#they are their own worst enemy at this point

[whetstonefires]

Also the thing is, Jiang Cheng can't share how he threw himself out there as chum to cover Wei Wuxian, because it isn't a usefully reciprocal confession to the revelation about Wei Wuxian's core.

All it says is: there was a moment on the worst day of my life (up to that point) where I valued your life more than my own.

That's all. Arguably it says not even that, because Jiang Cheng is established as insecure enough that he very much cannot prove that this was an act driven primarily by affection and the will to protect, rather than guilt and shame and grief, and the desire to make a gesture that would prove his worth to himself, and let him opt out of the pain of having outlived the world he knew and almost everything he loved.

(after all, this self-sacrifice fairly directly followed an episode of 'strangling wei wuxian while blaming him for everything' and then being taken care of by wei wuxian like this hadn't even happened.

normally, jiang cheng is not someone who is physically violent. he is verbally violent all the time, but his physical violence is typically reserved for mortal enemies. that first time he came within throwing distance of murdering wei wuxian in a fit of grief-rage was almost certainly more traumatic for him than it was for wei wuxian, who is really good at compartmentalizing that kind of shit.

interesting element of mirroring there though, in that jiang cheng allowed wei wuxian to know about the murderous rage but not the self-destructive love, leading wei wuxian to misunderstand the exact shape of his place in jiang cheng's life and act on the basis of the rejection, in a way that encouraged relationship decay, just as wei wuxian's own secret-keeping would later lead jiang cheng to do in reply. vicious cycle!)

But the important thing is that this truth doesn't really explain anything.

Wei Wuxian's mute self-mutilation for Jiang Cheng's sake explained everything. All the withdrawal, the betrayal, what he thought was the rejection; the previously inexplicable decisions to abandon the teachings and home and allegiances that bound them in favor of death and the children of their enemies. Wen Ning's revelation explained it all, and recast it utterly.

It made the story different in a way that mattered a lot to the people in it.

What Jiang Cheng did...it shows he wasn't unworthy of that sacrifice in the way everything else about the narrative paints him. It's a grace note to his character.

It's not meaningless, exactly. It's just also not enough to actually change the weight of debt between them; it doesn't restructure the narrative.

It's not even, truly, new information.

Wei Wuxian knows Jiang Cheng loved him. Wanted to protect and keep him. He knows Jiang Cheng understood his abandonment as a betrayal, that Jiang Cheng felt he was owed better, and that this sense of being-entitled was a major impetus behind his increasing hostility.

Adding this little scrap of context for those reactions, for that rage--it's not enough. It gives Jiang Cheng a little more reason to have felt hard done by, validates a little of that wild resentment and makes it less of a spoiled young master reaction, lends it more dignity.

But your feelings being valid doesn't really go that far to justifying actions taken because of them. The hurt was already sympathetic; the choices aren't really changed by the context making it more so.

After all, he knew he'd lost his core protecting Wei Wuxian, but he also knew that Wei Wuxian risked his own life almost as foolishly extracting him again afterward, and 'knew' that Wei Wuxian freely gave away his only connection with his own dead mother and access to the help of an immortal for his sake; they were already square by rights in the world as he understood it, and he still acted the way he did.

And after all, Wei Wuxian's actions in his first life were always taking Jiang Cheng and Jiang Cheng's feelings into consideration, even when it didn't look like it; even when he fucked up, and Jiang Cheng paid for it. Right up until he lost his mind, and to an extent afterward.

'Consciously, on purpose choosing against someone out of spite' is something Wei Wuxian did not ever do to him, which he did do to Wei Wuxian. A lot. Escalating.

That doesn't become any less happened because at a prior time he did the opposite.

All the while not putting a lot of effort into worrying about Wei Wuxian's feelings, or how to spare them, because one of the norms of their relationship was that Jiang Cheng's feelings deserved to be privileged and handled gently, but Wei Wuxian was too tough to need that kind of consideration. Except about dogs.

That's a norm Jiang Cheng accepted and took for granted; it turned out to be the norm that broke their relationship, because Wei Wuxian treated 'protecting Jiang Cheng's delicate feelings' as such a mandatory task that he put it over things that logic would call much more important.

And so there's no way Jiang Cheng can talk about how he lost his core trying to die for Wei Wuxian without sounding like he's trying to justify himself, to wipe his deliberate-choice-to-harm off the record with a single act of goodness.

When Wei Wuxian has never once for a second tried to argue that his own goodness cancels out his crimes.

(He doesn't even argue that other people's crimes cancel out his crimes; the furthest he's gone is that since everyone involved did or abetted evil shit, it's inappropriate and bullshit to construct him as uniquely villainous and structure a concept of justice around that falsehood.)

So the only meaning that truth can carry now, after everything, coming from Jiang Cheng, is his saying: Please. I'm a better person than you think I am. I loved you more than you believe.

I was just as good as you, no matter what everyone always thought. I deserve for you to love me like you did before, in spite of everything, and I deserve not to have to say I'm sorry, and I deserve your respect, and and and--

And he is not gonna fucking say that.

[stvrnioloslvt]

❛❛ ⛸️ + 🏒 ❞

pride

t.w: suggestive language, sexual tension

there was a reason why you tried to interact as little as possible with matt, way too scared by the effect he had on you each time you two would meet.

growing up, your mother had taught you two lessons that quickly became the fundaments of your own persona:

lesson number one, if you think you have mastered something, you have not. you're just overestimating yourself, and you can't risk that when there will be judges on the other side of the plastic walls of the rink.

lesson number two, if a person has an effect on you, they have power over you. and no one should have power over you, outside of yourself.

love wasn't even an option: love was a distraction, an emotion for those who've got nothing to loose. but you had something, you had your thing, that little passion young baby had for figure skating quickly became both your best friend, and your worst enemy. well, no, technically your worst enemy was your mind, always so fucking determined to make you the best out there, the number one in every competition. there was no space for distractions, and no space for mistakes, either. your mind and eyes were fixed on one thing only: perfection.

your little ambition, unfortunately, got quite out of control and you had soon learned to see the worrying consequences of it when your grades drastically dropped. sure, you were studying. but what could a stressed out mind ever memorise?

cherry had tried to help you more than once. poor, sweet, cherry, who had to live with you every single day. you were truthfully sorry for everything you put her through, sometimes wishing you had never met her just to spare her from your toxic side.

either way, cherry's help turned out to be useless, no matter how smart the girl was, and you still needed to bring your grades up. that's how you ended up replying to matt's messages a whole day later, asking if he could actually help you with that exam you couldn't pass no matter how hard you tried. he accepted, of course, always so polite even if he looked all tough and mean on the outside. you both had decided that you would go to his place after your skating lesson - which was right after his hockey lesson - and try to at least understand where the problem laid.

useless to say, you made a mental note to yourself: you had to focus on your studies, nothing else. no matter how hard he pulled and tugged your strings, you would not cave like this.

except, you did. you fell for matt harder than you thought, and you didn't even notice.

a soft puff of air blew from your lips as you entered the arena, sitting on one of the empty seats, your gym bag slipping from your shoulders and dropping down with a thump. you grumbled, reaching down to pick it up and put it on the seat next to you before slipping your headphones on. the hockey team was almost at the end of their practice, their coach had just blown into the whistle before announcing to cool down and then head to the showers.

"sturniolo, come here," he yelled, sitting down on the bench right outside the rink. at that command your ears perked up, slightly slipping your headphones to the side of your left ear to hear better what was going on. truth was, you had fully expected for chris to head to the coach, thinking that maybe he had done yet another stupid thing, so you were definitely surprised when you saw matt gliding towards the middle-aged man, carrying his whole weight on his right leg. you observed as his left foot didn't touch completely the ground, his leg slightly bent. right behind him, chris waved his hands in order to grab your attention. you looked at him with a puzzled expression as he took off his helmet, mouthing "watch now" while discretely pointing to his brother, a smirk forming on his lips.

your gaze shifted back on matt who had taken off his helmet, running a hand through his sweaty hair as the coach touched his leg in multiple points, asking where it hurt more. you couldn't really make out what was going on exactly since he had given you his back, but the two men seemed engrossed in their conversation.

chris reached you on the benches, motioning for you to move. "scoot over, ice baby, wanna see your reaction." you muttered a confused "what?" before the boy grabbed your chin with his long fingers, turning your head back towards the rink. your breath stopped in your throat for a second as you watched matt follow his coach's instructions, slowly falling to his knees and elbows while the older man crouched down next to him, keeping a hand on his lower back as he helped him open his knees as much as possible before coming back to the initial position, instructing him to repeat the stretch for a couple times. his head hung low, his long hair covering completely his face. well, fuck.

chris' eyes didn't leave your face for a second, not even trying to hide the amused expression printed on his face while your eyes bore into his brother's figure, almost drooling at the sight.

"enjoying the little show, baby?" he chuckled at your reaction, a little flinch taking over your body as you were brought back to earth by your rather annoying friend.

"w-what?" you asked, your voice raspy and feeble. your eyes didn’t leave matt’s figure for one second, your mind running miles per hour with not-so-innocent thoughts, hypnotised by the way his hips and legs moved. all of a sudden, his head shot up, his eyes straightway locking with yours. everything in that moment ceased to exist, wrapping you and matt in a bubble. he, too, looked taken aback by your presence there, his gaze slowly dropping to chris’ fingers sinking in the soft flesh of your chin and then to his brother’s satisfied grin. matt’s expression turned dark; if looks could hurt, chris would be grabbing his own hand in pain for how intensely matt was staring at the iron-grip his brother had on you, jealousy bubbling under his skin. 

you cleared your throat, excusing yourself before bolting out of the arena with your bag dangling in your hand, rushing towards the locker room. as you entered, you shut the door behind you with a loud bang.

you didn’t even notice cherry sitting on the bench, rolling her muscle warmers on her calf. “whoa, what- what is happening?” asked the girl, taking in your shocked and flustered appearance. you whipped your head around, your back melting against the wall as you slowly slid down on the ground. “one of the weirdest things in my life,” and just like that you began explaining to your best friend what had happened in the span of the last ten minutes, which definitely felt like hours. 

in the end, cherry groaned frustrated, complaining about the lack of action from both of you, rambling about how you two would never end up together if neither mustered up the courage to go talk to the other one.

“first of all, we do talk to each other. matter of fact, i’ll go to his place after practice since chris insisted he could help me study.” cherry raised her eyebrow at that, a sceptical yet surprised look on her face. you raised your hand before she could speak further, continuing with your remarks. “and secondly, i don’t want us to end up together, i ain’t got the time for that.” 

“okay you’re fucking ridiculous,” began your friend, but before she could continue the door opened and revealed the two sturniolo brothers, their helmets and skates in hand and weird looks on their faces. as the two spotted you and cherry, they quickly raised their hand in greeting before grabbing their gym bags and heading for the showers. matt was the first to disappear, still looking pissed off. chris waited for him to go to the showers room before he muttered as silently as possible “he’s pissed cause i had my hands on you,” snickering to himself as he, too, disappeared in the other room. cherry’s jaw hung low, excitement building quickly in her. “see!” she half-whispered, half- screamed, “i fucking told you!” 

“no, no,” you quickly interrupted her, jumping towards her figure to slap a hand on her mouth, trying to contain her excited blabbering. “shh, cherry, damn. get your skates, you need to burn some of this pent-up energy.”

you spent the next two hours training and training and training, trying to perfection your technique as best as you could, trying to ignore the two brothers sitting on the furthest bench of the arena, knowing that a particular set of eyes was planted on you the whole time.

“give him a chance,” whispered cherry as you closed your bag, swinging it over your shoulder. you had finished practice a few minutes ago, and after a quick shower you were ready to head towards the brothers who were waiting for you outside. “i’m serious, baby. you don’t need to be always so strict with yourself.” you smiled softly at your friend, nodding briefly before you reached the brothers who were waiting inside their car. the ride to their place wasn’t uncomfortable, but not pleasant either: you could tell matt was trying to brush off the events from earlier, failing miserably. and chris - well, he did nothing to ease his brother’s mind, constantly talking about memories he had of when you two met for the first time years ago. you really couldn’t tell if he was that oblivious to his brother’s annoyed attitude, or if he was working him up on purpose. either way, whatever his plan was was working perfectly. 

as you reached their place, chris finally quieted down. he was the first one to jump out of the car, immediately heading towards his room. 

matt sighed tired, running a hand on his face. “i’m sorry, i- had a long day.” you smiled sympathetically at him, feeling sorry for the poor boy who had to deal all this time with his brother’s constant teasing. “it’s fine, i know how obnoxious chris can get. by the way, how’s your leg?”

matt groaned, shaking his head before plopping down on the couch. “apparently i pulled a muscle and it hurts like a motherfucker,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and throwing his head back on the couch’s back. you put your bag down, trying to not dwell too much on how attractive he looked like that, manspreading and confident. 

“you can come sit down,” he said, patting the space next to him. “just give me five minutes so the pain subsides and we’ll get to studying.”

“yeah, no it’s fine, don’t worry about it. do you want some medicine? i think i’ve got something in my bag.” you replied, bringing your bag with you on the couch. as you sat down next to him, you rummaged through your things to find the little pouch you used to store your medicine. 

“no, i’m fine, it’s not the first time this has happened.”

“you sure? i’ve got a few things against the pain, i just need to find where they went-”

“baby,” matt’s hand gently grabbed your wrist, pulling it out of your bag. your skin broke out in chills at the contact, your heart racing in your ribcage. “i’m serious, i don’t need anything. thanks, though.”

you nodded, staring at his hand still neatly wrapped around your wrist, not showing any signs of wanting to let go anytime soon. he gently pulled it towards him, making you turn slowly so that you were completely facing him. you observed as his eyes fell slowly to your chin, his free hand delicately lifting your head and turning it side to side to check if your skin had any marks from chris’ grip earlier. your breath hitched at the proximity. if you closed your eyes and focused, you were sure you could feel his breath gently fanning over your neck. you didn’t dare to speak, not wanting to mutter a single word in fear of fucking everything up. your mind screamed at you to pull away, to break contact as soon as possible, but how could you when it felt so good?

a loud noise broke the spell that had you both hooked, followed by music playing softly in the background. matt groaned annoyed, pulling back slightly to mutter “‘m sorry, it’s the fucking speakers, chris is probably convinced that he turned them on only in his room.” at that, you couldn’t hold back a smile from creeping on your face, chuckling softly. “may i say that i do not envy you?”

matt scoffed, an amused glint in his eyes. “yeah, well, understandable. don’t even know how you bear him as your friend.” you shrugged your shoulders, a silent way of saying “it is what it is.”

matt cleared his throat, his index finger running softly on your jaw. “he- he didn’t hurt you, right?” you shook your head, instinctively shifting closer to him. you felt his breath blowing on your lips, and you observed as his eyes shifted from your jaw, to your lips, to your eyes and then to your lips again. the air all around you buzzed with electricity, the tension between you two becoming almost palpable. 

“i’m- i’m sorry, i…” you whispered, hands shaking with anticipation. you tried to stabilize your breath, wanting to gain back control over your body that seemed to respond only to matt’s actions instead of your own mind.

“don’t.” he mumbled, finally closing the space between you two. his lips found yours in a delicate and tentative kiss, but once you kissed him back there was nothing soft left. his hand cupped your cheek, bringing you impossibly closer to him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue gently brushing over your bottom lip. you whimpered quietly as his tongue grazed yours, his other hand leaving your wrist to wrap around your waist, helping you straddle him. 

“matt,” you moaned, fingers locking in his soft hair and pulling them gently. his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses behind. “‘m sorry, angel,” he whispered on your skin, his teeth nipping and sucking and painting your neck in violet marks. “couldn’t hold back anymore,” he continued, arms wrapping even tighter around your torso. your hands stroked his cheeks, bringing him in for another kiss. 

and while you two were busy on the couch, a song played in the background, tying everything together:

love' s gonna get you killed

but pride’s gonna be the death of you, and you and me.

© stvrnioloslvt

ও read other parts of this au here. asks and requests are always open!

icy taglist!:

@sofieeeeex @shadowthesim @sturnioloszn @m4ttg1rl @marrykisskilled @thecrawlys @x0x0bunny @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosweets @sturnslutz @user1smvtysturniolo @gabrielaperez11 @frankoceanfanpage @ivysturnss @watercolorskyy @bluestriips @sllutty-sturniolo @hesvoid34 @mattsturniolover @emely9274 @boomshakalaka12381238 @lovergirl4gracieabrams @sturnsrecord @joselyncsblog

[animasola86]

LOST & FOUND 🫂 CH2

You find yourself at the lowest point of your life, with no way out, stuck in your own darkness, but then a woman approaches you with an offer that may change your life…

soft!Daddy!dom x Mommy!domme x little girl!reader

WARNINGS: F!Reader insert. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Depression, anxiety, mental health issues. Mommy/Daddy issues. Pet names. Mommy/Daddy kink. Dd/Md/lg dynamics. Age gap. Dom/sub undertones. Fluff. (More notes under the cut!)

WORDS: 6.8k 🔷️ READ ON AO3

A/N: This is the angsty-backstory/how-they-met episode. No smut here, just a bit of plot and a lot of angst. The real smut will commence in chapter 3, to be released on Feb 1st. (This also marks the first part of the past-timeline which will continue in chapter 4 and onward.) If you don't care to read 6.8k words of backstory, there's a TL;DR at the end of the post! (For more information on Reader, check out the A/N in chapter 1.)

Chapter 1 🔷️ Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3

Several months earlier

Sometimes it takes one single stone to bring the entire avalanche down on somebody. Or however that saying goes. You couldn't care less when it eventually happened to you. It started when you stopped going to college. You just couldn't anymore, physically and mentally. It was a chore to leave your room, an entire obstacle course to even think about going to your classes, meeting other people, doing anything anymore. And you still have no idea how it all came to be. It just happened.

You stopped going, but life went on, and in the end you had to drop out, missed too many classes, couldn't get back on track in time, lost contact to anyone you'd considered a friend before. And when it was official, you lost your room in the dorm. Because it was student living, and you were no longer a student. So you gathered the few things you owned (which wasn't much) and left the place. It was all a daze back then, a blind stumble through your darkness, an aimless wandering, your mind either too empty or too full to realize that you were now homeless.

And not even that. Prior to being kicked off campus, you were let go from your job in the coffee shop because you had excused yourself too many times. You tried to return to it, because the people were nice, but even they couldn't take you back because now you didn't have a home address anymore, and somehow that was important? How were you supposed to afford rent when you couldn't even get a job because you didn't have a place to stay yet? Life wasn't fair, and it accumulated quickly.

That first day, you stumbled through the streets, headless, still not quite understanding what was happening. You were numb, unable to process what your life had turned into.

You slept on a bench in the park that night, luckily it was late spring, already quite warm, the only good thing about your whole situation, but even now you realize that you were really lucky that night because who knows what could have happened. A young woman, alone in the dark, helpless. It's scary just how lucky you had been.

You made it back to the coffee shop, hoping they had changed their mind. They hadn't, but they allowed you to spend the day sitting inside, trying to get your bearings, thinking what you should do. The problem was, you didn't have any options. You had a little bit of money saved up, but it was not enough to pay the first-time payment for a new apartment, and you'd burn through most of it by just staying even at the cheapest hotel.

Your worst enemy, however, was your pride. Asking former friends to crash on their couch for a bit? Never in a million years. You had ghosted them, ignored them for so long they'd probably hate you now, and you couldn't face them, ashamed and insecure as you were.

On top of that, even before you fell into your black hole, you had made an effort to burn all the bridges of your old life when you moved to the other side of the country, leaving it all behind to start fresh.

The 'safety' of your family and your hometown was too far away now. Plane tickets were horribly expensive (as was train travel or a simple bus ride), you also didn't own a car, and asking them to send you money would never ever be an option either. Not just because of your pride (though admitting defeat and returning with your tail between your legs was also high on your no-chance-in-hell-list), but because you knew they wouldn't come to your rescue anyway. Somehow you knew they didn't care about you anymore.

Especially your mother had not been happy when you were accepted into a college all the way on the other side of the country, but for you, it was like a dream come true. A new beginning. All on your own. Finally. The first years truly were like paradise. But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, completely out of the blue, it all came down, and buried you alive. And as days turned into weeks turned into months, where you couldn't even leave your dorm room anymore, you kept seeing your mother's face in front of you, condescending as ever, hissing 'I knew it...' into your ear.

You felt like the biggest failure, letting everyone down, especially yourself. And you told yourself you didn't deserve help, maybe you deserved to rot at the bottom of this deep dark pit. Dropping out of college, losing your room, spending your time on the streets, was only the tip of the iceberg of a months long depression you saw no way out of.

You were stuck, too scared and stubborn and self-loathing to ask for help, unable to move back or forward. And when the coffee shop closed for the night that second day, you found yourself huddled in a nearby doorway, unable to even go back to the park or find somewhere else to stay. They told you about a homeless shelter, but you couldn't face any people right now. It felt impossible.

But it didn't stop other people from approaching you. Again, you were more than lucky, you could have met who knew who, you were aware that there were bad people out there, but instead it was a woman. A beautiful woman in a business suit who looked as if she'd stepped right out of one of those fancy fashion magazines. You stared at her in awe and confusion when she crouched down in front of you.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said, her voice so smooth and velvety and gentle, a subtle accent shining through her words.

What she said made you frown though, and you started to move, knowing you shouldn't loiter here like this, but her hand shot out and found your shoulder, holding you in place. You froze, blinking at her.

“Not the safest place for a young woman like yourself. Do you need help?”

There it was, the dreaded question. You wanted to say yes, scream it at the top of your aching lungs, please, yes, help me, but you couldn't. You didn't want to be a burden, you wanted to rot away in your little hole and that was it. It was a strain to ask for anything, had always been, you liked being independent, but that ship had sailed a long time ago.

So all you replied with was a pathetic sniffle that you hid by wiping at your face. It was numb by this time, too many tears, countless panic attacks, it had been all too much. And again the woman grabbed your wrist, pulled your hand away, watched you with genuine concern on her pretty face. You only sobbed more under her attention.

“Shh, it's alright. It's going to be okay,” she tried to soothe you, the back of her finger wiping at your wet cheek. You startled away, gasping, hitting your head on the wall behind you, which caused you to cry even harder. “Oh, sweet girl, it's alright,” she repeated, and then she pulled you into a hug, right against her impressive bust, and it was warm and soft and the touch so confusing and overwhelming that you just went limp in her embrace, sniffling pathetically.

You still don't know why she treated you like that, you were a stranger, a girl living on the streets for all she knew, and yet she looked right through you and saw how lost you were. You can't really remember what happened next, but she seemed to have convinced you to come with her, and she brought you to a diner that was still open, where she ordered food and drinks for you, and you sat there, stunned and still overwhelmed, and let it happen, mesmerized by this strange woman.

And you ate and talked, pushed by her attentive eyes and concerned questions, told this stranger everything, cried some more, had another panic attack, and as you thought she would leave then, too troubled or unimpressed by your story, she asked you something else. Something that would change your life forever.

“Do you know what a submissive is, sweetheart?” The question came so natural. She was sipping on her coffee, watching you over the rim of the cup, a little sparkle in her beautiful eyes.

You frowned and shook your head. You knew the word as an adjective, of course, but you weren't sure what she was insinuating by phrasing it like that.

She smiled softly and explained it to you, patiently and as if she was talking about the weather, and you felt your cheeks burning up, your attention focused on her and the picture she was painting. Your head was swirling with words like dominance and caregiver, deference and submission, guidance and devotion, and phrases like giving up control and letting someone else take over. She never actually said it, but there was a deeply sexual undertone to it all, which confused you as much as it overwhelmed you.

She finished with: “So my partner and I are looking for a girl like this, someone willing to let go for us, someone we can take care of, hold and pamper, you know? We've been looking for a while, but never found the right one.”

You stared at her as she leaned her elbow on the table and her chin into her palm, her eyes wandering over your flushed face. “You would live with us, you'd have a home. You'd be given tasks and chores, because, yes, nothing is for free in this world, but you'd be taken care of, you wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore.”

She inhaled deeply, leaning back in her seat. You watched her, your mind reeling, her words echoing in your head. You were more than intrigued, but it all sounded too good to be true. How was it possible that at your lowest point, when everything seemed hopeless, you'd meet a woman who'd tell you about a way out? And all you had to do was follow their orders, do what they told you to do, let them take control? Honestly, in your current state, at this point, you'd do anything to get out of your own head.

But the longer you stared at her and the longer the silence dragged on between you, the more you deflated, already knowing she'd be disappointed in you too, sooner or later. You chewed on your bottom lip, lowering your eyes, distancing yourself from this possibility even before it could come to fruition. Can't be disappointed if you don't have any expectations, right?

She moved, extending a hand to touch your arm, her long slim fingers hooking under it, slowly dragging downwards until she could get a hold of your hand. You looked up in confusion, tears burning in your eyes. She squeezed your hand gently.

“Will you be our submissive, sweetheart?” she asked quietly, her eyes boring into yours. “Will you give it a chance? There are no strings attached, you come with me tonight, I'll show you the house, you meet my partner, and then you can decide what to do, okay? I know I'm just a stranger now, and telling you to trust me certainly sounds weird, right? But I mean it, you can trust me. I really want to help you.”

You parted your lips, wanting to reply, but only a sob came out. You didn't deserve this. And this stranger was too nice, too generous, offering you all this? Where was the catch? Were you being pranked? Was she a serial killer looking for her next victim? Maybe she just saw another charity case in you, someone to help for publicity or something? All those thoughts flooded your mind as you watched her, but the longer she patiently held your hand, smiling softly at you, the calmer you became.

She didn't look foul or like she had an ulterior motive. She seemed sincere. You swallowed hard, licking your dry lips. In the end you came to the conclusion: it's either this or the park again, and even if she wanted to kill you or do whatever else with you, it beat being alone and miserable. And if you were meant to die that night, then it would happen anyway. Besides: you didn't have anything left to lose.

So from the lowest point of your life, without seeing a way out on your own, you looked at the woman and nodded, biting your lower lip, blinking away your last tears. “Yes,” you quaked out, squeezing her hand back.

Her smile grew wider, and it reached all the way to her eyes, little creases breaking through her perfect make-up. She seems real enough, you thought. Genuine. She really wanted to help you.

And so she took you with her, and as you sat next to her in the back of her car (which was driven by a man in a black uniform and a hat), you realized you might have struck gold with this woman. Your tears dried on your cheeks as you watched in awe how you drove through the better part of town until you reached a large house, almost a mansion, fenced-in and with a fancy gate, something you'd never seen up close before.

She guided you inside, you in your dirty clothes with your bulging backpack that held all your belongings, while her expensive shoes clicked along the hardwood floors, and at first you felt completely out of place. You didn't belong here and these people would notice this soon enough. Whatever they expected of you, you'd never be able to meet those expectations. They were rich, privileged, and you... were nothing.

She seemed to feel your growing worries and grabbed your hand, silently taking you upstairs to a room somewhere in the middle of a long hallway. You were too overwhelmed to even notice the interior of the place, but when she opened the door and gently motioned you through it, your haze lifted slightly. You were in a bedroom, a simple bedroom with a big bed and two nightstands, a large closet, a desk and a bookshelf, and a door presumably leading into a bathroom. It was somewhat posh, but it was also simple, and it was...

“Yours,” the woman said, her hands on your shoulders. “If you say yes.”

Still biting your lip, you turned your head to look at her. She tilted hers, one of her hands gently cupping your face before her thumb pressed on your bottom lip.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” she told you. “How about you take a nice long shower, get freshened up. Maybe you'll find something to wear in the closet, have a look. And when you're done, and when you're willing, come down and we'll have another talk, yes? Don't feel pressured. If you change your mind, you can still stay the night, no problem. But I'd really like you to consider my offer. You may not see it right now,” she adds, stepping around you to fully cup your face, leaning down a little to look into your eyes, “but we have been looking for someone like you for so long. You are the right one, sweet girl. Give it a chance, okay?”

You swallowed, nodding into her hands. Then she leaned in and actually pressed her lips to your forehead, and the gesture seemed to already settle your raging thoughts. She was so gentle, so nice, it almost broke your heart. Leaning back, she watched you, a smirk on her full lips, and without hesitation she leaned in again, and this time she touched her mouth to yours.

Your eyes went wide, the touch short but intense, a moment frozen in time. And while your mind was silenced, your body became alive with a strange throbbing, an urging need, a feeling you hadn't felt in ages. You'd been numb for so long, this felt like a wake-up-kiss. When she retreated and straightened up, you gave her a shy smile that caused her to issue a short little laugh.

“Take your time, honey, I'll be waiting downstairs,” she told you, caressing your cheek before she walked past you and out of the room.

And you were floating, barely able to think as you walked into the bathroom, stripped out of your clothes and enjoyed a hot shower you had needed for so long, or so it felt. It all fell off you as the water cascaded down your body. A new chance. A new life. In a house like this? Everything had looked so bleak before, tainted by doubts, but now the colors were coming back, one hue at a time.

When you were done, you dried off with the softest towels you'd ever experienced, and with one of them wrapped around your torso, you walked back into the room and towards the closet. It was wide and sleek with sliding doors, and opening it showed you a variety of clothes, but your eyes quickly wandered to the dresses hanging on velvety hangers. All colors one could think of, all shapes and sizes, and in the end you chose one that matched your eyes. Somehow it fit you perfectly also. It was elegant and cute at the same time.

You felt like a new person. Watching yourself in the mirror that stood in the corner, you felt mixed emotions though. It had been a while since you'd taken a long look at yourself. The dress went barely over your knees, and looking down, you realized you hadn't shaved your legs in a long time it seemed. Shame flushed your body, drowning out the excitement for a moment. Self-care hadn't been on the agenda while you were wasting your life away...

Sighing loudly, you shook that thought out of your head. No matter now. You had to look ahead! So you grabbed some complementary tights from the closet (and a nice looking pair of panties alongside it, colors you'd never buy for yourself), and easily covered the flaws of your neglected body. You also found a little matching cardigan to hide your arms. And slowly, you felt better. Like a person again, not entirely like yourself, but it was a start.

In a strange way, this was giving you serious princess-makeover-vibes. A few hours ago you were sitting in the dirt, in the dark, lonely and forgotten by the world, spat out to deal with the broken pieces of your life, and now... you were standing in this nice looking bedroom, surrounded by wealth and warmth. You did pinch yourself a lot that night, but you always came to the conclusion that you were not dreaming.

But when you walked up to the door, about to leave the safe space of this room, your heart sank. Doubts came rushing back, and you wondered how this could be real. A woman you'd never met before came up to you and asked you to be her and her partner's submissive, basically their little pet, if you understood her correctly, you'd get a home, and they would... well, do whatever they wanted with you? (Whatever that meant. You were not so sure.) All you had to do was listen to them, do as they said, give up control?

It all sounded rather strange. But what were your options? Go back to live on the streets? Wallow in your failure at life? (Take the walk of shame back to the life you had tried so hard to forget about?) You inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, flattened the skirt of your dress, attempted to bring order into the mess that was your towel-dried hair, and then, you went to meet them. You could only go forward anyway.

You heard voices from downstairs when you approached the large staircase. Your heart beat faster the closer you got to the room they were in. Your tights-clad feet tapped over the expensive looking hardwood floors, and it would have been a good idea to distract yourself by looking around and taking in the splendor surrounding you, but you couldn't look, couldn't focus, your mind fixated on meeting these people who wanted to give you a new life, without really knowing you.

Why did they trust you so much? What did the woman see in you that made it clear to her that you were the right one (whatever that meant)? You couldn't see it. But it wasn't up to you, apparently.

Taking a deep breath, you extended a shaking hand to grab the door handle, then paused, breathing harder, before you decided to knock. It was a frail attempt, barely audible over the voices still coming from behind the door. So you knocked again, your heart nearly exploding in your chest. And suddenly: silence.

“Come in!” sounded a female voice, before you heard footsteps coming closer.

You pulled the door open and stepped into what looked like a giant living room. Your eyes moved quickly over the interior. Couches, plural, facing each other, a large fireplace (with a TV above it) on one wall, bookshelves on the other. Big potted plants in the corners, a lot of black and white and wood colors. And in the middle of it, next to a little cart laden with alcohol bottles and glasses, stood a man.

For a moment all you saw was him. Tall, dark, handsome, came to mind. His eyes were on you, so intense you couldn't move another step. There was an air of authority around him, enhanced by the black suit he was wearing, by the way he stood, tall and intimidating, wide shoulders, long limbs, muscular but not too bulky, his angular jaw covered in a trimmed beard, short dark hair thick but kept in order. He watched you with a hard expression, and you had never felt smaller in your life.

The woman approached you then, and by touching your arm, broke the spell the man had on you. You blinked and looked at her, and she was just as stunning. Perfect skin, heavy eyes and full lips, a mane of dark hair cascading down her back. She had changed and was now wearing a tight black dress and high heels, and her legs were long, so long and toned and slender. Together they looked as if they'd just come from some kind of gala.

And here you were, in your borrowed dress, towel-dry-hair in messy waves all around your flushed face, hiding your shame under layers of too colorful clothes. You swallowed thickly, blinking again as you lowered your gaze.

“Here you are,” the woman addressed you, gently taking your hand and pulling you into motion. “I'm so glad you came down. Had a nice shower?” Her voice was soft and friendly, and you shot her a nervous smile and a nod. She pulled you to one of the couches and firmly nudged you to sit down. You did, still fighting the overwhelming emotions.

“Would you like a drink?” the man asked, and you looked up like a deer in headlights, staring at him, his voice a low grinding sound in the atmosphere, a timbre that made your core shake.

“I... I don't drink,” you stammered, your eyes flickering over his handsome face. “Thank you, though.”

A shadow crossed his features, but he nodded. “A water, then?”

You licked your suddenly dry lips, your pulse thrumming in your ears. “Yes, please,” you whispered and looked down at your hands. They were shaking badly, so you grabbed the hem of your dress and kneaded it roughly.

You heard the clinking of ice cubes, before heavy footsteps approached you. Looking up slowly, you saw the man holding a tall glass of water towards you. For a moment you just stared at his hands. Beautiful hands, big with long fingers, short nails, veins and tendons snaking under tight skin. You felt your cheeks burning up. To cover the strange excitement crashing through you, you quickly grabbed the glass, giving him a short nod and smile, unable to fully meet his eyes, and when your fingers brushed against his, a garbled gasp escaped you.

“There's no reason to be nervous, darling,” he told you, his hands closing around yours to stabilize the shaking glass. You stiffened nonetheless, your eyes widening.

You took a deep breath and somehow found the courage to look up again. “Y-yes, sir, s-sorry, and, uh, th-thank you,” you fell into an awkward stutter, meeting his dark eyes. A subtle twitch went through his face at your words, a soft smile growing on his lips. He let go of your hands and walked away with a nod, settling in an armchair close-by, still watching you like a hawk.

The woman then sat down beside you, throwing one arm around your shoulders as you tried to take a sip of the cold water. You almost spluttered when you felt her fingers tracing down your arm. “So,” she said with a sigh. “How about we get to know each other a little, hm?”

You saw her exchanging a glance with the man, who leaned back in his chair, large hands splayed out on the armrests as he crossed his legs. “What's your name, girl?” he asked.

You told him. The woman then introduced herself and her partner. They were not married, she told you, but worked together. He was in his late thirties, she was in her early thirties, they'd met through work and continued to cross paths until they moved in together, pursuing the same goals. A strange relationship, you thought (but you'd learn more about that very soon). She did most of the talking, giving you snippets of their lives, while the man watched you and nodded occasionally or added some details. But whatever they told you, mainly what they did for a living, didn't really register in your reeling mind (you couldn't even remember their names at this point).

You were too focused on just sitting there, holding your glass of water, trying to make a good impression by listening intently (or pretending to do so), being polite, hoping they wouldn't change their minds about you. When they were done telling you about themselves, the man uncrossed his legs and leaned his elbows on his thighs, clasping his hands as he looked at you. And then he asked the dreaded question:

“Tell me about yourself, darling.”

Your throat tightened immediately. Over the last months, you'd lost yourself, buried in doubts and dark thoughts, and thinking about the person you once were hurt in a strange, crippling way. You still tried to answer him, told him where you came from, how happy you were to have been accepted to this town's college, to finally leave your hometown, how fun it had been... at the beginning.

But when it came to retelling the events (or the lack thereof) that had led to your downfall, you choked up, quickly hiding the croak in your voice by taking a big sip of water. You felt the woman's hand on your arm, giving it a gentle caress, but it only made it worse.

Tears spilled from your lashes when you tried to tell him what a failure you were. A loud exhale (akin to a sigh but less condescending) escaped him, and when the woman took the glass from you, you looked around in confusion, blinking against the tears burning in your eyes.

“Come here, girl,” sounded his voice through the large room, the dominant tone causing you to stiffen.

But you stood immediately, shuffling towards him, your hands clenched into fists, your head bowed. His long fingers brushed down your arms until he gently grabbed your waist and pulled you between his legs. You ended up sitting on his thigh, a pathetic sniffle escaping you as he held you, tilting his head to look at you.

The hand that wasn't curled around your hip moved up to your face, fingertips brushing over your wet cheeks. “Don't cry, it's okay,” he said soothingly. You inhaled deeply, trying to settle against him, but you were too nervous to relax, sitting stiff on his leg, like a fucking child on Santa's lap or something. It was weird and you felt horrible, small and insignificant, ugly and pathetic in the presence of such a handsome and successful man.

His hand cupped your face, his thumb pushing against your chin to turn your head slightly. You met his eyes, even though your vision was blurry. You blinked, unable to hold his gaze for long, overcome by a sudden wave of embarrassment.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice soft but the air of authority never left him. You jerked your chin up and swallowed, looking at him, your cheeks burning up even more. A smile grazed his hard face. “Good girl.”

His praise left a warm feeling in your stomach, and the longer you spent in the captivity of his dark eyes, the calmer you felt. His smile widened as he rubbed his thumb over the corner of your mouth. The motion gave you the courage to smile back, stiff and awkward, but it was still a smile.

“Tell me about your parents,” he then asked quietly, his hand leaving your face to settle on your thigh, holding you in a loose embrace on his leg. “Why can't they help you?”

You took a shuddering breath and told him that you didn't exactly part on good terms, that they hadn't wanted you to leave your hometown. You hadn't been in contact with them for months, probably years, there was usually just the occasional holiday or birthday call, sometimes not even that. You didn't have the money to make the trek across the country to meet them, and neither did they. You didn't grow up poor, but it hadn't been easy either. You were one of many children, your mother remarrying seemingly every five years, and you never had a connection to your father or any of the men she pulled into your home.

The words just tumbled out of your mouth at this point, and you had no idea how that was even possible. This man was a stranger, and yet he managed to loosen your tongue by simply holding you on his lap, listening intently, watching you closely, giving you attention you'd never had before in your life. It felt cleansing, and when you were done, your chest moved easier, the tension in your body melting slowly. His hand rubbed over your back, the other tightening around your waist as he pulled you a little bit closer.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Thank you for sharing this with me.”

A croaked laugh escaped you. You licked your lips and looked away. “Thank you for listening,” you replied in a breathy whisper, timidly looking back at him. A subtle cough sounded from behind you. You flinched and turned slightly to face the woman sitting on the couch with her arms and legs crossed. “Thank you too, for... for inviting me into your home, for... helping me,” you added, watching her with an apologetic smile. You'd honestly forgotten about her for a moment.

“We haven't done anything yet, honey,” she said, pursing her lips. “But I think we've said enough. I knew you were the right one. What do you think, papito?” she added, looking past you at the man.

His hand was back on your face, turning it towards him once more. His eyes bored into yours as he replied: “Yes, I think you found the one.” Your cheeks flushed with heat. “Are you aware what we're asking of you, sweet girl?”

“To... to be your... submissive,” you answered quietly, still not quite understanding what that meant, but maybe it was enough to just roll with it. Of course it wasn't.

“And what does that mean to you? Why would you want that?”

You bit your lip, frowning slightly. “I... I need... someone to... tell me what to do,” you whispered, lowering your eyes to stare at his lips instead. “I think... it would help me... to have someone who... guides me... because... because I can't –”

Suddenly he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. You gasped, your eyes wide. “Stop. You can,” he said, his voice harsh but there was a soft twinkle in his eyes. “You can do anything you put your mind to. You may need a little push into the right direction, but I will not tolerate you talking yourself down like this, okay? You hit a bump in the road, yes, but you will not wallow in it any longer, do you understand me?”

You stared at him, surprised and stunned by his words, by his dominant tone. “Yes, sir,” you breathed out, blinking slowly, your mind pausing the assault of doubts for a moment. “I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “No apologies. It's alright. Accept your failure and move on.” You felt tears burning in your eyes, his scrutinizing stare making you feel small all over again. “And no more tears. You have no reason to cry right now. We're offering you something that will change your life. It may not be easy at first, but I know you'll adjust. You're a fighter, I know it. You wouldn't be here if you weren't.”

Despite his demanding tone, you couldn't help it when a single tear slipped past your lashes after all. You quickly raised a hand and wiped at it, taking a shaking breath, ready to apologize again, but he just looked at you, stern but also somewhat gentle, patient. And you looked back, caught in his deep eyes, slowly feeling yourself relaxing again.

“We will give you a home, we will give you anything you want and need to find your footing again,” he continued quietly, his hand moving from your chin to curl around your head. “And you will do whatever we say. This is as much for you as it is for us. As you know, we've been looking for someone like you for a long time. It's not easy finding the right girl... but you're it, darling,” he said with a pointed look, pressing his fingertips into your hair, massaging your scalp in a very calming, almost hypnotizing fashion that made it hard not to purr under. His words only added to the sensation. “You are perfect. We can make this work, I am sure. If you're willing.”

“I am,” you croaked out quickly, leaning into his touch. “I want to. Please.”

“You will do anything we ask of you?”

His voice was low, his gaze still as intense. Behind you, you heard the woman getting up, the quiet click of her heels echoing in your ears as she approached you, putting her hands on your shoulders.

“Yes,” you breathed out, looking at him, before turning your head to look at her. You saw them exchanging a glance.

“Say it again,” she whispered, teasing her pointy nails into your clavicles. “Tell us what you want.”

“I... I want to be your submissive,” you said, shivering slightly, looking from her back to him. “I want you to tell me what to do. I will do anything you say.”

A soft smile cracked through the hard shell of his face, his gaze getting warmer, little creases visible in the corners of his eyes. While you watched him, you felt the woman's hands moving up the back of your neck until she gently tugged at your hair, turning you towards her, her face suddenly very close to yours, her lips brushing against your cheek.

“You'll be our little girl?” she asked in a low whisper, rubbing her nose against your jaw.

“Yes, ma'am,” you replied, breathing a bit harder, your mind reeling.

The man's fingers dug into the fabric of your dress when he leaned closer too, pressing his rough cheek to yours, the scratch of his beard sending deep shudders down your spine.

“Are you absolutely certain?” he asked, his voice a thrumming vibration through your head.

“Yes, sir,” you gasped out, closing your eyes for a moment, your heart thundering in your chest.

They both cradled you closer, her lips on your right cheek, his on your left. “Will you call me Mommy?” the woman breathed against your skin.

“And me Daddy?” the man echoed, rubbing his bearded chin against your jaw.

You could barely breathe, the warmth radiating through your body was overwhelming. But there were no doubts, no matter how strange their request. You felt safe in their embraces, special. A sigh full of relief slipped from your trembling lips.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning into them.

They kissed your cheeks again, their arms tight around you. As strange as it should feel, it didn't. It felt good. Exactly what you had needed. A warm embrace, someone to squeeze all the worries right out of you. You settled against them, feeling lighter than you'd ever felt before.

“Thank you,” you added quietly, your eyes fluttering open. You met his gaze first. “Daddy,” you addressed him, watching how his smile widened, crow's feet deepening, before you turned your head and looked at the woman behind you. “Mommy.” She issued a happy little squeal and hugged you closer, her lips peppering soft kisses to your cheek.

You smiled back, numb in a way that was almost content, your eyes closing again as you simply melted into them. You felt tired, happy but tired, as if you'd finally reached your destination, a place you hadn't expected at all. Where you could let go.

“My good girl,” the woman, Mommy, whispered against the shell of your ear before she dragged the tip of her tongue along it. “Let's get you into bed. It's been a long day for you, hm?”

You shivered deeply, but you didn't protest when she let go of you and you felt two strong arms lifting you up. “Let's give her some space tonight, okay?” the man, Daddy, said, surely addressing his partner. “Get her accustomed.”

She sighed. “Fine. But tomorrow, I'll take you shopping and we'll do your hair and your nails and, oh, we'll do whatever else we find on our way. I'll pamper you stupid, sweet girl,” she laughed, her hand on your face as you were being carried through the large house that was to be your new home.

“Don't overdo it,” his voice sounded in your ear. “She's not your doll. I'd prefer her looking as natural as possible, okay?”

They continued their conversation, a hushed back and forth you couldn't pay too much attention to anymore, as you felt yourself floating through space, snuggling into a warm chest, firm and hard, but soft enough to lose yourself in. Your head was heavy when it hit the soft pillow, the mattress of the bed denting around you as the two adults sat down on its edges.

“Sleep tight, darling,” Daddy whispered and leaned over you to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. You sighed, your hand twitching, wanting to grab him, hold onto him, but he was gone before you could reach him.

“Good night, Daddy,” you mumbled, feeling yourself slipping into the sweet void of sleep.

On your other side, a set of hands found your face, and you felt Mommy's lips on yours again, a soft press, a short lick, a deep sigh. “Good night, sweetheart,” she said against your mouth, her hot breath fanning over your face.

“Night, Mommy,” you muttered, barely able to get the words out.

“We'll see you tomorrow.” The low voice echoed in your empty head, and you fell asleep with a smile on your face, as you sank into the soft bed, cuddling into the covers someone pulled over you.

You felt like a little girl again (ignoring the fact that you were 23* and supposedly your own person), tugged in by your 'parents', and even though you barely knew these people, you felt safe with them, accepted and taken care of. Somehow through the fog in your head you knew that your life would take a turn now, into different times, better times, because now you had two guiding lights with you, following you into the darkness that had consumed your life, eager to pull you back out.

And you were here for it, willing to do anything they asked in return. Willing to endure anything if only it would distract you from the nagging voices in your head. And endure you did...

Chapter 1 🔷️ Chapter 2 🔷️ Chapter 3

End notes: *By the way, I just chose a random number. If you want Reader to be younger or older, please imagine her like that. Also note that this is NOT a realistic representation of a BDSM relationship, I'm not a How-to-guide, I'm a writer juggling ideas around! This is fiction, remember?

Find below the TL;DR version of this chapter:

TL;DR: Reader drops out of college, is homeless and jobless, depressed and anxious, alone on the other side of the country with no friends and family, when a woman approaches her and takes her to a diner, asking her if she would like to be “her submissive”. Reader agrees, not really knowing what to expect, and the woman takes her to her home where she meets her partner. They ask again and she agrees, becoming their little girl, calling them Mommy and Daddy.

While you're here, I have a little side note to the tags I'm using: as a writer of original fiction, it is very hard to find any readers if I wouldn't poke my head into various fandoms, so I apologize if it irks you to see this kind of fiction under your favorite tags. But then maybe it's enough to pique your interest and you are already giving this a chance? Thank you if you do, maybe you can project your favorite blorbo(s) onto the characters present in this story.

Thank you for reading! New chapter every Saturday!

Up next: We go back to where Chapter 1 has ended and see how Mommy reacts to Daddy's plan.

MASTERLIST 🔷️ AO3 🔷️ ORIGINAL WORKS

[pucksandpower]

Are you normal or do you daydream about what Charles Leclerc could be achieving if he was actually on a competent team?

[separatist-apologist]

Do you see how I dislike a ship without turning it into a moral crusade? Very demure, very cutesy. I don't stalk the tags of ships I hate. I don't stir up the ship war when I get bored. Very demure. Very mindful.

[pseudophan]

several people are writing think pieces about how it's wrong to say dan and phil are joking when they call each other best friends in videos because they Are best friends even if they're also more and i just... yeah no shit... they're still joking when they're very pointedly going Best Buddy xD in videos though. joking is not a synonym for lying. please

[bornetoblood]

To be fair I don’t really see Gehrman as a Healing Church devotee, I see him as specifically trusting Laurence whole heartedly. Obvs there’s him staying in the Dream for Laurence’s sake but Gehrman’s devotion to the hunt imbodies this too. It presents more so this mutual compromising of morals to appease the other.

Laurence appears to have doubts about the hunt yet Gehrman is steadfast; seeing it as the one thing keeping them human. Laurence chooses to perpetuate the hunt, in part, because Gehrman is devoted to it. Maybe he would’ve done that anyway (sunk costs and all that) but the only Laurence opinions (tm) we see on the hunt is him expressing these doubts to Gehrman, and Gehrman talking him round.

Basically Gehrman compromises his morals to kill people for Laurence and Laurence compromises his morals to let Gehrman keep killing people for him. The worm is eating itself.

[nzoth-the-corruptor]

despite it all, I remain an Iridikron = Zorix truther.

[atopvisenyashill]

“saying rhaenyra is heir and the greens usurped the throne because they hate women is not true it’s more complicated than that.”

andal law is based on the hatred of women, the subjugation of women, and the upholding of violent patriarchy and bigotry as above reproach because it’s “proper.” the greens make the argument that andal law should prevail even tho the great council rejects andal law and also could have very well meant - as viserys clearly takes it to mean - that what matters is not the gender of the heir but that the heir is chosen & acclaimed by whoever sits the throne. jaehaerys chose baelon, then viserys over rhaenys and the council backed him, ergo, viserys has the right to name rhaenyra his heir and expect the backing of the lords. it’s not what ultimately happens - and viserys and rhaenyra assuming the lords will just back this reading bc viserys said so is at best an incredibly naive thing to think - but it is a perfectly valid reading of the great council’s decision, and otto specifically uses this line of thinking to cut daemon out of the succession and name rhaenyra heir when it pleases him, then switches over to “only men can sit the throne” when she’s no longer a convenient pawn in his game of thrones.

it doesn’t matter if aegon ii’s “claim” is greater than rhaenyra’s based on andal law or on a specific reading of the great council’s decision, because both andal law and jaehaerys’ decisions are based in hatred of women and violent misogyny so yes, the greens usurp rhaenyra based on misogyny actually, they just hide it behind the idea of andal law and propriety and precedent because misogyny and patriarchy are considered proper in their minds.

also, aegon and criston spend all their free time calling rhaenyra a whore and a cunt for doing the exact same shit that aegon himself does so let’s not pretend like team green isn’t bogged down in sexism re: their decision to usurp the throne from viserys’ chosen heir. you don’t get to have the leaders of your faction walking around saying shit like “He had nothing against women, Lord Borros went on to say; he loved his girls, a daughter is a precious thing…but a son, ahhh…” and claim that the greens aren’t motivated by the exact same sexism that makes Jaehaerys pass over Rhaenys twice over as his heir.

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

One of the biggest reasons I try to recruit all the characters in Three Houses isn’t just because I don’t want to kill them, but because if I do, I still have to go back to the monastery afterward. I still have to pass by their dorm rooms full of their belongings and know that’s where they spent their alone time and where they slept. I still have to pass by the spots they frequented the most. It’s not just the sad dialogue of characters reacting to the deaths, but passing by the spots I vividly remembered them hanging out at.

I realized this most in my first playthrough when I didn’t have the chance to recruit everyone and I accidently killed Raphael at Gronder. I didn’t have the enemy attack range turned on so I didn’t realize he was in range of attacking.

During an exploration, I was looking for Ignatz who was, unfortunately, in his dorm room... and I walked into the wrong room and into Raphael’s after he was killed and man that fuckin’ sucked! Feels bad but like, multiplied with big numbers, u kno??? ???

YES, IT’S A VIDEO GAME. YES, I HAVE HUMAN BEING FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

[dismaltouch]

♡ muse ↝ raegan mancuso

♡ closed for ↝ @bejcweled

"can we forget about the things i said when i was drunk?"

[fernspirals]

I think that

[punchthewitch]

How do people find the motivation to do stuff? Like really DO something meaningful. Seems like every time I get close to accomplishing what I want, I self sabotage and distract myself. Is it fear? Am I broken?? AM I STOOPID??? I've been working on the same shit ass song for months and restarted over and over but I can't let myself be satisfied with it just being okay. And then one day I just stopped trying... Again. The fuck is that about? All I've ever wanted is to create but sometimes the thought of trying makes me sick to my stomach.

[ebitenpura]

I keep forgetting Eight is SIS a lot of the time because I could never decide if it was the right path for him or not and most of his interactions with Jonas were outright failures that only made him even more disinterested, but then Theron comes into the picture again. And of course that is a point of deliberation.

Theron feels a responsibility towards him after KOTXX for not realizing sooner that Eight was just following Lana's orders to an obedient T not out of his own personal desire or will, but the simple need to repay a life debt, a fact which escapes most of the Alliance and even Lana herself despite it directly opposing his usual behavior. As the kind of person who has to save those in front of him whether they like it or not, this guilts Theron immensely not only for being a part of the blind crowd but enabling a violent warmongering path for Eight that he realizes now may not have been Eight's wish after all, that he'd pegged him all wrong-- and worse, treated him like so.

Eight himself cares very little at this point whether Theron treats him favorably or not. He was here to be used, and he was used. It's the way he's always lived. For a time he might've had the small hope to understand Theron and Lana during SoR, but that faded very quickly come KOTXX. He lived the same way during Intelligence with the added benefit that he did care for those people as they cared for him, but it never removed the stain of the dirty business he'd permanently undertaken, only made it more acceptable as part of his life and not treated like dirty laundry the way the Alliance did.

Theron latches on to the small thought that they could've been different if he'd only tried to get to know Eight, and out of a desire to make things right in his mind, starts attempting to extend the proverbial olive branch even though it's an awkward and uncomfortable attempt that feels too little too late. He has to do something, and try as he might he's not the kind of guy who cuts people loose to stay out in the cold. And maybe part of that is residual guilt for not protecting the Sixth Line and Master Surro, his repeated failure to be responsible for those under his command. Eight is essentially his last chance to prove he can do right by others, even when they share no common ground or bond. It's the barren ground of their relationship that makes him want to try, even if he shouldn't be using him as his own redemption.

Somehow this results in Theron making it a personal point to be involved in Eight's life from them on after, SIS included: unofficially, he stays as his handler. He prides himself secretly on the notion that Eight seems to like Jonas even less than him, which is legendary given Eight's notoriously aloof attitude (but not much to brag about from an outside perspective) and the SIS more or less doesn't give a womp rat's ass whether Theron meddles as long as the ex-Imperial agent stays on a short leash, and that's.. fine with him. Theron wouldn't have asked regardless.

Still, he tries. Hopes at the very least he can keep the SIS' use of him to a bare minimum so what happened in the Alliance can never happen again, optimistic as that is. Checks on him often enough that it looks like they're officially assigned to one another, and even lets him go in and out of his own apartment as he pleases (Eight gets his own. as usual, he doesn't care for it much and it still makes Theron antsy that he'll come to it one day and find it completely abandoned, so this is fine).

Eight doesn't say much. Comments that the life is fine when asked, doesn't watch the holos but idly listens when he puts it on. Does his work and doesn't when he's off the clock. When asked about how he feels killing Imps, it makes Theron's blood run cold when Eight casually says that was his only job over there too.

Theron buys him some street food in an attempt to make something different. At the very least, Eight says it's better than rations.

[leezuhh]

the xenophobia in genshin is crazyyy 😭

[ripcrispyblonde]

live footage of jess whenever she references azzie wanting the mickle