#die hard had not come out yet so in world that cannot be the explaination

[sketchy-scribs-n-doods]

Bee and Argie, Billy and Argyle

Arturo Guillermo Franco Valdes.

Arturo Guillermo, and a friend that calls him Guille, Artie, Argie.

A red faced Billy that pronounces Guillermo as ‘Gah-ee-ler-moh’ before learning that ‘ll’ makes a ‘yuh’ sound in Spanish.

Artie calling him Bee-yee, and later Bee, as a joke because of it.

Billy tosses out nicknames like the affection he’s never been sure how to express. But he loves the way his friend's name rolls off his tongue, the syllables strange and clunky and a challenge that Billy readily takes up. Soon, it falls full and melodic from his lips, prettier than any song he's ever heard on the old radio his mom left him with.

Mi amigo, Arturo.

Argie tells him not to sweat it, but Billy doesn’t understand why nobody else seems to want to make the effort. Like it’s too difficult, or like Argie isn’t worth the effort. Most of the other Mexican kids at school already know how to pronounce the names that give their white teachers pause, but outside of that demographic there’s a pathetic lack of effort that incites Billy sometimes. 

“Don’t sweat it, bro. Not everyone can roll their Rs as good as you.”

“What, like it’s hard? Fuckin’ idiots.”

(Years later, when they find each other again, Billy will know why his old friend Argie goes by Argyle, because Argyle will nudge him with a serene little smile of his and say, “Long time no see, Bee. Your ol’ pal Artie Gyle-ermo missed you, amigo.”)

Once, early in their friendship, Billy asks Argie why he has so many damn names. Why does he need like half a dozen of them? And Argie says,

“Well, I dunno. I think it makes me pretty damn special, though. How many ‘Arturo Guillermo Franco Valdes’ do you know?”

“Just you, obviously. But that doesn’t mean much, I don’t know any other ‘William Hargrove’s either.”

“Maybe not. But it’s prolly a lot easier for some random Hargrove to be named Billy than for someone to line up a buncha random names to smash together and create a Franco Valdes named Arturo Guillermo.”

“That ‘random Hargrove’ is me, jackass!”

“Exactly!”

“At least my name’s not a fuckin’ mouthful!”

“Oh, so I’m a mouthful, am I?”

“Fuck you!”

A few months later, well into Billy's friendship with Argyle, the kid invites him over to his place to check out his new bike or something, Billy doesn't remember.

What he does remember is meeting Argyle's dad and paternal grandma, Nana Hermelinda.

It's getting colder, for California at least, and Nana insists on making the kids chocolate abuelita while Argyle's dad is at work. A much richer hot chocolate than Billy is used to, the smell is spicy sweet and warm in the air as it foams up in the pot Nana is using, instead of the mild chemical sweetness of the mugs Billy puts in the microwave when he can sneak a packet of Swiss Miss in the winter. Her worn, wrinkled hands make quick work of it, expertly spinning between them a wooden stick with rotating round bits at the end that goes into the frothy mix. Nana calls it a molinillo when she sees him looking at it, and rather than freeze up over being caught staring, as he normally would, Billy instead finds himself trying to pronounce the new word for the remaining five minutes the chocolate takes to finish. The air feels almost soft around him, pleasantly warm and sweet like cinnamon as Nana lets the mixture cool while she searches for mugs in the cabinet above them. When she offers him his own, a brown mug with a rounded bottom and pretty dotted flower designs on its shiny finish, Billy is shy and hesitant to take it. But the warmth as he wraps his chilly fingers around it is welcoming and its smells so good. The first sip is cautious, slow like he's still unsure about whether he's allowed something so warm and comforting.

It's incredible.

Billy's pretty blue eyes light up like Argyle has never seen before. He can feel his heart thump awkwardly in his chest as those baby blues shine bright in the soft yellow light of the kitchen.

Then Billy lowers the mug, and a little mustache of foamed milk and chocolate lines his upper lip. Argyle quickly forgets the brief stutter of his heartbeat and cackles at the sight.

Billy is too busy having a religious experience over his mug of hot chocolate to bother with telling him to shut up like he normally would, but he doesn't truly mind- he likes the sound of Argie's loud bouncing laughter.

Nana looks fondly at them over her own mug, sitting comfortably on a stool by the kitchen counter as Billy politely thanks her for the drink with what little clumsy Spanish he's learned from Argyle so far. She coos at him, putting down her mug as she answers in a kind, lilting Spanish that Argyle will later tell him roughly means, "Of course, love. Come here whenever you like. I will make you a mug anytime, son." Billy inhales the warm steam wafting up from the mug he holds tight as Nana places a gentle hand on his cheek and calls him mijo.

Years later, Billy still remembers it as one of the last times he'd felt so held and cared for.

[notafunkiller]

we found wonderland

Summary: You have a choice to make: you either set yourself free or continue to play the game.

Pairing: (fake) boyfriend’s brother!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, age gap (r is 26, Bucky is 39), teasing, dirty talk, unprotected séx (but she is on the pill), pet names, daddy kínk, language, implied aftercare, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 2.4K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this mini-series! Thank you for reading!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You had decided you should wait for a week before making your relationship public, using that time to try to convince your parents to change their mind while Bucky plays pretend with his. It’s not an ideal situation, but he understands, keeping the truth to himself.

What he can’t keep to himself is his hands. Not that you can… but as soon as he comes home, he’s all over you, not even caring you are in the living room sometimes.

Acting like you’re just friendly is very hard for you. You want to touch and kiss him like crazy. Having sex with him changed the game, and now you try your hardest to find a way out of this deal so you can be in this relationship completely.

You laugh at the way he pouts. “You’re really adorable for an old man.”

“Is it so crazy I want us together?”

You melt, leaning in to kiss his chin. “That’s not crazy, baby, but isn’t that a little fast?”

“We’ve been living together for months now. What’s the difference?”

You wish you could find the right words to explain it. It’s quite scary and exciting, but it feels strange. “We’ve been together for a couple of days. Maybe we don’t…”

“Are you thinking of a break up already?”

You jump immediately. “No! Maybe we don’t have things figured out enough yet. And by we I mean me. I won’t have a job anymore if my parents don’t change their minds. I won’t have a real home. I won’t have anything but you. And I love every moment I spend with you, but I want something of my own, and I definitely don’t want to feel like a burden even if you don’t make me feel like that. My life is a mess.”

“And I want to help. I am not trying to control you or suggest something you don’t want, but we are friends, too, not just a couple. I am here for you. You can stay with me as a friend if not as a boyfriend. I want you safe.”

You say nothing, only staring at him for a while. You don’t even know what to say because the mix of emotions you feel is confusing.

“You know what I want?”

“What?”

“I want to fuck you right now.” You don’t try to hide your neediness as you place your hands on his shorts. “Can I, baby? Can I ride you?”

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me before I turn forty. Is this your plan? Do you want me gone?” He’s already raising his ass so he can help you take off his shorts quicker.

“I want you with me always. Want you inside me so badly.”

He groans at your tone. “Then go for it, baby, take whatever you want. It’s all yours. I’m all yours.”

You smile eagerly seeing his hard cock, and lift his T-shirt. You cannot stand anything between your bodies right now. You just need to feel him. “God, we should go to the bedroom, but I can’t wait.”

You take off your underwear, unable to wait any longer. As if someone is holding a knife to your throat, and if you don’t get Bucky inside you in the next seconds, you’re gonna die.

“Anyone can walk in,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. He probably even enjoys it. “Can you imagine their faces?”

You snort, bringing his dick to your entrance without hesitation after spreading your legs further apart. “No, but I can imagine yours when you come.”

“You don’t need to imagine. You’re gonna see it up close if you hurry up.”

Neither of you even realize you’re not using a condom for the first time until it’s too late and you’re already sliding down.

Your grasp on his shoulders is so forceful, you’re sure it will leave a mark, as you moan his name.

“James…” You desperately look at him, wanting to see if he feels the same. “We’re not using anything.”

“I c-can feel that.”

“God damn it, James,” you sound like you’re scolding him, but in reality you are just overwhelmed.

“What did I… fucking hell, I am totally not getting to turn forty. I will die tonight.”

You ask with your eyes closed. “Do you want me to get a condom?”

“No, I want to die.” He groans, already in a different space. “Unless you want to… I am clean and you are, of course, and I can pull out, but like it’s not… I can go grab a condom right now.”

You immediately shake your head, placing your hand on his chest. He’s not gonna do that. He has to make you come.

“You are not going anywhere, you get out of me and I’ll die!”

“So you’re ovulating?” He asks casually, with a playful grin spread across his face.

You chuckle, hitting him in the shoulder. 

“Yes, I am, and you gotta take care of me.”

Bucky groans, grabbing your ass, unable to keep his hands off you. You’re so hot and warm. “You’re really, really wet, princess.”

“Ihm.” You slide down further, almost taking all of his cock. “Look how deep I took you now.” You moan proudly, feeeling so stretched like this. “Look at this, daddy.”

And when he lets his eyes drop to your entrance, he has no idea how he doesn’t com right then. The sight is incredible.

“Baby…”

“I’m your baby, daddy.” You quickly take off your T-shirt at the same time you move your hips. As soon as he’s naked, you grab your breasts, holding them together with a smirk. You know that is going to affect him, and it makes you feel powerful.

“Oh God,” he groans as you bring your breasts closer to his mouth.

“Come on, daddy, go ahead.”

It’s all he needs to hear before he takes your right nipple into his mouth and the left one between his fingers. Riding him like this is a little difficult, but it’s not impossible. You love getting your breasts played with, and he loves doing it.

There is also something really hot and thrilling about the possibility of getting caught. You have no idea why and how, but you’re going to enjoy this as much as you can.

“You feel so good like this, nothing between us. Nothing between your come and me,” you moan, not even thinking about what you say.

“You can’t say that and expect me to be strong.”

That makes you laugh. “I’m on the pill, though, you don’t have to be strong.”

“Fucking hell, you’re gonna drive me crazy.” He starts to thrust his hips back so he can meet you halfway. Riding him feels so, so good. You got him deeper, and the lack of a condom makes you properly feel his thickness.

“You feel so… Fuck, your cock is filling me just the way I need it.” You grab his shoulders so you can move faster. “You’re such a good daddy, let-letting me use you right here, where everyone could see us.”

“You love using daddy’s cock.” He looks so drunk, in so much pleasure. “Such a naughty girl.”

“I’m your naughty girl, James.”

“All mine.” His hands on your hips help you move faster indeed, and you’re already so close you can barely keep your eyes open.

“F-faster.”

Bucky stops thrusting his hips back, and you groan. You need more.

“If you want it faster, keep your eyes on me, pretty girl.”

“I c-can’t-” As much as you want to fight this, your eyes instinctively close again. “Ss-so close.”

He can hear your desperation and without hesitating, he brings his hand into your hair and pulls unexpectedly hard. That’s enough for you to come loud. So loud you can hear yourself as you let the pleasure consume every bit of you.

But Bucky doesn’t stop moving his hips, making your orgasm last longer. He’s saying things, probably dirty things, in your ear, but you can’t understand anything. Your ears are still ringing.

And just like that, Bucky comes too, with his right hand still wrapped around your hair while the left one is digging into the skin of your hip.

“Fuck, I’m coming inside you, baby, can you feel it? Can you feel me filling your pussy, baby?”

“Ihm,” you can barely whisper, too overwhelmed by everything.

“Whose come?”

“Y-yours.”

“Good girl.” He groans as soon as he finishes coming, wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you. “This feels like heaven.”

“I don’t think I can go back to wearing a condom now. I mean if you want to…”

“Are you sure? We can still use one just to make sure we are safer.”

You peck him. “We can still use it, don’t worry, I get it. Looking out for me and stuff.”

He lets out a deep breath, thankful you understand what he means.

“Of course I am looking out for you, that’s my job.”

“Job? You are my daddy, not my mom or dad.”

“I am your partner and your friend. I will always look out for you.”

A sudden urge to fuck him again takes over your body, but before you can do it, your phone starts ringing.

Bucky gives you the phone without moving, and when you both see it’s his brother, you groan.

“Hi, William.” You try to sound as normal as possible, but your voice is so raspy it’s impossible.

“Hey, gonna be home in a few minutes. Are you okay? Is Bucky home yet?”

“Ihm, he came.” You wink at James. “All good here. See you.”

You don’t wait for him to answer before you’re hanging up.

“You came too.”

You giggle immediately. It’s hard not to be around Bucky; he is goofy at the right time. “We need to clean up, though, he’s close.”

“Alright.”

*

Your parents didn’t want to listen to you at all. You didn’t have the chance to talk at the party since they’re avoiding you at all costs, and you had to go outside not to cry in front of everyone. You don’t just feel alone and treated like shit, you feel humiliated.

You’re lucky Bucky went to pick up William because his car broke down halfway here, so he didn’t actually witness your breakdown. You know he’d have done something about it. Something you should.

At this point, what do you really have?

“Hey, are you well? Why are you outside, it’s freezing?”

Bucky’s voice makes you jump as he’s suddenly by your side, rubbing your arms. William is right behind him.

“Baby, why are you outside?”

You see Bucky rolling his eyes, and you sigh.

“I wanted some fresh air, William.” You turn toward Bucky before taking a step back. You don’t want him to think you reject his touch. You really need his hug, but it’s not about what you need. “We should go inside.”

He nods, and all three of you make your way close to the improvised stage in the main room.

It’s crazy how many people actually came; it almost feels suffocating.

Your parents have been talking for a while, you assume, because people were animated. You wonder what they promised them.

“And since we’re all here now, I have something to announce,” Bucky’s dad takes the microphone all of a sudden, and William sighs. You want to ask him what is going on since he looks nervous, but you don’t have time to. “I want to invite my son, William, on the stage with us.”

And then he calls your name.

You look at both of your parents, trying to understand why you’d be needed there, and Bucky is just as confused as you are. Everyone starts clapping, and you find yourself dragged on the stage before you can protest.

“Tonight marks a very special moment for us both: professionally and personally.” You freeze, looking at Bucky instantly, but he’s also shocked, shaking his head. “A partnership that will last for a long time, hopefully, passed to a real-life partnership that has developed over the last months.”

William smiles proudly when his dad pats him on the back, and you want to throw up right then.

You turn your head to your parents, who display the fakest smiles you’ve ever seen. They don’t care about what you want. About what you need. Either way, you’re alone, and you cannot continue to play their game. You can’t!

And before anyone can stop you, you’re basically running down the stairs, straight toward Bucky. You quickly wrap your hand around his neck and force him to lean in so you can properly kiss him. You sense his surprise, but you don’t stop, using the opportunity to shamelessly kiss him in front of the whole company, including your parents. He’s yours, and everyone should know it.

He cups your face when you break off the kiss to breathe, and you smile.

You finally did it! You’re free.

You don’t need to turn around to know how upset your families must be. Everyone around you is either gasping or whispering around. You know they’ll be talking about this for a solid week at least, but you’re not gonna be there to hear. You won’t explain anything to them, and they can consider you a cheater who fucked the other brother all they want. It is not your mess to fix. You just want to leave.

“Let’s get out of here,” you whisper, taking his hand. All you want is to eat something and suck him off. “I need to pack my stuff.”

“Are you sure?” He asks concerned as you start to walk toward the exit. Neither of you turns when William calls your names.

“I have never been more sure in my entire life.”

He says nothing as you reach his car, lifting the hand he’s been holding closer to his lips so he can brush a tender kiss against the back of it.

You’re going to be okay.

Tags:

@charmedbysarge @identity2212 @vicmc624  @cjand10  @mayusenpai666  @abitofblues @doveromanoff @buckyb-stan @igotmajordaddyissues

[itsalltaken]

Missed Target

Steve Harrington x Reader (Part II)

Synopsis: After having a crush on Steve for so long, you decide to confess after everything is sorted with Vecna, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side this time around

Warning: Angsty at first but has a happy ending

•~•

My eyes flash open and a fire erupts in my chest. It burns to breath and I feel paralyzed. What happened? Did I die? No, I couldn't have been, not when I was hearing Steve's voice. He sounds worried.

"Shit! Y/n! Stay with me you hear me? You'll be okay. We'll get you some help and you'll be alright" He shook me and held me against his chest, urging me to not let the darkness consume me. I can't help it though, I'm too tired. It's all too much to bear. I'll just close my eyes for a moment. I'm sure it'll be fine.

"No, Y/n! Fuck I can't lose you now. Come on! Don't let me give up on my dream!" Was the last thing I heard, along with a few frantic cries from Robin and Nancy before I let the darkness take over.

Steve POV

Fuck fuck fuck this cannot be happening. I can't lose her. Not now. Not ever. I had my plans and it all can't get ruined just because we didn't realize that Vecna wasn't only targeting Max.

"Steve, we need to go! This place is going down!" Robin and Nancy tried to grab me and haul me to my feet, but I wasn't going. Not without Y/n. She was either going with me or I'm not going at all

"I'm not leaving her here!"

"I'm not telling you to leave her! I'm telling you to pick up the pace if you don't wanna die in here!" With that, I carried Y/n on my shoulder, being careful to not damage anymore of her dislocated bones.

"Hurry up!" I hear Dustin call from the distance, pausing when he realized that only three of us were running towards him

"Shit what happened to Y/n?!" Munson and Dustin shouted in panic at the same time

"Max wasn't the only target" Robin explained quickly before pushing us to start running when the rumble of the ground got closer to us.

•~•

Picking up flowers, I make my way to Y/n's room with everyone following behind me. It's been a week since everyone was reunited and since Y/n was brought to the hospital. The government had given Eddie the clear and gave the public a fake explanation on what had happened and made Jason be the culprit of all the deaths.

"Hey" Nancy placed a hand on my shoulder, peering up at me "You okay?"

"Yeah," I sighed "It's just always hard to see her in this condition"

"No ones exactly taking it easy" Nancy sighed, looking back at the group of kids talking amongst themselves and looking rather gloomy. Hell even Munson was here. According to him, she was a personality that he was fond of.

Opening the door to her room, my heart is torn between aching and skipping a beat at the sight of her being connected to pipes and tubes while having bandages around her. Even looking like this, she still looked beautiful.

I couldn't let her go. I can't let her go. I already got closure on my old feelings with Nancy, so that I could move on. She can't just walk out on me like this. I won't let her.

Replacing the flowers that had wilt out on a nearby vase, I changed it with the new ones I had bought. Everyone proceeded to place balloons, flowers, and their own share of gifts around her bedside, hoping that she'd feel everyone's presence and wake up already.

Y/n POV

I lay on the grass as I stare at the bright blue sky. It was so beautiful. It was all so beautiful. The grass, the sun, the view. Everything was so perfect and peaceful, and yet, something felt odd. Something was missing despite everything being here. What more could I even need? What could possibly be misplaced? I hav-

Steve, Dustin, the gang. They weren't here. They were missing in this perfect world. What was I doing here again? How did I even get here? What was I doing before I got here? Right! Vecna.

I smile to myself, remembering seeing that clock obsessed freak burst into flames. Nancy and the other were able to beat it. I close my eyes and let myself feel euphoric. But I remember myself dying, so what was I doing here? Where even am I?

Before I could register my surroundings, I see a bright light crashing down on me from above. I try to hide myself away and protect myself, but I couldn't move. It was almost as if I had gotten paralyzed.

...

It was silent for a moment when I heard slow rhythmic beeping. I squinted my eyes and let myself adjust to the harsh lighting. I looked around and realized I was in a hospital. I tried to move my head around as well as my body, but it hurt like shit when I tried. It burnt and if you listen close enough, you could actually hear the cracking of my bones.

Suddenly, a flush was heard from the toilet and my eyes snapped to the toilet door that slowly opened.

"Y/n?"

Steve. I tried to talk, but then realized how my my throat was. Seeing this, Steve was immediately by my side and got me a cup of water with a straw since I couldn't lift my body.

"How's that?"

"Better" I croaked. Getting used to the feeling of talking again. I pause and take in my surroundings fully. My bedside was filled with letter, balloons, and flowers "What happened?"

Steve put his hands in his pocket before taking a seat on the chair beside my bed "Well, we set Vecna on fire and ran when the four gates opened. You were apparently the last key to the last gate"

"Is everyone okay?" I asked

"Yeah. Eddie got a few scratches and Max got herself a cast, but other than that everyone's fine" I nodded, taking it in. It was good that no one else got hurt badly.

"I guess I should leave you to rest then?" Steve asked after a moment

"Yeah, perhaps" I smiled as he left and ignored the hope that had bloomed inside me that he was going to stay by my side, but it was too good to be true I guess.

Just as Steve was about to leave, he paused and turned back to look at me "Actually wait. I have to tell you something"

"Okay?"

"At the upside down" he took a deep breath "At the forest. I know you saw me and Nancy" My breath had gotten caught at my throat when he said those words, and suddenly, it was like I couldn't breath again.

"Yeah, I did. But didn't wanna ruin the moment between the both of you" I laugh in an attempt to hide the pain. Geez physical and emotional pain just had to have a run in together

"Well it's okay and you mis-"

"But whatever your decision is, I do hope that you make the right one. Jonathan is a good guy and I'd hate for him to be so heartbroken when you and Nancy get together" I talk before he gets the chance, just wanting to get this whole ordeal over with.

"Y/n!"

"Sorry, yes?"

He took a deep breath, weaving a hand through his hair "Why am I nervous to say this. I'm Steve fucking Harrington come one!" I chuckle as he muttered to himself, giving himself some pep talk.

"Steve?" I ask with a smile when his mutterings got lower and he actually looked insane now

"Okay!" He suddenly exclaimed, looking at me with determination

"What-" He walked in large strides towards me with a certain fiery glint in his eye, and before I can realize it, his lips were on mine. The action was slightly awkward since I had a cast around my neck, but I could careless about that right now.

I melted into his hands which cupped both of my cheeks, and at the feel of my response, he leaned further down to deepen it. I couldn't think. Everything was a fuzz and I was starting to get dizzy. At the moment in this time, it was just me and him. When he could feel that I needed air, he slowly pulled away and leaned his head against mine. I took slow deep breaths as I tried to calm down my beating heart.

"What?" I breathed out when I finally recollected myself

"It was never Nancy. it was always you" He said without missing a beat "I mean it used to be Nancy, but now it's you"

"What?" I couldn't register his words. What was he talking about> Didn't he literally confess his dream of six kids and a white fenced house with her "But didn't you-"

"I wasn't confessing my feelings to Nancy in that forest. I was confessing, yes, but just so that I could get the closure and be able to move on into another dream in the future... with you"

He stayed quiet, letting me take in the new found information

"When you floated and your bones began to break. Everything stopped for me. You were all that mattered and we made sure to burn that fucker to the gr-"

"I love you" I say before he rambles anymore. I already knew what to say, but seeing him get nervous and give explanation was incredibly amusing to me

"So are we like... a thing now?"

I mocked a fake gasp "Sorry, Harrington, but you gotta court my fine ass first before you even consider thinking that I'd say yes" I teased as he threw his head back and took my hand to gently kiss my knuckles

"For you? I'd do anything"

(I'm tagging the people who asked for a part 2 in the comments :3)Tags: @drxwstxrkxy @hey-airam @fairyhope028 @ashkuuuu @detailedstickfigures @idduno @anuncalledbridge

[bonesandthebees]

The third and final part of my glass divine chapter 9 analysis:

I like how you added signing into this story. It makes sense for it to be in this world and for the Deathlings to use it. I don't doubt they would need to use it often.

Oh boy, Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo...where do I start. I am so biased toward Wilbur. Understandable, considering we are seeing the world through his blindfolded eyes (meant both figuratively and literally)

Tubbo is difficult. He isn't bad, I don't think. Like, he isn't an antagonist. Not a big one anyways. Currently, he seems to be some kind of obsticle, but again, he isn't a bad guy. He just wants what's safest for his friends and home. And eliminating the risk of the Pythia is the safest option in his eyes.

Plus Wilbur did almost murder his best friend so...

I think Sam is the same way in this regard. I don't believe he wants the Pythia dead necessarily. But he understands where Tubbo is coming from. How they aren't treating him like he's a prisoner. He knows how weird and confusing and dangerous it is to keep going as they are with Wilbur. And like Tubbo, he wants to keep the temple safe.

Aimsey. I don't know much about them yet but I do like them. I like how they aren't afraid to stand up to Tommy when he shoves Tubbo in his anger. They don't really know what's going on between the two but still don't want whatever it is to escalate into a physical fight. And when they learn about Tubbo's intentions they are immediately against them. Probably because they have something against killing and violence in general.

And Ranboo's just like: "Leave me out of this..."

Phil and Techno have no idea what to do with Wilbur. They had absolutely no plan for him. I guess it just serves more to the view that the Pythia is more of an object or political figure rather than a person. Like what did they think was going to happen? What was their plan? They have a person in their captivity like what??

Just thinking about it makes me upset for reasons I cannot explain. It baffles me to no end. What was their plan????

Oh God, Wilbur. Poor guy is a mess. His trauma is like a bunch of tangled threads. You come close to undoing the first knot and start thinking you're getting somewhere, but then you look at the rest of the pile and think "oh lordy-loo tha's a lotta knot"

It's clear that Wilbur doesn't want to die. He feels such an obligation to Clara that he "knows" it's the most "sensible" thing to be done. In his mind, he serves no purpose to Clara in the temple. It isn't Her domain. It's Kristin's. He's already starting to feel abandoned by Her due to Her lack of responses. And he "knows" it makes sense. Because he's disappointed Her. He's failed Her. Because he's been taught that his entire existence is meant to serve Her and only Her.

And he can't do that anymore.

I feel frustrated for him even though I know that that entire mindset is so unbelievably toxic. He's lost all sense of purpose without Her. And he's doing everything he can with what little power he does have to "make it up to Her." But it isn't enough and he's clearly doing something wrong because She isn't responding. She isn't telling him what to do to get out of this mess and back to where he belongs.

Tommy is so protective of Wilbur already. How did that happen so quickly? Who tf cares it's amazing. Again, their relationship is so strange but it fits so well in places it shouldn't. I love this crimeboys. I love this story so much!!

wow this was longer than i had anticipated. can't wait to start on chapter ten!!

-🧭

the signing actually does have more of a purpose than just being useful for the deathlings to know. I haven't really had a chance to get into it yet, but glass!tubbo is hard of hearing and wears ~futuristic~ hearing aids. they're not perfect though and when he has them on for too long he gets headaches, so usually in the later evenings or early mornings he won't have them on. it's in these times that tommy, ranboo, and aimsey will talk to him with sign language. besides tubbo, those three are the most fluent in it, but the rest of the deathlings all have varying levels of proficiency in it just through exposure and wanting to learn for tubbo

(but this also means the signing can be used for other things as well. like tubbo wanting to talk about the pythia in front of him without him knowing)

tubbo isn't a bad guy, but at the moment he is playing an antagonistic role. I mean this in the sense of the definition of an antagonist though more than a moral stance or anything like that. he just wants to keep the rest of the deathlings safe, and the pythia DID try to kill tommy. remember, while tubbo and the pythia didn't get along, tubbo didn't start bringing up that they might have to get rid of the pythia until after his escape attempt

sam is similar but a bit different. he also wants to keep the temple safe, but he's a bit more pragmatic about the whole thing. he thought the pythia was a threat from the beginning, so he's kind of more going "see? I was right I knew things were going to go badly" but he's also got zero backbone so the minute someone in authority (ie: phil or techno) challenges him he backs down.

yeah aimsey only defended tubbo against a possible physical fight, but the moment they realized what the conversation was about, they were firmly on the side of not hurting the pythia. aimsey is a very kind and peaceful person in general who doesn't like to hurt people if it's not necessary, so they're really not game for tubbo's idea.

ranboo is a centrist he's not getting involved lmao

yeah unfortunately phil and techno also fell into the trap of viewing the pythia as more of a figurehead than a real person. now they're dealing with the consequences. good job, guys.

wilbur is in such a complicated spot. he doesn't want to die, but he feels like clara might want him to. and he's dedicated himself so wholly to serving her, that now he's stuck trying to figure out if he NEEDS to die to continue serving her. he's lost his sense of purpose without her and now he's spiraling because of it. he needs to be dragged out of this mindset but of course that's not an easy thing to do

protective tommy is one of my favorite tropes :D

i'm so glad you're enjoying!! thank you so much!!

[midnightunderground-npcs]

The letter arrives rather strangely, abruptly. You are sitting at Kiskadden Lot, fangs in a blood bag, attempting to come to terms with the reality of your situation. A dhampir, crossed between two worlds, forced into one and ignored by the other. Is there ever going to be a place that was made for you? Is there ever going to be a place you truly belong?

Thoughts such as those linger for far too long when you hear the gentle flap of wings. You know birds, perhaps a little too well, but this one is not entirely familiar. As you turn to look, a raven flutters through a window you knew was not open and comes to sit in front of you, a letter grasped between his beak. When you take a moment to simply stare, he bounces forward and all but thrusts it towards you.

You recognize the seal almost immediately. Moira Devlin’s. Yours, even though you do not share the name. It would be yours, had you been kept, had you been raised a princess instead of a commoner. With shaky hands the letter is opened and out pour the last correspondence of the late Orator.

My darling Clementine,

I know you will likely think of me as a monster for what I did to you, giving you away in your infancy to be raised by the Aware of our world. I had wanted to send you farther, send you somewhere that was not so deeply corrupted by the rot from the Veil tearing. They try so hard to stitch this place back together and yet it would be better if we simply allowed it to be consumed into the ether. What use is this place when all it can do is cannibalize itself over and over again?

There are many things I cannot explain to you now, lest this letter find interception by nosy people who were once considered my friends and colleagues. Know I did what needed to be done to keep you safe. To have you part from me in your infancy shattered what little heart I had left. My sweetest little bat, you looked up at me on your birthday with eyes I knew would help you conquer the stars. Whatever pieces of me had maintained my humanity were given away with you.

But I digress. You’ll forgive me if you see my words start to shake. I’ll be brief, because brief is all I have left. I’ve been poisoned by turncoats. I thought we had left that all behind us in the Revolution but it seems not. And I have failed, in all my haughty ignorance, to realize it before it is too late. Even if I were to stop drinking it now I am as good as dead. My powers, my mind, my essence has been drained from me. I can no longer eat and this hunger gnaws at my core.

I would rather die knowing the power I have then live like the mindless Undead of this land.

There is not much more I can give you than knowledge in my current state. So knowledge I will give until my hand can no longer hold this pen. I have been here a very, very long time Clementine, and I am owed a great many things. Once I am dead and gone, you will be owed them as well. Though names and faces and people change and in my years it is so difficult to remember what they truly looked like, the Original Debt is owed and it is now yours to carry that burden.

More than just burdens though, I give what I have to you. Show this seal, this letter, to Carmen and she will know my words ring true. The home is yours, the books and trinkets and oddities are yours, every worldly possession I own is yours to do as you would wish with it.

I know you may not believe me, but I hope you will feel that I love you. I am a bitter creature who does not know the truth of love but when I saw you I gave it all to you. I hope you will love more than me. But please, for your mother, try and remember to not let that love be so vast that others weave a noose to hang you with. Because they will. The people of this world will. They will have you pour with an empty cup until it leaves you like me.

Do not turn away from the parts of yourself you think to be monstrous. They are as much of yourself as all other things. They are beautiful. They are strong. They are captivating. You are captivating and I wish I would be around long enough to see you lead these sheep into a line.

Take care of yourself, for me, won’t you dear? Wherever my rotten soul may go, whichever Otherrealm they may condemn me on, please do not be so quick to come visit.

Please take this as a token of my love forever more and a reminder of your roots.

Yours,

Moira Devlin

A trinket clatters out next, a small vile of blood that rings as familiar as all things about this letter. The hoop of the cork has a silver chain threaded through it. There is nothing else now except you, a necklace, a raven, and the long since gone ghost of your mother.

@clemxjohnson​

[beckmessering]

character concept for the wälsung twins!

(in which sieglinde is an angry girl with a flower crown and siegmund is a boy with very banged-up knees)

i contemplated putting a read-more link here but no, i’ll make u suffer through this <3

- i CANNOT begin to explain how VERY nineteen years old the twins are to me. (i mentioned this before in an ask and that set me off.) so - nineteen years old is one of those strange ages where you’re an adult, technically, but...no, no really you’re not. and some nineteen year olds have seen far too much to bear already, and when you’re nineteen, you might be a little emotionally bruised, but it also might still heal, if the world just lets you. 

- if you’re nineteen and you’ve seen too much, you’re one of two creatures: a) a withering soul in a young body, but if someone holds the match just right, you will still burn bright and warm, or b) a flighty thing, will stare you down but run if it must, yet always wears its heart on its sleeve.

- sieglinde is very a). being married to hunding is just about the worst thing to happen to anyone, but to someone who was forcibly married at persumably  fourteen, and who, before that at probably seven or eight years old, witnessed an armed robbery in which their childhood home was burned down and their mother murdered in front of them... well, then being married to a dominant and abusive husband is just about enough to make a soul die. imagine she’s married to him for five years. i won’t go into all the detail of terrible, terrible things that might’ve happened in that house. 

- however. sieglinde is also a girl-with-an-agenda. if she will get out of this house (and she will), she will get out in one piece. and she’s watched her husband well enough to know how to push his buttons and when it’s safe to do so. for example, when he has weird and unexpected guests. sieglinde goading hunding into letting siegmund stay by insinuating hunding’s a coward if he fears a random stranger’s bad luck? boss move. later poisoning said husband to sleep? 10/10. (probably not the first time)

- overall, sieglinde is a really clever girl. 

(- but it’s hard not to wither. there’s so many memories of terrible things that were done to you and how could you ever let that happen to you and still face another person that it’ll eventually come out.) 

(- there are nice dresses she wears when there are guests. there are also dresses she wears when she stays in the house. she might’ve had to have scrubbed bloodstains out of those). 

(- she would wear flower crowns, if she had the peace to weave them. most of her doesn’t want to wither, it wants to bloom.)

- sieglinde is also angry. boy, could she be angry. what is there that she can’t be angry about? all her fate’s been terrible. rage is something that can be very neatly compressed and stowed away if there’s no room for it under a husband’s harsh hands, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. the heat of rage is a good weapon against withering away. 

- siegmund, meanwhile, is scared. how could he not be? if you’re on the run, always looking over your shoulder, making sure they won’t come for you tonight, or that they don’t know where you went, what else could you be but scared? 

(- i love the idea of assigning the emotions anger and fear exactly opposite to the “traditional gender assignment” as in “angry = male, scared = female”. no. other way around for the twins pls.) 

- siegmund is very b). his knees, and everything down from his knees, look awful because he runs in the dark and he trips over roots and scrapes open his feet and shins and knees on sharp rocks more than he can count. but he’s fast. running, over the years, has made him wiry and given his eyes a perpetually watchful look. not that running is the only solution to problems. but when you’re nineteen, you have no social standing anywhere and no one who’ll stick up for you, your sword will only last so long. 

- his hair is uneven. maybe he’s got a sharp knife, but certainly not a mirror. and only in rare instances, time. 

- but also...he’s VERY nineteen. he’ll still stay what he thinks. the world hasn’t shut him up yet, like it hasn’t shut up sieglinde yet. and he’ll say it right away. what’s the worst that can happen - he has to run? yeah, that’s not new. and he’ll do what he thinks is right. siegmund is the sort of person whose feelings, be it joy or despair, you can read right off his face. 

- siegmund is a bit of a stray animal. he went hunting with his father in the forest, at seven years years old, and when they came back, their house was burnt to the ground and he saw his mother’s corpse and not a trace of his sister was left. when he’s fourteen or so, he loses his father in the woods, in a very sudden moment - he turns around and his father is gone, and with that, the only person in the world who could keep him safe. 

- he fights like a wild animal, too: viciously and without a trace of malice. he fights with everything he’s got, with teeth and claws, because every battle is a matter of life and death if you’re on your own.

(- and no matter what he does, he can’t seem to get rid of that tongue of his that says whatever it wants to say and defends whatever he thinks is right. other people don’t care. he needs sharp claws and any weapon he can find for those battles.)

- both twins have never had any sense of emotional or physical safety they can consciously recall in their lives - ever. they lost their family when they were young and were thrown into situations in which other people made active efforts to hurt them, and most of their brief, desperate lives revolved around self-protection. there wasn’t anyone else who understood this. 

- when sieglinde understood that siegmund was stuck here, having to duel hunding without a weapon, which meant certain and immediate death, she encountered the first person in a similarly desperate, unsafe situation to hers.

- when siegmund heard the story of the girl who’s been surrounded for years by people who did not wish her well, i think he understood excellently how unsafe and isolated she felt in turn and how much she wants to run, and maybe how she’s been emotionally walling herself off from the pain of this reality for so long. (not everyone can physically run, after all.)

- and if the world were just right and good, they’d get to run away together, and sieglinde would finally bloom and siegmund’s legs would finally heal, and they would stop running entirely one day. and new skin would grow over all the old wounds and hold the old gashes together, and although one person doesn’t seem like all that much to have, one person who and understands you and keeps you safe until the end of days makes all the difference in the world. 

- unfortunately, the world is not right and good.  

[lemonboyfest]

reminders

reminders for 2024:

You’re not dead yet. Get the fuck up. Drag your corpse kicking and screaming into tomorrow. One day you will stop surviving and start living

more studying, more walks, more reading, more skill-based hobbies, more experimenting w pretty fits and hairstyles, more gym, more exploring new things in general, more whole foods/healthy recipes, more financial literacy, more time management, more time off the phone, more being out the loop. nothing else matters

hrmm. well hold on now ive been filled with a sudden joy and whimsy for the world

Glowing kind of love

fuck beauty standards. someone looking at you with love in their eyes is the most beautiful thing in the world.

as a girl who is literally just a girl i am always yearning. always longing always missing always wearing my heart on my sleeve. always feeling like my heart is on the verge of exploding. the sight of the sun makes me cry. anyway

i hope that when i die there will be an apartment with everyone i’ve ever loved in it and we are together always

read a lot and read everything

film and art and music are what builds ur soul

be outside

love and romance will not come to you any quicker if you are focused on it constantly

possessions don't improve things

movement does improve things

university is <4 years of the rest of your life - make the most of it

find the pleasure in hard work

lose the pleasure in scrolling

creation is essential

joy, love & intelligence are the tenets of life

stagnation isn't inevitable. no person is in a fixed state. you can always change

i love listening to someone’s favorite song its like im mentally holding their hand

you just had an epiphany about your sexuality? just own it. you like this unpopular thing your friends don’t like? just own it. you’re trans? just own it. you’re doing something unconventional? just own it. you’re completely free to share your reasons, but you don’t have to justify why you made the decisions you made. if you disclose something and a friend makes a face, okay well that’s too bad bc that’s who you are. they’re free to leave if what makes you a person doesn’t sit right w them. you don’t need to explain the why and the how and the when as if you’re trying to outrun their disapproval. be confident enough in yourself that you don’t feel the need to owe anyone an explanation. you’re you and that’s that.

what im learning is that you cannot avoid your way into a life you enjoy

i have the opposite of that “everyone is an npc” mentality people have embraced where i’m instead like. the person next to me in line has someone they can’t wait to go home to, the person picking up their mail has felt devastation before, everyone in this grocery store is doing their sunday shopping, maybe the person that just honked at me is having the worst day of their life, my neighbor has doctors appointments and favorite foods and a song they can’t stand to hear anymore… you are all fully realized complex people and that is overwhelming me on a spiritual level…

"omg you'll post 'i need him' on the most average men" "she's mid" most of us are average and it's good that we can find beauty and desire in average people .... on god FELT. i really need to start practicing this though. i get so complacent in my complacence i listen to my friends and i try so hard to fit in i insult people for no reason there is so much more to them than their aesthetics and if i do not find them attractive then what is to say someone else doesn't why do i feel the need to invalidate why am i rude ? people are all beautiful i need to remind myself . changing

[lightadarttomendyourheart]

ok guys im back to being sane. b and i had such a good chat and of course i brought the madness upon myself like i always do. so, not dwelling, but i'm good now.

we've been talking on the phone every single day since we chatted about us and it has been pure bliss. i dont care about you texting me or snapchatting me (like, i do) but the actual phone conversations and facetimes are what i need. i know that now. so glad we figured that one out LOL.

but its like im back in the honeymoon phase again. not worrying about the future. just looking forward to our next phone call. it's so lovely.

and i booked my flights to london for xmas today!

and it's (basically) fall. my favourite time of year. i can feel the air has already changed. it's not so fucking hot.

and god i have been so fucking hot for you these past couple days since we had that nice talk. like i said, i'm right back to bliss. this is the new normal and i am so here for it. i can do this. we can do this. honestly, maybe i would move to london next year. idk. but either way, i really hope next year or beginning of 2025 we are in the same city. even if that means waiting until my lease is up in 2025. which honestly would be awful another year of seeing each other every 2-3 months. but we can do it. i fully, without doubt, believe we are in this for the long haul. i know i am.

i just can't fucking wait to see you. be in your presence. that's all i want. i want to be near you. smell you. touch you. kiss you so so so so so much. all the kisses. all the hugs. all the hand holding and PDA. idc. i want to be all over you constantly. i hope i dont get so fucked up i say i love you lol. i wanna save that for xmas. but who knows maybe you'll say it. and i do think you'd be the one to say it first. but honestly who knows, i'm growing. it took me 6 months with jake when i knew 4 months in. and i'm definitely not ready to say it yet. i need to spend more time with you. even though i like you so much, and i know i want to marry you and spend the rest of my life with you, i'm not ready for i love you. i don't feel it yet. you know when you literally cannot not say it? when you're lying in bed with that person and all you can think about is telling them how much they rule your heart. that you can't breathe without them. it almost hurts not to say it. that's when i know. and i'm not there yet.

but maybe i'll feel that way in amsterdam, who knows. i'll see you on thursday being a little hungover and probably quite tired. but i'm gonna run to you like there's no tomorrow and wrap my arms around your neck and kiss you like i haven't seen you in years. and i won't want to let go. the world will stop. and it'll just be us. me and you. nothing and no one else.

it already feels that way to be honest. in a good way. not that you're my everything and life stands still without you. but that it's US and no one else.. idk if that makes sense. but like we're constantly connected. our lives are separate but together, even 7000km away from each other. idk, it's hard to explain. but i feel like you're always here in a way, always with me.

i really hope one of these days you surprise me and just come see me without telling me. even if it's for a few days. you show up at work or my doorstep. i would fucking die. i think i would start bawling LOL. literally would fucking die. fuck that would be so insane.

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #115

(taken february 17th; uploading surveys taken while gone)

Do you think you have an addictive personality? I'm very well aware that I do, just like my dad, and it's why I stay away from a lot of things known to trigger addiction.

Honestly, do you enjoy arguing? No, it sends my anxiety through the fucking stratosphere immediately.

Is there anyone that you truly could not live without? I refuse to ever even consider this idea EVER again.

When was the last time someone saw you naked? Totally naked, idk. I try very hard to avoid anyone seeing me like that, but I'm pretty positive it would be my mom coming into her room after I've gotten out of the shower or something.

What is the greatest loss you’ve endured? My first real boyfriend, the person I basically entirely lost my self-autonomy to. Not by his will, in his defense.

What song (or a few songs, whatever) means a lot to you and why? I absolutely cannot listen to "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin because of a basically movie scene-worthy prom memory with Jason. I haven't heard it in years and don't plan on ever listening to it again, I just can't. It breaks me. "The Mortician's Daughter" by Black Veil Brides is also a song I generally avoid because of another memory with Jason, but I can *sometimes* listen to it. "The Ghost of You" by My Chemical Romance is yet another I'm very sensitive to because I binged the fuck outta it and cried my eyes out repeatedly to it after I learned about Jason's mom dying. That was the most painful death I have ever dealt with so far in life, and it fucking haunts me that the last thing she ever heard from me was begging to talk to her son as she talked to me well over an hour in the absolute middle of the night encouraging me to not kill myself. Then I ODed two days later. Uhhhh there's a lot of other songs but I really shouldn't have explained this one so deeply because I'm crying so we're just gonna move on.

What was the reason behind your last visit to the hospital? I was suicidal again and knew I needed to be in an environment where I couldn't be a risk to myself.

What is something you’ve done that you truly regret? Mostly things I've said. And the Joel situation when I was 12.

Do you view animals as being just as important as people? Why or why not? I sure do. I don't believe there's anything truly special or divine about humans; we're just the most advanced animals, but that doesn't make us even REMOTELY "better" than them.

What is the worst thing you’ve done to yourself? What is the worst thing someone else has done to you? Tried to kill myself. Entirely gave up on, turned on, and grew to hate myself. As for the worst thing someone else has done to me, probably how Jason left our relationship. It was SUCH a jump ship type of reaction, like he wanted to be on the other side of the world from me basically immediately, leaving me so confused and lost and hurt and just wanting to die. It's interesting to note that I didn't start healing until he actually agreed to meet with and talk to me about all this more than a year later, although I guess me also starting a strong mood stabilizer that I absolutely responded well to at the same time probably played a part, too.

What is the most personal thing you’re willing to reveal? On here, probably that I literally had surgery on my ass lmfao a pilonidal cyst is a cyst in your asscheek :^)

What made you stop talking to the last person you cut out of your life? She was/is (I 220% do not even remotely believe her claim that she's not anymore for MANY reasons) a Nazi and was also a fucking terrible "friend" to me, when it REALLY boiled down to it. She was capable of being good sometimes, yes, but our "friendship" had very serious problems in its base structure, and I was not taking her making me feel like a shitty, burdensome, annoying, and weak person anymore.

What are some kinks or turn-ons you have, if any? Sharing that kinda stuff is crossing a personal boundary for me, so skipping.

Are you one of those people that LOVE to hug others? YES. If you don't like hugs, you have to be upfront with me about that because at some point I WILL try to hug you otherwise.

Which person would you choose to travel the world with? Girt.

What is a book you can recommend to others? I will recommend Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo to literally everybody. It's an anti-war novel that leaves you feeling just plain fucking haunted and appalled by human nature.

Do you have (a) stuffed animal(s) sitting in your room? Which one(s)? I have a bunch of meerkat plushies on one shelf, as well as my favorite plush from childhood (a moose named Brownie), a fennec fox as a zoo souvenir, a Cheshire cat... maybe one or two others, idr. I now also have a giant stuffed bear sitting on a chair in this spare room because Girt got me it for Valentine's Day, haha. :') I can always see it from where I'm sitting, and I want this room to be full of stuff that motivates and makes me happy.

What do you order on a pizza? Most often I just get pepperoni, but I will also sometimes get a meat lovers-esque kind, and rarely I'll still want a jalapeno pizza.

How old was the first person you kissed? He was 18 at that time.

Last dream you had: It actually REALLY messed with me when I woke up; I remember I'd just found out I was pregnant and we were actually keeping the baby and Girt was super excited and yeah it FUCKED with me

what is the first letter of the last name of the last person you kissed? M.

Why aren’t you texting the last person you kissed? We like, never text. We almost always use Discord instead.

Have you been to a baby shower? Yeah, my sister's, and my ex's brother's wife's. Maybe one other person?

Something good going to happen tomorrow? Yeah, it's my youngest niece's birthday party and I'm really happy Girt is able to come with us. I'll get to see my dad, too.

Do you believe exes can be friends? In some cases, sure. But not always. I would probably even say not in *most* cases, but I don't know that with certainty.

Who were you with the last time you went to the movie theater? Girt.

Has anyone ever sung to you? Girt has, and I guess kinda-sorta-but-not-exactly Jason.

Do you plan on moving out within the next year? It'd... be nice, especially if I fucking finally DO find a job at some goddamn point. I'm job-hunting online literally every day. It would be nice to get a place with Girt.

List the initials of every person you have kissed, from oldest to most recent kiss. (Put “?”s in the place of initials you don’t know.) JAR, T? (more accurately, I don't remember his last name), SJM, DM.

Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Haha of course.

Would you stay with your bf/gf if they did drugs? I wouldn't go *into* a relationship with someone doing drugs, but if by some incredibly low, insane chance Girt started drugs for whatever reason, I'd try to stay with him as long as I could and try very hard to convince him to stop.

Where was your mom born? Somewhere I won't disclose in New York.

What about your dad? Uh, I want to say Ohio, but it's possible it's actually Michigan.

Is your tongue pierced? It used to be; I had snake eyes, and it was probably my favorite piercing, maybe tied with my lip ring. I only took it out because it was damaging my teeth.

What did you last do in your bed? I took a nap today. I've been sleeping a lot and super heavily lately...

Have you ever named any of your pets after a cartoon character? Yeah, I remember we had a black cat growing up named Taz. Odds are pretty high we probably had another pet (probably another cat) with a cartoon name, too. OH! Already thought of one lol, we also had a BEAUTIFUL Maine coon-esque boy named Eeyore. He got hit by a car and it devastated me.

What was the last thing that someone else recommended, or suggested you try? Hmmmm... can't say I remember.

What was the last podcast you listened to? Do you listen to it regularly? I don't think I've listened to a podcast since I last listened to Rhett & Link's MANY years ago.

Have you ever held a gun? Did you fire it? I did unwillingly, but I sure as hell didn't fire it. Colleen's husband needed someone to hold it while he was doing something and I was the only one there.

What did you last take painkillers for? A fucking toothache. I'm starting to get them in a specific spot again, once more where I DIDN'T get dental work done...

What did you have for lunch today and who made it? I didn't eat lunch.

What was the last candy you ate? It was a LifeSaver. I keep them on hand because of my clinically dry mouth (I'm told to keep little candies or something like that in my purse to force salivation when I'm really suffering), but I just felt like having one.

Have you ever been hit in the face? What’s the story? Maybe accidentally, but not that I remember.

Do you know anyone who is deaf? I don't believe so.

If you wear makeup, what colors do you usually wear? IF I wear makeup, it's black.

If you have more than one pet, do they ever get jealous of each other? Roman, not so much, but Cookie definitely can get jealous.

Is there a room in your house that you don’t like going in? No.

Have you ever trespassed? I think I have. I don't think I really knew we were trespassing, though.

Are you afraid of heights? Yes.

Do you walk around barefoot when you’re at home? Or do you wear socks? I'm pretty much always barefoot unless I need slippers. I hate socks.

Would you ever be a tornado chaser? Hell. Fucking. NO. I very much hate even watching VIDEOS of small tornadoes because I get extremely, extremely anxious.

What is your favorite thing to eat with bbq sauce, if you even like that stuff? I absolutely hate bbq sauce.

Have you ever had to do a class in summer school? No.

Have you ever created a website? Multiple, but none from total scratch.

Have you ever had a dream where you killed someone? I've had absolutely countless where I've TRIED to. That's pretty much the common theme of my nightmares, and I wake myself up trying to attack someone who's in some way threatened me. I'm always stuck in this state where I'm unable to defend myself, like my body is a stone that I can't make move, until I finally do manage to lash out and wake up.

Which is worse: Sick to your stomach or sore throat? SICK TO MY STOMACH. There is NO pain that I handle worse than stomach-oriented ones, and I'm also absolutely petrified of vomiting. This is gross but I am literally the person who historically has puked multiple times not in a toilet or trash can, but on the fucking floor because I just totally, completely freeze when I feel it coming, like I don't know how to handle the sensation and I am fighting vomit coming up to the VERY last fucking second. I HONESTLY think I would rather have a sore throat for my entire life than vomit once.

Do you think your last relationship was a disaster? The one before Girt? Not a "disaster," no. Our FRIENDSHIP may have been, though.

Who do you think is the easiest to talk to? Probably Girt.

Do you have a favourite metal band or do you not like metal? Ozzy Osbourne, and Rammstein if you count them as metal. Not all their songs are, but they've definitely got some that are genuinely metal.

Thick or thin blanket? It totally depends on the time of year/temperature.

How do you mark through your word search puzzles? It depends on what writing utensil I have available to me, font size, lots.

Have you ever sewn something? No, have no idea how to. I probably should take Mom up on asking to teach me though, it might come in handy one day.

What did you eat for dinner last night? It was pasta, really good pasta.

Have you seen all of the Jaws movies? I watched just one with Tyler. Can't remember which one it was, just that it was old, and it wasn't bad.

Have you ever drunk Cherry Coke? Yeah, I like it, but not more than the OG.

Have you ever had a black eye? No.

Did you ever take a cooking class in school? No.

Have you ever been called a skank/slut because of the way you dress? Uh, not that I know of, and it's incredibly unlikely anyone ever has because I've never dressed very revealingly. There are certain types of ignorant people who could argue yes because I have large breasts and wear tank tops very regularly, but the opinions of those kinds of people don't mean shit to me, at all.

Is your ex sexually attractive to you still? I haven't seen a picture of Jason in a super long time, but probably. How I remember him, he was, but I do know he's since grown full facial hair that I've only seen one candid picture of.

Describe the most romantic moment you’ve ever had. No.

When was the last time you were scared? "Scared" isn't the right word, but I was definitely nervous earlier when the sky got pretty damn dark and it became windy. I don't like being home alone in stormy weather.

What’s your favorite song by Rihanna? I have ALWAYS adored "Disturbia."

Can you speak binary? No.

Have you ever had a pet that you disliked? To be entirely honest I absolutely hated Nicole's old dog Bentley. It was one of my biggest sighs of relief ever when we FINALLY found him a new home. Nicole didn't even live with us most of the time we had him, and he was a total pain in the ass to both Mom AND me, and also Teddy. He and Teddy fucking hated each other, and I will never forget them fighting while Cali was in heat and getting fucking blood on my wall and side of my bed.

Have you ever given a nickname to your pet(s)? Oh for sure, they pretty much all have, haha.

Do you like boys with long hair? HELL FUCKING YES

[taeilskitty]

Hey there! I saw that you open for a request so here's what I thought : what kind of sound did nct make when having sex? Are they more into whimpers, groans, or maybe dirty talk? Thank you so much for answering my question and hope you have a good day!

i was BORN to answer this omg. lemme tell you, i have thought about this so SO much!! (i'm leaving chenji out of this bc i don't know how people feel about that yet)

anyways, i hope u enjoy and i hope this matches what you had in mind <3

taeil

oh fuck. taeil is most certainly a groaner. i think (and trust me, i've thought a lot) he must make these gorgeous low moans like right in the back of his throat if that makes sense - have you ever heard his bubble voice messages? oh my god, they're so fucking hot. his raspy voice in the middle of the night is just to die for. that makes me CONVINCED that he dirty talks super up close. even thinking about it makes me shiver :(( he's the king of praise, i just know it. i think he degrades too, but his favourite is when he mixes both together - "you look so pathetic there baby, how cute." "daddy loves his pretty slut so much." "god you're so fucking good for me, my cockslut~" taeil also asks things, i think that suits him so much. "yeah? you like that?" "is daddy's cock too big baby? shh, i'll be done soon..."

taeyong

whiner. whiner. undoubtedly. this boy has the sweetest, prettiest little moans... he gets all high pitched when he's close and oh god when he sinks into subspace he just mewls and his voice gets so weak </3 little "yes" and "a-ah thank you"s slip out because he such a good kitten. he's so precious... and if he gets asked to speak while he's getting fucked he just squeaks out an answer. "m.. love it... ah..." n he will never fail to say his please and thank yous - he's so well mannered even when hes getting used !!!

johnny

this is just. oh my. i think he's silent for the most part. heavy breathing and quiet grunts and groans until he's close. THAT'S when he starts moaning, all sorts of things slipping out. "god you're so good" "i love this hole so much" ahh??! i think he talks down too. fuck !!! daddy!johnny is so patronising, and not just outside of the bedroom. kinda like taeil, he asks things, but he makes u feel so dumb and cock drunk :( AH AND he like... coos when you feel all dazed from his cock... "awh~ is that good? you like that don't you sweetheart? yeah, i know."

yuta

i have this vision of yuta just SLAMMING from behind with his face right up in your ear, telling you all sorts of dirty things lowly with just the hottest voice ever. he's very vocal about what he wants, and he loves cumming inside... so expect him to talk about that. oh, he is so fucking possessive too. "hmm. mine. this is mine. you're mine." he probably bites your ear/neck when he says it... the grunts that come out when he slams are enough to send anyone reeling, but i bet he tells you "fuck. gonna. gonna cum in my fuckdoll--" n his voice just trails off as he fills you up and sighs<33

kun

now kun is !! an interesting one !! ... i envision him as a pretty hard dom, so i don't think he's any stranger to degrading. that being said, i think he's more talkative when he's giving punishments (e.g. spanking over his thigh... heaven<33) rather than when he's fucking. i think he moans lowly, semi-quietly but as he gets more and more pent up he gets louder. (i think this is the case for most of the nct doms but oh well) he'll praise how good you make him feel - assuming you've been behaved enough - but that doesn't stop him from cursing under his breath at every chance he gets ,,..

doyoung

definitely has pretty moans !! he probably does whine, but i mean that in a dom way - if that makes sense? higher pitched moans but not pathetic, in fact it's probably paired with him whispering "fuck yes, good [insert ur fave petname here]". i think he's the type to kiss you a lot during sex and like... moan into your mouth; any space not taken up by the sound of moans will for sure be filled with the sound of his panting and his tongue dancing with yours.

ten

another semi-whiner. i always saw him as a dom but i'm sliiightly succumbing to the idea that he may be a switch... which is why i think there's so much BEAUTY in his moans?? ten makes really pretty, breathy whines and moans i'm sure, i don't particularly think he talks a crazy amount but rather short instructions. (yes i'm going back to dom!ten) "turn around." "get on your knees" "quiet." AH !! he always lets you know what he needs - however, sub!ten will just whine and squirm till you make him cum because he is most definitely a slut who takes anything:(

jaehyun

first of all, this man wrecks me to the fucking core, and i could talk about this for... a while. but his moans are definitely like, raspy high-pitched type. think about his vocals. esp in try again... i bet you they sound like THAT. i'm sure he talks a bit too, tbh he probably says rather textbook dirty things but it sounds so fucking hot when it's him. "yeah take it, take my cock" "fuck yes just like that", he loves how you whine when he moans right up next to you btw - it just makes him do it even more. oh, and bonus - he will never call you ANYTHING without prefixing it with my or daddy's. daddy's girl, daddy's boy, daddy's pet, my dirty slut... ahh<3

winwin

it's almost contrasting to jaehyun but sicheng's voice is so low. i can't explain this in any way other than that he's kitty, but his moans are so... puppy? and when he's fucked, he makes himself sound so dumb too. he's constantly slurring his words and biting his lip because he's trying to keep quiet but anyone who walks by the room will hear "mm.. m!!" because he just can't help himself :( when he's close he probably squeaks like taeyong and cums all over the place GOD i want him

jungwoo

oh god there's no doubt that jungwoo talks SO much during sex. he probably loses his fucking mind with how good he feels. he's such a good boy but sometimes you just need him to shut up - but he can't. he squeaks out a little moan when you push into him, or when you start touching his cock, but withn minutes he's babbling non-stop; "oh god oh god mommy/daddy i love it so much, a-ah like that, please~"

lucas

my brain used to be convinced that xuxi was a dom, but i'm now sure he's a switch. either way, his moans are pretty much the same. they're very heavy and... i guess manly is the best way to put it. in my head i can literally picture him being like "ughhh..." when you start fucking because he just feels like he's wanted to fuck you so desperately - yes, even if you fucked hours before. it's always so breathy and moany and i think he sounds like a bit of a fuckboy tbh... "fuck yeah" as he slides his cock into you? THANKS

mark

loud baby loud baby LOUD BABY:((( no matter how much you cover that pretty mouth of his he will be so LOUD!! he can't stop talking and whining and panting, kinda like jungwoo but honestly... more. he swears a lot too. he tries not to but he just can't help himself :( "aw shit... god shit!!!" under his breath UGHHFDGGDFDD SO FUCKING CUTE IM GONNA SCREAM !!! he's very polite though, so he always says sorry every single time :( he babbles like hell when he cums, he can't stop himself, again like jungwoo. "i'm gonna cum i'mgonnacumi- i'm -- ah fuck, shit--!!"

xiaojun

two words. action figure. everyone knew that was coming, HA - i'm sorry but THAT verse means we all know how he sounds. i think he tries his best to talk normally while you edge him but his little voice keeps on wavering and cracking and just... he can't help but sound all pretty and pathetic :( but surely dejun has some (very frequent) moments where he can't keep his front anymore and just whines like a whore because it feels so good<3

hendery

the things i'd let this man do to me:))) i think at first he'd actually try and hide his moans because he feels like that's what he's supposed to do, but no. for me personally, i know i would NOT LET THAT HAPPEN !! he probably sucks the air in through his teeth in an attempt to hide it - it's very fucking sexy when he does that, granted - but he can't keep doing that for long. i think he hums and laughs when he can't keep it in any longer because he almost feels some kinda defeat but then he just moans semi-loudly and lets out a "good girl/boy/baby... let me fuck you, huh?"

renjun

renjun scares the fuck out of me. why? because his moans are fairly quiet. he's master and it S H O W S. he grunts quietly, maybe muttering things under his breath like "so fucking tight" "mmh there you go..." to fill some silence but he does it subconsciously; he goes so far into domspace sometimes that he just can't control himself. when he's close he talks through his teeth and he's like "i'm. i'm gonna cum baby..."and the more you whine on his cock the more he just laughs at you because he's a sadist hhhhhhhhhhh.........

jeno

most definitely a fun one... you see when he's sub, he pants and whines and drools all over himself like a big dumb puppy boy and he just breathes so heavy n his moans are all shaky... if he's a brat he will try and talk big but he can't take it, he just gets so pathetic and !!! but dom jeno is fucking TERRIFYING because he talks down and tries his best to intimidate you. he chuckles and degrades you, but one of his faves is when he can big himself up under his breath. "look at you now. you love this fucking cock."

haechan

this isn't good for my mental health :) i fucking cannot TAKE this brat :) AHA! hyuckie is honestly such a whore, he's bratty and rude and always talks back at you like he's the king of the fucking world. he's constantly laughing at you and trying so hard to make you feel like you're not worthy but he feels so good he just gets fucked dumb by you :( he is SO loud too. he wants everyone to hear what a dirty whore he is and he makes sure he puts on his prettiest pornstar moans. he whines like his life depends on it. on the off chance that he's being a good boy, he begs and cries and whimpers when he finally cums - and i mean CRIES. sobs. he'll be heaving by the time you're done with him, but god he fucking loves it.

jaemin

fuck... fuck okay... well firstly he loves to talk. we all know how much he praises and how he's constantly showing his love off... that doesn't stop at fanservice, nope. he will fuck you like a ragdoll and keep calm and composed as ever, talking down to you as if you're in his lap for a soft cuddle. "baby loves nana so much hm~?" "oh you really love that don't you?" "you know you're so pretty. nana wants to cum in you so bad~" yes, he calls himself nana because he's a cocky fuck and loves how it sounds. especially when you're moaning it for him.

yangyang

i'm kinda in 2 minds about this... on the one hand, he's kinda like hyuckie in that he whines a LOT. but he can actually keep his composure - he's a breathy whiner, he's not quite as loud and he most certainy doesn't crumble as easily. (that's not to say that he can't, he most definitely can.) on the other hand i think when he's in a more neutral headspace rather than subby, he talks to you like a total fuckboy. not in a mean way but he's just like "hah. i know you love me fucking you like this." he gets so cocky and he sucks hickeys into your neck and hums quietly<3

shotaro

he's such a shy baby :( he wants to moan so much but he probably gets all self conscious and tries to hide it... so you gotta make him feel safe :( when he does he whimpers and it's so pretty and pathetic. the way he wells up with tears and hitches his breath is. adorable. he whispers "thank you... ah..." every time he feels that good and by the time he cums it's just falling from him like a waterfall :( the more comfortable he feels, though, the sluttier he can get... he will always be a good boy but i think he lets his whore side come out every once in a while <3

sungchan

last but most certainly not least, yet ANOTHER boy who pains me to the core. i think sungchan whimpers too. THERE I SAID IT. his cock is too big for his own good so he just... needs you to do SOMETHING to him :( he always sighs at first, maybe hissing just a little but then he gets to a point where he's quietly whimpering because he just needs to cum so fucking bad <//3 "need it... p-please..." he's always nervous to use titles but if he wants to cum he has no choice :( when his dom asks please who? he blushes bright red n mumbles a little "please mommy/daddy... 'm so good..." and god yes he is he deserves it so much ugh<33333333333333

[getouswh0re]

Howdy!! Could I request Yandere Gojo and Geto from jjk, with a special-grade sorcerer reader? Ty in advance, I really like your writing!✨

an; thank you for the love ˊᗜˋ💕 here are some drabbles for them separately, hope you liked it :3

warnings; yandere, gore, blood, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behaviour. do not condone such actions in real life, and please kindly read at your own discretion.

THE night was quiet, almost serene, totally at odds with the glowering menace in Geto’s eyes. Gone was the subtle gentleness in those inky slits you had grown to adore; in its place, inscrutable darkness bore holes into the back of your skull as you shuddered beneath the curse user’s glare.

It was still Geto in the flesh: the same face, unique hairstyle and robes he’d wear just like any other day. Yet it was no longer the special-grade sorcerer whom you once knew and loved. You never knew what caused such a drastic change in him; all you wished for, was for the old Geto to return, hoping that all of this was none other than another nightmare.

“Suguru? W-What are you doing at my door? It’s already late, you should be taking some rest ...” A hint of dismay — maybe sadness, ghosted his expression when the raven picked up the quivers in your tone. Nonetheless, a gentle smile adorns his face, emerging from the shadows to reveal himself as the raven explained himself.

“Why? Can’t I come and visit you?” He cocked his head, a playful smirk evident. Geto never ceased to make your heart flutter; perhaps it was his flirtatious nature and mellow personality that drew you towards him, but even after being one of his closest friends for a long time, at times you felt like you couldn’t understand him at all, with this being one of the occurrences.

You chortled, about to invite the raven into your apartment when warning bells started to ring incessantly in your head, warning you that there was something awry about him once you caught a glimpse at his clothes imbrued with crimson splatters.

“Sugu ... what is that on your clothes?”

“Oh this? Satoru splashed me with red paint, it’s not much of a big deal.” You knew he was lying, instantly picking up the revolting metallic stench from the stains. Dread filled your mind while you staggered back, keeping a distance from the male who gave you a perplexed look in return.

“You and I know a smell like this isn’t red paint ...” Trying to be as calm as you could, you retracted a step backwards with every stride Geto took. “Be honest with me. What on earth have you done?”

“Sharp as ever, y/n.” A condescending look took over as Geto finally revealed his true colours. “The world needs to change. All these monkeys are the reasons why curses exist. They can’t even control their cursed energy properly, and we sorcerers have to battle with death every time a curse poses as a threat to them. Their ignorance is revolting in its core, and I believe to make the world a better place, it would be better off to remove all of them out of sight. Don’t you agree —“

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Unable to withhold your seething rage, you snapped at the curse user. “This isn’t what sorcerers should do! What you are doing is of no difference from a brutal murderer Geto! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“How can you think of me like they y/n? That hurts my heart you know.”

Before you could even scream, he was already inches away, blood-stained hands caressing your cheeks tenderly as if you were made of fragile glass. “I just want to make life easier, there’s no need for us to put our lives at stake every time we exorcise curses. Right? We could be enjoying peaceful days together, free from the dangers of this world ...”

“Stop! Your delusions are sick, this isn’t you at all Geto! I don’t know what is wrong with your brain, but it’s never too late to turn back —“

Suddenly, your vision darkened — your consciousness sinking into a bottomless void as the raven carried you in a bridal style, the two of you vanishing into the tenebrosity of the night.

“And I thought you were the only one who’d understand me ... love.” He shook his head in disapproval, but the disappointment in his eyes were eventually replaced with glee as Geto stared at your limp figurine in his arms.

“But don’t worry, what needs to be done will be done. For our sake, for our future together.”

EVERYTHING would always be uglier up close.

At first glance, one might find Gojo Satoru a perfect man: with talent, looks and wealth all in one package. Men envy the greatest sorcerer of all time, and women grovel at his feet, desperate for a sprinkle of the man’s attention. Despite living the life everyone dreams to be in, the heir of the Gojo clan couldn’t care less about how the world spins around his axis. For the sorcerer has his eyes set on something much more worthy of his time and effort. 

He is a man of determination, willing to achieve his goals with whatever means possible — even resorting to dirtying his own hands. It is such an irony that underneath the charming façade, such a disgusting soul exists.

“For the last time Satoru, I am not interested in dating anybody.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, you politely shoved the lavish presents piling up at your front door back into the man’s arms. 

“I feel really flattered that you have feelings for me, I truly do. But I’m sure you know as sorcerers, we fight with death every day. If there is any regret that I’d dread to have ... it would be to leave everything I love behind. And I would rather die alone than leave my partner suffering on their own.” 

“That’s what I love about you y/n.” 

A loving sigh slipping from his tongue, Gojo took a step forward, cupping your face with utter delicacy. Yet you felt more than revolted by his sudden intimacy, struggling to writhe away from his tightening grip.

“You are always so kind, so considerate ... something I cannot find in anyone else other than you. But think about it sweetheart! You and I are both special-grade sorcerers, but I can protect you from the curses — at the same time giving you the moon and stars. We could move in together, you wouldn’t even need to work anymore. Why make your life harder when I could simply provide for you? Seriously —” 

“S-Satoru, I hate to tell you this but you’re pushing the boundaries right now.” Trying to reason with the sorcerer, you spoke with a harsher tone, praying that Gojo would get the hint and respect your choices. “You’re out of your mind! And why would you force 

Nonetheless, your words fell on deaf ears. 

“Now this is not how you should react when someone offers you their heart and soul.” The light in his cerulean eyes darkened, cyan hues glimmering beneath the penumbra of nightfall. “And I know you are a smart young woman, so you’d come to realise what is in your best interest. I really don’t want to do this to you y/n; but if you are trying to push me away from your life again, I would have to keep you to my side — the hard way.” 

With that, he pulled down his blindfold.

You were aware of how dangerous Infinite Void was; still, experiencing it first-hand was one hell of a terrifying experience. Fleeting images flashed across your vision as if all of this was in fastforward motion, depicting your fate in the past along with future. As certain blurred vestiges showed up, your heart sank in indescribable despair; moments of you and none other than Gojo were portrayed — blood splattered across the labyrinth of streets in Tokyo, your trembling hands intertwined with his, platinum bands wrapped around both of your ring fingers, adorable kids that were exact replicas of both of you. At this point, you could feel the will to fight back dwindling to fickle embers. 

No matter what you did, Gojo would always find his way back to you.

Even if he had to tear the world apart with his hands. 

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 7

Summary: In order to win, she might have to lose.

Warnings: angst, swearing, bit of fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six  

=================================

Waking up to skies lit by the wintry sun is what Y/N expected. In the back of her mind, she remembers opening her eyes. Perhaps it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard Aleksander’s voice softly speaking to her. 

Telling dreams from reality felt like an impossible task, but if it were a dream, would she really dream of him?

Death never crossed her mind. She was a soldier in an expendable army for most of her life, yet she never feared death. There was never a lingering sense of what if when they asked her if she believed in life after death, but she wondered now. Looking death in the eye had forced a realization upon her – she would die and achieve nothing. She married arguably the most powerful man in all of Ravka and she failed to utilize it. In the end, her name would be forgotten in history for her plans would all die with her.

Inhaling sharply, she wanted to open her eyes. A heaviness settles on her eyelids, making her groan. Her entire body felt dismantled, every nerve bare, inflicting pain.

“It’s alright”, a hand pressed to her forehead and Y/N frowns. Breathing heavily, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter open. With blurry vision, she looked up at the dark presence looming above her. Blinking fast, her lips part and before she can ask, cool liquid runs down her parched throat.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes closed again. She needed a moment to collect herself, to stop the world from spinning.

“It hurts”, she mumbles meekly.

“Shhh”, his voice reaches her. “I’m here”, she feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, “You’re safe.”

Resisting sleep, she opened her eyes once more. The sight of his tormented gaze leaves her nearly breathless. He’s still handsome, but it looks as if he’s aged ten years in just a few days.

“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse, still raspy from thirst and sleep.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a week”, his forehead wrinkles, “We’ve just made it back.”

Despite the little voice in his head, the Darkling held onto his wife throughout the night. He kept her close to his chest, running his fingers through her hair. She was exhausted, injured so badly he could hear the strain her body was under with every breath she took.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted and his pressed in a thin line. Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that – so delicate, so fragile, could have any power over him. It baffles him just how quickly he found himself attached to this woman who was unremarkable in every possible way – or so he told himself.

Truth be told, he couldn’t take his eyes off her since he first saw her. She radiates genuine beauty few possess, a confidence he’s never found in anyone in hundreds of years, and an air of mystery he couldn’t quite understand.

By the time morning light reached their tent, the Darkling just stared at her with care, studying every inch of her face as if it could be the last time he’ll ever be given a chance. He memorized the way she fit in his embrace, the rhythm of her beating heart in the dead of night and every labored breath as it threatened his sanity.

Anger was his best friend for so long, his shield against humanity, but his anger wasn’t all-consuming as it once was – it was directed to those who caused the swelling around her eyes and cuts across her cheekbones.

“General”, Ivan’s head peaked inside the tent only to swiftly disappear once he caught sight of a moment he was sure wasn’t meant for his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling gently laid her head down. Caressing her cheek, he let a heavy sigh pass his lips. It’s been too long since he last felt so defenseless and helpless as he did now. He promised himself he’d never feel that way again and yet he found himself in the same cursed whirlwind of emotions as he was in when the fold came to be.

Biting his lower lip, he pushed it all down. If he’s distraught, his people would know. He cannot be emotional and still lead an army. He has to be strong – for Grisha and for Y/N.

“Ivan, we’ll have to find a healer soon”, Kirigan spoke in a hushed tone. Glancing at the tent, he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. “I believe she’s developed a fever too.”

“Fedyor can try to cool her temperature”, Ivan offers, “He’ll slow her heart and keep her breathing. I’ll trade with him if necessary.”

Nodding, the general was satisfied with Ivan’s solution. For once, Ivan didn’t question why he wanted to protect her. This time, he was offered aid rather than words of discouragement.

“I’ll have to leave some of our own here”, Kirigan looks at the direction they came from. “The Fjerdans came too close and I need to know why. Why would they take my wife?”

Ivan lowers his voice, making sure he doesn’t wake up Y/N, “Perhaps it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when her safety is at stake.”

Nodding, Ivan glances at Fedyor. He’d be the same if anyone touched his beloved. Suppressing a smile, Ivan finally realized it – no matter how vehemently the general denies it, his heart is no longer his.

“What are the orders? I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Take back what they took, place their heads on a stake and wait. More should come soon and when they do, I want to know why they came so close to Little Palace and who ordered them to take my wife.”

Squinting, not in anger but to see him better, Y/N frowns, “A week?”

“Winter made it hard for us to move faster and you were in no shape to ride back.”

Letting out a shaky breath of air, she raised an eyebrow, “So you carried me?”

“Ivan and Fedyor kept you alive too.”

Wetting her chapped lips, she hesitated. Her fingers burned, itching to touch him, to intertwine with his.

“A healer should be here any minute now”, Aleksander informed, pulling his hand out of hers as if he could sense her inner battles and decided to help her by removing himself from it entirely.

“No”, she decided.

Standing abruptly, his jaw clenched. Despite his stern expression, his eyes hold all the sadness in the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“No?” He repeats with disdain, “What do you mean by no?”

Holding her breath, she endures a sharp pain in her ribcage as she propped herself up on her elbows. Breathing heavily, she directed her determined gaze on him. “I’m human, am I not?”

Squinting at her, his lips part, “And?”

Struggling to prevent herself from laughing at the way he looked at her now, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Humans aren’t allowed aid of a healer. We go to the medics.”

“You’re my wife”, he remarks almost instantaneously, slightly wishing she remained unconscious for a while longer. If she slept, the healer would have done their job and there would be no argument. There was no doubt about it, their truce was over.

“But I’m still a human. The rest of my kind don’t have the privilege of being married to you.” Her voice is stern, low and frustratingly righteous.

“You need a healer or you might not survive”, Aleksander insisted.

“Then let me die.” She stared at him, no signs of crumbling and it made him feel like he’s drowning.

Rubbing his forehead, the Darkling shut his eyes in frustration. After all the sleepless nights, his head felt like it would implode. All he had on his mind was her safety and now when he brought her home, she refused help.

“What do you want?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced at his jaw as it clenched. “What?”

Her voice is higher, almost confused but he knew better than that. “I’ve known you for almost two months.” Two months too long, he thought. “I know when you’re trying to extort me.”

Covering her mouth, Y/N suppressed a laugh. Truth be told, it’s exactly what she’s doing, she just didn’t expect him to cave so quickly.

“Healers for the First army”, her lips twitch. Pursing her lips, she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling at all costs.

“No”, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, she laid back down. “Alright then. I only regret I won’t be here to hear you explain my death to the Tsar and my father.”

Growling under his breath, he swipes his hand down his face. “One healer.”

“Two”, she argued, sitting up with a pained expression on her face.

“We can’t spare two”, the Darkling crosses his arms, his eyes darker than ever before.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Two healers or no deal.”

Releasing a long, heavy breath in frustration, the Darkling felt his insides turn. “Two healers but only for those who can’t get better with a week long rest on their own.”

“Two healers for those who can’t get better in a few days of rest AND the same amount of food and water for the First army.”

Running a hand through his hair, the general’s nostrils flare. Cracking his neck to the left, to the right, he turned his death glare back on his wife. “Food and water are limited for Grisha as well.”

“I saw them eat grapes”, Y/N deadpans. “You have enough, so share. If the First army dies out, who will protect your precious Grisha?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she maintained eye contact with the general who refused to blink. He stared back at her, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every word that passed her lips a contest of wills.

His jaw set, he moved closer to stand before her. He looked formidable with the relentless, firm pools of black ink for eyes devouring her with intensity, too hard in comparison to what she had seen in the tent. He looked like he could kill her without even putting a hand on her…something she still expected him to do.

What was stopping him? She was far behind enemy lines, no reinforcements and she saw what he can do – he could kill everyone who stood in his way.

“Fine”, he huffs. “Under one condition.”

Rolling her eyes, she nods, “What is it?”

“I want a kiss.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Ringed with golden bruises, she was still alluring – like a wildfire or a storm. No…she is wildfire, a storm. She is deadly and uncontrollable and slightly out of her wits and he’s asking her to be his ruination. It isn’t love, he tells himself, it’s obsession.

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N didn’t bother hiding her surprise. A kiss? Of all the things he could have asked, the big bad general who can summon shadows is asking for a kiss?

A part of her trusted Aleksander and that trust demanded intimacy. She wanted his hands on her – in her hair, his lips on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable and that’s what worried her. Trusting him, needing him, it’s bound to breed love and self-inflicted madness. If it were anything else, she would outright refuse him, but she has so many lives dependent on her answer.

“Tonight”, she decided. If her own sanity is the price to pay, she will do what she has to do.

Nodding, the Darkling retreated. Leaving the room, he opened the door for the healer to enter. Sparing her a quick look, he swallowed thickly as the thought of her willingly kissing him made his heart slam into the rib cage. Even his heart wanted to escape him as it too longed for her hands’ touch.

He didn’t make more than two steps outside the room when a Grisha joined him - one of his many spies.

“What do you have for me?”

The spy beckons him to the side, looking around wildly. “This could change everything.”

“What is it?” The Darkling speaks through gritted teeth, demanding an answer.

“There is talk”, the spy pauses, “Of a Sun Summoner.”

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

Healed, bathed and properly fed, Y/N had paced their room in anticipation of his arrival. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier that day – something between them has changed.

As the door opens, her breath halts inside her throat.

“I thought you were lost”, Genya admitted. “When they found your mare, I lost hope.”

Smiling, Y/N cupped her cheek. “I did too”, she sniffled.

The Darkling felt, more than saw, her presence as he entered the room. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet of fresh sheets on the bed she leaned against. He could hardly speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight made him question the reality of what he was looking at.

“You look better”, Aleksander managed a curt smile, looking at Y/N and her attire. The sheer nightdress she wore was back, perfectly outlining her figure.

“Why did they take you?” Genya asked, unshead tears weighing heavily on her eyes. “Did they know?”

“No”, Y/N shakes her head, “But they found out.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kirigan killed them all.” Y/N glanced at the door where she expected her husband to appear later on.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N felt her heart flip. “It helped me realize something.”

Frowning, Genya waited for Y/N to explain.

“Your General does have a heart”, she states. His request for a kiss lingered in every thought her mind could concoct.

She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. 

“Of course he does”, Genya chuckles, “He was most worried when you were taken. He promised he’d kill them all and bathe in their blood.”

“I think I can use that.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya’s frown deepened. “How?”

Pressing her lips, Y/N sighed. “In order for me to win”, she paused, “He needs to believe he did.”

“Husband”, she spoke clearly. She feigned confidence, but inside she quivered.

She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to their bed, his lips already fastened to hers. She felt his lips hit hers like a tornado, his admission of burning the world in her name spinning in her head. It could have been a fever dream, but she would bet her life it wasn’t.

Holding her chin in place, he rested his forehead on hers, heaving from the kiss. She couldn’t open her eyes, clinging to him for dear life, but even with eyes closed, Y/N could hear the emotions thick in his voice.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not willing.” He whispered against his lips, all too prepared for his hands to roam her body now.

Y/N was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him and now it seems she was more than ready to give herself to him without his talk of her marital duty.

He expected anything but to find her with her arms wide open.  But even now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.

Pulling the sheet over her, he stood. “I can wait.”

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken. Her lips were hard, as if carved of marble and he ached to part them into a smile.

Turning away, he began undressing himself for bed, wondering how he could survive a night beside her if she remains as she is now.

She averts her gaze, whispering under her breath in confusion, “Wait?”

He laid beside her, barely dressed at all. She found herself achingly aware of his presence. The only light in the room was from the flames of candles she placed across the room. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the arrangement their marriage was meant to be. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, one he never expected to claim. She seemed too headstrong to ever give into his charm, yet she bared herself before him and he couldn’t take advantage of her.

“Why don’t you want me?” She sat up, glaring at him. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze.

Rolling his eyes, he looks away. How can she torment him like this with no shame?

If anything, he felt like she’s attacking him. “I don’t want to hear about how a demon took you by force for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Aleksander is a general, a conqueror at heart and she saw the desire in his eyes. If there was any hope of her plan to work, she had to harness his desire to convince him he won.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Aleksander nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He wanted to possess her, to claim this difficult, headstrong woman for himself. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Aleksander chuckle into the kiss.

“Let me help you,” Aleksander purred and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress.

Wrapping his hand around Y/N’s neck, his grip was oddly weak, gentle even. She laid nude before him, his gaze fixed on her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

“You make me feel”, he pauses in anguish, “You make me feel”, he said quietly, fiercely, “And I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the ruthless general in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A general isn’t gentle at all, not like Aleksander could be. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Aleksander stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Your hands are bloody from murder”, she paused, “But I trust them completely.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the pace of her pulse.

With one thigh, Aleksander parted hers. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the intimate parts she never allowed another only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, he found if applied enough pressure a desperate moan escapes her without a fail. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when control escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Aleksander pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, he stops for a moment. Looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, he wonders if she even realizes what is about to happen.

“Do you want this?” He asks again, fearing she may change her mind.

Gripping his arm, she nods. “Yes”, she replies, breathless.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Aleksander starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for the nerve bundle between her folds. Every passing second draws louder moans from her until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, he finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to finish deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Aleksander decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants his embrace, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. It’s been so long since he truly slept – since the day they went for that ride.

He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

Waiting for a few minutes, Y/N pretended to sleep. After the hurricane of emotions he’d given her, Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to relax, to sleep in bliss, but a part of her ached. She ached for who she used to be. Would her father hate her for what she just did? Would her people denounce her for sleeping with the enemy?

Her eyes opened wide, finding his are still closed. Lips quivering, she felt herself crumble as tears fled her eyes. She watched his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself to stop crying. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her when he rescued her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the general.

=============================

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Part 8

[lovenona]

ON THE SACRED BONDS OF BROTHERHOOD.

synopsis; choso may be their beloved frat brother, but he’ll always be your brother first. (for the frat au collab.) 

pairing; frat boy! choso x f! reader

contains; stepcest, dubcon (reader is under the influence but having a good time), extensive descriptions of knife play and blood play, marking (choso carves his name into you), oral (f! receiving), borderline yandere/possessive choso (he loves you A Lot), choso goes from mean to Soft, consumption and romanticization of drugs and alcohol, (1) use of ‘angel’, reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, this is essentially all foreplay and ends before the fucking because i got tired, minors do not interact or perish

word count; 6.5k

the yard outside is clean, well-kept. there’s talk that the house’s landlord is a retired gardener who receives great joy from keeping up the hydrangeas and peonies along the sidewalk. it’s certainly award-winning, that front yard, with its colorful blossoms and plush bees circling the mailbox. 

they’re so lucky, students bemoan on their way to and from class. i can’t believe the frat boys get to live there. i bet they don’t even know how lucky they are.

it’s a seemingly kind house from the outside – recently renovated with navy blue paint and white trimming, a large front porch and a few inviting windows. the place that omega lambda now calls home is, simply put, a dream. it sits just a few minutes from campus and it tells the street proudly, fondly, that there is no better place to be than here.

it’s true, in some respects, that omega lambda likes to see themselves as above the sweat and grime of their fellow frat brothers. they don’t spend their weekends “fucking and drinking” and tracking dirt across the carpet like animals. their fun is calm, refined: to be invited to a night with omega lambda means a night of smoke curling into the air, of gossip over olive-colored couches, of pills under tongues, of ease and relaxation.

it’s slower than the others, they say in the back of monday morning lectures, but no less extreme, no matter what those boys try and tell you.

i think i was tripping for days, the girl from psychology 101 boasted. whatever the fuck yuuji gets is strong. 

such stories amaze you: and even as you stand on the sidewalk outside the perfect blue house, petunias curling inward with the evening breeze, you cannot believe they are real. it’s hard to imagine the face of your beloved stepbrother tied to these antics. it’s hard to imagine that the boy who used to come home every winter and summer with bloodshot eyes and a beat-up skateboard also swore a loyal, unbreakable oath of brotherhood to a band of boys you’ve never met. 

it’s hard to imagine that your own stepbrother, choso, the one who taught you how to ride a bike and how to apply eyeliner and how to kiss without teeth, quite literally runs what has been dubbed the chillest fraternity on campus.

but yet, here you are, new to university, fresh-faced and eager, cowering outside the door of the omega lambda residence. your favorite skirt hovers around your thighs and you tug at the collar of your shirt, fiddle with the charm of the necklace choso gave you for your birthday a few years ago. 

he’d invited you here almost immediately after learning that you and your roommate had tried your hand at partying with beta pi epsilon. naoya is trash, choso’s fervent texts read the next morning. absolute dick – don’t trust him. come hang out with us instead. he’d attached the address of the blue house along with a reminder to have a snack and take some medicine for your godforsaken hangover. 

the message had taken you a little by surprise. choso’s always been sweet to you – doting, even, if you wanted a better word for it – but you hadn’t been sure how he’d handle attending the same university. your other friends all complain that they’d rather die than see their families; twins separate after orientation, brothers and sisters look the other way if they pass each other in the quad. you feared choso would be the same, that the omnipotent attention he gave you at home would completely dissipate the moment you moved into your dorm.

but his text reaffirms you, if anything. and although your roommate had opted to be wined and dined by the boy from calculus this evening, you don’t mind attending alone. her absence from your side only means you will be able to see your stepbrother without a distraction.

the music buzzes through the door as you knock and wring your fingers on the doorstep. should you just walk in? should you text choso and wait for him to fetch you? the ins-and-outs of frat etiquette cloud your mind until the door swings open and you’re met, face-to-face, with a young pink-haired man dangling a blunt from one hand and his phone, opened to his spotify playlist, from the other.

“hi,” you say, words foreign in your throat. “choso invited me?”

“oh, cool,” itadori yuuji says, shrugging his shoulders like he never would have questioned it. “come on in. you can put your shoes over there.” 

while omega lambda is not packed from wall to wall as your night at beta pi epsilon had been, the various couches propped against the walls and surrounding the living room coffee table are nearly packed to the brim with the frat brothers and their guests. the air, hazy with smoke and desire and drinking, shifts and swirls as it curls around purple LED lights before fogging up the windows and disappearing up the stairs. it is warm here, easy, like dropping into the depths of a pleasurable dream.

“there’s drinks in the kitchen,” yuuji is saying, voice thick with his high, “and we’ve got some other stuff on the table, although you’ll have to pay yuuta for those–” 

yuuji’s narration is cut off as a familiar figure crashes into yours, sweeping you into a hug so tight you fear your bones will snap from the pressure. choso smells like the cologne you bought him for his birthday, like fresh laundry and comfort; you breathe him in, deeply, and let yourself relax into the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

“glad you could make it,” choso mumbles into your skin. he draws back slightly, drinks you in, your little skirt and your dainty socks that he’s always been partial to. he looks from you to yuuji, still vibing to the side with his playlist, and his eyes crinkle in what must be mirth.

“it’s good to see you,” you say. 

“you saw me at lunch with mom last week.” choso smiles, the black line across his nose crinkling when his eyes light up. 

“you get what i mean.” you tap his shoulder, lightly, as emphasis. the anxiety dissolves; it’s you, and him, like it’s always been. it’s your stepbrother choso who watches your shadow and wraps you up to keep the rest of the world at bay. 

but the tender moment is broken when someone, a tall blonde girl with the aura of a lioness, calls out to choso to ask him for assistance. he looks at you, a bit forlorn, before telling yuuji to help you get settled in and making his way to the other end of the living room.

“yes, this way!” yuuji grabs your arm and drags you across the floor like you’ve known each other forever. “i make some fucking good drinks if i do say so myself.” 

which, consequently enough, is how you find yourself losing your mind within the walls of omega lambda. 

it’s not that you’re a virgin to the world of cocktails and lime and pills: it’s that you’re too sweet to know when to stop. it’s hard to tell yuuji no more, thanks when his face is so bright, when he and the strange, blue-haired frat brother mahito are asking you to try this and try that and to let us know what you think. 

so you let yourself sway through the house, from couch to couch, listening to this mahito boy tell you about his latest philosophy courses as he dances cold fingers across your shoulders, listening to yuuji explain the very serious business of pulling an all-nighter without coffee, watching the LED lights shift from purple to blue and back again.

(you’re not sure where choso is. perhaps, in your altered state, he’s sitting just across from you and you don’t even know it. but you don’t mind, because his brothers get along with you just as well. you don’t mind, because you’re too drunk or too high to know any better.) 

“and how are you doing?” a dark-haired man slides into the empty couch space next to you. arms littered with various tattoos and dark hair pulled back into a casual half-bun, he could have been your beloved choso had he not exuded such finesse, such arrogance, which choso could never be capable of doing.

“i’m alright,” you say, but you’re more than alright. the room is so warm and your brain is so fuzzy that you might melt into the couch if someone looked away for even a minute. “i don’t think we’ve met before? i’m choso’s stepsister.” 

he simpers, a humid thing, one that coils around your eyelids and sets your insides alight. “ah! i’ve heard a lot about you. it’s nice to meet you.” he holds out a manicured hand; black nail polish glimmers in the dim light. “geto. i’m one of choso’s frat brothers.” 

his handshake might take your soul with it. his hands are smooth, refined. you swear he can feel your quickening pulse as you introduce yourself. he watches you like you might be the only person in the room, like you might be the sweetest thing to have ever crossed the threshold. and filled with rum and liqueur and confidence you take it, gladly, because you’re young and the thought of university still puts stars in your eyes. 

“so what are you studying?” geto is saying, prying you apart, picking through your history. he’s in his final year and you’re in your first and he knows all there is to know while you still have nothing. you latch onto him because he gets it, because he’s handsome, because you’re silly and desperate and drunk. somewhere along the way your thighs touch and his hand greets your shoulder and you think that you finally made it into his lap because mahito complained that the couch was too full. 

geto smells like expensive cologne. you smell vaguely of lemons and shampoo. yuuji jokes with you from across the table and you like it, the way these brothers’ eyes fall on you. 

so you spiral, further and further, into a daze you cannot escape from. you barely react to geto’s firm hand snaking up your bare thigh because you are too busy trying yuuji’s latest creation and asking mahito for more of whatever he gave you. it’s fun, it’s weightless; you feel beautiful, supreme, like the kind of college girl you’re supposed to be. you’re desirable, cute. you’re the girl to be in love with, the one who sets the scene.

those rumors were right. the party is certainly slower than the other frats you’ve visited, with more emphasis on sitting and vibing than on dancing and drinking games, but no less extreme. you’re so far out of your brain that you wonder briefly if it will ever be possible to come back down. maybe you’ll be her, on monday morning, the girl who’s still tripping.

“you know,” geto is saying, his breath eerily close to your pulse, a moment away from pressing a kiss to your cheek, your neck, “you should stop by more often.” 

“yeah?” you hope you sound sexier than you are. “i’d love to–”

“excuse me,” choso’s voice cuts through your lazy fantasy like the sharp fall of a guillotine. “i’d prefer if you didn’t hit on my sister, geto.” 

geto’s laugh reverberates against your back, your ears. his grip on you lightens immediately, and whatever words he’d saved for you die away. “i’m not,” he says, but his voice is too easy to be honest. “just keeping her company. right, sweetheart?”

you’re finding it hard to see straight. caught in this game of cat and mouse you find you can do nothing but sit lamely in geto’s lap and watch choso’s favorite necklace reflect the purple light. it’s only after a revolution around the sun you realize you haven’t spoken, that you’ve done nothing but hover, a lot of drunk and a little high and a little nervous, between one man and the other. you mumble a yes in affirmation but it’s clear from the tension that choso doesn’t believe it. 

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” choso sighs. “come on, then. you’ve had enough for one night.” familiar arms lift you off the couch and you stumble, much like a baby gazelle, into the safety of choso’s chest. the room spins with the sudden change; you cling to him like a lifeline as you abandon the party to head upstairs. 

of course, bedazzled out of your mind, you do not question when choso leads you to the end of the hallway and over the threshold of his bedroom. it feels expected in a way, safe, as if the party had always been meaning to end here. as if there was no other place you should be.

“so?” choso asks, casually, shutting the door behind him with a damning click. “did you enjoy being a little whore with my brothers?”

his words take a long moment to settle in your ears. you’re caught in the swirl of euphoria in your brain, the black t-shirts scattered across the floor, the small houseplant you once bought him seated on the windowsill. it warms your heart to see it there, after all this time.

“well?” choso demands your attention. he takes your jaw in his hand and lifts your eyes to meet his gaze. his silver rings, imposing and cool on slender fingers, burn into your heated flesh like embers. his eyes swim with distaste and you know it’s your fault, somehow, but when the walls tilt and your rationality fogs over, you can’t quite pinpoint why.

“i–” your words catch in your throat. it’s clear, from the darkness in his eyes, from the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of your jawline, that anything you say to defend yourself will be futile. it’s choso’s world, you’ve always known, and even now, you’re merely living in it. 

“i invite my sister to see me, because i miss her,” choso’s words nestle themselves deep into your bloodstream, settling amongst the brandy and wine, “and she chooses to spend the night bending over for my brothers. how do you think that makes me feel?” 

it’s a look you know: a look that has haunted you for hours and days, a look that you know better than any other. it’s the look that guides the hand between your legs at night and the look you recreate in your mind’s eye when your vibrator just isn’t enough. you’re crumbling already, like sand beneath his touch.

“i’m sorry,” you say to him, but the words are soft and whispered things, shy beneath the weight of your own guilt and disappointment. “i didn’t mean to–” 

“no,” choso admonishes. he steps closer, guiding you backwards until his bedsheets brush the backs of your knees. “of course you didn’t. you’re still too dumb to know what you’re doing.” his voice, evenly condescending, hardly matches the gentle brush of his fingers as he moves to cup your cheeks. you close your eyes against it, savoring the shivers he sends across you body with every heartbeat, every movement. “still need your big brother to keep you in check.” 

you do not respond: he does not intend for you too. instead choso presses you back until you fall onto his bed, crawling over you to cage your body beneath him like a predator and its prey. your brain falters with the sudden movement, with the lateness of the hour and the depravity of your position, but you can do nothing but look at him with your helpless doe-eyes while something saccharine pools in your belly. 

“look at you,” choso says. “high out of your damn mind. good thing i caught you when i did. who knows what would have happened.” 

you believe him, you do, especially when choso dips his head to kiss you and demands your subservience. his tongue licks the aftermath of your cocktails from your lips and claims the expanse of your mouth, your teeth, your sanity. you let him take you, body and soul, even when you’re clamoring for air and freedom. there is no safety but choso’s lips, flavored with his cinnamon chapstick, no sacred home but the warmth of his mouth. 

“there’s my girl,” choso breathes, nose brushing against yours as he pulls back for air. “going to be good for me now? going to make it up to your big brother?” 

he doesn’t wait for a response; fingers dance along the silk of your blouse as he undoes each button, one by one, letting his fingers dip slyly against the newly exposed expanse of your collarbone and your chest and your stomach. you make no move to stop him, caught somewhere between choso’s aura and reality and time. 

(and maybe in another life you would have stopped him. maybe in another life you would have been ashamed. but it’s choso, your sworn protector and god among men, and you would be a fool to try and stop the one who knows best. he is safety, protection. who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t taken you away when he did.) 

“is this new?” choso asks, studying the curve of your bra as he rests against your hips. “who are you trying to impress?” 

it’s thin lavender lace, choso’s favorite. your face warms at the observation and you turn your head away, nestling among the sheets, as if you could escape choso’s eyes: but his fingers still trace the material and you can still hear him breathing and you know he will never look away. 

“i just got it,” you answer, humbled and mildly humiliated and certainly a little fucked up. the words are slow and imprecise as you stumble over your own tongue. “i wanted to…treat myself.” 

choso’s exploratory hands move from your bra to the waistband of your skirt. “could’ve just asked me,” he says earnestly, intently. “i would’ve gotten it for you.” 

your affirmative hum is lost when choso mindfully pulls your skirt down your legs and discards it somewhere in the shadows of the room. he says nothing of it, of the thin fabric or the way it flattered you just right. perhaps he is jealous of it. perhaps he does not want to remember the way his brothers looked at you when you wore it, the way geto’s hands caressed the places no other man should go.

“they match, i see,” choso gestures towards your underwear. terrified and knowing and aware that you’re growing damper with each passing minute, you press your thighs together. “they’re cute.” 

“t-thank you,” you whisper. “i… i got them for you. your favorite color.” 

he smiles, a precious and glorious thing, a smile that causes flowers to grow and birds to sing. you electrify at the sight of it, blissful only when he is. 

“i’d hope so,” choso says, “because i don’t think i could take it if this was meant for someone else.” 

he reaches over to the nightstand while his words claw through you. choso smells like cinnamon and safety and pleasure; your heartbeat quickens as his t-shirt brushes against you, as your world collapses into nothing but choso’s profile, his butterfly hair-clips and his glowing skin and his power. 

when choso settles back over you, resting against your thighs until you think you might die of it, something silver and shiny rests in his palm. you’d recognize it even if your eyes were closed, if the room were so dark that you couldn’t see if you tried. a searing and insatiable sensation lodges itself in your veins; it is fear personified, it is anticipation of a behavior you cannot even name. 

choso twirls his beloved switchblade deftly between his well-manicured fingertips. it reflects the low-light of the room. it calls out to you, the beautiful and dangerous thing, a siren’s song that promises both your misery and your fortune. choso’s face is relaxed, serene, as the envy and the fury seemingly melts away from him and leaves only a disinterested vessel behind. 

he lets you study it, lets you study him, and you know he’s pleased when he can feel your thighs tense, when you try so damn hard not to let choso know just how affected you really are. he shifts, grinding gently against your pelvis as he moves, causing you to bite your lip in a desperate attempt to surpress the gentlest of moans. 

“well,” choso says, disregarding the state he’s slowly working you into. he shifts down your body and runs a lackluster hand across the lacy expanse of your underwear. shivers pierce your navel, silver rings poison your skin. it’s all you can do to watch him, his heartless eyes and his casual form, as his thumb prods at the place where you underwear crosses your hip. “let’s get these off. i’d hate to have anyone else see you in them.” 

you feel the blade before you see it. cold, unfriendly, it rests against the gentle skin of your hip, a killer ready to take a life. a humiliatingly choked whine is out of your mouth before you can swallow it; your gasp reverberates throughout the room, the sound of one who knows they’ve lost a fight. 

“choso–” you breathe, but you don’t know quite what it is you’re asking him for. 

he doesn’t answer immediately, opting instead to tease you further with the blade as he presses it against you until goosebumps rise in chorus. your fingers curl in on themselves, desperate for purchase, while fear and longing hum everywhere in your being. 

“don’t worry,” choso says. “i’ll buy you more. now be good and stay still.” 

you want to writhe, to lash out and squirm beneath the intensity of the moment, but you fear choso’s disappointment more than you crave such release. your big brother choso has never been afraid to hurt you: to pierce the skin where it hurts, to draw blood where he means it. if you move, the blade will move with you. you know this as you know every scar choso has left behind. 

it’s agonizing, this pace. choso’s tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he works with the ease of a great master. it’s like watching paint dry, like waiting for grass to grow or continents to shift. he cuts away at the expensive lingerie you bought just last weekend like he has all the time in the world, like he does not care if the sun rises and you are still crying beneath him.

(and he does it, you know, because you’ve never been one to be patient.) 

“choso,” you whine, drawing his name out, long and frustrated, as if in song. “go faster.” your legs twitch in protest and the blade comes ever closer. 

“no.” choso does not even spare the kindness to look at you, his beloved little sister. “stop whining.” 

the rest of your complaints lodge in your throat. you fear disobeying him, so you grip the comforter like a lifeline, exasperated tears pooling in the corners of your eyes as the blade cuts through your clothes and ghosts across the bare skin beneath. it’s embarrassing, really, the way you can feel yourself becoming more and more desperate the further choso drifts away from you, the more he refuses to indulge. 

you wonder if he can sense the arousal on you, feel it, smell it, even, like you’re nothing but his own little plaything in heat. 

after an eternity, the blade finally cuts through your panties with a satisfying rip. the torn fabric sits pitifully against your hips, a reminder of your own subservience, until choso peels it away from you with enough condescension to move you to tears. the cool air of the room hits your thighs, your cunt, like a ghost who’s taken up residence beside you. 

blissfully unaware of your feelings, choso studies the remains of your ruined underwear, the thin fabric and the obvious stain of your arousal. locking eyes with you, he bring it to his nose for a brief and pleasurable inhale before he discards it somewhere on the other side of the room.

“there we are,” he says, as if he hadn’t just smelled yourself in front of you. “now no one will ever know about it but me.”

“choso,” you whimper, hot. it’s a gift and a humiliation to be beneath him like this, to shake with need and yet to be denied it, to ask for something, for anything, in a voice so unabashedly loud that anyone who passes by the door might hear it.

he ignores you, again, and turns his attention to your bra as it flutters against your fervent chest. you watch with wide eyes as the blade comes closer, closer, dancing against your ribcage and sending ice into your lungs until it slices through the front of your bra, down the center of your chest, like the thin fabric was made of nothing but water. 

“get rid of this,” he says; you listen. with quick and quivering fingertips you shimmy your way out of the delicate material and toss it over the side of the bed faster than the speed of sound. choso, pleased with your obedience, intently traces the curve of your breasts, thumbing your nipples until you find yourself arching into his touch. 

(choso, you mumble, eyes falling shut at the feeling. still, as always, he does not listen. he draws his hands away.) 

it kills you, the way choso’s eyes possess you, own you, dictate the movement in your bloodstream. it’s akin to being pulled along on marionette strings, a puppet of choso’s own design, made to dance for him and him alone. 

it’s the prize he deserves, your big brother, to own you and protect you, body and soul.

it’s that very intensity which moves you to misty tears, which causes your hands to fly out to meet him against your better judgement. choso lets you pleasure yourself for a moment with the texture of his t-shirt and the outline of his shoulders before brushing your hands away like unnecessary flies. 

“did you whore yourself out like this when you went to naoya’s?” choso prods. the patronization lies beneath feigned and genuine curiosity. there are no inflections, no signs of anger. this is how your big brother gets you, every time: it’s the neglect, the disinterest, that breeds your guilt. “are you really so easy for every boy that comes your way?” 

you shake your head and wish you could bury yourself further into the bedsheets. no, never. try as you might the first-year college boys here just haven’t been enough, the older ones too preoccupied with better cunts to look your way. 

“just because those guys are my brothers,” choso continues, shifting further and further down your body, spreading your legs until he can fit himself comfortably between them, “doesn’t mean i have to share everything with them.” 

“i’m sorry, choso,” you try again, “i’m sorry. i don’t want anyone else–” 

“that’s right,” choso interrupts. “you don’t need anyone else. no one is ever going to love you the way i do.” 

the way your big brother does, his eyes say, but he doesn’t have to voice it. you already know. it’s true that no one knows you better than choso does. no one understands your limits and your desires the way your brother has for as long as you’ve known him. no one knows how to caress you when you cry, how to run their tongue across your lips to silence you when you’re too eager. it’s always choso. it’s always been choso; but sometimes you’re just too much of a fool to see it. 

the blade, cool and demanding, presses against the soft flesh of your thigh, just below the hip. you twitch in surprise at the sensation and curl your toes to quell the ache in your cunt. it’s slick, weeping; you can feel it, the arousal, as it pools and pools and drips quietly onto the comforter. 

“choso, what are you–” you ask, breathily, pitifully, but choso’s quick glare reduces you into obedient silence. 

he licks the cinnamon chapstick on his lips. a stray hair falls across his eyes and kisses the dark line across his nose. he is love and danger, a cocktail of possession and surrender. “i think,” choso says, the words slow and thoughtful, “you need a reminder of who loves you the most.” 

a strangled cry escapes your lips when the blade pierces your skin just enough to draw blood. the sting travels up through your spine and fogs up your senses, causes your cunt to weep in horrible anticipation. it hurts, it does, the first cut, but still you find yourself waiting for more of it, more, in terror and lust and love. 

“choso–” you cry, a misty tear escaping out of the corner of your eye, but the call is met by another stroke, longer this time, drawn out, until your knuckles clutch the bedsheets so tensely they might as well turn to stone. 

“stay still,” choso admonishes amidst the burn of it. “you’ll hurt yourself.” 

as if you were the one in control. but you listen, obediently as always, and the alcohol from earlier combined with the need in your chest mixes together until your body is as taut as a desperate wire, until you no longer have control of yourself or your limbs. the knife cuts easily, choso’s hands as steady and precise as ever. you can feel the blood dripping onto his sheets like a series of hot tears.

it’s too much, all at once. it is a fire which destroys you, which renders every coherent thought into ash and causes you to sob nothing but drawn-out cries and pleads of choso’s name into the dark bedroom. he has you just where he wants you: pliant, dumb, obedient. if he asked you to fetch him a star, you would have asked him which one he needed.

choso’s tongue darts between his teeth as a steady hand continues its masterpiece. you sob unabashedly in reply with every stroke, with every flex of his fingers as he works his blade against your tender skin. and yet, as the pain grows, so does your need for something, for anything, for release; with every aching minute your cunt grows hotter and lonelier and emptier between your thighs. 

you crave something, anything, choso, perhaps even more than you wish for air.

“there you go,” choso says, just as you release another cry so piercing there’s no way even yuuji wouldn’t have heard it. “all done.” 

you sit up on your elbows to peer down at the masterpiece below your hip. smeared with blood, aching and raw from the blade, the word CHOSO spreads across your upper thigh in an uneven but heartfelt script. it makes you dizzy, this marking, this sign that no one owns you better than your sacred brother does. you wonder if it will leave a scar, if it will heal; and even more so, you wonder if choso will merely rewrite it, again and again, until every cell in your body knows that you are nothing without him.

you say nothing; a whine escapes your lips as your eyes flit from the mark to choso’s eyes, dark and possessive, as he looks back at you.

“you like it?” he asks, once again the sweet thing, the doting one.

“yes,” you whisper back, never one to lie to your perfect big brother. 

but you cannot hide the insatiability. choso notices the way your thighs twitch from the intensity, the way your cunt drools and your eyebrows furrow because you cannot relieve this ache on your own. you’re helpless, entirely at his mercy. choso tilts his head with a soft and unreadable simper at the sight.

“you’re really worked up, huh?” he pretends your distress is not blatantly obvious. he twirls the bloodstained knife between his fingertips for a moment before bringing the flat edge of the blade against his lips in a somber kiss. “this little thing’s got you down bad, i see.” he flashes the switchblade at you like a diamond. you watch, entranced, as choso slides his tongue across the metal until any traces of your blood disappear into his mouth. 

your belly’s on fire. the switchblade shines with choso’s spit and he smiles, your blood on his tongue, while he prods your legs apart, further, until you’re entirely open for him with nothing to hide. you whine lowly as choso’s eyes flicker between your eyes, dazed and helpless, and the slick on the bedsheets. 

“choso,” you repeat. “please, help me.” your eyes are wide and your voice is small and you crumble beneath the weight of your own needing, of your own body working of its own volition, of the high that collapses all over you. 

perhaps it’s the way you call for him, your big brother, in your time of need. perhaps it’s the way choso can never really deny you, even when he feigns disappointment or rage or neglect. he’s bound to you, your protector, and you can see in the way his eyes soften ever so slightly that choso will not deny you this request.

“sure thing, angel. let me clean this up for you.” choso’s voice is generous as he bows his face towards your hips with the reverence of one before the altar. he leaves no room for your answer. an eager tongue swipes across your thigh and laps at the blood which pools there. his movements are indulgent, refined, as he holds your legs open with intimidating palms and drinks you in like medicine.

“choso–” you gasp, unable to look away. his eyes flit back to meet yours in reply but he continues his ministrations, slow, teasing, as he ignores your cunt entirely and licks at the fresh wound until it’s finally, sacredly, clean. your newly beloved CHOSO glimmers with his spit when he pulls away. he smiles at you then, praying over your hips, lips stained red with your blood, with your being. 

“i may be their brother,” choso gestures towards the door, to the party which must still rage below, “but i’m your brother first, and now you’ll never forget it.”  

the words are followed by his tongue on your inner thigh, fervent this time, as he travels downwards, downwards from his name on your leg until his nose is a breath away from your clit. you thrust your hips towards him impatiently and he accepts it, gratefully, burying his face deep into your cunt like he’s searching for gold. choso lavishes your clit with plump lips and an eager tongue, drawing the bud into his mouth and kissing it until you cry, until your legs tremble as they ensnare him in your garden.

“choso–” you’re crying, voice transcendent throughout the frat house, his favorite song. there’s a tongue prodding against your hole and a silver ring on your clit and you lose yourself within it, within choso’s breath on your folds and the fire which erupts into chaos. 

when it comes to pleasing you, choso does not require air. he refuses to resurface as his tongue explores every inch, as he laps away at you with the passionate abandon only an older brother can provide. what you need, he needs, and what you desire most, choso is always willing to provide. he holds you steady as he works so you cannot escape him. he forces you into stillness as he abuses every sacred inch of your cunt, as he works you into a frenzy with his fingers and his tongue until you can think of nothing but wanting to cum. 

and then, then, at the precipice of pleasure, choso pulls away. you pause as you catch your breath, heartbeat like an earthquake, and recollect your shock. why has he stopped? where has he gone? you’re about to sit up, to feign sobriety, to demand what the matter is, when something cool and smooth presses against your clit.

choso’s cheek rests against your inner thigh as he presses the flat edge of the switchblade against your cunt. it’s cold and dangerous and sublime and you cannot help but think of the way it could ruin you, that if you shifted or choso wanted it everything could end here, now, forever. and it is this fear, coupled with the coolness of the blade suffocating your clit, with the alcohol in your bloodstream, that sends you into a place from which you may never return. 

the orgasm is as violent as a hurricane. the moment you tense and begin to quake with a strangled sob choso replaces the blade with his tongue and rides you through it, coating his lips with your cum and swallowing the vibrations and heightening the sensation until you are tortured by it, by the sting of pleasure and overstimulation and want. 

(“that’s it,” you think he says into your skin, but your ears ring too loudly to know. “cum for me, just like that.”) 

it takes some time for the waves to recede and for your body to become still again. with a head comprised of of jelly and limbs made of water you lie still, panting, as choso nonchalantly licks your slick from the switchblade with a hum and gingerly sets it back down on his dresser. you watch as he slides the belt out of his jeans and tosses it into the dark room, as he hovers above you like an angel and its lover. 

“better now?” he asks against your parted lips. you nod. he kisses you, deeply, a kiss made of iron and cum and blood, tongue swiping across your teeth before he draws the air from your lungs. your vision swims when he plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, your cheeks, your forehead, between your eyebrows. he plants his love until there is nowhere left untouched, until you are buzzing with the security only your brother choso can give you. 

“yeah,” you mumble back to him, content, satisfied. even the sting of his name on your body is a pleasantry now. 

“good.” choso wipes the perspiration from your brow. his jeans scratch against your pelvis, and it is only then that you finally register his cock, hard and eager, waiting patiently for its turn. it is only then that you realize choso’s lesson is not yet over, that your brother’s desperate need has only begun. 

“now,” he purrs, gently, lovingly, “can you show me how much you love me?”

(as always, forever, you do. you show him your love, endlessly, even when the party ends and the house falls eerily silent. you show choso everything, all of it, loyally, just as he asks, with an only you, choso, and a no one else loves me like you.

because although choso offers his love to the brothers downstairs, he will always, forever, be your brother first, til death do you part.)

[jayteacups]

Warmth

Summary: Levi muses on his feelings for Nuwa while she sleeps.

Pairing: Levi x fem!OC

Word count: 1.4k

Tags & warnings: SFW, angst, pining, obnoxious use of fire metaphors, pining, Levi POV, pining, self-loathing, oh did I mention PINING 

Notes: A snippet/draft from my Levi/OC fic! No I have not finished planning it but yes I really wanted to write this scene.

I’ve explained the basics of Nuwa’s backstory (and therefore a fair bit of context for this scene) here if you’re interested. But basically, this takes place shortly after the failed expedition where thousands of civilians plus military members were sent off by the Crown to reclaim Maria after the Fall of Shiganshina - but in reality was a way to cut down on the population. (You know, the expedition that killed off Armin’s grandfather?) Nuwa tried to petition against it, because she’s a noble and a politician, but it didn’t work, and after hearing about what a failure it was, she had a breakdown the moment Levi came to visit her straight after he returned :( (Also they’re not together yet that’s why there’s so much god-forsaken PINING)

She was finally asleep.

Curled up against his body, silky black hair spilling all over his chest and neck, Nuwa was dead to the world. Her lips were parted slightly, her cheek was squished against his sternum, and if one would look closer, she was drooling onto his shirt, too. But dark shadows under her eyes, drying tear-tracks and the blotchy redness around her nose and eyes ruined the peaceful illusion, however, and only served as a painful reminder of what the world had lost today. 

Levi tightened his arms around her. The situation had taken its toll on her, especially since she’d petitioned so hard against the culling. What had made it even worse was that Nuwa was so close to turning the tides in her favour - the Council’s votes were almost exactly evenly split. 

Almost.

A word that Nuwa hated with every fibre of her being. 

A word that only meant that she’d still lost, she’d still failed, despite how far she’d come. 

Levi remembered vividly when Erwin had received the result of the Council’s vote, the way his ears had rung, the way his head had spun. Despite the protests from almost every single military personnel within the Scouts, they had no choice but to obey the Crown’s order. 

The bloodshed had been the worst he’d ever seen. He couldn’t even close his eyes without hearing their screams, or seeing their faces. And even worse, in the back of his mind as he prepared for the suicide mission, he knew that Nuwa, his dearest friend, must’ve failed in countering the proposal. He knew that this must’ve been eating her up in a way that was near impossible to recover from. 

The difference between you and me, Nuwa had choked out in-between sobs, not long after Levi had returned from the expedition and sought her out, is that you blame yourself for the things you cannot control. Whereas I… I was so close. I could have had this under control. If I was good enough, I could’ve swayed more members of the Council. Those innocent people would never have been sent off to their deaths. And you wouldn’t have had to watch them die.

She’d heaved and sobbed and screamed, a small shaking mess in his arms. And there was nothing that Levi could think of, nothing that he could possibly do, to take that guilt away.

And the worst thing? Deep down, Levi knew all too well where Nuwa was coming from. Though he disagrees with the fact that some of his failures, new and old, weren’t out of his control, he knew that the win could’ve easily gone to her. So easily. The Crown and Council would’ve needed to find another way to deal with the overpopulation problem, and likely would’ve reached a solution that still clashed with Nuwa’s ideals, but they wouldn’t have gone through with the mass culling if she had swayed enough of the Council to vote ‘no’. She had been so close. Yet just over half of the Council, a group of elected nobles chosen by the public and the nobility, revealed their true, ugly colours that day. 

Levi sighed. This world was cruel. Both of them were well aware of that. But how could he ever blame her for this? How could he ever blame the woman who had spent her entire life working tirelessly to seek out justice for the Zheng clan, the people that she never even got to know? How could he ever blame the woman who was on the brink of legalising the rights and citizenship for every innocent Underground citizen, a feat that he had once thought impossible? 

Her sobs still rang in Levi’s ears, even after they had long passed. Nuwa was one of the most collected and calm people he knew besides himself; so to see her completely break down and crumple was a little unnerving. 

Shiganshina had been a part of Nuwa’s duchy, before Maria fell. Much of the refugees were people that Nuwa had been directly responsible for. She loathed herself, for not being able to do better, for not being able to use all the power and influence she had in the Court, the Council, to preserve her people’s lives. 

Even after all this time, I am no match against the Crown, she had despaired. In the end, there was nothing I could do for the people.

In her sleep, she mumbled something incoherently, stirring slightly and brows furrowing. She shifted against him with a sigh before falling still once more. Perhaps if Levi closed his eyes, he could pretend that they were in a different world altogether - one where neither of them were plagued by their responsibilities. One where they weren’t lying in each other’s embraces as friends, but as…

No. He snapped open his eyes. He was not allowed such luxuries, such fantasies, and most certainly not with her, never with her. She was more than he deserved. Despite her own dirtied hands, back from their days in the Underground, she’d done more than enough to wipe the red out of her ledger. He, however, had not. How could he ever hope to wipe his ledger clean, when the pages were stained red entirely?

“You did all you could,” he found himself whispering to her, gently brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over her relaxed face. “This isn’t on you.” 

These… these strange and dangerous feelings that had been lingering so close to the surface, lately, were impossible to suppress. He was a coward - he always had been. Nuwa always had the spunk and the spark that he lacked, and he would believe this until the day he died. She had been the one to breathe life back into him, that day in the tavern. He would’ve stayed an empty husk of a human, forever in purgatory, had Kenny decided to take him elsewhere instead of the Zheng’s tavern, that day. He would’ve remained a ghost of a person, if Nuwa had not hugged his skeletal form like an old friend upon their first meeting as children, declaring that she would be his friend from now on. Levi was forever in her favour, and as such could not dare to even think about her in such a way. 

Perhaps it was the fact that she was asleep that loosened his lips. Perhaps it was the fact that he was so tired, of everything, that he wished to let himself have this just one selfish moment. Perhaps it was that he had spent so, so long refusing to even voice these thoughts, knowing she would never feel the same, that led to this. 

Gently brushing aside a loose eyelash from her cheek, he whispered, “you bring me warmth, Nuwa, you bring everyone warmth.” 

Everything was coming to the surface, now. Levi couldn’t deny it any longer - that what he felt for her was far, far different than anything he would ever feel for anyone else. 

It was always her.

“Fuck, I… there’s just something about you. You’re…” he swallowed. “You’re like fire—you… you have the terrifying capacity to raze everything in your path to the ground. I’ve seen that dark side of you, where that ambition corrodes away at you. I’ve seen you commit atrocities that would make the lowest of the low turn tail and run away. You could bring humanity to its feet on a whim, if you so wished. You certainly have the power, the influence, to do so.” Levi paused, rubbing gentle patterns with his hand into her back. “Yet you choose instead to light the way, to fight for the common people in your own special way, you bring warmth with you wherever you go, chasing away the cold and the shadows, and…,” his breath hitched, “you shine so damn bright it’s impossible not to look at you. It even hurts, sometimes, to look at you. And yet, I can’t bring myself to look away.”

There was no sign that Nuwa heard a single word. She laid still, her breathing just as steady and deep as it had been before he began speaking. 

A wash of self-loathing washed over him, suddenly. By the Walls, this was so fucking stupid. This was hardly the time and place, even if she was asleep and couldn’t hear a thing he was saying. She was grief-stricken, and he had not processed the slaughter he himself had just witnessed. To be entertaining such thoughts after the tragedy humanity had just faced was perverse.

He clicked his tongue, disgusted with himself. 

You are undeserving.

Ignoring the sting in his eyes and the lump in his throat, Levi slipped quietly out from his friend’s bed, slowly releasing himself from Nuwa’s warm, warm hold.

It was time to return to the barracks.

Time to stop playing pretend.

Time to wake up.

AOT Masterlist | Levi x OC Masterlist

© 2022 JAYTEACUPS | DO NOT REPOST, MODIFY OR CLAIM AS YOUR OWN WORK

[bored-storyteller]

Hey! I really like how you write about Sally Face, I love how you highlight his kindness but also his strength. It struck me a lot how he wonders if anyone will ever love him, I guess it's hard for him to believe in someone's love for him, from a romantic point of view. I thought ... could you write something about a reader in love with him, who gets rejected for that reason but still loves him until Sal dies? You don't have to do it (also because you prefer angst / comfort right?), But I try to ask you ... I'd like to see it written by you. It will hurt but it will be worth it.

Dear Anon,

I hope you like this because I suffered the pain of hell writing this :3

But jokes aside, I hope it does justice to your expectations, I hope I have treated everything with the right delicacy.

Warning: ANGST and SPOILER (I say this for safety)

The story is set in the canonical plot, even if there may be slight differences (after all there is always one more character, you). But for those who haven't played Sally Face this could be revealing.

77- Sally Face, Sal Fisher x reader (Angst)

“The sunflower that cannot bloom “

"I love you."

Those words had slipped off your lips with one of the most beautiful smiles Sal had ever seen.

You weren't perfect, but you were tailor-made for him. Somehow, he had thought that from the first day he met you, by mistake, on a black day. You had offered him a sunflower, a huge yellow flower that shone like the sun in the midst of his misfortunes, and his black day had grown better.

This was you, what he needed when the weight was too much to carry, when he found himself snorting one too many times, when he felt like crying.

Still, even though you were tailor-made for him, he wasn't tailor-made for you.

He would have liked to believe you, with all his heart, he would have asked for nothing more than to be loved by you.

But he couldn't believe it.

"No, you don't ..." His voice was gentle, as if he were explaining something important to a little child.

Your brows had furrowed as you pointed your gaze into the depths of his soul.

"You do not believe me?" Your tone wandered between uncertainty and offense "Do you think I'm lying to you?"

A sigh rang through the empty hollows of his mask: “No, you're not lying to me. I just think you… don't really know what you're saying. "

Your expression deepened as you prepared to argue back. He had seen the wound open inside you and he had looked away; he couldn't watch you while he hurt you.

Oh, he was so good at making himself loved. The river of emotions that had overwhelmed you had died out as soon as his one living eye was separated from you.

Disappointment, anger, sadness had disappeared in favor of affection for him.

His mask was flat, helpless, cold towards his heart, yet he communicated more than anyone else with that immense little soul of him.

"Sal ..." finally you called him gently, reassuring, while your fingers lovingly brushed the cheek of the cold prosthesis.

"I love you." You repeated it, and he turned to tell you to stop. He couldn't be loved, he didn't feel capable of being loved.

He would never have a love like that of movies, or even like that of normal people, like Maple and Chug. He, as he was, could never have been loved, not even by you.

He was going to tell you, to tell you everything, but you stopped him softly: "but it's okay if you don't want to."

You barely laughed, as if everything was really okay with you, and you leaned on his shoulder, cuddling against his neck.

"I have my whole life to make you understand." You said cheerfully, and he just looked at you, accepting that little stubbornness of yours.

Even though he was aware that one day he would see you happy in the arms of someone you really would love, for the time being it was okay for him to bask in that little illusion you were giving him.

---

Life had been cruel.

"I had no choice."

Those words had pierced your brain.

The first time he had told you with a force that you almost confused with anger. His body had never been so rigid in front of you, motionless, sitting on the other side of the table in the visiting room of the prison, surrounded by other inmates like him.

You wondered if you were sane, because you looked into the eyes of a murderer, a killer who had exterminated families, who had even killed a little girl, yet your tears were for them, but also for him.

Whatever it was, Sal hadn't changed, and behind his mask he was more broken into pieces than you were. He hadn't had a choice, for some reason he hadn't had a choice.

It was weird and unreal, but you had no doubts about him, even though your mind still couldn't believe what happened, and Sal probably didn't really realize it either.

However, the second time he told you "I had no choice" his voice was different. He was different, and so were you. You had grown up, but both of you had stood still in what had happened. At that moment he was telling you so that you believed him, so that you knew it was not what he wanted, because if he could have chosen at that moment you would have been together in front of a pizza, telling you how boring the day had been.

"I beg you ..." You whispered so as not to let him hear how broken your voice was "... tell me what I have to do to save you."

It was the first time you used that word, out of pure desperation.

For a moment he hesitated and hoped you wouldn't see his uncertainty behind the mask. Finally, Sal shook his head in silence; he didn't know if it would do any good, but at least he would try to protect you.

Your hand was holding his for the first time in years, and you both knew it would be the last time you would hold it. You had done everything to be able to have that last contact, to still be able to hold him before they took him away from you forever.

You didn't want to cry, you wouldn't have done it on your last time together, but your heart was so heavy that you thought you would die as soon as you separated.

While you massaged the back of his hand with your thumb, you tried to record every detail in your mind that belonged to him, to burn the heat of his palm against yours, to remember the exact weight of his touch.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, you never stopped doing it, not a second you stopped giving him your best side, and you would have given it only to him also in the future.

"You are so important to me, Sal ..." your blue sky under which sunflowers bloom.

"Thank you ... for always being with me."

Part of you died when you let go of his hand that day.

---

Until the last you hoped that something would happen. A ghost that suddenly appears, an angel, a new discovery ... anything, as long as he was kept away from that electric chair.

When your phone rang, you were deluded for a moment.

"Hey…"

"Sal?"

"They ... allowed me to call whoever I wanted ..."

Your heart fell on hearing his voice. It was his last day, his last day in your own world, that was his farewell to you.

"Sal, I-" Your words broke into a sob you couldn't hold back "I'm with you, I'll always be with you."

Silence invaded the line between the two of you as you tried not to give him your tears as your last caress.

"I know it." He was holding back the crying, you could hear it "And I'll always be with you too, know that."

You were tailor-made for him, and his heart would remain for you, even if you moved on, you would love someone worthy sooner or later, or at least he hoped you would, that the demon would not devour your future. .

"Bring me some sunflowers if you can ... ok?" That request trembled "They always make me think of you."

You forced yourself to cover your mouth with your palm to stifle your agony: "I'll fill you with sunflowers."

Something told you that even if you couldn't see him, he was trying to smile: "It's a bit a cliché but ... be happy."

You would have preferred to have died in that very moment.

"Sal, wait!" You begged for him now, holding on to the phone like it was him, like you could hold him there.

He hesitated at the desperation of your voice.

"I can't ..." his voice was soft, light, like when he consoled you years ago, when all this seemed simply impossible.

“I beg you…” You didn't know who you were really praying for, but you weren't ready to hear his voice go out.

One more minute, one more touch, a hug.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry you had to put up with this." A sob from him too. “Please… fight for your happiness, okay? You deserve all the happiness in the world. "

"Sal ..."

The answer that followed was the only intermittent sound of the blank phone line.

It's over, you'll never be able to hear Sal's voice again. You won't be able to talk to him anymore.

And he never believed you loved him.

---

How could you ever be happy?

His mask still looks at you as it always did, but behind the empty gaze there are nothing but blades of grass growing above his burial.

How could they bury him without his mask? He will feel uncomfortable.

Now you don't have to be strong for him anymore, you can collapse, break, destroy yourself, scream like you've never screamed, ask him to come back, because you need him.

Your fingers caress the cold, hard cheeks of his prosthesis as they always did, as if he were still behind it. Next to it, the sunflower he asked you for, like the one you gave him the first time you saw him.

"I love you Sally face ..." your words now go to the wind, they cannot be refused.

"I really love you."

---

Where you don't know, where you are not, a guy who has the weight of the world on his shoulders thinks about how much he could never be loved as people love each other in movies, or how people love each other in the world. But suddenly, like a ray of light, in the darkness he is facing, the yellow of a sunflower blooms. It's just a thought, but for a moment it's warm, and sweet, and it carries your voice with it.

You exist only within him, but you give him the love he needs, the one he didn't believe in, but which instead exists.

It is a tormented love, which suffers, but still welcomes him and wraps him as your arms did.

You are not there, you are far away, unreachable.

But he feels it, you're still there with him

[supercorpkid]

Get the door, it’s depression.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader.

Word Count: 2850.

Warning: Yep, it’s depression. May cause some triggers, please do not read this if it could cause you any discomfort or pain.

You hear the knock on your door. Kara’s wake up call. You open your eyes, only for them to be filled with tears immediately. You can’t. Can’t get up from bed, can’t go to school, can’t face the world right now.

The knock comes with a weird tug in the stomach. You feel like throwing up. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweating, yet your mouth is completely dry.

Not another panic attack, not another panic attack.

You shut your eyes hard and pray to Rao they forget about your existence. You pray Lena doesn’t open your bedroom’s door with the same old wake up call. You can practically hear her saying, ‘come on, baby. School. Let’s go.’ The sentence makes your stomach twist and turn inside you.

“Babygirl.” You hear Lena’s voice and oh no, here it comes. You turn to the side of your bed. There’s no time to move her out of the way and run to the bathroom, so you vomit right there. “Baby!”

Lena rushes to your side, holding your hair out of the way, while you keep throwing up something that cannot be described as food. You haven’t eaten in more than 18 hours. This yellow thing coming out of you, is not food.

“KARA! Help, please!” Lena yells, stroking your back lightly, trying to calm you down.

“What’s wrong? What’s-?” Kara's face appears in the bedroom. By the time she walks in, you’re basically done leaving everything you had on your stomach on the floor. “Oh no.” She swopes you in, in bridal style, getting you out of your vomited bedroom and into theirs. “You’re ok. Mommy is here. It’s ok, little one.” She says while laying you down in their bed.

“What are you feeling, babygirl?” Lena asks and you think about it. What are you feeling?

You’re feeling sick, but you’re not sick. You’re feeling tired, but you can’t get physically tired so it’s obviously not it. There’s nothing left in your stomach still the tug is right there.There are no words to explain what you’re feeling. There’s no illness you can blame it on.

What if they tell you to go to school? What if they tell you that you must get out of bed? You can’t get up. Your body is not responding to movement.

“Just-” You think about it. Just what? What is this? Why can’t you find the words to describe it? “Sick.” You can’t believe you’re doing this, but you fake cough. Like Kara usually fakes cough. And it’s so obvious, it’s so ridiculously over the top, that you’re sure they’re going to yell at you about it.

They don’t yell. Instead, they share a look. They have one of their telepathic conversations that you are usually not a part of. But this time you can tell what they’re thinking. They know you’re lying. Maybe the fake cough was a little too much. But they also know you don’t lie. Well, almost never, anyways. And you did throw up, and you also skipped meals, and Lena is looking at you like that. So, she knows something is up, she just doesn’t know exactly what.

“Ok.” Lena lets it out, like a sigh. “So you’re sick.” She goes to the bed, sitting next to you and investigating you further. “That means you won’t go to school.”

“Thanks.” You’re immediately relieved about it. Maybe it shows because they look at each other again, no more puzzlement in their faces.

“Do you want to stay in bed today?” Kara asks, and you agree with your head weakly. Not because you’re faking being sick. What you wanted, right now, was to vividly agree with your head because staying in bed is all you want. But weak is all you can do, for some reason. “Do you want mommy to stay with you?”

“Ummm.” No. You don’t want Kara around. You can’t even fathom the thought of her trying to cheer you up or shoving food at your face like all of this can be solved with food. “It’s ok, you should go to work. Is nothing serious.”

“Ok.” She looks disappointed at your answer. “How about if Lena stays?”

No. You also don’t want Lena around. Just the thought of having Lena pressing you to tell her what’s wrong, or that she can look at your face and see all that you’re hiding, sends shivers down your spine.

“Guys, it’s ok. It’s just some stupid cold or something like that.” You can’t get a cold, moron. How is this a cold?

“I’ll bring something for you to eat.” Kara makes her way downstairs and you look at Lena, still looking too knowing next to you.

“I’m ok. I just need to sleep a little more.” You pat her leg to comfort her. Feels weird comforting her when you know you’re the one who needs it so bad. “Go to work, mom. There’s a lot to do before L Corp launches the new device.”

Lena’s hand goes to your cheek. Usually, you would try giving her a little smile, but there’s nothing inside you that would be able to fake a believable smile right now, and you don’t have to give her more reasons to worry.

“Go.” You pat her leg again.

She gives you the longest forehead kiss you’ve ever gotten in your life. “I love you.”

“I’m not dying, you know.” You complain a little, but Lena doesn’t move. Green eyes pleading you to say the same. “I love you too.”

“Rest, baby.” Another forehead kiss. “I’ll ask Kara to check in on you later.”

“Thanks mom.”

When Lena leaves the bedroom, you let out a relieved sigh. It’s ok. They don’t know. You don’t have to explain yourself; you don’t need to find words, you don’t even know, to describe how you’re feeling. You can try and find as many words as you would like but there’s only one that will do. You’re feeling empty.

There is this crushing feeling of worthlessness and hopelessness. There is a war inside your mind, and at the same time you feel like you’re underwater. And you don’t even know how this is possible. You keep hearing ‘you should die’, you keep thinking you hate the Luthor name, you keep wondering why you had to be born with super powers. But at the same time that’s all hard to understand, because your mind feels drowned in muffled noises. You are exhausted.

You hear when Kara walks back into the room with food. You pretend you’re asleep. She knows you’re faking. You know she knows. Yet, you don’t open your eyes, nor does she call you on your lie.

You feel Kara’s big warm hand stroking your arm. You hear a worried sigh. You hear her saying she loves you. And you fall asleep.

When you wake up, it’s because you hear Kara again. You don’t know how long it has been since she left, but you hear her on the phone, and still, you don’t open your eyes.

“Still asleep, love.” She says, right outside the bedroom door. If you wanted, you could use your super hearing and listen to what Lena is saying too, but it’s too much effort and you’re exhausted. “No, she hasn't eaten anything yet. I know, Lena! I’m worried too! Ok, fine. I’ll wake her up. Call you later.”

You bite the inside of your mouth, hold your breath, and wait for it. But Kara doesn’t come in, instead you hear a whoosh of air, and she flies out. You breathe out again. Great, you can go back to sleep.

“Little one. Hey.” You feel Kara’s hand on your hair. “Wake up baby, I brought you donuts.”

“No, thanks. I just want to sleep some more.” You shuffle in bed, turning to the other side and ignoring Kara’s loud sighs.

“You’ve been sleeping for eight hours straight. You’ve skipped dinner last night, breakfast and lunch today. I’m sorry, my heart, but you have to wake up and eat something.” She tries again, even more soft than she was talking before.

“I don’t want to.”

“Please baby, just eat a little bit. There’s donuts, pizza, and your mom sent your favorite pasta from that place you like so much.” Kara’s hand is stroking your back, and it feels nice. But her voice is annoying you. And you’re oh, so, so tired. Her hands move to your face, and she strokes your cheek. “There’s so much stuff you like, sweet girl.”

“Please leave.”

“Little one…”

“Momma, just leave.”

She does, you reckon. You can’t really tell. Your mind is foggy, and you think you’re asleep again. Or maybe you’re awake. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe it’s reality. Maybe-

“Hey kiddo. Can you hear me?” You can. You wish the world would just stop talking to you, though. You wish your phone would stop ringing. You wish there wasn’t a hot yellow sun lamp on top of your body right now. There’s really no reason for it. “It’s aunt Alex. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

“I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

“Your body functions are normal. Heartbeat, oxygen, temperature. The yellow sun light is on. You’re not supposed to be tired.” She says again, touching the pulse point on your neck.

“Leave, please.” You beg, weakly. There’s no strength, there is no will power inside you.

You pray the world would just stop. The world doesn’t.

“Listen-” The mattress dips next to you when she sits. Alex easily turns your face to her. “Open your eyes and look at me. Please.”

“Why won’t you leave?” You whine, incapable of doing what she’s asking.

“Because I’m worried, your moms are worried, your cousin is worried, and we need to figure this out.” You feel her hands cupping your face, her two thumbs getting under your eyes and pulling the skin down. Your eyes unwittingly open. “Keep them open, please.” Reluctantly, you do. “Follow my finger.” She starts moving her finger in front of your face from one side to the other. “Good. Besides feeling tired, what else do you feel?”

“Annoyed at your presence.” It’s out of your mouth before you can think about it. It’s not a lie, but also not something you would just come out and say it like that. But you have no strength to take it back.

She sighs, loudly. “Just tell me what happened, kiddo. I’m sure I can help you.”

“You can’t.” Your jaw hardens at its own accord. The thought of ‘what happened’ keeps pulling the string around your neck tighter and tighter. The pit on your stomach feels infinite. “No one can, so just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Would you be willing to talk to anyone about this?” Alex doesn’t leave. You wish you were angry about it. You wish you could just tell her to go to hell. But tears find their way into your eyes and down your cheeks without your control. You hate not feeling in control of your own body. She cleans the tears with her thumb, softly. “If you don’t want to talk to me. Maybe to one of your moms?”

“No. Please, no.”

“Jamie?” You think about it. You think about anyone you would like to talk to right now. Not a single name comes to mind.

“Can I just sleep and talk to someone tomorrow?” You beg again. All that you’ve been doing is begging and whining and praying, still not a single soul responds to it. “Please, I’m-I’m exhausted. I can’t do any more talking today.”

“Ok.” Alex agrees. “You can talk tomorrow, but you have to eat today and that is non-negotiable.”

“Ok. I’ll eat.” But you close your eyes again, and before you know it, you’re drifting back to sleep.

It’s night, it’s day. Maybe night again.

Time passes, but it doesn’t.

You twist and turn, and sleep, and sleep-

Kara doesn’t let go of you. Lena sighs and whispers. They worry, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You have no strength to do anything about it.

They sigh, you feel bad. Then worse. Then you don’t feel anything at all.

They cry, you feel shitty. Instead of making them stop crying, you cry too. Then it’s like you’ve never even knew tears in your life.

It’s a full circle.

And then maybe it’s day again.

“Please, little one, wake up.” You blink your eyes at the request. Kara is holding food, and Lena is holding water in front of your face. “It’s been two days, you have to eat or Alex will use the red sun lamp to do an IV rehydration, and it’s going to be so much worse.”

“Mommy.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“I’m sorry, baby. But you need food.” She sets the food on the side of the bed and sits you up. “Come on, you eat a little and we’ll let you go back to sleep, how about that?”

“How about I just sleep?”

“Hey. No, no.” She holds you up, before you try to lay down again. You hear Kara whispering in your ear. “Remember that you are my heart, and I need my heart to be strong. So please.”

You whine one more time, like a hurt puppy, but you still eat. Anything they put in your mouth, really, you don’t even care what it is. You eat and drink, then sleep and sleep-

“Babygirl. Hey, mom is here with you, ok?” You feel Lena’s hand on your hair, scraping your scalp so softly; you want nothing but that for the rest of your life.

“Don’t stop.” You wail. You must be begging again. It’s all you do.

“Playing with your hair?” She asks and you hum in agreement. “Ok, I won’t. Can I hold you?”

“Yes. But no talking.”

Lena gets comfortable next to you. One arm is around your ribcage, the other one on your hair, scrapping, playing, stroking it.

Your heart is empty, your stomach is empty, now your mind feels the same. It’s almost nice to feel nothing at all.

“Your phone doesn’t stop buzzing.” Lena says a while later and again your words leave your mouth before you can even process them.

“Ignore it. It’s them.”

“Who’s them?”

“The bullies.” Lena’s hand stops moving on your hair, her body stiffens close to yours. But your mind is foggy. The string around your neck tightens harder. Your stomach is an endless void. “Don’t stop, please.”

Jamie comes, she leaves unnoticed.

Maya comes, she leaves unanswered.

You haven’t left your moms’ bed in so long. It’s day, it’s night. Is it day again?

Your therapist comes.

She is in a depressive episode, he says.

Your moms yell, our baby is depressed?

No. She is having a depressive episode. Those are different things, he answers.

You want to scoff. There’s no strength.

You’re not depressed, you’re tired. The world is an infinite pit of misery. He wouldn’t say that you’re depressed if he knew what you’ve been through. Oh, wait. He does.

You’re an infinite pit of despair. You wish people would just go on with their lives, everyone but you. You wish your life would just stopped until you’re not tired anymore and can deal with things.

Every time you’re awake, you hear a voice in your ear saying, ‘You should die. Your family will be better off without you’. And you’re so beaten down, you believe it. So you close your eyes, and sleep and sleep-

“Here, my love.” Lena holds a little pill in front of your face, with a bottle of water.

“What’s that?”

“This will help. I promise.” She asks, or is she begging? You don’t take it. “Please baby, you have to take it.”

“Here, little one.” Kara has to physically open your mouth and put the pill on your tongue. Water washes over it soon after. “You’re going to be fine, my heart. We promise.”

“What was that?” You try again. Their answers weren’t satisfactory.

They look at each other. Must be telepathic talking. You lay your head down on your pillow again. You’re exhausted. So, so fucking tired.

Why the fuck is the world still spinning? Why is the world still standing?

It’s night, it’s day. Is it night again?

“Are you reading this?” You hear far away. Like a dream. Like you might be imagining, projecting, or even hallucinating.

“I-I can’t read any more of that, Lena. Look at the things they are telling her.”

“All because of my stupid last name.”

“For how long? How long did we let this happen for? We should’ve-We-My God, Lena! How did we not notice this before?”

“Too long. But that’s enough. That’s it, Kara. I mean it.”

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming? You feel so disconnected from reality. But it matters not, if it’s real or hallucination. The pull tights around your neck, heart and stomach. There is no hope, no help. Anything they do, will make things worse. But your mind is foggy. By now, you’re just a shell of a person. So instead of screaming for them to stop, you sleep and sleep and sleep-

Notes:

@lilyduranhanna prompted me this and as painful as it was to write, I hope is still enjoyable somehow?