#i just generally feel like an unpleasant person to be around at the moment

[froggi-mushroom]

I’ve had the last two weeks off from sixth form for half term and I have made no effort to genuinely make plans with my friends because I was kinda recovering mentally last week and this week I’ve had a hiccup that’s basically thrown me back into my ‘they don’t wanna be around you so you should leave them alone’ thought pattern and I’m paranoid that my mum’s gonna call me lazy for not making plans again and I’m mildly stressed about that alongside other things :(

[ellastone-olsen]

Make her happy-Wanda Maximoff

★Pairing: StepMom! Wanda x f!reader

Summary: one day your father brings home a new woman, and then that woman brings you home. drunk. and you're in love with her.

★Warning: NSFW 18+, stepcest, age gap (all legal), mommy kink, praise kink, masturbation, smoking, alcohol, forbidden relationship, mentions of violence, little fluff at the end off course

★Word count: 3k

★AN: there are a few set expressions that are in my native language, but I don’t know how it sounds in English, so I translated it verbatim

There was a crowd of people around. A lot of young people like you, who came here with the same goals: to drink, have fun, maybe find someone for the night, as is usually the case. You never needed a lot of alcohol to start feeling drunk, and after a bottle of beer you were already in high spirits and holding the second one in your hands. Your friends went into pairs and danced together, you looked around: some were kissing as if they were ready to eat each other, some were simply jumping in the music like you, some had already begun to go to separate rooms or to their homes for more private relationships . As always, the student party smelled of alcohol and debauchery. A girl was dancing across from you; you were clearly having fun, even if you didn’t know each other’s names.

You've always had a taste for older women, so it wasn't a surprise when you realized you liked your stepmom. Your parents divorced when you were 11 and immediately after that your mother left for oblivion in another city. At first, out of childish naivety, you tried to call her or write, but as you got older, you realized that your life was no longer her concern. When this realization came to you, there was an unpleasant pang somewhere in your heart; for the first time you realized that there was no such person who didn’t care about you. Even your father, with whom you stayed to live in your hometown, seemed in no hurry to provide you with parental support and care, you just saw each other at home, as if you were neighbors, but were not close. And then Wanda appeared.

Your father chose not to tell the details of their acquaintance and at first, of course, did not bring her to your house. You just knew that somewhere out there there was another woman named Wanda, who, according to your father, was a real angel and you would definitely make friends with her. Of course, you were overcome by skepticism about this. He said this about Jessica and about Emma and about... and you no longer remembered the names of all his ex-women with whom he tried to start an affair after your mother left. Generally speaking, you didn't expect anything. But when their relationship (as your father thought) reached a new level, Wanda showed up at your house. You were a little over 19 at that time and you were studying at college not far from home, God knows why, but you didn’t want to go somewhere else to a life full of uncertainty and doubt. Of course, the factor that living with your father was easier financially and domestically also played a role; you knew that your small salary as a salesperson and an even more meager stipend would not be enough for the same comfortable life as you had now.

As you walked out of your room to the sound of the door opening and two people talking, Wanda greeted you with the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. You just stood there in your pajamas and stupid bunny slippers and stared unblinkingly at the woman with the big green eyes. The thought “what someone like Wanda saw in your father” even flashed through your head, even if it was wrong to think so. From that day on, the woman became a frequent guest in your home, and gradually in your thoughts.

One day, walking past a room that belonged to your father, who was not at home at that moment, you looked into a small gap from the door that was not completely closed and stood in place, as if stuck to the floor. Wanda stood with her back to the door and pulled the straps of a lacy black frameless bra over her shoulders. In the mirror that was a little to the side, you saw the reflection of her full breasts, the barely visible outlines of her nipples and her soft, toned stomach. You knew that you shouldn’t do this, at least for reasons of personal space, and at most for moral reasons, but you couldn’t help yourself, this sight fascinated you so much. Your mouth watered and your breath caught in your throat as you watched the woman who was your stepmom. When Wanda started to turn around to take a red knitted sweater from the bed, you jumped away from the door as if struck by an electric shock and quickly went to the kitchen, turning on the kettle and carefully pretending to choose between several types of coffee. A minute later, the older woman joined you, making her presence known with her hands sliding softly over your waist. Of course, your trembling at this action did not escape her attention.

In the end, Wanda finally settled in your house and with each passing month her presence drove you more and more crazy. It seemed like she deliberately didn’t close the door all the way when she went to change clothes or take a shower, putting on a little show for you. Her touches, which were unusual for you, gave you goosebumps, but due to the lack of warm relationships in the family, you thought that all “parents” do this: they hug you from behind and leave soft kisses at the base of your neck. One small incident became the point of no return for you personally.

You have never been a morning person, if in the morning and during the day all you dreamed of was a sound sleep, invariably with the onset of night a small hyperactive motor would start up inside, but perhaps your insomnia was also to blame. The clock showed 2:34 when your eyes scanned the Tik Tok feed and you giggled at stupid videos with animals, before having managed to take turns drawing, then reading, and so on in a circle. The apartment was quiet, only the sound of the clock ticking away the seconds, disturbing the peace of the heated spring air. You took off your massive headphones and pressed the off button when you heard some strange sounds somewhere behind the wall in the back where your father's room was and... oh. You held your breath and listened more closely, but there was no need because Wanda didn’t seem to be trying very hard to control herself. Every second, the woman’s screams of pleasure were muffled to your ears and an insistent pulsation settled between your thighs. With every sound coming from her mouth, a hot wave appears in the bottom of your stomach and the desire to relieve it was driving you crazy. Then for the first time you did THIS with thoughts about your stepmom.

The hand pulled the pajama pants down your legs along with ruined panties. When you pushed two fingers inside, your pussy was already wet and ready for invasion. You focused your mind on the image of the woman behind the wall and your own moans were drowned in the pillow. You imagined how her hips were rolling now, how her breasts were bouncing, her soft tender skin, in your mind there was only Wanda.

You look in prostration at the boiling kettle when a familiar hand strokes your lower back. "Good morning, my dear." You don't look at her, cheeks turning red from the events of this night. "Good morning." You drink your coffee in silence, you avoid her gaze. The click of a lighter breaks the ringing emptiness between you. A woman lights a cigarette and the smell of tobacco reaches you; a hand with a red manicure hands you a pack. It’s not that you hid your bad habits, but you didn’t allow yourself to do it in front of your father. A sigh leaves your lips and you take one, Wanda strikes the lighter and brings the fire to the tip of the cigarette between your lips. Nicotine hits your head and everyone is dizzy from harmful pleasure. "How did you sleep?" She asks as if she's mocking you. Only now did you notice that she was wearing a light night dress, which did not hide her breasts too much. You try your best not to look there, your gaze runs from her face to her chest several times and she sees it perfectly. “Like dead.”

The party was in full swing, the second bottle of beer was finished and thrown into the trash. It was your friend's friend's house or something like that. You stood in the kitchen and poured yourself some water, hoping that there would be lemon in the refrigerator. Someone’s arms wrapped around your waist from behind and you were scared because the body pressed against your back was clearly taller and larger than you. “Baby, do you want to go upstairs?” You immediately disentangled yourself from the unwanted hug and looked at the guy you saw a couple of times in college, but didn’t even know his name or what year he was in. “Who are you anyway?!” He made another attempt to come closer, but you had already jumped away towards the living room with a crowd of people. “Come on, don’t pretend, that’s how you look at me in college.” You were confused. “What are you talking about? I don't even know who the hell you are." You turned and started to leave, but his strong hand grabbed you, holding you in place. “No, I didn’t finish.” His grip was strong and you had already imagined all the worst possible scenarios, but like a blessing from above, your friend appeared. “Dude, haven’t you mixed up anything? Do you want us to go out now and I’ll put your brains back in place a couple of times?” You were immediately free. The guy raised his hands in surrender. “Okay okay, take it easy man.” He retreated as quickly as he appeared. You were shaking a little from the situation and you immediately took out your phone, finding Wanda’s contact.

“Y/N how are you? I don’t know who called him here, do you want to go outside?” You shook your head in reluctance. “Everything is okay, I’m drunk and I’ll probably go home. Wanda will pick me up." Your father was not in the city; in truth, he began to go on business trips too often, which aroused certain suspicions. Wanda saw this too and began to understand where everything was going. The answer came immediately, as if she had been waiting for this message. “I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” Her text message said.

After saying goodbye to your friends in the driveway, you got into Wanda's red Volvo, where the woman interrogate you about what had happened. “What an asshole.” You were already at home in the kitchen and the woman was swearing under her breath while she made you both hot tea. She changed into her home clothes, back into one of her light night dresses. Your alcohol-fogged brain was screaming to touch her. You watched her body move under the thin silk fabric and legs themselves carried you in the right direction. Wanda was stirring sugar in her tea when your arms grabbed hers and you pressed your body against her back, burying your face in her hair, inhaling the aroma of shampoo. The woman mentally smiled at your gesture of tenderness. "What is a cute girl?" She reached out her hand and slide it in your disheveled hair, slightly pulling back the tufts of hair. The little whine escaped you and you pressed yourself closer to her, as if you were trying to become one with her. “You smell like beer and cigarettes Y/N.” Well, it was a statement of fact, so it’s not offensive. You nuzzled her neck and Wanda turned in your arms. Now was, if not ideal, then a great moment to lay all the cards on the table. “How dare this bastard touch what’s mine.” She whispered it on your lips and your heart sank. “Wanda...you...” The words died between your lips as the older woman pulled you into a kiss. Out of shock, you didn’t immediately answer her, but quickly relaxed and attacked her lips, pressing the woman into the kitchen counter.

“Wanda...I...” You tried to convey your thoughts about your feelings for her between kisses. “Hush, pretty girl...I know everything.” You stopped and looked at her with wide eyes. The older woman laughed and took your face in her hands. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t notice anything? Oh what a sweet little thing." Everything seemed too good a dream, the woman was about to take you to her room, but you stood on the threshold, refusing to go there. “No, come to me.” You clearly didn't like the idea of ​​doing this with Wanda in the bed where she slept with your father. Then you remembered who she is to you and how you both act towards him. “Wait, but my father...You are his wife.” “And it only started to bother you now? Oh don't worry about it baby, he's been cheating on me for a long time and I want to file for divorce. Just don’t tell him.” She winked and closed your bedroom door behind her. She didn't seem upset about it.

Wanda was lying on your big soft bed, surrounded by plush animals, her housedress riding up to her hips and it was too good to be true. It seemed that you would wake up and everything would be over. You didn't care about taking off your dirty street clothes, all that mattered now was the woman underneath you. “Come on baby, make mommy happy, make me cum.” The title that Wanda gave herself completely drove you insane and you tore the silk from her body, leaving only panties decorated with lace. Even though you were on top, Wanda controlled the situation. Her skillful hands and voice guided you on how to do better.

Your knee put pressure between the older woman's thighs, which you held with your hands so tightly that they would leave bruises later. Her skin was as soft as you imagined and Wanda held your hair and guided you to her breasts, encouraging you to play with her nipples. You were ready to suffocate between her breasts, you liked them so much. Your lips wrapped around her nipple and grip on your hair tightened. “That's such a good girl, now give me your hand.” She guided you between your legs where underwear was soaked with arousal. When your finger brushed over her swollen clit, she flexed and grabbed your hair tighter. “You’re so wet, I need to try it, can I?” You whined, desperate to please.

She was completely naked in front of you and your mouth was watering at the sight. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.” Your lips peppered her stomach with small kisses. “Did you imagine me naked, baby? Mmm I bet you were touching yourself when you thought about it.” She again directed your head, but this time to her pulsating center, and before diving between her folds, you decided to add fuel to the fire. “To be honest, I heard you scream while you were fucking with my father and while listening I touched myself right here on this bed.” You said this and your lips wrapped around her swollen bud, causing Wanda to arch her back. She squeezed around nothing and you put three fingers into her at once, twist them so that each time they hit her sensitive spot. "Yes Yes! That’s my good girl, you make mommy feel so good!” She screamed into the emptiness of the apartment and fidgeted all over your face. You pounded into her at a fast pace and added a fourth finger. After a few minutes, her walls began to tighten around you and she came, squeezing your head with her thighs as if she were going to crush you.

When she relaxed, you rose to her lips and brought you together. “Did I do good mommy?” You whispered in her ear, biting her earlobe. "Yeah baby." You lay under her side playing with her tits, sometimes kissing her shoulder. The woman stroked your cheek and lifted your face, urging you to look into her eyes. "Do you want to be with me?" The question took you by surprise and you remained silent. Wanda took this as a refusal and turned to the other side, covering her naked body with a blanket. "I understand." It came muffled from her. The last thing you wanted to do was upset her, especially since you wanted to be her girlfriend more than anything.

You got up from the bed and the older woman thought that you were leaving, but you walked around the bed and sat down in front of her so that you could see her face. "Yes, I want to be with you. I think I love you Wanda." After these words, she crawled out of her homemade cocoon and extended her hands to you. You crawled into her arms.

"What will happen next?" Your question hung in the air. More than anything, you hated uncertainty. Wanda turned to look at you. “I will divorce with your father and move into my old apartment. We can see each other without hiding it, he’s unlikely to mind.” You nodded but remained silent, encouraging her to continue. “I don’t think he should know about our new type of relationship, of course, but that’s just for him.” You nodded again. It was like something self-explanatory. In your dreams, you had already moved into Wanda’s apartment, but you didn’t tell her.

"So what is next?" A grin settled on her face. “And then baby, I’d like to think about your satisfaction.” She said as she pulled your clothes off.

[serosluv2]

obsessed bf x pretty gf trope hcs w sero & shoto pls & ty 😁😁 (seperately pls)

It’s only 7 months late but here u go anon 😘

a/n: I wrote this in an hour in the bathtub so if it is shit- don’t tell me bc I’m just getting back into writing 😭😭

Shoto Todoroki

He fits this trope so well.

He is THEE resident pretty boy of UA so it makes perfect sense that he has the prettiest girl in all of Japan. (The world)

He is the teeny weeny ist bit dense on like how to take proper photos of you for the ‘gram but trust that he WILL be searching up everything about lighting and angles and exposure and zoom- all that nonsense.

If you’re a social media girly he may leave like one or two comments. He isn’t the best about being outwardly obsessed with you, he is all about those private small moments. Not being able to take his eyes off you anywhere. Always needing to be beside you. If he can’t be with you then trust he is texting you at every free moment and expects a response within 5 minutes.

He loves shopping with you and helping you pick out outfits or jewelry or how to style your makeup that day. He has no real opinion on what looks better tho he just loves seeing you get all prettied up. (Yk that tiktok where the girl is trying to decide on a dress color and her bf is just like “wtv u want mama u look breathtaking in both” ?That’s him.)

I feel like he doesn’t really buy you anything in the beginning of your relationship bc he doesn’t really see the point/value or something in that BUT all it takes is for kaminari to get you some product you’ve been wanting for a while for secret santa and seeing how touched you were by the gesture sends him into over drive:

“OH MY GOD! KAMI!!” You exclaim- wrapping your arms around him. “How did you know? I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” Shoto notices how big your eyes got and the slight blush on your cheeks from excitement and he feels, something unpleasant. Jealousy? Envy? Possessiveness? Whatever it is he doesn’t like how grateful you’re acting toward the blonde. I mean sure, he got you something nice you’ve wanted but that’s not his job (he just so happened to get you for secret santa so he kind of had to get you something) he’s not your boyfriend only your boyfriend- HIM- should be gifting you stuff. Then he kinda has a “ohh.” Moment and realizes he has never really gotten you anything just because.

Anyways after that whole interaction he is getting you anything and everything you look at for more than a second. You keep looking at some necklace at the store? Bought. He sees you liking tiktoks about girls getting flowers? Now you’re getting a bouquet every date night. Does he himself have money? No, but that No.1 hero daddy sure does. And let’s be honest he kind of owes shoto for making his childhood - for lack of a better word- awful.

In conclusion, Shoto loves his pretty girl and will do anything she asks of him without question.

Hanta Sero

Clawing at my cage for this man.

Now sero has been… infatuated with you since he first laid eyes on you one faithful morning. You were ordering at some coffee shop he passes by on his way to school and just one glance had him stopped dead in his tracks. The way your hair framed your face perfectly, your face in general because holy shit- you were gorgeous. Straight out of a magazine. He quickly took notice of the little embellishments you made to your uniform.. uniform? The same one Mina has. OH MY GOD YOU GO TO UA AND HE HAS NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE?

He literally cannot stop thinking about you and boom you appear again in the halls. Your going the opposite direction has him with your friends and he sees you all have a little cafe cup. Did you buy them all a drink before class? So you’re stupidly gorgeous and nice. Great, he, for sure, has no chance with you now.

But oh that’s where he is wrong.

When you guys start dating he actually cannot believe it. He is very guarded at first because- now it’s my personal hc that sero is a bit insecure- he can’t fathom how you, YOU, would actually want to date someone like…him.

But once those walls come down he doesn’t shut up about you. Seriously all his friends are so annoyed:

“Good god soy sauce if you mention your little girly friend again I’m hurling you across the city.”

“You’re just mad you don’t have a girl as pretty as mine- don’t worry baku-man, I’m sure one day some poor person will take pity on your soul.”

Sero did in fact get hurled across the city that day.

Now where he differs from Shoto is that this man is a GOD with a camera. He has that artistic eye and is able to capture you being your baddest/cutest/authentic self.

Literally ya’ll

He also has a good sense of style. He never thinks you look bad in one thing versus another but he will take into account the vibe of where you’re going and what’s you’ll be doing and give his opinion based on that. Because he grew up with sister and knows how to get around the “which one looks better?” Type question without hurting you.

Now sero doesn’t have money to spoil you senseless but what he does have is the forever lasting instinct to put your comfort above his own. It’s freezing and you didn’t wear a jacket because “a hoe ever gets cold”? Don’t worry sero will give you his and be visibly growing icicles on his body to keep you warm. Feet hurt from those impractical shoes? He’s caring you all the way home even if he is still terribly sore from a killer arm workout the day before with kirishima. A no a mudy puddle and you’re wearing your new white shoes :(! Well sero is laying his jacket down over it or simply caring you over the puddle. He isn’t the type to roll his eyes at how “ridiculous” or “spoiled” you’re being. You are y/n freaking l/n. He’ll do whatever you need to make sure nothing in your life goes wrong.

He also is the type to spam comments in your TikTok or Insta post and makes all his friends do the same. Not that you need it- he just loves fueling your ego.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

a moment of sadness and sweetness in one bottle. What to do if there was a quarrel between the characters and Y / N on stupid grounds, for example, they misunderstood each other, or maybe someone didn’t buy something that he had been asked for a long time in the store, or said something unpleasant, although it might not even be addressed to the second. Someone will be very offended, and the second will try to correct the current situation. In general, everyday moments, with an exceptionally good ending!

Yess! Happy to do this one, love me a bit of angst/fluff🙃 thanks for the request! Hope this was okay for you!

141 + König Having A Small "Fight" With GN! Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, crying, bickering, mentions of depression and self conciousness ‐‐ends in fluff!!

Simon Ghost Riley-

Simon was in a dreadful mood. He and the team had just gotten home from a mission that didn't go well for any of them. He wanted nothing more than peace and quiet and to lay in bed for the remainder of the day.

He walked into your shared some and was immediately hit with the smell of his favorite food cooking in the kitchen, and gave a heavy sigh. He tried to muster a decent enough mood for you, as it was clear you were just trying to make him feel better.

He walked in and found you dancing around the kitchen, putting the final touches on dinner. "I'm home, Y/N."

You turned to him with a bright smile. "Hey! Dinner is almost ready. I'm not sure if you were hungry or not."

You walked over to him and embraced hom tightly. Simon stood stiff, not returning the sentiment, causing you to pull away immediately.

"If it's alright, I'll eat it in the bedroom." Simon said, his eyes leaving yours to look at the floor.

"Oh, that's fine." Your smile fell ever so slightly. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

"No. I just want to be alone." He mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table.

You nodded meekly and went to prep his plate, handing it to him nervously. "I hope you like, I spent all afternoon prepping it."

"I'm sure it's fine, Y/N. It's just food. Can I go now?" Simon instantly regretted the tone of his voice but couldn't bring himself to reflect on it. He had too much swirling on his mind already.

You swallowed thickly and nodded at him, watching him make his way to your shared room, slamming the door behind him.

You knew when getting into a relationship with him that there would be days like this. He went through so much in his personal life, and his job was far from easy. He'd been gone for nearly 3 months, and you missed him terribly, wanting nothing more than to embrace your boyfriend when he got home.

He told you it was a rough mission, so you thought surprising him with his favorite home cooked meal might help him decompress. You'd had the whole night planned out to take care of him, and now here you were eating alone.

You felt tears fall down your cheeks and stared at your food, your appetite now gone.

~

Later that night, as you were unsure if you could approach him, you'd decided to sleep on the couch.

Simon had come out a few hours after you'd fallen asleep, wondering why you hadn't come to bed, and his heart shattered when he saw you.

He walked over to your sleeping form and crouched down beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, sweetheart."

Your eyes blinked open and looked up at him. Even in the dark Simon could tell you had been crying, and he felt horrible. "Simon?"

"Come to bed, love."

You shook your head, a sad smile forming on your lips. "It's okay. You wanted to be alone."

Simon placed his hands on either side of your face gently. "Just for a little while was all. I didn't want to take my shitty mood out on you. I should've gone about it a different way, though. The food was incredible, I'm sorry I made your hard work seem like it wasn't worth it."

You nodded slowly and moved to sit up. "Im sorry for my part. I knew you had a hard mission, and I let myself take it personally."

"Bugger off with that. C'mere." He pulled you into his arms, carrying you bridal style to your shared room. He laid you carefully on the bed, and slipped into the covers behind you, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

"I love you, Y/N. Thank you for being you." He declared quietly as he pressed a kiss to your hair. "I don't know what I'd do without you in this world."

König-

"Maus, are you almost ready to go? Our reservation is in 20 minutes!" You heard your boyfriend's voice call from outside your room.

"Y-Yeah. I'll be out in a minute." You replied, staring at your reflection in your mirror. You'd spent the last 30 minutes applying makeup and weren't happy with the end result. You kept reapplying various products, and nothing seemed to be making it better.

König made his way into the room after a few moments to see what the holdup was. "You ready?"

"I'm just trying to make this look good. It's not looking the way I want it." You huffed in frustration.

"You spend so much time getting ready. It's not going to help your self esteem throwing all that stuff on your face, Maus."

"...what?" You turned to him, not knowing if you heard him correctly. He knew of your self-esteem issues, and you were surprised he threw it in your face.

"I said you don't need that crap on your face. It won't help you feel better." He said, his eyebrows bunching together in confusion. Was he saying something wrong? He truly felt you didn't need it.

You turned your head away from him as you felt hot tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Oh."

König heard your voice break and immediately panicked. "Maus, are you okay?"

You nodded your head and made your way to the bathroom, grabbing a makeup wipe. You began to aggressively wipe away the makeup on your face as your tears continued to fall.

König followed behind you silently, and his heart shattered upon seeing your tear stained reflection in the mirror. "Maus... tell me what's wrong."

You whipped your head in his direction, fully sobbing now. "I feel so ugly König. Makeup is the only thing that helps me with my self-esteem, and you...you made it seem like it was stupid."

König felt horrible. He truly didn't think much of his words. He thought you were truly beautiful inside and out and didn't need something as trivial as makeup. You were already so beautiful without it.

"Schatz, no, no. I didn't mean it like that. I meant to say you don't need it. You're so pretty without it. I don't know why you don't see yourself the way that I do. You are so stunning, I wish you could see that. I promise you I did not mean to belittle how you felt, sweeheart." He slowly approached you and gently started to wipe away your tears. "I love you so much, please don't be upset."

You cried harder at his words, and König almost lost it himself. He was about to speak up himself when you threw your arms around his midsection and buried your face in his chest. "I'm sorry, Kö."

"What on earth do you have to be sorry for?" He asked, bewildered.

"I just.. I feel like I'm not good-looking enough, so I turn to makeup." You mumbled in his chest.

He pulled your face away gently. "Y/N. Remember when we first started dating? I felt horrible about myself and my scars. It's one of the reasons I always wore my hood. Until you. You made me feel good and happy within my own skin. Please, love, let me help you."

You gave him a smile and pressed your lips to his. "I love you so much, Kö. Thank you."

König returned his arms around your waist giving you a tight hug. "I'm always here, Maus. And you are the most beautiful thing in the world to me."

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

You and Kyle were sitting on the couch as you played one of the video games he'd been addicted to lately. You wanted to show more interest in the games he liked, and were delighted when he gave you the controller.

You were coming up on a boss fight, and assured Kyle you were okay to win it. "I promise Ky, I got this."

"I'll lose all my items if you don't, it took me forever to get it. Please be careful." He said, watching you play with worry.

You nearly defeated the boss, when you all of a sudden forgot to duck and were struck with a killing blow.

"Ugh, I'm sorry, I almost had him." You chuckled, turning to see your boyfriend staring at you with an angry look on his face.

"Sorry? I've been at this for hours, and you just let my character get killed, I lost all of my items Y/N!" Kyle's voice rose, causing you to flinch slightly.

"I said I was sorry, I feel bad. I just wanted to try this game out since you love it so much. I didn't mean for this to happen." You mumbled quietly, shifting your eyes away from his.

"This is the last time I let you play any of my games. You ruin everything." He said through gritted teeth. "Now I've got to go back and fix all this no thanks to you."

Your bottom lip trembled slightly as you stood and ran to your bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind you. You honestly hadn't meant for it to happen. You were just trying to show interest in a game he loved.

~

It was about an hour later when Kyle came into your room, his heart hurting at the sound of your muffled sobs. "Babe?"

You didn't reply, as you kept your head buried in your pillows. He came over to you, and sat beside you on the bed, rubbing your back soothingly. "I'm sorry. I was an absolute ass. You were trying to show interest which I so appriciate, and I just threw it back in your face. I'm so, so sorry baby."

Kyle bent down and began to pepper light kisses all over your face, making you giggle. "What do you say we go and play Mario kart? I may even let you win a match."

"What? Ky you know I whoop your ass at that game." You giggled, wiping your tears away.

"That's a load of rubbish and you know it. Loser makes dessert?" He asked, a wide smile forming on his face.

"You're on, Garrick."

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

You'd just gotten home from a shopping trip on your own, and were unloading the bags in the kitchen when your boyfriend Johnny walked in.

"Hey babe, thanks for going." He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he started to help you unload the bags.

"Y/N, where's the hair razor?" Johnny asked, tearing through the shopping bags.

"Oh, crap I forgot it, I knew there was something I was missing. I'll get it next trip!"

"You forgot it? I've been asking you nonstop about it and put it on the list like you asked me to! I shouldn't have to wait until next trip!"

"Okay, okay, im sorry."

"You probably forgot because you were too busy wasting our money on shit we don't need, instead of focusing on the stuff we do."

You swallowed thickly, as his words hit you like a thousand bricks. "Okay."

Johnny threw his hands up in frustration and walked outside to the porch, slamming the door behind him.

You grabbed your keys on the table and made your way to your car.

~

"Where've you been? I came back inside, and you were gone and didn't pick up your cell."

"Went back to the store, here." You said, shoving the razor box into your boyfriend's hands. "Sorry again."

You threw your purse down onto the table and started to make your way to your room before a hand came out and grabbed your wrist. "Y/N, wait."

You turned around to him, your face showing no emotion. "What."

"I'm sorry, babe. I shouldn't have said that shit. I just got frustrated, but that's no excuse." He reached for both your arms and rubbed at them soothingly.

You sighed deeply and met his eyes. "I'm sorry too. It completely skipped my mind when I was there."

"Ah, it's fine. Honestly. I was just being a prick. I appreciate you going back to get it, I really do."

Johnny came up and gave you a bone crushing hug, spinning you around. "I love you, kid."

"I love you too, Johnny." You chuckled before your face fell. "I uh... forgot we needed batteries for your razor."

John Price-

John had been in his home office nearly all day on call after call. It was supposed to be his day off, but he hadn't left his room in hours. You were slightly worried about him, as he hadn't eaten all day so you decided to make a small snack for him and bring it into his office.

You walked in quietly, pointing to the plate of crackers and cheese as he looked at you pointedly. "Just bringing by a little snack."

"Yeah, yeah, love. I'll be out later." John waived his hand at you dismissively. You gave a small smile before making your way out of his room, closing the door behind you. You were just about to walk away when you heard something spoken, muffled by the door. "Just annoying, you know?"

You felt your heart drop upon hearing those words and walked to your bedroom, not wanting to hear another word. Did you really annoy him? You were just trying to make sure he ate he hadn't left the room in hours.

You laid down on your bed, and tears came to your eyes. You'd been feeling rather depressed lately, like you weren't good enough for him, and his words stabbed at your heart. It was impossible not to keep replaying them over and over in your head.

You'd ultimately decided to give him space for the remainder of the day, not wanting to burden him in any way.

~

"Hey, sorry I've not been able to get off that damn phone all day. Want to go grab a bite?" John's voice came from the doorway.

"No. I'm okay. Thanks, though." You replied, not turning to look at him.

"Oh? Are you sure? It's dinner time, and I figured you haven't eaten." He tried again, walking over to you, and stopped in his tracks when he saw the tear stains literring your cheeks. "Baby, what's wrong?"

You looked up at him, your bottom lip trembling. "Am I annoying?"

"Annoying?" John looked utterly perplexed at your question. "Not at all honey, why would you think that?"

"When... when I closed the door earlier, I heard my name through it...and afterward you said "just annoying"." You sniffled out, unable to meet his eyes.

John sat for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head before remembering. "Oh! God no baby, that wasn't about you. I was on with Kate, and she asked if I'd been able to spend time with you yet since I got home, and I told her I haven't, and it's annoying. I don't think you're annoying at all."

He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'm so sorry you thought that."

You shook your head, a small laugh bubbling in your chest. "I shouldn't have even thought anything of it. I've just been down, lately, I suppose."

"Honey, you should've told me. I can't help you if I don't know what you're feeling." Price put his finger under your chin and lifted for you to look at him. "Why don't we go get some takeout and have a movie night in? How does that sound?"

You nodded your head and pressed your lips against his. "I love you John."

"I love you too, always."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: didn't go too angsty on this one lol. Thanks for reading!!

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 8, Unexpected - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, bit 'o' dirty talk, allusions to sexual situations, Tony being Tony.

Word Count: 1.9k

Previously On...: Tony invented an interesting game for the team to play while you and Bucky were otherwise... occupied, and the team voted on whether or not to approve Jade's probationary term. To your surprise, Bucky voted against it, though it didn't matter, as you were outvoted, but you were grateful for his support.

A/N: Welcome to Chapter 8! I know Bucky said some shitty stuff in Ch. 7, Pt. 1, but I'd like to clarify that none of what was said was out of malice or lack of care for Pocket. He just truly wasn't thinking about how the things he said would make her feel. Is it callous? Absolutely. Is it unforgivable? I don't necessarily think so. We all have moments where we simply speak without thought. It's not his finest moment in the fic, but it's also not going to be his worst.

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch

The next few weeks were some of the best of your life. True to his word, Bucky was romancing the absolute shit out of you. It seemed like nearly every night, he was whisking you out for another romantic dinner, or to this hole-in-the-wall jazz club he found so he could finally take you dancing ("the proper way, not this humping-while-standing-up-thing you kids do nowadays"). He brought fresh flowers to both your suite and your office once a week like clockwork, and the sex-- well, there were some mornings you couldn't even walk properly. It was perfect. He was perfect.

Together, you existed in your own little bubble, a new level of happiness unlocked in both of you that neither one ever expected to achieve.

The day of Jade's move-in to the Tower arrived, and you would have completely forgotten all about it if Tony hadn't mentioned it to you when you passed him in the hall on your way to meet Bucky in the common room for lunch. The reminder didn't weigh you down like you had expected it to. While she was unpleasant, and you didn't expect to become chums with her anytime soon, that burning rage you'd felt for her when she'd flirted with Bucky had subsided. Knowing how he felt about you had worn your jealousy down to non-existent.

You entered the common room, spotting Bucky kneeling in front of the coffee table, his back to you, as he took the lunches he'd ordered for you out of their takeout carriers and arranging them on the surface.

Feeling playful, you decided to sneak up on him, covering his eyes with your hands when you finally reached him.

"You know I heard you coming a mile away, doll," he chuckled, reaching around to pull you into a kiss. "Could smell you, too."

"Oh, I--" You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you sank next to him on the floor. Just thinking about Bucky was enough to get you aroused most days, but for it to be enough for him to smell--

"Relax, ya pervert; I meant your perfume," Bucky laughed, passing you a bottle of iced tea from the take out bag. You playfully swatted at him.

"You're awful," you admonished with a grin.

"Yet, you love me," he shot back, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

"The world is full of mysteries," you teased. You started opening up the container of Gaeng Daeng Bucky had ordered from your favorite Thai place. The portions were so large, you'd only ever be able to eat half of it, but that was just fine; your super soldier boyfriend would make sure none of it went to waste.

"I do love that lilac perfume on you," Bucky mused as he dug into his own plate of Pad Krapow Moo Saap. "Mixes so nice with the scent of your pussy."

You choked on a bite of your curry as Bucky broke into a fit of laughter. Handing you your bottle of tea, Bucky gently rubbed your back as he tried to reel himself in. "I'm sorry, doll. Drink this. Don't go choking to death on me, now."

When you were finally able to get your breathing back under control, you shot him a look.

"What?" he said, face the picture of innocence as he held up his hands in surrender. "'s not my fault you have the prettiest pussy I've ever laid my tongue on."

For the sake of propriety, you wanted to be mad at, or at least a little annoyed by him. But, Lord, if his words didn't do things to you. So, instead, you grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him toward you in a bruising kiss. His hands quickly guided your body down, until you were lying on the floor and he was resting on top of you, your Thai food temporarily abandoned as you gave in to one another.

Bucky had just begun pawing at your clothes when you both froze at the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat in the doorway.

"Common Room's closed for maintenance. Come back later," Bucky called over his shoulder without even looking. You couldn't help but laugh as he resumed kissing you. The man had no shame and you were kinda into it.

"Buck." The single word, low and harsh from Steve left you both frozen in place. In unison, you picked your heads up and looked to the door. Standing in the archway were three individuals-- one looking at you with barely disguised amusement, one with undisguised rage, and one who was trying very hard not to look at you at all.

"I hope you're not fraternizing on company time, Pocket," Tony said with a grin. Surprisingly, he had warmed up to the idea of you and Bucky being together (especially after you had threatened to "take my talents somewhere where my personal life won't be scrutinized and judged." "You wouldn't!" he'd gasped. "I wouldn't want to," you'd replied. "Don't let that be my only remaining option." It had been an empty threat; you both knew it, but it had been enough to get him on board).

The same couldn't be said for the man who refused to look at you, though. Since you and Bucky had officially begun dating, Steve had been ignoring you like you had cooties and he was unvaccinated, and you couldn't, for the life of you, figure out why. You'd brought your concern up to Bucky one evening, sure he'd assuage your anxiety, but he just told you to give the other man time to sort himself, leaving you with more questions. Did Steve hate you now because he thought you'd stolen his best friend from him? Or were those ‘Stucky’ shippers on Tumblr onto something?

"Like you're one to talk, Boss," you sassed back to Tony as you and Bucky extricated yourselves from your compromising position and stood up. Brushing down your pants, you turned to Bucky. "Can't even begin to tell you how many girls I've walked in on this guy with in the office before Pep came into the picture. Scarred me for life."

Tony had a faux-sappy look on his face and let loose a couple of fake sniffles as he clutched his hands to his heart. "Office dalliances of her very own. My little girl is all grown up. There is nothing more for me to teach you, precious Padawan." His hands moved to wipe away at a fake tear.

"Tony," Steve warned with a raised brow.

Tony blanched, as though just remembering his purpose for being in the common room. "Oh, yeah. Um, very unprofessional, you two. I'm shocked. Just scandalized. This is a place of business, blah blah blah and all that. Anyway, you remember Jade Carthage, our newest Probationary Avenger."

Ah, the third individual who was glaring at you with unadulterated hatred in her eyes.

"Vixen, nice to see you again. Welcome to the team." Bucky extended his hand for Jade to shake, and you watched her gaze soften and melt under his as she took his hand.

"Such a pleasure to see you again, Sergeant Barnes," she cooed. When Bucky released her hand, she turned to you, a cold, wicked smile that cut like a knife across her face.

"I don't think we've met," she said, extending her hand to you. "I'm Jade Carthage, but please, call me 'Vixen.'"

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)," you said, with a shrug, as if completely nonplussed that she claimed not to know you. “My friends call me ‘Pocket,’ but Ms. (Y/L/N) should suffice.'" You took her hand to shake it. "CTO of Stark Industries, head of Innovation and Technology for the Avengers’ Initiative. Bucky's girlfriend." Jade's grip around your hand tightened, her super soldier strength making it feel as though she were crushing your very bones, but you held on, not letting a single ounce of pain show on your face. You'd dealt with worse.

When you didn't back down, Jade let your hand go. You flexed your fingers, relishing in the return of blood flow to your appendages.

"Buck," Steve said, and you were kind of hoping for more than just a single syllable out of him this time, "we're putting Jade next door to you. Mind showing her where to go? We've already had her stuff moved in. Tony and I just need to finalize some paperwork with her and we'll have her back down."

Sensing your body tense up at Steve's request, Bucky placed a reassuring hand at the small of your back. "Well, I'm in Pocket's room most nights now, anyway." He looked down at you, offering a soft smile that you returned. "But since she's just across the hall, yeah. We can walk you down, Jade. That is," he added, his smile turning a little naughty, "if I can convince my girl here to take the afternoon off and indulge me with a bit of her time." His arm moved from your back up to around your shoulders, and he pulled you into him.

"Well," you hemmed, as though not already completely convinced that would be an absolutely wonderful idea, "I have to check with my boss first. Hey, Tony?" He pursed his lips at you, clearly not pleased that you wanted to slack off. "Can I take the afternoon off?" He opened his mouth, most likely to deny you, but you cut him off "Oh, wait-- that's right. I don't actually report to you anymore." You turned back to Bucky. "We're good to go, baby." You winked and blew Tony a kiss. You both knew you had so much unused vacation time stacked up, you could not show up to work for a year and you'd barely tap into it.

"Great," Bucky said with a smile. "We'll finish our lunch and you can meet us back here when you're done finalizing your paperwork, and we'll show you your new digs."

Steve nodded and grunted his consent, while Jade just glared at you.

"Perfect," said Tony with a clap of his hands. Before turning to leave, he looked back at you and Bucky with a conspiratorial nod. "Just make sure to finish off your lunch and not each other, got it? I'm not due to have this carpet shampooed for another couple of weeks, and they charge extra for dealing with bodily fluids."

"Oh, gross, Tony," you moaned, while they walked off, Tony laughing to himself.

Once they were gone and you and Bucky had settled back around the coffee table to eat your now cooling Thai, you leaned in and kissed him. "Thank you," you said when you'd pulled away.

"For what?" he asked, breath a little uneven from the kiss.

"For being amazing and handling that entire thing perfectly," you told him, putting a hand on his knee.

He smiled at you, his blue eyes like crystals. "I told you, sweetheart, gonna be the best goddamned boyfriend you ever had, and that means making sure I'm not putting myself in a situation with her" he nodded his head toward the now empty doorway, "that makes you uncomfortable. Besides, it was really immature of her to pretend she didn't know who you were. I'm not going to spend alone time with someone who disrespects my girl like that."

You brought your hand up to stroke his jaw. "Have I told you how much I fucking love you?"

"Yeah," said Bucky, smiling at you through a big bite of his food, "but you might have to repeat yourself a lot. I am over a hundred, you know. My hearing's not what it used to be."

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

[harkonnen-darkness]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Prologue: Rotten Flesh

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen X f! Reader

Words: ca. 3.500

◈ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ◈ Feyd being completley sick -> obsessed with you, blood and slightly gore, mentions of smut (sexually passion) and rape, touching himself, biting (wounds), mention of Reader being dead, he slaughters people, he hears (your) voice

Since the majority was in favor of publishing the prologue, here it is. The two previous chapters are now private, but will reappear almost 1:1, with minor changes, maybe as Chapters III and IV. (I mention this to avoid confusion later.) I'm using this as an opportunity to give myself another jolt with the story. Unfortunately, I am generally a person who is often not satisfied with my work and I'm generally feeling a bit down at the moment. Thank you for your kind comments and private messages. 🖤

It felt like he had seen you die. In such a strange way. He had never seen that look in your eyes before. Such pain, deep in your soul, reflected in your tear-filled and reddened eyes. You had screamed, he had heard you, but he hadn't been able to do anything. His body hadn't reacted, it had been such a disgusting and uncomfortable feeling. Never before had his body disobeyed the commands of his brain. His limbs had become weaker and weaker until he could no longer feel them, even though he had fought so hard against it. But no chance. His vision blurred, but his ears heard your cries for him a few more seconds. Until your voice, to which he had become so accustomed, slowly fell silent.

In his eyes, he had been treated like dirt! He couldn't believe it when he woke up from his deep and painful unconsciousness. He groaned and briefly touched his forehead, the pressure almost unbearable. As if his skull would explode at any moment and blood would spill from his eyes. When the memory caught up with him, he immediately jumped up and hurried to get to your chambers, late at night - only to find it without you. He thought hastily and went to the training halls. But you weren't there either. ❝No...❞ , escaped rough from his throat. His voice still maltreated from unconsciousness. How could that be? How could it be that you were gone? His inner helplessness turned into pure wrath when he realized that his uncle, Vladimir Harkonnen, had torn you away from him. He remembered his nightmares, which had been rare but felt so real. The endless darkness he had seen and felt when you disappeared. He felt that same darkness now. It hugged him unpleasant, made him feel pain again and he felt like it was taking his breath away. Even in the dark and cold jails, he didn't hear you when he called your name. You were gone. And he didn't know what to do.

That night, he had settled down in your chambers. The bed linen and the soft blanket still smelled like you. A mixture of your own scent, your perfumes and bath salts. This alone made his body, his lower region, react. Although his mind didn't even feel much desire. Nevertheless, he touched himself and forced his genital to stay hard, even after his numerous, (now) unsatisfying orgasms. Just as he had been trained. To bring your body to climax again and again. To drive you crazy. To give you something you deserved, after your horror. Feyd's blue eyes were half open and his thoughts circled around in his head. Some nights he stayed awake, unable to rest. Because even sleep was often not a release for him. Just then he saw you, standing on the balcony, the light breeze making your hair move a little. The moonlight bathed Giedi Prime in a soft, cool light. He could see the silhouette of your body under your nightdress. Your soft, feminine curves. Oh, how they flattered him. ❝Come here, now!❞ , he spoke quietly. You heard him and crawled onto the bed, playfully falling onto him. To him, you were as light as a feather as he reached for you and pulled you into his arms to warm you. He knew that you loved it. His dreams played merciless tricks on him. Until he no longer knew whether you had died or not, his dreams confused him. He often no longer knew what was reality and what was not. Once he saw your dead body right next to him on his bed. So sallow and pale. Sometimes he saw your blushing cheeks and your beautiful smile. So honest and full of feelings.

He hadn't pulled the blanket over you one night, he wanted to enjoy the sight you offered him. Your almost colorless skin glowed and as still and wonderfully naked as you lay there in front of him, he remembered many nights when you had secretly made love. Oh, it was so dangerous... But what a delight it had been for both of you. Feyd smiled and let his fingertips caress your ribcage, grasping your firm, cold breasts. How he had loved biting your nipples...! He leaned over you, supporting himself with his arms. How quiet you were, how peacefully you slept...! Surely you wouldn't mind another lovemaking session. He gently kissed your sunken eyes, your eyelids shimmered bluish, but your eyelashes were still silky. He greedily licked your lips, pushing the tip of his tongue between them. He had always loved kissing you, the wild passion of both your bites. He forced your jaw apart, invaded your mouth with his tongue, sought yours and entwined it. Fierce excitement tingled through his body and roughly he spread your legs, pressing his stiff, hot cock against your cold, clammy skin. ❝May I penetrate again, dearest? Or does it hurt too much?❞ You offered no resistance as he thrust inside you and he didn't feel the coldness of your embrace. His moans were rough and desperate as he thrust into you again and again with a slow rythm, holding your limp thighs tightly wrapped around him. He could hardly bear the lust for your body, even though you didn't move and were completley silent.

You both had often been intimate together. And every single time had been forbidden. Because intimacy would only have been allowed after the wedding. You had pushed him so far, wrapped him around your fingers, completely unintentionally. He had sunk to his knees in front of you, had willingly spoiled you with his tongue. He remembered how you had lain in his arms and the two of you had begun (further) lovemaking, sometimes hours later. Deep in the darkness of the night. Feyd would never forget the taste of your skin, your blood and your nectar. Your skin as soft as silk when he had caressed it with his fingertips. Full of scars from your training, from fights and previous physical pain in your life, from which Feyd had freed you. For him, the lines had been like jewelry on you. He had loved kissing you and, above all, biting you. Knowing that you were his! And through his love bites, everyone else here also knew that you belonged to him. He too had a few scattered scars from your teeth, but you had much more on your body. He longed to put his lips on yours, to press your body tightly against him and never let you go. To mark your neck, your inner thighs and your back red and blue. He also remembered how he had once bitten your neck from behind, like an animal. Only once, because this had been your last time. And today he regretted punishing you by not giving you some climaxes. Even though you'd been one second away from it. Pure intent. Now he would give so much to hear your shy sweet, sometimes hoarse (as if you were choking), moans and your pounding heart again. So much...

He had loved to purr soothing words into your ears. How much he desired you, or how much blood you would spill together once all the other worthless creatures were kneeling in front of you both, trembling in fear, begging for mercy. Often this was a kind of foreplay for you, as it had excited you and him so much to hear these words from the Na-Baron. Or simply when you were lying in his arms, so that you would dream something beautiful.

When he walked past your chambers at night, after his training or meetings, he thought he heard your painfull screams again. Even though he knew you weren't there. And you would probably never be there again. He would never enter the familiar premises and find you. As you read books about Giedi Prime on your bed or in a baroque armchair, hungrily acquiring knowledge. He would never again smell the scent of lavender, lemon or other bath salts, as you relaxed in the warm water. He would never again find you asleep in bed and lie down to you, to feel your warm body against his and fall asleep comfortably next to you. Holding you tightly on him. Sometimes, only rarely, you woke up from it. But too gladly, so that you knew he was there.

Since your absence, he has been killing even more indiscriminately than usual. Again. He ended lives, but there was no fun, no inner relaxation, no balance. It was only satisfying until the knife left the skin of the bleeding victim. As if in a trance, he had disemboweled or dismembered some bodies, stained the floor completely red. And still, it wasn't enough for him. He had bitten the flesh from the victims' bodies until their screams were silenced. He didn't even give some of them the chance to make a sound, as he had severed their vocal cords directly. He killed men as well as women. Feyd didn't care at all. The main thing was that blood flowed and numbed his senses for a few seconds. The longing for you.

The dagger you had given him was always at his side. As you had said, it was not well suited for fighting. The steel was so delicate that it could break. But it slipped through skin and flesh as easily as butter. Blood flowed instantly from the clean-cut wounds, overflowing the skin and soaking the dying one's clothes. Feyd found it particularly beautiful to look at the female Harkonnens who wore light-colored clothes. How some eyes filled with tears before the light and life in them went out.

But he started to hear a voice in his head. More and more often. Very similar to yours. Or was it even yours? How gentle it could be, soft as a cat's fur, it stroked his senses and calmed his overwrought nerves. They had been talking for a long time, your voice and the Na-Baron. He smiled. Was it progress? No, of course not

No one was allowed to enter your chambers, which were still there. No one was allowed to enter it, or they would pay with their lives immediately. He had forbidden the rest of your belongings to be taken. Until his new Na-Baroness and fiancée would arrive. He had snatched a few of your valuables. Among other things, a few of your knives and your jewelry, such as your harness-chains, a bracelet and two rings. He would never forget how you had once waited for him naked on his bed, wearing only the jewelry on your body. The Harkonnen had touched you lovely right away.

He remembered your beautiful clothes on you, which had flattered your body so much. Be it your dresses, which didn't hide your back and so everyone could see his marks on your skin. Be it your nightclothes, although he preferred you naked next to him anyway, so he could keep you warm. The heavy sounds of your high combat boots, with which you made bones break when had you kicked someone. Smeared fresh blood on your hands and face when you had killed. Oh, you had had his own blood on your lips a few times, but it hadn't bothered him. On the contrary, he had loved it when you bit him with passion. But he had bitten you much more often, almost every time. If he had bitten as hard as you did, his teeth deep in your flesh, you would have bled to death from the wounds. He preferred not to bite you as brutally as you bit him, but therefore much more often. How ironic... you had usually been shy in bed, but as soon as you tasted his blood, you hadn't let go of the wound. Your teeth deep inside him until he had to tear you away from him, so he could continue kissing you.

He missed the brutal way you fought in battle and let worthless blood flow here on Giedi Prime. Just like that. But he also missed your sweet grin and giggle, when he whispered beautiful evil things to you. Or the shocked look on your face when he'd caught you gazing at him in adoring and dreaming. He had loved to push you over the edge, teasing you with actions and words. He had grinned at you knowingly, and you had tried hopelessly to avoid his gaze. Your flushed face had given him too much pleasure and boosted his ego. He knew that you loved him. But the Harkonnen had also enjoyed things that he would never have thought possible before your time. You had been the first to give him loving little kisses. You had been the first to send a shiver down his spine with your beautiful hands, as you stroked his chest and admired his rock-hard muscles. Yes, his pets had been a hundred times better at satisfying him in a purely sexual way. But he had known this long before. He couldn't expect much from someone who, in your case, had only had traumatizing experiences. But what Feyd appreciated was, that you had given yourself to him at all. That you had been willing to be intimate with him, even though it was strictly forbidden before the marriage. The satisfaction you gave him was something else than purely sexual. They were feelings and a desire that he had never felt before. He needed and craved you. 

He missed your grip on his body, when your arms were wrapped around him, as he had to get up very early in the morning. And you had also, coincidentally, been awake. How you clung to him like a spider monkey so that he wouldn't leave. At first, he had found the situation fucking stupid. But then he understood that you did this because you liked him, loved him. It was such a strange feeling for him... sometimes he would lie down again and in most cases you would fall asleep again after just a few minutes. His comfortably warm body and his slow hand stroking up and down your back were like a pleasant narcosis for you. And he kept realizing that he would never do that again. He hated the pain he felt. But that was exactly what told him that you had really been there. That his nightmares were not mere and insignificant images and events. That your sparkling eyes had really been there, when you could finally see and feel him again. Sometimes only after several hours, but sometimes not for a few nights, because the Baron had forbidden it. He had known about your intimacy.

When Feyd had seen you again after many years, he didn't think much of you for a while. But when he realized that what others said about you was true - that you were an excellent warrior, full of will, he had had plans with you. Perhaps not so different from what it had been in the end - because he found you interesting. He would have made you his trusted partner, right hand, assistant. He would have touched you just as much (as he already had) if you hadn't had to leave then, back to your homeplanet. Nobody would have thought that at that time, it was already clear, that you would become his wife, his Baroness.

His dark soul hated himself for ignoring you on the first week on Giedi Prime. However, he had ordered you to spend the nights with him. He hadn't touched you, he just wanted you to lie next to you. So that he could, somehow, get used to being near you. Your presence. You had tried several times to touch him gently, to stroke his arm. But Feyd had shrugged and avoided your touches. Such tenderness had been completely unknown to him. Not to give it (as he had already touched you before), but to receive it. His uncle had brainwashed him for years that a (Na-)Baroness was worth nothing! That intelligence was a waste on females. But Feyd had felt differently about you, but knew it was wrong. His feelings had made him seem confused and weak at first. Until he could overcome himself to give in and approach you. And to this day, he would say it was one of the best things he did in his life.

To touch, to kiss you and receive similar actions back from you. He silently thanked you for your trust in him. He silently thanked you that someone could love him the way you did. Even though he had never wished or searched for it. With you, it just happened. When you had woken up, some minutes before him, a few times, you cuddled up against his chest or his back. It had woken him up, but he hadn't said anything. He loved it, that you adored him.

Feyd had shed blood for you, just as you did for him. And even now he shed blood mercilessly. Killed anyone who got on his nerves in the slightest. A single backtalk or a single hesitant look when someone questioned his opinion - dead. Be it through your birthday gift to him, a pocket knife or his bare hands. He also remembered when you were worried about him, when he almost died in the arena on his birthday. When his own knife had been so close to his face. The Atreides could have slit his throat or rammed it into his skull...! Somewhere he had seen your concern as pathetic. But even this had shown him that you loved him.

Feyd just looked at the rest of your knives and daggers. The handles were slightly narrower, better suited to smaller hands. Still usable for him without any problems. The blades as sharp as his dark soul. In the morning, he chose which weapon would accompany him that day. Hidden under his clothes, but always ready to hand.

That night, Feyd tossed and turned a few times. His eyeballs twitched under his eyelids and his breathing was heavy. When he opened them, looked into the dim darkness and heard light rain in the background, he saw you. Known jewelry on your hands, them tenderly stroking his strong shoulders. He didn't recognize your darkened fingers. He only felt your warming hands. ❝Hello, my beloved.❞ , he heard your voice. Very quietly, the rain almost drowned it out. One hand moved from his shoulder to his chest. His heart was beating so hard and fast, as if it was about to burst. Your bad teeth flashed as you grinned at him. It wasn't sweet or shy like usual. It was evil and seemed like a pure lie. ❝Your heart... is it still mine, Feyd?❞ Your skin, your hair... everything about you was colorless. It looked like a rotten gray. Your bony hands rested on his cheeks, stroking them gently. Your completely white eyes sparkled at him with delight. ❝Oh, my Feyd. My Baron.❞ , he heard you whisper. The words came from your lips, but they sounded somehow different. So unpleasantly oppressive. It was the voice in his head that had been with him for days, or perhaps even weeks. Which had never left him alone since your absence. Your skin was ice-cold, but your touch suddenly burned like fire and it flowed like poison through his veins. Still, he welcomed you as you pressed your cold, dark lips on his. The kiss was tender and soft at first, full of emotion. But your fingernails dug through the skin of his neck when you wrapped your hands around it. The red liquid flowed down his naked back. Against your skin, it seemed scalding hot. As if it was eating into his flesh, sinew and bone like acid. And though the pain increased as you readied yourself on his lap to be closer to your beloved Harkonnen, he didn't let go of you. ❝Are you going to stay... with me?❞ , the warrior moaned between the kisses. His hands tightened around your waist, trembling in pain from the cold surface of your skin. His body suddenly ached like never before. Like he was being torn apart from the inside out. His mouth filled with thick blood, he pushed you aside to spit it out. But there was no end to it, the liquid soaked your bedding. His blue eyes flashed up at you. ❝Devil!❞ , he growled as the blood loss diminished. You smiled again as he pulled you back to him anyway to continue kissing you. Feyd moaned hoarse. Not only with lust, but also with pure pain, which coursed through his entire body like jolts of electricity. ❝[Y/n]...❞ , he barely uttered audibly. Your name took all his breath away. ❝I will not come to you. But you to me, you already know it, Feyd!❞

Disturbing experiences can make anyone sick, violent dreams and visions, ...get under your skin. Until you no longer know what reality is.

Taglist is open again -> Click here 🖤

Thanks for reading. ❦

[copperbadge]

Immediate Writer's Block

Had a comment on another post where I thought I'd probably need more space than the notes in which to respond, so:

constant-state-of-self-discovery Oh I get the envy I feel it right now how the fuck do you manage to write without impassable writers block after 5-9 sentences because I haven't fucking figured it out lol

I do have some advice on this!

I think most writers get blocked from time to time, it's normal and my general strategy is just to wait it out, but if you're frequently blocked after only writing a very little bit, I think the problem is one of two things: either you don't know what you want to achieve with the scene you're writing, or you don't know what should happen next within the scene to achieve that goal. If you frame "I'm blocked" as "I don't have an answer I need" then often you move from just sitting there, sweating and staring at a blank page, to thinking productively about how you're going to get where you're going. It's the difference between not knowing an answer and not knowing an answer but knowing where to look for it.

An invaluable piece of advice for this, which I think I picked up from someone who got it off a National Novel Writing Month messageboard, is "When in doubt, ninjas attack." It's not meant to be literal, you don't need to have ninjas or fight scenes just because you don't know what to do, but it helps to get the creativity flowing again. If you don't know what should happen next, or you know but you're having trouble actually writing the scene, it can be very helpful to induce a moment of uncertainty or surprise -- to have a metaphorical ninja attack. One time I did this literally -- the POV character was just on the road somewhere and I didn't know how to get them from a pastoral country road to their actual destination in an interesting way, so I had them get attacked by highway bandits and have to fight them off, which also allowed me to demonstrate that the character had significant unarmed combat skills. But it can also just be like, two characters who are having a boring conversation can be interrupted by a third person, even just a stranger asking for directions, or there can be, IDK, an explosion, or something goes missing, or etc.

Sometimes it also helps to leave it alone but keep it in your mind and go do something else -- listen to a podcast, take a walk, read a book, not because those things are distracting but because all our inputs eventually feed into our brain and come out as reactions. If you're thinking about your book while you're wandering around a park, something you see in the park might have an impact on it. If you've got YOUR story in mind while reading someone else's, you might be more inclined to look at what they're saying and see what you think of it, how it might play into your work.

And honestly, sometimes you just gotta go past it. I'm working on the next Shivadh novel right now and it opens basically with Simon the chef getting into a spat with his love-interest-to-be over some cheese. He want the cheese, she won't sell him the cheese, so they get off to a very contentious start. But I suck at writing conflict especially when it's basically "A character I like is being pompous and another character I want people to find likable is being stubborn and somewhat unpleasant". I've been stalled on it for a while. But I know where the scene ends up, like I do know what the goal is, so I just...skipped it and went on to writing a scene I like better, where they meet a second time and actually discover each others' identity and that they're about to be forced into the grownup equivalent of a school project. Once I've gotten dug deeper into the story I'll come back and write it, and by then I'll have the benefit of knowing the love interest a bit better.

So yeah -- I think a lot of breaking a writer's block, especially when you don't need rest but are just stumped about what to do, is to twist and look at it from another angle. It's not that you don't know what to write, or don't want to write what you know you have to -- it's that you don't have the correct answer to a question, or you need to leave that part alone to ferment and come back to it later. At least, for me.

[katuschka]

Olalla – Chapter Three

Josh Kiszka x female OC

8025 words

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere. Even though this chapter is still smut-free, the rest of the story won't be.

Warnings: angst, yearning, kissing, fluff, conflict and violent behaviour, alcohol consumption, slowburn, mental breakdown, LGBT themes, homophobia (World's not perfect and some people suck...not the main characters though, don't worry).

Taglist

Previous Chapter Olalla masterlist

What a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you

No, I don't wanna fall in love With you

Every once in a while, you experience something nice that somehow leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Just like when you’re watching a beautiful sunset, thinking about how trifling and unimportant our daily feuds and worries are in comparison to the macrocosm and its wonders. The moment feels so precious. …but the world keeps spinning and as soon as you turn around, you once again find yourself submerged in the stale waters of your petty life.

Not that she felt that her life was in any way stale. It was just that as soon as she closed the door behind him, the whole encounter seemed like a fever dream in retrospect. One she wished would continue, because during those few hours, everything felt so new, so out of ordinary, including the fact that it did not continue. 

So, she tried to rationalize it and eventually concluded that she didn’t want more. This felt right…albeit weird, because it was simply different. He was different, and therefore dangerous. 

Much more casual encounters often ended in fucking. It was her reality. The guys she willingly chose to spend time with were either not interested at all in the end, or didn’t want to let go. At least not until they got a taste of all of her. Either way, it ended up in relief. Rinse and repeat. Joshua’s touch remained imprinted on her skin like some sort of sensory tattoo, and it left her mind racing. The effect he had on her was pretty much unwelcome, the feelings that came with it were not particularly pleasant, but she involuntarily clung to them anyway. 

His goodnight was definitive, and even though it didn’t feel like a rejection, it stayed outside her threshhold, just as he did. The night that followed was not good at all. The subconscious mind is a bitch. She spent it tossing and turning and waking up in between shallow dreams filled with images of his face just within reach, yet she couldn't bring herself to touch it. Before the actual dawn, she dreamed about them sitting on top of a mountain, watching the Sun rise. He was singing again. 

Reality hit back when Agnieszka’s alarm clock rang at 4:30. Having fallen asleep long past midnight, and then again around two and three – because she couldn’t get the feeling of his lips on her cheek out of her head – she woke up with stinging eyes and a burning headache, with a long day ahead of her. She slowly dragged herself from the cozy bed to start preparing breakfast and snack-to-go packages for early hikers. 

She usually enjoyed this. Morning chats over coffee were generally warmer and gave her the opportunity to talk to the guests about more than just how their day went and to connect with others on a more personal level, while sitting at the same table with them. They were a nuisance today. It wasn’t their fault. Just a group of young women in their early 20s and a nice couple getting ready for their last hike before going back home the next day. Definitely not an unpleasant company. Without admitting it to herself, or even consciously thinking about it, she just wished he’d be one of them. 

He was probably still fast asleep when she left to do some early shopping before her daily chores. He was already gone when she came back. Visitors kept their keys, but they were asked to leave special hangers on their door handles when leaving, which proved useful in case they wanted to have their bathrooms cleaned or sheets changed. So, of course she checked his door. And then scolded herself for her unhealthy curiosity. 

She almost forgot about him by midday, too immersed in cleaning vacated rooms and getting them ready for new arrivals. Fridays and Saturdays were the most hectic of the whole week, with people generally coming or leaving at weekends. Finally, after three pm, she could get some rest and enjoy her afternoon coffee (with just a drop of Bayleys) behind the reception desk, reading the book she abandoned the previous evening, with just a few interruptions that day. 

At half past four, the bell above the main door chimed again and there he was, entering quietly, but turning to a full theatrical mode the moment he saw her. This guy must be fun at parties, no doubt about that. He spread out his arms and trotted like a musical actor right towards her in his brand new attire. “How do I look?” he asked while wiggling his eyebrows. 

At first she thought her heart would jump out of her chest when she saw him for the first time since the previous night, but his easygoing, comical behaviour immediately made her relax. “Like a walking Columbia advertisement,” she laughed. 

“Yeah, well, I normally prefer flannels, but the guy at the store said this is more appropriate. I hate polyester…unless it’s sparkly…but I’m willing to try this,” he shrugged – tugging at the fabric demonstratively – and leaned familiarly on the counter. “How was your day?”

“Busy and boring at the same time. I should be the one asking that question. Have you seen or done anything interesting today? I mean, apart from becoming one of us,” she finished the sentence with a quasi-sultry whisper and dared to lean in closer to him. The truth was that the dark tight-fitting crewneck accentuated his lean and firm figure in a way that made her feel a bit uneasy. That man wasn’t just “quite attractive”, he was sexy! Humour and banter was her usual way of dealing with unwelcome butterflies in her stomach. And it worked, because they both giggled before he answered. 

“Nothing much, just wandering around. I didn’t dare venture far before breaking in these,” he demonstratively lifted one leg to show her his right trekking boot. “Besides, I don’t know it here. I tried to follow some folks, but the path turned to a steep and stony one pretty soon and my feet hurt like hell after just a couple miles and…” 

“Wait a minute,” she started rummaging under the counter. “I forgot to give you these. Here are some maps and leaflets with touristic tracks. Stick to those if you don't want to be chased by a bear. Also, it’s a national park, so you just have to anyway. Also, tomorrow’s going to rain all day, so you might want to visit the Tatra Museum.”

“Oh, bummer. The whole day?” The meaning of everything he said was amplified tenfold by his wild gesticulations and body language. It was like watching a silent actor, except he wasn’t silent at all. “Thank you so much for these? Any recs for a good place to eat? I tried the one right at the end of the street yesterday. It was good, but I’d like to try something more local.”

She reached behind her for some more leaflets and handed him a couple. “There are a few nearby. We serve dinner to our guests as well, but you need to preorder it at least a day in advance…but that’s usually just a plain, home-cooked meal, nothing fancy.”

“But that sounds fantastic! I’m pre-ordering dinner for tomorrow then,” he beamed, and added hopefully: “Care to join me today?” “I can’t, I need to go help with the dinner in about an hour and then I have some more things to do in the evening.” His face fell with a silent oh and for a brief moment she actually did hate her job. Was he asking her on a date? It certainly felt that way. Maybe he just didn’t want to be alone. It didn’t really matter. He wanted her to say yes and she didn’t want to say no, and even if it meant just two people eating together, it would be just fine. He lingered awkwardly for a short while before he wished her a pleasant evening, hoping to see her again soon. She didn’t want to let him go just yet, not just like that… “Joshua, wait!”

“yes…?” he turned back to her with his arms flailing around like a marionette. 

“My dad throws a garden party for our guests every Sunday evening...if the weather allows, that is. His grilled pork chops are delicious,” she tried to sound as casual as possible to hide the fact that she really wanted him to join them. “I…ummm…am supposed to invite everyone,” she added. 

“That sounds great, but…I don’t really eat pork…or meat in general.” He looked almost sorry that he didn’t. 

“Oh! Well, there’s always mom’s redcurrant pie, and some grilled vegetables, too…” Pathetic. 

“Lovely! I'll be there.” And with a beaming smile, he disappeared upstairs. 

The next day started as blue-ish gray when she woke up and soon turned to just gray. Breakfast didn’t need to be served before seven, as half of the people were leaving that day and the other half simply weren’t in a rush. Some even cancelled, preferring to go have fancier pancakes with ice-cream and forest fruit in some café nearby. Heavy rain was drumming on the roof and terraces, and the clouds were hanging low, turning the surrounding hills into a haunting, misty landscape.   

It was a lazy, sleepy day. A perfect day for a massage, or to go to the sauna…if you were staying in one of the fancier lodgings. The residents of Willa Eulalia were mostly bored, with just TV or board games to pass time. 

Nothing really changed much for Agnieszka. If anything, Saturday proved to be even more hectic, because mother wasn’t feeling well. So, the usual routine consisting of vacuuming, changing the sheets and cleaning the toilets turned to be even more tiresome, as she had to do it all by herself. 

The house went almost completely silent after lunch. It was already almost two pm when she finally reached the attic to make the room opposite to Joshua’s ready for a new visitor. She didn’t have much time left; new guests would start coming shortly. 

It looked like he was still in his room, possibly having a nap. The rain only intensified after lunch and it was fairly easy to get drowsy here, right under the roof. She turned on the vacuum cleaner on the lowest setting and proceeded to do what she was supposed to, while fighting off obsessive thoughts about getting drowsy with him… 

She was almost done when she heard some disturbance coming from the other room. It sounded like him arguing with someone. Honouring the house’s number one rule “privacy first”, she collected all her things and aimed to leave the attic as quickly as possible. Not quickly enough, though, because his sudden loud “I don’t fucking care,” followed by something hitting the wall, stopped her in her tracks. It was followed by even more incoherent yelling. “Something was not his fault and some Sam should do something instead, and someone was advised to suck his dick (Figuratively speaking – she hoped, half amused.), otherwise she couldn’t make sense of the one-sided argument. The call ended and she was finally about to descend the stairs, when he suddenly opened the door, making her jump. She shot him a terrified look and his own expression wasn’t much different. “Sorry for the noise,” he finally mumbled. “...I…need some fresh air.” With that, he ran past her down the stairs. 

The whole encounter troubled her, but she didn’t have much time to ponder over it, as she already had to hurry back to the reception to resume her afternoon duties, noticing him on the veranda on her way there. 

She couldn’t stop thinking about it though. The lobby was connected with the back veranda by a wide, transverse corridor, so when she leaned forward a bit, she could easily see him from her place behind the counter. He was still standing there, leaning against the balustrade with his arms outstretched and his head bent down. It triggered her inner caretaker. She couldn’t just leave him there like that, so she poured some fresh water in the electric kettle behind the counter and rummaged through her little box of teabags. 

“Hey, I made you some tea,” she approached him with the steaming mug and placed it carefully on the balustrade next to him. He looked at it and smiled weakly. “Thanks, Sheldon.”

She laughed at the reference but he didn’t reciprocate, so she continued warily: “The ghost called again? “No, that was my twin brother this time.”

“You sounded a bit agitated. I thought…”

“Olalla, I really, really don’t want to be rude, but when I said I needed fresh air, I really meant I needed to be alone.” 

She was taken aback by that and her eyes widened at him. “I’m sorry, I…”

“Thanks for the tea,” he sighed and left, leaving her alone with her thoughts again. Slightly shaken this time. 

He disappeared for the rest of the day. 

He didn’t come to dinner that evening either. 

She stayed on the veranda for a few more minutes after he left, drinking the tea she made for him and watching fat raindrops splashing on the stony path leading to the fireside. She was mad at herself for letting him occupy her mind the way he did those past few days. For the first time in years, she allowed someone to get under her skin, and for what. Now it stung, and it would eventually get worse if she continued with this nonsense. Rinse and repeat. So, she just shrugged it off with an annoyed huff and put her walls back up, just like she always did. The path from hurt to pissed off to indifferent was a short and safe one. 

And then, just like a gift from above, the bell at the front door chimed and she hurried back to greet three young and carefree handsome men who were waiting for her at the reception desk. 

She knew them. They were their frequent guests, one of them being also her regular hook-up. She had been looking forward to seeing him and his radiant smile again, but then nearly forgot they were coming. It was a welcome distraction now, the only downside being her sister Maya who was also arriving the next day to spend a week…and Maya hated him. 

Agnieszka knew very well why. Maya hated fuckboys and Bartek was the epitome of that. Pretty and vain and often notoriously bad-tempered when challenged, which meant he hated her sister back with passion. However, that never stopped Agnieszka from welcoming him with open arms, because he always gave her what she wanted and he never wanted more. He was one of her wolves. So screw tomorrow, she needed some comfort now. As soon as she finished her daily tasks and he freshened up and got comfortable in his rented room after the long ride from Poznan, he joined her in her quarters for one of their regular “movie nights”. They hardly ever finished watching any.

She found no comfort in his touch that night, though. After snuggling closer to him on the couch, she felt nothing. His thieving hands and intrusive tongue started to annoy her after a while. The excuse of being maybe a bit too tired was a lame one. It was not a complete lie and he knew she worked hard, but he seemed annoyed all the same. After she literally invited him to join her, she couldn’t really blame him, so she just slid on her knees on the floor and gave him head instead. 

There was something strangely calming about giving head and gagging on a cock. Those brief moments of not being in control made her feel like she could control everything else.. When it was finally over and she rested her head in his once again clothed lap, feeling his fingers scratching her scalp affectionately (but not too much), she felt calm at last. They were both half asleep when they heard a knock. Agnieszka slowly scrambled up on her feet, excused herself and opened the door to find Joshua standing there. 

“Hey,” he bounced on the balls of his heels with a tentative smile and his eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like I should apologize for being such an ass earlier. And…I’m making some mint tea and I thought, maybe you’d like some, too? Just to reciprocate your kindness, you know?” he nodded towards the common kitchen in the hall. 

Agnieszka bit her lip to stop her from smiling back. Not that he didn’t deserve it, she just didn’t feel worthy of giving it. She had her own kitchen unit in her apartment, so this was just a nice, albeit awkward gesture and they both knew it. He just didn’t want to approach her completely empty handed. 

“It’s ok.”

“No, it’s not, and I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine, Joshua. I’m basically just a maid and I had no right to bother you when you were clearly upset by…whatever’s going on in your life. It’s not like we’re friends.”

He sighed and nodded solemnly. “I really hoped that we would be. I…anyway, I went to this store today. They sell crystals and stuff, and this kinda reminded me of your eyes. Please, keep it.” He took her hand, palm up, and placed a small malachite pendant in it. “Good night to you, Olalla…” He bowed his head down and was about to leave when a loud “kto to jest” made it snap back up to see a man suddenly standing in the doorway right next to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder almost possessively. Bartek looked first at Josh, then at the piece of stone in her hand and his eyebrows shot up. He was athletic and broad shouldered and, being taller by at least 5 inches, he towered over Joshua menacingly.

He was also shirtless, with the waistband sitting dangerously low on his hips. That, together with Olalla’s sheer bathrobe, told him everything he needed to know. 

“Oh, I see I’m interrupting…again, my apologies Olalla.”  Bartek didn’t even wait for him to leave; he slammed the door shut right in his face. The bang made Agnieszka jump. 

“Who the fuck was that, Olalla!?”  

“No one. Just a guest.” He had no right to do that, and she should have been angry, but his sudden shift in mood made her defensively meek. 

“Guests don’t come knocking on your door this late to give you trinkets unless they want much more than just room service. I thought one at a time was your rule,” he raised his voice and slammed his fist against the door. “Guests don’t call you Olalla!”

“Bart! Stop overreacting! He just…”

“Is that why you’re so frigid today? Bitch…” 

He grabbed the rest of his discarded clothes from the couch and before Agnieszka could even react, threw the door open again and stormed out. She started after him, only to watch him pass bewildered Joshua, who really was making tea in the common hallway kitchen. Bartek stopped in his tracks and hissed in broken English, gesturing back at her: “Already you can go back, Frodo. The dirty whore is your now.” 

With that, he disappeared down the stairs and left them standing there in silence. He with a jug kettle in his hand, frozen in motion; she clutching the door frame for dear life. From the look on his face, she could tell that he had overheard them arguing too, though he thankfully couldn’t understand a single word of it, though he must have gotten the general idea. They watched each other with wide eyes for a few long seconds, until hers welled with tears.

He could see hurt and shame and panic in them. “Olalla,” he whispered and slowly made his way towards her, but she quickly closed the door shut, crouched down and, overwhelmed with all the emotions from the past few days, started crying in earnest. She tried to suppress her sobs so that he wouldn’t hear her as soon as she heard soft knocks again. This time, she didn’t open. The whole house fell quiet again after a while. She slowly got back on her feet and unclenched her fists. 

A warm piece of polished malachite was burning a hole in her palm. 

The clouds finally dissipated during the night and the inhabitants of Willa Eulalia were once again greeted by a clear, pinkish sky on the eastern horizon, the Sun painting the whole mountain range orange. Most of the people left early, so after 7 am, only families with young kids were still in their rooms or on their balconies, enjoying the breakfast as well as the fragrant air after yesterday’s rain, already warmed by the sun. 

Agnieszka had lulled herself to sleep the previous night with a little help of a significant amount of vodka and not even the fresh breeze was of much help in easing the consequent nausea. 

She suffered through the morning, thanking god that both Bartek and Joshua were gone, hopefully for the whole day. It was just a postponement of her torture, but it was welcome all the same. 

Her younger sister Maya arrived shortly after lunch, and – seeing both her mother and her sister looked like they might fall asleep on the spot – she quickly took over their duties. Agnieszka excused herself and climbed in her bed, wishing to disappear. Maya tried to get her back on her feet a few times during the afternoon, but failed miserably. It was already past 8 pm when she arrived again. Agnieszka could hear that the garden party had already started outside her window, and she just wished Maya would understand that she didn’t want to join them. Apparently not…

“There’s a gentleman asking if you would join us.” 

“Tell Bart he can fuck off.”

“Pfff,” Maya scoffed. “I already did. That fucker and his idiot buddies went out anyway, probably to the World’s End. And by ‘gentleman’ I mean a real gentleman. Though he’s a bit of a weirdo.” 

Agnieszka suddenly had a huge lump in her throat, but didn’t say anything, so Maya continued: “He also told me what happened.” 

“He did what?”

“I was at the reception about an hour ago when the German lady from room 9 made a complaint about a noise yesterday evening,” Maya started to explain while she was rummaging in her sister’s wardrobe. She was obviously determined to drag Agnieszka out of her room and into the garden by sheer force, if necessary. “I obviously didn’t know what she was talking about, because my sister doesn’t tell me anything anymore. Duh! That’s when he walked in, overheard us, said it was his fault and apologized to her. Then he explained to me what really happened,” she finished and threw black yoga pants and a fluffy powder-pink pullover on Agnieszka’s bed. 

“It wasn’t his fault,” Agnieszka mumbled into the pillow.

“Now you’re finally talking! Yeah, no shit. I figured. The poor guy obviously got dragged into your mess. And yet he still wants to see you. Seriously, who is he? And why is your face suddenly red like a baboon's ass? Is there a legitimate reason why Bart behaved like a total jerk this time?” she wiggled her eyebrows at Agnieszka theatrically. 

Agnieszka gave her an annoyed look. “I don’t even know who he is. And we just talked a few times. And…yeah, just talking. We spent an evening talking and then he kissed my cheek goodnight and that’s it.” She rummaged in her pocket and showed Maya the green pendant. “He also gave me this yesterday. Said it reminded him of my eyes. That was before Bart’s temper tantrum. I can’t go there, Maya. It’s better if I stay away from him, for the sake of his own wellbeing.”

“Wow. Interesting! So you’re saying the two of you are treating each other like real human beings? Didn’t know you had it in you. He’s sweet though, no surprise there. I think he likes you. His smile reminds me of…”

“Don’t!”

Maya knew she overstepped. But she wouldn’t budge. Instead, she sat on the bed and started stroking Agnieszka’s hair.

“Olalla, baby, stop shying away from people. Just go. Spend another evening talking. In spite of what you think, it will do you good. Besides, you invited him, and he’s there. It’d be rude not to show up.”

She could spot him immediately when she set foot in the garden. He was sitting on a piece of log by the fireplace, facing her. He was deep in conversation with some other guests, but as soon as he saw her, he gave her a radiant smile. His face was enchanting in the firelight, sparks dancing around it like fireflies. On her way to him, she stopped just briefly by the long table to grab a glass of wine. 

“Hey…” She still felt uncertain and a little ashamed when she reached him. “I…didn’t have an opportunity to thank you for this,” she continued, while toying with the pendant and looking down at him bashfully.

“Good evening, Olalla,” he beamed and gestured to an empty spot to his left. “Please sit.”

“You had the opportunity,” he added as soon as she sat down. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Your reaction was more than understandable. But I’m glad you’re here now.”

“You must think low of me.” 

“I think highly of you! You’re a hard worker, you obviously love nature and those carrot cupcakes are delicious! Maya told me you baked them this morning even though you weren’t feeling well. So,” he cleared his throat and giggled. “Now we both apologized to each other, I’m gonna need your advice.” 

“What advice?” It was Maya, the nosy brat who just couldn’t miss an opportunity to stick that nose into anything that didn’t concern at all. 

He was taken aback for just a millisecond before he resumed his quick babbling again. The fact that he was now forced to turn his head from side to side gave him also the opportunity to start gesticulating wildly, which he clearly enjoyed. 

“So, I decided to go for a proper, all day hike today. But apart from the fact that I absolutely don’t know where to go – I was never good at reading maps – there were sooo many people everywhere! Which was a good thing, in a way, because I didn’t get lost. BUT…”

“Where did you go?” Maya interrupted him. The two of them were like two peas in a pod.   

“Kash…kashp…dammit! How do you guys do that? My tongue, ouch!”

Agnieszka finally laughed, for the first time that day. “Kasprowy Wierch?” 

He nodded eagerly. “Yea! That’s the one! Nice place, don’t get me wrong, but my god! It was crowded up there.”

“Of course, it’s Sunday, and you chose the only place with a cable car,” she explained, as both she and Maya laughed. 

“Well now I feel like a complete moron,” he responded to that in a cheerful tone and even wilder gesticulation. 

“So, what advice do you need, Joshua?” 

“Well, I was thinking…since you said that you work as a guide occasionally…that you would just go with me? I’d love to see some more secluded places and I can’t go alone – you said that yourself – and I wouldn’t even know where to go, so…please?” He grinned, batting his eyelashes at her. 

“But that’s mostly for families or older couples or…”

“But that’s a wonderful idea!” Maya interrupted her. “You should definitely go.” 

“I have work to do,” Agnieszka spat back. 

“Bullshit. I’m here until Wednesday, I can do that. And tomorrow’s going to be even more beautiful than today, according to the forecast.”

“Perfect! Olalla, pleeeeeease,” he turned to her. “Hey, you have nothing to drink,” he gestured to her already empty glass and took it from her. “Lemme refill it while you’ll decide to say yes.”

“Hey, who’s the guest here?”

He gave her an “oh, come on” look, took her glass and excused himself. 

“What are you doing?” Agnieszka hissed at Maya as soon as the coast was clear. 

“It’s been a long time since you looked so radiant. You’ve been miserable for way too long. Enjoy life for once. You like him! And he obviously likes you,” Maya said, nodding towards the long table. Agnieszka looked up too and they watched him shooting glances back at them.

“It’s irresponsible,” Agnieszka hissed back. “He’s leaving by the end of the month.”

“Yeah yeah, totally out of your character,” Maya responded sarcastically. “Since when does this bother you? And what exactly do you expect to happen? Just go have some fun. Two friends enjoying a hike.” 

She planned a beautiful hike. Secluded, just as he wished. Away from selfie hunters. The whole trek was on the Slovakian side of the mountains, but that wasn’t an issue. They would start right at the border and cross the whole mountain range from north to south, taking the bus back to the starting place. It was a physically demanding, long trek, with almost no shelters along the road and no escape routes. That’s why not many people ventured there, even though the first half was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful places here. Joshua was beyond excited. 

They agreed to meet by her car at half past six the next morning. She would take care of all the necessities. All Joshua had to do was to show up on time with a backpack and some spare clothes. He failed miserably. 

At quarter to seven, she finally decided to knock on his door. “Joshua, come on! We need to leave NOW if you don’t want me to change the plan.” A moment later she heard a loud “oh fuck!” and some scrambling noise. “COMING!”

“Coming,” he breathed out when he finally opened the door, shirtless again, still in his sleeking sweatpants and with a literal nest on the top of his head. “I’m sooo sorry! Gimme ten minutes. Ten minutes max!”

“I’ll be waiting by my car,” she rolled her eyes and sighed. 

He finally showed up after another 25 minutes, overflowing with joy and…

“What’s that?” she pointed at his face. 

“Sunglasses,” he shrugged with a beaming smile. 

“You call this sunglasses?” 

“I’m a diva! Deal with it,” he responded affectedly and threw his backpack on the backseat. 

It was almost eight when they finally set off. The track was an easy one for the first ten kilometres, with just a slight ascent. It was – however – breathtaking from the very start, with the whole amphitheatre of jagged peaks opening up before them in the distance. Joshua was taking pictures the whole time. He was also talking the whole time, stopping only when the pathway became very steep all of the sudden. 

They surmounted a few levels and finally decided to take a break by a beautiful mountain lake. 

It was almost noon, but there were still barely any clouds in the sky and it was getting really hot, even at this altitude. Agnieszka wiped the sweat off her brow and splashed her bare arms with some cold water, while Joshua stripped from his shirt and jumped on a large stone sticking out of the water. He was now standing there with his arms outstretched and his head tilted back. She watched him in amusement, shielding her eyes with her hand. “If you want to go on like this, you’ll definitely need to apply more sunscreen.”

“What? Are you saying that pink wouldn’t suit me? I beg to differ, my lady!” He turned towards her in some sort of clumsy pirouette and nearly lost his balance, flailing his arms and leg around in an attempt to stay dry. “Watch it!” She laughed, but was also already rummaging in her backpack. “And no. I’m serious. Come here.” He jumped back and she handed him her bottle. 

“Hmmm, coconut ice cream,” he sniffed at the healthy amount of lotion he just poured on his palm and started rubbing it in the skin on his arms and chest. “I was delicious before, but now I’m going to be practically irresistible.” Agnieszka was just taking a sip out of her bottle and his cheekiness made her cough. 

“What, you don’t think so?” He wiggled his eyebrows on her. “I might need help with the back,” he added. 

“I’d rather not answer that question. Come sit,” she motioned to the flat stone in front of her. 

He turned his back on her and sat between her legs, throwing his messy braid over his shoulder. It was adorned with silver dreadlock beads today and she couldn’t help but smile at his unashamed quirkiness. “Why don’t you wanna answer that question?” he asked with a low voice when she started applying the sunscreen between his shoulder blades. 

She took a deep breath through her nose and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. This close, she could smell his own musky scent under the overpowering aroma of the sunscreen, and it made her dizzy. She watched tiny droplets of sweat running down his sides from under his armpits. Running her hands over his lower back, she involuntarily imagined the same thing in a completely different scenario. She really wanted this to be just two friends on a trip, just as Maya said, but his delicate, yet manly form and his direct, spontaneous personality made it almost impossibly hard. She just couldn’t get the feral thoughts out of her head, no matter how hard she tried. “You don’t need coconuts, Joshua,” she muttered under her breath.

He…giggled? This man was either completely unaware of his power or too comfortable with it. Either way, she just wanted to push him in that water. She was sure it would make a hiss. 

She squeezed more lotion in her palm and started rubbing his shoulders. “You’re a bit tense here.”

“Yeah, my lower neck’s been hurting lately. I haven’t had much exercise in a while,” he sighed. 

“Here?” She pressed both thumbs in his higher trapeze muscles and he let out an involuntary moan. They both chose to act as if he hadn’t. 

“So…you exercise? What exactly do you do?

“Yoga, mostly. Some light weights, too. I need to keep fit because of…work.”

“Work, huh? You told me quite a lot about your family, but I still don’t know what your job is.” He looked like one of those contemporary circus acrobatic dancers – she contemplated half-jokingly – but that probably wasn’t the case. He was too clumsy. 

It took him a while to respond. “A secret agent,” he finally let out. “And unfortunately, now I have to kill you.” That made her slap his shoulder in amusement. “Ok, ok, I work as a costume mannequin. It’s an extremely important job. They pay well, too.” 

Sighing exasperatedly, she pinched his side, making him squirm and squeak. He was keeping something from her, but she had learned not to pry. “Ok, done.” She wiped the rest of the lotion on her things and he shifted and sat next to her, still laughing, until she handed him a water bottle. “Now drink. I haven’t seen you drink much and I don’t want you to collapse on the road. You’re tiny, but I still couldn’t carry you all the way down.” Everytine she felt vulnerable, she resorted to this strategy of making clear that she was in charge of the situation, could take care of herself and should take care of others…or whatever. It was her way to weed out the toxic people. Some guys would be mortally offended by such a treatment. Joshua? He just saluted her with a “yes, ma’am” and obeyed. 

They sat in silence for a while, only an occasional hawk screech or an intelligible chatter of two girls sitting further up breaking the zen-like piece of the place. “Thank you,” she finally spoke, toying with the malachite pendant hanging around her neck. 

He looked at her with amusement. “You already did.”

“No, I mean for not treating me like…what were the words he used? Oh yeah, a dirty whore. Which I guess I am. But you’re not judging me. So, thank you.”  

He rested his face on his fist and looked at her. “Why should I be judging you? People need human touch. That’s completely normal.” 

“Some more than others, I suppose. I’m just pathetic.”

“I think you’re just lonely,” he said, toying with the water bottle absentmindedly. 

“I’m not,” she huffed.

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t respond, silently watching the ripples on the lake. The idea of being lonely was one she willingly chose not to entertain a long time ago. She had her people. She had sex. She had this. She was ok. 

His palm that gently cupped her face brought her from her reverie. His fingers slid down to the nape of her neck while his thumb continued to caress her cheek. She instinctively leaned into the touch with her eyes closed and when she opened them again, she saw him watching her intently. 

Her heart started beating wildly. “What are you doing,” she whispered. He just shook his head and bit his lip before he moved even closer and closed the gap between them. She could feel his plump lips on hers and her whole body twitched in shock, making him break the contact. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his eyelids drooping, but she grabbed his face in her own shaking hands and pressed her parted lips to his again in silent plea. The tip of his tongue brushed against her upper lip, inviting her own to touch him. Their mouths finally fully connected in a soft, deep and sensual kiss that made them both feel completely light-headed. None of them wanted this to end and they continued for at least a minute, swallowing each other’s shaky exhales. At last he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. “What is this? she whispered again. 

“I don’t know… and I don’t care, to be honest,” he mumbled, finally opening his eyes as they broke the contact entirely. She didn’t know where to look, didn’t even know how to process her own thoughts, so she just checked her Garmin matter-of-factly, only to see how late it already was. “We should get moving.” 

“I don’t think I can,” he giggled in embarrassment. “Just…give me a minute.” She nodded weakly in acknowledgement and got up to re-pack their things. 

They resumed their way up the steep and stony path in complete silence save for their laboured breath until they reached another levelled post-glacial terrace with yet another alpine lake right under the narrow saddle that divided the northern set of valleys from the southern mountain range. They were now approximately in the middle of their journey and the route was getting slightly more exposed. At one point, they had to traverse a narrow ledge above the lake. It was the first passage with safety chains they had to cross that day, and by far the easiest one, as she assured him, which only made him nervous. 

They took a short break before ascending to refresh themselves when they reached the crossing and had two ways to choose from, both leading to their final destination. The one to the left was fit for more seasoned adventurers, and – based on the people coming and going – that included also kids in their early teens or older women, so it could be done. She knew it could, she had gone there a few times before. But, seeing him watch the narrow and jagged depression between two peaks in the distance warily, Agnieszka finally decided on the path leading right up to the more easily accessible saddle. It proved to be a wise choice just a short while after. Watching him struggle while descending on the other side, clawing the chains with terror in his eyes, was fun. Him falling or panicking in the middle of the ascent wouldn’t be. 

He even misstepped eventually when they were descending down a set of cramps onto another ledge. His foot slid down the last iron bar clumsily and his bare back collided with her chest, nearly knocking them both down. 

She caught him and steadied him and they laughed it off, but there was something strange about the whole situation. She felt an underlying tension between them after she released him and they genuinelly looked each other in the eye for the first time since the kiss. He brushed the back of his hand against her arm, trying to communicate something, until the people behind them gestured to them to move. 

He led the way this time, jumping from stone to stone, high on endorphins, as if his knees were made of rubber. A wild chamois. Her own shins started to burn, the exhaustion of the past few days already taking its toll. He was unstoppable though, basking in the afternoon sun and once again taking pictures of everything around him, including her on a few occasions. Some things were still left unsaid and the more tired she felt with each passing hour, the more it troubled her. The events of the day made her simply wonder, but one specific feeling that started to rear its ugly head scared her.

It was half past six when they finally reached Stary Smokovec, both completely exhausted and thirsty, but happy they made it in time. The last bus to Lysa Polana was leaving at 7:05. They had just enough time to use the restroom at the electric train station and to buy some bottled water to relieve the headache. 

Reaching the bus station, they found the girls they had previously met by the lake already waiting there. They took the other route at the crossing and were now also headed back to Lysa Polana. They were a nice and friendly couple, so when the bus arrived, Agnieszka and Joshue took the seat right behind them. 

The sun was already low in the sky, covering the world outside in a warm hue and a fresh, lukewarm breeze was flowing through the open roof window. The sound of the moving machine made them drowsy and they watched the changing scenery in silence. It was suddenly so peaceful. One of the girls in front of them rested her head lovingly on the other one’s shoulder and Agnieszka wished to do the same, but just couldn’t muster enough courage to do so. 

As if he read her mind, he took her hand and – just like the first night – started stroking her knuckles gently. She just smiled and looked in the distance. Whatever it was, she was now determined to enjoy every single minute of it. More people boarded the bus in Tatranska Lomnica and soon they were on their way again. The girls in front of them started kissing and Joshua watched them stealthily with the most heartwarming expression on his face she had seen so far. Suddenly, they heard the driver saying something with his voice raised and angry, while looking at them through the rear-view mirror. 

The girls tensed and started whispering something to each other in Polish. Joshua looked confused. Agnieszka didn’t understand the driver at first but when he repeated those words she finally grasped the meaning behind them and gasped. He stopped the bus and opened the back door. Joshua turned his head to Agnieszka, looking positively alarmed now. “What is he saying?” She tried to translate it but her own words failed her. He got it, though. The guy wanted them out. 

One of the girls tried to negotiate with the driver, but that made him even more visibly angry. He stood and made his way towards them. The whole bus was whispering by then, all eyes on the girls. “Do kelu, vypadnite uz, lesby zasrate!” he roared and grabbed one of the girls by the elbow, trying to push her out of the bus with force, if necessary. An older lady in the back shouted something at him, but he ignored her and continued with his speech about not wanting such filth inside his bus. Joshua clenched his jaw, stood up abruptly and went after the driver, only to be thrown back into his seat aggressively. Agnieszka didn’t even know that she started screaming. The whole situation escalated pretty quickly and resulted in the four of them being left standing by the side of the road. 

The girls were the first to recover, one of them already tapping ferociously on the screen of her phone, while Agnieszka was still just standing there in disbelief and repeating “he can’t do this, he can’t do this” over and over again. Joshua sat on the grass, his elbows on his knees, clutching his head. He felt as if he was in a haze, watching her in slow motion having a heated conversation with the girls. He rubbed his temple and tried to calm down as she finally crouched down to him after a while. 

“Joshua, are you ok?”

“Yes,” he whispered. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder tentatively. “Are you sure? You look…”

“I am ok, Olalla. I’m ok…” but his shoulders started shaking and he lost it, startling her. She sat down next to him and pulled him in her arms in a vain attempt to soothe him. “Hey! Shhh, big boy. They’re fine. One of them just called a taxi from Poprad. But…it’s a long ride and neither of us have enough cash, so…do you, perchance, have some spare Euros? I’ll pay you back once we get back to Eulalia.” 

That finally made him take a deep breath and calm down a bit. “Yeah…yes, I do. I’ll pay for the ride, don’t worry.”

“No, we’ll split the expense, I’ll just need…”

“Don’t argue, Olalla!” He was resolute. He also didn’t say a single word after that. 

No one spoke during the ride back to Lysa Polana, only the radio disturbing the complete silence. The girls crammed themselves in the back seat while Joshua took the place next to the driver. Agnieszka was watching him from the back seat. They were both deep in thought and – while she couldn’t read his mind – her own was racing. It all made perfect sense all of the sudden. Still with the aftertaste of his kiss on her lips, she felt a sudden wave of bittersweet tenderness for him. Oh, my sweet Joshua. My dear…friend. 

Back in her car, they still didn’t speak. They had wished the other two a safe journey back home and Joshua hugged them both, but other than that, he seemed distant, watching the passing trees outside the window absentmindedly. 

“Thank you for today, Olalla,” he finally spoke, not looking at her. “It was really nice.” 

“No need to be polite now, Joshua. Just tell me what’s troubling you…if you want to. If you don’t…then don’t...”

He opened his mouth, only to move his lips in vain like a mute fish, and started crying. She felt a sudden surge of panic. The incident itself, however unpleasant, couldn’t possibly shake him that much. Something else was going on, and she had a feeling it was related to the previous phone calls he had. It seemed impossible to return to Eulalia now. Her notoriously curious sister would be waiting behind the reception desk, no doubt. It was not her place to explain why they were both behaving as if they just returned from a funeral. She couldn’t muster enough strength to do that, anyway. And then there was Bart and his buddies, whom she just didn’t want to see now. AND she didn’t want them to see Joshua. Not like this. 

He didn’t even notice that she took a different turn, coming back to reality again only when they passed the town centre and were now heading towards a much smaller Gubalowka mountain range on the northern side of town. 

“Where are we going? he asked, looking confused. 

“I just thought you might appreciate a change of scenery…”

To be continued...

Previous chapter Olalla masterlist

@its-interesting-van-kleep @edgingthedarkness @writingcold @thewritingbeforesunrise @lvnterninthenight @fleet-of-fiction @takenbythemadness @myownparadise96 @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @tripthelightfantastix @sanguinebats @love-isnt-greed @klarxtr

[musashi]

honestly though if you want a really good technique for avoiding annoying people in fandom, get attached to a widely hated character! or, if you can't make yourself do that? just pretend you are. pick the WORST character. the nastiest, most despicable, most vile character. or the most overhated and misunderstood one, who might not have even done anything wrong. what matters isn't the content of their character, just that they generate discourse. i'm talking your vriskas. find the vriska. pretend they are your favourite if they're not.

then, early on in any given interaction with a new fandom person, mention that they are your favourite. and watch how the person reacts.

i have two characters i do this with. the first is fi from the legend of zelda. her heinous crime that swaths upon swaths of gamerboys decided to froth with rage over for years is that she makes them feel emasculated because she likes to infodump. she is handholdy, she is helpful, and she is blunt and robotic and lacks any semblance of charisma or sex appeal. therefore she is nothing. and she is my favourite video game character of all time. i mention this early on and study the reaction of my conversational partner.

fi weeds out the kind of people i want to avoid in that fandom: misogynists. smug gamerbro types who make you spew novels of lore before they respect your opinion. no one like that is going to like fi, they have nothing to gain from her and everything to hate about her.

the second one is manfred von karma. he orphaned a child and then framed that child for murder 15 years later just, like, for fun. just 'cause he was having a hot girl moment. aforementioned orphan is the traumatized autistic darling of the fandom who all the twitter girlies love to project onto and hate to see any form of nuance in. mvk is cartoonishly evil and has no redeeming qualities. he is unpleasant to be around. he is controlling and cruel. and he's an old disabled man so basically no one besides faggots with good taste find him hot. when talking with ace attorney fans i bring it up as soon as possible that he's like my blorbo of all time. my silly rabbit. i talk about him like he's the fucking sun in my sky and i call him 'papa' because my cringey fictionkin ass does what they want and i watch people squirm and writhe and unperson me for it.

like fi, mvk very specifically roots out a very specific subset of this fandom i dislike: fanon-poisoned twitterbrained AA fans who "play the games" through fanfiction and incorrectquotes. they all think mvk is a child abuser (because evil, evil mean abuse kids, cannot be complex, all evil do a child abuse) and so they point their fingers and call me an abuse apologist because that's activism to them or whatever. they can do whatever they want as long as it doesn't hurt anyone, of course, but they're annoying and i want them to leave me alone. and because i love this monster they've created, they do.

the throughline here is: anyone who gets this fucking worked up over made-up pretend people is probably severely online, and uses fandom discourse as a personality replacement. what ever flavour of severely online it is, it's generally best not to associate with people like that because 9/10 times they are fucking deranged and are just waiting on you to cross them in some meaningless way so they can unperson you.

so, my advice to you: find the vriska. find the vriska, love the vriska, do it as early as possible. it will save you SO much time. weed out the people who respond with screeching and wriggling. keep close the people who say things like "haha whaaat? alright, explain that for me!"

[ambrosiagourmet]

Gimme a Kabru for the ask meme

Ahhhh hi I'm still doing this I will finish them let's go

Kabru!!

First impression

Once again gonna go for a pre-reading impression, bc honestly I really think the fandom osmosis impression I got was so off imho. So, Kabru first impression:

what if there was a hater. in the dungeon. :0

Impression now

I LOVE HIM... He's constantly agonizing over everything he does and the impact it could have and the big picture and its gonna burn him out completely someday if he doesn't slow down and realize he's allowed to live for himself sometimes. In a story chock full of survivor's guilt he is Mister Survivor's Guilt. He feels like he needs to do something to earn his existence, and that's such a heavy burden he has put on himself. Ough.

Favorite moment

There are a ton of little parts from the story that I love, but I actually want to highlight this bit from one of the Adventurer's Bible comics that lives with me:

I don't know, there's just something... something about it. Allowing Mithrun the privacy of his own story is such a strange kindness. Who else but Kabru could have thought to provide it?

Kabru, who wears Utaya across his shoulders everywhere he goes, but also never shares much about his mom, his food, the things he misses from Utaya. Or the superstitions about his eye color, and the ways that even the place he misses most wasn't always a kind home to him. Kabru, who has learned exactly how to cut up the piece of his own story in order to be able to hold the weight of them all and do the things he needs to do.

Kabru looks at Mithrun, someone who doesn't have the ability to care for himself, and provides this service to him. Offers him privacy. Privacy. The people around Mithrun have cared for him for years, but who has given him this?? Food, sleep, water, basic hygiene... but Mithrun deserves dignities beyond that too, even if he isn't able to ask for them.

And Kabru takes his eye for creating palatable stories, which he has often used to make himself fit in or force himself through unpleasant things, and uses it to help Mithrun in a way that no one else had.

Idea for a story

I don't have anything super specific here, just a GREAT DESIRE for post-canon Kabru stuff. I want to see him and Marcille become friends. I want to see him struggle to figure himself out now that his driving motive has been resolved. I want to see him forced to consider that he can't always do things for the Bigger Picture. I want to see how his relationships with his party members change. I want to see the adventures of the Laios - Marcille - Kabru trio. Pleaaaaaaase

Unpopular opinion

He's not just a hater in a dungeon.......

Like for sure his feelings about Laios are complicated and boy can they include Haterism, but also he is like the only person who vouches for Laios at certain points. Kabru intentionally chooses to have faith in him at several key moments, and the ending of the story hinges upon that faith.

I think he's got a very black and white way of looking at things sometimes, and he likes to be in control. This is where the haterism can come in.

BUT there's so much more than just that to him. Kabru is an extremely caring person in general. He notices details about people and often uses those observations to care for them - Mithrun in the example above, for instance, or the way that he thinks about how hard it would be for Rin to go back to the elves when considering whether to hand the dungeon over to them. He has a strong sense of justice. He is loyal to his promises.

I just wish those elements of his personality were given more significance in the fandom :/

Favorite relationship

Gotta go with him and Mithrun here. They bring out such interesting sides to each other. Some of my favorite moments are them surviving in the dungeon together, and of course that comic is one of my fave moments. The way Kabru understands him and continually chooses to use that understanding to provide kindness and support to Mithrun... it's good.

But also I think that Mithrun gets to a core part of Kabru that Kabru usually tries to keep hidden. Some part of the survivor's guilt, I think... the way Kabru is driven by a sense of obligation to a thing he Cannot Ever Bring Back.

They both pull something out of the other that no one else does, at least over the course of the story.

Favorite headcanon

Hmmmmm... does "he and Marcille will be besties someday" count? I think it counts. I love the idea of them being gossip-heads.

[cinebration]

Sherlock Holmes Fluff Alphabet (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

Will you do a Sherlock fluff alphabet please? 🥺—Requested by anon

I hope you like it anon! This was really difficult to write, haha.

Warnings: none

Gif Source: dailyhenrycavill

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Activities!? There is only the work, else Sherlock goes mad with boredom. As such, he brings you along when working, valuing your insight but also enjoying your proximity, so long as you don’t get in the way.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Intellect and wit are by far and away the aspects Sherlock most loves about you. You are aesthetically pleasing to the eye, certainly, but Sherlock values the hidden depths beneath.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Sherlock struggles with emotional intelligence. Thus, he has one of three reactions when you are in distress: 1) He can’t understand the feeling, 2) He panics because he doesn’t know what to do, or 3) He wants to provide a fix-it solution. As your relationship progresses, he learns the ways in which to help you specifically, committing to heart and perfecting the methodologies that best aid you.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

Ever a pragmatist, Sherlock has already factored you into his life for the future. He does not want or expect children, but he will (begrudgingly) admit he finds the idea of having you to speak to and grow old with over the decades a warm, not altogether unpleasant feeling.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Sherlock very much prefers things to occur along the plans and designs he conceives, but the intricacies of relationships elude him, thereby placing him on uneven ground with you. As such, when it comes to facets of the relationship outside of his experience, particularly with the emotional, he defers to your expertise—with a high level of skepticism, of course.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Despite his determination to avoid emotionalism, Sherlock is not immune to experiencing things deeply. Arguments in which he feels he is the afflicted party will turn nasty, as he does not understand how to keep the emotion in check in the heat of it. Afterwards, once the heat of the moment has passed, he is likely to apologize—mostly out of embarrassment for letting things go too far. If you are the afflicted party, however, he may not understand why the fight is happening and will either brush it off or suffer from confusion so deep you will be arguing to a wall.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Sherlock can be very grateful (inwardly)—assuming he notices. While the man is capable of noticing minute details that escape the eyes of normal men, the motive behind it is what’s crucial. As such, noticing things in his home will only matter if they pertain to a case or pique his concerns that someone is riffling through his things. Only big, flashy changes are likely to catch his eye enough to elicit a comment or two.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Sherlock is a vault of secrets—but only because it doesn’t occur to him to share. Much of what he withholds aren’t really secrets anyway, just information about plans and cases that he’d rather let sit around in his mind, unvoiced. However, a little nudging and genuine interest in his work can coax information out of him until he learns that talking things over with you is more helpful than letting it all sit in his brain.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

You most definitely have changed him, allowing him access to his more emotional side and opening him to the world of true partnership.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Sherlock may experience jealousy if a strong enough, insidious seed of it works itself under his skin. In general, he is unlikely to react with jealousy if he sees you speaking to another man, as he will invariably draw up reasonable, rational explanations as to why you are doing so; additionally, he trusts you implicitly. If, however, enough aberrant behavior occurs, he may be seized with concern and jealousy, the latter of which he is little equipped to handle well. This may result in tense situations and irrational behavior.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Sherlock has little experience with the physical aspects of relationships, requiring you to take charge at the outset. However, as he grows more comfortable, you’ll find Sherlock a quick study.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

His first confession of love may fly over your head due to how clinical and rehearsed it is. How were you supposed to know that “I do not mind your presence, and I find your contributions useful” was the equivalent of him saying, “I love you”? The thing is, he doesn’t want to admit it—just as much as he does. Love is something he always proclaimed to despise, and yet…

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Marriage isn’t something that immediately comes to mind for Sherlock. If it does, it merely serves as a social convenience, possibly one pressured by his brother Mycroft for the sake of propriety. Deep down, in parts of himself he may not easily acknowledge, however, Sherlock finds it nice to be officially married to you, for everyone to see that you are his.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

He calls you by your name. Sometimes, after marriage, if he feels rather cheeky, he may call you Mrs. Holmes.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Love plunges Sherlock into a riot of emotions he doesn’t know how to handle. It’s a phenomenal feeling—and also the worst. He wants to revel in it and simultaneously flee from it. The most obvious clue he is in love is general agitation; the lulls between cases are worse when he’s away from you. And when he is with you, he locks up, caught in an internal battle between wanting to succumb to the feelings and berating himself for feeling them in the first place.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Public displays of affection are a huge offense in the Victorian eye. All public interactions are defined by modesty and humility, with only high praise being the closest to “bragging” anyone can ever get. Sherlock, a pragmatist, will quickly and readily admit to his relationship with you once it has been firmly established. Know that it’s likely the public already knows even before an official declaration, as gossips abound.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Sherlock’s deductive ability is a double-edged sword. He may not notice new things around the house at first, but he will always notice new or unusual things about you. You are, to some degree, a perennial obsession, a case he’ll be “solving” for the rest of your time together. While in some senses that is flattering, in other senses it’s frustrating. He isn’t jealous or suspicious, but if he catches a different type of mud on your shoes than usual, he’ll jump to conclusions or ask you questions until he’s satisfied with your answers.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

The idea of romance is something best left to the Romantics of the Romanticism era, in all senses of the movement. Sherlock’s romance includes quality time spent with you, whether that be solving cases together or reading in front of the fireplace in the evenings. Sharing his thoughts is the most intimate he can be emotionally.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Sherlock is your ardent supporter. While he is aware of your skills and limitations, he stands by your side once you reach a decision. Leading up to that decision, however, he may offer dissenting opinions or advice, but he does so out of love. He wants to ensure you see all sides of the problem before settling on a solution.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Sherlock likes routine at home because his cases are anything but. Having certain systems in place at home, such as stable meal times (when he’s present) and daily activities you share (such as reading together), allows him the mental energy he needs to solve his cases.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Sherlock knows everything there is to know about you; as mentioned above, you are a low-key obsession, a case he will be “solving” for decades. As such, he makes it a priority to understand you as best he can. That does not mean he is overly empathetic, however; he spends more time trying to intellectually understand problems than emotionally understand them. As time passes, he becomes more empathetic—but only in relation to you. If he is a tuning fork, you are the instrument to which he is attuned.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is its worth in comparison to other things in their life?

As time and the relationship progress, Sherlock comes to value the relationship highly. Would he give up his work for it? Not likely, but the devastation of losing you would certainly take its toll on him. As such, he does his best to maintain the relationship.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Because of his observational skills, Sherlock will notice what you notice. That is, he will follow your gaze to things, scrutinize your face, etc. If he catches you admiring something in a window, he will surprise you with it later.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Behind closed doors, when the mood strikes him, Sherlock can be very affectionate. He treats it, however, as a curious phenomenon, one to experience and then view from a disconnected perspective. That is, he will catch himself reaching for you, touching you, tracing your profile with his eyes in bed, and then wonder, Why? Why am I compelled to do this? And then start all over again.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

It takes much for Sherlock to miss you. That is, if he knows where you are or when you both will reunite, he is less likely to experience your absence as anything other than temporary and treat it as such. However, if you go away to the country to visit your family, he will devolve into chaos in your home, throwing himself into the most tangled of cases to preoccupy himself so as not to think about how much he misses you.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of lengths?

In most cases, “great lengths” means emotional intimacy that Sherlock never imagined he would experience—or even knew he could experience. However, if harm should come to you or you should be put in danger, he will burn the world down to save you.

[painted-bees]

Thinking about the depictions of Magritte's neurospiciness vs Raf's and

Magritte's struggles are a lot more easy to depict in small little vignettes. Her impulsive, disorganised, scattered nature erode her relationships and hinder her obligations, all which are long term consequences, but the behaviours themselves are spontaneous and can be often adequately captured with in a single scene.

Raf's however…I  cannot fit so neatly into the same kind of 'single moment' vignettes. I can depict an instance of his overthinking and layered thoughts, and give a quick taste of how it colors his mood and outlook for a flash. Like--his ptsd and general anxiety symptoms, I can capture and depict in this way. But the real insidiousness of his personality disorder in particular is that it's always on, and it heats up slowly over days…weeks…months before it hits a boiling point. And if he's not attentive, it can make him mean--cruel, even. The same intelligence and quickness of mind that lends to his timely, insightful, nurturing sentiments and clever, kindly gentle observations are the very same traits he will wield as a violent weapon when he becomes like a fearful animal backed into a corner. He'll say the meanest fucking shit in the fewest amout of words. A snipey comment that'll cut straight to the core, and even if he, in his right mind, didn't mean it, it doesn't matter because it wouldn't be in his mouth if it hadn't been pulled from a thread of truth. No amount of "sorry" can heal that without a leaving behind a nasty scar.

But I can't just illustrate him aggressively shooting off this kind of commentary in a short comic without including the weeks of small, seemingly unrelated occurrences that built up to it. It would just be a comic of him being brutally mean over something seemingly benign, and then feeling bad about it…which I suppose is true to how it would look from the perspective of most people in his life, but it's not accurate to his experience and it doesn't actually say what needs to be said.

It would take more panels than I can afford–to illustrate the numerous tiny, benign comments and gestures made to and around him that get folded into the slowly-growing malignant mass of misinterpretations, uncertain observations, suspicions, and worries. He's gotten so good at identifying them, dismissing them as irrational, and pushing them to the back of his mind. The idea of overreacting to a 'non-issue' or an imagined slight is mortifying to him and doesn't align with the kind of person he wants to be. But--these things sit hot in his brain regardless of how he reacts to them--and often times, he will hold them there whether he means to or not. The temperature builds up with each new situation, thought, concern…and he may fail to notice when his brain has reached a boiling point--he'll meltdown. 

In fairness, his episodes usually see him shutting down and isolating for a few days…a few weeks…a month.

However, should anyone reach out during that time, it is most certainly because "they can't just leave me alone, people are always, always gonna bother me for shit they want from me. They just can't fuckin' help themselves, they can't let me be." And any attempts to converse with him will be stilted at best, unpleasant more often than not, and relationship-shattering at worst. Again, if he feels backed into a corner, if he can't get far enough away, left alone, given his "space"--he'll say the meanest shit. He'll make you go away.

Unfortunately, ghosting people; cutting them off and going completely awol for weeks at a time can be just as cruel and destructive to a relationship as a sharply pointed, brutally wielded comment or accusation might be. 

He has so many friendly acquaintances, but genuinely no friends. No one who will text him after work or ask to hang out with him on the weekends. Partially, he does not want this kind of relationship, and actively discourages them (as he once had done with Magritte). Largely, he still has not figured out how to maintain or enjoy them. They feel unsafe.

After all, not everyone is as patient, understanding, forgiving, communicative, and accommodating as Magritte has chosen to be. But even Magritte finds herself in the splash zone of his negative, paranoid moods and behaviours. She is quick to point out that, save for one time, Raf has never been mean to her. But the eggshells she has to walk on sometimes are there because she hates to see him upset and hurting--and it can be so difficult to know what will make him clam up or become defensively grumpy. That, and she can't help but feel personally responsible for his worst moods, even though he himself would rather hammer nails into his own palms than accuse her, in earnest, of being a source of misery in his life.

Raf works so hard at keeping a lid on his cruellest personality traits. It's exhausting, but "paranoid, mean, and unreasonable" is so far away from who he wants to be. He hates that it's who he is in his weakest moments. And--especially after reading online about the experiences of other people who've been in relationships or had parents with his particular disorder–the fear of exhausting Magritte's patience and becoming a "traumatic past experience" in her life is an ever present anxiety. 

But at least he can talk about it with her.

And trust her with it.

[andinthedarknessbindthem]

Bofur x Reader - Loving Stares

This is based on a 'Sickeningly Sweet Relationship Bingo Card' that I found and forgot to save. So if I find that post, I'll add it here!

I'm a bit rusty since I haven't written since 2019, so please feel free to send requests or comments on anything I need to change! Thank you and much love! <3

✿ Words: 1,214

✿ Themes: Fluff

✿ Prompt: Staring into each other's eyes.

✿ Posted: 2/11/23

Tonight had been an especially frigid night. You had been tossing and turning just trying to keep your body warm by the fire. It was truly an unpleasant night. If you were on your back, your right side was cold. But if you were on your stomach your left side was cold. It was even worse when you completely faced or turned away from the fire.

After what seemed to have been hours (but was realistically only minutes), you sat up with a defeated sigh. There was no way you were going to get any sleep tonight. You looked around the clearing and over all of the sleeping dwarves. They all seemed so peaceful and content when they aren’t fighting orcs or fleeing for their lives. The light crackling of the fire and the soft breaths and snores soothe your thoughts.

You slowly stood up from your bedroll, moving close to the fire with your blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders. A glint of eyes in the tree line caught your attention as you sat on a tree log next to the fire. You narrowed your eyes to try and get a better look at who it was, a small smile spreading over your lips. It looks like Ori was on watch. Silently waving at him, he returned the gesture with a bright smile.

What a sweetheart.

You turned your attention back to the fire, only now noticing how stiff your hands felt. Attempting to warm them, you lightly rubbed them together close to the fire. A slight breeze blew past, making your whole body shiver. You were so cold that jumping into the fire seemed like a viable option.

“Psst.” A quiet voice cut through the air, pulling you out of your trance. Your eyes jumped from dwarf to dwarf to skim the faces around the flames until you spotted Bofur, eyes slightly cracked open.

You silently tilted your head in question. His hand raised and signaled you over.

Bofur had always been the most approachable of the dwarves to you. When you first ran across them, they all seemed skeptical of you. But not Bofur, he accepted you with open arms and an open heart, making you feel like he genuinely cared for you.

He had been your go-to person when you need a lookout to wash up or if you generally needed help with something. Truthfully, you found yourself falling for him with every sweet thing he said or did for you.

One moment that stood out, in particular, was the first week you traveled with the company. Your body hadn’t been used to walking for long distances yet. Aches and cramps plagued your muscles with every passing day. One night, He came up to you with no words, just lifted your legs onto his lap and slowly started to rub your tense calves. His fingers were like heaven against your skin, applying just enough pressure to work out the strained muscles but soft enough that it didn’t hurt.

You stood again, crossing your arms to contain your light shivering. Slowly moving towards him and being as quiet as possible not to wake any of your other friends.

When you finally reached him, you took notice of how the flickering light of the fire licked over his skin deliciously. His hat was discarded to the side of his bedroll. You swallowed thickly, pushing down any depraved thoughts.

He didn't say anything as you looked down on him. He just smiled that lovely smile up at you, eyes half-lidded. His arms raised towards you causing your head to quirk in silent question. Slowly, the gears turned in your head, your cheeks heating up as his actions finally dawned on you.

He wanted you to share his bedroll.

“Oh, Bofur.” You started with a swift shake of your head “Uh- I shouldn’t… cant! I can’t.” You corrected yourself.

“Just lay down lass.” His voice was thick with sleep. You blinked for a few seconds before lowering yourself onto your knees at the very edge of his bedroll. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you forward onto his chest. You did your best to haphazardly toss your blanket on you both.

“Mahal (Y/N), you’re freezing.” He cringed, eyes clenching closed as your frozen skin meshed with his own warmth.

You placed your hands on his chest to push yourself up before speaking, “I’m sorry, I can go back to the fire.” Your breath hitched when his arms tightened around you, not letting you up.

Both of his eyes opened now, a subtle look of concern peeking out. “No. Stay.” The desire in his voice kept you locked in place. You waited for any sign of reconsideration but there was none.

Slowly lowering yourself back down onto him, you began shifting around for a moment, his arms loosening to allow you to get comfortable. As you slid off of his chest to lay next to him, his left arm moved underneath your head as his right rested on your waist.

You couldn’t help the content hum that passed your lips. He was providing enough warmth under the blankets for the both of you.

Everything was so quiet, despite the occasional crackle and snore. Time seemed to slow in this position. Both of you stared into each other's eyes like you were entranced. After a while, his right arm tugged you closer so your torsos were pressed together. You're sure that your face is bright red now. When his right arm slowly moved upwards, fingers lightly trailing against your skin, a shiver ran up your spine.

You open and close your mouth looking for the right thing to say, but settled on bringing a hand up to stroke one of his soft braids. His hand comes to rest on your cheek, thumb rubbing in warm circles.

Unknowingly, you both had been closing the small gap between each other. You could feel a light brush of his mustache against your cheeks.

So close…

Watching carefully as Bofur’s eyes moved down your face, pausing on your lips before making their way up again. Your heart fluttered excitedly, the cold air soon forgotten.

Bofur’s thumb lightly brushed over your bottom lip, leaving a hot trail in its wake. Your eyes flickered between his as you pushed forward, your lips connecting hungrily. You were completely at his mercy.

Despite Bofur's lips being lightly chapped, they were soft against your own. His tongue teased at your lower lip, moving into a light nibble. A soft moan escaped your throat as you parted your lips for him. Your tongues mingled together, he was so warm and sweet.

Bofur pulled back, littering a trail of kisses over your cheek and down to your neck. Any attempt to catch your breath was halted when he began to suck the skin meeting at your shoulder, a quiet whimper flitting past your lips. You could feel his grin widen against your flesh as he placed one last kiss on the spot.

He pressed his face into your hair, whispering a small, “Bunnanunê.”

You reached up, tangling your fingers in his hair. “What does that mean?” You hummed.

“My tiny treasure.” Bofur breathed before removing himself from your hair and taking your lips again.

[dangans-ur-ronpas]

Chapter 20

alright guys hit the showers. or the bathhouse. wait hold on i left my computer boy in there. guys wait don't open that

SEE HERE FOR GENERAL WARNINGS AND FIC SUMMARY

Some pre-chapter notes:

wow i wrote 10 pages for chapter 19 but i better take it easy so i dont burn out (writes 11 pages for chapter 20) anyway guess who's taking a break after this chapter

this is the one with togiri development but they're extremely not normal about it so it's almost blink-and-you-miss-it

@digitaldollsworld <- betapilled readmaxxer

Content warning tags: mild violence and injury description (non-graphic), description of depression symptoms and nausea, mild mention of eating disorder

< previous - from start - next >

He’s not sure how long he sleeps for, only that he wakes up still-dressed and laid out across his bed, his mouth dry and head groggy, the bedroom lights still on. As he checks his handbook’s clock, he finds he’s entirely missed Monokuma’s morning announcement, which is a good thing; he had no desire to listen to that bear’s irritating voice, especially not today.

But, he doesn’t have much desire to do anything else either. The library no longer feels like the safe haven it used to be, and he had no interest in going anywhere else and running into anyone else, when the atmosphere was still thick with the deaths of two people, and pity that Byakuya didn’t want. Much less, the possibility of encountering Makoto, who was the last person he wanted to see, so to speak.

He lies in bed a moment longer, unwilling to move. Everything feels sluggish, like he’s moving underwater; even his head feels stuffed full with cotton and wool. It's a strange, unfamiliar feeling, and unpleasant, too.

Grief. He thinks blearily at first, before rolling his own eyes at the thought, and pushing himself up with a grunt. Such dramatics didn’t suit him. He wasn't the kind of person to spare such theatrics, regardless of his circumstances.

He showers, brushes his teeth, and half-debates whether to try his hand at shaving before ultimately deciding against it (it didn’t feel like his stubble should be that noticeable, yet). He forgoes changing into a clean uniform in favor of his pajamas, and collapses back into bed with a sigh, hand searching immediately for his handbook - but finding nothing but empty sheets.

“Hello, there!”

He jerks upright immediately. Standing in the foot of his bed is Monokuma, rocking back and forth and looking as innocent as could be. Or, would be, if not for the handbook clutched in its paw.

Byakuya dives for it without thinking, but his perception is off, and he crashes to the carpet instead with a grunt. Monokuma sidesteps him casually with a laugh. “Whoa, there! Easy partner, don’t wanna hurt yourself!” It dances around his head, infuriatingly out of reach. “Didja miss me that bad? If you wanna hug, you can just say so!”

“Give it back,” He snarls, as he picks himself up. He’s in no mood for its jokes. “Give me back my handbook!”

“Your handbook? My my, but these were all mine first, weren’t they?” It shakes a paw disapprovingly in his face. “I just need to check it real quick, after all. I didn’t expect Mister Fujisaki to go and Macgyver anything onto here, so if it’s anything malicious, I’ll have to do a quick wipey-wipe!” Byakuya makes another lunge, and it juggles the handbook out of his reach, hopping backwards with a mad cackle. “After all, if it’s anything naughty, there’s no way I can let it fall in the hands of my precious students!”

“You miserable little-” Byakuya tries to rise to his feet quickly, but he hasn’t eaten since yesterday, and a bout of dizziness crashes into him like a wave. He sways and braces himself against the mattress, one arm still reaching out clumsily to try and grab at Monokuma.

But the bear has already flipped it open, scrolling so quickly through the screens that the little automated voice can’t keep up, the words blurring together. “Schoo-Stu-App-Day-”

“Whoops, too far.” It scrolls back. “Applications, that’s what we wanna see. And, what’s this?”

Byakuya feels his blood run cold. There was only one application there, the one Chihiro had downloaded for him. Alter Ego. The app was inconspicuously named ‘Test_App’ in the interface itself, but if Monokuma opened it-

“Well well well. Let’s take a look-see!” It crows, and Byakuya’s protest is frozen in his throat. He shuts his eyes, expecting to hear Chihiro’s voice-

“Black to E5.”

He opens his eyes again. What?

Monokuma also seems confused, tilting its head as it stares at the little screen. “What’s this? A chessboard?”

“Black to E5,” Alter Ego repeats, so digitized and monotone it was nearly unrecognizable. “Would you like to review the board?”

“Is this all it is? A chess game?” Monokuma sounds almost disappointed. Byakuya, seeing his chance, surges forward, snatching the handbook back and snapping it closed. He presses it to his chest, feeling his heart thud beneath it.

“Is that a problem?” He demands, and Monokuma shrugs, shaking its head.

“I guess not, but I thought it’d be something spicy, y’know? You’re a growing boy, after all!” It reaches out to pat Byakuya’s knee, and he steps backwards just in time, lip curling in disgust. “Aw, don’t act so mean to your headmaster, you’ll give me a complex!”

“Get out.” He hisses. “You got what you came here for. Leave.”

“Oh, alright…you sure know how to make a bear feel glum...” It sighs, kicking at the carpet, before it makes its way to the door. “Take care, now! Make sure you eat something, y’hear? I don’t want any hunger strikes in this house! And-”

No sooner had Monokuma crossed the threshold, had Byakuya jumped up, and sped forward to slam the door with a resounding bang. He takes a moment to breathe, leaning against the wall, legs suddenly weak.

How the hell did that thing get inside my room? He was sure he had locked the door - or he should have locked it, at least. Looking back, he actually can’t remember, but he double and triple-checks now, suddenly paranoid. He also flips off the light for good measure, leaving the room in complete darkness before he crawls back into bed.

Beneath the covers, he opens his handbook, and squints until he can make out the pale green shape of Alter Ego’s face on the screen.

“Is he gone?” Alter Ego asks, and Byakuya relaxes, the tension flooding out of his shoulders.

“Yes.” He whispers back.

Alter Ego makes a sound like a sigh of relief. “I’m glad. I got so scared when he grabbed me.” And its voice sounds so much like Chihiro's that Byakuya feels a strange pressure behind his eyes.

“How did you know?” He asks. “That Monokuma was there?”

“I could hear it. Through the microphone.” He reaches up and touches the tiny pinprick grid of the speaker, and feels the buzz of Alter Ego’s voice against his fingertips. “I didn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me. I think he would’ve just deleted you as punishment for me anyway.” He sighs. And then frowns, as a thought comes to mind. “If you could eavesdrop from the microphone this whole time, then you already know…?”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to. Alter Ego makes a quiet noise like a sigh. “Yes, I know.”

“I’m sorry.” And he’s surprised to find that he means it genuinely, and almost laughs at himself. Heartfelt apologies were rare for him, and here he was offering one to an AI, of all things.

“It’s okay. He knew it might happen,” Alter Ego replies, and he imagines it might be smiling, a sad, helpless smile. “There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They’re quiet for a moment. In the darkness, Byakuya can almost pretend that he’s normal - unable to see in the dark as everyone else is. But it’s also the middle of the day, and he’s too restless to sleep, too uneasy to go outside. Too tired to mourn. Too mournful to do anything else.

“Can you really play chess?” He asks instead.

“I can, along with checkers, shogi, and backgammon and more.” 

“Play a round of chess with me, then. I’m bored.”

“Okay!” Immediately, the pale blot of their face on the screen is replaced by a square. “I’ll play black. What’s your first move?”

He smiles to himself. “E2, pawn to E4.”

—

Hours pass like that. He plays chess with Alter Ego (three wins, four losses, and seven draws), and a few rounds of shogi (one win, one loss, and two draws) for good measure. And then, huddled over his desk with his back facing the camera, he pores over lines of Dostoevsky and Nietzsche until he feels too sick from staring at the letters to even hear Alter Ego’s voice, reciting the words aloud beneath a dim ringing in his ears.

By the time he’s pulled out of his concentration by the sound of a knocking at his door, he’s too nauseous to feel hungry, but his throat is stinging from lack of water and there’s a slight pulsing in his head. His immediate first reaction is to ignore it, but that proves to be impossible; whoever was on the other side was clearly, very persistent, and had nothing better to do.

Even so, he lasts a full five minutes until he finally gets up to answer, irritated beyond measure. If it was Makoto, he was going to slam it closed again, reasons be damned. He didn’t even want to think about the other boy, lest he get pointlessly enraged about it.

But instead of brown hair, he’s met with pale white. Kirigiri stands at his threshold, hand partially raised, halfway through knocking, and they stare at each for a moment in silence, as if both surprised to find the other person there.

And then he slams the door shut in her face. Or tries to - instead of the satisfying bang of wood meeting wood, there’s a sickly crunch, and then she’s wrenching the door open, heedless of the way her fingers had just been crushed in the jamb. He almost winces in sympathy, but she’s too busy pushing her way in to offer much room for condolences.

“What is wrong with you?!” He demands, trying not to be too obviously perturbed by her lack of reaction; he doesn’t think he even heard her wince. She ignores him for a moment, attention focused on her hand, as she experimentally clenches and unclenches her fingers. Apparently they’re not broken, or maybe, she just had high pain tolerance. Or she was more insane than he thought.

“We’re calling a group meeting,” She replies, without so much as a waver. “Come to the bathhouse.”

“And why should I?”

“It’s important. I can drag you there if I have to.” It doesn’t sound like an empty threat either. Somehow, she seems impatient, though he’s not sure how he can tell; and it wasn’t just because she shoved her hand into the door in order to deliver the message.

He weighs his options - on one hand, he has no desire to speak with anyone, much less Makoto, who was bound to be there. On the other hand, he didn’t exactly have anything in the way of provisions in his room, and though he was still a little too light-headed to consider eating, it’d be embarrassing to collapse from dehydration at this point. That, and it seemed that Kirigiri had no intention of letting him refuse.

“...I’m going to get dressed first.” He says shortly. If he’s going to have to meet them, it will not be while he’s still in his pajamas.

“Hurry up.”

She makes no move to leave, and he realizes with no small amount of annoyance that she was making sure he wouldn’t be able to run or shut her out again. Somewhat affronted by this, and now wanting to go even less, he grabs a clean set of clothes from his dresser and goes to the bathroom.

Routine carries his hands through the motions, so he manages it relatively quick, but it’s only after he’s applying the finishing touches, that he nearly pokes himself in the eye as he reaches to adjust his glasses. It’s a strange sensation, feeling the bridge of his nose and finding nothing, and even though his original prescription was low and they were more an accessory than anything, he feels a little like he’s lost a limb.

She’s still there when he emerges, though now standing over his desk, bent over the books he has open. She looks up as he approaches, one hand halfway through turning a page.

“What?” He asks, chin turned up in challenge.

“Nothing. Just looking.” She closes the book, and he realizes, scandalized, that it was the one he was reading earlier. It was going to take him ages to find that page again. “You have predictable tastes.”

“Shut up. Are we going or not?”

He follows her out, his hands twitching all the while, smoothing down his shirt, his lapels, his sleeves. Making sure his buttons were lined up, that his shirt was tucked; he hadn’t had the time to put on garters or even try a hand at his tie, and he feels underdressed.

“You’re fine.” Kirigiri says suddenly, and he freezes, one hand resting on the button of a shirt cuff. “Stop fidgeting.”

He scowls. He was walking behind her, so what would she know. “I’m not fidgeting.”

“I can hear you fidgeting. Your buttons are fine.”

“Oh, can you hear my buttons now too?”

It’s a petty, childish remark, one that he can’t stop himself from muttering before he can even reconsider it. She stops at that, halting so suddenly in the middle of the hallway that he almost walks right into her, and turns around to face him, her head moving in a slow tilt from up to down - scanning me, he realizes - before she says: “You look fine. Are you quite done?”

She was checking for me. He’s not sure if he should feel grateful for the courtesy or irritated by her lack of grace. “Did the sound bother you that much?” He asks instead, patting down the front of his shirt one last time.

“...It wasn’t the sound.” Is all she says, with a sort of finality that indicated that no other questions would be answered on the topic.

They enter the bathhouse, and find everyone else there, gathered in a sort of semi-circle around the wall of lockers. Asahina and Ogami, predictably, are huddled close together on one of the benches. Celeste and Yamada sit on another bench, one fidgeting uneasily, the other sitting regally with legs crossed and hands folded. Hagakure is standing next to Owada, who doesn’t even stir when they walk in, and who Byakuya ignores in turn, gaze sliding past him uncomfortably. Fukawa hangs near the back of the group, and twitches when she sees him, though makes no move to approach.

Makoto is leaning against the lockers with hands tucked in his pockets. He looks up as they enter, and stands up straight immediately. “Ah-”

“We’re all here?” Kirigiri cuts him off, casting a glance around the room. “Good. Can you catch him up, Hina?”

“R-right,” Asahina looks between Kirigiri and Byakuya, then at Makoto, and seems to hesitate for a moment. “Um, so…last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go to the kitchen to get food. But on the way there, I heard something coming from the bathhouse - like, a weird, machine-y kind of sound? - and when I went in…”

She peters off. He raises an eyebrow, “And?”

“Uh, it’s going to sound a little ridiculous...”

“You act like nothing else is ridiculous about this situation. Get on with it.”

Her face flushes dark, embarrassed. He gets the feeling that Ogami is glaring at him, but since he can’t see it - and has no reason to act like he can see it, anyways - he ignores it easily.

“Right. I saw a ghost - I know it was a ghost,” She adds defensively, as Byakuya was preparing to scoff and roll his eyes. “It was glowing green and floating in front of the lockers, and…and it had Chihiro’s face.”

“That’s-” not a ghost, he’s about to say, but he stops, suddenly uncertain. The bathhouse had no cameras, but he wasn’t sure if Alter Ego’s existence should be revealed here, now, to everyone, especially given some of the individuals present. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket, where his handbook was. “That’s…and you’re sure it was Chihiro?”

She seems taken aback by how seriously he asks that, and nods quickly. “I know it was Chihiro! It was his face and everything!” She points in front of her, at a locker less than two meters away from her eye level. The exact locker, Byakuya thinks, where Chihiro was keeping his laptop.

He wonders if Makoto was thinking this too.

“...I highly doubt the existence of ghosts,” He sighs. There was no point trying to hide it with Kirigiri around, and better to do it now than later. “Instead of being in front of the locker, I think the thing you saw was inside it.”

He turns to the locker Asahina had indicated, and moves to unlock it - before realizing he doesn’t know how. If it was unlocked by key, he didn’t have it, and if by code it was even more impossible. But Kirigiri steps forward, nudging his arm out of the way, and the locker door clicks open under her hand.

Sitting inside is the laptop, its screen dark. After a moment, it hums to life, flickering green. A round, pale shape forms, and behind him, Byakuya hears someone gasp.

“Hello,” Alter Ego says, and their voice is clearer through the computer than through Byakuya’s handbook, and sounds so similar to Chihiro’s that it’s almost jarring. “It’s nice to meet everyone!”

Hagakure shrieks, arms thrown up in fear. “A g-g-gh-!”

“It’s not a ghost,” Byakuya cuts him off sharply. “It’s a program.”

“Yes, and it looks like something Chihiro made.” Kirigiri touches the keys lightly. “This computer was the broken one from the library. And the fact that it was placed here, out of sight of the mastermind, means that it was meant for us.”

“So, this is what I saw last night…” Asahina’s tone doesn’t sound uneasy anymore, but wondering, and she raises a tentative hand as the little Chihiro in the screen waves at her. “But, what is it?”

“You just asked, ‘what is it,’ right?” Alter Ego says, almost teasingly, making her and several others jump. “The short answer is, I’m an AI program based on as much of Chihiro Fujisaki’s personality, memories, and thoughts as he managed to transcribe into data…um, but if it’s easier for you, you can call me Alter Ego. I was made to try and break through the firewall around the school’s network and to analyze the files on this computer, but it’s been taking a long time. I’m only about 25% done.”

25%? That was already more than Byakuya expected, and he feels a thin, inexplicable strum of pride.

“Crazy…hey, isn’t this crazy?” Yamada is up from his seat, and sitting as close as he can, crouching on his heels to be eye-level with the screen. “This is so- so totally sci-fi, right? Isn’t the genre wrong?” He sounds excited, overly so, and his breath is a little fevered and fast. “Hey, Chihiro! Can you hear us?”

Alter Ego doesn’t respond. Byakuya suddenly remembers the night that Chihiro was installing the application on his handbook and how Alter Ego only ever responded after the sound of keystrokes. “You have to type what you want to say in order for it to respond.”

“Move.” Yamada scurries out of Kirigiri’s way, as she drops to a crouch in front of the open locker. There’s the sound of fingers clicking over keys, and then -

“It will take me a while longer to finish analyzing everything,” Alter Ego says aloud, a little sheepishly. “I can definitely finish it though! Actually, progress is moving faster than originally predicted, so you can leave it to me!”

“My, how dependable.” Celeste remarks. “It seems that Chihiro has left us an invaluable gift, does it not?”

“It’s…pretty crazy,” Hagakure agrees, scratching his head. “Wait, uh - can Alter Ego get online? Like can we call for help from outside?”

“Hmm, probably not.” Asahina hums in thought, crossing her arms. “We’re in a bathhouse after all.”

“Then, if we take it outside of here-”

“No.” Kirigiri says flatly. “We can’t take any risks. Taking it outside might mean that the mastermind will discover it.”

“Yeah, but, I think it’s better to get help sooner than later. You know…” He pauses for a moment, tilting his head pointedly towards Owada. Throughout this whole time, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader had been as still as a mouse, face turned downwards towards the floor. Hagakure clears his throat awkwardly. “Can’t we try it?”

There’s a sharp tap as Celeste laces her fingers, rings clicking together. “As stated earlier. We cannot take unnecessary risks. And we are not in the position to be pointlessly altruistic.” Her tone is casual, but Hagakure seems to shrink away from her, defeated.

“I…okay. Fine, sure.” He scratches at his head, then pauses. “Ah, wait a minute. Does Alter Ego, like, know…?

His question peters off, but the implication hangs over them like a heavy fog. Byakuya watches them cast uneasy glances at each other, then back to Alter Ego, as if trying to figure out who should break the news.

“It already knows.” He mutters. He’s not trying to be loud, but in the silence everyone could hear it anyways.

“...Not to say you’re lying or anything, Byakuya, but how do you…?”

Instead of answering Hagakure out loud, he reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws the handbook, flipping it open and holding it up, screen facing them. Someone gasps.

“Yes,” Alter Ego confirms their unspoken question, and its voice echoes uncannily, doubled between the laptop and his handbook. “Master made it so I can be accessed through Byakuya’s handbook, so I could assist him with his visual impairment. I can also access the microphone function on this device, so I was able…I was able to overhear what happened”

The little, buzzing voice trails off sadly, and Byakuya suddenly feels uncomfortable, as the room grows all the more dreary. He clicks the handbook closed, suddenly irritated.

“That should explain it.“ He sighs. “Chihiro built Alter Ego to try and help find a way out of here, and at the same time gave me access so I could be self-sufficient. That’s the extent of my knowledge about it.”

He looks up and finds nearly all of them with their faces tilted towards him, and shifts, disconcerted. “What?”

“Nothing…it’s just kinda sweet that you’re, like, telling us this yourself.” Hagakure, ridiculously, sounds almost happy about this. “You never really talked to us about yourself before.”

“There’s no point in being secretive about it. Not when I was already forced to reveal it during the trial.” He sniffs. Immediately, Hagakure looks away, chagrined. From Byakuya’s periphery, he can see Makoto still facing away, his ears turning pink.

Kirigiri clears her throat. “...For the time being, it’s clear that we need to ensure Alter Ego remains a secret from the mastermind.” She says, and Byakuya watches as she types something out, a thick line of black characters. Every few keystrokes, she stops, and deletes the last word in a series of light clicks; listening closer, the sound was awkward and irregular, each press slurring into the next key. With a slight twinge of guilt, he realizes that the cause of it was her left hand - the one he had practically crushed.

After a moment’s consideration, weighing his conscience with what was at stake, he nudges her slightly with his knee. “Move. You type too slow.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I can hear it.” He replies flatly. “You type like you’re all thumbs. Move over.”

He half-expects her to stay where she is, to ignore him and continue, but to his surprise she actually complies, standing up and stepping aside. He crouches into the space she had just abandoned, sliding his hands over the keyboard until his index fingers find the tiny, tell-tale grooves of the position keys. The size and dimensions are different from his computer at home, but for a moment the feeling is so familiar that he’s almost nostalgic.

“What did you want to ask again?”

“If it has any contingency measures in place for if Monokuma - or the mastermind, or anyone suspicious - happens to find it.”

His fingers skim over the keys, clicking fluidly. A thin line of black appears at the bottom of the screen in time to his movements, but he can’t confirm if the output is accurate; judging by the way Makoto gasps behind him, and the way Hagakure whistles, he can guess that it’s more or less correct.

“Impressive,” Celeste says, in an appreciative tone. “I suppose being such an esteemed heir means you have many talents.”

He can’t tell if she’s mocking him, so he decides to ignore her, though he allows himself a small amount of smugness. He finishes typing: “Is this what you wanted to ask?”

Instead of replying, Kirigiri leans over his shoulder and clicks the ‘enter’ button. After a moment’s pause:

“Hm, to be honest, so far I’ve just been trying to be reeeally careful with when I’m active…though I guess that backfired last night, with me scaring Aoi.” Alter Ego hums in thought. “But, I do have a secret plan! If anyone comes around who I don’t recognize on my webcam…I’ll scream super loud!”

“That’s so basic!” Asahina blurts out, shocked by the simple nature of it.

“Yes, and it’s not likely to work at night.” Ogami grumbles. “The bedrooms are soundproofed.”

“Maybe we can try taking turns staying up?” Makoto suggests. “I can take the first night, I don’t mind…”

“I think such a sudden change in our patterns is likely to draw suspicion from the mastermind. Which would be rather counterproductive.” Celeste says, and Makoto ducks his head immediately. “Though, your thoughtfulness is appreciated.”

“Then it can’t be helped.” Kirigiri sighs. “I’ll leave my door open. I’m at the end of the hallway anyways, so if anything happens, I should be able to react the quickest.”

What a crazy woman. “You’d leave yourself vulnerable?” He scoffs. After all the precautions he’s seen her take, it’s hard to imagine her sacrificing herself to any degree.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides, I’m not so helpless. I have no intention of going down without a fight.” She pauses, mouth open like she’s about to say more, before she decides against it. “Anyways. We should avoid any mention or contact with Alter Ego as much as possible, to draw as little attention as we can.”

She claps her hands sharply, a sound that makes more than one person jump, and makes Byakuya almost flinch. “For the time being…let’s disperse.”

< previous - from start - next >

[drdemonprince]

How do you tell the difference between perfectly reasonable bitch sessions about people processing their problems with others/groups, as opposed to having ended up in a clique? I've been in situations a few times in my life where I ended up in a friend group whose complaining about others made me feel very irritated and/or uncomfortable. But I can't tell whether that's a reasonable reaction or whether my own tendencies towards people-pleasing and toxic positivity.

I don't want to give in to a bad impulse to "play devil's advocate" or anything, but my internal reaction tends to be "well, at the moment I'd rather be with them than you" and start looking for chances to make more distance so I won't be privy to those discussions anymore. But then I worry that distancing myself from people because of unexpressed discomfort isn't the right thing to do either.

To further complicate the matter: I also criticize people behind their backs sometimes! I feel like it can contribute to less charged, more robust relationships with those around me. My tolerance for this in general has gone up a bit over the years, and now someone else is doing it about a person whose flaws I've also seen doesn't bother me nearly as much. I can't tell if that's reasonable, hypocritical, or a secret third thing. I feel like I do it with the intention of ultimately getting to know/deal with them better, but maybe that's just toxic positivity talking again.

TL;DR any tips for how to a) identify constructive vs. destructive talking about people behind their backs when I'm privy to it, and b) respond if it seems like the destructive kind?

I think the search for an over-arching rule of what should be acceptable here is the wrong tactic! Rather than worrying so much about whether what you are doing is okay, or hypocritical, or too devils-advocatey, or too fawning, or what's the optimal level and form of talking about other people to which you should permit in yourself and others.... please just let yourself actually trust how you feel! This is an interpersonal vibe issue and how you feel and what you want matters.

It annoys you to be around people who are super negative and judgmental toward others. You think the judgements this person is making of a third party are needless. Just say that! You don't have to have some grand unified theory of why it's not acceptable for them to speak in this way or some established rule set to justify how you feel. How you feel is the point! These are your relationships and you get to decide how you feel about them!

Here are some statements that are totally acceptable to say in this situation:

"I don't really like hearing you talking so negatively about people."

"Can we talk about something else? This is not interesting to me."

"I don't have any problem with them, let's move on."

"When you talk about other people like this, it makes me wonder how you see me."

"Yeah yeah I get it the picture, you don't like them. Played any good video games lately?"

Or, if they are insistent in continuing to complain about people or talk negatively in ways that you dislike and don't listen when you say it's unpleasant for you, you could just not hang out with this person! This is a very legitimate reason to not like somebody.

I had a partner for a while who would constantly talk shit about other people. I'm a hater in a great many ways so at first I thought it was fine. I'm used to people thinking I'm too analytical and too critical so sometimes being around negative people feels safe and accepting to me! And I love a good bitching sesh -- especially in person discussions about online people who are never gonna be hurt or affected by me privately talking shit with my friends.

But I noticed this person I was seeing constantly would pick apart every one else's flaws, including random people they'd only just met, while also complaining often about how they didn't get enough affection or attention themselves... it frankly disgusted me because they could not see that their shitty attitude toward others was the sole cause of their own isolation. I had to end things because it was so viscerally off-putting. This person was always perfectly nice to me. Very generous, affectionate, complimentary, and attentive. It didn't matter because I didn't like how they spoke about others and how much time they devoted to being petty. It was a huge turn off and it can be a massive friendship deal-breaker too. If you don't like it, you don't like it! that's enough.

[theraggedygirl11]

Sospeso tra finzione e realtà

SUMMARY: Bojan was turned into a vampire some years before. The band met the famous photographer Damon Baker while in London and now it's time for Bojan's photoshoot, but something unpleasant happens.

PAIRING: Bojan Cvjetićanin/Kris Guštin/Damon Baker (+kind of implied poly!jo)

WARNINGS: anxiety/panic attack, blood, sex (not too explicit), angst and more angst, hurt/comfort, death/homicide mentioned, slight torture

WORDS COUNT: 4.891

LINK: AO3

NOTES: This comes from a collective work that's going on since last July or August, I don't remember. The AUs spawned on their own, we have too many and you'll find everything under the tag #vampire!bojan and #vampire!bojan storyline. So, I'd like to thank @signoraviolettavalery who supported my nocturnal brainrot in this post here, and also @touchyourblood and @nyx-aira who added a general background in this other post.

The title comes from this Italian song, feel free to go and listen to it. Here you can read the translation into English.

This is not beta-read, we die like men here! I just took what @signoraviolettavalery and I wrote, put it together and wrote something more around it

I just hope I added every tw in the tags, if something's missing, feel free to tell me and I'll add them!

* * *

“Bojan, are you sure you want to do this?” Kris asks while looking at the vampire. “You know you’ll be all alone with Damon, right? And that you’ll end up showing your vulnerable side?” 

“Yes, Krisko. I’m fine, and I’ll be fine,” he reassures him before pecking his lips. “I fed on Jure this morning, I’m relaxed, I feel good, London is showing its sunny side and I’m ready to conquer the world!” He even giggles. He’s truly in a good mood and full of energy. 

“Call any of us if anything happens, ok?” Kris looks at him, still worried. 

“Yeah, sure, don’t worry,” Bojan winks at him, then quickly kisses the others before leaving their apartment to go and meet Damon at his house. 

Damon and he already discussed about his photoshoot, so Bojan knows what he’s about to face. He’s truly relaxed, he didn’t lie to Kris. That part of his life is over, behind his back forever. 

As soon as he arrives at Damon’s, he changes his clothes to the ones they chose for his photoshoot: tight leather trousers, a leather belt with a broken heart on it, an oversized shirt and an untied bowtie around his neck. Oh, he loves this outfit, it’s sexy and makes him look so much masculine, but at the same time he starts feeling uncomfortable, uneasiness crawling up his spine. The Bojan he sees in the mirror isn’t the Bojan he wants to show to the world. He notices a shade of red in his eyes and immediately changes them back to brown. 

“Are you ready, honey?” Damon asks while getting closer to Bojan. “Oh, you look amazing, sweety. I could ride this cowboy any time! Or you could ride me,” he winks. 

Bojan giggles. He’s now used to Damon flirting with him. He likes it. “We can go, I’m ready.” 

The photoshoot starts. The poses that Bojan decides to do exhale aggressiveness and masculinity, and the more the photoshoot goes on, the more aggressive they become. He doesn’t want to, but his instincts tell him to do so, to assert his dominance over the person who’s taking pictures and the ones that will see them. He’s unconsciously showing the predator inside him that is violently ramping against the weak human surface, it wants to come out because it feels in danger. And what does an animal in a dangerous situation? It shows aggressiveness and attacks. 

The moment Damon gets closer with his camera, something snaps inside Bojan. His entire body is petrified. His mind shows him a memory he thought he had locked up in the deepest corner of his mind. He’s again in front of her, she’s taking pictures of him right after she fed on him. He’s covered in blood, he’s crying and begging her because he’s feeling dizzy, he just wants her to lick the bitemarks to close them or he will bleed off.  

But she keeps taking those pictures, she grins showing her fangs and her lips still stained with blood of the most vibrant shade of red. She’s in full control and the only thing he can do is stay there and hoping she will make him stop bleeding. Tears run down his face. He’s so scared, so powerless and hopeless. He wants that all that ends as soon as possible. 

In the present Bojan’s eyes got red. He didn’t even notice, at least until Damon brings him back from the spiral he was falling into. 

“W-What are-” 

He can’t even finish the sentence. Bojan snaps back into reality and in a blink of an eye he attacks the photographer in front of him, pinning him down on the ground. The camera slides on the floor while he grabs the human’s wrists with his hands and blocks them above his head. He growls, showing his fangs in an intimidating way. Bojan’s on top of the photographer, his instincts full in control of his actions, he can’t even recognize Damon. 

“B-Bojan...?” Damon whimpers, terrified. 

The fog that invaded Bojan's mind and finally fades away and he can restraint his vampiric instincts. He stands up faster than a normal human would. He’s afraid of what he just did, he feels so ashamed for having lost his control. 

“I-I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to-” 

He just runs away, out of the window. He doesn’t care if someone sees him, he just needs to go away, far, far away from Damon. He looks like a scared prey chased by an unknown predator. While he tries to remember where to go to reunite with his bandmates, he looks around, overwhelmed by sounds and smells and colours and lights. 

He’s panting, he’s panicking, his mind is barely functioning at this point, he’s letting his impulses rule over his actions. He doesn’t even know how, but he manages to go back to the apartment, jumping from one roof to the other. 

Bojan enters the room where Nace and Kris sleep through the window. He immediately searches for Kris’s colourful sweater in his suitcase. He needs some familiar scent around him to calm himself down. His heart is beating fast in his chest, his eyes are still red. He’s still wearing the clothes he was using in the photoshoot. 

When he finds the sweater, he puts it immediately on and lets Kris’s smell surround him. He takes deep breaths and closes his eyes. He tries to block everything else out. He sits on the ground, right next to the bed. His knees are against his chest and his arms embrace them. He’s trying so hard to look smaller. 

You are safe, Bojan. You are safe. Damon is alive, you didn’t kill him. You are safe. He keeps repeating these sentences in his mind, trying to regain control over his body, now dominated by fear and panic. He is shaking too. 

After some minutes someone enters. He’s too focused on Kris’s scent to identify who that person is. 

“Bojan?” This voice is worried.  

Soon after a hand is laying on his shoulder. Bojan winces and raises his head suddenly. It’s Nace. 

“What happened?” 

Bojan doesn’t answer, he just hugs Nace and hides his face against his chest.  

“I-I couldn’t do it. I-I showed myself. He knows-” 

“Hush, hush,” Nace gently caresses his hair after hugging him back. “It’s ok,” he whispers. “Breathe. You are safe here, no one’s going to hurt you here.” 

It takes Bojan at least fifteen minutes to calm down. He slipped, he thought he could be strong enough to face that photoshoot, but something clearly snapped in him and made him reveal himself. And he’s so ashamed of it. 

“Let’s go to the others,” Nace suggests when he sees that Bojan is a little bit more relaxed. His eyes are now brown and he stopped shaking. 

They go down the stairs together, holding hands. He can hear the others talking in that small living room, but their voices stop when they see Nace with Bojan, with Kris’s sweater and not his own clothes on. They know that something’s wrong. And Bojan confirms their suspects. 

“He knows.” 

Two simple words, but they all understand.  

“Oh, Bojč,” Kris sighs, then stands up and hugs the vampire. 

“I-I thought I was over her, b-but-” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Kris replies, interrupting him. “We’ll talk to Damon and we’ll find a solution. But now you are more important. Come here and sit with us.” 

That evening the band take care of Bojan. They cuddle with him, they prepare his favourite human food, they make him feel comfortable, safe and loved. And in the end he falls asleep on Jure’s shoulder, exhausted by the intense emotions he felt that day. 

Nace takes him in his and Kris’s room so they can sleep with him in the middle. It is a “standard procedure” when Bojan happens to have a bad day. Having familiar scents around him helps him to relax and feel safe. 

The next day Kris wakes up before anyone else because he needs to drink some water. He goes downstairs, but his attention is caught by his phone buzzing. He takes it. It’s a message from Damon. 

Damon: Hey Kris. Yesterday happened something uncomfortable during Bojan’s photoshoot. I’m really sorry. 

Damon is still online and is trying to write something else, but he keeps stopping. Kris decides to reply. 

Kris: We know he’s a vampire. He told us what happened yesterday. 

Damon: I guessed you should know, you are so intimate with one another 

Damon: Is he ok? 

Kris: More or less, he managed to sleep at least 

Damon: Do you think Bojan would like to meet me again? 

Damon: I just want to talk with him 

A couple of days later, a bit reluctantly, Bojan is again at Damon’s house. He drank blood before going, just to be able to control himself better. In a bag he has the clothes he wore the other day. 

Damon lets him in and welcomes him with a smile.  

Bojan knows Damon is afraid of him, he can smell his fear in the air and feel it in his heart beating faster than the usual. He harnesses his predator’s instincts with all the strength he has. He doesn’t want to be intimidating. 

They sit, Damon on an armchair, Bojan on the couch. They are far from each other. There’s silence between them, both are nervous. But Damon talks first. 

"Look, I'm still a little scared. I mean, who wouldn't be? It's human instinct, right? You'd think there was something wrong if I wasn't scared." And Bojan, who remembers what it feels like to be preyed on, nods.  

"But I've also gotten to know you. I've gotten to see you. I think you're a good person. And I think you're just as scared of what you are. Maybe even more."  

Bojan nods again. "This thing...it's like this monster inside me that I have to control. A demon."  

"I know a little something about having a demon inside me," Damon says and Bojan's eyes widen. Oh. "But you find ways to control it, right? To cope. A support network, friends who keep you from falling."

Bojan nods again. "Kad neman tebe, sa mnom su moji demoni," he says. "It's from our song. 'when you're not with me, my demons are with me.' My friends are there for me, and they keep the demons away."  

Silence falls again between them. Well, at least for Damon. Bojan’s ears are dominated by the constant beating of Damon’s heart, the blood pumping in his vessels that sings to him, calls him. 

Damon breaks again the silence and asks one basic question. "Do you want to talk about it?" 

Bojan sits straight, his body stiffens. Damon is curious, but his vampire instincts allow him to recognize the stance of a prey that's trying to not look nervous or scared.  

Should he talk? Should he tell him how he got turned? Should he explain to Damon why he snapped during the photoshoot? Should he really allow himself to be this vulnerable with a guy he barely knows? 

But Damon, poor little scared human Damon, seeing that Bojan doesn't talk, asks him another question, trying a new way to communicate with him.  

"How should I approach you? Like, are there movements or stuff I should avoid doing to make you feel more comfortable? Or words, I don't know. I don’t want to trigger any negative reaction in you." 

Bojan then starts talking, even if he's hesitant. He explains that his senses are much sharper than a human’s, so he's bothered by strong noises, intense lights, very rich smells, but for a brief period of time he can resist.  

"How do I smell like?" 

"I beg your pardon?" Bojan is really confused. Why that question? 

"How do I smell like? How's my scent?" 

Bojan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, focusing on Damon. The scent of fear is slowly disappearing. "It's sweet. Comfortable. It makes me feel safe, in some way," and it’s tempting, but he keeps these words for himself.  

And there Damon smiles widely. "That's perfect, because I have something for you to wear, honey." He gets up and takes this stripped and fluffy black and white piece of clothing from a bag next to the armchair. "This is my favourite sweater. It makes me feel safe and I'd like you to wear it," and stands up, gets closer and hands him the sweater, which of course is soaked in Damon's scent. 

Bojan's brain stops working because, well, he didn't expect this reaction. Damon, still afraid of him, is asking him to wear a piece of clothing that makes him feel safe. Some sort of peace offering.  

I want you to feel safe with me, even though I’m still scared. This is how Bojan reads this gesture. His hearts almost melts. 

He grabs the sweater and smells it, inhaling his scent and shivering. He quickly takes off his jacket and shirt, then wears the sweater. It’s warm and fluffly and soft. He’s immediately enwrapped by Damon’s scent. 

“It suits you,” Damon says, giggling. 

“It’s a nice sweater,” Bojan replies, nodding and hinting a shy smile.  

The vampire is really feeling safe with it on. He wasn’t afraid of Damon per se, he’s not dangerous, it was the photoshoot that made him feel too vulnerable and made resurface bad memories. 

Damon, seeing that Bojan is lulled by the comfort of his sweater, tentatively suggests "if you're comfortable with it...I'd like to photograph that side of you, too. Not for the public, of course. Just...for us. Photography is how I get to know someone, and that's a part of you too."  

"I don't want to scare you," Bojan admits.  

"I'm already scared. But that doesn't matter. I want to know you, all of you."  

Their eyes meet, prey and predator, human and vampire, two creatures completely different but similar at the same time. And Bojan feels some kind of connection with Damon, something he haven’t felt since the first time he saw his bandmates after the transformation. 

In the end Bojan agrees to this, tentatively. But he wants Kris to be there with him, just in case. Kris knows exactly how to calm him down. He will know what to do or say if he loses control. 

“You won’t need me, you're not going to lose control," Kris says while looking at the vampire. "Even if he does smell extra tasty."  

"How do you know that?" Bojan asks.  

"I know you," Kris replies. "I know that when you inhale his scent, you want." 

Bojan diverts his look and starts fidgeting with the hem of his sweater. Well, with Jan’s sweater. Having his bandmates clothes on helps him relax and push back his anxiety, so it’s easy seeing him with clothes owned by the others. 

A couple of days later Bojan it’s time for him to show that side of himself to Damon. Kris is with them, just to reassure both human and vampire.  

Damon's obviously still scared, Bojan can smell it. But he doesn't run away when Bojan changes his appearance in front of him, sharp claws and fangs, eyes of the purest and the most intense red ever seen.  

Damon admires this version of Bojan, stunned by his beauty. He looks Bojan in the eyes, and gets close, and takes those photos. Beautiful photos that capture not just the 'monster' inside him, but also the fear, the uncertainty, the angst Bojan is consumed by. How he doesn't want to be the monster. His red eyes on display and a look of sheer terror on his face...which is quite a photo, because predators don't usually look terrified. That's reserved for preys.  

Kris observes silently and not so far away from them. He’s worried more for Bojan than for Damon. He knows how much this photoshoot is testing Bojan’s self-control on his vampiric side and memories. 

And that’s why after the shooting Bojan needs time to decompress, to relax and make his human side come back to the surface. Kris, who was there the whole time, helps him, with tender words whispered to reassure him, caresses and kisses. 

Damon observes them, silently. Bojan is a predator, he could kill both of them and they could do nothing about it because he's faster, stronger, he’s built to hunt and murder his preys, to feed on them, just like a lion or a tiger. Now he’s so vulnerable, so human. 

But that scene is so intimate, so caring, Damon almost feels he's third wheeling. Kris trusts Bojan with his life because he’s keeping the vampire’s mouth so close to his neck, he’s letting him inhale his familiar scent while running a hand though his soft hair. 

Damon decides to ask another question, because in the end he's curious to know about Bojan and his kind. He saw vampires portrayed on the screen, many variants, but he's different. He's a real vampire. 

"May I ask one thing? You don't need to answer, if you don't want to." 

Bojan looks at him, fangs no more visible but eyes still a little bit red-ish.  

"Yeah, sure." 

"What's the most intimate act your kind can perform with a human? Like, how can a human show to a vampire that they fully trust them?" 

"Feeding," Bojan answers after a short silence. "Feeding directly from the neck or the wrist or any other body part. Giving freely the permission to take something as vital and as important as your blood." 

"So do you...feed on your friends?"  

Damon's starting to put two and two together. The way Jan had wanted a turtleneck on during his photoshoot. The way Jure had put his photoshoot off for days claiming to be "sick." Were they covering for the bite marks, then?  

Bojan gets a slightly panicked look on his face, and it's Kris who answers.  

"Yes. With our consent," he reaches for Bojan's hand, squeezes it. "We trust him, and we know he'd never hurt us."

Bojan gives him a shy smile, thanking him for baking him up.  

And Damon thinks about that. How intimate they all are with each other. How clearly trusting the other boys are around him. He's been around them all, seen how they cuddle, how close they get to him, how none of them is scared. Remembers Bojan resting his head on their shoulders, or face-planting into their chest, realizing he must have been smelling them, hearing the blood pulse beneath their skin. And they hadn't skipped a beat, hadn't been scared for a single second. He's never seen them too-pale, ashen-faced, too drained of blood and energy to function. Clearly Bojan is careful, never takes too much, and they trust him.  

And he realizes he trusts him too.  

"Would you like to feed on me?" He asks.  

Bojan is obviously hesitant, his entire body stiffened, but Damon immediately adds "it's how a human shows trust, right? Letting you feed. I'd like to do that."  

"I - " Bojan is hesitant because he wants. He wants so much. He hadn't been lying, Damon smells so good. He's so drawn to him. He's thought more than once about that beautiful pale neck, about sinking his teeth into it. He’s salivating, savouring Damon’s taste just by smelling him from afar. 

"Kris should be there," he says finally. "Just in case. He knows what to do if I - if I lose control."  

"Are you likely to lose control?" Damon asks.  

"No," Kris says before Bojan can even open his mouth. "He's never lost control, not since I've known him."  

He can hear Damon's heart beating, so, so fast. He's nervous. But that heartbeat also calls to him, all that blood beneath the pale skin. He wants. He wants so much. He craves it. 

Bojan can feel his eyes changing colour and his fangs becoming sharper. He's struggling to control himself, but he manages to not jump on him right away. Damon’s sweater on him isn’t helping much his self-control. He focuses on Kris heartbeat, slower and more familiar, to keep him grounded. 

"It's better if you sit down on the couch. The first time can be overwhelming for both," he suggests.  

So Damon and he take place on the couch, Kris follows them, sitting behind Damon. He holds him, a comforting, warm, human touch.

"Do you want to know what you'll feel?" Bojan asks, looking the photographer in the eyes. 

One side of Damon wants to know it, so he can at least be prepared, but the other one doesn't. No, he wants to dive into those feelings, experience them without any anticipation. He then shakes his head.

"Where do you want to bite?" he asks then. 

Bojan's eyes, now as red as blood, lower and stop on his neck, so pale and so alluring. He feels like a moth attracted by the light of a lantern in the middle of a night without moon, so captivating but so dangerous at the same time.  

Kris notices Bojan’s look, where it’s laying, so he puts his hand in Damon's hair, tilting his head back for Bojan, an offering. His gesture is forceful but gentle at the same time. 

Bojan leans forward, closes his eyes and kisses Damon’s neck before sinking his fangs in his skin and then deep in his flesh. When the first drops of blood touch his tongue, he moans intensively. Damon's blood is so delicious, much more than what he expected. 

Without even realising Bojan straddles Damon's laps and pushes him until he's completely laying on Kris, the vampire on top of him. It feels like ecstasy. Bojan is so used to feeding on his friends that he forgot the pleasure of unknown blood running down his throat. The bond creating between the vampire and the human. The pure sense of trust of letting a creature like him taking away something so important. Damon's blood is singing to him and he could write both melody and lyrics based on what he's feeling in that moment.  

He’s too lost in it. He's drinking and drinking and it's addicting. Until Damon starts getting dizzy, eyes feeling closed, and it's Kris who warns him. 

"Bojči." Then, more firmly. "Bojan."  

And Bojan pulls away reluctantly, dazed, eyes a little glassy, panting with his mouth open and dirty with blood, that's also running down from his lips, dripping on Damon’s white t-shirt. 

"Fuck," he breathes. "Damon."  

Damon, half-dazed himself, looks up at Bojan, and he sees the fangs and the red eyes but all he can think is how beautiful Bojan looks. His perfect profile, those beautiful features, like something out of a novel, and the blood and the shadows just heighten it. He reaches a weak hand up, traces his cheek, murmurs a feeble "you're beautiful."  

Bojan leans forward then, licking the last drops from the wound, licking it closed, but then staying there, breathing in Damon's scent, placing a kiss where the wound had been. And when he moves away, so that he can look at Damon again, Damon's hand has found its way into his hair.  

And he doesn't know who moves first, but suddenly they're kissing. They're kissing and Damon is moaning and Kris is there, holding Damon, his hands find their way under Damon's t-shirt, tweaking a nipple, which makes Damon gasp into Bojan's mouth. 

Bojan breaks the kiss so reluctantly, resting his forehead against Damon's, murmuring "fuck" a second time. He wants, he wants everything.  

Vampires can give different types of bites. The ones given when the vampire wants only to feed are violent and brutal, but the ones given when a human offers his blood and shows his trust...well, those ones are truly intense and can cause great pleasure, both in the vampire and the human. 

Bojan notoriously has great self-control, but Damon is really testing his limits. He is scared but at the same time he wants to give in to his instincts, to the taste of pleasure he got from possessing Damon in that way. He wants to possess him totally, in every aspect. 

"Kris, I want more," he reverts to Slovenian, his mind is clouded and thinking in English is really hard. His voice sounds more like a growl. He raises his head to look Kris in the eyes. 

And Kris recognises the longing in Bojan's red eyes, the desire, the craving. He experienced on his own skin and body the frenzy that blood can cause on a vampire and on the human they feed on. 

Damon in the meantime starts kissing Bojan's neck. He wants him too, that bite made him feel all sorts of things, from deep pain to intense pleasure. He expected it to hurt, not to be aroused by it. 

Kris wants them too. Maybe it's a sick kink but observing Bojan feeding and moaning because of the blood always awakes something in him.  

Kris then kisses Bojan, his lips still dirty with blood, basically giving him the permission to continue what he was doing with Damon. 

Bojan grabs Damon’s face with a hand, gently diverting it from his neck, so he can kiss him on the lips deeply. His fangs touch slightly Damon’s lips, making him shudder intensively.  

They undress him, soon after their clothes end up on the floor too. Bojan kisses Damon all over his body, tasting his excitement and making him whimper. In those brief moments of clarity, Damon can see that Bojan and Kris are used to do this together, so he completely hands over the control to them. 

Oh, the sex with a vampire is even better than drugs. Bojan knows perfectly where and how to touch Damon to make him whimper and moan. He bites him in specific points on his body, liking the wounds right after to not make him bleed out.  

Kris joins barely, just to kiss Damon sometimes or to make Bojan tone down what he’s doing, to not make him completely give in to his instincts and do something he will regret.  

They all reach their climax at the same time, Kris almost untouched, the view of Bojan carnally possessing Damon was enough for him. They all collapse on the couch, panting and shaking because of the pleasure they just experienced. Damon’s body is covered in bitemarks. Bojan is on top of them, his head is on Damon’s chest, eyes closed. 

Kris starts running a hand through Bojan’s hair and plays with some of his strands. That simple gesture can make him calm down and relax after some intense emotions. Damon imitates Kris, still a bit hesitant. And Bojan begins purring, just like a cat. 

“Is-is he purring?” Damon asks, surprised. 

“Yes,” Kris giggles. “He loves when you touch his hair.” 

They keep cuddling Bojan as he slowly gets back from the high of the intercourse.  

“It was a photographer who turned me,” he suddenly talks. He decided to explain to Damon why he reacted in that way during their first photoshoot. “She approached me when I was barely 20. She bewitched me, oh-she was stunning, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” 

“A photographer?” Damon asks. 

“Yes,” Bojan raises his head to look him in the eyes. He grabs one of his hands and intertwines their fingers. “She thought that I was the perfect muse for her work. She kept taking pictures of me for a couple of years, she fed on me, then turned me against my will, just because she wanted that my beauty lasted forever. Even turned I was helpless, I couldn’t escape, she had full control over me.”  

Damon gently caresses Bojan’s cheek, trying to comfort him. He can see the distress he’s feeling while telling him about his past. 

“You don’t have to tell me-” 

“I want to,” he interrupts him. “You trusted me, you showed it to me, and this is me showing you I trust you. The only people that know my story are my bandmates.” 

Damon nods slowly in response. Bojan is showing his other vulnerable side, the moment he lost his humanity to become a demon of the night, a monster that feeds on people to survive. Bojan then keeps telling him his story: how important he felt when he was with her, how he liked her attentions, how she basically tricked him into letting her feed on him and then turn him into this monster, how she dragged Kris into the picture and how they eventually escaped from her. 

"I killed her."

“You...killed her?” 

Bojan nods. “She was seriously threatening Kris. He is part of my nest, and no one can hurt him. So I snapped, she couldn’t control me anymore and I killed her. I don’t regret what I did, she deserved it.” 

Silence falls once again among them. Damon is clearly trying to process that piece of information. 

“Vampires are protective of their nest. They are social creatures, just like us humans, and they will do everything to protect the people they care about,” Kris explains.

“Am...am I part of this nest, now?” 

Bojan nods. “Yes. I know that we can't be always together, but I’ll make sure no one touches you,” he kisses Damon on the lips. “You accepted me for who and what I am. You are important to me.”