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acupofqueercoffee · 5 months ago

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“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

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There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

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#farah dowling #farah dowling x reader #eve best #fate winx saga #alfea #winx alfea #winx specialists #character x reader #soulmates #unrequited love #unrequited feelings #not really #brainstorming

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afreakingdork · 10 months ago

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Weak Spot - Chapter 56

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

It's all about perspective in this week's chapter art by @garbagemilkshake

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Bondage, Feral Behavior, Feral Donatello, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Public Sex, Dom Donnie, Human/Turtle Relationships, Turtle Noises, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay

Synopsis: A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

Donnie was brooding. About what, you weren’t sure, but he was lost in thought. The kind that pinched up his face, he appeared compliant if you asked, but was clearly dodgy if you tried to figure out why. Asking for additional time with each question on his well being, it made you feel a sort of hopelessness. He was clearly feeling guilty about something out of his control. He did his best to make it up to you where he could, but there was something vexing him deeply.

For the time of year, you acknowledged the two special occasions coming up. One for hearts and the other of sentimentality, it wasn’t like Donnie to think so openly. You doubted he’d sulk over planning anything as important as your anniversary, which meant something else was bothering him.

It had gone on for nearly a week and not once had you gotten used to it. Instead, it was like an ever present weight in your heart each time you saw him thinking over his cause. You found him more often as of late, when you got home from work, still listlessly sitting at his desk. He’d been obviously ruminating and the way his monitors had timed out said how long he’d been at it. You played the dutiful partner and only pressed for hugging reassurances that you would always be there, whenever he was ready.

That day just so happened to be today.

“I… need to go to the Hidden City.”

He’d spoken suddenly after making you both warm drinks and offering one to you.

You had been reaching out to take yours and felt your hands hang there. “Is that…?”

“My status remains ‘wanted’.”

“Do… you need to go back into hiding?”

The cup offered in his hand lowered. “No.”

“I’m guessing the others haven’t broken their promise since you haven’t gone to maim them.”

“The rat’s word still stands.”

“Is something wrong?” You hesitated on the topic you were bordering on.

“I didn’t mean to make you guess.” He renewed his effort to give you your drink.

This time you got proper hold of it. “I’m not going to force you.”

“I’m…” He held out with distress painting him until he exhaled a modicum of it away. “I’m going to withdraw my holdings there.”

Your eyes shot wide. “Wait…”

“I know.” He gestured that he would sit.

You scooted backward into your spot on the couch so he could take his.

“I’ve been… debating. Pros and cons. Gut reactions. Integrated decision maps. I’ve run analysis. I’ve dusted off age-old algorithms. I’ve-!” He caught on more and sank down to stare into his mug. “Recently, you’ve allowed me to dabble further in my old habits and it has… summoned… interesting feelings.”

You folded yourself up close to translate you’d listen for as long as need be and sipped the liquid. Something new, you glanced down at it and found it in line with your tastes.

“I… enjoy my work, but I wonder if I prefer it because it is familiar or if it actually brings me joy.”

“You seemed like you were having fun watching Hypno and Warren destroy the place.”

He smiled a little and took the tiniest sip. “True, but… they made up.”

You nodded, letting the drink warm your body. “You were hoping otherwise.”

“I saw their qualms as advantageous. With Warren out of the way, I could extract more product from Hypno, but… to what end? Why? Why… do I… do this? Why…?”

You waited with curling fingers around hot ceramic.

“My holdings here make more than enough money. I live comfortably. I have what I need. My freedom, my… you. That comment Warren made…”

He’d made many; you took a sip.

“Is that our future?”

“No.” You broke in. “Warren’s an idiot and a jerk.”

He looked right through you. “Are you doomed to be my accomplice? Will you allow me to break and pillage and ruin while looking the other way because you care?”

“Donnie…”

“And the aftermath!” Something about the way he looked at his mug made you think he might pour it over his head. “To keep you separate is to keep you at bay. Allowing you close endangers you. I cannot undo what I’ve done. That is my life!”

You set your mug aside and crossed the space to hold his forearm.

The liquid in his cup vibrated outward.

“Hey.”

This time he saw you. “I don’t want that for you. For us. For our kids.” He gasped on the admittance and choked looking away. “I like it. I do. I enjoy it. I know it. I’m good at it, but-!”

You took his drink and set it aside.

“Do I do all those things because it’s all I know? Like that fucking worm… Like… a wheel. I’m trapped on a wheel and I was supposed to live. How long have I been stuck-!?” He wheezed.

You rose to your knees and wrapped your arms around his neck.

He held you and sank against your form. “I’ve been trying to parse it out, but I no longer know what’s real.”

You squeezed harder and he reached up to claw into your shirt.

“I’m scared.” He admitted with a heave and you felt the droplets seep into your clothes.

You held tight.

He’d never once admitted that.

Even after you’d been kidnapped, he never used those words.

He pulled you into his lap and buried himself down into the safety of you with only the plip plop of his running tears as a signal he was still present.

You refused to let go.

“I can only think to try.” His voice became shredded, warped and raw. “Start with the smallest, most superfluous holding in my portfolio and shut it. Tend the power vacuum and see how I feel. Will I experience loss? Will I care? Will I even notice?”

You stroked his carapace.

“I need to find out. I need to be sure before I do anything else. Before my declaration. Before I marry you. Before we move even a single step further forward. For me, for you.”

“You first.” Your own voice had a broken quality.

“Me first.” He agreed.

“I-” He teetered.

You found his chin and lifted him to eye level. “Not until you’re sure.”

He smiled through a shallow weep and touched the tip of his beak to your nose.

Compared to any other version of Donnie’s planning stages, this was something else entirely. He was under his own microscope and you could tell every move was one carefully scrutinized. It left him operating slowly and deliberately. He was hyper aware of each action and reaction to the point where you were sure something was penning down his existence with millisecond timestamps. He existed only as a written caricature, something without freewill that was only allowed to work within a script.

It was hard to watch.

A journey of self-discovery, he had to go about it alone.

You didn’t even know how to help even if you were allowed.

He was in a liminal space where the not knowing shredded him further. He held himself in such high regard and you had seen, first hand, what unknowns did to him. A whole spectrum of reactions, he’d gone the distance and yet still resided at a mysterious point. You were the sure thing in his life while everything else he’d known fell apart. You knew your part was played, something of a shepherd leading a weary traveler. You’d met while he was already on his journey, following a trail toward a life that was truly his own and he’d appeared on your field. There you had walked beside him to your boundary line and this marked the point where he would have to continue his quest alone.

You never left the fence.

You stared after his form no matter how tiny it got on the horizon.

The fact his path deviated was a far greater choice than any he’d ever been presented with. It was one, in fact, that he had thought was fully removed from him. Damned from an early age, he saw one trajectory of his life possible until that road lost pavement and turned to rubble. Soles cut and rotted flesh from neglect, he’d meant to die of his malady, but carrying on had widened his course.

Only he never looked up.

He stared down at the slog of his feet.

You’d been there when his lids had first cracked and the full sight of his existence was one wider than he could comprehend.

He tried to force it, but it blinded him.

He couldn’t have it all.

A crossroads represented not only his choice in the matter, but that there was a greater existence possible for him.

The layered options overwhelmed him and their potency stripped him of his sense of self.

A vessel repaired, he stumbled forward not knowing which direction would be one that got him to his goals.

He’d wanted peace to work.

He acquired it.

He’d opened himself to love.

It was his.

He sought pleasure, big and small.

They were within his grasp, often and always.

What was left?

He didn’t so much lay out his business structure as he pinpointed what needed to be done. A dark that was meant to keep you safe, he gave you an itinerary. He would leave for the Hidden City on Monday and had projected a week to take care of letting this one business go. It meant laying low and moving under guise so as not to alert the authorities or competitors of his existence there. Somewhere he was wholly unallowed, he still had significant reach in that no one threatened his work even when he couldn’t be present.

That speaking largely to what he’d wanted and achieved, you had a certain awe for your mate.

He was an unstoppable force and though you knew he wasn’t unbreakable, it helped your faith in that he would make it through this.

He’d reach the other side.

He’d get his answer.

He’d return to your field, take your hand, and carry on with you in tow.

Until then, he would approach his business partners and contacts for this particular field and walk them through new procedures. Not expressively telling them he was removing himself, they would instead be under a child-like guise. One where you tell one parent the other said this and the other guardian the opposite, both parties would think responsibility was covered and they’d be none the wiser until they spoke.

Donnie estimated that they wouldn’t realize for at least a month and by that time the new system would be a stabilized one where they would simply accept he wouldn’t need them.

Their big mouths were the only thing left to chance. In the underworld, information reigned as the most important asset. Without that there was nothing to gain. You made no money without knowing its source. You held no power without holding something coveted. You were nothing to fear if you had no back up. The best case scenario were these contacts grew slovenly in their new positions and didn’t pipe up to ruin a good thing when the tyrant Donatello handed you gold on a silver platter.

It was the easiest of the sins while the others dictated the worst roads that could be taken.

Pride and bragging of having supposedly pulled one over.

Gluttony in thinking they could grab more.

Wrath that they were tricked.

Envy of one another and a vie to take full control.

Lust to use their growth as one alluring to conscript more onto their sides.

Greed in selling his weakness out.

Time would tell and Donnie was going to also strengthen certain protective holdings, as he called them, so as the filth would stay in the rotten city he despised.

You believed in him because he believed in you.

One week.

Seven days.

Technically 8 because he was due to arrive back first thing Monday morning.

You turned to your own plans.

You already knew you would need to keep busy. With Donnie out and wearing himself down both in a place that wanted his extermination along with all the danger the job itself entailed, you were ready to be a wreck. Communication wasn’t off the table this time, but it was a dodgy thing. He himself had been the one to wire the Hidden City for surface communication, but only so many Yokai cared to adapt. Usually only the ones that crossed the barrier wanted it, so connection points were relatively scarce and more often than not he wouldn't have service.

He promised you he would try to at least check-in once a day.

That would come in a variety of forms depending on his state, but even that wouldn’t be a guarantee or alarm.

You had to trust him to come back to you.

You did.

He didn’t pack and he bid you farewell clad in one of his convertible villain pieces. Dark layers that concealed both a litany of weapons and armor, there was little to hug that was actually him. You settled for what you could which ended up being slung high around his head and he had kissed you in stages.

Desperation.

Longing.

Love.

The last lingered with promise which he trailed to your ear to whisper not reassurances, but his affections. Everything save the titular confession, you held him in to press foreheads and noses before releasing him. He committed you to memory, brought his scarf up to hide himself, thought enough to lower it so you could see his parting smile, and left.

You were alone.

You had work.

You had also gotten ready for it too soon.

It meant you had little to do and ended up at first pacing the apartment. Looking for even the tiniest spot to maybe put something neglected away, you found little. Your deep cleaning had been done not too long ago. The most you found was one errant piece of mail that only needed to be moved from the kitchen counter to a sorting bin on Donnie’s desk and you were left with nothing more to do. You decided to text Shelly. When you had made your plans with him for tonight, you’d realized all too quickly that you’d only ever reached out to him via your tech gauntlet. You’d felt infuriated having had to ask Donnie for his number, but when you texted to automaton the revelation, he only chuckled and said it hadn’t occurred to him either.

You: You up?

Shelly: File that under the ways to start a booty call

You: Why do you choose violence at all hours?

Shelly: I take after my papa

You: Alright, I see how it is

Shelly: ☹️

You: Just checking in about tonight

Shelly: Ah dad just left I see

You: Please!

Shelly: You only ever text me when you’re lonely 😭

You: I do not! Since I got your number I’ve been sending you all kinds of stuff

Shelly: …

You: ?

Shelly: I GUESS!

You: Gotcha

Shelly: But yeah we’re still good. Want me to sleep over?

You paused and stared down at your phone.

You: That’s sad

You: Sleepover with your mom just cause dad’s on vacation?

You: Makes me sound like some elderly person who’s been with their spouse for like 30 years and is going to die of heartbreak

Shelly: Cause he died and left you all alone with the farm house!

You: Hey!

You: NO

You: SHELLY

Shelly: FUCK

Shelly: I DIDN’T MEAN IT LIKE THAT

Shelly: WAIT STOP GO BACK

You: YOU GO BACK WTF

You: YOU SAID IT!

The next message you got was a video of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. making a rectangle with his hands before one of the mechanical arms of his came into frame and sliced the box in half.

You: what was that?

Shelly: It wards off bad luck!

You: It better!

Shelly: Sleepover to make up for it? 😀

You: Spoiled brat

A digital sticker appeared of S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. snickering and it distracted you all the way to work as you found out he had an entire set of emotes based on himself. Working in tandem with shotty service on public transit, you got the pack uploaded to your phone.

Work took over next. There was a busy enough load of things to do and they were just interesting enough to be distracting. Your ex-roommate Coral checked in around lunch under the guise of making fun of you and you ended up talking to her on speaker perched somewhere outside while you ate. It was a bit too cold for it, but the conversation kept you warm.

The afternoon tumbled away and eventually you were on your way home. Shooting a message to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. that you were inbound, you found a shadow figure exuding way too much energy standing right outside your apartment.

“Someone’s going to call the cops on you.” You folded your arms behind him.

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. turned with a bright glowing smile. “They already did! Mrs. Kaczmarek!”

“Of course it’d be her…” You wilted before something buoyed you concurrently. “You didn’t talk to her did you!?”

“Nah.” He pointed up the building. “She was staring at me through the blinds so I waved.”

You caught his arm through the sleeve of his big jacket. “She cannot see you go into my apartment!”

“Why?” He tilted his head with genuine curiosity.

“She thinks me and Donnie are living in sin! I don’t know what she’ll do with the whole kid thing!”

He snorted. “I’m gonna introduce myself.”

“No! Didn’t you hear me!?” You meant to tug him, but he scooped you up like the bag he had under his other arm.

Hanging your limbs in indignity, you glowered at him as he merrily skipped up the steps with loud percussive metal thumps. “Let’s spin it! Donnie is a single father widower!”

“I can walk!”

“This is more fun!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. sang as he ascended the steps two at a time. “Okay anyway, so he had me way too young and it was all a mix up and omigosh what if you guys were high school sweethearts and you had a tryst, but then my fake mom passed me off as yours and also you were conscripted into the mafia and then it’s enemies to lovers!”

“What have you been watching?!” He set you down when you reached your apartment’s floor.

“Telenovelas. Wait, why?” He paused to think.

You yanked the bag out of his hand in a fit of retaliation but immediately wilted under his weight. “Holy shit!”

“Ah!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. shouted more for sympathy and caught both you and the bag.

“What is this!?” You stared up at him.

“My pajamas.” He checked you over.

“Pajamas?” You unfolded the top and screeched as S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s lifeless head appeared as the contents.

A metal hand clamped over your mouth. “Okay, I’m gonna own that it’s been pretty funny keeping your heart rate up, but the bag thing wasn’t meant to be part of the joke!”

You hummed ‘what do you mean?’ as loud as you could against his paw.

“It’s just my drone body. I was going to switch to it so I can fit in bed with you. I’m pretty sure I exceed the weight limit like three times over in this body.” He let go slowly. “Pajamas? Get it?”

You pinched his hat and yanked him down to eye level. “Punishment! No scary movies!”

“Mom!!” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. whined loud and long.

“Mom?” Mrs. Kaczmarek’s distinct voice came from down the hall.

“Fuck.” Your eyes widened and you didn’t have to look to know she was headed your way.

“Language!” Mrs. Kaczmarek huffed and you heard her shuffling footsteps.

“Mafia?” S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s brows wiggled digitally.

You glared mania right into his eyes. “Big brother program and you’re weird. That’s final.”

S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. clucked happily as the old woman cornered you.

After S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. had dragged you out early for breakfast the next day, you bid him farewell on your way to work. He had a multi-day tournament that would be keeping him busy the next few days and Coral was next on your docket. Another working grind smoothed out the edges of your sanity and you ended up meeting her for an impromptu dinner. On her dime, you were relentlessly teased for being codependent which then rolled over into how badly you’d fail at long distance. You did your best to defend yourself, but when you got a ping from Donnie, the speed at which you’d scrambled to your phone only confirmed all her points.

You didn’t even care to defend yourself as the single purple heart in your message chain was one that sent your spirits sky high.

It inadvertently ruined her fun in the process and you were invited back to her place for drinks.

Now onto more genial conversation, you’d entered your old apartment to find your nervous friend Nelson, bent over the oven with the frilliest apron you had ever seen covering his torso.

He lifted up with a tray of cookies and, as you both roasted him, he defended himself saying form didn’t matter as much as utility.

Still cackling, the conversation shifted to a light hearted one as Nelson continued to bake for a donation sale.

Instead of stumbling home, you crashed in Coral’s bed and she kicked you out bright and early as if she hadn’t been there as your rock for the last 12 hours.

Doing a walk of shame that felt particularly comical since it no longer cracked the top ten of your worsts since meeting Donnie, you felt the first bout of truly missing your boyfriend. Something about walking the streets alone and knowing he wasn’t there or home waiting for you stung. Your shower at your apartment was a sullen one and the trip to work moved at an achingly slow pace.

You: Hey

You: Not sure when you’ll get this

You: Looks like the messages are going through though so that’s good

You: I did not want to relive those stupid red errors

You: I just wanted to say I miss you

You: Hang in there and best of luck ❤️

Staring long at the message chain even when no read receipt came, you pocketed your device as you went to work. A clock in and clock out sort of day, you’d had lunch with your gossipy coworker who you felt like you hadn’t seen in ages. He was the same as always and had many dishes to serve up. Trying to focus on consuming what he offered, who’d been kicked from the #random slack sat in your head like an ear worm until the end of the day where tonight marked the resurrection of game night. One where you only knew your chill friend Kaleb, as the host, and his board game obsessed friend, D-Kline, the rest of the attendants were new to you and you hoped keeping up with the crowd would offer a better distraction.

The night had been one of hotly debated conspiracy theories which went well with the game where you had to oust the player who was a secret villain.

The imagery was thankfully one that only nipped at your heels.

Home came especially dark when you clicked on the light and the lived in feel of the space was one that felt synthetic.

Another sleep would fast track you to Thursday which led to Friday. Both days you’d been unable to fill, you’d be on your own and, for that fact alone, you didn’t want to go to bed. You ended up staying up until the wee hours of the morning scrolling and feeling worse for it mentally and physically. It made the next day an absolute slog and a part of you enjoyed the suffering.

It was hard to think about being lonely when your head was pounding relentlessly.

Getting home came with crashing on the couch and waking sometime late. A devastating blow to your sleep schedule, you ate something microwaved for dinner. Consuming it standing in a dark kitchen, you checked your phone as almost an afterthought to find yesterday and today’s messages from Donnie.

Donnie 💜: As busy as I am, I also have time on my hands. It gives me the space necessary to consider what I must. Though manufactured for such purpose, I care little for it. Introspection is not something I’ve ever had the luxury to entertain and going about it alone has been trying.

Donnie 💜: I want to know I am doing this for the right reasons and I can’t help but think of you when I attempt to consider what those are.

Donnie 💜: I miss our bed.

Donnie 💜: I miss your scent.

Donnie 💜: Your smile.

Donnie 💜: My chest aches.

Donnie 💜: I should have taken more photographs.

And.

Donnie 💜: You have not responded and I hope that is because you are busy.

Donnie 💜: Take care of yourself.

You stared long at his messages until you felt weepy.

Squeezing your lids shut in an attempt to turn off the main for waterworks, you typed out a lengthy explanation of all the things you had been doing to keep busy. Veritable walls of text, you hoped that would give him some distracting material so he wouldn’t have to suffer completely alone with his thoughts.

You knew that curse all too well.

You punctuated the whole thing off with something short and liminal.

You: I’ll dream of you tonight, meet me there

You lowered your phone and felt exhausted at the prospect of having to prepare for bed when a little vibration in your hand caught your attention.

Donnie 💜: I will try as hard as I can.

With your phone crushed to your chest you drowned in your love for him.

Washing up, changing, and getting into bed, you lay in the middle with your body turned toward his side. There you conjured a ghost of him, the one you knew long and well. You willed him to your subconscious. Transferring residuals of his essence that must have been left behind, you focused all your thought on bringing his memory with you to the dreaming world.

You woke after a night of empty sleep.

It stung.

With little will, you prepared for the day which felt like sand falling through your fingers. All too fine for you to hold, it trickled between meetings and calls. Through the cracks of your mailbox and debris in the bottom of your water bottle, you refilled it only to disrupt the silt. It manifested tiny pebbles in your shoe that no amount of shaking could rid. It made seats in public transit craggy ones and as you entered your apartment you dropped to the floor with dramatics at the thought of having to repeat that process.

You fell asleep on the couch with a movie blaring all night.

The next morning, Friday, you barely made it through your routine and had started to berate yourself for your theatrics. The voice grew louder as you exited the apartment and you saw, but didn’t respond to a few messages from friends. Donnie’s daily message had been lost to yesterday’s sieve and you soured further. Your aura read one to keep away and that only exaggerated your loneliness.

You ate alone.

You worked alone.

You went home alone.

You were done.

Done with work and done with distractions, you fell into self loathing.

Five days?

There were people who lost their loved ones for lifetimes.

They carried on.

You felt pathetic and small.

A fury misplaced, you couldn’t send it to your partner because he was trying to maneuver something monumental.

That left you the punching bag and with it came takeout.

Far too much and way too expensive, you ate pure grease and turned on trash TV. Soon yelling at those pandering, you fell asleep sitting up and buried amongst blankets and Styrofoam.

When you woke up with a start the next day, it came with wiping fingers and leaving greasy marks on your shirt.

You forewent cleanliness in an attempt to wallow.

A crawling sensation of oil coating you inside and out, your phone was your magical friend that could bring more food without you having to move much.

Counting 23 steps from your spot on the couch to the door, you lapped that on the return trip to devolution with TV and a dripping to-go boxes.

Your frame of mind shifted with your meal.

You would have this.

You would let yourself mourn that which wasn’t even gone.

Why fight it?

You were allowed to be sad your boyfriend had left.

You weren’t supposed to trust your thoughts and feelings from late at night.

Everything was a process.

When was the last time you’d become a vegetable?

The terribly named cheat days were supposed to be a thing.

They kept you even and sane.

There was nothing wrong with indulgence as long as it was done in moderation.

You put yourself on a timeline.

You could live this way through Sunday if you wanted.

Then you were going to boil everything for safety.

You’d welcome Donnie back as if you hadn’t fallen off the wagon momentarily.

You’d tell him what happened.

Maybe later.

Way later.

After you knocked him clean to the floor and hung off him like a koala for say five to six straight hours.

You’d get your fill and then open up.

Donnie 💜: Switch in progress, results tentatively promising

You felt like you weren’t present in this world when you got the message.

A ground ball that you dove for, you came up dusty from it, but satisfied you’d staved off a run.

It felt like a cosmic truth.

You were okay.

Your feelings were valid.

Things would work out.

The Indian food you’d gotten for dinner was lethally delicious.

This time the food coma you put yourself in was a willing one.

No guilt, only decadence, you were cradling a far too large slab of garlicy naan and chewing on one end like a cow with cud. Saturday evening entertainment came in the form of a television show about a burnout trying to make their way. With bigger narratives obviously edging into the plot, you binged through season one and two before you felt yourself losing lengths of dialog. The bread on your chest had gone, but its scent and weight lingered.

A confusing ghost, you fell to the side, kicking napkins and tissues away until your own blanket acted as your pillow and you were the wad of gum stuck inside. Characters kept talking, they were relentless in that way, and your lids fell with the dialog feeding ticker tape into your dreams. Coming out your ears on a steady pump, the click clack of the printer was a metronome that dictated your heartbeat.

There was the distinct click of the door.

You cracked your eyes and saw a TV logo appearing and disappearing on a screen long fallen asleep.

Blue light bathed your form and you sat up to hear something soft like the weight of a bag hitting the floor.

Slow to turn, you found a large silhouette standing in the doorway and eating up darkness like a growing mass.

Without definition and somehow not rim lit by the television, you squinted at the mannequin and how it was half bent in setting a messenger bag down.

“Wrong… apartment…?” You ventured to the apparition.

“Y/N…?” Donnie’s voice came from it.

You stared as the being stood straight.

Silence beat dehydrated percussion in your ears.

“Did you…?” You asked and were interrupted by a wave of nausea.

You felt repulsive.

What a time for him to finally show up in your dreams.

He stepped towards you and you sort of registered one of his hands raising up to his face. “Did I what? Why are you sleeping out here-?”

You blinked one at the rude manifestation of your boyfriend.

Your mind had gone for a portrayal that was a bit too accurate.

You wanted dream Donnie to whisk you away on a white horse.

“What is that smell?” He gagged and finally took on close enough clarity to highlight that he had pulled his scarf down.

You might have been mad if you weren’t trapped by his face.

Lit from below, his hollowed out eyes were cast in a worse light. Pupils thin and lifeless, they sat atop eye bags that were triple the natural ones baked into his body from years of neglect. From around his scarf, his cheeks sunk against his features and there was visible grease blotched and giving his already green complexion an even sicklier hue. “You look like shit.”

“You smell like it.” He stared down at you.

You had to squint one last time before you pulled your arm from your cocoon.

Pinching your shoulder, you winced at the jolt of pain before turning up comprehension to your partner.

He softened a little around his scrunched beak.

In what felt like exactly three moves, you unearthed yourself, climbed straight up the back of the couch, and launched yourself at him.

He caught you with open arms and you both collapsed onto the floor where you wiggled until all of you was wrapped around him.

“What are you doing here?!” You yelled into his tympanum. “It’s Saturday still, right?! Did I miss it!? Did I sleep through Monday!?”

He squeezed you hard around the center until you squawked with pain. Then he went a calculated slack before his digging digits held you close to him with no intention of letting go. “It’s technically Sunday. 1:07am when I unlocked the door. I…”

You rose up and he relented from cupping the back of your head to holding your cheek.

You kissed him.

He returned it in earnest.

“Donnie…” You cooed against his mouth and he sealed the sound back up.

Now drinking each other in, you felt him shudder as he licked into you and you could only imagine the sour taste. You hadn’t properly showered since Wednesday and your teeth had gone unbrushed for at least 24 hours. Breaking every one of his cardinal rules and only seeming to care on some subconscious level, he nipped at you to get your attention back.

You.

He wanted you.

Even in this state.

You kissed him hard enough down into the floor that it clicked his skull against the ground. He cared little and hoisted you up further, trying to keep all of you held as you made out. Taking time and then some, you eventually broke with a gasp where lightheadedness said that you had gone way past some reasonable point and your usual sensors for self-preservation were offline if only to have more of him.

His beak twitched with repugnant scents and you rooted down to tug messily at his scarf. It loosened and revealed musky skin where sweat had been long baked in. It made you remember he’d left in the same outfit he had now returned in and you licked a fat stripe over his pulse to taste the salt and sour of neglect.

“Acting all high and mighty.” You tutted against him and began to work a hickey into the flesh despite knowing it probably wouldn’t work.

He gave his first chirp.

You immediately sank your teeth into his throat without holding back.

His knees kicked up and slammed into your ass as he gave you a honed chirp.

“Fuck!” His limbs went loose.

You removed your fangs and mouthed satisfaction.

“Me?” He grunted, shoving up your dirty pajamas to feel the skin of your back. “You were busy. You were taking care of yourself. What happened?”

“I was.” You broke from his skin with a pop and pressed a wet kiss to the underside of his chin. “Then I got lonely.” You returned to your spot and sucked as hard as you could.

He quaked beneath you. “W-wait…!”

You relented only enough to talk against his skin. “What?”

“Are you alright though?” He pet you with worry.

“Now, I am.” You gave up your mark to kiss his neck tenderly. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you.”

“You say it so easily.” You tempered your voice to speak against his head.

“There’s been a change.”

“Oh?” You lifted up to see him.

Though it pained him, he pleaded with you. “Shower. We must shower. Together. Has to be together and now.”

“Fine, but you talk while we do it.”

“That was implied.” He gave the barest smile before your whole world shifted.

Now bundled in his arms, he carried you with a bouncy step to the bathroom. He deposited you next to the sink and you watched him prepare your toothbrush. Passing yours over and then getting his, you shared coy glances in the mirror. As soon as you were done, but right before you could spit, it had clearly been too long because he dipped down and forced his minty mouth against yours.

The kiss pushed you into the wall and you made a little spindly moan.

He retreated with a dry heave and was forced to scrub his mouth out a second time before he finally rinsed.

You followed soon after and fluttered your lashes at him as you spit.

He looked away with a gag and gave a stubborn grunt.

“I gross you out.” You teased him and he went only far enough to turn the shower tap on.

“The horror…” He said without emotion and caught your waist.

“You still want me though.” You leaned in sweetly.

What you thought was a tender move was immediately subverted because he’d actually caught your shirt and yanked it straight up, muffling you.

“Hey!”

“Feel free to return the favor.” He pulled too hard which snapped your arms up.

Even you could smell your body odor.

It caused him to slow, where his pupils changed sizes and your shirt fall like an afterthought to the ground. “Odd…”

“What?” You caught one end of his scarf and pulled so it choked him.

He snorted, wheezed, and wiggled his fingers up into the threads to loosen it. “Your scent.”

“I stink. I got that much.” You were undoing buttons on his outermost layer which you had never realized was a cardigan.

“Filth should deter your natural scent, meaning it should be repulsive but…” He was clearly trying to follow some line of thought, but you got his top undone and shoved backward.

He shook with a form of whiplash and countered by rocking back to shove your bottoms off.

Now nude, you gazed into his eyes where he’d dropped to your level.

He caught the back of your neck to save it from the force of his kiss.

A wet one, it spoke of salvia and how you’d made his mouth water.

You curled into him and despised the layers he still had on as it separated you.

He found it just as annoying because he released and together you both stripped him in a stumbling mess.

He nearly fell into the shower as you whipped the curtain back and chased his unstable form into the warm spray.

Both instantly lulling at the sensation, you pressed together to enjoy it at the same time. A fire smothering flame, it held a heated tiding that reminded you that you were together and that was the point. It shifted to tender touches, drinking in the moisture on each other’s skin as you both reached for soap. Washing each other without pretext, you would often find yourself simply leaning against him for the sake of it. He churred loud enough to beat the nozzle and, as he mapped out the lengths of your skin, he tapped his beak against nearly all points as if to leave unseen pieces of himself behind.

By the time you exited, you had found there was a limit to what had prior been an endless stream of hot water from Donnie’s systems.

You dried off in fluffy towels and Donnie looked like he’d collapse from satisfaction at the slightest provocation. Wanting only to pamper him further, you showed him his muscle cream. He went to take it, but you pulled back to indicate you wanted to apply it. It pricked his eyes with happy tears that he squeezed away and offered you his arm. Working the solution into his neglected muscles, it was with such great comfort that his churrs broke. Imagining them on some supersonic level, you moved in an overflowing silence to get his other arm, neck, and finally his carapace.

He was without bones as you finished and you had to act as his walker to get him to bed.

He looked like he might say something, but was teetering in and out of consciousness as you sat him on the edge of it.

You gave a soothing hum and got a hold of clean wraps.

This time he was completely malleable in offering his limbs.

With the best approximation of the many times you’d seen him wrap himself, you applied them one slow rounding at a time.

It brought his churrs back and by the time you secured his neck, he kissed you with sweetness.

“Marry me.” He mumbled between brushes to your lips.

You were equally drunk on the moment, you relished the little way your lips tried to cling to each other. “What…?”

He only kissed you more, in a way that spoke of need and pulled you into the bed.

Falling to his side, he turned right into you to give chaste press after chaste press and stroked your cheek for good measure.

You spent what must have been hours like that until exhaustion kept him from reciprocating.

Laying the wrong way in bed, you pulled up the bottom sheets to cover him the best you could.

He gave that honed chirp unprovoked and you kissed him with the desperation it always conjured. “What is that, Donnie? Please…?”

“You’ve… never asked…” He told you as his hand ghosted over your form as if to absorb your energy.

“Tell me now?” You pressed the tip of your nose to his beak.

“Mating call.”

You blinked wide, looking at him up his snout.

“For my mate.” He spoke, almost cheeky and stole another kiss.

Your heartbeat a little too fast and you found yourself cuddling into him.

“Mate.” He confirmed again and this time you found him checking your pulse to feel how your heart skipped a beat.

“You asked me to marry you.” You spit without venom.

He had the audacity to chuff. “There’s no way.”

“You did. Tonight, or… uh, this morning. Not that long ago.”

“I did not.” He gave a gentle pressure to your arm to make you look up at him.

You saw a dash of fear swirled into worry and fatigue in his gaze. “You did…”

“No…” His expression grew grave.

“Donnie.”

“That can’t be. Let me take it back.” He gave a faint growl as he rolled you over to hang above your head. “I didn’t!”

“Don.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Don’t laugh! Before I’ve said I love you?! Do you know the amount of planning I’ve had in place!? To work up to this?! I refuse to waste it on-on-on being mildly out of sorts at most!” His eyes darted wildly and without source. “Erase it! You will forget that you ever heard-!!”

You stared up at him with a watery expression that you were trying very hard to contain.

“Did…? Did I…?” He hung, mortified, above you.

You could only nod and tried to hide your mouth.

He tipped once, then twice, before his body came down around you in a whine. “I’m a mess!”

You moved deliberately in petting his carapace.

His churrs were weak and sad.

You thought against his head for a moment before summoning your strength. He felt the tide of your body shift and turned to study you curiously. Surely only seeing your face puckered, you breathed in as deep as you could and mustered the sound only he’d been able to produce.

You gave your approximation of the mating call.

Before the sound fully left you, his lips were on yours and his tears met your cheeks to escape.

You held him tight and returned the fervor.

“You-” He broke the lip lock as if to scold. “You-you-!”

You held his head so you could send him a honeyed gaze.

He shook your frame with a deafening mating call and kissed you deeply.

Melting into one, he slowed with reluctance to pull you the right way into bed. There you snuggled down together, giving pecks where possible to soothe the need until you were wound into a singular form.

“We were silent all during the washing. It was supposed to be a given, but I haven’t given my explanation…” He lamented.

“Now or later?” You nuzzled his throat.

He gave a faint hum. “I rushed my return home.”

You pursed your lips and pulled away to view him.

“I couldn’t stand another day without you.”

“Coral says we're codependent.” You told him while stroking his plastron.

“After this showing…?” Donnie’s brow ridge lifted in what had once been his patented look.

“I think… I mean I was in a dark place for a day, but… I don’t know. I think we’re fine. We do live our lives separate, but together. So what if we don’t want to be apart long term? Isn’t that why we’re dating?”

He gave a faint smile and kissed your forehead. “Which day was dark, my heart?”

“Friday…” You tucked your leg further where it was between his.

You felt his tail curl against your skin as if to hold you. “Then four days is too many. Three will be the max from now on.”

You couldn’t help the little jolt of joy that gave you.

It must have felt similarly for him because he gave you a bubbling peck.

You hummed content and he returned it with a similar chirp.

You gave your mating call.

He returned it with his.

You shoved into him and he welcomed you close.

“How were you?” You asked, settling into his scent.

“Let’s say it was all dark.” He spoke into your temple.

“I thought there was a change?”

He gave an affectionate chirp and nuzzled you. “There has.”

You slid a hand up to his neck to feel his pulse.

It beat evenly for you. “It was around the same time as yours. Before I gave my progress note. Days spent in the slums. Breathing the rancid air I once favored… I… I suppose it is at your lowest you receive the best perspective.”

“Donnie-”

“I know…” He kissed an apology for cutting you off. “I must learn the hard way it seems.”

You gave a reluctant nod.

“I don’t like that way of life, experiencing it now. If distilled, I suppose I like controlled chaos. I like knowing an outcome. I like watching the world burn, but… I don’t believe I prefer it by my hand. Call it entertainment as it would need to be a collapse that doesn’t affect you in the slightest.”

You leaned up where you were tucked under his chin.

He stroked your spine. “I did not sleep once the entirety of the time I was gone. Not for lack of trying, but it was as if my body could not rest knowing it was without yours.”

Your eyes closed.

“Hallucinations came at a certain point. I am built for higher tolerance, but that does not mean my mind does not slip.”

You slipped your fingers into the hinge of his shell.

He squeezed you lightly. “Nothing to fear. Can I share with you what I saw?”

You forced yourself to hear the first half of his sentence. “What?”

“I saw you. I saw us. I saw memories. I saw things yet to come…” He trailed off and you could feel him smiling. “I saw happiness that I was worthy of.”

You held him close.

He dipped his lips to press your forehead. “My truest desire was not one of ruin. It was working in my lab, you visiting me with a stroller. A life full.”

“Those loose lips of yours.” You kissed his neck. “You’ve brought up babies a few times now. What happened that being only pillow talk?”

“Would you like kids?”

“With you?”

He gave a single offended grunt. “Who else?”

“We might need to adopt…” You leaned your worries into him.

The blood test.

Negative.

Not for a lack of trying.

There was the catchall of his birth control, but you weren’t sure if that was really the only cause.

He seemed unaffected. “The child would still be ours.”

You snapped your head up to see him.

“It would still be with me.” He spoke reassurance.

You kissed him. “Yes, someday.”

He lingered against it. “I’m withdrawing from the Hidden City completely. I’ll transfer all my holdings. I’ll cherry pick my successors. I will go only legitimate… with more than a few offshore accounts.”

“I thought you weren’t allowed…?”

“I’m not allowed to fully quit. I will forever be a sort of target, but I also know the system better than anyone. I was raised by it. If I restructure everything and leave no one wanting, they will be less inclined to come after me.”

“It sounds easy, but-”

“It will not be. This will be an extremely dangerous, arduous, tedious, and a miserable change. Any other version of me would despise how flagrant I’m being. Needlessly selfish. I’m spitting in my own face.”

You studied him before stroking his jaw and smiling. “You’re morally grey.”

He bobbed with laughter. “I like that.”

“Yeah?” You moved to kiss him.

He took your lips, greedily. “Very much so.”

“You’ll be happy?”

“I am happy.”

You swam in a light blush. “I meant doing this. This is… huge… Donnie, this has been your life.”

He sighed. “Unfortunately, I will kick and scream. I may also have to bend our rules and commit a few vile acts. A show of power even in retreat is a potent one.”

“You’re going to kill?” You stared at him knowingly.

“A few… It is yet to be seen, but I imagine… five…? Or so tops…?” He grimaced.

“Only if necessary.” You leaned into him with a shake of your head.

“Of course.”

“I… I’m not sure how to feel. If this is what you want, you know I support you, but it feels…?”

“Surprising? Sudden? As if this isn’t actually occurring?”

“That and way more.”

“It has been a drawing culmination. I feel as though I am dangling from an invisible thread. I am sure I am held as I haven’t fallen, but it seems improbable that I have not died.”

You tried to picture that.

“I suppose I could have… What an interesting choice of afterlife for someone such as me…” He flicked his gaze and caught your lips.

You kissed back his comedy.

“My concerns are my own. Overall, I have full confidence. You cinched it.”

“Me?”

“Seeing you. I have spent all this time back in my natural habitat unsettled. Miserable. Plagued by insomnia. Taking no pleasure in my favorite game of manipulation.”

You gazed into his eyes.

There was only truth in them. “The moment I stepped into our home, all that ill will evaporated. I was whole again. Immediately soothed. I believe that is why I enjoyed the hacking and the destruction of the double date. I had you by my side.”

“You like being bad with me?” You asked with a light tease.

“I like being anything with you.” He bumped his beak to your nose. “However, I did take that into account. I played out exercises in which you were my cohort.”

“We’ve played that more than once already.” Your lids lowered.

He lapsed into a momentary churr before clearing it with his throat. “In guise, yes. Enjoyed. Relished. Savored. In reality… I wanted to vomit. The thought of you having to deal with any percentage, no matter how small, of what is required to do of what I have done. Of…” His attention dipped, haunted. “More than what you’ve already suffered.”

You kissed him back to the present.

He came and nuzzled into you. “Never.”

You settled comfortably against his lips.

He pulled away the slightest amount and you felt the flicker of worry. “Unless, of course, that is what you desire…?”

You opened your eyes wide to translate how serious you were. “No. Not even. Heroes and villains… the whole thing is… not good. I don’t… I don’t want to do either. I just want to be me and I just want to be with you.”

You watched emotions march through his ragged form. “You are so sure you won’t make mistakes…”

“I’m not.” You pressed your hands into the plastron over his head. “I’m as scared as anyone else.”

“You’re not scared of me…”

“You’re not a mistake.”

All hitting a breaking point, he enveloped you like a tide. You let the warm waters wash you out to sea where you had no worries for the depths supporting you. They were all known, even if they weren’t, and you had full trust that you and your partner would navigate whatever necessary.

Both my betas are getting pummeled with work but they still make time for me! I can't thank @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 enough!!

#weakspotfic #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #donatello hamato #donnie x reader #rise donnie #rise donnie x reader #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt donnie #me #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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burr-ell · 7 months ago

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🤍, 🖤?

🤍: Which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think?

So this is gonna seem contradictory to my reblog of blorb's post; this is not intended to be read as a counter to it, but as a complement: Percy.

If I'm being honest, one of the things that kinda bothers me about C1 group fanart is when I see everyone else in the party at their fully developed state, like with their Vestiges and powerups and everything, and then Percy's out here...with Orthax. Whom he expelled from himself with a natural 20 wisdom save, for the record, in episode 35. He spent more time without Orthax than with him!

It is objectively true that Percy invented the gun knowing what harm it could do but did it anyway. He once permanently maimed an innocent boy because he wasn't giving the answers he wanted. He gave Grog a cursed sword and didn't tell anyone because he didn't want it to be his responsibility and he thought Grog could handle it. It is also objectively true that he expressed doubts about what he was doing even during the Briarwood arc and admitted he was scared of who he was becoming and outright asked the group to stop him if they thought they should. He publicly apologized to Desmond and admitted his wrong and assured him recompense in both money and job security. He participated in a resurrection ritual for a child he didn't know who got caught in the crossfire of a battle. He fought to provide the people of Westruun a safe haven in their city, while still encouraging people to leave if they wished, because he wanted to honor the fact that what they had built there was important to them.

I think Percy is one of those characters that people view as either a silly little Human Disaster™ or as Vox Machina's Token Evil Teammate (the audience who projected onto him as the Facts and Logic guy seems to have dissipated after it became clear that he was. very much not doing that), and neither of those things are true. When Laura remarked that she looked at Percy and said "I can fix him", it was very clearly a joke, but I think people take that seriously and think Vex is the only reason he's not Lawful Evil or something. (Taliesin once said that without Vex's influence Percy could potentially have turned out Lawful Good—Laura's reaction was "eugh".) Percy didn't believe he could EVER be worthy of Vex and never once intended to act on his feelings; the change in him between episodes 35 and 68 was because he personally chose to be better, over and over again—even through several instances of him having Fucked Up Big Time—for its own sake. His forgiveness of Ripley is what inspired Vex, and I don't think people acknowledge that enough.

🖤: Which character is not as morally good as everyone else seems to think?

I kind of alluded to this in the ship question but to be clear at the outset, I think Vax is a good person*, but I also think his flaws tend to be overlooked. He gets Soft Boy'd a lot, and while I don't think characters who operate on emotion are bad or stupid by default (my favorite superhero is Starfire), I think fandom tends to assume people who operate on emotion are good by default. Vax does a lot of reckless things that he's repeatedly called out for by everyone in the group, and he generally lets it roll off him because his metric for success is "but did you die". He saw a kid that he thought needed some tough love, and his first response was "bludgeon him over the back of the head and instantly knock him unconscious". He ran into a trap that nearly got Cassandra killed and never once apologized to her. He ran after Raishan and attacked, an action that actually did get Vex and Scanlan killed, and not only did he never apologize to them, he openly said in front of them that he didn't regret doing it (after being rightfully angry with Percy for getting Vex killed and having seen some proof that Scanlan might not be doing great!).

Like, to be clear, again, none of those things make him a bad person; I think overall he's a good person, and I think they're good character choices!* What I'm saying is that he has some genuine rough edges to him, and I think a lot of that gets ignored or sanded down in fanon to make him "the nice twin" or a perfect YA Hero love interest for a Keyleth who is being projected onto, and that simply isn't the character Liam played.

*I wouldn't normally put in that kind of good-person caveat—I don't think the end-all be-all is whether or not a fictional character is a good person—but a) this is a question about morality and b) some folks are weird about Liam.

unpopular opinions asks

#percy is someone who falls down over and over again because of HIS OWN flaws and bad choices and still gets back up to do the right thing #and i don't think i quite realized how much that resonated with me until now #cr meta #asks #percy de rolo #also STAN STARFIRE YOU DONT HAVE A CHOICE

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vuldak-juneau · 3 months ago

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Who: @zelihatheflight Where: The medical tent in Hestia’s Cove When: After whiffing the twink rescue just real, real bad Notes: If you saw Juneau being sweet and engaging in kinship, no you didn’t. Also if you want me to add some dialogue for when Zel wakes up at the end just bonk me.

It was too quiet and too loud in the medical tent all at once. Juneau, who usually had a short fuse to begin with, found this particularly vexing. Thanks to her accelerated healing, she had woken up earlier than many others. In Alder’s company, she had watched the battered faces of a few Hestia’s Cove residents be brought in on stretchers and quickly patched together on stiff, uncomfortable cots. Each face, whether she knew them or not, was a reminder of their dismal failure in their investigation and battle. Outwardly, Juneau talked a big game and postured herself as a loner, and she had come to slowly begin to accept the truth of Ivar. But he had still conditioned her into who she was today, in many terrible, toxic ways, but in one enduring way as well: if you’re the only one who makes it out safely, or alive, you’re doing it wrong.

Alder, after taking the time to comfort Juneau and ensure she was truly as alright as she could be in the moment, had separated from her to speak with someone from the guild or Lothar or Prospero. Her head pounded too badly to really remember–but she was alone. The dull buzz around her of hushed tones, pained whimpers, and scared voices thrummed inside her head until she felt too overwhelmed to sit quietly on her cot alone. Her mind, desparate for distraction, wandered instead to how Alder had recounted the strange beasts that had appeared after the great estate had crumbled. He had described how they had found Juneau in the rubble and taken little interest in her–though with the bruising on her face and the split of her lip and left brow she had wished they had taken some care in how they discarded the rock they’d apparently bludgened her with as they abandoned her–and how they had seemed much more curious about Zeliha.

But they hadn’t taken her.

Juneau, stiff and sore, lifted from her assigned cot and craned her neck to ensure none of the medical volunteers were looking her way before she snuck between one canvas privacy curtain and the next to find Zeliha. The vuldak knew she was lucky–her pain was real, but some of her exhaustion and malaise was a symptom of her body working overtime to heal her at an accelerated rate. Many around her would be permanently maimed and in pain for days–she hated her demonic form, but she tried to remind herself to be grateful.

Zeliha, when Juneau found her, did not look much better than Juneau. Bruises littered Zeliha’s face just as they did Juneau’s. She knew there were more injuries–hidden internally and under clothing–that both of them shared. Her rage spoiled her stomach as she stood over Zeliha’s sleeping form for a second, but it was quickly superseded by a sense of relief that Zeliha was even there to observe, in a pitiful state or otherwise, when she had been so nearly disappeared away in the hands (or hooves?) of the Kossith. It was a strange sensation to allow herself to care about someone as much as she did those who were tasked with the investigation with her, and foreign when she found her sense of relief that Zeliha was safe to be so profound that it moved her to tears. Quietly, and as gently as she could, she wedged herself into the little extra room on Zeliha’s cot. Juneau was careful not to wake the faiman prematurely or to disturb any of her injuries as she laid close to her, her heightened senses allowing her to listen to Zeliha’s heart and track the sleep-slowed rise and fall of her chest. She would be able to tell when Zeliha was waking.

#zeliha 02 #zeliha

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frozenjokes · 1 year ago

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convex moment. still working on the epilogue. it’s getting gayer. a sneak peak, if you’d please. For context. Uh. Ghosts. Vex. Scar is a bit possessed. The works. I don’t know man this shit is too convoluted at this point, just read Signing Back In Apparently, the hermitcraft stuff starts like halfway through.

check tags for cws

***

Excerpt from Encounter 3 (Journal Entry)

I knew I was getting close, but hearing the distress of the animal caught my attention. I hadn’t actually considered what/if Scar ate, and while I doubted I’d actually see him hunting, that thought was exciting. Turns out it was my lucky day. When I finally found him, he was crouched over the hog, breathing heavily. Breathing. He was alive. Though, physically, he didn’t look like it. His clothes were in tatters, his hair matted, and he was awfully skinny, almost emaciated. The scars that rippled across his body had turned the same blue color as his vex wings; ghost-like. His fingers, which now curled into claws, were colored similarly. While I am sure he is alive, I can’t say it wasn’t a debate for me during my regeneration. I still don’t know how he was so strong in this state. Maybe the vex didn’t know how to care for a human body.

Scar stared at the pig for a long time. It had been pretty thoroughly maimed, but I don’t think he was particularly bothered. He looked.. confused, maybe. Honestly, I’m still not sure what he was thinking. I got too comfortable in his stillness, but in my defense, I think anyone would jump if the person you were watching started yelling out of nowhere. Scar, however, didn’t seem to notice the leaves I rustled backing into the treetops. He was focused on this pig, his eyes wide and terrified.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he shrieked, which I remember so clearly because I gasped. I don’t know exactly why, but I just hadn’t expected him to speak. His head snapped up at the sound, and we stared at each other for a long moment. Now, I should have run. I should have flown above the treeline where Scar couldn’t reach. And while I could make excuses about his speed and ferocity, I must emphasize the abject terror of a man covered in blood, vaulting himself up a tree with inhuman speed for the sole purpose of catching and ending you. I froze. I admit, I think this is the first time in years I was truly afraid of something.

It was exhilarating.

Scar threw me from the tree; we must have fallen at least eight feet, him on top of me, before crashing into the ground. That alone was probably enough to send me back to Spawn, but Scar wasted no time tearing through me. I must have looked as frightened as I felt; I remember hearing laughing, but I was pretty dazed at the time. I wonder if he enjoyed it. Part of me hopes so. I think before I died, I wished him luck with the pig.

#cw: blood #cw: death #cw: animal death #hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #boatemghostsau #cubfan135 #cubfan #cubscar #hermitshipping #convex #they r both horrible and into it btw #I said so

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ladyofrosefire · 1 year ago

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if you're still doing the meme: percildan. for maximum salt.

fruity do you want to get me slaughtered

ok. this is your warning. I am trying not to get this sorted into the tag.

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS PERC//////'ILDAN AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.”

STUPID FUCKING LACK OF READING COMPREHENSION SMACKING THE SAD BOYS TOGETHER FUCKING RIPPING ALL THE CHARACTERIZATION OUT IF THEY'RE NOT GIVING ALL VEX'S ARC TO HER BROTHER FUCKING ALL THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN PERCY'S LIVES ARE WOMEN FUCKING COMPLETELY IGNORING ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR ACTUAL CHARACTERIZATIONS FUCKING KILLING BITING MAIMING VIOLENCE

I HATE THIS SHIP SO GODDAMN MUCH

....that said if you ship this ship and you saw this and you do not follow me then I am Very sorry because I really did try not to get it into your tag

#negativity #come and chat #vamppeach

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lunaballoona09 · 2 years ago

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making ur own doors monsters is literal therapy omg. try it sometime . ask your friends for random verbs and then go crazy . i currently have howl, wail, pierce, vex, yowl, slurp, maim, vanish, snatch, and adam please ask me about them i will CRY /POS

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worthyheir · 3 months ago

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[ SHAVE ]: sender sits in the receiver's lap so they can carefully shave the last of the receiver's stubble from their face. / @lvscinvs sent a MEME

The days are almost the same. The monotony grows wearisome, the hours blend together in a stream of endless cacophonies. He is barely aware of how many days have passed until he looks in a mirror, seeing the face that he oft kept clean shaven, preferring to appear as himself, rather than the comparions to the father who had died when he was young, which only occurred by those who remembered Harwin Strong, a face lost to the years for a boy who had not even been seven when the tragedy had occured. It was not like most Targaryens to grow facial hair, not until old age really, a genetic quirk that none really knew the reason for. He preferred to do this himself, rather than have the aid of a servant. To this day, despite the many years of now ruling, he was still self-sufficient. He didn't trust another man with a blade so close to him, not necessarily out of paranoia of assassination, but how pitiful would it be, the King killed with a razor?

He was seated at the table, the mirror before him, half of his face now clean shaven, remnants of the shaving cream still lingering behind. It was the door opening that caused him to pause, eyebrows raising Aemond walked in, tense, irritated. How many years had this been a common occurrence? One of them entering the room, angry and silent? Eventually, he would say whatever it was that had vexed him this day, whether Jace prompted it or not. Of course, he would. "Is there a dead body in the hallway, or a maimed one? That might be hard for me to explain later." He said dryly, returning to the task at hand.

Aemond's derisive exhale is enough to cause Jace to roll his eyes, and his hand to slip. "Damn." He muttered, setting the razor on the table, the nick on his chin small, but noticeable. It had been quite a while since he had cut himself shaving. It isn't until the mirror is blocked, and there's a familiar weight settled on him - when had Aemond even walked up? - razor in hand, that he looked up. This is different, and he is now far more tense than his uncle, who's spare hand has grasped at his throat, tilting Jace's head up more. "If you cut me ---" He's cut off then, the hand on his throat tensing, a warning, the razor making contact with his chin, gliding down with ease.

#lvscinvs #incest cw #targcest cw #suggestive cw #VERSE / First of his name #ARC / Three

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dilfsuzanneyk · 8 months ago

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genuinely need to find a way to work that works for me

#the thing is if i don't want to do something i just won't #like if i know i Have to. i'm very anxious about it. i'm yelling at myself about it. i might even cry about it.#am i going to do it?#no #i physicallly cannot force myself into it and idk why #i do think i work better when there's jsut someone there with me tho #idk why #goddd im going to kill and maim #vex rambles

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scribeforchrist-blog · 7 months ago

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Cutting It Away

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK ========================= + Psalm 66:19 But truly God has listened; he has attended to the voice of my prayer." ========================= VERSE OF THE DAY  ========================

+ Mark 9:43 If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. You should enter life maimed, then with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out. =========================  ** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM LIVING RIGHTEOUSLY

I AM LEANING ON GOD

I AM NOT ALONE

I AM DOING IT IN HIS STRENGTH  ******************************** THOUGHTS: =======================

A lot in this world can cause us to stumble. Sometimes, seeing it as we are in it is hard for us. Sin can cause us to think there's nothing wrong with what we are doing, but it is; the word of God today says that if we are stumbling because of our hands, it's best we cut them off and walk around with just the one then to enter into hell with two.

The bibles warns us if something is causing us to sin, get rid of it and that nothing on earth is worth going to hell for; a lot of times, we don't understand that what we do here on earth, be it good or bad will determine where we spend eternity, we have to start looking at our life daily to ask God what am I doing that keeping me from going to heaven.

Hebrews 12:1 Therefore, since such a great cloud of witnesses surrounds us, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,

The Bible tells us here that sin will cling to us. We might think oh, this sin is easy to drop, or This sin is easy to get rid of, but my friend's sin isn't that easy. Once we open the door to sin, it will stay as long as we permit it. We have to be able to ask for the strength of a God and say, God, "I need your strength to rebuke and deny this sin that has access to me, "because when we are committing ANY sin, we are giving the enemy legal grounds to send any spirit our way because we gave him the opening, a lot of us don't understand how critical sin can be in our lives and if we aren't careful it will be a sin we can’t release so quickly.

So what do we do when sin won't leave us? We must fast. The Bible speaks of some sins needing fasting and prayer; once, there was a man who came to Jesus and said lord have mercy, my son is suffering, some translations say he was vexed, meaning he was troubled or saddened, but this man was coming to Jesus because his son needed true healing.

He went to the disciples, and the disciples couldn't do it, and they couldn't heal him because some things only leave when someone fast and pray , sometimes it takes certain people, not that these people are unique, but these people fast and pray a lot more and because of this they can release a demon from over someone's life, anyone can do this, but some people place more time in with their relationship with God ,some people pray longer , read their word longer, and allow the Holy Spirit to use them, but anyone can do this because we have the authority by God to do this,

Mark 17:19-20hen the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, "Why could we not cast it out?" 20 He said to them, "Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.

But back to what we are trying to learn, the Holy Spirit wants us to know that when we have sinned in our lives, we need to release ourselves from it. Only we can do it. We have to speak the holy word and have the mindset that we want to be free. God can release us, and he can do it without us saying the words or wanting to, but God always wants us to do it because he has given us free will until we say we are done. We want to be free. He can do nothing; when I gave my life to Christ, I wanted freedom from anything that didn't look or feel like righteousness or holiness. Once the Holy Spirit showed me the bondage I was in, and until I said I had enough, I wasn't going to be free until then.

Romans 6:18 And, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.

We must become slaves to righteousness and want to please God with our lives; yes, we will sin, but we don't have to sin intentionally. But when we do not release the bondage over our life, we must fast and pray. We are no longer slaves to our sins; we are no longer slaves to having to need a drink or having to have illicit moments to feel good, and we are slaves to righteousness.

***Today, we learned that some sins would cling to us because we can't let go of the sin. The enemy has built a stronghold around us, and the only way to break free from this is by fasting and praying. We all want to be better, and we all want to be free from the sins we are bound to, but we have to understand that we must fast and pray. When we do this, we are making a sacrifice, and this sacrifice will help strengthen our spirit, man.

Mercy and grace are from the lord and him alone. We can't think being good will win us more because that's not the case, but mercy and grace are there to help see us through when we mess up; it's there to help us if it is a sin that we are struggling with go to God in prayer say, father, I need your help because both of my hands are causing me to defile myself, father help me because my mouth is leading me to say things I shouldn't and until we submit the unrighteousness and CUT IT ALL AWAY we will never be set free to live a life of righteousness through Christ. ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee ======================== PRAYER ======================== Heavenly Father, thank you for everything; we lay it all at your feet and ask you now to help us be free from our sins. Father, we ask you right now to give unto us strength and freedom to say no and to live in righteousness, lord we are ashamed of our sins, but we know you have sent your son to wash us in the blood and help us to live in his strength and not in our own. Lord, we want to go to heaven and can only do this when we give up on what we are doing. Help us live a life in you! In Jesus' Name Amen ======================== REFERENCES  ======================== + Romans 6:6 We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin.

+ Romans 6: 22 But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life.

+ 1 John 3:4 Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness. ======================== FURTHER READINGS  ========================= Proverbs 23

Acts 12

Numbers 2

Matthew 8 =========================

#bible #bible quotes #christian quote #daily devotion #daily devotional #inspiration #scripture #bible verse #christian life #christan life

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lakesbian · 1 year ago

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im so sorry but this is agonizing me because it's literally the opposite of the very funny thing they do repeatedly in text where alec is like "haha maiming people is bad right skitter" and then taylor stares into the middle distance and maims someone five minutes later. the reason why i bring this up is that seeing him drawn w the exact design i use for him but acting extremely un alec like activated my sleeper agent reflexes. Haunting and vexing uncanny valley effect

this but where the edgy dark character is the one saying no to murder and the pure innocent cupcake is the feral one

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sethrine-writes · 3 years ago

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If Not For My Affection

Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV

Pairing: Zenos yae Galvus x Reader/WOL

Words: 600

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Tension

A/N: My first foray into FFXIV stuff...all thanks to my lovely friends who continue to show me pictures and give me snippets of things out of context and vex me with the characters they present. Namely, this interesting asshole, Zenos. So, here we go!

Enjoy! ------ His eyes, ever so pale blue, even in the dimmest light, always held an edge of mirth to them nowadays. The laughter there was manic and intense, frightening to those that did not understand his character, as most could only see such emotion as that of unhinged and dangerous, an omen if ever such a look was cast upon them.

They were not wrong, per say.

That smile of his was the same, a combination of soft amusement and intrigued smirk that was frustrating to see grace his visage as much as it was endearing. When faced with a true challenge, it showed itself, a crown to his enjoyment and his intrigue of which he had not known much of until meeting you.

He knew of your hatred for that smile; he knew of your love for it, moreso.

“Enough, Zenos,” you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath from the sparring you had promised him.

Sparring was putting such battle lightly, as he was oft to put his all into every swing of his sword. That day was no exception, his swings full of force and his jabs meant to maim. Had you not known how he fought even in practice, you would surely end up with many more injuries than you had already garnered.

There was something about the sparring this time, however, something that drove him to push harder than usual that had you equal parts worried and curious. Even now, with your blade sheathed and breaths still haggard, he approached with intent, sword still drawn and that damnable look in his eyes that drove you mad in more ways than one.

“I said enough!”

His smile only seemed to grow more prominent as he approached, eyes squinting with the uncanny joy he was sharing only with you.

Startling, intimidating, scarily endearing.

Without warning, Zenos made a mad dash in your direction, a growl of excitement leaving him with the effort as his armor, light as it was, clicked and clanked with his swift movement. You had no time to draw your sword again, barely any time to dodge. It said something of your trust in him that you remained where you were, standing your ground even as your eyes closed and awaited the inevitable.

The contact was harsh, as you expected, as you found yourself pushed back into the nearest wall. There was the loud clanging of metal dropping to the ground, followed by the rough touch of Zenos’ hand grasping at your chin.

“If not for my affections,” he began, words drawled as he, too, caught his breath, “my blade would have tasted your blood more profoundly long ago. In fact, I’m certain it has.”

“F-flatterer,” you managed, gazing up into intense pale blue, still amused, still unhinged…still endeared by you.

“So you jest,” he mused, leaning ever closer until your noses touched and his breath mingled with your own. The atmosphere changed almost immediately with the motion, a different sort of tension making itself known.

Suddenly, you began to understand what it was that had him acting so much more volatile than normal.

Zenos was…restless.

“I have grown weary of this…farce we call sparring,” he murmured, lips feathering over your own with the barest touch, a tingle of sensation that overcame the pain of hours of fighting, of the rough grip against your skin that was driven by nothing but affection and need.

“Will you not entertain me longer?”

Who were you to deny such a request, with his words so sweet, his eyes filled with a different type of hunger, and his smile gentling to something only meant for you?

#FFXIV #ffxiv wol #ffxiv zenos #zenos yae galvus #zenos x reader #reader #reader-insert

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wordingg · 2 years ago

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In Your Dreams

// This was another fill for Geraskier week. The prompt was Monster Hunt.

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier work together to defeat an alp, but the shared nightmares start to unravel them. //

Alps were not especially dangerous monsters, but they were annoying and very difficult to dispatch. Geralt had dealt with them before and they were certainly unpleasant. They were cruel nightmare demons, infiltrating their victim’s dream world and drawing out their victims’ most deeply held fears and causing them to face them in graphic detail while feeding off of their turbulent emotions. Unpleasant was probably an understatement, but Geralt had faced one before and falsely believed that this second Alp could unearth nothing the first hadn’t already shown him.

On his first hunt for an alp, he had been assailed by dreams of being alone, of killing those closest to him, of looking in the mirror to see something more inhuman than he was used to but somehow still clearly himself. Terrible dreams to be sure, but nothing that he couldn’t face and ultimately overcome. So, when Jaskier insisted on accompanying him, he hadn’t thought it would make any difference. He was wrong, of course. He usually was when it came to Jaskier.

Jaskier was earnest, kind, entertaining and increasingly attractive to Geralt. He had at first dismissed him as a frivolous bard and indeed he still thought he was one. However, his continued companionship had broken down some measure of Geralt’s reserve and as of late he had found himself thinking very fondly of Jaskier. This normally wouldn’t have been a problem if not for the keen senses of the alp digging up these fond feelings and twisting them nightly as he slept.

After less than a week of tracking the alp from village to sleepless village, Geralt found himself going a little cross eyed. In his dreams he saw Jaskier, at his most beautiful and incandescent laughing and smiling below him before he crushed him with a misplaced hand. He saw a cruel and uncharacteristically caustic Jaskier mocking him and betraying him, leading him to his death again and again. Sometimes the dreams were disturbingly realistic, Jaskier maimed or murdered while traveling with him or while trying to shield Geralt from harm. More so than the fears unearthed by the first alp, these dreams broke down Geralt’s calm disposition.

Jaskier didn’t seem to be faring much better. Geralt didn’t ask him what his dreams were like, since he had no intentions of relating his own. It didn’t matter that they didn’t talk about them. The bags under Jaskier’s eyes grew alongside his own, their tolerance for one another steadily draining until they were constantly sniping at one another.

“Perhaps it would be best if we went our separate ways,” Geralt said on the tenth day as they traveled along the base of a mountain, circling around small villages and the trail of terrified villagers.

Jaskier’s tired eyes snapped to his own, his expression panicked for a moment before quickly getting angry. “Oh! You wish to cast me off, I suppose!” he snapped.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said in a warning growl.

“No, Geralt, tell me truly how much I vex you and how you would like me to leave you to your business. I am such a burden to you, I suppose,” Jaskier continued, ignoring Geralt.

“I am trying to tell you that it looks like this hunt will go on for some time. We are obviously both being affected by it. You need not go through this. After I defeat the alp, I will be sure to relate the story to you,” Geralt tried to be as level as possible, but instead ended up saying most of this through his teeth.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “You telling me how things unfolded will be about three sentences long, the most unpoetic thing one could possibly imagine.”

Geralt ran a hand roughly over his face, trying to control his temper. If he started shouting at Jaskier, he would start shouting back and they would get nowhere. He knew this, because they had already had this conversation a number of times and every time it devolved into a frustrating shouting match.

They were both quiet for a while, both trying to find some other turn this conversation could take other than the well worn grooves they had been talking in for days.

“Geralt, there must be some way we can catch this creature and be done with this wretched task,” Jaskier said tiredly.

This was something they had discussed before, though not during this particular argument. “I’ve told you, we must catch him while he torments someone.”

They had tried early on in the hunt, when it became obvious that the alp was aware they were hunting him and thus had decided to send them nightmares each night, to have one of them stay awake to try to catch the alp in action. On these nights, the alp would pointedly not visit them.

“There must be some way to tempt him into attacking one of us while the other is awake,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt shook his head slowly. “If there is, it’s not something I am aware of.”

Jaskier put his thumb in his mouth and began chewing on the skin around the nail, a bad habit he had only started since they began this hunt together.

They sank into silence and didn’t pick up the thread of the argument again. By the time that the sun started to set, neither of them had come up with any new ideas.

Geralt pulled Roach off to the side of the road without saying anything to Jaskier and began to unload the things they would need to set up camp. Jaskier silently took over the tasks he normally handled and they had camp set up quickly and quietly, orange light from the setting sun still limning the edges of the trees around them.

Once the fire started and their bedrolls were laid out, Geralt loaded up what weapons he thought he would need.

“There must be something we can do,” Jaskier muttered as he stared into the fire like it might hold the secrets to what he needed to know to defeat the demon that tormented him nightly.

Geralt regarded him for a moment. The flicker of the fire cast his face into deep shadow, making the bags in his eyes look even deeper than they actually were. His hair was uncharacteristically disheveled and his thumb was in his mouth again. Geralt could detect the faint smell of human blood coming from him. He must have bit open his thumb.

“He must be nearby. Try to stay awake, if you can,” was the only advice Geralt had to give. He knew it was probably useless. Jaskier looked exhausted. They were both exhausted. He wouldn’t last more than an hour or two by himself.

Geralt set out into the wood as he had many nights before. It didn’t take long for the orange fire light to fade and then disappear completely. It was unlikely that he would just happen upon the alp. Most of the legends about alps said that they only appeared when feeding. When not feeding, they remained incorporeal. He had a plan, though. He just needed to be careful.

Geralt made a wide loop, trying his best to keep his thoughts clear and focused on the forest around him, the sounds of animals in the trees and underbrush, the rustle of leaves in the faint wind from the west. Slowly, he made a circle, watching the moon rotate in the sky to judge how far into the night he had wandered.

When the moon was at its zenith, Geralt finally circled back to camp. He moved as slowly and silently as he could manage, which was extremely quiet. The fire had burnt down to faint embers by then. Jaskier must have fallen asleep pretty quickly, judging by how low the fire had gotten. This was promising for Geralt’s hunt.

As Geralt approached slowly, he saw it. The alp, a small brown leathery creature that looked like an emaciated child with particularly sharp bones and a small bit of stringy black hair on top of its dome shaped head. It was perched on Jaskier’s chest where he lay flat on his back by the fire. In the low light, Geralt could see the sheen of sweat on Jaskier’s skin, the belabored rising and falling of his chest, small moans and whimpers of distress as he twitched and fought the nightmare he was trapped in.

If Geralt was to attack it he would have only one chance. He pulled a short sword from its scabbard on his belt, the rasp quieted by a healthy amount of oil he had applied earlier in the day. He watched carefully from where he was hidden behind a small bush, but the alp didn’t react. It was fixated on feeding on Jaskier, its little sharp teeth displayed in a gruesome grin.

Geralt took three steadying breaths, trying to fill his chest with as much air as he could stand, aerating his lungs and flooding his blood with oxygen for the fight ahead. Hopefully it would be short and to the point. His iron short sword straight through the things chest and it would be dead.

Stealing himself and tensing his thighs, adrenaline already pumping through his veins, Geralt burst from the undergrowth with a great roar.

The alp’s yellow bloodshot eyes went wide and it turned toward Geralt. Geralt then seemed to see the next events in slow motion. He thrust his short sword toward the demon with precision, aiming for its heart. As he did so, the little creature arched back and out of the way while reaching out its long bony hand toward Geralt. He had too much momentum behind his thrust to slow or pull back and no time to adjust the trajectory. He missed the alp, his short sword skidding dangerously close to Jaskier’s delicate and unprotected stomach and the alp’s hand closed over his face.

As it did, everything went black.

Consciousness snapped back to Geralt like a blanket being pulled off of his eyes. The situation he found himself in was possibly more terrifying than the darkness itself.

The first thing he saw was Jaskier. He no longer was the exhausted and road-worn version he had just left, with bags under his eyes and at least a few twigs in his hair most days. His hair was glossy and warm brown, mussed like he had run his hands through it many times. His skin was healthy and flushed and his blue eyes were big and wide in his face. His lips were red and shiny with spit.

He was also getting the life choked out of him. By Geralt.

“The fuck?!” Geralt shouted, jerking back from Jaskier violently.

As soon as he was free, Jaskier scooted back as far away from Geralt as he could, coughing and sputtering and holding his throat.

With some distance, Geralt could see that Jaskier was nude. He looked down at himself, panic mounting, to see that he was also nude.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his voice barely a whisper. He was looking at Geralt with those big eyes. He slowly pulled his hand from his neck and there were already angry blood blisters blooming beneath his skin. “Is that you? I mean, the real you?”

“Who else would I be?” Geralt spat before he could think.

Jaskier looked at him doubtfully and then the truth hit Geralt like a shovel to the face. He had missed his shot at the alp. It had grabbed him. He didn’t know what happened to someone who was directly touched by an alp like that. But, he now was in a position he didn’t remember with a Jaskier who didn’t look like the Jaskier he had just left.

Geralt glanced around at their surroundings. He already knew they were no longer in the forest, but a closer look at the room they were now in solidified his suspicions. They were in what looked like a nice room you might get in an inn. Any inn, but no inn specifically. When he tried to focus on a specific detail, like a piece of furniture or window or door, everything became strangely hazy. In fact, everything he saw seemed to have a film over it, like everything was softened, the colors richer, the shadows inkier, the light warmer.

“Fuck!” Geralt spat.

“My sentiments exactly,” Jaskier groused, scooting a little closer to Geralt now that he seemed confident that he was no longer going to strangle the living daylights out of him.

“This-” Geralt stopped himself. He had almost asked Jaskier if this was what he dreamed about every night. Based on their nudity, their location, and how they were situated when he came into the dream it was pretty easy to imagine the beginning of this dream and the terrible turn it had taken. Geralt had many similar dreams himself, too similar in fact.

“This is a dream,” Geralt said in defeat.

Jaskier nodded in commiseration. At least, they were both lucid and Jaskier was saved from seeing this nightmare to completion.

“I found the alp,” Geralt said into the depressed silence that fell after his last statement. Jaskier seemed to perk up in anticipation. “I missed my strike and I guess he threw me into your dream.”

Jaskier’s face fell upon hearing the bad news. “At least, we’re awake now?” Jaskier rasped, forcing some optimism into his voice, even if it sounded hollow with his wrecked voice. “For a given value of awake, anyway,” he added with a wry twist of his mouth.

Geralt twisted his mouth and tried not to look at the bruises on Jaskier’s neck. “Do you know where our clothes are?” he asked instead.

“Oh, um?” Jaskier cast around, obviously looking for Geralt’s clothes. Just as he turned to cast about, something fell on the bed behind them. When Geralt and Jaskier turned to look, two rumpled piles of clothing lay on the bed. “Well, that’s convenient,” Jaskier said slowly.

Geralt frowned as well. They had wanted clothes and they had just appeared. He supposed that it was a dream and they were now lucid so perhaps to some extent they had control over it. He quickly pulled his clothes on, Jaskier following at a more cautious pace, then stood up from the bed.

He wanted to see what else he could summon. He held out his right hand. “I want my short sword,” he said firmly and the sword immediately appeared in his hand, no falling from the ceiling, no strange light. It just wasn’t there and then it was, in the blink of an eye.

“Very convenient,” Jaskier said from where he was still sitting on the bed, his eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

Geralt turned a satisfied smile toward Jaskier. “If this works, I’m going to buy you the nicest room in the biggest inn I can find,” Geralt told him. Jaskier immediately sat up straight at the sound of that.

Geralt held out his left hand and tried to focus his will and determination, taking deep breaths into his diaphragm to center himself.

“I want that fucking alp,” he barked and just like the sword, the alp appeared, it’s thin neck just brushing his hand. He clamped down hard and the thing got only a short wheeze of surprise before he clamped it’s throat shut.

Geralt gave the thing a feral grin, savoring the look of fear and surprise on its face for all the grief and pain it had put them through and then rammed his short sword through its heart.

Geralt made good on his promise to Jaskier, though it had to wait until they made it back to the seat of the lordship so that he could turn in the alp. Luckily, the little lord made good on his promise and paid Geralt handsomely for not only dispatching the demon but for returning with its body in generally good condition. It was chock full of valuable magical ingredients if butchered properly. Once he had turned in his bounty, he had more than enough gold to treat Jaskier to the room he had promised him.

“This is really unnecessary,” Jaskier said as he stepped into the top floor suite. His face looked so pleased that Geralt almost didn’t dignify it with a response.

“If not for you acting as bait, I never would have caught it,” Geralt said with a sigh, collapsing back on the huge bed. It was a goose down mattress, something he hadn’t felt in many years.

Jaskier sat primly on the edge of the bed and tapped his fingers on his knees. “It really is thoughtful of you, though I hope you don’t expect me to sleep in this big bed by myself!” he said with a teasing lilt, though at a closer look the tilt of his eyebrows looked a little fragile.

Geralt gave Jaskier a guileless look for a moment before responding, “I was hoping you would allow me to join you, though the choice is completely yours.”

“Oh! Of course, we should share! Though I might have been bait, it was your quick wit that found the trick to defeating that evil imp,” Jaskier enthused, that fragility to his face disappearing so quickly someone else might have thought they were mistaken in ever thinking it was there at all.

“Perhaps you might let me impose on you somewhat further,” Geralt said slowly, getting up onto his elbows and then sitting up so that he was crowding into Jaskier’s space.

The bard looked up into his face guilelessly, “Oh? What boon does my mighty witcher need of his beloved bard?” he teased.

Trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, Geralt leaned in and carefully pressed his mouth to Jaskier’s. Nothing untoward, just a gentle press. When he pulled back, Jaskier looked absolutely pole axed.

“Perhaps you’ll let me share in more than just your bed?” Geralt rumbled, still leaning in close. Jaskier remained frozen. Maybe he needed more of a push. “Since I already seem to be a regular occurrence in your dreams,” Geralt added with a raised eyebrow.

“You-” Jaskier choked out and then seemed to restart, gathering himself for a more forceful, “You! You scoundrel!” he shouted, smacking ineffectually at Geralt’s chest. He chuckled deep in his chest and leaned into Jaskier, who only smacked harder and slowly flushed red with embarrassment.

Eventually, he gave up on smacking Geralt and covered his face instead. “You could have said something on the very long trek here, you know,” Jaskier said into his hands.

“Yes, but I wanted to wait until we had a nice room to enjoy the revelation in,” Geralt said before flopping back onto the mattress and enjoying the way it exploded in a puff as he landed.

Jaskier peeked out between his fingers, his ears still visibly red. “What a nasty old man you are,” he snarked from behind his hands, somewhat muffled.

“I won’t argue with that,” Geralt sighed, putting his hands behind his head.

When no further barbs or shocks came from Geralt, Jaskier slowly seemed to control his embarrassment and when he pulled his hands away from his face he was mostly back to its normal color.

Jaskier kicked off his boots and crawled up the bed to look down on Geralt. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?” he asked peevishly.

“Do you take me for the joking type?” Geralt asked.

“You can give a good bit of sass when the mood strikes you,” Jaskier said flatly.

Geralt’s mouth twisted down in one corner. “I suppose. But, I don’t think I am one to play jokes.”

Jaskier’s mouth mirrored Geralt’s for a moment, though he looked more pensive. “I suppose,” he said slowly.

Geralt moved his hands down to his stomach and thread them together there. “You believe me, then?”

Jaskier’s expression melted and he looked so sad and trusting for a moment that Geralt almost had to look away. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he said, before leaning down to press his own kiss to Geralt’s mouth. Even though it was very similar, a chaste press of mouths, there was something tender in the way Jaskier lingered.

Geralt looped one hand around his waist to stop him from moving too far away.

“Bath?” Geralt asked when he pulled back a little.

Jaskier gave him a shrewd but fond expression.

“Yes, let’s have a bath,” he agreed.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #fanfiction #nightmares #demons #choking #sleep deprivation #kittywrites

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shesey · 2 years ago

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Excerpts from A Woman in Berlin by Anonymous

Heart, hurt, love, desire: how foreign, how distant these words sound now. Evidently a sophisticated, discriminating love-life requires three square meals a day. My sole concern as I write these lines is my stomach. All thinking and feeling, all wishes and hopes begin with food. Apart from the bravery and resilience she demonstrated, her account reveals the close relationship between an enquiring mind and intellectual honesty. ... yet many still suffer from that powerful human desire for hope in the face of all logic. But seen up close, history is vexing - nothing but burdens and fears. Her reason for writing all this is quite simple. ‘It does me good, takes me mind off things’. Rape in war is a collective experience, she also observes, as opposed to in peacetime when it is individual. Each woman helps the other, by speaking about it, airing her woes. But, as she soon found out the male half of the German population wanted the subject to be buried. ‘These days I keep noticing how my feelings towards men are changing,’ she writes as Hitler’s regime collapses. ‘We feel sorry for them; they seem so miserable and powerless. The weaker sex. Deep down we women are experiencing a kind of collective disappointment. The Nazi world - ruled by men, glorifying the strong man - is beginning to crumble, and with it the myth of ‘Man.’ That has transformed us, emboldened us. Among the many defeats at the end of this war is the defeat of the male sex.’ Women were forbidden to mention the subject of rape as if it somehow dishonoured their men who were supposed to have defended them. People ask why, tormenting themselves with pointless questions. But I just want to focus on today, the task at hand. Since I own nothing, I can lay claim to everything. Once again we see what a dubious blessing technology really is. Machines with no intrinsic value, worthless if you can’t plug them in somewhere. Bread, however, is absolute. Coal is absolute. And gold is gold whether you’re in Rome, Peru, or Breslau. But radios, gas stoves, central heating, hot plates, all these gifts of the modern age - they’re nothing but dead weight if the power goes out. As long as there’s no clock in sight my life is timeless. What flowers, what lovely flowers. The tears were running down her face. I felt terrible as well. Beauty hurts now. We’re so full of death. I’ve had so many narrow escapes; I feel I lead a charmed life. That’s probably the way most people feel. How else could they be in such high spirits, surrounded by so much death? What’s clear is that every threat to your life boosts your vitality. My own flame is stronger, I’m burning more fiercely than before the air raids. Each new day of life is a day of triumph. You’ve survived once again. You’re defiant. On one hand you stand taller, but at the same time your feet are planted more firmly on the ground. I want to give myself over to this communal sense of humanity; I want to be part of it, to experience it. There’s a split between my aloofness, the desire to keep my private life to myself, and the urge to be like everyone else, to belong to the nation, to abide and suffer history together. Technology has devalued the impact of our own speech and writing. We women find it senseless to begin with; that’s just the way we are - reasonable, practical, opportunistic. We prefer our men alive. Why are we so appalled at the thought of children being murdered? In three or four years the same children strike us as perfectly fit for shooting and maiming. Where do you draw the line? When their voices break? Because that’s what really gets me the most, thinking about these little boys: their voices, so high, so bright. Up to now being a soldier meant being a man. And being a man means being able to father a child. Wasting these boys before they reach maturity obviously runs against some fundamental law of nature, against our instinct, against every drive to preserve the species. Like certain fish or insects that eat their own offspring. People aren’t supposed to do that. The fact that this is exactly what we are doing is a sure sign of madness. Here, too, I have to relearn everything I’ve been taught about women in war. Once our role was to play the ministering angel. Scraping up lint for bandages. A cool hand on a man’s hot brow. At a healthy distance from the shooting. Now there’s no difference between a regular hospital and a field hospital. The front is everywhere. But there comes a time when you’re so mortally tired you stop being afraid. The fact that our German word for praying - beten - is so close to our word for begging - betteln -- obviously means something. After all, there was a time when beggars were as much a fixture at the church door as the handle. We’re happy whenever we can flee into the present to escape worrying about the future. And for these women the task at hand is sausage, and the thought of sausage alters their perspective on things that may be much more important by are nevertheless much further away. In the heat of battle, in the thick of the action, you don’t think - you don’t even feel afraid, because you’re so distracted and absorbed. What does it mean - rape? When I said the word for the first time aloud, Friday evening in the basement, it sent shivers down my spine. Now I can think it and write it with an untrembling hand, say it out loud to get used to hearing it said. It sounds like the absolute worst, the end of everything - but it’s not. I’ve never been so removed from myself, so alienated. All my feelings seem dead, except for the drive to live. They shall not destroy me. But I have the feeling that, deep inside, all these simple, undiscriminating men feel insecure in front of me, despite their blustering. They’re children of the people. The conversation did me good, and not so much because of the subject, which I’m not as well versed in as Andrei, but simply because one of them treated me as an equal, without once touching me, not even with his eyes. He didn’t see me as a mere piece of female flesh, like all the others up to now. I couldn’t help thinking about how good I’d had it, until now - the fact that love had always been a pleasure and never a pain. I had never been forced, nor had I ever had to force myself. Everything had been good the way it was. But what’s making me so miserable right now is not so much the excess itself, extreme though it is; it’s the fact that my body has been mistreated, taken against its will and pain is how it responds to the abuse. I’m reminded of a girlfriend from school, now married, who confessed to me at the beginning of the war that in a certain way she felt physically better without her husband. It can’t be otherwise, nor should it be; as long as I’m nothing more than a spoil of war I intend to stay dead and numb, without feeling. But these days I think children are right to be afraid of sexual things - there really are a lot of sharp knives. But I know that even the most seemingly gentle Russian can turn into a savage beast if you rub him the wrong way or offend his self-esteem. But why are these youngsters so eager in their pursuit of anything female?... They probably want to prove themselves in front of their older comrades, like 16 year old Vanya, the stairwell rapist, to show that they’re real men, too. So I am placing myself at his service of my own accord. Am I doing it because I like him, or out of a need for love? God forbid! For the moment I’ve had it up to here with men and their male desire. I can’t imagine ever longing for any of that again. The less he wants from me as a man, the more I like him as a person. What is that supposed to mean anyway - a bad person?

My schooling makes me desirable in his eyes. That’s a far cry from our German men, for whom being well read does little to enhance a woman’s appeal, at least in my experience. In fact, my instinct has always been to play down my intelligence for them, to make a pretence of ignorance - or at least to keep quiet until I know them better. A German man always wants to be smarter, always wants to be in a position to each his little woman. I’m not afraid. I’ll just sail blindly ahead, trusting my little ship to the currents of the times; up to now it’s always managed to carry me to green shores. It felt very strange, once again being around men you don’t have the slightest reason to fear, men you don’t have to constantly gauge or be on guard against or keep an eye on. I’m convinced that this particular woman will never forget her husband’s fit of courage, or perhaps you could say it was love. And you can hear the respect in the way the men tell the story, too. Girls, you better go and change the world. It needs it! We liked that. Because we didn’t think much of the world in 1930 either. In fact, we emphatically rejected it. Everything was so muddles, so full of barriers and obstacles. And this mass rape is something we are overcoming collectively as well. All the women help the other, by speaking about it, airing their pain and allowing others to air theirs and spit out what they’ve suffered. Which, of course, doesn’t mean that creatures more delicate than this cheeky Berlin girl won’t fall apart or suffer for the rest of their lives. If at least we had a little decent soap! I have this constant craving to give my skin a thorough scrub - I’m convinced it would make me feel a little cleaner in my soul as well. But no matter what the case, I think it’s up to each of us, even under these circumstances, to make our lives as meaningful as we can. No matter where we end up, we take ourselves. At times I think I could survive anything on earth, as long as it came from without and not from some devious trick of my own heart. Once I spent several days on a Soviet train, rocking across the countryside, and heard a Russian tell me. Our German comrades won’t storm a train station unless they’ve bought valid platform tickets first. Less sarcastically put, most Germans are horrified by unbridled lawlessness. Maybe that’s a mistake. If pictures like that were available, the men could fill their fantasies with all those idealized figures, and wouldn’t wind up throwing themselves on every woman in sight, no matter how old or ugly. I’ll have to give this some more thought. The major was embarrassed and looked away. In that second I liked him very much. We’ve surrendered. Nevertheless I do feel a new desire for life. Poor words, you do not suffice. The other one, delicate Brigitte, is nineteen and defends herself psychologically with an angry cynicism. These girls have been forever deprived of love’s first fruits. Whoever begins with the last phase, and in such a wicked way, can no longer quiver with excitement at the very first touch. What’s clear is that I was there, that I breathed what was in the air, and it affected all of us even if we didn’t want it to. Now that’s something that only men could cook up for other men. If they just thought about it for two minutes they’d realize that liquor greatly intensifies the sexual urge. I don’t know what in the world I should do. No one really needs me. All I can do is touch my small circle and be a good friend. What’s left is just to wait for the end. Still, the dark and amazing adventure of life beckons. I’ll stick around, out of curiosity, and because I enjoy breathing and stretching my healthy limbs. Once again I have to reflect on the consequence of being alone in the midst of adversity. In some way it’s easier, not having to endure the torment of someone else’s suffering. What must a mother feel seeing her girl devastated? Probably the same as anyone who truly loves another but either cannot help them or doesn’t dare to. The men who’ve been married for many years seem to hold up best. They don’t look back. Sooner or later their wive will call them to account though. I’m still ecstatic at being able to sleep by myself between clean sheets. A bath at home, a nice dress, a quiet evening did some good. I have to think about things. Our spiritual need is great. Authority as a means of applying pressure. And here I was, using a little piece of paper to pretend I had authority. The trick produced prompt results, too. I’m convinced that otherwise I would have never got the radio back. Still, it left me feeling grubby. However it appears that most of life’s mechanisms rely on little tricks like that - marriages, companies, nation-states, armies. All I want to do is steer my little ship through the shoals as best I can. And maybe my heart will speak to me once more. One thing’s for sure: my life has certainly been full -- all too full! But the simply fact that I’m surrounded by other hungry people keeps me going. Even writing this down takes effort, but at least it’s some consolation in my loneliness, a kind of conversation, a chance to pour my heart out. Sometimes I wonder why I’m not suffering more because of the rift with Gerd, who used to mean everything to me. I only know I want to survive - against all sense and reason, just like an animal.

#a woman in berlin #feminist books #feminist quotes

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