#anyway. maybe this is a rhetorical question maybe it isn’t

[redrose10]

Here is #6 from the photo game!

Warnings: Swearing, hints of cheating, anxiety, depression

A relaxing weekend spent at a cabin with your boyfriend sounded like an amazing idea at the time. No distractions, no work, just you and Yoongi spending a few days together. The fall time was the busiest time of the year thanks to the leaves changing and the brisk air making cuddling by the fireplace more desirable. To make sure you got the reservation and to get the best deal you booked the cabin six months in advance.

Then life happened and you and Yoongi got in an argument. It wasn’t anything new. You two had been together for four years and had arguments every now and then like any couple. You could tell something was different this time though. He seemed angrier, less willing to communicate and more closed off. You walked into the bedroom to give each other some space expecting to work things out later. Ten minutes went by and Yoongi walked in with red eyes and his cheeks soaked with tears.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I can’t do this any more.”, he whispered before shoving some of his clothes in a bag and running out the door. That was two months ago and you haven’t spoken since.

“Y/N you should go on the trip. Take a relaxing weekend for yourself. You deserve it.”, your best friend said over dinner.

The romantic trip you had planned with Yoongi was coming up. After all that happened you had forgotten to cancel it before the required date and now it was too late. The trip was non-refundable at this point. You thought about just loosing out but it was a lot of money.

“I don’t know. I wish you were available to go with me. Isn’t it kind of weird to go alone? Yoongi also helped pay so I don’t really think it’s fair for only me to go and even worse what if he shows up?”, you questioned.

“Y/N first off you paid for half the trip too so it’s just as much yours as it is his. Secondly I really doubt he even remembers it’s coming up. He looks pretty busy right now anyways.”

You followed her line of sight until your stomach dropped at what you saw. While you were barely able to function the last couple months Yoongi appeared to happily be on a date with another woman across the restaurant like he had moved on with no issue.

“How could he move on from me so fast?”, you asked rhetorically.

Your friend shrugged, “Maybe he’s known her for a while. He could’ve been cheating on you for all we know.”

“No he wouldn’t have done that to me. He wouldn’t have cheated.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”, she said pointing over in Yoongi’s direction. The woman he was with had turned around to grab her bag and you gasped, “Nari?”

You bit your lip trying not to cry. Nari was a producer that worked for the same company as Yoongi. She made you feel really insecure from the moment you met her. She was beautiful and smart and funny and worked as a producer just like Yoongi so they had a lot in common. You were suspicious from the first time you met her. It definitely crossed your mind a few times that maybe he liked her more than he lead on. He assured you over and over that she was nothing more than a coworker though and that you had absolutely nothing to worry about. You believed him. And now here he was staring into her eyes just two short months after breaking your heart into a million pieces. You started to wonder if maybe he really had been cheating on you that whole time. Your sadness and hurt began to change to anger the more you pondered that.

Suddenly you stood up grabbing your things. “Where are you going?”, your friend questioned confused.

“Home. I’ve got a trip to pack for.”, you gritted through your teeth.

The drive up the mountain to your cabin was a little scarier than you expected. You took your bag out of the back seat and entered in the code that the rental company had given you to gain access to the front door.

The cabin was adorable and you were really happy with your choice. It was tiny but enough for two people and more than enough for just one. The bedroom and the bathroom were at the back of the cabin and after your long stressful drive you wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and lay in bed and relax for a while before dinner.

You were drying your hair after your shower when you heard the front door open and shut followed by some jingling keys. Immediately you went into panic mode. You were alone in a cabin in the middle of the mountains. You couldn’t run anywhere and no one would hear you scream. You grabbed the fire poker from the bedroom fire place to use as a weapon and then slowly tiptoed down the hall ready to fight whomever was entering the cabin.

“What are you doing here?”, a deep familiar voice asked before you could speak. “Me?! What are you doing here?”, you spat back at Yoongi who was glaring at you.

For a brief moment you were a little relieved to see him and not a serial killer ready to claim their next victim but that relief was quickly replaced with anger.

“Seriously Yoongi, why are you here?”

Suddenly it hit you, what if he was here with Nari? Like what if he brought her here to enjoy the romantic couples trip you had planned for the two of you. You felt sick at the thought.

“I paid for half of this trip too. I need some time alone so I can work and get some stuff done.”

“What too many “distractions” at home?”, you rolled your eyes immediately thinking about him and another woman.

“Yeah actually there are. Not that it’s any of your business.”, he clapped back.

That hurt and your angry confidence faltered. Your lip began to quiver. You knew you needed to get away from him before he could see you cry.

“Fine. Do what you want. I’ll be in the bedroom.”, you said storming off and slamming the door shut behind you.

When you woke up the room was completely dark. The curtains were still open and it was clearly the middle of the night. You didn’t mean to cry yourself to sleep but you must’ve been more exhausted than you thought.

You were stretching out on the bed when your stomach started to rumble reminding you that you hadn’t eaten since the morning. Slowly cracking open the bedroom door you were met with silent darkness. Maybe you got lucky and Yoongi decided to go back home. That would be ideal you thought.

You tiptoed down the hall only to be met with the sound of soft snores coming from the couch. You peaked over finding Yoongi sound asleep all wrapped up in a blanket. He looked so cuddly and warm and you missed falling asleep with his arms wrapped around you.

Thankfully your stomach grumbled again getting you back on the right track. Yoongi was not yours to cuddle any more anyways.

The kitchen was small but livable. As quietly as possible you poked around hoping to find something you could quickly turn into a meal. Unfortunately thanks to the events earlier you didn’t even think to go to the grocery store to stock up so the kitchen was bare. You chugged a large glass of water hoping it would hold you over a few more hours until you could go get breakfast somewhere.

You turned to rinse out your glass when you saw a note sitting on the counter. The handwriting familiar,

“Pizza in the fridge. Promise I didn’t poison it. Just didn’t want to wake you. -Yoongi.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to be angry. You wanted to run into the living room and hug him. But instead you chose to just take a slice of pizza, conveniently with your favorite toppings which only made you want to cry more, and headed back to your room to hideout until the morning.

Somehow you managed to doze off again for another few hours. The bright sun shining through the crack in your curtains waking you up this time. You got ready for the day, putting a little more effort into your appearance than you had for the last couple months. You kept telling yourself it had absolutely nothing to do with Yoongi.

The kitchen was filled with the scent of pepperoni and garlic. Just as you walked in Yoongi was pulling what was left of the pizza out of the oven.

“This will have to do for breakfast. We’ll have to go into town and get some groceries.”, he said when he noticed you.

“Oh if you want to make a list I can just go. You said you had a lot of work to do.”, you replied wanting to avoid having to spend so much time with him.

But he shook his head, “It rained quite a bit last night. The roads might be rough. We’ll go together.”

You knew there was no use in arguing with him and maybe a small part of your heart warmed up at the thought that he still worried about you like that.

“Okay. We can leave after breakfast.”, you nodded.

The drive into town was silent and uneventful. The little town was cute to say the least. You even took note of the realty company there because you wouldn’t mind moving there some day.

At the grocery store you both quickly gathered what you needed. Mostly snacks since you were only there for one more night. You grabbed some fruit and a giant tub of ice cream. Yoongi grabbed a six pack and some instant noodles.

He surprised you when he suggested you both stop for lunch. You really wanted to say no but he was driving so you didn’t have much of choice anyways. You ended up at a quaint little cafe. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming even though the tension between you and Yoongi was ice cold.

You were sat on the back patio over looking the beautiful fall foliage. Several outdoor fire pits provided more than enough warmth.

“So how have you been?”, Yoongi awkwardly asked.

“Fine I guess. Not as good as you apparently.”, you replied harsher than you meant to.

“What is that supposed to mean?”, he asked confused.

You went to apologize but were interrupted.

“Alright did you two decide what you’re having today?”, the waiter Jin asked.

“Uh yeah just the classic burger for me.”, Yoongi replied.

“The harvest soup please.”, you said handing him your menu.

After he walked away the tension between you both was thicker than before.

You realized that Yoongi had been kind through the whole trip. Saving pizza for you, sleeping on the couch without argument so you could have the bed, heating up breakfast, taking you into town and paying for the groceries, now taking you to a nice cafe and trying to have a civil conversation. You realized you had been the one making things difficult.

“Hey Yoongi I’m sorry about what I sa-“, you began but his phone started ringing. He took it out of his pocket and you felt your blood boil when you saw the contact name flashing on the screen, Nari.

“Sorry Y/N. I have to take this.”, he said walking away from the table.

“Of course.��, you scoffed thankful that you didn’t fully apologize yet.

Feeling anxious and not wanting to just sit there any more you walked over to the balcony so you could look out over the property.

“They’re beautiful aren’t they?”, a guy said next to you. He pointed out to the field after noticing your confusion, “The trees.”

“Oh yeah. They’re gorgeous.”, you chuckled.

“They’re tulip trees. They’re even more beautiful when they bloom in the spring.”, he said, “I’m Namjoon by the way.”

He smiled flashing you the prettiest dimples you’d ever seen.

“Y/N”, you said, “Maybe I’ll have to come back in the spring to see them in bloom. That sounds quite nice actually.”

“Oh you’re not a local?”, he asked, “You know… if you want I could show you around the town a little.”

“I’d like that, but I’m just here on a little weekend trip. I leave tomorrow.”

“Oh Uhh are you here on a trip with your boyfriend?”

Your brows furrowed, “What? No I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Namjoon awkwardly chuckled, “Well um does that guy know that because he’s currently staring at us like he wants to kill me?”

You looked where he was pointing to see Yoongi standing there. His hands in his pockets while he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. And he was in fact staring daggers at you. You knew just from that look that he was furious.

“Don’t worry. He’s just a complicated friend thing person….”, you cringed.

“Okay well if you want to give me call I’d be happy to show you around. Maybe don’t bring your friend thing though.”, he laughed handing you his number.

You walked back to the table just as Jin dropped off your meals. You both ate in silence and that carried over to the drive back to the cabin too.

Once the groceries were unloaded Yoongi grabbed his headphones and laptop and went out to the back deck without a word.

You stood and watched him work for a while. The Yoongi that you knew all these years would never just give you the silent treatment. He discussed what was bothering him so that you could work together to solve it.

He answered another phone call. You figured it was Nari again so you walked away to give him some privacy.

You had just finished plating up dinner when Yoongi came walking back inside. He eyed the food and then you. “We didn’t have much to make a big meal but I put together what I could.”, you said shifting awkwardly under his gaze.

“Not hungry.”, he scoffed before turning to walk back outside.

“Seriously Yoongi, what the fuck is your problem?”

He stopped and turned to look at you, “I don’t have a problem. Why don’t you go out and have a nice dinner with your little friend you met earlier.”

You hated that you could feel tears already begin to form, “You’re one to talk.”

With three long strides he was right in front of you giving you somewhat of a startle, “Me? I haven’t done anything other than be a heartbroken mess these last two months without you but the minute a cute guy flirts with you then you’re practically trying to fuck him right there.”

You stared at him in disbelief. Your heart rate was skyrocketing. From his pocket you could hear his phone ringing again and it all came back to you.

“At least I waited until you broke up with me. You are the asshole who was cheating on me the whole time.”, you whispered as the realization of your words hit you. Tears began freely falling as you turned and ran back into the bedroom closing the door behind you.

You never expected that this trip would be filled with so much crying and hurt. It was supposed to be relaxing and fun.

You waited a while until you had calmed down and then decided you weren’t spending another night in the same cabin with Yoongi so you grabbed your bag and packed up your clothes. You did a double check making sure you had everything and with your car keys in hand you pulled open the bedroom door only to hear a loud thud followed by a groan.

Quickly you found the hall light switch flipping it on only to find a very buzzed Yoongi rolling around on the floor. The six pack he had gotten at the store now empty and tossed around him.

“Y/N please don’t leave. I need you.”, he slurred.

You looked over his face. He looked just as bad as you did if not worse. Clearly he had been crying. His nose was bright red and his eyes still teary.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”, you sighed while helping him up thankful you talked him out of the twelve pack.

Worried that he would roll off the couch you decided to let him have the bed. You were leaving anyways so it didn’t matter. Once he was all tucked in you tried once again to leave but he grabbed your wrist, “Y/N you can’t leave. I already lost you once and I can’t…I can’t do it again.”

He started to cry. You started to cry. You agreed to stay.

When you woke up the next morning Yoongi was already staring at you.

“I never cheated on you with Nari. I know that’s what you think happened.”, he said getting right to the point like the Yoongi you knew.

You stared at him in silence. Your throat was sore and your head hurt from all the crying.

He took a deep breath before continuing, “Y/N, I broke up with you because that’s what I thought was best for you. Just it’s just that the last couple months I felt like I was drowning. Work was piling up, I was spending less and less time with you. My mental and physical health were deteriorating. I saw how worried you were about me. I saw how sad you were. How tired you were. All because of me. And then I had a realization that I didn’t bring anything positive to our relationship. So when we got into that fight I saw it as my way to get you out of this. To free you from me.”

He paused for a second. He used his thumb to wipe away some of your tears that you hadn’t even realized were there again.

“But after we broke up I realized how much you held me together. I couldn’t function without you but every time I’d pick up my phone to call you or every time I’d stand outside your door ready to knock I would remind myself that this was what’s best for you. You wouldn’t be able to live your life if I was there dragging you down. But I’ve been a complete mess since that night. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. My work was slipping so bad and that’s why I had that dinner with Nari. The one you saw me at. She’s a head producer now and technically my boss. She told me that if I didn’t get my shit together that they would have to terminate my contract. That’s why she keeps calling me, to check in and see how my progress is coming along. And I’m sorry about what I said about you and that guy. If you want to go out with him it’s none of my business. I’ll work through my feelings alone.”

You sat for a moment trying to process everything that you just heard because you had no idea that he was feeling that way.

“Yoongi I’m sorry that you felt like that but you don’t get to make that decision for me. I would go to hell and back for you and with you. Part of being in a relationship is being there through not only the good times but the difficult ones too.”

After you heard sniffles coming from next to you, you noticed that he was crying. You pulled him into your lap which he happily allowed wrapping his arms around you and pulling himself as flush against you as he could. He nuzzled his face into the crook of your next to soothe himself.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I never meant to hurt you. I actually wanted was trying to do the opposite.”, he spoke through sobs.

“Shhh shhh I know. We can talk more about it later.”

And you did have a long discussion about all of the events that lead up to that moment. It was much needed and helped you both to open up and put all of your feelings out there.

You agreed to take things slow but you spent the rest of the day happily wrapped in each others arms by the fireplace just like you had originally planned .

[aritany]

i can’t understand what possesses people to be publicly mean about other people’s writing.

this isn’t a “stop it, you’re hurting my feelings :(” post due to recent events, either—i don’t care. say what you want, opinions are opinions and i’m not trying to stifle anyone.

i just genuinely don’t get the purpose of trashing anybody’s writing. is it to warn people off of spending money on a book they didn’t like? that’s the ONLY thing i can think of that has a real constructive purpose, otherwise it just makes me squint. are you just mean? is that all it is?

[icarryitin]

Help Me?

spencer reid/gn!reader

i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳

series masterlist

word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+

summary: You get injured on a case, and Spencer gets to play nurse. It’s a special kind of torture for both of you.

“Try it, see what happens.”

You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.

The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.

Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.

The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.

A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.

Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.

“Can you walk?”

A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.

“Help me?”

Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.

Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?

Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.

Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.

“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.

A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.

“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.

“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”

The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.

“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”

“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.

“Then we’ll call it even.”

You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.

And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.

The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.

You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.

JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.

Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.

He could kiss you.

Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.

He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.

Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.

Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?

And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.

But he can’t do any of that, not now.

So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.

Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.

“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.

It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.

“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.

The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.

“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”

Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.

“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”

“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.

“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”

You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.

Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.

The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.

You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.

“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.

“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.

Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.

You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.

Spencer is going to have to undress you.

It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.

“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”

It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.

The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.

“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”

Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.

There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.

It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.

Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.

He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.

“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.

It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.

Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.

Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.

Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.

yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡

[throneofsapphics]

like the stories part two

Rhys x f!Reader

Summary: Reuniting with Rhys isn't what you'd hoped for.

Warnings: drinking, angst, references to sa

A/N: thank you for all of the love on the first part!

part one

As soon as the door slammed shut, Rhys realized he’d made the mistake of his life. 

“How could you compare to a mate?” 

He hadn’t meant it in the way you thought. But .. how had he meant it? There were only so many ways to interpret what he said. Regardless, horrible words had left his lips and his intentions didn’t matter. 

The door flew open, slamming against the opposite wall as he winced. A dent would be left behind, without a doubt. 

“She waited,” Mor nearly roared, “fifty years. Never looked at another male, stared at your portrait every day.” 

“I didn’t ask her to,” he muttered. You should’ve moved on by now.

“Mother above,” Mor followed the two words with a string of expletives.

She snapped her fingers when he didn’t look up, his nostrils flared but he raised his head slowly. Mor was quick to anger, sure, but he didn’t think he’d seen her look this angry in years. 

You haven’t seen her in years. 

Rhys ran one hand through his hair, tucking the other in his pocket. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.” 

A line straight from one of your books.

“She told me what you said,” his cousin countered flatly. “You really didn’t think that would hurt?” 

“I didn’t think,” Rhys yelled back at her. Yelling. That wasn’t like him, this wasn’t like him. 

A mirror across the room caught his attention. Pale, the illyrian tan gone, barely a star in his eyes, he could still feel the scratches Amarantha would leave behind on his back. No scars - no he was careful enough not to let that happen, not to let her mark him, but they left invisible wounds. 

Would he be able to look at a female who wasn’t his m- … the thought made him recoil. Instead, you popped into his mind, a beautiful apparition, full of light, joy, and smiles. Sunshine pushing out the darkness.

“I know you’re suffering,” Mor said quietly. 

“Do you?” He snapped. 

She ignored him, “but we … it wasn’t easy here for any of us. We weren’t frolicking in paradise.” 

“I never said that,” 

“I know.” 

Mor rounded the table, and he let her wrap his arms around him, let his head droop. 

“What do I do?” 

It was a rhetorical question, but she answered him anyway. “You go after her.” 

Go after her. It would be easy enough to find you, but what if you wanted to be alone? Didn’t want his presence anymore? 

In his gut he knew it was wrong, that was a way for him to escape dealing with the situation. He’d face it, head on, just like he had the last five decades. 

For once, it was easy to shove the former human female from his mind. Like those books you always read, he began the hunt for you. 

-

It really was a pitiful state he found you in. Drunk and alone at the bar. He saw your spine stiffen as you detected his presence. No matter how well he hid you always knew when he was there. 

You didn’t look at him as he slid onto the stool next to you, a subtle shield of his kept prying ears away.

“Hello darling,” he gazed at the several empty glasses in front of you. Maybe the bartender was making a point to you. 

“I don’t want a mated male, and I don’t want your friendship. I can’t do it.”

Fragmented phrases, like you’d had time to think of what you would theoretically say but not time to put it into words.

It was naive of him to assume he’d be forgiven. In all of the trashy romance novels he’d read over your shoulder, the male protagonist was. He’d frequently thought the females were too quick to forgive.

“Then i’ll have to change your mind,” he purred.  

You scoffed, but he thought he detected a trace of amusement in there. That’s the first step. You didn’t know it, but he already had his in. 

“Rhysa-”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. “Please.” don’t say it like she did. 

“Rhys,” your voice softened and he loved and hated it. “You only feel guilty, this isn’t what you want.” 

“And you’re such an expert in what I want?” He kept his voice light. 

Your throat bobbed, “maybe in the past.” 

The past. 

The line was drawn, set to before and after. Before the mountain and after.  

“I’m not the same,” he said cautiously, “but neither are you.” 

“None of us are,” you tapped your fingers against the marble counter, a sign you were putting your thoughts into words. “Thank you for what you did, for us.” 

He blinked. He hadn’t expected that. No, he figured everyone - at least close to him - would be beyond furious. 

“Oh we’re still angry,” you read the words in his eyes, “you’ll still pay for it, i’m sure, but you kept us safe like no other could.” 

You patted his shoulder gently. “Enough ego stroking for you,” you sighed, glancing around the now emptying bar. “I’m going home.” He tried to help you up but you batted his hands away and stood. 

He watched you tilt sideways, a laugh bubbling from his lips before he caught you. “Careful, love.” 

“Not your love,” your words finally started to slur, endearingly, and negated the sting you’d probably intended. “You want to win me back?” You furrowed your brows, eyes not entirely focused. 

“I do,” he murmured. 

“Get me home first.” 

Rhys wrapped his arms around you, winnowing and stifling a chuckle at the yelp leaving you. 

[doawks]

i. melt into you, im changkyun.

♫ If I move too quick past you, I would think it's my reflection Being this close isn't close enough You could tell every time we touch, every time we, oh [...] That's when I melt into you

pairing. ex!changkyun x f!reader. genre. exes to lovers (?), smut, some fluff. warnings. manhandling, cheating (but he’s kinda like forgotten lol), dirty talk, implied jealousy + possessiveness, dom!changkyun to softdom!changkyun, praise kink, daddy being said once, little crying, creampie, unprotected sex━ missionary.

not proof read.

“does he fuck you like this, sweetheart?” the question was rhetorical━he knew the answer just as much as you did. “nah, i don’t think he does. because if he did, i wouldn’t have to be fucking you into my mattress every night and sending you on your way back home with my cum dripping down your thighs, now would i?”

you couldn’t help but turn your head to the side in utter embarrassment. changkyun saw right through you, constantly reading you like an open book. he knew you better than anyone, he knew you better than you knew yourself - and that’s saying a lot. you could never pretend when you were around changkyun, already knowing he would instantly call you out.

“c’mon, baby, fuck━” he lets out a guttural groan when he feels you clench down onto his cock tightly. god, changkyun will never get over the way your pussy feels. “so fuckin’ tight. i’m not going anywhere, baby, relax.”

you whimper at that. it’s not like he meant it in the way you thought, but it wasn’t exactly like you were in the right state of mind. when changkyun fucked you, he took you to an entirely different planet, literally. he fucked you hard and deep, leaving your pussy battered and legs a wobbly mess by the time he was done with you. when you two were dating, he left marks all over your body because he wanted to show the world how belong to him and only him ━ he can’t do that anymore however, much to his annoyance. but he doesn’t need to mark your pretty skin up anyway because you will always know who you belong to. your pussy only cries, aches for him and your heart is interlocked with his. you know it, he knows it. your new boy toy was merely a poor replacement to try to get over changkyun, but it obviously isn’t working, clearly.

“more. want more, please, kyunnie . . .” you aren’t exactly sure what you’re begging for. you’re honestly just blabbering at this point and changkyun knows that. he also knows how to shut you up.

shaking his head in amusement, changkyun hooks his veined hands underneath your knees, pressing them to your chest. when catching a glimpse of his biceps flexing, you instantaneously feel your pussy gush. his head lurches forward, silver necklace dangling prettily from his neck, “my insatiable little thing. you’re never going to be satisfied with what i give you, will you?”

you pout slightly, “i am.”

“no, you aren’t. but you will. you want me to fuck you hard and annihilate your little cunt, then so be it. but don’t try to push me away, you got that?”

maybe you overestimated just how much you could handle. . . just a bit. changkyun’s cock is thick, it always has been. he takes pride in that, quite frankly. the first time you two had sex, he remember vividly how shocked along with astounded you were when he lined it up with your pussy, eyes big and doe, mouth wide wondering how he was going to fit. since then, you thought you became accustomed to his size, but that’s only because he was giving it to you sweetly, inch by inch. even tonight, when changkyun threw you on the mattress, he promised to go easy on you, though you being as needy as you are, you knew you wanted - needed more than that. you only got to see changkyun once a week because you didn’t want your boyfriend to grow curious, so when he did fuck you, you wanted to make the most of it.

“fuuuuuck,” he draws out, throwing his head back, adam’s apple bobbing. he pounds into your squelching pussy mercilessly, a white ring of cum beginning to coat his cock when sliding out. “sweet little cunt━fuck, so tight. takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

“d━daddy, my clit . . . can you, mhm, can you rub my clit?”

you were so fucking cute, always using your manners for him. he absolutely loved that about you. yeah, you might be a brat at times, but at the end of the day, you were always going to be his good girl. his.

he doesn’t answer verbally, instead, he takes his thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the digit before bringing it down onto your clit, which twitched instinctively underneath the pad of his pollex.

on the brink of tears, you don’t think before you cradle changkyun’s face and bring his plush lips to yours. since you two began doing this whole ‘exes with benefits’ arrangement, it was agreed that there would be no kissing during sex because it would be deemed too romantic. you initiated the rule, unfortunately. only because kissing was the first intimate thing you ever experienced with your ex, who was once your boyfriend, changkyun. it meant so much to you especially because it was with someone you loved━love so dearly. you knew that if you were to kiss changkyun, it would bring you back to the first time you ever did. the memories suddenly pivoting in your head.

changkyun kisses you back sincerely, lips molding against yours. his pace comes to a halt, the hand that was under one of your knees quickly coming to your cheek, stroking the skin tenderly. you don’t feel yourself crying until changkyun acknowledges it, “shh. don’t cry, my pretty angel. i’m here.”

you’re silly. extremely silly. you never just wanted to fuck changkyun. but you knew, or thought, it would be the only way to relish in his warmth once again. you missed his touches, his words, sure, you missed him fucking you, but you really just missed him, in general.

changkyun pulls away slowly to press a kiss onto your nose. “need to take a break?”

“no, i just━missed you. not the sex, you.”

“i never left, baby. i was always here, no matter what you thought.” changkyun smiles softly at you, a smile that could light up an entire dim room.

changkyun’s words stick with you, because he’s so right. he never did leave. when he found out you were in a relationship, any normal ex would back off, but changkyun didn’t. he stayed in contact with you. or at least tried because you would never really respond to any of his messages. he made sure you were okay, wished you a happy birthday, a merry christmas. you two never ended on bad terms, but somehow, someway, you made it seem like you did.

god, how stupid you feel right now.

“i’m sorry, changkyun,” you choke, leaning into his touch. you missed him. so much.

changkyun puts your thighs at the side of him, bringing both his hands to your waist, gripping you. “no more apologies. just let me make love to you.”

with that, changkyun continues to fuck you. not hard, not rough ━ but slow and sensual. he tattoos open mouthed kisses onto your neck before going down to your collarbone, occasionally suckling your skin into his mouth. he yearned for this ━ just to be soft with you whilst telling you how pretty you are. he never told you he loved you enough back then, and that was his mistake. a mistake he would never make again. because now, he will make sure you know how much he loves and adores you with every 206 bones he has in his body. his life is purposeless without you, it has no meaning. you’re like his air, his water. you’re a necessity.

the head of changkyun’s cock kisses your cervix which has you arching your back of the mattress in pleasure. it feels good, too good. you haven’t felt this overwhelmed with pleasure and emotions in a long time. “kyunnie━”

“don’t think i can keep up any longer, baby. g━fuck. gonna come.”

“in me, kyun! in me. want you to come in me, please.”

he furrows his brows but nods his head nonetheless, “fuck. yeah, alright, angel. whatever you want.”

the mans hips speed up, balls slapping against your ass. the thumb he has on your clit also begins to quicken, causing your legs to jerk at his sides from the sensitivity and the impactful pounding. the sounds of your pornographic moans, changkyun’s deep grunts, and sweaty skin clapping is extraordinarily lewd but you can’t even find it in yourself to care neither does the man above you.

“c’mon, pretty baby,” he gently coaxes, “give it to me. make a pretty mess all over my cock for me. you can do that right, yeah? i know you can.”

your stomach starts to tighten, implying that your orgasm was quickly approaching. changkyun knows this, of course, because as stated before, he see’s right through you - and because he can feel your little pussy holding onto him for dear life, desperately trying to empty his balls. he chuckles, “fuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna milk me dry.”

with a few more encouraging words and deep thrust, you’re releasing all over his cock, changkyun following soon after into your pussy. as a heavy breath escapes from his lips, he deflates onto your chest - snuggling his head in the crook of your clammy neck - cock softening in the process while still being in your warm, gooey pussy. “love you so much, baby.” he whispers quietly in your skin.

you delicately shut your eyes, smiling while doing so. “love you, too.”

you knew you were going to have to find a way to break up with your boyfriend later on, but you didn’t care about that right now. all you cared about was the warmth changkyun was providing that you missed.

[cripplecharacters]

I’m writing a story where both of the main character’s (who isn’t disabled) parents have intellectual disability. Do you have any tips for writing the dynamic? Especially what things in parenting and the relationship with their parents would be affected by their disabilities and what wouldn’t?

Hi!

I love the idea of including intellectually disabled people as parents! Very cool to see.

The dynamic would heavily depend on both the age of the main character, as well as what is the parents' level of intellectual disability. If it's as mild as mine then there really won't be major differences outside of a few things, but if it's moderate or severe then their relationship would be much more affected.

First thing that wouldn't get affected is that intellectually disabled parents still have the same emotions as all other parents! They would probably love their kid, be proud of them, and try to help them when they can. Obviously it doesn't mean they'd automatically be perfect parents, but ID doesn't make you into a terrible or neglectful parent either.

There are some things that would probably be present that wouldn't really feel that "different" for the MC (because they would grow up with them!);

maybe someone comes to help the parents manage things like taxes or groceries,

maybe the MC had to start helping their parents at a younger age that they would normally be expected to (as a somewhat similar example, think of immigrant parents who don't speak the language, but their child does - the kid has to help in many scenarios),

maybe the parents weren't able to help them with things like homework for as long as other parents would (which can be frustrating for both parties, btw!).

The MC would also probably have an easier time "getting around" whatever it is that their parents tell them to do or not do. As far as you would want to go with is your choice, but I would advise against making it go into the heavily manipulative/abusive territory. There's so little representation for this kind of thing, I'd love to see it as (in the grand scheme of things) positive. Of course, the parents could also get frustrated with them over this, and so on. But that's kinda just the complexity of any parental relationship, I feel like.

As I mentioned above, please don't make them "blissfully neglectful". That's not to say that people with ID can't ever be abusive, but that's a real life misconception that people have, which does lead to eugenic rhetoric ("they won't be able to take care of their kid anyway, so they should be sterilized". this is a real talking point).

Last thing that might or might not apply, make sure that whatever causes their ID doesn't also make them infertile (unless you're going the adoption route ofc)! The vast majority of people with ID can have kids, but some might be unable to due to other symptoms of their disability.

I hope this helps! Thank you for the very interesting question :-)

mod Sasza

[sluttywonwoo]

hear me out... mutual masturbation with wonwoo

“no touching!” your boyfriend scolds, swatting your hand away from his thigh.

you pout but resolve to keep your hands to yourself… for as long as you can bear it.

it had been wonwoo’s idea to get off like this together, after he walked in on you touching yourself the other night. that night, he hadn’t been able to resist fucking you right then and there so he tucked the idea away for a later time. a later time which so happened to be now. apparently.

you’re on your shared bed together, right next to each other, mere inches apart. but you’re not allowed to touch. no, you could only watch each other masturbate. even though it would be so easy to reach over and stroke wonwoo’s cock for him, so easy for him to lean to the side and start kissing you on the neck…

it was hot in theory (according to wonwoo) but the execution was absolutely torturous. you’re not sure how your boyfriend seems so composed in comparison to you. he’d only been letting out the occasional grunt of pleasure here and there while you’d been whining and lamenting the circumstances that you had readily agreed to.

to be fair, you had readily agreed to the circumstances because you thought wonwoo wouldn’t last more than a few minutes before giving in and fucking you like you wanted. boy, how you had been wrong.

you suppose the delayed gratification does have some sort of appeal at the very least. the building tension, the mounting impatience… all leading up to finally getting what you want most. making each other wait this long was supposed to make it all worth it— the ends justifying the means or whatever.

“fuck, i can’t take it,” you cry.

“you can,” wonwoo says, voice firm. “you can do it.”

“i can’t!”

“if you don’t make yourself cum, you’re not getting my cock tonight.”

“you’re so mean,” you whine, trying to push your fingers even deeper inside of yourself. it’s useless, you know it is.

“you’re only saying that because i’m not giving you what you want.”

“obviously.”

“don’t be a brat.”

“why? it’s not like you can punish me more than you already are.”

wonwoo takes his hand off of his cock and inhales deeply. you assume for patience.

“this isn’t punishment.”

“it feels like it,” you mutter.

he bites his lip. another deep breath. then, he’s yanking your hand away from your cunt without warning.

“hey!”

“if you hate this so much then you don’t get to touch anyone, period.”

“wha-”

“you were being a brat so now you don’t get to play with me or yourself. you just have to sit there and watch me jerk off.”

embarrassment in the form of heat creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. you hate that his words are only making you wetter but they are. you whimper pitifully.

“you wanted punishment, didn’t you?” wonwoo asks. it’s a rhetorical question so you don’t bother answering, knowing that if you did you’d probably mouth off and get in more trouble anyway. “don’t pout, baby. you did this to yourself. but if you’re good for me, maybe i’ll cum on your face to reward you.”

[asvterias]

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝟥: 𝖮𝗎𝗋 𝖥𝖺𝗍𝖺𝗅 𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗌

the cast // series masterlist

chap. 1 || chap. 2 || chap. 3 || chap. 4 || chap. 5 || chap. 6 || chap. 7 || chap. 8

‼️ DISCLAIMERS FOR THIS CHAPTER ‼️

Main Characters Deaths, Just An Overall Sad Chapter & Angsty Ending

word count: 4.5k+

tag list: @s0r0ws @starvviss @kjisbae17 @lov3rgiiirl @starless-nightz @random-girls-loves

author’s note: anyways, i hope you liked this chapter! please don’t be a silent reader and interact within the chapter. also, i hoped you cried immensely because that was the ideal intention of this chapter; to make it as depressing as it could possibly get (for now 😉)

🌊 🐚 ✘ 🔥🗡️

CHAPTER 3, EPISODE ONE

Everyone’s huddled up in the car with your parents in the front seats and the children in the back. You hated the middle seat so you told Grover to get comfortable there, for the greater good, and you sat on the left side, right behind your mother.

Right now, Grover is updating you and Percy about everything demigod-related.

“My job has been to guide you to this moment. It’s always an emotional rollercoaster for young demigods, so providing a support system is really–“

“Who are you?” Percy interrupts him.

Grover stared blankly at your brother, “I’m Grover. I’m your best friend and–“

“What are you?” The blonde recorrects.

“That is a very good question,” You chirped up, “I would like to revisit my previous question.”

“No, Y/N, let it go!”

“I’m asking the important questions here!”

“Irrelevant questions!”

“To answer your question, Y/N, no, I was born like this,”

“You sure? You know parents tend to lie a lot too,”

“I’m fully aware of adult tendencies to lie frequently, but I was born like this. I’m serious.”

He removes his tam, revealing two small goat horns. “I’m a satyr, and I’m your protector, both of you.”

“You’re our protector?” Your brother asked rhetorically.

“If I hadn’t gotten you kicked out of school, you’d never have survived the night. And what’s chasing us now would have found you there easily.”

“Oh, because that’s so comforting to hear.” You cross your arms.

Percy turns his head to the car window and Grover looks dejected at the action.

“I’m sorry.” Grover breathes out, sincerity laced in his tone, “Usually, I can sense danger coming a mile away, but this time…Well none of us saw Dodds’ coming.

“So you knew about that…creature?” You inquired, gaining Percy’s attention back onto his friend.

“That thing that Dodds turned into, you saw it happen? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I saw some of it.”

“What part did you see? Where she flung me across the sky or when she attacked Percy?”

“Well, yes and no. The Mist kept her hidden even from us until it was too late.”

“I think I have a concussion from that,” You wince at the memory, holding the back of your head. “Besides, what the hell is Mist?!”

“The Mist is a veil that hides the magical world from the human world. My legs, Dodds’ wings, Even Dodds’ absence, but it isn’t supposed to hide things from me. That never happens. Something more powerful is at work here.”

“Maybe we’re the power sources.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, right,” Percy scoffs.

“The sooner we get you two to camp, the better off you’re–“

“Camp?! Who’s going to camp?!” You backtracked.

With a baffled expression, Grover turned to your parents, completely unimpressed by their timing, “You told them about camp, right?”

“We were getting there!” Your parents shouted simultaneously at Grover.

Grover nods his head, leaning back into the seat.

“Camp is a sanctuary for half-bloods. A safe space where you can learn who you are and what the world is like on the other side of the Mist.”

“Wait, hold up this an actual summer camp with mosquitoes and other dangerous animals lurking in the woods?!” You deadpanned. “Nah, you can keep that, I’m not going.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Your mom states.

“Uh, it’s not far, actually, just a little way past the bend up there.” Grover directs your mother.

“Mom, what else haven’t we talked about?” Your mother, Sally stayed quiet, anxiously glimpsing at her son. “What else haven’t you told us?”

“There are more secrets?!”

“Oh, there’s more like you wouldn’t believe, sweetie.” Jessica grins.

“Jess, that’s not helping whatsoever!” Sally exclaims.

“Sorry, it just slipped out of my mouth.”

“And you wonder why Y/N is a mini you.”

A flash of blinding light appears from mid-sky and disposes of a creature, which instantly starts running on all fours, chasing after the speeding car.

“Is that the Minotaur?!”

“Holy shit!” You and your mom said simultaneously in bewilderment.

“Once the attacks start, they never let up. Okay? Dodds was just the beginning.”

“Then who’s the freaking ending?! Because I’m ready to slain as many monsters as necessary.”

“He is next. He- he is brutal, he is relentless–“

“He’s still wearing underpants.”

“Out of all things, you could have noticed, Percy, you chose that?! Us trying not to die should be your main priority, not if the Minotaur is playing goddamn dress up!”

Percy and Grover kept their eyes on the large bulky monster.

“It’s gone!” Percy shouts, astonished.

“Gone?! Gone where?! I hoped it vanished back to wherever it came from!”

“Like it’s ever that easy!”

Then, the Minotaur’s loud footsteps and rough grunts halted and it almost calmed everyone’s racing heart rates.

“I think it’s gone for good now.”

Until it reappeared, now gaining up on the speeding car, The Minotaur ran up closer to the car front, beside Sally’s car door, aiming for severe damage.

“You just had to say something, didn’t you?!”

“How was I supposed to know that would happen?!”

“Because you jinxed us!”

“Don’t blame me because I’m stating the obvious!”

“I will push you out of this car!”

“Do it! I dare you!”

“Little Blondie, don’t tempt me with a good time!”

“Who are you calling Little?!”

“Someone who hasn’t had their growth spurt yet.”

“Hey, I’m still developing!” Percy gasps.

“Yeah, just very, very slowly.”

“Can we sacrifice Y/N to The Minotaur?”

“Oh please, you don’t have the balls to do it anyways,” You scoffed, “Besides, you need me. I’m always saving your dumbass, you can’t get rid of me!”

“Stop! Nobody is going to push anyone out of this car!”

“He started it–“

“No, I didn’t you, liar–“

“That’s it! Don’t make me come back there! I don’t care who started it, just know that it's ending!”

“Is there any more insight you’d like to add, Grover?” Sally calmly questions, acting like her children and wife didn’t have a screaming match a few seconds ago. Your family was truly a chaotic mess whenever they wanted, dismissing the matter as if impending death wasn’t lingering over their shoulders.

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, go right ahead,”

“The Mythomagic cards were training. Everything has been training for what’s still ahead of you.”

“What’s ahead of us?!”

“Kids…”

“I’m actually 24,” Grover confesses quickly, causing two heads to turn in unexpectancy.

You and Percy shared the same shocked expression, “Wait? What?”

“Hold on, please.”

The Minotaur roars loudly.

“Moonlight…listen to me.” your mom looks at you through the mirror as your gaze hesitantly meets hers. “You and Percy are forbidden children, monsters are going to attack you every day, this camp can protect you both.”

“Why can’t you and Sally come with us then?” you bargained with her, tears forming in your eyes. You couldn’t imagine, much less experience your life without your mother and Sally. The same women who nurtured you since you were babies and taught you everything you knew. You refused to give up on them, everything they did was to protect and love you, and now it was your turn.

Sally starts to talk, eyes stuck on the road, “We humans are not allowed there. Only demigods like you two.”

“But we don’t wanna leave you two.” Percy persisted.

“You’re our moms.”

“You’re gonna have to, that Minotaur isn’t gonna stop until he kills both of you.”

All of a sudden, a collision hit the car with enough brute force to send the car off the road and everything went black. It was all so quick, the collision, the swiveling of the car and landing on the side of the road, far from bypassers to rescue.

The rain pattering against the car turned into a heavy rainpour as everyone in the car, hanging upside down with the seat belt anchoring them, remained still, all unconscious.

After a while, the dulling pain in your head sharply woke you up, being the first to recover from the crash. Holding your head in pain as you slowly opened your eyes, feeling the blood trickle from your head, surveying your surroundings as you saw Percy and Grover still unconscious. Quickly unbuckling your seatbelt, you got out of your seat, repeating the same action to your younger brothers.

One by one, you carefully got everyone from the car as they began to wake up. A growl from the distance urges you to move faster as you help your other mother, Sally, get out of the damaged car.

Sally, Percy, and Grover were recovering, standing on their feet, checking for any injuries and your mom was the last one who needed rescuing.

“Mom…” you shake her but her body is motionless as the tears well up in your eyes.

You felt Sally’s arm pushing you back, sending you into Percy’s and Grover’s embrace as you nervously observed.

“Come on, come on, Jess…” Sally murmurs, kneeling down, searching for a pulse. “You gotta survive, we have children together, we can’t lose you right now.”

“Is she okay?” Percy chirps up, deciding to speak for you.

You found everything incomprehensible around you, your senses became deafening and a high-pitched ringing in your head matched the loud heart beating in your chest.

When Sally stayed silent, it only worsened your anxiety, “Mom, is she okay?!” Percy speaks again, adding some base in his voice yet his tone slightly wavers.

“She has a fading pulse…” Sally whispers, sparing a sad glance at you and quickly turning back to Jessica, “It’s decreasing rapidly,”

Dropping to the muddy slippery ground on your knees, tears quickly filling the brim of your eyes, threatening to fall as you moved closer to her.

“Mommy…” you cradle her face into your chest, saddened by her face, eyes closed as blood trickles down her forehead.

“We can revive her, right!” Your voice cracks, whipping your head to Sally, “Tell me we can revive her!”

“Y/N…” Sally sighs deeply, trying to contain her tears. You turn around, looking down at your mother, resting on your lap, body motionless yet her face looks peaceful.

“No! We- I can save her. We can do heart-to-heart compressions,” you shake your head, starting to do heart-to-heart compressions. “Why isn’t she waking up? Mommy, this isn’t funny anymore now, you have to wake up and help us. Please I can’t do this without you, I can’t do this whole new demigod thing without you.” your voice was dry, as you leaned down, blowing air into her mouth, hoping for a miracle to occur.

You didn’t truly believe in miracles, but for your mother, you’d start believing it. Right now, you would do whatever it took to bring her back even if it meant wishing on the impossible.

“We didn’t do plenty of things yet, I wanted you and Sally to meet my first girlfriend, attend my graduation, be there when I move out and eventually get married, and get grandkids from Percy because we both know I’m not going through that torture.”

Your senses became intensely heightened, catching onto Grover’s whisper to Sally, ignoring him as you spoke up.

“I refuse to leave her alone, she isn’t dead, just having some problems waking up and getting a pulse back.” You were in extreme denial, “Come on, mum, you focus on her face, giving her air and I’ll do her chest,” you beckoned Sally forward.

“Sweetheart…she’s already….gone.”

“She’s my mom and Percy’s mom, your wife. She wasn’t supposed to die this early. If all you’re gonna do is stand there and be useless, don’t bother talking to me.” It wasn’t intentional to snap at your other mother, but your emotions were driving you crazy and brazen.

“You’re the sun to my moon, Mommy, I can’t shine when you’re not there with me. Y-you promised me, you pinky promised that we were all going to survive, but you lied. Why did you lie to me?” You sobbed. Despite being physically exhausted, you weren’t giving up on trying to revive your mom, she would have never given up on you so you would stop trying until you had something, anything; a pulse, a gasp, her eyes shooting up. “Remember…” You weakly asked, holding onto the moon-shaped necklace on your neck, staring at your mom’s sun-shaped necklace.

The sky crackled with slight thunder as the rain poured down heavier. Finally understanding the meaning of your nickname, you sobbed desperately until the broken cracks of your voice gave out.

There was no sunshine without her moonlight, always them being in a pair, nothing without the other. Sadly, you lost your sunshine, darkening your moonlight to its deepest depths, harvesting it into something vengeful and heartless. Something that even scared you to a certain extent, like this was another new side flourishing because of the horrible circumstances.

You rested your mom on the ground, ignoring the cold rainpour.

“She’s gone…” Sally cries, grabbing your arm and pushing you into her body for a hug. You cried into the hug, tightening your grip as your wails echoed throughout the forest. Maybe this was all a nightmare, where you’d wake up and relax in reality. This was the time that your mom needed to wake you up and reassure you that she was right there, staying with you and protecting you.

Your chest clenched against your rib cage, devastation wracked throughout your entire body as the tears relentlessly spilled out.

“But she- she can’t be gone!” You hiccup, eyes glossing over with fresh tears, feeling another arm snuggle around your side.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry,” she caressed your face.

“What kind of demigod I am, if I was blessed with all these supernatural powers, can’t even save my Mom from death? What kind of daughter am I to just stand by and watch her own mother die? I don’t want this demigod life anymore, please take it all away if it means my mother is coming back, to me, to home. I’m so fucking tired and I just wanna go home! Home is wherever the four of us are!”

“Don’t you ever say that again, you did everything you could, your perseverance is one of your strongest qualities that Jessica adored very much. She wouldn’t want you to doubt yourself like this nor would I,” Sally reassures you, resting a thumb on your cheek, “Our beautiful daughter, she’s so proud of you, I want you to know that.”

Your eyes were puffy and red from tears as you listened to your mother’s words of encouragement and reassurance.

Much to your dismay, another loud roar broke the semi-family grievance, reminding them of the harsh reality.

“We have to go now!” Grover hastily urges.

“I’m not leaving my mom here like this,” you point to her still figure on the ground.

“We won’t, I promise you, sweetie. I’ll give her a proper burial, but right now we have to go!” Her tone was urgent as she quickly scanned the dark forest with the illumination from the car light.

You hurriedly rushed towards your mother’s still figure on the muddy ground, leaning down.

“Goodbye, Mom,” you whisper hoarsely, kissing her forehead for the last time. You stared down at her neck, gazing at the sunlight necklace she wore yanked it off, and shoved the meaningful jewelry into your back pocket. Your heart broke again, realizing she can’t respond, despite being in extreme denial.

Percy struggled to plant you on your feet as Sally walked over to Grover.

“Grover, I am entrusting you to protect my children, my only son and only daughter.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Jackson, Percy, and Y/N will be totally safe at camp–“

“Swear it.” She commands.

“What’s happening?”

“Swear it, Grover! Keep my children safe from anyone or anything that comes for them, that wants to harm them, that looks at them in the wrong way. Do you understand me?”

“I swear!” Grover persists, with determination and sincerity in his voice.

Sally nods at the boy, venturing over to you and Percy.

“I gotta go now,”

“Go? What do you mean go? Y/N stop her from going on this suicide mission,” He stares at you, waiting for a response. The first time you didn’t respond to your brother’s words caught him off guard, knowing you’ll always be his first defender.

The boy winces seeing your shaken body and red puffy eyes. It didn’t take a genius to know that you were still traumatized from witnessing your mom’s death. Seeing this sad broken-hearted face of yours, devastated Percy beyond any words to ease the pain. All those times, you’d reassured and defended him countless times, and yet he was speechless about how to comfort you right now. He felt like such a horrible brother to you.

“Your sister isn’t in charge, I am and what I say goes!”

“But–“

“This is no buts! You’re gonna be brave now. Remember what I taught you, remember the stories I told you. Especially the stories, they will tell–“

“No way! Mom, I’m not leaving you, not like how we left Mother stranded and alone to die.”

“Perseus!” She snapped, tired of his persistent attempts, cupping his face, ���Listen to me! You…are not broken. You are singular. You’re a miracle and you are my son. Hold fast, brave the storm.”

“And Y/N,” She caresses your face, her saddened expression increasing at your blank eyes, “You are not neglected in this family, you’re just as important. You are one of a kind, my beautiful baby girl. You are my daughter and I don’t ever want you to forget that.”

Those words melted in your heart and words rambled from you without hesitation, the guilt of everything came crashing down.

“I’m so sorry, mother, for not being able to protect any of us. I failed at what I was best at.”

“You’re a kid, be a kid, stop worrying if you’re not going to save everyone. That’s too much of a heavy burden on yourself, it’s not good for your mentality. Live life, get a girlfriend and don’t force yourself to grow up too fast because you'll regret it. Let me tell you something unfair; you can’t save everyone all the time. I love you two so much,”

“We love you too.”

Just like that, The Minotaur had the worst timing of moments erupting with a loud search roar.

“We need to move!”

“Give me your coat.”

“Why?” Percy asks but removes his coat anyway, “What are you gonna do?”

“He smells half-blood, that’s what he’s tracking, yeah?”

“That’s right.”

Sally grabs the coat from her blonde son, “So if he smells you in two directions at once, maybe I can confuse him, buy us both a little time to get away.”

“Mom, please don’t…we can’t afford to lose another parent on the same night.” Percy pleads, stepping forward, gesturing to you, “Y/N is one of the strongest people I know, and a few hours into this demigod madness, she’s broken, possibly going to recover from trauma at the camp where we’re supposed to rediscover our true potential for a man who wasn’t even here our whole lives.” He whispers, a string of desperation in his voice, “You can’t do this to us…please don’t do this to us. You’re all we have left.”

“Hey! It’ll be okay.” She reassures the blonde boy with a weak smile, “Y/N bounces back, she always does. For the first time, she needs you more than you need her right now, so be her anchor for right now, and don’t ever let go.”

Another yell echoes throughout the forest and trees falling down a few feet away meant the Minotaur was getting unbelievably closer. Your heart raced in your chest, once you saw the bulky overgrown monster, standing on its hind feet, intimidating everyone who bore witness.

Sally wastes no time, giving Percy a forehead kiss and then moving over to repeat the same action with you.

“Go now!” She shoves you away into Percy’s and Grover’s arms, now facing the Minotaur as the trio escapes into the rainy forest night.

Her plan for using Percy’s coat as bait to seemingly distract him and draw him away from the two demigods was successfully executed.

After maintaining some far distance from your mother, Sally, and the Minotaur, the trio still kept on running, nobody turning back. Until a loud roar reverberated across the forest broke your concentration on getting to safety and intensified your worries for your mother. You stopped running, turning around as your heart hammered inside your chest, the adrenaline pumping.

Despite being miles away, you and Percy viewed the fight, flinching when the monster knocked your mother down with its horns.

The Minotaur held in its hand, lifting up something in the air…someone more life-like…that’s someone who was your mother, Sally! You gasped and shoved at the revelation, wondering about your mother’s fate and you continued to watch the heartbreaking scene. Your body wasn’t acting upon cooperation with your mind, telling you to run away before it gets you next or attempting to save your mother. Having already lost one parent was devastating as it is, and losing your other parent would cause a lifetime of trauma for you.

Your heart clenched in fear as Sally struggles to escape from his grasp.

You felt Percy’s scared face hide into the fabric of your cotton shirt, clenching onto the shirt as he squeezed his eyes as tightly as possible.

For the last time, your mother, Sally looked over at you, stretching out a hand, guiding you out to safety, content you’ll be fine. Just like that, she closed her eyes, slowly disintegrating into gold ashes. Huh, that was weird. Humans don’t shrivel up and fade into ashes like that. That definitely was magic.

It was quiet, the rain pattering over you was now a background noise as you struggled to process the incident.

You gulped down the harsh lump in your throat. “It’s…mother’s gone, too…” You informed Percy, tone hoarse as he slowly pulled away from your body.

He looked ahead again, seeing nothing, Sally wasn’t there and the Minotaur was staring into nothing, seemingly distracted.

“Where did she go? What happened to her?”

“…She disappeared into gold ashes.” You whispered slowly, trying to comprehend your mother’s demise in your mind. Once again, your vision becomes blurry and the tears start to form at the loss of yet another parent. “It looked so unrealistic,”

After that Percy began to speak, but your focus wasn’t even directed on him, but rather at that charging furious Minotaur, hungry for more blood.

The pain and suffering became a dangerous mix of anger and hatred directed at the Minotaur.

Grover’s statements fall on deaf ears, partially drowned out by the heavy rainfall. “Y/N and Percy come on, we’re almost there.” you glance at your blonde brother who holds the same on his face.

‘So what happens when the protector is unable to protect? Do they give up instant hope and cower in shame? Or do they fight back, willingly seeking a second chance to redeem themselves? Whether you make a change or just be a bystander like others? This time the answer to that is simple, mourn your losses later and avenge them now. For all you can do right now is fight on the battlefield, because this is no place to cry and admit defeat.

No, you refused to give up hope and you weren’t going down without a fight. This monster had already taken your worlds away, so you had nobody else to lose.

Grabbing the pen from your pocket, holding it out, and witnessing it transform into a golden sword at will. The fight with the Minotaur was brutal and intense, alongside the heavy downpour of rain that attempted to slow down the intensity of this fight. Despite double-teaming the monster, he resisted surrender, determined to win and kill you both. Surprisingly, you gained the agility to climb onto his back while Percy distracted him.

Somehow, you gained the ultimate advantage with the lighting sword in your hand and stabbed the monster in its eye, ignoring his roar of pain. If anything, its pain only further encouraged you to continue.

Too full of adrenaline, you grab his two horns, gripping them and pulling them out with your utmost strength. A new sudden strength you just obtained. Gasping in shock was quickly outlived when your sword slipped out of your hand and dropped onto the muddy ground, disappearing from your eyesight. Stumbling onto his feet, inflicted by the pain, you groaned, gripping the monster by his rough skin as he attempted to shake you off.

“Percy the sword!” You yelled at him. Your brother throws the sword upwards as you catch the weapon.

You stab the monster in the neck, wincing at his loud screeches, but continue to stab his neck. Once the monster was deemed weak enough, you sliced the sword right through his neck, seizing the opportunity of successfully killing it. To be certain of killing that wretched monster, you deactached its horn from its head with your uppermost strength, then using it to pierce its own eye, another terrifying wail leaves its mouth.

This was all this stupid monster’s fault. If it hadn’t chased after you or slammed itself into the car, your mom would be alive. If it didn’t have such a bloodthirst for demigods, Sally, your mother would still be alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. You just wished your moms were alive, to see you mature into such a courageous daughter to avenge their deaths.

Soon enough, the monster staggered on its feet and its body began to disintegrate into black dust before your eyes.

“Y/N!” The voice becomes disoriented as you stumble on the ground, two arms catching you as you faint, everything fading away into a black abyss.

“Is she okay?”

“Did she do it alone?”

“Is the blonde boy, okay too?

“How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, he’s okay.”

Grasping onto your fading eyesight, there were four shadowy figures above you, all their voices sounded childish except the girl’s voice which sounded very mature.

“They must be the ones.”

“Hush, Annabeth.”

“They’re waking. Everyone give them some space, please.”

Obeying the command, the four unknown kids gave the siblings some space, revealing a half-man with the…bottom of a horse. Okay, it’s finally official, you’ve completely lost it!

“Welcome to camp, Percy Jackson and Y/N Matthews. We’ve been expecting you two.”

Oh my god! Who are these people?! What in the absolute fuck is going on?! This demigod shit is not cut out for me.

likes, comments, and reblogs are highly appreciated!

© asvterias, 2024. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works onto any other platforms without my permission.

[touyas-multi-purpose-saline]

wisteria with hari kurono please?? 🤍

cw: Yandere Themes, Religious Imagery, Sacrilegious Themes, Hints of Kidnapping, Use of Drugs / Sedatives, Graphic Imagery, Hinted Stalking, Unhealthy Relationships, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Themes Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Gender-Neutral Reader. Read at your own discretion! 18+ Only!

author's note: Thanks for this request! I really like Kurono. This was fun to write. It was definitely a prompt that made me think! REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN—READ TAGS! This was a prompt from "Yandere Prompts Flower Language" and can be found here . I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

PROMPT: Wisteria (Long Life, Immortality): "Tell me I'm your God/Goddess and I'll grant you a slice of Heaven."

word count: Approximately 1.2k.

You’re stumbling.

The floors seem to warble, they rush around in strange angles, a flock of birds scattered and frantic, and your arms swipe out for any sort of way to grasp those wings and whisk away too. Tears are streaming down your face, or maybe that’s blood, but you feel like you’re looking into a fishbowl and its fins tickle your cheeks and you wonder if you’re even crying. A stack of books open, their pages fluttering, and you wonder when the epilogue will draw to a close. You think you can see your life on each page, but they’re too fast and you can’t help but feel like you’re hallucinating even being alive.

Footsteps, is that what that is? There are claps of something plastic against the floor, into the darkness, reverberating, and you know that air recycles around you but you’re not gasping it in. Someone is walking behind you, a car tailgating, headlights on bright, blinding, and you can feel that they’re getting closer and closer and closer and closer and closer and

“There’s no point in running.”

A line slices between your brows, splitting the seam of your face, the cawing of a raven. You want to glance around, you do, and you feel like your landline’s been snipped. No tone, no message after the beep. You hope the voice won’t speak again, its odd tenor lilting into bass. Perhaps that saxophone has a blistered reed, and if you focus on the elongating hallways, you’ll be able to hear the trumpets on the horizon, that peachy swan. You know that voice. It’s terrifying, and that reed splinters more and more.

“I’ve hit you with the hour hand, so you’re not getting very far anyway. I’m surprised you’ve been able to get to this point.”

Is it because you’re lucky? Or has he been methodically stalking behind you, watching you trip over your own two left feet, watching your arms flail pathetically, watching you gag, watching you beg with wordless pleas? You know he has. Why are you even asking yourself these rhetorical questions? Maybe because you’re hoping some sort of ethos will nibble on the crux of your jaw, will whisper sweet nothings to comfort you, to tell you that this isn’t as bad as it will be. How long will this last? It’s like mushrooms are pooling into your veins, on a slingshot that keeps tensing backwards, and you’re rocking roughly gentle, and you think that there are hums dragging your body down below the current. If psychedelics steer your body into the ground, will those arrows shoot forward again, cottonmouths, vipers, rattles, and snatch you up?

“This is my fault, I’ll admit that. I should have put a chain on you, but I guess I miscalculated the exact dosage of the sedative. Maybe I don’t have your accurate body weight? Height? I’ve looked at the most recent doctor’s papers, but it has been a while since your last visit. My bad.”

Does he know what your endocrine system looks like too? Does he know each neuron, each axon, each hormone, each receptor, each cell, each threshold? Does he know the inner mechanisms of your subcortical structures? Hindbrain? Does he know how your hypothalamus works specifically? Can he target your front lobe? Parietal? Temporal? Occipital? Even your fucking cerebellum? Has he figured out their coding? Has he found a way to alter all of their functions until the floor swallows you and he can pull you by your ankles back into that desolate white room?

Who even is this man?

“I didn’t want to resort to this, of course. It just kind of happened. If you wouldn’t have run away, you wouldn’t be so… like this.”

How can he be so formal? So fake? Your head is spinning in ways that don’t comprehend reality. There shouldn’t be a way for your ankles to twist upwards, shouldn’t be a way for your downcast eyes to cross backwards and forwards, shouldn’t be a way for your heart to shred into two before reforming into loops. You just want a name—you just want a name.

“Hurting you wasn’t a priority. I wanted more than this. I wanted it to be easy, but you’re making it kind of difficult. But I’m sure you can already tell that.”

Just keep going, even if the slick underneath the soles of your feet, the jelly and jams of snails, trails behind you like vomit and spittle and slows you down. You can do this, you can get out of here. The darkness doesn’t want to swallow you, doesn’t want its throat to constrict around your shuddering frame, the refocusing of a camera lens, the click, the growling technology.

“Sigh. Listen, listen to me genuinely. You don’t have to be afraid of me. I won’t hurt you… again.”

The jelly turns into gum, turns into plasters that rip off your follicles, peel at your skin, residue on a windshield. It’s getting harder to breathe, but maybe that’s the extra poison he stabbed into you whenever you slipped underneath his legs. You shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have hit your knees to the floor and crawled, shouldn’t have barreled, back slamming against the ground, rattling your skull, just to escape him. That needle was sharp, that arrow was sharp.

“All I want is for this to be perfect. Tell me I’m your God and I’ll grant you a slice of Heaven.”

Insane, he’s so insane. He can’t be there in the head. Whatever verses, whatever psalms, whatever dead sea scrolls, whatever avesta, whatever sacred texts he’s built this foundation upon are just words on a page. Maybe it’s what he wants, maybe there’s a reason, maybe that’s why your knees wobble and give out. That’s why the balls of your palms ache whenever your nails clatter to the floor.

There are worms wriggling around the edges of your vision, dancing, singing, laughing, rejoicing, hallelujah, hallelujah. And you can’t focus on the sound of his approaching footsteps, the drumbeats, the way your ears hear whistles and bells, the way the floor grows hotter and hotter, melting oil and broiling lakes, and you feel like those cloudy acres shift into burning flames. He’s almost here, imminent domain.

“Will you love me like I ask?”

You can’t respond, the words are glue and bondage taped around your throbbing tongue. Maybe you were never crying, maybe that’s why drool is seeping from your ducts, maybe the romans were right. There’s a tourniquet in your body that loses its threads, and your side collapses, the puzzle pieces of the tiles filled with hymns and sins.

He stops. Your eyes are blurry whenever you slowly turn your head. Those lava gray locks are snakes swaying in the wind, those piercingly cold eyes. There’s a memory in your head, a face behind fencing, something tucked away, a name, a person, recognition. But that won’t save you now.

“Because, you know, it’s not like you have much of a choice.”

[neo404]

Request where reader doesn’t even know he likes guys but he has been hanging out with Nick a lot lately he think he just likes Nick as a friend Nick eventually put the pieces together that reader like him he just isn’t aware of it so Nick decides to just kiss which shocks reader at first but then everything clicks

( I don’t know if you watch the show 911 is kind of the story line that has happened recently)

Your lips, my lips…

Summary: with one kiss Nick completely changes your life and ties all the lose knots on your mind.

Note: I haven’t watch 911, does it have gay people? If yes, I might give it a go lol.

Nick and I have been good friends for a while, we know each other for a year, maybe a bit more, we met thanks to a friend in common and since then we grew closer and closer. I like to think of him as my best friend, we do everything together and he has always been there for me when I needed him.

If I’m being honest, I can’t imagine a life without him, he’s just so fun to be around and cares deeply about everyone, he makes me feel safe and loved. It’s funny, because we are so close a lot of people have thought we are a couple, not that I don’t think Nick would be a bad boyfriend, is just that I don’t really like boys, I just like Nick, in a very close friends type of way. In a ‘cuddles while watching a horror movie’ type of way or a ‘your hand lingered on my arms for longer than usual, an it made my heart beat faster’ or a ‘every time I see you smile it makes me happy’ or a ‘I get jealous when I see people flirting with you because I’m afraid they will steal your attention’… but it’s all platonic feelings, after all, we are very close.

‘’So… movie at your place again?’’ Nick sits beside me on the ground of the parking lot after handing me a can of soda. I crack it open and nod.

‘’Yeah, as always.’’ He opens his can and also takes a drink. ‘’It’s your turn to pick the movie.’’

‘’Oh true, thanks for reminding me.’’ He smiles warmly at me and I feel my heart get warmer on my chest, I don’t know if that’s even possible, but I feel it. ‘’So, we got the snacks.’’ He says shacking the bag on his hand a bit. ‘’Wanna go home yet or…?’’ he raises and eyebrow looking at me and I let out a tiny chuckle.

‘’Can we sit here for a while? The weather is nice, the breeze is amazing tonight.’’

‘’Yeah, that’s fine, you are the one driving us anyways.’’ He playfully punches my arm and I laugh.

‘’True, what would you do without me?’’ it was a rhetorical question truly, he could do so much without me, I am the one who doesn’t know what to do without him.

‘’A lot, actually. You are very needy.’’ I gasp and pretend to be offended by his words.

‘’Me? Needy? Says the one that calls me at ungodly hours of the night because he can’t sleep and wants company, or the one that begs me to have sleepover at my place or the one-…’’ Nick shoves one of his hands to my mouth.

‘’Okay, enough. I don’t wanna hear you.’’ He rolls his eyes and I smile, his hand helping to hide my blushing cheeks. ‘’You are such an idiot; I actually hate you.’’ I nod and he slowly removes his hand from my mouth.

‘’Yeah, whatever you say.’’ I roll my eyes at him and he pushes me playfully once more.

‘’I do, I hate you.’’

‘’No.’’ I shake my head. ‘’No, you don’t.’’ this time he frowns and crosses his arms over his chest.

‘’I do!’’ I smile and take another sip of my drink, this is a little game the both of us have, people don’t get it but I find it very entertaining how he tries to make me believe that he hates me, he doesn’t, and I know it, and he knows it too.

‘’You sure do.’’

‘’What do you mean?’’ he puts his arms down, looking at me confused, I normally play along for a while.

‘’I mean that you like me so much you think you hate me.’’ I shrug my shoulders.

‘’Wait, maybe you are right.’’ He grins. ‘’I like you so much it makes me want to hate you.’’

‘’See, I’m always right.’’ I take another sip of my drink and when I lower the can I feel one of his hands on my cheek, and then his lips smashing into mine, I swallow quickly and lean in to kiss him back. after a few seconds the backs up, I blink hardly, my cheeks turning red and my heart beating like crazy. ‘’I-… what?’’

And it that moment it all made sense. With one single kiss Nick made my restless night have a meaning. All this time, all my fast beast, my red cheeks, the lingering looks, the longing for his touch and attention. It made sense, I liked him, I liked him so much it made me stupid.

‘’I like you, you idiot. I like you a lot, it makes me want to punch you in the face.’’ Nicks voice is quiet, his hand still on my face, the warmness of it making me feel dizzy. ‘’Look, I know we have been good friends for a long time, I was just so scared to tell you but I thought you liked me back, so please, just forget this if-…’’

‘’NO! No, no, no, no.’’ I take a Deep breath trying to gather my thoughts and form a single coherent sentence. ‘’I like you too. Shit, I like you. Holy shit, this makes so much sense…’’

‘’You do?’’ Nicks eyes light up and I nod my head eagerly.

‘’Yes. Can we kiss again?’’ he doesn’t say a word, he just leans in and kisses me softly, this time is longer and my hands make their way to his waist, his other hand playing with my hair. I can’t believe I didn’t realize this sooner; I can’t believe I have liked him all along and I had no idea.

‘’Let’s go watch that movie.’’

‘’Can we make out while it plays on the background?’’

[chopperfancard]

One Day (False DoD au short story

“Ow, Ow! That hurts!” A small, young seawing dragonet whimpered and squirmed at the stab of pain that hit its scales and muscles as another dragonet; a skywing to be exact who about the same age wrapped some bandages around what seemed to be a quite apparent burn wound.

“Maybe if you stopped moving like I told you to, it'd hurt less!” The skywing dragonet hissed, making his annoyance with the seawing’s whining very clear and apparent.

“God, are all seawings this whiny or just you, Squid?” He continued on.

“Flame, please stop.. You’re talking like her again…. I don’t like it, not at all.” Squid bitterly said under his breath, in between the grunting and moaning from the pain of his burn wound.

“Well, Kestrel teaches us how the world’s gonna be outside! She teaches us how the world outside is nothing but war and violence. And if that’s how it is, we can’t be weak. We’re supposed to be strong, not weaklings! The only reason she hates you guys is because you’re all weak! Isn’t it?” The young skywing dragonet said, but in his voice was a hint of doubt and uncertainty. It seemed as though he himself didn’t even sincerely believe what he was saying.

“Well, either way, it’s why I want to become a healer anyway. You idiots need to be in top condition if we’re going to save the world, and I need these skills if I actually want to help dragons in war. So stop crying and deal with it like a big dragonet.” He spat out, snuffing out whatever pinch of insecurity leaked into his voice earlier with aggression and anger as smoke and ash crawled through his throat and escaped out his nostrils.

“You’re only saying all that because you’re her favorite. She treats you like… a son. Me and the others? I don’t think she’d even care if we all died tomorrow.” Squid talked back, uncharacteristic for the normally meek dragonet, he didn’t want another skywing to be yelling at him, he already dealt with enough of that from Kestrel. The young dragonet felt tears form up in his eyes like a whirlpool remembering how awful the training today went, and how badly burnt he got… And what Kestrel said to him, which hurt more than any burn or any scratch or any bite mark he acquired in that fight, or any other fight with both Kestrel and the other dragonets in the cave combined.

“I wish she died when Viper stabbed her with her barb that one time.” Squid blankly said.

The room fell silent, Flame didn’t speak, not even a growl from him. He just continued working on Squid’s wounds. The silence was… deafening, to say the very least.

“Flame?” Squid called his name, wanting to ask him something. No response.

“Do you ever think about who our real parents are?” He asked him.

“Why?” He seemed uninterested in the question.

“I mean… they’re probably better than our guardians here. Kestrel and Dune are awful, and Webs barely tries to do anything about them…” 

“Well, our parents are dead, probably.” Flame said straight-forwardly. Not even phased or bothered by what he just said, as if he just accepted that as the most likely possibility for a long time.

“Flame… You don’t mean that, right?” That was a rhetorical question, Squid knew full well that Flame 100% meant that.

“What are you, stupid? There’s a war outside and everyday Kestrel and Webs always tell us about all the burning bodies of dragons that stretch out all the way to the horizon. And you think our parents aren’t one of those hundreds of dragons?” Flame continued as he wrapped another bandage around his tail.

“And you just don’t care?” Squid asked him.

“...It’s not like we knew them anyway- So it's a waste to get all sad about it.” He said with a certain jumpiness in his voice.

“I-I guess you’re right.” Squid said under his breath. Sighing quite heavily.

“Alright, you should be good to go now, I think… Try moving.” Flame said, he’d just finished tying up the last bandage on Squid’s body.

Squid’s muscles tensed as he tried to get up, after laying down for so long, his body felt heavier than usual as he tried to get back onto his feet. He did it slowly so as to not hurt himself, though when he stretched his wings, the pain began stinging again, causing him to wince and cower. But he kept going, trying his best to stay strong despite the pain, like Flame would. He eventually was standing on all four legs, though shaking with his muscles as tense and hard as the rocks that surrounded them all in this cavernous prison. 

“So, do you feel okay?” Flame asked.

“Y-Yeah..” Squid responded with a shaky voice and a nervous smile. “T-Thank you, Flame…”

Flame was a bit shocked at the ‘Thank you’ he was given. Around here in the cave, that kind of gratitude was jarring, to say the least; and from Squid of all dragons? Viper would never thank anybody for anything, Ochre is too stupid and lazy to remember to do so after someone does him a favor, and Fatespeaker would just talk about her visions even though it had nothing to do with anything of any sort of importance. And the guardians are just their own story.

Flame eventually snapped out of his trance, he shifted his wings slightly as he turned around and began making his way toward the exit of this part of the cave.

“Uh huh, yeah, you're welcome. Come on, let’s go have dinner. Hurry up already. Viper and especially Ochre aren’t gonna be saving crap for us, and Kestrel definitely won’t care to fetch more food for the two of us if we miss dinner.” And just like that, the Flame he knew and… tolerated was back in full force. Though for whatever reason, Squid thought that his words of gratitude meant a lot to Flame, and he just wasn’t showing it. The idea that his fellow dragonets sincerely cared about one another deep down but just didn't show it was a comforting feeling, and what he chose to believe. Even though the likelihood of that was very, very low.

It was probably just in his imagination, though. But what was more important was getting to the dinner hall so he could actually eat something and not go starving for the 2nd day in a row. So the young seawing dragonet chased after his skywing brother, or as close as he could get to chasing in his physical state.

Dinner was about as chaotic and dysfunctional as Squid would usually expect. Eating food in peace was practically an alien concept for the dragonets, and Squid was stuck cleaning up the mess of his other siblings. Flame was Kestrel’s favorite so he always got his way around here, everyone collectively knew Fatespeaker and Ochre wouldn’t get anything done if they had the job and the job landed on Viper, but she threatened Squid to do it or else she’d stab him, so needless to say. He was stuck with the job.

The cracks of the flames of the torches that filled the caverns echoed through the rocky halls and within Squid’s mind. It was one of the first sounds he heard in this world when he hatched, he thought. And ever since that day, they’ve been there, every part of every day. The flames of the torches seemed to be the one consistent thing in this life, he thought.

What kind of life is this? He’s a Dragonet of Destiny, he and the others are supposed to be the most important dragons in history. But here they are stuck in a cavernous prison and can barely agree on who gets to do chores around the cave, arguing over every small thing and getting into rough fights over the sorts. If they can’t agree on that… How could they ever hope to end the war? How could he ever be a hero? That’s what Kestrel always told them.

A stab of pain from the burn mark Flame had treated earlier distracted him from his train of thought… God, why did he have to be the one to work around today? Would it have killed them to give him a break for a day or two?

One day, everything is going to change, I feel it. One day I’ll be a hero, I’ll be the most important dragon in Pyrrhia’s history! I can already feel it…. Squid thought to himself, trying to bring up his own spirits and motivate himself. He began to smile a little, the first time in a long while. He imagined himself being showered in praise all across Pyrrhia. The kind of dragon that people wrote and told stories about. The king of dragons that people looked up to, and aspired to be like. That would be him, soon enough. How soon he wasn’t sure, but he knew in his heart that his dream would come true one day.

One day.

[strscrossed]

kiss of death — part i

and here i present the ballerina/mafioso au. it's a slow start but i always like having a setup. anyway, eren's a mafia underboss along with his brother zeke. grisha is the boss and women are kept out of the family business. thanks @likesunsetorange for reading this over and also enabling me! 💕

eremika. 2.5k. explicit.

~

“And what do you mean you won’t be joining us for dinner?”

Eren glances at his father for a little assistance. His mother’s voice is low, something dangerous stirring behind the calm. At this point, Eren would rather be in enemy territory, without a gun, than deal with Carla Jaeger. 

“It’s last minute but a business associate's daughter has a ballet recital and he’s treating us to dinner after. Sorry, mom. Can I take a raincheck? 

The key to a good lie is a half-truth. He does, in fact, have to attend a ballet tonight. Not with a business associate but his mother isn’t to know that under any circumstances. He worries for a moment because his mother is quiet. Too quiet, in fact. 

“Always with the rainchecks,” she mumbles, shaking her head. She glares at him for two seconds, narrowing her eyes before sighing, conceding defeat. 

When he was younger, he had a tell. His ears would turn red and his mother had a habit of pinching them whenever she would catch him in one. But adulthood has turned him into a seasoned liar. 

“And you couldn’t handle this because…?” Carla glares at her husband, who sits on the sofa cross-legged, reading a newspaper. Grisha Jaeger is afraid of no one. Except, maybe, his wife. 

“I’m close to retirement, dear. The boys are grown now, it’s time they got involved in matters of the family business. If I keep doing it, they’ll never learn anything. And I’m not getting any younger. 

Zeke, who stands a few feet away, snorts quietly. Grisha’s “fragile old man” shtick would be laughable to anyone but his wife. Carla shakes her head. Again, a sigh of defeat as her husband gives her those weary eyes. Eren has to bite his tongue to keep the laugh from escaping. 

“Eren’s hardly around anymore,” she says, shaking her head. “Can I at least have a meal with my boy once a week?” 

He can’t say no to her. 

“Of course, mom.” 

She sits back in her chair, teacup in hand. She mourns time lost with her son but unbeknownst to her, she is living comfortably because of all this. And to keep all this, he has to break yet another promise to his mother. 

“I need to head out now,” he tells everyone, with Grisha and Zeke nodding and Carla sighing. 

“Who is going with you?” 

“Armin and Floch,” he answers. At the mention of Floch’s name, he sees her face pinch a little. No, he’s not having this conversation again. She’s made her distaste for that young man abundantly clear. He doesn’t want to stick around to hear her ask his father, yet again, why he keeps him around. 

“Bye,” he says and he’s out the door before his mother can get another word in. 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

The fresh air fills his lungs as he closes the door behind him. His mother still doesn’t suspect a thing and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s a dirty, grimy world that only the men of the family are privy to. If she really knew what the real family business was… 

He doesn’t want to even entertain that idea. These are the rules. They exist for a reason. And he stopped feeling bad about lying to her years ago. It’s a lesson that’s been beaten into him since he was sixteen years old. 

Eren slides into the front seat of the car. Floch is driving and Armin takes his place in the backseat. Neither man makes an effort to converse with each other and that’s fine. Their bickering is a source of Eren’s frayed nerves too often. 

“Ackerman soldiers were spotted frequenting the ballet, huh?” Eren asks. It’s a rhetorical question. 

“Quite a few of them actually,” Floch responds, his eyes glued to the road. 

“It’s because one of their own is this year’s prima ballerina,” Armin adds. “A large number of them are said to be in attendance this evening.” 

“Frequent the ballet, Arlert? How do you even know that?” Floch asks. 

Eren stays quiet as he glances at Armin’s unamused expression in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, he’s not the explosive type. 

“Well, if you must know, knowing about different things helps me navigate and infiltrate a number of different circles. You might want to culture yourself a little more, Floch.” 

Oh, here they go. 

“So, one of their own, huh? Old Kenny’s extorting ballet companies now?” Eren snorts. “His niece wanted to become a ballerina so good ole Uncle Kenny made it happen? Never took him to be such a fucking softie.” 

No, actually, if that is the case, it’ll be easier to get under the old fucker’s skin. 

“Actually, I hear Mikasa Ackerman is a once in a generation talent. And just in case, tonight’s performance is a ballet called Giselle. It’s about a young woman who falls in love with a nobleman and when they can’t be together she dies of heartbreak but that’s not where it ends—” 

“I don’t care, Armin,” Eren cuts him off. “I don’t care about ballet or the girl. We’re going there for one reason and one reason only — to watch the Ackerman’s every move. Everything else is worthless and irrelevant.” 

He hears Armin sink back into his seat, sighing. 

Eren does his best not to twist his face in annoyance. A ballet of all places. He never thought he’d be caught dead at one of those… 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

Kenny Ackerman is nowhere to be seen. Naturally, his old ass couldn’t be bothered to show up anywhere someone could see him. Levi Ackerman, however, is seated in the very front row. Armin manages to get them balcony seats so they can see everything. 

It’s the most boring observation ever because the Ackerman associates and soldiers are just seated there. 

This is why soldiers and lower level soldiers are sent to do this crap. Now he has to sit through a two hour long ballet and pretend to know what’s going on. 

Occasionally, the man to Levi’s right will lean over and whisper something to his ear. He simply nods, giving nothing away. 

“What are they saying?” Floch mutters to himself, squinting as if to read the lips. 

Armin, meanwhile, is observing their surroundings. It’s entirely possible that they’ve been spotted. 

“None here,” he assures Eren after a while. 

Before he can say anything, the theater lights dim. 

Eren knows jackshit about ballet. He doesn’t care to know what’s going on. The arts, the gentler things in life, were things he never cared to become acquainted with. So when the lights dim and the sound of violins fill the theater, he groans. He hears a lady gasp and jump behind him and he can’t help but scoff. It’s nothing compared to the sound of gunfire, bones breaking, or knives cutting through skin. 

The Ackerman party, however, stops talking. Their eyes are glued to the stage and, unwillingly, Eren turns his attention to the stage. The whole production is colorful. Too colorful. It’s an eyesore.

He has no idea what’s going on. There are several dancers on stage at the beginning and then it’s just two guys. No one’s talking, obviously, it’s a ballet not a play. Armin’s probably watching completely enthralled, but he’s not impressed. He leans back in his chair, bored out of his mind as he watches them prance around the stage. 

He’d never willingly show up to these things. But, when his father received word of a large gathering of Ackerman, of course he had to show up for it. 

If the Ackerman are here, he needs to keep an eye on all of their activities. They might be here for the girl, but that’s immaterial for Eren. 

He doesn’t care about ballet. 

He doesn’t care for the girl—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when a young woman appears on the stage. She looks around, and prances around the stage. And just like that, Eren is drawn right into the performance. 

She’s graceful, her movements are so natural, so effortless. It’s like she belongs up there. Whatever she’s doing — whoever she’s playing — she embodies the role perfectly. 

If he knows nothing else about ballet, he knows this much. 

“That’s Mikasa Ackerman,” Armin leans in to whisper in his ear. “This year’s prima ballerina.” 

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on but it gets sad pretty quickly, he assumes. He hears sniffling behind and near him. Floch looks endlessly bored and Armin, as predicted, is really into the performance. 

Eren is focused on his dancer. 

If he could compare her face to anything, it would be the moon. It is the illuminated beauty in the dark of the night and even from here, her eyes light up like the millions of stars. Only hers are brighter. 

It goes on for two hours, which Eren decides is not long enough. He’ll watch her perform all day and night if that’s what it takes. 

When the curtains close and everyone stands up to clap, he cannot bring himself to do so. His beautiful dancer is no longer in front of him and he finds no reason to celebrate that. 

“Well, that was uneventful,” Floch mutters disappointingly. “I thought they might actually try something. I thought we might actually gain an advantage over them.” 

Oh, right, they had a job to do. 

“Floch, if you thought they were coming to a ballet, which by the way one of their own is performing at, to try and pull something you’ve set your expectations way too high.” 

“Yeah, well if you haven’t noticed, this is our territory—”

“—technically, no it’s not.” 

“What? Are you secretly on their side, Arlert? Because it sounds to me like you are.” 

“Would you two shut up?” Eren growls, prompting the two of them to shut their mouths. “Armin, is she set to be in any more shows?” 

“I can check but if she’s the prima ballerina, you can bet on it.” 

Well, he is a betting man. And he always wins. 

“Then we’ll keep coming back. Sooner or later, they’ll start conducting business around here. We should watch for that.” 

He receives no protest. He does his best to keep a poker face but as he exits the theater, the corners of his turn up slightly… 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

“So?” Grisha asks, closing the door behind him. Eren and Zeke stand side by side as Grisha walks back to his desk, settling down and making himself comfortable before Eren allows himself to answer. 

“Nothing special. The Ackerman girl is part of the ballet, so they were serving as glorified bodyguards. The three of us watched them the whole time and nothing happened.” 

Disappointing news to say the least. So much for this being a golden opportunity to strike against the Ackerman. As always, they manage to elude them by doing absolutely nothing. 

“Even so, continue to watch the ballet,” Grisha instructs. “One evening will tell us nothing. And if the girl is part of the ballet, well they’ll frequent that theater. Perhaps, old Kenny Ackerman might show up.” 

Fat chance. 

“And Zeke,” he turns to his eldest son. “Are the girls of any use?” 

“Nope,” his brother answers. “The men don’t frequent brothels. In fact, the girls haven’t heard of either of them.” 

“Damn it!” his father curses, pounding the table with his fists. The whole thing is a little over dramatic in Eren’s opinion. 

Weaker men cower before Grisha Jaeger. He is someone that you don’t want to piss off. In all fairness, the Jaegers in general are people you don’t want to piss off. The two brothers are the only ones immune to their father’s fear tactics. Though, he is certainly not just talk. He wouldn’t be in this position otherwise. 

“It is decided then,” Grisha mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Reiss and the Tyburs agree that this cannot continue.” 

There is a tenuous peace between the families. Initially, each family controlled a third of the island and conflicts broke out through the generations. Eren’s grandfather realized there were more benefits to keeping these families as allies than enemies. Though tenuous is the best way to describe whatever alliance they had going. 

“And what does that mean?” Zeke questions. 

Grisha responds with a small smile. 

“I won’t keep you as you two have more work to do. I have arranged it. Zeke, you are to marry Rod Reiss’ eldest daughter, Frieda. And Eren, you are to marry Willy Tybur’s younger sister, Lara. You are to meet with them, court them, and the official engagement will be two months from today. It is done. You two will honor it.” 

What century was this? 

“What the fuck, old man?” Eren growls and two pairs of eyes are on him.

“What was that?” his father asks, daring him to repeat it. 

“You just sold us to the Reiss and Tyburs? You just want us to go along with it? What the fuck?” 

Grisha’s not used to having his authority questioned. Sometimes Eren is going to whine but usually he doesn’t have an issue doing his father’s bidding. Extort the local jeweler? No problem. Take care of a guy and dispose of his corpse? Done. Spy on a couple of low level Ackerman associates? He can do that in his sleep. 

Marriage though? Fuck no. That was different. That is something sacred and just for him. 

“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to go through with this, Eren. I’ve given you way too much freedom. You’re marrying Lara Tybur. End of discussion. You have dinner reservations tomorrow night at 8 pm. Make sure you’re not late and I’ll know if you two fuck this up. Now get the hell out of my office.” 

As the door closes behind the two of them, Eren is prepared to stomp down the hall but Zeke’s hand on his shoulder stops him. 

“Careful, Eren,” he warns. “Step out of line and the old man isn’t going to hesitate to give you the kiss of death.” 

Eren scowls, “And when did you become the obedient son? ” 

“You didn’t seem to have an issue when he decided that you’d join the family business. You don’t have an issue doing his dirty work. But you draw the line at marriage. Interesting. Is there someone?” 

“Fuck off, Zeke! It’s entirely fucking different and you know it! Does there have to be someone? And you’re one to talk! Pieck Finger is it?” 

“Watch it, Eren,” Zeke warns him, all amusement vanishing from his face. 

“Hit a nerve? Does the old man already know? Is that why you’re so okay with going along with it?” 

Zeke narrows his eyes, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.” 

“Whatever. I’m tired.” 

He stomps off. Zeke might be okay with this, but he definitely isn’t. He’ll do anything for this family but this was too much! And without even consulting the two of them. Shouldn’t he have a say in who he marries? 

As he silently rages, images of Mikasa Ackerman moving gracefully around the stage flood his mind. And all the rage dissipates into thin air…

[odinsblog]

Hey! Just wanted to clarify something so you don’t spread misinformation. You’re right that the president of Israel did comment that the citizens of Gaza are responsible (or something like that) when a reporter asked if that meant that all citizens of Gaza were reasonable targets, he immediately walked it back and said of course not. What he said initially was terrible, but your post indicated that the Israeli government would not be considering civilians non-combatants and that isn’t true

[re: this post, or maybe this one, Idk]

Yeah, sorry, anon, but it doesn’t work that way. That’s not “misinformation,” it’s literally what he said. Literally. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If a racist publicly announced they thought all Black people were subhuman, or if a homophobe proclaimed they believe that all LGBTQ people are are groomers, and then tried to walk it back, but I posted about what they said, that isn’t “misinformation.”

Misogynist: I hate all women.

Reporter: Really? You hate ALL women?

Misogynist: No, of course not. Sometimes dem hoes be aight.

Anon: It’s misinformation if Odin doesn’t tell everyone that the misogynist said he doesn’t really hate ALL women.

Oversimplified, but hopefully you get my point.

It doesn’t matter if they “walked it back”. They still said what they said, and I am under no obligation to update my post to reflect them trying to put the mask back on after they just went full mask-off.

I’m not their public relations manager.

Here’s something Maya Angelou once said, and I fully agree with her:

And the Israeli government is currently bombing the fuck out of noncombatant civilians in Gaza, and they have a history of bombing noncombatant civilians, so try to imagine my complete lack of trust when they say they aren’t doing what they ARE doing, and have a long and very well documented history of doing.

Every time the IDF says they suspected Hamas of being in UN schools and apartment buildings, I don’t have to just take them at their extremely worthless word.

Rhetorical question here, anon: if Hamas is coercing civilians for human shields, then which is worse — the terrorist who uses human shields, or the army that bombs the human shields anyway?

Think about it.

Look, I’m a Black man living in America so please believe me when I say that I’ve seen racist politicians, police, and government officials try to “walk back” their racist words my entire life. It doesn’t mean I’m legally required to believe them. What I believe in is actions, not the tepid, strategically timed “walk backs” of an apartheid state.

Anyway, I’m pretty sure I know who this is (you’ve sent me similarly toned asks before), and it’s fairly obvious that we are not going to agree on this, and that’s okay, I guess, but please don’t ask or dm me on this topic again. I’m also not required to respond to every random anon with a keyboard and an internet connection. I have an inbox full of unanswered asks, and I’m doing this whole blogging thing for funsies; I’m not getting paid to answer a long line of asks, and I don’t have the time.

I only just recently turned the anon feature back on. Please don’t make me regret it.

[montammil]

whumpee begging to be hurt trope

CW: Intimate Caretaker, mentioned self-harm (by scratching), begging to be hurt

...

It’s been weeks since Whumpee came back, and slowly they were starting to recover. Caretaker has never been so proud, so happy that Whumpee is making progress and starting to be themself again.

Until one day, when Caretaker hears a loud crash. Instinctually, they hurry to the source of the noise and skid to a halt when they see Whumpee, a broken vase below them.

“Whumpee, are you okay?” They slowly walk toward them, kneeling in front of them to look for any cuts, but sigh in relief when they find none. “C’mon, sweetie, let’s--”

“No! It’s okay, I-- I got it!” Whumpee starts picking up the shards of glass with shaking hands. 

“Whoa, Whumpee!” They grab their hands and check for any further injuries, gasping quietly when they see a small gash in the palm of their left hand. They look up at Whumpee when they start trembling harder, to realize Whumpee looks positively terrified.

Not at the cut. At Caretaker.

“Please, I’m-- I’m so sorry,” Whumpee stammers in a sob. “It was an accident!”

“Shh, hey, I know, I know it was. You don’t need to be sorry for anything, please don’t feel sorry. I’m just worried, I’ve told you that.”

“Please, just hurt me. Please.”

Caretaker isn’t surprised from the gut wrenching plead. They’ve heard Whumpee beg to be hurt before, like the time Whumpee spilled a cup of water all over the floor, or the time they accidentally hurt Caretaker when they got too close.

This time is different, because never has Caretaker seen Whumpee so sad, so sleep-deprived, so miserable.

“No, Whumpee. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you.” 

“Why? Why won’t you just forgive me?!”

Never has Whumpee yelled at them. Behind that pained expression, they see anger. Genuine anger, for the first time ever since they got them back.

“What are you talking about? Honey, there’s nothing to forgive you over. You did nothing wrong. I can replace the vase if that’s what you’re worried about, but I promise--”

“No, you don’t get it! If you don’t hurt me, I’m not forgiven! Every mistake I make will never be forgiven because you won’t hurt me!”

Realization along with heartbreak spreads across Caretaker’s face. They thought Whumpee was just begging to be hurt because that’s what they were used to, but they never really considered this. That must also be why Whumpee is always violently scratching themself when they do something they think is wrong.

“Oh, Whumpee.” They inhale sharply and pull them into their arms, circling them around them securely. “You don’t need to be forgiven by being hurt. That isn’t just awful, but what’ll that do in the long-term? It won’t make you learn from your actions, it’ll just make you scared.”

Even if it did have benefits, Caretaker would never lay a hand in anger on Whumpee. They love them to no ends, but they just wish they’d get that through their head already.

“Then how do I learn?” 

Caretaker is sure it’s a rhetorical question, but they answer, anyway. “We talk it out; but believe me, Whumpee, you haven’t done anything wrong since you got here. This was just a mistake. Everyone makes them.”

They sniffle, so Caretaker wipes their tears away with their thumb. They smile at how Whumpee leans into the touch, closing their eyes.

“Let’s go clean that cut and bandage it. Does that sound okay to you?” 

Whumpee’s eyes open again. “What about the vase?”

“I’ll get a new one after cleaning it up. Do you know how many times I broke that vase, too?”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. At least four different times.” That’s not true, maybe two at most, but they know that’ll make Whumpee feel a little less guilty. They wish they could take that guilt away completely. They wish they could take all of Whumpee’s pain away, even if that meant bearing it for them.

Thankfully, Whumpee gives a grin. It may be tiny, but it still warms Caretaker’s heart more than words can describe.

[doawks]

reminder, yoon jeonghan.

pairing. father’s bestfriend!jeonghan x f!reader.

warnings. some crying. dirty talk. unprotected sex━ missionary. some degradation mixed with praise. possessiveness. sir kink (2). hard dom (ish)!jeonghan. angst ?? or maybe not i could be exaggerating lol. age gap.

♫ reminder, the weeknd. 

˗ˏˋ#XiMENA SAYS! not proof read, per usual. ANYWAYS!!! this felt kinda rushed & i don’t know if i like it yet && it’s 4am so i’m tired lol ´ˎ˗

“Do you enjoy disrespecting me, YN?” 

Jeonghan was highly upset━ fuck that, he was enraged. The tips of his ears tinted a cherry red, nostrils flared, veined hand tightly wrapped around your throat whilst his lips were slightly parted - his warm breath fanning against your face. 

He had you placed on your knees in front of him ━  rough material of the woven floor covering underneath bruising your skin. 

He looked so fucking scary and honestly you should’ve felt intimidated or frightened, but it would be a complete lie if you said you were. Though he looked daunting, he also looked so, so good. Strands of his black hair partially covering his eyes, the light weighted gold jewelry delicately dangling from his neck, the head of his tongue prodding at his inner cheek━  God, you should not feel this turned on right now. 

“I asked you a fucking question, slut,” His lips were so close to yours, you almost thought he was going to kiss you. Oh how painfully wrong you were. “You enjoy sneaking behind my back and having boys fuck that dirty pussy of yours?”

No matter how it may sound, Jeonghan doesn’t get jealous. Or that’s what he tells himself, at least. 

You shake your head, jutting out your bottom lip, “No, Sir.” 

He chuckles, so dryly and humorlessly, an unamused look taking over his handsome features, “No?” His unoccupied hand reaches down to your panty clad pussy before his fingers sneak under the soaked fabric. He then scoffs in what sounds like disbelief, “What a messy little cunt,” Licking his lips, he begins to toy with your clit while looking into your eyes with a glint in his, “Can’t believe you let some little ameteur frat boy stick his dick in my pussy.”

Jeonghan clicks his tongue, tilting his head to the side, “Did he fuck you nice and good, at least? Did he hit that spot that has you arching and begging for more? Hm? I guess not since you’re here on your knees grinding onto my fingers like a little bitch in heat.”

At this point, you’re a complete mess and Jeonghan hasn’t even done anything yet. He seems to have that effect on you.

“Please, Hannie . . . I’m sorry.” 

Jeonghan lifts a eyebrow, “Hannie?” Shaking his head as he continues to speak again, “That shit isn’t going to work on me, YN. Not tonight. So save all that whining and pouting ‘cause it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

There was no doubt in your mind that Jeonghan was going to go anything but easy on you tonight. You deserved everything he had coming your way.

When Jeonghan was mad, he could get mean. Very, very mean. Eye watering and lip trembling mean. And rough. Not too rough, though. 

As soon as he entered his spacious room, with you tailing along, of course, he simply turned his body around and gripped your waist - instantly pressing your bare back to closest wall, causing to softly wince at the coldness. For a split second it looks like Jeonghan’s eyes hold softness before they’re switched back to his dark gaze. “Should I fuck you up against this wall?”

The question was rhetorical. He didn’t expect you to answer though even if you did it would fall on deaf ears. 

His lips attach themselves to your collarbone, “Leave your legs a wobbly little mess while you’re gripping onto my shoulders for balance as I pound your cunt? It’s not like whores including yourself deserve to be properly fucked on a bed.”

“I-I’m not a whore.” You mumbled, coming out more brattier than you intended for it too. Immediately causing Jeonghan’s attentive ears to perk up in response.

He scoffs and removes his lips, peering at you with irritation, “Shut the fuck up. You are a whore and a nasty one at that. Getting fucked hours prior by some douche and now you’re here wanting to get fucked by your father’s best friend,” He shakes his head in disbelief, “It was silly of me to think that you were my good girl.”

It’s sad and embarrassing that out of everything Jeonghan had said, his last sentence is what caused your heart to clench. Jeonghan always referred to you as his good girl.

The day when you had your legs spread for him diligently as he brutally and animalistically lapped at your sopping pussy, after you came prettily on his tongue, he kissed up your soft, silky skin whilst whispering “my good girl.”

Or, the day you came home excitedly because you got the highest test score in your class and instead of squealing about it to your father, you found Jeonghan in your kitchen and decided to tell him about it in lieu. He was so, so proud of you and took you out shopping, fucking you in the backseat of his car after the long spree. The sounds of skin clapping was loud but not louder than Jeonghan’s praises as he was constantly telling you how much of a smart girl you were and how you were also his good girl. 

Jeonghan, noticing your long silence, brings a hand up to grip your chin, “Are you my good girl, YN?”

“Yes,” You nod slowly, “I’m your good girl, Hannie.”

A sigh flies from his divided mouth before he, finally, presses a kiss to your lips. One, soft singular kiss. It was so quick and unexpected. 

His hand releases your chin and comes up to cup your cheek, stroking the flesh tenderly, “I know, baby. But you’re also my little slut and I’m gonna fuck you like one.” 

Without saying anything else, Jeonghan guided you over to his bed, pushing your body down onto the mattress. He wastes no time as he’s unbuckling his belt, not breaking eye contact with you for a split second, after he’s finished, he pulling his boxers down and grabbing your ankles to pull you to the end of the bed. 

“You think you need my fingers to stretch you out a bit first?” His tongue pokes out teasingly.

“No! Please fuck me, Sir, please. . .” 

Jeonghan laughs, “You like calling me Sir, huh? You like me having authority over you?” He takes his painfully hard cock into the palm of his hand, giving it a few strokes before guiding it over to your pussy, tapping the reddened head on your puffy clit. “Can I slide in, angel?” 

“Yes, please,” You whine out, back arching off the mattress, “Want you━  Need you so, so bad.” You sounded so desperate, but honestly you couldn’t find yourself to care. You needed Jeonghan. You always needed Jeonghan. Truthfully, Jeonghan was one of a kind and it was extremely idiotic to believe that someone could even come close to him. 

“Of course you do. Needy little thing,” He tsks, shortly letting out a throaty groan afterwards once sliding into your fluttering hole. “Fuck,” His head drops, sweaty strands of hair dangling in front of your face. 

“Pretty fucking pussy,” He punctuates each word with a particularly hard thrust, “And it’s all mine, right?”

You heard him ask the question, but he was fucking you so hard, you really couldn’t find a voice inside yourself to answer. Which, of course, was not going to slide with Jeonghan. 

His hand comes to your neck for the second time tonight, the cold rings on his fingers contrasting with your warm skin, “I asked you a question. Don’t tell you’re that fucked out? I barely even started, YN. Fucking ridiculous,” Annoyance was laced in his gruff tone, “Don’t worry - you don’t even need to answer. You hear how loudly you’re squelching for me, baby? I bet she doesn’t do this for anyone else. This is all the proof I need.”

He was right. So right. 

Your hands sneak underneath his arms, placing your hands on his sides and pulled him closer to you, “Love your cock - Love you, I’m sorry . . .” 

You were a blubbering mess. The pleasure was so overwhelming, though so euphoric. You couldn’t think and could hardly speak properly. Tears began to prick your eyes, vision blurring. He was the only one who could do this to you. 

“You shouldn’t say things you don’t mean,” He places a kiss to your forehead, hooking a hand under your knee and pressing it to your breast - giving him better access to reach deep inside you. He was basically balls deep. “But I love you too, angel. My pretty girl.” 

The way your cunt was clenching down on Jeonghan so greedily was enough to make a sane man go mad. And Jeonghan could admit, he was a sane man who was about to go absolutely mad if he was in your pussy any longer.

“Ah!” You cry out when you feel Jeonghan’s scheming fingers toy with your sensitive clit. “Gonna - Gonna come, Hannie!”

Jeonghan’s pace instantly quickens. At first, before his cock was even near your cunt, he had it stored in his mind that he wasn’t going to let you orgasm. He was going to fuck you, though, nice and good, but as soon as you felt like you were going to come, he was going to pull out. But now that the time is here, it feels criminal to stop. And besides, you looked so pretty as you were going to coat his cock. Plump lips slightly parted - drool trickling out your mouth, Lashes wet from all the crying, cheeks red and flushed━  God, you were such a heavenly sight that would never get tired of. 

Jeonghan leans forward, huskily whispering in your ear, “Come for me, baby. Make a pretty mess all on my cock.”

Jeonghan’s voice never failed to push over the edge. Whether he was talking you through an orgasm or asking you something as simple as “how was your day?” 

“Jeong━  Hannie!” You were a broken record stuck on repeat. It was like the only two words you could properly say was Please or Hannie.

He lets out a breathy titter, “C’mon. Come for me.” 

You came, Jeonghan shortly following afterwards. He takes a breath. Then another one. His forehead rests on top yours, “I’m not gonna let this shit again. I said I love you and I do, baby, but if I catch you fucking somebody else who isn’t me, it won’t end well. You understand?”

“Yes, Jeonghan. I’m sorry.”

“Mhm,” He nods slowly, you can tell he has a lot more he wants to say, but he doesn’t, and you didn’t want to pry it out of him so you drop it. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

[a-lonely-dunedain]

(hi sorry yes I'm writing this trope again bc no one can stop me. I need Margim hurt/comfort like I need air ok. she's literally everything 2 me. I'm normal about them. I'm sooo normal about the traumatized berserker lady and her soft healer husband <- *lying*)

------

Blades cut, bones crack, orcs and men die screaming.

There is horror in the familiarity of it all, how readily it comes back, the sick feeling in my stomach, the deafening noise, the smell of sulfur and death, little rivers of blood before my feet, dripping from the hands of this monster they call the Executioner of the Pit. There is horror in how, almost, natural it feels to be here. How the life I built for myself in the north now feels so distant now, like a foolish dream, one that I have now awoken from and found myself back in the Pit of Thorzhaf.

At some point, I wake up from that nightmare. It does little to help. Ah, so it’s going to be one of those nights.

I sit up and rub the sleep away from my eyes with shaking hands. I shouldn’t expect to get any more of it now anyway, not when my sleeping mind has seen fit to torment me so every time I close my eyes. The house is mostly black, with only a dim trace of light emanating from the dying embers of the firepit, but I can still see clearly enough that it is my home in Lhan Tarren. I turn to see Celeair sleeping soundly in the bundle of blankets next to me, I’m relieved I did not wake him.

I can hear the rain outside, I try to find it comforting, for there was no rain in Mordor. The sound is usually a boon in quieting those memories, yet I do not think anything will drown them forever. Especially not tonight. 

I take deep, steady breaths, like Celeair told me to, but my heart still thrashes in my chest like a caged animal.

I know I am not in Mordor, I know I know I know, I am safe here, but the memory is so strong now, it drowns out all other sensations. I listen to the rain, I still hear screams. I grip the blanket with white knuckles, trying to feel its softness, but I still feel blades beneath my skin. A low rumbling of thunder becomes the uneasy murmurs of Orodruin, for a moment I can taste ash in the air, feel its heat on my skin.

This isn’t working. Unnamed and irrational terror grips my heart once again, and it will not let go so easily.

I consider waking Celeair. He could help. I want to let him hold me again. I need his soft voice and gentle hands to drive away this… this madness.

But my throat tightens and my hands tremble, my eyes burn with uncried tears. An all too familiar fear seizes my heart now. I could not speak without my voice breaking, I feel weak and pathetic. I cannot let him see me like this. I stand up, quickly and quietly as I can, and head outside. 

The rain pours down in heavy, loud sheets. The cold water shocks my skin as I walk further out. That’s good. Cold is good. It’s far away from Thorzhaf. I lift my face to the black sky and let the water wash over my face, quenching the burning in my eyes. The rain is loud, everything else seems quiet. Finally. I stand there for a long while, letting the rain be the only thing I feel, hear, and think as it soaks through my hair and clothes. I finally feel like I can breathe again.

I do not know how long it's been, but I guess I should head inside soon, although I am reluctant to leave this cold reprieve, everything I came out here to escape is all too likely to come back then. Maybe I can stay out a little longer.

I thought I heard someone say something, that’s odd-

“Margim…?” Celeair’s voice almost makes me jump, how long has he been out here? I see him standing nearby with his cloak drawn tightly around him, straining his eyes to see me in the darkness.

“Yes, I’m here,” I answer quietly, barely being heard over the rain.

“Are you alright?” A rhetorical question, for he already knows that the answer, if not an outright ‘no’, is most certainly not ‘yes’. I think that normally— and I will fully admit my point of reference for ‘normal’ is shaky at best— most people do not stand out in thunderstorms in the middle of the night when they’re having a good time. Suffice to say, I’m in no position to lie to him. But I hesitate, the worry in his eyes fills me with shame. “I… do not know,” I mutter in response.

He steps forward and gently takes my arm in his hands, “let’s go back inside,” he says softly, “I think this rain will do little good for either of us.” he takes a step back towards the door, and I wordlessly follow him back into the house. 

He wastes no time in stoking the firepit and providing it with fresh logs, and soon enough the room is lit up with an inviting orange glow. I stand nearby, half expecting an interrogation as to the reason I was seemingly trying to catch my death of cold, but Celeair asks nothing of me. Instead he just sits down in the small pile of furs near the fire, leaving plenty of room for me beside him. 

“Well, you’re not going to get very dry over there” he looks at me expectantly, but I can still detect concern in his voice. Reluctantly I sit down next to him, the heat from the fire feels soothing, and I try not to let it remind me of anything else.

“...I’m sorry,” I murmur, “I did not mean to wake you.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he says plainly, stretching out his hands to the fire to warm them “Truly, I think being awake is the least of my concerns at the moment.”

“It was only a nightmare, I did not mean to trouble you over it,” I look away from him, ashamed “I just… needed to clear my head.”

“You know, you don’t have to worry about waking me up next time, if you think it could be of any help. I wouldn’t mind.”

“I know… I wanted to but I… I don’t know why I couldn’t," the words come haltingly from me "It’s just… I felt so weak, on the brink of shattering, I couldn’t… I didn’t want you to see me like that.” my brow furrows in frustration, I make it sound like a matter of wounded pride, but that is not what I’m trying to say to him. I am not a prideful woman, I think there is little for me to be proud of. It’s just that Celeair is not a fighter, he knows not how to wield a blade nor has any desire to, so to a large extent he relies on me for protection. I don’t like letting him see me so weak. I want him to feel safe around me, like I can protect him from all harm, but how can he when I cannot even protect myself from myself? When I can be broken by a mere memory? I hate the thought of anyone seeing me in such a state, especially him.

Celeair reaches for my hand and gently holds it, his fingers slotting perfectly between my own. He says nothing, merely offering a simple gesture of comfort as he sits in thoughtful silence.

“In my line of work I see everyone at their lowest,” he says quietly after some thought, “rendered helpless by sickness or injury. I’ve tended to everyone from the common man to the mightiest of warriors, and never thought any less of them for it,” he gives my hand a gentle reassuring squeeze, “because no one is untouchable. You aren’t weak for being hurt.”

“I certainly don’t feel very strong either,” the slight tremble in my voice betrays that fact all too well.

“No one does, not when they’re in this much pain." his thumb gently bushes mine in a soothing motion, "It’s nothing to be ashamed of, especially after everything you’ve lived through.”

I just look on into the fire, not knowing what to say. I know he’s telling the truth, I know he is the last person in the world who would ever think less of me for even a display as pathetic as this, but it still feels pathetic nonetheless.

And, I do not think it’s just that… the thought of allowing myself to be so broken, openly, for someone to see -even someone I trust as much as Celeair- just feels so wrong. Terrifying, actually. Weakness and fear go hand in hand for me, where one is the other follows closely behind. If I am weak I am afraid, weakness meant death in Mordor, and it is an instinct that is not easily unlearned. I know that no harm will come to me here, but my heart never seems to believe it. 

“I am not ashamed, I’m just afraid.” I finally croak out, wishing my voice would not so readily betray the fact that I am on the brink of tears. I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to bury the sorrow welling up in my eyes. To my credit, after a few shaky breaths, I manage it.

“Is there anything I might do to help?” he asks.

I pause in thought, I don’t know if there’s anything he can do to make this go away, but… “a hug couldn’t hurt,” I reply sheepishly.

Swiftly but gently Celeair puts his arms around my waist and pulls himself close to me. I instinctively return the hug, wrapping my arms tightly around him desperate to feel his warmth.

…and forgetting that my clothes have not yet had time to dry. “Oh. Now I’ve gone and soaked you too…” I mumble apologetically.

“Oh noo, how horrible,” he says with a soft laugh, laying his head on my shoulder as he snuggles closer to me, completely undeterred by my sopping wet clothes “I suppose we’ll simply have to huddle for warmth then, nothing else to be done about it.” I cannot help but smile slightly at his words. It’s a good thing he doesn't mind, because I do not plan to let go of him anytime soon. It's hard to think about much else when I'm holding him like this.

Everything is finally quiet again.