#Humans are built to be burdens

[fandomsoda]

Realizing something about a situation that definitely is the most reasonable explanation and was clarified to me a while beforehand. Sure there are what-ifs and it could actually be worse than I think now but tbh it’s probably not and I’ve probably been overreacting god kill me

[samuraisharkie]

that virtualtoybox person literally told me they aren’t reading what I said and then tried to talk to me w about as much in their tags lol. i never understand people that go ‘I’m not reading all of that but you should read what I have to say” bc like. imagine how infuriated ur gonna get when that response is leveled right back at you? and judging by their tags they didn’t read past my very first line. bc they started comparing animals and animal rights to eugenics which is EXACTLY what I was saying is extremely dangerous to do. That’s exactly how people start calling things that happen to animals a ‘Holocaust’ and I’m positive such a statement is made in that book they told me to read. I’m disabled too. I know what I’m talking fucking about too. In the animal section, I for SURE know more than you do! Because if you knew and truly cared about animals and their welfare, you wouldn’t be talking like PETA. Here’s a trick to other disability activists: learn about animal welfare by volunteering on farms and educating yourself on breeders and the industry rather than getting involved in PETA! And another critical trick: NEVER compare animals to people! That’s exactly what the freaks that think any living thing with a deformity that should die are doing. These people would clutch their pearls the moment they hear farms cull undesirable animals bc they can’t afford to keep every single one and have to streamline their breeding and raising to what will help keep the farm running. That doesn’t mean these farmers want to do the same to people, because the animal is NOT a person and doesn’t live like one. Our lives are not even remotely comparable! People like OP are the people that keep a wild bird with an amputated wing alive bc in their mind it would be insinuating all amputees should die if the bird is put down, and next thing the bird is on the Dodo as inspiration porn. Duex Face is an exception to two headed animals, not the rule. Don’t tell me to do my research when you’re spouting talking points from people that have caused more problems for animals as a whole second only to the commercialization of animal industry. Maybe you need some research (field research) instead! They’re going to block me and I’m assuming that’s why I can’t rb the post anymore even if I wanted to (like I said I didn’t want to start a fight so like. I’m not going to be yelling and acting like an asshole. I swore a bit in the tags initially bc I feel very strongly about how animal rights activists have fucked up disability activism by acting like there’s equivalency in our existences, but that’s not targeted. Most was going to respond telling them that if they feel this strongly they need to be reading more about the animal industry rather than relying on people that are in no way experts on animals talking as an authority on them, and using that to tie with their human rights activism as if animals rights and humans rights are even remotely the same in any way. Whatever though at least the tags are there if anyone who cares enough actually reads them and thinks about them. Will most likely just attract militant vegans and ARAs like the op but whatever)

[bunnihearted]

being in pain is so isolating nd alienating lol >.<

[nabaath-areng]

Fuck Sweden as a nation for turning the woobification of our history and culture into one of our greatest exports, pretending to be wholesome and peaceful while profiting from conflicts elsewhere. For never having the fucking spine to take any stance ever and acting high and mighty for being "neutral", all while frothing at the mouth to get a piece of that colonial cake from the cool kids table where the superpowers are seated. For recognizing Palestine's sovereignty only to then consider a withdrawal of said recognition in response to the current genocide. For allowing islamophobia to get to the point it is now and then pointing fingers at jews as a whole. For giving less of a flying fuck about swedish jews during WW2 and until now, yet patting ourselves on the back and taking credit for heroic deeds done primarily by individuals.

I wish nothing but absolute hell and misery for Ulf Kristersson, who is even more spineless about his inaction than I thought possible. Who had nothing to say about the burnings of the torah and quran, only to claim that he stands for fighting antisemitism. Who puffed up his chest and was acting so tough about the things he would do once he became prime minister, only to hold up on none of his lofty promises in true conservative fashion. Both he and his lackeys (as well as their fanclubs of raging screaming bigots) deserve nothing but hurt and hell for continuing to destroy the lives of all marginalized groups in Sweden, all while shamelessly increasing their own salaries blatantly in the open, to then have the sheer and utter gut to declare that actively supporting genocide is within our best interests.

This country's audacity is one that only became possible because we sacrificed our neighbours safety for the sake of maintaining our own, because when your most recent war was in 1809 it's apparently not possible to even try and comprehend the horrors of modern warfare. That is, besides producing the tools for it to happen elsewhere.

[boomerang109]

.

[justicebled]

i was so busy organizing my blog and getting it down to below 50 people, because i genuinely wanted it to be private, that i forgot to make yuri's pri.de icon. his bio is extremely outdated.

ex: he's a sagittarius no shocker there, december 10th is his birthday. i genuinely don't know how the lower quarter survives winter but lemme tell you it's a team effort.

plus yuri has grown with me for three years even when i've taken breaks writing him on this platform. but in terms of loving someone?

he's demi-panromantic. he's not someone to really indulge in physical relationships unless he feels an emotional and spiritual connection to the person. it's crucial that this person understands yuri and yuri understands them, which...isn't really hard for yuri's end, because yuri can see through 99.9 percent of people. he just doesn't care.

what yuri is attracted to is a person's soul, and their heart, and their beliefs, and how well they get along. if they can laugh together, if they can grow together, however the pace. because yuri's actions are borne of a love for the people, a love for a future where people realistically can live unoppressed knowing full well he cannot solve every problem, and a love for the land not through rose colored glasses, but full realism of it's ugliness and goodness.

he embraces all of that, and continues his journey. so much of ves.peria is about love and the way it drives others to act for others good. it generally is a tale of agape love, which is the most selfless form of love, something yuri embodies even before he realizes he cannot stop his hero's journey, and instead embraces it, consequences and all, good things and bad things, like choices are.

edgelord? far from it. broody? far from it. he sees things for what they are, without forced idealism if it's too uncomfortable to face the reality, he does not, and will not ever look away. if he wants to change things, protect people, shake the foundations of a system so thousands may live and prosper, he cannot look away because it's grisly. he hasn't since he was born in a slum where people and bodies were on the street left and right. he's seen things no one should ever see in their life.

he will never judge someone for their orientation, gender or not committing to one, or a person's standing, although he is cagey around nobles, he's slowly growing out of that thanks to meeting estelle.

the hardest thing about even remotely getting near yuri's heart is that for all it's unconditional love and love of humanity in a realistic, non shonen protag way, a person-like way, he has so much trauma and a desire to not involve others in his problems and feelings as he often if not 95 percent of the time will place you above his own needs, and this has been ingrained in him and thrust upon him since he was a child, it will not be an easy habit to break, and he isn't going to coddle you in a romantic or relationship period you yourself, have to make your own choices. you yourself, have to make the decision every day to do good, and while yuri will support and help you along, there is no such thing as 'fixing a person', that is the person's job, and yuri himself will encourage, stay by their side, and walk the path with them, but he cannot walk it for you, and he wouldn't want you to walk it for him. it's unhealthy and unrealistic.

but if you do get yuri to love you in the romantic capacity, there is no more devoted, gentle, noble and kind partner at his core, and ultimately seeks your betterment and your good without coddling you in an unrealistic way that would denote you weren't equals.

yuri's story is a realistic labor of love to mankind and an attainable future, it's why he sacrifices and fights so hard and fights so fiercely without coddling the people who have given up on their life. look at raven. he doesn't give him a speech. it's not his job. look at estelle. it's her choice to live. but he encourages them to make the choice themselves, heavily emphasizing how much they matter to him. it's why he's such a unique fictional hero-protagonist among many things, and so once you have him romantically which....is quite a hurdle? he has his own trauma and baggage hoo. there are few more loving, noble, heroic or benevolent,

one of vesperi.a's strong points though i think it's such a tightly written story, is that yuri subverts the trope you'd think you see of him: 'dark brooding and morally grey bad boy' and shows you he's the exact opposite, a man who laughs until he has tears in his eyes. a man who adores children and can't close his heart to people who need him, resulting in many, many people viewing him as a role model and big brother figure / mentor figure.

but with romantic love . . . ultimately even if he does have feelings for you, don't expect him to act on them immediately. he just wants you to be happy.

tl;dr: yuri doesn't care about gender or no gender or undecided, loves the soul first, is demi-panromantic and so much love is stored in the yuri lowe.ll as much as unstoppable ass-kicking and king level snark.

[isneezelikeamouse]

I think ppl in the rbs are right in saying that with being a clone at least you’re still human & with being a robot you have to contend with whether or not you’re actually your own person or were just programmed to be the way you are BUT I counter that the ‘am I my own person’ is also pertinent to the clone thing too

[howarddevotoeater]

I am so excited to read this

[ohcorny]

i reread all of chobits recently as insp for my next TT book and every time i think about some aspect of it all i want to do is rip it open and tear it apart and go "why?". it brings up so many concepts and scenarios within the premise of "what if computers looked like pretty girls" but it doesn't want to commit to saying anything about it or take its own world seriously.

i have a lot to say about chobits. arguably i have more to say about chobits than even chobits wants to say about chobits.

chobits is about sex except it isn't about sex at all. chi's power switch is in her vagina. we're shown images of chi doing sexy things, she gets tricked into doing a strip tease, and two separate men try to finger her and she does her Do Not Touch Me There magic powers thing, and we eventually learn every time she resets from the power button, her memories are erased, so you can't have sex with her without deleting her.

but we never unpack why her reset button is in her vagina, or why it's so important that nobody can ever touch her, or why people's personal computers were built with vaginas in the first place (we never have it confirmed that all persocoms have them, but that two separate men try to touch her there imply it's expected). why do the personal computers shaped like women have vaginas if not to fuck them. as a product, it is expected that you will fuck them*.

*i assume, because the comic never says so!

the man who invented persocoms is the same person who built chi and her sister, and he built them to be daughters for his wife. he put the reset button in chi's vagina. we never find out why. we never get a HINT of why. he built the chobits so they could feel and fall in love, but also built them so they could never fuck. you can extrapolate a reason why a man might build his daughter-androids that way, but the series itself never touches it, and never makes any sort of point about it. it's just presented as an immutable fact that chi can't fuck without it deleting her, as if it was born of happenstance and not a person's choice.

what does that actually say about anything? what is it trying to say about sex? is it about the commodification of female bodies, how once they're used up sexually they're worthless? that if you can't love somebody without fucking them, what good is your love? that love without sex is okay (but also a huge burden and sacrifice a man must accept for the sake of someone else's happiness?)

what does it want to say! chobits is about sex, but it doesn't want to commit to any specific message about sex.

and that's just ONE issue i have with it. there are so many things chobits wants to be about but won't say anything about. it wants to be about the persocoms replacing human connections, we constantly get told 'gee people hang out with persocoms a lot', chitose publishes a whole inexplicable book series about people preferring persocomes to humans. it's to the degree that a prominent character's husband gets So wrapped up in (presumably) fucking his android that he locks his actual wife out of the house, having just straight up forgotten she exists. we don't have anything to say about it though. she falls in love with a new man. the people who hang out with their persocoms too much are all background characters in crowds. we never look at how the rise in persocoms has affected society as a whole.

it wants to be about grief, in the story about the man who marries a persocom and has to watch her slowly degrade until she can't remember him anymore, or the kid whose older sister died and he tried to replace her with a persocom who he dresses up/treats as a maid and lives alone with despite being omega orphaned and 11 years old. but then it's fine. the man who married a persocom gets in a relationship with a high school girl 20 years younger than him (CLAMP!). it's fine! the boy who tried to replace his older sister just accepts that the persocom replacement won't replace her. still treats/dresses her up like a maid and lives alone. is she his legal guardian. i don't know. don't worry about it.

and it wants to be about women, because everything about the story is about women, all the persocoms are women, all the tragedies are wrapped up in the death of a woman, or a woman's heartbreak, or a woman's feelings. but it has fucking nothing to say about women beside look how pretty they are. my boobs are E cup, sempai :) teehee

it makes me insane.

friend @amphiaria put it best as "Unfortunately the story is uninterested in itself" and i can never forgive it for being so aesthetically good, giving us the best design for an android (the ear things are Perfect) and then being So Fucking Bad.

in conclusion:

[librababe99]

Healing Touch

cw: MDNI, 18+, Smut, Fluff, Young!Charles Xavier, Fem!Reader word count: 2.7K Summary: In the mid-1970s, Charles Xavier is a man haunted by loss and burdened by the weight of his own mind. When you, a fellow mutant, offer him not only companionship but a love he never expected, the walls he has built around his heart begin to crumble.

A/N: Since I wrote for Erik I felt that writing for Charles balances everything out <3 Forgive me if mentioning the cuban missile crisis at the beginning throws off the timeline in anyway, we don't have to jump into technicalities...lol! Anyways, please feel free to comment, reblog or like this <3 happy reading!

(Marvel Masterlist)

The 1970s had a way of weaving magic into the air—rife with a rebellious freedom, spinning off the back of a decade of upheaval. Amidst the intoxicating haze of civil rights movements, psychedelic music, and ever-changing fashion, there was something magnetic about this era, as if the world were in the throes of rediscovering itself. And in that same time, tucked away in the heart of Westchester County, Charles Xavier was a man rediscovering himself too—one who had seen the world both at its brightest and at its darkest.

The Xavier Institute for Higher Learning had become more than just a school. With the Cuban Missile Crisis a decade behind them and the threat of mutants still very much real, Charles had been pulled into a storm that had rocked him to his core. The man who had once been so full of optimism and hope had become someone else—someone hardened by loss, crippled both physically and emotionally. He had found himself retreating from the world, isolating behind the walls of his mansion, letting the noise of the outside world fade into a dull, muted hum.

But then there was you.

You had come into Charles’s life by chance, a fellow mutant with abilities that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. He had noticed you first because of your power—something akin to empathy, the ability to feel and manipulate the emotions of others. It was subtle, nothing explosive like fire or ice, but it was potent in its own right. In some ways, Charles found it even more fascinating, for it spoke to the heart of what he had always believed—that mutants were more than just their powers; they were people with gifts, capable of great good or terrible destruction depending on how they wielded them.

But it wasn’t just your abilities that caught his attention. There was something about you that stirred something long-buried inside him. You were strong, yes, but kind too—empathetic not just because of your powers but because of who you were at your core. And in a world where Charles had grown tired of fighting, tired of losing, you had become a beacon of warmth in the cold. Your presence began to thaw the ice he had encased himself in, and though he resisted it at first, that pull between you was undeniable.

It was a Friday night, and the mansion was quiet, the students having all gone off for the weekend. The air outside was thick with the scent of rain, the clouds heavy and swollen, but inside, there was a warmth that clung to the air. You had found Charles in his study, a glass of scotch in hand, seated behind the large oak desk that had become almost a throne for him. He was disheveled, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, hair slightly out of place in a way that made him seem more human, less like the esteemed Professor Xavier he had always tried to be.

You knocked softly on the doorframe, leaning against it with a playful smile. "You look like you could use a break."

Charles glanced up from his drink, his eyes settling on you in that way that always sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blue eyes—were tired, but they softened when they met yours. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "A break from what, exactly?"

You shrugged, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him. "From thinking. From brooding. From being Charles Xavier, mutant extraordinaire." You reached his desk and perched yourself on the edge of it, your knee brushing his thigh as you did so. His eyes flickered down to the point of contact, and you saw the briefest hitch in his breath.

“I don’t brood,” he replied, though the smile that followed betrayed his words.

“Oh, you most certainly do.” You leaned forward, teasingly close, just enough that he could feel your presence in the air between you. “You sit in this big, empty mansion, all alone, with your thoughts and your scotch, and you brood.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was something in the sound that was darker, more resigned. “Maybe I do.” He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, his eyes distant for a moment. “There’s a lot to think about these days.”

You watched him for a moment, your gaze softening. Charles had always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, even before the accident that had left him in a wheelchair. But now, that weight seemed heavier, as though the world had taken too much from him.

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his wrist, and the moment you touched him, you could feel it—a deep, aching sadness, buried beneath layers of composure and strength. It was like touching a wound that had never quite healed.

“I can feel it, you know,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles looked up at you, and for a moment, the walls he had built around himself seemed to crumble, leaving behind the man he had tried so hard to hide. “Feel what?” His voice was just as soft, but there was an edge to it, a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see.

You smiled gently, your fingers trailing up his arm, barely grazing his skin. “Everything. The pain, the loss, the weight of all of it. You’re carrying so much, Charles. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he did. “And what if I don’t want you to feel it?”

“Then I won’t,” you whispered, your hand now resting against his chest, right over his heart. “But I want to help you carry it. I want to be there for you.”

Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with something deep inside him, as though he were warring with himself. Then, slowly, he reached up, his hand covering yours as it rested on his chest. His touch was warm, gentle, and yet there was a tension in the way he held you, as though he were afraid to let go.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Your heart clenched at his words, and without thinking, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you until your lips were inches from his. “You deserve so much more than you think, Charles.”

And then you kissed him.

It was soft at first, tentative, as though you were testing the waters, waiting to see if he would pull away. But he didn’t. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, and you felt him respond, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that surprised you both.

The kiss deepened, the years of longing, pain, and desire pouring into it with a ferocity that neither of you had expected. You could feel the way his body tensed beneath you, the way his breathing quickened as he lost himself in the moment.

Before you knew it, you were climbing into his lap, straddling him as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more. Charles groaned against your lips, his hands sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips as though he were afraid you might disappear if he let go.

“Are you sure about this?” he murmured against your mouth, his voice thick with desire and hesitation.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your forehead resting against his as you smiled softly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

His response was a low, guttural sound that sent a thrill racing through you, and before you knew it, he was kissing you again, more desperate this time, as though he couldn’t get enough of you.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and Charles let out a breathless laugh, the sound vibrating against your lips as you finally managed to push the fabric aside, revealing the hard planes of his chest. You ran your hands over his skin, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

“You’re beautiful,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that broke your heart. “You’re the first person who’s ever said that to me.”

You smiled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his neck. “Then they’re all fools.”

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body as though he couldn’t quite believe you were real. His touch was gentle at first, almost reverent, but there was a fire behind it, a need that he had kept buried for far too long.

When you finally peeled off your shirt, you heard him suck in a breath, his eyes darkening with desire as he took you in. “God, you’re—” His voice broke off, as though he couldn’t quite find the words, but you didn’t need him to.

You kissed him again, your hands sliding down his chest, feeling the way his body responded to you, the way he trembled beneath your touch. You could feel the tension between you building, the air thick with anticipation.

And then, slowly, you began to move against him, your hips grinding against his in a rhythm that had both of you gasping for breath. Charles’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you, matching your movements with a desperate need.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice ragged.

You didn’t need to ask what he wanted. You could feel it, the desire, the longing, the need for release that had been building between you for so long. You reached between your bodies, your fingers making quick work of the zipper of his pants.

When he finally slid into you, the sensation was overwhelming—an electric jolt that sent shockwaves through your entire body. Charles let out a broken gasp, his hands gripping

as he pulled you closer, his body trembling beneath yours. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle wound tight, as if he were barely holding himself together.

You both paused for a moment, the sheer intensity of the connection stealing the breath from your lungs. You hadn’t expected it to feel like this, like every nerve in your body had come alive, attuned to him and only him. Charles's forehead pressed against your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin as you both adjusted, savoring the feeling of being so intimately joined.

“God,” he whispered, almost reverently. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Your fingers slid up into his hair, cradling his head, and you pressed a soft kiss to the top of it, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his voice. “Then take me, Charles. I’m yours.”

That was all the permission he needed.

With a low, guttural sound, Charles’s grip on your hips tightened, and he began to move beneath you, slow at first, a steady rhythm that made you gasp with every roll of his hips. He filled you so perfectly, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. You matched his pace, rocking against him, savoring the slow burn that built between you, the friction pulling you both closer to the edge with every passing second.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, sliding up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, then slipping lower, his fingers digging into your skin with barely restrained intensity. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

“Charles…” you gasped, your head tilting back as you gave him more access.

His lips parted against your skin, and you could feel the groan that rumbled in his chest. “I can feel you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Every thought, every emotion—it’s overwhelming.”

You leaned back, meeting his gaze. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark with need, but there was something else there too—something raw, something so deep and primal that it made your heart race.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, your hands cradling his face. “Feel me. All of me.”

Charles’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as if letting go of the barriers he had so carefully constructed. And then, all at once, it hit you—the full weight of his mind brushing against yours, the flood of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

It wasn’t just desire you felt—though that was certainly there, sharp and electric, searing through your veins. It was everything. His longing, his fear, the deep well of sadness that had haunted him for so long, and underneath it all, a love so profound it left you breathless.

You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the sensation of his mind intertwining with yours sent a jolt of pleasure through you, heightening everything. The room around you seemed to fade, the only thing that existed in that moment was him—his body, his mind, and the way he was utterly consuming you.

Charles groaned, his hips bucking up into you with a sudden intensity that made you cry out. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” he panted, his voice strained, as though he were on the edge of losing control.

You could barely form words, the pleasure building inside you almost unbearable. “Charles, please…”

He understood without needing to ask. His hands slid down to your hips again, guiding you faster now, his movements more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the tension in your body coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring wound too far, ready to snap.

And then, with one hard thrust, you shattered.

A wave of ecstasy washed over you, white-hot and all-consuming, leaving you trembling in its wake. You cried out his name, your body arching against his, and you could feel him lose himself in the moment too, his hands gripping you so tightly it almost hurt as he followed you over the edge.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop, the only sound in the room your ragged breaths and the thrum of your racing heartbeat. You slumped against Charles, your forehead resting against his shoulder as you both came down from the high.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as though afraid to let go. You could still feel the echo of his mind against yours, the connection between you not quite severed, and it brought a sense of intimacy that was unlike anything you had ever known.

After a long moment, Charles broke the silence, his voice soft and hoarse. “I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “Neither did I.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes were still dark, but there was a softness to them now, a vulnerability that made your heart ache.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

You frowned slightly. “For what?”

“For reminding me what it’s like to feel something other than pain.” His voice was filled with a quiet reverence, as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore, Charles. I’m here.”

He smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “I know.”

You shifted slightly, still straddling his lap, and Charles let out a soft groan. The movement stirred something in you both, a flicker of desire reigniting as your bodies remained entwined.

“You know,” you said playfully, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest, “we’ve got the whole mansion to ourselves tonight.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, his smile turning into something more mischievous. “Is that so?”

You leaned in, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Maybe we should take advantage of that.”

His breath hitched, and you felt his hands tighten on your hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. “Then I’ll make it a night you won’t forget.”

With that, you began to move again, slow and teasing, savoring every moment of the night ahead.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."

summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 1

masterlist of the series!

next | chapter 2

The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.

Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.

The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.

Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.

The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.

Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.

Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.

At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.

Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.

You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.

It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.

The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.

You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.

You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.

Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.

After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”

Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”

Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”

You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”

Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”

Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”

You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”

As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.

“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”

Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”

You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”

As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.

Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.

The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.

Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.

You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.

Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.

He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?

Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."

Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"

You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.

Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"

As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.

"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.

He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.

You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.

“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”

Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”

You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.

"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”

You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.

Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.

You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.

Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.

“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.

Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.

“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.

Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”

Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”

You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.

He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”

There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.

You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.

"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”

You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”

You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”

Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”

You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”

Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”

You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.

“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”

You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”

“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”

Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”

You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”

Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.

But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance. 

“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.

Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.

He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.

“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, “Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”

You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.

Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.

“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”

Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”

You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”

His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.

“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”

Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.

As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.

The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.

After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.

Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."

"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.

“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.

Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.

“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.

“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”

Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”

Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”

As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”

You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”

Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.

“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”

"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.

Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."

“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”

Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"

Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”

Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”

“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”

As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.

“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.

You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."

Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.

After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.

Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”

You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”

Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”

“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.

The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.

“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”

Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”

You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.

The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.

You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.

Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.

In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.

The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.

As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.

When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”

Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.

You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."

She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.

As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.

In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.

[asthedeathoflight]

I do think 70s devils minion adds a whole layer to Daniel and Armand's relationship that we're not really taking into account enough bc while it does kind of technically happen in canon (that they break up and then get back together) we never actually get to SEE them when they're back together and so its not really taken into consideration for their dynamic.

But like Armand is someone who has for his entire life been another person's possession, who has defined himself as a person that people Have instead of Love. And what the Queen of the Damned chapter shows is Daniel Molloy as someone who Armand wanted to possess and who wanted to be possessed by Armand. Armand has never owned anything in his entire 500 year life and so he NEEDS to own Daniel, he needs to have just this ONE THING to himself after all this time. And Daniel for his part is very into being so consumed by another person. For a time, Daniel is exactly what Armand needs. Here is a person who cannot hurt him, who wants to belong to him, who he can finally assert authority over and in doing so assert his own independence. Nobody in Armand's life has ever been truly HIS in the way that Daniel is.

But the longer theyre together the less urgent the need to possess and control is, and the more Armand is able to love Daniel selflessly, the more they come into conflict because Daniel still WANTS that level of obsession. Their breakup in the books is inevitable because their relationship was built on impulses that, while important stages in their growth, over time became unhealthy. Daniel needs to get out of his cycle of addiction and Armand needs to grow past needing to possess people to believing they'll stay of their own free will. So they need to break up.

BUT unlike in the books where Armand's resolve ultimately fails him and he turns Daniel anyways, cementing the both of them into both of their unhealthiest habits, show Armand manages to work through his issues to the next stage of his growth: that he needs to let Daniel go. And he does! He lets Daniel go and he bears the burden of their relationship alone for 50 years so that Daniel could not only have a human life but also develop as a person in a way he never could have if he stayed with Armand. Show Daniel is a different man from 70s/book Daniel. He knows who he is. Even though he's falling back into old patterns now that he's a vampire he's still been through this cycle a few times and hes stronger now than he would have been if he was turned when he was 30.

I think, assuming devils minion did happen in the 70s, the present Daniel/Armand dynamic will be different from what we're expecting because they've finally grown enough as people so that they can come together on equal footing which is really important bc Armand has never been someone's equal in a relationship before! This is new territory for him! So I think their relationship has potential for development of both of them as characters to places they never got to go in the books. Please note that this is NOT me saying they will have a perfectly well adjusted healthy relationship I just think that this is the next step past their old dynamic and probably will be more dangerous for other people than it is for them which is always a win.

[pretzel-box]

The Third Month

Words: 3,2k

Tags: Lots of fluff, comfort, affection, established relationship, seabunny hybrid reader, reader is FEMALE, DO NOT READ WITH A FAINT HEART I WARN YOU

status: NOT PROOF READ OR EDITED.

authors note: Thank you all for 100 followers!!♡

It's been a month since the lockdown began, and your life took a drastic turn when you were picked up by none other than Sebastian Solace himself. Before that day, you had been on your own, treated like nothing more than a lab rat by Urbanshade—a mere experiment in their endless quest for progress. Your memories of the world outside the Hadal Blackside were foggy at best, but one thing you knew for certain: you were different now. A sea bunny hybrid, with soft, pale skin, black freckles and delicate, fluttering appendages on your head that set you apart from the rest of humanity. You had always felt out of place, even before the experiments, but now, you doubted society would ever accept someone as strange as you.

When the lockdown happened, and someone—no, he—freed all the experiments, including you, it felt like a new beginning. With nowhere else to go, you found yourself gravitating toward the one person who had shown you kindness in this forsaken underwater facility.The sea-serpent merchant, had opened his shop to you, offering you more than just shelter. He gave you purpose. Over the past four weeks, you had thrown yourself into helping him run his little store, finding comfort in the routine and the company of the mysterious man who had saved you.

During that time, something unexpected happened. Your cheerful, excited nature, a trait that had once felt like a burden in a world that demanded seriousness and submission, became a source of warmth in Sebastian’s otherwise cold and calculated life. You didn’t notice it at first—how his glances lingered longer, how his touch became gentler, or how his voice softened whenever he spoke to you. But he noticed. The walls he had built around himself began to crumble, and before he knew it, he had fallen hard for you.

And now, here you were, sitting side by side in his shop, the dim lights casting a warm glow over the two of you. Your days had become a blend of work and stolen moments of affection. The once-stoic sea-serpent was now your partner, keeping you safe and secure in all this giant mess.

You ran up to him, your heart pounding in anticipation, arms outstretched for the embrace you had been longing for as if you hadn't seen him in years. Every step you took was fueled by the yearning that had built up during your time apart, a craving for his touch, his warmth, his affection. When you finally reached him, it felt like everything inside you lit up, a warm, comforting feeling spreading through your chest as your emotions surged, deep and intense.

Sebastian caught you effortlessly, his strong arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off the ground. The way he held you—his hands gently cradling your waist—was so tender, so full of care, that you felt an immediate sense of belonging, like you were finally home. It was a sensation you cherished, one that you had come to associate with him alone.

“I’m back!” you exclaimed, your voice bubbling with excitement. As you looked at him, your eyes couldn’t help but trace every detail of his face, illuminated softly by the glow of his anglerfish lure. The dim light highlighted his sharp features, and you marveled at the way it brought out the depths of his fluorescent blue eyes. Those eyes, which had once seemed so distant, were now a comforting ocean in which you could easily get lost.

“Welcome back,” he replied in that deep, soothing voice of his, and as he leaned in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was a simple gesture, but one that meant everything to you. This forehead kiss had become a cherished ritual, a sign of his affection that greeted you every time you returned from one of your little expeditions. The moment felt timeless, as if the world outside the two of you didn’t exist, leaving just the warmth of his embrace and the comforting familiarity of his presence.

As he set you down gently, his hands lingered on your waist, and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks. The bond between you had grown so much over time, and it was moments like these that made you realize just how deeply you had fallen for him. The affection you felt was almost overwhelming, filling every corner of your heart as you looked into his eyes, knowing that he felt the same way too.

"Hey, Sebby," you called out, using the nickname that had taken him some time to get used to. "Are you ever going to admit that you love my company as much as I love yours?"

He looked up from his work, his deep blue eyes meeting yours with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. "You're insufferable," he grumbled, but the slight curve of his lips betrayed him.

"And you wouldn’t have it any other way," you shot back with a grin.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his task. "You’ve turned my world upside down, you know that?"

"Good," you replied, moving closer to him. "Because you’ve done the same for me."

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. The simple touch sent a shiver through you, a reminder of how much you cared for him. In the dim light of the shop, with the familiar scent of sea salt and old files around you, everything felt perfect—like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

One of the many things Sebastian adored about you was your genuine curiosity for the things he did. He appreciated how you made an effort to understand his hobbies, so you could spend more time with him without disrupting his work. One of these hobbies was the skill of repairing broken devices, like flashlights and codebreakers. Fixing them for his shop was a crucial task, and you took on the challenge with excitement, eager to earn his praise.

“Like this?” you asked, sitting at the table with his tail serving as your seat. His head hovered above yours, casting a warm glow over your workspace with his anglerfish lure and guiding you. Two of his large hands rested on your waist out of habit, while his third hand assisted you in repairing the blacklight in front of you.

“Hold it steady, bunny,” he murmured with a smile, leaning his chin gently on top of your hair.

“I almost have it—” you began, but were interrupted by a sudden cough, quickly raising your arm to cover your mouth.

Sebastian’s focus shifted immediately as he heard your cough. The sound was soft but sharp enough to cut through the peaceful atmosphere of your shared workspace. His tail tensed slightly beneath you, and his hands instinctively tightened their grip on your waist. He had grown accustomed to your energy, your excitement, and the way you threw yourself into learning his trade. But lately, there had been small signs—moments of fatigue, occasional coughing spells, a distant look in your eyes—that he couldn’t quite ignore.

He leaned down closer, his anglerfish lure casting a gentle glow over your face. “Are you okay?” His deep voice was laced with concern, even as he tried to keep his tone casual.

You nodded quickly, trying to brush it off as nothing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just got a bit of dust in my throat, that’s all.”

You were so determined, so eager to help, and he loved that about you. It made his heart swell with pride every time you managed to fix something on your own, the look of accomplishment on your face more precious to him than any treasure in his shop.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Just be careful. You don’t want to damage the circuit.”

You smiled up at him, grateful for his patience and guidance. “I got this,” you assured him, turning your attention back to the task at hand.

Sebastian watched you work, his chin still resting gently on top of your head. He couldn’t help but marvel at how natural it felt to have you there, sitting on his tail, leaning into him for warmth and support. The way you fit into his life so seamlessly was something he hadn’t expected, but now that he had you, he couldn’t imagine things any other way. Your curiosity, your determination to learn his skills, and the way you always seemed to know just what he needed—these were the things that made him fall for you, deeper every day.

“Almost there,” you murmured, your focus back on the blacklight. You carefully soldered the last connection, and with a satisfied smile, you held it up for Sebastian to see. “I think it’s fixed!”

He grinned, his sharp teeth gleaming in the soft light. “That’s my girl,” he praised, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “You did great.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you leaned back against him, basking in the warmth of his approval.

Two months had passed, and it had become a personal ritual for you to gather every blanket, pillow, and soft item you could find in the facility to create a giant, cozy nest to sleep in. The Hadal Blacksite was hardly known for its comfort, especially after the lockdown, so you took it upon yourself to transform the back of Sebastian’s shop into a haven of warmth and peace.

Wrapped in layers of blankets, only your head peeked out from the mound, your sea bunny antennae twitching slightly. Sebastian often glanced over at you with a mix of amusement and affection.

“You sleep a lot lately, bunny,” he chuckled, setting aside the file he had been reading. “I might start to think you love that pile of blankets more than me at this point.”

You responded with a soft hum, barely lifting your head from the sea of fabric. The words were true; you had been spending an increasing amount of time resting and lounging around. Sometimes, you sprawled out on the floor like a starfish, and Sebastian had to gently pick you up to avoid any mishaps, like an expandable accidentally stepping on your delicate form.

Despite his teasing, there was a warmth in his eyes every time he looked at you. He cherished these moments of quiet companionship, even if they were punctuated by the gentle, playful banter.

The sight of you, nestled in your cozy pile of blankets, was so inviting that sometimes Sebastian couldn’t resist closing the shop earlier than usual. He’d join you in your fortress of softness, slipping into the pile of fabric with a contented sigh. Laying beside you, he would hold you close, his tail gently wrapping around your body as he settled in. His hands would drift to your antennae, where he’d softly massage the space between them, eliciting a delighted hum from you.

The two of you would lie there, not quite sleeping but basking in the warmth of each other's presence. Occasionally, Sebastian would lightly brush a stray strand of hair from your face or press a soft kiss to your temple, the gentle touches filled with affection. Your fingers would intertwine with his, and you’d both enjoy the peaceful silence, simply resting and savoring the comfort of being close.

In those moments, time seemed to slow down. You’d share lazy smiles, exchanging barely a word and just stay in a comforting silence. Sometimes, Sebastian would rest his chin on top of your head, and you’d sigh contentedly, your body relaxing further into the embrace...

Three months into your time together, on what seemed like an average day, Sebastian was out scavenging for supplies. He moved through the abandoned corridors with practiced ease, his eyes darting around with a sharp, attentive gaze. Each room he passed was briefly examined, every locker and shelf scrutinized for forgotten treasures and useful items.

As he rifled through the remnants of the old world, his attention was suddenly caught by a flash of something pristine—an untouched pillow, perfectly intact and just waiting to be added to your growing collection. For a split second, the sight of it seemed almost like a beacon, calling out to him with a soft glow of potential.

Sebastian had developed a little habit during these scavenger runs. He wouldn’t admit it, but his gift-giving had become a personal love language. While his primary goal was to find useful items for the shop, he also kept an eye out for anything that might make you smile. The way your eyes would light up with delight over even the simplest of things he brought back was a source of pure joy for him. It motivated him to turn part of his shop into a mini-storage of items he thought you’d like.

He carefully picked up the pillow, examining it with a satisfied nod before tucking it away in his bag. As he continued his search, he found himself thinking of you, imagining your reaction when you’d see this new addition to your cozy pile. The thought made him smile, his heart warming at the idea of bringing a bit more comfort to your world.

Returning to the shop, Sebastian's thoughts were occupied with the joy of seeing you unwrap the pillow. He could almost hear your excited gasp and see the way you’d curl up around it, adding yet another layer of softness to your makeshift haven. This small act of thoughtfulness was his way of showing you how much he cared, a tender gesture that spoke louder than words.

But then, amidst his searching, a sound shattered the fragile calm of the room. It was your voice, but not the cheerful, soothing tones he was used to. No, this was something far more harrowing. It was a desperate cry, a soul-wrenching scream that cut through the silence with a visceral, agonizing intensity. The sheer pain in your voice twisted his insides, making him feel as though his heart was being torn apart.

His ears twitched uncontrollably as he followed the sound, his steps becoming erratic and frantic. Each groan, each whimper, seemed to resonate with a chilling echo down the empty corridors. It was a haunting, relentless reminder of the suffering you were enduring. When he finally reached the source, he was met with a sight that stole the breath from his lungs. There you were, writhing in unimaginable pain, a tormented silhouette against the wall, your body contorted as if it were being torn apart from the inside.

Sebastian's vision blurred, and he felt a deep, gut-wrenching sorrow clawing at him. His mind raced back to the harsh truth he had desperately tried to suppress. He had known this day might come, had seen the ominous warnings in your medical file, but he had held onto a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, things wouldn’t turn out this way. The file had warned him: your body was rejecting the sea bunny DNA.

The brutal irony of it all struck him with the force of a physical blow. All those scavenging trips, all the time he spent gathering trinkets and comforts for you, now seemed like a cruel, pointless exercise. The pillow he had so eagerly picked out for you, an innocent symbol of his affection, now felt like a mockery of your suffering.

As he reached out to you, the sight of your anguish was more than he could bear. It was as if his heart was being shredded with each cry of pain that escaped you. The agonizing truth was undeniable: you were slipping away from him, and no amount of love, no matter how fiercely he gave it, could alter the cruel fate that was unfolding.

Tears streamed down his face as he just stared at you, the pillow he had hoped would bring you comfort now a stark reminder of his helplessness. The realization that he was losing you, that he had to watch you suffer with nothing he could do to alleviate your pain, left him paralyzed with a sorrow so profound it seemed to stretch on endlessly.

He had been aware from the start that your time together was limited, but the crushing weight of that reality was more devastating than he had ever imagined. Seeing you in such excruciating agony, coupled with the crushing despair that his efforts to provide you comfort could not change the inevitable, left him feeling utterly and irrevocably shattered.

The thing that must have pained him the most was the cruel illusion he had woven around you. From the very beginning, you had been blissfully unaware of the full extent of your condition, shielded from the grim reality that had been kept from you. Urbanshade had long marked you as a lost cause, a waste of resources. They had kept you alive with medication, but the moment the lockdown had sealed off your lifeline, your fate had been sealed.

And it was Sebastian Solace, with a heavy heart and trembling hands, who had become the unwilling cause of your cruel reality. He had rescued you from the clutches of Urbanshade, pulling you into his life and making you live in these bittersweet conditions. He kept you at his side, sheltered you from the harsh truth, knowing full well that you were slowly, agonizingly, slipping away. He watched as your body rejected the very essence that made you unique, watched as the vibrant spirit he had fallen in love with was gradually consumed by pain.

The agony of it all was compounded by the facade he had maintained. To you, he was a beacon of love and stability, the one who had given you a new home, a new life. He had filled your days with small joys, with gifts and affection, all while knowing that each moment with you was a stolen fragment of time, a fleeting respite before the inevitable. He loved you too much to shatter the fragile world you had come to depend on, too much to burden you with the unbearable truth of your condition.

Every smile he saw on your face, every look of contentment in your eyes, was a dagger to his heart. The pain of watching you suffer, coupled with the torment of knowing he had to perpetuate the lie to keep you at peace, was a weight he carried in silence. He had given you comfort, affection, and a semblance of normalcy, all while knowing that it was a temporary reprieve from a fate that he could not alter.

The most excruciating part was the knowledge that you had been kept in the dark, living out your final days with an illusion of safety and love. He had chosen to be your protector and your companion, even as he knew that every moment he spent with you was tainted by the reality of your suffering. And in the end, the pain of watching you slowly succumb to your condition, while desperately trying to shield you from the truth, was a torment more profound than he could ever articulate.

Sebastian Solace set you free, on the one way or another.

[leftistcrap]

I think the issue of light pollution really shows just how poorly our current system is built to handle environmental issues. We know light pollution has negative effects on humans and animals. We know how to address it. And because light doesn't stick around like other pollutants, there's nothing to clean up, no lasting damage to address. All we have to do is simply stop producing so much excess light at night and the problem is immediately ameliorated. But because it would cost money to switch over to better lighting systems, because it would make it harder for businesses to advertise their presence to customers at night if they couldn't just blast light everywhere and light up billboards (or even worse, light up drone swarms in the sky), and because there is no direct monetary profit to be gained from this endeavor, it's basically worthless to those in charge.

So it's no wonder so little has been done to address something like climate change, even though the stakes are so much greater and the effects are so much longer lasting. Since nobody wants to bear the monetary burden required to address the issue, all we get are bandaids and half-measures rather than actual solutions. If we want to make actual progress, we need an approach that ignores any question of profitability, and that can't happen under capitalism.

[utahimeow]

satoru gojo’s firstborn is a miracle.

nine months of anticipation amongst not only the higher-ups, but the entire jujutsu society, who counted down the days until the newest member of the gojo clan entered the world. the son of the strongest sorcerer in the world. the heir to the most powerful sorcerer family, built upon centuries of history.

gojo was ecstatic when you told him he’d be a father, to the point of tears. years of loneliness had conditioned him to believe he’d never be good enough for someone to stick around, let alone have a family with.

but then came the gruelling, dreadful realisation — this was his child. a gojo. he’d never wish the burden of his six eyes and his limitless upon anyone, especially not his son. it was one of the only times satoru gojo had ever felt truly helpless, imagining his own blood being subjected to the same ruthless pressure he’d faced his entire life.

he’d stay awake every night, racking his brain for an idea. a way to keep his unborn child from facing anything close to what he had faced. maybe you three could move away somewhere, far away. a foreign countryside perhaps. his child would never have to know about sorcery. well, until he sees a cursed spirit and everything goes down the drain.

the day comes. the birth goes extremely well. you’re healthy. the baby is healthy.

gojo is frozen as he stares down at the newborn in his arms. no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to comprehend that this tiny being is his. there’s something else, too.

there’s not a shred of cursed energy.

it seems impossible — “was the baby switched?” “maybe it’ll develop as he gets older.” “is gojo the real father? i knew that wife of his was a whore.”

the higher-ups are not only seething, they’re panicking. without gojo, who’ll be there for them to pin all responsibility on? who’ll be there for them to place the burden of keeping the world safe on?

gojo, however, has never been more relieved.

he pictures his little son in a few years time, untouched by the horrors of his father’s job, innocent to an entire unknown world of monsters. he hasn’t witnessed death, become acquainted with it like his father has. he doesn’t have a group of snobby, conservative elders watching and scrutinising his every move.

he’s allowed to be a boy. not a sorcerer. not an heir. not the strongest. just a human. gojo vows he won’t let anything change that.

[brookghaib-blog]

Shattered Dreams

Pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Reader

tw: abusive behaviour, angst, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N navigates a loveless marriage to Hoshina Soshiro

pt.2

--

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow across the room, but it did little to dispel the cold atmosphere within. Y/N stood by the window, her eyes focused on the horizon, though her thoughts were miles away. Her hands absentmindedly caressed her growing belly, a reminder of the life growing inside her, a product of a union devoid of warmth.

She had dreamed of being a painter, of bringing colors to life on a canvas, but those dreams were tucked away like the paintbrushes and canvases she kept hidden in the small corner of their home. Her parents had been ruthless in their determination to see her married into a powerful clan, and so, her fate had been sealed with Soshiro Hoshina, the Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division.

Their marriage was an arrangement, a strategic alliance between families, devoid of love or affection. Soshiro was often away, his duties calling him to fight kaiju, the monstrous threats to humanity. When he was home, their interactions were minimal, their conversations cold and formal.

One evening, as Y/N was finishing a small painting, the door creaked open. Soshiro walked in, his uniform stained with the grime and blood of battle. He looked at her, his expression unreadable.

"You're painting again," he remarked, his tone flat. It wasn't a question, merely an observation.

Y/N nodded, trying to find her voice. "It helps me pass the time."

Soshiro walked past her, his eyes scanning the room with a detached indifference. "I wish you wouldn't waste your time on such frivolities."

Her heart sank at his words, but she kept her composure. "It brings me some peace."

He turned to face her, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Peace? In a world like ours, peace is a luxury we can't afford."

Y/N swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing down on her. "I know, but it's all I have."

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice dropping to a low, harsh whisper. "I wish I could get out of this situation. This marriage is unbearable."

The words cut through her like a knife, and for a moment, she felt as if the room was spinning. She had known their marriage was not built on love, but hearing him say it so bluntly, so cruelly, was more than she could bear.

She looked down, blinking back tears. "I... I understand."

Soshiro sighed, his frustration evident. "Do you? Do you really? I am bound by duty, by obligation, and this—" he gestured around the room, "—this is a prison."

Y/N felt a sob rise in her throat, but she choked it back, refusing to let him see her break. "I've tried to make the best of it. I've tried to be a good wife to you."

He laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "A good wife? You're just another chain, another burden I have to bear."

She looked at him then, her eyes filled with a mixture of pain and defiance. "And what about our child? Is that just another burden to you?"

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes, a hint of regret, perhaps, but it was quickly extinguished. "I didn't ask for this. Any of it."

Y/N felt the tears spill over, and she turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "I know you didn't. But this is our reality now. Whether you like it or not."

Soshiro said nothing more, and after a few moments, he left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Y/N stood there, her heart shattered, the weight of his words crushing her spirit.

She walked over to her painting, staring at the vibrant colors she had once found solace in. Now, they seemed dull and lifeless, a stark contrast to the dark void that had settled in her heart. She placed a hand on her belly, a silent promise to the child within her.

"I'll be strong for you," she whispered. "Even if he can't love us, I'll find a way to give you the love you deserve."

As the sun set, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N realized that her dreams of being a painter, of finding happiness, were just that—dreams. Her reality was a loveless marriage, a life of duty and sacrifice. And in that moment, she vowed to find a way to survive, for her child's sake, if not for her own.

But deep down, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was as much a prisoner as Soshiro, trapped in a cage built by obligations and unfulfilled dreams.

--flashback--

The memory of their wedding day came flooding back, unbidden. The grand hall had been filled with guests, a sea of faces all watching her, judging her. Y/N had worn a traditional kimono, its intricate patterns and vibrant colors a stark contrast to the cold, emotionless ceremony.

Her parents had stood beside her, their expressions stern and unyielding. There was no joy in their eyes, only the satisfaction of a deal well-brokered. Soshiro had been there too, his face a mask of indifference. He had looked through her rather than at her, as if she were an obligation rather than a person.

"Remember your duty," her father had whispered harshly in her ear as he led her down the aisle. "You must uphold the family honor."

She had nodded, her heart heavy with resignation. This was her life now, a life chosen for her, not by her.

--

As the days turned into weeks, Y/N found herself growing increasingly lonely. Soshiro's coldness was a constant presence, a wall she could not breach. She spent her days painting in solitude, each stroke of the brush a small act of defiance against the life she was forced to lead.

One evening, she gathered her courage and approached him as he sat at the dining table, reading reports from the Defense Force. The room was dimly lit, the shadows playing across his stern features.

"Soshiro," she began hesitantly, "I was thinking... maybe we could try to talk more. Get to know each other better."

He looked up from his papers, his eyes cold and distant. "There's nothing to talk about."

"But we're married," she insisted, her voice trembling. "We have a child on the way. Shouldn't we at least try to understand each other?"

Soshiro's expression hardened, his voice sharp. "Understand? There's nothing to understand. You were forced into this marriage just as I was. We are bound by duty, not choice."

Y/N felt a lump form in her throat, but she pressed on. "I know it wasn't our choice, but can't we make the best of it? For the sake of our child?"

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I'm doing my duty. That's all that matters. This... relationship," he spat the word, "is nothing more than a facade."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "I don't want to be just a facade. I want to be a family."

Soshiro's eyes flashed with anger. "You want? What about what I want? Did anyone ever ask me if I wanted this?"

Y/N recoiled as if struck. "No one asked me either."

He took a step towards her, his presence imposing. "Then you should understand. This is a prison for both of us."

She stared at him, her heart breaking anew. "But it doesn't have to be."

He shook his head, turning away from her. "Yes, it does. Accept it, Y/N. This is our reality."

With that, he left the room, leaving her standing there, her hopes shattered. She sank to the floor, the sobs she had been holding back finally breaking free. The walls of their home, once a place she had hoped would be filled with love and warmth, now felt like the cold, unyielding bars of a prison.

--

Y/N sat in the corner of their modest home, her brush gently sweeping across the canvas. The soft strokes of paint were like whispers, echoing her unspoken thoughts. Her fingers traced the curves of a landscape, every stroke a memory of a love lost and a life forsaken.

"My dear," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "this painting… it's a piece of my heart. Just like you."

She paused, her hand resting on her swollen belly, feeling the gentle movements within. The baby kicked gently, as if in response to her words. Y/N smiled faintly, a bittersweet expression crossing her face.

"You know," she continued, her voice tinged with sadness, "there was someone before your father. Someone who made me feel… alive."

Her mind drifted back to a time before the arranged marriage, before duty overshadowed desire. She remembered a young officer in the Defense Force, his smile warm and his eyes full of kindness. They had shared stolen moments of happiness, their love blossoming amidst the chaos of kaiju attacks and endless battles.

"He was an officer," she whispered, her voice catching with emotion. "Brave and kind. He made me feel loved, truly loved."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled the day he had died, sacrificing himself to protect others from a rampaging kaiju. The pain of loss still lingered, a wound that had never fully healed.

"I wished…" Y/N's voice trembled as she spoke to her unborn child, "I wished it could have been him. That I could have married him instead."

She paused, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand. The painting before her was a testament to her longing, a silent tribute to a love that had been torn away too soon.

"But life doesn't always give us what we want," she whispered sadly. "Sometimes we have to accept what we're given and find our own strength."

As she painted, the colors blended together in a kaleidoscope of emotions. Each brushstroke was a testament to resilience, to the quiet determination to create beauty from pain.

"You," she said softly, placing a hand on her belly again, "you are my hope. My reason to keep going, even when the world feels cold and lonely."

The baby stirred within her, as if sensing her love and sorrow. Y/N smiled through her tears, her heart heavy yet somehow lighter for having spoken her truth.

"We'll make our own happiness, won't we?" she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. "Together, we'll find a way to make our own path, away from duty and expectations."

With a final stroke of her brush, Y/N completed the painting. It was a masterpiece of longing and loss, a testament to a love that had been and a love that was yet to come.

As she gazed at the finished canvas, she knew that her journey was far from over. But with her unborn child nestled safely within her, she found a renewed sense of purpose and a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for happiness in the midst of duty and sacrifice.

The memory of her lost love lingered like a soft breeze in the corner of her mind. He had been an officer in the Defense Force, dedicated to protecting humanity from the relentless kaiju assaults. His name was never spoken aloud anymore, but in the quiet moments of solitude, Y/N allowed herself to remember.

"He was everything to me your father is not," she whispered to her unborn child, her voice a mix of reverence and sadness. "He was kind, gentle… he made me feel cherished."

She recalled their stolen moments together, stolen from the chaos of battle and the pressures of duty. Their love had been a secret, a fragile oasis in a desert of obligations.

"He understood my dreams," Y/N continued softly, her eyes distant as she painted. "He encouraged me to paint, to pursue what made my heart sing."

But fate had been cruel. In the heat of battle, he had sacrificed himself to save others, a hero's death that left Y/N shattered and alone.

"I never got to tell him," she murmured, tears glistening on her cheeks. "I never got to tell him how much I loved him."

The painting before her captured the essence of their love—a tranquil landscape bathed in warm hues, a reflection of the peace they had briefly found together.

Y/N set down her brush, her fingers lingering on the canvas. The room was quiet, save for the soft rustling of paper and the gentle rhythm of her own breathing. She glanced at the painting, feeling a sense of peace settle over her weary heart.

"And your father," she said softly, her thoughts turning to Soshiro Hoshina, Vice-Captain of the Defense Force's Third Division. "He's not like him. But he… he has his own strengths."

Y/N's gaze softened as she thought of Soshiro, proud of his position and the dedication he showed to his duty. Despite their strained relationship, she admired his commitment and the way he commanded respect among his peers.

"I wish he would make an effort," she admitted quietly to her unborn child, "to see beyond duty and obligation."

There were moments, fleeting glimpses, where she saw glimpses of kindness in Soshiro's eyes, moments that stirred a fragile hope within her. She longed for him to understand, to bridge the distance that separated them.

"He could be a good father," Y/N murmured, her voice tinged with longing. "If only he would try."

With a sigh, she placed a hand on her belly again, feeling the baby's reassuring movements. In that tiny life, she found solace and strength—a reason to hope for a future where love and happiness could coexist with duty and sacrifice.

As the sun began to set outside, casting long shadows across the room, Y/N vowed to cherish the memories of her lost love while nurturing the possibility of a new beginning with Soshiro and their unborn child. She knew the road ahead would be challenging, but she was determined to find a way to make peace with the past and embrace the future that awaited them all.

In the quiet of their home, amidst the whispers of her heart and the promise of tomorrow, Y/N found a sense of resilience and hope that would carry her through the trials yet to come.

"I think one day, he'll come around, he's a great man, but we are stuck to a evil situation, I'll keep pursuing him maybe with the right timing, he'll see i'm worth his heart."

--

Y/N stood before the mirror in the bedroom, her reflection framed by soft morning light filtering through the window. She smoothed down the fabric of the floral dress she had chosen carefully, a hint of makeup highlighting her features. Today, she had decided, would be different. Today, she would make an effort.

With a determined breath, she adjusted a stray lock of hair and nodded to herself. Maybe, just maybe, today Soshiro would notice her efforts. She clung to that hope like a lifeline as she gathered a lunchbox filled with his favorite foods and headed out.

-At the Defense Force Headquarters-

The Defense Force Headquarters bustled with activity as Y/N navigated the corridors, the lunchbox cradled carefully in her hands. She had never been to the headquarters before, but she was determined to surprise Soshiro and show him that she cared.

She found her way to the Third Division's office, heart fluttering with nerves. The door was open, revealing a team of officers engrossed in their duties. Soshiro stood at the front, his commanding presence unmistakable. Y/N's pulse quickened as she approached, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

"Soshiro," she greeted softly, trying to catch his attention.

He looked up briefly, his expression guarded. "Y/N? What are you doing here?"

Her smile faltered for a moment, but she pressed on. "I… I brought you lunch. I thought we could have lunch together."

Soshiro glanced around at his team, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "You shouldn't have come here," he murmured, his voice barely concealing his annoyance.

Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her cheeks, but she pushed it aside. "I just wanted to do something nice for you," she insisted, holding out the lunchbox.

He hesitated for a moment before reluctantly accepting it. "Thank you," he said curtly, his gaze flickering over her outfit and makeup "Why are you wearing that? And are you wearing make up?"

She smiled, she did something right. "Yes, do you like it ? I thought that it would look nice."

"You're too big for that right now, wear something appropiate for God sake." ...oh

Some of his teammates exchanged glances, the awkward tension dancing in their eyes. Y/N fought to keep her composure, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

"Always putting on a show." Soshiro remarked casually to his team, his tone dismissive.

Laughter erupted from the group, the sound echoing in the small office. Y/N's heart sank as she fought back tears, her hands trembling, also laughing, as if she didn't recognize the mocking.

"I... I also made a cake for everyone, I hope everyone likes chocolate, you guys work really hard, so I decided to give you something since I was already planning on coming here." She tried, she really did, she just put it down and pretended to be as happy as she could fake.

"I… I'll leave you to it," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the office, the sound of laughter following her down the corridor.

--

Outside, Y/N found a secluded spot in the courtyard, hidden away from prying eyes. She sank to the ground, clutching her knees to her chest, tears streaming down her cheeks. The lunchbox lay forgotten beside her, the food suddenly tasteless.

"Why do I even bother?" she whispered to herself, her voice thick with despair. "No matter what I do, it's never enough."

She had tried so hard to make Soshiro notice her, to earn his affection and respect. She had dressed up, put on makeup, gone out of her way to show him how much she cared. And yet, it had all been for nothing.

"He doesn't care," she sobbed, the weight of rejection crushing her spirit. "He'll never care."

The courtyard was silent around her, the air heavy with the weight of her disappointment. She wiped away her tears with trembling hands, trying to regain her composure.

"He's right," she muttered bitterly to herself. "I do try too hard. I should have known better."

But deep down, beneath the pain and humiliation, a small voice whispered defiantly. She deserved to be loved. She deserved to be seen, not as a burden or an obligation, but as a person worthy of affection.

--

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself retreating further into the confines of her room. The once vibrant woman, filled with dreams of painting and love, now felt like a shadow of herself. Pregnancy had brought changes to her body—subtle at first, but increasingly noticeable to her critical eyes. She avoided mirrors, unable to face the reflection that stared back at her with insecurities and doubts.

Her maids bustled about the house, attending to chores she once took pride in doing herself. Y/N had withdrawn from everything that brought her joy. The easel stood untouched in the corner, the canvas blank and waiting for strokes that never came. Meals went half-eaten as she tried to compensate for the weight she felt she had gained.

"I'm not pretty enough," she whispered to herself, fingers tracing the curve of her belly where their unborn child nestled. "Not worth it enough."

She stayed in a separate room from Soshiro, their marriage now a chasm of unspoken words and unmet expectations. The sound of his footsteps in the hallway made her heart race with a mix of hope and fear. She longed for him to notice her absence, to care enough to reach out, but each day passed in silence.

--

Soshiro returned from a long day at the Defense Force headquarters, his thoughts troubled. He had noticed Y/N's absence at meals, her retreating presence a stark contrast to the woman he had married—a woman he barely knew. His duties had consumed him, but now a gnawing worry clawed at his conscience.

"Soshiro," his second-in-command called as he entered their shared living space. "Have you seen Y/N? She hasn't been around."

He paused, his brow furrowing. "She's probably in her room," he replied nonchalantly, though his heart tightened with concern.

"She hasn't been seen all day," his second-in-command pressed, his voice tinged with worry.

Soshiro's footsteps quickened as he made his way to Y/N's room. The door was ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the dim hallway. He pushed it open gently, his eyes searching the room.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze fixed on the floor. She looked fragile, her shoulders slumped and her expression distant. The room felt suffocating with unspoken tension.

"Y/N," Soshiro began tentatively, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his briefly before flickering away. "What do you want, Soshiro?" Her voice was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth.

"I've been worried," he admitted softly, stepping closer. "You haven't been yourself lately."

A bitter laugh escaped her lips, tinged with self-derision. "My apologies for inconveniencing you," she replied, her tone laced with bitterness.

Soshiro frowned, kneeling in front of her. "Y/N, talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

She shook her head, strands of hair falling around her face. "It doesn't matter," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I'm just… not good enough, am I?"

He reached out to touch her hand, but she flinched away. "That's not true," he insisted, his voice firm. "You are more than enough."

Y/N laughed again, a bitter sound that echoed in the quiet room. "Do you know what it's like, Soshiro? To feel invisible in your own life? To try so hard, only to realize it's never going to be enough?"

He hesitated, at a loss for words. Guilt gnawed at him—the guilt of neglect, of failing to see the pain she carried beneath a facade of duty.

"I'm sorry," he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't realize…"

"You didn't realize," she echoed, tears welling in her eyes. "You didn't even notice."

Silence enveloped them once more, broken only by the faint sound of her stifled sobs. Y/N wiped away her tears with shaking hands, her resolve hardening with each passing moment.

"I'll make it easy for you, Soshiro," she said quietly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I'll be the perfect obedient wife. I'll fulfill my duty and nothing more."

"No," he protested, reaching for her hand again, but she pulled away.

"It's better this way," she insisted, her tone final. "You won't have to worry about me anymore."

With that, she rose from the bed, leaving him sitting there, his heart heavy with regret and a sense of loss he couldn't fully comprehend. She walked past him, her steps measured and purposeful, as if steeling herself against the pain.

Soshiro watched her go, a knot tightening in his chest. He wanted to chase after her, to hold her and tell her that she was wrong—that she was loved and cherished. But he remained rooted to the spot, paralyzed by his own inadequacies and the weight of their fractured relationship.

--

Alone in her room once more, Y/N sank to the floor, her back against the cold wall. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked now, the weight of her despair crushing her spirit.

"I tried," she whispered to the empty room, her voice breaking. "I tried so hard."

Her hand rested on her belly, feeling the gentle kicks of their unborn child. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

In the darkness of her room, surrounded by the echoes of shattered dreams and unspoken words, Y/N allowed herself to grieve. She grieved for the love she had lost, for the hope that had faded, and for the woman she had once been.

But amidst the darkness, a tiny spark of determination flickered—a resolve to survive, for her sake and for the child growing within her. She didn't know what the future held, but she vowed to find a way forward, even if it meant burying her own desires and dreams beneath a facade of duty and obedience.