#for so long will has been about the tension of self hatred and disgust and fear that her letting Go of all that

[transform4u]

I was raised in a Christian setting, but I was always so proud growing up about being openly gay and flamboyant. Now that I’m older, all my old school friends are getting married and starting families. I used to think those straight guys were so boring and mundane for wanting to settle down. Now I feel so bored with my long time boyfriend. I keep having this weird urge that I need to breed and spread my seed. The more my values change, I feel my breeder kink growing stronger. Can you help me understand what’s happening to me?

It's late at night, and the verse from Corinthians weighs heavily on your thoughts. "Act like men, be strong." Those words, ingrained since childhood through Sunday sermons and Bible studies, echo in your mind like a mantra. You've never truly understood them, I mean it was all just boring, conservative values your parents tried to install in you. But you were nothing like that were you. You wanted to be out and proud and attend every Pride parade you could, putting on rainbow beads and tight clothes----but that's not what those words mean "Act like men, be strong."

Yet, as you mull over these words, a realization dawns on you. Your concept of what it means to "act like men" has been shaped not only by your Christian upbringing but also by societal norms and expectations. Society has painted a picture of masculinity that emphasizes toughness, stoicism, and dominance. It's a definition that leaves little room for vulnerability, sensitivity, or exploration of emotions.

The urge to conform, to live up to these ideals, is strong. It's ingrained in your psyche, reinforced over years of conditioning.

As you reflect, your mind drifts to your boyfriend, the person you care deeply for but who seems to fall short of the masculine ideal you've been taught. You try to reconcile his kindness, his gentleness, with this notion of strength and manliness. Your lip quivers slightly as conflicting emotions surge within you.

A smirk begins to form on your face—a smirk tinged with bitterness and a hint of rebellion. You think about how predictable your relationship has become, how safe and comfortable yet lacking in passion and excitement. The thought of being with another man, someone more assertive, more daring, stirs something inside you—anger mixed with desire, disgust intertwined with curiosity.

You can't help but feel a growing anger and hatred towards your boyfriend. He's not strong enough, not manly enough to satisfy you. You start to question why you ever fell for him in the first place. His kindness seems like weakness now, his gentleness a sign of femininity.

As your self-inflicted homophobia begins to creep into your soul, you find yourself disgusted by the idea of having sex with another man. It goes against everything you believe in; it goes against the Bible. Your mind fills with rage, a rage that will fuel your changes. You know what needs to be done – break up with him and find someone who can truly make you feel alive again.

Your smile morphs into a cocky grin, reflecting a defiance against the norms that have shaped your understanding of masculinity. The rigid expectations seem suffocating now, and you wonder if you've been playing a role, conforming to a stereotype that doesn't fit who you truly are.

It starts as a simple sigh, a release of tension and uncertainty that has gripped you for so long. The weight of expectations—societal, religious, personal—pressing down like a heavy mantle. You yearn to break free from these constraints, to redefine yourself beyond the confines of what others expect you to be.

As you exhale, the sigh deepens into a grunt, a primal sound of frustration mingled with determination. You feel it in your gut—a sudden surge of energy, a tingling sensation that spreads through your entire body. It's as if something dormant within you is awakening, stirring to life with newfound vigor.

You let out a deep, loud, and obnoxious "buuuuurrrrrrrrrp" that echoes through the room. The sound reverberates in your ears as you feel it pulsate throughout your muscles, filling you with energy. You stand up straighter, chest puffed out proudly as if to say "I am here."

Your eyes narrow into a fierce glare as you think about all the changes that need to be made. No more will you settle for mediocrity or complacency; it's time to take control of your life and become the person you were always meant to be – strong, confident, and unapologetically masculine.

Your gaze lowers instinctively to your stomach, where once a softness resided, now replaced by a transformation unfolding before your eyes. The smooth contours give way to something altogether different—a ripple, a shift beneath the surface. Thick, cobblestone abs begin to form, each muscle defined with startling clarity. You watch in disbelief as your body undergoes a metamorphosis, sculpting itself into a form that feels both alien and strangely exhilarating.

A deep, booming laugh escapes your lips, echoing in the room. Your Adam's apple thickens perceptibly, your voice dropping several octaves in pitch. It resonates within you, a newfound resonance that reverberates with power and confidence.

Your biceps swell, veins popping with every flex, pulsating with strength. Your chest rises, pecs transforming into hefty mounds of muscle and flesh that demand attention. You can't help but marvel at the physical changes taking place, each movement involuntary yet empowering. "Holy shit," you say to yourself, feeling your muscles grow underneath your skin. "This is fucking awesome!" You flex your bicep and watch it bulge outwards like a rock-hard mountain peak. A grin spreads across your face as you imagine what else might be possible now that these changes have begun.

Involuntarily, you flex, feeling the newfound strength coursing through your veins. A laugh, almost primal in its intensity, escapes your lips—a laugh that breaks through the constraints of expectation and conformity. It's a laugh of liberation, of embracing what it means to be yourself, unapologetically.

As you stand there, caught in the throes of transformation, you're acutely aware of the societal expectations weighing upon you. Masculinity, as defined by the world around you, seems to demand a certain mold—one you're unwittingly beginning to fit into. The laughter that bubbles up from within feels almost intoxicating, a euphoric rush of newfound strength and vigor.

But with each laugh, something shifts. It's subtle at first, like a distant echo fading into the background. Your thoughts, once sharp and nuanced, begin to blur. The intricate web of ideas and knowledge that defined your intellectual prowess starts to dissipate.

You chuckle, the sound now more boisterous, more carefree. The complexity of language and the depth of thought seem distant, replaced by a simplicity that borders on naivety. Words become harder to grasp, sentences more challenging to string together. The transformation is not just physical but cognitive—a gradual erosion of the sharpness that once defined you.

In its place, a new narrative emerges. Football dominates your mind—Nick Bosa's stats, the plays of the 49ers. It's as if sports trivia and player statistics fill the gaps left by receding memories of literature and philosophy. Workout routines and protein shakes become your daily rituals, intertwined with memories of frat parties where showing off your gains was a source of pride and admiration.

You remember vividly the time when you and your bros were goofing off, teasing each other for acting like fucking homos. Endlessly in the mirror, flexing your biceps and pecs until they shine with sweat. You could feel the burn as blood rushed to your muscles, making them grow bigger and stronger by the day. The sense of accomplishment after each workout fueled an insatiable desire to push yourself even harder next time.

You remember being at the gym with your bros, pushing yourselves to the limit during a grueling workout. The smell of sweat and testosterone filled the air as you grunted through each set, encouraging one another to go harder.

One day, things got a little out of hand when you decided it would be funny to rip a gross protein fart in someone's face during downtime. PFFFFFFTTT Laughter ensued but so did an overpowering stench that lingered long afterward – even in the showers later on, you found yourself growing dumber by the minute as if unable to process basic information like addition or subtraction anymore due solely to this lingering odor clouding your mind.

The once-keen mind now swims in a constant haze, like a permanent state of drunkenness. Thoughts are simpler, actions more instinctual. You revel in the camaraderie of locker rooms, the adrenaline of the field, and the thrill of physical prowess. Intellectual pursuits fade into the background, replaced by a newfound appreciation for physicality and camaraderie.

You awaken and find yourself at a raging frat party, where the air is thick with excitement and the beat of music pulsates through the crowded room.

As you make your way through the crowd of the party, the changes become palpable. Your face, once marked by youthful innocence and boyish soft features, begins to shift. There's a subtle hardening of your jawline, a chiseling of your cheekbones into a more angular shape. The lines of your face sharpen, mirroring a rugged determination and confidence that exudes from every pore.

The party scene materializes—a frat house buzzing with energy, filled with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and the faint hint of testosterone. You remember the cheers, the high-fives, the sense of camaraderie that surged through you like a tidal wave.

Amidst the revelry, a cross necklace slips around your neck—an unexpected accessory that feels strangely comforting. It's as if with each clasp, a subtle shift occurs within you. The liberal, woke ideals you once held dear start to fade, replaced by a deepening conservatism and a newfound faith.

You find yourself thinking about how liberals are just a bunch of whiney pansy-ass snowflakes, crying about their lame-ass woke agenda.

You find yourself immersed in conversations about sports, politics from a conservative viewpoint, and the importance of faith in shaping moral values. Your vocabulary shifts, becoming peppered with phrases like "alpha," "bro," and "dude." reflecting a growing sense of identity—one that aligns with traditional notions of masculinity and righteousness. You bump into your best bro, Chaz, a linebacker for the college football team. He's already fucking wasted as shit. He's got a beer in one hand and the ass of some sorority bimbo in the other.

"Hey man, how's it going?" you ask as you give Chaz a fist bump.

"Fuckin' great," he grunts in response. "I just beat the shit out of some faggy snowflake loser who thought he was too smart for his own good."

You nod along in agreement, feeling your blood boil at the mere mention of liberals and their woke ideals. "Yeah bro, those guys need to learn their place," you say with conviction. "They think they can just walk around being all sensitive and shit...well not on my watch!"

Chaz chuckles before patting you on the back. "That's my boy," he says proudly.

You become more assertive, bordering on brash. Your actions are bold, filled with bravado—a display of confidence that borders on arrogance. At the party, you're the center of attention, regaling others with tales of conquests both on the field and in bed. The admiration and envy in their eyes fuel your sense of self-importance.

As the night wears on, you find yourself surrounded by like-minded individuals, bonding over shared ideals of masculinity, conservatism, and Christian values. The party becomes a celebration of these newfound convictions, a reaffirmation of identity that feels both liberating and confining.

As you navigate through the pulsating crowd at the party, your steps grow increasingly unsteady with each sip from your red plastic cup. The alcohol courses through your veins, emboldening you with a false sense of confidence. Your demeanor shifts subtly, from casual revelry to a more exaggerated swagger—a display of bravado that borders on arrogance.

Through the haze of the party lights and the din of music, you spot her—a pretty girl, a pretty drunk girl with her friends, laughing and chatting animatedly. Her long, flowing hair catches your eye first, illuminated by the flickering lights. She's wearing a stylish outfit that accentuates her figure, exuding a natural allure that draws you in.

As she laughs with her friends, her smile lighting up the space around her. She's wearing a tight, revealing outfit that accentuates every curve, drawing attention effortlessly.

You find this chick incredibly hot. Her tits look huge in her tight outfit, straining against the fabric as she laughs and talks with her friends. There's no denying that she's dressed like a fucking slut, there's no way she's not looking for some action tonight.

You can't help but think of all the ways you could pleasure her; how good it would feel to have those big tits bouncing up and down as she rides your cock while she moans your name. The thought alone makes your blood rush and muscles twitch with anticipation.

Without hesitation, you make your move towards them, hoping that tonight will be the night where all your fantasies come true.

With a surge of bravado and a newfound sense of confidence, you make your way towards her, navigating through the crowded party. Your muscles tense subtly beneath your shirt as you approach, a smirk playing on your lips. You know you've got her attention even before you say a word.

"Hey there, sweetheart," you greet her, your voice carrying an edge of cockiness and slurred drunkenness. "Enjoying the party?"

She looks you up and down, her gaze lingering appreciatively on your physique. "Oh, definitely," she replies, a playful glint in her eye. "Especially now."

You can't resist showing off a bit. With a confident grin, you flex your biceps, the muscles bulging impressively. "Like what you see?" you tease, punctuating your question with a quick pec dance, causing your chest muscles to ripple under your shirt.

Her friends giggle in response, egging you on with cheers and playful banter. The girl herself leans in closer, her demeanor flirtatious and unapologetic. "Very impressive," she remarks, her voice teasing.

"Yeah, been hitting the gym hard," you boast, leaning in a little closer to her. "But enough about me. What's your name?"

As you flex your biceps, she can't help but feel the thickness of your muscles beneath her fingertips. Her eyes widen in surprise and admiration at the sight before her.

Blushing deeply, she bites down on her lower lip – a telltale sign of how horny you're making this little slut. It's clear that this girl is interested in more than just conversation; she wants to explore what else lies beneath those bulging muscles.

She introduces herself, her smile widening as she matches your flirtatious energy. The conversation flows effortlessly between you, punctuated by laughter and lingering gazes that speak volumes. You revel in the attention, enjoying the rush of attraction and the validation of your confidence.

"You know what they say," you smirk, leaning in closer to her. "Want to see what a real man is like?"

Without waiting for an answer, you yell over the music and laughter for your bro Chaz. He appears moments later with a keg in hand, grinning from ear to ear at the sight of this potential conquest. You motion towards him and he slides the keg closer before taking off again into the crowd.

Grabbing two plastic cups from somewhere nearby, you start to fill them both up with beer before handing one to her. As she takes it from your hands, your eyes travel down her body – lingering on those "big tits straining against her top and that fat ass encased within tight jeans…god damn she's hot little slut!" you think. With each pump of the keg comes another surge of desire; any notion of your old boyfriend is washed away by now replaced instead by an overwhelming need feel manly tonight here now this very moment right here right now while also experiencing deep-seated homophobia. The thought of two dudes kissing makes you want to puke. You can't stand the idea that someone might think you're gay just because they saw you hanging out with another guy.

Your disgust for fags only fuels your desire for the chick in front of you. She represents everything that's feminine and attractive - everything that a fag isn't. As she grinds against you on the dance floor, all thoughts of fags disappear from your mind as your horniness reaches new heights

Nothing else matters; the only thing that matters is getting laid tonight. As she takes a sip from her cup, your dick hardens in anticipation. Without hesitation, you grab her fat ass and pull her closer for a drunk makeout session while Chaz cheers you on from nearby.

"Babe," you slur in your thick New Jersey accent between kisses, "you're so fucking hot." Your hands roam over her body as she moans breathlessly into your mouth. "I wanna fuck you so bad."

"Giovanni—Gio—take me! You big Italian stallion; I need your thick cock!" she moans breathlessly, with that cocky smile still plastered across your face, there's no turning back now…your fate as the biggest college douchebag ready to plant his seed across campus has been sealed. You fuck the dumb slut with all the passion and aggression of a true alpha male. The cheers from your fellow frat bros only serve to fuel your ego, making you feel cockier and cockier with each thrust. This is what it means to be a man – taking what you want when you want it without hesitation or remorse. And right now, all that matters is claiming this woman as yours while satisfying your primal urges...

You wake up the next morning, hungover as fuck but feeling pretty damn good about yourself. As you stretch out your muscles and roll over in bed, two dumb blonde cheerleaders suddenly appear – tickling your thick abs and impressive pecs playfully.

"One of you sluts gonna suck it?" you ask with a grin on your face. They both smile back at you knowingly before climbing onto the bed to fulfill their duties as groupies...

As the two hottest chicks on campus go to town on your dick, you can't help but think: "Lord forgive me." But who cares about forgiveness when you're experiencing this kind of pleasure? Their lips and tongues work in perfect harmony as they take turns sucking and stroking your cock. You moan loudly, lost in the moment – enjoying every second of this decadent morning after.

[shockwaifuafterdark]

Okay, here's the elaboration of @krakenguard's ask.

NSFW Ahead

Okay so let me start off by saying that I don't think there is much of a stigma around premarital sex in The Lands Between, especially not now that society has all but crumbled. Perhaps there is somewhat regarding royalty but that's more about the legitimacy of heirs than anything regarding the sex itself. Correct me if I'm wrong but I don't even remember any spouse(s) and/or consort(s) of Godwyn's being mentioned so who knows, maybe all of the Golden Lineage are bastards and nobody really cares.

However, despite this, I still think Morgott would have a few hangups when it comes to sex by virtue of being an Omen. Since being an Omen is viewed by The Golden Order and society at large as a curse and a disgrace, I don't think it would be much of a stretch to believe that having sex with an Omen, or Omens having sex in general, is considered taboo. I don't even know if the offspring of an Omen would also be born an Omen, but it would make sense that in such a culture there would be a lot of propaganda and fear mongering going on to limit the amount of Omens reproducing to a minimum.

I could imagine such superstitions as "an Omen will fuck the Grace right out of you" being somewhat commonplace. So, Morgott was likely told that having sex with someone would cause actual spiritual damage to them, and internalized that whether or not he believed it to be true. He probably did not get much formal sex ed apart from that. Despite this, he's been around long enough to at least have a basic knowledge and understanding of sex. He has been celibate all of his life, but he very likely has urges at least occasionally that he takes care of quickly like another chore. He wouldn't see it as a "sin" per se, but he has enough self-hatred to still feel disgusted with himself every time he "gives in".

So yes, he definitely has issues about sex, but those are far outweighed by his issue of believing himself entirely unworthy of love. Thus, if he is at the point where he can accept that he is loved, it is relatively easy to accept that he can be intimate with the one he loves. For if he can love and be loved, something he previously denied, then many avenues and possibilities have just been unlocked for him.

Unfortunately, because of this, hatesex with his Tarnished rival is highly unlikely. Which is a bummer, because the idea of sexual tension boiling over in the midst of a heated battle leading to a rough and slightly bloody romp against the wall, all teeth and insults and forbidden desires is… whoo boy. But Morgott is simply too skilled at denying himself what he wants, and will refuse to act on it with anything other than his own hand. Even if he craves it, dreams about it, and can tell the desire is mutual, all he'll do is jack off, self-flagellate, and pray for forgiveness for wanting what he is unworthy of.

Likewise, if his lust is borne from feelings of affection and love, he will have a similar routine of pining and stewing in his own misery until he has gone through the process of learning to accept himself.

So by the time his stubbornness has given way, I'd imagine he's had thoughts for some time, and now that he has conceded that they are acceptable to want, he wants them badly. However, he is held back from making the first move or even bringing up the topic by his residual insecurities, as well as his lack of experience. He may have a basic understanding of sex and his own desires, but has little idea how he'd realistically go about it, which leads us to the elephant in the room.

(The elephant is Morgott. See, it's a funny joke because he's very big and an elephant is also very big and)

Yeah. There's a significant size difference at play here, and that is going to make the act itself a bit tricky. It's not as much of a problem if you headcanon Morgott has a vagina (an incredibly valid interpretation) though there would still be quite a few positions rendered impossible by his size. Personally though, I headcanon that he has a penis (for little other reason than I think the idea of Morgott's big monster cock is hot). Still, this isn't a challenge in all aspects! He can still be topped with relative ease! However, if the tarnished in question wants to fit Morgott inside one or more bodily orifices, there's gonna be a bit of a challenge.

It is not necessarily impossible, mind you. The fact that some people like fisting and that XXL size dildos are available proves that there would be some out there capable of taking The Fell Shaft™. However, it would likely require significant preparation and working up to, and for some be too painful or downright impossible. Morgott would likely go into this expecting for it to be impossible. I personally think that considering the nature of magic in the setting that there could be some magical workarounds that would make taking him easier.

Regardless, I doubt they would make it that far on their first foray into intimacy. Morgott, for all his inexperience and unfulfilled longing, would likely cum very quickly the first few times. However, this doesn't mean the experience will be bad. Even if he himself did not last long, he will dutifully ensure he fully satisfies his partner. He will start off awkwardly and stumbling as this is very new to him, but when guided by his Tarnished, he will get the hang of things and learn how to pleasure them quite thoroughly.

Also I think he'd usually be incredibly soft and emotional afterwards. Literally more snuggly than you've ever seen him. Is this even the same grumpy old man??

There you have it. I actually have a whole lot of other headcanons regarding Omen Racism as well as a culture of fear built off of the uncontrollable variable of mutations vs the illusion of progress and totality of order, as well as the trauma of giving birth to a child with horns, but that's an entirely bigger jar of caterpillars and this is long enough as it is.

[sevenf1ng3rs]

His Burden: Chapter 9

Word Count: 2.2K

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader

Genres: Innocent!Reader, Troubled!Namjoon, Blossoming Relationship, Big Secret, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Humor.

Rating: 18+, Mature

Warnings: Angst, Smut (rough sex, unprotected sex, slight voyeurism)

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

Chapter 9: Can't I just be happy?

NAMJOON POV - NEXT DAY

"You seem happier today," Jin says, eyeing Namjoon as he sits on the couch and smiles deeply, lost in his thoughts.

"What did you say?" He responds, still barely listening.

The group is gathered in Namjoons house, this time with the addition of some of the guys' girlfriends. Jade and Yoongi have been dating for almost three years, while Taehyung only recently discovered that Tiffany was his soulmate. Namjoon imagines what it would be like to have you here one day, getting along with his friends.

"I said that you looked like you shit rainbows and brushed your teeth with sprinkles." Jin deadpans, tired of Namjoon's unresponsiveness.

"Can't I just be happy?" Namjoon says, still smiling.

"Just tell us already," Yoongi butts in, piquing the group's interest.

"Well, I got a killer blowjob last night, so..." Namjoon replies, a proud smile on his face.

"Yeah, same, but I'm not sitting by myself and smiling like a creep," Taehyung responds, Tiffany quickly slapping him on the shoulder for his response before looking away while blushing.

"Besides, you know that's a dangerous game," Jin adds.

"No, this time is different. I think she's the one," Namjoon counters seriously.

"Are you sure you don't just like her for her body?" Hoseok asks carefully.

"I mean, was the BJ just that good, or are you in love with her."

"Both dude, this is the real deal," says Namjoon, sure of himself.

"Nah, bro, you've gotta be sure," says Jimin.

"What if something happens?" says Yoongi.

"What would you do if you-" Taehyung starts.

"What the fuck is this sudden intervention?" Namjoon cuts the group off, anger pouring out of him.

"We just don't think it's right to risk her future like that," says Jin.

"I didn't complain when you found Jungkook, did I? Or when Taehyung found Tiffany. Why are you so stuck up on what I'm doing? Why aren't you happy that I found someone I love?" Namjoon stares at them in disgust.

"I agree with them. You really should be careful," says Yoongi, Jade smoothing a hand down his back in an attempt to ease his tension.

"What the fuck do you know about any of this? You should be happy that you can fuck your girlfriend as much as you want. Don't even pretend you know half of what I'm feeling right now," Namjoon seethes.

"Bruh, I've known you since kindergarten. You think I don't understand? Look at what we all had to go through last time you fucked up," Yoongi says. Hoseok adds, "We've all known you for a long time. We're saying this because we care about you."

"I told you not to talk about that; I'm done here," Namjoon pushes himself off the couch and storms over to his bedroom, slamming the door and locking his friends out.

"I'm guessing that's our cue to go,"

-----

Namjoon sits on his bed, his head pulsating in thought.

They don't know anything. They don't know our genuine connection and how right it feels to be around her.

But...what if they're right? What if I make another mistake and end up ruining her? I can't let that happen. The more I think about it, the more I realize I am just a danger in her life. I love her, but isn't love also about doing what's best for someone? What's best for her might just be a life without me.

He sighs angrily and looks at the ceiling deeply as if the answer to his problem is written there. He sits and thinks for what feels like hours, spiraling into despair and self-hatred.

We can't be together. He decides with finality. She's perfect, and I'm a monster. I can't let her be sucked into my life with the possibility that hers will end.

---

Two Days Later - Your POV

It's been two days since you and Namjoon have seen each other, and it has been complete radio silence on his part. You've texted him multiple times and have been carefully observing the door, willing it to open and for him to walk through it.

Thankfully, you share a shift with Ben today, who can cheer you up perfectly.

"Have you picked up shifts recently? I feel like I've been seeing you more often around here," Ben says to you while you work side by side.

"Yeah, I'm trying to work as much as I can to get my mind off something," you say, yawning, not realizing you've overshared.

You and Ben rarely talk about your social lives, and he's merely a fun work friend.

"Anything I can help with?" He asks, hoping to help you through the trouble you're evidently going through.

"I'm not sure, honestly. I'd try anything at this point," you say.

"Well, there is a party tomorrow night. It's supposed to be huge. Maybe you could let loose a little?"

"That's what everyone says," you respond.

I'm so tired of hearing the same thing; I need to cut loose. Maybe that's why Namjoon's not responding, Because I'm not fun enough.

"Maybe they're right. Come with me. I can pick you up tomorrow at 8. Just text me your address," he says to you hopefully.

"You know what, sure," you say, giving in.

You continue the shift together, talking about the party and how fun it will be. Ben claims that everyone in the area is bound to show up.

Maybe Namjoon will be there. Doubtful. He isn't the party type.

—

Later that day

I'm so tired. I need to shower and hit the hay.

You fall into a deep sleep, thoughts of Namjoon stuck in your mind.

"Babe, come here," Namjoon says to you, grabbing your hips and drawing you closer to him. "I want you so bad,"

"Tell me what you want," you boldly respond, tracing his jawline with your nail and bringing his lips dangerously close to yours.

"I want to fuck you, hard and fast, right in front of my windows. I want the whole world to see how good I make you feel, how willingly you open your pussy, just for me. How I have to stuff my cock into your leaking hole, forcing it to fit, stretching you out, and making you take it. Im going to fuck you so good you won't be able to walk for days. How does that sound?" He counters, his lips brushing against yours with every word.

"Do it," you reply, "Show everyone how well you fuck me."

Namjoon picks you up and throws you on the end of the couch closest to his large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. He drags your ankles to make your hips meet his, starting to grind down on you in long rolls.

"Take your top off. I want to see your tits bounce when I fuck you," he demands, already taking his shirt off in the process.

You take your top and bra off, tossing them to the side, and roll your hips against his to feel the friction. He grabs the waistband of your pants and rips them down your legs, underwear in tow.

"Look at you, so helpless under my touch," he coos, "Let's see how long it takes for me to break you, shall we?" He says, pushing his pants down his thighs and grabbing his throbbing cock from his boxers.

"Give it to me. I want it so bad," you moan up at him, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him down onto you.

"Baby, I'm going to give it to you so good you'll forget your name," he says, placing the tip of his dick atop your leaking pussy and stroking it back and forth.

He's not even inside you yet, but the pleasure makes you a moaning mess. The tip of his dick hits your clit perfectly with every upstroke, and your wetness encapsulates him, causing the perfect slide, but you want more. He's working you up so well that you start to squirm.

"Please put it in. I can't take this anymore," you claw at his shoulders and push your tits into his chest.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you," he responds quickly before pushing his dick inside you without another word.

He immediately pushes it to the hilt, his dick threatening to push past your cervix. He doesn't wait to warm you up, establishing a blinding pace already. His balls slap your ass with every thrust, so powerful that you're pushed up further on the couch every time his hips meet yours.

"God, Namjoon, it's so good, God, it's so so good," you moan uncontrollably as he bites his lip and looks you in the eyes, an animalistic hunger behind them.

"Yeah, take my fucking dick, just like that," he calls out absent-mindedly, the pleasure enough for him to lose himself as well.

"You're so fucking tight; your pussy is heaven," he praises you repeatedly, pounding into you impossibly faster.

You can only moan his name and claw down his back, grabbing him so hard that blood starts to pebble on his smooth back. Namjoon growls at the pain, loving the way you take him.

"Fuck. On your hands and knees. I want to fuck you from behind and watch that perfect ass," he says, pulling out of you roughly and flipping you around effortlessly with no warning. He yanks your hips and pushes against your lower back, forcing you to arch for him. How he handles you is so hot your pussy clenches around the air and causes more of your juices out of you. Namjoon grabs both of your asscheeks and spreads them wide, looking at the mess he made of your insides. He slaps one of your cheeks harshly, then licks a long stripe across it to ease the pain. You scream out at the pleasure, his roughness only making you wetter.

Without warning, he pushes himself back into you and starts fucking you inhumanely. One of his legs is propped up on the couch for leverage, and his hands are grabbing your hips and pushing you back and forth roughly to meet his hips. One of his hands releases your waist and slinks in front of you, rubbing the bundle of nerves that makes you see stars.

"Ah, Namjoon, fuck!" you exclaim as he rubs you harshly, unable to control yourself under him.

"Your cunt fucking loves me. You love this dick, huh?" he growls at you.

"Yes!" you exclaim, barely able to comprehend the question.

His hand continues to rub your clit, and the other clutching your waist, comes down to your face. He yanks your torso by your chin, making your sweaty back reach his chest. He stuffs two fingers into your mouth, and on instinct, you start sucking them, eager to please him however you can.

"I bet you wish this were my dick. You want me to fill up every fucking hole you have, don't you?" he asks, still pushing into you at an insane rate. You can only blubber around his fingers that fill your mouth, saliva starting to escape your lips and run down your chin.

"Look at you, such a pretty girl getting fucked so well," he bends down and licks your neck, biting it harshly as he finds your most sensitive spot. You clench your eyes shut and moan around him, your legs trembling. The only thing holding you up is his arm across your chest. You feel so close to your release, only needing a little more for it to cum finally, and he knows it too.

"Fucking cum. Now." He whispers in your ear, and it's all you need to see stars. You moan uncontrollably, shaking and thrashing in his hold, as your senses start to deteriorate, and all you can feel is pleasure. You come down, and Namjoon keeps thrusting into you, his hips stuttering slightly, signaling he's close.

"I'm going to cum on those tits. Turn around, quick," he frantically helps you get onto your back, pulling out and pumping himself harshly. You arch your back, presenting your tits to him, and it only takes a few more strokes before he paints you white.

"Ah, fuck, babe," he exclaims as he comes down. "You're so good. You take my dick so well," he says, wiping your chest with the shirt he threw onto the floor.

"Let's go to bed," he whispers as he catches your eyes closing sleepily. You hum in response, and he scoops you up to bring you to his bedroom, where you cuddle under the covers, bare skin against skin.

"I love you," you whisper before the room darkens and sleep claims you completely. 

You finally wake up from the craziest dream you've ever had, panting for air as if it were real life. You check the clock beside your bed.

Fuck, it's 5 am, I have to go back to sleep. I have work today.

With that, you fall back to sleep, hoping to wake up to a text from Namjoon.

[guidingsbolt]

almost definitely will have more thoughts tomorrow but man. will DID it. she's FREE and maybe even HAPPY but it doesn't really matter because she isn't chained down anymore, metaphorically OR literally!!!!

[fatehbaz]

In the fall of 2020, Lawrence Jenkins, an abolitionist currently incarcerated at Stafford Creek Corrections Center, and Carrie Freshour began a correspondence. Both Lawrence and Carrie organize as members of Free Them All WA, a grassroots abolitionist organization of currently and formerly incarcerated people, family members, and community members. In the midst of the pandemic, they exchanged messages about industrial agriculture, land, and agroecology.

The following interview features some of the messages Carrie and Lawrence shared over J/Pay, a private information and financial service provider in the U.S. prison system, since March 12, 2020, in which they discuss the Washington State Department of Corrections’ (DOC’s) response to COVID-19. This includes acts of racial terror and targeted COVID-19-related retaliation and disorganizing by DOC staff. [...]

My name is Lawrence Jenkins. I am a Black political prisoner, scientist, farmer, educator, artist, and organizer. I was born and raised in Seattle, WA and I’m currently serving 26 years in the Washington State Department of Corrections (DOC). I work inside the prison to help prisoners prepare for freedom, independence, and self-determination once they are free. I use the liberation-education model (peer-to-peer) backed by mutual aid, support, and solidarity from an outside community network to do this work independent from the prison. The work I do outside is essentially the same but centered around food and land sovereignty [...].

This did not seem to matter to staff and COs. What mattered more was the DOC budget cuts and furloughs, anger at the reelection of Democratic Governor Jay Inslee, the Trump versus Biden presidential race [...]. These sources of frustration would soon trigger misconduct, unlawful use of excessive force, and indifference in the weeks to follow.

It is very important for readers to understand the contradictory elements that were at work leading to the crises of racial violence, mass COVID-19 outbreaks inside, and the corruption and injustices that were suddenly and abruptly unveiled.

Yet, the prison population realized our humanity and survival were ruled out from the very beginning of the pandemic. The series of superspreader events that followed (especially in jails and prisons across the U.S.) had a major role and influence on desensitizing, dissolving, and/or destroying the moral fiber that compelled DOC staff to treat prisoners with “some” human decency to none at all -- or at least it appeared and felt this way. COs conscientiously detached themselves from the atrocities that were on the horizon beyond the walls that confined us but were destined to meet us. [...]

-------

The month of June 2020 was a major turning point. SB 6164 (a clemency and resentencing law) went into effect; George Floyd was murdered, sparking global uprisings [...]. What was revealed was the underlying racism, hatred, and disgust toward Black humanity and people that has been present in this prison from its inception. The town of Aberdeen, WA and its entire county of Grays Harbor has always been a predominantly [...] conservative, mainly far-right Republican town. This prison, which was built only 20 years ago, has been this county’s only real experience with Black people. At this point, it should be easy to conceptualize how this prison became a very unsafe environment for Black prisoners in the month of June into the present. Black prisoners had become soft targets and there were no consequences for the injustices that were inflicted upon them verbally, physically, or systemically. [...]

-------

In February 2020, DOC canceled all visitations after news hit of the first COVID-19 outbreak at a senior living home in Kirkland, WA. This outbreak was just east of Seattle, where many prisoners’ families live. That first outbreak made the threat very real to us. The uncertainty of never seeing our loved ones again, especially our elders and loved ones living with underlying health conditions, shifted the entire dynamics of how we did our time and where we focused our energy. [...]

When Governor Inslee first issued a statewide “stay-at-home” order, we realized we could only communicate with our loved ones through DOC’s very expensive and delayed communications systems: collect calls ($0.11/minute + taxes and fees), J/Pay ($3.50 for ten short emails), or snail mail. Because of these changes, phone lines grew long and became major sources of frustration and tension between us. When people complained to staff they were told, “You all are grown. Figure it out or we will just shut the phones off so nobody can use them.” [...]

-------

Solitary confinement/medical isolation was very much a means of retaliation and punishment when a group of us collectively organized against unjust treatment and lack of adequate COVID-19 testing and supplies. On December 12, 2020, the unit was placed on temporary lockdown, and I was extracted by a special response team. I was told that I was going to Administrative Segregation to be “placed under investigation due to involvement in unit disturbance.” I was housed in a pod that was being utilized for “Medical Isolation/Quarantine” created specifically for prisoners who tested positive or inconclusive for COVID-19. I tested negative twice in the same week, but I was still taken to solitary confinement [...].

The Stafford 7 (the main leaders of the collective action and standoff with COs referenced above) were all placed in this pod along with many others with very similar pending investigations and allegations. “Medical isolation” was used to keep prisoners on “deadlock,” where they were confined to living quarters except for an authorized 10-minute shower once every three days and a 20-minute yard/phone time on scheduled days. We were served cold food (meals that are meant to be served hot) for the duration spent in isolation.

-------

Anything else you want to share with Edge Effects readers?

We are facing major issues of delayed mail, price increase in collect calls, stimulus debit card rejections, and very limited access to medical care. These are major points of frustration and tension alongside the looming threat of racial violence by COs. We are being tortured at every point. Everything being done to us at this point is cruel, inhumane, and deliberate. The feeling of helplessness and hopelessness, for the majority of the population, is inevitable. The trauma of having to witness and experience such bestial and genocidal acts is going to have lifelong physical and psychological effects. 

-------

Headline, image, caption, and all text published by: Lawrence Jenkins and Carrie Freshour. “Surviving the Pandemic in Prison.” Edge Effects. 17 August 2021.

[jackrrabbit]

Bloodlust /// Sanemi x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: A naive demon is waylaid by the Wind Hashira.

A/N: Might fuck around and get back into KNY…Sanemi is one mean bastard, and I’m here for it. Be warned—this is pretty brutal (not by canon standards, but still). ngl I’ve missed writing stuff like this 🥺

Tags/warnings: sadomasochism, noncon, hatefucking!!!! is def the best way to describe what happens in this fic, threats, violence, demon reader & demon things, primal, degradation, outdoor sex, bloodplay & marechi kink stuff, yandere? obsessive fixation ig, some creative liberties have been taken with canon

You’d almost forgotten what it feels like to be weak.

Strength came with the territory when you were turned into a demon, along with the hunger: all-encompassing, oppressive, like you’re starving every second you’re not eating. Apparently you’re better able to control your hunger than other demons, not that you’ve met many—none, actually, other than the one who turned you. He was the one who told you to exercise control, who told you that you’ve done well to stealthily pick off prey that wouldn’t be missed instead of attracting attention. He was the one who told you about demon slayers.

You almost laughed at the idea at the time. A group of humans who tried to resist demons? Tried to kill them? How? Every human you’ve encountered since you were turned—hunters, mostly, men who’d wandered into the woods looking for something to eat—has been pathetically weak against you. Life as a demon is simple. As long as you stay in the shadows and avoid the sun, you have nothing to fear.

Sometimes you daydream about making your way to a village and gorging yourself, but you don’t mind the hunger so much. You can get by on scraps. And besides, the demon who turned you warned you not to go overboard. He said to stay away from the humans’ notice—not that the threat of some human calling themselves a “demon slayer” bothered you. You know how strong you are; you can feel it in your blood, your muscles, your bones. You don’t understand how a flesh-and-blood human could threaten that.

You don’t understand…until you meet him. The Wind Hashira. You should’ve listened to the warnings about demon slayers.

Bitter.

It tastes bitter, and you try to ground yourself on that taste, the sharp, bitter-wet flavor of the grass and dew and earth because the slayer is shoving your face into the dirt and the copper from where you’re biting into your lip and holding back the sound of your voice. Not that he cares, probably. But you don’t think you could take hearing yourself moan for a human while he carves the shape of his cock into your pussy.

How did you…get here? Facedown, barely holding yourself up on your elbows, chest and stomach shoved into the grass with your back arched up and your kimono ridden above your hips… Fuck, you can barely remember the fight, his ability, him wrestling you into the earth and shoving his weight down on you and bringing his blade to his own arm and—

—his blood, so rich and thick and sweet that even recalling the smell of it sends a wave of heat through you and you whine under your breath. The hunger overtakes everything else you’re feeling, but only for a second before with a twitch of his hand the Hashira brings the edge of his sword to the tender skin of your throat. “Ah-ah,” he rasps out a laugh even though his voice is heavy and strained. “What was that? Are you starting to like it?”

“K-Kill you, I’ll—kill you,” you snarl, but you and him both know the threat is empty. You tried. And you failed.

“Fucking demon whore,” he spits, and the blade slips just enough to draw a hair-thin line of red across your neck, earning a yelp from you even though you don’t dare move any more for fear of letting it cut you deeper. When you go still, he grunts and you can hear him shifting position in the grass, angling your hips up so his cock can sink in again. “Asking for it…fuck…”

“I wasn’t—nngh—ah, ahhh, s-stop—you can’t—” Your words are coming out in babbles, barely intelligible but it’s his fault. He’s pushing up at your womb, pulling out in short, quick thrusts and slamming his cock back into your cunt so hard and rough it’s like he’s knocking the breath out of your lungs. It hurts, ithurtsithurtsithurts, an ache deep in your core and accompanied with a heat and tension that you hate even more than you hate the pain, because it means he’s right. You—no, your body, your traitorous pathetic weak body that submitted to his so easily—it’s starting to like this.

“How’s it feel?” He’s mocking you, fisting his fingers in your hair and wrenching your head back so he can look you in the eye. “Does it hurt?…it hurts, right? Good.”

“—i-it doesn’t—“ You don’t even believe it yourself.

“Yes…it does. Guess even a demon bitch like you can’t take me that easily.” Somehow the slayer’s hips keep pumping deeper, pushing his fat cock through your walls and against the entrance to your womb until you’re certain your unnatural healing can’t keep up with the bruising in your cunt. Your fingers are scrabbling in the grass, digging clawed nails into the earth—the little nick on your throat has already knitted itself back up, but the tension in your pussy is a dozen—a hundred—times worse.

“—stop, let me go—“ Debased. Lower than an animal. You’d be begging if you thought he would listen.

“‘Stop’? How are you going to...ungh, make me stop? Want to try to fight me off again?” He pulls out (you hate the way your cunt feels when he does, hot and slick and empty) and his grip on the sword slackens, easing up enough to give you a scanty inch of movement. “Go ahead, give it a try.”

The slayer’s taunting you—just like you taunted him at the start of this, when you first challenged him, when you thought he was a human—and, and somehow he is, still human and yet just as much a monster as you are. More. You’ve been cruel, you’ve done evil things, but you did them to survive. Fuck, you shouldn’t—shouldn’t have taunted him, shouldn’t have boasted, should’ve stayed hidden in the dark. You didn’t know. He wasn’t supposed to be this strong.

Your muscles are shaking from exertion as you brace your hands against the ground, trying to push up against the weight of his body so you can right yourself, but it’s futile. Within a second (less than a second) of your attempt to move, one of his scarred hands slaps over your wrist and crushes it back into the dirt, grip so tight you swear you can almost feel your bones grinding underneath. You snarl, try to twist yourself away from him but the hilt of his sword slams down flat against your other hand so hard you feel a dull pang of surprise that nothing actually breaks.

“So weak…try that again and I’ll use the sharp end.” His chest is moving back on top of yours, and you recognize the silent rhythm of the movement.

He’s laughing at you.

Weak. You know it’s true. You thought you were so strong, but compared to this Hashira you’re nothing. Pure unadulterated defeat is written in every cell of your body, and whatever animal instinct you have left from your human life is telling you to roll over and accept that he’s the predator, and you’re nothing more than prey. But the mockery, the ease with which he holds you down, the goddamn fucking laughter sparks a fresh wave of hatred and you thrash and squirm underneath his body. “You’re dead, you—I’ll kill you, I’ll tear you apart, they’ll be picking bits of you out of this forest for weeks—“

The red haze over your vision is so heavy that you barely notice the blade tilting into position—not over your skin, but against his. You only register what he’s doing when the glint of sunlight on the blade reflects brilliant white, and you catch a scarlet line of blood beading against it. You pull back, eyes going wide, trying not to inhale but your lungs betray you and,

oh ohhh fuck it smells good smells so good you want it you want it so fucking bad you’re going to die if you can’t taste it you need it you need it you NEED IT.

Your muscles go slack. You’re salivating already, dizzy from hunger, so intensely focused on the smell of his blood that you can’t help your compliance as he pulls your hips up into place and slips his cock back into your pussy. Only when it starts to hurt again—a dull soreness now, because he’s slowed his pace to push his thick shaft into you inch by inch—do you feel that same prickle of hatred and disgust, but who cares who cares that you’re getting fucked because the smell of his blood is driving you out of your mind with need.

You no longer have the self-control to hold back your voice, and when the slayer hears the pathetic little mewl dripping out of your mouth from the sensation of him filling you up, he laughs again. But this time you don’t care, you just want him, want his body, his blood. Your jaw snaps open and shut on instinct and you whine, pleading, because you’re past the point of believing that you can beat him.

“You like that? Want to taste?” His voice is softer now, but the vein of mockery still runs clear through every syllable.

Your head jerks up and down desperately and then he draws his hips back and slaps his cock between your aching walls, pushing a huffed “uhhn!” out of your lips—but you don’t pull away. You can tolerate this, if it means getting to taste that blood dripping down his fingers, over the sword grip still held in his palm, just to be wasted on the grass. Out of your reach.

“So docile now…think I could get used to this,” the slayer sighs, adjusting the position of his thighs so he can thrust into you lazily and deeply. “F-Fuck, you’re—tight, you know that? All hot and sticky inside…”

“—let me have it, need it I need it, why—“ Your head is spinning, feels like you’re…what? The intoxication is hitting some note deep in the recesses of your memory, a past life you aren’t supposed to be able to recall. Bitter taste on your tongue, liquid pouring, fuzzy edges bordering your vision. Drunkenness.

“Little demon bitch,” he growls, tapping the blade lightly against your neck when you snap your teeth at him again. “Said you were going to kill me, yeah? But now you’re moaning like a whore…”

You try to muster a denial, but you can’t.

The slayer’s other hand twists underneath the two of you to press up on your lower belly, pushing into the place where his cock is nudging up against your womb. You keen at the pressure, the slow friction against that little patch in your cunt that makes you slicker every time his cockhead passes over it. “Feel how deep I am in your cunt…? I can—feel your pulse on my cock, fuck.”

You can feel it too, your heartbeat echoed in the twitches of your pussy around his skin, quick and fluttering from the drunken stupor his blood has forced you into. Every sense is heightened, and the weight of his hand pushing up on your belly just makes it worse…or better. You’re not sure.

He swallows, and with his body on top of yours you can feel his heavy breathing puffing out over the bared skin of your neck. “Can demons even cum? If you can get wet, then you can cum too, right? I bet I can…bet I can make you cum, you fucking whore. Wouldn’t that be nice…get you creaming on my cock, make you my little fuckpet…”

His hand slips down from your belly to rub roughly at your cunt, pushing into your skin to seek out the little button at the top—and the feeling of his hands on you like this, the sharp jolt of pleasure somehow sends a splinter of clarity through your delirium. “No,” you wail, hearing how wanton you sound and hating it. “I can’t I can’t, please, please don’t make me—“

“Quiet.” His thick forearm wraps around your neck, tightening against your windpipe and cutting off your voice. “Learn your place, demon—the only reason you’re alive is because you’re a nice wet hole for me to use. So when I tell you to cum—“

His pace picks up, hips knocking yours deeper, splitting you apart while he swirls his fingers around that sweet spot—and then the smell of copper gets thicker and he’s pushing his bloody hand against your mouth—

“—you cum.”

You’re not sure whether it’s your cunt or the taste of his blood smearing over your lips that does it, but as soon as he says the word you shatter like glass. The heat is brutal horrible delicious and so overwhelming you’re surprised you’re conscious through it—every hair is standing up on end and your body pulls tight like a bowstring, arching your backside into his hips so you can feel every inch of your cunt sucking around him.

It’s bliss—sickeningly sweet, burning like fire through you—without thinking, you eagerly lick the scarlet liquid off his hand and fuck somehow, somehow, it tastes even better than it smelled—feels like you could live off just the blood in your mouth but you want more, you’d die for it, you’d do anything, and your teeth are bared ready to puncture his skin deeper when—

Cold steel slides up under your jaw, almost nicking one of the veins pumping blood up to your hazy brain. “Keep—ahh, yesss…d-damn it—keep still,” the slayer rasps. “No teeth.”

He’s not finished.

Every muscle in your body aches for you to ignore him, but the knowledge of how easily he could separate your head from your body makes you obey, dragging your tongue over his still-bleeding cut instead of biting down. You can hear the noises of damp skin against skin issuing out from where your bodies meet, but you’re not sure whether it’s from you lapping at his fingers or his cock pressing in and out of your sopping-wet cunt. Probably both. Not that it matters.

The slayer’s head lowers—you know it by the angle of his cock inside your twitching pussy and the faint tickle of his hair brushing against the skin of your neck—and then you feel his teeth sinking into the side of your throat. They’re blunt, of course, as harmless as any human’s, but the primal dominance of the action sends a shudder through you.

“Not bad…looks like demons are good for something after all. I think I might just keep you,” the slayer laughs. His voice is too close—you want to flinch back, spit at him, bite—but you can’t. You’re helpless.

You’re weak.

[mrkcore]

in light of this situation that has happened in atlanta recently, i’ve been a bit scared to speak up, but i really want to talk about the situations of asian immigrants in these western countries. 

even though i’m not an asian american, as an asian canadian, seeing these things happen to asians everywhere hurts my heart deeply.

in chinese, america is “美国”, literally meaning “beautiful country”. 

so many asians immigrate to america with absolutely nothing. no english-speaking skills, no friends or family, no home, no income, and building a family there. taking your child with the hopes of them being able to be successful and have a better life. leaving your homeland with the “american dream”, sacrificing everything you had for the future of your children. 

usually balancing 2 or more jobs to even stay afloat, for non-asian to create this “model minority myth” really ignores and puts aside all of the hardships and sacrifices asian individuals had to endure. “asians are so diligent, they work hard, don’t complain, and stay silent.”; not only being silent because they couldn’t speak up, but diminishing all of the efforts they’ve put in to actually support their families, to have a good job, to get a good education, etc. (don’t even get me started on how this phrase also creates so much tension and hatred between different groups)

and all of this hard work only for white people to make fun of our culture, to make fun of our appearance, to fetishize our women, to put us down, is absolutely disgusting.

for the police to be hesitant to label the shooting as a hate crime truly shows how bad the tolerance of xenophobia is. 

these countries create bans and legislations against us, put us in internment camps, hate crime us, when are all of these atrocities going to be recognized? why is the education system not teaching people about these things when asians are such a prominent percentage of their population? why are we just learning about these things from social media infographics? why is our history invisible?

the perpetrator stated himself that he blamed asian women for his “sex addiction” displaying that even now, in times where people say are more “socially advanced”, people are still fetishizing asian women to the standards of “docile”, “quiet”, and “submissive”, still making the generalization that these women are sex workers. this is sickening. the victims were only trying to make money for their families at home to get by. and they were wrongfully taken from them. they won’t be able to see their families again, they won’t see their children graduate, won’t see their grandchildren, will not be able to experience the fullness of life. it was stolen from them. 

i watched this video today, talking about people that tell you to “toughen up” whenever something happens. the person said a really good point, they’re trying to weaken you, trying to silence you. so if you’re infuriated by this recent event, your feelings are valid. even though i personally have not faced super racist incidents, i see all of these people sharing their xenophobic occurrences and events in the news of asian elderly, students, anyone–getting killed, injured, traumatized. my heart goes out to everyone and their families affected. i too always think, “what if that was me?”, or “what if that was my family?”. we live in fear, and our experiences are belittled and our voices are taken away. 

so as a child of an asian canadian immigrant, i am proud to be chinese, to be asian. i am standing up for my parents right now for when they couldn’t. i am angry and i will not be silent any more, my parents did not sacrifice their future for me to be silenced. 

if you’re a non-poc ally that want to help, please listen to all of the experiences people have shared and educate yourself on our history in these countries.

as the new generation, we’re going to fight back until we get the respect we deserve. and we most definitely deserve that respect. so i encourage everyone to do something, even if it’s small. small still goes a long way, especially if everyone is speaking up.

we mourn with the families of the victims of this cruel incident:

Soon Chung Park, age 74

Hyun Jung Grant, age 51

Suncha Kim, age 69

Yong Yue, age 63

Delaina Ashley Yaun, age 33

Paul Andre Michels, age 54

Xiaojie Tan, age 49

Daoyou Feng, age 44

here are some resources for everyone to look at, as well as some gofundmes created by the families of the shooting victims. please take some time to look through them and share them:

gofundme for hyunjung kim - https://www.gofundme.com/f/in-memory-of-hyunjungkim-to-support-my-brother-i

CAA (chinese for affirmative action) website - https://caasf.org/

stop AAPI hate website - https://stopaapihate.org/

stop AAPI hate national report - https://a1w.90d.myftpupload.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/210312-Stop-AAPI-Hate-National-Report-.pdf

jenn im’s instagram post on anti-asian - https://www.instagram.com/p/CMnLjheJ9MJ/?hl=en

gofundme for tu hoang lam - https://www.gofundme.com/f/2awx9r78pc?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_source=customer

anti-asian violence carrd - https://anti-asianviolenceresources.carrd.co/

self-help resources from northwestern - https://www.northwestern.edu/counseling/self-help-resources/fighting-xenophobia-and-anti-asian-racism.html

a tumblr post with lots of other links to resources - https://donkuroo.tumblr.com/post/644675764167524352/important-please-read-if-you-care-about-the-asian

so many other ones, but i couldn’t link them all, but please check them out yourself :)

i hope everyone is doing okay during these hard times, and always remember that you are valid, your feelings are valid, and make sure to take care of yourself first. my blog is a safe place for everyone, so if you need any place to release all of these emotions you’re feeling, i welcome you with open arms. whether that is with a private message, ask, or an ask on anon, please do not hesitate to reach out. <3 

[spenciegoob]

How to Never Stop Being Sad

A/N: Yes, this is another song inspired fic I am OBSESSED with them. If you’ve listened to how to never stop being sad by dandelion hands, are you okay? If you haven’t and you do because of this I would like to formally apologize. Okay so I started writing this and I just want to say that every single one of you is so beautiful because like wait hold on I’m getting flustered... Anyways, everything about you is beautiful that I just got so overly flustered and hot THINKING about it. Okay that’s all carry on.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer shows Reader how to stop being sad in tiny ways.

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Content Warnings: mentions of depression, loneliness, body image issues and self deprecating thoughts

Word Count: 21K

Masterlist

____

Time has proven that fooling yourself into believing the lies is the most effective way to deal with the things you have no control over.

She sat there, for too long if she was being honest, staring at a reflection that couldn’t have been real. The mirror in her bedroom had to have been replaced with one from a carnival, distorting the image as a sick, twisted joke.

Your thighs are huge.

Your hips are too wide.

Your stretch marks are disgusting.

She had enough, finally letting the tears that welled in her eyes escape, falling down like raindrops on a window as she sat back and rested her head between her knees. She couldn’t bare to see anymore, all the early morning jogs, gym memberships and diet remedies were for nothing. 

Her body had a mind of its own, and she couldn’t control it.

But then her front door clicked as Spencer all too excitedly used his brand new key, expecting to see his girlfriend sitting on the couch he fell in love with her on. The first day she invited him upstairs, the door was opened and his eyes immediately fell to the obscure, bright purple sofa that oddly enough went well with the rest of her simplistic, white furniture. 

“I saw it once at a thrift shop and it was too perfect not to buy it,” she said, noticing the way he was eyeing the couch. He let a smile break across his face, knowing in that moment that he may just be in love.

But she wasn’t there, and when the door clicked shut, she was also made aware of the presence in her home. 

Quickly, she pulled herself off the floor, wiped the tears that accumulated under her eyes and down her cheeks, and avoided looking at the reflection in front of her.

“Y/N? Are you here?” Spencer called from the living room. She knew he was slowly taking steps that he attempted to make as quiet as possible, just in case, towards the hallway that led to her. 

“Uh, y-yeah I’m here. Just a second!” She called back, rushed and stuttering as she looked for the biggest sweatshirt and sweatpants she could find. Deciding on gray sweats and a Caltech sweatshirt, both belonging to Spencer, she took one last look at her face hoping he won’t catch what her previous activities consisted of.

When she walked out of the bedroom, Spencer saw it. He always did.

But what she noticed was the fact Spencer was dressed up, even after stopping home from the office before coming to her. They had a date, and it wasn’t that she forgot, oh no, she remembered clearly, but in her attempts to find something to wear that would be enough, her spiral had begun.

“Come here,” was all Spencer said, opening his arms for her to waltz into, and she did, slowly dragging her fuzzy sock clad feet over to the man in front of her that held both the warmth and answers that she needed.

“I’m sorry, I just... I can’t-”

“I know, it’s okay.” His reassurance calmed the nerves she had for the past hour over if Spencer would be mad that she flaked on a date. “Usually I’m the one to cancel dates. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He wasn’t prying for answers, she knew that, and she also knew that if she said no, Spencer wouldn’t push it. That was the thing about Spencer; he didn’t need to know what was wrong, but he always knew how to fix it.

“Not yet,” she mumbled, her words muffled by his chest that she pressed her face into the moment she had the chance.

Spencer cradled the back of her head, forcing it off his chest softly to gaze down at her with a face full of worry, curiosity, but most importantly, adoration.

“Come on, sweetheart. I wanna try something,” Spencer said before grabbing her hand and leading her to the purple velour couch. He sat down first, pointing away from him with his free hand letting her know he wants her facing away.

The second she sat down, Spencer let go of her hand and replaced both on top of her shoulders.

“Spence, what are you doing?” She giggled slightly when his fingers brushed near her neck. Spencer will never quite get used to how ticklish she was.

“I’m giving you a massage, I could feel how tense your muscles were from across the room.” She knew it was a lie. He also knew it was a lie, but neither had the want to say anything about it. 

His hands caressed her shoulders before moving down to her back, his fingers resting on the sides of her body as his thumbs did all the work. She let her head lean back as a sigh left her body with the tension.

“You’re so beautiful,” Spencer whispered just loud enough for them to hear, and even though they were the only two in the room, the admission felt natural as a whisper like if he said it any louder, it may have broken the bubble they were in.

Slowly, she looked down to the left of her, watching Spencer out of her peripherals. The second her eyes started to glisten, he abandoned the massage altogether to wrap his arms around her waist and pull her directly against him.

“I’m sorry I don't know why I’m crying,” she said between gasps for air and soft sobs. Spencer simply shushed her, and held her close to his chest, brushing his fingers through her hair.

He tried to turn her body to face him, but in her stubbornness, she stayed with her back to his chest.

“Hey, look at me, sweetheart.” Spencer put a finger under her chin, delicately lifted her head to lock teary eyes with his loving ones. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world, and I promise to remind you that every day for the rest of my life.”

And Spencer Reid kept his promise.

Keep listening to the mixtapes they made you, overanalyze every single word you hear. "Was this a sign that things were going wrong?" No no, you were the one that cared too hard, not them.

The couple had impulsively decided to spend their two free days together in an impromptu vacation to New York City. Spencer never actually cared for the city, but when he watched the way she lit up as she suggested they go “be one with the New Yorkers,” how could he say no?

That’s how he found himself in the passenger seat of her broken down Volkswagen beetle listening to her sing along to the words of a song he’s never heard. Most of the songs she’s played so far he hasn’t known, but after watching her get lost in music she has no shame in showing she loves, he knows every line.

And when the song changes, his ears perk up because he knows this song. Spencer is aware that it doesn’t quite conventionally fit in his usual music library, but nonetheless, it’s adored just the same as Beethoven or Bach.

But then the channel is changed, the force used to push the button on the radio much stronger than needed. It was quiet for a second before Spencer spoke up.

“Are you okay?” It was simply put enough that if something was wrong, which evidently there was, she wouldn’t feel interrogated about it, only comforted.

“Uh, yeah. Everything’s cool,” she said in what could be the most unbelievable faux cheerfulness Spencer had ever heard. “That song just brings up some bad memories.”

“Oh,” Spencer whispered. When it didn’t look like she was going to elaborate, he continued. “Do you want better ones?”

“What?” She took her eyes off the road to look at Spencer like what he just asked was absolutely preposterous. “What do you mean?”

Instead of answering, he changed the station on the radio back. Time was on Spencer’s side this morning, because the peak of the song was about to play once he settled back.

She's a, she's a lady, and I am just a Line Without a Hook

BABY, I AM A WRECK WHEN I’M WITHOUT YOU

Spencer loudly sang along to the words, throwing his head back as he yelled and using his hands as he sang. She looked over at him with wide eyes that slowly shrunk as her smile grew.

The ice the song caused to freeze over her mind and heart slowly melted from the warmth Spencer’s love spread. Together, they sang the rest of the song, and when it was over, she still had a smile on her face.

“You’re a terrible singer, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

Stay up every single night staring at your phone either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, these constant reminders of your loneliness into nothing more than a bad dream, or praying just for one second you could feel the warmth of equally returned love.

There are many reasons one doesn’t answer their phone.

She could be on the phone with another person, but no that’s not possible. Her hatred for speaking over the phone ensued she never answered anyone but him.

Maybe her battery died, but that would mean she didn’t charge it overnight. Spencer watched her plug it in around midnight, even after he’s told her the dangers of doing that.

His mind unfortunately went to a darker place, because what he didn’t know was that hers did too.

She had watched her phone on her dresser vibrate insistently all three times until it fell to the floor with a deafening crash. She hoped that it didn’t crack, but that hope wasn’t strong enough to get her out of bed to check. 

Spencer in his panic never expected to walk into her apartment to find everything in its place. Her car keys sat where they always did, in the bowl by the front door. The boots she usually found an excuse to wear with everything were sitting where she struggled every day to get them off by the couch, and there wasn’t a single sign of a struggle.

And then he walked into her bedroom to check one last time before he called Garcia, and while he found signs of a struggle, it wasn’t the one he was dreading.

It was the one she was.

They made eye contact the second the door opened, and upon seeing her safe, Spencer bit back a sigh of relief. There was no relief flooding his veins when the sadness in her eyes traveled to his, creating a sick equilibrium.

Spencer’s mind no longer cared about the missed phone calls, there were more important matters at hand.

“Hi, sweet girl,” was all he said as he shuffled into the room. “I got to go home early today, so I was thinking I could cook dinner for us.” Spencer had started to pick up thrown clothes off the floor, securing them in the dirty hamper. He was about to start putting books back on her bookshelf when she called out.

“Spencer.” It was only a whisper, because anything louder would’ve been too much work.

“I know, I know. My cooking skills aren’t the greatest bu-”

“Spencer,” she said again, much louder this time, even if it was just a hoarse excuse of his name.

He turned to her this time, stopping his cleaning. She had sat up only slightly to catch his eye. Regret filled her veins when they met, but upon gazing into pools of honey that held no pity, but an understanding, it melted.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of truly answering the question, Spencer held up the books that were in his hands. “Do you organize by last name?” When she just gawked at him, he continued, “We’ll do last name.”

She had no energy to fight him, he was right about the last name at least. Instead, she just watched him organize the book shelf in record speed, her mind clearing the fog that laid dangerously close to her thoughts.

When Spencer picked up the last book to be put away, she called for him again.

“Can you read that one to me?”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Go out for coffee four times a week by yourself, always bring your notebook, never stop writing. Leave little comics and thank you notes with your tip, watch them smile as you get in your car.

She always sat alone. It was the first thing Spencer noticed about her because he too enjoyed his coffee at a table with only one chair. He would watch her every day when he got the chance to go to this cafe, so much so that his brain associated her with the place. The small mismatched couches that gave it a homey feel would always remind him of her, even if she were not sitting on them.

Who she was? Spencer did not know, but he was going to make it his mission to find out.

He always sat alone. A man like that, one with features perfectly sculpted, and an aura of comfortability so strong she didn’t have to follow the jingle of the bells on top of the door to know it was him who entered. She would look up from her notepad filled with doodles of everyone who walked by her, and comments about the day. He would always be reading, it being a new book each time. 

One day when she looked up at him, wondering what he could possibly be reading now, their eyes met. She felt herself get lost in his eyes, like running through a forest, charting unknown territory carefree with no reason to turn back. Everything about him was so soft that she feared if he came any closer to her jagged thoughts, he may find himself ripped to shreds.

For the first time in Spencer’s life, his mind seized its constant running, the relief so strong he felt his limbs follow suit. She had paralyzed him with her stare, green meeting honey, mind numb except for the begging to get up and introduce himself.

In all the times he watched her, Spencer had never seen her smile until that moment. If there was any doubt that he shouldn’t talk to her, it was quickly washed away with the realization he would stop at nothing to see it again.

“Uh hi, I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.” When she looked up at him from where she went back to writing, his heart faltered. Her gaze was so cathartic that it leaves his brain fuzzy and his heart giddy.

Spencer never believed in a god, but if there was one, she was sitting in front of him.

“I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Giddy and fuzzy.

When his phone rings, Spencer swore whoever dared interrupt the moment he’s been dreaming of every night for 4 months was going to feel a wrath unparalleled. He reached into his pocket, and upon reading ‘Hotchner’ in bold letters, his face fell. 

“It’s okay. We’ll see each other again,” she reassured him before he had the chance to queue her in on his need to leave. She just knew, the same way she knew it wasn’t going to be the last time she saw his face.

“Until then.”

“Until then.” She smiled as she watched him leave, and once the door shut behind him, she returned to her notebook. The smile never left.

Talk down on yourself whenever possible; my life is shit because I deserve it, right? You must have done something real bad, it’s nearly impossible for you to cry now.

It was always the little moments that Spencer let it slide. When he brought her coffee on the off chance he found a free day, and surrounded by her appreciation for his kindness was a mumbled ‘I don’t deserve you,’ he let it go. 

The time they walked by a small boutique, and a dress in the window caught her eye. It was short, purple silk loosely hanging off the collarbone of the mannequin, only to tighten at the waist. 

“I couldn’t imagine wearing something like that,” she told Spencer before the two continued to walk. He could.

Spencer thought she would look rather beautiful in it.

And now, they sat on her purple couch while Spencer attempted to pay attention to the TV show she was binging. He kept all his comments to himself, she liked to talk about what they watched after, and he vowed that this time, Spencer would actively participate in the conversation.

But when he looked down at the girl laying in his lap, he found she was no longer following the storyline, and instead looked a million lightyears away.

“Hey.” Her attention snapped to him instantly. “Where'd you go just now?”

“I was just thinking about you,” she admitted. Looking away she continued. “About us.”

She didn’t continue with that thought, but with the sadness that filled her voice, Spencer knew there was more than what she was letting on. He also knew that if she really wanted to share her demons with him, letting them dance circles around them in the dark until the sun came up, she would release them. So instead, he tried to shoo them away.

“You know I love you, right?” If reassurance was what she needed, he would be more than happy to grant her that.

“Why?” She whispered back, so softly that Spencer could’ve missed the way the room no longer just held the two of them. She could not find a singular thing she loved about herself in that moment, so what was Spencer actually seeing?

Spencer sat with that question for a moment.

“You make me smile, even when you’re not with me. When I’m away, thinking about you is the highlight of my day. You’re beautiful, it kind of knocks me off my feet for a second, and you’re so kind, even when people don’t deserve it. You’re a light in the dark. Plus you make really good cookies, but that’s just an added bonus. Does that answer your question?”

Spencer looked back down at her, finding a smile and tears, and somewhere in his mind, he knew to make a mental note of this image.

“Yes,” she whispered before reaching up and cupping his face. “But now I really want cookies.”

Avoid your friends for weeks even though they're the only sense of consistency you have left in your life, if they really wanted to see you they'd come, but they won't.

She could feel herself slowly closing off, and no matter how much she willed for the isolation to find its way out, it still crept in at night. Without care, she let it consume her, taking more and more time during the day to dissipate to inevitably crawl back at the first sign of dark. It infiltrated her mind like a parasite, latching on to the first vulnerable thought.

Spencer did nothing wrong, he was sure of it. What he wasn’t sure of, however, was the reason for his girlfriend’s abrupt distance. He knew that in relationships, sometimes space apart from one another is important, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to stop the nagging feeling.

Something else was wrong, he was sure of it.

Alone she sat staring out the window at cars that drove by and people enjoying the day in each other’s company. The sounds of the world were not enough to drown out her mind’s racing, the thoughts so loud that she could’ve missed the knock at her front door.

It happened again when she refused to move or make a sound that could inform whoever was on the other side of her door that she was home. By the third round of knocking, she grew irritated and stormed over to give whoever interrupted her self loathing a piece of her mind.

But she opened the door and there stood Spencer, and whatever obscenities she planned on yelling were forgotten. In their place, guilt flooded through her because Spencer didn’t storm in angry, or yell at her for avoiding him for a week. Instead, he just stood there, no anger, just unapologetically Spencer.

“It’s been a week,” he said, no heavy emotions in his voice, just very matter-of-factly. “I hope it’s okay I stopped by.”

No one had ever just “stopped by” before. 

“It’s more than okay.”

Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love, watch as you begin to take a backseat to the world around you, don't fight it. Become a secondary character in your own motion picture.

Spencer wasn’t particularly snooping as he was curious. She was in the shower, and he spotted it. Before he even had the chance to force his eyes anywhere but the leather bound journal, it was too late. His mind was already too curious for any other decision besides to read what was inside.

It was the same journal she was so engrossed in every time he looked at her in the cafe.

The first few pages were simple sketches of people he recognized as regulars from the cafe. On the fifth page, what looked to be an unfinished drawing of a man was found with a little note next to it that read ‘My art doesn’t do him justice.”

Spencer could’ve sworn he had that same haircut 7 months ago.

Moving on, he flipped to a page with a drawing of a sunflower on it, the stem growing up the side of the page with a small flower on the top, leaning over what he suspected was a poem. It read,

with striking precision, my mind is full of thoughts

only i have not a soul to voice these nags

the episodes of Self Growth and Actualization that i long to not be

my reassurance alone.

if only my being was of a sunflower’s,

to sit in a field surrounded by those who are

Just Like Me.

Spencer read it over and over, scouring his brain for the poem’s author. He was trying so hard, his brain going into overdrive that he missed the sound of the shower turning off.

She walked out of the bathroom to find Spencer sitting on her bed, journal in hand.

“What’re you doing?” She asked, although no matter how hard she tried to sound serious and authoritative, it more or so came out joyous with the giggles that followed her question.

“Who wrote this poem?” Spencer asked, finally looking up at her. There she stood in the doorway of the bathroom, bright pink fuzzy pants and a white t-shirt on, drying her hair with a towel and she has never looked more beautiful.

“Which one?” She walked over and peaked at the page Spencer landed on. “Oh, that’s mine.”

It was so nonchalant that Spencer had to repeat it over in his mind to fully grasp what she said. 

“You wrote this?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you have more?” She laughed at his eagerness, but when she looked over at his dead serious face, her smile dropped.

“You can’t be serious. Spencer I wrote those so long ago. Eventually I realized it was going nowhere and just gave up. They’re really not that special.”

“They are to me.” The couple held eye contact, a silent standoff between the two. One of them had to back out eventually, and then the thought that no one in her life had ever told her that her art, whether it was huge painting or little doodles, long written out memoirs or tiny poems, was special. 

So she threw the competition, and sat down next to him on the bed.

“There’s another one on the next two pages.”

You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness, you just needed to find a way to talk to it.

______

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[ruby-whistler]

@dreamsclock 's winner takes it all au!! couldn't get the thought of the power dynamic that'd be between these three and just how messed up that would be out of my head. dream team my beloved.

no real tws; c!dream's just basically "won" during the disc war finale and is now a dictator and he's v screwed and it sucks. 1,333 words :]

The door creaked open, handle released by rigid gloved fingertips. Dream took a shaky breath upon seeing the living room abandoned, eerily quiet and empty. His steps echoed on the wooden floor, hand suspended above the handle of his sword - plagued by paranoia at the sight of calm, always expecting someone to jump out at him.

It was irrational. It was over. The world was his, and he wanted peace - and yet he was the one with armor, never putting it down, always glinting a sickly purple as a reminder of the power he holds.

It was the only way to be safe. There was hatred in the air as much as terror at his presence - he pretends not to hear the whispers in shadowy alleyways of the home he’s built conspiring to destroy itself from the inside out.

It was fine. He made sure it would be. They would stay fine as long as he was there to make them.

“Who’s there?” a half-hearted question sounded from overhead.

Steps landed on the stairs, the brunette stopping halfway down when his eyes landed on Dream - it was a stark contrast, George unarmed, Dream with a sword hanging sharp from his belt and not an inch of his body unprotected. His posture stiffened, although the other seemed unbothered.

“What do you want?”

It wasn’t accusatory - it was empty, tired. Maybe Dream understood, the procedure of getting the SMP back to its original form was exhausting for everyone, especially when it came to the sieging of items and relocation - but he was still frustrated with the response, and his fists felt twitchy.

The door opened and Dream spun around, alarmed. Sapnap put his hands up, brows furrowing - “I heard the commotion. Should I not have done that?” Dream shook his head, only now realizing he had half taken his sword out of the sheath. “No, no it’s fine.”

Silence bore into their ears, tension thick in the air.

It took Dream a moment to recollect why he had come here, and a while longer to find a way to say it that wouldn’t sound forceful - though that’s difficult when your subjects are standing defenseless, looking at you like a well-eqipped mob. Like the dictator you are.

I’m here to protect you, not hurt you, he wants to say. The universe doesn’t believe him, as it never has. And really, he hadn’t done much to gain their trust.

Pictures remained plastered on the walls of a small room, hidden in the back of the vault - he could return to that, now, knowing that he had it all back. He scanned over his friend’s face, a small smile peeking from under the mask - a gesture, one could say. It wasn’t real, merely a faded hope of a return of the authenticity that had once been present.

They looked different, on the pictures. Perhaps trying to replicate the past is why the present felt more like a shadow than anything.

Dream shuddered, attempting to shake off the heavy thoughts. He can’t despair, because that is when he loses. No second thoughts.

“It’s fine. Do you… would you guys want to go fishing? We can try find some goldfish and - put them in the community house pond.”

There was something short of unsettling that he couldn’t quite comprehend about people you hang onto the memories of being right in front of you, yet completely different. It felt like he had mourned the past a thousand times, but when it stood in front of him, it looked lifeless and faded.

Sapnap took a deep breath, leaning against the side of the doorway. Dream heard George take another step down the staircase - Sapnap nodded to him and approached Dream slowly, like one would a wounded animal, with sour grief in his expression.

“No. I don’t think we do - but since when has that mattered?”

“What do you mean by that?” Dream hissed back defensively, stepping back to glance between the two.

“Don’t play dumb, Dream,” George interrupts from behind, and Dream meets his glare with contempt. “Can’t you at least leave us alone? What more do you want from us?”

Sapnap made a horizontal cutting gesture in front of his neck in Dream’s peripheral vision. George didn’t falter.

Dream didn’t know the answer to that question.

He wanted unity… he wanted a family… he wanted everyone to be happy. He wanted his friends back. What… what did he want from them?

It felt like he’d forgotten, and he pushed the thoughts back with a new wave of anger - it’s what kept him going, it’s what left him at the forefront of people’s minds long after he’d leave, the air of quiet rage that followed after him.

“Fine.” He roughly pushed past Sapnap, who stumbled back and clutched his shoulder, hard metal and enchantments seemingly bruising him as he scowled. “I’m not gonna - I’m not gonna force you to do anything.” After everything that had happened, the words come out empty, but Dream didn’t care - he felt blinded with a strange shade of disgust.

I gave up everything for you, how dare they, a voice inside his head yelled, or did I give them up for everything?

He paused, hand pressing onto the doorframe as his chest lifted slowly - the armor is heavy, so heavy - as if waiting for a goodbye.

Instead he got a last glance at Sapnap sitting on the couch, rubbing his shoulder, hatred emanating from his fiery eyes; “Let me ask you a question,” he pushed out past clenched teeth, “is this what you wanted, Dream?”

He wanted to spit back, YES, he wanted to shout a thousand times over, lying to himself that his certainty comes from belief and not gnawing despair, imagining he achieved restoration while pushing the world around him deeper into the pit he had been falling into;

He shut the door closed behind him so hard splinters flew off the unpolished oak.

“Ungrateful idiots,” he muttered under his breath, and almost ended up pinning someone to the wall with a sword through the chest before he realized the man leaning onto polished stone of the fence had purple particles gently flying around his head and violet eyes watching him with unnerving calm.

He cursed under his breath as he drew back, reflexes faster than his senses and instincts stronger than reasoning.

He was safe. He wasn’t safe. It was like he was supposed to know and believe both at the same time, and it was confusing.

“Just me,” Ranboo said, looking unfazed, though with a closer look at him Dream saw his fingers clenched tightly an pupils widened. Not showing fear was a vital part of his battle training; Dream gave a self-satisfied hum and nodded.

“You look distracted, do you need to talk?” he asked with a smidge of concern. There was something strange about the way he looked at him, Dream just couldn’t place it - he shook his head, looking for a way out, away from people, away from everyone.

He just needed to make sure they were all taken care of. He just needed to make sure to stay on top.

“Can you check them for items today? Punz is in the nether looking for potion ingredients.”

Ranboo stepped away from the wall, stretching his hands up and then letting them fall to his side. “Sure, what about you, though?”

“I…” Dream reached into his pocket, hand grasping around a red, carefully packaged tube, “I need to go check on Tommy. He’s probably been getting lonely.” And what kind of friend does that make me?

“Alright then. Take care,” Ranboo’s voice lowered as he brushed past him towards George and Sapnap’s house, and Dream pulled out the dynamite, rolling it around in his hand as he began making his way towards Pandora’s Vault.

He had to lose everything to gain everything, but only when it was way too late did he realize, that somewhere along the way, everything changed.

[cannibal-witchh]

Reader(Fem) x Alcina Dimitrescu

(PART 2)

Written by cannibal_witchh

Part 1

:https://cannibal-witchh.tumblr.com/post/641589115086929920/readerfem-x-alcina-dimitrescu-part-1-written

⛓Trigger Warnings⛓

Story contains: Gore, sexual elements, vulgar language, violence, elements of sub/dom behavior, and captivity.

Notes: This is the 2nd part of the story and it will progressively get more sexual, and the elements between the reader and Alcina will become more dom/sub. It is a little bit of a slow burner so bare with me. It will get juicy soon! I want to add, I do not support in any fashion abuse, and or non consensual actions. ⚠️ I have clearly placed trigger warnings to indicate there may be elements that are not for every reader. I heavily gravitate with dominance and submission/gore so thats where the relationship in the story will go ⚠️ Again, limited information so nothing in the story really is canon.

The reader is referred to as:

Y/N- your name

Y/L/N- your last name

She/her- in italics and bold

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Her blood boiled as she felt the weight of humiliation and rage filter through her. She was in poor shape, bloodied up, bruised, and very little hope could be found within her. She stared at Alcina with a hateful expression, but the vampress had full awareness beneath that thin surface of loathing was absolute fear. "Don't be foolish. I will not say it again.", she continued a smirk as she rested her elbows up on the edge of the bath. Even in absolute indecency she was wicked and intense. Her body at full exposure, water glistening off her porcelain skin, and gentle beads of water trailing down her breasts. The moon was illuminating off her soft tall figure, as she tipped her head back and relaxed it on the edge. "I think I've been more than patient with you."

Y/N, had so many emotions cycling through her, there was disgust, hatred, and anxiety. But she had concluded that there was no point in stalling. Alcina would grow tired and eventually kill her if she wasted anymore time. She began to strip, peeling an article of clothing at a time, trying desperately to cling on to every second. Her hands trembling as she slid her panties down her ankles before the wicked vampire.

She submerged her body in the warm water, blood began to scatter out from her knee, and she watched fragments of the water become crimson. Fuck. "Relax, I'm not a shark. I can smell your wonderful nectar but I have no need to feed at this exact instance just because you're coloring my bath water red.", she teased pulling her head up. Loose black waves stuck to her wet skin, spreading out like a small web on her smooth pale skin. Her intense bright eyes focused on Y/N, her eyes looked so preditorial, and so hungry. Those eyes burned deep in Y/N's soul, it was haunting.

After about forty minutes of soaking and cleansing, Alcina decided to privilege Y/N by showing her the cellar room. She held a lit candlabrum guiding them deep inside. It smelled foul, there were variations of fresh corpses everywhere, limbs lost in other areas of the large hallway, and it was incredibly dark. The walls and floor were built with thick cobblestone, and there were numerous cellars with rusted bars. " Now, I believe I have treated you kindly with allowing you to stay in an actual guest room.", she said as she continued to lead Y/N deeper into the cellars. Abruptly, an incredibly dry groan echoed through the cellar, it sounded as if it was in absolute suffering and pain. Y/N darted her head in the direction she believed it came from but it was too difficult to really distinguish actually where it sounded. " Relax, I won't allow them to touch you.", she assured as she stopped and turned to face her. "Those are family.", she stretched a pearly grin, her fangs teasing under her satin red lips. Alcina instructed with just her hands for Y/N to come closer to her, and she obeyed the demand. "You look much better being cleaned up, pet.", that name alone flooded a pool of humiliation in her, being stabbed, bitten, and beaten countless times to this nonsense- it just delivered a wave of embarassment to her. Alcina let out a soft giggle, and for moments there wasn't words being exchanged.

Thud! With swift impact, there was a heavy hit that landed to Y/N's head, and she flew several feet back away from Alcina. She tried to gather herself but her vision grew blurry, and her knee still in poor condition to make quick movements. Dwindling in and out of clear vision, the sounds of agonizing groaning reverberated through the corridor infront of her. She felt shivers, hair raise, and another dose of adrenaline greet her. What could this be? Within moments, a strong smell of decay flooded through the damp cobblestone hallways, and echos of pain continuing to sound. A group of corpse like creatures swayed in, their bodies detierating, bones exposed, long sharp aged nails, and hollow dark eyes. Her family. Absolute horror welcomed Y/N, Alcina had lied, she wasn't going to protect her. The creatures began to hobble towards her, surrounding her, their stench choking her, and their groans ringing in her ear. She was fucked, no available escape was present for her to attempt. She closed her eyes and she felt the stroke of long thin nails brush against her face and arms. Felt the cold breath of their hissing near her ears, as she tried to control her panic. This was it. "Enough!", Alcina screeched, and immediately the creatures shrieked and fled away in the tunnels. She relaxed her hands on her hips and walked over to Y/N with a pleased expression. " This is what will become of you but worse if you do not submit to me. Do we have ourselves clear?", Alcina watched as Y/N nodded trying to control her panicked breaths, and maintain her shivering. "Good."

Without effort, Alcina had carried Y/N in her arms all the day back to her captive room. When they arrived, she locked the door, and rested Y/N on the sheets. Y/N felt some release of tension the moment she establish this was her room. She spread her arms out, tracing the creases of silk that collected under her. The presence of the fabric brought her slight comfort. "Honestly, you truely are pathetic.", she sighed as she sat the candlabrum on the wooden nightstand beside the bed. Y/N felt beside her sink, Alcina had sat beside her and began to run her fingers through her hair. Despite the cruel treatment, this minor kindness felt relieving to Y/N. She let out a small sound of relief as Alcina continued to lace her fingers through her hair. "I feel despite some tension, you have gathered an understanding of your place as my feeding pet. I appreciate that submission. I have mutually contributed. I awaited feeding until you were cleansed and in the comforts of your room.", a sharp spike danced in Y/N's stomach, she felt acidity well up, and her knee twitch with discomfort. It was time.

This time, Y/N did have opposition towards the situation this time. She fully gave in to the unfortunate circumstances. Her pants were removed, revealing a blackened knee with blood stains feathering out from the site. "I'm quite surprised how quickly you've adapted to your position to me. I have to admit, I am pleased with you.", Alcina leaned to her side, hovering over Y/N's wounded knee, her large breasts nearly spilling out from her nightgown. The closer she leaned towards her knee, the more her alluring breasts pressed gently against Y/N. "Despite my daughters, I have control over my hunger. I will treat you well, and I will know how to savor you slowly.", she looked down at her knee and let out a sound of disappointment. "So much for being patient. Its scabbed. I suppose I will make a new feeding site."

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"My f-femoral atery?", Y/N muttered as she felt her cheeks grow hot. A major artery, not even her daughters had fed on. The violent feeding they did more than likely would've killed her if they attempted to. " Yes, now please relax. I have fed in this location before and no one has ever died. I have lived a long life and acquired quite the knowledge on self control.", she began to move close to her upper thigh, her nose brushing lightly against her skin, and her mouth leaving light streaks stained from her rouge. The sound of skin break was heard through the cold air, Y/N let out a pained moan and held her breath. The pain was unpleasant, it was like having a canine bite but with small thin teeth. She tried focusing on the candle wicks, watching them sway and dance softly in the distance. The warm occasional crackle it did from time to time. It was the closest thing to resemble peacefulness during this taxing time. Alcina began to feed, siphoning Y/N's blood, she made sounds of utter bliss as the sweet flavor danced along her desperate tongue. Her body stiffening in surprise as pure satisfaction greeted her mouth. Her nipples growing erect through her night gown, brushing against Y/N's leg. Y/N felt light headed, feeling blood leaving her as she grew quickly cold. Strangely, she had no presence of panic, perhaps, the loss of blood delivered her brief emotional insensitivity. Alcina stayed down there for quite sometime, muttering muffled sounds of bliss, occasionally latching off revealing a bloodied chin, teeth, and lips. She met Y/N's eyes and immediately flashed a wide smile, it was almost sickening but in a way bewitching. Maybe the lack of blood was making Y/N confused. " W-why am I so relaxed?", she muttered feeling a heavy weight of tranquility possess her. " Shh...its the lack of blood. Soon I will stop.", Alcina whispered as Y/N felt her tongue lick her inner thigh. Her long tongue tracing and prodding the bite marks. Desperstely trying to drain whatever was left of the site.

" I believe, I am full. Thank you for the meal.", she wiped her crimson stained lips and chin with the back of her hands ,now tarnishing it with red. " I believe, I owe you a thank you, pet. You have been surprisingly obedient the whole time, and quiet too.", Alcina slowly adjusted herself until she was on all fours above Y/N. Her large smooth breasts draping down reaveling down her well tailored gown. She began to crawl slowly towards Y/N's face, her chest lighting brushing against Y/N's body. It was incredibly soft yet cold. " I am going to need you to open your mouth, won't you, pet?", without hesitation, Y/N dropped her mouth open for her. Alcina licked her lips and pressed her right fang into her plump bottom lip. Blood began to trickle out and run down her chin and onto her chest. Her hand traveled slowly up to Y/N's neck, gentle gripping it, and holding it against the mattress. Her opposite hand, explored under her shirt, and rested on her heart. Y/N, felt the a wave of heat flush away the cold that was residing in her. What was she about to do? "Can't let my obedient food die on me, yet.", Alcina leaned herself forward, pressing her lips against Y/N's. Her tongue inviting itself into her mouth, brushing metallic crimson inside. The flavor was terrible but Y/N did not seem to object. Alcina continued to kiss her, muffled sounds escaping between their lips as a warm blanketed feeling continued to lay over Y/N. Blood had managed to escape their lips, trickling down Y/N's chin, it was incredibly cold as it traveled down. Alcina ceased the kissing, her face revealed itself to be flush and pink. Strange for a creature of the undead. She moved her long delicate fingers along Y/N's blood covered lips and chin. Collecting whatever escaped under her finger tips. "Don't waste it.", she whispered softly nudging her fingers against Y/N's lips, as they slipped their way inside her mouth. More of that bitter flavor met Y/N's tongue, and she felt her body grow warmer and warmer. Alcina took her fingers out after a few moments, examining there was no trace of remaining blood present. She made a sound of approval that trailed with a small smile. An overwhelming amount of insatiable hunger found Y/N, she felt her body perk with energy, her senses incredibly alert, and her heart accelerate as if it was injected with caffeine. She brought a hand to Alcina's cheek and drew her to her own. Lips reuniting again, her tongue pressing its way into Alcina's mouth, and Y/N biting her lower plump lip. She was hungry, the introduction to Alcina's blood was intoxicating, addictive, and restoring. It brought her energy and she needed more. A small line of red flowed from Alcina's lower lip, and Y/N quickly licked it from her face. Her tongue returning back to Alcina's mouth the moment she collected all of her crimson. Alcina muffled a small moan, as her hand tightened around Y/N's neck, the opposite hand no long resting on her Y/N's heart but traveling down her stomach. Her incredibly sharp nails dragging into her sternum down to above her navel. She felt blood seep from those insicions, and she let out a pained moan. She buried her lips against Alcina's for a few more passionate moments until she broke it. Her lips pressing against Y/N's neck and her tongue dragging down her neck to the freshly bloodied cuts on her sternum and navel. She kissed and licked the bloodied wounds hungrily. Little delicate moans left her mouth as she glanced up at Y/N with her appreciative smile. Still continuing to clean the newly made cuts with her tongue. "Dont act as if this is an invitation of making love, foolish one. Vampires have restorative blood that gives humans the ability to briefly recover, replenish energy, alertness, and on some occasions enhance their libidio.", she rolled her eyes, " In this case, you acquired all of it. What a headache. I just wanted to make sure you didn't die of blood loss.", She sighed. " I suppose I will find more uses for you, pet. But don't think it will entirely feel good."

To be continued...

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[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Red² | Jason Todd

✦ pairing — Jason Todd x Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 1.2k

✦ request — can I request something with jason×reader where she has powers similar to (mcu) scarlet witch but she never brought it up and then maybe he finds out about it one day

✦ warnings — mentions of violence, mentions of food, Jason has a sweet tooth, fluff

❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎・・・・・❖︎

You made him stand behind you, blocking his way into the farthest room in the warehouse. Jason puffed out air, eager to get it over with. Tilting your head, you lifted your hand at an angle.

Red strands erupted from the tips of your fingers, glowing beneath Jason’s eyes.

“They’re not here.” Jason heard your voice in his head. Frowning, he opened his mouth but you pressed, “Find a way to tell the others to get to The Narrows. And get ready to fight.”

That wasn’t the last time he saw the glowing matter. It, whatever that was, came quite handy in combat. You moved quicker, with a confidence he had never seen on you.

Your powers saved you both from dying that night and your allies from falling into a trap.

That should have been enough, yet you could almost hear Jason’s mind reeling with questions.

He stood beside you this time, arms tightly crossed against the grey t-shirt he wore as a pajama. “Are you going to explain what was that?”

You stayed silent, drying your hair after having taken a long shower. Sure he would ask, you had taken your sweet time under the water, trying to find excuses.

He wasn’t meant to find out like that, you had used your powers without thinking. They were a reflex, part of your muscle memory, an astonishing progress after years of self-hatred and insecurities.

Jason and you were never paired up for anything, he usually kept close to his brothers or his friends and you were always part of Donna’s team. If big things happened, everyone fought together. You had been careful around him and his family, but the last time you had fought together had been months ago and you were getting more comfortable with your powers and the things you could accomplish thanks to them.

You should’ve known better, both in terms of telling him the truth and in terms of controlling your impulses. Useful impulses to take advantage of your powers, but impulses nonetheless.

“You can read minds and you never told me!”

“I have never read yours if that’s what worries you.”

Jason scoffed. He hadn’t considered that you could have done it to him. That was how shocked he was. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Shrugging, you walked past him to get yourself a cup of tea.

He followed you toward the kitchen, bare feet paddling against the floor as he stomped.

The night was too hot for drinking tea, yet there you were, boiling water instead of confronting your boyfriend.

Tension filled the small apartment. You could feel his heavy stare on the back of your head as you went through the drawer to find the perfect herb.

“I don’t like talking about it,” you explained. He had never pushed you to do things you didn’t feel comfortable with, there was no way this could be different.

“I don’t need a rundown. I just want to know why.”

“Because I don’t like talking about it, Jason.”

Harsh enunciations of his name hadn’t bothered him in years. The worst thing was the explanation, if he could call it that. Trust and openness were the backbones of your relationship, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel betrayed.

He wanted to know more. If the powers hurt, if you had been born with them, how long had it taken you to master them... Jason didn’t like secrets, he kept a lot already.

“Were you born with them?”

You opened the cupboard, clenching your jaw. His intentions might have been good, but you had thought you made yourself clear. “They just appeared,” you rasped, “one day I woke up and I had them. No one knows exactly what triggered them.”

“Do the red things hurt you?”

You shook your head, reaching for your favorite mug. “The blasts usually only bring pain to others,” you sighed out, ashamed.

“What do you mean?”

Turning the hob off, realizing now you really would need that tea, you picked the kettle and poured hot water into the mug. You had never explained the nature of your powers to anyone, and the people who knew the pain they could cause weren’t here to talk. How does one explain that to their partner?

“I’ve lost control before.” The mumble was barely audible. You lifted the mug, taking a gulp of the scorching hot tea. A question crossed Jason’s eyes — God, you loved knowing him so well. “Just ask. I’m already talking, aren’t I?”

“Do they hurt you when you lose control?”

You hummed in thought. It was more complicated than that, you didn’t understand it fully yet. “Not physically.”

Jason didn’t say anything else for a while. You didn’t want him to either, you weren’t in the search for pity nor coddling. He wouldn’t judge you, that was a given, but his silence was preferred in a moment you hadn’t planned to be part of.

“They’re cool...” he trailed off, unsure. “But you should’ve told me.”

There were things you could’ve done less clumsily, telling him about your powers was one of them. People feared them, your parents hadn’t taken the news well. You didn’t want him to leave too. You feared what your powers did, to people you hated, to people you loved — to you.

Jason closed the space between you, crushing you against the finger as he picked your mug. After taking a sip of tea, he made a face. “That needs sugar.”

Rolling your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his waist. “Are you mad?”

“No.” Clearing his throat, hoping the bitter taste of the tea would quit burning, Jason continued speaking, “I assumed you didn’t trust me and I want you to do it like I trust you.”

“Babe,” you sighed, “you are not the problem.”

Nodding, he placed a hand on your neck, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “And you’re not a problem, don’t say it like that.”

Such a nice thing to hear from the person you love. If you were in a self-deprecating mood you would say you didn’t deserve it, but you weren’t. Hiding things from Jason was hard and draining. Turns out everything would have been fine if you had told him from the beginning.

Jason wrapped his other arm around you while his hand withdrew from your face. You felt him open one of the cupboards behind you. Grunting, he battled with a box for a few seconds before finally being able to take a few cookies out.

He offered you a cookie. You shook your head. He insisted. “Please?”

“I’m not hungry. You eat them.”

“Half a cookie at least?”

Kinking an eyebrow, you asked, “What for?”

“I want to kiss you but I have to taste that disgusting tea again, I will punch a wall.”

“You are such a baby,” you playfully teased him, moving the cookie he was offering closer to your mouth with your mind.

His eyebrows shot upward. Yup, your powers were the coolest thing ever. Jason smiled when you bit into the snack, opening his mouth when you tried to give him the now bitten cookie back.

You slowly feed him the cookie, this time taking it in your hand, hoping you wouldn’t laugh and choke. His teeth grazed your finger teasingly, eyes daring you to do anything.

He munched the cookie quickly, swallowing twice to make sure. Putting the other two cookies on the clean counter behind you, he shook the crumbs off his fingers as he leaned forward.

And so you kissed him before he could continue teasing you, smiling against his lips when he whined.

[dontshootmespence]

You’ll Get There

Summary: You plodded along. Day after day. Using the little joys to push through. Until one day your secret is revealed.

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word Count: 1,553

Warnings: Self harm, depression, body issues, body image issues, insecurity. This is heavy, and really real for a lot of people, SO PLEASE BE WARNED BEFORE READING.

A/N: This is for an anon who is going through some things right now. <3

As you stared at the ceiling, your eyes felt heavy. You just woke up and all you could think of doing was going back to sleep. Being awake was too hard. Too pointless. 

But you had to work. Apparently that was a thing you had to do to keep on living. Slipping out of bed, you plodded toward the bathroom and the unholy mirror, readying yourself to look in the mirror and hate what was staring back at you. 

You turned on the light before you walked over the threshold of your bathroom. Over the years, you outfitted your bathroom with anything and everything you could think of to make it more inviting and comforting, but it did nothing to lessen the mocking silver reflection that caught your eye the second you walked in. “Fuck off,” you said to the inanimate object, almost angry it didn’t say anything back - at least then you could fight something and get some of this hatred out of your body. 

Zoning out as you brushed your teeth, you closed your eyes and tipped your head up toward the ceiling, brushing until your mouth hurt. After spitting into the sink, you couldn’t evade your reflection and stood there staring for what seemed like hours, honing in on everything you hated about yourself. Before too long, you got disgusted with yourself and walked back to your bedroom to get changed for work.

Once you decided on some dark wash jeans (the only kind deemed appropriate by your office) that were ill-fitting to say the least, and a plain red t-shirt that probably could’ve been thrown away years ago, you got dressed, pulling your pants up to your knees before sitting down on the bed. A few quick cuts with your razor drove endorphins through your body. You hated that was the relief you found; that you couldn’t find it anywhere else, but that was your life now, so you muddled through.

The only thing you had pushing through each day was your weekly pizza nights with Spencer, who lived one floor above you, but unfortunately his job had him away from his apartment more often than in it, so you hadn’t been to his place for two weeks. Thankfully, he was going to be home tonight.

As you ambled your way down the stairs, you found yourself thinking dangerous things. What would the world be like with you gone? Would anyone miss you?

Slipping into the car, you allowed a tear to fall before drying your eyes, using your pointer fingers to wipe away the waterfall of tears awaiting release. With a deep breath, you pulled away from the curb and went to grab your morning coffee. It was things like that - the routine of your favorite coffee - that kept you going each and every day. It saddened you. But maybe it was enough for now.

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Work slogged by slower than molasses. Every minute felt like an hour. You’d forgotten breakfast, forgone lunch because you felt like you didn’t deserve and were so hopped up on caffeine by the time your shift was over that you went through one of your favorite drive-thrus and binged leaving you feel like a complete sack of shit.

Thank God Spencer was going to be home tonight. Literally, each small moment with a friend, each song that came out from your favorite artist, each move that “you just had to see” - it was all that kept you going. 

After texting Spencer to make sure you were still on for tonight, you drove home and quickly released some tension in the only way you knew. A few new ones on the opposite leg then you cut this morning. A couple on your arm. Spencer texted back to say he was on his way back to the apartment with pizza, which gave you a few more minutes with your seemingly closest friend. Shining metal pierced soft flesh a few more times, just deep enough to feel something, but not deep enough to do any real damage. When you thought of that kind of injury, your heart dropped, which was the only thing that kept you from doing it, despite how god awful you felt. 

You bandaged up the cuts and slipped into some super baggy pants and a sweatshirt, forever wanting to hide the body you hated so much. Spencer assumed you dressed that way for comfort, which is why he always joined you and wore pajamas - if he only knew the truth. 

Your timing was immaculate, both of you arriving at his door within a minute of each other. “Have a good day at work?” He asked.

“I had a day,” you laughed. “But I’m alive.” He didn’t realize what an accomplishment that was. 

Spencer jimmied the keys in the lock and swept the door open, allowing you to walk in first. “Do you mind if I grab something to drink?” You always felt the need to ask, like you were being an imposing ass if you did anything else. 

“Y/N, my place is your place. Feel free to get whatever you want. You don’t have to ask.”

And now you felt bad for asking. 

You reached into the refrigerator and grabbed some juice, pouring a glass in the hopes that you could put off eating pizza for the time being. Binging after you left the office made you feel like you shouldn’t be eating anything for the rest of the day. 

As you reached into the cabinet and grabbed a glass, Spencer opened the pizza box and turned to grab plates, freezing in place. “Are you hurt?” He asks. You look down and see a blood drop on the floor. One of the cuts must’ve been deeper than you thought, the bandaids usually covered the evidence. 

“No, I’m fine, Spence. Don’t worry.” You hated having people worry about you. Made you feel like a burden to the world. 

Another drop fell to the floor. When you clutched your arm, he knew. “Y/N...”

“It’s nothing, Spence.”

“You’re hurting yourself. That’s not nothing.”

“I’m nothing. So it seems fitting.”

Spencer eyes blanketed with tears as he begged you to sit on the couch with him. “Please. Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I know it doesn’t. I don’t wanna burden you.”

“You’re not. I’m asking you to talk to me,” Spencer replied. His voice was shaky and his skin was paler than usual. “Please, Y/N.”

“I don’t know,” you started, completely unsure of where to begin. How could explain how you felt? If you knew, you could do something right? “I hate myself.” It was a simple statement, but it was at the root of everything. “I don’t like what I see when I look in the mirror. I either binge or don’t eat depending on the day. I feel like a burden to everyone around me. Honestly, it’s just little things, like having pizza with you or listening to my favorite song that keeps me from ending it all.”

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat. “I can’t say that I personally understand where you are right now. At least not to the degree that you’re feeling it. But you aren’t alone. Ever. When people love you, you’re not burdening them. They’re opening themselves up to help you because they want to help. Will you let me refer you to someone? The psychologist the BAU works with, her friend has someone that specializes in your type of struggles.” He could sense the hesitance in your muscles. “Please. I know what your brain is telling you right now. That you don’t deserve kindness of any sort. But I’m telling you that’s bullshit. It’s garbage. And with time and help I think you’ll believe it.”

“I’ll do it,” you said softly, adding quickly, “for you.”

“I’ll take that.” He said quickly, relief flooding his voice. “Eventually, you’ll be doing it for you, so I’ll take what I can get now.”

Spencer stood up quickly, kissing your forehead as he ran into his bathroom. He’d never done that before. You two were friends. You wanted more, but didn’t believe yourself worthy, or that he’d return your feelings. 

When he sped back, he had bandages and some antibiotic cream, peeling your sleeve back without words to clean your wounds. “Thank you,” you said, watching a drop of water fall to the couch. You were crying. “Thank you, Spence.”

He slid his finger under your chin and tipped your head up to see the genuine concern in his eyes. “You’re welcome. It’s what you deserve. Okay?”

“Okay.”

After cleaning up your cuts, he pulled you close, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. Instead of eating and watching tv like you normally did, he just turned on some music and brushed his fingers through your hair. “I know I’m away a lot with work, but please, whenever you feel like cutting text me instead. I may not be able to get to it right away, but I will read it, and I will respond.”

Heavy with exhaustion, you nodded your reply, tears turning his light grey pajama shirt much darker. “I want to feel better. I just don’t know how.”

“It’s going to take time,” he said. “But you’ll get there.”

[rewriteparagraph]

REWRITEPARAGRAPH WIP

Here is an update and summary of the works in progress I have currently;

REST IN SILENCE  (Uncompleted, on Ao3)

Harry agrees to an Armistice settlement with Voldemort in which he is collateral. Living together unearths a new and strange tension between them; an obsession that cannot be ignored. All of this, and Harry finds a new threat in Death – and it is hungry.

Tags: tomarry, love-to-hate, enemies-to-lovers, dark, violent, seduction, word games, tension, drama, angst, pining, sex, sexuality, internalised homophobia, confusion, duelling, death, Master of Death, The Deathly Hallows, trapped, moral ambiguity.

THE SICK ROSE

It’s a bad day when even the Saviour of the Wizarding world wants you dead.

Draco is accused of killing Charlie Weasley at the Battle of Hogwarts, and as far as the Wizarding world is concerned, he’s a dead man walking.

After finding his parents dead by their own hands, public disgrace and humiliation, Draco finds himself in a dark place.

Desperate for a way out, no matter what form it takes, Draco is saved by a potion in Severus’ journals that promises to change his face and body into anything he desires.

He promises himself that he will enjoy himself a little before he joins his parents, but will the promise of his alter ego ‘Andrew Hope’, and the way that Potter looks at him in his new skin, prove too much?

Tags: drarry, dark fic, suicide ideation, self-harm, identity crisis, body dysmorphia, self-hatred, pining, unrequited love (at first), Polyjuice Potion (sort of), disguise, psychosis, identity issues, mental health issues, bullying, harassment, violence, secrets, denial, revelation.

DIRT

Harry hunts the Horcruxes alone. After breaking into Hogwarts over Summer and viewing the rest of Dumbledore’s memories, Harry is armed with new knowledge about his task and the loyalties of those around him. Memories reveal that Tom Riddle was a brilliant student and capable of great acts of kindness before he sought the create his horcruxes. He learns that Dumbledore had originally planned to save Tom Riddle and his soul pieces but had run out of time to find a solution after becoming cursed. Upon learning this, the Horcrux within Harry is disarmed and reveals its knowledge to Harry – and an affinity for wild magic previously unknown to him.

Now Harry must navigate a Wizarding World at war alone, find the Horcruxes, and wrestle this new magic inside him. The Horcrux within him becomes a reluctant guide. Harry overcomes the various traps and challenges surrounding each of the soul pieces using both his own skill and an innate affinity for Wild magic. Harry must keep himself and the Horcruxes hidden from the Order and Death Eater’s searching for him, both of which are uneasy with Harry’s missing status.

And, Lord Voldemort dreams of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Tags: tomarry, Deathly Hallows AU, powerful Harry, horcrux Tom Riddle, dreams, Wild Magic, grey-to-dark Harry Potter, necromancy, gore, chase, loneliness, enemies-to-lovers, on-the-run, darkfic.

FERAL CHILDREN (Uncompleted, on Ao3)

31st of October, 1981

Infant Harry is blamed for the death of his parents, James and Lily Potter. Out of fear of Harry’s strange magic, the Wizengamot order him to be euthanised. Unable to kill Harry and convinced of his innocence, an Auror spirits him away to the Forbidden Forest where he grows up away from a Wizarding World that thinks Harry Potter is dead.

Ten Years Later

Hagrid, after finding Unicorns maimed and culled, follows footprints he has found deep in the forest. His search is fruitless until he takes a young Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley into the Forest for detention. Draco happens upon a small dark-haired boy murmuring to a felled unicorn, a Pan of the wild who runs like a wind through the treetops.

Harry enters into a Wizarding world convinced he is guilty and disgusted by his magic. But Harry isn’t the only Dark creature within the wall of Hogwarts.  

Tags: drarry, Forest AU, dark Harry Potter, powerful Harry Potter, Dark creatures, violence, discrimination, bullying, social rejection, secrets, denial, gothic, primal, instincts, OC Magical Theory, not-innocent-until-proven-guilty, false incrimination, pessimism, nihilism, Hogwarts Family.

ANTITHESIS

‘Our love is a ghost that the others can’t see, It’s a danger.’ – Agnes Obel, Familiar.

After his name is revealed by the Goblet of Fire, Harry is vilified by the those inside Hogwarts, even his teachers. Thus, Harry spends all of his time in books, driven to prove them all wrong – to be better than those who have turned their backs on him. He trains methodically, preparing himself for the Tournament. In doing so, he discovers a new side of Draco Malfoy he’s previously been blinded to. Traded secrets, creeping loyalties, and tight-lipped affection are forces that two boys have a face in a Wizarding World at war.

Maybe there is something to wanting what you cannot have?

Tags: drarry, bullying, OOC Ronald Weasley, social rejection, hurt – comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, rebel Harry Potter, underdog Harry Potter, powerful Harry Potter, falling in love, secrets, hidden romance, war, pining.  

DEMIURGE

Having just completed four years of his sentence, Draco Malfoy is once again pulled back into the Ministry.

Why?

Harry – bloody – Potter.

Draco has been sent as a Vampire Liaison to one newly vampiric, and somewhat feral, Boy-Who-Lived. He has been asked to feed Potter, who is starving himself of blood – all while Draco himself is made thirsty by the sub-par blood pills the Ministry had order him to take and a sentence which demands he never drinks from the vein again.

But the boy Draco once knew and hated has changed with his thirst, and not necessarily for the better.

Both men must face a primal temptation, and a new undead reality, all while trying to not tear the other apart.

Tags: drarry, vampire, EWE, bloodlust, denial, addiction, violence, fighting, lust, dark Harry Potter, dark Draco Malfoy, temptation, seduction, sexuality, gothic, horror, Ministry-bashing, harsh sentences, social isolation, social rejection, discrimination, Dark creature, instincts, war aftermath.  

ANIMAL

After a receiving broken nose and a bruised jaw on the Hogwarts Express, Harry find he can’t control his rage towards one Draco Malfoy. Obsessed by thoughts of revenge and suspicion, Harry stalks Draco through the Hogwarts Halls.

Needing to be near Malfoy overtakes Harry senses and as the pressure inside him builds, so does the risks he takes to get Malfoy alone – to make Malfoy see him.

A story of misplaced desire, denial, and reaping what you sow.

Tags: DARK, drarry, obsession, stalking, Malfoy-is-up-to-something, internalised homophobia, craving, dark pining, fighting, bullying, secret identity, gothic, traps, denial, Half Blood Prince AU, duelling, word games, seduction, sexuality, deep-in-the-closet Harry.

ONESHOTS:

ID EGO SUPEREGO (On Ao3)

Captured by Death Eaters, Harry and Draco must navigate torture at the hands of the Dark Lord - Tom Marvolo Riddle reborn.

Harry reveals a secret that Draco vowed to keep, and Riddle discovers that which Harry has hidden within himself. It's a secret that both Harry and Draco have shared in and which solidifies the bond between them.

Riddle unearths some truths about himself in the same breath - wants and needs he'd long-forgotten.

Tags: Threesome - M/M/M Horcruxes Romance Love Enemies to Lovers Anal Sex Sex Implied/Referenced Torture Aftermath of Torture Soul Bond Soulmates Redeemed Draco Malfoy Sane Tom Riddle Angst Angst with a Happy Ending Powerful Harry Magically Powerful Harry Potter Light BDSM Power Dynamics Power Play Praise Kink Light Bondage Morally Grey Harry Potter

MADE FOR THE HUNT (On Ao3)

A short piece based on the following tumblr prompt by Cypherparadox:

“Before there was Voldemort, there was Grindelwald, a dark wizard who started a war with the muggles and nomajs. With magic now known to the non magicals, it comes with it the need for secrecy. To put it simply, witches and wizards are being hunted down for experiments and execution. Harry Potter's parents were executed when he was only a baby after the British government found them in possession of magical texts. Instead of killing baby Harry, they placed him in an orphanage. The same orphanage that one Tom Riddle lives in. What follows is enemies to friends to lovers as they try to band together to bring the Wizarding world back together.”

Edited and by the lovely Kash!

Tags: Alternate Universe - Dystopia Imprisonment Torture Revenge Love Confessions Bonding Blood Magic Oaths & Vows Sane Tom Riddle First Time First Kiss Pining Mutual Pining Falling In Love Romance Dark Muggle/Wizard Relations Magic Revealed Angst Angst with a Happy Ending Non-Canon Relationship Sexual Tension Implied Sexual Content Friends to Lovers Boys In Love Ambiguous/Open Ending

[ramblingguy54]

The Phantom & The Sorceress: Lena Shines Once Again

Let me first start off by saying. DuckTales it’s so freaking good to have ya back!

Okay with that said, Phantom & The Sorceress episode is another damn great Lena episode that continues to showcase why she’s such an endearing character, much like Della Duck. DuckTales has continually knocked it outta the park with each episode focusing on Lena’s inner demons trying not to define herself exactly as Magica’s heartless nature. Which we get to see once again on full display here when Lena has to reluctantly ask for her help, once the Phantom Blot rears his ugly head trying to take away all magic with an “Infinity Gauntlet” of his own making trying to become a second coming of Thanos. Lena has been such an amazing new addition to this reboot’s iteration. You can tell, as clear as the blue freaking sky, that so much heart and effort has gone into exploring the heavy details of what makes Lena, well, such a deeply relatable individual. You want to see Lena become a stronger person, who won’t repeat the same awful mistakes as her heartless parent and what better way to do that, than with them teaming up to confront an old foe from Magica’s wrong doings?

I was ecstatic to hear about Lena teaming up with Magica because it’s always an interesting treat to see a protagonist make some temporary truce with their extreme moral opposite when done right, of course. I’ve seen it in Teen Titans when Robin teamed up with Slade to stop Raven’s demonic father from destroying all life in the universe, which was a lot of cool character introspective for both what makes their characters so similar, yet so alienating as well. This situation is no different, as Lena has to grit her teeth against every snide abusive remark her so called aunt throws her away to try deterring the kid to no avail, since Lena isn’t having any of that freaking garbage after Nightmare On Killmotor Hill’s story in Season 2. Although, Lena does have a new challenge to face that stirs up those old feelings of self resentment showcased in this season’s theme of legacy and how that ties into one’s own self-worth when looking at their respective lineage and oh boy there’s a lot to unpack.

One day I grew tired of the many gifts villagers’ offered to keep me from destroying their village, so I destroyed their village.

Okay, that line of narration for this origin exposition is befitting of Magica’s deliciously evil nature. Fucking love that stuff. Can I just say I adored Phantom Blot’s backstory being a by product of Magica’s reign of terror in this iteration of his characterization? It not only adds weight to the Phantom Blot’s personality, but contributes a serious fuel to Lena’s emotional turmoil of her inescapable connection to magic that she has to better cope with. Lena may have more confidence in herself after Season 2′s dramatic shenanigans, but it still doesn’t take away from that painful reality that she feels like a prisoner to the very essence of magic quite literally & figuratively, too. Seeing Magica spell out how her actions of destroying the Blot’s village and loved ones years ago had a long term consequences in the creation of Phantom’s hatred for magic ties in perfectly to Lena’s disgust, where it no doubt drudged up the good ole self esteem issues. Like Lena stated in the episode, “Our magic isn’t a legacy! It’s a curse!”, that has caused a lot of unending pain and misery. Phantom Blot is just one of many victims Magica scarred for life, where that seriously bugs Lena to still be connected to that as a legacy she’s saddled with, but the very thing keeping her alive in the grand scheme of things, too. That provides a layer of serious tension because all Phantom Blot has to do is suck away that magic from the amulet and Lena will disappear along with that. There’s a lot riding on the line that can’t be ignored. 

Being angry might work for Magica, but you’re not her. You’re good!

If Lena fails, she dies. If they don’t defeat the Phantom Blot, Scrooge and the kids are trapped in another dimension, leaving FOWL to steal Duckburg on a silver platter with few to defend their home. Thankfully, there’s always Webby to help keep Lena’s insecurities in check with a nice dose of emotional support. They really wanna build up how important of a character Webby is as the extreme optimist for this season, by further reinforcing how much Lena has succeeded thanks to Webby lending her a helping hand in opening up to have that courage in facing down her dark past that continues to bother her at every turn. Real talk, I seriously hope Lena will be the one to help lift Webby up outta her low breaking point when whatever stuff Beakly is hiding from her tests the kid’s trust in others. Having Lena give Webby the emotional pep talk would be quite poetic when that time comes in the distant future of this season. Lena has come such a very long way from who she used to be in Season 1. She was out for herself at first trying to get away from Magica’s cold blooded nature. However, once she met Webby the rest was history that made Lena determined to gain her freedom not outta a selfish reason anymore, but one to feel truly alive and happy. To feel the loving warmth of affection she never received before.

Lena’s smile says it all about how unashamed she is to allow Webby to be this sentimental toward her about a touchy topic for herself. Sure, she playfully shrugs off Webby when she’s throwing out suggestion after suggestion about stuff regarding positive uses for magic and all that, but it’s not outta some form of negativity taking hold of her again, like in the JAW$ episode, aka calling her a sentimental fool. Lena is laughing it off agreeing with her friend as naturally any form of motivational socializing should be handled when she says, “Okay, Webby. I got it. Thanks!”, that’s heartwarming and adorable in showcasing Lena’s growth. All of it comes to a head in Lena’s magical beam struggle against Phantom Blot’s absorbing gauntlet, where we get a culmination of every pivotal moment that’s made Lena into who she is now, whether you’re looking at Magica’s abuse or how Webby helped her to realize that stuff didn’t define her, but how she chose to act on all those bottled up feelings. This episode pulled another Friendship Hates Magic when Lena was starting to disappear all over again from Blot’s gauntlet and I could feel that adrenaline kicking in at that point seeing Phantom Blot almost succeed. Lena came close to letting Magica manipulate her all over again at that lowest point, but those emotional callback’s from Webby & Violet’s bonding spell reminded her all too well immediately that she isn’t a slave to the name, De Spell, anymore. It’s clear that Lena is getting ever closer to reaching that apex of character development, given the awesome looking design change that now fully reflects her more happier outlook on life ever since meeting Webby and her sister from a couple of misters’, Violet.

Love how her eyes are now blue and not dark anymore, which can arguably be seen as symbolism for overcoming depression with those dark eyes she once had. Pessimism can transform into the most powerful form of compassion for others, as seen with Lena’s blue magical signature now that isn’t dark purple anymore, like her aunt’s. Also on a side note, while I would’ve loved to have seen Magica be without her full powers a little longer to provide for more interesting scenarios in showing her cunning and calculating nature, this gives us more intense scenarios in their own right for Lena clashing with Magica again in Season 3′s future because there’s no way we’ve seen the last of these two going at it. Now that they’re both at their fully realized power, you can bet shit’s going to be hitting the fan when it does happen between these magical beings of opposing sides. The possibilities are endless with that notion in mind.

The Phantom & The Sorceress continues to enforce why Lena is easily one of the most complex characters in DuckTales (2017). Each emotional hurdle she’s overcome is completely earned in her growth to be a better and protective friend to her real family. Whatever the future holds in store for Lena’s character, you can know that I’ll be there rooting for her development every step of the way. 

This was an excellent return to form. 

I’ve missed you DuckTales. Welcome back.

[kazdoesntknow]

The Return, Pt. 2

aka im a lazy shit and can’t seem to write a story where there are genuine chapters because my mind says “no, do this first!” so i’m doing parts so then you guys can somewhat get the timeline. somewhat.

PLOT: a week after leo's return, him and raph attempt to break the tension between them, but it does not go as raph had planned.

CHARACTERS: leonardo, raphael.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: family argument, cursing, death mentions, self harm mention.

They both look at each other, emerald green eyes meeting an oceanic teal, brother facing brother. Raph had previously thought Leo to be dead in the two years he had been missing. He’d never thought his little brother would ever be returned to him, until a week ago, where it was as if Leo had returned from his grave and left a piece of himself inside it. His brother, who had previously been haunting his nightmares in presumed death, had been revealed to be in the land of the living, at least physically.

But he’s different now. Holds a sadder ambiance, the air of a man who has been broken too many times and now struggled to keep on going. Two years prior, Leo had been this constantly buzzing social butterfly with jokes easy on his lips and a grin stitched across his face. Now, there was no sign of any happiness within him. Only dull eyes- one that brilliant teal, the other blind and scarred and burned with that milky blue pupil holding a glare within it, surrounded by the bloodshot appearance of the white of his eye. His bandana was missing and he hadn’t taken it upon himself to grab another from his room, his plastron scarred from what Raph assumes being cut into, the wounds scattered across his body making Raph’s mind cower in fear every time he looked at them. Leo.... he had walked through Hell and exchanged secrets with the Devil, learned the world’s closest regrets and now beheld them. Knocked on Death’s door and left after supper.

Raphael has no idea what to say. So he starts quietly with a fragile attempt. “You.... came back.”

Leo’s gaze lifts to meet the red-clad turtle’s green one. Those eyes accusatory, but of what, Raph couldn’t tell. Though he also isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or not, either. “I promised, didn’t I?” The words sound like something the old Leo would say, but the tone was all wrong. Not holding that joy, that bright charisma, that snarky attitude. Just.... bland. Emotionless.

“I... Leo, I know you promised, but it’s been so long that I-”

“You thought I was dead and gave up.” Leo cuts him off sharply, and Raph falls quiet. “You gave up on searching. Fine.” His gaze drops back to the cup of tea he has in his hands. His sleep time tea, something to make him fall asleep, but it had never worked on the insomniac before.

“I’m sorry.”

Leo doesn’t bother with a reply, nor does he bother to acknowledge his elder brother. He just brings the hot tea cup to his lips, sipping it quietly. Sets it down with a clink against the wooden table.

“I should’ve known. Should’ve kept looking. Shouldn’t have lost you in the first place.” He’s ashamed of it. Hates himself for it. “We should have listened to your plan and trusted you. You’re.... You’re our rightful leader.”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“’Course it does. We gotta get our home back.”

“No, we have to make sure everybody is good enough to fight first.” Leo’s quick to shoot down Raph’s words, his eyes still trained on the cup, as if it were more important. “You can’t bring a team to fight if no one’s head is in the game, Raph. You blame yourself for what happened to me. Mikey’s afraid that one of us will die or get kidnapped again and refuses to believe that reality is the way it is. Donnie cut one of his arms off for what he says is self improvement, but what is really him trying to understand what happened to me. Miko’s blaming herself for Dad’s death. April and Casey are off playing vigilante behind your back. And Lavi’s trying to keep everybody stable when she herself isn’t.” He rises to his feet, his tea returning to it’s spot in his hand. “Two years, Raph. Two years I was thought to be dead. You should have done something. Everyone’s divided- you and Mikey on one side, April and Casey on the other, Donnie and Miko somewhere in between, and Lavi running around trying to keep you all sane.” His gaze hardens, and something in it reads to Raph as hatred and disgust, but Leo couldn’t possibly hate him.... could he? “I had been home for a day and I noticed all of this. This isn’t a team, Raphael. I’m not even sure it’s a family.”

“It ain’t like that. We all love each other.”

“And yet you all fell apart. That love’s fading. You hardly support each other anymore.”

“You weren’t here, so you wouldn’t know that.”

“You’re right! I wasn’t here, because I took a risk so you could all live happily as a family, and look where that got me!” His voice rises to a shout, that anger that was trapped inside him flowing out. Raph had wanted Leo to show some sort of emotion, and apparently Leo was dealing out anger. “I’ve been experimented on, burned, stabbed, sawed into, drugged, injected with who knows what, and then i fought tooth and nail to get back to my family where I thought I’d be able to be happy and safe again only to realize that my abduction had caused you all to seperate!” His free hand waves around as he speaks. “This isn’t the home I loved. This isn’t the team I worked with and trusted. This isn’t the family who I was raised with. Fuck, I don’t even know what this is, but I know it’s broken.”

Raph frowns- was this really what Leo thought? That everything was broken and in shambles? Tears burn in his eyes and he looks away. In a way, he was right. Raph and Mikey relied heavily on each other- Mikey on Raph to calm his anxieties, Raph on Mikey for his fear of being alone and being abandoned. Donnie and Miko, where Miko would draw out Donnie’s frustrations and talk them out with him before talking about her own and both pass out somewhere due to emotional exhaustion. April and Casey, in their vigilante routine that Raph knew about but never tried to stop, where they would go and beat up criminals to calm their anger and try to get some justice for what happened. And Lavi, who ran around trying to take care of everyone, and then she’d collapse on the couch and wake up to do it again the next day. They’d split up in pairs rather than talked as a family, even if they all grieved together. Broken apart.

“You’re right. We should have fixed it sooner.”

“Sure. Fixed it.” Leo sighs. “This isn’t something you just fix.”

“Then what the hell are we supposed to do?!”

Leo’s gaze is like fire. Full of anger, of pent up rage he’s onnly barely let out, his wrapped up furies he keeps mostly contained. He only takes a long sip from his tea. Takes a deep inhale to calm his nerves. Then swallows the rest of the tea in one long gulp, letting out a shudder at the taste of it afterwards, as the sleep time tea doesn’t exactly have the best taste, especially when you drink it quickly.

“Well, Raphael,” he says, setting the tea cup in the sink. “You could start by showing that you actually give a shit.”

He turns on a heel and leaves the room, with Raph staring after him. Because as much as his words hurt, he knew he was right.

Raph needs to get his family back.

[rwby-grimm-guardians]

RWBY Grimm Guardians Arc 3: Separated Union Ch 2

Side White I: Family Drama

Welcome back to Separate Union! Here is Side White, which revolves around Weiss and Arktis’s experience in Atlas. The constant theme of this side is, obviously, Arktis...or rather, WILLOW becoming more frustrated and angry with Jacques. Willow will be referred as Willow and not Arktis for this arc...and maybe onward.

A specific theme of this chapter is the former heiress and Klein talking about how they can make sure Willow can prevent her children from ending up like their father. As usual, please give constructive criticism and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still own nothing.

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(Several months after the Fall of Beacon, in Schnee Manor, Altas…)

Late at night, Willow Arktis Schnee sat in the manor’s library, reading a random book. Despite looking at the pages, she wasn't paying attention to it. She was more focused on what had happened earlier in the day… “Fuck…” The former heiress sighed, tossing the book on the table, before rubbing her eyes. These past few months have been… Well, increasingly frustrating for her. Not just because of what happened to Beacon, but also because of her husband, Jacques… Or was he her widow now?

She had no clue. Hell, for what Jacques and the rest of Atlas knew, Willow was still dead. “Maybe it’s better that I STAY that way to them.” She mumbled, laying on the couch and closing her eyes as she recalled the events leading up to now…

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(Over the past few months…)

1st Month

Willow and Weiss had returned to Atlas, where they were immediately greeted by a few individuals. Firstly was, quite predictably, General Ironwood and the Atlas Military, who had also returned quite recently. While he gave them a brief rundown of what had happened in Beacon, it was mostly information that the two already knew. That is, until he brought up what had happened to the headmaster.

At the moment and according to their current understanding, Beacon Headmaster Evergreen Ozpin Brown was dead... Needless to say, neither of them had expected that information…

The two went into the Manor afterwards, hoping to think over the events at Beacon...and comprehend them. They were soon greeted by a very worried Winter, who hugged them tightly. “Are you two okay? What happened? Are your friends alright?” She began asking, receiving a small smile from her mother. “Slow down, hun. Breathe…” Willow said. “Yes, we’re safe. Yes, our friends are safe...or as safe as they can be, at least…” “A...lot of chaos happened in Beacon.” She sighed tiredly.

The two Schnees then gave Winter a run down of the recent events. “Lieber Gott…” The Special Operative whispered. Willow nodded, “Dear god is right… Yang, Ruby, and her family are safe and healing. So are Blake and Gambol.” Winter nodded, “What of the headmaster…?” The former heiress froze, before looking at the floor with a sorrowful expression. Hesitantly, Weiss said, “He’s...gone… We don’t know...if that means he’s been captured or…” She didn’t dare finish the sentence.

“What happens now?” Weiss asked. Winter held her sister’s shoulders and looked at her in the eye, “Right now, we settle down for a while. You two need to heal as well.” She turned to her mother, saying, “I’ll be here for a while, but I won’t be staying at the Manor. You know why.” Nodding, the former heiress sighed, “Damn straight, I do.” After Winter and Weiss entered the teenager’s bedroom, Willow walked to where she knew an old friend would be waiting for her.

Entering the kitchen, Willow leaned against the door frame, saying, “We’re home.” The butler jumped, almost dropping the tea set as he rushed over and hugged the former heiress tightly. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Would you like something? Where’s Weiss?” He began asking, panicking out of his mind as Willow gave a tried smile. “Gods, I missed you, Klein.” She said. “To answer your questions, we are...doing okay, we are safe, and we would like some tea please…”

Klein nodded, before immediately preparing some tea. “A lot has changed while you were gone…” He sighed. Willow raised an eyebrow, “Not in a good way, I assume?” The butler gave a nod, “Whitley...is not doing well...mentally.” “What the hell did that bastard do to him?” The former heiress growled, figuring that this was Jacques’s doing. “You don’t want to know the specifics…” The butler gave a sad sigh. “He’s still alive, but...Jacques is...morphing him. MOLDING him.”

Willow swore she felt her heart stop. Though, despite knowing that information, she never got to see Whitley that month… Even though she actively tried.

2nd Month

The next month, Willow actually MANAGED to see Whitley….and right away, she could tell that Klein was right. Whitley was becoming more like Jacques, even if he didn’t want to. Somehow...he was even looking up to him, despite the fact Jacques was manipulative and controlling. ‘What did you do to my baby boy, you fucker?’ Willow thought as she felt tension between her and Whitley. ‘What the fuck did you do to my children, Jacques…?’

She continued to watch over her children’s interactions with the man, even though Winter had gone back to the military...

3rd Month

The next month, Willow’s depression reared its unwanted head again. Just when she thought she was finally over it, turns out she wasn’t.

She started to blame herself for failing to protect her son, her youngest child,...from becoming like Jacques. As far as she was concerned, it was true...

She was dead for several years…and it was because she committed suicide. As far as she was concerned, she left to escape her own selfish pain...and in doing so, left her three children with a monster.

“Fuck this feeling…” The former heiress whispered, grabbing a bottle of wine and began drinking it. “Fuck it all…” She then blacked out.

She woke up the next day with a massive hangover...and Klein watching over her.

4th Month

Klein, to help Willow, hid and locked the alcohol away. If he wanted to help her overcome her depression, he needed to first help her get sober again. The next morning after he did that, the former heiress awoke with a groan and splitting headache. She groaned, “Verdammte Hölle.” She was in Weiss’s room, with said teenager playing the piano. “Good morning.” Her daughter said. Willow just grunted, her head throbbing, “How was I…?”

“Klein brought you here.” Her daughter said. The heiress then went over and sat on the edge of the bed, asking, “Would you like to tell me what’s going on?” Willow raised an eyebrow, before sighing, “What is there to say when I’m sure you already know?” “Try me.” Weiss said. The former heiress looked at her daughter for a few moments, before sighing. “So...my depression returned.” She said.

As Weiss gave the woman a cup of tea, Willow explained that it was triggered by thoughts of thinking she failed her children. “I left you three…in the most permanent and selfish way…” She sighed. “I… I committed suicide to….escape my own suffering.” She then looked at her daughter in the eye, “And yet, I made you three suffer because of it.” The heiress said nothing as her mother went on to say, “I KNOW it will NEVER change what I did...or redeem my actions, but I’m sorry….”

“I’m sorry for leaving you three… I’m sorry for not returning sooner…” Willow said, her hand shaking with the cup in her grasp. “I… I’m sorry...for being a terrible mother…” She then felt Weiss wrap her arms around her. The former heiress kept whispering apologies as tears ran down her face....while her daughter held her. Then...there was silence. Weiss looked down as Willow had passed out with the tea cup in her hand. Sighing, she put the cup on the bedside table , before laying her mother back down.

“Mom…” The teenager said, despite knowing her mother couldn’t hear her. “I won’t deny that what you did was wrong. You left us…” She then bit her lip, “But you came back. You’ve been given a chance to redeem yourself for what you did. You can STILL protect and care for us…” “To me….” Weiss started, before holding Willow’s hand. “I think you’ve been doing a good job as a mother since you came back… You just need some help getting on the right track.”

Subconsciously, the former heiress’s hand gripped her daughter’s. It wasn’t much, but it gave Weiss some hope that maybe...just maybe she heard her. “It’ll get better…” The teenager gave a small smile. “Nothing stays bad for long…” With that, she went back to the piano, continuing to play it as Willow slept peacefully.

5th Month

By the time the fifth month came around, Willow had stopped her drinking habits once more. This time, she hoped it would be for good.

6th Month

By the time the sixth month came up, the former heiress had stopped feeling depressed once more. She knew it wouldn’t stay like that….but she prayed that her depression wouldn’t be as severe as it was the next it showed up. Her anger with Jacques, however, was now nearing its boiling point with the man’s demanding behaviour towards Weiss as the Schnee Dust Company’s next heiress.

Willow couldn’t have been more disgusted and furious with Jacques.

7th Month

Finally, after three months of self-hatred and self-blaming, Willow had stopped blaming herself. She now knew that she needed to focus on the now and future. For herself. For Klein. For her children and friends.

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(Present day…)

Willow perked up when the family butler, Klein entered the room, holding two cups of tea. “Care to have a chat?” He asked with a smile. The former heiress nodded, sitting up as Klein sat next to her. Handing her a cup of tea, the butler sighed, “Winter, Weiss, and Whitley are struggling…” “I know…” Willow said. “Winter has escaped via the military. But who knows how much damage has been done?” Klein nodded, “She’s strong, old friend. But she needs help.”

The woman nodded, “Whitley seems almost beyond repair, given his reactions.” The butler sighed, “That is true… But there IS hope for him.” “Weiss needs to escape.” He said. “She needs a chance...to make things right again.” Willow sighed, “She needs to do what she thinks is right, Klein. Believe me, I want her to get to safety too, but in the end, we can NOT make the decision for her.” “We’d be no better than Jacques if we did…” She explained.

“But she’s…!” Klein started, only to be cut off by his old friend. “In danger? Yes, I know…” She sighed. “However, she’s mature enough to make her own decisions. She is more than capable...of making decisions to protect herself from Jacques. She just needs encouragement to make those decisions.” Willow put the cup on the table, “What we need to ask...is how I am going to be able to protect them… And how am I going to stop that son of a bitch who is their father…”

Klein smiled, “Well, I’m willing to help out as much as I can. You know that.” “Klein, you’re going to get into serious trouble if you do that!” The former heiress nearly shouted. The butler shrugged, “I don't mind. Besides, I’m sure Jacques is planning on letting me go sooner or later.” Willow sighed, “That fucker… We need to get the kids or Jacques out of here as soon as possible.” Klein nodded, “Agreed. The children are not safe with him around. And you WILL save them. I know you can...”

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Yeah, not the best to end it, but I couldn’t think of anything else. Oh well. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I tried my best to explain the reasons why Arktis is becoming more and more frustrated with Jacques and her struggle on how she’s going to protect her kids…

Next chapter will be the start of both Side Black and Yellow, as it has Blake and Yang chatting. Thought that would make sense. See ya then.