#but for the most part i don’t think a bear would be upset at me or have reason to attack or anything

[t4tstarvingdog]

what if a bear saw you and it started coming at you WHAT DK YOU DOOOOO THATS SO SCARY

:( i would give it a little kiss

[antiquarianfics]

A Slip of the Tongue

a/n: how would y’all like an un-proofread one shot i wrote? ‘twas inspired by someone else’s story with a similar concept, but i lost it. :( anyhoo. i made you some content.

warnings: brief mention of death, otherwise none.

masterlist

—

“Me and Nina played on the swings today!” Your daughter, Ellie, tells you as you strap her into her car seat.

“Yeah? That so?” You ask. This is one of your favorite parts of your day; that is, listening to Ellie tell you about her day at school.

“Yeah! Nina is new. Her daddy got a new job and had to move them here. She speaks 2 languages!”

“Wow! That’s really cool, baby. What other language does she speak?”

“I think she said… Um. Something that started with an R.” Ellie scrunches her face up in consideration.

“Russian?” You ask, finishing buckling her in. You close the door and move around the car, getting in yourself.

“Yeah, I think,” Ellie replies.

“Did you know Bucky speaks Russian?” You ask her, sharing the tidbit about your boyfriend with your daughter.

Ellie loves Bucky, and he her. When Ellie’s father passed away, you truly never thought you would move on, and it killed you Ellie would grow up without a father. Then, you met Bucky, and he was wonderful. It was a complete meet-cute. You ran into him—literally—in a coffee shop 5 minutes away from Ellie’s school. You were in a rush, trying to get your coffee, your belongings, and your bearings to go pick up Ellie, and in your frantic fumbling, you crashed into a stranger who, rather than getting upset by being hit and drenched in a late, simply steadied you by the arms and asked if you were alright.

Bucky insisted on buying you a new coffee because “It’s my fault for being on your way, Doll. Besides, my ma’d kill me if she knew I passed up an opportunity to ask a pretty woman on a date.”

The admission took you by surprise, and Bucky later revealed it took him by surprise, too. Something about you, he said, brought out his old 40s confidence. He didn’t worry about scaring you like he would anyone else. In fact, he said, in that moment, he wasn’t the Winter Soldier, and he never was. He was just Bucky.

That day, though, you’d declined, telling him you had to pick your daughter up from school, but you quickly amended your statement to let him know you were at that very coffee shop everyday for an hour before you picked up Ellie. “So,” you had said, “if my being a single mom doesn’t scare you, you can buy me that make-up latte another time.” And, by god, Bucky Barnes was at that coffee shop then next day, waiting with your latte.

Fast forward to today, and Bucky practically lives with you and Ellie. He still has his apartment, but he spends 6 out of 7 days at your house. It’s so natural, though, you wish he’d just ditch the apartment and make it official. After all, he is an excellent roommate. He does the dishes, cleans up after himself, doesn’t hog the blankets, and—most importantly—he is fantastic with Ellie. He plays with her, he reads her bedtime stories, he cuts her food for her, and so much more. He is everything to you and Ellie.

So, when you tell Ellie that Bucky also speaks more than one language, you can’t help but grin when she rambles the rest of the car ride home about how she is going to ask him about that language he speaks—what language does Bucky speak again, Mama?—and then she is going to learn it too so she can show Nina.

Ellie’s rambling lasts all the way home, into the house, and into the living room where she drops her backpack on the ground and runs to Bucky, jumping in his lap with no warning. Bucky grunts at the impact, but he smiles fondly at the young girl.

“Hey, El,” he greets. “How was school?”

“Bucky, I made a new friend! She’s so cool. Did you know she speaks 2 languages! That’s really cool. I can only speak 1 language. Her daddy got a new job, so they came here. She’s my new best friend. I don’t remember what language she speaks, though.”

Ellie speaks a million miles a minute as she tries to fill Bucky in on her day. Bucky makes eye contact with you over her head and you merely smile and shrug, making Bucky grin.

“Russian,” you offer, as you move to sink down onto the couch next to your boyfriend and your daughter.

“Russian!” Ellie exclaims, nodding her head excitedly. “Mama said you speak Russian, Bucky. Do you speak Russian?”

“I do,” Bucky confirms, laughing at the amazed look that crosses Ellie’s face.

“Say something! Say something!” She begs.

“Yeah, Bucky, say something in Russian!” You join in on Ellie’s begging with a laugh.

“Вы двое знали, что я люблю вас? Мои красивые, глупые девочки,” Bucky says, chuckling to himself as he watches Ellie’s amazed face.

“Wow,” she says, eyes transfixed on Bucky.

You laugh. “Yeah, wow,” you confirm, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Bucky’s cheek before standing to go to the kitchen.

You make it just across the room when you stop dead in your tracks, turning to make eye contact with Bucky and attempt to gauge his reaction to Ellie’s words.

“I can’t wait to tell Nina tomorrow that my daddy speaks Russian, too,” Ellie says, lying her head on Bucky’s chest.

You and Bucky make eye contact across the room, and you hold a silent conversation.

Bucky’s eyes are widened in shock, but he raises an eyebrow at you as if to ask, “Did she just call me her daddy?”

You shrug, mouth slightly agape. Ellie has never called Bucky her daddy before, but it doesn’t surprise you. Bucky is always around, and he acts like a father figure regardless of your relationship with him. So, you say nothing, just shrug your shoulders and hope Bucky gets the message:

“I don’t know, but I’ll tell her not to if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Bucky shakes his head to let you know he doesn’t mind. Really likes it even.

Finally he speaks, “Yeah, tell her your daddy speaks Russian. I’ll even teach you some if you want.”

Ellie shoots up in Bucky’s lap, grabbing his face between her hands, and seriously begging him to follow through with his promise immediately.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She exclaims. “What did you say a minute ago?” She asks, assigning her first Russian lesson.

“Вы двое знали, что я люблю вас? Мои красивые, глупые девочки. It means, “Did you two know I love you? My beautiful, silly girls.”

[aestheticaltcow]

No Phone Policy 3.0

Baby girl Berzatto needed a metal name, and this felt like the choice, ya know?

Previous Part Next Part

The Bear Masterlist

“Hi, beautiful… oh, this is hella trippy buggies. I remember holding you for the first time, and now I’m holding my granddaughter for the first time…” your Dad laughed as he stared down at the tiny pink bundle in his arms. You smiled as you watched him pace beside your bed. “Where’s Carmy? I have a present for this little princess—I’m surprised he isn’t glued to her, or you, for that matter.” 

You grinned as you adjusted yourself in the incredibly uncomfortable hospital bed you’d been in for the past 48 hours. “He went home to grab me some stuff I forgot.” you lied, hoping he wouldn’t see through your bluff. With a narrow stare, your Dad nodded. He could tell you weren’t telling him something, but he didn’t want to upset you by pushing the topic. 

“Well, what did you two name this perfect little angel?” your Dad questioned as he handed you your daughter. You shrugged, “Haven’t decided yet… the papers are over there on the table, but we can’t decide.” 

“What were you two thinkin’? I’m team something unique and magical, especially since that lil girl was born on one of the most magical days of the year.” he smiled, putting a hand over his chest. You chuckled and adjusted the infant in your arms.

“July 23. Best day of your life.” you answered, “You know, I know the story by heart… but she hasn’t heard it yet.” the sing-song nature of your comment made your Dad lean forward in his chair. “Baby’s first Grandpa story! May I?” he asked, offering his hands to you. You laughed as you handed the baby back to him.

“I better get my daughter back, Dad,” you playfully scolded as he held her close to his chest. He shrugged and responded, “No promises. She’s my new favorite person in the world—your Ma and sisters, and the boys are a very close second, but right now—it’s all her.” 

“You hear that gorgeous? Grandpa has known you for 30 minutes, and your greatness has already superseded your Mommy’s. You’re my perfect lil angel.” he cooed. As he babbled at her, you rolled your eyes, “Tell the story, Grandpa.” 

He scoffed in your direction before turning on the story-telling voice he would use when telling your nephews' stories. “The year was 1986. Your Grandpa was traveling with one of the greatest bands mankind will ever know, Van Halen. Metallica is also a pretty fuckin’ awesome choice for music- don’t let your Daddy ruin your taste in music, princess. You will be my little metalhead.” 

“Dad.” you scolded. He shot you an exasperated look, “He’s not even here bonding with his daughter. I’m GOING to shit on his shitty taste in music.” he challenged. He noticed your subtle wince when he brought up Carmy for a second time. Something was going on, but he didn’t dare bring it up, “Ok, ok, I’ll stop shittin’ on Carmy. Back to baby’s first Grandpa story.” he chuckled, leaning back in his chair and adjusting the baby in his arms. 

“Grandpa was in St. Louis. I’d followed Van Halen for 12 weeks across the continental United States. I was broke as shit, hungry as hell, and I STANK. I’m at the truck stop right- there’s this little diner called Olivette. I ordered the cheapest breakfast I could, and at the end of my meal- this GORGEOUS waitress brought me a piece of gooey butter cake- a Missouri delicacy, in time you’ll have your fair share, princess.” he assured the gurgling bundle in his arms, “The waitress goes, ‘it’s on the house sugar’ in this cute ass little twang and I about died. That was your Grandma Dottie.” 

You smiled as he continued the story. He went in to explain how he’d worked up the courage to ask her if she was going to the Van Halen show that night, and when she said ‘yes,’ he knew she was the one. You laughed as he explained that his mutual love of music had brought him an amazing life. 

“I met Dottie on July 23, 1986, so the fact you were born on July 23, 2024, is a sign. I think I can convince your Mommy to give you a metal ass name. Auntie Pamala was named after Panama- the best Van Halen song. Your Mommy’s middle name is Olivette because that’s where I met your Grandma. Then Auntie Mars is Mars because Grandma wouldn’t let me name her after Lars Ulrich, but Mars was acceptable.” you laughed as your Dad explained the Y/L/N family lure. “Your Auntie Pam is my favorite, though- she named her boys after Eddie and Alex Van Halen.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I love you, Daddy, but I’m not naming my daughter after Van Halen or Metalica.” He scoffed in response. What about Pantera or Megadeath? I’m just sayin’ with a last name like Bearzatto. She needs a metal-ass name.” 

You laughed as you collected your daughter back from him, “Okay, buggies, I love you, and I’m really proud of you. Not just for procreating but for everything you’ve done. Your Ma would be real proud, too.” 

~

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a name yet?” your sister Pam laughed as she cradled your daughter in her arms. You shrugged, “We just can’t decide.” 

“Didn’t he insist on some Van Halen reference?” Mason, Pam’s husband, laughed as he entered the room with a brown paper bag. You shook your head, “He gave her three band onesies, but I think I got out of the Van Halen references.” 

Mason shook his head as he placed the bag on the end of your bed, “I wasn’t sure what you’d be cravin’, but I figured a sub and chips was a safe bet.” he grinned. “Thanks, Mason.”

“What about Jade Van? Dad would freak over the reference.” your baby sister Mars laughed as she put her head on your shoulder, and she snuggled closer to you, craning her neck to get a better look at your still-unnamed daughter. You shook your head, “I don’t know how Carmy would feel about that one.”

“Bitch. He isn’t even here. Name her whatever the fuck you want.” she said with an overly dramatic eye roll. Mars was the only one who knew about the issues you and Carmy had been going through, but you couldn’t stomach telling her that Carmy missed the birth. 

“How about Blade? Blade Berzatto—fuckin’ metal, right?” you joked, trying to brush Carmy out of your mind. Mars erupted into laughter,, which startled the baby in your arms. You cradled the baby and nudged Mars to shut up. “I love it. But let’s go more norm-core,” Mars said as she ran her thumb against the baby’s chubby cheek.

~

“Are you an Erin? Jasper? Kali? Luna?” you listed off baby names as you did skin-to-skin after the baby’s afternoon feeding. You were finally done with visitors for the day, and you’d turned your phone off to avoid dealing with Carmy. You’d inevitably have to talk to him at one point, but having at least one more day of peace was a priority right now. You didn’t know where he was or what he was doing, but it was a safe assumption that he was probably working himself to the bone at The Bear. The Bear… Bear… “Wolf.” the name came to you. “Wolf Berzatto… Daddy goes by Bear. We were calling cub while I was pregnant… you don’t call baby wolves cubs, but I like it. You do need a middle name, though. I know Daddy liked the name Bonnie.” you rattled off before leaning over to kiss the baby’s hat-covered head. 

“What if you hate the name Wolf? I mean, you could go by your middle name or a nickname… Daddy’s name is Carmen, but he goes by Carmy. Okay, Wolf Bonnie Berzatto. I like it, and if Daddy doesn’t, he can suck my dick. Am I swearing too much around you? I feel like I am.” you laughed, “Okay… also, you’re only getting your Daddy’s last name because I changed my last name when I married him.” 

“Wolf… that’s quite a name,” Natalie awkwardly complimented, trying not to pass too much judgment on her niece. She can go by Bonnie if she hates it.” You defended your name choice for the hundredth time in the short eight hours since announcing her name to your family group chat. Turning your phone back on had been anxiety-inducing. Carmy had left you hundreds of texts and voicemails begging to be allowed in the hospital room and apologizing for anything and everything he could think of. It was endearing, but you were still pissed off. 

“Does Carmy know about the name choice?” Natalie carefully prodded as she watched you shove stuff into your bag. You shook your head, “I haven’t talked to him yet.” 

Natalie knew you hadn’t talked to him and knew about you barring him from the hospital. He came back to the restaurant. Natalie had seen Carmy upset in the past, but this was a different kind of upset. He went off on Richie about the ‘no phone policy’ he’d enforced on all staff. Carmy was never a fighter, but Marcus and Sweeps had to hold him back after Carmy had punched Richie in the side of the head.  Richie, visibly disorientated, screamed a ‘what the fuck’ alerting the kitchen staff of the fight going on in the thankfully empty front of house. It took a while for Carmy to calm down enough to tell anyone what had happened. Richie apologized but said Carmy missed the birth, which wasn’t his fault. It was Carmy’s fault. Richie went off about Carmy knowing your due date and how he should’ve planned better and asked for an exception to the rule. 

Natalie sighed, remembering how that comment had riled Carmy up again. She drove him home while he called you repeatedly, getting progressively more upset each time his call went to voicemail. “She can’t do this to me, Sugar- I know I fucked up, but-but she can’t-” Carmy stopped midsentence and began rocking himself forward and backward in his seat. “Carmy, wh-wh-what can I do? How can I help you?” Natalie begged as she parked in the driveway of the house you two owned. “Do you have a fuckin’ time machine so I can go back and not miss the birth of my fuckin’ daughter!” he screamed, making Natalie freeze in her seat.

Natalie stayed with Carmy the entire time you were in the hospital. He was a mess. He flipped between extreme rage and full-blown panic. He ranted about how you were going to leave him and prevent him from seeing his daughter. He cried so hard he threw up multiple times. He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t eating. Natalie had never seen her brother like this before and was at a loss for what to do. 

When you called her to come pick you and the baby up from the hospital, she didn’t know what to say. You’d asked her not to tell or bring Carmy, which she understood, but it still conflicted her. You hadn’t filled her in on Carmy’s minimal involvement with your pregnancy the past weeks, but Natalie could put two and two together. After enlisting the help of Syd and Richie, Natalie felt as if she could leave Carmy and come pick you up. 

“Are you okay, Nat?” you questioned as you strapped Wolf into her car seat. It’s nothin’. I just feel really guilty that I’m meeting my niece before Carmy had the chance to…” Natalie explained as she crossed her arms over her stomach. You knew Natalie had a point. You felt that same guilt. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with your husband and daughter. 

You sighed, “Well, I guess I have to talk to Carmy at one point, so let’s go.”

[princessvelaryon]

I’ll Wait For You, and I’ll Burn - Preview

Cregan Stark x Fem!Reader (Jace’s sister)

Synopsis: You are at attempting to enjoy your engagement party to Gwayne Hightower, your boyfriend of 6 months. Half of the guests are shocked to see the arrival of your brother’s best friend and most importantly, your ex, Cregan Stark. Although nervous to see him after your break-up two years ago, you cannot resist him when he asks to steal a dance and to talk to you, for one last time.

Themes: Angst, fluff, smut, flashbacks, non-linear story, childhood friends to lovers, childhood sweethearts, high school sweethearts, break-ups, ex’s, slight family drama

*************************************************

“You’ve never been a big drinker, Love. You never were able to hold your liquor well. You couldn’t help but smile at the memories of you, Cregan and your friends all sneaking liquor in high school. Cregan, being a Stark, always had the highest tolerance. You tried to keep up with him but every time, it would end up with Cregan carrying you home bridal style in his strong arms.

“Matter of fact, you never drink this much unless you’re nervous or upset. Or a bit of both.” He leaned a little closer to you to whisper, “You know how I know? Because you were never nervous around me. Expect maybe the first time we—“

“Cregan…” You warned halfheartedly. Part of you, the part you were trying do desperately to ignore, was wishing for him to continue his sweet sentiments. “Besides my low tolerance, you know exactly why I don’t drink a lot.”

The smile dropped from his face and his grey eyes swirled with sympathy and regret. “I know…and I’m sorry.”

You looked away from his piercing eyes, at a loss for words yet again. The silence was uncomfortable and you were hit with a wave of nostalgia for a time when you could simply exist with Cregan in periods of comfortable silence, completely at peace with one another’s presence.”

*****************************************

“What do you think your fiancée would do if I kissed you right now?”

You tried to fight your smile but it appeared on your face for a split second before you got a hold of yourself and put your stone mask back on. Cregan still caught it, of course. He always noticed every little detail about you. He still knew you better than anyone, better than you knew yourself.

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m a married woman.”

He looked down at you with a soft smile on his face and mischief sparkling in those grey eyes you still could drown in like the sea after a storm.

“Not yet.”

You lifted your hand from his shoulder to hold it right in front of his eyeline. The warm lights in the room hit the large diamond just right, causing it to sparkle, making it impossible to ignore.

Cregan narrowed his eyes at your ring, all signs of mirth disappearing from them entirely. He took your hand to pull it closer to his face, examining the diamond. You tried to ignore your heart skipping a beat at his large fingers tenderly holding your finger, as he had done many times in the past. “Since when do you like pear shaped diamonds?”

You looked down, unable to bear his eyes boring into yours any longer. “I don’t. Gwayne does.”

Cregan scoffed. “I bet he does.” You looked back up at him only to be met with another smirk.

“What?” You couldn’t help the irritation burning in your chest, about to bubble over.

“Youre marrying a man who doesnt rven know what kind of jewelry you like? That’s very amateur hour of him love. That is practically romance 101. I learned what kind of jewelry you liked by the time i was 16 years old. Don’t you remember? I bought you that promise ring with your house colors for your birthday.”

You could feel the familiar feel of tears beginning to sting the back of your eyes. “Of course I remember.”

“Do you know why i picked that ring out for you? Because i listened to what you said. You found rhat ring at the mall and its all you could talk about for weeks. I cant imagine you chose your engagement ring with less thought.”

You try to stuff down the nosgalgia at the memory of the best birthday you have ever had. You tried to remain strong but you were faltering. Cregan could tell. He could always read you better than you could read yourself.

“Your point is?”

“He doesn’t listen to you”

“Oh and you did?”

Any hint of mischief was gone from his face, replaced with a serious expression.

“I let you pick out your own engagement ring. I had it custom made for you, exactly the way you wanted it. I’m surprised your Southern man couldn’t extend the same chivalric courtesy for his future wife. The ring she is supposed to wear until her dying day.”

“Not everyone has your Northern honor, Cregan.”

“You do”

“I’m not a Northerner anymore. Old Town is my home now. It’s been my home for the past two years now.”

Melanchony returned to those grey eyes you love so much. “You remember those birds we always used to compare ourselves to? The greylag geese?”

Melanchony returned to those grey eyes you love so much. “You remember those birds we always used to be obsessed with when we were children? When we got older, we would compare ourselves to them? The greylag geese?”

You knew exactly where he was going with this. “You know I remember.”

He continued, “If you kill a grown one hunting, you must wait for its mate to return to mercy kill them. Otherwise, they will grieve themselves to death.”

He joined your hands together as he had done countless times before.

“We are mated for life, you and I.”

*************************************************

Author’s Note: So this is a snippet of a much longer fic I’m planning on posting later this week, I just have to organize all my jumbled ideas, smooth out the dialogue and of course, figure out the family situation because of all the damn inbreeding. This is a modern story and I want to include all our favorite characters but since every Targaryen and Velaryon is a double cousin, I have to figure some things out. Like I need to find a way to incorporate dad Harwin and stepdad Daemon while also having Jace x Baela and Luke x Rhaena. I have to make a damn chart to make sure I don’t make anyone accidentally related.

Trust me, this is not my best writing for the fic but it is the snippet of writing with the least amount of spoilers in it so I wanted to post it for my Jace & Cregan girls and to see if people want to see more because I’m doubting myself. The way I write, I picture it like a movie in my head but the problem is that I need my writing to match what I see in my head and there is a bit of a disconnect sometimes.

I saw @benjinotes and @eldrith talk earlier about how they wanted Jace/Cregan/Benji chasing after their ex so it motivated me to finally work on this again.

HUGE thank you to @cregansdingdong for reading this for me the other day and encouraging me.

I also promised this fic to @cregansfourthwife. I couldn’t have done this without @entitled-fangirl and @jacaerysgf

I promise I’ll tag all the other Cregan and Jace wives when I post the full thing!

The fic was originally supposed to be a Benjicot x Reader because if anyone would crash their ex’s engagement party or wedding, it would be Benjicot. I even thought about it being Jace but I landed on Cregan and I think you guys will see why when I post the full story. I hope I didn’t write Cregan OOC because I’m used to writing for Jace. I think I might write different version of this story for Jace and Benjicot as well.

The full fill will be a very long one-shot, probably around 15K words, and it will be a non-linear story with a few flashbacks and a lot of memories and nostalgia. Fluff, smut and a whole lot of angst.

I will list more themes and warnings in the full fic but they would be a bit of a spoiler for the snippet.

Inspired by the songs: Lover, You Should’ve Come Over - Jeff Buckey, I’ll Be There - Jackson 5, These Eyes - The Guess Who, Down By The Water - The Drums

Inspired by the films & shows: Kill Bill, The Notebook, Sweet Home Alabama, Outlander, The Vamprie Diaries, Gilmore Girls

[behindthesoul]

MK Men As Parents

Thanks to @mortal-kombat-shitposts and Tommy from the Discord server for giving me this idea <3

Characters: Liu Kang, Syzoth, Shang Tsung, Bi-Han

Note: gender neutral, mentions of periods in Syzoth’s part, not proofread

Masterlist

Liu Kang

Chill parent.

He makes time for his kid whenever he can, but he’s busy with being the defender of Earthrealm. I can see his kid mostly being raised by the monks at the Wu Shi Academy.

He trains his kid to the best of his ability, not wanting them to be defenseless in case of an emergency.

I don’t think they would go to Outworld much. Sindel wouldn’t even know Liu had a kid til they’re older.

Liu is very wise and gives the best advice. He’s there to calm his kid down should they ever get angry or upset. He expects his child to be truthful and always come to him if something’s wrong.

I can imagine his kid learning of his god status pretty early on, but not knowing of his past role as Keeper of Time until he’s forced to reveal it. Depending on their personality, this could cause some tension between them.

Syzoth

Assuming Syzoth’s child also has his ability to take a human form, he would drill it into their head that they are not a freak. Their human and Zaterran form are both beautiful to him.

Parenting is a unique challenge for Syzoth. While he easily handles the Zaterran aspects of raising a child, he finds it more challenging to comprehend human things such as periods, puberty, and tantrums.

Syzoth finds himself missing his family more and more each day. He feels bad his child won’t have much family to grow up around. I think because of this, Syzoth is a bit protective. He’s already lost so much, he can’t bear to lose the best thing in his life.

He’s nowhere near overbearing, but there are moments where he watches his kid like a hawk.

Shang Tsung

I can imagine Shang being a single parent, doing his best to raise a child in his shack. He spends most of the day out in towns, selling his fake cures. He trusts his child to be able to take care of themselves while he’s gone.

He’s a devoted father doing all he can to keep his child happy. He wants them to be smart, frequently having them reading above age-level and doing math problems most kids their age can’t comprehend.

Once Shang’s benefactor gives him his big break? Shang spoils the shit out of his child. Giving them the life they’ve always deserved. These are the days Shang’s child sees him smile the most. Gone are the days of tirelessly selling fraudulent medicine. It’s time to live lavish!

Bi-Han

Not the most emotionally available parent.

He’s not the type to show any emotion that isn’t anger, and he doesn’t know how to deal with others’ feelings. He tries his best, but he may not react to every situation the way his child needs him to.

He’s a strict father; a product of being the grandmaster of the Lin Kuei. His child has a lot of eyes on them, so they will be ruthlessly trained to be the best of the best.

He is a father first before he is a grandmaster. But, if he feels the need to put his foot down, his child will hear “obey your Grandmaster!”

He’ll never admit to it, but Bi-Han does spoil his child. Not as much as other characters would, though.

His strictness will only work for so long! If his child catches him on a good day, he may or may not let them skip training by feigning illness. If someone brings it up he’ll just say, “my child shows great dedication to the Lin Kuei. They have not missed a day of training.”

[kujousgf]

BITE THE HAND THAT FEEDS. mdni. 18+.

pairings: dark ! natasha romanoff + f ! reader

summary: natasha has always liked to hunt, and it's even better when her prey is a pretty girl

warnings: violence, abuse, bear trap, injury, established kidnapping/established relationship, almost outdoor sex, public indecency, hair pulling, impact play, groping, guns, daddy kink

wc: 3.2k~

“Natasha, please.” You whimper, grabbing at her wrist to try and ease some of the strain on your hair as she drags you out of the house and through the yard. “Stop, I don’t want to do this.” Tears are rolling down your cheeks now from the pain in your scalp and your face from the previous punches Natasha threw your way. 

“Really? Could’ve fuckin’ fooled me.” Natasha growls, tugging harder and making you trip over your own feet before she hauls you up, only to push you to the ground afterwards, glaring at your shaking form on the ground. 

This was your fault, you shouldn’t have tried to run. It was stupid, you know that now. You just wished you had more freedom, that’s all. 

You were naked save for the panties and bra she allowed you to keep on, having forced you to strip about ten minutes prior. Your body trembled in the chilly autumn air of whatever part of Russia Natasha inhabited, one of the Oblasts you think, it was the most likely, but you weren’t sure. She didn’t like to keep you conscious while she was traveling, so you were never quite sure where you were. But you know you’ve been in this specific place for a while now, at her out of place house, in the middle of nowhere, in the Russian wilderness. 

You startle when you hear a knife make a soft thud on the grass next to you and you look up at Natasha, sniffling and trying to wipe your tears away. You know she doesn’t like it when you cry over nothing like this. “Tasha, I’m sorry, I promise. Please, I’ll be good, I don’t want to do this again.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you try to keep your voice even, but it trembles and you know Natasha heard. 

“Don’t ‘Tasha’ me.” She scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Pick up the knife. Get up.” And when you don’t make any moves to get up, still hoping she’ll change her mind, she lands a harsh kick to your thigh and you whimper. “Now! Don’t make me say it again.”

You squeak involuntarily, tears starting to spill down your cheeks again. You don’t like when Natasha yells at you, even more than you don’t like when she hits you like this and treats you like a ragdoll. ‘If you don’t like it, then don’t do anything to deserve it’ you can hear her voice in the back of your head. You shouldn’t have done anything to upset her. Everything that happens from now on is your fault, you know that, but still, you can’t help but wish Natasha would be just a little nicer. 

You grab the hunting knife with a shaky hand, gripping the handle and starting to stand up. “You want to be a good girl?” She asks and you nod hesitantly, you know where this is going. “Then you can be a good girl by getting out of my sight. You wanted so badly to leave this morning, so go on then.”

“But Tasha, I’m not– I’m–”

“What the fuck did I just say? Go!”

The loudness of her voice is enough to have your body moving before your brain even registers what she said, scrambling away like a scared animal. You’ve always hated when Natasha got like this, you don’t like this game. You’ve never played it like this, but it’s never been fun either way.

The game is really quite simple, Natasha is the predator and you are her prey. She gives you five minutes to run– ten minutes if she’s feeling particularly nice, before she comes after you. The knife is because she’s not that cruel, she doesn’t want some wild animal to be the reason you die. You are in the Russian wilderness, afterall. All of the previous times she’s done this you’ve been fully clothed, though, and you wish she had let you keep your clothes on this time, too.

She must have been feeling particularly mean to make you do this in the current weather. It’s not horribly windy, but the air is not still either, and the wind that blows past is bitter and cold. You think the time on the clock read 4:26pm when Natasha dragged you through the living room, which meant you had about two hours before the sun would set. 

Natasha had never really let you outside late enough for the sun to set, and you weren’t entirely sure you wanted your first time out past sunset to be in the forest, but you also didn’t know what exactly she would do when she found you. Natasha was unpredictable. Some days she was soft and gentle, like she was when you first got together, and other days she was mean and cold, treating you as if you were nothing but a burden she had to drag around with her. You knew she didn’t mean it, though. If that’s what she really thought then she would have dropped you off in the middle of nowhere months ago, maybe even left you years ago, and drove off without so much as a look back. 

Your feet are sore as you run across the ground, rocks and dirt sticking to your bare feet, twigs scattered everywhere, some sharp and some not, digging into your flesh harshly. You know you’ll be cleaning cuts when you get back to the house, but you try not to focus on the pain so you can focus on where you’re going instead. You know that the closest village is about 15 miles away, an impossible distance even when you’re running your fastest.

It would take around two hours to get there and Natasha would never let that happen anyway, the longest she’d ever taken in her little hunt was 45 minutes because you’d somehow managed to climb a tree. You never did that again after how terrifying it was to have her climb up after you and practically throw you down from it. 

You could never go into the village in your state of undress anyway, something Natasha was counting on. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been running for when you stop to catch your breath, if it’s been less than or more than ten minutes– the maximum amount of time Natasha would have given you to get a headstart. Not that it really mattered, the outcome would be the same no matter how long you’d been running. That, at least, was predictable. 

You hear a gunshot in the distance and you bolt. You didn’t know she had that with her, you didn’t see it before back at the cabin. She’d never used it on you, only to scare you, but that doesn’t mean today won’t be the day that changes. She did seem rather volatile today. You look behind you and you can’t see her anywhere, not even a glimpse of her red hair. 

Is she using her gun to signal that it's been five minutes? Ten minutes? That would be new. But what else would she possibly be wasting a bullet for? …Is there someone else out here? No, there couldn’t be, there’s never been before. Who would have found their way all the way out here? You don’t even know where here is, so why would anyone who isn’t Natasha know where you are?

And if there is someone else out here, was that Natasha’s gun firing or theirs? Your heart is beating faster now, moreso out of genuine fear rather than nervousness like before. Sure, Natasha could be scary, but she’d never evoked this kind of fear out of you before. You’re conflicted now. Should you keep running or should you go back to see if Natasha is okay? You have a knife, surely you could help? But what good is a knife against a gun?

Your mind is going so fast you can barely keep up. You hadn’t felt this anxious since you thought Natasha was going to die in the hands of Ultron all those years ago. 

Your feet are moving on their own and with your constant glances behind, you aren’t paying any attention to where you’re running. You even climbed… something, but you weren’t paying enough attention even to that. Usually, you’d be more vigilant, you know that Natasha likes to set traps sometimes, keep you nervous about what’s out there and give you a reason not to try and escape.

But you’re not paying any attention to the ground below you as you run, too focused on the gun shot you had heard that you don’t see the trap in front of you. You had never been up here anyway, you never would have known about it. You barely even feel yourself stepping on the pan in the middle until the two steel jaws clamp around your ankle and you let out a blood curdling scream. 

Bear traps aren’t supposed to hurt like this, they’re not supposed to be this sharp. Natasha was just cruel.

You instantly drop to the ground, on your knees first and then sitting as you uselessly try to pry the trap off of your leg. Your hands are trembling and covered in blood as you cry. Just the sight of all your blood is almost enough to make you pass out. You hiccup on your own sobs, trying to figure out how you could possibly get this trap off. You wish Natasha were here. 

Natasha grunts as she pulls herself up onto the top of a rock face. How you had strayed so far from your usual path, she had no idea. Well, she had a little bit of an idea. She did fire her gun just to make you jump. She can tell you’d been here, though, if the fresh blood on the sharp rock was any indication. Her poor baby, you must have cut yourself, why didn’t you just choose another direction?

Once she’s on her feet again, she looks around for any other signs of you. The grass is flattened to the east and she narrows her eyes as she looks further in that direction. She knows that climbing must have slowed you down a lot, and if she knows her girl, then the pain from whatever cuts you have will have you whining and complaining to yourself the whole time. If she listens close enough, she’d probably just be able to hear you, so she walks in the direction of the flattened grass. 

She pauses for a second and then crouches down to get a closer look at the ground. Yes, you were running away from the rock face, not towards it. And it looks like you have a few cuts on the bottom of your feet if the dark maroon stains on some of the blades of grass meant anything. Natasha supposes she could have been a little less cruel and given you shoes, but it’s a little too late for that now. 

She stands again and begins walking further, she’s not running, no longer worried about how far ahead you may have gotten. You’d be tired by now even without any injuries, and Natasha was much faster than you even on your best days, it didn’t matter if she ran or walked now. She was in the home stretch.

She looks down at the watch on her wrist and hums. It had been 20 minutes since she’d set you free, and that was more than enough time for her to simmer down at least a little bit and for you to trap yourself in your thoughts of her being mad at you. Ones that would have you pleading at her feet, she’s sure, begging her to forgive you more than you were before. 

And she has simmered down, realized that perhaps her reaction to the fear of you wanting to leave her wasn’t quite appropriate. But really, when were any of her reactions appropriate? This was an okay approach, she reasons, making you realize you never wanted to be without her.

And then she hears it. A scream in the distance. 

Natasha’s fingers twitch and she wonders if she should fire another blank or not. She slows her breathing and does her best to create minimal noise as she walks towards the source of the sound. She knows it’s you, but she doesn’t know what has you screaming like that. If it’s an animal, she can sneak up and kill it before it hurts you. And if it’s not, well, she might be in for a little treat. 

She’s not disappointed when she sees you sitting down and leaning against a tree, sniffling as you look down at your leg. Your very bloody leg, actually. And then Natasha’s eyes focus properly and she sees the trap clamped tightly around your leg, the teeth from the jaws sunk into your flesh. Poor thing, you’ll never see her coming. Unless…

She considers having a little mercy, but once she knows she’s close enough to be in your eye sight and for you to panic, she reaches into her back pocket for her gun and fires it into the air. 

She watches as you practically jump out of your skin, and a pained whimper slips past your lips, looking around with wide eyes until you spot her. You’re like a deer caught in headlights and you know there’s nothing you can do now, you can’t run and even if you tried, you wouldn’t get very far, the trap is chained somewhere to a chain fence stake somewhere in the ground. 

Natasha stalks towards you, eyes hungry as she takes in the sight in front of her. “Run into a little trouble, did you?” She grins, wolf-like, and crouches in front of you. “This looks like it hurts, baby. You poor thing.” And you know she’s going to do something bad when she reaches out, but you don’t expect her to start poking and prodding at the injury. 

You whimper and your fists clench at your sides, “T–Tasha, please.” Your teeth clench, “Stop… Yes, it hurts, ah!”

She chuckles and grants you a little mercy. She presses down on the springs on both sides, using her strength to open the jaws, “Move your leg.” She instructs when your leg is finally free of the metal, the dislodging causing a pained whine to escape your lips. When all you do is sniffle and look at her she sighs, “Now or I will let it go and we both know you don’t want that.”

Hesitantly, you move your leg out of the trap, wincing when you feel a jolt of pain shoot up your leg. Natasha lets go and the trap snaps shut before she picks it up and tosses it somewhere behind her, you hear it hit the ground with a dull thud. “There. Aren't things always better when you listen to me?”

She takes a second to properly examine the injury you’ve sustained. The wounds aren’t too deep and they’ll definitely need some cleaning and they’ll take time to heal, but that is something she’ll worry about later. For now…

“You didn’t lose my good hunting knife, did you?” she tilts her head to the side and you shrink a little under her gaze. “W– Well, I didn’t really lose it, I promise, b– but I didn’t have anywhere to put it and I needed my hands and–”

Natasha cuts you off with a kiss and your eyes widen in surprise. You thought she’d be mad at you, not kissing you, but maybe this means you’re forgiven. “Don’t care, I’ll find it later. Seeing you like this… We might have to do this more often.” Her hands roughly grope at your breasts and you whine before she rips your bra off of you entirely, it’s times like this where you’re reminded of just how strong she actually is.

You want to cry at her words, yell and tell her you don’t want to do this again, you don’t like this. Tears well up in your eyes at just the thought of having to do this again, especially in a state of undress like this and you wish you could tell her to stop, that you don’t want this anymore, you can’t take it, but you know you can’t. After all, what would you do without her? Even if being with her means you get hurt like this sometimes, you don’t think you could really ever live without her. You just wish she’d go back to being sweet Natasha all the time.

Natasha interrupts your thoughts with another kiss, this one a little more hungry and insistent. You wish she would at least take you back to the house, but it seems that she wants you now and she’s unwilling to wait. You could try to convince her to at least tend to your injury first, but you doubt that she would listen. 

“Tash–” You start and she moves to start kissing at your neck because of the interruption, “Tasha, please, let’s go home first. I’m filthy, don’t you want to clean up first?” 

She groans as she pulls away from your neck, taking the time to examine you properly. Her heart skips and she growls, the sight of you like this excites her, even if you’re covered in dirt and blood. “No, you want to go home and clean up first, but I don’t remember asking.” And that’s all you get before she’s back to kissing and biting at your neck. 

One of her hands moves down to toy with the waistband of your panties as the other gropes at your chest. You let your head fall back against the tree and you wish you could focus more on Natasha, she always makes you feel so good and it’s not like you’ve never let her fuck you while injured before, but your leg is throbbing and the whimper that falls from your lips is more from pain than pleasure.

You push at her shoulder weakly and the look she gives you when you make her pull away for the second time is deadly. But you know she cares, you know she does, you just have to hit the right spot when you speak next and so you go for a weak point, “I–It hurts a lot, Daddy, please. I’ll be good and we can do whatever you want, just please can we go home first?”

Her expression softens a fraction and you know you’ve won. Natasha may be unpredictable, but there is always one thing that stays the same: her need to protect you.

“...Fine.” You’re surprised she’s not actually pouting as she grabs your bra and shoves it partially into her back pocket before standing up. She cracks her knuckles before leaning down and picking you up bridal style, making sure your injured leg is the one furthest away from her body. “I think we still have those pink bandages you liked so much.”

Yes, you were definitely forgiven.

[mellowsadistic]

Couples Therapy - Part 2

Angela spent most of the afternoon watching cartoons. She’d been insulted when Eric had sat her in front of the television and put on a little kids’ channel for her, but she’d barely managed to start complaining before the bright colours of the show drew her in. Even if it was a silly plot about a little baby bear leaning to be good for her Daddy, it was actually quite fun to watch.

Later, she made a bit of a mess at dinner, and Eric needed to wipe her mouth clean for her and send her off to change her top. He’d even joked about getting her a bib. Angela had giggled, but really she’d been a bit scared. She didn’t want to wear a bib like a baby, and she didn’t know why she’d had such a hard time getting her food in her mouth like a big girl.

But it wasn’t until she was getting ready for bed that evening that Angela really started to get upset, when she walked into their bedroom and saw the large disposable diaper waiting for her on the bed. She froze immediately at the sight of it. Even though she knew she wore them every night (didn’t she?), there was something about seeing it this time that was different. “I can’t… I don’t want to… I’m not wearing that.”

“Sweetheart,” said Eric, like he was explaining something very simple to someone stupid. “You have to wear your nappy otherwise you’ll make a big mess. You’ll go pee-pee all over the sheets, darling, just like you do every night, and I don’t want to have to wake up in wet sheets.”

Angela blushed. She felt utterly pathetic.

“But it’s okay, baby,” Eric cooed, and Angela felt butterflies fluttering in her tummy at the gentle tone of his voice. “I still think you’re adorable, even with a yucky wet diaper on. I don’t care that you’re not fully potty trained at night, sweetie.”

Angela’s face went even redder, but at the same time a pleasant tingle ran down her spine. Lucky girl. She was a lucky girl to have Eric. She held out her arms hopefully, and he responded by pulling her in for a big cuddle. His hand reached down to cup her bottom possessively.

Angela felt dizzy, she felt drunk, and she didn’t even resist as Eric stripped off all of her clothes and laid her gently down on the bed, with her bare bottom planted right on the seat of the bulky adult nappy. ‘Good girl,” he crooned as he sprinkled her nether regions with baby powder and patted it into her skin. “That’s a good girl.” He taped her diaper tightly around her waist, and pulled her back to her feet. She stood there awkwardly, her legs spread apart by the thickness of her nappy, shifting from foot to foot. Eric started to undress as well, down to his boxer shorts. But he didn’t have any babyish underwear to change into because he was a grown-up.

Angela was about to get into bed when she realised she hadn’t put a top on. Did she usually go to bed topless? She looked down at her large bare breasts and felt a bizarre urge to start jiggling them, to start bouncing them up and down. She giggled. She was such a silly girl!

“What are you giggling at, sweetie?” her husband asked, smiling.

“Nufing!” Angela blushed and shook her head. “I mean, nothing.” She was just being dumb. She was being a silly girl. She couldn’t tell him she’d been thinking about bouncing her boobies – that would be so embarrassing! It definitely wasn’t something that a big girl would do. But then it wasn’t something a little girl would do either, was it? Because they didn’t even have boobies! Angela screwed up her face in concentration.

Eric laughed. “Silly girl! Are you trying to do thinkies? It’s bedtime, sweetie. Time to turn that sweet little brain off.”

Angela scowled. Eric knew she hated being talked down to. She stuck out her bottom lip and stomped her foot to show him how angry she was. “Don’t patwonise me!” she whined.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, but there was something about his eyes that made Angela feel like he was still laughing at her. She got into bed grumpily, her tits jiggling and her diaper crinkling loudly. Eric got into bed next to her and immediately pressed himself right up against her body, reaching round to grab one of her boobs so tightly that she winced. She almost moved away instinctively. Weren’t they fighting about something? Weren’t they angry with each other for some reason? But then she remembered that good girls didn’t do that. Good girls didn’t say no with their mouths or their bodies.

Angela frowned. That didn’t sound right. She wasn’t her husband’s property… was she? But she felt herself getting wet at the thought. It had been a while since they’d have sex, although she wasn’t sure why. She was so horny. She imagined him taking her now, ripping her nappy off and ramming his cock inside her, using her any way he liked. Then she pulled a face, sickened with herself. Where were these thoughts coming from?! She wasn’t a whore! Even so, she didn’t push her husband away. Eric didn’t fuck her that night, but Angela drifted off to sleep with his hard cock pressed firmly against her padded bottom.

When she woke up the next morning, her diaper was soaked with pee-pee. Even though she knew it was something that happened to her every morning (although her actual memories were a little foggy), it still felt strange and embarrassing. It was so yucky! The sodden nappy was cold and clammy, and it reeked of piss. Their whole bedroom smelled like urine now. She’d probably smell like pee herself for the rest of the day. Her new perfume… She untangled herself from Eric’s arms and slipped out of bed, nearly gagging when her diaper sagged as she stood up. It was so heavy!

She heard Eric moving behind her, and turned around. Her husband was propping himself up in bed, looking at her with a smile that was a too much like a smirk. “Do you need changing, sweetie?” he asked.

She looked at him dumbly.

“Do you need me to help?” he tried again, nodding at her waist.

She followed his gaze to the sopping wet Pampers sagging between her thighs, and felt herself going red. No! She didn’t need help changing! She wasn’t a baby! A mental image of herself laying on her back with her legs in the air flashed in her mind, and she shook her head vigorously. “No fank you,” she mumbled. “I mean, no thank you.” What was wrong with her voice? She sounded silly. Silly like that secretary at the therapist’s office. A lisping porn parody. She ran her fingers through her hair and over her bare chest. No pigtails. No stripper tits. She was a big girl. A respectable woman.

“Okay sweetheart,” her husband said, smiling patiently. “Go change your nappy then.”

Angela broke out of her thoughts, realising she’d been standing there stupidly, like she was waiting for his permission to go. She turned around and toddled to the bathroom as quickly as she could, her droopy diaper swinging about between her legs as she went. She imagined she could feel his eyes on her backside and her face burned with shame. She must look so stupid!

She nearly cried when she saw herself in the bathroom mirror. She was a sexy grown woman with great tits and a tight body, right up until you got to her waist, where instead of seeing her cleanly shaved pussy and toned ass, there was a bulky disposable diaper hanging heavily between her legs, clearly full to the brim with wee-wee. When she undid the tapes, it fell to the floor with a wet smack. She got to work cleaning herself up with wet wipes, making sure to get every bit of pee around her nether regions. She couldn’t stand being so dirty. Even as a child, she’d always hated any activities that got her messy. When she was done, she shoved her used nappy in the tiny bathroom bin and wandered back into the bedroom naked.

Eric had arranged her clothes out on the bed for her, and for a moment, Angela could only stare at them in disbelief – a pastel-pink, little-girlish frock with frilly white ankle socks, trainers, and a pair of baby-blue panties with Disney princesses on the crotch. The outfit looked exactly like something a four-year-old would wear. Angela was about to shout, when all of a sudden a strange fuzziness filled her mind. She thought of the lovely swirling colours she’d seen at the therapist’s office, and looked at the clothes again. They were kind of cute. They weren’t baby clothes after all. They just looked a bit silly, and she was a silly girl.

Angela smiled vacantly at Eric when he started to dress her, sliding her underwear up her legs and pulling her frock over her head (“Arms up! That’s a good girl!”), even pulling on her socks and tying her shoelaces for her. She felt looked after. She felt pretty and cute. She felt like a good girl.

Once they were downstairs, she hopped from foot to foot impatiently while Eric put his own shoes on at the door. “Come onnn!” she whined, fidgeting with the hem of her dress, lifting it up absent-mindedly and flashing her adorable little-girl undies.

“Looking forward to seeing the therapist, sweetie?” he asked, chuckling at her immature antics as he finished putting his shoes on and picked up a large sports bag.

Angela nodded her head eagerly. She wanted to see the pretty lights again.

“Good girl,” said Eric, taking her hand. A pleasant tingle ran down Angela’s spine and into her pussy. “Let’s get going, baby.”

[blueninjablade3]

Yandere Frollo Alphabet

Real quick for my regular readers who are waiting for the Hades Angst I’m working on it at a snails pace but it’s shaping up nicely. I’m publishing this solely because it’s been in my drafts taunting me.

TW: Yandere themes, Slurs/ talks about slurs, genocide, medieval torture, isolation, abuse, gaslight, lack of right, racism, and religious themes.

If you are uncomfortable with any of this scroll on. I won’t be offended. If you are in a bad mental state I don’t recommend reading this Yandere relationships are extremely toxic and dangerous. If you or someone you love are in an abusive relationship, please remember you have resources to help you. I believe I’ve covered most of my bases so without further ado Yandere Frollo alphabet. Ps, left a little music if anyone wants to listen to that while they read.

Affection: how do they show you love and affection? How intense can It get?

I view Frollo somewhat like “I never quite learned to verbalize my feelings so I’m going to do very small things to tell you I love you.” Also, he brings you grapes. It’s every day he brings you grapes. (Unless you’re getting punished.) He does do the traditional kiss-your-cheek and forehead tho.

Blood: How dirty is he willing to get when it comes to you?

He’s willing to burn down all of Paris to find you. You and Esmeralda are gonna be best friends and shit talk Frollo together.

Cruelty: how will they treat you once kidnapped will he mock you?

Yes. Wtf do you think I would say “No he’s an angel” Brother has no problem calling someone a slur. Hell, I’d put money on the fact that he’d call a black person the N word hard R to their face. (He’s seriously the worst tho. Get y’all a man like… uh Prince Naveen. He’ll treat you better)

Darling: besides kidnapping you would he do anything else against your will?

Being an active part of the Romani people’s slaughter, being horrible to Quasi, and whipping people are the ones that are off the top of my head. I’m probably missing others but the point is he absolutely would.

Exposed: How much of his heart do you bear?

I think you actually bear 40%. The other 60 goes to the Bible and Christ. Don’t worry that’s still more than his family ever got.

Fight: How would he feel if you fought back?

CHOOSE ME OR YOUR PYRE BE MINE OR YOU WILL BURN~! But in all seriousness, he’s going to be so upset and do the same thing that he does to Quasi.

Game: Is this a Game to them? Would he like watching his darling try to escape?

No! This isn’t a game! Those filthy gypsies can’t be trusted! (it feels wrong even typing that 😭) They’ll harm you! You need to stay safe. In the bell tower.

I also don’t think he’d enjoy you escaping. He wants you at arm’s length at all times.

Hell: Your worst experience with him.

After one of your little “stunts” he had you flogged for a few hours and then you didn’t get lunch for a few days. (like three)

Ideals: what he sees in the future with you.

He sees a traditional Christian marriage (pretend male x male relationships were most of the time accepted by the church), a couple of NORMAL kids (he is the worst), and all the Romani people dead. (ICK)

Jealousy: does he get jealous and if he does, does he find a way to cope or will he lash out?

He gets very jealous and never controls it. He always lashes out. At this point, don’t even look at a fly anymore. He’ll get jealous of it.

Kisses: How does he act around you?

He’s possessive, creepy, and lustful. Think about how he behaves with Esma and multiply by two.

Love letters: how would he go about courting/approaching you?

He’s very traditional. He’s the type who’d buy a goat to give to your dad and then just be like “Gimme.” But he would approach you beforehand and have some small talk in passing.

Mask: Are his truth colors different from what people think?

No. He’s very publicly creepy and weird it seems. People also fear him and view him as dangerous which you can say firsthand is true. Creepy bitch.

Naughty: how would he punish you?

He’s the type to flog you for a little, isolate you, and then limit food consumption. You’re extremely afraid of acting out or acting against him for fear of his reaction.

Oppression: what rights did he take away from you:

Freedom, religion (if you’re anything other than Roman Catholic you’ll have to practice and pray in secret.), privacy, and if you’re American the right to bear arms. Really any weapons he’ll take away. (Maybe see if you can hide a dagger?)

Regret: does he regret kidnapping you? Will he ever let you go?

Haha! You’re so funny if you think he’d let you go or think he’d regret kidnapping you! The Lord brought you two together! You two were meant to be! Now stop struggling unless you wanna go back to the palace of justice.

Sigma: what brought this side of him?

I think his lust, pride, and lack of getting any bitches over his years all contributed. He got lustful for you, and he didn’t know how to react, then instead of admitting that he was in the wrong his pride got the best of him, and blamed you. When his lust won caused his Yandere actions.

Tears: how would he feel if you cried screamed or Isolated yourself?

He doesn’t care! You’ll learn to love him eventually. If you don’t… you won’t like what’s gonna happen. But do go ahead.

Unique: is there anything different from a normal Yandere

He has a massive superiority complex? He also can have people flogged and not be questioned.

Vice: what can you use to escape him?

I’m not quite sure. I guess maybe you could hide in the court of miracles?

Witts end: would he ever hurt you

Without a second thought.

Xoanon: how much does he revere/worship you and to what extent is he willing to go to win you over

He’s willing to go to extreme lengths. I know I’ve talked a lot of shit about him in this but in all seriousness, he views you as a gift from the heavens. An angel sent to him. His angel.

Yearn: How long before he snapped and kidnapped you?

He’s a patient man. I’m going to say if you play your cards right and Quasi is still young about 1.5 years till he snaps.

Zenith: would he ever break you?

Oh definitely.

Thank you for reading! Please remember that rebloging, likes and comments are much appreciated! ❤️

[eyesxxyou]

that's what they all say pt.2

↳ ❝ [dbf!miguel o'hara x black!reader] ¡! ❞

rating. m

word count. 4.1k

synopsis. you told yourself you were done with miguel after the way he left things week before. you were moving on, got yourself a new boyfriend and everything. that is, until you have to attend a gala with your father.

or

you and miguel have sex in the bathroom

warnings. p in v sex, unprotected sex (stay responsible), slapping, spitting, reader on top, miguel's a little bit of a simp, reader is mean :(, exhibitionalism (bathroom sex)

part one

You haven’t seen Miguel in weeks and you didn’t want to either. Not after that night in your father’s house. Not after he turned you down flat right after you had let him into your body. Men, what are you gonna do about them? They take and take and take and never give anything in return. They expect you to give them everything; they want you to give all of you until you're dry and hollow, a husk of the person you once were.

You never let yourself consider that he has any bearing on the reason why you decided to haphazardly get into a relationship with the colleague from work that’s been pining over you for months now. You told yourself you were tired of being single—which, admittedly, isn’t a good reason to get in a relationship on its own. You weren’t all that attracted to him. He was fine on paper; nice, romantic, devoted, pretty decent-looking. But he was absolutely nothing compared to Miguel. A twig, really.

It’s not like you wanted to hurt the guy. You were just tired of moping around, thinking about a man who made it more than clear that he didn’t want to be with you. But you knew he was nothing you'd take seriously, not in the position you're in right now.

Yet, you introduce him to your dad as if any of this is going to go anywhere besides a messy break up in a few short months with you talking about, “it’s not you, it’s me” which would be 100% true in this case.

“I like him.” Your father says like that will sway you in any kind of way. “He seems like a good guy with good intentions.” You think about what your father might say if you told him right now that you didn’t care about whatever his name is and were only thinking about Miguel. Would it be shock or anger if you told him his best friend had your up against the family pictures, that grandma Margret’s urn was pushed off of the table to make room. Maybe both. Who would he be more upset with, you or Miguel?

Maybe your dad didn’t give your enough attention as a child, too wrapped up in his career to raise his daughter right. Now you want to fuck older men to get the attention you never before received. Coming home late, leaving to work early. That’s why your mom left, she couldn’t take it. You hardly saw him at all on the days he did have you.

“Is Nathaniel coming with you to this year’s gala?” Your father offhandedly mentioned to you. You didn’t care that he got your boyfriend’s name wrong (it was just Nathan), you were more focused on the gala he was talking about. Alchemax threw one every year and every year since your father has been working there, you’ve attended. Miguel would undoubtedly be there this year which meant you couldn’t be. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dad. I don’t think I’m even going this year.” You brush him off, fiddling with the ends of your hair.

He glances at you. “What do you mean? That’s nonsense, you come every year.” You hated that he always had to ask questions. You hated that he always asked questions at the worst times and never asked any when you needed his attention most.

"I don't want to go."

"You have to, sweetheart. I'm giving a big speech tonight and I want you to be there for me." He looked at you, pleading for you to cave like you always do. You always do. You sigh and grumble to yourself and go through your motions, but ultimately you agree because you love your father. The gala was always a big event. If you kept your eyes out, Miguel wouldn't be a problem. You could be there to support your father and keep face while avoiding him at all cost.

You always enjoyed the gala. The fancy dresses, the music, the gold and diamond chandeliers glittering. But coming in on Nathan's arm in a dress that matched his tie was probably the worst part of all of this. You despised how Miguel could ruin everything you once held so dear because of his mere presence. Even if you couldn’t see him, the fact that you knew he was here was enough because your eyes constantly sought him out against your own will.

“Y/N! There you are, I was wondering when you’d show up!” Your father was such a loud person, it was impossible not to hear him. But that’s why everyone liked him. He was smart, outgoing, and naturally magnetic. No one knows what it’s like to grow up on the other side of that though. So smart he thought he knew everything and often belittled your opinions, so loud that a step out of line meant a good tongue lashing, and magnetic that you're charmed by him despite the way he neglected you, you still loved him unconditionally.

He gave Nathan a firm slap on the back and kissed your cheek. “Come on, we got our table up front this year. Miguel’s going to be joining us. He’s around here somewhere but I haven’t found him yet. And none with your banter with him tonight, I don’t want a headache before I go up on stage.”

So much for avoiding him.

You swallow with so much anxiety it almost makes you choke. You keep looking around for him because you feel that if you spot him before he spots you then you’ll have more power over the situation, over him. You know it’s an illusion. The illusion of power, of control, of sanity. And it all comes crashing down as soon as you do pick him out of the crowd. It’s not hard. He’s such a hard person to miss with a stature and a face like his.

He was standing in a group of colleagues, standing with one hand in the pocket of his slacks and the other holding a champagne flute to his lips as he sipped. He looked unbearably sexy in that tuxedo of his, the lapel of his jacket folded crisply, not a single wrinkle in sight, his bowtie perched perfectly against his Adam’s apple, with his brown hair slicked back as much as it would allow. The worst part was that he was already staring at you, seeming to have long found you before you found him. And so much for the illusion of power.

It would be so much easier to hate him if he weren’t so beautiful, wouldn’t it? Looking at him made it so easy to forget how he left you in tears after using your body for his own selfish needs. Maybe it was a bit childish and naive of you to think he’d suddenly fall head over heels for you after fucking you in your father’s living room. You should have known he wouldn’t stay but a small part of you thought, maybe if you let him into your body…

You glare at him. Make it clear that you hold no soft feelings for him. “Let’s go sit down, Nathan.” You drag your temporary boyfriend to your assigned table.

People kept approaching the table to talk to your father, congratulating him over his second award in just two months. You kept yourself busy with Nathan, occasionally glancing about for Miguel to keep an eye on him but he moved around so often you couldn't keep up.

"Mi amigo!" Your father, as loud as he was, made his position clear. He always had to try out his cringe-worthy Spanish around his friend. Miguel was approaching the table, not looking at you but at Nathan sitting beside you. "Where's Gabriella? I thought you said you were bringing her."

"She wasn't feeling well and wanted to stay home. Who is that?" He breezed past the topic of his daughter and onto the topic of Nathan, the stranger you came in with hand in hand. His lips held a firmness to them that wasn't so uncommon to his face, he even had a wrinkle because he did it so much.

You see Nathan visibly grow taut beside you, his gaze nervously shifting about to avoid that of the man who made him so insufficient in every way. "What's it to you?" Your lip curled at him in distaste.

"Y/N." Your father's tone is pressing, warning you to cut it out. "This is Nathan, Y/N's new boyfriend. Good man." He gives Nathan another pat on the shoulder to show that they're on good terms. Miguel glances at you as the scowl on your lips press in harder. He looks as if to ask if this is the best you can do, or rather that he's below you. He simply hums and turns himself away.

How dare he? Who does he think he is? Turning his back on you like you were the one who told him he was just some immature child you'd never take seriously. You don't think you can stand being near him any longer.

"I'm gonna go get some champagne." You stand abruptly from your chair. You just need some air and a copious amount of alcohol. Your dress suddenly feels so constricting, a bit of sweat is beginning to gather on your hairline. Why are your hands so clammy and why do you suddenly feel so lightheaded?

You find yourself to the nearest server carrying a tray of champagne and begin to down as many glasses as you can get your hands on. It draws the attention of those around you, a few judging glances here and there. You couldn't imagine what you looked like, a messy drunk just like your father probably. God, you can't believe you're actually acting like your father now.

"Mía carina, stop." A large, warm hand comes to grab your wrist before you can grab your fourth flute. You hardly even register who it is grabbing you before you yank your arm from his hold. "Leave me alone, Miguel." You murmur, taking the last glass off the tray to bring it to your lips.

Miguel grabs you by the waist, muttering soft apologies for your actions to those around you as he begins to guide you towards the bathrooms. "Stop, you're going to embarrass yourself." He hissed at you, taking the glass out of your hand and placing it down on the tray of a passing server. He was so swift and agile for someone so large, getting you into the men's restrooms in record time.

You push yourself away from him the moment the two of you are in the closed space. "Have you ever thought I'm already embarrassed?" You couldn't stand being so close to him, smelling him the way you did when you were falling all over him, your fingers in his hair while you kissed, his tongue exploring every crevice of your mouth before his dick did the same and more. "You embarrassed me, Miguel. You realize that? You humiliated me."

“I let you touch me. I let you into my body. I let you…have me.” Why was it so hard to breathe? Why were you letting tears slip? Why were you giving him such satisfaction? But seeing you like this gave him no joy at all. It hurt him to see you hurt, breaking down because of something that never should have started in the first place.

Miguel couldn't bear to look you in the eyes, biting his lips because he knew that the way he did things was wrong and that he hurt you. He didn’t mean to. He didn’t want to. He was just trying to do the best thing for you, to not be selfish for once. Because all he's ever done his entire life was be some selfish bastard ruining people's lives and being irresponsible. Now he has a daughter because of his irresponsibility, a daughter without a mother because he couldn't save her, and you, his best friend's daughter.

He tried to reach out, tried to hold you, to comfort you, let you know that the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. “Mi corazón, I-” You pushed him away, beat against his chest, did everything in your power to remove him from your vicinity. “Get away from me.” He let you hit, punch, claw, scratch because he knew he deserved it.

You tore yourself away from him, angry and disgusted with him and yourself.

“Well, you got a boyfriend pretty quick so you couldn’t have been that broken up about it.” He’s bitter about Nathan. Seeing you all cozied up on his arm as you walked in. It stirred something in Miguel, sharp jealousy tasting like blood in his mouth. He hated it, despised the idea of you being with someone else, letting someone else fuck you.

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “So what is it? Do you want me to be with someone my own age or do you want me?” Because at this point, all you wanted was to be wanted. “Choose one and stick with it because I’m not gonna to sit here and be at your fucking whim. You want me one second and then the other I’m too young and you’re too old and it won’t work out.”

You walk closer, pushing at Miguel’s chest. “I’m not your doll. I’m not.” You punctuate each word with a jab to his chest. “Your.” Jab. “Fucking.” Jab. “Toy.” You look at his lips, then his eyes, and back to his lips. “I hate you.” And you kissed him because what the hell? Why not act upon your most basic desires if it will lead to nothing anyway?

Miguel kissed you back, his hand slipping beneath your hair to hold the back of your neck and force you to stay just the way you are. There’s something utterly primal about the way you two kiss. You both know that everything going on here will not last. It’s the fiery hate you have for him and the pleading of him trying to make it up to you. The desire you have for him and his need to keep your life on track.

You bite until you break skin, until you taste his blood on your tongue, metallic and bitter. He keeps kissing you, knowing the wound isn't too bad, a slit in his lip from your teeth angrily biting at him. It was so violent, so angry, so hateful the way you two kissed, the way he tore away the zipper of your expensive dress trying to get it off of you.

It’s funny how you tear at each other's clothes with such desperation while claiming all the while you don’t want each other. You pull off Miguel’s tie, unbutton his shirt and pull the hem out of his pants before undoing his belt buckle. You want to feel his skin against yours, want to scar him, want to make him hurt. You want him to fuck you hard. Not like he means it but like he doesn’t.

He spares your dress for the most part, leaving it in one piece on the floor but he doesn’t offer the same kindness for your panties which he grabs and tears off your body with ease, the useless piece of flimsy lace fabric hanging off your ankle.

“Be quiet for me, can you do that, muñeca?” Miguel slipped his cock from the restraints of his pants, letting the length of it fall against your heat not yet prepared to take him. You scoff at him and slap his cheek not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to let him know you weren’t going to comply. “Fuck you.”

There was something in Miguel’s eyes that seemed to break, something dark and impatient that he had been holding back until now. “Oh– so it’s gonna be like that?” You suddenly realize how much bigger he is than you and how easy it would be for him to have his way with you. He kisses you again, tongue sliding against yours, your mixed saliva coming out from the seams of your interlocked lips.

His large hand is around your throat just like last time as he uses his free hand to slap you back, once, twice, leaving a stinging pain against your cheek. He forces you onto the counter, your legs on either side of his narrow hips as he slaps your pussy too in firm spanks leaving you puffy and aching. “This is my pussy, baby. You know that. Mine.” Miguel can’t imagine anyone else enjoying you, especially not that good for nothing idiot out there. He probably doesn’t even know you’re about to get railed. Sitting there so eagerly waiting for you to return.

“I thought you didn’t want it.”

“Oh, I definitely want it.”

You push him away from you to give yourself more room. "I want to ride you." You want the control this time, not to feel weak, not to be at his mercy to leave you the moment the heat of the moment cools down. He owes you that and he knows he does. That's why he gets up on the counter with little to no complaint and drags you up onto his lap as he leans against the mirror.

It feels odd being taller than him for once, having the upper hand, looking down at him with his kiss-swollen lips and exposed chest. His cock weighed heavy against your pelvis, displaying just how far into you he'd be going, his tip right against your belly button, smearing precum against your naval.

You spit on your hand, use it to spread between your lips. You can tell by the way he looks at you, watches your fingers graze against the length of his shaft, he wants you to touch him, spread your saliva across his sensitive tip and drag it down to the base of his cock. He wants you to have him shivering, shaking with the aftershock of an orgasm with just your hand. You don't give him the satisfaction.

"Put it in." You tell him, command him because he wants this way more than you do. Or at least– that's what you tell yourself. There's a reason why you unbuttoned his shirt, why you placed your hands on his bare chest, your fingers against his chest hairs. You wanted to know the human intimacy of touch, the beauty of it, the comfort.

Miguel maintains eye contact as he glides himself into you. You don't like it and certainly don't want it. You're cold towards him as you press your hips down and take more and more of him into you, buckling down. You don't want slow and intimate, you don't want his eye contact and his pet names.

It's not an easy task trying to take him. Your breathing hitches and your eyes flutter as you settle against his lap, readjusting your position to give yourself leverage. You rolled your hips against his, watching the way his brows furrowed and he tossed his head back, groaning softly. "Fu– fuck. God, mía carina."

Nothing about the way you fucked was loving or even implied a liking beyond a physical desire. Your nails grappled at his skin, using his broad shoulders as leverage as you bounced on his cock while you clawed at his skin all at the same time. But Miguel forced intimacy, held your face to make you look at him and every time you'd rip yourself away he'd grab you harder, forced his hips up to meet yours half way and watch the way you trembled, feel your pussy quiver and clench around his cock.

Sex like this could make Miguel fall in love, make him toss caution to the wind, make him the most selfish bastard in the world and claim the rest of your life for himself. He held you close, tried in every way he could to let you know that he cared deeply for you and that's exactly why the two of you couldn't be together. He cared too much for you, far beyond a friend of the family should. What was he supposed to do? Betray your father's trust? Date someone closer in age to his kid than himself?

But he fell in love with the way your body moved, the way it rolled against his like you were dancing just for him. Your hands were on his neck, then in his hair, tugging sharply at the root so his head craned back. He fell in love with the way you grabbed his jaw and forced him to open his mouth so you could spit in it and slap him again. He fell in love with the way your pussy clung on to him so tight, your creamy wetness slicking your thighs and coating his length. God, you drove him absolutely insane.

He murmured your name, pussy-whipped and dazed with something starting to look like a lot more than lust. "Dios, me estás volviendo loco, mi corazón. Creo que estoy enamorado de ti. ¿Tú lo sabes?" Miguel didn't even know what he was saying anymore, it came out of him like word vomit. He just wanted you. He wanted you so fucking bad.

"Shut up. Stop talking." You don't want to hear his voice, the way he whispered is serenading words in Spanish because you knew if he said anymore you might fall in love with him too. You ride harder, stifling your own moans as you feel him press against such deep, intimate parts of yourself. You can see yourself in the mirror over Miguel's head. Your hair in disarray, a thin layer of glistening sweat coating your skin, and your eyes so hard and cold, teary even.

"Just let me touch you, muñeca. Please." He's whiny, stupid, and pathetic just for you because the way you're creaming on his dick is starting to make him feel like the idea of having a second child was such an insane one. Miguel spat in his hand, used it to play with your swollen clit. He ran circles around your rosebud the same way he ran circles around your mind. Messy and fast in an attempt to get you to cum for him.

Your orgasm threatens to tear you apart, to shred your world to pieces then glue them back together haphazardly. It rocks you and your whole body. You ride harder than before, the harsh slapping of your skin meating his, desperate to reach that high knowing it would lead to you crashing to a whole new low.

“I hate you, Miguel.” You tell him, your breathing halting and your voice cracking. “I hate you for everything you did to me. I hate you for how you used me.” You kissed him hard and breathlessly, pressing your body against him as your orgasm rippled through your body. "I hate you for how you ruined me. You ruined me, Miguel."

Ruined was such a strong word but you got home and you cried, you screamed, you wept. It felt like being ruined. It was so humiliating.

You hated him right now because if you didn't you knew you would love him.

"Y/N-" You didn't let him finish, refused to let him finish in all ways possible because the moment your climax came to its shivering end, you got up and you got off of him. He was so close too and you just up and left him high and dry, you were already snatching up your dress from the floor to put back on.

"Get yourself together, you look ridiculous." You tell him, fiddling with your broken off zipper to try to get it back up your back. Miguel pushed the few strands of hair he had sticking to his forehead. "What the fuck are you on? Where are you going?"

"Back to my boyfriend, where else?"

Miguel was starting to get whiplash. He got off of the counter and tucked himself away just enough to make himself decent. "Y/N please, let's talk about this. You and I both know you don't want him." That much was true but you'd never admit it to him. You're not going to let him embarrass you like that ever again.

You snap at him. "And what? I'm supposed to want you?" You think you should throw your shoe at his head, strangle him, kiss him as well. "I'm doing just what you wanted, Miguel. I'm finding someone my own age, someone my dad approves of. You made your choice so fucking stick with it."

"But I-" but you were already gone with the swinging of the bathroom door as your only marker that you were ever there.

"-love you."

Fuck.

tags: @ihateuguys @valentinewritten

[sems-diarie]

king!yuji x goddess!reader, devil!(canon)sukuna x goddess!reader. corruption, manipulation; ummm yeah 🙂‍↕️. you and sukuna are advisors to yuji’s kingship but sukuna isn’t satisfied with that and ofc wants more?? tries to get u on his teammm. idk what this is tbfr. yuji isn’t even in this i feel insane for mentioning his name so much.

“He’ll never love you, y’know?”

Your lashes flutter. If looks could kill, Ryomen Sukuna would be torn apart. He’d be decimated. The archangel you are, you take his joy in your misery to a painfully personal degree. An ode to your soul, yes—but most insurmountably, your pride. You’d tear into this foul-blooded creature with your teeth and tear his Adam’s Apple out. Eventually.

“Or maybe,” Sukuna sighs, awfully wistful and horrifically persistent. “Maybe he does love you—but never in the way you’ll need, sweet goddess.”

“You know nothing of love, arrogant lord.” Who was this over-stationed filth to scoff at you in your lovely, lonely turmoil? Your adoration for Yuji is like the archaic sky you once rolled around with him in. Vast, wondrous, free. An ancient oath calls for the blood in your heart to fall belly-first beneath Yuji’s whimsy—but just as equally his burning ambition. In return, Yuji accepts the wisdom of his goddess gratefully, gracefully—and runs forth a kingdom that adores him.

“You amount to nothing more than a pair of foul-smelling testicles.” You nearly spit at Sukuna when next addressing him. The thought is surely tempting. “How dare the filthy likes you speak so wrecklessly to me in a domain I take pleasure in owning?”

Sukuna is smooth. His tone promises your rebellion a nasty punishment. “Watch your mouth, lackey.”

Your love for Yuji is swift, blinding, cutting. Your favorite king cleaves apart something deep in your soul. He’s beared you vulnerable for all the world to see, to laugh at. Sukuna gorges himself upon your aching heart. The fall from grace is all the more devastating with no one to catch you or your tittering feathers.

You jerk back. Hard. It’s nearly a stumble; you think for a moment he’s pushed you. Pushed you. You’ll have his head—Yuji may yet have it before you.

But there Sukuna stands, yet, eyebrows raised in far more amusement than you’d like to acknowledge. Solid, and still. He hasn’t moved at all.

“Away from me, you foul, wretched, whorish, innocuous thing,” you’ve never heard yourself break such news in a voice so even, so pristine. Save a crack or two, which the demon before you eats up. Not unlike, you take note, of his four devouring eyes as they pour over you—pretty, little you, stood trembling before him. “Take your fucking nonsense to the cretinous hole that bore you.”

“We are better than that little shit,” Sukuna scowls. “Better than all of those shits—humans.”

It takes you aback, if only slightly. His pride, as it swelled in his shoulders and ached in his fingers. Even after serving Yuji for so long, Sukuna harbors still so much resentment for your king. So much envy boils in the commander’s chest for Yuji’s power, his people, his hopelessly devoted constituents You almost call him on it.

“I don’t want to upset my beloved Yuji should this spat of ours conclude bloody. I am taking my leave from you.”

“Sweet goddess, Yuji will not save you from these claws,” Sukuna promises. “Nor will he save you from my hungry mouths on your pretty little cunt. Eventually.”

“Yuji will have your tongue, again. Dirty-mouthed slut. I’ll watch with hearts in my eyes when he claws it from your jaw. How long did it take to heal last time, cursed demon?”

Sukuna bristles, mouth parted in delicious silence. You’re a harpy.

“Y’know,” you take a tone he hates. Awfully sweet, and fake. “For some all powerful, life-snuffing demon, you leave so much to be desired. So often, Sukuna, I look to you and think, How will this meathead prove to be an utter humiliation today? Why my wonderful Yuji keeps you around is cause for trial. You do nothing but take joy in this tender plight of mine. As your kind do.”

But you do know. To be king is to wage war. Ryomen sits and waits, fiends for the opportunity to take Yuji and the rest of their knightship to war. To hardwon battles, and hardwon victories.

That is precisely why renowned warlock Megumi Fushiguro was to summon the wretched Ryomen Sukuna: The kingmaker, slayer of power-hungry mongrels. Slayer of unworthy tools.

Your Yuji was no tool.

“Such venom you speak at me with,” Sukuna tuts. “I’ll have your head full of cock for that. And Yuji shall be chained to watch, just like you’ve dreamed, dear goddess—,”

Your love for Yuji builds endlessly; woefully, but thankfully, you spill it into him, with of course no crescendo in sight.

Yuji burns bright, blinding inside of you. Your pride? Is searing.

Searing like your palm as it aches in the wake of Sukuna’s ridiculously fortified jaw. You aimed lower than you’d have liked. You almost go in for another, to slam your palm right into the heart of his pretty, mirthfully dark eye. He catches your hand. Presses his thumb right into the heart of your wrist, somehow directly hitting a pressure point in your terrifically human host body.

All the strength in your body slips through your fingertips and spills through your knees. But oh, Sukuna is there to catch you—with an arm twice the size of your head wrapped firmly around your thick waist.

“Settle down. Once was fun, but twice?” His eyes narrow. “You are meant to fill gowns,” he doesn’t miss the chance to roam your body as he says it, “and play in Yuji’s crown like the good girl you want so desperately to be.”

He leans down close, nearly nudges your temple with his nose. His vessel’s body towers over you. Still, your eyes refuse to betray yourself—nor does any fear live in your heart for such gems to express so.

“Fill gowns?” You tilt your head up more. To be outdone, by a worthless curse on humanity no less, was non-negotiable. “You think your goddess not merely a whore, but a vapid one.”

“A goddess sat warm and inviting, warm-ing the cock of some pathetic king. A tale older than time, silly succubus.”

“Sat quite prettily, indeed,” you muse. “Are we reminiscing? I was there to give my king what he needed—,”

“Such disposition must be made mine,” he shrugs. “Everything in this world and thereafter is mine to take, to keep, and to shred apart. But I thrive when taking such fine treasures for myself.”

You glower. “I serve Yuji.”

“You serve Yuji?” Sukuna scoffs, venom burning through his eyes as he settles them upon you. “You serve your cunt to him on a platter, and give him the strength he’d otherwise be sorely missing.”

“A lovely, little cunt,” you interject, “that he worships in mind, body, soul—kingdom. What do you give me besides headaches and stress?”

“I found you,” Ryomen Sukuna growls, seething. Ah. There it is. The crux, the core, the spill. “I did. You’re mine, my booty—yet here your pussy is, the pussy I liberated, stretched by the minuscule cock and drenched in the impotent seed of some lowly man.”

“A king,” you correct him swiftly. “I belong to the honorable king whom of which you bestowed me to. Yuji thought me such a clever gift, he returned your sentiments with politicial asylum. He redeemed you, because of me. Something you clearly seek, despite your insatiable impulse to seek and destroy all things human.”

Half of his mouth tugs into a quick, almost impossible-to-catch smile. “Pain is the most human thing, the most raw we could ever see the humans.”

“They’re weak,” he protests further. “The brat doesn’t even know the first thing to do with you.”

“Nor did it pain you hand me over to your king,” you continue on, over his meaningless rambling and take your point home. “Ripped me from the caverns of my sweet island and dumped me onto the lap of a ruler that you.. vehemently hate.”

“I am a king. I need nothing from that boy.”

For the first time since encountering this freak, do you smile so genuinely.

“You were.”

For a few moments, Sukuna is quiet. He regards you with a silent contempt that leaves you shifting on your feet.

“Your hundreds of whores shall wet your cock exactly how you like, my lord. And I shall… comfortably aid my lovely Yuji through these turbulent times!”

“Yuji won’t love you how you need,” Sukuna guarantees. The conviction in his tone almost makes you falter as you take flight in fleeing from Sukuna’s chambers. Surely Yuji must be searching for you.

“But I will,” Sukuna rasps, “I worship the ground you walk on now, don’t I?”

You give him little regard.

“Worship it as I take my leave.”

[torialefay]

❤️‍🔥 Mercury in Libra 🪫

bangchan as your boyfriend series!!! (pt 5)

(based on astrology) 🔞

✨bangchan x reader (f); angsty sad times, little fluff if you try

✨word count: ~3.1k

✨5th and final part in chan’s astrology series!!! together, let’s take a look into chan’s natal chart to see what type of boyfriend he would be!

✨i will give a brief synopsis of what each chart placement means throughout the series (for all my non-astrology friends out there <3) and how that would affect channie in a relationship

✨ author’s notes:

(1) i do brief compatibility readings w/ skz members! if interested, send your natal chart to my inbox, as well as which member you’d like me to read for OR if i think there is one member best suited to you <3

(2) the aspects in this reading are based solely on my opinions and interpretations! nothing about a person is set in stone simply because of astrology. please don’t use anything i say as canon :)

✨warnings: sad plot, theme of unfaithfulness, occasional cursing

✨tl/dr: chan is a loverboy who gets caught up in flirting when he doesn’t even know he’s flirting. then he ends up a blubbering mess.

Mercury in Libra:

-Mercury is the planetary ruler of communication and intellect. It shows how you connect with others throughout everyday life, just in speaking with them. It can also tell you a lot about how you relate to others and interpret the information they give you.

-Libra is a cardinal sign, meaning that people who are in this placement REALLY live by the aspects associated with that placement- in other words, chan is likely to hold very true to these values.

-Libra is the sign of love, beauty, charm, and balance. Libra in Mercury has a few key traits when it comes to communication. They are natural charmers and can instantly make people like them simply by talking with them. Libras are very good at placating to what others want, so they can speak to you in a way that they tell you what you want to hear. Libras also love beauty, so they many times will have an elegant way of speaking or cute quirks and mannerisms. Lastly, Libras value harmony and balance, so most likely their communication style will either (1) mimic yours, or (2) counter yours to be able to reach a happy medium.

-Long story short: Mercury in Libra people are sweet talkers who can charm anyone they meet, make them feel special, and meet them at the communication level that they are in. HOWEVER, the downside to Libra in Mercury is that they do not like confrontation- so they are likely going to avoid any conversations that could disrupt the peace between them and that person.

As your boyfriend:

• Chan always supports you exactly how you need him to.

◦ Had a bad day? He understands, come lay on him and talk about it.

◦ Upset over a test score? Scores are stupid, he’s gonna buy you ice cream and let you rant about how ridiculous it was.

◦ Got into a yelling match with a close friend? Hold his hands and talk him through it. He wants to know how he can help.

• He adapts to what you need in that moment- if you need someone to listen, he will sit there with an open ear. If you need advice on what to do, he will analyze every option and patiently walk you through what he thinks is best.

• If you get really frustrated or angry over something, he will 100% come up behind you and bear hug you, shaking you around until you give in and put a smile on your face.

• “Come here and talk to me,” he says, pulling you down to sit on his lap.

• He loves talking about deep things with you, like the meaning of life. It makes him feel so lucky to have such a smart significant other.

• He stares at you in awe as you talk about things you’re passionate about. Even if he genuinely doesn’t care about the topic, he holds on to every word, thinking of how cute you are in this moment.

• He remembers every little story you tell him about your childhood. When you bring up a long-gone aunt, uncle, grandparent, etc., he says “Oh, the one you told me about who ___?” You always smile at how he remembers these little things.

• Chan knows that you’re mad. He ALWAYS knows.

• He can tell in the way that you don’t instinctively turn your knees towards him in the car and when you don’t automatically reach for his hand when you walk next to him.

• He may not know why you’re mad, but he does know that you are.

• What he has a really hard time with is addressing it.

• He’s been trying for days to make up for it- whatever it is.

• Every day, he starts with “Good morning beautiful.” And every night, he finishes with “Good night princess.” Making sure you didn’t feel unloved.

• He’s been doing extra housework- cooking, cleaning, finishing up odd jobs you’d asked about a month ago. Could that be it?

• He’s been putting his foot down at work, leaving every night 5 PM to make sure he gets to spend the evenings with you. Maybe that’s what this is about- maybe you just missed spending time with him.

• Chan doesn’t know what’s wrong, and nothing he’s done so far has changed anything.

• He was hoping that his efforts would change your attitude toward him, or even make you forget about it, but he just couldn’t understand why you weren’t letting up. Why you weren’t letting him in as closely as you once had. Why things were so good, but now they are so different.

• All he knows now is that he is hopelessly in love with you, but it seems like you don’t feel the same anymore.

• You both sat together on the couch for a while. You thought Chan wouldn’t notice as you slowly inched yourself away from him, more slowly as the minutes passed.

• But he knew. He tried to reason that something was wrong. He didn’t want to push for an answer yet for fear of learning one that he wished he wouldn’t have.

• You continued to scroll on your phone, mind-numbingly on the ‘X’ app. This was a habitual routine, but one you decided you needed to break.

• There were a lot of great posts on there, but there was a lotttt about your boyfriend on there as well. One more unwanted post you knew would send you into a spiral.

• But you couldn’t help yourself. You had to know.

• You scrolled through the hashtag on the app. “#bangchan” splayed across the search bar.

• Cute photos and gifs. Adorable collages. Sexy TikTok edits. The usual. It took you probably 10 minutes of scrolling before you found something that got you ticked off again.

• ‘Every goddamn time,’ you thought, as your scoffed and rolled your eyes. You stared down at the video playing on the phone, as if this was the first one you’d ever seen.

• The caption of the video:

“how cute is #bangchan looking flirting with #fem/idol 😭🥰”.

• You focused on the interaction on the screen. There was Chan at the award show last night, leaning in and whispering something into fem/idol’s ear. When he pulled back, he looked down at her with a big smile, and you could see her reciprocate by blushing intensely and batting her eyelashes back up at him. You watched as he continued to talk for a few moments, laughing and offering up big hand gestures before saying goodbye, making sure to fully catch her eyes and bow as he went.

• You quickly scrolled underneath to the comment section, hoping that someone would say something- anything- to make you feel better.

◦ “God I wish he would look at me that way 🤭”

◦ “omfg she’s so pretty id def have chan’s reaction too”

◦ “Crying 😭😭 When do you think they’ll announce that they’re together? ❤️”

• You swiped out of the app entirely, shutting your phone off afterwards and placing it in your lap. You continued to stare down at the black screen until you felt tears start to well up in your eyes.

• You quickly tried to blink them away, but you couldn’t help it. This was the third time THIS week that you’d seen him do shit like this. Smiling, blushing, and heavily complimenting one girl, helping another fix her shoe, and now this. Before, you could reason it away- chuck it up to him just being a “nice guy.” But you couldn’t keep doing that forever.

• You always saw the comments people left under the videos about how cute they would be together and how Chan would be the perfect boyfriend.

• ‘But little do they know,’ you thought as you sighed.

• You turned your legs along with your body fully toward the other side of the couch, opposite of where Chan was. You looked a bit ridiculous facing the other way, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to see his face. You couldn’t stand to.

• You let your mind wonder, repeating the video in your head. The way he looked at her and the way she looked back.

• ‘Am I stupid?… Have I been stupid this whole time?…’

• You thought back to when you first decided to make things official with him, and how you both agreed that it would be easier to not publicize the relationship. You didn’t want anyone coming in the way of what you have together.

• ‘Was that my first mistake? So he can date me in secret and go out and flirt with any other idol he wants?’

• Your mind drifted to each other interaction you’d seen with him. You had make excuses time and time before. But it hurt to see him like this. Your OWN boyfriend talking to another girl the way that he SHOULD be seen talking to you.

• You couldn’t help yourself as one tear escaped. Then two, then three. Before you knew it, there was a release of waterworks all down your face. Your mind got the best of you as you started sobbing into your hands, burying your face into the side of the couch. There was nothing you could do to stop yourself.

• “Baby?” Chan called. His response was met only with more tears.

• “Baby, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, scooting his whole body next to yours to hold your back.

• “Get off of me!” you lashed out. He looked confused for a moment, but released his grip from you.

• “Honey, please talk to me. What’s wrong?” he asked, genuine sadness on his face.

• Hearing him call you pet names, all while pulling shit like he just had, completely set you off. “Don’t call me that.” You straightened back up in your seat, slightly turning toward him, not daring to look him in the face.

• “Don’t call you what?”

• “Honey, baby, whatever. You don’t get to call me that anymore.”

• “Y/n, what is going on? Seriously?” He placed his face in front of yours and used his hands to move your shoulders around to face him. This is the first time he could see how red and puffy your face had become. He felt like a piece of him had broken off just looking at you.

• “What’s going on?” you cried. “I don’t know Chris, why don’t you tell me what’s going on.” You quickly unlocked your phone, the video still open on it. You dropped the phone down to him as you stood, then taking a couple of steps to get some distance.

• He watched the video, moving his head around as if he was studying it. He replayed it a couple of times, then turned it intently, like he was looking for a hidden message. But he could find none. He furrowed his brow, then looked back up at you with a stare of confusion.

• You scoffed. “Okay. So you see nothing wrong with that?”

• “With what? Talking to another girl?!”

• “FLIRTING with another girl, Christopher! Flirting!… I’m not stupid! This is the THIRD video I’ve seen like this in a week. Do you know how humiliating it feels to have to see you, who was supposed to be the love of my life, out here flirting with all these other idols THROUGH SOCIAL MEDIA.. AND THEN having people comment on top of it about how you two would be ‘just the cutest couple ever’! Do you have any idea how that feels?!”

• You saw him get a tinge of sadness in his eyes, but you cut him off before he could speak.

• “No, you know what? I KNOW you don’t know how this feels. Because I would NEVER think to look at another man the way that I look at you.. So you know what!? If you’re that interested in other girls, you can go for it! By alllll means, don’t let me stop you!” You could feel steam coming off of yourself.

• You didn’t even want to hear what he had to say, you just wanted to get out of there. He could have his idol life. Do whatever the fuck he wanted. He had you fooled for a while, but now you saw him for who he was. A liar. Wants his cake and eats it too. But not with you anymore.

• You turned on your heels to leave, thinking you’d go ahead and pack an overnight bag to head out. As you took your first step, you felt a grasp and a tug on your wrist in the opposite direction.

• You stumbled back, feeling him cling to your hand, then pull the top of your body slightly as he stood himself up. By the time he settled, he had you back facing right in front of him with your one hand in his.

• “Y/n, please don’t say that. Please, just listen to me,” he begged, eyes bigger than you’d ever seen them.

• “Listen to what? Listen to you explain how it’s okay to flirt while you’re in a relationship?”

• “That wasn’t flirting!”

• “Oh really, then what do you call that?!”

• “I was just being nice! I thought-” his voice cracked, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “I thought I was-“ he hung his head to the side. “I thought I was being nice!” He looked so defeated.

• And just like that, he started sobbing. Tears were streaming down his face like you’d never seen before. So powerful, they left visible marks even on his black shirt. He kept trying to get words out through his cries.

• ”Baby, I- I’m so sorry, I didn’t know,” he cried. “I didn’t know it would come across like that… I would NEVER,” he genuinely could not contain himself as he strained to get the words out. “I would NEVER do that to you! I could never think of someone else like that.”

• Teardrops kept trickling down as he reached to grab your other hand into his. “I love you- only you! I could never flirt with someone else! But the fact that I made you feel like that- that that’s what it looked like to you…” he couldn’t even see anymore with the water flowing out of himself. “I am just so sorry… Y/n I’m so sorry! Please, please believe me.” He was getting choked now. His face was red like he was about to pass out from lack of air.

• You stood still, not knowing yet what to believe or what to say.

• “Baby please! Please,” he took your face in his hands, feeling of the few stray tears on your own face. “Please. I love you. Please don’t shut me out. I thought I was just being nice and I- I-… I’ve..” he huffed, struggling to get out what he wanted to say. “I’ve done the last thing I ever wanted to do. I would never intentionally hurt you, do you understand me?!” He tried his best to look into your eyes. All you could see were tears weeping out, redness shooting in all directions, and a look of absolute brokenness. “I promise I never meant to come across that way. I thought I was just being nice to her, that is ALL. YOU are the only person I care about. No one else means anything to me. Without you, I am NOTHING. Please baby, please listen to me. Please don’t leave me. I’ll do anything to make this right.”

• He continued to wail as he brought his arms around your body, resting his head on the side of yours. His tears began to soak down into your hair. There was still nothing you could say. I mean, what could you say? Your boyfriend was notorious for being a charming guy… But knowing that didn’t make this situation any easier.

• “Please baby,” he rubbed your head as he plead. “Please just tell me how to fix it and I will. I don’t want you to ever feel that way again.” You felt the water from his eyes now drench your hair entirely. “I PROMISE if you show me what I’m doing wrong, I will never do it again. I promise I will be perfect for you. Just tell me how. I will do ANYTHING! I am BEGGING, y/n!”

• He stood there, holding you as tightly as he could while cradling your head and trying to quieten his sobs. He waited for you to give him some sort of response. Good, bad, ANYTHING was better than nothing. He felt his heart physically break inside his chest when you remained silent, not even motioning to begin getting a word out.

• He slowly pulled his face away from your hair, coming up to face directly into you one last time. His whole face was swollen, pink cheeks now extended into a pink nose and pink ears, streaks of both new and old teardrops going in every direction.

• “Y/n please,” he begged. “Just tell me something… Anything.” He felt like the floor could drop from under him any moment. A gnawing pit formed in his stomach that he felt was going to jump out of his throat while waiting to hear you.

• You stood still for another moment, moving your eyes down and contemplating what you could even say at this point. Your emotions were so mixed.

• “I love you so much. Please know that,” tears still in his eyes, he leaned down to kiss you. It was wet and you could feel the desperation in the intensity he moved his lips over yours. You leaned into it the slightest bit, giving him most minute sense of hope. He clung onto the kiss with everything he could, throwing his lips further into yours before you felt the tears start to slowly separate you again. He pulled his lips off of yours with violent hesitancy.

• He whispered now, as if he didn’t want anyone else in the world to hear him. “Please teach me what you want. Say the word, and I will do it...” small tears now were the only ones coming out. “I would give up everything for you, y/n. Money, fame, anything. Please just teach me what you want…. Please-” he cried, “please don’t leave me.”

• wellll, I’ll let you decide what your fate is with chan 🤭 to forgive or not to forgive?

• ohhh the world of a mercury in libra

——————————————————————————————

If you enjoyed, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging <3

[kingofpopmj]

Hello hi, I love your writings so much, (im new to this and wrote my first writing on here, not confident on it, but it’s okay!) I wanted to request if you could write a Michael x insecure reader? I’ve been feeling down lately, and not the best on my self-esteem, if you could do that for me, it would be very much appreciated! Thank you for all your hard work! :)))❤️❤️❤️

Hi!! ASH! My lil piece of perfection.

I love you lil brother 🫶🏻

I hope you enjoy this! Fingers crossed it makes you smile!

You'll Be There For Me, And Care Enough To Bear Me

You found yourself standing in front of the mirror after undoubtedly the worst day of your life. There was nothing that felt in your control. Everything felt so overwhelming. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on your breathing, but even that was exhausting. It just all felt like too much. On top of it all, you study the image looking back at you, the anger and hatred boils inside of you. How would anyone ever look at you and think you’re beautiful when you can’t even see it in yourself. Out of frustration, you snatched the mirror off the wall, holding yourself back from smashing it into the ground beneath you, instead turning it around and leaning it against the wall. You couldn’t handle looking at yourself another second.

“There you are.” You heard Michael’s sweet voice, quickly you dried the dampness under your eyes. The last thing you want is for him to see you this way. It would certainly push you even further over the edge. “A little birdie gave me a call, said you had a rough day. I thought I’d plan a fun little night for us and surprise you with some of your favorite things.”

“You?” You tilted your head letting out a weak laugh.

“Well, yes.” Michael showed you the biggest smile and his eyes dazzled in that way you loved. He threw his hands up, jokingly presenting himself to you.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“But! It doesn’t stop there.” He ran off quickly, you could hear his excited laughter echo throughout the house. When he reappeared you couldn’t fight it anymore. This man had you smiling, forgetting what had upset you in the first place. “What do you think my sweet piece of perfection?”

Michael stood before you, holding a stack of your favorite movies, favorite candy, blankets and a bulky cardboard box.

“What’s in the box?” You stepped toward him, crossing your arms teasingly.

“I thought we’d spice up our usual movie night, so I got an outdoor projector! I already set up the screen. It was challenging, but I think the duck tape is holding—”

“Duck tape?”

“Yeah—”

“It didn’t come with hardware or instructions?”

“It did.” He responded defensively before looking down at his feet.

“Duck tape was part of it?”

“No! Listen, I lost a few things— well most of the screws. Okay, all of them. I lost everything.”

The guilty look on his face was all you needed to absolutely lose control. You burst out laughing at the thought of Michael attempting to build something completely on his own. The fact that he even thought to do anything for you warmed your heart.

“I’m sure it’s lovely.” I said between laughs.

“You’re lovely.” He said, the serious tone causing shivers to travel down your spine. “I truly mean it when I say you’re perfect. You’re my favorite person. You make my life infinitely better.”

“Michael—”

“Now, let’s get a few things out in the open.” He walked over to the mirror, lifting it up and hanging it back on the wall.

“Please, don’t do—” Michael scooped you up, placing you directly in front of the mirror. He was right behind you, taking your hands in his.

“You’re beautiful. Inside and out. I’m going to remind you every second of every day because you deserve to know. You need to hear every single thing I love about you and I’ll repeat each one until you believe it, because it is the truth.”

“I’m not—”

“Your smile! Oh, your smile, it’s like finally seeing sunshine after days of rain. Your eyes! They shine like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They hold so much love and warmth. You are so amazing. I pray that one day you see yourself the way I see you.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, covering his mouth with your hand.

“Love, you have to get used to compliments if you’re planning on keeping me around. Honestly, even if you don’t want me around I’m still not leaving.” He smiled hard, tilting his head innocently. “You’re stuck with me.”

“You’re so persistent it’s actually annoying.” He hugged you tight as you laughed into his chest. “Thank you for always being here.”

“Thank you for accepting me into your life. You beautiful thing you.”

“You’re getting cheesier by the second.”

“I don’t care. I need you to know how infatuated I am with you. There’s no one like you on this earth. Everyday, I’m blessed to learn more about you, to love more about you.”

“Michael, that’s so sweet.” My vision became blurry as I studied his face in disbelief.

“Plus, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a hot commodity, so the fact that you won me over speaks for itself. Someday, I’m going to be a great trophy husband.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Which part?”

“All of it!” You giggled as he pulled you into him tighter.

“You love me”

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“You’re going to have to stop playing hard to get one of these days love.” His teasing tone causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“What’s poking me?” You interrogated, palming his coat, but he quickly pulled away concealing whatever he had in his pockets.

“Do you love me?” He asked in a high pitched voice. “Yes or No?”

“Yes.”

“Do me a favor. Remember that feeling.” Michael pulled out two cans of silly string. You stood still as he unloaded on you. When the cans were empty you just stared at each other. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.” He whispered. “Should I run?”

“Run. Run fast.” You kept a straight face, staring him down before stepping forward. Michael’s eyes widened and he spun around taking off. You weren’t really mad, but this was definitely more fun. When Michael ran outside you knew exactly what you were going to do.

You watched as he hid behind his favorite tree, deciding the grass was looking a little too dry and there was only one way to fix that. The sound of water immediately made your target panic.

“Truce! I give! I give!” Michael shouted waving his hands in the air.

“What was that?”

“Truce?” He had uncertainty written all over his face and you were loving it.

“Let me think about it.” A hand on your hip and the other on your chin as you pretended to ponder his offer.

“Let me help you.” Michael sprinted over, hugging around your waist and dragging you into the sprinklers with him. You weren’t expecting that. He got you. Again.

“I think I could accept a truce.” Your voice coming out somewhat confident even though you didn’t have the upper hand anymore.

“Have I ever told you how incredible you look wet?”

“Michael!”

“That came out much dirtier than I meant it to.”

“You’re bad.” You giggled, crossing your arms.

“I’m also dangerous. Any other bases we need to cover or can I romance you now?”

“Romance away.”

After cleaning yourselves up Michael brought you out to the outdoor area of Neverland that was now surrounded by flower beds. The giant movie screen illuminated all the vivid colors of the pedals. He stared at you basically jumping up and down as he waited for you to speak.

“Do you like it?” He asked impatiently.

“I love it.” You squeezed his hand, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.”

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

[laylajeffany]

Crying at the Texas Roadhouse | Wenclair One-Shot for @cruciokilljoy

Rating: G WC: 4,500 Summary: Enid’s feelings are hurt and Wednesday tries to resolve them, requiring her to find her soft spot (in public) when Enid starts sobbing in the middle of a chain restaurant in Jericho. Enid's POV, established relationship, unrelated to any of my multi-chapter work TW: Esther Sinclair being herself

@cruciokilljoy You were probably looking for more physical hurt/comfort but both my multi-chap fics have explored that pretty throughly and I am tired of writing the girls in physical pain so I put them through emotional pain instead. Certainly not based on actual, recent conversations with my own hateful mother not at all ☠️

“You were crying.”

Duh.

“Like, an hour ago,” Enid clarified, looking at Wednesday as she stepped into their room with her jacket draped over her arm, sleeves rolled up, hands filthy. She could only imagine what her girlfriend had gotten into (literally, looking at the caked-on mud on her Oxfords that ran up to her stocking-covered knees). “I hardly think that’s the most pressing thing we need to talk about. Why are you covered in dirt?”

“Mud wrestling,” Wednesday replied dryly.

“Not enough on you for that.” Enid rolled her eyes and crossed her sweater-covered arms. She almost didn’t want to know but would certainly rather discuss Wednesday's potentially illegal antics than herself after the challenging evening that she’d already had.

She wasn’t in the mood for bickering, either way - so maybe quiet time would be best.

“Why were you upset?” Clearly, she wasn't going to drop it with her own deflection. Wednesday draped her jacket over the side of her desk chair and toed off her muddy shoes, forcing her to lose the small boost of lift they gave her, putting her squarely two inches beneath Enid. She stood directly in front of her, a kiss away – bearing into Enid with her eyes and forcing truth out of her.

Knowing her lower lip trembled a little, hating her tells and trying to frown the feelings away, Enid looked at her own feet. There was no use lying to Wednesday about an actually serious subject when the evidence was still in the bloodshot veins of her eyes. “My mother called. It was…it’s just always upsetting,” She glanced back up with a forced, sad smile. Wednesday’s eyes lost their intensity from curiosity, but gained something that was largely new for her – sympathy.

How Enid hated it. Deciding to dangle a tantalizing offer in front of her, she forced her pitch to remain neutral as she stated, “I don’t want to dwell on it. Can we skip the part where I rehash how my mom is a miserable person and…just go to dinner? You could edit my lycan paper after, I could use the help…”

Wednesday’s stare continued to be gentle and Enid was about ready to march out of the room if she didn’t quit. She couldn’t stand that. “Stop, please? Wednesday, honestly. I don’t want to talk about it. And I don’t want you to pacify me this evening. My mother always manages to upset me. And even if I stand up to her on the phone, I sometimes need to cry it out after. It’s like…” Deciding to use a weapon analogy, Enid expressed, “Like a fuse. She lit it, I detonated on her, and now there’s some debris to clean up, but I’m actually fine. I want to move on.”

Obviously a little put out by the way her jaw shifted just slightly, Wednesday disappeared wordlessly, returning from the community washroom down the hall with clean hands and sans her stockings, which Enid assumed she’d tossed rather than get any more flak from the on-site laundry service about soiling other people’s clothing.

She disappeared into her closet, coming out in a pair of wide-legged pants and an oversized black sweatshirt that fell nearly to her knees. If Enid could hide her emotions, she supposed she couldn’t comment on Wednesday hiding her body.

To her surprise, Wednesday actually let her not speak about her feelings and folded a hand into hers as she waved to Thing, nonverbally communicating that she wanted to be alone with Enid. Thing had been quite helpful to the whole affair – had heard her mother’s hurtful words, passed her tissues after she finished crying into her pillow, patted her back sweetly…

Wednesday led her to the foyer but didn’t turn to the right to take them to the cafeteria. Enid blinked a few times when Wednesday tugged her right out the front door and down the front steps. Confused, and really not in the mood to go investigating anything, particularly to discover whatever had Wednesday so dirty, Enid whined a little, “Can’t we just eat?”

“It’s Monday,” Her voice was just a touch darker than it had been in their room. “Nevermore’s infamous attempt at cowering to the vegetarians is tonight, and I don’t think their imitation beef is going to help you feel any better. We’re heading into town – I’m getting you a steak.” Well, that certainly perked her up just a little bit. “Withdrawing red meat once a week in an effort to be more environmentally friendly when ten percent of the student campus requires it as part of their metabolic diet is cruel, performative activism and we don’t need to be part of it. It makes as much sense as banning plastic straws. You don’t create systems change by following trends. Meatless Monday is going to meet my full-meat fist one of these days. But tonight, we’re going to crush peanut shells underfoot at a chain restaurant instead.”

More than okay with getting that salty coating in between the grooves of her furry, pink boots, Enid pulled Wednesday to her in a hug when they arrived to the edge of the forest trail that would take them into Jericho. Wednesday sucked in a breath of surprise at being forced into her hold but returned it after just a second of processing what was happening to her. “I don’t mean to take my bad mood out on you,” Enid apologized.

“I do it to you all the time,” Wednesday mumbled into her shoulder, sighing as she hooked her arms around her middle, hanging on just as tightly. “Usually for far-less valid reasons.” She pulled away to put her palms on Enid’s shoulders and met her eyes without that sympathy…instead…

Wednesday’s brown gaze in the setting sun was highly empathetic and made Enid drop half the tension in her shoulders. “I might also be a little hangry,” She confessed as her stomach roared suddenly between them.

There was a flirtation of a smirk on Wednesday’s lips at the noise and she said nothing, merely took her hand again, leading them boldly through the woods for a twenty-minute walk into town.

Enid swore she felt better just at the sight of the neon lights outlining the state of Texas with a cowboy hat perched on top of it when the restaurant was in view. Inside promised at least a feeling of satisfaction for the wolf within her, and that could often soften the meltdown of her personhood, too.

“Two, please,” Wednesday politely replied when the hostess, a too-cool Jericho High student with rapidly growing roots sticking out of her bleach blonde hair snapped her gum and looked irritated to have to ask how many were in their party.

Holding back her own growl of irritation, Enid would admit, she was relatively surprised by how well-behaved Wednesday could be in spaces like public restaurants. She often claimed that staff were simply victims of the State or something about labor rights, and generally tipped far more than Enid would’ve thought that they had earned.

Enid watched a basket of rolls be taken into a waitress’ hands and swallowed the saliva that threatened to slip out of her lips, thinking Wednesday was about to drop her hand as she often did in public – but not that day. She must’ve sensed some of her mother’s conversation had been about, willing to take on any bigot that might’ve had something to say about the two of them in a relationship. Vermont might’ve been one of the more progressive states in the country, but – certainly, so was California, and her mother had a whole lot to say from there that evening…

Once they were seated, Enid took a roll without waiting even a beat for the young woman who would be taking care of them to go through her required spiel, while Wednesday simply gave a curt nod at her before giving all of her attention to Enid as she went to return with water. (Enid could hardly wait for the day she could down one of those massive margaritas in the advertisements all over the establishment.)

She was halfway through with her first roll when Wednesday’s harsh stare asked the question before she needed to confirm, “You missed lunch with that extra dance practice today.”

“I’m sorry,” Enid said, just about ready to own up to anything – even things she hadn’t done, in an effort to just keep everyone from blowing up at her anymore that day. She really couldn’t handle Wednesday being frustrated with her, too -  

“Next time, tell me,” Wednesday ordered, her voice clipped; Enid stared hard at the rings on the wooden, lacquered tabletop, willing her next round of sadness to stay internal. “I’ll bring you something to class. Don’t apologize to me.”

About to say ‘sorry’ again, Enid just bit her lip, seeing the tears that were threatening to well up in her gaze. She tried to blink them away, and was grateful when the waitress asked if they needed more time with the menu when she brought their water over. Enid just shook her head, while Wednesday started, then said her name in a very gentle tone – and all the up and down of soft and hard was really –

“Um, the twelve-ounce New York strip, please – rare.”

“You know that means pink, possibly bloo-”

Wednesday was quick to defend her. “She knows what her body requires.”

Enid let out a shuddered breath, quietly asking for her sides before the waitress left. Wednesday reached across the table and took both of Enid’s hands, clearly needing to understand more about what was making her act so small and miserable. “Tell me what your mother said.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Enid argued, feeling her tone rising as hysteria was pouring out of each vein, flooding her body.

“You obviously already are. It’s weighing on you. Release the burden, and you’ll feel relief.”

As the first tear fell, Wednesday’s face contorted from intensity and certainty to overwhelmed and near helplessness as she obviously hadn't thought through the fact that Enid was going to cry in public. She squeezed Enid’s hands, but the gesture only caused the second one to dribble, then the third, and the fourth, and Enid brought her sweater up over her face to keep from letting out an audible sob in the restaurant.

Thankfully, Wednesday had some sort of awareness about what to do – they’d been dating for months and friends for so long, she’d seen her fair share of Enid’s breakdowns and generally knew what did and didn’t help. When the preventative measures clearly weren’t working that Monday, she stood up and rounded to the space beside her, putting an arm around her and letting Enid fold herself into her chest. The unexpected display of affection was actually bringing out even more of her release. God – that hug to soothe her emotions into was exactly what Enid needed, and the fact that Wednesday had it in her to be soft enough around her to let her break down, in a half-full restaurant, into her arms? She loved her more than anything, and Enid knew that, she just wished, maybe – well, Wednesday was probably right. She did just need to talk about it to work through it.

When she met the black strings of her hoodie, Enid knew she let out a cry of a sniffly sound. It was embarrassing, devastating, really, to be having a full breakdown at the Texas Roadhouse. But Wednesday had been determined to try and make her feel better that evening and was going to have to finish what she started, even if that meant snuggling her in a vinyl-covered booth while the waitress awkwardly put their salads down on the same side of the table a few minutes after the crying began.

Wednesday unrolled one of the fabric napkins, shaking out a knife and the forks. For a brief, split-second, Enid thought she really might eat one-handed while she continued to snivel all over her chest, but Wednesday instead used the square to dab Enid’s cheeks, soaking up the tears that hadn’t been absorbed into her sweatshirt. She adjusted her hold on her girlfriend and looked at her with something new –

Sincerity.

Almost blubbering again, Enid just nodded, knowing it would do well to admit what Esther had said to her on the phone. “My…mother – she was …on her weekly rampage, about…everything. Nevermore, administration refusing to split us up – you not receiving any consequences from last semester…the usual. Then…it shifted,” She sniffed. “She brought up my late blooming, how I’d been so privileged to have been even have parents who cared enough to offer to send me to lycanthropy conversion camp…”

Wednesday’s hand curled on her upper thigh at that.

“And when she wasn’t getting a rise out of me for that, she dug deeper – the normal line of inane ramblings of how she couldn’t believe after all that time, ‘that Addams girl’ was what got me to shift for the first time…and, when I reminded her, ‘that Addams girl’ is Wednesday, my girlfriend, she…she…just said, ‘we don’t talk about that,’ and started bitching about the value of a Nevermore education not matching up to the price tag, not that it mattered – since none of her pack were scoring above a 3.5 on the ‘mediocre’ grading system, moved on to my scar tissue and wanting me to come home to have a consultation with a plastic surgeon for a revision procedure, and I said that wasn’t going to happen and hung up on her. Then I cried.”

Watching Wednesday respond to the entirety of the call was like discovering something new hidden in a sensory tube every other second. While she was short for words, Wednesday’s eyes always spoke volumes about what she would say if she dared to put her thoughts out verbally. Mr. Addams had described her tongue as that of a viper to Enid more than once when telling stories about her, so she was pretty sure it was often for the best that Wednesday focused on taking in all the information before reacting. She knew that Wednesday tended to get into it with administrators and authority, but at least with Enid – she was far more even-tempered in how she responded to hearing words she didn’t like.

Enid let out a long breath and picked up one of the forks that Wednesday had shaken out of the napkin, needing to channel her energy into anything but crying again. She speared leafy greens onto the tines, trying not to visualize doing the same to any of her mother’s more vulnerable body parts, for that matter – wondering which Wednesday would fantasize about ripping out first in her defense.

“I’m sorry, Enid,” Wednesday spoke through a near whisper of a tone.

Hearing those words come out of Wednesday was like hearing foreign language that she needed to interpret. Her fork fell out of her hand. Not wanting to startle her anymore, Enid brought her longing, hopeful sort of gaze to Wednesday’s. “Why are you apologizing now?”

Wednesday drew her hands into her lap, staring straight ahead. It took her some time to form her response, likely, if Enid had to guess, because of the emotion that was pooling in her own eyes. She knew her damn well enough that she wouldn’t shed anything close to a tear in public, but Wednesday was very much on the edge. It didn’t make sense – she’d done nothing wrong, aside from maybe push her into talking about it when Enid knew what that would unleash, but even then – it’s not like she had been the one to say all those hurtful things…

“I suppose I am not apologizing with my sorry. But I am sorry that I contributed to enough of your mother’s ire that she took it out on you. I’m sorry that she continues to refuse to acknowledge that you are in a non-traditional relationship, let alone demonstrate any sort of positive feeling about it. I’m sorry that she continues to bring up painful events of the past, and attempt to shame you for them, or think you should have been grateful for her wanting to send you to an abusive situation. I’m sorry that she thinks your grades aren’t good enough – you’ve got a 3.87 right now, which is Magna cum laude and I’m really proud of you for working diligently at increasing your grade point average. I’m sorry that she thinks you need plastic surgery. If you wanted to, that would be your choice. But I love your scars, and I think they’re beautiful.”

Enid could barely breathe. She wasn’t sure if Wednesday had ever said so many words consecutively, let alone that indicated her true feelings on any subject matter…that she was harboring so many about her, in particular. Trying not to let herself curl up into the faux-wooden logs that made up the side wall of their booth, Enid finally found the ability to expand her lungs and release the last of the tension she’d been harboring. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“It’s not in pity,” Wednesday clarified. “It’s not. It’s…perhaps a feeling that I don’t have a schema for.” She gave a rare blink as she seemed to be trying to find the emotional vocabulary within her to better explain herself, staring at Enid, who was pretty sure she was going to need an inhaler by the end of dinner at the rate Wednesday was taking her breath away. Finally, she gave a nearly-invisible shrug as she further clarified, “I just know, that I love you. And I despise that anyone would attempt to make you feel small, or anything else negative, especially someone who is also supposed to love you unconditionally. And I am sorry, that you were forced to endure that. All your life. So…I’m sorry, and I hope to make it up to you.”

Tilting her head, sniffing just a little, finding the shiest hint of a smile, Enid promised in a watery whisper, “You are. Right now. You…knew that I needed to take care of myself, and that school wasn’t going to cut it, and you brought me to the Texas Roadhouse,” She let out a small bubble of a laugh. “Here, I’ll get what I need to sustain me, but while we’re waiting,” She paused, reaching over for one of Wednesday’s clasped hands, forcing them apart so they could squeeze one another’s. “You’re giving me the opportunity to release what doesn’t. Thank you, Wednesday.”

There was a new wave on Wednesday’s features – a distinct mark of relief in her gaze as she swept it, unblinking onto Enid again. “It is hardly my forte to make someone who was sad return to baseline, let alone anything akin to happiness…”

“You’ve done a pretty remarkable job for me,” Enid assured her when the waitress brought out their main courses, looking a little awkward as she put them near their still-full salad plates.

“Uh…anything else I can bring you girls?”

“A total end to the heteronormative, compulsory, traditional society we continue to find ourselves existing in,” Wednesday said without hesitating.

The waitress blinked.

Enid shook her head. “I think we’ve got anything we need, right here.”

The woman left with wide, confused eyes and Enid sighed, cutting into her steak without thinking twice, watching the red ooze out onto her plate. The sight grossed her out, but she knew it would do her body good.

Sure enough – halfway into the steak, she was feeling remarkably better already. “Try to finish it,” Wednesday prompted her. “The full moon is on Thursday, you should be nearly doubling your caloric intake.”

Kissing her cheek, earning the slightest twinge of red to her cheeks, Enid thanked her and followed through, polishing off the meat, picking at her vegetables while Wednesday ate with a distinct sort of raised-higher-class slowness that she usually did.

After finishing and watching Wednesday tip the waitress almost double what the bill had been, Enid took her hand and made it her turn to lead them – the yellow glow of a Dollar General sign across the street tempting her. “I feel like properly finishing up my breakdown by making a frivolous, five-dollar purchase.”

Wednesday’s eyes rolled but she didn’t fight her. Mid 2000s soft-pop radio was playing as they stepped into the nearly desolate discount store, one that Enid liked because of the deadstock that featured some of her favorite comfort characters from her childhood. Knowing exactly what she wanted, she led Wednesday through precariously stacked makeshift aisles of cardboard boxes filled with inventory that would be put out by the one employee working there over the course of several weeks. She hummed along to the music, singing along softly with Colbie Caillat, feeling a little bubbly herself as Wednesday refrained from spewing out comments on late-stage capitalism or some such true, but nonsensical arguing that would accomplish nothing between them. “Here they are,” She said, gesturing to a host of children’s coloring books. Wondering if Wednesday's limited access to traditional children's media would kick in, Enid playfully wondered, “Anybody look familiar to you?”

“Even someone who spent a significant portion of her childhood exploring the caves below the house like myself can recognize the ultimate example of corporate greed, the mouse that is Mickey.”

“Yikes,” Enid commented, “I’ll steer clear of the Disney characters.” Mentally retracting her statement to herself about Wednesday being able to hold back full-punch societal comments, she smirked, spotting what she wanted pretty much right away, taking a pink, Strawberry Shortcake book into her hold. “Will you color with me?”

“I cannot promise that I won’t be giving the fruitcake a makeover. And a knife.”

Giggling, then singing along a little more as she took Wednesday’s hand and wove her through the maze of mess before checking out – spending a whopping two dollars and twelve cents to achieve the final release in neurotransmitters that would complete her night.

After a walk back to Ophelia Hall that included a great production of sneaking back into the campus as they’d left without permission, Enid and Wednesday both found themselves in their pajamas and ready for bed before Enid took her art supplies out from a basket, revealing about three hundred colored pencils in different shades.

Wednesday flipped through the coloring book with a touch of a nose wrinkle, staring at the smiley, fruit-themed girls. She was going out of her way, clearly setting every intention of getting through the moment to make her girlfriend happy as she'd claimed. Finally letting out a real, whole laugh, Enid earned her perplexed stare. “You did it,” She promised. Wednesday waited and Enid winked. “You didn’t just reset me to factory settings, but you made me happy. I promise. You totally do not have to color with me. You can read or edit papers or whatever else is going to make you happy, too. So long as you’re not out solving mysteries, but here with me.”

There was a beat of relief as Wednesday took out a book she’d been reading through, curling up beside Enid, who took some creative liberties as Wednesday would have, forcing a picture of Lemon Meringue, the pigtailed character, and Strawberry Shortcake to look as close to herself and Wednesday as possible, even adding a little knife into Lemon’s hand. Wednesday let Enid pick the music, but she went with one of her playlists of cello covers as a compromise for both of them.

When she finished and flashed the coloring sheet to her girlfriend, Wednesday almost smiled, amusement evident in her eyes as she took a knife out of her pajama pocket (naturally – everyone needed a bedtime knife), evenly slicing it out of the book. She tacked it up on Enid’s bulletin board before putting all the coloring supplies away while Enid watched. Finally, she turned off all the lights except the strand of twinkling ones she’d magically learned to tolerate once they started dating.

She brought Enid to the floor-bed they’d made with a roll-away mattress that was more comfortable than cramming into either of their twin beds, lying on her back as usual, and inviting Enid to curl up with her with silence, just vague gestures – a pat of her own chest, a small nod…

“Wednesday, I love you. Thank you, for making me feel one hundred percent better. I feel even better than before my mom called,” Enid said softly, nuzzling into her.

Wednesday’s fingers instinctively wove into her hair. “I’m tempted to block her number on your phone so she can’t get a hold of you. I can’t promise that if I’m in the room the next time she calls, I won’t make her feel something about herself that is more than true.”

“Good,” Enid encouraged with a contented huff. “She deserves that.”

“You didn’t deserve what she said or attempted to do to you in the past. And I hope that…her comments about…us, don’t make you second guess things. I am always here – to repair and comfort what she has hurt or damaged, as long as you want me to.”

Enid squeezed her affectionately. “You are excellent at comforting my hurts.”

There was a small breath of alleviation she felt from Wednesday. Wanting her to really understand that, she added, “You went out of your way for me tonight. You could’ve just given me a hug, taken me down to the dining hall, and come up to edit my paper. But you didn’t. You knew what very specific things would make me physically feel better, then opened yourself up emotionally for me, too. You’re the best. I love you.”

Wednesday clutched her tightly with one palm wrapped around her back, the other gently tracing the skin near Enid’s scars. Her words felt a little surprising when she added, “I would like to apologize for forcing you to talk about what happened before you were ready. I’m sure you would have liked to not cry in public at the Texas Roadhouse.”

“I think it’s a perfectly lovely public place to have a breakdown,” Enid said with a giggle at her own expense.

Wednesday said nothing other than a quiet, “I love you. Go to sleep.”

Closing her eyes so she could follow the direction, Enid sighed very contently, reflecting on the evening as she drifted off to have the chance to start over in a new day.

Layla is working through prompts and determined to write the Black Menagerie epilogue for the weekend - stay tuned for more ✌🏼

[mikkeneko]

On that other post I made about “you do not have the obligation or the right to control how other people engage with media,” one of the examples I listed was “people are consuming media they’re too old for/people are consuming media they’re too young for.” And one comment I see popping up in the notes of that post is some variation of “I mostly agree with this post, except for the point about kids consuming media they’re too young for. Obviously I’m against that.”

And I feel like this is one of those points that freedom-to-read has conceded too easily, the right of young readers thrown under the bus because OBVIOUSLY we’re against minors being able to access inappropriate things! OBVIOUSLY we don’t want to expose THE KIDS to THE TERRIBLE THINGS. Obviously, we still have to protect people from content they’re too young for!

We don’t.

And I could fill in here a standard argument about how queer resources are always going to be up-rated when it comes to age restrictions because of how they’re viewed as inherently more adult/sexual/inappropriate than their cishet counterparts, and how this blocks queer kids from getting the resources they need, and that would all be true, of course.

But we don’t need to Protect The Kids From The Bad Books in the broader scale either!

There’s a long rambling essay to be had here about my own experiences as a kid reading media that was considered ‘not age appropriate’ for me, and how for the most part it was all stuff I was fine with (Lord of the Rings, Clan of the Cave Bear) and on a few occasions it was stuff I wasn’t  fine with (Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, Candyman) and it upset me and I wished I hadn’t seen it. But what it ultimately comes down to is this:

Kids need to be able to learn where their limits are, and they need to be able to set their own boundaries, as a part of learning to be an adult. And part of the process of learning to do that  is to come up against stuff that’s outside  their limits, and stepping back from it. And they can’t do that if they’re being artificially restricted from mature content.

A certain amount of upsetting experience is part of this process,  and it doesn’t need to be traumatizing if  the kid in question has control over their own engagement. Frankly I can’t think of a single more gentle and controllable way to test their limits than in a book, where there are no images, no sounds, and the kid can disengage at absolutely any time simply by closing the book.

They have to learn to draw their own borders sometime. Let them learn at their own pace.

Would it be better if kids had trusted adults in their lives guiding them through mature content, who intimately understand the kid’s sensitivity level and can recommend appropriate materials, and provide a supportive framework for working through material that turns out to be upsetting? Sure. Absolutely every kid in the world deserves an understanding, compassionate and supportive adult. But since we can’t legislate the existence of good parents, the absolute least  we can do is allow kids the freedom to control their own choices.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for getting upset at my best friend for calling me a hoarder in passing?

My (29NB) best friend (also 29NB) have been going through major crises lately at the same time—we will call them Sun. So, yesterday, they sent me a text, when we weee talking about how they haven’t wanted to be over at my house for a while, mostly bc they don’t like my partner…although the subject was in discussion bc my partner and I are splitting up, and I will be living alone again in a couple months. At some point in this discussion, they mentioned the more pressing matter that’s caused them not to be over as much is that they are very allergic to one of my cats—but only the one I just adopted a couple years ago, they’ve had no allergy issues w the other one and they love her very much, she is their niece.

However, at one point, they mentioned that a few years ago, when I was using drugs a lot more irresponsibly than usual—to the point where I got injured from falling down the stairs—they had been speaking to my other close friends. Which is appreciated, and I knew about this already obviously since there was an intervention that happened around that time…the way they mentioned this was upsetting. Specifically, they mentioned that “they approached [other friend of mine] about my drug use bc they thought I was becoming a hoarder” and that MAJORLY triggered me—specifically the hoarder comment. The woman who gave birth to me/raised me is a hoarder, which is a well known fact to just about anyone who is close to me irl, especially anyone who’s known her irl, and ESPECIALLY Sun, who worked as her caregiver for quite a while. Also being compared to/told I am just like my abusive egg donor is the thing that will hurt me the most, bc she is the most cruel, manipulative, abusive people I’ve ever had in my life.

So the thing is, my house is indeed very messy…I have too much junk around, and it’s very difficult for me physically to keep anything clean. It’s actually one of the reasons I’m separating from my partner, and as ashamed as I am about it, I understand. However, it’s not a hoarding disorder at all—I don’t hold onto anything I don’t need out of sentimentality, and if I could wave a magic wand and simply get rid of all the extra shit I don’t need/make everything nice and clean, I would. Unfortunately, I am very disabled with too many chronic pain/fatigue conditions, and actually cleaning the house/sorting through shit to get rid of takes immense physical effort. But whenever someone offers to help me, I jump at those opportunities! I take things to be donated all the time (if I’m able to sort through the stuff that needs to go) and it’s entire worlds different than my egg donor refusing to give up several bins of my baby clothes bc she can’t bear to part with them, despite them never seeing use in her possession ever again.

So, I responded to Sun’s mention of a past conversation thinking I’m a hoarder, with offense and saying it hurt me. We had been discussing just downsizing and how we will be going through my stuff as we pack for the new place, and had mentioned that I should make sure to get rid of certain clothing things if they have holes/are worn out/whatever, which to me, sounded like they think I have a hard time throwing clothes away even if they’re not even wearable anymore. With that and the hoarding accusation in mind, I told them I was very hurt by this. I made sure to be respectful and kind yet assertive, but after explaining how this was an unfair assumption/description of me, they got upset and said I should’ve asked for clarification before coming at them.

Now, do me, I wouldn’t have even considered they meant anything other than how I interpreted it, so it would never have even occurred to me to ask for clarification if I’m not even aware there’s a miscommunication. Apparently, the reason they mentioned getting rid of clothes that have been too worn out is an issue they have themselves, but this isn’t anything I was ever aware of, and once again never would’ve thought was referring to anyone but me. They also say they’re aware that it’s my physical difficulties that make cleaning physically painful for me…but honestly, that’s not anywhere near the same as having a hoarding disorder, which is indeed what they’d accused me of.

Of course, I know the both of us overreacted—me, being offended about being accused of being a hoarder (especially since my immense difficulty cleaning the house is part of why I’m separating from my partner and is therefore something I’m incredibly sensitive about right now) and them, being offended that I took what they said wrong and being upset over some things they didn’t actually intend w what they said…but I’m just not sure if maybe I AM in the wrong here, for expressing being hurt by being called a hoarder here, or if I really am making the entire thing a big deal out of nothing.

So, AITA for voicing my offense at being called a hoarder?

What are these acronyms?

[rowenablade]

A word about Izzy’s grave.

I’ve seen a lot of people upset that Izzy wasn’t buried at sea, or that he wasn’t buried with his leg and ring, and I want to offer an alternative explanation in case it can bring some comfort. Maybe I’m just deluding myself, but I can’t function if I feel nothing but pain about this, so here I am trying to turn…well, you know.

First, the choice to bury Izzy on land. For that, I want to talk about the swallow tattoo.

In a traditional nautical context, a swallow tattoo has a few meanings. The one that I think this whole fandom knows by now is that it represents 5000 nautical miles sailed. Totally makes sense for Izzy to have this tattoo- it’s practical, it allows him to subtly brag about his skills, and the fact that it’s on one of the few pieces of skin he generally shows bears that out. Izzy has sailed at least 5000 nautical miles, and he wants anyone he meets to know that.

But there’s a couple other meanings too.

A swallow is migratory. It travels great distances, and returns to the place it makes its nest. By getting a swallow tattoo, a sailor is essentially praying that they, too, will be like a swallow. That they will travel far across the sea, but ultimately return safely home.

And failing that, if a sailor drowns, the swallow will fly their soul up to heaven.

You notice the theme in both these prayers? That they don’t end with the swallow in the ocean.

All birds, even sea birds, need a solid place to make their nests. The type of bird that never touches ground, that’s born in the air and never once touches the land? That’s not a type of bird that can actually exist, captain.

I go back and forth on whether I think Izzy, sentimental bastard that he is, knew about or considered these meanings when he got that swallow tattoo. But however you consider it, the swallow represents the sailor’s journey. And a successful sailor’s journey doesn’t end with the sailor at the bottom of the ocean. It ends with them at home.

Izzy is buried at Ed and Stede’s nest, because his sailor’s journey is over. He was a sailor, but he’s not anymore. He’s retired.

Second, the grave itself. I’ve seen people upset that they took off Izzy’s effects rather than bury him with them. Now, I’m sure my own perceptions color this. I’m fairly unsentimental when it comes to the actual, physical handling of the dead. I don’t believe the dead care what is done with their bodies. Obviously you’re going to feel differently based on your own experience and culture, and I respect that.

But here’s what I think the crew were thinking.

You notice something about the grave? No headstone. And honestly, why would there be? Most pirates can’t read. You put a traditional headstone on that grave, and nine out of ten people who have reason to care about the person buried there won’t know what it says. But an unmarked grave doesn’t feel right, nor does an anonymous cross. I challenge anyone who’s upset about the way Izzy was buried to tell me that an unmarked grave would have made them feel one whit better.

Pirates recognize Izzy. They know who he is. The sword, the ring, the wooden leg- this is how you write “Here lies Israel Hands,” in a language every pirate can understand.

Look. I don’t by any means think the show handled this death perfectly. And for those of you who are enraged to the point of hating the show now, I don’t expect this to make you feel better. But I suspect a burial at sea, or an unadorned cross, wouldn’t have made it any better either.

This is how I try to feel better. Because I can’t just be heartbroken. I can’t do it. And honestly the part of this that hurts the most is watching people who shared in my joy of this show say they hate it now. I’m sure I’m giving the writers and showrunners too much credit- I think the death looked and felt the way it did because they were pressed for time and took the quickest routes they could. But I need to be something other than angry about it, so here’s how I try to do that. I hope it helps someone else.