MK, rolling his eyes]

Sure, go ahead.

[RED SON]

Another mysterious monkey! Right?

[MK]

Right, well, mostly

But the twist is that this mysterious monkey is the mighty Monkey King

Now, this king had been blessed

With a gift he possessed

Numerous powers completely unmatched

But, as you often will find

In epic tales of this kind

This gift came with a curse attached

A pride that was arrogant

And so jarring

He wore a crown as penance for his folly

[RED SON]

Cool!

[MK]

And lived underground inside a hole….for like, 500 years.

[RED SON]

Wait, a hole? Why a hole?

[MK]

All his life, he had tormented, teased, and taunted

And now his hunters would become the haunted

The world that always made him feel unwanted would hear the toll

The sounds of a tortured soul….

[RED SON]

That’s just sad.

[MK]

I’m not finished! Listen up, you're gonna need to know this.

One day during his travels

Distant sounds of a soprano

Drifted towards him from the theater afar

Sweeter than a bird

In all his life he'd never heard

A sound like this, and he was instantly in love

[RED SON, gagging]

Gross.

[MK]

The voice, of course, was Liu-er Mihou

And Monkey King went and sought him

To become his trusty warrior, and his muse

And if you think he found this oh-so-enigmatic monkey monarch

Kinda creepy, then I've got some shocking news

[RED SON]

Oh no-

[MK, grinning]

Because he fell, and fell hard!

He was battered and scarred

But he could see that inside, there was more!

Something alluring, he'd find

In the sadness behind

That tragic crown and smile he wore!

[RED SON]

I don’t wanna hear a love song about your parents, MK! Gross!

[MK]

Heh.

And though he was hideous

And he was perfection

Both sun and moon found their connection

A bond beyond their own control!

And though cruel fates and battles sought to hurt them

And sometimes to darkness they’d lose themselves in

The thread between them and their friends would help them, make them whole

The sounds of two healing souls.

That's the basic plot anyway. Wait till you hear about the hero and the warrior!

[RED SON]

Yes, not like I’ve heard that one a gazillion times.

[MK]

Oh hush, you love it too!

-END

Have you ever heard of the song Story of the Phantom from Goosebumps? Everytime I listen to it, I can't help but imagine MK as the singer narrating his parents' story.

Speaking of stories, will we ever see the moon & his little star in chinese opera outfits?

(I drew this... so quickly. My hand hurts) BUT I LOVED THIS SONG, how dare you introduce it to me !! I love the idea of MK just singing about his parents and being all dramatic like his Baba XD XD

And YES! You will see the Moon and his little Star performing together. Gosh I need to learn how to draw some Chinese opera outfits~

#lmk #lego monkie kid #shadowpeach #lmk mk #lmk red son #the day the world eclipsed au #song rewrite

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aggieharkness · 2 days ago

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would you do a story with lilia calderu maybe surrounding substance misuse? like maybe hiding it from her? you can decide the details of it all

Survivor

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x reader

Summary: It is said that time heals but you hadn't believed it at all, the dark thoughts crushing you once again, drawing you into a past that you wanted to run away from. You had felt so alone. But she took your hands and steadied you, guided you to the light. Perhaps time didn't heal, but you were sure Lilia did

Warnings: substance misuse, mention of drugs, mention of alcohol, alcoholism, past abuse, past child abuse, bullying, implied suicide. I'm sorry if I've forgotten any warnings.

Authors note: I'm sorry it took me a bit longer to post, but I hope that this story is what you were expecting and that if it hits close to home that it helps you heal and move forward. Some of the experiences are real and are my own, so please, be kind. If there is anything at all that you don't like, tell me and I'll change it, or if you want something else, I'm here. Thanks for the request, btw.

Special thanks to @renafisher27 for checking part of it. Love you girl!

Survivor

You were two hours late. Lilia glanced at the clock on the wall, the thin black hands staring back at her, telling her that you were not going to come. The table had been set, a beautiful rose in the middle of it surrounded by candles, a delicious meal in the oven that had turned cold a while ago, the smell lingering in the air. You had promised you would come to her tonight, that you would spend a quiet evening together, you had sworn you would be there, but alas, the house was empty except for the silence that dressed Lilia’s sorrow. She had thought you cared about her, she had let herself believe you cared about her, but it was obvious that you did not, or at least not enough to think that this entire date might be important to her, that you were important to her. She felt anger rising on her chest as the clock struck nine, and in a gust of fury she stood from her chair and stomped towards the front door, grabbing her shawl and purse. She didn’t bother to blow the candles, her magic sparkled incessantly in between her fingers making the lights flicker and the flames vanish into nothing, thin threads of smoke rising up in the air in rivulets.

You lived next door, literally a door down from her, which made things even worse as Lilia, in a beautiful dark grey dress with spaghetti straps, rushed down the street, her gown brushing the dirty pavement as her heels made loud footsteps until she stood before your building. The lock was broken, and no one had bothered to fix it yet, so she pushed the gates, the metal of the door banging and bouncing against the wall, the loud sound echoing out into the street, but she didn’t care, she had a mission, and she was going to tell you exactly what she thought of your behaviour. But upon reaching your door she stopped. What if you were not there? What if you had been in a terrible accident and had hurt yourself? What if you had… died? She began to spiral into this sea of what ifs, images clouding her mind as her feet paced from one side of the empty hallway to the other. If it had indeed happened, why hadn’t she seen it, she should have seen your demise, no one she had ever cared about hadn’t passed without her not having seen it first. Maybe you had not gone to her house because you were working late, had she even asked you at what time did you get out today?

Noises coming from the other side of the door woke her up from her spiralling, the sounds calming her racing heart. You were home. Wait, you were home! She felt the anger spiking again, only muffled by the fact that you were alive, but that did not stop her from using her spare key and barging in. Now this was something she had not expected. All the lights were off, not even the streetlights could be seen coming from the windows, it was as if she had walked into a deep dark tunnel, and the simple feeling that she got as she stepped inside made her shiver on the spot. Something was wrong, she could sense it, but she could not figure out what it was as she traded careful over the carpet, the door left ajar so a little bit of light could come in. The entire apartment was quiet, the noises she had just heard faint memories by then, her breathing and her own blood pumping through her veins, the only sounds that her ears could hear. Upon reaching the intersection between the kitchen and the living room her foot kicked something. It was cold to the touch of her bare toes, and it seemed to be cylindrical, her eyes fighting to get a better view of the object as she pushed it from under her dress. How odd, what was an empty bottle of vodka doing on the floor?

She had never seen you drink, not even when you two went out on dates, no, you always choose water or juices, maybe a hot chocolate if it was a breakfast date, but never ever alcohol. Had you… had you brought someone home? She could not bare the thought of you doing something like that to her, her heart breaking slightly at the possibility that you had cheated on her. There she had been, at home, waiting like a fool for you to rush into her arms only to find out that there might be someone other than her holding you in bed, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Someone loving you like she did. She was letting her mind wander once again, and she could not afford it, she had to find you, so she forced herself to breath deeply, letting those thoughts be pushed to the back of her mind, after all it was only an empty bottle on the floor, it could mean literally anything. She lifted herself off the floor, the bottle in her hand as she stepped into the living room. It was even darker, the windows blocked by something, but how was she supposed to make her way towards them if she could not see what was two inches in front of her? This is how people die in horror movies, she thought.

Each step took her closer to a big object she could sort of make out the shape off, crashing into it after a moment, nearly bending over what she realised was the couch. Okay, she had to see, a freaking vampire could come out of any corner at any minute, and she’d be dammed if she was going to fight one in the dark. It had happened before, and it had not been a pleasant experience. With a snap of her fingers a tiny little bulb of yellow light brightened the room, a sigh of relief puffing out as she was finally able to see, but what her eyes came across with as she took in the room was far from what she had expected. The couch had clothes spread all over it, whether they were clean or not she could not tell, but there was certainly this thick odour that resembled that of a closed house, as if you had not bothered to ventilate in weeks. You had not spent that much time down at her place, this wasn’t something related to you sleeping with her, it ran deeper, she could feel it in her bones. Rounding the couch, she saw containers of different takeaways laying over the coffee table, rotting food inside, though the smell had not yet spread throughout the room.

Alarms had begun to go in her head the instant she had stepped into your house, but now she could have almost lit up like a Christmas trees had she had warning lights. This, whatever it was, was very very wrong, more bottles laying in between blankets and under the couch and tables, her eyes finally seeing that there were cardboards against the windows so no light would come in. Why would you do that? You loved the sunlight, you adored walking with her in the park, down in the woods, any place Lilia desired, she could not comprehend why you would run away from it now. A sound came from the other side of the apartment, startling her to the point that she almost tripped with a bag that you had left in the middle of the floor, making her turn her body towards the source of the noise and begin walking in slow steps. It had to be you, unless it was a thief, or worse, a murderer; Divine Mother, she needed to stop doing this to herself, she was going to give herself a heart attack one of these days. Reaching the foyer again the light from her fingers showed that your bedroom was right across the hall, the door ajar, a gentle blue light coming from under it as the noises got louder until suddenly, she heard your voice. It was quiet, and she could not understand very well what you were saying, but she picked up on the hurt tone that tainted them. Carefully she pushed it open until she could finally see you.

This room was the worst out of the entire house. There weren’t only bottles spread all throughout the floor, desk and nightstands, but packets of beers and premade cocktails laying over the ruined carpet, clothes and trash everywhere. Lilia flicked the switch so the lamp above your head would light up the room instead of the screen of your phone, but nothing happened, the motion making you turn your head over your shoulders from the spot you had on your bed, your back to the door. What was Lilia doing there? Was the alcohol making you see things? It wasn’t supposed to do that, the drugs were, but you hadn’t taken any, yet. Shit, you had forgotten about the date. Looking up at her you were waiting for the moment she would start screaming at you, telling you how utterly disgusting you looked and how disappointed she was, but it never came, she could only stare dumbfounded at you, your eyes raking over her beautiful dress and tidy curls to the bottle of vodka that she had in her hand. Lilia could not even begin to process the way you were looking at her, like a child who was waiting to be scolded, to be yelled at, your make up smeared all over your cheeks and chin, splatters of alcohol staining your clothes, a notebook in front of your crossed legs, a bag with a white powder resting over your left knee. Oh, Divine Mother, you were… no… you couldn’t be. Your hoarse voice and slurred words reached her ears, but it was the terrified tone what hit her heart as if it had just been run over by a train.

-Get out! You are not supposed to be here!

-Y/N

-NO! I CAN’T DO THIS WITH YOU HERE!

-Do what? – you had never raised your voice at her, in nearly a year of being with her the most she had heard you scream was one time when you had almost burnt yourself as you were pulling out a roasted chicken from the oven. That had been a funny little moment, but this was far from that, this was bad, really bad, and Lilia found herself dropping the empty bottle on a chair and walking to your side as slowly as possible, kneeling gently in front of you. Her hands itched to take yours but you were holding onto your hoody with such strength that it was making your knuckles white. - Y/N, please, tell me what’s wrong.

-I can’t. Please, Lilia, please, go away. This is not… I’m not… You are not supposed to see this. GO HOME!

-Y/N.

Suddenly your phone rang, the ringtone loud and shrilling in your ears, the name of some woman appearing on the screen. You growled at the sight, picking it up and motioning your arm as to throw it against the wall, but Lilia’s warm hand stopped you, wrapping around your wrist and pulling it down gently, your fingers letting go of the phone until it fell with a thud over the mattress. You stared up at her, the tears that had stopped falling about ten minutes ago returning in earnest, those big doe eyes of hers watching you as if you were something broken. You could not fight it, you were. The horrid sound carried on until you slid your finger over the green sign to answer it, the sound of a woman’s voice filling up the space after you tapped on the speaker symbol. If this is how things were going to come out, if Lilia was going to learn the truth tonight, might as well do it right.

-Oh, so now you answer the phone!

-Please, stop calling mom. I can’t do this, not again.

-Is this how you speak to me?! You owe me your life you ungrateful bitch! I put a stop to my own to raise you, you owe me Y/N.

-I don’t owe you shit! – you turned your body away from Lilia’s touch, unsure of how you were going to react all throughout the conversation; you didn’t want her to get hurt, she did not deserve to end up in harm’s way because of your messy life. - Every time you call is to ask for money or to insult me and degrade me and I can’t do it! I was clean mom, for a fucking year; I was doing great and then you had to come back! WHY?!

-DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE SCREAM AT ME! IT’S YOUR OWN FAULT THAT YOU’VE FALLEN BACK INTO DRINKING. YOU ARE WEAK, USELESS!

-STOP! FOR FUCK’S SAKES STOP! YOU LEFT ME ALONE FOR A YEAR, ONE WHOLE ASS YEAR AND I GOT CLEAN! WHY HAVE YOU COME BACK?!

-IF THIS IS HOW YOU ARE GOING TO BEHAVE, IF THIS IS HOW UNGRATEFUL YOU STILL ARE, MAYBE YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WHEN YOU HAD THAT OVERDOSE TWO YEARS AGO!

The silence that followed was fucking deafening, your limbs feeling like lead as her words stabbed you deep, the phone slipping from your fingers until it landed on the bed, so very deep that you grabbed the closest bottle, whiskey Lilia saw, and brought it to your lips, but she was faster and pushed it away, fighting with you to take it from your hands until it slipped onto the floor, crashing against the wood, the amber liquid spreading and staining the edge of the carpet. The only thing you wanted to do was crawl into a ball and wait until death claimed you. You hurt too much; you felt exactly like your mother had said, weak, useless, a fucking failure and Lilia was now there to see the real you when you had fought so hard to hide all this from her. She didn’t deserve someone as broken as you, you thought, the phone forgotten at the foot of the bed as your mother kept talking, berating you. She had never stopped, since the moment you had been placed in her arms you had been a mistake, an accident that should have never happened, and both her and life had never stopped reminding you. The only person that had cared for you simply because had been Lilia, and now she would run away like all of them had done before her. You could not do this, you just couldn’t, your face hidden into your pillow as you cried, hands over your ears to drown out your mother’s voice.

-Listen here lady, - Lilia stepped in then, picking up your phone and bring it to close to her lips, her voice clear and hard, so cold that if you had been at the receiving end, you would have felt a shiver running down your spine. This was clearly a recuring event in your life, one you had never mentioned, but that wasn’t important right now, the main thing was to get your mother to shut up. - I don’t know who you are, but I can tell you one thing. Y/N is not weak, or useless or any of the many things you’ve called her, she’s the most wonderful woman I have ever met.

-Who the hell are you? Y/N, are you still there? Who the fuck am I talking to?!

-I’m her girlfriend and you need to…

-Oh, so you are trying to ruin someone else now? Great job Y/n, fucking fantastic. Are you going to call me again crying “mommy mommy, they’ve stolen from me, they’ve broken my heart” like the fucking pathetic idiot you are?!

-I will not tolerate this talk from you lady! I don’t know who the hell you think you might be, but you have no right to speak to Y/N this way. You are supposed to be the most important person in her life, the one she can trust, and you are failing at that. Maybe Y/N is not be faulted for what you have driven her to do! She’s not weak, she’s not a failure, she has survived you, and that says plenty. If you had acted as a mother when you were supposed to, she would not be like this now!

-Who the fuck…

-I’M TALKING AND YOU WILL WAIT UNTIL I’M DONE! – the other woman fell silent, stunned at the other end of the phone, probably unused to someone actually having the balls to tell her to keep her mouth shut, but Lilia was on a roll, and she keep talking without even noticing. - You have no right to say to her that she should have died when she was at rock bottom, and she needed you! So how about you say what you phoned her for, and we can all end this before we say things that we will fully regret.

-Well… Now she has a defender. This is new. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen lady, she’s going to go back to doing drugs and to drinking when life doesn’t handle her things on a silver plate and drag you down with her. She’s always been a spoiled brat, and she will remain being so.

-THAT’S NOT TRUE! – you jolted from your spot to kneel in front of Lilia, snatching the phone from her hand, your face red from crying, your voice so loud that you were sure your neighbours would come down in a minute and reprimand you. -YOU NEVER GAVE ME SHIT; I HAD TO GO TO THE NEIGHBOURS HOUSE TO GET FOOD AND RIDES TO SCHOOL BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T THERE! WHEN I BROKE MY ARM YOU MADE ME GO TO SCHOOL WITH A FUCKING STICK TIED TO A BEDSHEET BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T WANT TO TAKE ME TO THE DOCTORS!

-HERE WE GO AGAIN WITH THE LIES! THAT’S WHAT YOUR TEACHERS ALWAYS USE TO SAY; YOU LIED TO GET OUT OF DETENTION BECAUSE YOU COULD NOT FACE THE CONSEQUENCES TO YOUR ACTIONS!

-I WAS CHASED OUT OF THE FUCKING DINNING HALL AND THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO BE FUCKING KILLED!! IT WASN’T MY FAULT! NONE OF THIS WAS! WHY WON’T ANYONE LISTEN TO ME?!

-LIARS DON’T DESERVE TO BE HEARD! YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF!

The scream that tore out of your throat was so raw, so full of pain that it felt as if you were tearing it out of your chest, maybe you were ripping it out of your broken and smashed heart. This was why you had poured everything that had ever happened to you into drugs and alcohol, they made you numb, they made you forget, they killed you at a faster rate, but tonight the four bottles of vodka, tequila and whiskey didn’t seem to have the desired effect, quite the opposite, everything felt worse, a thousand times worse. Your mother’s words had cut deep, so fucking deep that you were nearly bleeding into your mattress, the phone forgotten somewhere over the carpet as you had throwing it against the floor, your hands grabbing your hair and pulling hard as if that could make the pain lessen. You could not hear anything but you own sobs, breaths hurried to the point that you were sure you would hyperventilate in a moment if you didn’t control it soon, but how could you with how the world was crushing down around you once more.

You had spent your entire life telling everyone around you the things that people had done to you, of the abuse, of the lies, the deceit, the injuries, everything, and they all had had one thing in common; oh, your poor mother must have felt awful, they said. What a fucking bunch of assholes you had thought. No one had ever asked how YOU were doing, if you were over it, if it still hurt, if it caused you problems. No on cared about you and you just couldn’t handle it, not anymore. You had been labelled a liar for as long as you could remember, everything was your fault; when that boy had smashed a rock on your head, it had been your fault, when you had been pushed down the stairs, you had been at fault as well, when your teachers had pulled you out of your classroom and had yelled at you that you were crazy and that you would become a criminal by the time you were eighteen, blowing up cars and such, you had cried and you yourself had thought, this is my fault as well. Lilia could not bring herself to say anything, she turned your phone to see that the screen was cracked, but the call had ended, thankfully, and she simply picked it up and placed it on the nightstand before turning her attention to you, her shawl and purse resting on the carpet.

She moved her hands slowly up to your arms, but the instant her fingers rested on your wrists you moved away quickly, crawling hurriedly to the edge of the bed until your hands were on the floor, rushing the nearest corner. She knew you were scared, that you were in pain, she wasn’t a stranger to all those feelings, but she had never known that you were experiencing them so strongly. She sighed and stood, rounding the bed and making her way to you, sitting in front of your shaky form. All those bottles she had seen couldn’t be from today, you had gone back to drinking, but why? Was it all your mother, was it something else, a mix of circumstances that you could not have prevented? There were so many questions that she needed answers to, but you were in no position to give them to her, and her priority wasn’t getting them, but making sure that you were alright. She sat a bit closer, her knees nearly touching yours, but she remained at a certain distance to give you space should you need it.

-May I… May I touch you Y/N? – you lifted your head from where it was hidden in your arms, tears running down your cheeks, face puffed and red. Why was she still here? Did she like seeing you run down? Others had thrived in seeing you crying, destroyed on the floor, they had loved to see you as a shell of yourself. Your eyes locked with hers, but you didn’t see any of that happiness and power the others had had, she was looking at you with worry, with a caring aura about her that took you by surprise.

-Why are you here?

-I was worried about you. Actually, I was angry thinking you had forgotten about me and our date.

-I… I did. I’m sorry, I messed everything up. – you crawled back into yourself a little, breaking her gaze and looking down at the floor, ashamed.

-You did not.

-You don’t have to lie to me, I know I did. You probably had something awesome prepared, and I did not go because I was too busy fucking up my life again.

-If you say that you’ve been clean for a year, why did you go back to all this?

-Because she called. – she barely heard the words you had whispered, your head practically tucked into your chest and arms. With careful movements Lilia tried her luck once more, placing her hand on your wrist, smiling a bit as you didn’t pull away, the warmth of her skin over yours a contrast with the coolness of your room. Why was she being so nice to you? Did she pity you? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had taken advantage of you because they made you believe they cared only to pity you and your disaster of a life. Your body did not fight her when tenderly she took you in her arms, sitting with her back against the wall and you on her lap. She smelled so nice, so much like home, and you held onto the straps of her dress as if they were lifelines, saving you from a deep abyss that was calling out your name.

-When was the first time she called?

-A couple of weeks ago.

-Do you want to tell me why?

-Money. She only ever calls for money. – Lilia cradled your head closer to her chest, and though she knew it wouldn’t take away your pain perhaps she could dimmish it as best she could, but to get to that point she knew you both had to cross a very dangerous bridge. – She’s always been like that, taking it all as soon as I started working when I was sixteen just so she could spoil her stupid boyfriends. I couldn’t even pay for college. I had been saving for like three years to go to community college and she took it. She took it all, didn’t even leave a cent because her fucking boyfriend wanted to go to Hawaii!

-But this time you didn’t give in and she’s mad, right?

-I didn’t give in to her but… I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

-Darling, I know it hurts; I know you feel ashamed, but things won’t get better unless you share this with me. You know I love you and I won’t ever judge you for what you might have done, for how you learnt to cope with it all. – tears were still running down your cheeks, but she did not care, she tilted your head until your puffy red eyes were staring back at her brown deep ones, her voice quiet and loving as she spoke to you. - Talk to me Y/N.

-You will think me a stupid kid, like the rest of them. You will side with my mum and when I’m done you will say that I overreacted and that I let myself fall into this because I didn’t grow up. I don’t want to see that from you Lilia. – you had begun to slip from her arms to try and gain as much distance from her as possible knowing that your heart couldn’t take it if she dumped you. She had meant so much to you, she still did, and you honestly thought that she would always be the most important person that had ever entered your life, but her touch was hard and yet tender, and she didn’t let you move more than just a few inches from her grasp.

-Hey, have I ever left you alone when you were down, when you were having a bad day at work or when you were just simply feeling bad about yourself?

-No.

-Then what makes you think that I will now? I’m not like other people, I know how it feels to be abandoned, to not know what to do with yourself when the pain is all consuming. I’m not going anywhere.

-I don’t think I can do this Lilia. I don’t have the strength.

-Then let me be strong for you. You need to let it out before you can begin to heal, as painful as it may be.

There was truth is every word she spoke, in the way her eyes glinted under the light that was coming from her fingers, the yellow glow reflecting on her peppery curls and olive kissed skin as she caressed your cheeks. You had been to therapist after therapist since the age of eight, and yeah, they had heard you but they had never listened, they had never ever done shit for you, and yet, looking up at Lilia in the darkness of your room, protected and safe in her embrace, somehow you felt as if she could solve all the problems in the universe, as if she was your before and after that could heal and pull you out of this horrible mess you had found yourself in. Your mouth opened several times, but nothing came out. You just didn’t know where to start, how much to tell her, what might be too much, it had been years since you had shared your darkest thoughts with anyone. Looking down at your hands as they rubbed the skin of Lilia’s fingers you saw the ring you had gifted her on her birthday. It wasn’t expensive or exclusive, it was a very simple thing you had found in a small shop with a beautiful deep yellow stone mounted on a thin golden ring. She had never taken it off in all that time, not even once, and as your fingertips brushed over it you made the jump, praying that this was the right thing to do.

-It all stared when I was really young. She wasn’t a good mother; she would always leave me to fend for myself while she went out or to work. The first time was when I was two and it’s a miracle I didn’t die, but I suppose I was a smart kid, and the neighbours knew just how shitty she was and how she behaved, so they helped out. I couldn’t understand why I didn’t have what others did, why my mum didn’t seem to love me. I never had Christmas gifts or birthdays; the party you threw for me was the first one I had ever had. – Lilia could not believe what she was hearing. You had never celebrated your birthday, you had never ever been celebrated in your entire life? She could understand that for herself, she was well past four hundred years old, but you? You were barely in your twenties, you were a baby compared to her, you deserved to have someone show you just how much you meant to them, to party and be happy with useless gifts being given to you and cake and kisses, but she had been the only one to show you? It made sense now why you had looked at her unsure of what you were supposed to do. – I was a confused child that didn’t understand why I was always pushed to a corner and forgotten there. Things only got worse when I began school. They hated me, they didn’t even bother to get to know me before they started insulting me and bullying me. I remember one time, when I was four, how I was sitting on the playground and a boy crossed the whole thing, and it was like maybe fifteen or twenty feet, until he stood before me with a big piece of concrete in his hand and smashed it on the side of my head. I remember seeing partially black with my left eye and just how like in movies, when you see this circle that starts getting smaller and smaller until everything’s black? – you felt Lilia nod her head from where it rested on top of your messy hair, her hands rubbing soothing patterns on your legs. - I got knocked out and I know I was bleeding like a pig, but the school told my mother that it had been just a scratch, and that blood was always just so scandalous, but she didn’t even care. I could have bleed to my death, and she would have been perfectly alright with it. I was always being thrown out of class and the school was always calling her for every little fuck up I did. She was always so pissed when I got home, sometimes she would leave me in the laundry room, locked away so she wouldn’t have to hear me crying when I came home with bruises, trying to find comfort in her. Things never got easier or better.

-You… you said something before, that you were chased? Was that in that same school?

-Yeah, she wouldn’t even consider sending me to a different district, it would have been to much of a hassle for her. It happened… I… This one’s hard, Lilia.

-Take your time, darling, I promise I’m not going anywhere. – you took a deep breath, sensing how the terror you had felt back then was returning. Every time you thought about it, whenever you let the memories plague you and overrun your mind you felt the fear taking over, your grasp on Lilia’s hand harder, nails nearly digging onto her skin.

-I was like nine, I think. I had just finished lunch, and I was leaving my tray when I saw three boys from my classroom following me outside. I didn’t think anything at first but when I turned left, and they followed I began to get nervous. It wouldn’t have been the first time they had followed me until I started running, leaving me to look like an idiot around the playground but… this time they started running as well. My legs burnt and my heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to explode but I couldn’t stop running, I felt it in my bones that I was going to get hurt, if not killed, if I stopped. I was beyond terrified, running all over school grounds screaming for help, but no one came. They never did. It wasn’t until the bell rang and they rushed to get to class that I could finally stop, kneeling on the hard ground, crying in terror. I truly believed I would go home in a black bag that day, and the worst thing was that I knew my mother would never shed a tear. When I got to class, shaking like a leaf I was reprimanded by the teacher for being late, and when I tried to explain what had happened, she yelled at me for talking back and threw me out. If the teacher didn’t believe me, how was I supposed to tell my mother? But I did anyway, and she laughed. I thought I was going to fucking die and she laughed.

-Oh, Y/N.

-Don’t pity me, please. – you hid your face in her chest, you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her, you just knew she was looking at you as if you were a broken thing, and that coming from her would kill you. Your tears soaked the neckline of her dress, the hand that was still holding onto her gown pulling her closer, making yourself as small as you could in her arms, knees pressed against your chest. - I can’t take it, it’s been two decades, and I still can’t take it, I can’t move on.

-I know, darling, I know. It’s hard when you’ve been on your own for so long.

-I nearly killed myself. I was so ashamed when I failed, thinking that perhaps I deserved all the horrible things that were happening. Everyone just kept telling me that it was my fault, on a loop, over and over and over, and in the end, I believed it. But I was a coward, I couldn’t end it all, I couldn’t go through with it and the only way I found that I could numb the pain was with drugs and alcohol.

-When was the first time you did it?

-The drugs or the alcohol?

-Either of them? Both?

-I had weed first. It was harmless, I felt good but then things would crush around me when I got down, and I hated the feeling, so I started drinking. It was easier, cheaper as well, and I could do it at home, in school, it didn’t matter, I would not remember what had happened and that made feel as if my life was normal, as if there was no abuse, no pain, no broken bones or screams ringing in my ears. I was sixteen when I was able to buy with a fake ID as much bottles as I wanted, and it was also the first time I got so drunk that I passed out on the street until the next morning, when the police took me home. My mother did the performance of her life showing herself as a worried perfect mother, but as soon as the door closed, she beat the shit out of me. I had spent her money, that’s all she fucking said.

-You could have died Y/N.

-Don’t you think I knew? Sometimes I think that I was trying to kill myself this way, so I wouldn’t have to face the shame of actually having to shoot myself or jump out of a window. It was stupid, but I couldn’t stop. Drinks helped move everything along, until they felt passive, as if they weren’t cutting for me anymore so I started with the drugs. Whatever I could do, cocaine, heroin, weed again. I took things that I didn’t even knew the name of, getting so high that the world seemed bearable again, like a walk in the park, but my grades were slipping, and the teachers were beyond cruel, making sure I knew I was failure. So, I tried to get clean when I was eighteen, started saving for college and all that, but the relapses just kept happening, over and over and then mum threw me out. I didn’t have a penny to my name, I almost lost my job, all I had was the drinks and the drugs, so I gave up. I went down the rabbit hole and I couldn’t get out; I didn’t want to get out. She would show up all the fucking time though, it didn’t matter if I changed my number or if I moved apartments, she would call me and find me and every little thing I had improved on she would just destroy it. When I set foot in your shop, I was looking for a reason to overdose again, I was hoping you would say something that would make think that I was done, but you didn’t.

-I could see your pain, I could see that you were lost, I wanted to help you. I wanted to guide you in the right direction, and so did the cards. I could see your kind soul, no matter what you have done.

-You say that now, but I have done things that you wouldn’t like, at all. I tried to steal phones, I tried to steal money, I tried to hurt people to make them feel the same pain they were inflicting on me.

-Didn’t you notice the key word, dear?

-Key word? – had you ever got to tell anyone so much about yourself? You couldn’t recall when it had been the last time someone had actually actively listened to your every word without judging, without telling you that you had been weak. You were unused to this. Lilia was still cradling you in her arms, only releasing you when you turned around to face her, silent tears still falling down your cheeks, but her eyes didn’t look at you with the pity you had expected, there was only love and comfort in those deep chocolate windows from which you could see her soul, her thoughts almost.

-Tried, which means that you never truly did all those things. You felt like you needed to, but something stopped you. What?

-If I did it, I would have been blamed, found out because it did not matter what was going on, I was always the first one to be blamed for everything. It would not hurt them, it would be slightly inconveniences that they would move on from while I would still be there, getting high to deal with their abuse. I was already suffering, why add more?

-That says something about you.

-That I’m dumb?

-That you are still kind. You saw that that it would only hurt yourself and instead of doing something worse you took a step back to protect yourself, to not add more pain to your life. You still cared enough to not let them turn you into something that you are not.

-But what am I? Who am I? – there was this pressure on your chest, this heaviness in the words you were both speaking that made a lump form on your throat, a brand-new batch of tears clouding your vision, the hot crystal drops burning your skin as they fell, but they didn’t get past your nose before Lilia’s thumbs were wiping them.

-You are Y/N, a kind, gentle woman that loves to sneak into my kitchen and take my cookies when they’ve come out right out of the oven, who loves to walk with me down at the park, who kisses me when my visions get really bad and cuddles me when I’m feeling down. You are the most remarkable person I have ever met, and nothing that those people have ever said it’s true, not a single word.

-How do you know?

-Because in all this time that you’ve been with me, you were clean.

She had looked at you that night as if she had held every answer to questions you hadn’t even thought about, things that would crush you under their truth and you hadn’t been able to move past what she had said to you. When you had entered her shop you had wanted to die more than anything in the world, your life was going nowhere and you had no reason why you should get clean, but she had changed it all when she had taken your hands and sat you down at her little table. Lilia had taken your broken pieces and had started glueing them together, with gold showing from your cracks because you past didn’t define you, but it helped you become the person you were supposed to be. It had shaped you; it had pushed you to the ground and had placed a foot on your throat until the right person had come into your life, someone who with her tender hands had steadied you, had shown you the way and had pulled out from the dark tunnel you had been thrown in. Falling in love with her had been so easy, so right and comfortable and it had happened without either of you noticing. You couldn’t even remember when something that had been nothing had become something until it meant everything.

She had become your world, and this witch that sometimes had this gaps and visions, that loved to have a midnight snack while watching reruns of Murder She Wrote and who held your hand whenever she could, deserved more than the you that had been back then. The first night you had met her you had stayed away from your apartment, sleeping on her couch, wondering the next morning when it had been the last time you had woken up remembering what had happened the night before, thinking that watching her smile as she busied herself with some tea and toasts, that kind smile gracing her lips whenever she looked at you over her shoulder, would be a lovely sight to wake up to. When you had returned home, she had plagued your mind, her words echoing in your brain, but you hadn’t had the strength to let go of all the things you had become so accustomed to. The alcohol remined in your cupboard for three days, and the bags of heroin and cocaine in your nightstand for a week before you built the courage to start afresh. Lilia deserved a person who could enjoy life beside her, who would remember her the next day, who would not go missing for days to get drunk and high under a bridge or in the middle of a park, and it was clear that she wanted that person to be you. It was harder than ever before, the temptation to fall back into it all came from every corner, but you would not give in, you had made up your mind about it, and you would never let Lilia know that you had this problem, you couldn’t risk losing her if she found out about it all. And yet here you two were, back at the beginning and at the same time feeling like you had come so far.

-But I lied to you. I kept all this hidden away and now it has exploded in my face. I’m weak Lilia.

-No, you are not. – her hands took hold of your head gently, forcing you to look at her square in the face, determination written all over her lovely features. – You are the strongest person I’ve ever known, you are a fighter, a survivor. The things you have gone through I cannot imagine them, but the fact that you are still here speaks volumes. I won’t lie to you, knowing that you’ve kept this from me hurts, it makes me think that you didn’t trust me enough, but I understand now why you felt like you couldn’t tell me. You’ve been deceived far too many times, but I promise you, love, never again. You and I will get through this, together.

-I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.

-Don’t apologise, there’s no need. You’ve been apologising for existing your entire life, and it is about time that the world apologised to you. I’m sorry Y/N, for not seeing that your pain was far greater than what I thought. I’m sorry that you didn’t have someone to lean on, to cry to, to find comfort in. I’m sorry that all those adults that were supposed to protect you, failed you and drove you to the edge.

-But you didn’t do it, why are you sorry?

-Because you need to hear it. You need to know that it was never you, it was everybody else. You were a kid, and they didn’t let you be one, and then you were a teenager, and you weren’t allowed that either, but now you are an adult, and you are not alone. You can be whoever you want, and I will be here until the very end.

-I want to be who you deserve. I want to go out on dates with you, I want to watch films and make you laugh and not worry about my mother or anybody else except for you. I want to go out and look at the sky and remember it, I want to feel love and hurt and pain and happiness and not numb it all, because that’s life and I want to experience it to the best of my abilities. I want to recover, Lilia.

-Then we will start by blocking your mother’s number and deleting it. – the phone was perhaps a foot from you, but you could not bring yourself to reach for it, the first doubts already filling your head, but Lilia was there, and she bent her body over the floor to grab it, moving you along with her, unblocking it and tapping on the three dots that showed up on the right, a popup showing the dreading words “Block” and a bin saying “Delete”. Your arms felt like lead as you tried to lift them. You had done this more than twenty times before, why couldn’t you now?! It was frustrating to feel like this. Lilia could see the fight happening through your eyes, only a few silent tears still falling down your cheeks every once in a while, and since you seemed unable to take the step, she made the decision for you, grabbing you hand and placing your index finger hovering over the bright screen, her touch leaving you until it was your own hand alone a few inches from your future. – I can’t do it for you, Y/N, better yet, I won’t. If you really want to recover you must make these decisions of your own free will. And sometimes we need to cut ties so we can cross the bridge.

So you could cross the bridge. Yeah, you had been swaying over a broken-down bridge all your life, and behind you was all the things that you were so desperate to get away from, before you Lilia awaited with a bright light, no, with blue skies and sunlight all around her. The pad of you fingers tapped on the block, accepting the next step before deleting all her calls from your log. A weight had lifted from your chest, and even though you felt a slight sadness you knew that the happiness that you were going to build with your own two hands would be the most rewarding thing you had ever done in your life. Lifting your head you felt your heart leap in your chest at her smile, the way it shone with pride, her eyes glowing with love as she pulled your face closer to hers, her lips pecking yours. Parting, she wrapped her arms around your frame, not bothered by your messy hair or stained clothes.

-A step in the right direction. I’m so proud of you. Why don’t we go home and enjoy a celebratory dinner? We can clean this up tomorrow.

-Can we… can we stay like this for one more minute?

-We can stay like this all night.

#lilia calderu #lilia x reader #patti lupone #avis amberg #avis amberg x reader #patti lupone x reader #agatha all along #we thank miss lupone simply for existing

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