#what if your resentment & desire had physical form

[taitavva]

[Worlds in Worlds — Danusha Laméris]

[starlazergazer]

Say My Name and Everything Just Stops

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Summary: A short little piece about Anakin being totally enamored with you as you get dressed up for a ball

Warnings: None!

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N: This is something that’s been sitting in my drafts forever always figuring I’d work it into a story at some point but I think it stands on its own well but let me know what y’all think! I absolutely love hearing from you!!!!

 A small chuckle fell from his lips at the look on your face, the way your eyebrows scrunched in concern, the way your heel danced in the air slightly as you pushed your weight forward to your toes.

“Here” he whispered to you, choosing to ignore the fact that he leaned in closer than necessary to do so, offering you his arm.

You sent him a small, grateful smile that had him fighting his own from growing even wider, before carefully placing your hand into the crook of his elbow.

It was a featherlight touch, one he might not have even noticed given the right circumstances, but you looking like that in that dress, staring up at him through your lashes, a pink tint in your cheeks from the embarrassment, that featherlight touch was all he could think of.

He worked to descend the stairs slowly, eyes never peeling from your form as you tired to hold your head high, to exude confidence, he was sure you had every eye in the building on you.

Then suddenly your heel snagged on the carpet unexpectedly, a small shift of your weight in his direction as you quickly corrected it, then that featherlight touch changed to you fully gripping his bicep.

And if he had thought that featherlight touch was distraction it was nothing compared to the electricity that ran through his arm from this new one.

You didn’t even acknowledge him as it happened, leaning into him for stability for a brief moment, subtle enough there was no way anyone had even noticed, but still Anakin reached up and patted your hand in a wordless question. You squeezed his arm back in response.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground floor, the stable ground putting even more confidence into you as your grip on his arm loosened, loosened but never fully let up, a fact that had Anakin grinning down at his shoes.

All too soon there was a swarm of people, the senator herself coming in to make introductions and Anakin held out his hand to each person without even listening to their name, his mind unable to stray far from the hand on his arm and the stunning woman that accompanied it.

And he tried not to resent the senator pulling you away for a hug for her welcome, but with the way your hand finally left his bicep, your fingers softly dragging down to his elbow then forearm as you were pulled away, the trail of sparks that were sent shooting beneath his skin at the small contact, the coldness of the area once you had finally vacated it, he found it incredibly hard not to.

Politely he forced himself through his own hello, a shake of her hand, a small peck on the cheek, a thank you for inviting him, and finally he was back in his own bubble of personal space, wishing that only one person in particular would invade it.

He held his hands clasped together in front of him and tried not to think about the way he pushed his elbows away from his torso, practically begging you to loop your arm through his again. He really tried not to think of the way you seemingly never took notice of that.

Suddenly it was just the two of you again, the welcome party slowly retreating with promises to catch up soon, and the two of you were staring at the dance floor.

And watching the way your eyes would sparkle looking at the other women’s twirling dresses, the small smile that graced your lips as you swayed slightly to the music, Anakin was physically pushing down the desire to ask you to dance.

You whirled back on him so suddenly Anakin barely had time to avert his gaze before you were looking back at him, that same small smile that didn’t really tell Anakin if you had caught him staring or not.

But then there was that grip on his arm again, this time higher, just below his shoulder, a soft squeeze that immediately had all of his attention, not that you didn’t already have it.

“I’m going to go get a drink”

And he was so enamored by that damn hand on his arm that he didn’t even have time to think about offering to get it himself, barely catching up to what had just happened by the time your hand was slipping away from him.

You hadn’t even made it to the bar before a hand was extended in your direction, an offer to dance, a grin on your lips as you accepted placing your hand in his as he led you to the dance floor.

And Anakin tried to focus on how happy you seemed, how eager you were to get to dance, how you grinned as you made polite conversation.

Instead, all he could focus on was the stranger’s hand sitting low on the small of your back, the way he stood way too close as the two of you swayed, the soft pink your cheeks turned at whatever he had whispered into your ear.

He was across the dance floor without a second thought.

Neither of you noticed his approach, the man tensing slightly at the tap on his shoulder, giving him a curt “do you mind” as he gestured to you.

“We just-“ he started before seeming to connect the dots, his eyes flicking between you and Anakin quickly as his brows rose slightly “I’m sorry I didn’t know it was like that”

“It’s not” your confused voice spoke as he finally backed away from you, finally dropped his arms from around you letting Anakin breathe a little easier.

“Well now you do” Anakin offered quickly, giving the man little more time to ask questions before stepping up to take his place, hands going to your hips pulling you into him as he started to sway, the stranger melting into the background immediately in his mind.

Your brow remained furrowed though, eyes bouncing between Anakin and the stranger behind him as your arms nonetheless snaked around his neck, matching your movements to his much to Anakin’s relief.

Suddenly he felt a soft thump on the back of his head as you flicked him, pulling his eyes down to yours in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t what me” you shook your head up at him, unable to keep a hint of amusement from your tone “what was that?”

“I was saving you” he shrugged, his eyes going up to gaze around the room.

“Oh really?” You challenged him with raised brows “saving me from-“

“from a dreadfully boring evening on the arm of that guy” he finished your sentence with a hint of a smug grin on his face as he looked down at you only making you roll your eyes.

“Sure Ani” you chuckled softly, shaking your head “you know if you wanted to dance all you had to do was ask”

He felt his cheeks heat up at your comment, dipping his head slightly lower “now where’s the fun in that”

[writing-havoc]

Waves

♡ Summary: Kaz has thoughts about soulmates, and tests his suspicions.

♡ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

♡ Fandom: Six of Crows, Grishaverse

♡ Warnings: None

♡ WC: 5k

I am in love with soulmate aus and I don't know why I don't write them more often. They itch my brain in a way nothing else can. This is kind of a tattoo mark au where everyone has a personal mark that forms when they start on a path that will lead them to their soulmate(s), whether that path starts physically or mentally. They glow and move upon linking.

Please excuse any spelling and grammar mistakes. Hope yall enjoy <3

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

The irony is not lost on Kaz. It punches him right in the gut when he least expects it, leaving him a little winded and a bit more weary than before. So he learns to expect it. And that's when it eats at him. Gnawing at every hill and valley of his brain and taking what it can of his dispersed heart.

He doesn't allow himself to think how this could have been different if it weren't for Jordie.

It's not worth it, and overall does no good to wonder. Because the past is past and he can't change it.

So he covers, and covers, and covers. For both the sake of his mental well being and not feeling an ugly kind of anger wrap around himself when he has to stare at the mark that stretches up his arms.

He blames Jordie, he holds so much resentment towards him that at times it completely consumes him. But he moves past it, and fools himself for a little while that he's forgiven him. He himself holds part of the blame too for not working on himself and allowing it to fester and worsen as time stretches on. Covering is the only way he knows to give himself some relief.

But it's still always there. Sometimes the mark feels hot in his clothes. Every once in a while he'll roll up his sleeves, letting them breathe the not so fresh Ketterdam air, and go about his afternoon.

And when it's late in the night, after he's had one too many glasses of liquor and the feather pen he's holding shakes and makes his handwriting a little messy, he looks at them in the candlelight and they're burning against his increasingly warming and perspirating skin.

The only part of his hand that's free of a mark is his palms and the bottom of his fingers, but they feel just as clammy and hot as the rest of him, so it doesn't help much.

He knows it doesn't actually burn, but it definitely feels like it.

He's been around very few people long enough for them to make comments about it other than when he's on a job.

And that's where he currently sits now.

It's a bit of a private thing; Up in a penthouse with barely more than a hundred people attending, a gathering is taking place with multitudes of businessmen and traders from across the lands. For Kaz, and you, it's all reconnaissance work.

"My my, that's a beautiful mark you got there." The woman in front of him asked.. She was on the taller side, face covered in make up with her lips painted a bright red. "Who's the lucky winner?" A hint of desire sparks in her eyes.

He exerts a chuckle. "That would be my partner." He looks over to the right, nodding his head towards you.

You were dressed in crisp cream dress clothes, a stark contrast from the ocean of blacks and reds that differ from the colorful streets of Ketterdam. Barely any makeup was applied to you before you left, just some to cover old scars and open pores. Your lips were painted black, leaving a stain on the glass of champagne in your left with another stainless one in your right.

He watched as you chuckled with a man, his hand caressing your shoulder. You let it happen, and then moved along, saying your goodbyes.

The woman in front of him turns to look where he's staring, and shifts a little when you make your way back to sit beside him. He smiles at you, telling himself he's playing a part.

"Champagne for you, my love." You purr, handing him the one you were sipping out of.

"Thank you, dove." He picks it up, placing his lips directly on the stain you made and stares at the woman. She doesn't seem the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"You two are absolutely gorgeous together, you know that?"

You chuckle from beside him. "We have gotten that compliment before, yes. But it's never tiring to hear." She chuckles as you lean toward him in your chair, folding your arms in front of yourself with the glass still held comfortably in your fingers. "Surely you should know the same. Your wife is an incredibly lucky woman."

"Isn't she?" She agrees. "She's gone to get us some treats, but I fear she gets lost easily." She glances around, shifting again as worry creeps onto her features.

"I would suggest finding her, if only to ease your spirits. I understand the worry all too well." He smirks, averting his eyes towards you. "Ghezen knows how often I manage to lose this one."

You open your mouth, a shocked expression he notes is genuine spreads across your features. "I do not!" Your hit his arm with barely enough force to hurt, then retract it immediately.

The woman smiles and stands up, offering her goodbyes and pleasantries, and then leaves.

He waits a few moments before turning to chat with you.

"What's the status so far?"

"Can't I enjoy my champagne for a few moments?" You jest. "This place actually has the good stuff unlike your club."

He shakes his head, but keeps a smile up for the crowd. "My sincerest apologies for not ordering the highest quality of alcohol the whole of Ketterdam and Ravka has to offer to suite your tastes." He picks his own glass back up and drinks some, really analyzing the taste this time.

Its not bad, if a bit fruity for his tastes. Yet he stores the information in the files of his brain. He also notes that he's drinking from the lipstick stain. He takes another sip.

"Thank you. I appreciate it." You smile a shit eating smile, and then give him the update before he has time to respond. "Several of the traders you had your eye on are here tonight, disregarding the ones you've already talked to, however two of them couldn't make it due to abhorrent weather conditions and another fell ill with a case of the common cold and decided to stay home.

Of the few that did make it, again, disregarding the ones you have met, one wants nothing to do with other people and is making a point of staying towards the corners and eating his fill of the 'snacks' as our lovely guest called them earlier, and the others are too busy chatting up the woman to really have given a care what anybody else was saying."

He set the glass down, moving the fabric of the thin cloth glove he was wearing to take a look at his watch. Almost eleven bells.

Quickly he began to calculate the pros and cons of attempting to talk to these sexually insatiable men tonight. If they're as insistent as you say they are, walking with them could be a waste of time and resources. But if their profiles had anything to say about them, then he might be able to wiggle his way in and, upon choosing his words carefully, make at least a memorable impact before their next trip back to Ketterdam.

He was about to make a decision when your fingers ghosted over the skin of his arm. His body tensed, but gave you his attention.

"Incoming, four o' clock."

Incoming from his right, he was able to make out two figures walking towards him, their connected arms glowing.

He recognizes them as Mr. and Mrs. Belldock. They were well known for their displays of physical affection that could otherwise be seen as inappropriate. He's heard stories about them, but he's never seen them in person.

The lightshow between their bodies bounced off the glasses, creating a bit of a rainbow on the table. You hold your glass up in a feeble attempt to block it, but only end up giving your wash a colorful wash of color. It makes his heart clench.

"I'm so sorry if we're intruding, but we couldn't help but notice your mark."

Kaz sighed internally, giving a shy smile externally. "Ah, it is rather out there, isn't it?" He begins to roll his sleeves down just a bit, but Mrs. Belldock places her fingers on his shoulder and his entire body tenses.

"No no! It's beautiful. I was just wondering if you've found your Soulmate yet." She quickly retracts her hand, feeling the stiffness.

"I have." He tries a smile, feeling his lungs fill with water. "That would be my partner here."

She looks over at you, her smile only growing. She offers a hand to you. "It's nice to meet you."

You nod, offering her a thanks and shaking her hand.

"So, what's your story?"

You quirk a brow. "Story?"

"Yes!" She begins to take her seat, her husband following along. "I just love hearing people's stories about how they came to find eachother. They're never the same, always a new adventure."

He watches your face crinkle, head tilting to the side before it lights up in realization. "Ooh, how we found out we were soulmates." Mrs. Belldock nods. "It's rather funny actually, the way we came to be."

You launch into a fabricated story about his and your coming together, and Kaz can't help but watch as your hands move about, working numbers to exaggerate certain parts. There's a smile on your face, genuine as it tilts to one side. He tries not to focus on the painful aching in his heart as your story goes deeper in detail.

He can feel his mark begin to burn as it usually does while the residual water in his lungs freezes him from the inside out. It both makes the situation worse and better when he rolls his sleeves back to where they were, exposing the waves that drag along his pale skin.

It's sickening, yet he yearns to see it in motion. To watch as the arms that clutched his dead brother swim in the ocean of his Soulmates hold, of your hold.

Of all the people that have ever asked about it, you weren't among them. Aren't among them. And it's strange the way that fact hurts him a little.

Jesper has asked, Wylan has asked, Nina has asked, Matthias has asked, Inej has asked, that Ravkan king, Nikolai, has asked. All who have seen his mark has asked and have received an answer that will never satisfy them.

But you haven't. You stare and stare, memorizing it with your eyes and tracing it with your fingers in the air, even drawing it out in your sketchpad when you get really bored, but never asking.

He doesn't know whether it's out of respect or disinterest in the answer, but it makes him feel like a lovesick puppy and it gets under his skin. Because feeling like that is dangerous. It's a hook that anybody could grab onto and uproot everything he's worked towards.

And yet here he is, wanting. Wanting for more than he should no matter how much he already has, overwhelmingly aware that he's not going to get it.

As he listens to you, he wants this. Not the story you're conjuring up (which has evolved into meeting on the streets in Ravka during a circus-esque performance), not in a million years. But he wants a story. A story you can tell to others with a smile just as bright as the one you're exhibiting now, if not brighter.

He's not even a hundred percent sure you're his soulmate. But he wants you to be.

Your mark in question was a bit odd in terms of what's considered normal, and it's the main reason for his skepticism.

It's currently covered utilizing Nina's quickly improving tailoring skills. It won't last much longer, he can see your skin starting to turn oil black where the mark is if he looks closely enough.

From what he's seen, the part that's on your face resembles a cardinal compass, it's north and south faces tilted. The south face points towards the second part of your mark, which he's yet to see or even know the contents of.

The only reason he knows it's not two separate marks, meaning two separate soulmates (which isn't as rare as most would think), is because there's a line, almost like a crack, extending from the point and disappearing beyond where his eyes can follow.

His own mark isn't even separate. It cascades along his back, over his shoulder blades and encompassing a major portion of the back of his ribcage before going along each arm.

You pinched Kazs glove between your fingers, the whispers of a laugh on your lips as you look at the time on his watch.

"We should be heading out now, the nanny will be starting to get anxious."

He quirked a brow, but went along with it. "It was truly nice getting to talk with you both." He held out his hand, allowing one, two hands to squeeze his before grabbing his jacket and going to follow you out.

"I hope you and your kids have a wonderful evening!"

Kaz tripped over his own shoe at the same moment you responded with a thank you and a good evening.

Kids? Multiple? Where did kids come in? There's no way he zoned out for that long... or at all.

Fuck.

--------

The walk back was silent, a stark contrast to the bustling penthouse. Claws from stray dogs scratched the ground as they chased after their meal, the meal in question yowling as it clawed its way up a pipe, turning and arching its back before hissing and scurrying out of sight. His cane provided little stealth for the hungry mutts.

"I'm sorry for touching you back there." Your voice broke the air. "I just could not remember if we were supposed to be using code names or not."

That made him smile. He tried his hardest to suppress it. "Code names were not necessary tonight." He let the silence heal itself, and then broke it again. "Though I do wonder about the names of our kids though."

You chuckled beside him. "I'm sorry, I panicked! She wanted to know our story so I just thought of the first thing I could think of."

"And whose might that be?"

"My parents." A melancholy smile rested on your cheeks. "That was their story. I can remember it like its my own. They've told it to me at least a thousand times. Granted, half of those were me asking to hear it again."

'Ask.' Kaz's mind shouted at him. 'Ask them why. Ask them /why/.' His mind refused to specify the why, a gross thick kind of anxiety slowly filling his aching limbs.

You ask. You ask others, but not him.

"I agree with her in some sense." You continued. "Other people's stories are rather interesting, even if theyre of the most mundane variety. But going around and asking strangers their story just... isn't the way to go about it."

His heart raced. "I suppose you're going to tell me the correct way?"

You shrugged. "Well, that's just it. There is no correct way."

He stayed silent, allowing you to get your thoughts together. Your shoulders were bunched, not yet coming down from their earlier movement. And when they did, it was followed by an exhausted sigh.

"I used to be just like them, asking couples left and right what the story was behind their marks, what event led up to them meeting and finding out that they were a match." You kicked a rock up the street, weaving in and away from him while you followed it's path.

"And eventually, I met a man. A really sweet elderly man, and asked about his. His partner wasn't around, but the mark was just as blatant as mine is. A large cloud smack in the middle of his forehead with a pair of lips at the center. It looked interesting, I just had to know the story. And when I asked, the change was immediate. He became angry and erratic, yelling at me to leave and about how rude I was."

You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, all traces of a smile completely gone from your face. "Later I had found out that he and his soulmate were on two different sides of a very intense family war that ended in his partner and his brother being killed. The only time the two got to connect their marks was the night before the two boys died. They met to see each other in private for the first and last time, shared a kiss, and then parted ways." You kicked the rock, watching as it plunked into the canal. "I've never asked about anyone's mark since, no matter how much I wanted to."

He allows himself to turn to look at you, not startled but completely and utterly dazed when your eyes look at him, open and blown and pleading.

'Ask.' His thoughts run again. 'Be the one to ask.'

Better yet. Allow them to ask.

"Never be afraid to ask the questions you truly wish to know." He begins. "Just prepare yourself for the consequences." He adds, feebly trying to frame it as advice over a direct invitation. He knows it doesn't work, not in the slightest.

The feeling he gets when you smile upon hearing those words... it's not like anything he's ever felt.

It's small, but your entire face holds and releases the energy you have built. All in one breathy sigh.

The whispers of loud talking and chairs moving roughly against wooden floors tickled his ears. He looked to the crooked building that is the Slat, then motioned you along to follow.

He was met with little cheers and questions when he opened the door. Some stared between him and yourself with raised brows. A few drunkenly told him they hoped the night went well and others gave him a simple welcome back. None of it mattered.

The door to his office closed as you entered in front of him, and he tried his hardest to go about his nightly routine. Just taking off his coat and hat, setting his cane on the sink and, undressing himself to give himself a wash.

But the entire time he was distinctly aware of your presence in his office. Everytime the water trickled back into the sink, piercing the air, he thought of you. Everytime the rough surface of the cloth scratched his skin, leaving a red swatch in its wake, he thought of you. Everytime he rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles move against his bones and water bead down to his hips, he thought of you.

He could swear he lost his heart a few times.

He patted himself dry, then grabbed his cane and dirty shirt and limped to his office.

There he saw you standing, out of your dress clothes and into some of his own.

Now he really thinks he may have lost his heart. And his breathing.

He gripped his cane, leather gloves squeaking against the metal crow head. He gives himself one, two, three seconds, and then tosses his dirty clothes into the doorway of his bedroom and limps over to you.

You're seated in a chair in front of his make shift desk, playing with a ball of thin twine he used for keeping papers together. He relished in the way your eyes widened and your face no doubt heated when you realized he was bare from the waist up.

Yet you didn't stop, eyes glued to his skin.

He turned around, allowing you to look at the back.

"I never realized it was so large." He heard the chair creak.

"That would be because you've never seen the full thing."

You chuckled, his skin prickling when he felt your breath on his back. "No shit. I just thought that maybe you had two rather than one."

"I have told others in your company that it's connected."

"No, you haven't."

"I have." He thought back briefly. "Nina asked about it for third time whilst she was drunk. You were right next to her, as alert as ever, as I told her that it's one mark."

Your silence was telling.

He caught sight of you from the corner of his eye as you slowly walked around him, eyes trailing up and over his shoulders, over his collar bone, and down his arms, taking note of everything.

Marks don't necessarily have to connect, which is why theres an absense in his mark of where youre supposed to touch. They don't have to be of a certain theme or even be where your soulmate first touches you. The only constant it seems is that your mark is personal to you, yet linking somehow, in some way, with your partner- or partners. They form in response to a change that led you to meeting them.

His was rather obvious, the freezing waves of the Reapers Barge haunting his life, making him the leader and schemer he is today.

Yours had something to do with you leaving your parents, he'd reckon, and setting your course here.

But he didn't know for sure.

Something was on your mind though, he knew, as you worried your lip between your teeth.

"As much as I loved to ask others about theirs, I don't think I've ever willingly shown anyone what my mark is- my whole mark, anyway." You said, voice small and distant. "And it's not because I didn't want to, but I think the hand print on my face scared people off from asking about it for fear it would unlock some horrible backstory."

Your hands came to the bottom of the shirt, bunching it up in your hands.

"But it's not really anything like that. I hope it's not anything like that."

The shirt continued to rise until it was exposing your ribs, the rest of the mark on full display.

They were waves. Waves not necessarily identical to his but definitely similar. In the middle was a handprint. A handprint, he realized, that was very similar in shape to his own.

"I don't reckon it's anything like that either." He couldn't tear his eyes away from it. It had to be connected to him. It had to.

But he had questions. Questions that you seemed more than prepared to ask and answer yourself.

"I didn't say anything before because I didnt think youd want anything to do with it." You rolled the shirt down, but played with the hem between your fingers. "You have goals, goals that require your attention, goals I don't want to get in the way of." You hesitated, hesitated a long while, before adding, "and it's not like we could prove it with your phobia. I didn't want to get my hopes up only to have them crushed and trigger you all at once."

Your logic was sound, but still his questions felt unanswered.

"I do believe I should have a word in this since it largely involves myself."

You picked at the hem again. "Well, yeah. I guess so but..." He felt his cane move, your hand touching the beak of the crow head just inches from his own hand. "I just thought it'd be easier to not bring it up at all rather than go through the hassle of suggesting it in the first place. You're not an easy man to suggest things to. Or ask things from."

His heart beat harder at that, a twinge of guilt infecting his blood. Only for you. For anyone else he'd scoff and say "that's the point", but it hurts when it's you. He wants your suggestions. Your questions. Anything you could give him he'd take with no qualms.

"Still, I believe my point holds some merit."

You sighed. "Yeah... you're right."

"I would not mind if..." He lifted a pointer finger, just barely making contact with your own. He could hardly feel it through the leather. "If one of these days, now even... if you wanted to test it."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, his mind that was screaming for him to reach out split in two. One side continued it's begging, cheering him on. The other begged for him to retreat and sink into himself.

But you looked at him, shocked and hopeful, and the second half became just a little smaller, a little bit more manageable.

"Kaz." You breathed. "Kaz."

He pressed his finger a little harder. "I know what I want, and I know my limits. If you are willing, then I am too."

"So just to be clear you are agreeing to this of your own volition, right?" You used your hands as you talked, holding an invisible object in front of you. "You're not saying this because you feel an obligation?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. He lifted his cane, hooking the beak in a belt loop of your pants- his pants on your body, and pulled you forward, slowly, gently.

"Yes. Completely of my own volition. No obligation."

You smiled, a delighted giggle bubbling in the air. "Then by all means, go for it."

His heart pounded against his chest so loud, so obscenely loud, he wondered if Nina could detect it from down the stairs. If she could, he was pushing any and all of his hope towards her ignoring it and moving on with her night. He clipped his cane to his own belt, leaving his hands free.

He may not be able to handle skin on skin, but he could handle this for a moment. He peeled off the leather gloves to reveal the cotton ones underneath, much thinner but still a barrier.

There were slits in them just like the leather ones, so when he finally got his hands, arms, and brain working, and touched your face, he could feel the texture of your skin running along a sliver of his finger.

It makes him want to hurl. But he keeps pushing, your mark and his glowing the faintest light. The other hand slides into position, fingers trailing up and under your shirt, and the room gets washed in a deep blue.

The color emanates from his own mark and the waves of your own. An orange color radiates from the compass on your cheek where it spins and rocks, and the waves-

The waves. They flow around his arm like a hurricane, no other course of action. If he thinks about it hard enough he can feel them ripple and move along his flesh, his back tingling like a limb just realizing it's fallen asleep.

Your face is glowing, literally. But the light that shines and bounces at you gives him a completely new appreciation for the little things.

The show lasts no more than a few moments before he pulls back, drowning and gasping for air. He feels like he's being pulled under, but there's an anchor. A stability that wasn't there before.

So he grips it, and is pulled out like a worm on a pole. Youre shoving the leather gloves back on his hands, careful to roll them a bit so your fingers don't graze his. He corrects them when two of his appendages try and fit into one slot, and then unclips his cane for security.

When he finally has his bearings, he realizes that he's just opened a floodgate.

If the marks looked like that muddled by cotton, what brilliance would they hold if he were to take the gloves off?

It's a goal. A solid goal that he could achieve one day. A goal that you could witness /with/ him.

But for now he really, really needs a shirt and some tea.

"You've still got a stain."

What? "A stain?"

"On your lips. From the champagne."

The champagne. The glass that he drank out of, purposefully placing his lips on the stain to peeve some random lady off. Stained his lips.

He looked at his desk, and grabbed a glass of whats probably days old tea and looked at his reflection. Sure enough, there was a faint yet noticeable black smudge on his bottom lip. That's why some people were staring earlier.

Huh.

"That accounts for the weird stares we received." He put the glass down, wiping at his lip with his glove.

"Probably made it worse that we immediately disappeared up here." You retrieved a shirt from his closet, handing it to him.

"Naturally."

The silence that followed was comfortable, his mind reeling at the fact that he touched someone and that someone was you.

As a child, he and Jordie used to wonder what their soulmate was like. At the time Kaz hadn't received his mark, only about eight or nine, but Jordie had his.

One day he woke up and it appeared. It wasn't until hours later that Kaz noticed it had formed on him, the sweat drenching the shirt his brother was wearing, making the oily black tattoo stand out. It was a flock of cardinals all escaping from a central point on his lower back, the point itself being the pads of four fingers.

He thinks, it was a thought Jordie had before he went to bed that made it appear. Opportunity. Freedom.

Soulmate Marks form as a stepping stone. A reassurance you're going in the right direction.

Right now, Kaz can forgive Jordie, if only for a moment, as his mark feels lighter.

∘₊✧──────────────────✧₊∘

Tags:

@b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r @a-candle-maker

[huamea]

— ° 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐢𝐯𝐲

› belphegor x f!reader (you/yours)

› cw: sleep deprivation + associated symptoms, dream encounter, thigh riding, biting, fingering, mirror sex, spit, fingers in throat

› wc: 1.6k

› synopsis: a certain demon has plagued you with late night visits since your early adulthood, giving rise to resentment as he continually interferes in your life from your dreams. But is he really all that bad, or is he just trying to show you the desires you deny yourself?

Saying you hated him was perhaps a little extreme, some part of you felt oddly connected to the devil that had sunk his fingers into your mind over the years. Difficult to not form some connection, even one of spite, with someone you see so frequently.

Not that you physically see him, no that would be too easy to deal with. This one afflicts you in your dreamscape, a much crueler form of connection. You weren't sure when it really began, perhaps he'd been there all the while and you'd only grown to truly see him as you aged. Though, that may just be a small paranoid part of you speaking.

Still, his meddling has undoubtedly impacted your life in negative ways. Unable to feel rested no matter how much you slept, the constant fogginess, and the persistent nausea from lack of sleep had left you nearly ruined.

Tonight was no different, opening your eyes to a dreamy copy of your bedroom and feeling the chill in your bones knowing he was perched on the sill of the open window.

"Get the fuck out of here."

"Ouch, hostile tonight?" His playful tone made your teeth clench. "Did I catch you on a bad day?"

Heavy footsteps brought him to your bedside, making you rise propped on your elbows to glare up into his deep violet eyes and resenting the mirth you saw in them.

"Every day I see you is a bad one," you hiss, "can't I have one night to myself?"

"You know, there's easier wishes to grant... I just can't help myself with you." His careless attitude made you deflate quickly, instead training your eyes on the wall as you felt the mattress dip with his weight beside you.

"I'm going to figure out how to get rid of you," you mutter more to yourself than your unwelcome guest.

He's quick to take advantage of your momentary distraction, slipping one arm behind your back and lightly pushing you down onto the mattress, forcing your back to arch while the other hand wrestles your wrists into a firm hold. Anger superheated your blood and caused you to nearly bare your teeth up at him.

"What am I supposed to do with you, hm? You're so uncooperative." His statement was punctuated by the way he leaned over you, your noses millimeters apart.

"You won't do anything with me unless I want to," your voice wobbled in a strange way, making you even more embarrassed by the easy way he'd brought you to this position.

He scoffed, "of course not, what kind of demon do you take me for? But how about a little proposition, I know I can relieve some of your stress without even touching you," his eyes glimmered as his voice took on a softer tone.

You hated that you were honestly considering it, but it's not like you were as disgusted by him as you pretended to be. If he weren't such a pain you'd be able to acknowledge his objective attractiveness. It would be easier without him touching you though...

"No hands and no fingers? If you're lying to me-"

"Cross my heart," he interjected cheekily.

Gingerly he guided you back up, before switching your positions and leaning back against the pillows and lightly patting his thigh; smirking all the while like the cat who got the cream.

Oh you bastard.

Your movements were jerky and leaking trepidation as you straddled his thigh, heat rising furiously beneath your skin in humiliation. That feeling mounted as your crotch rubbed lightly against him, already feeling embarrassingly aroused by the action.

But you couldn't help it, with how perpetually exhausted you've been the only hands on your body lately have been your own. Timidly you moved your hips again, desperately trying to keep your eyes off his face as your hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt. That didn't stop you from catching his flexing hands in your peripheral, biting your lip in a small sense of satisfaction that clearly not being able to touch you was difficult for him.

As your confidence grew any lingering concern over what you were doing became distant in your mind, your movements were bordering on frantic as you chased the sparks of pleasure from the friction of your underwear rubbing against your throbbing clit and making your cunt spasm.

Your throaty groans and Belphegors soft hums of approval filled the room as your wide eyes settled on the growing erection in his pants and shivered from the way his hungry gaze was practically burning a hole through you.

"Look at you," he rasped out, "where'd all that bite go?"

Smirking you didn't dignify a response, opting to grab his shoulders and lean in against his neck. It was fitting the tables turned and you get to be the torturer, licking a long stripe up his throat and listening to his sharp intake of breath as your teeth lightly sunk into his flesh.

Before his hands could make contact with your body, you anticipated his snapping resolve and pushed yourself away from him, nearly gasping from the abrupt lack of sensation.

"You said you wouldn't touch me-"

"You don't want me to touch you?"

You froze, any response drying up like a rain starved stream as your thoughts seemingly short circuited. Did you really not want him to touch you... The question flip flopped in your head from one extreme to another.

"If you can look me in my eyes and say you don't want me to touch you I'll leave you alone forever," he whispered.

Suddenly it was impossible to speak altogether, any rational part of your mind that would weep in joy at the idea of getting peace back was warring with the part that craved a continuation of your momentary pleasure.

"Use your fingers this time," the words came out breathy, "please." The urge to hide from the humiliation of giving in was drowned by your lust, nevermind the consequences of your choice.

In a rush of clumsy desire you both reposition, Belphie getting you sat between his legs with your own spread wide in front of the standing mirror at the foot of your bed leaned on the wall. You almost don't recognize yourself, all lust blown eyes and disheveled pajamas.

"I want you to watch, remember every little sound I pull from you. Every expression you make. Don't close your eyes," he whispered against the shell of your ear, but it was difficult to process his words when you could feel his erection pressing against your ass.

Slowly his hand traveled downward, massaging your clothed breast, teasing the waistband of your sleep shorts before slipping past them and letting his fingers brush against your clit to make you jolt. His other hand came to caress beneath your jaw, sliding his index against your lips to demand you open your mouth.

You obliged, a whine that he tugged out of you with another brush to your clit was muffled as fingers stuffed your throat. Your eyes rolled back feeling him apply firmer pressure to your now aching clit, circling it and alternating the stimulation. It made your head spin and your hips buck pathetically into the palm of his hand, garbled moans cut into the tension as saliva trailed down through his fingers to drop on to your chest.

What you saw in the mirror sent a feeling similar to electric shocks through your nerves. Fingers stuffed into your mouth, the shiny drool sliding down his hand, the wet splotches on your shirt and his hand furiously working inside your shorts. You couldn't look away even if you wanted to.

His pace slowed, prompting more jumbled noises to burst between his fingers as your hips impatient wiggled against his hand to chase your high.

"Say you want me, maybe I'll let you cum," he teased, tongue sliding over your earlobe to make you shiver as his fingers pulled past your lips.

Without being stretched the skin of your lips was now throbbing in their relaxed position, making speech feel impossible.

Still you forced it out, watching the grin stretch his lips with each syllable.

"I want you- I need you-"

Before you could finish two fingers slid lightly inside you, his thumb pressing hard against your clit making your plea dissolve into a squeal. He'd tipped you past the point of no return, you opened the door and ushered him inside.

You arched against his chest as his fingers scissored and stretched to hit those spots that made your vision turn to television static, coupled with the steady pressure on your clit it felt like someone released a high pressure spring inside your abdomen.

Within seconds you'd disobeyed his command, unable to help closing your eyes and throwing your head back against his shoulder as the wave of ecstasy crested, feeling the bed become soaked beneath your ass and you unabashedly squirmed in his hold and rode out the high of your orgasm.

Your thighs continued to shake even after he pulled his hand away from your spasming cunt, sighing contentedly as your body slumped back against his.

"I can't believe we did that," you spoke softly, voice small.

He placed a lingering kiss to the side of your head, fingers stroking your cheek.

"We can do that as much as you want," his words were muffled against your head, "I tried to tell you it wasn't a bad thing having me around."

You rolled your eyes halfheartedly as you allowed yourself to relax further in his arms. Maybe he was right, and it would be nice to look forward to sleeping again. Perhaps you didn't want to get rid of him after all...

[name-that-isnt]

I made an interesting little connection while looking at the symbol on minish vaati's outfit. Not sure if anyone has pointed this out already but-

-the symbol on his outfit is strikingly similar to the wiccan horned god symbol. I decided to look into it more to see if I could connect any dots.

I'll start by discussing connections I made to vaati from the first informational image.

As a symbol of power, it makes sense that the horned god would appear on minish vaati's outfit. Like most zelda villains, he craved power, so the horned god served as a subtle representation of that. He later on transforms into a monster with more than a striking resemblance to the horned god, symbolic of him finally aquiring the power he so desired.

One of the first sightings of the horned god symbol being in an image called "the sorcerer" lines up pretty well with vaati, as he is in his sorcerer form for most of mc. One could say that his sorcerer form was the first sighting of the horned god for the people around him.

Horned god osiris' association with rebirth can be related to vaati's "rebirth", as he comes back twice after mc. He also just so happens to have a form called "vaati reborn" that is depicted wearing a horn-shaped crest.

Osiris and cernunnos being gods of the underworld can be connected to vaati's rule over the monsters he released from bound chest, and his prominence among other villains as he is the first villain to take the stage after demise.

Vaati physically taking on the form of the horned god does indeed serve as a direct opposition to the triple moon goddess, the goddess in this case being hylia in the form of zelda. Just as he was able to cause destruction with the power of the mage's cap, zelda was able to fix what he had broken with the same tool. It may also be worth noting that on fs zelda's dress, there is a symbol that shares a very vague resemblance to the triple moon goddess symbol.

Okay, moving on to the second informational image!

Sherry Salman's idea of the male psyche's "horned god" often being a way to compensate for "inadequate fathering" can be interpreted as an indication of the state of vaati and ezlo's relationship.

In the first encounter with the "horned god", it is described as "dangerous" but "possessed of kindness and intelligence". This can be paralleled by how vaati is shown in the mc bonus manga, "vaati during training", when he first decides to study under ezlo. He has his own shallow motives for wanting to become a sage, which may have contributed to his dangerous behavior later on in life. When he first meets ezlo he upholds a kind and respectful demeanor. Vaati is described as "serious" and "ambitious", presumably about learning to become a sage, therefore showing that he is committed to the possession of intelligence.

If the "horned god" is repressed, it shall appear later in life as "hades". For vaati, this "hades" would be his cultivated interest in the darkness residing in human hearts. It's never fully elaborated on, but the repression that caused his interest in such a subject may have been unintentionally induced by ezlo. In both the mc game and manga, ezlo is shown to be quite overbearing and harsh, a tough love type of guy. Vaati may have felt like his hard work as an apprentice was not being acknowledged, and this caused a buildup of repressed resentment towards ezlo (cite "No longer will I tire away as your apprentice! Now, all shall call ME master!") Noting vaati's pompous behavior despite him describing his minish self as "a meek, miniscule nothing", the way ezlo treated him may have caused him to develop some sort of inferiority-superiority complex that greatly contributed to his antagonistic behavior later on. Ezlo most likely didn't mean to make vaati feel this way, but because the two didn't communicate their emotions efficiently, vaati's loathing of ezlo and himself only worsened over time.

The idea of the "horned god" splitting off entirely would be reflected in vaati's hatred for himself and ezlo, his need for power and self fulfilment, and his interest in the sickness of human nature reaching a breaking point. This breaking point is breached when he gets his hands on the mage's cap. Vaati is finally capable of embracing his "hades", getting revenge, and gaining power to compensate for his lack of genuine self love that he covers up with his arrogant attitude.

The violence, substance abuse, and sexual perversion that follow the split off can be clearly seen in vaati's actions. Violence was demonstrated in the havoc he wreaked upon hyrule. The substance abuse is more of a metaphor. He became addicted to the power that the mage's cap granted him and abused it to the point that he was able to achieve god status, even if only for a short time. The sexual perversion is shown in his infamous kidnapping of beautiful maidens. The ego that comes from the integration of the "horned god" was definitely destructive to both vaati himself and the people around him.

I think the idea to make vaati's monstrous forms shaped like the horned god symbol and to incorporate said symbol in his minish outfit was a good choice. It was an interesting way to tell his story through just visuals. It very well may not have been intentional and whoever was in charge of his character designs just thought it looked cool, but I'd like to think they knew what they were doing with this. I suppose the big takeaway from all of this is that:

1. Character design and attention to detail is important for storytelling

And

2. Communication in ur relationships is key

To think that vaati and ezlo could've had a happier ending had they effectively talked with one another is sad to say the least, but honestly I find vaati's arrogant facade very endearing (as I'm sure most other vaati enjoyers do.) I'm not really sure how to end a post like this so uh do with this information what u will 😇

[an-angels-fury]

About AOTC!Anakin's "stalking":

I really wanted to understand why so many people call Anakin a 'stalker' in AOTC. I had already read about the meaning of the word and, as far as I remembered, it didn't seem to fit with Anakin. Then, I found another post some hours ago here on Tumblr, affirming this statement again. I finally decided to research about the term to be sure the definition in my head wasn't outdated.

Well, in short: a stalker is a person who practices the obsessive act of spying on or chasing someone, which can reach the unhealthy point of threatening the physical and emotional well being of the victim.

Once again, unless I'm missing some important information, Anakin didn't act like that in ANY moment of the movie. He's assigned as Padme's bodyguard, so it's not like he could simply distance himself and stay away from her since he recieved stricted orders from his superiors to keep her safe.

Now, about his behavior and personality:

Anakin was awkward? Yes, sometimes to the point of sounding extremely embarrassing.

Did Anakin have difficulty to socialize? Yes, but he wasn't always like that. Everyone who watches the Prequels can clearly notice the contrasting (and even kind of scary) difference in the way TPM!Anakin and AOTC!Anakin interect with other people.

Anakin was creepy? Not really, at least not intentionally.

I think the reasons behind those traits are his inexperience with romantic love (he was 19 year-old guy raised as a SLAVE for the first half of his life and then raised by SPACE MONKS for the second half until that point!) and his deep desire to show his feelings and form a connection with another person, but the difficulty in expressing himself in a healthier manner. All of this is related to his upbringing in the Jedi Temple, where he never learned to have a good relationship with his emotions and understand their true meaning. These are factors people should take more in consideration when analyzing Anakin's character.

It's also important to remember that, even saying weird things that could let Padme or someone else uncomfortable, and sometimes failing in behave the way the rest of society expected him to, he admired and respected Padme as a person and when she made her bounderies clear, Anakin would always respect her wishes and back it off, never mistreating her or feeling resentment towards her just because he was feeling frustrated. There was no moment in AOTC where Anakin made something to Padme against her will.

You can argue with me about how unhealthy and problematic their relationship was, list all Anakin's red flags or whatever you want (I might even agree with some of your points). But the 'Anakin stalking Padme' argument is one I have a hard time trying to understand.

(As if this wasn't bad enough, there are people calling Anakin a INCEL as well. Like WHAT?! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!)

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

*bursts my head through your wall*

Can I have a male romantic baldur’s gate 3 matchup plz

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: heterosexual ally

Zodiac: Capricorn

Appearance: 5’2 African American hourglass body (although I’m more top heavy if you know what i mean) black curly wavy hair blackish brown eyes chubby cheeks wears glasses sometimes (im far sighted so it’s usually when driving in class or at the theater)

Mbti: infj

Enneagram: 2w1

Personality: kind smart funny motherly responsible empathetic anxious emotional moody perfectionist helpful people pleaser caring compassionate nerdy curious protective polite respectful indecisive fearful nervous introvert shy awkward clumsy low self esteem low confidence (more pertaining to my talents or personality then my looks) sassy sarcastic (I’m mainly these things with people i feel comfortable with like friends or family) soft spoken cute (my friends think im cute because i can be pretty innocent plus I’m small physically)

Likes: animals books reading writing fantasy magic sci fi anime music video games friends alone time learning personality quizzes sweets and bread helping being a part of something bigger than myself

Dislikes: spiders loud sounds people who harm others people who don’t take others into consideration (like make insensitive jokes or don’t consider the comfort of others or are mean just cause they can) people i care about not caring for themselves (im a hypocrite on this i take care of everyone else but not me) not being listened to weird holes and patterns math and tests (I’m being tested for a math disability and i have test anxiety)

Love language:

Giving: acts of service gift giving and physical affection (if they’re ok with it)

Receiving: words of affirmation and physical affection (although i can be shy about it)

Extra: i pace a lot i sing when im alone i talk to myself im a picky eater (mainly with textures) i have a cat i have minor ehlers danalos (a hyper mobility disorder) but it doesn’t hurt me like it does my sisters i get abdominal migraines which is basically like a migraine but instead of headaches it’s nausea

My Tav: basically a self insert she’s an elf sorceress noble

Thank you

A/N: Ooh, this one was a tough one! Mainly because I see you as being so good with either Wyll or Halsin… Hmm. Let’s see… 

For you, astralmysteria, I’m thinking the male companion best suited to you would be… Wyll!

🗡 Wyll is the best companion for you. He’s kind and noble and self-sacrificing, very similar to you. He prides himself on being the best he can be whether it be in sword fighting or in dancing. He is a very responsible and empathetic person as well, choosing to take on burdens for the sake of others, as long as it means he can’t prevent villainous acts like the harming of innocents. 

Raised under a Duke, he was brought up to care about others' opinions of him, in both private and social settings. This gives him a desire to please the people around him, even in instances where he might start to resent certain parts of himself in order to do so. It was evident that he doesn’t regret what he sacrificed to save Baldur’s Gate from the Tiamat's worshippers having to form his pact with Mizora the half-devil. But he does appear discouraged when she gives him devil horns. Appearance is something that matters to him. And while he may have the odd doubt about his new look, he absolutely loves yours. He thinks you’re beautiful, practically a goddess in your own right. And he can’t wait until the two of you are properly partnered to show you just how much he reveres your body. ;) 

And he secretly thinks you look extra cute when you’re wearing your glasses. He’s had to adjust his vision a couple of times, from losing an eye in the fight with the Tiamat cultists to having his one good eye left turned into a devil’s. So he understands the need for such appliances. And don’t worry about being clumsy, it’s just another thing he finds absolutely charming in you. 

Wyll himself is more extroverted (I think of him as an ENFJ), but he gets that having to perform socially for many people can be, well… a lot. He did attend several masquerade balls growing up, and as fun as they were, there was always a point where he was beyond ready for all the guests to just go home already lol. 

In terms of Enneagram, I think you overlap there as well with you being a 2w1 whereas Wyll is a 3w2. Both of you are driven and take your goals seriously. As a 2w1, you may lose sight of your needs when prioritizing others- which Wyll gets as his large sacrifice was him doing exactly that. But he has trouble seeing it in himself, just like you have difficulty seeing it in you. This way, you guys can help each other out; you remind Wyll to keep his own needs in mind, and Wyll does the same for you. For example, on his own, he might skip meals and keep going, but with you by his side, of course, he’s going to set camp and make sure you eat something. Unfortunately, as a #w2, Wyll often fears rejection, or that he’s unworthy of love. And while your enneagram doesn't exactly suggest the same thing, your on/off low self-esteem does. The two of you will need to make it a point to remind the other how much you mean to them. He loves you dearly, and he will say it as often as you like if that’s what it takes to get through your stubborn skull. Just, please, be sure to say it back to him. He may look rugged on the outside, but on the inside, he’s dying to hear it. In this way, your love language of words of affirmation gets fulfilled. 

And don’t worry about being too innocent or chaste. Wyll wants to do things the proper and slow way. He wants to savor each and every little moment, every milestone with you, and not just rush into all of them at once. 

Wyll enjoys the company of animals as well if his reactions to Scratch are any indication. And he doesn't seem to complain when the party keeps encountering cats, so I think he’d probably enjoy the company of you and your cat. Maybe after a long day of adventuring and heroics, he’d like to sit with you, with your cat on his lap, and just rest in your presence. 

I would say he’s scared of spiders, but I doubt he likes them too much, as they probably remind him of all his battles against goblins and devils. He has no problem removing them from your tent or home should you ask him to. He promises he won’t let any of them come near you on his watch. And while he can’t exactly ‘protect’ you from math, he’s more than happy to figure out the calculations needed for an incantation or a spell. He’s actually pretty good at it, I mean he is a Warlock after all. 

Wyll’s grown accustomed to roughing it the past few years, but he remembers what food was like living as the son of a Duke in Baldur’s Gate. He tries to get you what you like- things with the correct textures, and foods that won’t make your nausea worse when you're having an attack. It’s not always possible when you're always setting up and taking down camp, but he does what he can. He wants you to feel just as special as he believes you to be. Because to him, you are- you’re his future, his everything. 

And with your Tav being an elf sorceress noble, wow, that just makes you an even greater match! He himself comes from a degree of nobility, and he’s a warlock! 

I mean come on! It’s like you two are a perfect match made in the stars! ✩✩✩

[imthefemalemonster]

⸻ Lullaby

Aegon II Targaryen x Alicent Hightower (NSFW / Smut)

⸻ Summary: "Do you love me?" asks Aegon, not innocently as he lets his mind wander in his darkest desire in the presence of his mother.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Smut, PWP, Plot what Plot - Porn without Plot, Hand Jobs, Kisses, Hugs, Coming in Pants, Fluff & Angst, Mommy issues, (again), I love Alicent a normal amount

⸻ Read on Ao3

Notes: Requested by anon on Tumblr, took some liberties about the pre-coronation (carriage) scene for the sake of mother/son incest (!), hope you like it. ♡

Tumblr for requests/ideas: @imthefemalemonster

⸻ Words: 1240

“Do you love me?”

The question surprised Alicent as much as it annoyed her. The carriage cradling her body and her son’s, hiding the shaking of her hands, the pain in her eyes.

“You imbecile.”

This was no time for discussion, for debate, for reproach. Alicent sighed.

“Now, really?”

Sitting just next to her, Aegon said nothing. He didn’t expect much from this. Not support, certainly not physical love, despite desperately craving it. In this instant, his eyes bore much resemblance to his mother’s; filled with pain and resentment.

“It was a genuine question.”

Alicent would not face him now. Coronation was just ahead, with each passing seconds she hoped they would finally arrive, that the door would open, and she would reprise her role.

“So you don’t.”

Inhale. Her head didn’t move.

“I always knew Aemond was the favorite one.”

Exhale. Her fists clenched.

“And Father probably did not want me on this throne.”

Words hit Alicent like thunder.

“Haven’t I just told you this is what he said to me?!”, she breathed, head turning to face her son, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress.

“And it wasn’t a lie?”, asked Aegon.

Face to face, they were looking into each other’s eyes, searching for answers that could not be given.

“I fail to understand what you truly want Aegon”, she whispered, lowering her head to face her hands.

Aegon nervously laughed, tears in his eyes.

“You?”, he sobbed, “A mother. A loving embrace. Help. Anything you can give me that you aren’t.”

No sounds, no words could leave Alicent’s mouth. Inhale. Exhale. Focus. This is not what she wanted to hear, this is not what she wished for.

“You are truly mistaken then”, she murmured, “At your age, and still acting like this? What more can I give you than what you are about to have?”

She raised her head again to face her son, soon to be King. She searched for compassion but only saw pain and pity, a pathetic spectacle. Sinking his body into the backrest, Aegon smirked, not from amusement but sorrow. He shrugged his shoulders, defeated.

“I need you. Needed.”

Alicent shook her head. If words could not help her, then actions would. Softly she moved one hand onto her son’s. He had them lazily resting on his thighs. Her fingers gently grazed the frail white skin, getting no reactions from Aegon. Alicent pressed her fingers against his palms, closing her hand on his.

Eyes flickering, washing the small tears forming away, Aegon sighed loudly. What he truly wanted, he could not have. He could not ask for it. I want you, physically. Eyes closed, he desperately tried to push away all the unimaginable, inconceivable feelings, thoughts, that rotted in his mind.

Alicent slowly pulled on her son’s hand, motioning him to get closer. The man hesitated for a few seconds before moving. Pressed against his mother, Aegon let his head rest on her shoulders, body slightly directed at her, biting his lips to muffle his intrusive thoughts. Heavy breathing, he tried to stop it, to stop thinking about it, but he was growing hard. Deep inside him he knew what he desired, or more, how he desired his own mother. He truly hoped she was unaware, he truly hoped she would reject him, he truly hoped it was only but a bad dream. He gritted his teeth.

There was nothing more than Alicent loved but her children. Everything she had gone through, even if sometimes it was hard to voice, was for them. Her entire body, mind and soul was dedicated to them, and she would stand to face the danger with each and any of them to protect them if she had to. Whatever Aegon wanted he would get. She could be disappointed, she could be angry, but she would give him.

“Please”, muttered Alicent, voice shaking, “Tell me what you want.”

The voice was mixed with both apprehension and kindness, it surprised Aegon. Don’t. He wanted to refuse. But he could not stand like this, not face his own people and family feeling and looking so miserable. Hands still in his mother's, face buried in her neck, he gently pulled them closer to him. Pressing against his thighs, uncertainly starting to rub against her hands.

Alicent sighed again, breathing irregularly, she knew what this was about. How many times had she criticized the way he lived? But she would not refuse him, not know, when he showed such distress. Freeing one of her hands she raised it to her son’s hair, kindly caressing them. Planting slow and hot kisses on his forehead, brushing away the blonde strands of hair. She could feel Aegon erratic breathing in her neck, arching his thighs against her hand and leg, languidly rubbing. Strangled noises mixed with moans escaped Aegon's mouth as he paced faster.

Gripping what she could of his hard shaft, fingers pressing and stroking gently the fabric, Alicent lowered her head to her boy’s reddened cheeks, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“M-Mother”, cried out Aegon, tears rolling down his cheeks as the women kindly kissed them.

She moved her head to his ear, a hand shoved between her son’s leg, the other in his hair, fingers scratching the skin. I’m right here, she whispered lovingly in his ear, kissing the lobe. Incomprehensible pleas and moans left Aegon’s mouth as he was fucking himself the best he could against his mother’s body, chasing his own release. There was nothing else in his mind that the pain in his cock, imprisoned in his clothes, and the loving embrace of his mother. He raised a hand to grasp her breast, fingers grazing the fabric, feeling them under the dress. Thumbs pressing the delicate cloth against her nipple.

Many times he had dreamed he would crawl in her bed like an infant, hide his face in her neck, kiss, hug, jerk-off, moan and release himself next to her. Right after, she would whisper sweet things in his ear, things that would feel like honey on his tongue. Brush his hair, place soft kisses on his forehead, he would feel her smile against his sensitive skin. Wet, hot, loving. Head resting against her chest, buried in her comforting breast, he would fall asleep.

Eyes half-open, there was nothing but light. Aegon felt hot, like his skin was melting on him, like his clothes were burning. Now relentlessly rubbing against his mother, crying out, moaning, sweating and breathing heavily, he felt close. Alicent was holding him tight, still working her hand alongside her son’s erratic motions. It was not long before Aegon saw stars, trusting a few more times before coming. He tried to whisper how thankful he was but he was too dizzy to form coherent sentences.

Her face still pressed against her son’s, Alicent moved when she felt his flaccid member against her hand, seeing Aegon more relaxed, almost sleeping on a shoulder. She smiled softly, no other thoughts crossing a mind but the urge to straighten up, and look decent. She pushed her son’s face up, cupping his cheeks. He had opened his eyes, trying to put back his clothes the best he could. She quickly brushed his hair, making sure nobody would notice or even have doubts about what happened here. Alicent brushed the tears off her boy’s face, smiling softly.

“My beautiful King, make sure to clean that up when you can.”

[lazyyogi]

The Somatic Body

Note: The following post shares my experience with body image, physical health, and spiritual practice. There are gender norms and generalizations. It is not meant to apply to everyone. I wanted to share some of my struggles and how somatic spirituality helped me grow through them.

My body type does not fit the gender "norm" for a male in the US. Growing up, I was reminded of this constantly by my mother, siblings, and the people around me.

Men aren't "supposed" to be skinny or too thin. They're "supposed" to be muscular, average sized, or even a little overweight (see: dad bod).

But me? I'm a hard gainer when it comes to weight. If I stress, I lose my appetite. If I don't exercise, I lose weight. And not in an attractive way but in a "you don't look healthy" way.

Because manhood is equated with strength and skinny is not strong, calling a man skinny is often used as an insult. I would know.

Never did I get to the point in which I hated my body or hated myself because of my body, but always I felt that my body was something counting against me. If I ever felt attractive, it would be despite being underweight.

This may sound strange, especially to women. Over the years, many female friends and acquaintances have said things like "I wish I had your problem." They couldn't understand why saying something like that is actually hurtful.

The simplest metaphor would be like me saying "I wish I had your problem" to an overweight woman. Firstly, it is not appropriate for me to be commenting on a woman's weight and secondly it is not appropriate for me to be calling it a problem.

Not to mention that, as a cis het male, having a body type envied by a woman was not the look I desired.

But I could understand how my hurt feelings were due to my own hangups and that their comments were coming from their own unhappy relationship with their body. And that would add to my feeling of sadness, because so many of the women making such comments were beautiful and of an appropriate weight.

All of this changed for me when I started somatic spiritual practices.

Before all the body-conscious weirdness of adolescence, I really enjoyed my human form. As a child, I loved dancing and running around and physically playing. But I grew self-conscious about dance and I felt repelled by the toxic masculinity of sports, and as such developed a kind of resentment and rejection toward my body.

If it wasn't conventionally attractive and if it wasn't going to be used for sports, I might as well pay attention to things other than my body.

Somatic practices brought me back to my body and realigned my emphasis to be on how my body feels. Rather than how I felt about my body. Working on my body through somatic practice involved finding where traumas and self-judgments were stored as tensions, misalignments, and numbness, then allowing release.

At the same time, the body becomes integrated more deeply into awareness itself.

As part of somatic exploration, I took up exercise as an aspect of my practice.

While I've always enjoyed yoga, I avoided strength training and did cardio inconsistently. But now I discovered what each had to offer me. Cardio elevates my mood and regulates my energy. Strength training builds my power and fortitude. And yoga integrates the two with grace and naturalness.

Because breakfast, lunch, and dinner are never guaranteed in my line of work, a friend advised trying protein pills with essential amino acids. These were a game changer and also eliminated muscle soreness, interestingly enough.

All the while, my primary aim with my exercise practice was to optimize how my body felt. I am turning 35 in April and I don't need to feel like I can wrestle a bear. I just want my body to support my path and spiritual practice. With my current practice, I feel the way I did in my early 20s, which means to say that I feel energetic and playful.

Over time, my physical form has changed to reflect how I feel. My body looks more muscular rather than underweight. And that's nice too.

But if rejecting my skinny body and seeking a muscular body were my primary or sole motivation, the whole experience would have been different. I don't know if I would have been able to sustain my motivation. Maybe I would start dreading exercise, or feeling guilty or upset when I had to skip workouts. Perhaps it would feel never enough or that progress was too slow.

As it stands, I look forward to exercising because it is part of my spiritual practice and it makes my body happy. I've come to learn that our energy is meant to be used. Life is meant to be spent. If you hoard energy in a miserly way, every little thing life asks of you will seem draining.

And while it is important to spend your energy generously, you must do so wisely. Knowing your limits is part of that as well.

There are many blessings that somatic spiritual practice has to offer us. While integration of body-consciousness into self-realizated buddhahood may be my primary interest, it may still benefit others not explicitly seeking enlightenment. Even on a superficial level somatic practices can cause profound changes in the harmful ways we typically relate with our bodies.

I look forward to sharing more on this extraordinarily useful field of spirituality.

Much love to you all.

LY

[maggot-monger]

i wish very much that i had something to hang a concept on that i have kept coming back to since i got back into spn fandom, but i can’t find a hook so i keep not writing it. the idea that lucifer is trapped in s5 (an idea i think i do bring up relatively often), as much as the human characters we see the story through, as much as the other angels who are more reluctant to play their parts or stay remote and keep us from seeing what they might want or dread. there are a ton of angles on this, but specifically the one i wish i had some way to express in non-meta form is awfulness of having to conduct the apocalypse in the bodies of creatures the apocalypse is about. 

we see sam’s discomfort — horror — at the idea of having to share his body with lucifer; we see the horrors enacted on nick’s body through the burns, but we don’t know about lucifer’s side. there are hints of curiosity about physicality — more than we get from most other angels up to that point — he seems to want his vessels and expresses that in an unparalleled open way. 

but what is it really like to wear a borrowed body down, deteriorating, waiting? what is it like to look at another person and think, that’s the closest this species can get to me; this is how i translate to this form — does it make sense to him, to look at sam like that? sam looks at lucifer and wonders how well the translation works going from himself to lucifer, but wouldn’t lucifer wonder about the translation going the other way? why this person, why this body, how much can he trust the translator between such different things as humans and archangels to have gotten it right? what is it like to look at someone’s hands and know you might use them to kill your brother — or to look at someone else’s hands, and to know you already did? what is it like to look at someone and know that’s the flesh the blade will go through when inevitably your brother kills you? that it won’t be you, as you always have been, but you, coexisting with another consciousness, expressing your anger and frustration and grief and pain through the medium of the human face, which is so far from your first language that it’s insulting you should have to do something like die in it? isn’t it horrible to have to use something so alien to you to communicate everything you want to express during one of the most important — and maybe one of the last — things you’ll ever do? isn’t it terrifying that you could be pulled back down to your prison through physical means that don’t come naturally to you, by a body that was ostensibly made for you but that has never really been yours, that you don’t really recognize, that doesn’t recognize you, and that doesn’t want you in it? 

the combination of curiosity, resentment, desire, revulsion, and confusion is so interesting but i can’t figure out anything to do with it

[muchadoaboutstartrek]

Let me just say that this is hella angsty but worry not, you'll get a second part.

La'an often found herself wondering how smart it is to enter any sort of personal relationship with one of your colleagues - especially those with whom you work with every day.

As her current partner would say 'it is not logical at all' but for some reason, La'an was unwilling to leave this predicament she found herself in. There was just something so comforting and safe about Spock, she found herself almost addicted to these feelings of euphoria and glee. And the thrill of hiding it.

It wasn't love. She knew that much for sure. He was engaged, promised to other, and deep down she knew what they were doing was wrong but every time they tried to stop, almost like a singularity from a black hole, some unseen force kept pushing them together. Or maybe, she was just weak, hooked to his touch like an addict searching for another fix, yearning for it.

She contemplated her life choices as she stared at herself in the mirror, her reflection equally as messy as her mind. She wondered what her friends would think of her if they knew she was sleeping with someone who belonged to someone else. But then again, Spock is to blame for that as well. He was supposed to be the strong one, the one that can throw a full grown person clear across the room, one tiny human female should pose no challenges.

And yet, he yielded to her, accepted her, pulled her closer, every time she showed up at his doorstep.

He was confused. Torn. Between his Human and Vulcan half.

She knew of his childhood. The desire to please his father. Sarek's desire to erase everything human in his son, the one he shared with his human wife, not realizing his attempts will only result in Spock feeling even more conflicted. Without ever having even met the man, La'an resented him for that.

And yet, Spock took it all in. He chose to let his father control better part of his life and La'an hated Spock just a little bit for that.

It's not like she was the one to talk. She had no parents, no family, no relatives. No one.

She gripped the edge of the sink as the memory of being pressed against the wall by a hard body resurfaced. She wondered if the course of life events leading up to this moment fucked her up to the point where she craved this feeling of physical fulfilment while her soul remained as lonely as she was.

Not that she would ever admit to being lonely. Just another weakness for someone to use against her.

She unclenched her fingers from the marble and brought them up to mess with her hair, which resembled to a bird's nest more so than what it actually was. She ripped the hairties out and ran her shaky fingers through it, in order to comb it in some way. An angry purple patch of skin mocked her in the reflection, a mark of possession (ironically), as she belonged to no one and no one belonged to her. Especially not the hybrid still resting peacefully on the bed that strained under the force of his thrusts and their combined weight few hours ago. The way he almost ripped the clothes from her, how the wet kisses didn't even get to dry before he was sucking a new mark into her skin, how he looked between her thighs as she gripped his hair and moaned as he brought her over the edge again and again.

She shook her head and raked her fingers through her hair again, making a mental note to use a dermal regenerator before leaving, which she would have to do soon if she wanted to slip out unnoticed.

La'an managed to get her hair in some resemblance of an order and divided the top section into three parts, feeling her arms already straining from the unnatural position, and started braiding her hair into her signature look. Focused on her task, she didn't notice as the Vulcan stirred in the mirror before he sat up, his confused eyes searching for her before adjusting to the light coming from the bathroom and zeroing on her form.

Spock sighed and swung his legs off the side, the bed creaking under his weight and the change of distribution of it. The creak attracted La'an's attention, her sharp eyes focusing on him as she stopped braiding her hair. He stood up and reached for his discarded sweatpants before putting them on and meeting her eyes in the mirror.

Ashamed for being caught looking, La'an averted her eyes and focused once again on getting her hair in order. She heard Spock sigh as he padded across the room, his bare feet making almost no noise, before he joined her in the bathroom and leaning against the door frame. He observed her actions for a few minutes silently before clearing his throat and muttering a good morning her way.

She nodded in acknowledgment, responding in equal, her voice small even to her own ears. The spark of passion lit up betwen them once again as she stared at his shirtless form, his strong arms intertwined behind his back. Knowing they had no time for anything, La'an stomped onto it as hard as she could, opting for ignoring him as she started on her hair again.

Spock cleared his throat. "La'an?" She halted her motion, her biceps screaming underneath her skin. "May I-" he cut himself off halfway through the sentence, green flush rising on his cheeks. She saw him swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down before he collected himself and looked her dead in the eye, their gazes locking in the mirror. "May I braid your hair?"

The question left her stomped for a moment, her mouth opening in surprise but no sound escaping. Her instinctual response would be to say 'no' but her mouth started working before her brain could catch up and she heard herself saying, "You've litteraly had your head between my thighs few hours ago, and asking if you can braid my hair makes you blush?"

"Forgive me, I... on Vulcan, woman's hair is considered almost erotic, which is why you only see women wearing their hair in styles that allow them to keep it away from the face. Therefore, braiding the hair is seen as something incredibly intimate. I apologize if I overstepped."

The blush was still present high on his perfect face and La'an found herself enchanted by the sight. She should really say 'no' and leave his quarters, the risk of being seen be damned, but as she noted before, he was her drug and she was an addict craving a fix.

She forced herself to relax, her tense shoulders relaxing as she brought her arms down, the braid falling undone. "Sure. Go for it."

He nodded and stepped around her, taking a brush with him as he lead her towards the bed again. He tossed a pillow onto the floor and settled on the bed before she sat in front of him,  butterflies suddenly erupting in her stomach.

She thought he might be rough, tugging on her hair the same way he did last night, but his movements were gentle and calculated, almost like he was apperhensive of hurting her. She leaned into his touch and felt him repeat  the same formation as she did few minutes ago. His braiding skills, she noted, were admirable. His fingers were sure and steady and yet they never tugged on her hair too hard.

"Where did you learn how to braid?"

"Braids are simply a form of a knot. Majority of Vulcan children are thought how to tie different types of knots, shall the need ever arise to use such skill."

She hummed, her eyes closed and her posture relaxed. "It's only logical then." He chose not to answer, instead focusing on task ahead, quickly finishing up one braid before moving to the other side. La'an let the motion of his fingers lull her into a slight trance, her head tilting backwards slightly.

Spock tied the knot firmly and securely behind her and cleared his throat. He collected the hair into a neat bun at the base of her neck and tied it. La'an didn't move. Her eyes were closed and her breathing almost even. Enticed by the sight, he ran a finger along the edge of her hairline, smoothing out any wild hairs. La'an's lashes fluttered and she opened her eyes that were slightly unfocused.

She blinked a few times before using his knee as a leverage to raise herself up and stride into the bathroom to asses the situation. She looked at herself from all sides before concluding he made an almost perfect hairstyle. She expected nothing less of him.

"Are you satisfied?"

"You have a real talent for understatement, you know that?" She raised one of her eyebrows. "It's perfect."

An electrical impulse went though her brain, reminding her not to get attached and La'an suddenly found herself moving across his quarters, feeling almost like she had no air to breathe even though there was plenty.

"I should go. I gotta use the dermal and grab breakfast. I'll see you on the bridge." Spock missed the moment when La'an almost flew out of  the bathroom,  her feet carrying her quickly across the room, her hand already at the door.

"La'an?" She stopped and turned around to look at him. "May I join you for breakfast?"

La'an stood in his quarters, her hand on the door as she looked at Spock, his eyes blazing fire.  The fleeting detail of their conversation earlier rushing through her mind. "Braiding the hair is seen as intimate." A lump rose in her throat and her eyes watered at the realization of how complicated her life was. How complicated he made it. She bit her lip and looked at her shoes. "I- I think I need a break."

He sucked in a breath, taking a step towards her. She rose her hand. "Please... don't. I can't do this."

"La'an?"

His voice sounded like he was in pain and La'an wanted to kick herself for making him feel that way. "I'm sorry Spock. I think it's for the best if we terminate this."

He took another step towards her, her back pressing against the door in an effort to put some distance between them. "I do not underatand, have I said something that offended you?"

She laughed,  hollow and empty sound that sounded hysterical to her. "No... It's just, I can't do this. I'm sorry." Her hand took hold of the handle and the door opened behind her making her stumble.  His hand reached out towards her but she regained her balance before apologizing once again and making a dash towards her own quarters, his confused and hurt face burned behind her retinas even as she closed her eyes and a first tear slipped out.

[seyvetch]

Moved to place I grew up in some months ago tho was away for some time at dacha but just started recalling early school years.....

Very traumatic tho luckly it seems I either forgot or repressed enough detail to spare me the pain but......... not that one thing. Just that singular minute I remembered just now. Details are hazy and they were even just after it happened too. Dont remember why it happened (the final push) or what happened immidiately before or after.

If you read the trigger warning tags you probably suspect what event Im talking about. The one and only time in my life I tried to kill myself. I suggest you dont go reading further if this topic disturbs you or otherwise your curiocity or something else driving you isnt more than negative feelings youd get from it

Well anyway if I recall it was late primary/early middle school. My memmory isnt ythe greatest on the subject of my life in that period or in general tbh. Maybe my brain had to repress so much stuff it just cant form memmories that good now. Well I remember something just clicking. Something was a straw that broke a camels back. I cant recall what it was but I just wept and wanted to die. It was too much suffering for it to be worth living. I climed the stairs to second floor and midway tried to jump head first into stone floor. Dont remember what type of floor exactly but it was certaintly some kind of tiles with concrete underneath to my irrational panicked hormone filled child brain it seemed that I would die. In reality looking back I would probably just recieve head trauma. I remember my classmates physically stopping me and me feeling someyhing I dont quite recall about that fact. Was it anger that they didnt let me end my existance? Confusion that they stood by or participated in my bullying of which I cant recall any of it now thankfully or sadness that they only bothered to do something about my situation when I was there and not at any point before. Probably a mix of all those.

You know what the person from school told me in regards of why I should do this? "How would your parents feel about this?" as some sort of persuasion to not kill myself. I of course didnt kill myself or attempted for that matter any more in my life nor extent of my self harm was beyond picking at my dried cuts but it is more of a bad habbit or a stim. But you know what I think about that statement? What would my parents feel if I killed myself? As a measure of preventing suicide? It might be effective but many times its been the only reason I didnt go thru with it. What would others feel. How would that affect others. Sure it can be like a part of it but its cruel that my only reason to live many times was someone else. I mean it in this way: Im not living for me. Im not living bc I want to live in these cases. That fucked me up. I think it built a bit of resentment to those who would just be upset of I died or somehow were hurt. Bc I didnt learn how to find a reason for me to live an actual reason I learned to force myself to live for others. Its not a good coping strategy at long term. It just stops the main symptom and not the cause of it. For I dont know how long now. Years? I barely felt the drive to live. The WANT to live. The will to live. In some sense I think I might have died long ago. I do of course have wonderful moments that feel my whole being with happieness and pure desire to live to thrive but they are so fleeting... and I dont have the luxiry of good memmory to remember them for long if at all. And if I dont even have the motivation to love I barely take care of myself. Especially since most of the time my mental health and what can I only describe as disability manifested (from what I suspect many smaller causes maginfied by each other (death by a thousand paper cuts as it were)) making it harder. And there is barely any support. Most of time I bring up my issues they are eiyher didsmised as being blowm out of proportion or Im told to dealt with it die to my age or fact that Im "a man" (which also hurts bc Im femining leaning trans).

Now dont worry Im mot gonna do anything to myself I just needed to vent but I am in a bad mental space and its been i decline lately and I might not respond much or at all for some time and thanks for all who msg me it makes me feel slightly better and hopefully it will start becoming better in general soon.

Thanks for reading heres a pic of a cat I took as thanks for you actually going thru this.

[lcnebcnes]

❛❛   scout ellis .  ❜❜   ― 💫 ― the ghost of clawed earth ever present beneath your fingernails, proof you will never be free of of your haunted past... the constant paranoia of being found despite a targeted glamor (he found you once he can do it again, he knows you’re not really dead)... time lost equating to two weeks  buried in a shallow grave, but you do not mourn the missing memory...

BASICS.

full name : victoria marie blake scout victoria ellis

name meaning :

victoria : latin | “victory”

marie : french | “star of the sea”

blake : old english | “dark”

scout : old french | “to listen; sent to discover”

victoria : latin | “victory”

ellis : welsh | “kind, benevolent”

nickname / alias : n/a

title : miss

gender / pronouns : cis woman / she/her

sexuality : pansexual

date of birth : november 17

age : 25

zodiac : scorpio

place of birth : savannah georgia

accent : light southern

languages : english, latin

species : familiar shapeshifter

APPEARANCE.

faceclaim : abigail cowen

height : 5′7″

eye color : blue

hair color : ginger

build : slim

glasses : yes; prefers contacts

MEDICAL.

mental : ptsd, paranoia, insomnia, depression, anxiety

physical : a scar across her neck, a scar in the center of her chest 

EDUCATION.

high school :

private school - graduated at 18

college :

n/a

PERSONALITY.

alignment : chaotic neutral

positive traits : vehement, adroit, charming, indomitable, meticulous

negative traits : sly, volatile, resentful, morbid, paranoid

hobbies : working on cars, music (singing, guitar, piano), sketching & painting, reading

RELATIONSHIPS.

parents :

victor blake; father, shapeshifter - deceased

katherine blake, née grey; mother, shapeshifter - deceased

other :

marjorie ellis; benefactor, witch - alive

siblings : n/a

children : n/a

pets : 

zara [rottweiler]

ADDITIONAL INFO.

history :

for the majority of her life, victoria blake lived under the impression that she was a familiar. it was what her parents had believed, after all, and theirs before them. likely due to the rarity of shapeshifters. perhaps it just seemed more plausible that they’d been meant to serve witches? regardless, it was a mistake that would start the child on a path towards life altering trauma.

victoria was thirteen years old when she first met the witch who would change her life, ms. marjorie ellis. she became the benefactor of the young girl, funding her private school education and eventually introducing her to one hudson king, another witch. the pair instantly hit it off, growing incredibly close in a very short time. it was as though they had always known each other, every conversation an easy one. it was never anything near romantic, but there was no denying that they’d found a soulmate in one another.

a few weeks following her high school graduation, victoria’s parents were found murdered in their home. she’d discovered the bodies herself, a sight she wouldn’t soon forget. marjorie took her in immediately, with hudson right there to comfort his dear friend. 

two years later and victoria had moved in with hudson, committing to being his familiar. it would be three years until tragedy struck again in the form of victoria’s own murder.

it was at the peak of their bonded companionship that hudson found himself craving more power, a desire that slowly began to corrupt him. it wouldn’t be long until he came across a ritual that would provide him the power he desperately sought. its cost? his familiar. he didn’t even hesitate in his preparations, making the apology uttered just before knocking victoria out that much more cruel.

TW GRAPHIC MURDER DESCRIPTION:

victoria awoke to the pain of her chest being cut open, hudson ignoring her screams even as his left hand closed around her heart. with his right, he slowly slit her throat, silencing her cries as she began to suffocate on her own blood. he never released her heart, watching the life drain from her face even as he felt the very last beat of vital organ. he immediately moved her into a shallow grave.

TW OVER

two weeks victoria lay dead in the ground before suspicions arose from the one soul left to care for her. once realizing something was wrong, it didn’t take long for marjorie to locate the young woman’s too soon resting place. a tracking spell performed on victoria’s late mother’s ring, as she never took the piece off. a ring that would quickly become the host of a cloaking and glamouring spell meant to keep her hidden from hudson. 

in addition to the spell, she chose a new name for herself. victoria marie blake had died, after all. scout victoria ellis, surname taken from the woman who saved her, was born. she would spend the next two years trying to heal from the trauma of her murder and learning the truth of who she was. not a familiar, but a shapeshifter. it was a distinction that held some sense of power to the lost soul, as it meant she was not a of species meant to serve and die for some witch who claimed to care. she was free, and with marjorie’s blessing and promise of protection, she set out to find more of her kind.

more coming soon…..

CONNECTIONS.

roomate / bestie : this seems fairly self explanatory ➢ 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐙𝐈𝐎 “𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐆” 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍

tba : tba ➢ 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

[angelbluediary]

It’s taking all my strength to sit upright in bed today. I thought this would be the day I finally got my shit together again, but there’s always an excuse. Always a reason. Tomorrow, surely tomorrow will be different…

Time becomes increasingly blurred in my Trauma Timeline. It’s hard to remember exactly how long things have been like this. Does it even matter? I’m not going to get a trophy for enduring past a certain point. I’ve been clinging to my pain for way too long as is. I have to let it go, I know I do. I know it’s not benefiting me. But there’s always an excuse (and always a fear).

I hate writing these feelings out because it’s all been said and it’s cyclical. I don’t stumble upon any new meanings. I need healthy conversations (with a licensed professional). I need new insights. But the sole community I have now can’t/wont offer what I emotionally need. And I don’t want to fault them for it when they’re helping me out so much materially, financially.

I hate feeling like I have to lean on anyone. I HATE feeling like a burden. And you’d think it would motivate me more to stop being a loser and get a job already, to stop wasting my days drowning in video games or scrolling on social media. I have felt so empty for so long. How am I supposed to motivate myself into action when there’s nothing I want to work towards? I’m happiest when I’m alone and daydreaming. All the skills I’ve cultivated have become a noose around my neck. All my education burned me and left me resentful. All my experience has led right back to my parents’ house, but because I left in the first place, it doesn’t truly have room for me. Being here reinforces the feeling of being a ghost that I’ve had for a very long time.

And you’d think THAT would motivate me to at least make the money to get out of here. But I’ve had that experience of busting my ass every month to make rent, and being so unhappy in those circumstances.

And I was so unhappy in my last relationship in another place.

So maybe I’m extra resistant because it’s like, what’s the point? If I’ll just be miserable and unaccomplished everywhere? I may not be satisfied here—and it may be damn hard living with family—but at least I know what to expect. At least I can fill my time with things that I want to do rather than put in so much effort for nothing again and again and again, all the while losing the last emblems of my self worth.

I did everything right. I did everything I was told to. And the world flipped upside down while I was doing so and has left me with nothing.

I want things to magically change as they once did. But this time for the better. I know I have to put in work for that to happen but where does my work lead me, except to constant disappointment? No matter what. And even when I’m proud of what I’ve done, no one wants to hear about it, they all look right through me, and the work goes nowhere or is simply wiped off the map against my will.

You know, even just yesterday, I thought maybe things were changing internally for me. For the better. When I thought of betrayals and connections, and why I’ve changed so much, it wasn’t through a negative lens. I thought, I went through all of that to learn. To become my best self. To filter out only the absolute best things in life for me. But now I’m feeling the way I usually do—the unfairness of it all. The idea that it hasn’t helped me at all, it’s only made me cold and closed off from future blessings.

It’s been two and a half years. Maybe that’s not really a long time to be struggling and lost and bitter, but it feels like an eternity when you’re in your 20s.

I miss my old body; I miss feeling curvy and desirable. Nothing I do or eat gets me anywhere close to what I used to look like, I feel like I have the body of a little girl. It’s so bizarre. All the flesh that drew awe and attention just fell right off of me (two and a half years ago). It’s like my physical form regressed while I withdrew from the world and my old life, but now I’m stuck like this. I don’t want to feel this way but I can’t accept myself with pride or sensuality.

Maybe it’s the environment, too. No room for sensuality or autonomy here.

(During my unfortunate scrolling) I saw a video of a woman saying that motivation based off of shame is flimsy motivation that won’t get you very far. Didn’t watch the whole thing, but it rang true. I know my only source of motivation is to not be a burden on my family; is to not feel like a complete waste of a human being; to not feel so embarrassed about where I am at this stage of my life.

It hurts my heart so bad that I’m not allowed to enjoy the full scope of what other people seem to attain so easily. I don’t have the friends, the lover, the creative works, the hobbies, the lifestyle, the travel, the job, the home. I only have my family and even that isn’t what I wish it could be. Emotionally I feel let down all the time. I feel like a bother simply existing. I feel like I can’t ever be authentic. There’s always something “wrong” with me. And I just, I’d be able to make sense of all this loss and rebirth so much easier if it didn’t feel like I held nothing. Watching old friends fall out of your life and feeling lonely is one thing—but can I have just one of those things? Can I feel support and feel seen and heard and loved and taken out on grocery runs or invited to concerts? Not that I can afford that now but it’s so not the point!

I go through job listings like 10 times a day and it breaks my heart. Nothing makes sense anymore. I try anyway and get even more hurt. I don’t know what else to do, I’m living on fumes with no end or true want in sight. Everything feels hopeless.

[lovehealgrow]

Explaining Family Estrangement to Your Child

Family estrangement is one of the greatest challenges a person can face. It impacts nearly 1 in 4 Americans, according to a recent national survey, and can have dramatic impacts on a person’s life and relationships.

For children, family estrangement is even harder. Kids have a harder time grasping why they can’t see somebody anymore, and often blame themselves for something that had nothing to do with them. If they’ve never met the estranged family, they may have a difficult time understanding who that person is. The way family members deal differently with estrangement can also cause problems for children– for instance, if some members don’t speak of the estranged person and others do, it can be very confusing for children and may impact how they see roles within the family.

What Is Family Estrangement?

Family estrangement refers to the emotional or physical distancing and detachment between members of a family. It occurs when family members, such as parents, children, siblings, or other close relatives, choose to limit or cut off contact with each other due to various reasons. This distancing can be temporary or long-term and is typically characterized by a breakdown in communication and emotional connection within the family.

Family estrangement can result from a range of complex and deeply personal factors. It is a sensitive and often emotionally painful situation for those involved, as it involves the breakdown of what is traditionally considered one of the most important and enduring relationships in a person’s life.

Estrangement can take many forms, from a temporary cooling-off period to a complete and permanent separation, and it can impact individuals and families differently. Reconciliation and healing are possible in some cases with time and effort, but not all estrangements lead to resolution or reunion. It is important to remember that estrangement is a choice– it’s not the same thing as drifting apart from an old friend. Somebody in the relationship chose to create the emotional cutoff.

Why Are People Estranged?

Family estrangement can occur for a variety of reasons, and it’s often a complex and emotionally charged situation. Some common reasons for family estrangement include:

Abuse and Neglect: Emotional, physical, or psychological abuse within the family can lead to estrangement. In some cases, children may distance themselves from abusive parents to protect their own well-being.

Addiction Issues: Substance use disorder can interfere with normal family relationships and create breakdowns.

Conflict and Disagreements: Family members may have significant conflicts, disagreements, or arguments that they cannot resolve.

Financial Conflicts: Disputes over money, inheritances, or financial support can lead to estrangement, particularly in cases where one family member feels unfairly treated.

Identity: Sometimes, family members become estranged due to differences in their values, beliefs, or lifestyles. This is one of the reasons that many LGBTQIA+ individuals struggle with being estranged from their families, especially if those families have a religious or political prejudice against members of that community.

Mental Health Issues: Family members struggling with mental health problems may find it difficult to maintain relationships due to the challenges their conditions present.

Unresolved Issues and Trauma: Lingering issues from the past, such as childhood trauma, unresolved conflicts, or long-standing resentments, can strain family relationships and eventually lead to estrangement.

It’s important to note that every family’s situation is unique, and multiple factors can contribute to estrangement. Estrangement is a complex and often painful experience for all involved, and reconciliation, if desired, can be difficult but not impossible. It often requires open communication, empathy, and a willingness to work through the underlying issues. Family counseling or therapy can also be helpful in some cases to facilitate reconciliation or better coping mechanisms for those dealing with estrangement.

Explaining Family Estrangement to Kids

If estrangement has occurred and children are involved, what should you do? You need to talk about it with them, but it can be a very delicate, challenging conversation. It’s important to remember that kids aren’t one-size-fits-all, and some children will have an easier time understanding estrangement than others. How you explain it will depend on the child’s level of understanding and your knowledge of their emotional development. Here are some ideas for explaining family estrangement to kids of different ages:

For Young Children (Ages 2-6)

For the youngest kids, you need to keep things simple. Use age-appropriate language and keep your explanation simple and concrete. You can say something like, “Sometimes, family members can’t get along, just like how sometimes you and your friends don’t always get along.”

You want to also emphasize love, and that you will always love them and be there for them. Kids this age can often have a real fear of abandonment, especially as they transition into school and are away from their parents for a longer period of time. You can explain that you can still love your family members, even if you don’t see each other as often. It’s also important that you don’t assign blame or make one person out to be the “bad guy.” Keep it neutral and focus on explaining the situation.

For Older Children (Ages 7-11)

Be honest with older children and use more detailed language. However, be sure to keep it appropriate for what your child can handle. You don’t have to go into specific details about the nature of the problem– but be prepared for them to ask questions. In fact, you should encourage questions, because that’s one of the key ways they’ll be able to address their feelings. Be prepared to listen and provide answers as best you can.

If your child had a relationship with the estranged family member, be sure to reassure them none of this is their fault Teach them healthy ways to cope with their feelings about the situation, such as talking to you, writing in a journal, or seeking support from friends or a school counselor.

For Tweens and Teens

Teens can handle more complex information, and they often have a better situational awareness of family problems than younger children. Explain the reasons for the estrangement honestly and without sugarcoating, but also without assigning blame. This can be hard, especially when feelings are strong and tempers are hot– but this is also a place where you can be vulnerable and show your older child how to handle strong feelings.

Recognize that this can be a tough situation for them to handle emotionally. Encourage them to express their feelings and let them know you’re there to support them, and offer resources like counseling or support groups. They might struggle with talking to you about their emotions, especially if they were close to the estranged family member and are struggling with reconciling their feelings and yours.

Regardless of your child’s age, it’s crucial to emphasize that they are loved, and the estrangement is not their fault. Reiterate that people sometimes need space to work through their problems, and that while the family situation may be challenging, it doesn’t change the family’s love for the child. Keep communication open, and be there to support and listen to them as they process this information.

Many children who have estranged family members will benefit from seeing a mental health professional. If you and your family are dealing with estrangement and would like additional support, reach out to the team at Love Heal Grow today.

[animanganerd]

Everything Annoys Me And I’m (Too) Hot - Chapter 18

The Untamed / Mo Dao Zu Shi Fanfic

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47881336/chapters/129142678

All chapters: here x

Chapter 18 ❖ Memories

The two men were his soon-to-be dads.

The taller one was clad in robes and a forehead ribbon that were as immaculate and white as snow, while the other was dressed entirely in black, save for a crimson band that ran through his dark hair like a streak of blood.

When A-Li reached them, the man in white got down on one knee and asked, “What happened?”

The tone of the man was sober and his face expressionless and stern. He gazed at A-Li with clear, cold eyes, which sent chills down A-Li’s spine. Not sure if he was safe yet, A-Li continued to sob, rubbing the tears from his burning eyes.

The stranger kept asking, “Are you related to the fire?”

“He most definitely is,” interrupted the other man. “His back’s still burning!” 

With a swift movement, he extinguished the small flames on A-Li’s back and carefully lifted him into his arms.

The man carried a warm smile on his lips and, for some reason, his beaming face put A-Li at ease. A-Li scrutinised the man’s face and didn’t recognise him from the village. Once he realised these two were outsiders and posed no threat, his racing heart began to calm.

“What’s your name?” the man in black asked.

A-Li’s voice was still strangled by sobs, but he managed to press out his name.

“A…A-Li.”

“Nice to meet you A-Li. My name is Wei Wuxian and this is Lan Wangji,” the man said, pointing at the man in white. Lan Wangji was already standing again and nodded in return. Wei Wuxian continued, “Do you remember your family name?”

A-Li shook his head.

“It’s fine. Do you know where you live? Were your parents with you?”

A-Li could only answer each question with a shake of his head. A sense of embarrassment surged inside him and fresh tears welled up in his eyes. At the same time, a searing pain on his back set in. The last thing he remembered were the anguished cries that escaped his throat before his vision went black.

With a jolt, Lan Xiaoli abruptly woke from his memories.

His vision was blurry from the tears that immediately rolled down his face once he opened his eyes, along with beads of sweat that had formed on his brow.

A thousand emotions flooded his mind, but his thoughts were dominated by hatred, anguish and resentment. He felt sick to his stomach, yet he instantly shot up, his heart filled with rage and a burning desire for revenge.

When he sprang to his feet, the seat pillow slipped out from underneath him, causing him to stagger. He stumbled to the ground, but immediately caught himself with one hand and pushed himself off the ground. He swiftly regained his footing and charged forward.

Wen Kexing, who’d been keeping a close eye on Lan Xiaoli, was startled by the teen’s sudden awakening. Lan Xiaoli had shown no signs of distress; he’d appeared to be in a deep slumber until his eyes snapped open.

A dark haze suddenly enveloped Lan Xiaoli, and Wen Kexing was instantly filled with worry. Guilt gnawed at his conscience as he couldn’t help but wonder, did I miss something?

Wen Kexing was quick to chase after the teen, but once Lan Xiaoli reached the draped exit, he came to an abrupt halt, clutching onto the stony edge of the entrance.

After a few strides, the physical discomfort had caught up with Lan Xiaoli. A wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him, and the world began to spin before his eyes. The cramps in his stomach, which he’d tried to ignore, forced him to double over. He seized his stomach in an attempt to ease the pain while his vision gradually dimmed. Soon, his legs gave out beneath him, unable to carry his weight any longer.

Just as Wen Kexing was about to offer help, Lan Xiaoli coughed out a mouthful of blood and crumpled to the ground. Wen Kexing barely managed to catch Lan Xiaoli, but was relieved to see that with Lan Xiaoli fainting, the eerie haze had dissipated as well.

Outside, the others saw Lan Xiaoli collapse. Alarmed, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji immediately rushed to his side, their hearts seized by the invisible hand of concern. Half-kneeling beside Lan Xiaoli, Lan Wangji took his pulse to assess his condition. After a short moment, he assured Wei Wuxian with a firm nod that Lan Xiaoli was stable.

Wei Wuxian yanked open the curtains nonetheless. “What happened?!” he demanded.

Wen Kexing opened his mouth, feeling as if he’d been asked specifically, yet he found himself at a loss for words. But before he had a chance to speak, Liu Fenghua had already stepped forward. Distracted by Lan Xiaoli’s strange behaviour, Wen Kexing hadn’t noticed that Liu Fenghua had awoken as well.

“He will be fine, but you need to take intense care of him now,” Liu Fenghua said. He had a serious look on his face; not even the slightest trace of carefreeness was left in his expression. “There is a reason why our brain prevents us from remembering certain memories, so I fear they might not have been pleasant.”

Wei Wuxian bit down on his lip. Liu Fenghua had warned them. There was no one to blame but themselves.

Lan Wangji picked up Lan Xiaoli, and they all gathered around the stone table, where Wen Kexing gave a brief summary of what had happened. Which, apart from the last few minutes, wasn’t much. At the mention of the haze, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji exchanged a concerned look. Could it be related to the curse?

“You guys can stay here until he regains his consciousness,” Liu Fenghua offered.

Wei Wuxian shook his head. “I am grateful for your offer, and I mean no offence, but I’d feel better if we took care of him some place else.”

“None taken, none at all,” Liu Fenghua quickly replied, politely waving him off. There was no real place to rest in his cave anyway, so he felt a twinge of regret for suggesting it in the first place. This was the first time someone had reacted this gravely to their memory retrieval. 

Liu Fenghua made a mental note to set up a corner where people could recover in the future.

“I agree with you Wei-xiong, but considering the path that lies ahead of us, I don’t think it’s wise to leave while he’s unconscious,” Zhou Zishu objected in a gentle tone.

“Don’t worry,” Liu Fenghua interjected. “It’s true that I force people to climb up the hard way, but there’s a much safer, secret passage.”

He sauntered over to an unassuming grey stone wall and gave it a light tap. At his touch, the wall slowly opened like a sliding door, revealing a long, winding staircase behind it that had been carved into the heart of the mountain. As soon as the door was fully open, the torches hanging at even intervals on the wall flickered to life one after another, casting a warm glow upon the stony descent.

“You think I want to walk this dreadful path every time I go into town?” Liu Fenghua said with a dry chuckle and shook his head, as if the mere thought was abhorrent.

The others internally breathed a sigh of relief, then cupped their hands and bowed down in gratitude.

“Take care,” Liu Fenghua said, his eyes filled with warmth and sincerity. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

With that, the group departed.

Upon reaching the foot of the mountain, they were greeted by a vast expanse of white. During their time inside the cave, a pristine blanket of snow had fallen over the entire landscape, lying now serene in the soft glow of the moon. It was a pleasant sight, but the group was in desperate need to get out of the biting cold – and to find a warm place to stay, they had to walk through the snow, inadvertently marring its untouched beauty with their footprints.

⬩ ❖ ⬩ ❖ ⬩ ❖ ⬩

The first thought that clouded Lan Xiaoli’s mind when he woke up was that of revenge.

He hadn’t restored the filial bond with his birth parents in the short time he’d relived his memories, but Murong Qiang and Murong Xinghua had been genuinely good people, and their unwarranted deaths was enough reason to get them the justice they deserved.

Lan Xiaoli wanted to avenge not only his parents, but also the damage that had been done to his own life. The relentless greed of just one person had ruined his chance to become a full-fledged cultivator – and this person happened to be his uncle.

Lan Xiaoli found himself in an unfamiliar bed. He didn’t know how he ended up here, nor did he care. As soon as he’d regained his senses, he jumped out of the bed and stormed out of the room, driven by unwavering determination.

It seemed that, while Lan Xiaoli was unconscious, the others had found some kind of cottage. They were gathered downstairs around a small, square fireplace embedded in the middle of the room. Lively conversation filled the air as they enjoyed the food they had roasted over the fire.

Lan Xiaoli had no eyes for the cosy scene that was unfolding before him and strode past them with brisk steps. As soon as they caught sight of him, they interrupted their chatter to bombard him with questions.

“Where are you going?”

“What’s wrong?”

“How are you feeling?”

“A-Li! Wait!”

Lan Xiaoli couldn’t make out who was asking what, their voices merging into one chaotic jumble. He was so consumed by his determination to get on a horse and track down his uncle that he turned a deaf ear to them, their presence and questions reduced to mere background noise.

Zhang Chengling, who was standing closest to him, quickly followed him. With a firm grip on Lan Xiaoli’s shoulder, Zhang Chengling stopped him before he could leave the house.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his face written with pure and genuine concern. But when Lan Xiaoli’s rage-filled gaze locked onto him, a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Lan Xiaoli freed his shoulder from Zhang Chengling’s grasp with a violent shove and, without giving an answer or an explanation, he walked out. All he wanted to do was go, and go now!

Outside, most of the snow had been washed away by rain, leaving behind a wet and muddy ground. Only patches of persistent snow had remained, frozen into a slippery hazard. However, with his brisk steps, Lan Xiaoli didn’t slip once. Once he reached one of the carriages, he began to untie one of the horses.

The others had gathered at the door to see what he was up to. Lan Wangji was the first to approach him. He seized one of Lan Xiaoli’s wrists to stop him from releasing the horse.

“What are you doing?”

Lan Xiaoli’s eyes darted to the hand that had captured his arm, preventing him from moving it. “Let go.”

“Tell us what you saw,” Lan Wangji said. His voice was calm, but his composed demeanour was betrayed by the strength of his firm grip.

“It is a long story,” Lan Xiaoli replied, growing more and more agitated. In this very moment, everyone who tried to stop him was nothing more than an obstacle he had to overcome. “I need to go.”

“Where to?”

Lan Xiaoli puffed a frustrated sigh. Every word felt like a waste of breath, every second not spent on getting revenge on his uncle like a waste of time. “There is no time to explain! Stop holding me back.”

But Lan Wangji refused to loosen his grip. “We want to help you.”

Help him? As he had with his spiritual powers? Would his solution be the same as before? Taking it slow? Being patient? It might be too late by then!

Had these words been spoken by someone else, they might have had a different effect, but looking back on it, Lan Xiaoli found that Lan Wangji had always been the opposite of help. Lan Xiaoli’s gaze finally wandered up, and he looked Lan Wangji dead in the eyes. The inexplicable fury that had been bubbling in his chest erupted in a sudden spate of malice.

“I do not need you,” he declared through gritted teeth, spitting out each word with such resentment it could make one’s blood freeze.

Caught off guard, Lan Wangji momentarily faltered, giving Lan Xiaoli the opportunity to free his arm with a forceful yank. Since his father wouldn’t let him untie this horse in peace, Lan Xiaoli wanted to walk over to the other carriage and take one of those horses instead. Turning to stomp away, as he liked to do, he ran straight into Wei Wuxian’s bitchslap.

Wei Wuxian had smacked Lan Xiaoli without restraint. It was forceful and hard, its sound crisp and resounding. For a moment, only the echo of the slap could be heard in the otherwise silent wooded hillside.

Lan Xiaoli had been so consumed by his emotions, lost in the depths of his frustration and impatience, that he hadn’t noticed Wei Wuxian approaching from behind. The slap had come out of nowhere, leaving Lan Xiaoli in a momentary state of shock. He couldn’t believe that Wei Wuxian had actually hit him.

Glaring at Lan Xiaoli with a stern and furious face, Wei Wuxian pointed at Lan Wangji. “Apologise!” he demanded in a firm voice.

Lan Xiaoli covered his cheek, hot and red from the slap, with one of his hands, scowling at the evildoer. Tears stung in his eyes and his jaw clenched in anger, yet he did as requested. Swallowing down his bitterness, he obediently turned to Lan Wangji and bowed in apology.

Meanwhile, Wei Wuxian fished out a rope talisman to restrain the crazed teenager. He methodically wrapped the rope around Lan Xiaoli’s upper body, securing his arms behind his back. Lan Wangji observed Wei Wuxian in concern. This couldn’t be the best way to handle Lan Xiaoli.

“Wei Ying…”

“I know, it’s not the most graceful solution,” Wei Wuxian replied, his tone less harsh now that the slap had served its purpose. “But he’s outta control. Unless you have a better idea, we have no other choice.”

He proceeded to tie Lan Xiaoli’s hands together, leaving no room for movement, then continued, “I first thought it might be related to the curse, but now I’m certain it’s just his attitude. And instead of cooperating, all he likes to do is run away. Not this time.”

‘He’ is present, Lan Xiaoli thought, but afraid of collecting another slap, he didn’t dare say the snarky comment out loud.

As he said the last part, Wei Wuxian made sure to tightly fasten the ropes. Feeling the air being practically squeezed out of his lungs, a small grunt escaped Lan Xiaoli’s lips.

Back inside, Lan Wangji knelt by the crackling fire opposite Lan Xiaoli, who was bound to the wooden bannister of the stairs. His unyielding gaze bore into Lan Xiaoli, who adamantly refused to meet his eyes. Zhang Chengling hadn’t given up yet either and tried to casually strike up a conversation.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” he asked in his most sympathetic voice, but Lan Xiaoli ignored him as well.

The flames of fury in Lan Xiaoli’s eyes almost burnt as bright as the fire that was warming them, so Zhang Chengling thought it best to leave him be for now. Instead, he simply settled down beside him to provide some silent companionship.

Not only did Lan Xiaoli refuse to speak, he also wouldn’t eat or sleep.

Now that things had turned out like this, Lan Wangji regretted bringing Lan Xiaoli to Liu Fenghua in the first place. They should’ve known better.

Seeing Lan Wangji all gloomy like this, Wei Wuxian wanted to comfort him. He squatted down next to him and let out a heavy sigh. “Why is it always trouble with this boy?”

“It is our fault,” Lan Wangji said.

Wei Wuxian nodded his head in silent acknowledgement. The boy had always been impulsive, and it was no secret that he didn’t have a great past. All things considered, their current predicament was truly a predictable outcome.

Yet, when Lan Xiaoli had uttered his wish, it wasn’t Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s place to deny him his past. He would’ve found out sooner or later, with or without them, and they preferred to be a part of his journey to discover the truth.

Of course, if it’d been up to them, they would’ve opted for a more cautious approach. But even if they wanted to tell him the truth, they couldn’t as they simply didn’t know what had happened to Lan Xiaoli’s parents. It was remarkable enough that Lan Xiaoli had figured out a way to retrieve his memories at all.

Wei Wuxian gently draped an arm around Lan Wangji’s shoulders. “We can’t change it now. All we can do is try and help him,” he said with an encouraging smile.

While he wasn’t free from regret either, Wei Wuxian found solace in the fact that, despite the circumstances, their boy was unharmed. After thoroughly examining Lan Xiaoli to confirm his actions were entirely unrelated to the lingering curse, he considered everything to be back under control. All they could do now was wait for the brat to cool down and talk.

After a moment of contemplation, Lan Wangji removed his gaze from Lan Xiaoli. His eyes met with Wei Wuxian’s, which radiated a reassuring warmth. Lan Wangji’s expression softened, and he gave a sober nod in agreement.

As the tension on Lan Wangji’s face faded, Wei Wuxian felt relieved as well and gave him a soft peck on the jaw.

The two of them were still sitting in their embrace, when Zhou Zishu approached them, interrupting their moment of intimacy. Wei Wuxian rose to his feet.

Now that the six of them had reached their common destination – Liu Fenghua – it was time for them to go their separate ways.

However, since Lan Xiaoli placed great trust in his new uncles, Wen Kexing was reluctant to part. Uncertain if he had missed something during the memory session, he was racked with guilt and felt responsible for Lan Xiaoli’s situation. He still wanted to help, yet he didn’t dare to face Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Hence, Zhou Zishu had walked over in his stead.

Lan Wangji shot him a frosty look from his kneeling position. The only result of Wen Kexing’s involvement he could see was a trussed up Lan Xiaoli, so he politely refused.

Lan Xiaoli had overheard their conversation, and even though he knew deep down that his dads only meant well, their actions so far had only interfered with his objective. As a result, he could only view them as a major impediment to his revenge.

“I would rather take their help than yours!” he said from where he was bound, glowering at Lan Wangji with bloodshot eyes. Afraid his dads would come up with a more severe punishment, he quickly added, “They would not have tied me up.”

This remark felt like a stab in Lan Wangji’s heart. In response, he stood up, flicked his sleeve and wordlessly walked away, which was his way of saying, “The three of them can stay, but I will not leave you in their care.”

Wei Wuxian had been seething with anger earlier, but all of it had been drained with the slap. His focus was now on consoling Lan Wangji. He hurried after him, trying to placate him. “At least having someone his age around has a good impact on him! Don’t you think he seemed much more well-behaved and good-tempered? ...well, until he regained his memories…”

At night, they took turns to watch over Lan Xiaoli.

It was impossible for Lan Xiaoli to escape from Wei Wuxian’s bindings, but in case he got hungry or finally felt like talking, it was better to have someone around.

When it was Wen Kexing’s turn, he sat across from Lan Xiaoli, who was still bound to the banister. Since Lan Xiaoli had declared he’d be willing to accept his help, Wen Kexing thought he might have a chance to get him to talk.

“So… what did you see?” he asked as he poked at the fire with a twig, trying his best to appear casual.

Yet, the teen still refused to cooperate. He continued to stare at the ground before him with a perpetual sour expression on his face. He didn’t even try to free himself of the ropes; he knew any attempt was futile. Instead, he just rigidly knelt on the floor, his lips sealed shut.

After a few more failed attempts, Wen Kexing realised it was no use and concluded that there was only one viable solution to fix this mess.

He stood up and walked closer to Lan Xiaoli, continuously throwing cautious glances at the upper level of the cottage. Once he was standing right next to him, he checked one last time to make sure no one else was around, before he did something unexpected.

In a surprising twist, Lan Xiaoli felt the constraints around his body slacken. Wen Kexing had cut the ropes with his fan! Lan Xiaoli’s eyes widened as he stared at the ropes that now dangled loosely from his arms. A mix of astonishment and disbelief coursed through him, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events.

“Go!” Wen Kexing commanded under his breath.

Lan Xiaoli finally lifted his eyes to gawk at him, dumbfounded. Was this really happening or had he accidentally fallen asleep and this was just a dream?

“What are you waiting for?!” Wen Kexing hissed, shooing him away with his hands.

Lan Xiaoli snapped back to his senses and nodded, still a little dazed, before he finally moved to run away.

But fortune was not on their side. Zhou Zishu had emerged from his room at this very moment. Being used to the warmth of someone else’s body, the bed was simply too cold for him alone. And instead of just lying awake until that certain someone returned, he decided to join the night watch, and happened to witness the entire scene.

“Wen Kexing!” he called out in a low voice.

Lan Xiaoli and Wen Kexing had failed to notice his presence, both jumping in surprise. They both looked up to see Zhou Zishu standing at the top of the stairs. Wen Kexing was amazed at how furious a whisper could be.

However, before Zhou Zishu could intervene, Lan Xiaoli had already stormed off. Zhou Zishu noiselessly hurried down the stairs and confronted Wen Kexing, his tone filled with condemnation. “What are you doing?!”

Wen Kexing met Zhou Zishu’s accusatory eyes head-on, returning the glare with steadfast conviction. “That boy has been under the wing of his parents all his life, it’s time for him to gain some real-life experience on his own – even if that means making mistakes,” he deepened his gaze, “Everyone needs to make mistakes.”

The two were only inches apart, the tension between them palpable. “That doesn’t give you the right to allow someone else’s child to make those mistakes!” Zhou Zishu snapped back. “I thought you wanted to help, this is not helping!”

They continued their heated argument in hushed voices for a while, until Zhou Zishu decided it was best to come clean.

Wen Kexing hadn’t foreseen this scenario and was absolutely not ready to face the others yet. “Wait!”

Desperate to stop Zhou Zishu, Wen Kexing reached for him, but after months of experience in dodging those grabby hands, Zhou Zishu deftly evaded his grasp.

“A-Xu! Wait! Listen!” Wen Kexing called after him, rushing to catch up, but it was too late. Once Zhou Zishu had reached Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s room, he immediately knocked on their door, leaving no room for hesitation.

“A-Xu, you’re making a mistake,” Wen Kexing continued in an insistent whisper, but Zhou Zishu didn’t want to hear any of it.

A couple of minutes later, the door creaked open, revealing Wei Wuxian standing there with Lan Wangji right behind him. Wei Wuxian, still groggy from sleep, let out a loud yawn and muttered, “Is it our turn already?”

When Wen Kexing’s eyes landed on the other couple, his body stiffened at once. A thin layer of cold sweat formed on his back and his breath was stuck in his chest.

Zhou Zishu came straight to the point. “I’m sorry to disturb your rest, but Xiaoli has escaped.”

This was it. Just like that, the truth was revealed. Wen Kexing gaped at Zhou Zishu in disbelief. He didn’t know whether to feel respect or betrayal towards his partner who’d just turn him in like that.

Zhou Zishu’s statement felt like someone had poured cold water over Wei Wuxian. Wide awake now, he yanked the door further open. “What? How?!”

Under different circumstances, Wei Wuxian would’ve chased after Lan Xiaoli right away, but the shock ran too deep, rooting him to the spot. He knew it should’ve been impossible for Lan Xiaoli to escape. Unless… Whatever the reason, he was very interested to hear their excuse – no, answer.

Zhou Zishu lowered his gaze, his silence stretching for a moment as he contemplated the best way to disclose the truth. Selling out one’s partner wasn’t that easy after all. Just when Zhou Zishu opened his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by wet footsteps.

The four men collectively turned their heads towards the source of the sound, and there stood the fugitive himself, covered in mud from head to toe. They squinted at him, their expressions a blend of concern and confusion.

Wen Kexing was the only one who let out a barely audible sigh of relief. His heart, which had come up to his throat, plunged back into his chest.

Lan Xiaoli’s head drooped low, his countenance revealing a mix of irritation, frustration and disappointment.

After a long while of silence, Lan Xiaoli shattered the strained atmosphere by finally answering the question that hung so heavily in the air. He heaved a sigh and explained, “...While I was running I realised I did not know where to go… And… it was so dark, I could not see a thing… I tripped and fell into this mud puddle…” His voice caught in his throat for a moment before it abruptly burst out in sobs. “I am sorry, you were right, I cannot do this on my own.”

It was the moment he fell into the puddle that he realised what a spoiled life he’d lived and that he was lost on his own.

His entire body was covered in mud, except for two streaks on his face that revealed he’d been crying the whole way back. The sight tugged at Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian’s hearts, and their gazes softened. They rushed over to embrace him in a comforting hug, the circumstances of his escape completely forgotten.

“Would you like to stay with us tonight? Just like when you were little?” Wei Wuxian asked in a soft voice. “You can tell us what you saw tomorrow, after a good night’s rest.”

Defeated, Lan Xiaoli rubbed away the tears from his eyes and nodded vigorously. The three of them went into their room and closed the door behind them. The last thing Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing heard was Wei Wuxian saying, “Let’s get you cleaned up first…”

Back in their own room, Wen Kexing said with a self-satisfied sigh, “Isn’t it nice that he’s talking again?”

Zhou Zishu shoved a blanket into Wen Kexing’s arms. “You’re sleeping outside tonight.”

“Huh?!” Caught off guard, Wen Kexing was too slow to react, and the blanket dropped to the ground. “But we only have one blanket!”

“I don’t need one,” Zhou Zishu said. He stood with his back to Wen Kexing, getting ready for bed.

“A-Xu, you’re overreacting!” Wen Kexing said, dumping the blanket back onto their bed.

“Overreacting?” Zhou Zishu echoed sharply, then whirled around to face Wen Kexing again. “Imagine if it was Chengling! Imagine if someone else would help him run away! Would you like that?!”

Wen Kexing was stunned by this reasoning, but then a warm smile spread across his face. Zhou Zishu had walked closer during his reproach, so Wen Kexing wrapped his arms around his waist and closed the distance between their bodies. “A-Xu… it helped, didn’t it? He’s reconciled with his dads and will share his past with us tomorrow. He just needed to feel like he had a choice,” he explained in his sweetest voice.

Zhou Zishu wasn’t buying his crap but also didn’t resist the embrace. Averting his gaze, his voice carried a tinge of softness, no longer as sharp as before. “Don’t pretend like it was calculated.” 

“Believe what you want. I know what’s true.”

Though Zhou Zishu would never admit defeat, he’d always had a weak spot in his heart for Wen Kexing.

He relented, allowing Wen Kexing to sleep in their room after all. Overjoyed, Wen Kexing leaned in for a kiss, but Zhou Zishu skillfully dodged his advance.

“Don’t push it.”

“Fine, fine.” Wen Kexing chuckled lightly, releasing his hold on Zhou Zishu.

At the same time, a fast asleep Zhang Chengling turned over in his bed, oblivious to the commotion that had occurred at night.

As promised, Lan Xiaoli shared what he had discovered in his memories the next morning. While Wei Wuxian felt deeply sorry when he heard of the Murongs’ demise, he was also relieved to know that he and Lan Wangji had, in fact, not kidnapped Lan Xiaoli.

After a moment of sombre silence, they all agreed to help him settle this matter. There was just one condition Lan Wangji insisted on.

“No killing.”

“But–” Lan Xiaoli started, but was interrupted by Lan Wangji.

“No. No killing or no revenge.”

Although everyone agreed it was a good enough reason – they would all, without exception, have killed for their parents – Lan Wangji didn’t want to taint Lan Xiaoli’s moral compass with the burden of murder. Lan Xiaoli had never killed a person and shouldn’t develop a taste for it now. It was time to break this cycle of violence.

“...Fine.”

All things considered, Lan Xiaoli had no choice but to comply. At least he was in charge of the plan as long as he observed Lan Wangji’s restriction. And as long as Murong Zheng got the punishment he deserved, Lan Xiaoli had no reason to object.

The two families wasted no time and embarked on their journey to Linguang, Lan Xiaoli’s original hometown, on the very same day.