#this is how I reach back in time and hug my younger self and say 'you were right The Who do fuck severely

[svartalfhild]

I was today years old when I realized that I can buy myself a The Who t-shirt like I desperately wanted when I was a tween. No one can stop me. :o

[superluver]

Together again | Gojo Satoru

wc: 1282

warnings: MAJOR SPOILER WARNING, SPOILERS FOR SHIBUYA INCIDENT ARC AND MANGA, Chapter 236, mentions of pregnancy(literally one word), FEM!Reader, Wife reader — NOT PROOFREAD

(I didnt put an exact warning because it would literallt give away what happened)

Pairing: Husband!GojoxWife!Reader

desc: You meet with Gojo after two long months

He doesn't remember much, just a blink and he was back as his high school self. A female, hand on her hip, a curious expression written all over her face. Staring at him, she tilted her head. “Satoru? What are you doing here?”

Satoru Gojo wants to laugh, like this was all some cruel joke.

Here you were, in front of him after not having seen your face(though younger) in almost 2 months since the incident in Shibuya— where you died.

He partially blamed himself. He watched you during your last moments, and selfishly, he’s grateful he didn’t actually see your death. His wife, his one and only. He smiles, and laughes as he pulls you in by your waist into a hug. “My boy did so good,” you whisper, allowing him to dig his head further into your torso as you giggle, your own fingers curling in his hair.

You smell exactly the same, like home. A home he never got to give you.

After he’s done being whiny, and well, a child, he pouts, throwing his head back.

“Aw man this is awful!” He shouts, and you laugh. The person he doesn't realize sitting beside him speaks up.

Suguru. His best friend, the one he had to kill, the one that would keep him up at night. The one that—

“Guess you were wrong.” you giggle, and Suguru stares at the two of you like you were keeping a secret joke from him.

You point at him mischievously, “He was all like, when you die you die alone, to his students, but look at the reality of it— well not really reality but still!”

He whines, “(Y/N)!!!”

Suguru breaks the ice, “How was the king of curses?”

Satoru huffs, shaking his head with a half hearted grin. He nods his head so the side, the empty seat beside him— which you take, his hand taking yours while you sit

It’s cold, just like his.

The tip of his nose hits the back of your palm, his eyes are closed before opening halflidded, staring out into the floor. His eyes peer over the overly tinted glasses, responding, “That guy was too damn strong, and he wasn’t even trying.”

It was almost mumbled, like a child complaining. Still holding your hand, he looks at Suguru, “To be completely honest, I don’t think I would even be able win.. regardless if he had Megumi’s cursed technique or not. The guy had too much up his sleeve.”

Your free hand pats his arm, laughing loudly you shake him lightly with a coo, “It’s alright, you’re my loser anyways baby,” you say with pressed eyebrows and puckered lips, almost teasingly.

He rolls his eyes, biting your hand lightly.

“I gave everything I had. Just a little sad you guys weren't there to support me, maybe you would’ve been able to give me a slap on the back to motivate me,” He jokes, shaking his head with closed eyes, imagining Suguru and yourself in the crowd of students.

“I’m glad that he was the one to kill me.” He confessed.

Somebody stronger than me. He wanted to say.

“It’s kind of gross hearing that from you, Gojo. You sound like a samurai general.”

You’re laugher bubbles up from your throat, tears forming as you turn back feom your seat.

“Kento, you’ll never change, will you?” You laugh, watching Satoru smack Nanami on the head multiple times, ruffling his hair in the process. You get up, releasing Satoru’s hand to sit in the seat besides Nanami. Smiling as the seat behind you is now empty.

Shoko.

It was for her, she was the last of the group, and you hope she wouldn't be here for a while.

“I won’t justify him, but I’ll sympathize with you.. I guess..” he mumbles, causing you to slap him on the shoulder with no ill intent, laughter from his stoicness.

“Hey!” Satoru snaps back, and you reach over and pinch his cheek.

“What I’m trying to say is, it was a fitting way to go out, Gojo.”

“You should be morw polite to your Juniors.” You chastise Satoru.

“I was already nice enough to you!” He retorts, and you tilt your head with a smile. His hand takes yours that was clipped to his cheek back in his,

“What was it like for you guys in your last moments?”

You blink, looking around the room.

“It was kind of scary,” you start, and he clenches your hand slightly. He remembers how the two of you split, you pecked him on the cheek with a determined expression, clenching your fist you told him you would be back, before warping to Harajuku. It was the last time he woult see you conscious.

You had crossed paths with Mahito, and you had it under control, until you didn't. Your weak nature, strong virtue, Satoru told you these would get in the way of you becoming a sorcerer, but you would always brush him off, telling him, I’m fine.

But you couldn’t help it, seeing a small girl in the line of Mahito’s path of destruction. Your arm was the price to pay for her life.

And, maybe you had lost too much blood, you cant remember, it’s a blur, but Satoru remembers.

Your leg contorted in a way he coulf only asume was unfoxable, your arm missing, eye streaming blood, you were dead. But his six eyes said you were alive, that you both were. And he was hopeless, tued up by the prisom realm, watching your eyes dim, he watched you die.

“To be honest, I wanted to quit with Kento, but I just couldn't bring myself to leave you alone doing all this. I don’t regret it to the end,” you smile loving at him, and he feels like vomiting.

“I would do this a thousand times over if I got to be with you every time.” You tell him sweetly, and Nanami coughs, “Enough with the sappy shit.” He grumbles.

You laugh again, and stare at Suguru. He looks back at you, and you feel your lips curling back up into a brighter smile. The man who defected, the man who left you all, he was here, and with you all.

“Once,” all attention back to Nanami. “When I was discussing with Mei-san about where I should move, she told me to move North to become someone new, and to move south to stay the person you are. Naturally, I chose South. I think it’s ironic how I died while betting on my future. But it wasn’t too bad because of Haibara.”

Haibara grins, “Aw! You’re too kind!”

“I see..” Satoru says, and you squeeze his hand back. His head snaps upward, looking right in front of him to Yaga, his voice as annoying as ever, “Yo Yaga! I thought you said no sorcerer dies without regrets!”

You laugh, and he laughs back, the room filled with laughter, Riko, Kuroi, Kento and Yu, Suguru, even Yaga.

“Now I’m hoping this isn’t a dream.” He confesses, while standing up, and you smile.

“It’s not, ya big loser!”

You shout, standing up from your chair and throwing yourself over it, crushing him. He falls back onto the ground, and Suguru jumps on top of you, Yu crushing him as Satoru wheezes, and you see him smirk.

“Welcome back!” You grin, Suguru’s face smushed next to your own. Haibara’s chin resting in between the two of yours.

He takes in the scene in front of him, everybody he’s loved all together, and finally, his arms wrap around the three of you, and he’s just so happy, that he doesn’t even Think about going back.

CLEAR MINDSET THIS IS MY REALITY NO ONE TELLS ME OTHERWISE SHUSH

[crescenthistory]

Cariiiiina, love!

Congratulations on this amazing milestone, I am so so so proud of you! It’s a well deserved achievement and I really love your celebration event. (So sweet like you!)

I love your writing, your ideas, your thoughts! Just as I love the warmth of your blog and how sweet the insights about you and your wife are! Truly lovely people here! And that’s why so many lovely people gathered here!

A toast to you, and for the next deserved milestones on the way!

I wanted to ask if I could request a domestic Argue? With 49 family photos + 74 vhs tapes? With precious Remus Moony Lupin?

I thought of f!reader, and something along the lines of „as happy as the photos make it seem, the times weren’t happy. It was sad / hard and hurtful“ (could be applied to both/ one of them, whatever you think suits best!)

Thanks for considering! Lots of love, and congratulations!

- Lel

hi lel!! thank you so immensely much<33 you are just such an angel, i appreciate your enthusiasm and kind words so much 😭🤍 i'm glad my blog comes across the way i hope, big hugs to you xx loved this prompt:,)

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 49 "family photos" and prompt 74 "vhs tapes" with remus lupin

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: established relationship, references to the war but not canon-compliant, melancholic, sweet fluffy hurt/comfort, referenced fertility struggles (hope&lyall) remus' self-loathing, lycanthropy

wc: exactly 1.6k

The Lupin Cottage was quiet in a way you had never experienced before.

Sitting cross-legged in a plush armchair in the reading room on the second floor, you stared out the window. You could see how harshly the wind was treating the trees and you knew the walls of the narrow home were not thick, yet you couldn't hear a thing. You wondered if Lyall had set up a spell of some kind.

Despite the silence, the house was talkative, always alerting you to the other inhabitants' movements. The creaking by the doorway made you turn your head over the shoulder to see Remus leaning against the doorframe with a wistful smile.

"Hi, cariad," you greeted cheekily, smiling around the nickname his mother calls him. "You found me."

Remus huffed a laugh as he looked down, pushing off the doorframe and leaning on his indoor cane as he moved to sit in the chair across from yours. "Was wondering where ya ran off to. My mother hasn't scared you off already, has she?"

You shook your head with a small smile even before you could think of what to say.

This was your first time meeting Remus' parents properly – you had seen them in the passing on the platform or in doorways over your years at Hogwarts, but with the way the war immediately picked up after graduation, you were unable to spend an extended period of time with them. To be with them for the month of January now felt like a blessing; one you didn't take lightly.

"Hope is lovely, she could never scare me off," you assured Remus, holding his gaze to ensure he knew you meant it. "I just wanted to look through the house and found this room. It's sweet, I really like it."

You looked over the room, the shelves on shelves filled with worn out books, seemingly passed down over generations. There was a small fireplace and an even smaller television, beyond outdated but with a few VHS tapes and movies stacked beneath it that indicated it still worked. It was cozy, the exact thing you would have imagined the Lupins having.

When you looked back at Remus he was still looking at you, a deep look in his eyes. A bit haunted, but no less loving. Loving. You counted your lucky stars that you got to keep the man you loved.

"I'm glad you like it," he all but whispered. "It was my favourite growing up. It was actually supposed to be a bedroom for any potential younger siblings, but, well, that didn't work out, did it?"

There was more guilt than grief in his voice and you furrowed your brows, reaching out across the small space to give him your hand. He took it with a small smile, intertwining your fingers and squeezing.

You already knew why he didn't have any younger siblings; his parents struggled with even conceiving him and kept trying after he was born. They gave up the day he was bit.

"I can tell it's been well-loved. That's a good thing."

Another squeeze of your hand. "It is."

A look came over Remus' face, as if he remembered something. "Mum wanted us to keep our sentimentals in here, to make sure it remained a room of love. If you want, there should be a box over by the television. You can bring it over.”

Anyone else might not have been able to read the vulnerability in Remus’ voice, but you knew him better than that by now. “I would love to,” you said reassuringly, letting his hand go in favour of placing it on his shoulder as you passed.

The wide TV stood on top of a small shelf filled with DVDs and VHS tapes – some of which had handwriting on them, you could barely make out words like WEDDING and REMUS BIRTHDAY. Beside them were compartments with boxes of various contents, but you understood which one he meant by the look of it. There were tracks in the dust on top of it, showing that it was taken out semi-frequently, and you could see some pictures through the holes near the top.

Sliding it out of the shelf was no problem, but it was much heavier than anticipated, causing you to laugh at yourself as you carried it over. Remus was looking at you bemusedly and you just flashed him a bright smile and climbed up onto his chair, sitting on the armrest and placing the box in his lap by your feet.

“Show me. Please.” Your voice was quiet and earnest, laden in love and smiles as you looked at him.

You could swear you saw the tips of his freckled ears grow red at the attention, turning his head down towards the box abashedly. 

He brought up a thick photo album with dark brown and gold details on its outside. If the books on the shelves were worn, then this album was well-loved, with fraying edges and some pictures almost falling out. Your fingers itched to cast a preservation spell over it, but that was far from your place. For now, you just wanted him to show you every little detail of who he was and who he became. 

“This one is from when I was quite young – think toddler,” he narrated as he began to flip it open.

Any further explanation he might have had was cut off by the massive coo that escaped you at the sight of the front page. Remus John Lupin, aged 2, wearing a paper crown with his name on it and grinning at a  piece of cake, chocolate frosting on his nose and chin. 

You leaned forward, almost burying your face in the book to see, fighting back tears at the absolute sweetness that was baby Remus. “You were such an adorable baby,” you cooed, tracing the air just above the picture, scared to damage it. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen baby pictures of you before.”

“I was just a normal babe,” he tried to brush it off, redness now creeping from his ears and into his cheeks.

When you turned your face towards his, you were much closer than anticipated, only furthering your grin as you regarded his flustered expression. “No, love. You were adorable.” A quick peck. “Still are.”

You laughed and leaned your head on top of his, encouraging him to continue flipping through the album and showing you. If he was bothered by your teasing, he didn’t show it – on the contrary, one of his hands came to rest around your hip, steadying you, and his thumb traced loving, absentminded circles there. 

As he whispered commentary about the various pictures – Remus in his rain boots, Remus with sheep that wandered into the garden, Remus playing in the sand – and you kept gushing over how adorable he was, you felt gratitude settling comfortably within you. 

He stopped short when he flipped a page; no comments, no reactions, just regarded what he saw. It was an image of Remus, now around the age of 7, back to the camera as he decked the table in a new living room. It was dark, but you could just barely see Lyall in the background, working in the kitchen.

Eventually, he cleared his voice and spoke. “This was when they started taking pictures again.” 

Your grip on him tightened, giving him time and space to feel. You knew what he referred to. Humming in approval, you began pressing kisses to his tawny hair, making sure not to shy away from his touch, but instead lean into him. Show him you were there.

Remus began flipping through again, though his comments were much more sporadic now. You didn’t hold back on your cooing, commenting on his beautiful dimples and his cute I-got-dressed-by-myself-today outfits. His thumb kept going at your hip.

At the sight of an up-close picture of 8 year old Remus smiling awkwardly, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to smile with teeth yet, he stopped once more to trace the line of the scar on his nose. “You know,” he whispered. “Seeing pictures like these is so odd. It was such a painful time, but it didn’t really translate to camera. Sans the scars, I almost seem like a normal kid.”

You drew out the kiss to his hairline so you had time to think of what to say. “You were a normal kid, though. Even with everything, you were always just a sweet boy. Still are.”

He breathed through his nose in a half-laugh, tilting his head up to look at you. “Of course you would think that, you’re in love with me.”

You hummed happily and leaned down to press a sweet kiss to his awaiting, soft lips. “I’m glad you’ve got that right at least,” you murmured before you pulled away, caressing his cheek as you watched him. “I like seeing pictures from then; both before and after. It’s a part of you and I do love every part of you.”

His smile was melancholic but no less genuine. “I will never understand that, I think.”

“You don’t need to, my love. You just need to let me.”

Remus huffed through a smile once more, dragging you closer to him by the arm around your hip and breathing you in. “I’ve never been one to deny you anything, have I?”

“Are you good for looking at more pictures or is it time to go help Hope with dinner?”

Remus regarded you for a second, smile growing. “Look through a few more, my love.”

[shycloudkitty]

I am here to harasss you!!!

I love your writing, it's very scrumptious:3

Could I get something for leon, whichever leon old or younger, whichever one! I love them all!

But how would he feel comming home from a mission and his s/o being really excited. But like cuteness aggression excited

Like when he pulls up, they are like:

OMG THANK YOU FOR YOUR WORDS 😭😭. They mean so much, I can't even tell. I'm glad there are people who love my writing. Thank you for your ask! 💞🥰💞

Here you go, ngl I took this one a bit far😂 it's almost 1K

Pairing: Re4r Leon × GN! Reader

Although, you guys can consider any version of Leon with this.

Heavy boots thud against the hardwood floor, accompanied by laboured breathing. At this point, he was basically dragging himself to reach the door of his apartment.

He was just so fucking tired, after two days of mission he was finally back home although he felt more dead than alive. He was so tired, he could simply sleep on the floor and would be the happiest person alive.

But he knew you wouldn't let that happen.

He loudly sighs as he stares at the apartment door for few moments before ringing the door bell. He knew you were home, considering he told you an hour early via text that he would be here soon.

A part of him is disgusted by himself, what would you think if you saw him like this. It wouldn't be the first time but he looked terrible right now. His clothes were dirty or had dried blood and his face was well…it was recognizable at least. And he smelled like dried blood. So, overall not a pleasant combination.

He saw the door opening and he prayed that you wouldn't immediately kick him out just because you aren't able to recognize him.

You open the door and grin at the sight of your boyfriend finally standing in front of you, alive and safe & sound.

“Baby! You're back!” You couldn't help but hug him immediately, burying your face in his neck. Your fingers tightly gripped the fabric of his shirt. Oh it felt so good to hug him again.

Leon's eyes widened. “Oh.. Uhh..” His arms awkwardly by his side, thinking if he should hug back or not. He was very self conscious with you being this close, considering how gross he felt underneath. He takes a slow breath and slowly hugs you back, hoping you didn't really mind the smell. “Hello, baby… you good?” He kisses your forehead.

You nod and tilt your face to see him. And slowly brings his lips for a soft, sweet welcoming kiss.

Leon slowly felt life returning to him, smiling into the kiss he held you tighter and softly kisses you back.

After a while you pull back and smile. “Hi.” And pinch both of his cheeks and squish them.

Leon gives a short ouch noise but keeps smiling. He then gently grabs your wrists and chuckles when he sees the small frown when he stops you. He shakes his head and says. “Let me in?”

You smile and pull him inside the house. You try to pinch his cheeks, but he stops it again. You frown and complain. “Hey! Can't I love my boyfriend?”

Leon laughs and says. “Sure you can, after I get showered and dinner. Is that acceptable Miss?”

You roll your eyes and scoff. “Yes…I will set the plates for dinner while you shower.”

He chuckles and kisses your forehead gently and smiles. “I will be back.”

He leans back in his chair, finally relaxed as he looks down at his now empty dinner plate. He didn't even realize how hungry he was until you served him the delicious home cooked dinner. He loved your cooking and he made sure to tell you by basically devouring his plate and asking for seconds.

He takes a glance at you and chuckles when he sees you staring at him with a lovesick look on your face. “What?”

You keep smiling and shaking your head. “Nothing…”

He felt a bit self conscious and rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Did I get something stuck in my teeth?”

You grin and say. “No no… it's just you're so cute.” And pinch one of his cheeks. “You're just sooo adorable and you look even more cute after getting some food in you.”

Leon's face was red after hearing compliments from you. He wasn't gonna lie it was a huge ego boost after coming back from the mission but a part of him was shy getting this ‘coddling’ treatment from you.

You shift in his lap and squish his cheeks, making his lips pout. “Aww, look at you being so adorable.” And teasingly press a small kiss on his lips. “You look like such a big baby, sometimes.”

Leon's eyebrows furrow a bit making him look even more adorable with his squished cheeks. He then manages to say. “hey! I'm a tough man alright?”

You burst out laughing and say. “Aww, look at you! You're so tough, so strong and so good looking. Who wouldn't want you.” And ruffle his hair a bit.

He scoffs to himself, pouting slightly with his face flushed red with the ongoing compliments and assaults. He moves his head away and says. “Stop, that.”

You giggle and playfully start assaulting his face and neck with kisses. “No way, I'm never stopping.”

He groans and rolls his eyes, giving up on trying to control you. “Oh, here we go…”

Although he was acting like he was the most irritated man on earth while you kept telling him how adorable and cute he looked, he was enjoying and basking all the attention like a cat.

[deerlysacred]

✦ shauna shipman hit me right in the gut from the second i started watching yellowjackets. teenage shauna was like looking at a cracked mirror of my younger self — all that anger, insecurity, and self-sabotage bottled up inside, trying to find some way out. but you don't want to show your vulnerable spots, you don't want to look pathetic. so you just turn it inward and let it rot you from the inside out.

i didn't sleep with my best friend's boyfriend, but honestly? i understand why she did. that mix of love and pure resentment, wanting to be close but also wanting to tear it all apart? i lived that. it was of course wrong of her to do that, i'm not defending that. but when you're that young and secretly insecure, the need to feel in control — even if it means betraying everything you built — feels so real, so raw, that you can't see how much damage it's doing to you, how much it would cost you in the long-term.

i think unless you've felt that combination of love and rage — where you want to protect someone but also hurt them, where you'd do anything to be them or outshine them, but also can't imagine your life without them — it's hard to fully understand shauna. it hurts to see people hating or judging her, but more than that, i really hate when people belittle her as this 'selfish back-stabber'. when they refuse to acknowledge that people like her exist.

i just want to give her a hug, honestly. teen me would've wanted to be her friend, and maybe i would've made better choices if i had someone like her to show me the consequences of the ones i was making. and i can't help but think : if only she had a friend she could be her true self with. someone she could trust enough to say, “hey, i'm scared, i feel the same way too” someone who shared those same messy, destructive impulses when they felt insecure and threatened. maybe then, she wouldn't have felt like she had to wear a mask all the time, even around jackie, the person who loved her most.

because that's the thing about shauna— no matter how much jackie loved her, shauna didn't show jackie her real desires or her true self. because jackie represented this ideal of perfection that shauna knew she could never reach, and being real with her felt like too much of a risk. how do you tell the person who sees you as good and loyal that, deep down, you're jealous, angry, and terrified? even though jackie was insecure and lonely in her own way, and shauna was the person she turned to as her safe place, shauna couldn't see it— her own walls and deep self-hatred blinded her to the fact that jackie needed her just as much as she needed jackie.

i love how messy and layered you are, shauna shipman.

[letters2won]

Hi may I ask for an idolNiki x black reader fiction Where she's one year younger than him and is really scared to admit her feelings/confess because of fans who say that he doesn't like black people /black girls soo she starts to try and give him space so she doesn't come off as clingy/pushy and he tells her that their just stupid obviously and that he loves her too but she so convinced that the fans are right

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚. LETTER TO MY 13 YR OLD SELF

pairing: idol!niki x black!reader ⋆ genre: hurt/comfort ⋆ warnings: self doubt, harmful comments, let me know if i missed anything!

1.2k wc

⤷ i hope this was to your liking :( it’s my first time trying hurt/comfort but this was nice to write so thank you for requesting

did i get emotional writing this? yes because i related to this a lil tee much 🤏

¡ requests: open !

Everyone could see the love seeping out of you for Niki. You knew what you were getting into the moment you felt these feelings starting to rise.

They were only getting stronger and stronger day by day, it was hard trying to not spill out a monologue to him on what was stirring inside of you.

But lately, you realized how out of reach he is. Noticing all the beautiful fair skinned girlies surround him caused you to spend time staring at your own reflection. You started to softly touch your cheeks and hair, furrowing your eyebrows at the thought of him not wanting to date someone like you.

You rubbed your face tiredly as you walked out your bathroom and into your dorm room.

“Hey yn! Hope you don’t mind that I used your spare key..”

You jumped at the sound of his voice, holding your chest before going to hit him with your pillow. “Niki! You should’ve at least texted me, someone could’ve seen you, you know!” and in response he just rolled his eyes playfully.

“How was your fansign today?” you asked as you got up to grab some clothes he left over to change in knowing his current clothes were too hot. You didn’t notice him staring at your every movement before he hummed to himself.

“Tiring… but it was funny! Heeseung-” he then proceeded to go into detail about everything that went down. You gave him reassuring hums and smiles to let him know you’re still listening even with you back turned.

You eventually felt your heart drop at a mention of a fan. “And there was a pretty engene today! She was so charming and funny, definitely had a way with her words” he chuckled lightly to himself.

Biting the inside of your cheek, now you know you definitely can’t confess anything to him.

“You must be tired, yea? Are you staying the night?”

He frowned slightly, “Can’t, I have practice all day tomorrow so you probably won’t hear from me.” You sighed and gave him a reassuring smile.

“That’s fine, text me when you're free, ‘kay?” and he nodded. You walked him to the door and gave him a big hug finding comfort in the warmth radiating off of him. He softly kissed your forehead before letting go, causing you to stare in awe.

“See you later pretty!” he cheekily stated before closing the door. Oh boy, you were in trouble, the pounding of your heart being living proof of it.

That night you tossed and turned, missing having his head on your chest through the night. You gave up trying to sleep and went to twitter, the bright screen causing you to squint a bit to adjust. Scrolling mindlessly on twitter until you came across a tweet that had your eyes watering a little.

“Niki wouldn’t date a black girl in my opinion, he probably also likes experienced girls too!”

Hurriedly, you look through the comments to see people agreeing with her. Yea a few comments were disagreeing but that didn’t make you feel better. You honestly felt sick to your stomach.

You sat up quickly to read more. “He definitely doesn't like them clingy, he enjoys personal space.” That’s how you found yourself going through a loophole on twitter feeling even more shitty about yourself.

Why did it have to be like this? Was that how he really feels? You know you could ask him, I mean he’s literally your best friend! But you felt too embarrassed to even ask him how he felt dating girls like you. Did he believe the stereotypes surrounding black girls?

Your heart started to ache. You already felt self conscious about your skin, but this just made you feel 10x shittier. You got up to stare at yourself again. Eyes tearing up as you start to wish your hair weren't so kinky and how you would love to have long blonde hair or blue eyes. Wishing you weren’t so different.

That night you went to bed with a heavy heart.

The next morning you saw Niki messages but you were still hurting and decided to avoid him. You can't handle looking at him or speaking to him knowing you’ll break down in front of him.

Niki on the other hand was worried that the forehead kiss is why you’re so distant. He could barely concentrate at practice. The boys noticed it, giving him concerned glances.

“Good work today boys! Niki you’re normally on your A-game but today you were so off. Work harder okay? Get some rest everyone, see you tomorrow,” the dance coach let out.

Niki was too spaced out to even care about what he had to say. He was in a rush to see you. He needed to make sure he didn’t break any boundaries. He couldn’t lose you like this, he thought to himself as he rushed out the dance studio.

He knew it was risky to be at your dorm without any disguise but he pushed it to the back of his mind as soon as he saw your door come into view.

Knocking anxiously but you didn’t move an inch. Not wanting to get bothered right now as you cuddle up with your blanket and comfort cartoon show playing in the background.

Niki checked his pockets hoping he brought the spare key with him.

Sighing in relief, he quietly opened your door. Your dimly lit up living room welcomed him in as he closed the door softly. He could already tell something was wrong as he recognized your comfort show playing which made him even more anxious.

“Yn…can we talk?”

Your saddened eyes turned to look at him and he felt like he was shot in the heart seeing you look like this. He cautiously sat on your bed as he heard the soft sobs echo through the room.

“I just wish I could be what you wanted, Niki. You are so close but so out of reach from me. If I was pale skinned would it be different, I wonder? Would you feel less ashamed knowing I fit in with you?”

Niki pulled you closer to him, rocking back and forth. “Is that why you've been ignoring me? Because of those stupid opinionated comments?”

“Yn, I liked you for you. I love how we are different from each other. Being able to learn from you and see things from your point of view helped me grow as a person. It helped me learn to love you.”

Your head shot up, scanning his face to see if you heard wrong. “Yn you didn’t hear wrong, i meant it.”

“You’re so beautiful to me and I want you to allow me to show you that” Niki finished up.

Eyes tearing up as you sense his sincerity, you pushed your forehead against his. “Sorry for making you worry.. I was already embarrassed.”

He rubbed you back comfortingly, “Don’t be embarrassed, you’re allowed to feel like this, just communicate with me, yea?” and you nodded in agreement.

You looked up at him and saw his eyes flicker to your lips, “can i?” he asked. You smiled and leaned your forehead against his again feeling his soft lips fit with your perfectly.

Sighing in content, he leaned back and you two stayed like that for the night. Holding on so dearly as if you might vanish in thin air.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

New chapter is up for my Feyd-Rautha/Reader fic. I'll provide the AO3 link here: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 3 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

But if you'd prefer to read it here I can provide it under the cut. As you can imagine, there are trigger warnings for this fic in general as well as this chapter.

TW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced incest, heavy violence, first times, rough sex, blood kinks, and of course Feyd-Rautha who is his own walking content warning.

If you haven't read my fic yet I do recommend reading the prologue and first chapter to get what's going on. It's all on AO3.

CHAPTER TWO: THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN DREADING

“It’s time, Na-Baroness.”

You turn to look at her.  She keeps her head down.  “We need to get you to your bedchambers to prepare,” she adds.

You take a breath.  He and everyone else need you to be living and healthy at least for the time being.  You’ll be able to manage whatever happens tonight, you tell yourself.

You give a small nod, reach for your goblet, and finish the contents in three big swallows before setting it down.

Your mother sees you get up and her eyes widen just a fraction.  You smile at her as you make a detour to wish your family a good night.

“I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast,” you tell your parents.  Afterwards all off-world guests will be going home, and you’ll have to deal with the fact that this desolate killing field of a planet is your home now.  You try not to think about how you probably won’t be seeing any of your family again until the next wedding or funeral as you give each of them a crushing hug.  When your younger sister hugs you back, you wonder if she’s thinking about her future, if she’s terrified that she’ll have an even worse match.

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” Father tells you as you pull away from his embrace.  When he looks at you, you can tell he’s thinking, I’d give anything right now for you to have been born a son.

“Thank you, Father,” you tell him, thinking, Come on, now.  You can’t put me up to this marriage in the first place and then act as though I’m going to my execution.  You need for them to have hope that you’ll be okay.  One of you has to believe that I can get through this.

You sense the Baron watching you.  You can feel his distaste at the open sentimentality but he doesn’t say anything, so it seems that he’ll allow it.  How kind of him, you think bitterly.

When you start to move past them your mother tugs at your wrist one last time and you turn to face her.  She doesn’t say anything, so you end up speaking for her.

“It’ll be alright,” you say softly, taking her hands.

She almost smiles, then swallows.  “I should be the one saying that to you,” she says.  You just give her a small smile of your own and kiss her cheek.  You end up letting go of her hands first, but it takes only the first tug for her to relinquish yours.  You resume your trek out of the Great Hall when you reach the head of the table and stop, remembering one last obligation before you go.

You need to pay your respects to the Baron first and it makes you hesitate.  You don’t want to talk to him, don’t want to look at him, don’t want to even think about him.  His nephew strikes fear in you, but there’s a kind of revulsion that the Baron inspires that is tangible even as you can’t quite explain it.  Even if you didn’t know his reputation as a bloodthirsty warmonger that makes your father seem like a pacifist by comparison, even though you’re sure that there’s more you haven’t discovered yet, even with the limited interactions you’ve actually had with him, he makes your skin crawl.  You step forward, eyes downcast, incline your head, and dip into the deepest curtsy you can manage in your gown.

“Thank you, Baron, for your gifts, your kind reception, and your hospitality,” you tell him.

After a pause he seems to think you’ve expressed an adequate amount of gratitude and says, “May you continue to please my lovely nephew,” he responds, voice low enough that your family won’t hear but the people next to him will.  He knows that you know what he means.

Contempt and shame war within you.  You refuse to look up at him.  “Yes, Baron,” you manage, face flushing.  Your hands shake.  You rise and turn away.  Idrisa’s there within arm’s reach to escort you out.

It’s a long stretch of silence to get from the Great Hall to the Harkonnen private chambers, but neither of you know quite what to say that you’d be willing to risk anyone hearing.

She guides you back into your bedchambers.  Once there, you stand in the middle of the room, frozen and useless.  “Will he want me in this?” you ask after a moment.  You picture him tearing the fabric of your underskirts, maybe slicing your bodice with one of his hidden blades.  It’s easy to picture him desecrating a symbol of your union.  It’s also easy to picture him simply pulling down your undergarment, bending you over the nearest flat surface, and debasing you as you’re still fully clothed.

Idrisa shakes her head.  “The Na-Baron had some specific requests.  He’d like you out of this,” she says.  “I’ll help you.”

She’s so gentle with her touch and the meticulous way she undoes your bodice and arranges your skirts that it unnerves you rather than soothes you.  It’s such a contrast to how you’re certain you’ll be touched as soon as you leave these chambers that you tremble at her fingertips.

“It’ll be alright,” she says softly.  “You and the union between the Houses is too important for him to seriously hurt you.”  You don’t miss the disclaimer of ‘seriously’.  You have nothing to say to that, only watching as she sets the gown back on the mannequin it arrived with and turns to you, in just your boots and undergarments.  

You sigh and take care of your boots and the stockings underneath as Idrisa reaches into your drawers for a chemise and robe.

“He wants you to take off your undergarments,” she says over her shoulder.

“Of course he does,” you mutter, working on those next, stripping down bare.  “For ‘ease of access.’”

“It’s not an unreasonable request,” Idrisa says mildly, taking your discarded clothes and handing you the chemise to put on.  “We’re almost done.”  She sets down a pair of slippers for you to step into and gives you your robe before taking a step back and taking inventory of you.  She tilts her head and bites her lip.

“Hair down, I think,” she says.  “Your make-up held up well, so we won’t need to reapply anything.”

“We could, you know.”  It’ll buy me some time to collect myself.  Although that isn’t entirely true; you’ll still be just as nervous an hour from now as you will be five minutes from now, and you both know it as Idrisa quietly arranges your hair into a style she thinks your groom will find suitable.

His chambers, as it turns out, are just next door.  “Thank you,” you tell her when you get inside.  It’s a large room, as austere as all the other rooms but the limited furniture within it is of high-quality.  A black armoire against the opposite wall with dressers and a desk and chair to match, and then of course the bed.  

It’s a massive four-poster with a steep headboard.  You can’t help but notice rings and hooks lining each bedpost.  You don’t think you’re ignorant by any means, considering your overall lack of experience, but you’re not sure what they could possibly mean.  In the next room you can faintly hear the sound of running water.

“The Na-Baron is finishing up in his bathroom.  He’ll be ready for you in just a moment,” Idrisa tells you, before reaching for your robe.  You instinctively move away, wanting the barrier between your skin and the suddenly oppressive air of an unfamiliar room.

She holds on, undeterred, to your sleeves.  “The Na-Baron said that he would have his wedding gift already unwrapped and in bed waiting for him,” she says apologetically.  

You think of your father’s words from days ago (“oiled and trussed up before being thrown into his bedroom”) and take a breath before shedding the robe and stepping out of your slippers yourself. You don’t look at Idrisa as you raise the chemise up and over your shoulders before tossing it to the floor and once you’re completely bare try to cover yourself with your arms as you take a few steps back.  It feels dumb; she’s already seen you naked and so will the man on the other side of the bathroom door in just a minute, but you want to hold on some semblance of modesty in this unfamiliar room.

Idrisa looks away as she picks everything up.  “I’ll leave you to your privacy, then,” she says.  

“I’ll be nearby,” she adds, folding your clothes and setting them on the dresser and the slippers on the floor just beside it.  She glances over at you one last time as if to say, Good luck, before turning and leaving.  The door clicks and you’re left in silence.  The water stops.

Better get moving, then, you think as you stare at the bed.  You wonder briefly what such an intimidating piece of furniture has seen over the years, and you’re honestly not sure how to present yourself once you reach it.  Do you lie on your back, like you’ve been told, is the civilized, kind manner in which to take a bride?

You think of the way your groom prowls, the way he kills.  He’s barely civilized and he’s certainly not kind; the animalistic way he moves and looks at you suggests that he’ll fuck you like an animal too, on all fours and without preamble, but the idea of getting into that position, of presenting yourself to him in such a way, makes you wince the moment you imagine it.

So you compromise and settle on your side, facing the bathroom entrance where he’ll soon emerge.

Your heart races as nearly a full minute ticks by before the door opens and Feyd-Rautha emerges, as naked as you are.

You try to stay composed and keep a sense of demure composure about you as you take inventory of him and what is meant to go inside of you tonight.  He is indeed smooth everywhere, and half-hard.  You digest the fact that even without a full erection, he's larger than the limited sample size you've witnessed.  You think that it’s kind of funny that he looks more powerful naked than he does in his armor, or even in his undergarments but to your relief he’s also as unarmed as he can possibly be.  And if this is to happen, it is a comfort knowing that it will be with a man whose body you find beautiful to look at.

His eyes drift over yours, mapping everything as he takes his fill,of the rest of your body.  “Have you ever taken a man inside of you?” he asks.

You shake your head and try not to let your nerves get the better of you as you wonder how much this is going to hurt.  He sees the fear in your eyes, though, as he crosses over and slides into bed alongside you without another word.  Your breath hitches, your heart pounding.  Not for the first time he makes you feel like a rabbit in a field.  It’s hard to reconcile that and the excitement within you; perhaps it’s adrenaline.

He slowly angles you to lay back as he props himself above you.  Your pulse thuds in your ears and you hear your own gasp as if it’s coming from somewhere else.

There’s a moment he’s looming above you, and you’re caught between fear and a growing heat between your legs, your nerves on end, before you surprise the both of you.  Without allowing yourself to think about it you lean up, cup the back of his head and pull him into a kiss.  This much you’ve done before, anyway.  You hope that it’ll help ease you into everything else.

It catches him off-guard, which gives you a brief sense of satisfaction, feeling like the playing field has been leveraged, before he kisses back.  He seems to like it, the hint of a challenge, and responds in turn by deepening the kiss and pressing his tongue into your mouth.  After a moment’s hesitation, unsure where to put your hands, you find that trailing them along his arms and back feels right.  

For the first minute it actually feels nice.  Then the first brush of the tip of his cock against your stomach makes you gasp.  You can feel him filling out the rest of the way and try not to look down.  It won’t help settle your nerves at all to see just how large it is when fully engorged.  The soft skin of it bumps against your bare stomach again before he shifts his legs so both are between yours, forcing you to spread your thighs around his hips.  He breaks the kiss and watches your face as he shifts one hand from beside your head to between his legs, taking himself in hand.

You clench your thighs and gasp, heart racing.  Without thinking you give a small cry when he guides his cock along your slit.  You feel stupid for it; he’s not even inside of you yet, but you can feel yourself seize up.

He pauses, as if trying to gauge something. Then he releases himself to slide his fingertips between the apex of your thighs instead.  Your chest heaves as you think about how you’re the only one who’s ever put a hand there, and even then only a few times.  You have enough time to think that you’ve never felt more helpless in your life before he brushes his fingers along your slit, all the more sensitive for the lack of hair, and then brings a thumb to the bud between your legs you only discovered for the first time a few years ago by accident.  He circles his thumb lazily, watching your stomach clench and your lips part in a gasp.  You shut your eyes, the intimacy of it already more than you could’ve anticipated.

“Look at me,” he says sharply, and you force your eyes open.  He tilts his head ever so slightly as his thumb presses down and your hips arch up.  You hold onto him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you bite your lip, trying to breathe normally.  He blinks as he takes in your reaction, his gaze traveling from your face to your hips before moving his hand, shifting his fingertips to your entrance.

The press of one finger inside of you is a stretch, unfamiliar but not unpleasant once you adjust to the feeling of being penetrated for the first time, and you want to look away, embarrassed at just how exposed you are to this man but as soon as you do, he repeats, irritated that he’d have to say it again, “Look at me.”

Your eyes snap back to his.  He curls his finger inside of you and your mouth falls open in a silent cry, your stomach clenching, and he tilts his head slightly, pulling his hand back to add a second finger alongside it, and this time the burn of it’s just a little too much.  You try to pull your hips back, face pinched in discomfort, and he gives a frustrated exhale as he tries twisting his fingers, only to get the same reaction.  He pulls his fingers out, and seems to think about what to do next.

He glances down at your chest, at your stiffened nipples, and lowers himself down onto his forearms, his head down to your breasts, teeth and tongue scraping against one, then the other.  As you whine and cradle the back of his neck you wonder if this is like a game for him, trying to see what noises he can pull from you where, and doing what, as he travels from one part of your body to another.  You try to collect your breath as he stops, traveling lower, his body sliding almost serpentine along the length of the bed and you can’t help but watch the muscles in his back and shoulders.

You briefly notice that there are old scars there that you hadn’t been able to see properly in the semi-darkness of the fighting halls.  They look like lash-marks that span from his shoulder blades to the tops of his buttocks.  But that’s the last coherent thought you have before Feyd-Rautha’s face disappears between your spread legs and you cry out, back arching at the first contact between his mouth and your lower lips.

You were expecting and fearing a lot tonight but hadn’t accounted for your groom licking your newly-shaved privates.  It’s shocking enough that it takes you a moment to understand how nice it feels.  You pant and squirm, your moans pulled out of you with each swipe of his tongue along your slit, each flicker of it against your bud.

“Oh!” you manage, incapable of saying anything else as your thighs shake and you wish he had hair that you could bury your fingers in as he laps at you.

When the heat of it really starts to build and your whines start sounding more desperate, the very core of you slick along his lips and tongue is when he stops.  It’s all a means to an end and as far as he’s concerned he’s done more than enough to prepare you. 

He ignores your whimper of protest as he pulls away and props himself up above you again, taking inventory of your flushed face and chest, your parted and kiss-swollen lips.

Good, you’re ready, he seems to think.  He lines himself up, and your breath hitches as you shut your eyes.

“Keep ‘em open,” he says immediately, and you relent, gazing up at a pair of eyes that glint nearly silver, pupils wide.

The blunt head of him is wide, and you realize that the preparation, his fingers and tongue, weren’t enough to ease the passage.  He’ll tear you open.  He watches your face and the growing panic in your eyes and presses forward.

Fear is the mind-killer.  It is the little–

The first press of him knocks the air out of your lungs in a sob.  You lurch up, clutching at his back as your inner thighs clench around his sides as he thrusts in the first couple of inches.  You squirm around him, shifting, hoping to get unstuck like you’re a worm on a hook.  He just pushes in deeper with a grunt, his hand clutching your hip to keep you still so he can bury himself within you the rest of the way.

It hurts, you want to protest, as if he can’t tell already.  As if he doesn’t enjoy how he’s skewering you onto him.

You’ve been in worse pain than this.  Remember when you broke your arm when you were nine?  If it weren’t for the fact that you’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life to the most frightening man you’ve ever met who–you hope–is now fully inside of you, you’d almost laugh.

Virgin sex: not as painful as breaking an arm.

You dig your nails in.  Feyd-Rautha gives a breathless laugh and a sharp thrust that has you crying out and digging your nails in deeper.

“Does my little pet want to get her claws in me?” he says, the first time he’s spoken in several minutes.  You try to relax your hands, just gripping onto his back.  “I didn’t say ‘stop,’” he adds.

He likes pain, the Reverend Mother told you.

Well, alright, then.

You grit your teeth and scratch down the length of his back.  He groans, a rumble deep in his chest before pulling out nearly to the tip of him and pushing all the way back in again.  It helps, in a way, the feeling of reciprocating the pain.  The difference is that you’re barely tolerating it, but he’s enjoying it.  He seems to like the pressure of your kneecaps digging into his sides, the nails down his back.

Curiosity strikes and you reach up and pull him down close enough to bite down on his collarbone and he gasps, hips stuttering for a moment, a moan pulled out of him before he resumes thrusting into you with deeper rolls of his hips.

You’re not sure when the moment happens that you start to adjust, the sting of it fading to a sore stretch.  You still feel impossibly full, but the ache of it feels like a minor tear, not like you’ve just been split in half.  

It’s soon after that he draws the first real moan out of you since before he entered you and it gives you pause; the stroke of his hips had been just right, you’d tilted yours in just a way that actually felt good in a way that tugged at your insides.  After a moment he tries again and you can’t help but make the same noise, holding onto him as the push and pull of his thrusts finally starts to feel right, like an act that’s natural rather than a punishment.

It’s then that he pulls out, and you yelp in shock; you were only starting to get adjusted to having him inside of you and he hasn’t spilled his seed yet.  You barely have time to understand what’s happening as he flips you onto your front and hauls you up, grabbing your hips.

It feels like another invasion, the angle tighter.  You won’t be able to hold onto him or take your pain out on him.  You scramble to get your forearms under you as he well and truly starts fucking you.  You hadn’t realized that he’d been holding back at all.

You do realize, though, that he not only tolerates your hair but likes it, when he wraps your tresses around his hand and sharply tugs like your hair’s a harness.  You can’t help any of the desperate noises that you make, shaking, as you’re repeatedly pulled back onto his cock.  The heat of tears builds in your eyes as you lower your head, only for him to tug it back by your hair. 

You give another cry, which spurs him on.  Pleasure, pain, it seems like it’s all the same to him so long as he can keep pulling desperate sounds out of you.  He speeds up, goes harder, the snap of his hips against your ass loud to the point of obscene within the echoes of his room.

And then you feel it, warm and viscous inside of you as he gives a choked moan, grunting as he thrusts into you one last time and holds still, his hands still on your hips.  You gasp, freezing, before moaning even though you're not entirely sure if you like the sensation of it or not.

You feel him pull away from you and twist onto your back, your legs bent to avoid colliding with him, as he kneels on the edge of the bed and wipes his bloody cock off on the sheets.

You catch your breath as you bring a hand against your forehead, trying to think.

It’s done; you got through it. 

He turns to look at you, at your parted lips, your breasts rising and falling as your breath evens out, your inner thighs where a small smear of blood remains, and wordlessly brings a thumb to the tacky skin there.

You blink, eyes widening as he looks you in the eye and licks off the already-drying blood.  He tilts his head, still looking between your legs, when his fingertips slide against your slit, collecting both a little blood and a dribble of his seed that leaked out of you.  Without a word he settles back over you and brings his fingers to your lips.

You try to think about what he’d want from you at this moment, and all that comes to mind is to mirror him.  You try to shut out the part of you that feels revulsion at the sight and the smell and part your lips.  

You can’t look away from him as he presses the calloused pad of his thumb on your lips and pushes further, onto your tongue.  You want to flinch away at the salt of your blood mixed with the viscous salt of his seed, but with his other hand he cups your jaw.  His movements could be seen as gentle and if he were a different man this act could be seen as intimate, but no, not with him.  He’s trying to humiliate you, you’re sure.  Because he then says, quietly, “Close your mouth,” and you hesitate, face heating up with shame, before you do.

For a moment you want to pull back and spit the mixture back out into his face.  There must be a flicker of that want in your eye because he tilts his head in a silent challenge.

Go on.  Try it, he seems to say.

You want to, but you do the opposite, the new goal to be to catch him off-guard again.  You force yourself to taste the residue from both of your bodies off his fingers.  You lick delicately around the digits and watch his eyes widen just a fraction.  You do it again, slowly, realizing that you’ve surprised him again.

He pulls his fingers out, his full lips parted.

“Don’t swallow,” is all he says before crushing his mouth against yours. 

You didn’t think you were ignorant, but you don’t fully understand what this is, what it’s called, why he’s enjoying it so much.  It’s a tool you think you might have but don’t have any frame of reference for and aren’t sure how to use as he groans as the liquids merge between you in a desperate open-mouthed kiss.  You just know that you’re learning enough to keep him interested.  He lays fully against you, and you have enough time to think that his chest feels nice pressed up against yours before he reaches in between your legs to feel the puffy, bruised apex where he’d buried himself.

Is he already getting aroused again?  

You get your answer when he flips you onto your stomach for the second time and pulls your hips up just enough for him to settle behind you.  For a moment you lurch forward, away from his grip but of course he pulls you back.  Alarm sets in.  I need time.  I’m still recovering from the first time you split me open.  You hear yourself whine as he slides his rapidly-stiffening cock in between your tender folds as if to plead for his mercy.  He doesn’t grant it, moaning at the desperate sound.  You realize that he’s working himself the rest of the way in his own hand before pressing it back up against you and pushing inside of you in one sharp thrust.

In some ways it’s easier; you’re sufficiently stretched out at this point to take him inside of you, and the combination of blood and semen’s added second and third coats of lubrication.

But then he’s rougher; there’s no preamble, no brief moments of letting you adjust to the intrusion.  He goes hard and fast on your torn and bruised insides, and this time he doesn’t say a word.  All you hear are beast-like grunts as he pulls you onto him.

Just finish.  Please just finish and get it over with, you think as your cries become hoarse, and then nothing more than pathetic whimpers.  That in itself seems to spur him on, how much he’s wearing you out and taking you to the very limits of what you can handle. 

You collapse the rest of the way onto your front, panting and sweaty, and you shut your eyes when you can sense he’s almost done, shuddering as his thrusts become more erratic and he finally–thankfully–comes, filling you up a second time and you could cry with the relief of it.

He holds on for a moment, as if trying to make sure as much of him as possible stays inside of you as he settles down, his front against your back, his breath against the nape of your neck.  And then he pulls out and you wonder if this is how it feels when a person who’s just been stabbed feels the knife leave their body right before you sense him turn and fall onto his back against the sheets.

You remain on your front,  the side of your face resting on your forearm as you just don’t have it in you to move again.  You just hope that Feyd-Rautha’s finally done for the night.  You turn your head to the other side to look at him and confirm.

His penis looks a lot less intimidating when it’s soft and resting against his thigh.  You watch his chest rise and fall and briefly think about running a hand over it, and long the ridges of his abdomen even as you can’t say you’re proud of yourself for the instinct.  He just seems almost docile now, reclining on his back, after he’s rutted inside of you twice. It's almost like wanting to pet a sedated dog that had been trying to bite you.  You watch him raise one leg slightly, enough to bend his knee, and you notice more scars along his inner thigh that are even paler than the rest of him.  They don’t look recent, but not as old as the ones on his back.

He turns his head and looks at you, and reaches out, bringing a hand to your backside, lazily caressing a cheek before bringing his palm down in a hard smack.  He smirks at how the soft flesh jiggles and at your responding yelp.

“It was right there,” he says by way of explanation.  You’re tired enough that you can’t help but snicker as you keep your head pillowed on your forearms and try to focus on the softness of the sheets under you rather than the unrelenting ache between your legs.  You look at each other, him likely surveying the damage as you catalog him in what is probably the closest he ever gets to a relaxed state.

“Can you stand?” Feyd-Rautha asks after a moment.

You’re not entirely sure you can move your legs.  “In a moment, maybe,” you admit.

“Then take a moment,” he says.  “Then you can call your girl to take you back to your quarters.”

You get up on your forearms to get a better look at him.  “You’re sending me away?” you ask.  You don’t mean the hurt tone in your voice.  Not that you even want to stay the night, but his dismissal feels insulting.  You’re the one whose insides are sore and bleeding, after all.  Is he not even going to give you more time to recover and just relax here?  Maybe kiss you one last time?  

“It’s more practical if I do,” he says.  “I’ll be up a few hours before you tomorrow.”  His tone is so matter-of-fact that any trace of intimacy over the past couple of minutes dissipates into thin air and you remember who you’re with.

“Right.”  You look over at your clothes on the dresser.  You wince at the effort, but turn to your side and sit up facing away from him.  You can feel his stare burning into your back.

You wince as you sit forward and try to get your limbs to coordinate with you as you shift your legs.

You look down at the sheets and wonder if Feyd-Rautha’s going to have someone come in to clean them immediately after you leave.

No, you realize.  He’ll have someone come in to put down new ones, certainly, but he’ll be holding on to the bloodied sheets.  They’ll serve as a trophy, proof that he deflowered the heiress to the House of Y/H.

You don’t look back at your new husband as you get up, shakily at first, needing to hold onto the bed to stabilize you.

You need to walk gingerly, and the feel of Feyd-Rautha watching your discomfort makes it worse.  You feel tears build again, this time from anger.  You think to yourself that you might’ve been able to handle everything else tonight better if he were a little kinder to you afterwards, and gave you something to temper the roughness as he’d prepared you beforehand.  And here he is smugly watching the pain you’re in because of him, congratulating himself on how he wrecked your virgin cunt.

This is fucking undignified.  I’m part of a Major House, too, you think as you pull on your chemise and step into your slippers.  Finally you’ve decided that you’re not going to let this insult pass and turn to him.  He’s sitting up, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped loosely around them as he watches you and that somehow makes it even worse.  “Is this amusing for you?” you demand, thinking, Of course it is, you stupid girl.  He and his kind get off on this sort of thing.

He looks neither embarrassed nor smug, but leans forward a little as he considers you.  “You did well tonight,” he says. 

“Thank you, Na-Baron,” you say coldly as you reach for your robe.  

“I like it when you call me husband,” he adds, and you glance back at him.  “That’s what you should call me when we’re alone together.”

You look at him a moment longer.  You realize that this is just about the closest he can get to being kind to you, at least tonight.  Whatever tenderness he’d shown when he first touched you was to serve his own purpose.  Now that he’s taken what he wants there’s nothing else to give you.  It’s not even intentional cruelty on his part, you don’t think.  It’s just the absence of everything else.

With a resigned sigh you pull on your robe and give him a curt nod.  “I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow, husband,” you tell him, pad over to the door, and open it just far enough to see Idrisa standing post just outside.  You head into the hallway and shut the door behind you without another word or glance backwards.

“How much of that were you able to hear?” you ask her.  

She tries to spare you.  “The walls are thick, Na-Baroness,” she says, and you’re even more grateful for the short distance to your chambers than you’d been before.

At your bedside you notice that there’s a jug of water and a glass, then beside them a dish.  You head for it to inspect closer and it turns out there are two small white tablets.  You turn to look at her.

Idrisa shrugs one shoulder.  “Part of the benefits of being promoted to your attendant,” she says.  “I felt it would be safer to take precautions and assume you’d need pain relief after…” she trails off, realizing there is no polite way to say getting fucked hard for the first time by a man who delights in your pain and just repeats, “after.  I spoke with a Healer who agreed that it would be safer to plan for that.”

As you reach for a tablet she adds quickly, “I wouldn’t take more than half if I were you.”

You pause, the tablet to your mouth.  “Why?” you ask.

She hesitates.  “I wasn’t sure how severe your pain would be afterwards,” she says.  “I really didn’t know how to predict so I requested two tablets.  Looking at you now, half a tablet should suffice.”

You look down at the dish and then back at her.  Just how badly did you think tonight would go for me? you want to ask, but then realize that there are some questions you don’t actually want answers to.  

You smile at her in gratitude, snap the tablet in half, and wash it down with the offered water.  “Will it help me sleep?” you ask.

She inclines her head in the affirmative.  “Now let’s get you cleaned up and ready for bed,” she says.  

“It’s alright.  I can handle the rest myself,” you tell her.

Her brow furrows and she frowns.  “It’s my duty to look after you,” she says.  

“I understand, but right now I need to be alone,” you tell her.

She looks nervous, as if her dismissal is some kind of failure on her part and something for which she’ll be punished later.

“You’ve done a great job,” you tell her.  “But the best way to take care of me tonight is to let me do this myself.”

“Whatever you wish, Na-Baroness,” she says finally.  “Good night, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

……………..

You pad over to the bathroom and a minute later find yourself sitting on the edge of your bathtub with a warm, wet towel in one hand as you inch up the hem of your chemise with the other.  

You wince at the first press of the towel against your tender skin.  You don’t want to look directly at the damage, wishing you still had hair down there to obscure some of it.  You shut your eyes as you wipe around your inner thighs.  You wipe directly between your legs and the sharp bite of the pain makes you briefly double over.  After a moment you look down at the used towel; there’s not as much blood as you thought, as it feels like it was spilled out of you, but you’re going to have to wring it out and start over if you want to feel clean.  Maybe you won’t feel clean again.

The reality of it all hits you, sharply, and you feel like you’ve been stabbed and a part of you realizes that the worst is yet to come.

For the first time since finding out you would be linked to Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, you break down and cry.

[rubysarchives]

A Second Chance

Part one of ???? idk if i will write more of this. If I do, ocs will get involved :3

This is co-written with @okuyasu-nijimura3812

...........................................................

“Satoru. You look older, what happened?” There he stood, looking just the same as he had the morning before it all went wrong. “Is something wrong?”

Gojo didn’t answer, didn’t move, just stared with his mouth agape.

The boy’s regular, happy expression fell away as he opened his eyes completely. “Satoru?”

“Suguru... h-how are you here? this has to be another cursed spirit toying with me...” Gojo finally found the ability to move his mouth.

“No, I'm right here Satoru.” Geto moved closer and reached up to put a hand on Gojo’s shoulder. He was taller than he remembered, but that wasn’t important right now. “I've never seen you like this, tell me what's bothering you.”

Gojo backed away, shaking his head as his voice trembled. “N-no no no, this isn't real, t-th-this cant be real, w-where’s the curse I've got to exorcise it.”

“Satoru, sit down.” Geto raised his hands in an innocent gesture. A Gojo not in his right mind could be a very dangerous Gojo. “Take some deep breaths, I'm not a curse. What's gotten into you?”

Gojo tore the blindfold from his face, his eyes full of tears, and cried out in a desperate voice, “I KILLED YOU, THATS WHATS WRONG! YOU DIED BY MY OWN HAND SO THERES NO POSSIBLE WAY FOR YOU TO BE STANDING HERE! YET EVERYTHING IN ME IS SAYING IT'S YOU! EVEN MY SIX EYES SEES NO TRICK!”

Geto stepped back, his eyes wide. “You… What?”

“I KILLED YOU!” Tears streamed from Gojo’s bright eyes like waterfalls. “YOU GREW INTO MADNESS AND TRIED ERADICATING THE WORLD OF ALL NON SORCERERS SO I KILLED YOU BECAUSE I HAD TO! I KILLED MY OWN BROTHER SUGURU! SO TELL ME HOW YOU'RE STANDING HERE!” Disbelief, hope, fear, and grief all shifted across Gojo’s face, an expression he’d only worn once before.

“My own actions... my own actions did this to you...” Geto furrowed his brows, his eyes full of shame and his lip trembling. “I'm sorry...”

The next instant, Gojo’s arms were wrapped around the young Geto, holding him tightly as if he might fade if he let go. “Damnit all.... don’t leave... don’t leave... I don’t want to lose you a second time.”

After a moment, Geto hugged him back, burying his face into his shoulder. “I won’t.”

Gojo’s tears turned into choked sobs, barely able to speak between them. “How are you here?”

“I don’t know, but I’m alive,” Geto’s voice was muffled by Gojo’s shoulder.

“I honestly thought you hated me after everything I’d done,” said Geto. Only his mouth didn’t move, and the voice had come from a few feet in front of Gojo. Suguru Geto stood there. Older. Wearing his monk robes. Translucent.

“I thought you were an idiot, but I never hated you... I could never hate you,” Gojo replied.

“I'm relieved to hear that.” The phantom switched to a softer voice. “We were children, Satoru. Children charged with the task of slaying demons. It broke me.”

“The countless times I wanted us to just run away,” Gojo inhaled sharply to catch a sob, “we could have... why didn’t we…”

“Because we were the strongest. The best hope humanity had. But that doesn't make it fair. We were children.”

“I would have let the world burn for you Suguru... I just wanted us to be happy.” He held Geto a little tighter. “So I kept being this comedic super idiot in hopes things would just get better.”

“The story has already ran its course, there's no changing that now. But... It looks as if someone has decided to give me a second chance.” Geto stepped closer and placed a hand on his younger self’s shoulder. It felt like cold air.

“I won’t lose you again,” Gojo said.

“Please take care of him for me, Satoru... Don't let me break again.” As he spoke, Geto faded away, leaving only the living one crying into Gojo's shoulder.

“I wont let anything happen to you again,” Gojo promised.

“Why am I here, Satoru?” Geto’s voice shook.

“I don’t know… but I’m not going to let you snap again… I promise. You’re here for a reason, so I’m going to keep you here.”

“Ok.” He hugged Gojo tighter.

[gaoau]

i talked to God today

theory of the two demons warnings — none word count — 3.1k note — i usually call my stuff a character analysis disguised as a self insert fic, but tbh im not sure how confident i am in claiming this to be me psychoanalyzing dazai and co, but take it as you will. also, although im taking most of my character analysis from the light novels, if you havent read them, dont worry. the fic will be spoiler free, except for a couple names thrown around that you dont have to worry about. for those who have read the light novels, this will take place from a bit before storm bringer up to some time before dark era

next.

"what are you reading there?"

"it's a theory about times of war."

"what does it say?"

"it's called the theory of the two demons. it states that to combat a great evil, you need an even greater evil. say, for uprisings against the government, the government can infringe human rights for the sake of peace. persecution, forced disappearances, execution, among other examples. one is worse than the other, but both are bad, however, it's all for the greater good."

"that's interesting. how come the worst one wins?"

"however bad the method is, it produces good results. not everyone can be a greater demon, though. i read a book once with a similar concept, but it talked about ordinary and extraordinary people."

"really? what are we?"

"neither. ordinary people are your every day citizens. extraordinary are those like historical leaders who brought good with crime; heroes who didn't care about the bloodshed of ordinary people as long as it helped their good cause."

"two demons against each other, but one is more evil…"

"every crime comes with its punishment. sometimes the punishment is just a bigger crime."

"only a demon can kill a demon, huh?"

"yes, that's a good analogy, Dazai-san."

Dazai Osamu knows potential when he sees it. a bit of a demonstration, statistics printed on files, the look in someone's eyes—he can easily tell what will work and what won't. he dismisses the guards at Mori's door and enters the office with weightless steps. the first thing he notices is the kid sitting on a chair next to Mori; the second thing he notices is Mori's sly smirk; the third thing he notices is potential. the information pours into his brain with ease, processed as soon as it reaches him. this kid cannot be any older than him, nor can they be much younger. he knows this for a fact because he's read their basic information already.

this is [Surname] [Name]. Dazai recently fetched them from the ruins of an orphanage on Mori's order.

as he makes his way across the room and towards the desk, he tries his luck at eye contact with the new recruit. he meets their eyes, but there's nothing there. they blink, staring straight at him, and he can tell they're mistaking him for another shadow. a blank, silent, expressionless glare to contain and appease the sharp waves of ire contaminating the air. Dazai keeps his smile to himself so Mori won't pry.

[Name] sits quietly, hugging their knees to their chest, hiding the lower part of their face. they've trained themself to not take any space, pretend they aren't there at all, but their anger is spacious and selfish.

"Dazai-kun," Mori starts, tearing Dazai's attention away from the kid. his palm lands on [Name]'s head, but they don't budge an inch. Dazai wonders if it doesn't burn. "i trust you remember [Name]-kun. i'd like to ask you to train them." he removes his hand from [Name] to pick up a stack of files on his desk. as he slides them over to Dazai, who curiously starts scanning over the information, he continues, "their ability is good, but you know that's not enough here."

with a hum, Dazai marvels at the papers he's reading. it's not common for a person's ability to be as thoroughly documented as [Name]'s appears to be. its name, strength and weaknesses, utility, power, versatility—logs upon logs of valuable information on just one ability, dating all the way back to the moment [Name] was born. it's interesting, to say the least.

"i see why you wanted to recruit them," is all the input Dazai has to offer. the smile of an excited boy settles on his lips as he grins at Mori. he'll memorize all of these recorded experiments in a snap and then use them to the Port Mafia's advantage. that's what Mori is leaving them under his care for, after all. "alright, i'll handle them." his eye shifts to [Name] and their hollow stare. "i'll be waiting for you in the training rooms downstairs." he doesn't wait for a reply that won't come, instead leaving the office with a wave of his hand.

Mori smiles crookedly at the closed doors. he lets a chuckle fall off his tongue, turning on his seat to face [Name]. the black suit he provided looks big on them; they look big on themself. there's only so many of this type of child he can save.

from his desk drawer, he produces a cheap, stainless steel bracelet. the leaf charms jingle as he dangles it in front of [Name]. he notices the way their pupils come alive to try and focus on the jewelry. "do you recognize this, [Name]-kun?" he prompts, letting the bracelet fall on their knees.

for the first time since they sat down, Mori sees them take up space as they start moving. they're quick to plant their feet on the ground, hurrying to catch the steel chain before it slides to the floor. "no," [Name] replies quietly, their voice ringing with a calm and soothing lilt, unnervingly similar to a lullaby. "should i?" it's not much, but it's more than he thought them capable of.

speechless, Mori stares for a brief moment into the hollow eyes of a child. this kid feels awfully familiar, like they've been by his side for two years, like they've witnessed his crimes. he hopes this scheme of his will work out. he gives them an almost fatherly smile that doesn't fit him. "i suppose not. though you'll need it if you want to find your father."

[Name] inspects the bracelet with close attention. they'll need it if they want to find their father—which they do, it's one of the few reasons they are here in the first place. the metal is cold against their skin when they close their fist around it gently. it's a hint of what their life could have been like. it's dead. they don't consider wearing it, opting to pocket it to keep it safe.

"now, don't keep Dazai-kun waiting." there's a youthful bounce on the edge of Mori's words; a light chuckle to cover up the hell that awaits the new recruit. he lets it peek through mischievously when he closes his eyes and grins innocently. "he isn't very patient."

underground the Port Mafia headquarters, somewhere deep in the basement, there are training rooms properly designed to sustain destructive power from abilities strong enough to demolish buildings in a snap. this is where the mafia trains its ability users and turns them into the greatest pawns for the sake of the organization. relentlessly, mercilessly, children and adults alike undergo the same training once they fall into the mafia's clutches. [Name] will be no different, especially considering who will beat them into shape.

when they enter the room, Dazai is already waiting for them inside as he finishes reading the files from earlier. he glances up at [Name] with a bored eye, his right one covered by clean bandages. Mori said he isn't very patient. Mori must know what he's talking about. [Name]'s hairs stand on edge, suddenly wary of the young boy leaning against the wall like he's waiting for his parents to pick him up from school. they know they didn't take long enough for him to go through the hundreds of pages, but he quickly scans the last paragraph and then stands straight on his feet.

[Name] is worried. they take a step back on instinct.

Dazai lets the stack of papers fall from his hand and scatter on the ground. he won't need them anymore; he's got all the information he needs in his head now. "you're a force to be reckoned with, huh, kid?" his voice echoes in the room as he faces the new recruit fully. he ignores the caution in their every muscle.

there's something off here, [Name] realizes. they think it's funny for a moment, how this kid is addressing them like he's so much older and wiser. he cannot be any younger than them, nor can he be much older. he might just be a lot smarter than he's letting on; it shows in whatever that expression curling his lips up is.

with a seemingly exhausted sigh, Dazai walks closer to them, feet weightless. "attack me with all you've got."

a frown soils [Name]'s face for a brief second. they know how much power they have stocked up on from a few weeks ago. they know it's enough to kill a scrawny kid like Dazai in the blink of an eye. it wouldn't be wise to murder a coworker on their first day on the job.

"i don't think i should." they don't like the sound of their own voice echoing so loudly.

"i've read your files," Dazai hums.

"so?"

a bandaged hand reaches up to scratch the back of his head as he sighs again. he mutters some curses under his breath, exasperated. "listen," he starts, a sharp hiss stabbing alert into [Name]. "Mori-san left you under my care, so you should do what i say from now on."

[Name] gives it a second, before removing their black blazer and rolling up their sleeves. Dazai peers curiously at their arms. they think they don't like the Port Mafia. if this is how it operates and this is who it operates with, their time will drain before they can fulfill their goals. they can't guess what it is Mori will gain from this. it's a terrifying thought. it makes the blood boil in their veins.

they'll put up with it. they'll watch their own back. they'll let it simmer for a little longer. they'll burn.

for now.

an orange glow surrounds their body when their ability activates, sending surges of power from the tips of their fingers to their every nerve. it doesn't feel any different; gravity isn't any lighter, the air isn't any clearer, their vision isn't any sharper. the changes in their physique only show the moment they're attacked. with Dazai defenseless and idly standing, he won't get to see their ability in action before he's pummeled into the ground. they should hold back just for a demonstration, but he said all you've got. 

maybe he miscalculated. 

[Name] darts across the room towards their target, brows furrowed at Dazai's nonchalant stance. he raises his palm up and reaches towards their shoulder. they don't bother dodging, instead swinging their fist at his face. no matter if he touches them or not, nothing he hits them with will have an effect.

confidence suits Dazai more than miscalculations do.

the gap in the seconds is small, but it's enough; his palm lands on them before they can punch him. the glow from their ability vanishes instantly. their fist is absurdly weak as it smacks Dazai's cheek. he turns his head to the side while still keeping his eye on [Name]. their gaze is wide in confusion. blood pounds in their ears. Dazai makes a move and their heart sinks to their stomach.

they realize he isn't as scrawny as he looks. with one kick to their ribcage, [Name] flies towards the farthest wall to their right. the structure doesn't budge when they slam into it, bouncing off before dropping on the floor like a ragdoll. they taste blood. their body hurts—agonizingly so. they can't move.

Dazai's footsteps echo when he approaches them. he stares down at them like they're a scrap of paper littering the ground. "lesson number one: don't rely on your ability alone," he states, bored, and it sounds like he's underwater. with trembling limbs, [Name] tries to get up. their hands are blurry. Dazai stands in front of them. his shoes are blurry. "let's get to work. you've got a lot of training to do."

[Name] staggers to their feet instantly. Dazai isn't very patient.

frantic gasps for air echo through the room, bouncing off every corner to pierce back into [Name]'s ears. they hear the desperate panting, wondering why it sounds so muffled or when the cotton got into their ears. although their vision is blurry, they can make out the lights in the ceiling—only the one that is blinking, the other ones all look like blobs of brightness. when they gulp thickly and the gasps stop briefly, they realize they are the one struggling to breathe.

for a scrawny kid, Dazai can sure pack a punch—and then some. he didn't even break a sweat. he stands there, looking down at his new mentee lying on a puddle of their own blood, bored. their shirt used to be white, he notices. it's like they're nothing but a stain on the wall. (a wall which, albeit built to last, he managed to chip some debris off of while kicking [Name] around.)

slowly, as [Name]'s watery eyes focus and Dazai becomes more than a moving smudge, the pain starts settling in their body. their spine, their arms, their legs, their every muscle. something must be broken. with every breath they take, the bruises and open wounds Dazai so kindly gifted them ache as if they were being set on fire. the taste of blood overflowing in their mouth is nauseating.

"get cleaned up," Dazai's voice cuts through their choked breathing. he says it so casually, like he isn't watching them suffering and bleeding out on the ground. it stings in their ears. "we'll continue tomorrow. i'll use a gun, so be ready."

it sounds so weightless and calm that [Name] thinks it should be soothing. it isn't, though, it's alarming, and they continue to struggle to catch their breath as Dazai stares. there's not a chance they can move and get cleaned up like this. it's familiar. they've been here before—not here, but somewhere awfully similar, somewhere they'd abandoned, somewhere that had been done and over with not too long ago. it's here again. [Name] realizes it's here again. they don't want to be here.

ah, so that's how it is.

not that it matters anymore. all they need is time.

as their breathing regulates, their consciousness starts to fade. Dazai curiously scans them up and down while waiting for them to mutter out at least a strained yes. there's so much rage in their gaze, but it amounts to nothing in the state they're in. when no reply comes and their head lolls to the side, he forces out an aggravated sigh from between his teeth.

he leans over [Name] to be in their full view, an empty smile adorning his face. "about those scars on your arms…" he starts, trailing off, giving them enough time to react. they struggle to keep their eyes open. "you might want to cover them up." it's earnest advice—or as earnest as Dazai can get—he speaks from experience. his kindness goes as far as to unwrap the bandages around his head, the cleanest ones he has on him right now.

the cloth flutters and falls on [Name]'s chest. they try to catch a glimpse of Dazai's face, but all they see is the blinding lights on the ceiling as their mentor walks away. his footsteps echo, fading until he's out the door. the bandages soak up their blood.

if they were to die here, [Name] figures it wouldn't be too bad. (if they were to die here, it has a name, [Name] figures, it's dissonant.) given, they haven't finished yet, but they've known all along just how easy it is. something that they can take and something that can be taken from them. something they don't want anymore and something they have to protect. something excruciatingly painful that makes them want to sob, purely and innocently. something excruciatingly painful that makes Dazai want to sob, too.

something they hate. someone they hate. someone they want to hate. unreasonably so.

[Name] hears the lock click shut and promptly passes out.

it comes in waves. first it's the same blinking lights on the ceiling, then it's darkness again. once more, the puddle of blood underneath them, then darkness again. the echoes of their own breaths, the darkness. it repeats, over and over. [Name] doesn't know how long it's been since Dazai left them here.

when they pry their eyes open again, there are no lights on the ceiling—at least, none they can see through hazy eyes. the ceiling is so high up and so obnoxiously white that it's almost sickening. everything in this room is too sterile, too clean, too sickening. the bed, the tiles on the floor, the uniform, the straps, the mirror, even the cameras, especially the needles.

the only dirty, unclean thing occupying space is [Name]. they squint up to try and make out where the white walls end and their freedom starts. they find their freedom is underneath them, on the growing puddle of blood pouring from their arms. somewhere among all the cotton stuffed in their ears, they can hear alarms blaring.

usually, they're loud and annoying, but right now… right now, they can barely process a single sound that isn't their own heart beating in their brain. [Name] hears the lock click open and promptly passes out; darkness again.

it's hard to tell how much time has gone by. is it midnight? maybe even morning? they don't know how many times it's been. all they see is the mocking, flickering light above them—clearly this time. they've long stopped bleeding, coagulated blood settled on their wounds. the door is still closed, just as Dazai left it. they figure no one is coming for them here.

they're not that valuable anymore.

with an agonizing ache shooting through their nerves, [Name] rolls over on their own blood. it's disgustingly tacky when they sink their palm firmly into it to push themself off the floor. the bandages Dazai had left on their chest, now soaked in darkening stains, form a filthy pile on the ground. they stumble, limbs numb, nearly crashing back down. their vision darkens and blurs briefly once they stand on their feet. with gritted teeth—is it in excruciating pain or restrained anger?—they really hope there's an infirmary of some sort in this building.

note — the title of this fic is based off a rhetorical theory regarding times of civil war and military dictatorship in argentina. i never particularly cared about this theory in the context it is actually used in, so i decided to twist it to my liking. if youre interested in the actual theory, heres a link to the wikipedia page explaining the idea. although they both stem from the same concept, my take on it doesnt quite fit the real thing, so theyre meant to be separate. honestly im unsure if this is copyright infringement in any way, but i doubt some argentine philosopher is gonna come for me on a similar note, the "ordinary and extraordinary people" talk in the cold open is paraphrasing from rodyas dialogue about his article on crime in dostoevskys "crime and punishment". i love dostoevskys works and i think its really funny to use concepts written in his novels on bsd dazai when knowing he goes up against bsd fyodor as his best match thank you for reading drink water bye

[blushingwife]

I've Got You - a soft!Ghost x OC short story

When I say I'm very anxious about posting this, I mean I'm *deathly* anxious. HOWEVER. I'm so very proud of myself for completing this. You did it, hun :) This is what I've chosen to kickstart my "writing career". I decided to indulge in my deepest guilty pleasure: soft!Ghost. My teenage self would gag at how cheesy this is but you know what? She was lying to herself because she loved the cheesy stuff. There's something in me that wants to keep writing for her. So I think I will. I hope someone enjoys this as much as I loved writing it. More to come. CW: some self-deprecating thoughts. Otherwise, just pure unadulterated fluff.

Failing at his attempt to not panic was causing Simon to panic even more. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt scared in this relationship with Liz. The initial few weeks had been a constant battle with himself to stop believing she would leave once she realized his facade was a scam. A feeling had nagged at the back of his mind telling him he was a fool to trust her. That he was setting himself a trap. Then, the first time they’d argued with intensity, he’d been ready to end it and spare her from the effort and pain. But, truthfully, the thought of leaving was more painful than feeling unworthy of her. They both wished to do better. He’d apologized. She’d apologized. They’d basked in each other’s company after that and realized the experience had brought them closer to understanding how to make it work.

In time, his instincts calmed down. He learned to lean on her when he needed support and also to be her support as needed. So the current rising panic in his gut brought him to those first months and he did not like it one bit.

He kept playing with the loop of his black tie, never quite satisfied with its position. Liz’s younger brother was getting married, the first in the family. Everyone was coming, no matter how remotely they knew the bride and groom. Simon had never been anyone’s plus one before. Was convinced he’d never be. But as he raised his eyes from his neck to the deep brown irises of his reflection in the mirror in front of him, he remembered all of this was as real as it was gonna get. And after today, it would be official. All her family would know they were together.

“You’re fidgeting,” Liz’s voice said behind him. He forced the tension in his neck away with a quick roll of his shoulders.

“’M not” He dropped his arms as a pair of hands rounded his waist and then her weight settled on his back.

“Right.” He could almost feel her amused smirk. “You’re not.”

He raised his arm and reached back, inviting her forward. Liz slid underneath it to his side, never leaving the embrace. She raised her hand to his tie, arranging it exactly to where he wanted it to be, then glanced at him.

“You look handsome.” She kissed his cheek. Simon leaned his head toward her but kept staring into the mirror, into that maskless face that was supposed to be him but felt like someone else.

She ducked her head into his neck as she studied him through the mirror, trying to guess what it was that kept Simon’s attention.

“It’ll be okay,” she whispered. That made Simon divert her eyes to her reflection. “Whatever you’re worried about. It’ll be okay.”

He turned his head to her real self, getting trapped in the depths of her eyes. He swallowed the urge to deny her statement, out of habit. It was still not easy to believe that she actually meant her words. “Yeah,” he agreed, then pressed a light kiss on her lips.

“I’ll be with you,” she said, pressing her palm to his chest. “You know that, right?”

He nods, shifting his stance toward her to pull her into a hug that he felt deep into his soul. The knot in his stomach relaxed when she didn’t press for further explanations. He should tell her what was going through his head. He’d always felt better when she knew. This wouldn’t be any different. Would it?

“Come on,” she pushed him back gently. “We need to get going.”

As they separated, Simon kept his grip on her hand and followed her out of their apartment into the elevator to the garage. They were silent the whole time but she drew small circles in his hand with her thumb. It grounded him. Left room in his mind meanwhile to gather the courage to tell her why he was anxious.

She offered him the car keys as they approached her vehicle. He tilted slightly his head at her as a silent question and she shrugged.

“Not really in the mood to drive,” she explained scrunching her nose. Simon took the keys as Liz dropped them in his hand, then entered the driver’s seat, started the engine and began the ride.

Liz spent most of the silent trip sparing brief glances at him, hoping she wasn’t making him too uncomfortable with her observation. He was gripping the steering wheel too hard almost since they had left. For a whole minute she thought she might have been paranoid, seeing things that weren’t there out of a desire to understand, but she’d watched him enough to know the difference between him being alert and being nervous. Something was bothering him. None of her theories were enough to bring proper conclusions.

“Simon?”

His hands relaxed in an unconscious reflex. His eyes moved for a second toward her before turning to the road ahead.

“Are you okay?” she asked. He rolled his shoulders again, giving her a nonchalant look.

“Sure” She glanced down. Wrong question to ask.

She looked at him for a long time, unable to figure out her next words. How to help him. None of the sentences she thought about seemed decent enough. He would shut down or lie. She swallowed a sigh. It was beyond frustrating. Feeling like being there for him wasn’t enough.

“What?” he asked and arched an eyebrow at her once he noticed she’d been staring. She pursed her lips into a slight smile.

“I love you.”

She had said it so easily he was unable to hide his own grin. His scalp and cheeks warmed. He switched his own palm from the wheel to underneath hers as it rested on her leg and clenched it firmly. Something inside his body stirred uncontrollably every time he heard those words. He wanted to think his actions talked louder. That he always demonstrated his love for her through small daily acts. Trying to say it out loud still felt scathing. Like it would become a duty he needed to step up for while in reality he had nothing to offer. And yet, when he dared ask her why she had not given up on him, her answer was always the same: she didn’t want anything else.

He straightened in his seat as he realized. Yes, he was still scared. Of not being worthy of it. Of fucking it all up. If he said it… there was no going back. But wasn’t he already too far down at this point?

The sound of the GPS reminded him they were arriving at the venue.

The crowd started from the parking lot. Not even minding the unrelenting heat of the sun above their heads, little groups of people talked and laughed while others headed toward the yard or restaurant beside it. Simon chose to park further down, a bit more isolated from where most cars were. He switched off the engine, glancing to his left at the building as Liz stepped outside. Too many people to meet. Would they consider him enough for her, like Liz did? He didn’t want to know.

Liz had walked out and to his side of the car. Her eyes were on him, expectant. He stood, closed the car behind him, then took Liz’s hand in his. As he started walking, Liz pulled him back.

Simon swung to her as she dug inside her tiny party purse and brought out a carefully folded piece of black cloth with white paint.

“I brought it for you,” she said, as she offered his old ghost mask. Simon blinked, tempted by the offer to hide behind his usual facade. He shook his head and she tilted hers to the side, inquisitive. He was not about to turn back on his decision.

“I want to make a good impression on your family.”

She frowned.

“They already know you.”

For the last couple of years, her family had already hosted several Christmas parties and other gatherings to which the 141 was invited. Yes, they’d met Ghost. But they hadn’t met Simon.

“It’s not the same.”

She watched him, as she usually did and only put aside the mask in her purse when Simon pushed her hand down in confirmation. Then, she closed the distance between them as he glanced to the ground. She lifted her hands to his cheeks and forced him to look at her.

“Why not?”

“It just isn’t”

She caressed his cheeks with her thumbs. “Okay. Well… You know you’ve already made a good impression, right?”

He slid his arms around her in silence, holding on to the comfort of her presence.

“They have loved having you around. A mask didn’t make a difference.” She leaned forward, bringing his forehead to hers. His frown deepened Liz’s own. Her heart accelerated in silent outrage.

“Do you know why I know?” she asked. He waited.

“Because wearing it or not, I still see the same man I fell in love with.”

He swallowed thickly. Closing the distance to her lips with his own, he savored her sweet taste like a man drinking in a desert oasis. When they parted for air, Simon leaned into her neck and closed his eyes, trying to print the memory of her scent into his brain as she slid her arms above his shoulders.

“I’ve got you, okay?”

He nods as she strokes his scalp soothingly. She was in no hurry.

“I love you too,” he said, after a while, before the impulse grew weaker.

Her grin lit up her whole face.

“I know.”

When they separated, she was the one to kiss him one last time before walking toward the venue hand in hand, his step lighter than what she had seen for the entire day.

As they made their way toward the entrance, Simon instantly recognized Liz’s mother, Mrs. Hale, a woman in a pale green floral dress with a slight hunch, gray hair in a high bun and still commanding her surroundings with a kind smile. Judging by her welcoming stance and eagerness to spare a greeting to everyone passing, she had taken the role of greeter and guide, pointing out areas of the venue. When Liz and Simon came in, almost the last ones in the queue, the woman immediately lit up at his sight.

“My! Dear, how wonderful to see you again,” she said, going straight for a hug towards a stunned Simon. As far as he remembered, the woman had never seen him before without his mask.

“Good to know you missed me, Mum” Liz retorted with a chuckle “You know I always do but him, I don’t see him that often.” They parted and it was Liz’s turn for a motherly hug.

“How’d you know who I was?”

The woman turned to Simon again with a wide grin, the skin around her eyes wrinkling deeper but in the same way that Liz did when she smiled.

“How could I not?” she waves away his puzzled expression as if it were obvious what she meant. “Dear, let me introduce you to the other side of the family, come, you two,” she urged, then walked further inside without concern about the last of the guests she hadn’t greeted.

Liz felt Simon’s hesitation but she squeezed his hand and when he looked at her, she nodded again to let him know she would be right beside him. Always.

[modern-inheritance]

This is a WIP! It has Arya and Islanzadí finding out how to be normal! I think? I don't fucking know. Taking down tomorrow.

I don't like to post full WIPs but I am zoomies rn.

~~~

Arya’s eyes held nothing but a subdued fire, face blank. Her voice was equally neutral, no curiosity or anger, no accusation or trepidation. “Are you sure?”

Islanzadí suppressed the urge to take a steadying breath and nodded. “Yes. You showed the court. And I…” Unable to hold it back, she sucked in a deep breath and released it, trying to let the tremor in her throat out before she spoke again. “I couldn’t look. I didn’t. And that…was not right.” She leveled her gaze with her daughter’s, resolute. “You say you refuse to hide your scars. It’s time I stop hiding from what my inaction allowed you to endure without my support.”

The queen held her breath as Arya looked down. If she refused–

But it was only a moment. Barely even a second. Arya looked back up and shrugged, a wry grin touching her lips. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” Despite herself Islanzadí’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline when her daughter reached a hand behind her back and, with practiced ease, unzipped and, somehow, managed to slip the sports bra she was wearing off her arms and tossed it into the laundry hamper beside the bed. “Oh, what? You just learned I was sleeping with Fäolin, you can’t think he didn’t teach me at least something useful in the bedroom.” 

Islanzadí opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to find a response as the younger elf cackled at her expression. “I…will process that after…this.”

Still giggling to herself in short bursts, Arya turned to face away and grabbed the loose tanktop at the nape of her neck and pulled it over her head. 

The laughter died as the temperature of the room dropped, ghosts of air feeling both burning and electric in some places, muted and numb in others. As it always did now. 

Arya disguised the steadying inhale and huffed exhale with a shake of her head. She trapped the tanktop around her upper arms and hugged it to her chest to preserve some modesty, finishing the movement by tugging her wayward braid over her shoulder. 

“Ta-da.” 

The silence was heavy. 

Arya absolutely hated it.

Without turning, Arya jerked her head in the direction of her desk. “Wastebasket’s over there if you’re gonna puke.”

“I’m not going to puke.” Islanzadí’s voice was quiet, hollow even. It took more than a little self control for her daughter to not cast a glance over her shoulder. 

The silence was not the reaction she had wanted. Hell, she didn’t know what kind of reaction would have been most favorable, really, just didn’t want silence. 

She opened her mouth again to speak but stopped, unable to find words. Maybe silence was the only answer for it.

Arya felt rather than heard her mother take a half step forward before pulling back, a soft gasp at her own movement as if it had startled her. The trepidation was…oddly comforting. Like Islanzadí was realizing in the moment just what could set her daughter off, was respecting the invisible boundaries she had set. 

For some reason…it made her smile. With the slightest turn of her head, eye catching on the queen standing behind her in the periphery of her vision, Arya found herself speaking words she could have never imagined saying before now. 

“You can come closer if you want. I only bite Shades.” 

A quiet, broken sound fell from Islanzadí’s lips. She closed the distance in an instant before raising a hand, warmth hovering just over her daughter’s ruined skin. 

“Arya…” Islanzadí choked on the name. This…this was…. 

This was her daughter. Her Little Star. Her child, her baby, the little bundle she had held close one night after months of waiting, Evandar over her shoulder, exhausted by never happier than she was in that moment. Swearing to protect her, to do everything she could to make her life bright and filled with joy and–

Arya dropped her gaze. “Not as bad as it looks.” Her words were a mumble, not nearly as convincing as she had hoped. “Could have been worse, really. If Eragon and Saphira hadn’t healed what they did, when they did it, uh…” She trailed off, remembering the fuzzy image of her unhealed injuries Brom had purposefully blurred and Eragon and Saphira had refused to show her unadulterated. “I’m…probably not helping, am I?”

Shaking fingertips touched the giant missing swath that dropped down from Arya’s right shoulder for barely an instant before yanking back as if burned. The brevity of the contact, rather than the contact itself, made the woman flinch, followed by fumbled assurances. “It’s fine! Just…. It’s fine. I don’t care if you touch them. Glen’s been all over the damn things trying to figure them out.”

Unable to stop herself, Islanzadí stepped forward again. Slowly, trembling, the queen gently rested first her fingertips, then her palm on her daughter’s back. 

Arya squeezed her eyes shut at the broken gasp that followed, the heartbreaking sound she had heard dozens upon dozens, hundreds upon hundreds of times over from mothers and fathers finding their slain children on the battlefield. Nearly the same sound sons and daughters with missing limbs and pieces let out, crushed and smothered wails into the shoulders of their parents and loved ones as they were met with the undeniable truth of their new reality. 

She hadn’t made that sound when she first saw the scars in their totality. Her first instinct had been to claw her shirt the rest of the way off, mute, staring, trying to burn them into her mind before she tried to heal them. It hadn’t worked, of course. But for some reason her acceptance of them had come so immediately after the first attempt it never…never quite hit as hard as she had expected it to. 

“What did he do to you?” Tears were evident in Islanzadí’s voice, palm sliding across the hills and valleys left by instruments best left unspoken, fire and metal and hide and claw. “Little Star, what…what did he do to you?”

Despite it all, Arya couldn’t help the dry grin twisting her lips. “That’s my little secret to know, mum. No one else needs to hear it. It’s mine.” The grin widened. “Durza’s dead. Can’t keep a secret with two people.”

“I’ll kill him.” The change to the Ancient Language instinctively snapped Arya’s head around, wide eyed at her mother’s oath. Islanzadí, Queen of the Elves, stood with one hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her face, words muffled but achingly clear in their intent and promise. “I will kill Galbatorix for what he’s done to you.” 

It really, really shouldn’t have. But the oath made Arya chuckle. “Hey. Get in line.” She turned back to staring at the wall. “I’m not letting you skip like Eragon did.” 

Whether she heard her daughter’s quip or not, Islanzadí had no response. Instead she slid her fingers up the younger elf’s spine, another gasp pulled from her throat. “You…when you’re rubbing your neck, you–” 

“Can’t feel it half the time? It’s not too bad. The nerve responses come and go.” 

Islanzadí’s fingertips trailed down the rift again. Stars above, she could feel the muscles moving as her daughter breathed. Not only that but she could see them, rippling with every movement and shift. 

No, no, her Little Star should not, could not live with this. Badge of pride be damned, her child would not live with such scars to remind her of that monster’s touch. 

Warmth was the first warning. Sparking at her mother’s fingers. The first breath of sound from her lips–

Arya was moving, shirt yanked back over her head, teeth clenched, whirling around in a burst of speed that even the queen couldn’t track. Islanzadí felt her shoulders and the back of her head hit the wall by the door first, the hand that had been tracing the scarring slamming it soon after as her daughter pinned it in an iron grip. Arya’s other hand was over her mouth before the second syllable had even reached her throat, clamping her teeth shut tight with an audible click in the whirlwind.

To Islanzadí’s utter shock, Arya did not recoil as she had before when her instincts reared their heads. Dark emerald eyes bored into lightning gold, firm, completely unyielding. 

“That…” Arya cautioned, voice low. “Is a very…very bad idea. Do you understand?” Her gaze softened slightly, even if her grip did not. “I can’t let you go until you do. This is important.”

Eyes wide, completely and utterly bewildered, Islanzadí managed to nod twice. 

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, and I need you to swear to me in the Ancient Language that you will not attempt to heal any of my scars from Durza or Gil’ead again. Alright?” 

Again, Islanzadí nodded. In this she would not argue. Arya was coming through with another boundary and making herself quite clear. 

The moment the oath was struck Arya released her hold and stumbled back, dropping onto the bed when the back of her knees found it. Her shoulders slumped in obvious relief, and, with a wheezed laugh, the young elf shook her head and braced her hands on her knees. “Fuck, that was close.” A broken chuckle slipped out. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, that was…that was completely necessary, I should have told you when you asked to see them. Fuck! I’m so sorry.” 

Shaking, Islanzadí peeled herself from the wall and in three strides was kneeling on the floor before her daughter, grasping her face in slim hands and brushing away the start of tears with her thumb. “It’s alright, Little Star. I should not have tried to cast on you without any warning. I was foolish.”

Arya choked out a laugh again. Whatever had prompted the outburst, necessitated the oaths, it had clearly rattled her. “You were doing what mums do.”

“We’re a bit different from most mums and daughters, though. Shh, Little Star. It is alright, it is over now.” Arya just shook her head. “No harm done to me, no harm done to you.” 

It took a few deep breaths for the younger elf to steady herself. “I should have told you before this.” A bright, apologetic smile, showing those sharp canines and premolars, face wild and still somehow cracked at the edges of the grin. “We…we can’t heal them.”

Islanzadí frowned and, out of pure, old habit, tucked a wild shock of her daughter’s hair behind her ear before releasing her hold on her face. “Anything can be healed, Little Star. I know how you see them as proof of your resolve, but–”

“Mum, look at me.” The feral smile never fell. Grew just a bit more pained. A bit more…accepting? Arya touched two fingers to the center of her forehead. “Look at me through magic.”

The queen blinked. She had refrained from doing so earlier to respect her daughter’s privacy. But now she could feel Arya lowering the wards that prevented such a gaze catching, exposing all but her vital organs to damage, sight…stripping away all her wards but the ones that would save her from a mortal blow. 

So Islanzadí just nodded and closed her eyes. Breathed in, breathed out…and opened her consciousness to the world.

Life and light flared up around her. She could feel and see it all, from the little beetles marching along the windowsill to the muted, half warded pulse of Glenwing in the kitchen down the hallway. And Islanzadí could feel and see the emerald and neon green flare of her daughter shifting on the bed, turning around and crossing her legs so that her mother could see her back through the lens of how magic and life interwove together and–

‘Sweet stars above.’ 

Islanzadí’s hands flew to her mouth to silence the cry wrenched from her throat. 

Black threads cut across her daughter’s light. Over every scar he had left, every wound he had inflicted that still lingered on her skin, the Shade, Durza, his magic, parts of him, were sewn onto and into the scars. Stars above, she could see where they plunged into Arya’s flesh, the nerves all delicately sewn across and around with sharp thread tensioned just so. So tight and cutting into her, no start or end in sight.

They hummed with malice when Islanzadí reached out and hovered her hand above them. The words were too complex, the actual spells that had anchored them and held them fast were indecipherable even with her years of experience, dark magic fueling their directives. And yet she knew, she could feel what it wanted, and oh no, not to her, please–

Islanzadí ripped away and toppled back. She caught herself on her hands before she fell completely backward. Spots swam in front of her eyes and she shook her head to clear them, only to find her daughter staring at her. Upside down, laying on the bed with her head hanging off the edge and braid swaying to touch the floor.

That damn wry, pained grin playing at her lips. “See why I freaked out?” When her mother simply gaped at her, unable to put her horror into words, Arya shrugged and sat up, spinning around to again put her feet flat on the floor. “To be fair, when Glen and I tried to heal it together for the first time it almost killed me. So…a bit cautious on that front lately.” 

And suddenly Islanzadí had her arms around her and was hugging her daughter to her chest, muffling the startled, “Oh, okay,” as tears fell to the top of her head.

[hwashotcheeto]

Announcement!

Today I want to introduce you all to my male ninth member of ATEEZ character!

His name is...

Moon Kija!

Honestly, I'm so attached to him, he's like my baby. 😭 He started off as a self insert (and still kind of is) and then grew into more of his own character. I hope you all love him as much as I do. 💜

My lovely angel @malldreamprincess helped me massively with his creation and with the making of this post, so thank you, my love. 💜

So lemme tell you about him. I'll start with a list of some basic stuff (like how K-Profiles has theirs set up):

Stage Name: Kija

Birth Name: Moon Kija

Position: Visual, vocalist

Birthday: December 3rd, 2000

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Height: 5'5 (165 cm)

Weight: N/A

Blood Type: N/A

MBTI: ISFJ-T

Kija was born in the US, but moved to Korea when he was little. His mom is Korean and his dad is Chinese. He was raised learning both Korean and English, but since he moved back to Korea, his English deteriorated a little.

He went to school with Jongho, and they auditioned at KQ together (Kija didn't really want to go at first, but he wanted to go with Jongho). Kija auditioned as a vocalist and was signed on as a vocalist.

Kija is shy and reserved, but very emotional and impulsive. He thinks with his emotions before he thinks with his brain, which he admits has gotten him into trouble before. But he also thinks the availability of his emotions helps him comfort his members better.

He has a couple different hobbies, like playing video games and calligraphy.

When he's shown his room in lives, he's displayed his bed that's stacked up with many different plushies. Kija says he sleeps with all of them every night.

Kija has also said that one of his favorite things to do is go live to spend time with ATINY. Furthermore, he loves participating in fan meets and performing on stage.

Now his relationships with the other members:

Kija is babied as much as Jongho, as all the members love them both. He's the closest with Jongho and treats him like a brother, since they went to school for so many years and auditioned together.

Seonghwa babied Kija the most, keeping him close in most situations. ATINYs teased Kija a lot for how much Seonghwa loves him and how flustered Kija gets over the attention. Kija calls him "Eomma" in retaliation, and Hongjoong "Appa" by extention.

Kija and Hongjoong have a slight parental bond, where both he and Wooyoung will cling onto Hongjoong and either love him or annoy him. Hongjoong has said its both a blessing and a curse.

Speaking of Wooyoung, Kija is also close with him, who will often fight Seonghwa for. The other members have admitted multiple times that Seonghwa and Wooyoung often playfully argue over who gets to spend time with Kija. When Wooyoung wins, the two of them wreck havoc on the other members.

He sees Mingi as an older brother figure, since Mingi took care of Jongho and Kija a lot when they were younger. ATINYs have noticed that in stressful or scary situations, Kija will always reach out for Mingi first (even if Mingi is screaming like a banshee).

When he's with Yunho, he's not as shy and reserved as he usually is. Yunho helps him get out of his comfort zone in a safe way. Kija has mentioned before how Yunho helped him explore some new things and make him more comfortable overall.

The members have said that Kija and Yeosang hanging out is one of the quietest times from the two of them. They're comfortable with each other, just talking or cuddling, being quiet and soft.

Kija has said that he goes to find San if he needs physical comfort. He says that San gives the best hugs and cuddles out of all the members, and how he treats him like he's a big teddy bear plushie.

For Kija's appearance, I feel kinda icky posting pictures of a real person and using them as the face of a character, so I won't be doing that.

But I imagined Kija with a small frame, but he's got enough muscle to protect himself and match up to his members.

He usually has short hair that's just long enough to go past his eyes. He has big shiny eyes (like Seonghwa heh) and small lips.

(I feel like I'm describing Hiro from Big Hero 6 but more introverted and shy)

I hope you all love Kija as much as I do. 💜 For the future, I'm still thinking of what I'll do with him in terms of fics. Right now, I don't have a series planned, nor do I have any fics, but I'm waiting to see if any ideas pop up.

And if there's any questions, don't be afraid to ask! 💜

So there's Kija! 💜

[angriel]

Disillusionment [IV]

Part 1 »» Part 2 »» Part 3 »» Part 4 »» Coming soon

Warning!: Aged up! Neteyam x Reader, Mentions of cheating!, Toxic Relationship, Some super duper Angst everywhere, Absolutely Ass writing, Mentions of Ab^se, Mentions of Blood, Curse Words, Mentions of 💀 thyselves

"Is it (Y/n)?" Neytiri Asked her son.

Neteyam sighed and nodded, he looked down not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes. There was a painful silence between the two as the his mother scanned his figure.

Neytiri raised her hand to touch Neteyam's shoulder, but he thought that she was going to hit him. He flinched when her Hand came in contact with his shoulders.

"Neteyam" His mother spoke.

"It hurts me when you think that I was going to hit you" She said in a sad voice, as she continues to rub his shoulders. Neteyam processed what she said in his head.

"Neteyam I would never hurt you" Neytiri reassures him, She saw her son's shocked face and that caused her to chuckle.

"My son, Follow what your heart says now go and get her" She encouraged her son, Neteyam thanked her and then ran out of their hut.

"Thanks For giving him the talk Neytiri" Jake said as he emerged from the dark, Neytiri chuckled and gave him a peck on his lips before engulfing him to a hug.

"I couldn't help but see your younger self in him Ma Jake." They both laughed as they went back inside their hut to continue their duties.

Neteyam ran at his full speed towards your hut where he sees you packing your stuff up, he blocked your way panting as he catched his breath.

"Where *gasp* do you think *gasp* you're going?" He said out of breath, Neteyam's sudden appearance shocked you as you motioned for him to come inside your hut.

"I'm leaving Nete, I'll be looking for a new home" you said not daring to look at his eyes, you knew that when you looked at him you'll not be able to leave.

But he holds your hand and that made you look at him, you instantly regretted it as your will of leaving vanished in an instant when you saw how desperate and broken Neteyam looked.

"Please don't (Y/n) don't leave me please, I love you my Syulang I can't imagine you without here by my side! Why Can't you see that I loved you for a long time (Y/n)?!. Oel Ngati Kameie"

His declaration of love for you has put you in a state of utter disbelief, you didn't notice the tears threatening to fall from your eyes. It made your heart melt when Neteyam said the words you have longed to hear many years ago.

"I see you too Nete, But what will your mother think of our relationship? She will greatly disagree with us along with the Olo'eyktan himself"

You expressed your concern to him but he only looked down smiling while shooking his head, he chuckled and reached for your face to gently touch it and rub it.

"My Little Syulang you have nothing to fear my mother greatly favors you as well as my father, They knew that we were always meant to be together by Eywa"

You can't help but smile at him and he did too, you engulfed him in a hug in which he hugged you back tightly. You two stayed like that for hours and hours, frequently changing the positions but still cuddling each other.

No one speaks or sang and the both of you can only hear the soft whistles of the wind and the chirping of the birds, you both let your mind loose and let yourselves get comfortable in each others warmth. The both of you gradually fell asleep until the next morning.

»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●»●«●

The both of you stood at the home of Neteyam hand in hand contemplating on who will be the first to open the door, Neteyam took a deep breath and sighed before entering only to be met by Kiri.

"Hi Neteyam! Jake has been looking for you, seems like someone's in trouble~" She teased Neteyam, she looked at your joint hands and she gasped. And she met your eyes for confirmation.

You nod your head but before she could scream you stopped her by telling her that you have not yet mated before Eywa and she was disappointed.

Neytiri Came out to see who screamed only to see you and Neteyam, she looked at you scanning your figure from head to toe causing you to be anxious but Neteyam tightened his hold on your hand assuring yiu that it was okay.

"Come, Jake has been expecting you too" She said seriously before she went inside again, the both of you quickly followed her and as soon as the both of you got inside you saw Jake the Olo'eyktan himself sitting a few inches from where the both of you stood.

Neytiri joined Jake by his side sitting beside him as she motions for the both of you to sit across from them. Jake cleared his voice causing the both of you to flinch because of the nerve-wracking atmosphere.

Jake laughed at the both of you and that caused for you to loosen up and deeply sighed, he patted Neteyam's shoulder and looked at him in the eye.

"Answer me truthfully boy, do you accept her for who she is? Do you really love her? And are you willing to do ANYTHING for her and to be with her?" The Olo'eyktan asked his young son.

"Yes Sir! I love her with all of my heart and I will love her eternally until my last breath, I would do anything for her whatever it takes to make her mine and to be with me forever." Neteyam firmly said in confidence and that made you smile a little.

Neytiri smirked and looked at you causing you to get a little shy, Jake smiled at Neteyam as he let's go of his shoulder.

"Good! I'm proud of you son!" he firmly said.

"But do not celebrate yet as another challenge has made it's way to your own fates." Jake said in a serious manner causing the atmosphere to be heavy again.

"May I respectfully ask what do the Olo'eyktan mean by that?" You asked Jake and he looked at you, he motions for Neytiri to speak and she does.

"Your father was not happy on what happened to you ma (Y/n), he was enraged learning about the incident he spoke badly of you saying how you were a bad luck and a disgrace of your family."

She reached for your hand and squeezed it as a way of comfort and encouraging you to be strong, but before you say something Neytiri continued with her explanation.

"Therefore your father request has proposed for a fight with Neteyam if Teyam loses your consequences will be your banishment from the tribe and if your father loses it's their banishment."

"But isn't her dad have no longer have the right to do this as she is a bonded Na'vi?" Neteyam retorts but Neytiri shook her head.

"No Teyam, Their bond has been broken therefore the proposal of her father was made possible" She said whil looking Neteyam at his eyes.

"So what type of fight was my father's proposal?" you asked the Tsahik and her eyebrow contorted into a frown.

"A duel" She said grimacedly.

You gasped and looked at Neteyam, he looked back and he knew what you were thinking you shook your head for him to say no but he disagrees with your decision.

"Fine Where and When?" Neteyam asked, Jake smirked feeling proud of his son.

"At the training ground at the morning of (Y/n)'s Birthday"

"My birthday? that's in 2 days!" You exclaimed causing tension at the room.

"It's okay I'll be training him extra hard and give him a few tips to counter his techniques" Jake said while his arms crossed.

The 3 of us looked at him in shock as we were dumbfounded by his statement, the Olo'eyktan was expected of fairness of judgement and Jake was willing to help his son defeat your father.

"What? Even if I'm the Olo'eyktan doesn't mean I'll let my son get kick in the ass by your pops" He said.

The Father-Son duo decided to start their training now as they left you with Neytiri, you are a shy Na'vi but Neytiri Decided to train you as a Tsahik.

All of the Task of a Tsahik are already familiar with you as many of them are already a part of your daily life, Neytiri decided to train your shooting skills as well as teaching you her fighting style.

The day went on from that as all of you were busy doing your things, the day if the duel eventually comes as you put war paint all over Neteyam's body all of the tribe has came to witness a legendary moment of duel between 2 of the greatest warriors of the tribe.

You constantly asked him if he was okay and all but he replies with a consistent positive replies, as you finishes painting the last pattern you gave a deep kiss to Neteyam as a goodluck and it drove his fighting spirits up and got him all fired up.

They walked out of their respective tents as they faced at the middle of the training grounds, you saw your father there and he gave you a smirk that make you cower in fear and he laughed out loud.

"Prepare to die my useless daughter!" your father exclaimed in public causing for the tribe to give you a sympathetic look.

Jake and Neytiri announced the duel to start when he blows in a trumpet, causing the both of the duelist to start taunting each other to boost their own morale.

"Ready to lose young boy?" Your dad taunts him.

"Is your face ready to get pounded by my fists?" He taunted back causing your dad to growl and Jake to chuckle quietly, Jake drew a deep breath before sounding the trumpet.

Both of them charged at each other at full speed signalling that their duel has officially Started.

TAGS:

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @thatsenoughformelol @immortalbloodhuntress @erenjaegerwifee @soxfix @dorck26 @vampsclassiffied @1950schick @lovekeeho @fanboyluvr @buttercake2234 @slutforsmut4ever @witchywannabe3263 @sharni07 @avatarfreaky @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @adaiasafira @fluloa

[twosides--samecoin]

Hi!! Happy weekend! I’d love to hear about some of your ocs headcanons 🍬🌻💩 :]

Here's Jack and Olivia, 2/3 of Long Time Running's main cast - with a bonus heacanon unique to my Dogmeat! You can read the fic -> here <-

Jack Ward is my canon M!SoSu. He was a professional boxer and retired when he was conscripted for the Anchorage campaign and sent to FoB Juneau.

When Med-Tek failed, Jack pushed RJ on a vertibird destined for Vault 150 - a remote Canadian Vault that tested Duncan's illness on its residents. Two weeks later, Olivia Dallaire, my OC F!SoSu, stepped out of a vertibird and onto the hill overlooking Sanctuary and Boston. She'd be an Olympic judoka if there was still Olympics.

🍬On the topic of family: One of the themes in my fic is about the intersection and contrast between found family and adoption as well as miscommunication. Jack sees a younger version of himself in Olivia, but in a subversion of the failed-coach-training-his-actually-promising-protege trope, Jack had the title fight successes and Olivia really never will. All the same, he takes a shine to her. After meeting Father at the Institute, Jack let go of the idea of recovering his family. When he met Olivia, he felt like, "My god, this is the child Nora and I were supposed to have". Problem is, she's uh, a grown-ass 23 year-old woman. Who just immigrated to a different country and has her own trauma to unpack. And the sudden reemergence of his want to be a dad is moving faster than his ability to discuss being family with her. He faces serious role strain between his best friendship with RJ and the fatherhood he feels toward Olivia when he sees RJ differently as he begins to feel protective over her.

💩 Something ridiculous: My Dogmeat can break the fourth wall. The characters cannot hear him in the fic, but the reader can read his thoughts. One of my childhood fave movies is All Dogs Go To Heaven. The main dog is a German Shepherd, voiced by Burt Reynolds. This is how I hear him.

I was born in '94, so those 80's-90's "talking animal" genre movies were really formative for me. Anastasia, An American Tail - themes of lost family, adventure, immigration. Even RJ's story has strong Secrets of NIMH parallels. I'd reached a point where my fic felt self-serious, like it was so grounded in harsh reality and dumpster fire mental health that I forgot to have fun. Saluting Don Bluth by imagining Charlie B. Barkin and Anne-Marie the Orphan as Dogmeat and Olivia was me throwing my hands up and saying, "Fine! Fuck it! We can have fun!"

🌼 Happiness, how'd you get to be happiness: Lately, getting to know each other has been a source of happiness for both Jack and Olivia. Jack as the canon SoSu has all the problems we do when we play the game - wrangling several warring factions that all expect his presence; ignoring Father/the Institute; managing a small empire of settlements. Olivia as the SoSu of her own Vault is navigating immigration and being around people again. The heart-meltingest fluff I have published so far is father-daughter moments. Excerpt below the cut!

Long Time Running Chapter 13: Sabré Olvidar:

Jack glanced at Olivia’s marigold cable-knit sweater and jeans, rolled up at the cuffs. He realized most of her clothing from home that wasn’t her Vault suit was oversized and patched several times over. 

A deep flush of sadness erupted within. He coughed and returned to the topic of conversation. “Well, um.. What.. What do you think of the animals you let go?” 

“I just thank them for giving me a pretty view. I mean, just look at them.” She let go of their hug and stepped back. “If you look at it like this, the window makes them look like a painting.” 

She beamed at the radstag pair - four heads and too many legs. 

Jack obliged the request and stepped back. The window framed the radstags, trees and tall grasses well, like a living photograph. He appreciated the scene with the same intensity as a painting in a museum.  

He broke his gaze away and looked around at the cabin. “Well.. What brings us down here today, anyway?” he asked.

“I was thinking,” she turned away from the radstags. “Um, there wasn’t anyone here last time I visited, and there’s no one here now, and.. Y’know, it’s pretty close to town.. Does anyone own this place?” 

“Truth be told, Miss Olivia,” he replied. “I don’t think anyone’s taken interest in this cabin since the bombs fell. Doesn’t seem to me like anyone owns it.” 

She wrung her hands and shifted her weight as she looked around. “Um.. can I..” 

Jack awaited the question with patience and a smile. “Yes?”

“Can I have it? Please?” she pleaded.

His heart melted anew. Oh, Jesus, not that face, not that face. He decided to mess with her and put on an apprehensive tone. “I dunno.. It’s a big responsibility, being a homeowner..”

She hung on his every word with wide-eyed worry. 

“The cost for materials, the labor.. In this economy, too.. Ouch.” He grimaced, both to ham up the theatrics and to force his mouth away from a smile.

“I-I’ll work, I’ll get a job, I promise-” 

He could no longer keep up the act. “Oh, fine, sure. It’s yours!” 

Olivia gasped and threw her arms around Jack’s torso. Coffee spilled out of her mug with a graceful dive and landed on the floor with an audible splash.

“Thank you thank you thank you thank you- Oh, I have so much work to do-” she let go of Jack and listed the repairs. “I need a door and I have to clean the fireplace and I need to find new windows and-” 

Jack beamed as she bounced around the room. Her braid whipped through the air as she tallied up her needs. Getting to know his little bundle of contradictions was fun. 

“-nails and lumber and.. And that spot on the porch that’s sagging.. I have a lot to do if I want this ready for winter.” 

“Alright, then, that settles it,” he said. “Let’s get a move on.” 

“Where to?” she asked.

“Well, like you said, winter’s on the way. Let’s get building.” 

She smiled, somehow wider than her smile already was. “Yeah! Let’s do it!”

She ran out the door and jumped off the stairs instead of walking down. “Where can we go shopping for supplies?” she asked, turning back to him.

Jack followed and took the steps as normal. “We’ll see what we have in Sanctuary before we look elsewhere. I’ll have to get you a workbench down here.” 

Olivia hopped and skipped ahead. “My own workbench, I-” 

She wasn’t watching her step and nearly tripped. 

«Tabarnak!» she swore. Olivia threw her hands up in mock-offense. “Who put this root here, eh?” 

She laughed off the transgression, tucked the stem of the hubflower behind her ear and turned her pirate smile toward Sanctuary.

Jack Ward, ol’ 111 himself, was thoroughly charmed. Miss Olivia Dallaire contained multitudes. 

Sweet, funny, capable, sensitive. A reader, a fighter, an animal-lover and an occasional jokester who stopped to smell the roses.  

He remembered the leadup to Arturo’s last title fight, when he lived at the house with Jack and Nora. 

One night in the later stages of her pregnancy, Nora laid on the couch as Arturo and Jack sat on the floor surrounded by the pieces of a yet-to-be constructed crib.

Arturo lectured their unborn child on the syntax, phonetics and style guide of French Canadian cursing.

«Esti de câlice de tabarnak!» Arturo exclaimed. "That is what we say when the baby crib is hard to build! You better like it!"

Jack wiped a tear from his cheek as he followed Olivia to Sanctuary.

Arturo would have been so proud to be your uncle. So proud.

[nkirukaj]

Our Renaissance (7)

Pairing: Human!Alastor x Fem! OC

Warnings: Swearing, Racially Degrading Language, 1920s Slang

Genre: ANGST (& Humor!)

Word Count: 2.3K

1935

She’d heard them. They kept her up at night. 

For the past two years, she’d been afraid to fall asleep. Every night it was the same dream. She had no desire to continue reliving her husband’s death on a loop. But it was in her dreams that she found a detail that she’d overlooked in that moment. She’d heard them. The sound of two men running away. Perhaps they’d heard her wails and realized their mistake, or perhaps it was no accident at all. This time she decided to sleep, she decided to relive that moment once more, for the sake of Alastor, herself, and justice.

She loved her babies, but she couldn’t look at them without thinking of her husband. They were four years old now, so they had no memories of their father, like she did. She envied them, envied the way that they could live without grief and act as if he’d never existed at all because to them he didn’t. Sure for a while afterward they cried when they couldn’t get their daddy to hold them, but those memories were quickly erased with ones where Mommy was the only one to call for. They could speak now, and they never called for their daddy.

But Vera did. When she lay awake at night silently screaming and sobbing. She’d become numb, only taking care of her children as a shell of her former self. Her body did what it needed, while her mind was long gone.

When he didn’t show up at the radio station, they asked and questioned her why, but quickly replaced his segment with someone white, which Vera thought that they were itching to do anyway. No departure speech, no announcements, nothing. Like the babies, it’s as if he never existed to them at all.

The worst part of it? Lying to May. 

She’d gotten used to her son’s frequent visits and after a few weeks of not hearing from him on the phone or having him visit in person, she’d come over to see him. Vera had told her that he wasn’t there and when she’d asked where he was Vera had a choice to make. Either tell his mother that her son is dead and then have to explain how and why that happened, thereby sullying her view of her baby forever, or lie and say that he just left them, leaving his mother to wonder for the rest of her life what had gone wrong and why he would ever do that. May knew how much he loved his wife, so it would never make sense to her that he would leave her, but that was better than her knowing that her son was a killer.

“May,” she spoke flatly, “I think a visit to their grandmother is quite overdue,”

“Of course!” She reaches out for the children “Come here babies!” They waddle over to her, hugging her legs. 

“Take care of them May,” Vera speaks over her shoulder “They deserve it.”

“Of course,” she said with a confused look in her eye “Hey Vera,” she called after the younger mother

Vera turns to acknowledge her

“He will come back, I know my son. He would never just abandon you,”

Vera gives her a small smile “Thank you for your hope, May. I just want you to know that I think that you’re a brilliant mother and a phenomenal woman all around,”

May gives her a humble smile before waving her goodbye and going inside with the children. 

Vera had spent the past two years looking for those men. Those men that killed her husband and then fled like cowards. To be honest, she had nothing and no one to go off of other than the men who frequented this hunting ground, and there were many. It was a quite popular spot for hunting. So she began hunting herself. Some found it odd to see her there day in and day out and did not cease commenting on it, but this was important to her. Though every day, she scouted and spoke to each man who hunted alongside her, they never felt right. They never felt like Alastor’s murderers, and then it hit her. The piece that she had been missing this whole time. 

Alastor was killed at night.

All along she had been looking in the right place but at the wrong time.

The next night she stalked the hunting grounds thoroughly and quietly finding only two men around that time. Would it have been more ideal to have evidence? Yes. However, her gut told her she’d found the men, and at that point, that was enough for her.

She took her time dropping her gun and herself, making as much noise as possible as she fell. They came running over and asked what she was doing and if she was all right. She came up with a story about learning how to hunt, but being too embarrassed to hunt during the day.

“Are you Vera Bates? Well, it’s an honor to meet you! Shouldn’t your husband be out here helping you? What kind of man would let his wife out like this at night,”

She begins stroking the gun “Unfortunately I do not have a husband to teach me. I’m a widow,” she bats her lashes “Would you two like to come over and show me some tips?”

He smirks “Well of course,”

These men were insufferable. They were loud, crass, and even though she made it seem like she wanted something sexual, their comments were lewd and crude.

“And like a year or two ago, we was hunting out in the dark, like usual and I’m pretty sure we killed a man!”

Vera’s eyes and ears perked up “Oh?”

“Got right between the eyes,”

His partner laughed “I was just surprised by his good aim!”

“I was like damn! If only that was an animal!”

“He was!” they begin cackling

Vera turns to the quieter one “What do you mean by that?”

He settles down “Well, I’m sure he was colored, but he doesn’t believe me,” he points to his louder friend

“Now, why would a colored man be outside that time of night? That’s just dumb if he was!”

The blood in Vera’s skull boiled, and her skin turned physically hot. She slaps the table and stands

“If you’d like, I could refresh your beers for you,” she says with a smile

“Well thank you, doll!” he and his comrades cackle with drunkenness, slapping her ass as she walks past.

Once she arrives in the kitchen, she removes two more beers from the fridge and pops them open, staring out the window behind the sink. She opens the kitchen drawer and places a knife on the counter. Alastor’s voice rang in her ears.

I would kill for you. I would die for you

And I for you, my love she thought, entering the kitchen drawer and gripping her meat mallet. Her grip loosens for a moment when she thinks of her babies. So young, soft, and innocent. 

They don’t deserve a killer for a mother.

She grabs the meat mallet tight and rejoins the men in the room.

“How long does it take to refresh a beer, honey?” He yells then begins laughing with his partner “Women, am I right?” they cackle

Then suddenly half the laughter stops as his partner falls to the floor unconscious. The man drunkenly looks up “Huh?” the last thing he sees is Vera raising the meat mallet over her head, and swings, ready to tenderize.

When they awaken they’re back at the hunting grounds, but they’re tied up and they each have concussions.

“Woo!” Vera says, walking into their line of sight “You two are heavy! It took me about an hour each to drag y’all out here! Lucky for me you’re both blockheads and stayed knocked out”

“What’s going on??” Vera shrugs “Well, I’ll be honest. You’re both going to die tonight,” The men’s squirming became much more intense and they flopped their bodies all around “So remember that ‘colored’ man you bragged about accidentally shooting?” She plays with the knife in her hands “How do you know who I am,” she paces in front of them “But don’t know enough to know” She stops as they squirm in their restraints “That he was my husband?” She grins maniacally 

“You said you didn’t have a husband!”

“I also said I was a widow! And that’s because of YOU!” She pulls out her knife and drags it across the palm of her glove “So now I’m going to kill you,”

“You’re a crazy bitch!” he spits out

She nods “Yes.” she walks over to him “But that’s your fault. For not having better aim. You killed my husband and you made me crazy.” She steps on his dick, hearing it crunch underneath her boot. He screams out in pain. “So here’s what’s going to happen okay?” she points to herself with the knife “This little Sheba is going to make you suffer. And then kill you like you killed my husband. By ‘accident’” She uses quotes, before plunging the knife into the man’s leg, twisting it in deep, and dragging it down as he bellows in agony. She’s indifferent to his screams before shoving dirt and a rock into his mouth.

“God shut up.” She spits in annoyance, moving over and doing the same to his silent partner “Today my husband would have been 35,” she stabs them both in the stomach, then the eyes, then in both of their hands. “I wonder if you’ll meet us, down in Hell,” she says before taking her gun out and shooting them both in the head.

Afterward, Vera goes home and takes a bath, burns her clothes, and gets dressed in her finest gown.

“Hello?” She asks the police on the telephone “Yes, this is Vera Bates and I’d like to report a murder,”

When they arrive she opens the door, gun in hand, and waves it at the police.

“Drop your weapon!’ The policemen call out, but she doesn’t. Instead, Vera cracks a smirk and raises her middle fingers on both hands.

“Shoot me!” she cackles before a bullet hits her right in the chest, and everything goes black.

When she wakes up, everything is red. The sky, the ground, and the buildings. Looked an awful lot like a city. Something like Brooklyn. When she looks down at herself in a puddle, she sees that she now has short red hair, and brow deer ears on top of her head. White deer spots all over her face, and was covered in freckles. Surprisingly, she was unsurprised. She wandered around for weeks before ending up in the right place. The right place, to hear…A voice on the radio.

First, there was a scream of bloody murder that went on for about 2 minutes when it finished, there was a voice that spoke.

“This has been brought to you by ‘The Radio Demon’. Well hello, you wayward sinners, that was another reminder of who I am. I may be new to Hell but certainly do not cross me.”

Vera knew that accent anywhere, it may have been phony, but it was distinctly him.

“Excuse me, where is the radio station? I need to find the Radio Demon,”

“You must be one crazy bitch,

“Yes,”

Finding the station was the easy part, but working up the courage is go inside was hard. What would he think of her? Would he remember her? Would he even be happy to know that she’s there? Would he recognize her? All those thoughts running through her head, when the door to the station opened, and a 7ft tall demon with deer ears part of his red, fading to black hair and antlers on top of his head, a red coat and shirt with black pants exited. She didn’t know what she expected to see, she supposed she expected him to look the same, though she didn’t, why would he? 

One thing about him that was striking, was a bright yellow smile at the bottom of his face. He almost ran into her and she felt the annoyance through his eyes, but his smile never faltered.

“Can I help you?” he asked, so no he didn’t recognize her

“Alastor,” she said very breathy-like, his name was all she could get out.

“Yes?” 

She stares up at him through her lashes, tears threatening her composure “You killed for me, you would die for me,”

His eyes soften behind his red-tinted monocle, he reaches up and caresses her face “Vera?”

She nods and tears begin to fall from her eyes. he puts his hands on her shoulders

“What about the twins?”

“I left them with your mother,

He nods, understanding “They’ll turn out much better than I did,”

They stand quietly staring at each other, hands lightly brushing over each other’s skin, as if each of them could not believe that the other was real, here, and in front of them. Vera breaks the silence.

“You broke your promise,” she told him as he held her in his arms

“I know. I hope you will forgive me ma chérie.”

“Never leave me again,”

“Down here, that is a promise I can keep.”

“Then I forgive you.”

“‘Til death do us part,”

“And even after that,”

Epilogue

“I just think it’s something interesting to think about.”

“Well my dear, I like to think we’d end up down here, together. No matter what”

Voe turns her head to look at her partner, knowing deep down in her bones that he was right. That in every universe and every timeline, whether it be New York City, New Orleans, or even manmade; this destiny was written in the stars for them. And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

THE END

[bun-z-bakery]

My contribution for vanweek :3

@vanweek2024 Day 3: Time Travel Au

"Bound By Tragedy"

Vanessa sat in the old booth, lost in the performance of the animatronics she adored as a kid. This was a usual routine for her. Make sure everything at Freddy's is “decent” and spend time with the children trapped inside the robots that once brought the place to life. 

As much as she tries to suppress it, the guilt runs skin deep, eating away at her every single day. Even if it wasn't her fault, it still haunts her, plaguing her mind with ways she could've stopped this. How could she have known? 

How could she have stopped the tragedy that would've been caused by the same person who was supposed to protect her? 

The past can't be changed, everything is set in stone, as her father would say. 

Once the performance was over, Vanessa stood and applauded the performers. However, something was wrong. She quickly noticed someone was missing. Foxy. 

She walks over to the main stage and points to Pirates Cove.

“All right, where's Foxy?”

She jokingly asks. The animatronics were known to pull pranks from time to time. Unfortunately, they must've been too distracted by their jam session to have noticed the foxy sneaking off. They shake their heads or shrug in response. 

“Let's go find our pirate!” 

Vanessa claps her hands and runs off. The animatronics follow her lead and search for their missing bandmate. 

The sound of speaking made her freeze in place. 

“Just a rat…”

A tiny rodent runs past her feet, making her cringe at the thought of having to handle it. 

She sighs before she continues the search. 

“Foxyyy? Ya here, captain?”

She calls out again as she makes her way through the grave of filthy arcade machines until she finds herself standing in front of the ball pit. 

She sighs before turning around, only to be greeted face-to-face with Foxy himself. 

Vanessa let out a shriek before she fell backwards into the ball pit. An odd sensation washed over her as the sound of heavy metal footsteps began to fade away. Something didn't feel right… 

Vanessa takes a moment before shooting up from the ball pit hoping to scare the fox back. She yelled as she made claws with her hands, fully expecting to see Foxy standing in front of her only to be greeted by... People? 

The bright lights, the kids, the busy restaurant, was this some sort of dream? 

She slowly exits the ball pit and cautiously examines her surroundings. It all feels real, it smells real… this can't be real, right? 

She walks around the lively restaurant, taking it all in. This is how it should've been, a happy place full of laughter and smiles as intended.

“Ow!”

A little girl yelped as she fell to the ground upon bumping into Vanessa. She quickly bends down and offers her hand to the little girl on the verge of tears. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry kiddo! Here, let me help…”

 The little girl looked up at her, making Vanessa freeze in place. It was her. That little girl WAS HER. 

She took Vanessa's hand and rose to her feet. 

“You ok kiddo?” 

Vanessa wistfully asked her younger self. She wasn't referring to the harmless collision. She knew exactly what today was. The clothes she wore served as a dead giveaway; today was her birthday and the day that her father ruined it all. 

Her younger self nods in response.

“I was told that a certain someone's birthday is today! Is that true?”

Vanessa smiles as she crouches down to meet her gaze. Her younger self nodded, she knew she was getting anxious. She figured it would be best not to keep her for long. 

“Take this”

Vanessa reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out a rusted Freddy's security badge she kept from her time at the restaurant, handing it to her younger self. 

The girl's eyes practically light up, she hugs Vanessa before running off to the table where her friends sat. 

Vanessa smiles at the sight, seeing all of them together again. 

However, the moment didn't last long. He appeared, the yellow rabbit… Her father. 

A shiver ran down her spine as she watched him from a distance.

“Let's play a game!”

The yellow rabbit announced to the children at the table. 

She instantly knew where this was going. 

“Hide and seek!”

He covered his eyes as he began to count. The children ran and hid wherever they could. But her father never plays fair. Once he was done counting, he pretended to search for the kids as if he wasn't peaking through his fingers to make sure he knew where they all went. 

What a sick trick her mind was playing. The guilt finally took a toll and manifested into some surreal night terror. But surely they can be controlled too, right? She could give herself a happy ending, even if it meant nothing once she finally woke up. 

Vanessa makes her way to the boy closest to her 

“Hey! Your mom is looking for you!”

She points back, but the boy shushes her. He was watching, she could practically feel his eyes burning into the back of her head. 

“Come one, let's go find her!”

Vanessa gently takes his hand and leads him to his mother where he will be safe. Just as she was about to reach her, she noticed the yellow rabbit with a kid heading to the staff room. 

Her blood ran cold, and she reacted as quickly as she could. She sprinted toward them before he could shut the door.

“Wait!”

The yellow rabbit whipped his head around, staring down at Vanessa as he held the boy's hand. 

“Is there a problem, miss?”

The yellow rabbit spoke, not breaking his cheerful facade, but there was a tiny hint of irritation. 

“His parents are looking for–”

“Do you know this woman?”

He looked down at the boy, Vanessa gave a little nod to the kid. Unfortunately, he didn't get the hint.

“No… I don't know her.”

The boy shrugged, giving the man in the suit the confirmation he needed. Vanessa felt as if she was about to lose it. A mixture of fear and rage started to boil inside of her. 

“Miss, this is staff only, and our little guest here is waiting for his prize!”

“NO WAIT!!”

He closes the door before Vanessa can grab the boy. She failed… she couldn't protect him. 

She ran back to the main area, frantically searching for her younger self. 

“Vanessa!”

She runs to the girl and hugs her tightly as tears stream down her face. 

“Listen to me.”

Vanessa began as she broke the hug.

“There are some things you may not understand now, and I'm sorry I couldn't stop it… maybe in another life, everything would've been different.”

Her voice breaks as she stands to walk away from her younger self. A large yellow hand grabs Vanessa's arm and drags her to the back of the restaurant. She struggles in his grasp. 

His other hand covers her mouth just as she's about to scream. 

“Now what the hell do you think you're doing?”

He asked in a condescending tone as she continued to struggle.

“I don't know who you are, but you are NOT welcome here anymore.”

He opened the door to the staff room. Before he could drag her in, Vanessa was able to quickly free her arm and elbow her father, triggering one of the spring locks to go off. 

She ran from him as he called out for security and another staff member to assist him. 

She ran as fast as she could, not caring about the strange looks the staff or parents gave her as she threw herself into the ball pit in hopes of ending this nightmare. 

Slowly she began to regain consciousness. She stands in the ball pit and lets out a sigh of relief as she finds herself back at the abandoned pizzeria, surrounded by the worried animatronics. 

She hated those nightmares... 

The years came and went, and Vanessa found herself at the abandoned Freddy's once again. This time it wasn't to help clean up her father's mess. But rather to watch the animatronics perform like they did when she was a kid. 

Vanessa pulls out the rusted security badge she received on the day of her birthday. She smiles at it as she remembers the odd woman who gifted it to her. That was the only happy event of that day...

The band finishes their number and Vanessa puts away the badge as she stands in the old booth to clap. She pauses and walks over to the main stage, pointing to Pirates Cove.

“All right, where's Foxy?”