#but i changed it...so it fits a bit better...

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other. part3

Imagine the way Caleb stopped sleeping in beds. It was too soft. Too still. Too big. He found himself on floor, against the walls or sometimes on an old couch with springs that dug into his spine. He stopped drawing the curtains. He didn't want the dark anymore neither did he want the light either. He just wanted nothing. In the morning, if he could still call them that, he would sat on the kitchen floor with a cold cup of something he never finished. And sometimes he talked to no one in particular. Just words, soft and broken coming out of his mouth. "I'm sorry." He would say. "I'm so so sorry." Because that is all he had left now, words that didn't matter, and time he couldn't spend with you.

Imagine the way he became cold. Not cruel.. just quiet in a way that people get when they're trying not to fall apart. Caleb started turning his mirrors around. He didn't like what he saw. Not just the tired eyes or the cracked lips, or the weight loss. But the look in his face that said. 'I did this. I let this happen.' He barely spoke unless he had to. He only smiled when it made other people feel better. He kept your name locked behind his teeth because every time he said it out loud, it made you more real. More gone.

Imagine the apartment was gone. It was reduced into nothing but ash but in his mind, it was still full. Full of your scent, full of your laugh echoing down the hallway, your humming from the kitchen even though you thought he wasn't listening. In his mind, your sweater was still draped over the back of a chair. Your silly collections on top of the cabinet still lies in there. Everything was still there... in memory. But memory is cruel. It doesn't keep him warm.

Imagine he would stood where the front door used to be. He imagined you fumbling with your keys, holding your phone in the other hand. He imagined your tired smile after a long day. He imagined that final moment, the second before the blast. Alone. Scared. Thinking he had chosen someone else over you. The way he dropped on his knees on that sidewalk, screaming for your name like it would matter. Like you might hear it somehow. Like it would rewind the clock. But the world just kept going. Cars passed. People talked. A dog barked. And Caleb sat there in the rain. With the colorless world buzzing around him, trying to figure out how to keep breathing when the very reason for it had been turned to ash.

Imagine there was no funeral. Not one he could attend, anyway. He stood from a distance, dressed in clothes that no longer fit him the same. And when they lowered you into the ground, the only thing he could think was, You had died thinking he didn't choose you. And that thought became his prison.

Imagine the grief didn't sit quietly with Caleb. It screamed, it bled into every bit of his bones, carved into his muscles and made a home in his throat. People tried. Pips, MC tried. A few old friends. They sent messages, knocked on doors, left food, sat beside him without speaking. But none of it reached him. He wasn't there. Not anymore. He had gone down with the fire. Caleb wasn't angry at the people who did it, not really. It is just that it would require energy. Hope and maybe even vengeance. But all he had was this heavy, dead weight where his heart used to be. They said grief is a process. Not for him.

Imagine his grief was not a wound that was forgotten over and healed with time. His was a decision. A stone. Something he placed at the bottom of his soul and built his new life around. Grief wasn't leaving. It was him now.

Imagine years passed. Seasons changed. The world kept turning, as it always does. He went back to work, trained new recruits, took missions. He comes back, breathed and slept when he could. Ate, when he remembered. He functioned but he wasn't living. He moved like a man underwater, everything muffled, slow, cold. He visited your grave once a year. Same day, same hour, same flowers, same path. Every year he stood in front of your name and imagined what could have been. How you would have aged, how your voice might have changed, how many more hours he could have memorized your face if only he had stayed.

Imagine the way his hands do not shake in missions. He wasn't reckless, he doesn't want to die, not really. But he didn't care if he did. MC noticed. She didn't say anything for a long time, but she saw it in his face. The way he didn't duck as fast, the way his reflexes were dulled, like he was living underwater. Like pain didn't scare him anymore. Like consequences were someone else problem. And then one night he finally told her without warning.

"They died thinking I chose you." MC’s breath hitched. "They didn't know." He wanted to cry, really. But at the same time, he doesn't know how. "About the threat. I told them it was you… I didn’t explain. I didn’t stay. I thought I was saving them." He looked at his hands and flexed them like he couldn't remember how they were supposed to feel. "They died thinking I left them again." MC cried for him. And he didn't.

Imagine Caleb, he never fell in love again. He didn't even try. Women smiled. Men lingered. But Caleb never reached back. He never leaned in. He never looked too long. He did not have anything left to give. Everything that once lived inside him, the laughter, the gentleness, the clumsy warmth. All of it had been burned away. People asked him once in passing if he was seeing anyone.

"No." He replied. "I don't think I can love again." It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't sad. It was just true. You were it, you were the love story. The first chapter, the middle, the end. And now, there were no more pages to turn.

Imagine Caleb was never the same again. He stopped talking about you but you were in everything. The way he tied his boots. The songs he skipped. The movies he couldn't watch. The way he smiled politely at joy but never let it all the way in. He kept you close, but hidden like a secret he didn't want to heal from. And maybe that's how love lives, when the person is gone. Not in photos or keepsakes, or places but in the habits you never unlearn. In the pain you don't ask to be free from.

Imagine Caleb did not believe in happy endings anymore. He believed in you. In that movie night. In your trembling voice. In the way you held his hand even when it hurt. In your laugh when you were tired. In your humming in the kitchen. In the way you looked at him like he wasn't broken. That was what he carried. That, and the weight of everything unsaid. There was no healing for him. No sudden realization that life must go on. Caleb never truly returned. Because you were the return point. You were the home he was always trying to get back to. And the moment you were gone, the map disappeared.

Imagine he never moved on. He never wanted to. Because in the end, Caleb accepted that you would never come back and that he would never be whole again. But he also accepted that it was worth it. That loving you, even for a moment, had been enough even if it killed him slowly. Even if it burned everything else away. Even if he died with that love, quiet and buried and unspoken, still holding your name in the dark. Because you were the only one and he would carry you always. In grief. In silence. In peace.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: i never thought expanding my vocabulary after the grammar police would lead me quite poetic. So wtf.

: i finish this tonight, I'll have the rest of the boys queued so XD don't come after me. *peace out*

[gorillastraylight]

I love this post so much. I hesitate to definitively say “the more Star Wars there is, the less special and interesting it becomes” overall because there’s plenty I like about the expanded universe and clone wars era and whatnot, but I do think that the more Star Wars there is, the more it changes the feeling of the setting as a whole. That probably sounds stupid and obvious so maybe I can explain a little

Like, the positive way to view this is that Star Wars, as a property, can be a home for a wide range or stories that vary considerably in tone and theme. It can comfortably fit the low-stakes Space Western stuff in The Mandalorian (at least in the early seasons before it was decided that every canon character ever had to show up), the (attempted) grand politics of the Prequels, and the gritty subversive punch of Andor within it all at once. It’s all still Star Wars.

Of course, the flip side of this is where you end up with YouTube bozos whining that anything new “doesn’t feel like Star Wars”, especially when it’s an idea that takes the franchise to a genuinely new place, literal (The Acolyte with the High Republic) or thematic (Andor being intended for an adult audience). To connect this to battletech, my beloved, it’s like hearing grognards grumble that the IlClan era doesn’t feel like battletech anymore - they’re wrong, it absolutely does, just not their preferred section of the franchise. This, of course, assuming that said YouTube bozo or Battletech grog isn’t just using that statement as camouflage for discomfort with minority characters being in the spotlight more often.

I do feel very drawn to the more mystical force and loosely defined universe presented by the Original Trilogy - increasingly, I find myself preferring less concrete lore to more. Too much lore is how you end up with the Wookiepedia article about Darth Vader’s suit confirming that his helmet is polished with woodoo hide and that Palpatine built him wrong on purpose to keep him weak or whatever. This shit is fucking lame and completely demystifies Vader IMO, it all just feels like post-hoc justifications for perceived “errors” from a fanbase that intakes media not as stories with their own goals and artistic elements, but as documentaries of fictional worlds. See also my most hated Star Wars trivia piece, that lightsaber blades attract one another slightly, a bit of fluff clearly invented to deflect the observation that prequel characters looked like they were attacking each other’s sabers rather than each other, an early criticism of fight choreography in the prequels. Like, would it have been so bad to just let that be rather than come up with some contrived bullshit to lampshade it? It didn’t even matter, everyone (even unenlightened fools such as myself who still think the prequels are pretty bad) agrees that prequel fights are fucking sick, even if they are overchoreographed.

Now, while I prefer the idea of a mystical, personal version of the force, it’s also less useful to the idea of the Jedi that Lucas was trying to convey in the prequels - an archaic, cumbersome organization that wields too much authority and has grown too comfortable to question itself. The deep spirituality and inward curiosity that vision of the Force presents would be at odds with the Jedi Order as lost and fallible. If the prequels were better executed, the fact that the Order presents a much more mundane, “solved” version of the force could itself be an element of that motif. The stupid fucking midi-chlorian counter could be a symbol of how out of touch with the spiritual aspect of the Force the order had become, and it might even make me hate it slightly less. It’s not so much that it’s a worse version of the force, just more suited to its own story - is what I would like to say. Unfortunately, Count Dooku uses Force Lightning.

Why. Why does he do this? Putting aside the idea that it’s cooler for Lightning to be a Palpatine-unique power, it seems incongruous to Dooku’s character! Now, the characterization of Count Dooku is pretty inconsistent- especially with how deep into the dark side he is. Is he more of a rogue Jedi who’s grown disillusioned with the order and the republic, or a truly evil, scheming villain? Depends what story you’re taking in, but given how perfunctory his introduction in the films is, giving this random guy the fucking ultimate evil force power just cheapens it unnecessarily. Hell, to put on my Wookiepedia hat for a minute here, Dooku’s a duelist, a specialist with the lightsaber. He’s not a sorceror freak like Palpatine, why can he do this insane wizard shit?

There’s other examples of stuff like that, but I think it’s overall emblematic of the tradeoff I pointed to right at the start. Star Wars is large enough to contain many kinds of stories - but elements that strengthen or streamline some stories then become canon to all the others, even if they weaken (and so are pointedly unaddressed by) those others. The other classic example is how almost every new empire era story makes Order 66 less effective and Luke Skywalker’s role as the resurrector and inheritor of the Jedi tradition less impactful. That’s the price of the grand franchise, and all I can say is that if I wind up running Age of Rebellion with my ttrpg players, I’ll be glad they’re the kind of people who’re cool with playing it a little loose with canon in service of a good story.

[x--sinner--x]

"Hey, can you write something about swimming coach raping his innocent female student? She's a bit dumb so he takes advantage of her innocence. Thank you!"

Swimming Lessons

⚠️⚠️ (not meant for real life)

------------------------------------------------------

In my entire career as a swimming coach, I had never seen anyone quite like her. She had just turned 19 when her parents asked me to coach me. She was stoic, expressionless when I first met her, but in the corner of my perverted mind, I also admired her sexy physique she had going on.

I didn't think much of it, and started my training sessions with her. And immediately I knew she wasn't like the rest of the students. The initial few weeks I spent trying to make her get used to the water, but it was proving to be difficult. It was as if something was holding her back.

She was just doing whatever I was telling her to, but there was no passion at all. She wasn't trying to improve. She was just trying to get it done with. I tried talking to her, but she wouldn't say more than a few words, and it was getting on my nerves. But still I wanted to persist with her because I could sense potential.

When none of my methods worked, I decided to change my tactic. Maybe it was the fear of failure being watched by all the others at the pool that was making her nervous. I had a pool at my house, and I thought I'll bring her there to practice privately. That's where it all changed, and I would like to say for the better.

Her dressing sense changed from when she was at the swimming school to my house. While she had to wear a swimsuit there, she came in a bikini. That itself was a shock to me. But what shocked me even more is the sudden difference in skill that she never exhibited at the school. Her form and technique was off, but i could see my teachings reflected in her actions.

My perverted mind went into full gear when she walked out of the pool all wet and her nipples were see-through. But she was dumb enough to not care about it. That's when I thought, will I be able to take it even further? I have been sexually repressed for quite some time now, and she may be what I need to let off some steam.

The next couple of days, I helped her in private, physically to help better her form and posture as he dove headfirst into the water, and lost all her momentum when she did that. She had to get elegant, while her movements were erratic at the moment. But the more I look at her, the perverted mind starts to peek in. It was irresistible. My hands would often position itself very close to her genitals, but she didn't mind, and was still following my orders to a fault.

One day, it felt like she had forgotten all of her training. Her timing was off, her form was non existent and she had gone back to square one. Her clothes were more revealing and her form went when lower.

So i yanked her by the arm and took her to the room. I yelled at her for a bit and she was trying to tell me that some things happened. I did my best to understand, but my rage combined with the perverted thoughts made it even more complicated to look at her like a student. She was all wet, and her dress wasn't exactly covering up.

In a fit of rage I pushed her on to the bed. I had to punish her. And maybe with this, I can let go of some steam. Her dress wasn't hard to remove. I pulled the string and her bra came undone and with one quick flick, her panties were off too - and all that I can see now is a young and beautiful girl, all naked and wet for me. The best part is she wasn't even trying to resist me.

The way the water droplets trickled across her skin had blood going straight down to my cock. I quickly discarded my clothes too and joined her in the bed. "This will teach you a lesson."

My feral thoughts took over instantly as I plunged my mouth onto her nipples, biting and pulling back on them as all I could feel is euphoria from it all. My hands found her opening, fully shaved and glistening wet for me in an instant. I played around with her pussy, using spit on my fingers to lube her up for the occasion.

I positioned myself on top of her and teased my cock against her entrance while I bent forward to steal little kisses and mark my territory on my body. My hands intertwined with hers and in a tangle of lust, I pushed my cock in and it was heavenly from how tight she was. I was grunting and moaning into her ear as I moved my hips in and out and at different varying paces. She couldn't help but hug me back and let moans escape her mouth but she wasn't resisting me at all.

I flipped her so that she was on all fours, I held on to her hips and forced her face down as I thrusted deep into her pussy from behind. Her back view was just as amazing as the front, but even from here I could see her boobs just flopping around, based on how fast and hard I thrust into her. Her pussy was so tight that I didn't even want to pull out. I wanted to see her beautiful body covered in my cum all over. I spanked her ass a couple times, and her moans always got me even more feral. My hands were imprinted on to her ass from how she was enabling me.

I wasn't done there. I flipped her over onto her back again, bringing her face to the edge of the bed so that it hangs off it, and then proceeded to push my cock in. She had her mouth gaping wide for me and it was easy sliding my cock in. I could see my own bulge spread her throat out and it was a great feeling. She eventually closed her lips around my length, which made it even more pleasurable. Maybe she wanted me to take advantage after all?

I used her for hours, in various different positions and her body just perfectly danced to my rhythms. I made her ride my cock, and damn her titties bouncing and the sound of our bodies combining was just something I could never forget. She would even throw her ass back so hard on my cock, that I would feel my cock all the way inside her womb. I choked her neck, and bit her in various parts so that the lesson always stays with her. I came endlessly into her pussy, and felt my cum dripping out of all her holes and it was making a mess of my sheets.

Her moans were the loudest when I came, because she enjoyed that she could make me cum. But the melancholy went both ways, as she would cum together with me, as her pussy would clench even tightly around my cock and her entire body would shake from her intense orgasm. I made sure she couldn't walk straight and drained her energy completely, until she was nothing but a cock slut. I did make sure she was pregnant, because I want to see her with a growing belly.

I didn't think about her parents all that much, who left her in my care to train her, only for her to come back with a baby. But this incident, brought her confidence and form back. And she was back to her improved form. Her timings had greatly improved, and her flexibility and perception had increased. That's when I thought I should do this to her often.

[sknymnnie]

The Fitting Room Doesn’t Lie

The lighting in the dressing room was cruel. Fluorescent, cold, and merciless — the kind that made you see every fold, every crease, every insecurity you were already trying to hide.

You stood there in front of the mirror last year, arms stiff at your sides, 143 pounds and uncomfortable in your own skin. The jeans clung too tight at the waist, the crop top your friend handed you barely grazed your belly button. You didn’t want to come shopping. But she insisted.

“It’ll be fun!” she said brightly. “You just need to get out of the house.”

You thought she meant to help. But then came the comments.

“You know, I think this would flatter me more than you.” “Ugh, don’t worry, I can’t wear stuff like that either… when I’m bloated.” “It’s just genetics, you know? Some of us are built to be lean.”

She wasn’t trying to help. She was trying to look better standing next to you.

Every outfit was a trap. Every compliment had claws. And every smile she gave in the mirror seemed just a bit wider when you stepped out of the stall looking defeated.

You swallowed the embarrassment. Laughed it off. Went home and stared at yourself in the mirror for too long.

That night, something shifted. Not rage. Not revenge.

Resolve.

It started with small choices. Water instead of soda. Saying no to that extra plate. Walks that turned into workouts. Binging that slowly turned into control.

Month after month. Bite by bite. You peeled yourself out of the version of you she loved standing beside.

And by the time the next winter rolled around?

50 pounds gone. Down to 90.

Tiny waist. Slim arms. Subtle ribs beneath soft knit sweaters. Hip bones gently curved beneath fitted jeans. Collarbone sharp and high.

You didn’t just look different.

You moved different.

So when she texted you again — “Let’s do another shopping day like old times!” — you said yes.

But this time, you were ready.

She met you outside the mall, holding two lattes and wearing a familiar smirk. She scanned you once — top to bottom — and tried to hide the shock behind her lashes.

“You’ve… really lost weight.”

“Yeah,” you said simply. “Been taking care of myself.”

She blinked. Didn’t know what to say. So she handed you your latte and tried to lead like she always did.

But when you stepped into the first store and reached for a hanger, she hesitated.

“Oh… that’s an extra small,” she said casually. “They run really tight here.”

You turned the tag in your hand, then smiled.

“Good. That’s my size now.”

In the fitting room, the same cruel lighting hit differently. Now it caught the smooth outline of your arms, the flatness of your stomach, the soft shadows between your ribs. The skirt hugged your hips and stopped at the perfect spot on your thigh. The crop top actually skimmed your waist instead of clinging to it.

You stepped out. She was already outside, pulling at her waistband.

She looked up. Froze.

“Oh. Wow.”

And that was all she said. Because that was all she could say.

You turned slightly to check the back in the mirror — long hair falling just above the small of your back, waist cinched, sleeves loose at the wrist. You didn’t tug or adjust anything.

Everything fit.

And it fit you — the new you.

She tried to keep up. Grabbed a tighter dress, asked for a smaller size, even changed her makeup in the store mirror. But her energy shifted. There was no hiding the discomfort now.

You were the one people glanced at. You were the one who turned heads. She was just… there.

At checkout, the cashier smiled warmly at you.

“You should model,” they said, folding your outfit gently. “You look amazing in everything you tried on.”

You smiled back, soft and knowing.

“Thank you. I’ve been working on that.”

You didn’t look at your friend — didn’t need to.

She was already looking at you.

And this time?

She wasn’t standing next to you to shine.

She was standing there, realizing you’d outgrown the role she kept trying to keep you in.

This is for me simply because I can't find the other shopping one that I used to read all the time, so I felt a new one was in order.

[interact-if]

Pride Month Feature #1: Grey Swan Birds of a Rose

As part of Pride Month, interact-IF will be interviewing LGBTQ+ authors and featuring their games! We are planning a line-up of approximately ~10 interviews, kickstarted by our first author, @reinekes-fox!

Game: Grey Swan — Birds of a Rose (Play Demo)

Tags: dark academia, drama, angst

Synopsis: Born and raised in a cult there is not much but the norm to follow, when outsiders are allowed in and bring with them such weird concepts like "bisexuality" and "mental illness", will you stay in the golden cage of the Divine Flock or break free?

Author: Aaron (@reinekes-fox)

About me: Been writing since I am 12 and… somehow never stopped! I put a big focus on platonic routes, the struggle in a world focused on romance (and in the cult setting on traditional gender roles as well) , since I am aroace :)

Read on for an awesome interview about the hydra-like nature of branching IFs, friendships being given just as much importance as romance routes, and a really intriguing pride month book rec!

Big thanks again to Aaron for taking time to do this. Read on for the interview!

Tell me more about yourself!

So I write since pretty much my entire life. But the first time I had to write something for school, Irefused. Funnily enough, it was about a talking bird trying to convince a child to let them out of a cage. I am currently also writing a traditional book!

2. Can you tell me a bit about what you’re working on right now and your journey into interactive fiction?

My main focus is on the first entry of my Grey Swan series: Birds of a Rose! I stumbled upon Choice of Games a couple years back (I still remember Choice of the Dragon without scrolling down), and finally decided to write out of the best reason: spite. Because the WIPs I liked kept being abandoned so I told myself I would do better! To this day, two years later, I am proud that I achieved that.

3. What are some of the most rewarding or challenging aspects of writing Interactive Fiction for you?

My most rewarding and challenging aspect is the branching, I describe it like a Hydra. It is easily the most challenging aspect (I have an entire file for it, just so that I don't forget any of that) and the most rewarding as I love to see my story grow in ways that don't feel forced.

4. How do you go about portraying queer characters, queer experiences, or queer storylines in your IF?

Now my story is very, very dark and even cishet people in it do get a fair amount of angst and drama, so most routes do focus on: finding a place in society, trying to either break down who you are to fit in or to look for a more accepting place elsewhere (even if it means leaving most you knew and loved behind)!

Otherwise I simply portray them as characters with needs and wants first, before they are queer. I also put a special focus on friendships (aro and ace routes counting towards that), since so often those are seen as lesser than romantic routes!

5. Any books, music, movies etc. you’re obsessed with at the moment, or which changed your life (or perspectives on something)?

Now, this also fits the pride month! The book Songbirds of Valnon by L.S. Baird.

It is so beautiful I had to stop and almost cry multiple times. It literally changed how I approach worldbuilding and I will always add a bit of it in all of my works. I can only recommend it, it is very much the opposite of my stories (it isn't nearly as dark for example), so if you want: badass disability rep, choir boys with magic, holy soldiers and a really awesome world, check it out! (She has also written other books, but, turns out writing yourself limits the time one can spend reading which is a shame!)

6. If you were to say one thing to your readers, other authors, and/or the interactive fiction community: what would it be?

Give feedback. Most often IF authors work full time, study full time, have an actual private life. I sacrifice most of my free time since two years to work on BoaR, and while I don’t regret it, it can feel very disheartening to not receive feedback for my work (on top of my actual work) and (like any creative person) it makes me immensely happy seeing it recognised.

---- Stay tuned for Pride Month Interview Feature #2 and #3 coming up this weekend!

[tinyfantasminha]

for your batb au i got the secne form shrek where fairy godmother was like "she's a a princess and your a orge" "if you really love her...you let her go" i go that form the last Batb post you did where your yuu/oc left with the mirror

referring to this art

First of all, aaaaaaaahh thank you for mentioning my beauty and the beast au cause I miss it SO MUCH 😭😭😭I love receiving asks about it! (it prompted me to make a batb au art after so long)

(a lot of rambling and rotting down below)

Now as for Gaston I don't mmm have an official one for this AU? 😅it doesn't sit right with me to get another character of the cast and utterly villainize them just to push the ship. (Leona, the WOMEN RESPECTER 3000 posing as a MISOGYNIST villain??? He would SEETHE with indignation at the suggestion) Vargas is obviously our official twst-Gaston but that's still a hard NO for obvious reasons 😭 If I wanted to add Gaston I'd have to end up using some random mob guy for it or essentially create a new OC 😔 (bastard villain oc that only serves to be a jackass and then fucking die)

OMG SHREK 😳😳this may come as a crazy coincidence but I kind of... have a Shrek AU for the ship??? It got the beauty and the beast dynamic that I loooove and fits them so well and shrek 1 and 2 are PEAK fiction I had the idea of a Shrek AU for ages so I came with a storyline (and then commissioned it to be written by marvelous writer @/raven-at-the-writing-desk) where it's not actually a direct AU but more of a meta-narrative where Shrek is a fictional tale set in the twst universe, and ogres are replaced by beasts (making it essentially a beauty and the beast retelling lol) Jack and Vic star as the Beast (Shrek) and the Princess (Fiona) respectively in a school play directed by Rook.

(this is an angsty bit of the story- context of this scene is that they are reenacting the misunderstanding scene from the first movie.)

BUT I DIGRESS— The ''I let her go because I love her'' will always be one of my favorite moments from BATB that makes me cry every time. It fits Jack so well. One recurring trait of his character is that he’s quick to judge, often dismissing others without meaning to… but when he’s shown another perspective, he listens. He reflects. He changes. He owns up to his mistakes and tries to be better. He's so beast-coded like hhhnNNNGG— *gesticulates my hands wildly*

[piratefern]

Okay I know this ask was completely satire and im cackling at whatever the hell this is LMAO

But it also actually inspired me to finish my genderswap au concepts of my plaguemask au TADA!!!!

I thought if they were sapphics in a genderswap au then some things would change about their designs and perhaps aspects of the story :3 Also ignore the picnic basket, they aren’t canibals I realised it looked that way too late 😭

With Dyo, I looked into what his original name meant and I found stuff like “two sides” I think, but since I didn’t make that a core part of his character im giving the genderswap au a slight name change LMAO so I called her Dya, (pronounced Dia perchance)

I also shortened her hair as opposed to just making it longer, because that just felt a bit lazy and inaccurate, plus the short hair is silly >:3 Since they met at the theatre, I wanted to give Dya shorter hair so she could fit in to the male cast, and she likely would have hid her chest with something like bandages (obviously dont do that, its like 1601 this is happening) since back then women weren’t allowed to perform, so it speaks to her more rebellious nature :3

I based Hasel’s swap off of a plague nurse as opposed to a plague doctor and changed her name to Hazel (original is said Hassle in my head) and I know this takes place before the existence of plague nurses and plague doctors however I like the theory that plague doctors were based off of 049 rather than the other way around so ill be having that methinks

so in this sense her outfit radiates purity due to the colour and the more coveted clothing sense, however the dark aspects of her character that aren’t her clothes, such as her hair, indicate a hidden side beneath her politeness and court attitude, alluding to her monster form and dark past :3

Her form in general is pretty much the same as the original, the only difference really is her face shape being pointy as opposed to curved, and her little hair tuft I added at the top of her head

When she leave’s Dya at WW1, Dya’s hair starts to look similar to hers just like the original au and vice versa, Dya also would have started wearing a cloak similar to hers and a turtleneck sweater reflecting the undergarments she used to wear :3

After a while Hazel would have started to lose the garments but im not sure to what extent, a similar cloak level to original au Hasel probably with just a cloak with the hood down, or perhaps she rolls up her sleeves and sews the dress into pants? She might look like a principal though, so maybe she loses everything but the veil and sews it into a poncho yeah HELLS YEAH I like that one better, original au callback to Dyo’s ponch too, silly

Another thing to note is that if Hasel and Dyo are the only characters gender swapped in the gender swap au, then Hazel would have been in a sapphic relationship with her wife and would have adopted their daughter (however she would likely just call her her “partner” until she finds out Dya is queer too due to social constraints at the time as it would have been illegal for them to legally marry but I like to think they ignored that hehe)

So having said that it would eliminate a part from the original au where Hasel realises he’s queer, since in the genderswap au Hazel would have known all along given she already had a wife in the past, it would change some things about how the characters act, mainly Dya, I feel she would be more open to attempt to court Hazel given that she knows she’s queer which would speed up the slow burn of my original au LMAO

[dancing-with-maenads]

Tour of my travel altar!!

Was gonna call it a pocket altar, but you could not fit this into your pocket lol. It fits great into a backpack or purse though!!

This big bag has a lot of stuff in it, including two tins. One is premade with a bunch of witchy spell ingredients, the other I made for Dionysos.

I have a small container of salt, and a bottle with (ethically sourced!) mica powder and beads for scrying. I got it the perfect moss color! Plus a little fidget toy and a tiny incense tray, plus some extra incense to pick from when giving offerings

I have a lot of trouble scrying in stationary things like mirrors, but things like ink, mud, entrails, clouds, things with shapes, are MUCH easier for me to read. I have a bigger jar of it too, this is just a cute tiny one I made for out and about!

The little purple bag is filled with charms, that way if I want to pray a bit more formally out and about, I can set up the little icon with the incense offering while I pray. Some I have for specific gods, and others are ambiguous for any lesser known gods I may just want a symbol for. I also have lots to choose from because gods have different epithets!

The larger green bag contains a small obsidian for scrying, some prayer beads I made out of crystal bracelets, and a metal pendulum with animal bones inside it

The first tin is the premade one. This was a gift. It's got bay leaves, black salt, rosemary, lavender, a dragon's blood candle, a VERY Wiccan prayer that I can't peel off (covered in bay leaves bc it's cringe). It's important for me to clarify that yes, there is Palo Santo in this kit. I am very aware that it is being over harvested, and that it is harming the planet as well as indigenous communities. I do not purchase Palo Santo. I plan to use this small piece of it so that it doesn't go to waste. I would not purchase Palo Santo or white sage (unless the white sage was from my tribal reserve, but sadly it's like 4 hours away from me).

This one is my pride and joy. This is my mini Dionysos altar. It's got a little skull, a quartz, an amethyst, a Chevron amethyst pendulum, a coffin nail, a bay leaf, a lighter, some incense matches, little metal pots from a doll house that work really well for incense, a candle full of herbs and oil for him, and a (mostly burned) cinnamon stick.

There's also one of the translations of his hymns on the inside cover. I plan to change it to a translation I like better soon, this one was made to be more flowy and rhyme, which is fine but not what I'm looking for anymore. Still shocked I wrote that on that tiny paper, if you could see the back you'd see the first draft I fucked up haha

[plethoraworldatlas]

I've seen it mentioned elsewhere (can't find it again) but someone brought up the sheer amount of time Androl took up in plotlines that were absolutely built for other existing characters, and yeah but the problem with Androl goes deeper than that.

Like, I hope its not controversial to say, but Androl as a concept (a weak male channel who has a talent for Gateways, mutually bonded Aes Sedai and Asha'man) isn't that bad a idea; But the sheer amount of backstories he gets, all the stories diverted to fit him in, all for the results of a sub-par character who exists so Brandon Sanderson can play portals and doesn't even do much unique with that? That's just awful.

like, mild spoiler, but Androl's most impressive feat is overcoming the dreamspike. The Dreamspike is a unique Ter'angreal placed in the World of Dreams that creates a barrier in the physical world corresponding to that place in the World of Dreams that prevents any kind of Gateways or Traveling of Skimming.

Unique threat that renders Androl's main talent useless. Cool; Great way to build on him and his supposed unique mind for Gateways. How does he overcome this in the climax of this storyline?

He thinks really really hard about opening a Gateway.

Then Perrin, someone he has never met, destroys the Dreamspike a second later.

Sanderson doesnt even have him pull it off by doing it a unique way; He doesn't have him "make the Gateway sideways" or have him come up with his own way of making Gateways unlike what other Asha'man or Aes Sedai do. He just does it harder.

His only other notable feat is, again spoilers, opening a Gateway to the middle of Dragonmount and letting lava flow on a Trolloc army. A cool scene, but comes on; This guy exists so Sanderson can play with the limits of the series's magic system. He can't even use death gates, the weaponized form of Gateways which in my opinion explore the One Power and Traveling as a concept way better than anything Androl ever does. I mean, an Age of Legends Weave created by bastardizing what was considered a harmless utility Weave to its fullest potential, that kills Shadow spawn specifically because of how they're made, and it randomly drops corpses everywhere to prevent the sheer number of bodies overflowing a single area? It moves around the battlefield on its own carving through armies?

It's also a bit funny that Sanderson, who has been pretty critical of the shows way of portraying the gendered concepts of the One Power, created the mutual Bonding that fully demonstrates one of the biggest departures from the "male half/female half" dynamic, thus showing the One Power change and evolve.

Because Pevara using Androl's talent herself while she's not leading the link is a massive change that only exists in a single paragraph

Brandon Sanderson is such an ass.

"I'm glad they canceled the show because they didn't take my advice, they just 'used my name'".

Dude feels so entitled to a series that isn't his. Newsflash! They asked your opinions at first out of politeness and because Harriet (Jordan's widow and editor) and his notekeeper wanted your opinion on it too. They stopped asking you because you constantly talked shit on not just the show but on them. The woman who basically cowrote the series and the librarian who professionally holds every single last scrap of writing Jordan ever did relating to the series know it better than the guy they definitely regret bringing in to finish the last book(s).

Not even getting into the fact that outside of Hinderstamp (a single chapter), pretty much every addition Sanderson made to the series is either a weak imitation of Jordan or FAR more disrespectful to the series and the themes than anything the show did.

[dissolvedprincess]

Come a Little Closer

꒰ Poindexter/Bullseye x GN! Reader ꒱

𖥔 No content warnings, just sooo much fluff 𖥔

(Not Proofread)

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷

If you were somebody else, your heart would’ve been racing for an entirely different reason right now. Your fingers would’ve already been typing in the numbers 911, and you would’ve whispered the exact words ‘Please. Help. Someone broke into my apartment.’ But after pondering on the idea, maybe the police wouldn’t be much help in this god forsaken city. The best chance you’d have is for you to tiptoe across your tiny apartment and pray under your breath so that the sound of creaking wood doesn’t wake him up.

On second thought, you would’ve already been bleeding from the head the moment you step one foot outside of your bedroom, killed by the impact of a small object nearest to him.

But you’re not that person, thankfully.

Instead, you’re dazing off, staring at your ceiling as you lay comfortably under your blanket. An old one, a tad bit ratty but well-loved. Much better than the sorry excuse of a blanket you gave Dex to wrap himself in. You aren’t even sure if it’s able to cover him fully with such a large build and long legs. Body all twisted and curled up on your couch, like an oversized orange cat. Is he even comfortable? Wouldn’t it hurt to have fresh stitches and bandaged wounds rub against the rough material of your couch?

You’d still have to change his bandages in the morning either way, but still. He would feel better if he slept here instead— the idea came up like an intrusive thought. Sure it would be a tight fit for the both of you, but it’d be nice, really nice.

Then again, he shouldn’t even be staying overnight in the first place. You should’ve just sent him home like usual.

What made it different this time?

You mentally slap yourself as your lips involuntarily form a smile at the idea of him sleeping next to you. It doesn’t matter that he was just a lovely stranger you’ve gotten close to by chance. It doesn’t matter that he always ends up at your door whenever he feels himself spiraling out of control. It doesn’t matter that you’ve held him close after seeing him bleed out on your floor for the first time, while confessing to murder. None of it should. Dex is still a criminal, he’s killed people, more than the ones he tells you about, you’re sure.

Anyone in their right mind would’ve turned him away and left him to his own devices. But you couldn’t, you can’t. You feel too much for him. Even when you don’t know what to call the feeling that bubbles up every time he’s around, it’s not love, not yet. Though it closely resembles it.

As your racing thoughts come to a close, sleep would’ve caught on to you by now if it weren’t for the sound of footsteps outside your door. Soft and careful, mindful of the weight it’ll put on the floorboards. You sit up to listen closely and you count.

One. Two. Three. Four.

The sound abruptly stops after just four short steps that ends at your bedroom door. You hold your breath and you wait for any following noise, but nothing ever came. So you shove your blanket to the side and swing your legs off the bed. You already miss the warmth of your blanket as you shiver, minimally dressed in short shorts and an oversized t-shirt.

You reach the door in two strides and gasp in surprise after you pulled it open.

“Shit, you scared me.” You exclaim, hands hovering in front of you, hesitant to touch him in fear of scaring him off. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

He’s just standing there, posture rigid and tense. You see his fingers drumming on his side, seemingly itching to do something.

“I’m sorry for waking you.” His voice is scratchy from sleep and he looks deeply apologetic, so much so that the sight of it makes your chest tighten.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t asleep yet anyway. Don’t worry about it.“

His eyes look into yours, flickering back to your bed for a split second before they were piercing into yours again.

“Still, i’m sorry for interrupting your night. You can go back to sleep now, i’m fine.”

His body was already starting to pull away when you hold onto his hand to keep him there.

“You don’t sound or look fine, Dex.” His sullen eyes seem to be more sunken than normal. You’ve known him for long enough to recognize when he’s inching closer to the edge again. “Tell me how to help. Because we both know you wouldn’t be standing here in front of my door if you didn’t need anything.” You tighten your grip on his hand to anchor him. “Talk to me.” Your voice firm.

Dex stays quiet for a moment, but he eventually relents. “I can’t sleep. My body is so fucking exhausted but i can’t sleep.” He mutters, eyes looking away.

You don’t move your gaze from him, studying his features. “And it’s not cause of the couch or the shitty blanket either is it?” Your thumb starts to draw soothing circles now.

Dex shakes his head in response and shot his gaze down to the floor.

Two choices present themselves to you. The first one is to ignore his troubles and send him off to go sleep on the couch again with an almost paper thin blanket, alone. The second one is to, well, offer to share your bed with him. And it sounds awfully appealing, no matter how much you want to deny it.

Your voice gets momentarily caught in your throat as you attempt to speak. “Do you-“ He lifts his head and scans your face. There’s a glint in his eyes now as he hangs on to your every word. “Do you want to sleep in my bed instead?” Your throat clicked as you swallowed. “With me.”

Dex looks a bit stunned at your offer. Maybe he thought that you’d be open to play shrink and talk with him until he felt better. Not this. And you’re starting to regret saying it, with every second that passes.

“I’m so sorry, i don’t know why i said that.” You sputter as you retract your hand to your chest. All of a sudden you feel naked and self conscious. It feels as if you’ve cut yourself open, your heart momentarily exposed for Dex to freely observe and pick at.

But what he does next, you never saw coming.

Your breath hitched as his hand lightly caress your waist, fingers slowly moving to wrap around it. His touch feels pleasantly warm, but stiff, like he’s never done anything like this before in his life, like he was afraid to mess something up.

“No, i um— i’d like that.” He says with a nod. “Very much.”

Dex has never been the type of person to show much in his face. One could almost never guess the kind of thoughts that pass through his head at times, unless he lets you; like right now.

Your eyes soften at the sight of him blushing. All shy and molten, like he didn’t just come knocking at your door with somebody else’s blood on his hands.

“Are you sure?”

He nods slowly and you almost miss the small quirk of his lips in the low light. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” You say breathlessly. “Come on then.” You grab his hand that was stuck to your waist and tug him towards the bed.

“Close the door for me will ya?” You look back at him with a smile. And he obeys.

You climb on the bed first and waddle on your knees towards the other end, hand still tightly clasped around his, causing him to move his arm around to follow your erratic movements. His actions might look a bit silly to anyone who sees it, but you think it’s cute of him to do so. “Are you okay with that side? Or do you want my side?” You ask with genuine interest.

“No it’s fine, i’m good right here.” Dex finally follows suit and situates himself on the bed. He looks a bit awkward laying there, body stiff as a board and brows twitching. He seems to be overthinking where he should put which body part where, where to look and which direction to face.

You let out a chuckle and draped the blanket over both of your bodies before laying down on your side, your arms curled to your chest. “Relax. If you keep that up maybe I’ll send you back out there to sleep on the couch if it’s better for you.”

Dex snorts softly and visibly relaxed at the joke.

Once again, silence comes over you, but after a few minutes, you decide to speak up again. “You can come a little closer if you’d like.”

He angles his face your way with a look of surprise etched into his face. A soft “Okay.” is all that comes out. But he does inch closer eventually.

The room seem to have shrunk, it feels tight and you almost struggle to breathe at his close proximity. You’re close enough to lay your cheek on his shoulder if you wanted to. But you settle for looking at his now, much softer side profile. Until you can’t take it anymore.

One of your hands reach up and hovers closely above his chest. You look at him intensely, silently pleading. He meets your eyes as he curls his fingers around your palm and places your joined hands on his chest, heart racing underneath it.

You heart also feels like it’ll burst out any second now. Begging to be surrendered to his hands.

With a newfound bravery, you inch closer to his face and lay your cheek halfway on his pillow, nuzzling your face in the space between his chin and his shoulder.

“Sleep.” You whisper into his neck. “I’m right here with you.”

“Thank you.” Dex whispers back into your hair.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Dex.”

As you lay here with him, you think back to everything that has led you both to this exact moment and you can’t help but smile.

꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚ ꒷︶꒷꒥꒷‧₊˚꒷

Woke up and i couldn’t stop thinking about orange cat dex sneaking into my bed, so i finished this as soon as possible because i find it hard to resist intrusive bursts of inspiration.

[unluckilyimnot]

Never again – Bucky barnes x fem!reader

Summary : you go on a mission with Bucky and Sam after you and Bucky has an argument, but it doesn't go well.

established relationship, fluff, mentioned of an argument, injuries, kinda hurt/comfort ? wc around 3k

Note: first post with Bucky, maybe a bit ooc, I still haven't seen everything with him yet but I feel it's not that bad (?) Please be kind and tell me what you think !!

masterlist | rules

The room remained dead silent when you walked inside. Sam's face was heavy, frowning your way as you took a seat calmly – as if you weren't almost half an hour late for the meeting. The tension in the room was electric. Bucky wasn't looking your way and Sam's eyes were bouncing between you two like an overwhelmed mom. 

Bucky was sitting across from you on the other side of the large table, leaned back in his seat but nothing in his posture was relaxed. The frown on his face deepened when you showed up and his shoulders tensed when he caught a glimpse of you on the corner of his eyes. Your eyes were still red, it couldn't go unnoticed but nobody mentioned it, nor did they point out you sniffing frequently. Instead, Sam cleared his throat and got up.

"Now that everyone dared show up to this urgent meeting," emphasizing on his last words. "I can explain how tonight's mission is gonna go – hypothetically." 

You tried to focus on what Sam was saying, you really did. Your life, or theirs, depend on it but you couldn't help but hear Bucky's heavy breathing, the way he shifted stiffly in his chair; or even missed how his normally warm, blue eyes for you, turned cold. The way he stares at you, as if he was holding himself from snapping at you again for a whole other thing now, was getting on your nerves. 

Your ears were still buzzing from the argument you had with him earlier. From the way he raised his voice at you like you were responsible for everything going wrong in his life and your eyes watered again, at how unfair it was. Tearing your eyes away from him to your hands, you forced yourself to focus on Sam's voice instead, pushing away the uneasy feeling growing in your core. You were just waiting for this meeting to be over, so you could get ready and as much space with him as you could. You couldn't handle having him right in front of you, staring at you like some stranger when you spend your night calming him down after he had yet another nightmare. You get that it's hard for him sometimes, but that doesn't mean it isn't for you as well. 

"We can't let her do it, it's too dangerous," Bucky suddenly cuts both Sam and your trail of thoughts. "I'll go." 

"No man, I need you there," his pen clap on the board, "with me, to cover her. And she has an escape route, you" Sam pointed now at him with his pen, "can't fit in that vent. She's going." He looked your way for the first time in the meeting, searching for support.

You nodded. "I'll handle it. Nobody should be inside anyway. It's gonna be fine." 

"If there's more guys than we assume, there's no way you can handle that by yourself, come on." He was getting fed up. His arms landed loudly on the table as he stared at you, silently begging you to listen but still clinging to his anger. 

"Since when do you think so little of me, huh ?" You snapped, all the resentment building into you the whole meeting flowing out.

You caught his jaw locked when you leaned into the table as well, meeting him half-way and your fist clenching around your sleeves. 

"If I tell you I can handle, it's that I can, Bucky. Don't act like you care now," you spat before looking at Sam again, not letting him space to talk. "I'll do it. Don't change a thing." 

The meeting wrapped up after that, everything was in place and the next thing you had to do was to wait until you got there. The topic was closed, but Bucky wasn't done yet, and you knew better than to fall into it. 

You almost ran away from the room, not leaving him space to catch you outside to talk or pick up his pace to do so. You were done talking with him for today, at least not more than necessary. Seeing his stupid face was enough to make your fist clench now that he just confirmed he didn't trust you, twice. You know you go too far by saying he doesn't care – you know he does – but hurting him like he hurt you earlier felt better than you'd like to admit. 

The route there was silent. You were reviewing the plan, the building plan as you were the one in charge of getting the files while they intercepted the doon to be transported merchandise. Nobody should be inside, Bucky and Sam will make sure nobody makes their way inside so you have a clear field. Rather easy. It wasn't a big operation, you just didn't have much time, but that wasn't a problem for you either. 

Bucky didn't speak to you. You didn't speak to him either. The tension was only bundling up more and more and you knew it wouldn't be pretty when it'll break, but it still had to wait. The pill was hard to swallow, on both counterparts, and now was definitely not the time. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes off you. His blue eyes shine with worry and frustration every time they land on you. He didn't reach out for you, didn't begged for you to listen – he knew better than to push you when you're angry at him. Yet it was impossible to miss the weight on his shoulders when you don't listen to him. 

That only makes you want to prove him wrong even more, showing him that you could handle it yourself, that it was fine and that they could rely on you. Because for the moment, with the simplicity of the mission, it just felt like he didn't want you on the field with them. Like he didn't want to put you in danger when you spent your whole life fighting just like them. 

When the SUV stopped, a fragile sigh left your lips. Your eyes closed for a second; you'll never get over the anxiety that you may not make it, you or one of your partners, out of the mission, but you pushed it away when your eyes opened again. Something switches inside you, turning the anxiety into a fuel to make everything work out. You were leaving after them, so you were still getting ready when Sam jumped off the SUV. A hand brushed against yours. 

"We'll talk about it after, ok ?" Bucky's voice was soft but unsteady, and his jaw clenched with anxiety. 

Neither of you like leaving for a mission angry – it can lead to many regrets – but sometimes, that's something that can't be helped. That was his way to promise you he'll come back to you.

"Be careful." 

He jumped out too, and just like that, he left to clear the field for you. Your heart beats faster inside your ribcage and you have to take a deep breath before stepping out yourself, taking another route. Regrets already crimping in your heart, like something holding your throat; you should've said to him you love him. Because despite everything, that was still your only truth. 

Entering the building was easy; there wasn't many people here in the middle of the night. The remain ones were at the back, dealing with your two partners, trying to protect the merchandise and make it leave anyway before it was destroyed or secured by the authorities. Your job there was to make sure they couldn't remade it, and find every connection they had over the country, even the world. 

The building was empty, you didn't step by a single soul and your delicate, cat-like steps were the only sounds beside the mess happening outside the windows. Finding the office was easy, so was getting all the files on the USB you had or even folding the papers so it fits in your tactical vest. Loads of pockets, your favorite. 

You didn't miss the heavy steps coming your way, well, to the office at least, but there wasn't much time left – it was enough. You had your escape route right behind you, a good kick and you were out of there in a second. So you waited, until the last second you waited. 

The first few bullets were nothing, you dodge easily – they couldn't really see inside the office yet, just your form and they seem in need of more training based on how far it actually was from your body. Hiding the USB in your vest, you took out your gun on the way when three men entered the room. Hitting one twice before he fell on the ground, you made sure to kill his two friends before they could warn anyone.

You start moving faster, taking ground on the desk to push you up to the vent. Your blood went cold when you opened it : a bomb was placed there, and it didn't take to be a genius to realize that it must be connected to other vent. One wrong move and the whole building was out. They were waiting for you – or someone at least. They knew it'll be dangerous and that people would try to sneak in. That's when you took your first bullet. 

You winced loudly at the pain in your shoulder and fell to the floor swiftly to dodge the next few that flew your way. You didn't hear him coming with the mess outside, but that wasn't the worst. The five men behind him were. 

"You ok ?!" Bucky screamed in your ear, making you shut one eye while looking for a way out.

"I'm touched and cornered with no way out, what about you, love ? Still in one piece ?" You tried to play it cool but, besides jumping through the window – which would put you into a bigger battle while being injured, so even more dangerous – you had no idea how to get away from here. 

Your heart was racing at the pain the adrenaline wasn't covering, it was harder to fight with a bullet buried in your skin. As much as you want to be confident, you know you can't manage five men their height by yourself, while being injured. 

"I'm coming." 

It wasn't a question, he wasn't thinking about it; he was already on his way. You wished you could let the relief sigh leave your lips but the hit in your knee made you think otherwise. Your nose starts bleeding as you hit the desk, or maybe was it your mouth ? You had no idea. All you could feel was the metallic taste of blood on your tongue and a throwing pain all over your body as another bullet entered your thigh. 

The knife in your hand was doing far less damage than you wished, but you knew the blood on you wasn't only yours and it gave you a small, comforting feeling before you felt your consciousness slipping away. The last thing you heard was a man whining in pain before you black out by a hit behind the head.

Next thing you knew, you were laying on a bed, antiseptic attacking your nose and the annoying beeping of your heart on the monitor next to you. So, you guessed it went kinda well in the end. Or at least, you made it out alive. Breathing hurt, but it was better than not breathing at all. You guessed Bucky made it out in time, but your ego was bruised. 

You couldn't, in fact, handle it. It went poorly, and you ended up badly hurt – so, probably, did they since you failed so miserably. You wished you could cover your tearing eyes but moving hurt too much for that. Instead you sighed, composing yourself the best you could.

Bucky's voice cut through the room, coming from outside. The simple sound of his voice smooths something inside your heart. You couldn't see him, but he was screaming at Sam, you guessed again, after you heard him yell about how "he told him so" and that it was why you were in a hospital bed. Your head pushed further into the pillow, taking a deep breath, before you called for someone. 

It doesn't take a second for him to strom inside after the light went red on top of the room's door, his breathing uneven and his eyes alert. He was badly hurt too. He had strips around his forehead and his flesh hand was covered in band-aid – leaving you only to imagine the damages beneath his clothes. He probably shouldn't even be up right now. But the relief in his eyes, you've never seen that before. He let out a deep sigh as if he had forgotten how to breathe without you around.

You're hurt, badly, but you can't bring yourself to whine when he takes you in his arms more roughly than he attends to. You can feel his heart rushing against your cheek as you nuzzle yourself into his neck, clenching your fist around his shirt. You had no idea how sacred he must have been, finding you lifeless on the ground while getting beaten up. 

"Never do that again." His voice is low, a desperate whisper as he holds you even closer, cradling your head. Was he hurting you ? Yes, but you don't mind if it could bring him the comfort he needed at the moment.

"Please, listen to me next time. I trust you, I do." He pleaded, now resting his forehead against yours. "But you have to trust me too. Even if we argue. Even if you're mad at me or I'm mad at you. I care about you more than anything. I want you safe, that's all."

"I'm sorry." Your nose brushed into his as you nodded. 

You couldn't even recall why you two were arguing. It was long forgotten, all that matters now was that you were fine, both of you in one piece. His hands cupped your face gently, taking in the feeling of your soft skin below his fingertips before he had to let you go. The medical staff will arrive soon now, but Bucky didn't seem ready to let you go just yet. The coldness of his vibranium hand on your cheek gave you a comfort you desperately need at the moment. It felt like home. Your hand find his, laying on top of it. 

"I'm ok," you murmur before placing your lips on his delicately to not hurt him further. 

"Thank God you are," he kissed you once again, rougher this time, not caring about his hurt lips. "I never would've forgiven myself if not."  

The door opened behind you, letting the staff in for the check up you had to do and it broke your heart the way his lips captured yours quickly one last time before he moved away – but never leaving the room. It didn't take that long, they asked a few questions, checked your reflexes and how you were responding to your treatment. Within 30 minutes, they left the room and you were alone with Bucky once more.  

He was sitting on the chair the whole time, waiting for them to leave so he could hold your hand again. You got told not to move much to not reopen the stitches on your shoulders, so no more hug for the moment; but his thumb running on your knuckles did a great job too. 

"I'm sorry I lashed out at you yesterday," he said after a beat, breaking the silence building up. "It wasn't your fault."

You shook your head, searching for his eyes but he was focused on your hand and all the small injuries on it. 

"I wasn't kind either," you admit, closing your fingers around him. "I'm sorry too, love. I shouldn't have run away from the conversation or say that to you. I'm so sorry." 

His eyes locked with yours for a second, taking in the love you were kindly giving him after the horrible thing he told you and for a second, he thought he didn't deserve you. His lips laid gently on your hand, kissing each of your fingers. You let out a breathy giggle at the ticklish feeling.

"It's long forgotten now, don't worry about that anymore." 

Another silence fell between you, but comfortable this time. The kind you're used to, where you don't feel the need to talk to fill the void, the kind where you just appreciate the other presence next to you. 

"I love you," his voice almost broke, almost, and it felt like he just lost you. He brought your hand to his face. "I should've told it when I left. And the second I saw you awake, but I love you so much. I can't afford to lose you." 

Your heart stutters at his words, he sounds desperate – like losing you would make life impossible to handle, make breathing unnatural. You desperately wished you could hold him in your arms right now.

"I love you too, thank you for coming for me."

"Always."

It wasn't something said without a second thought, even if he didn't miss a beat. It was something he's been saying himself over and over, and his smile proves it to you one more time. It was a promise. 

Let me know if you liked it !

[charliegyrth]

Your Wonderful Boyfriend

An Extreme Weight Gain Story

Hi, everyone! I wanted to add a warning here. This story's a lot darker than my usual stuff.

***

You’re sexy and you know it. After two years of almost-daily workouts, you’ve sculpted yourself into an absolute adonis. People stare as you pass. Guys throw their numbers at you left and right. You’re perfect.

And then you meet me.

I’m not like the other guys who ogle you at the gym. I treat you like a person instead of an object. I actually like your personality.

Sure, I’m a bit skinny for your taste, and I expect you to do everything in bed. I’m not as masculine as your past boyfriends, but I’m kinder. Funnier. With me, you never feel pressured to be perfect. I’m such a wonderful boyfriend.

So you skip your gym routines a bit. You’d rather hang out with me. At times, this feels intentional, like I’m purposely scheduling dinner dates when I know that you were planning to work out.

But oh well. It’s more fun to be with me anyway.

You start spending every night at my place, snuggling together and watching movies. I always have snacks handy, which is great. It’s fun to cheat every once in a while.

But after a month, you realize that your gym time has really diminished, and you’re snacking more than ever before. You start to crave the brownies and muffins that I always keep on hand. You even buy some for your own apartment, something you never would’ve done before.

It takes you two months to notice that your body’s changing. Your abs have smoothed over and your waist has thickened.

This scares you, but you don’t say anything. I haven’t even noticed.

You realize that everything we do in the bedroom is just getting better. I seem more determined now, more forceful. I even top sometimes. Little me taking you from behind. You're surprised how much you like that.

By our third month together, you have to buy new pants. You’re not fat or anything, but your thighs have expanded a bit. I really like this change, and you sort of like it, too. There’s an increased sway to your walk that feels pretty great.

Then your shirts stop fitting. You have a slight belly now. It's been curved for a while, but now it’s noticeable through all your clothes. This is when you realize that you need to head back to the gym.

But when you try your old sets, it’s a lot harder. It used to be fun, but now working out feels like actual work. And you don’t have guys ogling over you anymore. That used to be a big motivation to show off.

You finish your workout early and head home. You promise yourself to try again on Thursday, but you don’t.

You finally have a talk with me. You say you’re getting out of shape.

I assure you that you look amazing. And I ask if you’re happier now.

You are. You can’t deny it.

I convince you to move in with me. It doesn’t take much convincing, though. You’re already spending most nights at my place.

Because I live so much farther from the gym, I convince you to let your membership lapse. You tell yourself that it’s okay. After all, I have some free weights in my apartment.

You use them periodically, but you really don’t have the motivation anymore.

I’ve always been a great cook, but you really start to look forward to my dinners. You crave them now. At work, you feel your mouth watering as you pack up your stuff to leave. Either I’ve changed the ingredients or you’ve just gotten used to my food. You notice I’m making bigger portions now, but you never complain. You love how hard I work in the kitchen to keep you satisfied.

One day, you catch your reflection in the living room window. (The bathroom mirror is only big enough to show your face.) The image shocks you. How could you not have noticed your love handles? And your pecs are definitely drooping now.

You pull out a scale from the closet and finally weigh yourself. You’ve gained 50 pounds without even realizing it.

Panic fills you as you wait for me to come home. When I do, you tell me that you’re fat, as if I hadn’t noticed.

“Of course you are,” I say. “And I love it.”

You don’t like that answer, but as soon as I grab you by your soft waist and lead you into the bedroom, all your panic is gone.

I fuck you again. I’m particularly forceful, and you love every thrust. I grab at your chest, jiggling it. Why does that feel so good?

You realize that our roles in the bedroom have completely changed. You can’t even remember the last time you were on top. I’ve completely taken over.

As I erupt inside you, I whisper in your ear. “Take it, fatty.”

I’ve never called you that before. And you freaking love it.

After that, I’m more open about what I’m doing to you. I even show you the extra butter and cream that I’ve been adding to your half of the meals. Well, more than half, really. I serve you double what I serve myself.

At work, you have an existential crisis. Your boyfriend is making you fat, and I’m really damn good at it. You’re scared, but you keep thinking about how happy you are, and how much you love me, and you convince yourself that everything’s okay.

You outgrow your clothes again, but I’m prepared. I’ve already ordered you bigger shirts and stretchier pants. They’re not as fashionable as what you used to wear, but they feel so much more comfortable.

As you look at your reflection in the window, you notice that your hips have widened dramatically. Your belly droops more, but it’s nothing compared to your lower half. You feel your sides, noticing the edges of cellulite. You don’t like that at all.

You try to find the scale to weigh yourself, but I hid it somewhere.

As we eat dinner together, you tell me that you’ve gone too far. You don’t want to gain any more weight.

I understand. I kiss you and tell you you’re beautiful exactly like this. I even offer to start cooking more reasonable meals for you.

That doesn’t work. The hunger is inside you now, and after three days of small dinners and no snacks, you tell me that you give up. I smile. I've been waiting to hear that.

Months pass, and you’ve become a completely different person. You don’t feel satisfied unless you’re snacking. Your office is filled with boxes of donuts and muffins. Sometimes, I surprise you with a package on your desk.

People are staring at you again, but this time, they look at you with pity instead of lust. Your coworkers all remember what you used to look like, and they feel so sorry for you. On one level, this bothers you. But on another, deeper level, you like the pity. You don’t know why it feels good, but it does.

You waddle when you walk now. You become much slower-moving. And every step you take causes your legs to rub together painfully. You complain to me, and I start applying ointment to your inner thighs. You like that. It turns into foreplay. I cream you up and then I take you into the bedroom.

I feel so much stronger now. You love how easily I can overpower you. At times I’m gentle, but most of the time, I’m really not. I know that’s what you want.

I stop calling you by your name. Just “fatty” now. Or “my pig.” You didn’t like that at first, but now you really do.

After a while, I pull the scale out of its hiding place and ask you to step on. You can’t see past your belly, so I read the number. “377.”

You don’t know how you feel.

“Would you like to keep getting bigger?” I ask.

You want to say no. You want to scream it at me. But as I run my hands down your bare, dimpled thighs, you whisper, “Yes.”

And now years later, here you are, sprawled out on the bed while I sit on your belly. I’m careful not to press too hard. You’re already full of lasagna and spaghetti. I kiss you, then feed you a brownie. I alternate. Kiss then brownie, kiss then brownie.

You fill the whole bed now, your stomach oozing over the sides, your legs spread out to accommodate the roll of fat over your crotch. You’ve buried yourself in fat, and it’s much, much too late to ever go back.

I tell you I love you, and you know that’s true. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have grown you into immobility. I wouldn’t have allowed you to quit your job so you could stay at home and eat.

You touch my face, but it’s pretty hard to raise your arm these days. I ask how you feel, probably because I want to see if I need to clean you again.

“Happy,” you mutter. You don’t really speak in full sentences anymore.

“Me, too,” I say as I slide in another brownie.

“Itchy,” you add. You have a cluster of fresh stretchmarks on your side fat that are really bothering you.

I get your cream. Then I lather up my hands and rub your sides. I know exactly what areas are bothering you.

I’m such a wonderful boyfriend.

The End.

You can find all my stories here. And if you like this one, I'd also recommend You Ruin Your Perfect Body.

[hunzzzzz]

𖥔 Liar 𖥔 Part 2

Psycho Rafe x Reader

MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: The summer started with late night car hookups and smoking like there was no tommorrow, a desperate escape from broken homes. You and Rafe two halves of a beautiful disaster, found each other- a casual fling that became something undeniably, terrifyingly real.

You ran, but the blood followed, staining your hands and haunting your every breath.

You cared about him, maybe even loved him. But was that enough to lie for him? Enough to twist your morals into knots, to let the image of blood haunt your nightmares every single night?

And when the lines between loyalty and survival blurred, slowly, terrifyingly, a new truth began to dawn on you: Rafe wasn't the one who needed protecting anymore.

It was you.

TW: guns, blood, violence, smut, f!oral receiving, manipulation, corruption, coercion (idk what coercion means but just tagged it in case??), dark themes, dark Rafe, reader has mommy issues, pregnancy

A/N: 7.5k words....

Comment if you want to be on the Taglist!

"I'm pregnant."

The words, a desperate, final gamble, hung in the air, shattering the terrifying silence. It was a Hail Mary pass, a shot in the absolute dark.

"No," Rafe whispered, his head shaking slowly, disbelief etched onto his face. "No. You're lying."

"I'm not lying, I swear to you." You were spitballing, throwing the words out into the void, waiting, praying, to see if they would stick.

He pressed the gun harder against your skin, a silent, bruising promise. The cold metal indented the tender flesh of your forehead. "Liar."

Rafe looked like he was fighting a war within himself, his face contorting with a horrifying blend of fury and profound shock. 

His hand trembled violently, the gun shaking in his grip, wavering between your eyes and the floor. 

Then, with a shuddering breath, he finally pulled it away, letting it clatter to the ground with a deafening clang that echoed in the small, stone room.

"You're carrying my child..." he said aloud, the words a disbelieving murmur, as he ran his hands through his greasy bangs, his gaze distant, lost in a sudden, impossible reality.

"Yes," you swallowed hard, committing fully to the bit, every ounce of your being focused on the performance of a lifetime. 

You needed to buy yourself time, just a few precious seconds.

"Baby," he whispered, his voice incredibly soft now, broken, as he sank to his knees in front of you. His hand reached out, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone. "How long?" 

Rafe wasn't sure how he felt. Was he too young to be a father? Hell yes. Was he fit to provide for a child right now, with everything going on, with Peterkin's blood still fresh on his hands? Absolutely not. But was he going to try his damn best to step up and mold himself into that role? Hell yeah.

He’d always told himself that when he became a father, he would do things differently. He would be better than Ward. He would provide endless love to his children, a love that wasn't transactional, a love that wasn't withheld as punishment or granted as reward. He would give them the unconditional love he never received, the kind he craved more than anything.

He stared into your eyes, searching for any hint of deceit, any flicker of a lie. But he couldn't find it. All he could see, all he could feel, was his own overwhelming, terrifying joy.

Sure, if it were up to him, he wouldn't have planned for a child right now. He knew he was careless with you, often forgetting condoms in the heat of the moment. And he knew you were careless too, often forgetting to take your birth control on time. Despite all the recklessness, he still hadn't truly expected it to happen.

But now that it was done, now that you were pregnant, there was no changing the past. He was going to give this child everything he had in him, a silent vow he made to himself, staring into your tear-streaked face. This child would be his redemption, his chance to finally be truly loved.

"I was late, so I took a pregnancy test," you sputtered, your mouth moving faster than your terrified mind, scrambling for a logical reason, anything to delay the inevitable.

"When?" 

"A week ago."

His eyes hardened again, the dangerous shift in his mood almost instantaneous. "You've been keeping this from me for a week? Been lying to me this whole time?"

Your heart sank. You were so close, so agonizingly close to freedom, and now this.

"I was scared." You sniffled, tears springing to your eyes, genuinely fueled by the sheer terror of your predicament. "I was scared that—that if I told you, you'd make me get rid of it."

The tears were real, but the reasoning behind them was a desperate lie. Because even if he believed you, by some miracle, what then? What were you supposed to do next? 

How were you going to "grow" a child inside your womb? What if he asked for proof, a doctor's visit, another pregnancy test? At most, this lie would buy you a few days, maybe even less, until he realized your deception. You had to get away from him.

Rafe pulled out a gleaming pocket knife, and your breath hitched. This was it. This was the end, for real this time. 

But instead of the expected, chilling plunge, he used the blade to swiftly cut the ropes binding your wrists and ankles. 

"I would never," he whispered, his voice thick with what sounded like genuine emotion as he took your raw, chafed hands in his. "Would never do that to you. I love you."

You didn't believe him. Not for a second. He'd been moments away from pulling the trigger, his finger on the release, his eyes cold and empty.

"That why you ran?" he asked, his voice softening, yet his fingers deliberately brushed over your raw, tender wrists. You couldn't help but hiss, a sharp intake of breath as pain flared. "You were scared?"

You nodded, “I’m sorry,” you offered another lie. You weren’t sorry, you were only sorry that you got caught.

"Don't ever do that again." he mumbled, his voice low and soothing, yet his fingers pressed harder into your bruised skin, a subtle, agonizing pressure that made you wince. It was a silent punishment. 

Then, he lifted your wrists, one after the other, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to each reddened, tender spot. The kiss was a chilling promise, a wordless warning that clawed at your insides.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, looking down at your lap, "I'm so sorry, Rafe."

A sob tore from your throat, and he immediately pulled you into his arms, holding the back of your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

The past couple of days had been a terrifying tightrope walk. Rafe had become incredibly, unnervingly soft, a stark contrast to the manic rage that had gripped him in the basement. Meanwhile, every nerve ending in your body was on edge, terrified that he would somehow catch on to your desperate lie.

He'd massage the raw bruises on your ankles and wrists, gently working in aloe vera, his hands painfully tender. 

In bed, he held you impossibly close, spooning you from behind, his hand resting protectively on your womb, a constant, heavy presence that made your skin crawl. He'd open doors for you with an almost chivalrous flourish, and his eyes, though softer, were always on you, tracking your every move.

His touch, once so readily given, now became strangely restrained, even reverent. No matter how hard he was, or how much your ass brushed back against him, he’d grab your hips with a firm, almost clinical grip and mutter a tense: “We need to be careful now. Gotta wait till the doctor gives us the clear."

One afternoon, you'd tried to reach a bowl from the very top kitchen cupboard, grabbing a step stool. Before you could even climb the first rung, Rafe was there, his voice a sharp, scolding bark that made you flinch. 

"What the hell are you doing? You could fall!" He lifted you  from the stool, firmly placing you back on the ground as if you were made of glass. "Don't you dare do that again.”

Rose had been close by in the kitchen and caught it. She gave you a questioning glance but you avoided her gaze. 

This new, doting Rafe was almost more terrifying than the one with the gun, for he held you captive not with ropes, but with a horrifying, possessive tenderness.

One morning, the facade threatened to crumble completely. Rafe flashed a pregnancy test in front of you, and with a firm hand on your back, ushered you into the bathroom. 

Your stomach clenched. This was it. The act was surely up.

You followed the instructions mechanically, your hands trembling as you took the test. 

The agonizing wait for the lines to appear felt like an eternity. When the result finally showed itself – a stark, undeniable negative – your heart slammed against your ribs. You braced yourself for the inevitable explosion, for the furious accusations.

But Rafe’s expression didn't change. Not even a flicker. He simply glanced at the stick, a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. 

"Probably a false negative," he murmured, his voice utterly calm, as if this was a common occurrence. He tossed the test carelessly into the bin, already moving on.

You were off the hook for now. Relief, hot and dizzying, washed over you for a split second.

"Don’t worry, I got a doctor's appointment booked for next week." 

Your entire body went cold. A doctor’s appointment. That would certainly pull the plug on your lie, there would be no faking a growing belly, no explaining away the truth when a professional was involved. 

This wasn't just a threat to your carefully constructed illusion; it was a ticking clock– ticking down to the absolute end.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

"Did you not like my food?" 

You'd been so lost in your own spiraling thoughts that you hadn't realized Rose was right there, watching you scrape your half-eaten plate into the bin.

"Huh?" You turned, caught off guard.

"You barely touched your plate," she clarified, gesturing towards it. She took it gently from your hand, moving to the sink.

"Uh, no, no, not at all. Sorry, I just don't have a big appetite," you clarified, forcing an apologetic smile. Your anxiety had rendered you physically unable to stomach a single bite.

"Morning sickness?" Rose asked, her voice a low, almost conspiratorial hush, without turning from the sink. 

Rafe, Ward, and Wheezie were still dispersed in the adjacent dining room, their voices a distant murmur.

You froze, the blood draining from your face. You weren't sure if you'd heard her right. Morning sickness?

She turned the tap off, the sudden silence deafening, and faced you. Her gaze, usually so placid, now held a deep, knowing look that sent a shiver down your spine. 

"How far along are you?"

You stared at her in disbelief, your mind reeling. You always knew Ward and Rafe kept a terrifyingly close eye on you, always assumed Rose was just a silent observer, a background character in this lavish, suffocating drama. It had never occurred to you that she might be listening in too.

Rose sighed, a sound heavy with resignation, and slowly placed the dish towel down on the counter. Her gaze, however, remained fixed on you, a mixture of concern and a disturbing kind of knowing. 

"Do you know what you're getting yourself into?" Her eyebrows were slightly raised, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"I really don't," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"You're young. Rafe's young," she continued, pushing the point. "Is this what you want your life to be? Tied to this… this situation?" Her head tilted slightly, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

You looked away from her, wiping frantically at your suddenly glossy eyes. The words caught in your throat, a choked whisper. 

"You don't understand." You couldn't tell her everything. “I’m not pregnant….. and that’s the problem.”

Rose didn't say anything for a moment, her gaze dropping from your face to your wrists. Her eyes lingered on the raw, chafed skin where the ropes had bitten deep. 

Before you could react, she inched closer, her hand taking your wrist, turning it over to inspect the tender marks. For some reason, you let her, too tired to fight.

When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, "How did this happen?" 

"It was Rafe," another voice spoke up, startling you. 

You turned to see Wheezie standing at the kitchen entrance, her young face pale, her eyes wide with a knowing sadness that made your stomach clench. "Wasn't it?"

You didn't deny it. Your hands, still in Rose's gentle grip, trembled uncontrollably.

"What?" Rose's voice was a sharp intake of breath, her brows shooting up, her head snapping towards Wheezie.

"I heard screaming from the basement a couple days ago," Wheezie continued, her gaze fixed on your wrists, then flickering to your face. "And... and I saw him with the rope."

"Wheezie, go to your room. Now." Rose's voice was stern, a command, but you felt a slight tremble in it. 

Wheezie, uncharacteristically, left without arguing, disappearing from the doorway.

"Rafe did this?"

You nodded mutely. You didn't exactly know how much you could trust her, confide in her. You couldn't count on anyone in this family, because at the end of the day, they would do anything to protect the Cameron name, to protect Rafe. Their sympathy, however genuine it might seem, felt like another trap.

"I'm gonna talk to Ward about this. I'll deal with Rafe—" Rose began, her voice firming with a resolve that, under different circumstances, might have been comforting.

"No!" The word burst from you, raw and desperate. 

The last thing you needed was to get Ward involved, to expose your near encounter with the police. You had no idea what his reaction would be if Rafe told him, and you certainly didn't want to find out. 

"Please don't say anything to Ward or Rafe," you pleaded, eyes wide and terrified. "It'll only make things worse. Please."

Rose's lips pursed, her brow furrowing with concern. Her gaze softened, but held a trace of frustration. "Then how can I help?" 

"You can't." 

"Listen to me," Rose insisted, her grip firm on your shoulder, her fingers digging in slightly. "Let me help you. I can—"

"What are you two whispering about?" Rafe appeared in the kitchen, his empty plate in hand, sauntering over to where you and Rose stood.

You shot a frantic glance at Rose, a silent plea passing between you: the conversation is over. Don't say a word.

"Just girl talk," you muttered, feigning a nonchalance that your rapidly beating heart absolutely did not feel. Your voice was a little too quick, a little too high.

"Why so secretive, hmm?" He leaned on the counter next to you, invading your personal space, his shoulder brushing yours. "Period talk?" His smirk was wide, his eyes sharp.

"Rafe!" Rose snapped, picking up the dishrag and swatting him with it. "It's not your business, stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

But Rafe wasn't easily deterred. His smirk didn't falter, if anything, it widened.  

"Oh, come on, what's so top secret that's got my girlfriend and stepmom whispering together in the corner like a couple of Pogue spies?" 

His tone was teasing, almost playful, but his eyes, sharp as obsidian, burned into the side of your face as you desperately avoided them. You could feel their intensity, even without looking. He knew. Or at least, he suspected.

"Just girl problems, don't worry 'bout it," you mumbled, brushing past him, desperate to escape the suffocating interrogation. Every nerve screamed for you to run.

You didn't make it far down the hallway. Just as you picked up speed, a strong hand clamped around your arm, yanking you backward into the dim quiet of the library. 

The brutal force spun you around, shoving you hard against the closed door, the wood thudding against your spine, rattling your teeth. 

Rafe's eyes, no longer playful, were dark and narrowed, pinning you in place.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, pressing his body against yours, trapping you, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"It was nothing—" you began, trying to twist away.

"Liar!" he hissed, fist slamming into the doorframe right beside your head, the impact vibrating through the wood and into your skull.

You flinched, eyes pressed shut, a strangled sound catching in your throat. Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders, a futile attempt to create distance.

"Wanna try that again?" He gripped your jaw, his fingers digging in, forcing your chin up, forcing your eyes open to meet his searing gaze.

Terror seized you, cold and absolute. Your mind scrambled, frantically searching for any plausible lie, anything to defuse the volatile rage simmering beneath his thin veneer of control. 

"Nothing! Just—" you stammered, the words tumbling out. 

"I was... I was asking her about a burning sensation I've been having. When I pee." The lie felt clumsy, desperate, yet somehow, sickeningly plausible. “Thought it might be a UTI.”

Rafe stared at you for a long, agonizing moment. The silence stretched, taut and suffocating. 

Then, slowly, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, almost imperceptibly. A breath, long and shuddering, escaped his lips, a sudden exhalation that released a fraction of the pressure. 

"God, baby," he sighed, managing a strained, almost tender smile, the one that used to make your stomach flutter, but now only made it clench. 

"Now, was that so hard?" He released your jaw, but his hand lingered on your cheek for a moment, a soft caress that felt more like a warning. 

"Just tell me the truth next time, alright? No secrets between us. No more lies." 

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You were napping in the afternoon, your nightmares had become more vivid, more real. 

True rest escaped you; you'd toss and turn in Rafe's arms all night, the gagged edges of your subconscious fighting against his presence until he'd gently wake you, rocking you back to a restless half-sleep. 

But you'd lie awake, rigid in his embrace, counting down the hours until the sun rose again. In his arms, you felt the unsafest, his skin prickling you like thorns, and you were counting down the days until the dreaded doctor’s appointment.

Rafe watched you nap. You were curled into yourself, a small, frightened ball under the duvet, bathing yourself in complete darkness. He quietly drew the curtains forward, and sat down on the bed beside you, careful not to jostle the mattress. He reached out, slowly, gently, pulling the duvet back down to your chest, revealing your face.

Your features were soft, relaxed in sleep, God, he missed seeing you like this. 

He hated how you trembled like a leaf in his arms, how the raw panic flared in your eyes when he entered the same space as you. He hated how you tensed, visibly recoiling, when he moved closer to hold you, how you flinched at sudden movements. 

It wasn't always like this.

And that day in the basement... he thanked whatever unseen forces existed that had stopped him from doing anything rash.  

This baby, this sudden, unexpected bundle of cells, was a blessing in disguise for him. It had pulled him back from the brink, stopped him from making a decision he didn't know if he could have lived with.

It wasn't just the betrayal of you threatening to tell the police everything that had gotten to him in that basement. It was the raw, undeniable fact that you were willing to lose him, willing to see him locked up, to cut him out of your life forever. That was what truly broke his heart.

But he didn't want to lose you. He couldn't imagine a world where you weren't there, where you weren't his. This unexpected pregnancy had brought you back to him, cemented you to him in a way he hadn't known how to achieve before.

Even in sleep, your body could sense the danger that radiated from him. You shifted, eyes peeling open to the dim light of the room. And then you saw him, sitting by the bedside, watching you. Startled, you scrambled backward, shuffling against the headboard, pulling your knees up to your chest, a frightened animal cornered.

"Hey, hey. It's just me," he whispered, his voice soft, placing his hands gently on your knees.

That did little to calm your erratic heartbeat. 

"How'd you sleep?" he asked, his finger lifting your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"Fine." 

You hated his kindness more than his psychotic rage. When he was like this, so tender and solicitous, it was impossibly hard to remember the version of him deep down, the real him—the killer.

"You've been pretty tired lately, hmm?" He pulled your legs down in front of you, stretching them out, his hands beginning to massage your calves. "It's okay, we'll ask the doctor about it. Get you some good prenatal vitamins."

Your eyebrows knit together at the thought, every muscle in your body tensing. 

"You're so tense all the time," he scolded you. "All this stress isn't good for the baby." He reminded you, his gaze dropping pointedly to your belly.

And you're not sure why, but that was when you finally snapped. "You wanna know why I'm always stressed?" you bit out, making him stop his movements, his hands freezing on your calves. "It's you."

“The fuck?"

"You're the reason I'm like this!" you snapped, your voice rising, "An emotional, sleep-deprived mess. Because of you!" You pointed a trembling finger at him, the accusation heavy in the air. "You made me into this."

His face fell, creases forming on his forehead as he stared at you, genuinely taken aback.

"I can't sleep, I can't eat, I— I— I can't breathe after what I saw–  what you did," you choked out. "And the worst part is, you don't even care about me! You don’t love me. You just keep me close, because I’m a loose end to what really happened at the airstrip!"

“Uh-huh,” Rafe muttered, his jaw clenching impossibly tight, “And what exactly happened huh?”

“You killed Peterkin–”

“Stop with this bullshit,” he cut you off, his eyes burning through yours.

But you weren’t backing down this time, “You shot her!” 

He stood up, beginning to pace around the room, "You know what your problem is?" he sneered, his voice dangerously low, then rising to a shout. 

"You're fucking ungrateful! I saved you! You were miserable, suffocating in that house, with your mom who couldn't even look at you without resentment, and your dad who acted like you were a ghost!"

He jabbed a finger at you, his eyes blazing. "I gave you everything! I pulled you out of that hell. I gave a shit about you when nobody else did! I loved you, knowing damn well nobody else could, or would!" 

"You were born a mistake, you've never been loved before in your entire godamn life! I showed you that! I gave you that!" he pointed his finger at his chest with some twisted sense of pride.

His words, sharp and poisoned, found that last tender part of your soul, the deepest insecurity you'd ever confided in him, and sunk their teeth in. 

He'd used your own whispered fears, the vulnerabilities shared under the moonlight against you, twisting them into weapons. He knew exactly where to strike to make you doubt your own worth, to make you believe that his toxic hold was the only love you'd ever deserve.

He stopped pacing, looming over you, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper that pierced through you. "Nobody will ever love you like I do. Nobody will ever tolerate you, because you make it so damn hard to love you!"

"I can't believe I ever thought I loved you," you whispered, shaking your head, not at him, but at your own past naivety.

His face, previously contorted in rage, softened into a peculiar, almost mournful expression. "What's that?" he asked, his voice low, as if he hadn't quite heard you, or couldn't quite believe it.

"You're rotten, Rafe. From the inside out. You kill everything you touch. You're poison."

A slow, unsettling smile spread across his face, cold and unsettling as winter ice. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting across your lips. "And you," he whispered, the words a tender, terrifying promise, "you're my perfect apple."

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

The next day, you stirred awake relieved to find an empty bed. You slipped out of the room, your senses on high alert. Downstairs, you found Rose in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared coffee. She let you know that: "Ward and Rafe went to the mainland for some business. Early flight."

You didn't wait for her to finish her sentence, racing back to the bedroom, heart hammering. You didn't take anything – just slipped on your shoes and headed out. 

This was it. This was your chance. 

The cool morning air hit your face like a blessing as you stepped outside. You didn't know where to go exactly. The police station was the last place on your mind. Your only goal was to disappear, to vanish without a trace. 

You walked, and walked, and walked, the unfamiliar streets slowly morphing into something distantly recognizable. Your feet carried you, almost against your will, until you found yourself standing before the last place you expected, the very last place you ever thought you'd seek refuge…..

Home.

You had nothing on you: no phone, no keys, no car–  they had been confiscated by Rafe. 

You rang your own doorbell and prayed. Prayed your parents were home and not away on one of their frequent, distant trips. For the first time in your life, you actually wanted to see them. 

You wanted to cry in your mother's arms, wanted her to hold you, to tell you everything was going to be okay – a desperate, childlike yearning you hadn't realized you still possessed.

You were a body that would always host the parasite of yearning. 

Ringing the doorbell proved useless. With a sigh, you went around the back, and just as you guessed, with a pang of bittersweet irony at your mom’s characteristic carelessness, the back door was left unlocked. 

You slipped inside, calling out, your voice tentative, then louder, but only silence answered. You searched every room, every familiar space, but came up empty. 

Nobody was home.

You sat at the bottom of the grand staircase, until the sun began to dip below the horizon. 

Finally, the mahogany front door swung open, revealing your mother. She sauntered in, heels clutched in one hand, her expensive gown shimmering. 

She didn't smile, didn't offer a hug, her expression a mask of indifference at the sight of you after a whole 2 months.

"Finally decided to grace us with your presence," she drawled, rolling her eyes, already walking deeper into the house, towards the kitchen. 

"Don't tell me where you've been. I don't need the worry." She didn't even bother to glance back to see if you were following.

She filled a crystal wine glass, red liquid sloshing carelessly onto the white marble counter. She gulped it down in one go, then turned to you, her gaze dismissive. 

"What have you made of yourself? You look terrible." She shook her head, one hand on her hip, squinting as she looked you up and down disapprovingly. 

You were dressed in Rafe's battered sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, a stark contrast to her polished dress she had worn to whatever Gala she had been at.

"Do you have any idea where I've been the past month? What's been going on with me?" 

You’re not sure why you even asked.

You should have expected this, you knew you should have. You'd been too hopeful, too desperate, coming back home. The least you expected was a hug, or perhaps even a flicker of concern. 

But your mother never cared about you, and she never would— she’d go to great lengths to prove it to you, over and over again 

"Oh, please." She refilled her glass, tossing the empty wine bottle into the trash with a clatter. "I've heard whispers that you've been living at the Cameron house." Her voice was flat, devoid of curiosity or alarm.

You had dreams of her asking you better questions. Her desire to know more made you feel full. Then you opened your eyes and she was never as curious as you wanted.

Your greatest pain was that your mother never got to know you and never wanted to know you.

"You could've called, you could've checked up on me," the words ached in your chest. 

You weren't exactly sure what you wanted her to say. Maybe you just wanted to hurt yourself even more, because one thing your mother never did was hold back from spitting venom at you.

"It's a two-way street, darling," was all she offered, already reaching for another bottle from the wine fridge.

"I'm your daughter!" you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in a gesture of pure frustration. "I shouldn't have to beg you to give a shit about me! I didn't have my phone—"

"Of course," her smile was more of a smirk, cold and knowing. "You always come back when you need something. So you broke your phone, and now you're back because Daddy will buy you a new one?"

"No, Mom!" Hot, angry tears pricked at your eyes. "I came back... I came back because..." you stuttered, trying to find the words.

The airstrip. Peterkin. Ward. The police station. Rafe holding you hostage. 

The bruises around your wrists that she hadn't noticed, or maybe she did but simply didn't care enough to comment on. 

It was too much to articulate, too horrific for someone who already saw you as a burden.

"You came here because you needed... what?" she pressed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "You always need something from us. Tell me I'm wrong?"

"I came back because I need help," you admitted, the truth tearing at your pride, leaving it wounded in the dirt. "Because I need you, Mom. I need you." You choked out, "Can't you see that?"

"You don’t need me, you treat this house like a hotel, come back when you want, leave when you want. And your father? He’s just your personal ATM ” she scoffed bitterly. 

“You make your own decisions, you make your own mess, you clean it up," she said sharply, her eyes cold as ice. "Think you're all grown up? Act like it then."

"I didn't have a choice! I had to grow up because you never stepped into the role of a mother!"

"Oh, of course, pin this on me too! You've always been like this... ungrateful."

"I'm standing here in front of you, asking you for some understanding, begging you– and you're— you don't even care!" A stray tear traced a path down your cheek.

"Stop with the screaming," she scolded, clutching her temple with one hand. "You're gonna give me a headache."

"Where's Dad?" you asked, the last, desperate flicker of hope.

"Smoking Cubans with Judge Holden," she muttered, refilling yet another glass of wine, her gaze distant, already bored.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, "Okay Mom, please, I need to leave the country."

"Then leave," she said simply shrugging. 

She didn't ask for an explanation, didn't plead with you to stay. 

"You've never asked for my permission to do anything. You just do what you want, whenever you want."

"No, mom, you don't understand," you pulled at your hair at the scalp in frustration and desperation. "I have to. I have to leave because I can't stay here. I can't be on this island, it’s not safe—“

You didn't have time to tell her all the excruciating details; surely Rafe was back from the mainland now, and it was only a matter of time before he would sniff you out somehow.

"Of course…. why would you stay here?" she drawled, her voice laced with bitter cynicism. "Why would you stay here with the family that's given you everything?”

"Mom..." you whispered, heartbroken plea, the last ember of hope flickering out.

Just as you thought you were running out of time, on cue, you heard tires crunching on the gravel outside. You had a sickening gut feeling that it wasn’t your father returning home.

Your mom's head tilted, her brows raised in mock curiosity, and she gave you a dismissive wave towards the door. "I guess it's time for you to go."

The doorbell rang, and she moved to open it without a moment's hesitation. You stood frozen behind her, a statue. Rafe stood on the porch, illuminated by the fading light.

"Ah, right on time," your mom chirped, her voice light, as if exchanging pleasantries at a garden party. She gestured towards you with a casual flick of her hand. "She was getting angsty anyway."

Rafe's gaze swept past your mother, over her shoulder, settling on you. There was a knowing look in his eyes, a flicker of something almost like pity. You looked away, quickly wiping at the tears that still tracked down your face.

"I'll wait by the car," he was surprisingly subdued. He wasn't angry, not like you expected him to be. He almost seemed sad for you.

Rafe hadn't even been stressed when he saw your location at your parents' house, because he knew with a certainty in his bones that nothing good ever came of you speaking to your mom. It was something he had gotten well-equipped to, over the summer, predicting your patterns of despair. 

How had he known you were here so quickly? He had put a tracking chip in you, ofcourse. While you were passed out and tied up, unconscious, he had made a small incision, a tiny stitch placed at the back of your neck, one you still hadn't noticed.

"Well, don't keep him waiting then." Your mom's voice cut through your thoughts, utterly unbothered by the conversation you'd just had, by the tears you hadn't bothered to hide. 

She huffed, already walking up the grand staircase, leaving you stranded. No goodbye, no offer to stay, no flicker of maternal concern. Just an ushering out the door, back into the lion's den.

Your heart sank. You had come home looking for help, for protection, and were met only with the stone-cold indifference of your mother.

Rafe was waiting by the passenger door, already open. His lips pressed into a thin line.

You were calm and quiet, but there were things inside you. And he would see them, hiding in your eyes, so you looked at the ground instead.

He helped you into the truck, hand heavy on your back. The car ride was silent. He didn't say a word, his gaze fixed on the road, yet you could feel his awareness of your every tremor, every hitch in your breath. He didn't say anything when you went for a shower, the water doing little to wash away the feeling of utter abandonment. 

He didn't say anything when you finally slipped under the covers, curling into yourself, exhausted and broken. And when he heard the muffled sobs you couldn't stifle, burrowing into the pillow. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him, your back pressed against his chest.

"Sshhhh," he whispered against the skin of your neck, his breath warm and unsettling. "Shouldn't have gone there in the first place, baby."

You sobbed even harder, a bitter, broken sound, because he was right. Everytime you stepped foot in that house, you always felt a little emptier afterwards. You can't make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that.

" 'Tsokay, I'm here," he muttered, his hands, so recently capable of violence, now settling with a disturbing tenderness on your belly. "I'll always be here." His words were a promise, a threat, a tightening of the invisible chains.

One of his hands began to trail upwards, sliding beneath your shirt, his fingers kneading gently at your breast. The other hand slipped beneath your cotton shorts, hooking your leg back around his side, pulling your body flush against his.

"I've got you," he breathed, his fingers, precise and deliberate, slipped inside you, one by one. You didn't stop crying; if anything, the tears flowed harder. But when a third finger slowly, painfully stretched you out, a sharp gasp tore from your throat, drowning out the sobs. 

It was his twisted comfort, his brutal reassurance that he was the only one who truly understood how to mend you, how to make you forget, even for a moment, the broken pieces of yourself.

"I know what you need, baby," he breathed, his voice a low, confident murmur. He always knew how to "fix" you. 

He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers, a silent response to his ministrations. Your back arched involuntarily away from his chest, your head pressing back into his shoulder.

But it wasn't enough for him. He needed to see your face, to witness your surrender. He moved from behind you, sitting up on the bed, tearing your shorts and panties off with ease. He then grabbed your ankles, pulling you further down the bed until your ass cheeks were perfectly slotted onto his knees, spreading your legs open.

You felt the cool air against your wetness, making you shiver, and you made a weak attempt to close your legs. But he pressed his hands flat against your inner thighs, keeping them wide.

"Uh-uh," he murmured, his eyes fixed on your pink, glistening lips with hunger. "I wanna see," his fingers trailed down your slit, parting your puffy slick lips, "wanna see this pretty pussy make a mess."

He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above you, a tantalizing torment. A string of his saliva dripped down, landing on your pearl, and his thumb followed, smearing it down, rubbing you in slow, deliberate circles, like he was rubbing a lamp, hoping for a genie to come out and grant his dark desires. You fisted the bedsheets, your eyes rolling back..

"Yeah, just like that. Relax for me, baby," his voice a low, gravelly hum, a dark command. His thumb stayed, burning against your sensitive, swollen nub, a relentless friction. His other hand pumped three fingers in and out of you, a relentless rhythm.

The only sounds in the room were the wet slickness of his movements, your broken breaths, and the desperate whimpers of his name tearing from your throat.

Your juices splashed onto his thighs with every flick of his wrist. Then, he curled his fingers just so, hitting a spot that sent a jolt through you, and you cried out, your hands clawing at his knees now, anything to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensations.

"Look at you, letting me take care of you, huh?" He watched you, a possessive admiration in his gaze. 

Your eyes were half-lidded, barely able to focus on him, your cheeks flushed a deep, vibrant pink, lips parted as you whined and mewled, completely at his mercy.

"I'm the only one who makes you feel like this, yeah?" His fingers picked up their pace, his thumb pressing down harder, a sweet, agonizing pressure. "I'm the only one that can fix you. That can love you. I can give you everything." 

You weren't even listening to whatever he was blabbering on about. Your thighs trembled against him, still spread wide, pinned by his knees.

You threw your head back, hair tangled and pressed against your damp forehead, fingers digging into his thighs, drawing tiny crescents of blood. Your toes curled, your body tensed, a building storm, and he could feel you coming even before you did.

"Yeah, good girl," he purred, his fingers never stopping, relentless in their pursuit of your climax. "So good for me, aren't you?"

You finally came crashing back to earth, gasping for air. "You're mine to keep," he whispered, his eyes piercing yours, his thumb burning against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a brand. "Mine."

"Please, it hurts.” You cried out, grabbing his hands, desperate to stop the overwhelming hypersensitivity. 

"Say it," he demanded, applying a firm, unyielding pressure, placing a firm, heavy hand on your sternum to keep you down. "Say it, baby. Tell me."

"I'm yours," you winced, the words a final, complete surrender.

Perhaps he was destined for you. As a punishment.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

You sat on the crinkling paper of the examination table. Rafe, of course, had forced himself into the room with you, despite your wishes. He had pulled a chair up beside the examination table, his hand clamped firmly around your thigh, as if you were a flight risk even now. 

You could feel the tremor in your own leg, counting the seconds until your lie would unravel. The silence in the room was deafening, amplified by the frantic thump of your own heart. 

Your eyes were glued to the ceiling, but your brain was doing somersaults, listing every single thing you'd miss out on if Rafe found out the truth. Basically, your entire life. 

How would your parents even react when they found your body at the bottom of some creek? You actually wondered if your mom would cry, or if, in some dark, twisted part of her, she'd just feel relieved. Finally, that burden's gone.

No 21st birthday. No legally drinking a ridiculously sugary cocktail with your friends. That was a real bummer. You hadn't seen them in months, their faces now just hazy memories. If you'd known that last "see ya" was going to be it, you would've hugged them tighter, held on longer, etched their warmth into your damn soul.

And all those travel dreams? Gone. No backpacking through Europe with a backpack double the size of you and a map you'd probably lose. No trying authentic pasta in Italy or seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night. No volunteering with sea turtles in Costa Rica, no climbing some huge mountain, no dancing under the Northern Lights.

You'd never get to finish college, to pursue that obscure major you were passionate about, or find a job that felt like more than just a means to an end. You'd never live in your own small apartment, decorating it just how you liked, without anyone watching or controlling.

You'd never adopt a stray cat, or learn to play the guitar, or finally read all those classic novels sitting unread on your shelf.

You'd never meet your soulmate. 

You actually thought you had back in summer. What a clown. You really thought Rafe was him, your other half, your person. You truly believed you were done going to bars to meet guys, because you had found the one person who saw who you truly were, despite everything, all your flaws. 

There was a little girl in your head and she screamed "unloved! unloved! unloved!" every moment of your life.

You were always hungry for love. Just once, you wanted to know what it was like to get your fill of it, to be fed so much love you couldn't take any more. 

Just once.

So you let Rafe touch you, let him love you, because he was the only one who ever offered it to you. It was a pathetic attempt to fill the hollow ache in your chest.

You truly did fall in love with the false image you had of him when you first met him. You were still in love with that version of him. But he wasn't real, just a made-up fantasy.

The phantom sensation of his gun, cold and hard against your temple, was a constant, chilling reminder of his true nature. His version of "love" was seriously fucked up, twisted, and terrifying, and you definitely didn't want it anymore.

You just wanted to live.

"Okay," the doctor's voice broke you from your morbid thoughts, as she entered the room with your test results.

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable, for the quiet pronouncement that would seal your fate.

"I've got your test results back and congratulations, you’re expecting."

The words, gentle and clear, punched through the ringing in your ears. Your eyes flew open, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

Expecting? 

Relief should have flooded you, a tidal wave of sweet, intoxicating survival. But it was anything but that. Instead, a wave of profound, crushing dread washed over you, heavier than any fear of death. 

You were pregnant. With Rafe's child…..

Tears, hot and unstoppable, burned in your eyes. You weren't saved; you were bound. Bound to him, to his madness, to a life you never wanted. This wasn't a reprieve; it was a life sentence.

Rafe's smile was blinding, stretching from ear to ear as he squeezed your hand, intertwining your fingers with his. He leaned over, placing a soft, chaste kiss on your forehead.

“Hey, come on now. I've got you, baby." he muttered, his voice thick with overwhelming joy. “I've got you both.”

And that was the worst part. He did have you now. He had you for life.

"Okay, we need to get you started on some prenatal vitamins." 

The doctor scribbled a list of supplements and vitamins, some prescribed, some over-the-counter. You were moving, nodding, feigning comprehension, but you hadn't processed a single word. 

You were pregnant. 

[dissociativewriter]

this might be a bit spoiler-y for what i haven’t released but,

i just wanted to clear something up in unnatural affinity because i saw a comment under part 11 on ao3 where someone was talking about how they don’t understand why authors have reader do the isekai confession because its not realistic for a person to immediately believe that the world is fake so i just want to explain,

i never said the world was fake.

xavier believes it and so does reader. they both struggle with derealization/dissociation and being in the present, so the thing they are going to notice with reader’s odd origin story (for lack of a better term) is the fact that the world was created in a sort of unnatural manner (since reader explains its origin as a game). however, we see xavier say that his experiences were real to him and that’s enough. that is a sort of progression for him in a short amount of time that could come back in the story.

im keeping the rest of this somewhat vague since its not released; rafayel is going to react differently because he has different struggles and beliefs than xavier and reader. he struggles with feeling wanted/needed and being someone’s priority. his focus is going to be on the fact that there are other men that em is (sort of) romancing. zayne is a bit more complicated. he’s not unusual in not having himself as the priority, but his almost want for self-sacrifice does set him apart. he’s really going to focus on how this affects reader and em, instead of what this means for him. sylus was sort of similar in this manner, although he understands things the way reader explains them, whereas zayne looks at it almost clinically and separates what he think is emotion and what he thinks is fact.

caleb is going to fit in completely differently just because his involvement in reader’s… strained relationship with em is going to change how they interact from here on out.

i just wanted to clear up that i’m not confirming or denying quite yet if the world is fake. the beliefs right now simply revolve around the characters’ beliefs and ideologies. it also depends on how reader explains things and how well the love interests and figure out what is actually true vs what reader believes due to their own struggles and insecurities. reader has very complex emotions throughout the story that affect any actions taken, and that definitely affects how the isekai event is explained.

this is kind of messy but i realized this might not be completely clear as i write unnatural affinity. i’ve done this with a few comments just because i realized i explain a lot in comments that doesn’t necessarily come up (like em’s characterization reflecting who she’s around).

anyways im working through requests right now so it might be a couple more days until part 12, not sure yet. let me know what y’all want to happen with each love interest, or what should come next (ill also answer any questions y’all might have since i know im not the clearest lol) i like seeing y’all’s thoughts :)

taglist: @animegamerfox @ixloom819 @magennta09 @an-ever-angry-bi @corvid007 @vigtore @ph1lo-s0ph1a @ameili @babyx91 @sadsaidthesadthing @bidisasterforevermore @liz9898 @iconoclastoc @elegantdeerlady @lifumi @auraficial @plzdonutpercieveme @dolledbunnytail @junebuggz @mangooes @anatherone @skulzooka @yuhuahuaaa @nm4565natty @feikyuu @lunia-likes-pomegranet @xfangirl-trashx @glitterykingdomangel @eialovescats @mimiu3usoft @alyssac9 @000rpheus @novaisbebita @coffeedragonhobbyist @udejoenrlddo @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @xyzbeloved @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @myheartfollower @nightmarewasteland @feralwolfkat @junni-berry @chiikasevennn @lethalasylum @loudpiratepirate @sweetnightowl @rafaissance @white-wolves-and-golden-sunrises @iunse @asilaydead

[svt-ara]

go through ara's miumiu bag thanks to an interview made by vogue korea!

ᯓ★ 𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 mention of food, mention of health conditions (asthma) | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗪𝗖 2.1k | ๋⸝⸝⸝⸝ 𝗔𝗡 literally loved making this, it's so funny. i tried to fit the members in as much as i could without making it too forced, hope i did my best 😭. not proofread

italics is the staff, [ additional subtitles ]

꒰୨ 𝓜asterlist ୧꒱

«hello, this is ara from seventeen. it's such a pleasure to meet everyone— today i'm here with 'vogue' to show you what's in my bag and what i never leave the house without» ara comfortably sat on a dark brown couch, her posture relaxed and her tone sounded warm as she spoke.

the room around her was minimalistic— white walls surrounded the space, the light was bright and a low glass table that mirrored the color of the couch sat in front of her. ara was clearly the focal point, dressed in a soft pale pink top adorned with a black lace around the neckline, elegant black trousers flowing down her legs and a pair of classic louboutins on her feet. beside her rested a sleek black miumiu bag— simple and cozy.

«should we start?» she smiled, though the tension in her body betrayed her— her hands were lightly rubbing the fabric of her pants. ara was used to having cameras pointed at her face all the time, but usually, there were other thirteen of them to share the spotlight. this time she was alone— all the eyes, the lights, the focus were on her and no matter how many years had passed, she still wasn't quite used to it.

«so, this is the bag i use the most. it's from miumiu, made of leather, and i really love how it's big but super fashionable at the same time. i can basically carry my whole house in there and still look cool» of curse, it was the frist thing she reached for. ara proudly showed it to the camera, it wasn't just for sponorship as the global ambassador of the brand. she genuiely loved that purse, carrying it around every chance she got.

«the frist item is my phone» she pulls out a white iphone 13 pro max with an adorable semi-trasparent case, decorated with sightly raised pink-ish sheeps. «i usually don't carry my phone in my pockets because i have this phobia that i will lose it, so it's always in my bag. it's a bit annoying to open the bag everytime i need to check the time or see if i got notifications, but it's better than losing everything i have on it» one hand held the phone, showing it to the cameras, while the other ran her fingers over the little sheeps. it was some kind of stress reliever.

«also, look how cute the case is. jun bought it for me when he was in china, he said it reminded him of me» she smiled softly, running her fingers over the little sheeps again. «honestly, the members always find the weirdest things that remind them of me. i'm still deciding if that's a sweet comment or if he was making fun of me. either way, it worked— i haven't changed it since» she ended with a soft smile, remembering the exact moment he had given to her.

«have you ever lost your phone?» a voiceover asked, making ara lower her head in embarrassment as soft giggles escaped her lips. that question should have been expected. «yes, i actually did one time, it was a long ago tho. when i was a traniee, i lost it and didn't find it for almost a week. i couldn't contact my parents and they got seriously worried. turns out, it was in a forgotten corner of the building the whole time. that's how i developed this phobia» she was grateful the lights were so bright to the point they could barely notice her flushed cheeks.

«okay, i think we can go on with the second item»

[ escaping the funny story ]

«oh...» a small sound escaped her lips as she was seen reaching for something, but seemed to be stuck inside the bag. her fingers fumbled for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in mild frustration before she let out a quiet— and embarassed— laugh. «hold on, give me a second. this always happens to me» after a few more second of gentle tugging, she finally pulled out a pair of white earbuds. «they're stuck with me, basically glued to my ears at this point. i can't survive without music, but they get tangled so easly-» her attention was somewhere else while she talked— her hands buried in the bag, fishing out a pair of airpods.

«-that's why i also bring a pair of airpods, they are comfier» she said, holding up the small white case now far from plain. it was proudly decorated by her with some tiny stickers— like some hearts, a tiny peach right in the corner or a bear sleeping. «but the most beautiful part is the case. i decorated myself out of necessity— one time i accidentally switched them with one of the member and spent the past three days trying to figure out why they didn't connected to my phone» ara chucked, admiring her own case until she came across her favorite sticker. «i really like this one, wonwoo said it looks like me when i nap backstage» she finally placed the case next to her phone, a quiet smile still lingering on her lips at the memory of his words.

[ sudded sentimetal moment ]

«the fourth item i never leave the house without is my hand sanitizer. i think i could actually go insane if i forgot to pack it in my bag» ara held up a small pink bottle with a white cap, turning it sightly so the camera could catch the sparkles inside. «but the regular smell really bothered me, tought. it used to give me headache. that's when i discovered they make it in so many scents— this one smells like strawberries, that's why it has a pink cap» she explained innocently, opening the bottle to smell it. her nose crinkled a little in satisfaction. «yeah, that's it. strawberry is one of my favorite scent» the satisfaction in her tone clear as she dared to put some on her hands.

[ because regular sanitizer is too basic 🍓 ]

«top 3 scents?» the voiceover asked, making her laugh. her hands clapped togheter as she threw her head back in amusement. she thought about it for few seconds after speaking again «hmm... the frist one is absolutely strawberry, it remindes me of my home and it's so comforting. then, maybe cotton candy and vanilla» she smiled, clearly enjoying sharing this little detail of herself.

«and right after the hand sanitizers, comes the profume» the giggled softly, a genuine smile lighting up her face. she reached into her bag again and pulled out a small, elegant bottle— it's the miss dior absolutely blooming. holding it up carefully, she explained «dare to say i'm not the biggest fan of profumes in general, but this one is so lovely» she gave the bottle a gentle spritz into the air and took a small, satisfied smell. «it's like... flowery, it lift up your mood» she took a moment to find the right words, her eyes sparkling in joy at the little trasure she found. «if out there there are people who hardly finds profumes they enjoy, that's the perfect one» she said as she placed the little bottle near the other things on the low table and smiled. «alright, that's enough scents for today. let me show you something more pratical»

«this is my wallet» she pulled out a pink wallet adorned with some cutw bows— completely the opposite from the sleek black bag it came from. «i know people matches their wallet with their bag. well, clearly i'm not one of them. when i saw this wallet i fell in love, it was too cute to not buy it even if it didn't matched with my black bag at all» she smiled admiring the stones on the wallet. «sometimes is nice to have some contrast, don't you think?»

[ completely the opposite ]

she began to open the wallet, eager to even show the inside, but then she hesistated for a moment. tucked in one of the clear pockets, sat an untouched polaroid of her and hoshi. it was from a casual night when they had gone for a walk, and when they saw a polaroid machine, hoshi insisted they had to take one. the photo captured something really genuine between them, and she loved it so much she had do keep a copy in her wallet. the original one belonged to the back of hoshi's phone «i can't show you, i'm sorry» she giggled, gently closing the wallet once more.

«is this the seventh item?» she asked, her voice was a mix of concern and amusement as her eyes scanned the sea of staff members in front of her. her eyebrows furrowed sightly while her hand continued to search throught the the bag. she almost looked suspicious at the amount of things had already come out, she even lost the count. «i swear i didn't think a packed this much today» she almost whispered to herself before letting out a quiet laugh. «my bag is surprising me like it's surprising you» she smiled one last time before taking another item.

«my lip liners and a lip balm» ara smiled at the camera as she finally pulled them out of her bag. she held them proudly— two small pencils in netural tones and a soft-looking balm with a minimal package. «i think lip liners are honestly the best beauty item, and those two are my favortie ones. can't go around without them» she twirled one pencil around her fingers while her head slightly tilted on the side. «no matter how messy i fell, if i have my lip liner i feel a little more putted togheter» she added with a quiet laugh.

[ proof it's all in your head ]

«we're finally leading to the eight and last item» ara said with a playful sigh, glancing at her almost-empty bag and all her perfectly allined items as if saying bye to her little advenutre. her tone was light but with a hint of fondness— this whole thing turned out more fun than she'd expected. «you know, i didn't know i carried around so many things until i had to sit down and explain each of them» she added with a chuckle, her fingers already inside the bag reaching for the final item.

«and last but not least— gummy worms» she announced, pulling out a small, slightly crinkled packet from her bag with a big smile. the colorful candy peeked out the trasparent part of the packaging immediatly adding a playful vibe to the items lined on the table. «this used to be my secret weapon— none knew about them. then, i don't know how, one of the member discovered and the day after everyone were going throught my purse to search them» she said, shaking the pack a little before leaning forward sightly. «now i have to hide them, if i leave my bag unattended for too long, they just magically disappear» ara laughed at herself and then placed the candy next the other items, everything is perfectly lined up. «anyway, i have them just in care— you never know if you'll need a sugar boost» and with that, she smiled at the camera one last time before the staff asked her some questions.

«which item would you save frist if your bag caught in fire»

ara sightly widened her eyes at the random question, lips twiching into an half smile «that's such a dramatic scenario» she laughed, shaking her head «but okay, let me think... well, definitely my hand sanitizer— especially if it's the strawberry one» she added, playfull difensive and then continued with her little list «then we have my phone, because... it's my phone and lip liners, i need at least one of them to survive emotionally» she joked, nodding seriously like it was a matter of life and death.

[ priorities, but make it pretty ]

«if you had do dye your hair a crazy color tomorrow, what would you choose?»

«that's actually a good question, let me think» her fingers tapped the table few times as her eyes galanced upwards. after few seconds, a grin curved her lips. «i feel like half lavander and half light blue, is this crazy enough? i don't know» she laughed, tilting her head sightly already imagining it «i think it would look so pretty under stage lights, like glowing candy foss or something— maybe i should consider it for real» she joked, brushing a strad of hair behind her ear.

«do you think your bag matches your personality?»

she paused toughtfully «i think it's actually the opposite. the outside it black and simple while the inside it's a mixing of colour and personality» she shrugged lightly «but in real life, i'm kinda of in reverse. i look bright and bubbly outside— and, hey, inside i'm like that most of the times, but sometimes it's not»

[ looks can be deciving ]

«what's a thing no one knows about you?»

ara thought about it for a moment and then responded. «no one ever knows i have athsma, it isn't something i struggle with everyday fortunately— it's not that bad. but it can get very challenging during long perfomances, like concerts, my stamina definitely gets affected»

«if you could switch lives for a day with someone else, who would it be?»

«i think it would be s.coups. i'm curious about what its like to be the leader— is it that stressful? or maybe woozi, i'd love to try his producing skills and see life from another point of view— like that of an introvert»

«who do you trust the most to leave your bag with?»

«i think... vernon. he's the kind of person who barely even galances at it, so i'm sure noting would ever get stolen»

[ trust level : vernon ]

COMMENTS ⁸⁶⁴

not the gummy worms being stolen 😭

wdy she would rather save some hand sanitizer rather than her wallet, that's a crazy work

╰┈ girl, she has a diagnosed ocd ☠️ have some respect

the lip liners are the realest thing i've ever seen

og already knew she has asthma

the way she smiles when she is talking about the other members makes me wanna choke, i love them

the black bag ISN'T so her

how can someone lose for a week their phone inside a closed space 🥀

girl thinks we can afford a dior profume

the contrast between the black bag and the pink wallet got me

what does she has in that wallet we can't see 🤨

can we talk about how perfectly simmetric those items were on the table

we need to see a what's in my make-up bag next because her make up it's always soo good

this is for the people who says she doesn't deserve her main dancer position because of her stamina, hope they can stfu now

my junRa heart is so weak rn 💔

who knew lip liners were emotional survival tools?

if vernon barely pays attention at the bag, then a thief gonna steal it lol

in the late 13 years old i'm discovering that hand sanitizer existed in different scents

╰┈ it ain't that old 🙏

[charlie-shmarlie]

Steve Rogers with a chubby lover: headcanons

How Cap would treat his chubby lover ♡

Fluff ☁️

I am currently taking headcanon requests <3

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You were always a little worried about what Steve thinks about your body, being that he's from a time when it wasn't generally accepted or seen as desirable. But let me tell you, you have nothing to worry about, and he will make that fact known to you as many times as needed until you believe it. He won't give up on you.

His favorite thing about your body is likely how soft it is-- hear me out. Steve is constantly on the go. His missions are long and taxing, usually leaving him dirty, sweaty, and exhausted, both physically and mentally. So, to be able to come home to his favorite woman in the world and lose himself in her soft, comforting warmth is heaven to him.

He'll just lay there with you wrapped up in his arms as he intently listens to you talk about your day, silently reveling in your presence.

He's very supportive. He will always encourage you to wear what makes you feel happy and comfortable. Don't think even for a second that he would try to steer you away from clothing options that "aren't fit for your body type."

Steve will NOT tolerate people talking down to you. He's not an ill-tempered man, but if he hears someone say something negative about you like that, he won't hesitate to bite.

You can always tell, too, just by his hardened expression and clenched jaw alone. Then he'll say something that makes the insulter feel like they've been pinned against the ground like a bug and can't answer without taking responsibility for their disgusting behavior.

"Wanna repeat that for me?" / "What's that supposed to mean?" / "Did you say something?"

His tone says he's calm, but his eyes are saying otherwise.

It doesn't really matter where you are, if he's sitting next to you, his hand will be on your thigh. It's a comfort thing for him. You'll occasionally feel a gentle squeeze now and then when he needs that extra bit of support. To feel you beside him a little more.

Loooves hugging you from behind and pushing his face into the crook of your neck, feeling your soft curves press against him.

He can pick you up with ease. All those other dudes with their weak little muscles ought to be ashamed cause this man can and will pick you up and carry you over his shoulder without any strain whatsoever.

Many of your nights will be spent curled up next to him, his strong arms securely wrapped around you and his chin resting atop your head while he murmers every little thing he loves about you in your ear. His hands roam your plush body, not in lust, but rather in a loving caress that perfectly translates his feelings in a way that surpasses even his words.

There's something about your stretch marks that almost fascinate him. If you'll let him, he'll spend a bit of time just tracing them over, enjoying the feel of them beneath the pads of his fingers

Steve is a gentleman. However, that man is not immune to seeing your shorts do that thing where they ride up your thighs a little when you sit down. He tries very hard not to let it take his mind to disrespectful places, but MAN--

Cellulite? He loves it.

Squishy sides? He loves that, too.

Plush arms? Can't get enough of them.

If you were to ever tell him that you wanted to lose weight, he'd support you all the way, so long as your motivations aren't harmful to yourself, physically or mentally. He would even help you get started, showing you better food options and some basic beginner level workouts.

But, when it comes down to it, Steve loves you because you're you. Whether you're chubby, mid-size, or slim, he loves you, and nothing could ever change that.

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