#Not every SA survivor is gonna feel the same way about it

[hua-mo-jin-is-a-cutie]

this is the only social media website where I feel like I can talk about this without getting hated by teenagers with no media literacy, but I watched (pirated) Hazbin Hotel. And while I'm still very critical of Viv herself and the decisions she's made about her staff and her public statements and her past actions, some of which are very gross, for what it's worth, I think Hazbin is alright.

There are things I'd do differently sure, but it's like... aggressively average. The music is hit or miss, with mostly catchy tunes accompanied by lyrics that often made me cringe a little by how they already feel like outdated references to current slang. I also really don't enjoy when they have a big musical number come out of nowhere and have other characters acknowledge that they're singing. It really takes away from the musical numbers themselves. it's like musical writing 101 to NOT do that.

I know this is something people tend to criticize, but I'll be honest I like most of the character designs. They have fairly distinct silhouettes and it's kinda what drew me in enough to watch it in the first place. I'm particularly fond of Nifty. I do think some of them are a bit too complex, too busy to be super appealing, and must be hell to animate. I also think there's not really much cohesion in character designs of the world other than color, and even that's a stretch. I wish we'd at least been given some sort of reason in the show that some demons are furries and others aren't.

The animation is pretty nice, though the camera movement tends to make it a bit hard for my eyes to focus when there's a lot going on.

I've seen a lot of people complain about the pacing and while I agree that things are moving too fast, that we need time to get to know these characters and this world and earn these, what are supposed to be, hard hitting moments. I also acknowledge that I like fast pacing. I want it to slow down, but not astronomically, just a smidge.

I'd say the writing is also hit or miss. Sometimes it's got me fairly entertained, but other times it's making me uncomfortable and not on purpose. Again, slang that will quickly become or already is irrelevant is a major issue for me.

Contrary to what I've seen many people saying, I actually thought episode 4 was handled decently enough. Honestly the pacing is really the only thing holding it back for me. It doesn't feel like it's glorifying or romanticizing sexual abuse or domestic violence. It frames Valentino as the abuser he is when it's most important, even when he is a bumbling idiot in other scenes. Scenes of abuse between angel and Val are taken seriously enough. I wasn't a huge fan of the song Poison, but I also don't think it's romanticizing SA. I mean it literally ends with Angel sobbing on the floor so... I dunno how anyone came to that conclusion. There are times when the show jokes about sexual assault which I do think is distasteful and is one of my gripes with the writing overall, however when it comes to the topic of angel and val, it's handled well enough.

I'm interested in seeing where the plot goes with how episode 6 ended even with it's flaws. It's going in an interesting direction so far and I think the music of that episode was pretty good, calling back to the first episode's song with Adam in a clever way.

So overall I'd give Hazbin like a 6/10. It's fine, but it's got flaws. I'd like to see the kinks ironed out in season 2 and have Viv acknowledge some of her mistakes or at least take criticism well for once.

Anyway, stan Nifty, she's best girl.

[eggopath]

Haha Hazbins your hermits and another goober

Ello, so this is truly just a shower thought but god damn it I thought it sounded good enough to slap my ideas into a post! I will note that all the roles can change! Well except Scar, Cub, and Grian. Their roles are gonna be the same. I also plan to write a few fics about this au so expect those to be coming soon!

Little Edit: Thank you for all the support! I didn't expect this to get a this amount of traction!

TW: Spoilers and Mention of SA

Alright so first off, I wanna explain a general idea. I might scrap the heaven and hell but for now I won't. Alright so first off, because I wanna get them out of the way.

Xelqua will be Sera and Grian will be Emily. Now Xelqua (hopefully I spelled that write) I know it's basically just Grian but he got a watcher name. I just wanna make the watchers the higher ups in heaven. For Adam and Lute, I don't have a duo for it. I was thinking Gem and Pearl. It kinda makes sense for Gem to be Adam because of who I chose to be Alastor but it's to be decided!

Let's go onto main cast shall we?

Scar will be playing Charlie. Wait if Grian is Emily..who's Vaggie? Well it's the one and only Cubfan135 because I love the convex ship. I'm sorry dessert duo shippers but Convex fits better for Charlie and Vaggie's dynamic. Besides the silly ship, Scar is a very big imagination and it fits with Charlie and her dreams.

Let's get another duo out. I put Ren as Angel Dust and Doc as Husk. Ren is only Angel because Doc fits so well for Husk. I feel like I don't need to elaborate for that. It's only fitting we have RenDoc. Also if you ever watched a lot of Ren, the pg rating is on a thread.

I am thinking of putting Etho for Alastor. Many hermits see Etho is an inspiration so that's kinda why he's Alastor! I also needed someone who could be over Doc and Etho came to mind. Though he isn't gonna be full on Alastor coded. Welcome to me editing, I originally had Bdubs as Nifty but he's being moved to Minzy. So for Nifty, we get the cleaning lady! Aka Pearl of the Pearlencentmoon. I am absolutely dog crap at spelling. (Full credit to ryabaprentice for the idea :D )

Now time for the Vees! Cleo is being Velvet. You can't change my mind. I was binged Hazbin and Velvet gave some heavy Cleo vibes. Only fitting. Joe is Vox because of his live streams. Look, every time I go onto a Joe's Livestream..his dang eye ball over the screen. Also because if I put Cleo somewhere, I gotta put Joe with her. For Valentino, I put Mythical J. Sausage. I know he isn't a hermit but who else am I gonna put there?! At the same time it's explainable why he is Val. I am not writing Ren and Sausages dynamic like they did in the show. I am a SA survivor and I don't wanna write about that. Just a little heads up!

Side Characters time.

Lucifer is gonna be our derpy dad Xisuma. He was originally gonna be Sera but I changed my mind. Mumbo takes the role of I wanna say her name is Rosy but it's the main person in Cannibal Town. Haha funny season 8 flash back.

I'll come back and redo this something but I hope whoever finds this enjoys it!

[detectiveconnor]

hello tumblrines and tumblrinos and tumblrinas, for those of you who have played DBH and are new to writing with me here is a quick rundown of things you absolutely need to know abt my portrayal:

my connor is set primarily post-deviating and post-peaceful revolution. i do not write post-violent revolution things and i don't have an interest in that storyline. you will not convince me otherwise and i consider it rude to try

connor is almost always deviant. he has a pre-deviant verse i rarely write in. he is always headed toward deviancy.

CONNOR DOES NOT GRAPPLE WITH GUILT FOR WHAT CYBERLIFE DID WITH HIS BODY. he regrets that his hands were used to hurt people. he does not blame himself for it. he has not ever once publicly apologised for being abused and he will not ever once publicly apologise for being abused. if he hunted your muse personally he might express regret to them privately. he will not apologise even then, but he could express regret.

CONNOR IS NOT 'CONFUSED' ABOUT EMOTIONS AND HE IS NOT A PUPPY. he is deviant the same way markus progressed from "i'm not programmed to critique art" to "i'm gonna start a revolution" before and after deviancy, respectively. connor was looking for himself and found himself. he is entirely competent, entirely real, and entirely himself. he is not "partly" real. he is not "partly" getting used to feeling. he is not "partly" on his way. he is already here.

CONNOR WAS ABUSED BY AMANDA AND HAS LASTING TRAUMA AS A RESULT OF IT. she could (and did) touch every single thought that ever entered his head, assessed it, turned it over, examined, deleted, restrained, fought. she dragged him into himself and stole his autonomy and made use of his body without his permission. she is entirely an AI program, was not sentient herself (full stop, i have zero interest in this thought experiment), and connor is so intensely private about this experience only one person knows. he is ashamed of it. he should not be. he attends a mostly-human therapy group for survivors of sa once a week because he gets a lot of it in relation to this trauma.

connor is a sleepy person, he will sleep in most places. this was an extravagant headcanon just bc i appreciated the thought of tired!connor, i love him

connor works full time at the DPD as a detective and part time at New Jericho providing what is essentially inreach services. he works primarily in android and android-related violent crime. he does not care if you steal food, water, thirium, etc, in front of him. his loyalty is to the people he supports and cares about, not the organisation he works for. he will turn a blind eye to most things that aren't actively hurting people.

connor has two human verses! my preference is human (2) if you would like to write with him. he's Trying Very Hard.

if you want more information about any of these i have several posts outlining these points in expansive detail, just bonk me! thanks

[eroticcannibal]

(content warning: discussion of child SA. you can just delete if you don’t want to read) I’m sorry but i can not get behind the idea that pro-shippers writing children having sex is without real life consequence, the idea of fiction ≠ reality is nice but it pretends we live in a world where fiction exists within a vacuum and has no effect on those writing and those reading it. media can and does impact people in negative ways. and this is not in reference to writing about high school seniors/teenagers having sex, which i definitely find strange but it’s whatever, but to the subsection of fanfiction that is centered around “extreme underage”, of child characters usually under the age of 10, including and very often centered around toddlers, all written with the express purpose to be sexually arousing, and usually involving the children characters (who are sometimes based on real life child actors. Hm!!!) being groomed to the extreme. it makes me sick to think about and im not even describing it graphically. but trust that it’s very bad, and very obvious that the writers get off on it, and defend it, and often do art and drawings to go with their fantasies too. It’s one thing to write about these dark topics, and another to literally just write erotica about these topics. it frustrates me because “high schoolers have sex :/“ as an argument always comes up in these discussions as if there’s not thousands of works involving very very young children, and it just feels like people don’t actually know what they’re arguing in defense of. I guess it’s easier to take the route of ‘ugh your puritans just can’t handle high schoolers having sex!” Than “you puritans just can’t handle toddlers being preyed upon by their family members!”. man. it’s rough out there

Of course it affects reality, but the way it affects reality is complicated and goes in every direction.

For every creep getting off to the idea of children being raped, there is a child who finally realised they are being raped and can seek help. For every "freak" there is someone prossesing their trauma.

Ultimately it is not fiction that is the issue, it is people, and removing the media does not remove predatory behaviour.

Also im gonna be honest, as someone who writes dark shit for *many* reasons, trying to draw a line between acceptable dark media and erotica is an exercise in futility. What is a criticism to one person is porn to another. Its the same issue as with any other censorship, we have not yet found a way to draw a line without hurting people, and more importantly in this context, without silencing survivors who need to speak about what they have been through.

In an ideal world this content would not exist. We do not live in an ideal world. Its not an issue we can fix right now without hurting people, so its best we just avoid the things that make us uncomfortable.

[cios-correct-opinions]

post here

DISCLAIMER BEFORE ANYONE SAYS OR ASSUMES ANYTHING ABOUT ME: i am not a proshipper. i am not an anti. i do not use any shipping discourse labels because i've been actively traumatized by both communities and have no desire to put that label on myself. i am just a person capable of critical thinking who enjoys analyzing media sometimes. i do not condone harassment over fiction, and i also do not believe any form of media is free from critical analysis or criticism, especially if it includes harmful propaganda and/or portrayals of marginalized peoples/societies which serve to perpetuate or legitimatize a pre-existing societal bias. do not call me an anti. do not call me a proshipper. do not assume things about me in bad faith. ive got no time for that and ill block you if you do this.

i actually think i kinda have a grasp on what's being said here so lemme explain this bc this is kinda how i feel? i'm gonna explain as best i can since its nearing 3 am and im a lil tired. forgive me if i dont explore every angle of nuance here btw again im tired but the adderall is in my blood so.

ahem.

my main talking point is this: there is a difference between exploration of something, which can include varying depictions and portrayals of a subject, vs propaganda for something, which has the intent of swaying you towards one side or away from one side or blah blah blah you know what propaganda wants to do i'm sure

exploration of dark and taboo subjects such as CSA/SA/abuse in general, paraphilias, mental illness, incest, so on and so forth - especially when done by survivors of those things - are almost never propaganda, no matter how they're being portrayed. someone using fictional characters within a fictional context to cope with their own trauma is, 99.9% of the time, not trying to endorse that behavior in real life. they also often assume the people reading it will understand that they the creator are not trying to endorse that behavior in real life.

example: most people who create fiction based off the mafia do not actually want to be mobsters, nor do they think others should be, nor do they endorse the real life mob, even if their portrayals can sometimes be problematic in other ways and/or contribute to certain problematic societal ideas about gang violence esp when committed by white people, but that's an entirely different issue than the one at hand and has more factors in play.

a deeper example: while a work of fiction can definitely reveal certain creator biases and/or how the creator feels about certain topics, it doesn't mean that every detail in the fiction is weighted the same way. someone may have clear biases towards, for example, women, in their work based on how they write their female characters, but not condone murder in that same work just because murder is part of the plot and/or is framed as a net positive in the storyline. you can have a work which clearly shows a creator's true feelings or thoughts or philosophies or what-have-you on one topic, but not on another, within the same work. learning which of these is true and when is a learned skill. i can't tell ya to do it myself as i am not a teacher

despite it seeming like it should be easy, on the other hand, spotting propaganda can actually be really fucking hard. i am not here to talk about how to spot propaganda, and perhaps will reblog this at a later date with links on how to do that as i am too tired to both write this and look for reliable resources on doing that, so if you want that for now, sorry, you gotta search elsewhere. however, this difficulty often leads to the main conflict i see online:

people believe that an exploration or portrayal of a dark/taboo subject or a subject which contains something that is immoral or illegal in real life, which does not outright condemn that thing, and/or appears on a surface level to be a "positive" portrayal (air quotes bc what counts as positive changes depending on who you ask) even when made by real-life survivors of the thing being explored, is the exact same as propaganda meant to push the emulation of that thing or behavior in real life, by real people, to real people/others/whatever.

this is the issue i and others keep running into online, over and over and over again. people are unable to tell the difference, they are unable to tell the target audience of a work, they are unable to understand why someone would make something a certain way, and ultimately the material upsets/triggers/disgusts/bothers/etc them, and all of this leads to them treating the first group of media like the second. because of that, they assume those creating that content are encouraging its real-world application and that the creators think these actions are okay, or that they will/want to/have perpetrated those acts in real life as well. once they've decided this, it's essentially impossible to convince them otherwise

ignoring the fact that you cannot make these assumptions about a stranger online in good faith literally ever, this is a huge problem. a nazi creating propaganda indoctrination white supremacist fantasy fiction material is nowhere near the same as a CSA & SA survivor creating works of dark fiction/art to cope with their trauma, but a lot of people consider it one and the same because they literally are incapable of seeing the difference. they can't analyze either work by either creator, and are unable to see how the nazi's fiction is different from the survivor's. even if the subjects portrayed in the works are different, too

these people will also insist that any humanization of a villain they deem "bad" or "problematic" enough - which, again, is dependent on who's making those decisions and not any kind of clear standard - means that the creator condones/believes/enjoys those things the villain does, and people who enjoy that character also condone/believe/enjoy those things the villain does. the ultimate irony of it all, of course, is that these people are consuming the exact same media with the exact same characters and exact same story and exact same plotline as the people they are attacking, and many of those people also enjoyed that media. they just seem to think because they enjoy blorbo blingus The Good Guy(tm) instead of zorbo zingle The Bad Guy(tm), that makes them morally superior instead of, yknow, just someone with a different opinion who is reading/watching with a different lens than someone else

obsession with moral purity, moral superiority, and in general an abstract concept of morality, is what has ultimately led us here. in an attempt to be seen as "acceptable" by the masses of the world - regardless of whether they participate in fandom or not - for whatever reason one has, has led some of us to turn on each other within fandom spaces

fear of predatory abusers lurking in the shadows, as well as an inability to actually identify the signs of a predatory abuser caused by a society whose goal is largely to protect those same predatory abusers, as well as a sadly large and growing number of victims of abuse growing up online and sometimes being abused and/or preyed on online (as i myself was) who thus are hypervigilant for this sort of thing due to their own trauma, has all led to a willingness to attack and destroy anyone we think might possibly maybe sorta kinda be a little suspicious without a second thought to the actual probability of that person's guilt, as well as the inability to stop and ask ourselves what we're really doing when we attack people over fictional portrayals of things as well as whether or not these fictional hypothetical transgressions are truly worth destroying someone's livelihood and life over or whether they're something we can simply block and ignore and not worry about

simply liking or disliking something in media has become a source of literal panic attacks for a lot of people because they drive themselves mad looking for a "good, moral, logical reason" to like or dislike something rather than just accepting it for what it is

our lack of understanding combined with an unwillingness to be open to the possibility of alternative interpretations for anything has driven people to commit atrocities. someone is literally dying right now because of it. actively dying. will die soon. because of antis deciding their creations meant it was okay to lie about them being a pedophile (they weren't), get them fired from their job due to these false claims, resulting in them losing their health care, which has 4 years down the road, resulted in their eventual death.

we. must. do. better.

[astridthevalkyrie]

▶ Click play to explore your love story with Levi!

reader: my head and my heart {baby now and then, i think about me now and who i could have been, and then i picture all the perfect that we lived...i'm standin' at the crossroads}, born to be brave {i know who i am inside and i won't apologize}, jiya re {i've made a promise to life, i'm living it}, dog days are over, {the horses are coming, so you better run}, give me some sunshine {my childhood's gone, my youth's gone, just let me live a little}, face my fears {faith, should I take a leap? taste, what a bittersweet}, dhakkad {she's a force to reckon with, a force}, i'm still standing {lookin' like a true survivor, feelin' like a little kid}, i'll try {i musn't let them down now, mustn't let them see me cry, i'm fine}

reader's feelings about levi: titli {like a butterfly, my heart is flying far, far away}, tujh mein rab dikhta hai {my head bows down in worship to you, what should i do}, just the girl {'cause [he's] bittersweet, [he] knocks me off of my feet, and I can't help myself, i don't want anyone else}, tere naina {how could someone not fall in love looking into your eyes}, mile ho tum humko {i've met you, that's my good luck}, ye ishq hai {my darling, you must have met millions like me, but i've only found you}, zara sa {give me some space in your heart, make me yours a little bit}, i wanna know what it's like {imagine how the skin feels where you touch, imagine you and i could be an us}

levi's feelings about reader: guzarish {please come closer to me, that's my request}, khuda jaane {god knows that I'm passionate, god knows that I'm lost}, tum se hi {with you my days start, with you my evenings end}, talk love {how did I fall for you this much, i don’t even know}, had me at hello {you don't have to try too hard, you already have my heart}, kiya kiya {since I've met you, i swear i haven't been the same as before, what have you done to me}, mera yaar dildaar {my friend, my lover, my treasure, i'll look at her again and again}

their relationship: part time lover {we are strangers by day, lovers by night, knowing it's so wrong, but feeling so right}, this love {i love you, i thank you for holding me so warmly, i can live because of this love}, jaane kyon log pyaar karte hain {love is a useless venture, love is beautiful in every way}, everytime {when i see your eyes, my heart flutters...when you look at me and smile, it feels like my heart's about to stop}, things are looking up {i couldn't find a star in the sky, but now that I found us}, i think i kinda you know {from the minute we kissed and my heart skipped a beat, to the night that we danced, I was swept off my feet...you know how we can talk all night, and not run out of things to talk about}, rangeela re {come with me, let's take on the colors of the world}, uptown get around {cause she’s sweet on me, oh I’ll make her see, that she’s mine, all mine}

reader and millie: count me in {even when you're gone i feel you close, you'll always be the one i love the most}

summer rain: locha-e-ulfat {it wasn't supposed to happen, why did it happen? the problem of love happened}, true love {but i hate you, i really hate you, so much i think it must be}, mere rashqe qamar {the first time you met my gaze, that's when the fun began}, haule haule {slowly, we'll fall in love, darling, slowly we'll fall in love}

silent storms: cloud 9 {so here we go, and we ain't gonna take it slow}, love is a waste of time {i want to waste my time, i love this waste of time}, hum tum {let me come into your eyes a little, let me melt into your arms a little}, naina de kya kasoor {it's not my eyes' fault for gazing}, my dil goes mm {why does he feel like mine, is this a dream or reality?}

pirouette: señorita {ooh, when your lips undress me, hooked on your tongue, ooh, love, your kiss is deadly, don't stop}

standing at the crossroads: to be added

[elriel-oblivion]

Okay here's the thing.. I respect everyone's opinions and they can ship whoever they want but like... For Elucien and Gwynriel... I literally cannot even see how. I would gladly ship them if someone gave me a valid reason. Elain avoids talking or even being in the same room as Lucien, and Azriel had one polite conversation with Gwyn. Az is just nice to her. As nice as he would be to any female. Elriel has foreshadowing & chemistry- The roses painted on her drawer and the rose necklace...👀

Strongly agree with all of this!! My main problem with anything that's not elriel is that a lot of anti-elriel shippers completely ignore or erase Elain. With these ships, it's always what benefits Elain does or doesn't bring. It's so misogynistic, people just ignore everything she's mentioned about her own heart and how she doesn't want a mate or the bond, she doesn't care for it, but oh Lucien's had such a hard life, he deserves his mate!!!!!

😒😒😒

Surely he deserves someone who wants him as much as he wants them, no?

Non-elriel-endgame with the canon we currently have would mean Elain's choices are stripped once again since she'd have to give up/lose the love she actually wants in favour of one she doesn't want that's attached to some cultural concept that means zilch to her and her human heart. I mean, sure sjm could spin it so Elain catches feelings for Lucien and they end up happily mated. But then what is the point of having Elain constantly avoid him for three books? That's not even setting up for a good relationship bc every time they interact/meet, the communication just gets worse.

While I can honestly see the potential of gwynriel bc platonic interactions can later become romantic, I still don't ship it bc it doesn't feel right the way elriel does to me. I can def see gwynriel becoming a strong healthy friendship, but if it's endgame then Elain ends up with Lucien, whom she visibly shrinks from and has been avoiding since acowar. She doesn't feel seen by him at all - as much as I love Lucien and truly do want him to have his own HEA, we can't deny that he's really just pursuing (I use pursuing in the loosest way since he's very respectful about it 😅) Elain bc of the bond. If we take that away, there's nothing between them imo and he probably wouldn't give Elain more than a passing glance for her beauty and that's it bc she's not the type of girl he's into.

But people don't wanna think about how that makes Elain feel. This girl who previously felt seen by only one person - who then rejected her bc of that bond itself - and craves someone to see who she truly is, is being courted by someone who doesn't actually like her for her, but just the idea of what a relationship with her would entail. He's only trying bc of some divine belief she doesn't share. That must suck like hell. It's almost objectfying, the bond. And again, I don't blame Lucien at all, not even for trying bc it is something that's important to him and his culture, but it's not a mutual thing. If it were important to Elain too and she just wasn't cooperating bc of some stupid shallow reason, then I'd be angry at her. But that's not the case at all.

But with Azriel, the first person to see her since Graysen, there's so much potential for growth - for both of them. They make each other feel seen. And for all that antis say neither has grown in the time they've known each other, how did Az pluck up the courage to almost kiss Elain after having not done anything with Mor for five centuries? How did Elain initiate that kiss - ie have the courage to follow her heart again after having it torn and shredded by Graysen? And anyway, weve never seen into Elain's head so we don't know what she feels has changed within her; we can only detect subtle changes from other povs, but there might be some huge changes in her learnt from Azriel, maybe about her outlook on life/strength, that she's just keeping hidden for the time (or that no one has bothered to see bc Elain is invisible 😭). Same with Azriel. One little chapter isn't gonna tell us everything he's been thinking the past two years.

But either way, we know now that they both have feelings for each other. Why is a mutual healthy relationship shut down so quickly, one where both partners' choices are taken heed of? If Elain had said no in that moment, Azriel would've stepped back instantly, no questions asked. He probably would've have some huge internal conflict about his own self worth but he wouldn't have gone further without Elain's consent. He's already shown he respects her, he said they've been sharing looks and touches, and these are things fandom eat up, so I don't understand why it's suddenly wrong or unwanted just bc Elain makes up half the ship.

And there's so much foreshadowing/symbolism that antis seem oblivious to, which, fair enough, interpret the text how you want. But even if somebody doesn't see the spark or blooming feelings between the pair throughout the books (how do they explain away all the stiffness whenever one of them is mentioned or is in the same room or something though? Genuinely curious here), there's a lot of plot foreshadowing. The Blood Duel has now been mentioned twice, as has the idea of breaking the bond, maybe more. There's the issue with Koschei and Elain not being able to see things related to him past mist and shadow. There's all this potential conflict that could arise between the Courts if elriel pursue their love, and conflict is the driving force of any novel.

If gwynriel were an IRL couple, I wouldn't care if there were never any conflict, but if I'm reading their story, I want more than just them falling in love and having internal conflict about whether they should kiss the other or not. Especially if the backdrop is a fantasy world on the brink of war with many players. I saw a gwynriel post mentioning Merrill once and while I do think she has the potential to be a running antagonist, I don't see her as anything but a subplot/crony for/associate with another stronger villain. I don't think she could carry a whole novel at the moment. So Gwyn is tied to nothing in the overarching plot. Same with Az. Not to mention all the theories about the Koschei/Swan Lake/firebird folklore that is potentially inspiring this new series in the acotar world. Of course, this could all change as we get more info about the next book/s and all, but compared to elriel certainly, I don't think there's as much conflict with gwynriel.

Ultimately, I don't claim knowledge of the next books' content, so I don't really care what people ship, but the main thing I take issue with is how they treat Elain in the midst. A lot of gwynriel arguments I've seen portray certain acts in a romantic/positive light for Gwyn but either completely ignore or erase any semblance of romance for Elain or tear her down. Like, we shouldn't push the narrative that Gwyn as an SA survivor can't have healthy meaningful sex in the future (yeah, of course I agree), yet some of the same people who say that are also people who judge and make fun of Elain and call her too vanilla for Az without having a clue what her bedroom habits/preferences are 🤯 This is just one of many. There are so many double standards I've seen for gwynriel against elriel and I'm just tired of it. And even if they're not doing any of that, they simply hate Elain and don't want her to be with Az and so ship gwynriel as the next best alternative. Like, can they not push down Elain in favour of Gwyn, please? That's so misogynistic 🤮

For all that this fandom flaunts the series being feminist with strong female characters, they sure do a good job in tearing down females who don't fit their definition of strong, despite even Feyre stating and acknowledging multiple times that Elain has a different kind of strength 😒

Gahhhhhhh. *exhales deeeeeeeeply* Sorry this is so damn LONG!! 😅😅😅😅😅 I did not expect to write a whole bloody essay lol but I hope it was fun/comforting to read at least 😅😆 I know I fall back on elriel posts when the ship war gets too intense bc I actually enjoy shipping elriel. They've become my otp, and I absolutely adore both characters of the ship; I think most of us elriels do. I haven't really seen any elriel stans who dislike/don't care for Elain and her welfare so it's nice being in this corner of the fandom where we can appreciate both Az and Elain equally. And of course, the other characters with their due respect. I truly do want Lucien to finally get his good life, but I don't think that's with Elain 😕

[be-ace-write-crime]

Lovely Bride - Second Wedding Night

You wake up after your night with Wamuu and return to your empty village, the last survivor of the Hamon tribe. You struggle with conflicting emotions, anger to the people that made you a sacrificial lamb, grief for the tribe that raised you and the people you grew up with. So much has happened in such a short time and nothing will ever be the same again.

Thankfully Esidisi is there to comfort you.

You and Wamuu made love all night and you suspect a decent portion of the morning as well, after the candles had burned out. He took care to clean the sweat, cum and oil off your skin, probably realizing how badly he had wrecked your body after the fact. He put your wreath aside and let you snuggle up in his bed with some clean pillows, and you fell asleep almost instantly.

The stress and your rendezvous with the first pillarman had thoroughly exhausted you. You woke up alone, a single candle left to light the room for you. It hadn’t been lit for long. Maybe an hour or two? Either way, the room had become stuffy, smelling of sex and burnt out candles, so even if you couldn’t get outside, you weren’t staying in this room.

You picked up your dress, your sandals, and combed your hair with a comb left on the table beside the one remaining light. You were about to leave the room when you thought to put your wreath back on, as your first husband clearly appreciated the look and symbolism of it. You also thought to bring a dagger that was on display as one of Wamuu’s trophies. You knew he wouldn’t mind you taking it and while you were neither scared your betrothed would eat you, nor did you have the hubris to assume you could take them in a fight if you had a dagger, being sent around the lair of vampires and vengeful gods unarmed had been making you nervous since yesterday. With the sheathed dagger tucked into the belt around your waist you venture into the hallway.

The candle light didn’t reach very far, but far enough you can see a faintly shifting silhouette in the shadows leading deeper into the catacombs. Very well, not like you wanted to go there and the squirmy shadows of what had to be vampires only helped to solidify that decision. You looked over your shoulder constantly as you made your way back outside. The hatch had been left open, though the early evening light made it too dangerous for the pillarmen or the vampires to be out.

Every step into the light felt like a wave of relief. You blew out your candle and left it on the steps, almost running outside. It wasn’t until you felt the breeze blowing through the temple that you noticed the trails of tears on your face. You rarely cried, but indeed, you had much to cry about. Tears of relief, happiness and sadness alike.

The sun kissing your face felt heavenly and you could have probably stood there until the sunset, if a warm chuckle hadn’t pulled you out of your thoughts. You wiped your tears away and looked to see Esidisi at the bottom of the stairs, just barely visible in the shade.

“You look beautiful like that,” he said. “I look forward to the day I can embrace the sun by your side,” he added, casting a mournful glance at the shadows edge he couldn’t cross. It seemed so strange that someone as powerful as him was unable to touch you simply because you were standing in the sunlight.

“I wish I could share it with you,” you said, without thinking.

“You do?” he asked, looking up at you again. He seemed surprised.

“I wouldn’t deny anyone the sun… It would be cruel…” you said, shyly running a hand through your hair as he graced you with a warm smile.

“Such a kind heart after all you’ve endured,” he said. “Your village is still there, though you will find it deserted. I assume that’s where you were headed.”

“I just wanted some fresh air, but… now that you mention it, I would like to go there,” you agreed.

“Go ahead. I will catch up to you once the sun has set,” Esidisi said, leaning against the wall and waiting out the daytime.

You nodded and went ahead as we’d told you to do. From what you’d gathered he was the second in command, higher than Wamuu in their hierarchy, but below Kars. He was the one to second your plea for your sister and nieces to be spared. You would have to ask him about them later.

The way down to your village was eerily quiet. Normally you’d hear some noise, see the lights from cooking fires and candles, but the place was abandoned as you’d been warned it would be. The gods had come down from the mountain and wiped out all the people that once resided here, leaving the empty shell of your birthplace behind. In the village square there was a table laid out for a banquet, big enough for the whole village.

Wild animals and some escaped livestock had made their own feast of it in the absence of the humans during the day, but everything looked as if your people just vanished into thin air. Cups and cutlery strewn about, food and wine on the tables, homes untouched. No time to pack up and flee, no time to get the weapons and fight, just a meal, over as soon as it began.

You had been crying since you first stepped outside, but seeing with your own two eyes how the people you called your tribe would be gone forever made you sob hysterically. The ones that had raised you, loved you, and then sent you off to die had all been killed, leaving you alone to mourn them.

“C-Celebrating, were you?!” you spat angrily at the empty table. Wild dogs and other pests had dragged the meat away, while half eaten and picked at fruit, vegetables and pastries were being consumed by flies. A few birds scattered as you approached and dragged a metal tray off the table, leaving it to clatter against the cobblestones of the square. The plates were next, smashed at your feet or hurled like disks to burst into shards of earthenware against the walls of empty homes.

One pitcher full of wine was miraculously untouched on the table, at least until you found it. Booze would either calm you down or be a perfect fuel to your fire. You chugged half the damn vase to quench your thirst either way.

“Was it worth it?! Were all of us you sent to die worth it, you bastards?!” you demanded, climbing on the table and hurling the serving blows around, kicking everything off that was in your way.

“How many idiots does one village need?!” you spat at the empty head chair, picking up the plate and yeeting it with a perfect spin in the direction you came from. It would have gone far if your husband hadn’t caught up to you by then, batting at the dish reflexively, only to have it shatter in his face like shrapnel.

You tried to compose yourself quickly. Surely throwing a plate at his face would warrant killing you, he’d killed for less, you were throwing a tantrum in the evidence of that fact, but you knew he wasn’t going to. For one not to go against Kars, but also because the look on his face was far from the righteous fury that should have been there.

You were standing on a table, leftover food and sauce on the ends of your dress and up to your ankles, ugly crying like a fussy child, but Esidisi merely brushed the stone splinters from his hair and handed you the big carving knife you had somehow stepped over.

“Don’t stop on my account, dear (Y/N). In fact, if I can assist you in any way, do not hesitate to tell me,” he said, smiling calmly.

“I could stab you with this, you know?” you asked, sniffling loudly.

“That dagger would be better for stabbing, but you could,” he agreed, looking up at you. “If it would make you feel better, I would let you. I remember needing to vent for weeks after my own tribe was wiped out. How lord Kars put up with me during that time is beyond me, but I am infinitely grateful he did,” he explained, leaving himself open for an attack.

You contemplated doing it for several long moments, even raising the knife over your head, but ultimately deciding against it. You weren’t scared he would retaliate or punish you, but in the end you saw no point in harming the one person showing you kindness in that moment. You tossed the knife away and kicked some more tableware around like an angry cat.

“‘S no point… just no point in… a-anything I do, is there? W-What am I gonna do now? What need do you have for a human? Just gonna live underground for a… a month and then die like everyone here!!!” you sobbed, hiding your face, which must have been a huge mess by then. Right now he certainly wasn’t sympathising with you because of your good looks.

“You will live, you will grow stronger and wiser and live out the full extent of your life. You alone will carry the legacy of your people. You will be our agent in achieving perfection and when we do we shall forever embrace the light of day beside you,” he answered, holding you against his chest and stroking your back softly.

If you muttered something along the lines of ‘lying bastard’ he kindly ignored it and let you finish crying.

“You were right, you know. The best men and women your village had to offer were the first to die. I believe after your sister and her daughters left, there was hardly any goodness left among them. They took two old horses and a small cart and were practically chased out under threat of being stoned to death. I handed them the box lord Kars said to give them after they had departed, fearing it might be stolen from them. Don’t tell, but I informed them you were alive and what you had done. Your sister cried, as she had done all evening, then brandished a spear at me and said for me to treat you better than your people had treated you,” he said, letting you sob into his shoulder until you ran out of steam. You were probably dehydrated too and seriously hungry.

“Every person worth their salt here seems to think the world of you. Your sister risking her life to threaten me, the tribe’s warriors who died to protect you, lord Kars who saw your shine even in your darkest hour.”

“Everyone else here seemed to think I was fairly expendable,” you huffed bitterly.

“They seemed to think sacrificing you would save all of their lives. They were slaughtered for treating you so cruelly, beloved, but they knew you were the greatest treasure they had to offer,” he corrected, picking you and setting you down now that you had recovered.

Crying like that really did make you feel better. You were never allowed a tantrum of such epic proportions before, just shy of stabbing your husband, while he supported you through every second of it.

“Speaking of treasure,” he said, a sly smile on his face. “This is a small village, but it seems wealthy enough. There is no one left to care for its worldly possessions now,” he said, quirking a brow to emphasize his mischievous intentions. Well, mischief by the standards of a wrathful, mass murdering god. If two days ago someone had told you you’d essentially be pillaging your own home, stealing from the dead, you’d have thought they were crazy.

“You’re not… wrong…” you agreed. His smile was contagious, and you found yourself going along with his idea.

The full moon was high in the sky and the tables and chairs in the square had been repurposed to light a bonfire with his magic. You knew how and where money was hidden and Esidisi caught on to the pattern quickly.

“Go fetch your own treasures, darling. Vampires could do this,” he said, whistling to summon a few and instructing them on how to search.

You could name a few things you wanted, but never dared to ask for. Now you were the sole heir to the hamon tribe and your husband ordered you to fetch whatever treasure you desired, so who were you to disobey?

As such you met him later in the town square, decked out in enough jewelry to sink your body to the bottom of a river, a silk dress in a vibrant wine red color and a stola to match, while your palla, a scarf reserved for upperclass women of Rome, was now a makeshift bag for numerous scrolls you had stolen, detailing the history and craft of your people. Those were all going with you and you’d guard them with your life.

You were still bitter about what your people had done to you. You might always carry some resentment for the rest of your life, but the warriors of your tribe had given their lives to save those selfish creatures and you wouldn’t allow them and their sacrifice to be dismissed by history just because the people they fought to protect were ungrateful bastards.

Your haul made for an odd little collection of treasure. You had also taken to wearing the shiny, gold anklets you found. These were typically reserved for the… courtesans of your village. The women who kept themselves standing by laying on their backs. They were frowned upon by common folk, but were considered desirable nonetheless. There was no one left now to judge you for your dress being too short or the anklets you wore with your wreath and your dagger.

You were the last living member of the Hamon tribe and a bride to gods. Dressed in all gold, or wearing nothing at all would make you no less of a queen.

“Master Esidisi?” you greeted him upon finding him again. He quickly smiled when he saw you, but you could tell something had happened.

“You look beautiful by the light of the fire as you do in the daylight, my dear,” he said, standing up and coming to welcome you.

You noticed at least one of the vampires had… well it had died, but you couldn’t phantom what had happened to it. It looked like it had blown up and then melted. “Don’t worry about that thing. It decided to berate me when it couldn’t find what I had ordered it to search for.”

“What was it supposed to search for?” you asked. It probably wasn’t anything you’d picked up. The scrolls had all been in plain sight and you didn’t need to search hard for fine clothes and jewelry.

“The chief of your village had come into possession of a precious red stone, called the Aja. I ordered the vampires to search his home for it, but they found nothing,” he explained.

“Tsk, as if that cowardly bastard would hide anything you might look for in his own house,” you muttered, jumping when you realized what you had just done. Perhaps you drank a bit too much wine earlier. “Don’t kill me, I just know what a prick he used to be!”

“I wouldn’t kill you for such an infraction, (Y/N). You are my bride and equal. This vermin didn’t know his place,” he assured you. “Where would he hide the Aja if not in his home?”

“I can’t say for sure…” you started. Giving the wrong answer seemed more dangerous than not knowing, but you could hazard a guess in this case. “I imagine he’d hide it where he hid everything he really cared about. His mistress, his bastard children and your stone,” you said, pointing to the little home uphill. It was near the treeline and his sons and mistress were among the first to be devoured by vampires as a result. The elderly chief hadn’t been one of your favorite people to begin with, but losing his sons and the woman he loved made him worse.

You looked around the home you knew well, noticing the loose stones around the fireplace in the kitchen where no one would think anything was hidden.

“I have been by this house before,” Esidisi said.

“I think I found something,” you said, prying the stone loose stones out.

“Your sister was here, gathering your things,” he continued, insisting.\

“It’s stuck, could you please help?” you asked, trying to ignore him.

“You were the chief’s illegitimate daughter, is that right?” he asked, just as the stone came loose and you flopped backwards onto your old kitchen floor, gold and silver accessories jingling as you went.

“Ow…” you huffed, looking up at your husband from where you lay. “I spent enough time crying over that already. I have better things to waste tears on now,” you answered with a long sigh, slowly sitting back up.

There was a box in a little hollowed out space you uncovered. “He loved my mother and my brothers, but not me. I think he felt I should have died before any of them. I figure that was his real reason for sending me as a sacrifice. My sister was in the same boat as me, but she found herself a good husband.”

“Was he killed by the vampires, or one of us?” Esidisi asked, sounding genuinely apologetic.

“Typhoid, almost a year ago. My nieces lived with me during that time. Gods forbid they might have caught it too. I loved them so much… My mother still thought herself my father’s true love, ignoring how she was led on and made to live in poverty, treated like an adultering whore for being with a married man. My brothers were young, though they got it in their heads just like our mother that they would be in charge someday. Our father loved them, though. Had them trained to be warriors since they were children. In the end they didn’t wake up in time to scream, let alone fight… It’s been a few weeks since then...” you explained, crying again, but less frenzied than before. All that wine was definitely keeping you from throwing another tantrum, if only because you’d fall over if you tried.

“My sincerest condolences for your loss and you have my respect for what you did to save your sister and nieces,” your husband whispered. “You will never be disrespected like that, my sweet. We shall treat you as a goddess, as you rightfully deserve to be,” he promised.

You could tell he was serious, despite his ruthlessness in battle. His condolences were sincere, and you were grateful he’d been the one to send your sister on her way.

“You don’t mind that I’m human? Whatever happened to the women of your kind?” you asked.

“Our tribe existed until some eight thousand years ago. I was Lord Kars’ right hand in his endeavor to elevate our immortal kind through the stone masks, but they rejected his views. Kars decided if they wanted to spend eternity cowering underground instead of striving for more, then they might as well be dead,” Esidisi explained. “When he gave the order, I did not hesitate. The only ones spared were Wamuu and Santana, who were only infants at the time. Regardless, I say he chose his companions well. Yourself included,” he said, kissing your forehead.

By now your eyes had to be wide as saucers and you were regretting not bringing more wine, which might have made that story a little easier to unpack.

“I can’t say for sure whether you made the right choices, but wiping out all women of your immortal kind and then choosing me definitely sounds like a decision made by someone stabbed in the head with several stone spikes,” you said, making him laugh again.

“My beautiful (Y/N), what matters is that lord Kars sees the potential of a goddess in you and more than any creature that has ever walked this earth he has been a master of realizing such potential,” your husband assured you, taking the box you had almost forgotten about and flipping it open, revealing the brilliant red stone inside. “And you have just brought us one step closer with the gift you procured.”

It was explained on the way back up the mountain that their aim was to retrieve this stone to complete the stone mask lord Kars had created with the intention of allowing them to endure sunlight. It answered several questions you had and raised a million more, but your first order of business would be to present the stone to your husband and master.

“Lord Kars, we have returned!” Esidisi announced when you entered the temple. Kars was seated on his throne, his expression unreadable. He had let down his hair from under the tight wrap and it flowed down his back in elegant black waves, as dark and infinite as the night sky.

“Did you find it, Esidisi?” he asked, his eagerness betraying his stoic facade.

“I did not,” he said. Kars’ grip on his armrest cracked the solid marble and his red eyes shone furiously in the firelight. You flinched, wanting to smack your husband for teasing like this, but you were too nervous to speak already. “Rest easy, my lord. Our beloved bride did find it,” he said, ushering you forward.

You kneeled at his feet and humbly presented the stone. Kars pulled you into his lap and smiled, a genuinely happy smile as he kissed your cheek.

“Anything in the world shall be yours, my beautiful sunshine, for it is the world you have given us tonight,” he said, kissing your lips before taking the stone to examine it more. You felt an overwhelming joy bubble up in your chest, overpowering the grief and spite that had been festering there.

Esidisi looked almost smug, smiling up at you in his master’s lap. Like he was proud of himself you were getting praised.

All until Kars took a closer look at the stone. His expression turned to an annoyed sneer, and he glared at you so sharply you just about fell off his lap.

“Is it a fake, master Kars?” Wamuu asked while Esidisi approached to help you up and assure you again that you wouldn’t be eaten.

“This stone is genuine, but it is a plain Aja, far too small to serve its purpose,” Kars answered, shutting the box with a loud clack that made you flinch. “This is what we exhausted so much energy on…” he muttered, rubbing his forehead like he was fighting off a headache.

“The night is young, lord Kars. We can renew our search for the super Aja right now if you wish?” Esidisi offered.

Kars looked at Esidisi, then down to you, his expression softening slightly.

“No, that won’t be necessary, Esidisi. In fact, I might have some use for this stone after all. You can spend the night with our bride, seeing as how you’ve dressed her for the occasion,” your master declared, his eyes roaming over your figure, taking obvious note of your ankles. He stood up and grabbed the marble armrest he’d cracked, his muscles bulging as he ripped a slab of marble clean off. He picked up the stone and then plucked your wreath from your head and turned to head back into the catacombs.

“A shame. I thought the wreath matched your anklets rather well,” Esidisi said playfully, running his fingers through your hair. You blushed, but leaned into his touch regardless.

“I put those on cause they’re pretty. Not as an invitation… Kars is scary when he’s mad. What do I do?” you asked, feeling like you might cry again. You’d done your best, and you had no idea how big the stone needed to be! It wasn’t your fault!

“He isn’t mad at you,” Wamuu assured you. “I will head out with the vampires to continue our search. We know that the red stone of Aja traveled the silk road from Asia to Rome. We’ll just have to find it.”

“He knows not to blame you for this. Lord Kars is more sensible than that. He’s frustrated, because our fight with the hamon tribe took a great deal of energy and while consuming the remaining villagers replenished some of it, we have little time before even that runs dry,” Esidisi explained, picking you up and kissing your forehead.

“What happens when it does?” you asked, the pillarmen exchanging a worried glance.

“Either we must consume what might well be an army of humans, or we must go to sleep and hopefully recover,” Esidisi explained.

“What? I-I wouldn’t argue with you consuming humans as you need, but what would be wrong with sleeping?” you asked. You hadn’t caught any of them sleeping, but you assumed they could, just like any other creature.

“When we sleep, we turn to stone and it could well be a thousand years or more before we awaken. You would not be there to greet us when we awaken,” Wamuu explained, looking down at the ground.

“How much time do you have left?” you asked, once again feeling the ring in your chest weigh heavy on your heart, but not because you were excited this time.

“About as much time as is left on your engagement ring, beloved,” Esidisi said.

Wamuu took all vampires with him, scattering them in every direction to search for information on the red stone, leaving Esidisi himself to fetch something you could actually eat while you waited in his room.

“You shouldn’t have,” you said, bashfully accepting the basket of goods he returned with, although the sight of food had your stomach painfully clenching to remind you of just how hungry you were. On your wedding day you had refused to eat, scared senseless and struggling against everything being offered to you. After your evening with Wamuu you had spent almost the entire day asleep, meaning you were going on two days without food at this point. No wonder that wine earlier got you drunk so quickly.

“I wouldn’t make you descend and climb a mountain twice on an empty stomach. It was foolish of me to have let you return without eating in the first place,” Esidisi responded, smiling as you started to dig in. The basket had fruit and bread and cured meats and cheese, and you hurriedly started popping grapes in your mouth.

“Thank you so much,” you said, holding your hand in front of your half full mouth. “Can you eat this?” you asked out of curiosity.

“I could pretend. I can appreciate the flavor, surely, but it wouldn’t sustain me,” he answered. “Your body produces its own life energy. Mine can only draw on the life energy of other living beings.”

You looked at your basket, at the cured meat inside. You thought of how many animals died every year to keep you fed. You wouldn’t eat another human, but you’d come to realize the gods you were married to didn’t kill for their own amusement or even to defend themselves. Only to eat.

And while it may have felt like cruelty, humans were simply not used to being prey. Not used to being the wary herd, stalked by ferocious predators, and knowing that their only hope was that someone either braver or weaker would be killed off first and still their hunger another night.

On the other hand, could you justify yourself standing by as an army worth of humans were turned into food? It was true he said army, but that was an awfully justifiable way of putting it. Army made it sound like a threat. Like it was kill or be killed. In reality even if they only picked off strong men, worthy of being soldiers, that would just leave an army worth of widows and children defenseless and possibly starving.

Would they even give you the antidote? You thought you’d grown closer with Wamuu and now Esidisi and Kars had chosen you himself, but you still wore the poison ring around your heart. If they were going to sleep, they wouldn’t have a reason to keep you alive either. Why would they allow their bride to run off on her own if she was going to die before they woke up again? Maybe that was the point all along. To hold the ring’s curse over your head so you wouldn't run away until they didn’t need your little mortal self anymore.

“You’re worrying about something silly,” Esidisi said, cutting through your line of thought as if he’d been reading your mind. “You have a very expressive face,” he explained.

“It’s not silly,” was the first thing out of your mouth before you thought to deny it. You probably just sounded immature. “I guess to a god being worried about dying would sound like some silly human concern…”

“You won’t die, beloved. We won’t allow it,” Esidisi answered simply.

“What about the wedding ring?” you asked, putting a hand over your heart. your husband nodded, understanding.

“You’re worried we won’t save you if we don’t find the stone in time to escape our thousand year sleep?” he asked. You nodded, putting the basket away on a side table.

Esidisi’s bedroom was larger than Wamuu’s and so was the bed you were seated on. The silk covers and furs from exotic animals in the candle light looked and felt like some kind of dream. It didn’t help the part of your brain that was whispering none of this was meant for you and like a dream it would come to an end long before you wanted it to.

“We’ll do everything we can to secure the stone first. If that fails, we can buy ourselves more time as needed,” he said, taking your hands in his. “It pains me to think you’ll live a mortal life at all. I realize by comparison it is selfish, but I wouldn’t want to wake up in a world without you in it…” he sighed, thumbs stroking over the many rings on your fingers. He didn’t suggest making you a vampire, which you were grateful for. The thought of spending centuries in the dark consuming humans while waiting for them to return made you sick to your stomach.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered. “It’s just so hard to believe when my own people didn’t want me alive… You barely know me…”

“I know enough to have fallen for you and everything I have come to learn has made me love you more,” he responded.

“I-I… Esidisi…” you whined, wanting to bury your face in your hands, but he wouldn’t let go. Your face was red. Had it been so hot in his room the whole time? Every other underground room had been so cool.

“I will have you know the extent of my adoration, my beautiful dancing flame,” he said. “If Kars won’t see reason, I will make him.”

Somehow knowing that he would disagree with Kars for your sake was a greater declaration of love than any words or gifts and you leaned in to kiss his lips.

“I love you too… I don’t want to cry anymore, please,” you said softly, burying your fingers in his soft, white hair.

“But you cried so beautifully for Wamuu last night,” he whispered. You whined and buried your face in his neck.

“You were listening?!” you asked. You thought Esidisi had been out that night.

“How could I not have heard you screaming like that? You sounded so eager. I have lived thousands of years and yet this evening has tested my patience more than centuries spent looking for the stone. Now I finally get you all to myself~” he purred, reaching over to the nightstand and pinching the candle wick between his fingers to snuff out its flame. You heard the soft sizzle of his flesh burning as he hadn’t wet his fingers to do it, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Every light that died let the shadows of the room creep closer, but you weren’t scared or even worried.

In the dark you could still sense him moving while he was so close. The soft, delicate silks of your new clothes slipped off easily and you were about to start on your jewelry, but your master really had run out of patience.

“Keep them on. You look beautiful,” he praised, pulling you in for another heated kiss. You wished you could take some of his clothes, but you had already noticed those were stitched into his skin. You did not expect him to remove his sewn on chest plate just so you could kiss and nuzzle his chest more freely, which was why the loud sound of stitches snapping surprised you.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” you asked finally.

“I hardly feel any pain at all and my body heals quickly. I rather enjoy the thrill when I do feel it. It’s exhilarating,” he explained. You were about to reach out and touch his chest when something hot and slim coiled around your wrists and pulled them back above your head. You couldn’t see what it was and the sharp tug made you help, but you knew it was just your husband, even if you couldn’t quite tell what he’d done.

“I will show you pain if you don’t stop teasing me,” you huffed, making him laugh.

“You are too adorable, trying to threaten me, my little flame,” he said through his laughing, something hot and wet dripping from the coils around your wrists, making you shiver. His hands around your waist moved and still your hands were pinned, immobile, which was frustrating, because not only could you not see your lover without his painful looking armor, you couldn’t touch him either. His fingertips felt hot, as if by remnant of the flames he extinguished between them, but by now you knew better. That heat was all his and glowed fiercely from within and you vaguely suspected he held it back some, just to touch you without hurting you when he explored your naked skin.

There was something sensual about being dressed in nothing but your jewelry before him. The bracelets entwined with the warm twine that held your arms in place. The thin strands of twinkling gold, laden with gems around your neck, resting lightly against the top of your bare breasts. The anklets you still wore, a coquettish little accessory that would have branded you a shameless whore to the humans you knew. Still your husband regarded you as a far greater treasure, stroking your thighs and kissing your neck as if he were mapping out every inch of you with his touch, even though you knew he could see you in the complete darkness.

“Please, Esidisi…” you murmured, wanting to feel his heat deep inside your core. You could already tell this would be nothing like with Wamuu. He’d been all chivalry, slowly testing the waters, infinitely patient until you gave him the all clear to have his way with you.

Esidisi was more in control, using that to his advantage to tease you mercilessly. He was taking things slow to savour you, not because he was holding anything back. His demeanor exuded a confidence and experience that made you feel safe, even if his slow pace had you craving more already.

“Please what, my darling?” he asked, pushing you down against the bed and you could feel the mattress dip where he kneeled over your small, exposed form. In the pitch black darkness you couldn’t see him right in front of you, but you felt the warmth radiating off him like a flame still. “Would you rather I take you like a beast in heat, little one? So eagerly crying for more~”

Heat was a very apt description of your current desire, in every sense of the word and he knew it. Threats and orders would make him laugh and requests would be easily overruled, but Esidisi never once denied you when you begged.

“Please, my master, my lord, my king! I need you to touch me. Make me yours. Burn me up! I need you!” you pleaded, rubbing your thighs together, only to have them roughly pried apart.

“No wonder Wamuu lost control with you so easily. With such a charming spark you possess you should be careful what you wish for,” he warned, and you could feel his breath against your labia, already anticipating what would happen next.

Knowing what would happen and being prepared for just how good it would feel were still two different things and more of the hot tendrils wrapped themselves around your legs, keeping you open and exposed while your god and master indulged in the taste of you. He worked his tongue deliberately, aiming to please in a way that told he took just as much pleasure in the act himself.

“A-Ah, yes! Oh my god… please please please don’t stop!” you pleaded, losing yourself too quickly to even try holding back your orgasm. His thumb worked your clit in slow, deliberate circles, while his tongue dipped hungrily into your wet pussy, as if craving your taste.

You came screaming, arching off the bed as far as your bonds would allow, while Esidisi continued to work you through your climax with his gentle, loving touch.

“You’re incredible, my love. I am so thankful I get to have you all to myself tonight. I can already imagine the fights over who gets to have you in their bed, our most coveted treasure,” he whispered while you caught your breath.

“Hmm… Ah, but all else being equal… won’t I get a say in that?” you asked, panting to catch your breath. The bindings around your wrists loosened and moments later you could feel his fingers pushing into your sensitive opening.

“True, true, very true,” he agreed, as his warm, battle calloused fingers explored your most sensitive spots. His heat inside was making you tremble and you almost desperately wanted more of it, despite having cum once already. “I suppose I’d better give you a reason to choose me when the time comes,” he said, rubbing insistent circles at a spot that made you whimper with need.

With your hands now free, you reached blindly into the darkness, finding his immensely broad shoulders and muscular arms. You carded your fingers through the soft white curls of his hair, pushing the fabric of his headpiece off and feeling the sharp horns he kept concealed under it.

“I-If you want to give me a reason… P-Please fuck me… I can take it already, please~” you begged. You could just make out the way his breath hitched and the sharp intake of breath before the bindings around your legs dragged you hallway into your lover’s lap and you could feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against you to replace his fingers.

“I am going to ruin you…” he growled softly, gripping your hips and slamming in deep.

You arched your back and keened, the edge of pain eased by his warmth and the pleasure of having him inside.

“What a glorious little spark you are, sweet (Y/N). Let me have you like this forever. Let me shower you with affection so that you may always wear such a lovely expression,” he murmured, kissing your lips while his hips rocked steadily with yours, his pace intensifying until the bed under you shook. It was nowhere near the feral pounding you’d enjoyed from Wamuu the previous night, but it was enough to leave you reeling regardless.

You giggled briefly, shaking your head. “I-Imagine… If I made that face at lord Kars? No… just now… just you… Esidisi~...” you responded. He chuckled and lifted you further onto his lap, holding you close while he slowed to grinding deeper inside you than you would have thought possible. It felt so incredible your eyes fluttered shut and you slumped against his rock-hard chest, finally getting to rub your face on it, though your attention was firmly drawn elsewhere.

“I imagine he’ll be inclined to make you show that face for himself soon. He’ll be as enamored with it as I am, beloved,” he said, his heat all around and deep inside you. It felt so comforting and safe in his arms, even wrecked by wave after wave of pleasure. “Still, I will cherish this moment where you are mine and mine alone~”

You were going to cum again. The pleasure like this wasn’t as overwhelming as being pounded like before, but it was constant, inescapable and so intense you could only mewl softly in agreement and try not to drool.

“So small and sensitive. You are far too tempting not to tease,” he said, still rocking into you slow and deep, letting out a deep, guttural moan when he felt you quiver and tighten around his hard cock. He didn’t stop or slow down, keeping his pace and dragging your breathtaking orgasm on into what felt like minutes.

“Ah~ S-So much… t-too much! Esidisi… Too much~!!!” you whined, weak little fingers clutching at his shoulders, digging into his skin as you braced yourself against the tidal waves of climax.

“You can endure more than you think, little one. I will show you the true heights of pleasure,” he purred, the intensity of his movements ramping up and the intensity of your never ending peak with it.

You were spilling all over his lap, crying out nonsensically while Esidisi built back up to the bed rattling rhythm from before. You’d never imagined feeling pleasure like this, dancing on the razor’s edge of pain, but never crossing it. The last part of your brain that still had any sense left wondered what love making like this could be building towards, as you were already cumming, but you could feel something building regardless.

You dimly wondered if some sort of double orgasm was possible and the thought was funny to you.

You wanted to share it, but between gasping and panting for breath and the lust clouding your mind you couldn’t get a word out.

Then you felt Esidisi slamming in hard and deep, flooding you with more of his divine warmth to the point of overflowing, and you had the answer for what could possibly beat ecstacy like you had been feeling before.

The last thing crossing your mind was complete and utter satisfaction before you completely and utterly passed out.

[mariaiscrafting]

idk how to tell you that now of all times, especially when a legitimate s/a victims assault and domestic abuse survivor has had her information leaked online for thousands to view and talk about without her consent regardless if the accused are guilty or not, is not the time to be cracking the "dreamblr is a dumpster fire lmao and this is amusing to me" agenda. There are better ways to critique the reaction that aren't entirely insensitive to the situation and victim.

hmmmm 🤔

this is a legit point, so I'm gonna answer it as genuinely as possible and take the criticism to heart.

ever since certain people decided to give me piles of shit for legitimately getting angry and arguing over the dream reddit thing, I don't know if yall have noticed, but I've largely shifted the way I treat discourse. generally, I treat it all with humor, even if deep down I'm simply uncomfortable or genuinely angry, I think basically to protect myself. like I'd "laugh" and talk about "eating popcorn" during the andi thing because getting legit angry at people hurt too much. so instead, I'd just push that down and pretend I was laughing at the absurdity of the fans in the situation, because that was so much easier to deal with.

all that to say, yeah, I reacted to this manatreed shit, the very little that I knew about it, laughing because it seems kinda absurd and also to protect myself. the entire situation is straight outta my worst dystopian nightmare for internet drama, and it just generally seems insane to me how people are treating this shit, I can't even explain it or go into it all..so instead of getting angry or expressing all my disbelief, I was like, how can I twist this to be wildly entertaining? how can I glean some entertainment out of this insanity? ah yes, by focusing on how ridiculous dream stans are, including rn. and they are being so ridiculous, for so so many reasons, right? the way they actually started to disown dream when the allegations were first thought to be true, when hes done so much worse shit and also all he did was supposedly tangentially know someone who allegedly committed sa; the way they all fucking wanted to believe this rando's receipts when it was popular, and then the second the tweets saying "stop believing this rando what's wrong with you guys" got like 12k likes, they fucking turned tail and started moralizing at everyone else; the way the exact same people who are like "I feel so bad for this sa victim, stop spreading doxxing info, etc" will retweet and make those threads nitpicking every single aspect of their lives; the very fact that they are nitpicking this victim's life just for the stupidly selfish sake of making themselves feel better by absolving their fave new cc of blame so they can still stan this guy they think is hot and mysterious without the uncomfy knowledge that he might be a predator (as if that's the part that fucking matters in all of this); the fact that you all got so utterly butthurt over dream calling yall gullible, to the point that people were replying w doxxed info on his priv twt, because yall cant stand to be even slightly criticized by your uwu perfect minecraft boy and need to be coddled and babied by him at all fucking times; the extreme and hilarious contrast between the shitstorm transpiring rn and the posts not two days ago trying to look into why the dt were befriending this rando, faceless cc, like yall were on fucking csi or some shit, as if the dt arent just a bunch of trolls who like messing w you idiots bc it's funny to them.

all of this is ridiculous in the way that its painful and unbelievable and horrible and apalling. but I like to turn my incredulity into something I can laugh about instead, because I'm so done with getting angry and sad and frustrated with you idiots. Like, am I fucking angry that people are basically taking this sa victim's dirty laundry and airing it out for the sake of the next cycle of their cc drama wheel? fucking yeah. but I'm not gonna go onto tumblr and start moralizing it bc it's out of my control anyways, what the fuck am I gonna do, make a smiletwt account and start telling people off until one of my virtue signaling rants gets enough likes to be noticed? what a miserable endeavor that would be, christ 🙄 no, dreamblr is within my reach and also blowing up my dash rn, so yeah, yall are what I set my sights on.

[yikesfroggyy]

Unfriendly reminder to panphobes that pan CSA/SA survivors exist and telling us that we are in any way predators/pedophiles/have predatory attraction or are apologists for those kinds of people is not only extremely anti-survivor, but it’s also disgusting as hell and lower than you may want to realize.

If you try to tell me, a pansexual survivor, that because I identify as pansexual I must agree/align with with Freud’s analysis of “pansexualism” or any predator who’s used the label to justify their perversion, let me just say that I won’t be nice to you and I won’t feel bad about it :)

For people who talk so much shit about the direct, immediate, and purposeful harm/damage each and every individual who identifies as pan causes the second they start to refer to themselves as such, you people really have no problem directly telling pan people, plenty of whom are secretly survivors, that they’re the same as their abusers, causing direct emotional harm to the many survivors in the pan community out there. And if you’re gonna tell me this shit can’t or doesn’t actually cause harm, don’t. Because this shit drove me to have a self harm relapse. At 15.

Y’all clearly don’t see us as people with intersectional identities. Not once have any of you ever thought that maybe the pan person you’re saying “well if you’re pan then you must fit Freud’s definition of pansexualism, so that means you’re attracted to objects, animals, and kids” to could’ve been through the trauma you’re flagrantly tossing around online as some sort of fucking gotcha.

Sexual assault, especially child sexual assault, isn’t the argument point or “gotcha” in this whole “debate” you think it is. I’m starting to think some of y’all actually wish that actual children have been harmed by some quantifiably higher percentage of pansexual people, just to prove a fucking point. To think that I was told at just 15, long before I was mentally ready to process my repressed memories of sexual trauma, that I was/was bound to be the same as the person who gave me this trauma and distress makes me fucking sick. And it was all because I don’t identify as bisexual. Un-fucking-believable.

If you’ve ever used Freud/“pansexualism” or any other predatory rhetoric or predatory individual’s opinion as “proof” that the pan label is wrong, and used it against the wider pan community/multiple pansexual people, I need you to realize the statistical likelihood that you’ve probably told at least one survivor who just so happens to be pan that they’re a predator. And then I want you fucking live with that shit and admit just how fucked your perspective is.

[mrsrcbinscn]

Mother Mayhem || bdrptask

Word count: 6241

Description: Different moments between Franny and her mother, Sophea, featuring a common thread.

CW: Nothing triggering is discussed in detail but I wanna put some content warnings for the following; violence, implied slurs, slut-shaming, violence, mentions of what you’d expect from broaching the topic of Khm*r R*uge

Sophea Sor was never one to hide things from her daughter. Many survivors of war and the like shielded their children from their stories but Sophea was always straightforward about why she had to leave Cambodia. 

 Age appropriate, of course. 

 She didn’t whip out words like killing fields and genocide when her daughter was small, but she did explain that some very bad people caused some bad things to happen. She explained that people were very sick, very sad, and very hungry but couldn’t find food, so that was why she had to come to America.

 As her daughter grew older, she filled in the gaps.

Five years old…

 Mak had to leave Cambodia because people were fighting and hurting each other, and people they weren’t even fighting with got hurt too.

“Mak, I’m sleepy,” five year old Darareaksmey complained, crawling into her mother’s lap the second her mother sat down for probably the first time that day. 

 Without taking a sip of water from the plastic cup she’d just filled, a woman ran her hands, the color of the spiky balls that fall from sweetgum trees through the little girl’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. She pulled the hair tie out of her own hair and began to work her daughter’s hair into a braid.

 “You’ll be even sleepier after we finish cleaning the restaurant, baby. Then you can go straight to bed instead of tossing and turning until you do fall asleep.”

 “I want to go to bed nooooow.” The little girl pouted, crossing her arms across her chest and letting out an indignant huff. “Why do I have to clean, I’m five. Jobs are for adults.”

 “It’s not a job if I’m not paying you, silly.” Sophea Sor said, tying the ponytail holder around the braid. “It’s just chores. Kids don’t get paid for chores. Be lucky yours are inside and we don’t have a farm.”

 “Ew, farm cows are smelly.”

 “That’s right, now do you think you can mop the floor while I finish the dishes in the back?”

 “Mhm. Can I sit down a minute first?”

 “We can start after we finish this water.”

Six years old…

 A lot of people died, that’s why Mak doesn’t have a daddy, and she got separated from her own mak. None of her family could come to her wedding because she wasn’t sure if any of them were still alive and where in the world they might be. That was why little Darareaksmey being supportive of her mother marrying Adrien was so important.

 “Let go of my hair, Art! Or I’ll beat you up!” Darareaksmey shouted at her soon-to-be brother as he pulled on her braid, making her flail her arms wildly in her attempts to wallop him. “I’m gonna break your face!”

 Gaston groaned as he flicked a fuzz off of his wedding clothes, realizing he was going to have to step in if they kept this up. He did not want to step in! Dara might be younger than him and Art both but she could punch! But if he teamed up with her and hit Art, then Art would get mad and say he betrayed his brother for their step-sister, and Dara would cry because she can stay ‘step-brother’ all she wants but the second the boys say ‘step-sister’ she throws a fit, and then she and Art would just start a new fight.

 Being the big brother was exhausting sometimes.

 Luckily, Gaston didn’t have to choose whose side to fight on, because Sophie glided into the room to pry the youngest two apart.

 “Dara, be nice to your brother,” Sophie muttered, gently tugging her hair out of the braid to re-do it.

 “He started it! And he’s not my brother, he’s just Adrien’s son!”

 Sophie sighed and with one hand continued to unbraid her daughter’s hair, and with the other, beckoned Art to come closer. “That’s not what you were saying a few days ago, when we tried on your dress for the wedding. You said you were excited to have two big brothers.”

 “That was before I realized Art was mean!” Dara stuck her tongue out at him.

 “Brothers and sisters are mean to each other. Sometimes. Other times, they play together. But all of the time they don’t let anybody else be mean to each other.” Sophie explained as she started to fix Dara’s hair. “But. Art should apologize for pulling your hair.”

 Sophie stared at Art with disapproving mom eyes until he shuffled his feet and looked down at them sheepishly. “I’m sorry I pulled your hair, Dara. And called you ugly. And said I didn’t want an ugly sister. And said your flowers smelled like butt. They don’t smell like butt.”

 “Am I ugly?”

 “You’re not ugly, I was just being mean. You’re a perfectly not ugly sister I’m excited to have after my daddy marries your mommy!”

Twelve years old…

 About a quarter of the population of her mother’s home country died during the Khmer Rouge regime. Franny was lucky to have been born at all, and she should be very proud her mother taught her their language and culture.

 Franny couldn’t remember the last time someone other than her mother used her given name except to make fun of it. Even her brothers called her Franny by then.

 It was the start of a new school year and Franny dreaded the first day; not because of having to wake up early, not because of having to do homework again soon, but because new school years meant new teachers and new teachers. And new teachers for Franny and the handful of other children of Southeast Asian refugees in town meant a horrid butchering of their names at roll call.

 It was the same song and dance every year.

 Inevitably, one teacher would get to Phuc Kieu’s name and say something that sounded like “fuck you” and the class would laugh while Phuc meekly raised his hand and said, “You can just call me James.”

 Serey Mam was lucky, it wasn’t hard to correct ‘Siri’ or ‘Sare-ee’ or ‘Sar-ee’ to ‘Sa-rey.’

 It was the Lao kids that Franny felt most sorry for. Franny could only pronounce and spell Chanthanouvong, Douangphachanh, Nanthavongdouangsy, and Sibounheuang because she was also Southeast Asian so she bothered to learn. But at least with Serey’s name, teachers tried. With the Lao names they took one look at them and said ‘time to butcher it in the most egregious way possible.’ 

 She had mad respect for Chitpasong Nanthavongdouangsy, who refused to go by an “American name” and forced teachers to learn to say Chitpasong. “I was born here,” Chitpasong said one time. “Chitpasong is an American name because I’m an American person.” Franny wished that six year old Darareaksmey had had that resolve, and wished twelve year old Franny could summon it, but she didn’t. She’d rather only hear Darareaksmey from her mother because at least she said it right.

 “You look a bit glum.”

 Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

 “Hi, Mak.” Franny said, waving as she grabbed the last of the dishes from the soapy water to rinse it.

 “What’s wrong? Don’t want summer to end?”

 Franny shook her head. “No, I kind of miss all my friends. You know, the ones not in bicycling distance. I just don’t like the first day.”

 Sophie let her daughter rinse and dry the final dish before she pulled one of the dining chairs out and snapped her fingers, manicured nail pointing down at it. Franny sat down as her mother grabbed the brush from her purse resting open on the table.

 “Were girls mean to you last year?” Sophie asked as she got to brushing the knots out of Franny’s hair.

 “Not really, I just punch them if they are.”

 “Darareaksmey, we don’t resort to violence.”

 “It’s my last resort, I promise, but it’s on the table.”

 “So what’s wrong?” Sophie grabbed the hair tie from around her wrist and held it between her teeth as she started to braid from the top of Franny’s head. “You let me get this far, so you’re trapped now.”

 “It’s the teachers. I hate roll calls on the first day.” She admitted. “I feel embarrassed.”

 “About?”

 “My name.”

 That gave Sophie pause but her hands quickly got back to work on Franny’s hair. “Why?”

 “They...say it wrong. Nobody can say Darareaksmey.”

 “It’s not a name from their language, I’m sure it is difficult.”

 “They don’t even try, it’s why everyone calls me Franny, nobody has ever tried. And it makes me feel embarrassed and sorry that I have such a weird name.”

 Sophie was quiet for a long moment, her deft hands working at her daughter’s hair, until she spoke up again. “Are you embarrassed? To be Cambodian. About your name.”

 “No...it just feels bad when they get it wrong. So I let them call me Franny. Is that bad?”

 “No. I let them call me Sophie, don’t I? As long as you know how powerful your name is and why it's so special.”

 Franny turned her head toward her mother but Sophie clicked her tongue and angled her head back forward, muttering something about her hair looking lopsided if she did that again. “Heeeeey, I was paying attention to you.”

 “You’re trapped in this seat, you have to pay attention even with your back turned.”

 “Fair.  Why’s my name special?”

 “Because you are. I thought very hard about your name. Darareaksmey means ‘bright, shiny star’. I know you remember I was raising you alone before I married your father. You remember, right?”

 Franny, truthfully, sometimes forgot that Adrien Framagucci wasn’t always in her life. It was easy to forget that he wasn’t her biological father because she had never known any other man to be her father. She didn’t know her biological father’s name. Did she want to? Maybe. She hadn’t ever thought about it enough to decide anything; or to consider there was anything to decide.

 Adrien raised Franny. Not only raised her, but he’d wooed her by proving what a great dad he’d be at the same time he was courting her mother. When he came to Mr. Tran’s home to pick Sophie up for dates, he’d bring Franny some amaryllis flowers he’d grown himself. A thanks for letting me borrow your mother today, he’d say. When Franny won Kindergarten student of the month at her elementary school, Adrien asked Sophie if he could treat Franny to a celebration dinner. When Franny mentioned the memory offhand a few years later Sophie said he did that to audition to be Franny’s dad.

 Your father always knew that if he wanted me to believe he loved me, he’d have to love you, too. You were always part of the deal. He wanted to be your dad so he got to proving it to you.

 If her original dad didn’t even stick around long enough for her to remember him but the dad she had put as much effort into wooing her as he did with her mother...then was it worth knowing about him? At twelve, Franny didn’t think it was.

 “Yeah, I remember living in Mr. Tran’s shed with you.” Franny said.

 “It used to be a shed. Mr. Tran fixed it up to be a tiny little house, we had a tiny little kitchen and air conditioning! Right, so you remember it was just me and you...we aren’t the only Cambodians in Clayton County, are we?”

 Franny shook her head. “There’s some at my school. And some that live in Lovejoy, Riverdale, and Jonesboro that work at the restaurant.”

 “Mhm. Are any of them your Aunties and Uncles? I know we call everyone Auntie and Uncle, but are they my brothers and sisters?”

 “...y...yes? Yes, right?”

 Sophie shook her head. “Not one. You’ve heard me talk about my brothers and sisters in Cambodia, right? The ones I climbed trees with or who helped me sneak back into the house at night, I talk about them sometimes. I had eleven of them.”

 “...had?”

 “I’m not sure how many are still living. Or where they might be.”

 “Don’t you have their phone numbers, Mak?”

 Sophie chuckled, the warmth in it seeming out of place to Franny even at that age. It seemed like her mother was broaching a very sad and difficult topic. Cambodia was always a toss-up. It was either sad or so happy it sounded like heaven or nirvana. This did not seem like the setup to one of her mother’s rose-colored talks about Cambodia.

 “Or can you write letters?”

 “I don’t know anything, my love.” Sophie admitted. This was the first time Franny had heard her mother say ‘I don’t know anything’ since she’d been alive! “I know some of the ones who died early on during the Khmer Rouge. Because I was there when they did. But eventually we became separated, and by the time I escaped to Thailand I didn’t know where they were. My brothers, sisters, my cousins. My own mak.”

 “What about your dad?”

 “Dead. That one, I know for sure.”

 “...what happened?”

 “That part, I’ll tell you when you’re older. You’re still a child, dear. I’m only telling you some of the basics today.” She cleared her throat and continued. “I escaped across the border into Thailand and accepted I’d never see my family again. I decided it would be an insult to them to not keep living though, so I waited to be resettled to a safer country as a refugee. First I was in Thailand. Then at a re-education center in The Philippines. And then I found out I was going to America. I wasn’t here very long when I got pregnant with you.”

 “You weren’t married or anything?”

 “I was not. And I had to stop working where I was working, and then I didn’t have any more money. That’s when I walked into Mr. Tran’s restaurant and tried to trick him into thinking I was Vietnamese. He picked up my Cambodian accent right away and told me that we are united by the wars waged by the West in our countries and by our struggles in America. Mr. Tran gave me a job, right away, and even let me move in with his family. Until he converted the shed into a little house, we lived in the main house with his family. We shared a room with his youngest daughter.”

 “Leah?”

 “That’s right. So. I was alone. I was unmarried. I barely spoke English at the time; I knew French and Vietnamese from Cambodia, of course Khmer is my native tongue, but my English was embarrassing. Still is.”

 “No way, Mak! You speak English better than anybody who says that about you!” Franny argued, whirling her head around to face her mother now that she felt her hands move from her hair. “Who says that about you? I’ll cook them into soup!”

“Not. The. Point.” Sophie chastised bonking Franny on the nose with the pad of her index finger to emphasize each word. “The point is. It was a scary time for me when I first came to this country. And then when I found out I was pregnant with you it was even scarier. I wondered if I should give you up so a family with more money could raise you. Mr. Tran isn’t wealthy himself, you know, it was a situation where the poor were helping the beggar. Sometimes I still think you would have been better off...but I couldn’t do it. Maybe it was selfish to keep you, but I was so alone. I knew I’d probably still be lonely after I had you. Babies don’t learn to talk for years and even then, you’re my child, not my friend. But I could raise you to love Cambodian culture. I could teach you my language. I could make sure you knew the beautiful parts about where you came from. After everyone I ever knew was either dead or scattered who knew where around the world, I decided that raising you to be a proud Cambodian would be worth all of that loneliness.”

 Franny, had she been a couple years older, would have cried. At fourteen she might have had the emotional depth to fully comprehend what she meant to her mother. At twelve, she understood a great deal, but it did not quite move her to tears. Though, she instinctively reached for her mother’s hand, and gave it a squeeze.

 For a moment, she thought she saw the ghost of fear in her mother’s eyes, or the closest thing to it she could place at that age when her biggest fear was wasps.

 “Do you miss Cambodia, Mak?” Franny asked quietly.

 “Every day. It is a beautiful country. But it is one I will never see again so there is no use dwelling on it.”

 “Don’t say that, we can go someday.” Franny said, pouting.

 Sophie clicked her tongue at her daughter, shaking her head. “It’s too expensive. No go to your room and finish your homework. I don’t want to hear a single guitar chord until you finish.”

Twenty years old...

 The purging of intellectuals included doctors, students, artists, and musicians. The grandfather Franny never got to meet was a doctor and he died because of it. Her mother had been a university student, studying to be a doctor herself, and lied that she was a seamstress to survive. One of brothers she knew did not survive had been a musician. Sophea had more reasons than financial stability to worry about her daughter insisting on doing music.

 Franny supposed she was lucky.

 Unlike some of her first-generation friends, her mother didn’t put that much pressure on her to marry a Cambodian man. There was never any matchmaking, any suggestions of an arranged marriage meeting, nothing like that. However, the first question Sophie asked when Franny told her mother that she had joined NYU’s Southeast Asian Student Association was “are there any nice Cambodian boys, Darareaksmey?”

 It was then that Franny understood that her mother hoped for a Cambodian son-in-law even if she would not pressure her to select one.  It was also clear to her that while her mother accepted her bisexuality, she did tend to assume she’d end up married to a man, perhaps even wished she would. In the 90s and early 2000s though, Franny took that as a blessing.

 Franny did intentionally go on dates with a few Cambodian guys. She’d even had a third date planned with one.

 Enter Cornelius Robinson. Mega-genius. Absolute nerd. Hair you just wanna run your hands through. Mild-mannered. Kind. Actually interested in what she had to say. And very Not Cambodian.

 It was frankly embarrassing how quickly she was all in for that man. She didn’t have to spend all that much time with him for her to understand how her mother must have felt when she began seeing her father.

 Christmas break rolled around and she figured she should introduce her boyfriend to her family. Franny’s jaw fell right between her feet on the ground at how suspiciously well it went. 

 Hours later, she was positively mortified when, instead of telling Cornelius he could sleep in one of her brothers’ rooms, her mother followed up ‘just follow Darareaksmey to her room’ with ‘and keep it down if you get naked.’ Franny covered her face with her pillow, muttering, ‘Neil, just press down. Smother me now.’

 “Do you like him?” Franny asked her mother while they folded the laundry one afternoon.

 “Your boyfriend?”

 “No, Mak. Daddy. Of course I mean my boyfriend. So, do you like Cornelius or n-- ow!”

 Sophie withdrew the dish towel she’d just whipped Franny’s arm with and her warm laugh filled the room. “Don’t sass me, girl. I do. He’s a very rich man you’ve got wrapped around your finger, and he isn’t even old enough to be your father.”

 “Mak!” Franny’s turn to wack an arm with a dish towel. “I’m not with him for his money...okay, it’s nice that he takes me grocery shopping sometimes so I can eat decent food. But other than that I don’t care about his money.”

 Well...maybe she did a little. It wasn’t the or even a reason she began seeing him, but it was a perk she was now enjoying just like her cooking was a perk he got to enjoy. But money could only entertain her for so long. If Cornelius didn’t make her soul feel at home the way he did not even his bank account could have kept her.

 “Cornelius makes me very happy. I actually - I actually miss him when I don’t get to see him for more than like a day. I never thought I was clingy with guys or girls I dated. Guess I am.’

 “Oh, Dara. You’re just in love.”

 “Yeah, I guess I am. Are you angry?”

 Sophie stopped folding the pair of jeans in her hands and let them crumple into her lap. “Why would I be angry?”

 “He’s not Cambodian? I don’t know. You wanted me to date the Cambodian boys in the Southeast Asian Student Association.”

 “Honey,” Sophie cooed, reaching for Franny’s hand. “Only if you wanted to. I’ll admit a part of me hoped you would find a nice proud Cambodian boy. It would be wonderful if you had a husband who would help teach your children Khmer-”

 Franny bit her tongue, holding back a reminder that they’d hadn’t been dating long enough to consider marriage and kids, and that she was only twenty. Nevermind that Franny had been thinking about those things privately. Oh, not in detail. She didn’t have their future children named or anything, though, she had come to the realization that if she tried to picture herself married one day then it was to Cornelius Robinson. The idea of being a mother kind of freaked her out...but if she added ‘mother to Cornelius Robinson’s children someday’ to it, she got all giggly thinking about it.

 It was still a little early to say the M-word or the K-word to Cornelius but it wasn’t like it hadn’t crossed her mind. Franny was in love, after all.

 “- because a part of me does worry about our culture going away with your childrens’ generation if you don’t. But this is America, where there’s all types of people, not just Khmer, Chinese, Cham, or Vietnamese people. You can marry anybody you want. I speak English now anyway.”

 “Mak, I’d teach my kids Khmer.” Franny said.

 “You will?”

 “How else will we gossip about all the snobby rich families at the country club right in front of them?”

 Sophie bursted into laughter, shoving Franny over onto her side on the floor. “Oh, don’t be a gossip! Now sit up, we'll finish the laundry later. Let me do your hair so I can tell you all about the Inthavongs’ divorce.”

Twenty-three years old…

 Her mother’s life even after coming to America had been harder than Franny fully understood for most of her life up until around the time she was married. She thought she knew all about her mother’s struggle because it happened right in front of her, but there were so many parts Franny was missing.

 “Look at my handsome son-in-law! Oh, come, come, let me take some pictures to email to my brothers and sisters.”

 “Mak, they were at the wedding, they know what Cornelius looks like,” Franny whined, clinging onto his arm. “He flew them in, remember?”

 “You’re supposed to be wiping down the tables, Darareaksmey.” Sophie reminded her, gesturing around the restaurant. “Here, I’ll get that server apron off you. Thank you for helping out with dinner Cornelius. So generous with your time when you’re visiting, such a good man.”

 “He’s married, Mak.” Franny deadpanned. Sophie grabbed a mint from the bowl by the door and before she even threw it at Franny her daughter ducked for cover. “You’re getting her in the divorce!”

 It might have been the couple’s first visit to Georgia since they married a few months ago, but Cornelius knew this routine by now. In about four minutes the play-fighting would be long since over and his wife would be hanging onto her mother telling her how much she loooooved her, or how much she wanted them to treat her to a nice meal out tomorrow, or mention how priceless the look on the blonde sales lady’s face would be if two women who looked like them bought a much too expensive dress with her husband’s black card. 

 After knowing Sophie, it was clear where Franny got her...well, a lot of things from. Of course a woman like that raised Franny. Of course.

 The jangling of the bell attached to the front door interrupted Cornelius’ admiration of his wife and mother-in-law.

 Franny lifted her head up from cleaning a table. “I’m sorry, we’re closed for the nigh--”

 “YOU WHORE!” Screeched the woman who had walked in the door.

 “Hey!” Cornelius exclaimed, the scary, unfamiliar feeling of anger bubbling in his chest. “That is my w-”

 When Sophie was the one struck by the woman’s backhand, it was clear it was not Franny who was the target of that slur.

 “Did you expect me to be in the dark forever? How dare you hang around this town! How dare you show your face here!” The woman, blonde hair greying and pale skin beginning to show age, berated Sophie as she continued her assault. “You and my husband’s bastard child, right under my nose!”

 Cornelius blinked in surprise; he would have thought that his wife’s sperm donor of a biological father would have confessed to his wife about his infidelity much sooner than now, almost twenty-four years later. She must have just found out. Why else would she come to the restaurant that late at night breathing fire out her nose -- good god, he was starting to think in Franny’s folksy sayings.

 He was frozen in shock and a tinge of fear (he never was one for physical fights, see) just long enough for Franny to be the first to act. Sophie seemed fully aware of what was happening and also fully able to defend herself, yet for some reason unwilling to.

 Franny lunged forward and grabbed the oldest of the three women by the hair and tugged her away from Sophie. “Paws off my mother! She did nothing wrong!”

 The woman (if Cornelius remembered correctly, Franny’s biological father was named Peter Boyd), Mrs. Boyd, shrieked and flailed her arms until one connected with Franny hard enough to stun her into losing her grip. Mrs. Boyd turned on Franny immediately.

 “Ha! Nothing wrong? Nothing wrong? Your mother opened her legs to a married man, that’s why you’re even here! Lying like a Persian rug. I should lay you out like one.”

 “Fucking try! I’ll lay your ass out and step all over it, you wanna talk about Persian rugs.” Franny challenged, stepping around Mrs. Boyd to block her from her mother. 

 Mrs. Boyd lunged at Franny, but Franny had been in more fights that the genteel politician’s wife could have ever been in. It took her an embarrassing number of tries to land a punch on Franny and when she did, she didn’t miss her shot. While Franny was stunned, Mrs. Boyd grabbed Franny by her hair and threw her against the wall.

 It felt like hours to him that he was frozen in place, but it couldn’t have actually been more than a full minute between Sophie first being slapped and when Mrs. Boyd landed her punch on Franny. That one action finally connected Cornelius’ eyes to the rest of his body. Mrs. Boyd drew back her fist and in a display of speed and athleticism that he could never repeat again, Cornelius crossed the room and wedged himself between Mrs. Boyd and his wife.

 Lucky for him, she wasn’t a very strong puncher.

 Unlucky for him, she was wearing her ring and his cheek sliced right open.

 “You just punched my husband.” Franny snarled, reaching for a chair. “You. Just punched. My husband.”

 If Cornelius thought Franny looked scarily pissed off when a man put his hands on her at a bar, he ain’t seen nothin’ back then. If they were in a cartoon, smoke would have billowed from her nose and ears as she shoved him behind her.

 “He got in the way, that’s his fault!”

 “He has nothing to do with your cheating husband preying on and manipulating a refugee who barely spoke English into thinking he cared about her and would take care of her. Your shitty husband is the one you should be beating up right now!” Franny hissed, her grip on the chair tightening.

 “Shut up, [slur I won’t type]!”

 It was dead silent. Not one of the four of them moved. Cornelius could have sworn he heard a heartbeat that’s how quiet it was.

 Franny was the first to break the silence.

 “I’ll count to three. If you aren’t out of my mother’s restaurant when I get to three, what happens next is your fault.” 

 Mrs. Boyd scoffed. “Like I’m afraid of some gold-digging musical theatre major.”

 “One.”

 “You aren’t really going to hit me with a chair, are--”

 “Two.”

 “I’ll have you arrest--”

 “Three. GAH!” Franny only had to fake her out for her to run out the door shrieking. The chair was already back on the ground before the door had even shut. “I’ll lock the door. Mak, can we put a dish towel on his face?”

 ---

“Franny ow,” Cornelius protested as, back at her parents’ house, Franny landed a light-but-strategically-painful punch on Cornelius' arm. “Why are you mad?”

 “Because you got hurt!” She snapped, folding her arms across her chest, her eyes watering. “Why would you do that?”

 “I didn’t want her to hurt you or Sophie…”

 Franny whined. “Baby, you name your robots. You can’t take or throw punches. I’m the badass in this marriage, you’re the sweet, gentle one. I hate that you got hurt because my sperm donor’s wife would rather blame a poor lady and her daughter instead of her shitty husband.” “Honey, she slammed your head into the wall.”

 “And?” Franny knocked on her skull. “Sounds hollow to me. I don’t think there’s any brain cells left there to kill.”

 Cornelius gave a huff of a laugh through his nose, reaching for Franny’s hand to play with her fingers. He didn’t say anything, just held her hand and waited for her.

 “I’m sorry you had to see my family’s dirty laundry. Not like you didn’t already know, but.” Franny said, staring down at their hands. “I thought his wife knew. The worst part is, I can understand her. I’d hate my mom and I too if you-- not that you would -- I don’t think you’d-- I just mean--”

 “I know.” Cornelius said, leaning over to kiss her forehead.

 Sophie glided into the living room, her hair kit in hand, and gestured for Franny to sit up straight. Franny opened her mouth to protest that she didn’t feel like getting her hair messed with right now, but snapped her jaw shut as quick as she’d opened it. Just let Mak do her little ritual, it wouldn’t hurt no one.

 “I’m sorry this happened, Mak. I should’ve been quicker to fight for you.” Franny said, looking down at her hand in Cornelius’.

 Sophie tsk tsked and tugged the hairbrush a little hard, Franny swore it was on purpose. “It was overdue karma, my love. I slept with a married man whether I knew it or not at the time. Not knowing doesn’t make it any less wrong.”

 “It does too! He was the one married and lying to you! And the one tried to force you into an abortion when that wasn’t the right choice for you. How are you near as responsible as him?” Franny argued.

 “Humans see grey areas. Not everything in the universe does, dear.  Besides, I won anyway. Even after today.”

 “How? All three of us look like the school bully took our lunch money. I mean, look at him! He and Lucille have a press thing after we get back to New York, he’s gonna look like I shanked him during a domestic!” Franny looked over at Cornelius and pouted at his bandage.

 “I’ll tell the press I fought valiantly, honey. You were a worthy opponent.” Cornelius teased. Franny hissed, exactly like her cat, then immediately kissed his temple.

 “I win in the end because I get to have you as my daughter.” Sophie explained, starting on the actual braid. “I don’t regret any part about my path crossing with Peter Boyd’s because I had to go through it to get you.”

 Franny was silent a long moment, her eyes watered in lieu of her finding her words. She only squeezed Cornelius’ hand tighter, and when she had words again only managed so squeak out, “Maaaaaak, you can’t say things that nice while you’re doing my hair. It’ll be all lopsided if I move to hug you.”

 “That’s why I said it when I did.”

Thirty-five years old…

 Franny was coming to understand that she would never truly be able to understand everything about her mother’s life in Cambodia. The more she knew, the more she didn’t know.

 Franny sat behind her mother, brushing out her hair, as the recording device captured their conversation. At the moment, all it was capturing was Franny’s stunned silence as she sat there, mouth agape, hairbrush frozen mid-brush in her mother’s salt and pepper hair.

 What do you say to your mother recounting in gruesome detail her father’s death?

 She spoke like all she was recalling was the serial killer’s M.O. in the last Criminal Minds, her tone calm, detached, there was even a nervous laugh in there.

 “Mak…” Franny whispered. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 “The book was my idea, Darareaksmey. I want you to help me talk about what happened to my country and our family before I’m an old woman and can’t remember things. The world deserves to know what it let happen.”

 “It can’t be easy for you. How do you just...live after that?”

 “It isn’t easy. Keep brushing.” Sophie waited until Franny’s hands were once again busy with her hair to continue. “A lot of people don’t, I imagine. Surviving must eat some people alive. It got to me, at first.”

 Franny set the brush down and started on the braiding. “Did it?”

 “Why was my escape successful but the woman who suggested the method I used get caught when she tried it, why was I able to survive the student purge but my friends weren’t, why did the cut on my foot eventually heal but my sister’s infection kill her, and do I even deserve to be alive...things like that, I thought about those things every day in the refugee camp. Once I was able to actually think about anything but being hungry, anyway.” Sophie explained. 

 While Franny braided her mother’s hair it occurred to her that this was the most honest that her mother had been with her about her feelings (re: living through the Khmer Rouge) in all of her thirty-five years on the planet. Regarding the straight facts, Sophea Sor Framagucci was a straightforward woman. She would tell you in detail how any and every traumatic event went down but never once had she talked about how she felt or what it all did to her.

 Though, she couldn’t imagine detailing every single trauma in her life and how it affected her for Wilbur either.

 Perhaps it felt strange to Franny because her mother’s trauma was a major historical event that numerous books, movies, documentaries, and articles talked about. She knew so much about the event itself but the raw, human, emotional aspect of it was all new.

 “It’s funny because deciding not to live was never an option for me. Even before I had you. I just kept thinking about how I didn’t want to let the people who did this to me win, and I can only do that by living. So I existed. For a long time, it was just existing. I learned to be alive again. Especially once you started talking and having a personality that wasn’t just ‘Being A Baby. That’s when being a mother goes from being just a responsibility to a responsibility that makes you smile and laugh.”

 “Mm, it’s a good thing you told me that part at thirty-five and not fourteen. As a mother, I understand what you mean. As a teenager that would have killed my self-esteem.”

 “Impossible, your ego was much too big at that age. It almost could’ve used a beating.”

 “Don’t you know that was the classic pretend you’re better than God because you actually feel like trash act?” Franny said, tying the hair tie around the braid.

 “Can’t say I’m familiar. It’s never been an act for me.”

 “Mak!” Franny laughed, playfully nudging her mother. “No wonder I have a god complex on Tuesdays.” A beat. “We can stop. If you need to.”

 “I’ll tell you when I need a break, my love. I’m okay.”

[croquettish]

Your screenshot share from twitter made me want to confess to somebody that as a Guy who was ridiculously sheltered to extremity growing up , and is Aro ace , I want to be kidnapped and raped so freaking bad and I think it’s because of my orientation I could never comfortably consent to having sex , if I’m ever to experience it , it’s gonna have to be forced , so I read and write a lot of Boy rape stories so I can live out my fantasy . Thankyou for letting me finally admit this . I feel ashamed

Thank you for trusting me with something so intimate and private. 

That said, please don’t feel ashamed of something so incredibly human and innately relatable. I’m ace myself, but all my fantasies are incredibly perverse all the same. As a CSA/SA survivor, most of them involve some kind of dub/non-con for me also. Needless to say, this has affected what I read and write in exactly the same way. Desire is such an incredibly complex thing, and I don’t think that’s something that you, I, or anyone should ever feel ashamed of.

Every time that I see someone reblog that post and add on something along the lines of “all fiction is okay except for xyz thing that I’m just never okay with” another part of my soul withers away. We all deserve our fictional outlets, regardless of what other people deem indecent. Because it’s just that, fictional.

If you’d ever like to talk about this more / again, my ask box is always open ❤️

[isolavirtuosa]

Starting Over (For Real?) 1-3

Sequel to Starting Over and Starting Over (Again).

[fanfiction] NaruSasu

Whose dream is it now?

Starting Over (For Real?)

Isola Virtuosa

 - 1 -

  When I woke up this time, I was still inside of the tree’s roots.  I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the memories of yet another fake world that I’d been imprisoned in for who knows how long.  This was reality.  I was trapped inside of a tree, having all of my chakra sapped away.  The first thing I needed to do was get out of here before I didn’t have enough chakra to power my rinnegan.

And yet, how had I been able to get enough chakra to activate my rinnegan in the first place?

The warmth in my chest was growing, like my chakra was increasing rather than decreasing, yet I still felt the gentle drain of it as it left my body and went into the tree.

The more I came back into reality, the more I started to realize that what I thought was part of the roots was actually a human hand, a human torso, a human leg.

“Naruto,” I tried to say, but I don’t think any sound came out.  I tried to move, but I felt like I was bound in place.  I focused on the chakra that Naruto was feeding into me, gathering it into a chidori and blowing a hole through the roots that were trapping us.

I gasped as real air hit my lungs, but Naruto didn’t as much as stir.  I tried to tear out of the pod, but my arm felt like lead.  I took a deep breath, closing my eyes and concentrating my chakra again.  Then we were falling.  It must not have been very high, but after landing feet first, I immediately fell backwards and hit my head.  All I saw was white.

Naruto groaned, still attached to my torso.

I managed to get my voice to crack, but nothing more.

“Saaaa,” Naruto croaked, and I felt him trying to move.

My vision started to clear slowly.  It was still too bright out for my eyes to adjust.  I was suddenly overwhelmed by the chakra pouring into my body.  I gasped, trying to tell Naruto to stop.

“Rin…” he whispered.  “Rinnegaa…”

He was right.  The most important thing right now was my rinnegan.

“My… legs,” he rasped.

This was hopeless.  Neither of us could walk, our muscles so severely atrophied.  What was the point of waking up if we were just going to get sucked back in, starting over again and again and again in this endless cycle?

“Sasuke,” Naruto said, dissolving into a coughing fit.  “Sas…” he started coughing again.  “Sasuke, don’t… give up…”

“…s… the poin…t?” I forced through my ragged throat.

Naruto’s hand slammed into mine.  He flopped it around some more until he could curl his fingers around mine.  “Seal.”

“It…” I tried to get the words to come out.  “Won’t.  Work.”

“Hafta try.”

I wanted to scream.  I had tried.  Twice already.  Third time was not the charm.  We were going to die here.  Even if we released the jutsu, we couldn’t move and there was no one coming to save us.  We would die from exposure.

“Want… to… go… back?” Naruto asked, croaking each word out slowly.

Live in a world that gave you what you thought you wanted, or die.

I tried to remember the Sage’s words and slowly guided Naruto’s hand into the rat seal with mine.

It felt like it couldn’t be this easy.

“How do we even know if this is real?” I tried to shout, my voice barely coming out above a whisper.

“We have to believe,” Naruto said into my chest, his head so heavy he couldn’t lift it.

Of course the real Naruto would say something stupid like that.

So I believed.

 - 2 -

  “So this is how I’m going to die,” I muttered through cracked lips.  After we had released the seal, the God Tree had started to wither away.  We were no longer under constant peril of being swallowed up by a carnivorous tree.  Now we were starving, dehydrated, and incapable of so much as sitting up.  The sun had set and risen again, the both of us fading in and out of consciousness.

“I bet I can live longer than you,” Naruto said, laughing and coughing.

“I’d like to see you try,” I rasped.

“I am gonna live so hard,” he replied.

I squeezed his hand, our fingers still curled together from when we performed the seal, though Naruto had somehow managed to finally roll himself off of my chest and onto his back.  Help wasn’t coming.  Everyone else had been trapped in the tree same as we had, with the same atrophying effects.  We were miles from anyone, with no chance of someone stumbling upon us in a rescue effort.  I only hoped that the scavengers would pick our bones clean so no one would realize how embarrassingly I had indulged myself in my last moments.

“I wish it would rain,” Naruto murmured, licking his lips again.

“You’re just making it worse,” I scolded him.

“Whaddya mean?!”

“The moisture from your lips… evaporates…” I started to trail off, feeling myself being drawn into sleep again.

“Please stay with me,” Naruto said quietly, snapping me back awake.

I felt too tired to even answer him.  I put all my effort into squeezing his hand.

“At least we saved the world,” he said, squeezing back.

“Whatever’s left of it…” I managed to get out.

“Why do you have to be so damn pessimistic?!”

I smiled and it hurt.

Naruto sighed, then went quiet.

“…Naruto?”

He didn’t answer.

I felt myself drifting.

Someone was standing over us.

I was appalled that I hadn’t sensed their approach even in my near-death state.  Then I realized that I couldn’t feel her chakra.

“They’re still alive!” she called over her shoulder.

There were others.

Just like that, we were being taken back to Konoha.

I woke up in someone’s living room, an IV in my arm.

“Easy,” Naruto said, squeezing my hand.

I let the chakra I’d been building up disperse, trusting in him completely that we were safe.

Then I remembered that he wasn’t my Naruto.  This man sitting next to me with a ridiculous beard was practically a stranger, someone I hadn’t really and truly spoken with in almost four years.  Or was it five, even six now?  More?

“How long?” I rasped at him.

“Almost two years,” he said.  He was still holding my hand.

It wasn’t quite as bad as I’d imagined, since I’d lived through several years in the Infinite Tsukuyomi.  “You look ridiculous.”

Naruto grinned.  “Look who’s talking.  I’m not surprised that Uchihas are terrible at growing beards, though.  That’s what you get for being pretty like a lady.”

I stared at him.

His grin faltered and he retracted his hand.  “S-sorry, I’m just…  I’m used to you being… different.”

“I get it,” I said, turning away from him and finally taking in our surroundings in more detail.  We were in a living room with futons laid out across the floor, though ours were the only ones currently occupied.  We both had IVs feeding into us, but I was surprised by how easily I could move.  My muscles weren’t as deteriorated as I’d expected from being in a coma for over a year.

“There was a whatsit uh paralytic in the tree,” Naruto said, and I could feel his eyes following my every movement.  “That’s why we couldn’t really move.  That’s uh what you were wondering, right?”

Stop reading my mind, I thought.  Stop acting like you know everything about me.

“So uh it seems like some people were immune to the Infinite Tsukuyomi and uh ya know they were all just like chillin’ and watchin’ over the tree while the world went to hell and then we released the seal and they saw all the bodies bein’ freed and started rescuin’ everyone and they found Kakashi-sensei and he told ’em where ta look for us and uh yeah so uh yeah.”

I sat up.  It took more effort than I would have liked, but I did it, letting the blanket pool in my lap as I turned to stare at Naruto.  “Do I make you nervous?”

He let out a very high-pitched laugh.

I didn’t even know where to start.

“I don’t know how to act around you,” he said quietly.  “I was playing with my kids and now I’m in the ruins of Konoha with… nothing…”  He choked on the last word, his entire face crumbling.

I looked away and waited.

“You were out for a while, but I was able to get a lot of information from Ms. Miharu,” he said, calm again.  His tone was starting to sound more like an adult and less like a tongue-tied child.  “This is her house.  There were about twenty people in Konoha who were immune to the Infinite Tsukuyomi, all non-ninjas, and they’ve just been trying to survive for the last couple of years.  They’ve done some trading with survivors from other towns and villages, but food and skilled professions like doctors have been scarce, so it seems like it’s been pretty tough.”

I wondered if they hadn’t been better off without us.  “I want to leave.”

“Where the hell did that come from?!”

“I don’t know these people who are supposedly taking care of us, first of all,” I said, already feeling my blood pressure rising from Naruto’s flailing and whining.  “Second of all, I’m a missing nin and there is no possible way that I can stay here anyway.”

“Uh, where are you gonna go?” Naruto asked, scratching his nose.  “There’s nothing out there.”

“There’s nothing here, either.”

“There’s me.”

“Just what I always wanted.”

“Are you being sarcastic?!”

I looked at him.

“Your chakra is depleted and you’re missing an arm, you’re in no condition to be going anywhere,” he said with a frown.

“I’ve been missing an arm for years,” I said.

“So the reality of missing an arm is exactly the same as the dream world?” Naruto asked.  His tone was getting a little too sassy for my taste.  “Because it’s completely different for me.  The balance isn’t what I expected, and my brain keeps telling me that I feel pain where my arm used to be.”

He wasn’t wrong.  “I’m still leaving.”

“Dressed like that?” he said, and it was true that my clothes had been torn, my belt had been lost, and I looked like- “A stripper who had a fight with a tailed-beast and lost?”

“Who the hell is a stripper?”

“You!  You are a stripper!  I can literally see your titties!”

“I feel like I’ve walked in at an awkward moment,” the woman standing in the doorway said.

“It’s always awkward with us,” Naruto said with a grin.

“Oh, dear…” she said, looking between us.  “Mr. Uchiha, it’s nice to see you awake.  I’m sorry about the hack job I did with the IVs, I’m not actually a nurse…  And I’ve got some clothes for you to change into if you’d like, I just didn’t want to be undressing and redressing you without your consent.  I’m Miharu, by the way.  Pleasure to meet you.”

“What’s in the IV?” I asked abruptly.

“Ah, it’s some nutrients and such, but before there was also the anti-paralytic to get your body moving again,” she explained, bustling around the room.  She came back over to me with a set of pajamas.

I eyed them disdainfully before accepting them.  “And how did a non-nurse go about developing an anti-paralytic for the God Tree?”

“You’re so rude,” Naruto muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, that wasn’t me,” Miharu explained.  “There was a scientist who came from Suna.  You see, we tried to cut y’all down from that tree, but even if we pulled you out of those pods, you just wouldn’t wake up and you eventually got sucked back in.  But that scientist and some others tried studying you these last few months, and came up with the anti-paralytic for the day that y’all might wake up.”

“I see,” I said.  I still didn’t trust her, though my gut said she was harmless.

“Gosh, you must really just want to wash up and finally be rid of those rags,” she said, going to dig through a drawer and coming up with a couple of towels.  “We don’t have running water, but we’ve got a well and some buckets if you want to go wait in the bathroom.  It’s probably gonna be tough to walk right now, but the others that we rescued way before you are starting to get on their feet again.  And then there’s Mr. Uzumaki here, who just defies reality, doesn’t he?”

“Demon fox,” Naruto said, patting his stomach.  “Kurama’s actually a really helpful guy when it comes to getting injured.  Anyway, I’ll help you go up the stairs, Sas’.”

I glared at him.

Miharu started removing our IVs.

“Do you like sleeping in your own blood and filth?” Naruto asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“I don’t need your help,” I said.  I pushed myself up onto my knees, wobbling a little but keeping it together.  I tried to bring one leg up, but it didn’t want to move.

“Why don’t I start hauling those buckets for you?” Naruto offered.

“I would be much obliged,” Miharu said, and the two left.

Fuck, I hated him.  Being respectful and not playing on my embarrassment.  What other horrible traits had he developed in the dream world?

I couldn’t stand.  I crawled to the couch awkwardly and pulled myself up.

“Sasuke.”

I kept my back to him as he loomed in the doorway.

“Let’s go upstairs?”

It was humiliating as he settled my arm over his shoulder and hoisted me up.  My legs did not want to work properly, taking staggering steps even when Naruto was taking most of the weight.

He sat me on a stool in the shower and moved to undress me.

“No.”

He looked at me.

“You can go,” I said dismissively.

“Good, ’cause you smell awful,” he said, his shoulders sagging with rejection.  “I’ll be outside the door if you need anything.”

I waited until the door had shut fully before I moved my arm painfully in the motions of undressing.  Clearly our muscles had been kept active somehow, but they were still stiff and hard to move.

I tossed the clothes on the side of the tub and started washing up with the bar of soap that I’d been given.

It quickly became apparent that I could not lift the bucket to rinse myself.

I thought about calling Naruto.

Like I would ever ask that idiot for a favor.  It was bad enough he’d half carried me up the stairs.

I moved the water out of the bucket with my chakra, which was a waste and would probably set my recovery back, but Uchihas had their pride.

I banged on the door when I was done dressing, and Naruto opened it almost immediately.

“How long was I asleep?” I finally asked as he helped me down the stairs.

“Four days.”

“Fuck,” I muttered.  I’d started to suspect, but that was a long time to be unconscious and vulnerable in an enemy village.

“I stayed with you,” he offered quietly.  “I wouldn’t let anything… and anyway, most of the ninjas are still laid up.”

“I need to get out of here,” I asserted.

“Sasuke…”

“Nice and clean?” Miharu asked from the bottom of the stairs.  “I can put in another IV, or are you up to tryin’ some solid food?”

I didn’t want to pump unknown liquids into my body, but I also didn’t want to eat food from an unknown source.  Not that I was excessively paranoid.

I was just the right amount of paranoid.

“Ms. Miharu’s a great cook,” Naruto said, a grin stretching across his face.  I tried not to be blinded by it.

“Well, I don’t know about all that, but I could make you some broth to ease your stomach,” she offered.

“Fine,” I said gruffly.

“Thank you,” Naruto said, giving her a sweet smile.

She disappeared into the next room.

I frowned at him.

“What?  Just because you have no manners doesn’t mean the rest of us shouldn’t.”

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?!”

I sat heavily on the couch, shoving him away.

He sat on the arm, as close to me as possible.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then our eyes met.

We both looked away.

I needed to get out of here.

 - 3 -

  Kakashi came to visit on the third day.

“You look awful,” I informed him.

“As do you,” he said, grinning away under his mask.

I’d finally shaved my farce of a beard, but I couldn’t really disagree with him.  We all looked like ghosts of our former selves.

Kakashi continued to grin, not saying anything.

“Did you want something?” I asked irritably.  He was the first person I’d seen besides Naruto and Miharu, and I realized I was fine with not seeing anyone ever.

“Just checking in on your recovery,” he hummed.  “Naruto said you were still having trouble walking.”

I looked at him.

“Oh, I’ve been appointed to act in the hokage’s stead while she recovers,” he said, like I’d asked him a question.

“Making sure I’m not getting into trouble?” I scowled.

“No, that’s why Naruto’s here,” he answered.

It suddenly seemed very obvious.

“And if I try to leave?”

“He’ll stop you,” he said cheerfully.

“Because those are his orders.”

Kakashi actually laughed at that.  “Well, yes, they’re his orders, but I don’t think Naruto needs orders to chase you halfway around the world.”

I felt… betrayed.

Some of the mirth left his eyes.  “Don’t start doubting him now.”

I was fool to think that the village in ruins meant that the conspiracy was dead.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi said sharply.  “He is on your side.  He wouldn’t even leave your damn side to help with the village when he’s the only fully-functioning ninja in all of Konoha.  He chose you.”

I didn’t care what he had to say.  It had been worrying at the back of my mind, why Naruto and I were the only two patients staying in this house that had clearly been prepared for so many more.  I told myself that it was because this place was so far on the outskirts of town, so far away from the hospital staff and the necessary supplies.  My mind loved to rationalize when it came to Naruto.

He was my weakness, and I was tired of it.

“What’s that look for?” Naruto asked, his grin faltering as he strolled into the room.

I turned away from him.

“Mm, well, he knows,” Kakashi explained.

“Knows what?” he asked, stooping in front of me and leaning in so his face was right in front of mine.

“That you’re spying on him.”

“I’m not spying on him!” Naruto cried, eyes darting to Kakashi, then frantically back to me.  “I’m not spying on you!”

I would have gotten up and left if I could walk.

“Senseeeei,” Naruto whined, still looking between us.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Kakashi asked, taking out a book.

“I was working my way up to it!  Our relationship’s all weird and awkward ’cause of the stupid Tsukuyomi.”

“That’s why your relationship is weird and awkward?” Kakashi snorted.  He licked his thumb to turn the page.

“Are you gonna tell us what happened in your dream world?” Naruto asked, trying to cross his arms over his chest, realizing he only had one, and losing his balance.  He stumbled back into a standing position, trying to play it off like it hadn’t happened.

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” Kakashi said with a shrug.

“Uh… how?”

“Use that brain of yours.”

“What brain?” I muttered.

“Don’t you start,” Naruto said, frowning at me.

I blinked.  First of all, I was angry with him.  Second of all, the normal Naruto response would be, ‘what the hell was that, bastard?!’, accompanied by yelling and flailing.

I tried to stand up, my legs shaking.

“Hey, take it easy,” he said, catching my arm.  My weight caused him to stumble, but he held us both up.

“This isn’t real,” I said, trying to push him away.  I ended up falling.

“Uh…”

I crawled towards the door.  It was a struggle to open it, but then I was outside.  I looked into the sky, searching desperately.

“No one else has shown signs of psychosis,” Kakashi was reasoning behind me.

“Yeah, but he’s lost it,” Naruto said, and suddenly he was there hauling me to my feet.  “What’s gotten into you, are you gonna crawl all the way across the border?”

“The moon,” I said.  “Where’s the goddamn moon?”

“Uh, I dunno, wherever it goes during the daytime?”

“It has to be here somewhere!” I snapped, leaning my neck backwards and searching the sky.

Naruto was struggling to keep us both up and finally just sat us on the ground.  “What are you doing?  What’s going on?  Talk to me…”

I finally looked at him when I felt his hand touch my cheek.  “This isn’t real,” I said flatly.

“You keep saying that, and I keep thinking you’re nuts, so…”

“Don’t you get it, we’re still in the Tsukuyomi!” I said, pinching his cheek until he let go of me.

“Uh, no,” Naruto said.  “You got us out, remember?”

“Why am I even bothering?” I muttered.  “You’re just a stupid figment of my imagination.”

“I think I take offense to that,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

I started moving away from him.  Did I have to see the moon to wake up, or was it just enough to realize?  I put all of my chakra into my rinnegan.

“Are you gearing up for a battle?” Naruto asked, chuckling nervously.

He looked so damn real.

“Hey,” he said.  His eyes probed mine, and then he reached out his hand again, this time catching me by the back of the neck and pulling me close until our foreheads touched.  “I’m pretty sure I’m real.”

Of course he was touching me, of course he was staring into my eyes with that overwhelming sincerity of his.  Because that’s what I wanted, so that’s what the world gave me.

“I mean, I’d know if I wasn’t real,” he continued, his brow scrunching up.  He laughed nervously.  “Of course I’d know.”

“You’re not,” I said, closing my eyes.  I couldn’t take anymore blue.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re not you,” I whispered.  “You’re who I want you to be.”

“This is who you want me to be?” Naruto asked, sounding confused.  “I mean, I’m just the same as always, just… I dunno…  I’m me, Sas’.  Come on.  Look at me.”

I didn’t open my eyes.

His sigh brushed across my lips.

I closed my eyes more tightly, goosebumps ghosting up my arm.

“Sorry,” Naruto said, abruptly moving away.

I was an idiot.  I needed to find the moon.  I needed to get out of here.  I needed to do these things immediately, but I felt rooted to the spot, my eyes still closed.

“You’re freaking me out,” Naruto finally said.

I slid my eyes open.

“This isn’t the Infinite Tsukuyomi,” he stated.

“How would you know?” I asked dismissively.

“’Cause,” he said.

I looked at him.

“I mean, we escaped, right?  We woke up outside of the tree.”

“It wasn’t real the first time, why would it be this time?”

“Whaddya mean, the first time?” he asked, scratching his nose.  Then he frowned.  “Oh, that dream.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

He took a breath and let it out sharply.  “You pulled me down once before, right?  We weren’t together.  In the tree.  Before.  The first time or whatever.  You woke up and pulled me down, yeah?”

“You remember?”

“Yeah.”

There was so much pain and loss in his face that I looked away.

“Your arm was… it looked really bad, and you just passed out,” he said.  “I couldn’t wake you up and then everything went black and I woke up back in my bed like nothing had happened.”

“You went back into the same dream world?” I asked.

“Yeah, didn’t you?”

“I woke up because I knew it wasn’t real,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “Why are you so stupid?”

“Why are you so rude?” Naruto shot back, nudging me with his foot.

I turned to look at him.  “This is my third dream world.”

“It’s not a dream,” he said, kicking at me again, but this time I caught his leg.

“How do you know that?” I snarled at him.

“I don’t!”

“Oh,” I said, dropping his leg.

“But arguing about it in the middle of Ms. Miharu’s garden isn’t going to do anything about it!”

I wanted to break down, to throw myself into his arm, to scream and shout and cry, but I was an Uchiha.  “The moon isn’t visible, now, anyway.”

Naruto looked at me.

I waited for him to figure it out and come help me to my feet.

We struggled back inside without a word.  We were never good at the words part.

“Why are you still here?” Naruto groaned as he sat me on the couch next to Kakashi.

I had been about to say the same thing.

“Just making sure you’re not off killing each other,” he replied, but even with a smile it sounded serious.

“That was a million years ago,” Naruto said, waving it off.

“Only two, actually,” Kakashi pointed out.  “But I remember it like it was only yesterday.”

Naruto sat on the arm of the couch next to me, his arm draped along the back of it.  “We’ve all lived completely different lives since then.  Sasuke apparently had two of them.”

“And did one of those two lives change how he felt?”

“Duh,” Naruto said, then shot a glance towards me.  “Right?”

I looked at him.

“You don’t want to kill me anymore,” he said, trying to sound confident.

“I don’t.”

“See,” Naruto said, beaming at Kakashi.

“When will I be exiled?” I asked.

Kakashi’s smile seemed to widen.  “How can I exile you from a place that doesn’t even exist?”

Naruto looked dumbfounded, and for once we were in agreement.  This wasn’t part of the Tsukuyomi script, and even I had no idea about what was going on.

“I’m here as the acting hokage, but to be honest the title no longer has any meaning.”

“What are you going on about, Sensei?!” Naruto cried, jumping to his feet.  “Of course it has meaning, it’s...” he hesitated.  “Well, it has meaning anyway!”

“Konoha no longer exists,” Kakashi said.  “The village is in ruins, most of the ninja are incapacitated, and there isn’t enough food to feed all of us.”

“So I’m not exiled… because there’s no place to exile me from…?”

“You were always the smart one,” Kakashi said, standing up and patting me on the head.

I scowled at him to cover up my confusion.

“This was a nice visit,” Kakashi hummed sauntering to the door.

“S-sensei!” Naruto stuttered, chasing after him.  “You can’t mean… but how can… I don’t…”

Kakashi grinned before disappearing in a puff of smoke.

[ariannjs]

THREE WORDS | A SasuSaku FanFic (One Shot)

Ever since the raven-haired boy came back to the village, he has been on her side almost all the time. At times there were a few exchange of conversations, but most of the time they simply lingered in a comforting silence side by side as the Uchiha survivor walked the pink-haired maiden home.

It kind of became a usual thing, Sasuke would be in front of Sakura's house on mornings to walk her to the clinic she and Ino have opened before he would go on his own to accomplish whatever mission the Sixth Hokage would entrust to him for the day. And then by the end of the day, he'd be waiting for her outside the clinic to walk with her until she's safely inside her apartment.

She never bothered to ask why he does this and why he's always around, because it was only lately that she gets to see that serene look on the former rogue ninja's face.

And she likes that, for she has always desired to see him that happy.

"Sakura."

"Hmm?" They were walking towards her house one night when Sasuke halted his steps.

"I..." Love you. "Uh. Never mind."

She gave him a puzzled look but he just looked away and suddenly resumed walking, this time, a bit ahead of her.

She just shrugged it off, respecting it whenever he needed his space or time of silence. He's Sasuke Uchiha anyway. And that's nothing unusual for him to be out of words.

"Goodnight, Sasuke-kun." She smiled and turned to look at him after unlocking her apartment's door.

And with a simple nod, he left and headed to his own place. Maybe next time, he thought, a bit disappointed to himself that for once in his life, he was quite afraid.

It's been three months since he came back and made it his personal commitment to make sure she's always safe. Since then, he desired to maximize getting to spend time with her, yet he couldn't bring himself to say three simple words that he had realized were the mere explanation as to why his heart longed for something missing when he was on his journey of redemption.

"What in the world, Sasuke-kun?" Sakura laughed one afternoon they were both released early from their usual workloads.

He arched an eyebrow at her while trying his best to stifle a laugh as well. He didn't find what he did funny, it was kind of just a normal Uchiha Sasuke thing, but it was her musical laugh that was too contagious that caused him to almost release his own cackle.

"You left Naruto sleeping with his mouth open in the Forest of Death!" She continued to laugh, returning his phone that contained the photo the Uchiha jonin (yes, finally) had taken just a few minutes ago.

He rolled his eyes and stared at her clutching her stomach, with the photo probably still etched in her mind. "It wasn't my fault he slept while he's on a mission that I ended up doing the task alone. Tch. That dobe."

"You won't tell this to Kakashi-sensei, will you?" She asked, amused with his playful revenge. At least, it wasn’t the kind of revenge that urges him to make some mad declaration about destroying Konoha anymore.

He shrugged. "Oh, yeah? He may or may not have received a copy of it already."

And then she cackled again. A grin appeared on Sasuke's lips as he watched her lean at him for support. Everything seems light with her around, that's something he wouldn't and couldn’t deny.

"Sakura?"

"Yup?" She responded when her cackle died down.

"Uhm, I..." Love you. "...want to invite you in my apartment for dinner, if you don't mind." His lips curled up into a small smile.

"You're inviting me to dinner?" She crossed her arms on her chest. "Or you're inviting me to cook for you so you wouldn't have anything to do?"

"Duh. It's the other way around, silly." He snorted.

"Wait, you are cooking for me?"

"H-hey!" He tried to swat her hand that suddenly reached for his forehead.

The pink-haired maiden continued to tease. "You're not sick, are you?"

He heaved a sigh, feigning irritation. "Just tell me if you'd take advantage of this time to rest because I'm gonna do the work for you."

Sakura's musical laugh filled his ears again. "Duh, you already got me when you said 'dinner'."

"Got you, huh? Then let's go!" A grin appeared on his lips when he grabbed her hand and ran with her towards his place, leaving Sakura blushing as she stared at their hands.

Sasuke prepared the ingredients of their meal in the kitchen while Sakura was seated on the couch. If this was how it would look like if they become husband and wife, he wouldn't mind. He felt his cheeks suddenly warm up at the thought.

"Do you need help?" Sakura almost startled him when she suddenly appeared on his side.

"I..." Love you. Shoot. Not that. He cleared his throat. "...guess so." He then gave in so they could make the work faster.

"And then you said you'd do the work for me." Sticking her tongue out, Sakura grabbed a knife to begin chopping some of the vegetables on the counter.

He smirked. "At least I'm doing you a favor of being able to eat immediately."

"Ah, shut up and let's finish this then!" He laughed softly at her remark.

Sakura bit her lip and smiled when he heard him release a laugh. It was rare, yet she always feels victorious whenever she hears him like that and sees him smile, especially because of her.

It's been seven months of spending time with Sakura and Sasuke's own thoughts still bug him to the core. Maybe there's no need to tell her his feelings and just let his actions speak for him, but then, he remembered that any girl wouldn't just end up married with a guy without laying his intentions andhim speaking a single word. At the end of the day, he still needed to let her know.

But how? Every time he tried to open up about what he feels for her, he abruptly gets tongue-tied. It was kind of embarrassing, really, for it was entirely a new thing to the Uchiha Sasuke. Who would have thought that a shinobi as topflight and ferocious as him would end up tongue-tied, standing awkwardly with sweaty palms while he’s in front of a petite pink-haired girl? He never thought that such a day would come.

Sakura remembered how she never bothered asking Sasuke about them. She was already well-content with what they have – if they even have something. But in the course of how many months, she has seen different sides of Sasuke that he never showed to anyone. She appreciates that slow yet radical change in him. Ever since, that’s what she has always wanted, for him to finally open up to the people who care about him so they could carry his burdens with him. And somehow, as much as she didn’t want to presume, she couldn’t help but feel rather special knowing that there are things that Sasuke only shares or does with her.

She was sure that there are also things that he opens up to Naruto only, or just to their former sensei. However, it doesn’t take a genius to know that those two could easily fall into the categories of Sasuke’s friends, brother-figure, and father-figure. Sakura, on the other hand, didn’t know the category she belongs to. Regardless of this, she still absolutely values whatever relationship they have now, to the point that she was afraid that if she asks him anything about it, she might push a different button and end up ruining everything that they were slowly able to build.

 Until one Saturday, the guy she has always loved came to her doorstep and asked if she wanted to go out since it’s their rest day.

"Nothing, really. I just...want to spend time." Sasuke answered with a nervous smile when she asked him why.

For some reason, she thought that his smile was far from those genuine ones she has seen in the past few months. And for a moment, fear crept in her mind.

What if he decides to end whatever they have now? What if he's gonna tell her he's leaving again? Or announce to her that sure, they had a lot of fun in the last seven months, but it still wasn't what he was looking for, and she still wasn't enough for him?

"Earth to Sakura," he suddenly uttered when she just stood there by the door, lost in her own trail of thoughts as she stared at the raven-haired guy she had waited to come back for years after the Fourth Shinobi World War.

"O-oh, yeah, sure." She grinned. That's when he beamed like the recent usual way, taking away all the worries that gave a pang in her chest just a few moments ago.

He entwined his fingers with hers – a gesture that seemed quite natural to them recently, despite her lack of understanding about his motives – and started pacing through the streets. He really had no specific place in mind. But he thought that the right time he was waiting for was actually just around the corner.

He was terrified that if he keeps on delaying, she would just be swept away from him, something he would never allow to happen. He would never push her away again, instead, he would pull her closer, so close she wouldn't find any reason to let go.

"Have a seat, Miss Haruno," he uttered when they reached a cliff with a bench facing the vast cerulean waters almost outside the boundaries of Hidden Leaf.

Her eyes sparkled as she took in the beautiful view in front of them. But as he stared at her, he knew she was the most beautiful view he has ever seen.

And then she chuckled as she remembered how Sasuke was too much of a gentleman with his words earlier. "I'm not used to you being like this." She said, also referring about the kind of Sasuke she was with in the past months.

He then sat on the bench as she did the same. Turning to her with a smirk, he said, "Well, you better get used to it now...and for the rest of your life."

"Huh?"

There was a long silence as she looked at him with a puzzled expression written all over her face.

It's now or never, the raven-haired guy thought a few moments after. He exhaled deeply, eyes blazing even without the Sharingan, and then he finally said, "Sakura, marry me."

"S-sas..." Is the man she has always loved really proposing now?

He continued with an intent gaze at the girl in front of him, "I realized this has always been the right way of restoring my clan, not any sort of revenge, justification, or whatever non-sense. If I were to restart the Uchiha clan, I want it to begin with a strong sincere bond like you and I have.”

In a flash, he suddenly remembered all those times that he had tried so hard to sever his bonds with Team 7, especially to Sakura, the one who went out of her way to stop him from leaving many years ago on his last few steps away from Konoha. But he now knows that it’s futile, because what they all have is something akin to a family, something close to the one he had lost so many years ago. Who wouldn’t want to keep such bonds?

“And I don't want anybody else to restore my clan with, Sakura,” He admitted genuinely. "I wouldn't mind if my children would have pink hair as long as their mama is you." He chortled, making her gasp with a blush. "But really, the only woman I would want to journey with for the rest of my life is you. I want to give you my last name, Sakura. Would you be willing to accept it and carry it behind your back?" He smiled with his eyes fixed on hers, so glad that he finally got to let all those genuine words out for her to hear.

However, somewhere deep down those onyx orbs was a little slice of doubt swimming towards their surface, one that he wanted to keep hidden until he hears her answer.

Sakura was parsing everything that he had said, making sure that she wasn’t merely hearing things. She bit her lip as her eyes started brimming with tears.

But then, anxiety won in swimming past doubt towards the surface of Sasuke’s eyes. He blinked through his inner panic at the sight of Sakura tearing up. Did I say anything wrong? Shoot. Was it too romantic? Or too insensitive? Did I hurt her again?

"Dang it." She chuckled with her tears – tears that are, this time, not brought by heartbreak due to unrequited love nor agony due to uncertainty of her lover’s return. It was as if her heart was gonna explode with all the joy it bears right now. "As if you don't know my answer to that, Sasuke-kun."

He tilted his head to one side. After all that he has done to her and many others, he didn't want to assume. He needed to hear from her and he knew that only her confirmation would bring his breathing back to its normal pace right now.

Rolling her eyes, Sakura then said, "It's a yes, silly." She bit her lip again, as if it would help in stopping the crimson stain from appearing on her cheeks. “It’s always been yes if it’s you.”

Sasuke was at a loss for words with his mouth opening and then closing again. He didn't know that there would be something better than the warmth and happiness he has been feeling in his heart because of her. The fact that she would now be fully his, and vice versa, made him realize that even after losing everything before, it wasn’t the end for him for he could start again – he could love again, and this time, create his own family.

If this is what real love does then he wouldn't ever want to let go.

He then smiled, and caught her in his tight embrace as he muttered the three words he never imagined he would actually say to someone, the three words he has always wanted to tell her.

"Pardon?" Sakura suddenly said when he pulled away.

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Oh yeah? You heard it."

"Wow, the attitude." She crossed her arms and smirked. "I didn't. So, come again?"

Astounding her, her now fiancé stood from the bench and turned his back on her, about to walk away. "You've proposed with quite a lot of words and that short statement I didn't catch can't come out of your lips now?" She continued to challenge, a smirk not leaving her face. "Nice one, Uchi—"

"I love you," he cut her off and stated, simply yet genuinely without facing her as he tried to conceal the redness of his pale face. "I love you, Sakura." But he was smiling. Finally, he said it out loud. He never thought it would give him such a pleasant feeling just releasing those words from his lips.

And then, she beamed so widely it might cut through her cheeks. She rushed towards him and hugged him from behind, thinking about how all her waiting throughout these years were indeed not in vain. "Guess what? I love you too."

He smiled even wider, something that you would rarely see from Sasuke Uchiha.

Yep, he's not letting go.

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© September 2018 AriannJS

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Hey guys! Comments and constructive criticisms are welcome! Would highly appreciate it! Thanks & God bless! :)

Click this link for the list of all my other SasuSaku fics! :)

[growth-overload]

It doesn’t always hurt the way you think it will.

This is a letter to myself from four years ago about our life as an SA survivor. We’re not living for it, babe.

To start us off, there’s some more obvious stuff. Touching sucks. Because it’s not just touching that bothers you - it’s the fact that you crave intimacy and seriously all you want in the world is to hug someone, and you can’t.

Anything intimate is just a paradox. Opening up, being social, and putting yourself out there is something that you would die for - but you can’t. Yourr always reaching for it, and then jerking your hand away like being normal is a poisonous snake, or a hot stove, or something.

Feelings are off the rails, in case you didn’t know. Sometimes, youll just wake up and then it’s like everything was shut off overnight. Don’t feel happy, don’t feel sad, don’t get angry - nothing. It’s so miserable. Especially when you start to prefer it that way. Other times, youll wake up and feel everything. Over-analyzing every single thing you do - to the point that you end up messing it up. Stuttering, spilling, tripping, you name it - if it’s on this existential plane, you will overthink it and then malfunction. Often in these periods of emotional overload, you’re gonna mix things up. We mistake love for fear, and gratitude for manipulation. We get scared when things get real. We run. You’re like a deer, dude. Stop staring at that light like a weirdo and let someone treat you right. Date the boy, you’re only young once. Stop expecting everyone to be your abuser. Stop expecting everyone to run for the hills just because you didn’t have it easy.

There’s also the episodes. You get stuck in hyper-realistic dreams like quicksand, and you physically cannot wake up. You’ll try, but you won’t. You’re still too exhausted. And then, when you do wake up, you’re gonna be the most paranoid, twitchy, and sensitive you’ve ever been in your life. Everyone is not trying to hurt you. They aren’t going to touch you. It’s just your mom. Give her a hug.

You will also be ready and willing to fight any man that crosses you - I’m so serious. It’s not a joke anymore. If they look at you the wrong way, you will start yelling. Very inconvenient when we’re at work, to be honest.

You’re gonna have the worst, stupidest, most unnecessary defense mechanisms this world has ever seen. Stop convincing yourself that you aren’t ready for relationships just because you’re scared. That’s a dick move. Don’t say out of pocket stuff to get a reaction out of people just because you’re upset - literally just tell them that you’re upset, man. Everyone isn’t your ex, so stop acting like that. Everyone isn’t lying to you, so stop cutting them off. Everyone doesn’t secretly want you out of their lives, so stop crying about that. Everyone isn’t using you, so stop refusing to give.

I miss you. So much. I think about you all the time. You were actually kind of good at math, which is crazy. You are so full of sunshine and excitement and bravery, and you are so ready to give the world to everyone. You’re so willing to love, and make new friends just because everybody needs one. You have so many questions, and you have no idea that some of the answers will break you. There’s a piece of you still with me, but it’s not the same. It never will be, because now there are other pieces of me, too. I learned a lot from you, but I learned a lot from the other versions of me, too. I love them all, in their own special way. Maybe one day soon I can love myself like that, too.

I know you’re never gonna read this letter, and that’s okay. You probably wouldn’t listen to it anyway, because you’re seventeen and you’re stupid. I just like to talk to you, sometimes.

I wish I could tell you how strong you are. I wish you knew how much easier things would be if you just said no to that first date, or if you were serious about ending things the first time. I wish I could tell you that even though you shouldn’t have, you did your damnedest to make things work. I wish I could tell you that you don’t have to sit in the shower for four hours, scrubbing and scraping your body to rid yourself of him, because your cells completely shed and rebuild themselves every seven years, and one day there will be no atom on your body that he has touched. It’s not your fault. It’s not my fault. We’re going to be okay.

I love you.

[sucaritra]

Bāṛi - Chapter 16

Word Count: 3061

Warnings: language, anxiety, Negan, death

Summary: some unlikely teamwork and what happened at the Sanctuary

A/N: i feel like a broken record but please let me know how you like the chapter! insomnia and depression have been kicking my arse lately, and i get so unmotivated when i dont hear from the readers, hence the late chapter, but here’s a long one to make up for the delay xo

Masterlist

You watched Negan’s convoy of Saviors drive through the gates from your spot at the window, before making your way out of the boudoir. As there was no telling how long Negan would be gone for, you figured you'd grab a few articles of clothing since you needed to retrieve your knife from the communal living quarters anyway. You noticed a lot of hushed conversations on your way down to the second floor; it seems as though the residents were still spooked by the events from yesterday, and rightly so. You just hoped Negan would return soon and bring some good news about yesterdays incident.

An agitated crowd did not seem like it would end well.

You returned Mason’s sweet smile he sent your way as you passed him on the stairs before continuing on, hoping to get some breakfast out of the wives if you get back soon enough. Despite the situation, you were gonna milk your time with them for all it was worth.

As usual for this time of the day, the community living quarters was mostly empty, the night shift workers being the only ones present and getting some much needed sleep. Wasting no time, you made your way to your corner, not bothering to open your curtains as you simply slipped in and started gathering a few belongings to place in your backpack.

Just as you were finishing up and placing your khanjar inside your denim jacket you were wearing, a raised voice caught your attention.

“I don't fucking care! I'm sick of waiting. We should do this now.”

“Keep your voice down! They're still too close for you to blow this for us now. You know the plan, we wait for the Chief’s orders, not before.”

You could no longer hear the argument and, assuming they’d lowered their voices, you quietly made your way to your curtains. Stealthily peeking out, you found the source of the voices, a small group of four that were huddled close together in the opposite corner from you. It took you a moment to recognise them as some of the newer recruits, having only been here a few weeks at most, however, they hadn't actually arrived together.

Your brow furrowed slightly as you strained to hear more of their conversation, disappointed when you couldn't even catch a whisper.

You speculated what little you heard could have meant as you returned to your previous task. Being mindful of the sleeping night workers, you had packed your few items as quietly as you could manage, so it was safe to assume the secretive group were unaware of you in their immediate vicinity.

Though you hadn't heard anything specific, you'd learnt over the years with the end of civilisation that anything suspicious should always be a cause for concern.

Whilst you were waiting for the group to finish their conversation and disperse so that you yourself could make your exit, you thought back to the last few weeks.

The influx of survivors arriving at the Sanctuary since you'd arrived, and even before your arrival, was definitely peculiar. Though it wasn't unheard of to come across survivors out there, those occurrences tended to happen infrequently. Hell, you could go an entire year without seeing another living soul, and months if you were actively searching for survivors. You could tell that Negan had begun to get suspicious, his jaw clenching and the vein at his temple looking just about ready to pop every time a Savior entered his office to inform him of a group's arrival, though his features were expertly schooled in time to give his introductory speech.

You weren't informed of such matters, though you did notice the steps Negan took to ensure that the groups didn't become more trouble than they were worth by making sure each group was split up when they were assigned their work details. So, while some of these members of this little ‘hush-hush’ group may have worked together, they still appeared to be a little too familiar with each other, from your perspective at least, for a bunch who arrived at the Sanctuary at separate times.

Your gut was telling you that something was wrong here, but you were lacking too many pieces to even attempt to put this puzzle together.

After a considerable amount of time, you risked peeking out again, finding you were alone once again amongst a handful of sleeping neighbours. Snatching up your backpack, you wasted no time in making your way back up to the boudoir.

Your entire journey up there had you replaying the little piece of conversation you overheard, wondering if you were just being paranoid and sensing trouble where there wasn't any. Maybe, Negan’s absence had a bigger impact on you than you realised, especially after the unexpected after-dinner show the night before, making you feel as though you were in danger without him around to protect you…

Nah. There was definitely something fishy going on around here.

You once again passed Mason on the stairs, who winked at you as he brushed passed. It made you feel better that Mason was here, you knew he was entirely capable should anything go wrong.

Back with the wives, you had a late breakfast with Sherry and Kira, before settling down on one of the many plush sofas, chit-chatting about nothing important and trying to keep your mind from the mess that is the world outside the Sanctuary gates.

Time seemed to go at a snail's pace for you now that you don't have work to occupy your time, though that boredom promptly ended when lunch time rolled around.

While the girls were getting a start on making lunch, you made your way over to the window, watching the now white column of smoke in the distance. Moving your gaze onto the courtyard in front of the Sanctuary, you watched the few Saviors that remained as they stood guard along the entrance gate and along the fence, on constant alert for any threats approaching their home.

Just as you were about to turn away and offer your help in the little kitchen behind you, your attention was caught by seven men making their way out of the factory and across the courtyard. You watched, slightly confused, as each man stealthily approached a guard, standing behind a Savior each in tandem.

“No.”

“What’s that, honey?” Tanya made her way to you as she heard you whisper, but you barely registered her presence next to you as watched, horrified, at what was about to happen down below you, knowing there was nothing you could do.

Like a well choreographed scene, the men slowly raised their guns at the same time, the Saviors not even having a chance to turn around as they were all shot through the back of the head, execution style, by the very people they were protecting.

“Oh shit!”

You could hear Tanya screaming next to you, the other wives running over towards you, wondering what the hell is going on, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene, watching the men remove the weapons from the dead Saviors like vultures. Hearing more gunshots, you noticed the men didn't seem fazed, carrying on with the task at hand.

Needing to confirm your suspicions, you quickly make your way towards the door, one destination in mind.

“Where are you going?! You can't go out there!”

Hearing Sherry’s pleading tone, you turn towards her as you get the door open.

“I just need to see something, I'm only going upstairs. Does this door lock?”

“Yes, but-”

“Good, lock it, shove furniture in front of it if you can, I won't be long. Don't leave, and don't let anyone in but me.”

You didn't wait for her to reply, instead quickly shutting the door behind you and rushing to the stairwell. You could hear thundering footsteps all along the staircase, unsure whether they were coming up or down, or if they were friend or foe. You didn't wait to find out, instead making your way one floor up and using the key Negan only just a few days ago had entrusted you with to open the office door.

Heading straight for the floor-to-ceiling windows to your right, you look out at the fence surrounding the side and back of the Sanctuary. Where armed Saviors on guard should have been, you instead find Saviors face-down on the ground, blood pooling around their heads. Their bodies had been picked clean of weapons and you could see the culprits making their way back towards the factory, weapons drawn.

Your eyes followed the men, immediately recognising two of them as the men who came with the last group of survivors to arrive at the Sanctuary, the one with baby Lucas. Thinking back to the conversation you partly overheard earlier, you moved to the window behind Negan’s desk, watching as the men rounded the corner and made their way towards the front entrance of the factory. You jumped as they shot at more Saviors, wait - not Saviors, regular residents of the Sanctuary fighting back against the snakes in their home.

You felt as though a heavy weight was resting on your chest, crushing you slowly until it started getting harder and harder to breathe. Knowing that now was not the time to start panicking and hyperventilating, rendering you useless, you pressed your right thumb against each finger of your right hand, starting with your index finger, hard enough in an attempt to keep yourself grounded.

Sa Ta Na Ma

You saw this type of meditation on tv what seems like forever ago and you hoped to fucking high heaven that it’ll help to keep you balanced long enough to survive this. Focusing on the fight taking place below, you tried to figure out the differences between the loyal residents of the Sanctuary and those who are killing your people.

Sa Ta Na Ma

Your eyes kept darting all around the courtyard, taking in each individual, before adding more pieces to your puzzle.

Sa Ta Na Ma

With wide eyes, you come to the realisation that all the rebels are, from the ones you could see, all of the new survivors that had arrived at the Sanctuary in small groups since you had first gotten here. Except, now, they were all working together. And from the looks of it they were winning.

Not good. Not good not good not good.

Sa Ta Na Ma

You didn't know what to do. It wasn't like you could go out there, brandishing you pretty little knife at anyone getting too close. You'd be shot before you could even stick it into anyone. You were sure as shit not wanting to get out there in search of Mason. He's a big boy with working ears, he’ll know what's going on and doesn't need your restless self to help him.

All you did know was that you needed Negan and you needed him now, along with all of the men he has with him.

Your eyes zero in on Negan’s desk, knowing for a fact that he kept a walkie in there. You just prayed he didn't take this one with him today.

Diving towards the drawers, you started carelessly rooting through papers and magazines - is that a Playboy? - before almost crying out in joy when you found a walkie on top of a sheet of paper. To your utter relief, the notes on the paper told you which channel you needed to reach anyone trusted with a walkie. Reading through the notes as quick as you were able to, you figured you'd be able to reach Negan through the channel designated for impromptu missions.

Wasting no time, you quickly switched to the correct channel, immediately calling out for Negan.

“Hello? Negan?”

Not getting a response fast enough, you tried again, calling out his name.

“Maria?”

It was broken and choppy, but there was no mistaking that voice.

You tried to push your emotions to the side as you replied, needing him to hear you through the bad connection.

“You need to get back here Negan! They're killing them, it’s all those new survivors!”

You waited for a response, kicking a vase over when you didn't get one.

Making your way back to the window, you look down to see that the few remaining Saviors were dead and a few of the rebels were stationed at the gate, taking over from the dead Saviors. Hearing more gunshots, you frowned in confusion, looking around the courtyard before realising the shots were coming from inside the factory. Not hearing anyone on your floor, you made your way to the door, peeking out and finding the hallway empty.

Sa Ta Na Ma

Working up your dwindling courage, you gripped the walkie in your left hand, grabbing your knife with your right and slowly making your way towards the stairwell. You needed to know how far up they were and if there were any of your people still fighting. Slowly pushing open the doors to the stairwell, you peek over the railings, pulling back immediately when it sounds like someone is right below you. Before you can dart back to the office, you hear the men below you head down the hallway.

Straight for the boudoir.

Before you can even think up some way to distract the men away from the wives, you hear more footsteps heading towards you, and this time they're not stopping at the wives floor.

You hurry back to the office, locking the door behind you just as you hear gunshots coming from below. You don't realise you're crying until you feel the tears drop from your chin, you chest heaving as you try to control yourself. You manage to drag the couch in front of the door before you step back, eyes on the door as you try once again to reach Negan.

“Negan?! You there?”

Your voice is little more than a shaky whisper, too afraid to draw attention to yourself from the ever-nearing threat.

“Negan? If you can hear this, you need to get back right now. I don't know what to do, Negan. We need you.”

You can hear them on your floor now, casually making their way to the office, almost as if they're taunting you.

You hear more gunshots downstairs and your heart drops into your stomach, fearing for Sherry and the rest of the wives, praying they're okay.

“Negan, please.”

You hear the hitch in your voice, though you couldn't have stopped it even if you tried as you hear the footsteps stop in front of the door.

“I'm right here babygirl, don't you worry. We’re coming back darling.”

Finally hearing Negan’s voice on the other end , you tried to put a stop to your tears so you can reply without sobbing. Just as you lifted the walkie back to your lips, the door handle started to rattle. Raising your knife higher, you waited to see what the person on the other side would do, slightly surprised to hear your name being called.

“Maria? You in there?”

“Mason?”

Wasting no time, Negan rounded up his men, intent on returning to the Sanctuary and stringing the fuckers who thought they could take his home up by the nutsacks all along the fence.

He felt like a fucking idiot for bringing most of his Saviors with him, leaving the Sanctuary virtually defenceless.

The Saviors, along with the rest of the group, didn't get very far since, as soon as they stepped foot outside of the indoor car park, a hail of bullets was sent their way, taking out a couple of Saviors and Hilltoppers.

Quickly taking cover behind some cars and in alleyways, the group started firing back at the unknown assailants, well, at least the Saviors did since they were the only ones with guns. Rick braved the bullets, getting grazed in the arm in the process, and dove for the fallen Savior’s weapons, throwing a rifle at Daryl and taking aim at whoever it was that was firing at them.

As much as he wanted to turn the gun on Negan, he knew he needed him and the Saviors if he wanted to get back home alive.

It felt as though the gunfire would be never ending, the loud noise drawing more walkers towards them. Working together, the Saviors kept their aim on their attackers, who were slowly moving closer in an attempt to drop more bodies, while the Hilltoppers and Alexandrians took out any walkers that got too close.

Once the attackers ran out of ammo, they descended on the group using machetes and axes and even heavy pieces of pipes.

Rick thought their attack style was eerily similar to the Wolves, viciously attacking anyone within their reach and with no remorse, though they didn't sport the telltale ‘W’ on their foreheads.

Negan was pissed.

Not only was his home under attack, but now these savages were stopping him from coming to the rescue.

“Oh! Lucille is loving you ugly bastards! Look at her wearing your insides like fucking garlands!”

Anyone who came within reaching distance of his beloved bat was quickly wishing they hadn't as Negan took out his anger and frustration on them. He wasn't able to mock for long, however, before a neanderthal of a man body slammed him into the ground. With his breath knocked out of him, Negan was unable to catch his breath in time before the beast seemed as though he was trying to turn his head into a pancake with his fists.

Through the repeated punches, Negan was able to shove his hand into the mans face, pressing his thumb into his eye and, with one hard push, the man jumped off of him screaming, his hands cradling his now bleeding eye.

Negan’s respite didn't last long before the man kicked him onto his back once more when he tried to stand, aiming a gun at the now helpless Negan.

Watching as he smiled a hideous smile, Negan’s blood ran cold at the man’s words.

“Mason sends his regards.”

Pushing the couch out of the way, you unlock the door, finding Mason on the other side looking relieved and smiling that oh so charming smile of his.

“Oh, honey, am I glad to see you.”

tagging: @neganisking @backseat-negan