#these ones are tainted and its all my fault

[desertdxg]

tw rape (not cnc), venting, negative

its been four months, and its all i can think about.

i can feel the duct tape on my wrists.

i can feel the pressure on my neck and chest.

i can taste the fabric of his boxers in my mouth.

i can still feel the dull sting on my ass from the canes.

i can feel the hair being ripped out from the tape he used to make me keep it in.

i can smell the non latex condoms he used, because he was allergic to latex.

i sob and cry and panic whenever a pillow ends up on my face.

even when it was an accident, or it happened in my sleep...

i wake up in terror, thinking that it's happening all over again.

and there's five new scratches on my face to prove it.

i get aroused thinking about it, sometimes.

and yet, im ashamed of it and ashamed of myself for letting it happen.

i have taken at least a hundred showers since that day, may seventeenth, twenty twenty-three.

multiple times a day, some days, and the filth he has buried in my skin has not washed off and i doubt it ever will.

i was and am a stupid whore, and im ashamed of myself for letting it happen to me.

i remember he only stopped because he couldn't get it up and cum any more.

it was four months ago and it was all my fault.

[noxtivagus]

i LOVE stormblood (listening to some of the ost rn <3 i love all the expansions so very much. they all mean a lot to me <3)

[mysunshine-youremoonlight]

.

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 !! | sagau xiao, childe, zhongli x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: uhm. obsessiveness? yandere if you blink a couple times? cult themes... the usual deal with this au

⤷ [ you, the benevolent and kind overseer and creator of teyvat, has descended upon this world in mortal flesh, with a presence that is overpowering, omniscient, and so impossibly pure. ෆ yet, one day, you come into the cathedral with a gash on your arm, dripping with shimmering golden ichor that spilled from your veins. there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring. ]

— sagau!xiao noticed you immediately. it would be hard not to. since the beginning, he had always heard it.

your sound. a beautiful one, a heavenly one. a chord struck him, somewhere in his chest, and he found himself panting on the ground, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

like a electric charge - one that leaves you startled, tentative, with the tips of your fingers still tingling from what happened moments prior. a buzz in your veins that thrums along with your heartbeat.

he didn't deserve to see you. not with what sins he had committed. but xiao was selfish. he wanted to, with his tainted body, he wanted to praise you, scrape his throat raw with his voice.

and so he did.

his face brightens as you step into the cathedral, dressed in ceremonial robes as per usual. you look ethereal, why would you not? your eyes are warm as they fixate on him, and he can feel his heart skip a beat and words die in his throat. he kneels before you orderly, readying to lift his head when something catches his attention - that is, the coppery scent of blood.

blood?

a droplet splatters onto the dustless floor. melted gold.

xiao's already stood up before he realizes it. his eyes are blown wide, his shrunken pupils sharp, like a cat's. "who. who did this to you?" those words take all the willpower in him to speak. his mind is swirling, racing, thinking up of every single possibility, vision scattered and blurry as unbridled fury teems within him.

"it's nothing. some civilians have begun rioting in the city, saying that i'm an imposter. all i did was show them a little bit of my blood and they all started singing praises, so the issue has been resolved." you shake your head with a soft smile, like this matter isn't anything to concern himself over.

it is.

he hates it. how he feels so fucking powerless, how he couldn't even stop this simple event from occurring in the first place. it's his fault. it's his and everyone else who dared not believe your words. your word is the truth. it is the undeniable laws of the world, what maps the stars and what lays the land.

he'll have time to ingrain that within everyone's minds. even if it means time away from you. but that's not the issue at the moment. he turns to search for bandages, but sees the already-healing wound slowly closing up as your skin mends together.

there's a knife at your side, coated in something that shimmers in the rays of light coming from the high, color-tainted windows.

something in his heart decides, seeing your reserved smile.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

very well.

then he'll just have to eradicate every last one of them. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!childe had, to be honest, never cared all that much. why would he, to the person who had abandoned him into the cold, dark, abyss? yet, the smile on your face. it's bright. so bright it burns him. was there a day where he could smile like that?

no, no. he couldn't. that's an expression only reserved for someone as beautiful as you. as pure as you, like a blank, unblemished canvas, with the world as its paint. it's a level of resplendency that no one on this cursed universe could ever hope to accomplish.

a god in flesh, living in a tainted world. a walking contradiction that he had grown to call the thing that allowed him to keep living. something that spurred irony, you who broke all forms of the logic he had made to keep himself sane. perhaps that was why the heart he'd locked away has suddenly begun aching again? is that why he feels so warm from your divine prescence?

"childe?" you call out his name into the vast, empty hallways, glancing around for the familiar sight of a tuft of ginger hair. he hears you at once, rushing to your side with a grin on his face.

"your grace??" he bows at the sight of you, unable -to contain his excitement as he quivers in place, the smile on his lips tugging upwards even more than its current extent. "yes, what's-"

he stops abruptly, his voice faltering as he catches the scent of something iron. one familiar on the battlefield, a liquid that'd paint the surroundings a beautiful red.

his heart pounds. the thrill of a battle? no, that can't be it. if that was the case, how come it felt like he was slowly suffocating on his unspoken words?

that's when he catches the sight of the poorly wrapped bandages encasing your forearms. and the shimmering ichor that's soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth.

he moves to grab your arm, but curses himself out as he quickly changes direction and tightly holds your wrist, his expression more pained than yours, despite you being the one suffering with the injury. "what... your grace, what is this?"

he hates your knowing smile. he hates it. (oh, but does he? could he hate anything that is of you?) it just reminds him how you're all too far for him to reach, a purity that he does nothing to maintain. "there was a riot in the city against the church. luckily, they all quieted down after i gave them a glimpse of..." you trail off, ending your incomplete sentence with a sheepish smile. the rest is self-explanatory, anyway.

his vision trembles as his pupils shake. "haha, you...?" fuck. fuck fuck fuck, just whose idea was it to allow you near a knife? how did you get your hands on that?? which stupid fucking bumbling idiot allowed for this to happen?

it's his fault. he should've been by your side. curse the fatui, curse them all, how could they possibly dare keep him away from your holy being? the guilt that churns within him, is that why he remains mute as you step away, gracefully walking to meet with the other retainers?

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

no, it's fine.

it will all be fine.

cutting off their tongues won't be enough. cutting them up until they're a dismembered, bloody mess isn't even close to what you've suffered for the sake of humanity.

yes, he'll make them realize that. they'll pay with their blood a thousand times over. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!zhongli had his breath taken away by you before he even saw you, before the two of you had even exchanged words. your presence - it was so simply alluring, a saccharide charm that just drew him closer and closer.

sweet. yes, it was a familiar flavor upon the tongue that had long since tasted the many marvels the world had to offer. like a warm cup of tea, made from the sugary extract of flowers, how the sensation of it seemed to bloom upon your mouth.

ah, how should he put this. perhaps you had procured the blossom in his heart instead? stems, leaves, buds, a floret that'd only appear when you were in his gaze. a steady thrum that ran throughout his body with every stolen glimpse he took from your attention expertly.

perhaps, was this what he felt all those years ago?

did it matter? his soul was resolute, now, and it glowed gold, just like the blessed blood that flowed through every vein and lay in every vessel within that beautiful, beautiful you.

yes, ichor... just like the splatter of it on the ground...? a pang of fear strikes him - has something happened to you while he was away? he should've none better than to trust those good-for-nothing other cultists, who spend all their time babbling about your gloriousness yet turn a blind eye to whenever you require assistance!

no, he had to calm himself down. this wasn't the moment where he should grow frustrated. first, he must confirm the situation... he's planned this out to the every plan b, c, d, e, and so on, so how come he's still feeling so anxious?

there you are, upon your throne, busy conversing with a fellow archon, the one as free as the wind. funnily enough, you were the one that tied him down like a shackle.

"ah, zhongli. are you alright? you're breathing quite hard." you tilt your head, averting your gaze from venti's sparkling eyes and instead fixing them on the usually stoic man's jumbled expression. his shoulder's heave as he resists the urge to collapse at your feet.

"what... what are you... you're hurt?" stained bandages peek out from just below your silk sleeve, a sight that cannot possibly be missed from his attentive gilded eyes. "why didn't you tell me? i-i'll call one of the healers so they can-"

"zhongli, there's no need for that." with a hand, you gently signal venti to leave the scene, which he does, with obvious reluctance. a silence gesture that resonates with appreciation deeply within him. "this was of my own accord."

"your own accord?"

"unbelievers decided to throw a riot, and there wasn't much i could do except...well, don't they say that seeing is believing?" how come you don't look the slightest bit pain? where is your self-pity? your frustration? "anyhow, i'm not in a good state. please leave me for the time being, i don't plan on receiving any more audiences tonight."

he bows hastily, yet each movement is still finely crafted with minuscule adjustments that have taken him thousands of tries to master. he does as you say, and his strides are quick and long. it won't take a genius to see that his facade has crumpled, with the clear agitation that's spreading across his features like a wildfire that devours all in its path.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

he'll change that. every thrum of the golden markings running up and down his body seem to pulse in unison with his heartbeat, which is raring like he's recently returned from the battlefield.

who would've thought he'd so quickly return.

this time, of his own will. he'd be sure that these fools of this world would learn the truth of your paragon. ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) please save me the delulu has returned and iTS NOT LETTING GO

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

[shiny-jr]

from POMEFIORE

- Warning: Yes, this is still a yandere thing. You have been warned. Gender-neutral reader. 

- Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Rook Hunt, Epel Felmier.

- Summary: (Continuation, after this “we just got a letter, wonder where it’s from”) You have barred them from entering the safety of Ramshackle Dorm, but they are determined to make their words reach you. Which is why the letters begin arriving at your doorstep.

- Note: Hoping its not too out of character.

Ignihyde   |   Pomefiore   |   Scarabia

Perfume. The carefully sealed envelope reeked of it, like the sweet smell of lavender with spice. The envelope containing the message looked like something you would find when getting an invitation to a ball or a wedding. The envelope was pristine, and the wax sealing it was done so perfectly without a single awkward edge.

It almost looked unnatural with how perfect it appeared. The thick beige parchment was cut evenly, and not a blot of ink strayed from the elegantly curved cursive words that looked like ribbons upon the page. Looks could be deceiving. It was beautiful, but as you might've already guessed, the interior didn't entirely match what was hidden beneath the surface.

To my darling player,

I am at fault and take full responsibility for my actions.

All I've ever wished for, was to admire you. You are the epitome of magnificence, divinity that I can only dream to one day achieve but knowing I will never truly reach. There's an otherworldly sort of allure to you, which drew me in far too close. Much like the man who enhanced himself with wings of wax, but flew too close to the sun so his wings melted and he met a terrible fate. You are the sun, and I was that reckless fool with fake wings.

I allowed myself to get too close, tainting your light with my imperfect presence. Your grace was the warm sunlight on my skin, when everything around me was a horrible darkness. To think, I attempted to put out that light. It was nearly diminished. For that, I should be burned. I'm sorry, so so sorry.

I've thought long and hard on what I could possibly say to you, what sort of response could be adequate enough considering what you mean to me and the delicate situation. It didn't take long for me to arrive to the answer: no response is fitting. It doesn't matter if I pen a letter long enough to rival the river of tears I shed, coat the envelope in gold and ink of silver, with a message that would have moved the seven themselves to weep. It does not change the betrayal that occurred. I betrayed the trust you gave me, and shattered it into millions of pieces. However, know that I'll be on my hands and knees piecing it back together again, even if the shards cause me to bleed, you are worth it.

The stabbing sensation on my skin would be nothing compared to the one in my heart that I feel when I consider the fact that you might despise me. There's nothing more I would want than to see your face, hold your hands and feel the warmth of your skin that's so unlike the coldness of your vessel. Requesting a meeting would be imperious, as I have no right to ask you of this. But if I could, I would love to see you and discuss what comes next, perhaps over lunch. This is just a thought, a wish of mine, but one you are not required to fulfill.

I'd love to believe that I know you and your vessel better than anyone else could even dream of understanding, but I know that is far from the truth. Even as I pampered and polished your precious doll, your secrets continue to escape me. Did you ever hear me, when I brushed and washed Yuu's hair? When I took their freezing cold hands and painted their nails? When kneeled down in front of them to polish their shoes? When I adorned the best luxuries of brand accessories on their body?

I would kneel down to no one else.

There was always this wish, a dream of mine, that one day I might perhaps one day get to pamper you. Not Yuu. But you. Is that a scandalous desire?

Your hands would be warm, and I would hold them as I file your nails. Your arm wouldn't be so rigid and mechanical, you could actually extend it as I slather a creamy scented lotion along your skin. And if you do desired, I could lift your head and apply lipstick to your lips... This is just the process I commonly used while your vessel was under my care.

Although, I would gladly take up the responsibility of nursing you back to health, or any other role you would give me. There are countless things I can accomplish for you. I commonly deal in potent poisons, but I can just as well deal in healing and comforting. I'm skilled in self-defense and various forms of magic, so I can be your companion to protect you from everything that would wish you harm. You know of my business in acting and singing, so even if you wanted nothing else I could be there to entertain or serenade you. I only wish to be with you again, even though I know I'm underserving. I'm selfish.

If you want nothing more, then I have to be satisfied knowing I was in your thoughts for a brief moment. A twisted part of me wants your mind to be plagued by thoughts of me, just as my mind and heart is full of you.

I have to remind myself, that by getting too close I risk being burnt. But, at this point, I do not care for my own safety. I only care for yours, and I do this to keep my sanity. I truly admire you so much, that I cannot adore you from afar behind a rope like sculpture in a museum. I have to stand nearby, inspect your beauty, polish you to a shine, and value you like the priceless treasure that you are. Should someone threaten to chip off even the slightest speck on you, forcing you through more suffering...

I will shatter them into a million pieces, to preserve your peace.

Yours,

Vil Schoenheit

The wonderful aromatic smell that filled your nose brought back some not so pleasant memories. The smell of the earth beneath your feet, the scent of dew collected on every still surface, but above all were fragrant tangs that immediately alerted you to any nearby presence of a student belonging to Pomefiore.

They had chased you through those deep dark woods, like a pack of rabid hounds tracking and hunting a poor wounded rabbit. Besides their shouts and footfall, their perfume gave them away. There was one in particular which you only caught a whiff of only when you had too closely encountered the dormleader. The scent of lavender and spice hit your nose, the same fragrance on the letter.

"That reeks! Burn it!" A certain feline hissed, covering his little black nose with his paws. You swore the fragrance was beginning to form a migraine at the front of your skull. If the smell was strong for you, it must've been much worse for Grim since he had a superior sense of smell.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if the smell wasn't that strong and it wasn't the particular scent. Like vanilla or freshly baked bread. If that were the case, Grim might've insisted on keeping it or even be tempted to take a bite out of the sheet.

But it was lavender and spice. So the letter was tossed into a corner several feet away, left to an unknown fate that you would ultimately decide later. When you glanced back to Grim, you saw him holding and sniffing another letter.

For a long moment his sniffed the rolled up paper, his black nose twitching as he was likely just searching for another gift to claim as a snack. After a few seconds, he discarded it, sliding it over to you before he opted to dig through the pile like a raccoon digging into a heap of trash. "Meh, this one smells boring."

"Boring, huh?"

Boring wouldn't exactly be your choice of adjectives to describe this letter. It wasn't an envelope, it was a scroll tied by ribbon, attached to an arrow. An arrow, of all things, was likely the messenger for this message. Thankfully, this one didn't smell of anything. Even without a fragrance to match to a profile, the arrow was a dead giveaway.

Opening it up and using your hands to smooth out the curled edges, you blatantly ignored the wax seal over the ribbon. Once it was fully unsealed, a few single flower petals drifted down from the paper. Just another mess you would sweep up later and decide whether to dispose of it or not, like the first letter from the dormleader. For this one you were a pinch anxious. The sender was not like the others who came before.

Trickster,

It relieves me to see that you are finally safe.

To see you rest and heal in tranquility, nothing steadies my anxiously beating heart more than knowing you are sheltered. Well guarded by a trio of ghosts and the courageous feline Grim, I have no need to stress over your wellbeing with them acting as your valiant knights in shining armor! Although, I would also wish to join their ranks, blessed by your grace and fit to serve as your shield. However...

I am conscious enough to know that I am nowhere near fitting, no matter how much I may wish to reach out and shield you from every evil. In that most vital moment, I had failed to recognize you. I may have spared you from the sharpness of my blade, but I couldn't have guarded you from the suffering that was to come afterwards.

I'm so deeply and truly sorry. Many sleepless nights have followed, since and even before our first fateful encounter in those woods of the Pomefiore estate. Before our encounter, I was conflicted. I wanted to detest you, but I could not, I thought there must be a reason this was all occurring. I couldn't slumber peacefully, so long as I knew there was turbulence surrounding your beloved vessel. After our encounter, I couldn't get the vision of you fragile, frightened, and wounded, out of my mind. Raising a blade against you, who were a stranger shrouded in infamy, made my very heart stop.

Now I know why I was so unexplainably drawn to you. It was not due to the wild frenzy that overtook the entire campus, or a burning hatred to destroy, or even my own desire to discover answers I desperately wanted, although that last one may have played a role. The reason as to I was so enticed by you, a cunning 'imposter,' was because my heart recognized you. It must have been my very soul that pulled me towards you, and perhaps my own nature as well. My body recognized you, my heart and my soul led me to you, but I was blinded by my sorrows.

Throughout the few years I've had on this wonderful earth, I've seen countless peoples, and you are unlike any of which I've seen. In the places I've been, I have witnessed poetry be written by masters of literacy, melodies sung by the most angelic voices ever heard on a stage, and devoted worshippers in holy places kneel in solemn prayer. Somehow you as a single being, or entity, encompass all those elements into one. My aim is to admire beauty, and I see beauty in its finest form when I look at you.

I truly understand what you mean to me, and to others.

But at the same time, you remain a mystery. And I believe I'm speaking for all those who admire you when I say this. We could only dream of truly understanding you, when we only had Yuu.

So, I try to make sense of it all in what I do understand, in the beautiful things I adore that I associate with you who I cherish. In literature, music, photography, I see you in everything all at once. When I read poetic lines, I think I could share it with you. When I hear beautiful music, I imagine you might enjoy listening to the tune too. When I discover stunning sceneries, I plan to bring you there someday to share a moment with you.

Now, I can make sense of it. I understand how the poets of old felt as they penned the love and awe they felt towards the Fairest Queen. It's a rare sentiment that cannot easily be put into words, a feeling as if it held my delicate heart and squeezed when I so much as thought of you. When a song and its composer can bring an audience to tears, I understand that now too. Hearing your voice for the first time, formed a knot in my throat that prevented me from saying much. Catching that first glimpse of you, was like gazing at a perfect painted portrait hanging in a museum.

My dearest player, I am a Hunt. I am naturally inquisitive by nature, and my fondness for you comes just as naturally. You may consider it wrong, but I will continue to offer my loyalty even if you may not accept it.

My aim is to one day unlock your secrets, solve your mysteries, and understand you fully, learn what makes you tick and what drives you forward. Perhaps when the day comes when you've forgiven me for my crimes, I can proudly stand in your presence and recite the poems I have written in your name. I could admire you everyday from then on, and remind you everyday of your worth. Then, I will protect you, from all harm, and I will not allow myself to fail you once again. This is a promise.

Should you need me, I will be there.

Yours,

Rook Hunt

There was something that felt... off. Compared to some of the previous letters, these were rather tame. Of course, there was the desperation and fascination evident in their words captured by the ink, but it was nowhere near as extreme as other cases.

Although, it was still chilling, to read the thoughts they penned.

In your hand you held the arrow the letter had been connected to, feeling its thin shape and the sharpened head at its tip that nearly pricked your finger. The vice dormleader had excellent aim, and had he not been so kind, arrows like this one in your hand could've easily been driven through your flesh and caught you against a tree where you would've been helpless in their grasps.

And yet, despite the opportunities he had, he didn't let a single weapon touch you. All it would take was one arrow, one moment and he could've ended you where you stood. But he spared you. However, there's the lingering doubt that maybe the primary reason he did it was he hoped you had answers to the malfunctioning vessel. You couldn't be sure exactly why he spared you, when everyone had wanted to torment and imprison you or worse.

Beside you, there's a large crunch and a content purr. When you look over, there's Grim, happily munching away on an apple he held with his little paws. He sank his fangs into the fruit, content that he finally found an offering that appeased him. In front of him was a small basket, filled with more juicy red apples.

"These are great! And, even though I was the one who found them, I'll let you have some!" Grim picked up another apple from the basket, sticking his claws into the red peel and offering it with his little grin. Nevermind the fact that these were probably meant as a gift for you and not for him, but you didn't mind. They would have likely ended up in the trash anyways, at least someone could enjoy them.

"You should really have one. You haven't eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry, but thanks. You can have them." Ever since everything happened, you weren't too keen on accepting gifts, especially if they were consumable. For now, the only places you'd accept food from, was the cafeteria you'd venture too at the dead of night when no one was there, or Sam's shop.

In the spot of the basket where Grim had removed the apple, there was a white layer at the bottom of the basket. Perplexed, you reached in and found an envelope hidden by the piled apples.

Unsurprisingly, the envelope smelled of sweet things, apples, cinnamon, and freshly baked pies. The envelope itself was nothing special, it had no intricate wax seal or marking. It was loosely sealed shut by a brown piece of string, and covered in some white and pink apples blossoms.

The inside was less impressive, more authentic, which was refreshing in a way. Smooth cursive flowed into slightly choppy print scrawled out in uneven lines, before eventually returning back to cursive at the end of some sentences. It appears parts were rushed judging by the blotted ink stains at multiple periods. The apples were a clue as to who the sender may be, but why would the letter be hidden in a gift?

Dear Player,

If you're reading this, that means my letter got through.

Where do I even start? It seems right that I first say sorry. I'm sorry. It sounds like a load of bull, but I am sorry. Apologizing in all these other ways, won't make this any better, so, I thought this might help. I'm gonna be completely honest with you, no lies, no tricks, just the blunt truth. I'm not going to be showing you these pretty sides I polished to impress and to mask all the ugly. I'll tell you everything that's been going on. That's something only I have the guts to do.

The reason I hid this letter was because Vil and Rook have been checking anything I want to write to you. They want to keep up this positive front, they wanna at least pretend to be perfect enough to be near you. At least, that's what I think. Although I know we won't ever come close to that.

Instead of trying to write a real and honest letter for you, it feels like I was writing some essay for Professor Trein to grade. I'd have to write and write, and even if the grammar was right, the message wasn't. They want to make you think everything's okay, when it's not. I can only imagine what elegant crap they were spewing in their own fancy letters, while we're actually all a mess. We've been like this since Yuu broke down. I try to understand them, and in a way I do, but sometimes they freak me out. Yeah, I got my own problems trying to comprehend all this chaos, but they're different.

Is everyone else in the other dorms this extreme? This miserable and on the verge of breaking? Maybe you won't believe me, or maybe you'll realize that there's some truth to what I'm saying. Here, in Pomefiore, I can only tell you what I've seen. These days, Rook's smile seems strained, like he's about to snap, his eyes are sharp and watchful. The only time his smile is normal is when he's looking at some photo, but he won't ever let me see what it is. Vil, well, the only sign he's still alive and kicking are the packages that come in for him, new makeup and all that stuff, things he's using to craft that perfect mask. I did see him one night out in the hall, I swear there was mascara down his face but I was too put off to approach when he was like that.

Don't ever tell them I told you all this. Vil would probably skin me alive and wear me as a robe, and Rook... I don't want to think about what he would do... I'm kidding by the way, but seriously, don't ever tell them. I told you I would be honest to you, so here's my reason. I thought that maybe telling you all this would score me points with you, get you to trust me again. Even if this is a rotten way to go about it, I don't care.

I am rotten, and I won't hide it like them.

If I can't even be honest with you, then do I really deserve a second chance at all?

Scratch that. I don't deserve a second chance at all after everything that happened. What I did was downright terrible, but I'm trying my damnedest to be deserving again. And I won't stop trying, even if part of me thinks it's useless. I never cared for Yuu, the only reason I acted for them was because it was you behind them. My goal is to eventually be beside you, the real you.

Although, a basket of apples is a crummy way to go about things, but think of it like a peace offering. Just cause I can't get word to you, don't mean I give up. I'm not giving up. Ever. Everyone's going about their own roundabout ways of mending things. If you want to hear more, I'll gladly tell you. I don't think anyone else would tell you the truth of what's happening, because in a sense everyone wants to appeal to you with the best image of themselves they can possible portray. Don't believe all the hogwash they send you. If whoever sends something and seems to be stable, they're not. Not completely.

I'm awfully ashamed to admit it, but I'm not okay. Not since everything started, and not since everything went to hell when shit hit the fan. I'm not okay without you, and I got myself to blame for that.

This letter is helping. The thought of communicating with you again, even if I can't see your face or hear your voice and its reduced to words on paper, it's more than I could ask for. So, if you want me to spill the beans, just ask. If not, if there's no response, well, I'll get a bit of comfort thinking you might've read this. Besides, I have hope with each attempt I'll make. I'm not just rottenly selfish, I'm stubborn to a fault. And if I have to knock down someone else's chances to get closer, then that's fine by me.

All you gotta do is talk to me.

Until then, hoping to speak to you soon,

Epel Felmier

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 11 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: When Anna hits rock bottom, she knows she needs to figure out how to put herself back together. But she also knows that leaving Kevin behind once and for all will require her to give up the only thing she wants from him. Maybe a shot at happiness with Bob would have been worth it.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, 18+

Length: 4400 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

If this wasn't rock bottom, Anna didn't want to know what was. She spent Sunday night laying on the floor next to her bed alternating between crying and hyperventilating. Apparently she couldn't do both at the same time, because her body kept giving each activity its full attention before switching again. When she finally started to fall asleep around three o'clock, her ribs were aching so much, she didn't see how she would be able to teach in a few hours. But it didn't matter. She wouldn't be going to campus anyway.

When she woke up at six, she crawled to her computer and emailed everyone in her classes, informing them that she would not be in today and to work through the syllabus independently until their next class with her. All of the other professors pulled this kind of thing all the time, but she still felt guilty which triggered more tears. If Kevin somehow cost her a full time tenure position along with her happiness, she didn't know what else she had that he could possibly take from her.

When she thought about Bob, it hurt so badly she had to run to the toilet. And when she thought about Advanced Calculus and Advanced Physics, it hurt almost just as much. She was in love with so many things in San Diego, but she'd dragged her past here along with her even if she didn't want to acknowledge that fact. She'd brought this dark shadow along that tainted everything and left her wondering if she could fix any of it at this point. If she could even figure out how to start.

As she hiccupped alone in her bathroom, she knew she needed to mentally backtrack to New Jersey for the first time in a long time before she could focus on San Diego. When she crawled back toward her bed, she located her phone and found the contact information for her lawyer's office. It was late enough on the east coast that someone answered after one ring, and soon Anna had to use her scratchy, raw voice to try to communicate.

"When will my divorce be final?" she managed to ask as she propped herself against the wall. She left herself hungry every day, and she was living in this tiny room simply so she could pay these people to help her sort out her life, but the response she got was not ideal.

"Ms. Webber... your husband still has three days left to comply, but he has not done so yet."

Anna wanted to scream, but her throat felt like it was constricting. Why wouldn't he just let her have the one thing she wanted? She wasn't asking for anything extra, just the thing she worked so hard to make her own. She didn't even care about all of the money. But he wouldn't let her have it. Even though she didn't want to fight for anything else in the house, he still wouldn't comply. He was making hundreds of thousands of dollars now, and she wanted none of it back, but he knew that her manuscript was the one thing meant something to her. He would happily drag this out until she had nothing left.

She knew she needed to wait it out. It was her fault she hadn't filed sooner. She let Kevin's words destroy her even when she knew he was sleeping with Alyssa. She let him convince her that she needed him for way too long. "What happens in three days?" she finally asked.

"If he doesn't comply, then you can restructure your end of the divorce agreement, and we can try again."

Anna knew what that meant for her, but she didn't know if she could pull the trigger. Restructure it? There was only one thing she could remove. Kevin would come out clean as a whistle, and she would lose everything she hadn't already.

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

When Bob knocked on the door at seven in the morning after barely sleeping at all, Jessica looked concerned when she opened it, and Jake looked annoyed. "What's wrong?" she asked, reaching out and running her hand along his stubbled cheek. "Why haven't you shaved? Why do you look so upset?"

"Why are you even here?" Jake called from the kitchen where he was cooking breakfast in his uniform.

"I need to talk to you," Bob croaked, and Jessica pulled him inside and gently guided him toward the couch. She rubbed his back and didn't rush him as he sat there, and Jake even stopped turning to glare from in front of the waffle iron.

"Did you know Anna's married?"

Bob could tell by the sharp intake of breath and the way Jessica's hand came to a screeching halt on his back that she had no idea.

"She's what?"

"Married," he repeated without any feeling whatsoever. The handful of hours he'd spent around her were some of the best of his life, but he would have never let his friends try to push them together if he'd know. He should have let her keep him in the friend zone when she tried to let him know that's what she wanted. Mutual attraction be damned, she'd made marriage vows to someone else. He just wished he would have known.

"No," Jessica said adamantly. "How? She's got no rings, and she said she lives alone. She mentioned an ex before, but I'm virtually certain he's still in New Jersey. She... struggles with certain things, and if she was married, someone would be helping her make ends meet. I don't know where you came up with this, but no."

Bob took his glasses off and set them down on the arm of the couch while he ran his hands over his exhausted eyes. "Jessica. She told me she was."

"Well," his friend said as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, "I'll ask her about it at lunchtime today. There must be some sort of miscommunication."

"I don't think so," he groaned softly. "We... slept together, and those were her parting words as she ran out of my house."

"You slept together?!" Jessica practically shrieked. 

"It's about damn time!" Jake called from the kitchen, clanging his spatulas together and whooping loudly.

But Bob was shaking his head and staring at the floor through his slightly fuzzy vision. He had his phone in his hand all night, trying to decide if he should call or text her, wondering if she went home to climb into bed with her husband. Scared that this was the reason why she squeezed herself into her apartment door before closing it abruptly when he drove her home.

"I should have backed off when she friend zoned me the first time. I should have never believed that I could be with a woman like her." A woman that inspired the best poetry he'd ever written in his life. A woman who made him want everything.

It finally dawned on Bob that there might be an irate husband in his future, and he would just have to take whatever came his way. Because there wasn't a chance that Anna didn't have her spouse wrapped around her fingers. Even if she had a lapse of judgement when it came to Bob, Anna's husband would know how good he had it and want to fight for her. Bob would just have to take it on the chin.

When Jessica kissed his cheek and whispered, "I'll try to sort this out," he just nodded with his shoulders slumped and his elbows digging into his thighs. But there was nothing to sort out. Anna would never be his, and now he would have to pay the price for the way she told him she was married about an hour too late to take it all back. Honestly, he never thought accidentally sleeping with a married woman was something he would ever have to deal with in his wildest dreams, and now that he was forced to do it, he was getting pretty mad.

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

Anna managed to give her Classics lecture on Tuesday morning with a sore throat after screaming into her pillow off and on for most of Monday afternoon. She hadn't eaten in days, and if anyone noticed her puffy, red eyes, they didn't mention it to her. She had quizzes to grade and reports to read, but when she went back to her office, the overwhelming scent of bread from the cafeteria made her gag.

There was a pack of peanuts in her desk along with a room temperature can of ginger ale, but she had no appetite yet. She was just in survival mode until she decided what to do when Kevin's time was up. Until she worked up the courage to talk to Bob and apologize.

He was the sweetest man she had ever known, and her lapse of judgement was going to cost her any chance with him in the future as well as her friendships. In fact, none of them were ever going to want to speak to her again, and that's what she deserved. If she would have just been honest with Bob, she wouldn't be in this mess. But San Diego was like a balm for her senses, making her feel normal where she knew she wasn't. Maybe Bob would have been willing to wait a few more months until she figured out her next steps. Maybe he would have accepted that she was legally separated from Kevin if her husband would just sign the fucking paperwork.

Tears were burning her eyes again just as someone knocked on her office door. She sat perfectly still, silently begging them to go away, praying that everyone would leave her alone until she could sneak out and go home later.

"Anna?"

She knew that voice so well, and she was shocked to find that it sounded more concerned than angry.

"It's just us," came the second voice, and without another thought, Anna was on her feet, wrenching the door open as she started to sob. "Oh, Anna," whispered Jessica as she collected her into her arms.

Anna stood in the middle of her tiny office and cried and cried in Jessica's arms while her other friend studiously locked the door and dimmed the lights before reaching for the box of tissues on the shelf. "Here," she whispered, and Anna accepted a wad of tissues from her.

She tried to mop at her face, but it was a lost cause. Jessica pushed the loose strands of her red hair back from her eyes as she said, "Anna, we're here for you, but I think we need to talk. For real."

"We have some... concerns."

Anna tried to take huge gulps of air into her burning lungs as she gasped, "I'm really not okay. I hurt Bob."

Her friends looked at each other before Jessica said, "I think it's time you backtracked a little bit. Maybe all the way back to New Jersey."

"I hated it there," she told them immediately, wiping at her eyes as she sat on the edge of her desk, bracing herself for the interrogation to come. 

Advanced Calculus eyed her sympathetically before a look of steel locked in her gaze. "Are you married?"

Anna nodded slightly, cringing as she pictured Kevin's face. "Technically, yes."

"Anna!" Jessica exclaimed. "You slept with Bob!"

They knew. They knew everything. Bob told them, and they knew what she'd done. She cradled her forehead in her hands and said, "I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I hate Kevin. I don't think we were even married two years before he started cheating on me. I'm trying my best to divorce him, but he just won't fucking let me."

"What do you mean he won't let you?" Advanced Calculus asked, cutting off Jessica before she could screech again.

"He is ruining my life," Anna whispered, finally starting to feel more anger than anything else. "Like an idiot, I've let him ruin my life. I put him through medical school. I dropped out of Princeton to work two jobs to put my husband through medical school." Her voice faded into a soft yet harsh whisper. "Kevin promised he'd take care of me after that so I could finish my Ivy League PhD. But then he started cheating on me because I was always tired and boring and no fun. Because all I was doing was working to pay his tuition for four years straight while he fucked another medical student between classes. I caught them having sex in my car."

"No," both women gasped at the same time. But she just nodded as the memories she had tried so hard to keep at bay since she moved to California came roaring back.

"That's not a marriage," Jessica practically growled, reaching out for Anna's hand that she hadn't even been aware was shaking. "Not really."

"You're right," Anna agreed. "I'm a joke." She honestly felt like one. Images of Bob's face and the memory of his kind voice flooded her system. The way he looked at her and touched her felt like love. The things he wrote about her had her almost convinced he could love her back.

"You're not a joke, Anna," her friend told her. "You're a smart, capable woman who should have come to her friends months ago with all of this information."

"I hate Kevin!" Jessica shrieked before biting down on her own fingertips, and it was so comical, Anna might have laughed if she was in a better frame of mind.

"Yes," Advanced Calculus agreed. "Kevin sounds like an asshole. But you know who isn't an asshole? Bob. But right now, he kind of feels like one."

Anna closed her eyes as the tears started welling up faster. "I tried so hard. You have to believe me. But Bob is perfect. And he didn't think I was boring. But I wasn't planning on falling in love ever again."

"You love him?" Jessica snapped loudly. "You love him? Because Bob thinks you are in a loving marriage with your spouse!"

"Jessica, go sit in the desk chair and calm down," the other woman commanded, and Anna watched the petite, bespectacled blonde stomp around her desk. "Now, Anna, why didn't you explain this all to Bob before you rocked the man's whole world and then ran off into the night like Cinderella?"

"I freaked out," Anna whispered, swallowing hard. "He's the perfect man. He did everything exactly right, and he was exquisite." She looked down at the floor as she said, "I haven't been touched like that in years. Like I was worth something. I'm not even thirty yet, and my husband ditched me for someone else while actively bankrupting me." She was mortified by what she was telling them, but she couldn't stop herself now. "Kevin always said I should dye my hair, and he loved it when I wore makeup. But Bob... he likes my hair and my freckles. He likes the books I read. He thinks I'm smart." She felt her face warm up as she thought about his poems. "We had sex, and then he was looking at me, and he started talking about us. I can't be an us with someone when I can't shake Kevin."

Anna could practically feel Jessica freaking out in the chair behind her, but she kept her eyes on the floor. "If you need help with Kevin or money for a lawyer or something-" Jessica said, but Anna cut her off.

"No. I'm fine. But he's going to force me to decide if I'd rather have my freedom or my self worth. And right now, I can't decide what I want to let him get away with when he already took so much."

"Hey," her much calmer friend said softly, and Anna finally met her eyes. "We're here for you. Anything you need, okay? But I need you to promise you'll talk to Bob. The sooner the better." Then Anna watched her reach for her tie dye lunch box which she apparently brought in with her and pulled out one of her fancy containers. "Bradley made you some hummus, and I packed you crackers and veggies to go with it. Please make sure you're eating. And please talk to Bob. I need to go teach Differential Equations, but I'll text you later. Jess, you have Physics III in fifteen minutes."

Anna received two hugs that she barely returned, and when the two women were gone, she sank into her chair and managed to eat some of the hummus without gagging. Then she texted Bob, because if nothing else, she needed him to know how sorry she was for running out on him. How sorry she was for all of it.

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

Anna wanted to talk to him on Thursday evening. Bob had to fight the urge to offer to pick her up on campus and save her from having to take an Uber to his house, especially after the few details that Jessica told him about her finances. She confirmed that Anna was married. She also promised him that there was no angry spouse waiting to jump him in the In 'N Out parking lot. She also told him that he needed to give Anna a chance to clear the air. So he agreed. He was free on Thursday. It wasn't like he'd been doing anything except going to work and coming straight home all week, even avoiding Suzanne as much as he could. And he wasn't going to break his promise to Jessica, even though Nat told him to delete Anna's number.

Bob sat in his living room, staring at his new bookshelf in disgust. He'd let himself fall into a fantasy where he imagined someday Anna's books would get mixed up with his on the shelves. Where all of her dog eared novels would live alongside his pristine ones. He'd been subconsciously thinking about it since he met her.

His insides were churning with anxiety. Part of him wanted to scream at her that none of this was fair to him, but the other part knew that no matter what, he still didn't want to see tears in her brown eyes. He couldn't let her take all of the blame for this anyway. He'd even told Jessica that she pushed a little too hard and that she shouldn't do that again in the future.

When there was a knock on his door, it was hard for him to stand up. How was he supposed to do this? He dragged himself across his living room to his front door and carefully opened it to find Anna with the saddest expression imaginable on her face. She looked somehow smaller and paler than she should. She looked like she hadn't slept. And that's when Bob realized he must look the same way to her.

"Hi," she whispered, brown eyes darting around his face nervously. She held out a small bouquet of blue flowers and the books she had borrowed in his direction, and Bob noticed her hands were shaking. "Um, I got these for you. They look like the flowers on the cover of the Whitman poems, and I thought of you when I saw them at the store."

"Anna," Bob groaned as he took them from her along with the books. He moved out of the doorway so she could come inside, and somehow he still couldn't decide if he was angry at her or not.

"I'm sorry," she gasped, turning to look at him once she was halfway across the room. There were several feet of space between them, but he could smell her hair. She was wearing the jeans she wore last time she went to the Hard Deck. He knew what that shirt felt like between his fingers. He could tell she was trying not to cry as she said, "I'm just really sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me you're married?" he snapped, unable to hold back. He knew his tone was harsh as he added, "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Because I should have been divorced by now!" she practically shouted, and Bob was instantly more soothed by that sentence than he should have been. "You think I want to be married to the worst man I know?" He had so many questions already, but something told him to just let her keep going. "That's why I'm here. In San Diego. He was supposed to sign the papers so I could get on with my ridiculous life, but he won't!" She sucked in a deep breath before she said, "And it's eating me alive knowing what I kept settling for when you exist! Knowing that I could have been with a man like you."

Her lips were moving like she was shivering, and her eyes were wide and watery. Red blotches covered her freckled cheeks, and Bob just knew she was going to panic again. She made a helpless noise and rushed forward, ready to run, but this time he caught her in his arms, the books and flowers falling to the floor. He let her struggle for a few seconds as she cried, but he held on tight.

"Anna," he said softly. "You can't keep running."

Her body slumped against his. She looked up at him as he held her, and a few seconds later, she let her cheek come to rest against his chest. She nodded against him as she whispered, "I don't really have anywhere to go anyway."

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

Bob kept his distance while also somehow always being nearby. Anna knew he was probably expecting her to vanish again if he turned his back for too long, but she was too mentally and physically exhausted to move from his living room couch while he fixed some tea. It was getting dark outside, and it was nearly impossible to try to think about anything other than Sunday night when she felt truly free for the first time in years. 

Similar thoughts must have been on Bob's mind, because he was still occasionally looking at her like he used to. Then his cheeks would turn pink, and he'd duck his head before showing her a completely neutral expression. She took the mug of tea he handed her and whispered, "Thank you," as he sat down as far away from her as he could. She cleared her throat as she looked into her drink and said, "You're one of the kindest, most generous people I've ever met." She forced her gaze to his face. "I'm sorry I took that for granted. And I'm sorry I wasn't honest with you and the ladies."

Bob nodded but didn't speak for a minute. His voice was as gentle as always as he eventually said, "I'd like it if we could talk."

"Yeah," she agreed softly now that she felt like the fight inside her was gone and the tears had finally dried up.

"Where's your husband?"

She pictured Kevin standing in the perfect kitchen in the beautiful house on the cul-de-sac. "In New Jersey."

"Right," Bob replied in a reassuring tone. "You said you should have been divorced by now, so does that mean you don't want to be married to him?"

"I hate him," she whispered, back to staring into her mug. "And I'm sure he hates me, too. No, I don't want to be married to him any longer."

"You're separated?" he asked softly.

Anna shrugged, wishing more than anything that she could scoot a little closer to Bob and feel his hand on hers. "Not legally. He won't sign anything."

"Right," Bob repeated again. "Would it be too much for me to ask what happened? Because I really don't understand. I'm trying, but I'm still so confused, Anna."

Her brain was screaming at her to start crying again, begging her to fall apart or hyperventilate, but she didn't even have the energy for it. She took one long sip of her perfect cup of tea before setting it aside and turning to look at him. Even now, he had sympathy in his eyes. Whether that was because he now knew she and Kevin weren't really together or because he was always this sweet, she couldn't say. But he was everything she wanted and would never have again. 

"The short version is that I put him through medical school while he cheated on me. The long version is that he used up every bit of my money, let me work myself ragged, prevented me from finishing my PhD at Princeton, belittled me, and flaunted his extramarital relationship in my face. It was humiliating knowing he was cheating. It's humiliating eating sandwiches and peanuts for every meal now. But the worst thing is that he is holding my manuscript hostage, and no matter what I do, he won't let me have it back."

"Jesus, Anna," he gasped, making the slightest move like he wanted to reach for her before pulling back.

She slowly stood, and he looked up at her, trying to gauge what she was going to do, but she just looked down at him as she tucked her shaking hands behind her back. "You're perfect," she whispered. "You're Sky Writing. You're the handsome man from the bookstore who smells like tea and soap. You're Bob, the guy my friends knew I would fall in love with as soon as I met them." She took a step back, barely able to handle how he was looking at her like she still mattered. "But I don't know how to be an us with you. I know that's what you want, but I never wanted to fall like this again. I tried my best not to. I can't do this with Kevin's shadow behind me all the time. And I'm just really sorry I let it go as far as it did. Because now that I know so much about you...."

That's when the tears arrived, and that's also when Bob stood up. "Anna, I feel like-"

When he cut himself off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air for a few seconds, she took one long, last look at him and whispered, "I'm going to go." He didn't stop her from stepping over the flowers, walking out the door, and heading to the end of his street where she waited for a ride as the night air made her shiver, and her tear streaked cheeks finally started to dry again.

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

Oh, they both fell for each other. I'm not sure if Bob feels better or worse now. Kevin is an absolute dick, and we will hear from him in the next chapter. Keep fighting, Anna. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 12

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[strawberrymochin]

(in which you enter the demon slayer realm)

Sanemi eyed you for a while, his hands gripping tight on his sword, as blood slowly trickled down to its tip, dripping on the mud, tainting it red.

Well, the lower rank 6 demon, he was supposed to slay, laid dead on the ground, a little far from you, growling on anger as his body disintegrated into ashes, blown by the slow breezes, dispersing into thin air.

Killed by you. Barehanded.

The moon glowed big and bright, over your heads. "Who are you?" Sanemi shinazugawa said in a horrifying tone, "Or shall I rephrase my question....what are you?".

Shit.

You mentally smack yourself for acting like that infront of him, well that's totally not your fault though, you didn't knew, sanemi was going to make his appearance, moreover it's a background plot, not mentioned once in the manga. You open your mouth but close it again, not sure what to answer.

"Definately not a human."

"I am." You can't help but defend yourself, feeling triggered at his question. Having a mere charecter question your existence is quite disrespectful.

"Is it? I haven't seen a 'human' girl ripping off a demon head barehanded." He comes a bit closer, placing the tip of his sword on your neck, pressing it lightly. "Quiet a sight huh!.......you know I hate lies and surprisingly your aura doesn't resemble humans. What shall I do with that pretty girl?"

Wait. Sanemi shinazugawa called you pretty.

"Pretty....? You think I'm pretty? Oh my god, sanemi shinazugawa called me pretty...." You keep on mumbling to yourself, not being able to contain the excitement. Even though you liked the ever sadistic giyu tomioka more, sanemi was still hot. I repeat fucking hot and feral.

You didn't exactly like ending up in the demon slayer realm but didn't particularly hate it. You have, somehow, the ability to enter manga realms. And, this was your second time, accidentally entering one. The first realm you ended up entering was jujutsu kaisen's, and that was pretty messed up, considering that demon slayer was a heck more peaceful. Atleast you believe so.

Meanwhile sanemi was dumbstruck, first of all, according to his point of view, a girl looking weird creature, who claims to be human but ripped down a lower moon without a nichirin sword, was just impossible. You have to be a demon. And you should fear a sword pressed firmly on your neck, however you were there being giggling flustered mess.

"Stop trying to trick me you demon! It's time for you to join your troops in hell.....and how do you even know my name?"

"Yeah yeah whatever, but you called me pretty and I just....ahhh I love you—"

"S-shut up!" And this time, it's sanemi who's getting flustered. "How the heck you know my name? Forget it, I will just finish off you right here."

"Yeah yeah, whatever, but let's first get those kids home. It's quite traumatic for them to be here."

"Kids?"

"What you didn't know?"

The kids peeked out from the broken house, with eyes clouded in fear, tears stained cheeks, shaking. Sanemi gave a look from the side of his eye as he tilts down his swords rushing to the kids, "i won't let you harm them," shielding them from your vision.

"wouldn't it be better if you take them home rather than wasting time?" You say lazily, "you know what I take back what I said— i don't love you."

"Who wants to be in love with you anyway, filthy blood thirsty demon!" Sanemi fumed, sprinting from his position, "wind breathing: first form- dust whirling cutter."

That's it. You would be dead by now.

Sanemi turned around with a shit eating smile; which dropped in a sec. Lol. You were standing there intact. Ofcourse nothing would make you bleed after all you were a real human, unlike them.

You went to the kids, sighing, bending to their level, "hey it's fine, I know the scene over here was quite terrifying and this uncle over here is terrifying too, but it's fine. I will take you two home. Hmm? Come out."

The kids slowly came out, hesitating a bit.

By the time you took the kids home, its dawn, sanemi followed you suspiciously, grabbing the hilt of his sword tight. 'How did she even survived that? I cut right through her neck... moreover she ain't hurting the kids?' he thought.

The sun is about to rise still you show no sign of panic. What exactly is she? He thought

A demon who could walk under the sun?

"Hey sanemi, I'm hungry, can you buy me something to eat, I promise I will pay you later."

Part 2 ?

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Ring My Bell

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, mdni 🔞

Based on a fun worldbuilding convo in the SHOM discord that’s still buzzing around my head. Credit to @itcanbepalped and @jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s for vibing on this one

Steve’s parents never wore rings. They said it was gauche; very new money of them.

“Why bother with jewelry on your fingers that will get banged up on your hands when you can wear a necklace,” Clarissa would say when she spotted someone at the club with a ring, or god forbid two! Her own betrothal and bonding necklaces were layered, drawing the eye to her bite.

That was the whole point of a necklace. Either it emphasized a bonding bite, or it highlighted the fact that the wearer’s bonding gland was intact.

Steve had been given a necklace after he presented, a simple gold chain with a bejeweled padlock.

Pretty fucking gauche if you ask him.

Steve wouldn’t have worn it, but it was expected. Plenty of omegas wore something similar; he’d rather have his grandmother’s old claddagh ring, but his mother said it was low class.

So he wears his necklace every day, a reminder that he belongs to his father until he is mated. Then, he’ll belong to his alpha. Legally. At least until Congress hot its act together and passed some of the proposed equity laws.

Maybe his mom was right, rings were more easily lost. They tainted the scent of your hands with harsh metal.

It’s just that he’s seen some interesting ones, shapes so far beyond the standard lock, circle, and eternity knot. Meanings far more individualized than his necklace.

Which is why when the pups start following after Eddie Munson, Steve really notices his rings.

He gets what the book means. Or, he thinks he does. Munson doesn’t wear blockers, ever. His scent is an open book.

And the skull could be one of those gothy, ‘I mate for life’ things.

But the pig makes no sense. And no scents. Pigs don’t typically have a smell worth advertising.

The ring on his right hand is so simple in comparison that Steve gets stymied there, too.

He drops it, not wanting to reveal his interest in anything to do with Eddie Munson.

Steve is perfectly ready to let it stay a mystery until the night he comes to pick Dustin up after Hellfire only for Eddie to be the only one left in the lot, hauling his stuff out to his van. 

“Sinclair got his permit; your chuckleheads all went with him so he could show off.”

“Oh,” Steve says dumbly, only for his brain to catch up and spit out, “And they’ve never heard of a phone?”

“Real butthead behavior on their part,” Eddie agrees with a smirk. “Anyway, sorry you came out here for nothing.”

“Eh, could be worse.” Steve’s thinking monsters or g-men.

Of course, Eddie doesn’t know that. He gives Steve an appraising look. Then he surprises Steve. “I could make it up to you,” Eddie says with a crooked grin.

“How?” Steve asks, swallowing back the ‘not your fault’ that almost slipped out automatically. Because it kinda is.

Steve wouldn’t be here if not for Eddie’s club and the hold it has on Steve’s merry band of twerps. So he’s open to whatever Eddie’s offering to make them square.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Eddie pulls a joint from his pocket, sets it in his mouth to light, and inhales.

He holds it towards Steve as he blows out a stream of smoke. “We can hang, take the edge off your night.”

Steve takes the joint. Eddie grins and skips over to his van, opening the back door and giving a joking bow.

Steve laughs. He didn’t expect to be charmed so easily.

But he is, and after a couple hits he feels relaxed and loose in a way that would be fine in the safety of his bedroom, not so much when he has to drive.

He’s going to say as much, tell Eddie he should clear his head, when his eye catches the shine of silver on his fingers.

It’s like his brain isn’t connected to his mouth as he asks, “Why the pig?”

Eddie looks up from the box of cassettes he’s looking through and furrows his brow. “Huh?”

Steve’s brain must be cut off from his body too, since he reaches out and snatches up Eddie’s left hand.

“The pig,” Steve says, tapping on the offending ring. “Like, the book and the skull I think I got, but I’m coming up empty on the pig.”

“I’m surprised you knew it was a book.”

“But it’s book-shaped!”

“You mean rectangular?”

“But it is a book right?”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s about your scent,” Steve feels smug as he says it.

“I don’t smell like books,” Eddie says, clearly confused. “That’d be pretty awesome, though. Old books smell nice. Unless they’ve been in a basement too long.”

Steve nods sagely. This is obvious wisdom. No one wants to jump your bones if you smell like a musty basement.

Then he remembers his point. “You don’t smell like books, you are a book. Easy to read your scent ‘cuz you don’t wear blockers.”

“Don’t like ‘em. Make my head all fuzzy, and not in a fun way.”

“And the skull is a ‘til death’ thing right?”

“It’s actually a vampire skull.” Eddie points out the elongated canines. “You know, ‘the eternal kiss’ or whatever. I think bites should mean something.”

Steve nods again, feels a weird pull low in his belly. “That’s cool. Not enough alphas I know have that opinion.” He’s seen too many broken bonds at the country club and his father’s company Christmas parties.

Seen too many couples who shouldn’t have bonded in the first place.

“So, what’s the pig?”

Eddie looks down where Steve is still holding his hand. “Ever heard of a truffle hunter?”

“Like the chocolates?”

“No, the mushrooms! You’re rich, don’t you know about fancy mushrooms!”

Steve shakes his head, feels dumb. 

But Eddie just accepts his ‘no’ and moves on, “Well, they’re these rare mushrooms, and pigs like to eat them, so they’re really good at sniffing them out. And that’s me. I fully plan to sniff out my scentmate, and until then…” He shrugs. “Plenty of hot omega pussy to smell.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Eddie slaps his right hand over his whole face in shame. “Shit, sorry. Not appropriate in front of an omega. Or anyone. I promise I’m not a creep trying to get in your pants.”

But Steve’s mouth has gone dry. He wears blockers still, for work, the scent neutralizing deodorants and perfumes good at covering up his scent. The only place he doesn’t apply it is his crotch, because no one should be getting close enough anyway.

Suddenly he wants Eddie to be close enough.

He’s still holding Eddie’s hand, can still smell the edge of his woody scent over the weed. “It’s okay,” he says. Turns Eddie’s palm toward him and brings it to his nose.

The metal smell is there. But also pine and herbs, deepened by dark musk. His tongue darts out for a taste.

His hand mostly tastes like skin, a little like salt and smoke, but the scent is still there. Makes him want more. He pulls back, looks at Eddie who is staring at him with awe on his face.

“Okay, Mr. Trufflehunter, how do I smell?”

“You’ve got blockers on-”

“Not everywhere.”

His movements are slow, giving Eddie every chance to back out as he slides his fingers into Eddie’s hair, gripping the side of his head, and guiding him down towards Steve’s crotch.

Towards his wet pussy.

continued in part 2

[fearnesbells]

laudna and grief! unformed!

been a minute since i posted something that wasn’t a meme on here, but! c3e95! walk with me!

there is acceptable grief, and there is unacceptable grief. there is grief that fits as a digestible reaction for those around you, and then there is the irradiating, festering grief that grows teeth and eyes and hands and tries to take everything around you and break it down it so the world feels a little less all-consuming. most loss that i have experienced results in some mixture of the two, and this seems to be a fairly universal experience.

orym is a master of acceptable grief. he has a very understandably painful background that is very easy to conceptualize, at least on paper, for those around him. he has lost his father. he has lost his husband. he mourns quietly, by going to gravesites and using tokens of those who died. but that other grief, the irradiating kind, he very obviously does not do anything with that. that’s what led him to encourage laudna to let the darkness overtake her. that’s what led him to take the sword away from everyone. that’s what led him to deal FIFTY POINTS OF DAMAGE to laudna when she tried to wither the sword from his back. his grief has become cancerous! it is tainting his vision and clenching his fists. he is a dangerous, dangerous man right now. but that danger isn’t discussed, because his grief has fit the bounds of acceptance for a very long time, as opposed to:

laudna! laudna, laudna. laudna broke my heart this episode. her grief has never been acceptable. not in its totality. her death was an isolating, singular event, a death for the purpose of a message sent to strangers… more difficult to empathize with, from the outside. and then she WOKE UP! and she came back DIFFERENT! she isn’t mourning a husband, she isn’t solely mourning her father, she mourned HER LIFE. “do not speak to me about loss again.” her violent, evil, unacceptable grief about her death quite literally grew a mouth and eyes and hands, and it became her abuser, perched up in her head, telling her it would keep her safe.

for months now, laudna’s grief has been dismissed because it doesn’t fit a traditional convention of grief, bolstered by her stretching of the truth. (crucially, not lying.) but imogen still manages to see her grief, and tries to reach her, but to her, now, on that roof, in the wake of that fight in the dark, it seems like imogen isn’t worth enough for laudna to set the grief down. to LAUDNA, whose grief suffered through loss has told her time and time again that it is her only protector, cannot understand why imogen cannot see that this grief is FOR her. it’s to keep her safe.

that whole scene on the rooftop. the gears visibly creaking in imogen’s head as she tries her hardest to divine laudna’s intent, to try and find something explainable that will soothe the absolute bone-deep pain they’re both clearly feeling—and there’s nothing. laudna didn’t mean it, but she also did, and she’s not entirely wrong for meaning it. this was delilah, but it was also laudna, but it was also all of the hells gathering up acceptable grief and trying to push the unacceptable grief somewhere it won’t hurt them. it’s no one’s fault. it’s everyone’s.

“i love you, i just don’t know what to do with it.”

imodna: the narrative ship of all time.

[the-californicationist]

This will be the first request I’ve ever made, I want you. Only if you can. Price coming home in this, whatever mission it is, needs and wants his princess. Marvin Gaye, Sade, maybe? And naughty shenanigans, kisses!!! Thanks thanks and hugs!!! 👑💜

And He Spoke of His Dreams

Song inspo: Like a Tattoo by Sade

Thanks for the ask! Hope this is what you wanted! TW: fem reader

It was late, too late, when John's keys finally rattled in the door. In front of you, meticulously placed on the table, was his icy cold dinner, two candles burned down to their ends, their wax dripping onto the pale tablecloth, and an empty bottle of wine you had meant to share. Your lips were stained red, as if your mouth was bloody, like a lioness over her kill, panting and wrathful. Stained. Stained with it.

He sighed, but he didn't say anything. He was wearing The Suit. He only owned the one. It was the funeral suit, and the wedding suit, and it was the suit that he wore when Laswell called him down to the base for these late-night chats about all the things he should be doing more (or less) of. About how it was his fault that Makarov escaped. About how it was his fault that all of the intel had been tainted. About how it was his fault.

What were you going to do? Tell him he was late to his own birthday dinner? Tell him you hadn't seen him in days even though he should have been home from duty? Tell him you had been waiting for him, pacing for him outside of the door to his home office, hoping that you could find a reason to barge in there and demand his attention?

What good would it do? What were you against the importance of Terrorism?

"Hey, love."

His voice was smoke and brimstone, sparking even though his ire wasn't pointed toward you. He had been yelling. You'd been married to him long enough that you could hear it in his timbre.

"Have a seat, John. I'll warm it up for you."

You tried to hide your frustration, but it oozed around your words like a fetid stench, and he could smell it.

"Sit down."

You sat. He was still a commander. Sometimes he shed that mantle on the drive home... and sometimes he didn't. You could tell he was fighting it. You could see how he heard his own command and winced from it, flogged from his own whip in some sort of self-inflicted flagellation. He hurt himself when he struck you with those words.

John pulled out the chair and drug it across the floor unceremoniously and without care. The legs banged along the ground and slammed down as he fixed the seat in position right in front of you. He sat and you heard the wooden chair groan. He kept his knees spread wide apart, framing you inside of them. As he leaned forward, his black tie fell into the empty hole between you. His hands played with the hem of your dress, and you could feel the backs of his knuckles on his skin.

"Laswell wants me to send me and my men back to the field, and I told her I wouldn't. Bad intel. Went round and round and round..." his volume started low, but it began to increase, like a rising flame in a pile of tinder, "It was like she couldn't hear me. Like she wouldn't..."

He had more to say, but he stopped. You knew that he had a whole rant bottled up in there, but if he let it out, he'd be back in that familiar rage, wearing it like a second skin, and he promised you wouldn't see him in that way. Not again. There had been such a peace.

You weren't sure what made you do it, but you kissed him. You felt your lips purse and press into his mustache, tickled by it, wetting the hairs. You felt the fullness of his soft lips as he responded to you, kissing you back but pulling away.

"Darlin'..."

You attacked, deciding to show him just how darling you could be, deepening the kiss, and giving your tongue to him. If he wouldn't eat his dinner, you would feed him something else.

He relented, enticed by your surprise offering, and any part of him that wanted to hold onto that old, comfortable anger was happy to put its paws on something softer.

John wrapped his arms around you, devouring you with his mouth, pushing at your jaw and forcing you to collapse into him with his immense body leaning on you. He pulled you up, making the chairs scream again as your legs jostled them away.

"C'mon, love. C'mon."

He was speaking into your mouth, filling the hollow of your cheeks with his own words, groping you and caressing you wherever he could manage. As he held you, he moved you into the bedroom, bullying you into an awkward, all-encompassing dance, eager to lead.

His shirt buttons caved under your effort, and he managed to loosen his tie enough to let it flutter down to the floor, trampled by your feet. You found his undershirt and tugged at it, using your hands to venture underneath to pet his belly and make him gasp.

"Bloody hell. Wha's gotten into you, missus?"

His shirt peeled away from his back.

"Don't wanna hear about your shitty day," you hissed.

The top two buttons of your dress were undone.

"Oh? Why's that?"

His hands rucking up your skirt, trying to pull it off of you.

"I wanna feel your shitty day," you smiled, licking your lips, "I wanna feel every bit of it. Give it to me. Let me feel you. I wanna feel you."

You prayed that he understood you. He seemed to, grinning as your hands pried away his trousers from his waist, yanking at his zipper and seeking out his hidden warmth.

John was already as hard as a stone, and his smooth, velvety cock filled your hands and reminded you of just how much of him there was. You pumped at his length, slicking the precome over his head, teasing him just enough to make him wild.

His eyes held a bright fire within them, and you could tell how much he wanted to take control, so you forced his hand. He was always so careful with you, but that's not what you needed. You needed him to bind himself to you, like a bone once broken that was now healed.

Your knees hit the floor and you rubbed your cheek over his length like a cat. You did it again, enjoying the look on his face and the brief uncertainty about what he should do with his hands. He stumbled back, just a half-step, but enough to tell you that you were doing the trick.

His hands were in your hair, and he groaned for you, watching you in furious disbelief as you took him into your mouth. You could only fit his head, but you suckled from it hungrily, pulling it into the wet warmth of your mouth and rolling it around with your tongue.

"Fuckin' hell. Fuck..."

John got rough with you, pulling you up by your scalp, gripping you at the base of your skull, slowing his pleasure down and staring at you like you were a ghost, something unreal.

Then, he kissed you again, letting you both fall to the bed, pressing you down with his weight so that you couldn't move. You couldn't even shift your hips; you were fully at his mercy, ready and very much willing to be used like his toy.

He slid into you without resistance or help. Your body welcomed him in, not asking you for your opinion.

"Mmff... fuck!"

John growled out mid-kiss, trying to reel himself back in. You gasped and moaned, feeling the same effects as your husband, reveling in the magic he had crafted between you.

All of his rage melted from his visage like butter in a pan, soft and frothing and bubbling in a place that was once rigid and cold. You tried to grind your hips for him, milking his pleasure one tiny motion at a time, stoking that fire to dangerous heights.

As if he was being forced to comply, he began to thrust into you over and over. You felt his cock slide all the way out and all the way back in like a shining piston.

It made your eyes water. Your pleasure was so enhanced by his ferocity, and his intensity burned its way through you with every selfish push and lustful pull.

Greedily, he picked up his pace, slamming himself into you and hugging you to him, desperate to be closer and not having a way to make that true. He began to talk to you, telling you his secrets,

"Needed you so bad."

More and more of his cock seemed to find a way to fit itself inside of you, and you couldn't remember ever feeling so full.

"This fuckin' pussy. My pussy. Mine."

His possessiveness made you want to scream, and you could tell he was pleased with your reaction to his declaration of ownership. His smug, satisfied look turned you on even more.

"So wet for me, pretty thing. Wet. Wet. Wet."

The sounds he was making inside of you were straight up pornographic, and you loved hearing the result of his work. He was a master at drawing out your pleasure, and you thought you might blackout if he didn't let you come soon.

"John, please -" you said, but you were interrupted.

He plastered a huge hand over your mouth and chuckled darkly,

"Smells sweet," he licked your neck, sending chills across your arms and chest, "Like you've been wantin' me for a while. That true?"

You nodded, unable to respond. Then, you basked in the pleased look on his face. It was delicious to see him so enamored with you, and you wanted to roll around in it like a dog.

"Gonna come on me, missus? Wash away my fuckin' day, yeah?"

You nodded again, weaker this time. You felt your body decide to divert its attention to your core and the pressure building in your womb. It was like the end of a lit sparkler, glowing and spitting, sparkling and hissing and then... it was the explosion.

Your orgasm spread like wildfire across your skin, blazing in your hips and rushing through your veins, burning you inside and out.

"Tha's it," he was shouting over your screaming, "Lemme hear you. C'mon! Fuck!"

John pressed his cock inside of you as deeply as it would fit and felt the climax as it rent its way through you. He allowed himself to follow, pouring his joy out into you like warm, melted sugar, sticky and cloying.

Shorter, shallower thrusts painted his come inside of you, and your senses were overwhelmed by it. Everything was golden and silver and glittering with his love. Everything was bright. Everything was John. There was no you. No him. You were bathed together in this cosmic light, forever entwined by it.

More than anything, he looked relieved. It was exactly what he had needed. He needed to let himself out, to let his wildness run free, and you celebrated being the vessel for such reckless abandon.

He was petting your breasts, kissing them and studying them like there was a test. Occasionally, he would return to your mouth, slanting his own over it and languidly using it to kiss you. He would lick and taste and kiss and suck and you would allow it. You would be his toy for as long as he needed, and in turn, he was yours to command. Your captain.

"I like you like this," he confessed, keeping you pinned beneath him, "All mine. Trapped, hm?"

"All yours, John. As long as you need me."

"I'll always need you."

[ssplague]

Benighted Beloved

Prologue

Dragon King Bakugou x Reader

Haven’t decided on the title yet, didn’t want to take even more time to get this out.

Warnings ⚠️ BRIEF Mentions of attempted assault, sex trafficking, & murder.

As the last of the moon’s ethereal, silver light disappears from the skies, a harsh wind begins to blow. This kingdom’s inhabitants are hidden away within the confines of their homes. The silence is daunting as the wind begins to howl through the previously bustling capital streets.

Within the dimly lit castle a woman stares through the her window before shutting the drapes tight.

The atmosphere within the fortress is riddled with tension; Murmurings of prayers can be heard from various servants pausing their duties as they move about. Her bosom heaves rapidly from panting breaths, she fights in vain. Stubborn to prevent the vision attempting to shine through, ignoring the now blurry edges of her eye sight. Ebony hair is sticking to her sweaty face, she’s only standing on shaky legs from leaning against the edge of her vanity table.The door of her bedroom swings open and immediately slams shut. A man has come to see her, he’s briskly crossing the room, before coming to a stop at her side.

“What ails you?” The tired man asks, helping the woman stand upright by allowing her to hold his arm. Continuing to assist, despite her uncoordinated shuffling to sit on her bed. “If you are to be given a prophetic message, why fight it? Her majesty wishes to know what you have seen”. The woman wraps her arms around her middle, sharp nails nicking at her flesh as she draws in a shaking breath, “This night is tainted by darkness, the goddess is unable to grant us her full protection while her light is repressed…if my body will hold out until the darkness recedes, perhaps tragedy will be prevented from falling upon our kingdom once again”. Light from the single lit candle casted half of her face in shadow. The oracle was ashen faced, her black bangs plastered against her forehead, droplets of sweat leaked down her face onto the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees, shaking hands massage her temples.

“You cannot alter fate Midnight, you are destroying yourself all for the sake of delaying a message you were chosen to deliver” Aizawa says with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes “I know you continue to blame yourself for the death of King Masaru but even the queen herself told you that you were not at fault, you relayed the message, and it was something that simply couldnt be remedied..”.

A shuddering breath racks the oracle’s body and she begins falling forward, only for the exhausted man to catch her,

“Stop this! You are going to die!”.

Midnight knew she was on deaths door, her body would give out soon, unless she relents…

Once again the bedroom door opens silently, the snap of it shutting alerts the two occupants of a new comer entering the room.

“Do it for the sake of the child, if you wish to atone for the death of its father then guide it as it grows, inform the future leader on how to avoid whatever negativity may come beforehand, so that it can be properly dealt with” the stern but soft voice of Jeanist seems to have been able to break through the oracle’s stubbornness.

“Normally only one of you would need to be the scribe for this session…but I would prefer it if there were two perspectives on whatever I report, considering the situation…” requests Midnight as Aizawa allows Jeanist to help the frail woman sit up. Making one more request as the blonde man fluffs and rearranges the pillows behind her:

“Please light the ceremonial pouperie and hand me both selenite and tourmaline towers”.

At the beginning of her life Midnight had been gifted with the ability to predict small things such as who would win a foot race or what she would receive for her birthday. As a teen her visions changed into predicting who would find love and eventually how relationships would end. Life was not always kind to her, and once she reached her late teens she had been enslaved and forced into prostitution.

Luck had been on her side as an adult; One night as the ebony haired beauty made her way through town. She had come across a drunken man attempting to asssault a young woman. Her amethyst eyes catch the glint of an intact bottle neck laying discarded on the alleyway’s grime crusted cobblestones. Those muffled cries of the female being violated brought her back to when she herself had first been enslaved. Slinking up through the shadows in silence, the angry woman would later on be compared to a panther as she came flying out of the darkness. The brute didnt have a chance to fight back as loose shards of glass were shoved into his eyes, the jagged spikes of the bottle were repeatedly slashed and thrusted into his neck, face, and chest until the pig was unrecognizable.

The woman she had saved turned out to be the daughter of a duke, visiting from a completely different kingdom. “Please accompany me for my journey home, your bravery will bring you great favor with my family, im offering you a new life, a fresh start”. Once the dutches and duke had learned about the gift of sight their daughter’s savior possessed, it was only a matter of time before Midnight was called to advise the current king and queen of her new home.

The darker haired man uses the candle to light to light the bundle of herbs, the scents of sage, lavender, and jasmine fill the room quickly.

Both polished stone towers are pressed into her shaking hands, Each man stood at the oracle’s bed side with quills poised and ready. Only then does the ritual begin;

She always hated lowering the walls of protection that had been built around her psyche. It made her feel as though she were stripped naked, vunerable, about to have her dignity snatched away, and soul crushed. Of course those feeling were always what prelude a tainted and unfortunate vision. Her eyes buldge in their sockets as they widen, her plump lips fall open and an amplified emotionless version of her voice spews out the sacred information from her gaping maw.

In this realm,

a blessing descends,

a child of fate,

Whose power immense,

destined to determine

earth’s fate

Born beneath the moon's shadow,

a tale quite bizarre,

A beast hides within,

a spirit touched by mar.

Not at the outset,

but time's relentless flow,

Unveils a name in

history's annals to grow.

Victories numerous,

A heart encased in sin

With a chance encounter,

love's dance shall begin.

Strings of fate weave

a love, pure and oh so divine,

The dragon king seeking

a mate with whom his

Soul shall intertwine.

This love is true,

by impurity shunned,

Great Darkness out shone

by Celestial radiance

Who’s light could

Outshine the sun

Blessings abound

if the moon's grace prevails,

However her failure

unveils hate

as darkness assails.

The Earth shall quake in fright

silence descends in despair,

The dragon king ruthless,

his mate to ensnare.

Land soaked in blood,

tainted with gore

at that moment

T’will be decided

peace within this kingdom

will become a distant lore

Decay befalls living souls,

cursed evermore.

Oh how can one’s feelings

spin a tale so profound?

For only true love shall

Determine whether darkness

Or light shall abound?

In a wing located on the complete opposite side of the castle, a feminine shriek is permeated by the sharp wails of an infant.

“It’s a boy your majesty!” Exclaims a mid-wife who held the freshly delivered baby.

She is quick to clean off the continuously shrieking child, immediately swaddling him in a soft blanket. Queen Mitsuki held out her trembling hands to receive the bundle of joy. “He’s beautiful my lady, I’m sure the king is looking down from heaven with pride” stated one of the other servants as she took away the soiled linens. “Yes he is…my beautiful little boy…my precious Katsuki” the queen whispered, kissing the boy’s head. His tiny whisps of blonde hair tickled her face as she holds him close. A little fist slips out from the blankets, waving about as his wails grow louder. Another servant enters the room, her arms laden with fresh blankets and sheets, “The moonlight has returned!” She happily reports, setting down the bedding and drawing back the curtains some.

Soon as those first rays of the shining silver light landed on the baby, his shrieks cease instantly. Finally opening his small crimson eyes to stare up at his mother, a goofy smile appearing and soft cooing replaced his cries. Everyone in the castle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the dreaded eclipse had come to an end.

“My Katsuki, you’re going to grow into a strong, dependable man, eventually you’ll become the greatest king the world has ever seen…isn’t that right Masaru?” Mitsuki snuggled the baby, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t able to see the man standing beside the two of them, but Katsuki could. The spirit of his father placed its hand on his little head, and the baby began to giggle happily. “I cant do much in this form, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you make the right choice when the time comes…take care of your mother for me…I love you both so much”.

A/N: We’re starting a NEW series!

What did you think? Pay attention to that prophecy, any ideas on what it’s talking about?

[deluxewhump]

The bahkauv

Bite

Stephan is bitten and will not get free by physical strength alone

They’d travelled all day without incident. Francis was confident in the decision to leave their fourth member unmuzzled, unbound except for his ankles, which were constrained only enough that he could not take more than one short stride after the other. Once they chose a camp, Francis slid the saddle from his grazing horse, setting it on its horn at the base of a tree.

Stephan screamed out a curse, and Francis turned in time to see him pulling back his hand from the mouth of the bahkauv— to no avail. The jerk of his arm did nothing to dislodge the teeth in the buried in the heel of his hand, and only made it more apparent that he was bleeding. He struck the boy—the creature— on the side of his head with his left fist. Their bahkauv only yelped deep in his throat, and hung on ferociously, as if for his life.

Francis got the immediate impression he hadn’t meant to hurt. He had reacted in fear, a distrustful instinct triggered by a thoughtless moment on Stephan’s part. Now that he had a mouthful, he was afraid to let go.

Arthur grabbed the bahkauv by the back of the hair in a tight fistful, but the vicious yank he gave it only made Stephan curse at him, too. Francis rushed forward but stopped, suspecting yet another human presence would only send the bahkauv into a deeper panic.

“Let go,” Arthur growled, gripping the boy-creature tightly by the hair like it was the scruff of an animal’s neck. Stephan winced in pain, watching blood drip from his fingers to the ground. He cursed again, loudly. The bahkauv flinched, wide eyes raising to the man he had in his sharptoothed grip.

“Arthur, enough!”

Stephan was the largest and strongest of the three of them, used to felling trees and cutting lumber for carts, barns, or even ships. If his blow to the bahkauv’s head could not pull his hand free, the three of them might not be able to, even together.

“Arthur, you’re not helping,” Francis insisted. “Let go.”

Arthur shot him a doubtful look but couldn’t deny the situation had not improved since his intervention. He let go, shaking a clump of hair from his fingers as if it might be tainted with magic.

Stephan turned his head toward Francis, grudgingly calm despite the pain. “Get your fucking beast off me before it takes my hand off.”

“I’ll only make it worse as well,” Francis said evenly, though his heart was pounding like a drum. This was his fault, after all. Maybe they’d have known what to do with a vampire. If he’d just been satisfied with that, they wouldn’t have this unpredictable creature on their hands. He didn’t even know what a bahkauv bite could do. Their new purchase looked so disconcertingly human from a distance of just a few feet, it was easy to forget he was not.

“He’s scared. He bit you because he was scared and he’s not letting go because he’s scared. We can’t rip him off without making the bite worse. Talk to him.”

Stephan groaned as his hand continued to drip blood. The veins in his forearms were bulging and blue, a new sheen of sweat beading his forehead. “It doesn’t fucking understand us, mate,” he gritted with reproach.

“I think we’re wrong on that too. Just try.”

Stephan took a sharp breath through his nose, jaw working visibly as he clenched and unclenched his teeth.

Arthur took several steps back, showing his hands in accordance to the new plan. The bahkauv’s dark eyes followed him before snapping fearfully back to Stephan.

“Let me go, Devil.”

“Well don’t talk to him like the hunters,” Francis said, exasperated. “Honey. Not vinegar.”

Stephan dropped slowly to his knees, his hand still tight in the bear trap of the boy-creature’s sharp teeth. Confused, the bahkauv followed suit, lowering to follow the man closer to the ground. Now kneeling, blood dripped between them like a ritual. Stephan swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them.

When he spoke his voice was low, nothing like his gruff curses before. “You can’t hold on to me forever, you know. You’ll have to let go sometime so we can give you something to eat.” He actually smiled, strained as it was. “Something other than my hand, that is.”

Francis and Arthur exchanged a glance. The little monster was listening, watching Stephan intently. His chest rose and fell with his own frightened breaths, otherwise completely still. The blood around his mouth and the flash of sharp teeth was the only thing that made him look feral, something other than entirely human. And something unnameable in the eyes Francis was eager to study, once he had the university laboratories and libraries within reach.

“I’m very sorry I struck you,” Stephan continued gently, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse, or charm a snake. “You frightened me, is all. When you let me go, I promise not to hurt you. I understand. My friends do too. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

Francis marveled at his composure, despite the bloodied hand still being held tight between teeth. Only the bloodless pallor of his friend’s complexion gave away the pain beneath his softened voice.

Stephan, usually gruff and straightforward, tilted his head in a gesture of genuine thoughtfulness. “Do you understand our words, or only our actions? Can you read my thoughts? How can I talk to you, hm?”

Cautiously, he raised his non-injured hand from his side, slowly bringing it to the side of the bahkauv’s head where he’d struck him just minutes before. He hovered in midair for a moment, waiting to see if he got a strong reaction. Francis was afraid Stephan might get his hand free only to have the other one bitten. But when at last the open hand touched him, the bahkauv only whimpered, a stirringly human sound.

“You’re alright,” Stephan said, stroking the dark hair with his calloused woodsman’s hand. It looked huge on the creature’s delicate head. “Just an accident. It’s alright to let go now. I won’t harm you.” He tucked a piece of hair behind a pointed ear. “I need my hand back now, little beast. If it please you.”

Francis thanked the gods when the bahkauv’s jaw moved, unsticking his teeth from the meat of Stephan’s hand. Stephan’s jaw muscles worked with the effort to stay quiet, lest he frighten the bahkauv again. He drew his bitten hand close to his chest, and when he took the other off the bahkauv’s hair, Francis couldn’t help but notice the way their captive tensed, watching if the hand would strike. Stephan doubled over on his injured hand, finally able to staunch the bleeding. He hissed a string of curses under his breath, but made good on his promise of no retribution.

They must make sure that remained true, and that none of them do anything to break it. How else would they ever hope to gain their captive’s trust? And without trust there could be no humane method for control.

The bahkauv dropped the rest of the way to the ground, backpedaling several feet until he was pressed flat to the trunk of a spruce tree, ankles still bound to ensure he could not try to run again. He wiped the blood from his mouth with his wrist, almost as if unsure how it got there.

Arthur was already headed to the horses, where the muzzle was hanging on a branch alongside their bridles. He approached the base of the tree with it like a man about to lasso a rabid animal. But the bahkauv took it with the stoic compliance of a prisoner.

*

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[moondirti]

tender / and what’s left

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronze at this time of day, you know you can't touch him to feel the sun.

But you’re not looking for warmth.

pairing: Joel Miller x f!Reader rating: explicit (mdni) word count: 4.3k summary: what gentle has come to mean warnings: smut, canon typical violence, angst, mild gore, mentions of death, very little plot, blowjobs, fingering, joel is not nice - not necessarily. tumblr please don't tag my shit notes: yeah... yeah. i don't know how i feel about this one. i tried something different with the style. that is, i cut down on the purple prose, so let me know what y'all think about that. also, can you tell i struggled with joel's characterisation? idk, it's a mess. but anyway - enjoy!

You’ll never get used to the smell. 

Granted, the contrary was a lie you told yourself once things had gone to shit. A painkiller – your harsh reality sliced into digestible portions and force fed through a dry gullet. Mother earth will reclaim what spoils – like putrid carnage buried behind a thick cover of dirt, perfuming crisp air. That nature, prosperous again, would wind itself around humanity’s faults and embellish your end with a lush green. 

And maybe it will, one day.

But it takes a while for bodies to burn. You’ve come to accept that’s all you have to look forward to in your lifetime. So, you focus on the scent of sulphur-doused charcoal and try to ignore how flesh sizzles when you throw another corpse into the flame. 

Once the weight is offloaded, you trek back over the beaten path to the truck, your fingers tense with the frigid wind. A storm had come screeching through last night, mewling its sombre song while spewing out a flurry of ice onto the decaying buildings of the QZ. The sterility had lasted all of about an hour before the powdery white turned sludge and jaundice-yellow stains popped back up along the streets. 

The only salvageable thing about winter, tainted with piss. 

Huffing to yourself, you curl your hands to dissuade the frost gnawing on your knuckles and square your shoulders for the next haul. A quick scan of the cargo hold tells you you’re nearly done. There must have been ten or so infected cadavers when the unit had been dropped off – piled atop one another, heads wrapped in bags and arms still bound behind their backs. Joel had divided the work between the two of you – sectioning the heavier builds off for himself – and you’d made quick work disposing of the majority before the stink of death could cling to your blouse. 

As for him–

He brushes up behind you, stunted to a slower pace, carrying a body twice his size. You tune in to his laboured breaths, the grunts he makes with each step, muffled behind the bandana he wears as a mask. In your peripheral, you think you spot it slipping – slicked with the sweat that shines down the curve of his nose. His hair is much the same; speckled grey, glistening with sebum and a gruelling day's work. 

(You recall what it feels like, clutched in your tight grip. You like pulling at it, borderline violently, whenever you can. Whenever he lets you–)

You stop yourself. The tangent has a viscous momentum you’re all too familiar with. Reeling it in, you tuck it near your gut before it can get away from you. Instead, you choose to single in on the way his back rolls when he throws the weight into the pit – the penultimate corpse. Then, back to the task at hand. The trailer stands empty now, save for the last; a smaller frame, curled in on itself, clad in embroidered jeans and a dirty, purple sweater. 

He kept the child for you. 

What’s left of one, anyway. 

Two seconds pass. You crouch to tie your shoelaces. 

(You got them for free – traded off a FEDRA agent with a dependance on oxy. You don’t think you’ll get as lucky with gloves. Winter clothes run like cigarettes here – the theft of your last pair indicative of that fact.)

When you stand back up, the body is still there. 

The chain to the trailer latch is tangled. You decide to undo it before you move.

It won’t disappear.

Just deal with it.

It might be the cold, or the sore patch on your palm, singed from hovering too close to the flame. Food poisoning, credit to poorly cooked rat jerky, or the flu. You tell yourself it’s anything apart from what it is. You know he’s staring – can feel the laden look, sparking the frayed nerves along your shoulder. Just deal with it; the sentiment swimming in dark eyes. Deal with it; his rough voice nails into you.  

It’s not a kid. Not anymore. Not since a network of fungal threads wiggled their way into the gummy recesses of its brain. 

(But its skin is soft. Not one scar on those delicate hands.)

You let your gaze slide across the courtyard. His presence tips the scales of your consciousness, crushing with its force, and you find his brow quicker than you can blink away the wariness in your expression. He’s leaned up against a wall, twisting a spare rag over his fingers. His dry study is indecipherable. 

Your jaw clicks. 

He steps the slightest bit forward. 

With a sharp tug on the body’s ankles, you deflect his intervention and position it so that you can easily heave it onto your bent arms. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be. That, or, it’s the rigour mortis, its joints stiffened to intractable peaks. 

Keep your back straight and use your knees. 

(Joel taught you how to lift anything. He said it’d come in handy, one day. You still can’t tell what he’s preparing you for.) 

When you flip the child into the fire, the bag flies off its head. Its hair is the same shade as yours.

He takes double your shift. 

You were a florist, before, operating right outside Boston. It’s easy to forget what it was like: cramped in that two hundred square foot shop, up to your elbows in thorns as humidified air pooled beneath your pits. There’s the vague picture of a book, fatter than your forearm, always propped open on the register counter. Floriography, a guide to the Victorian language, with watercolour illustrations and an empty page dedicated to your scrawled notes on customer orders. 

And, there is the memory that accompanies it. 

An infatuated friend – no, assignment partner – in your mycology requirement. He’d gifted it to you on your birthday and you’d given a complaisant smile back before going back to the video your professor put on. It didn’t interest you at the time. You were a botany student, desperately clinging to the last shred of your sanity before the end of term, and you did not care about the outdated science of some epidemiologist in 1968. 

Perhaps you should’ve.

But–

You remember the flowers.  

Post-grad. You’d bring them in from wholesalers in Columbia. Dahlias and daisies by the dozen – thriving boscages, nursed in minerals, tepid water. It was a blend of powdered femininity, a reification of the artificial scent you’d practically bathe in as a kid. Soil a pillow for nectar and dew, their roots still branched in the nourishing mix. And it was marginally obsessive, the way you’d drink all of it in. Like divine ambrosia, hung in a drunken stupor of all-natural proportions.

In the mornings, you’d separate their petals with a gentle hand. You felt as though you could sit forever in that quaintness. It did not feel like a job.

Joel takes double your shift, because you cannot wait to get away from shit-clogged sewers. 

He comes back disgruntled, just as the afternoon sinks below the horizon. 

The room soaks in an orange tint, a deluge of evening light spilling in from outside. Scotch whiskey burns a trail down your throat, irritatingly concentrated, and you wonder where he got it from. Not many drinks nowadays pool as deep in your belly, are warm enough to strike your inhibitions. You blink, tipsy – malt and smoke clustered on your tongue – and can’t help but smack your lips, the taste reminiscent of the musk you lick from in between his legs.

He comes up behind you, pulling the bottle from your cradle before you can take another swig. You’d set a dirty tumbler out for him too, lipstains smudged against the annealed glass. He pours two fingers worth, then sits back with a weary sigh. It rumbles from somewhere in his chest, hampered with the deep baritone of his own voice. 

You don’t speak. Neither does he. 

This is what life consists of. Busy work and silence. 

Anything is better than clicking. 

You observe him in your free time. 

It’s not often you’re granted the luxury of running your fingers down his face. You have, once, after coming home much too late to see him knocked out, practically blitzed on hydro. You’d discovered his skin – that it matched the way it looks; rough, sun-worn like old leather. It folds up along his forehead, between his brows, etched in a permanent look of exasperation. He’s marked in wrinkles you don’t think will ever go away. 

(You’d tried smoothing them out. It was a stupidly sentimental action, founded on the sudden spout of emotion that plagued you that night. You had just been beaten an inch from your life, and wanted to find comfort in the fact that – if anything – he was peacefully at rest. But he looked tired, even in his sleep.) 

His eyes are far away, too. His lips, pursed. The way his hair twists on his head suggests that it’d been curly, once upon a time – flipping like waves crashing towards an isolated island. Uncoordinated. Devastating. And his beard is all but an extension of that brutality – patchy and abrasive, particularly when it smooths along your thigh. He’s ruinously handsome; weathered and dry and dark and so, so goddamn handsome.

Joel is a man of blunt lines and frayed edges, and though he seems especially bronzed at this time of day, you can’t touch him to feel the sun. 

But you’re not looking for warmth. 

You slide off the chair, onto your knees. 

You’ve been around long enough for him to sense what’s coming. His shoulders slouch, slack posture buttressed against the back of his chair, and the movement allows his legs to spread, just so you can slot between two beefy thighs. They ripple with restrained strength when you run your hands along them, muscle apparent even under the cover of his jeans. 

“You’re tense.” You remark, slowly ironing closer to the bulge at his crotch. 

“Long day.” He responds with a torn exhale.

The unfurling of his zipper puts an end to the short conversation. You ruck his pants to his pelvis, then scoop his cock out from behind his boxers. It’s semi-hard, heavy in your clutch, pulsing as though it aches. You slip to the base – nested in a bush of wild, auburn hair – and tug it until he swells to become velvet-covered iron. He thickens, brims with arousal, head darkening to the colour of a day-old bruise. 

It’s when it’s like this– 

When you’re on your knees, or back, or stomach, his flesh smelting your insides like you’re metal over brimstone. Your lips wrap around him – stretching taut at cracked corners, your tongue rolling over his frenulum. You will yourself to sink further, to let him touch your tonsils and the enveloping heat there. Your breath hot, your mouth even hotter – sweltering, you suck him in, coating his length with a film of saliva, which aids you when you pull back up. Still, he’s too big for you to fully take, so you wrap what you can’t reach and twist it in tandem to your bobbing head. 

Spittle pools at your lip, globbing out to splatter on his boxers. You can’t control the gags his girth elicit. It doesn’t matter. His large hand cups your temple, guiding you lower. You hollow your cheeks to accommodate the bludgeoning rhythm of his cock, choking on the smell of sweat and denim. He’s heady, potent with brine.  Blurring heat corners your eyes, tears cropping at the sheer indulgence of it all. You don’t know whether he notices as they slip down your cheeks, whether he goes harder because of them. 

It’s in these perennial moments, pearlescent prespend seeping down his shaft – a beautiful compliment to his skin – where you’re simultaneously selfish and selfless in a world that is kind to neither. That he feels more alive than ever. Pumping, pounding, like the fibrous sinew of a still-beating heart.

He’s not gentle as he takes. You don’t discourage it. 

(You believe he’s forgotten how to be. There’s a certain severance you have to make to survive; a detachment from humanity. You don’t doubt he was a good man, once. You hear it in his cadence, that southern twinge that speaks to days of gentleman-like civility past. It’s excusable. You understand. You can’t complain of the strain he puts on your throat. You too have lost your touch. 

But it cannot reduce the red on your ledgers. Gore binds the very books together.)

Cum covers your palette when he spurts his end – a hot, febrile concoction; the ocean lapping up on a beached log, like sand in every crevice. He holds your head down until you swallow, knees spasming against hardwood floors.

You splutter for air when you finally draw away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Joel shifts forward, picking an unknown material off the table above your head. You can’t discern what it is – not until he brings it down to your chin. 

Your washcloth. Threadbare and thinning still. 

He doesn’t let you speak as he helps you clean the evidence of his sin.

Lilies for restored innocence. Carnations for pure love. 

You cycle through your mental index of funeral arrangements as carmine ichor spills from your front. 

The operation hadn’t gone according to plan. 

Joel said it’d be a quick pillage of a newly empty warehouse; an apparent treasure trove for supplies, left abandoned after a firefly attack drove FEDRA security off its perimeters. Lined wall to wall in crates of salvaged items; he’d heard wind of it through a contact in the agency – some son of a bitch by the name of Liam, trying to pay off a withstanding debt. Easy gains, he’d smiled, you can take your pick of the loot.

The knife lodged in your gut begs to differ. 

(You posit another smuggling ring got dealt the same deal. They had come in behind you. Jumped fast, fought dirty – took all the ammo and cigarettes they could carry and left you for dead. Naturally.)

Where the fuck is he?

Vignette shadows edge your vision, throwing everything off kilter. You can hardly process every aspect at once: the pulsing wound, the surge of blood. Nausea encroaches on the site, convulsing in around the jagged blade, cramming your intestines for space. It blazes a fiery path up to your lungs, where your breaths escape in short, shallow increments. Oxygen dwindles. You’d skipped breakfast. Still, you heave as fluorescent lights blink in and out of existence above you. 

The concrete floor is unforgiving. 

Gladioli, perhaps. For someone who’s proven their strength. Tears glue your lashes shut, and you imagine being buried out in a field of their long stems. Swathed in peach, pink, babydoll colours untainted by grime. You wonder if Joel knows a place. 

(You never asked for his favourite flower.) 

The stab festers, broiling over with an impassioned heat. It must be hell overturning your system, bubbling up in pus, swaying you from making your peace. All those lives you took. The thorns you’d clipped. Your head is lifted onto a twitching lap. It’s soaked in carnage and smells like him.

Thank god. Felt like it was gonna explode.

“B-Bout– nghn, time.” You cough. You’re able to discern his silhouette through the fog, cloudburst heavy on your lids. It’s sticky, disorienting.

“Hey. Hey, stay with me now. We’ll get t-this fixed. We’ll get this fixed, okay?” He chokes, wrestling with a roll of something. “I gotta take the knife out, baby. It’ll hurt. It–” 

“It–It’s okay.”

“No, no. Up, open your eyes, c’mon.” 

You were hired to supply a wedding with its finery, back when you first opened shop. It was the gig that promised to put you on the map, insisted upon by a childhood friend who had the money to blow on imports from Holland. You’d spent days fine tuning the arrangements – fussing with leaves, waxing petals, trimming roots. Your cuticles were red, raw by the end.

The next week, all the flowers had wilted. The paraffin you used was the wrong type.

Joel’s voice cracks like a spoiled floret. You burn at the knowledge that it’s your fault. 

He doesn’t give you the option to grieve it, twisting the blade out of your abdomen. You lurch forward, thrashing with a warbled scream. Borderline animalistic, the pain tears through you with harrowing intensity. 

His hand smooths your hair back in the meanwhile, brushing across your sweaty forehead, winding between the tresses. You shudder under a wave of hypoxia and come to a sobering revelation. 

It feels nice.

Something shifts. 

He was quiet before. A man of very few words; upon your first meeting – a partnered smuggle run, arranged via Tess – you recall tallying the hours until he spoke. It hit three, prior to your suggestion of something so bewilderingly stupid he just had to pitch in his discontent. You’d smirked it off. It hadn’t been personal. 

(Possibly the one insight that allowed you to continue working with him.) 

But since your close call, he’s funnelled down to occupy a fraction of his previous presence. You suspect it has everything to do with how you bled out in his arms.

He leaves and returns during your small bouts of restless sleep. You don’t hear from him, or see of him – aside from the rare occurrences when your days intersect; when he comes back, tarnished and tired, to crash on the couch before his next job. You would haul him to bed if you could, yet your gut throbs in barely-healed rage with every exertive move. So, you spend your limited time with him as you’ve grown used to doing – watching.

His nightmares have gotten worse. 

You used to experience them in pyretic transitions, suspended in a state of hypnagogia, your consciousness bleary and flickering like old film set ablaze. You’d feel his tremors, could hear his whispered pleads filter in on your own dreams. But they existed as secondary – something to be acknowledged in that post-apocalyptic, apathetic way. I get ‘em too, bud. He never mentioned them, so you wouldn’t ask. 

To see him unravel is another thing entirely. 

Like corduroy twill being picked apart at the seams. A material made to be durable, to tough out years of erosion. He quivers, forearms contracting over his chest, his brows creasing. Something about Sarah as his hands rub together, clawing at his palms. 

You wind your limbs around your middle. It’s frightening, you realise. You’ve come to know this man in the snarled face of adversity – he’s never so much as stuttered, carved in resilient rock. But it had to have come from somewhere, and if not vomit, if not viscera, if not fungi–

Whatever it is that torments him, you pour a glass of water and wait for him to wake. 

He doesn’t look at you when he does. You don’t blame him; you’re practically pellucid, yellowing undertones an effect of the lesion that marks your stomach. The only thing you’d gotten out of the warehouse were medical supplies in abundance. You credit only them with your continued survival. 

“I’m going back.” Joel says, tapping his index on the glass. You blink, nonplussed at the sudden noise. You recover in half the time, though, and open your mouth to protest. “We left some valuable shit behind.” He interrupts.

“You can’t go alone.” 

“You’re staying behind.” 

“I’m fine,” You start, then wince with the movement.

He stares at you, incredulous. The silence punctuates his point. 

“Tess has a few men holding it down. It should be simple.” And with how he grits it, the words hissed through clenched teeth, it’s evident he means it as an end to the discussion. But doubt maturates, wheezing in the way punctured lungs do, sore under the pierce of cracked ribs. Tension swells from the afflicted site. You can’t control the disillusion in your tone. 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

Nothing erupts. 

Not how you expected it to, anyway. It takes a moment for the blame to meet him, to find its honest meaning. In that time, it hangs between you, echoing, precariously balanced on seething eye contact. Then, his gaze flickers down to your abdomen. 

“I’m not the idiot who almost got herself killed.” 

It carries all the malice you wished for, and more. 

(Whatever tenderness he had left must have bled out with you on that floor.)

He doesn’t die. But then again, that wasn’t what you were concerned about. 

Joel makes his first appearance three days later. The return is sporadic, and divided upon many, each time with a small bag of supplies he stuffs underneath the floorboard. The sacking was successful, then– 

(He throws a bottle of antibiotics onto the kitchen counter, his jerking shoulder a rough indication that it’s meant for your injury. But when his face catches the light, you’re thrown with the inkling that he might need them more than you.)

–though, nothing is without its faults. 

Eggplant purple and violent red blend in a mottled contusion across his cheekbone, painted down to his neck – beyond his collar – hidden to your wandering gape. You’re no stranger to bruises; the world collapsed in on humanity a good twelve years ago, and burst capillaries have become a constant under the macerating weight. Yet it’s another layer stripped, a sheet of titanium snatched off the manifold complexity that is him. You’d never seen the evidence of his pain so clearly illustrated atop his skin. 

“Joel–”

“Leave it.” He snaps. 

You bite the inside of your cheek, pushing yourself up to sit by the sink. It’s futile to beckon him over, so you wait his pacing out by dousing a rag in leftover alcohol. 

“Was there anything even left?” You accuse. He unzips a duffel bag atop the dining room table, ruffling through a layer of bandaids. 

“Yes. The rations’ll last us two months, if we sell to the right people.” 

“Thrilling.” 

Your sarcasm lingers until he finally finds what he’s looking for, pulling out a jar of ground coffee from behind a box of detachable blades. When he walks over to fetch a mug, you grab him by the wrist and wrench him closer. 

(You wouldn’t have been able to, had he not let you. You know his strength trumps yours.) 

When you touch the makeshift wipe to his face, he doesn’t so much as flinch. 

“What did this?” The question stretches, losing its structural integrity under your elemental concern. This is all novel territory – you don’t make a habit of licking another’s wounds clean. But his desperate pleas hold possession over you; the restrained distress, the wavering timbre. Stay with me now. We’ll get this fixed. 

“Gun.” 

Your hand falters over his jaw. 

“Butt end.” He adds. “FEDRA was on the scene.” 

“Right. Do I even have to say it?” You whisper. ‘Told you so’ titters on the tip of your tongue.

“No.” He concedes.

The two of you sit like that for a long while after, locked in a begrudging dance that pulls you off your feet. Winter has nearly melted to its end, now; the howling gale tapering to a draft that crawls beneath window sills. Somehow still, it penetrates you, even colder than before. 

(Joel crackles like a fed furnace, biting at the firm coals of your desire. You unconsciously veer closer, wiggling your hips until your legs cage his. He holds you in place with one large hand, the other gliding beneath the hem of your jeans.) 

“You’re hurt–” 

“So are you.” He settles. His fingers press up against the plush of your cunt, finding that electric centre. It’s debilitating, overstimulating and likewise, not enough; a defibrillator to your core, one that cannot revive you. 

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, finding purchase in his broad build. It does nothing dampen the needy moan you make when he pushes your panties to the side, toying with your swollen folds. He spots you, clenching around nothing, soaking the calloused pads of his thumb. It takes place on your clit, then, index and middle inching towards your hole to plug you full.

“Needy fucking thing.” He groans, shoving his tongue down your maw. It’s not a kiss. Far from it. He doesn’t try to match the pace of your gaping surrendering, preferring to devour you instead. You pant up into his mouth, gyrating with the back and forth of his pumping digits. 

He claws out in you your tender-most spots. 

(But that’s just it, isn’t it?

He might not be gentle, in the worn definition of the word. The touch that peels petals, reverent, finding delicacy in the finest bits of creation; gold leaf and concentrated fragrance. What you spent so long holding onto – the beauty that’s become obsolete in a post-fungal land.  

But you cannot kid yourself. 

He’s raw, uninhibited. You’ve seen it – that supplantation of humanity, a measure to rise above the monsters that hunt you. A sore bundle of mortality and death, left unhealed, yet just as capable of flaring when you reach out towards it.  

Like stepping up when you buckle under the horror of your own reality. Wiping your chin of filth. Shaking with you, fading out on his lap, his best efforts centred in on your mutilated centre. The nightmares that plague him, seeking out whatever weakness lies dormant. 

If you had to choose, you’d say he favours sunflowers.)

“Joel,” You whine, sinking your face in his neck. 

“That’s it… C’mon, baby. Cum for me.” 

That night, he pulls something out of his bag, tucking it in your pocket as he joins you in bed.

“Hm?” Murmuring, you reach to wrap your hand around his. The fabric in his grasp is thick, knitted. 

Gloves.

“Noticed you’ve been cold.”

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[karkaraoke]

ANACONDA

originally written and performed by fotherMucker, covered by me for SAHcon 2023 cabaret. i wasn't brave enough to RP with myself at the end lol

my anaconda dont my anaconda dont my anaconda dont want none

unless you got nubs hun

SICK PRICK NAMED DAVE USED TO LIVE IN A GAME NOW HE'S STUCK HERE WITH ME DROVE ME FUCKING INSANE DOESN'T HAVE ANY HOBBIES, EVERYONE ELSE IS PAILING I WAS FINE ON MY OWN NOW ALL I'M DOING IS SCREAMING

W- W- WAIT, WAIT, WAIT I TAKE THAT BACK, WHY DID I TAKE THE DAMNED BAIT? SHUT THE FUCK UP! I MEANT IN ANGER YOU INGRATE YOU FUCKING PERV, WOULDN'T LET HIM NEAR MY TAINT THIS IS SOME DUMB SHIT

BY THE WAY, WHAT HE SAY? HE CAN TELL I AM CURBING MY SPIELS GOT A SECRET THAT I DON'T WANNA FUCKING YIELD WHEN I SEE HIM I FEEL ILL HE KEEPS TELLING ME TO CHILL PINCH MYSELF DAMN IT'S REAL THAT I NOTICE HIS APPEAL HE'S IRONICALLY FLIRTY, ALWAYS MAKES A FUCKING JAB SO I GRABBED MY FUCKING BAG AND I LEFT THE FUCKING LAB LIKE DONE-D-D-DONE-DONE-D-D-DONE DONE

my anaconda dont my anaconda dont my anaconda dont want none

unless you got nubs hun

OH MY GOD, BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE OH MY GOD, BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE OH MY GOD, BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE

HE'S GOT THIS FUCKING RIDICULOUS CAPE THE DORK SAYS IT'S IRONIC, LOOKS LIKE AN OLD SET OF DRAPES I'M FEELING KINDA SLEEPY AND HE'S NOT PAYING ATTENTION IT'S NOT MY FUCKING FAULT IT'S LIKE ITS OWN DIMENSION I LIKE THE FEEL, FEEL, FEEL IT'S LIKE A BLANKET AND I SEE THE APPEAL HE'S A HEATER, IT'S A TWO FOR ONE DEAL I CLOSE MY EYES, CAN'T BELIEVE THIS SHIT IS REAL I THINK SOME DUMB SHIT

BY THE WAY, WHAT HE SAY? HE CAN TELL I AM CURBING MY SPIELS GOT A SECRET THAT I DON'T WANNA FUCKING YIELD WHEN I SEE HIM I FEEL ILL HE KEEPS TELLING ME TO CHILL PINCH MYSELF DAMN IT'S REAL THAT I NOTICE HIS APPEAL HE'S IRONICALLY FLIRTY ALWAYS MAKES A FUCKING JAB SO I GRABBED MY FUCKING BAG AND I LEFT THE FUCKING LAB LIKE DONE-D-D-DONE-DONE-D-D-DONE DONE

my anaconda dont my anaconda dont my anaconda dont want none

unless you got nubs hun

OH MY GOD, BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE OH MY GOD, BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE OH MY GOD, BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE BOTHER SOMEONE ELSE

[justalonelybitch]

Possessions of The Heart

Yunjin x F!Reader (Ft. Karina)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, Jealously, Possessiveness

Word Count: 3.7k

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Possession: to retain ownership and control over someone or something. A possession is something precious that one holds dear, nurturing and caring for it. To protect it from the loathsome dangers of this infected world. Keeping it to oneself, for it is not to be shared, but to be sheltered from the tainted touch of careless humans. Something to be cherished by only one, for others cannot truly appreciate the magnitude of its beauty. Admiring it for every fault, as beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Learning to love every unique feature and treasure it for as long as one can possess it. Understanding all its unusual quirks, knowing what it takes to maintain its pure innocence. Preserving its integrity and most importantly, not letting it fall into the poisoned hands of one's deceitful foes.

To Huh Yunjin, you were a possession.

She valued you above all else, treating you with the utmost attentiveness. You were her most prized possession and she cherished you with all her heart. There was nothing more important to Yunjin than you, she didn’t have a clue in the slightest as to why, but what she did know was that when she was with you, nothing else seemed to matter. She admired your every quality, good or bad, there was no difference to her. Your flaws were perfection in her eyes, features that merely further enhanced her attraction to you. Whether you held her heart in the palm of your hand was never a question, but a reality Yunjin faced with open arms. She feared nothing when it came to loving you, for it was a leap of faith she’d take any day. You were worth the risk, everything about you made her more willing to hand over the keys to the fortress she’d kept guarded most her life.

Only one problem remained. A possession you may be, but Huh Yunjin’s you were not.

“Unnie?” Your soft whisper broke her from those poisoned racing thoughts, gaze flickering from the ceiling to you. Her chocolate brown orbs met yours in the darkness, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. Yunjin’s arms moved with a mind of their own as they snaked around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. Waiting patiently for you to speak, a giggle slipped past her lips as you snuggled into the crook of her neck with a shy whine. You felt her fingertips begin to trace calming nonsensical patterns along the bare skin of your back where your shirt had ridden up. “How do you know if you like someone?” You mumbled, warm breath tickling the skin of her neck. Yunjin’s hands came to an abrupt halt as the words rolled off your tongue, grip on your waist tightening as she felt her breath catch in her throat.

“You like someone?” She uttered, her body was rigid, chest tightening as she anxiously awaited your answer. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking,” you grumbled, raising your head to glance up at her expectantly. Yunjin breathed out a heavy sigh, swallowing the bitter taste that clung to her tongue with a harsh gulp. “How do you feel around them?” She asked, brushing the hair out of your face with a gentle smile. “Excited.” You muttered, a grin unconsciously breaking out on your face. “Do you feel butterflies around them?” She questioned, voice strained as she stared down at you, painfully aware that the blush spreading across your cheeks wasn’t for her. “Nope,” you shook your head, brows furrowing in mild confusion. “I think I feel safe around them. They always make me feel calm, even just looking at them.” You spoke with a stupidly wide grin that made Yunjin’s heart ache in her chest.

“What else?” She asked, desperately trying to mask her growing disappointment. “They always look out for me and go out of their way to make sure I’m doing okay. It always makes my heart beat faster,” you admitted, unaware of the way Yunjin’s forehead creased as she frowned deeply. “And when they smile..” You paused, a grin spreading across your face at the mere thought. “It’s like the whole world lights up,” you mumbled dreamily. “I think you like them, Y/n,” Yunjin said, a bittersweet smile adorning her lips. “Oh.” Was all you managed to murmur, gnawing on the inside of your cheek as your eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happier,” she questioned, confusion spreading across her features.

“They don’t like me back anyway,” you huffed, dropping your head to her chest with a sigh. “They would be stupid not to,” Yunjin grits out, hand unconsciously travelling up to comb through your hair. “They’d be lucky to have you,” she declared, smiling as you whined in embarrassment. The older girl couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling of jealousy that overcame her at the thought of you liking someone else. She didn’t ever want to let you go, she liked the way things were. Yunjin had never had a problem with just being friends in the past, but now that you liked someone, things were entirely different. You were never hers to claim, but there was always an unspoken agreement amongst those who knew you both, you were property of Huh Yunjin. 

You spent so much time together, joined at the hip and rarely found without her hands all over you. Hell, you even shared a bed every night, even when you had your own perfectly usable one. Your excuse was the nightmares, which you’d claimed never affected you in Yunjin’s secure hold. The older girl didn’t bother to question it, too overjoyed to have you crawl into her bed each night. You were always too caught up in each other to notice anyone else, so liking someone wasn’t something Yunjin was expecting. She didn’t dare think about the possibilities that could come of it, knowing she would only spiral further, which could result in her doing something rash she’d regret. Yunjin knew it was selfish, but she wanted to keep you to herself.

She couldn’t just let her most prized possession go without a fight.

~~ The atmosphere in the waiting room was unusually tense, all the members unusually silent as they eyed each other uneasily. Yunjin’s piercing gaze was trained on her lap where your hands lay intertwined, a possessive growl threatening to bubble from her lips every time someone so much as approached you. Your head rested lazily on her shoulder, eyes fluttered shut as you slept peacefully, Yunjin’s arm draped lazily around your waist as you curled into her side. She had clung to your side all day, sending anyone who dared to advance closer a deadly glare. You hadn’t complained, seemingly enjoying all the extra attention, but your members had suffered as a result. They were sentenced to an awkward standstill in fear of her wrath, knowing anyone who accidentally woke you would be in grave danger.

Yunjin’s ears perked up at the sound of a faint sound on the door, her lips twisting into a scowl as you began to stir. Eunchae jumped up from her seat, bounding towards the door with a cheery smile, praying that someone would save her from this madness. “Karina sunbaenim,” the youngest greeted their guest with a puzzled grin, brows furrowing in mild confusion. The leader of Aespa shifted her weight from one leg to another, hands clasped behind her back as she sent Eunchae a tight lipped smile, followed by a brief bow. “Uh, is Y/nnie here?” Karina questioned, glancing over Eunchae’s shoulder in search of you. The members' eyes naturally drifted to Yunjin, each sporting a more concerned look than the last as her forehead creased in a deep frown. 

Yunjin’s grip on you tightened significantly, fingertips unconsciously digging into your hip as she poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue. The action had your eyes fluttering opened, a whine leaving your parted lips as you yawned sleepily, shifting in her hold. “There’s someone here for you Y/n unnie,” Eunchae called from the door. You blinked owlishly, glancing to the door where Jimin stood with a sheepish smile. Confusion was painted across your members' faces as your features lit up at the sight of Karina, each of them bewildered as they watched you jump up with an excited smile. As you began to stride towards Jimin, a gentle yet firm tug on the back of your shirt kept you from moving further. Perplexed, you whipped around to face Yunjin, brows furrowed and her lips jutted out in a pout as she stared up at you.

“I’ll be back soon,” you promised with an assuring smile, reaching out to give her hand a gentle squeeze before slipping out of her grasp. Yunjin sighed in defeat as you skipped towards the door, watching as you beamed at the leader, a melodious laugh escaping your lips as she whispered something in your ear. The main vocalist found the corners of her mouth tugging upwards as careless chuckles bubbled from your pretty pink lips that she longed to kiss. Her features softened at the sight of your reddening cheeks, a shy smile gracing your face. She admired your every feature from afar with a fond smile, one that was replaced by a scowl the second she was reminded of Jimin’s presence by your side. Yunjin wasn’t the cause of your flushed cheeks or timid smile, her hands balled into fists at the thought.

Yunjin blinked in confusion as the door abruptly clicked shut, but it wasn’t quick enough for her to miss the way Jimin’s arm slung around your shoulder. She felt an unsettling feeling blooming in chest as it tightened uncomfortably, eyes narrowed at the closed door, willing it to open. “Yunjin-ah,” Chaewon muttered in concern, taking a seat beside her and giving the blonde a consoling pat on shoulder. Yunjin didn’t budge, not bothering to spare her leader a glance as she imagined all the things you and Jimin could possibly be doing behind the stupid door that kept her from admiring your beautiful face. She was vaguely aware of the way her nails dug into the skin of her palms, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, not when her mind was flooded with images of Jimin all over you.

Yunjin wasn’t even aware that she was holding her breath until you slipped back into the room, heaving a sigh of relief as you padded towards her. A breathless chuckle escaped her lips as you leaped into her arms, happily sitting on her lap upon noticing Chaewon had taken up your previous seat. “What did she want?” Yunjin grit out with a faux smile, struggling to suppress her evident displeasure. “Just to congratulate us,” you smiled, waving around the flowers Jimin had gifted you with a bright grin. The blonde clenched her jaw at the sight of your favourite flowers presented in a neatly arranged bouquet, rolling her eyes in irritation. “Wow, she must know you well, unnie. I didn’t even know you two were friends,” Eunchae muttered in disbelief upon closer inspection of the flowers.

“We ran into each other awhile ago and she asked for my number.” You explained with a sheepish smile, scratching the back of your neck. Yunjin’s arms snaked around your waist, pulling you into her body with an indignant huff. You looked down to her in confusion before shrugging uninterestedly and leaning into her compelling touch. She grinned triumphantly as you dropped the flowers on the couch to cling to her instead. “Unnie, I’m gonna go out tonight,” you informed Chaewon, earning a raised brow from the leader. “Jimin unnie asked me to dinner,” you explained, hiding your face in Yunjin’s chest upon hearing a chorus of cheers from your members. “Is it a date?” Sakura asked warily, eyes swirling with uncertainty. “No, I don’t think so at least,” you muttered unconvincingly, waving your hands frantically in refusal, but the blush that spread across your cheeks told Yunjin a different story.

She despised Yoo Jimin for having the courage to do what she couldn’t.

~~

Yunjin sat tiredly on the couch, impatiently tapping her foot on the floor as she awaited your presence. It had been hours since she’d watched you get all dressed up for the ‘friendly dinner’, as you’d called it, but you were still yet to return. A part of her wasn’t sure she wanted you to, it would mean this was real. You were on a date with Yoo Jimin, a successful idol that Yunjin was almost certain you had a crush on. No matter how much you denied it, the smile that spread across your face along with a blush whenever Jimin was mentioned made her think otherwise. Yunjin was too careless, she had foolishly hoped that you, along with everyone else, had seen your bizarre relations as more than just platonic. You were slipping through her fingers and into the arms of someone else far too fast for her liking.

She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, eyes dropping to the floor as a disappointed sigh escaped her lips. Her thoughts raced at a dangerously fast pace, each worse than the last as she anxiously gnawed on the inside of her cheek. Distracted by her painful realisations, Yunjin failed to notice the front door clicking open, gentle footfall on the creaky wooden floorboards falling deaf in her ears. “Yunjin unnie!” You cheered loudly, tipsily stumbling towards her hunched figure. Rising from the couch with furrowed brows, the older girl barely managed to catch you as you toppled into her. “You’re drunk,” the blonde stated observantly, noticing your flushed cheeks and the way you giggled unprompted. “I’m not,” you shook your head in protest, earning an unimpressed stare from Yunjin.

“Stay here,” Yunjin ordered, placing you down on the couch with a sigh. She darted towards the kitchen, filling up a glass of cold water before rushing back to you. “Drink this,” she commanded, a pout adorning your lips, but you slipped away obediently when she glared down at you. Clumsily handing her the empty glass, you let your head fall back against the cushions, struggling to keep your eyes opened. “Stay with me,” you pleaded, blindly reaching for her hand and missing by miles. This time she didn’t reach out to help you. “Please,” you hiccuped, sleepily curling into a ball. “Not tonight,” she whispered with a bittersweet smile adoring her lips, earning a drawn out whine from you. “Why?” You grumbled, forehead creased in a deep frown as your eyes fluttered shut. “Because I can’t be what you want me to be anymore,” she uttered upon hearing soft snores escaping your parted lips.

Yunjin didn’t want to be just a friend, she craved more, she wanted your heart.

~~

You eyed Yunjin from afar, bottom lips sucked between your teeth as you stared longingly after her. Gone was the girl who once clung to your side any chance she could get, replaced by one who refused to stay beside you for more than a minute. She was a shell of her former self, no more bright smiles and stupid jokes, only cold stares and rushed conversations. You longed to approach her with your entire being, but the walls that guarded her seemed impenetrable for someone she refused to engage with. A strange feeling of discomfort began to overwhelm you as the eyes that were once trained on all permanently now refused to spare your a glance. The one who once protected you from the harsh glares of the distasteful bunch was now the one sending them your way.

You couldn’t understand how someone could change everything about themselves in the span of a night. Perplexed by her abnormal behaviour, you anxiously picked at the skin of your fingers, mind clouded with nothing but thoughts of Yunjin. Without the older girl to lull you to sleep in her comforting hold as she sang you her latest composition, you were lost. Met with countless sleepless nights as a result of her avoidance, you found yourself seeking out the comfort she’d once given you elsewhere. Yunjin was no longer there to listen to your troubles, for she was now the cause. You wanted nothing more than to know what her reason was for avoiding you, why she insisted on staying away.

Yunjin was pushing you further into the arms of Yoo Jimin.

~~

A faint knock on Yunjin’s door had her yelling a muffled ‘come in,’ as she stared down at her notebook in frustration. Finger caught between her teeth, she tried desperately to form the right words for her song. Truth be told, she was lost without you as a muse, stuck in a state of self loathing. She hated herself for the decisions she’d made, every bone in her body willing her to take it all back. But she couldn’t, not when she’d justified her actions. It was her that was holding you back from happiness, it was the conclusion she’d come to that night. Scaring away any potential suitors was no longer an option, not if it cost your happiness. If Yoo Jimin was who you wanted, she would let you go. But she wasn’t strong enough to stick around and watch you fall in love with someone else, she couldn’t bring herself to do it for you, no matter how hard she tried.

“Unnie,” your gentle voice was like music to her ears, heart fluttering as she snapped her head up in surprise. She stared blankly at you, mouth agape you stood in her doorway, features glowing in the natural light. No matter how many times she set her gaze upon you, her stomach never failed to swarm with butterflies. Admiring your angelic features never got old, she would do it all day without fail, but she couldn’t, not anymore. Clearing her throat, Yunjin averted her gaze awkwardly, lips parting to speak. “What are you doing here?” Was all she managed to utter, sounding far harsher than she’d anticipated. “Why are you avoiding me?” You responded with question, refusing to back down under her cold gaze.

“I’m not,” she denied easily, tongue poking the inside of her cheek. “You’re gonna lie to me too?” You questioned incredulously, stepping closer to Yunjin who now rose to her feet. She huffed indignantly at the accusation, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t get what the big deal is,” she muttered, your brows sewn together in confusion. “Aren’t you hurting like I am?” You asked, a pained gaze meeting her eyes that swirled with unease. Yunjin tilted her head in puzzlement, forehead creasing in a frown. “I feel like I’m going insane all because I haven't spoken to you in days,” you admitted, running a frustrated hand through your hair. “Why does it matter? Can’t you just talk to Karina sunbaenim instead.” Yunjin muttered stubbornly, mind clouded by jealousy.

“Is that what you want?” You asked, gazing up to the older girl in disbelief. “It’s what you want,” Yunjin insisted, lips pursed. “Why do you get to be the one to decide that?” You grit out, stepping dangerously closer to the blonde, faces lingering mere inches apart. “I never said that was what I wanted,” you protested her claim, glaring at Yunjin with narrowed eyes. “Then what do you want?” She in exasperation, eyes dancing with irritation. “I want you! Not Jimin unnie, you idiot!” You yelled in frustration, blood running cold upon realising the words that you’d foolishly allowed to slip past your lips. “What?” Yunjin whispered in disbelief, voice lowering an octave. “It’s nothing, just forget I said anything,” you mumbled in embarrassment, taking a reluctant step backwards.

Your eyes widened as Yunjin’s hands darted out to grasp your hips, abruptly pulling you flush against her. “Say it again,” she ordered, a distant look in her eyes as they briefly flickered to your lips. Mouth parting in shock, you stared up at her, blinking owlishly. “Say it,” she growled, fingers digging into your hips as she tugged you impossibly closer. “I want you,” you whispered, cheeks flushed pink. As if you’d flipped a switch, Yunjin suddenly surged forwards, lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss. Your body stiffened in her hold, muscles tense as you stood deathly still. When you didn’t kiss back quick enough for her liking, the older moved her lips against yours, tongue darting out to swipe across your lips. Sighing into the kiss as your eyes finally fluttered shut, Yunjin nudged her nose against yours with a chuckle.

“You want me,” she uttered with a pleased smile upon leaning back to catch her breath. “I don’t know why you ever thought otherwise,” you mumbled breathlessly in disbelief, forehead pressed to hers. “I’ve only ever wanted you,” you confessed, chest rising and falling steadily. “No one else?” Yunjin questioned, wanting to rid herself of all those baseless insecurities. “No one else,” you assured, reaching up to cup her cheeks, caressing them with the pads of your thumbs. “Not even Jimin unnie,” you mumbled, a possessive growl leaving her lips at the mention of Aespa’s leader, grip on your hips tightening. You grinned fondly, leaning up to peck her mouth. She chased your lips with an eager grin, eyes crinkling into crescents at the sound of your melodious laughter.

“These are mine,” she muttered with a possessive growl, hand travelling up to swipe her thumb over your glossy lips. You smiled bashfully, a blush dusting your cheeks. “You’re cute when you blush,” Yunjin muttered, admiring your features with an appreciative smile. She would never stop loving you until the day she died, not when you’d so graciously handed over the keys to your heart. Now that you were hers, she vowed to never let you go. “You know, I always thought we were kinda already a couple,” you mumbled thoughtfully into the darkness, now wrapped in her arms as you lay sleepily in bed. Yunjin hummed lightly, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head. “I thought so too, then you told me you liked someone..” she trailed off, the words leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “It was you, idiot.” You mumbled, shaking your head in amusement as she groaned in annoyance, arms tugging your impossibly closer.

Huh Yunjin learnt that you were just as much her possession as she was yours.

this was messy, all over the place and super bad...

edit: i lied this is the shit right here

[recycledraccoon]

I think my thoughts on the penultimate episode can be summoned up as disappointment over a potential we didn't get to see, and why that's ok. (This got long, 1.4k oops lol)

Am I a fan of The Rat Grinders? ABSOLUTELY. I think I started liking them even more when they were full-on confirmed villains. As fan's of the edited show, watching with a week between each episode to theorize and think, I loved seeing and theorizing over these 6 fucked up kids. We know Kipperlily prior to the second half of sophomore year, while she obviously still had her anger and jealousy over TBK's it wasn't ENTIRELY unjustified and completely out of control (although some aspects were utterly and absolutely unfounded and ridiculous). Jawbones file mentions her language being "I think Aguefort likes them more", "The school takes it easy on them", and "Half of them don't even go to classes." All of these are true things people in this world would notice. It's not until AFTER their Mountain of Chaos chaperoned trip, at the end of the year, that KLCK switches to "I hate them." The Bad Kids further briefly discuss if Jace would have asked Jawbone/looked for "students with rage disorders." I think specifically mention it being a disorder is important. Acknowledging its there, KLCK WAS trying to get help for an issue she had. They didn't talk to Jawbone about it, but did decide Jace must have given he went on that quest with TRG's. They further briefly talk about students getting randomly mad, and yes they specifically joked about Fabian shitting in class, but WE also remember the Soil club student getting so mad after having gotten that tainted soil. With the 30 Riz rolled, Jawbone's file ALSO specifically talks about Kipperlily loving her adventuring party. We know things weren't perfect, its obvious from when talking about their name change, but its still there and canon. Kipperlily loved her adventuring party. This is all just Kipperlily, mostly with our information from the first part of ep.16. It is not touching on the rest of the members, especially Ruben and his dreamscape we saw, or of his distinct 180 musical tastes POST Sophomore Year Spring Break. The implications of something happening to them during that time is pretty evident and acknowledged. So we're fans, watching a show, spending so much time thinking about not only our infamous protagonists, but also our villains. Many of us adults, getting older, thinking on the tragedy befalling kids and feeling empathy. So yeah. It's a disappointment over an unseen potential. Specifically tho? Its the potential we could have gotten on The Rat Grinder's thoughts and motivations that could have been revealed through dialogue. Dialogue that we got very little of in what could be considered a significant exchange of dialogue and not bits. I always have high narrative expectations from this show, due to its long standing history of SETTING those standards each and every season. This one episode just fell short emotionally while watching, comparatively.

AND THAT'S OK AND ABSOLUTELY NOT THE BAD KIDS/INTREPID HEROES FAULT

On the narrative side of things, The Bad Kids have had an incredibly stressful past 3 years. From day one, they have been involved in life or death stakes situations. It's always been do or die, and they've died, sometimes more than once. They've lost people and faced traumas that go often unaddressed. TBK's ENTIRE highschool experiences have been a revolving door of violence and unhinged situations. They've also always kinda been assholes, insular and more than a little mean especially to those pegged as enemies. We know them, know they have good hearts and intentions, and love and side with them constantly throughout because The Bad Kid's are our heroes. They are still teenage assholes sometimes, but that is something we love and forgive them for. The thing about this recent battle is that they are very used to the situation they are in by now. TBK's have to prioritize, move fast and hard, and get a job done so countless people don't die while something evil rises in their world. Emotions have been high for them all season, rage especially which is absolutely unsurprising on multiple fronts, and it's absolutely showing in what few dialogue exchanges we have. The Bad Kid's entered that gym for the singular purpose of stopping the situation, saving lives, and making sure something evil didn't arise to power in their fucked up world. Nothing new. They hid, already knowing where the final confrontation was going to be FORCED to happen in due to the nature of the ritual, and prepped. On point and smart of them. Then they entered the battlefield, very quickly getting to business. They know their skills, their friends and how to work together as a devastatingly effective team making heavy hits and masterfully controlling a battlefield despite the chaos. This is what The Bad Kid's Do. They got Ivy and Oisin out of combat as fast as possible, Oisin didn't even get a turn. They took out a high-damage long range attacker and the enemy wizard. They know how powerful and important Adaine is on the field, and they knew Oisin would have been the same. They crippled the enemy with the slow spell, effectively taking Mary Ann out of the running until it gets dispelled later on. Fig saw Ruben's high damage level 9 spell and dropped her ploy to get him out of combat as soon as she could. It was too dangerous to have him up, and while the hell bit was uncomfortable in the moment, it is absolutely on brand. This is what they have to do, if they want to stop Porter, who is our real main big-bad. Remove as many obstacles from the battle so more of them can focus on the fight that really matters.

This combat wasn't ever gonna go any other way, unless the dice gods decided otherwise.

This is what The Bad Kid's Do. In regards to the IH's, it is VERY important to acknowledge that while I've mentioned having high narrative expectations, this is still primarily an improve comedy show around a group of real people's DnD game. It's also a show they have a tight filming schedule for, with back to back days and long hours which we KNOW from the talk-backs leave them very tired. Like any tv show they also have a limit on how many episodes per season they can even produce. I think it was a real and genuine benefit to Sophomore year that they were doing it live, because it gave more time between sessions for the IH's to mull over information and whats been happening in-game. This is also a very well developed campaign world they haven't played in several years, which I certainly know would effect me in how I played. We still have one more episode, the Finale, and so much always happens there. I have incredible faith in Brennan as a DM and storyteller, for all that his players have a huge say in how any story he tells unfolds. There is a VERY real chance that what happens in the finale completely changes my mind on episode 19, and I will go back to rewatch with absolute glee because I know of the coming emotional catharsis in relation to The Rat Grinders. There is also a very real chance we don't get that in the way we want it, but that will be ok too. I will still love this season, rewatch it and laugh and have fun. The best part of having a fandom, is watching us take canon apart to fuel endless au's, fix-it's, character studies, ect. Taking crumbs and going wild with it is par the course, especially when something in a show has left us wanting in the moment of watching it. I think more than anything, I would be and am more upset from infighting and genuine anger directed to each other and especially towards our Intrepid Heroes. It is not wrong to be upset with an episode of a show, but it is to take those feelings out on others, be in in defense from Rat Grinder's fans or justification from Rat Grinder haters. So yes! I was disappointed with this particular episode emotionally. I still think it was funny, I think the combat was brilliant and fun to watch. I still love this show and this cast, and could never dream of being mad at them for how they played a game, and for the fun they were finding within the act of playing it as the well-known unhinged improv comedians we know and love.

I'm excited for next week, buuut I am absolutely consuming fan-content to help deal with my emotions, both the highs and lows.