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the-rocket-scientist · 9 months

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Yandere! Alt. Gabriel X Reader (ROMANTIC) PART 3

Requested by Nadmur on AO3 yet again They were curious of the overall outcome of this story so therefore I bring you the third part >:) Hope you enjoy the True Ending. (The Good Ending as an alternate timeline is coming soon)

. . . . .

Lucifer.

Lucifer, your Savior. Your guardian angel. Your love.

You used to hate him so much when you entered Hell at first. The very man who stole your loved one's life, and technically yours in the end. By force. He wasn't too happy about your escape, and Lucifer had set his mind in punishing you to make you stay here forever.

"Welcome to Hell, the eternal abyss, my dear.

"Now you shall reside here with me forever!

"Come and stand by my right hand, without fear.

"You shall be my partner, and my timeless lover."

When you heard those words and opened your eyes you were in a strange, desolate place. Some parts were a barren wasteland, with a terrible smell you could not describe in human words. Some other parts looked like huge bodies of water: some of an island as molten lava, with fire. Overall, the place did not look suitable to be in. Worst of all, there were people, of priests and humans, walking hopelessly in the lands of the desolate: this was the final clue to where you were.

Hell.

(Oh great.)

You turned to Lucifer, who was still ever more beautiful, not daring to show his true form to you again, unless necessary. And right now was his face of terror not needed, yet.

You asked him why you were here, but then stopped mid sentence. Obviously you were in Hell because you had taken your own life, and when one forcibly cuts their life sentence, they were to end up in this eternal abyss of despair.

You had failed your Father.

In grief and in pain, you started to weep and cry for your sins. You begged for forgiveness for your stupidity and rashness, but nobody came. No one. Not a single soul except of the false angel.

He was embracing you again with his arms and wings, your head resting against his stomach. He contained no body warmth, only the freezing cold of a soulless being. You looked up, and seeing his face was monotone and did not change at all, a mask of disappointment. You realized something terrible was planned for you.

"Fear not and cry not, my child," he spoke in the same, memorable whisper, "You will stay with me forever. None can escape death, not even the Son of God. Why are you not happy? Why do you despair and cry out for your pain? Answer me, and I shall aid you however I can."

You tried pulling away, but he only held you tighter.

"Ah, why do you wish to leave? I never gave permission for you to leave, and I won't let you waltz out my realm like last time."

He released you, but then Lucifer grabbed your right wrist with his left with an iron grip.

"I shall teach you what happens to those who dare disobey my words."

He folded his wings in around you and himself and warped into a different place in Hell. You stumbled as you did not expect the force and momentum behind the teleportation. But you managed to not fell over in shock when you saw a certain someone.

Oh, how long have you not seen him. This wonderful alternate whom you used to befriend in the timeless void. Who kept you good company. In jealousy Lucifer had dispatched him. And now here N was, his limbs bloodily ripped out of their sockets, bleeding a black substance, and almost on the verge of death.

But death does not exist for this alternate as a creature of Hell and terror.

You cried out his name, and he opened his two large eyes slightly in pain. They widened more when they spotted you, and when Lucifer stood next to you.

"[Name]..." he muttered in his glitchy staticky voice. "I am not... not allowed..." he groaned in pain and faltered.

"You do not want to get close to him unless you want more harm done than good," Lucifer warned, as he summoned a cold silver trident and pointed towards N. The trident held power, and illuminated a slight tint of red. You desperately wanted to go and help N and put him out of misery if it weren't for Lucifer stopping you. His threat hung low in the air.

You asked him, begged him for answers, why he was doing this to N. His own creations, tortured like this because of you.

"You disobeyed me, and so have N," Lucifer replied with a stern voice. "You get what you deserve, and so does N."

You started crying again, and Lucifer, bathing in your pain and anguish, chuckled sadistically. He loved to see you weak and powerless against him: it made the adrenaline and serotonin in his body rush in with a buzz of exciting warmth.

N visibly panicked and became more upset when you started to sob. "Don't... worry about me... young one," he spoke gently, his voice strained, "I will be fine... Just take care of yourself..."

He coughed black blood through his invisible mouth.

"Let me show you who is next in my punishment," Lucifer said rather too gleefully, excited to show you more of the horrors and put you in place.

You tried to pull away, but his left hand, still on your right, gripped even harder to the point of almost breaking them. You cried in pain as he teleported again through the wrinkle of space and of the eternal abyss.

You were dizzy from the warping, but when you opened your eyes you wished to close them again. You recognized the alternate and the creature hanging by the neck with barbed wires from the ceiling.

Six and Preacher.

They had been hung for a long time by now, for the flesh in their hands were ripped off their bones and bleeding. They either have been trying to get the barbed wire off their neck to stay circulated or have been gripping them to hang on with their bare hands.

Preacher was unconscious but Six was awake and saw you with Lucifer by your side. You cried out their names and only one responded with a breathless "[Name]?"

"Do not interact with them, my child," Lucifer said rather coldly, "for they have not been forgiven yet, and never will."

You started to protest but he put his large, slender hand over your mouth after dissipating his trident he was holding. With his other hand he had not let go of your wrist.

"Do utter words no further, my child," Lucifer shushed. "Would you like to meet your dear friend one last time?"

No, he can't be talking about...

"You must be punished after all, especially after your escape attempt."

No. Please.

He teleported again.

You threw up in the end, as Lucifer let go of your wrist and watched you suffer in glee. How he loved you so dearly. How you looked so lovely when you were in such pain and anguish. Your fearful expressions on your cute face. He loved your reactions rather from terror and despair than happiness and hope. Unless he was to crush the hope in your and watch your face crumble into devoid sorrow. Then that was even more better for his pleasure.

Your guts burned from the pain, as you looked around and hugging your stomach. Nothing. Just pure darkness. No sounds. The place felt extremely deafening.

Lucifer was looking at stacks of parchment paper. He glowed in the dark, the only source of light in this deafening empty world. He flipped through some pages and came upon a name:

"Ruth Weaver. For she have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God, and have not accepted the Father's words and ways."

His voice rang out in the darkness in all directions. An invisible, powerful shockwave could be felt, stretching for miles. Until one figure appeared that you could recognize even in this dim light.

"[N]-[Name]?" Ruth said, in a shaky voice, her eyes widened in disbelief.

"You have 5 minutes, my child," Lucifer interrupted, a far-too stretched grin on his face, "Before you never see her again."

You asked where the shepherd's daughter, your old friend, Ruth was.

"Why do you ask when she is right in front of you?"

This statement hit you as if you got in a severe car accident. Of course Ruth would still be Ruth: just slightly modified, due to the nature of reincarnations. Ruth had been Ruth for many generations, you just didn't know and was unaware. No wonder this Ruth felt so close to your friend.

You teared up and quickly embraced Ruth, who was startled but fiercely hugged back. "I'm so happy to see you again," she softly said, tears starting to run down her cheeks, "I promised I would come back... I'm so sorry..."

You reassured her that it was alright.

"It's so quiet and dark here..." Ruth continued, "I feel so lonely... especially with an alternate or two trying to torment me. But!!" Here she managed a bold yet shaky grin, shining her old personality again even in just a glimmer. "I'll stay strong. I think of you when times are hard. Even if it's forever, even if I'm in Hell, I'm glad I got to know you. I'm glad I can remember you as a person. Don't forget that, [Name]. Keep being you in this hellish world, alright?"

"Time is up for you, my child," Lucifer interrupted, one of his hands interlocking fingers with yours. He still had that smug grin, because he knew it wasn't five minutes, and he knew you were aware of that. But you couldn't argue: your friends might get into worse situations than they were currently in, and you didn't want that.

As Lucifer made you face the opposite way, away from Ruth, you looked back at her one last time. You swore to remember her words no matter what.

How the times have changed.

As time passed in this dark realm, you saw no one except for Lucifer, and only him. You were not allowed to see anyone, and he isolated you in his home. You couldn't even get out: the halls were too long and twisted and you couldn't possibly found your way out even if you were allowed to. Even then, Lucifer always accompanied you. 24/7. He even undressed you himself and stood at the front of the bathroom door, waiting for you to finish whatever you needed to do.

At first you were uncomfortable, and tried to rebel against him again. But he only made his punishments worse, from just forcing you to watch your friends all scream in pain, to you being the victim of the torture yourself. And so one day, you have given up. Life (or the afterlife) seemed much better after that, for Lucifer made no attempt to hurt you when you behaved. He was kind as the morning rays of sunshine and sweet as the lush green meadows to you. He bathed you in all the glory that existed and treated you like an equal royal as of him.

Millennials passed, and you started to forget your past memories.

You vaguely remember yourself trying to desperately cling into the golden memories that kept you independant. Memories of you as a child of a shepherd and your friend Ruth, waiting for the Son of God to descend and save them all. You teaching Ruth how to weave, and Ruth to you to speak Latin. You remembered praying together under the moonlit sky, with stars that speckled with joy and serenity. You remembered the police officer Ruth, whom you befriended with once you escaped to the surface. You remembered N, Six, and the Preacher, who helped you escape in the first place and made your thoughts clear.

But Lucifer was always there to gently hug you, to make you forget. To make you forget of Ruth's words.

"You do not need those imbeciles, my child," he always spoke to you in that gentle, yet stern way. "You do not need to remember anyone but me. Your True Savior. Your guardian angel. Now you look quite tired, why don't you go to sleep?"

Your eyes, no matter how much you tried to fight against his spell, drooped heavily and closed. And your memories would be even more blurred and more difficult to remember than last time you woke up. You weeped in pain because of this, and every time, Lucifer was there for you. His voice was of mockery of comfort, but he was always there for you.

Always.

And now you have forgotten.

You remembered the pale faces of the alternates, the strange man, and a brown-haired woman turn to horror as Lucifer asked if you remembered who they were. You did not, and you said so in a rather confused and honest tone than the voice of emptiness. One of them even started to shed tears, but for what? Were you supposed to remember them?

But no matter. Lucifer was there for you. And after that encounter, you met them never again, and you didn't remember the brief meeting in the first place. His hand proudly in your shoulder as you and him spend quality time together. You and him.

You and Lucifer.

Your guardian angel.

Time became meaningless to you. Nothing meant anything but Lucifer. Your True Savior.

One day, he brought in great news to your ears.

"My child," he had said. "I bring good news of great joy. I have finally overthrown the enemy of mine!"

You happily celebrated with him afterwards, cuddling together, and all the while getting ready to ascend to the heavens. What was a heaven in the first place? You didn't know, and you were afraid. But Lucifer was there for you when you first entered the great skies. So blue was the sky, and so white were the clouds. There was only one golden throne, but Lucifer had placed a second golden one, smaller than his, yet one that still held majestic power. Next to each other, like you were with Lucifer.

And so you sat side by side with him, and he one day, prepared a magnificent wedding for you. You never had children, both of you never wanted one in the first place. Lucifer and you just needed each other. And that was all both of you needed. Your love for him and his love for you was inseparable: and for all eternity the guardian angel, now a god, and a mere... what were you even? You did not remember. You didn't care.

All that mattered was that you were happy and in love with Lucifer. And he with you.

Your guardian angel.

Your True Savior.

Your true love.

Lucifer.

. . . . .

You have reached the True Ending. But there is an alternate timeline and an alternate happy ending, which goes much better for most people... but it turns into a 6 X Reader (and it's out)

I'm sorry if this looks terribly rushed :( (also this was written so long ago and i forgot to post the third part here)

#mandela catalogue #the mandela catalogue #tmc #mandela catalog #alternate gabriel #tmc alternate #alt!gabriel #alternate gabriel x reader #alt!gabriel x reader #yandere alternate gabriel

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problematicturtle · 2 years

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About Claudia:

Yes, she has killed. She, like all vampires, is a killer. That she kept trophies of her kills and recorded their last words just means, in the context of the vampire universe, that she is a little bit extra. It does not mean that she is not capable of love, or of being victimized. And that her fear of Lestat in episode 5 is unjustified, that she is faking it. Faking it to whom, exactly. The dairy is a personal account, meant for herself only. She saw what she saw and felt what she felt, it was not a performance for an audience. Whether what she saw was the “truth” or not, is about perception and memory, not about an attempt to deceive others (what others? The book is hers, I doubt she wanted Daniel to read it years later as an account to exonerate her and vilify Lestat).

As for her manipulation, I see little evidence of that in the five episodes that we have seen. Claudia, caught in perpetual teenaged hood; where emotions are all you have and everything is all-consuming, lost someone she loved by her own hand and flipped out. Killed dozens and then, when caught, left. Found the world a horrible, terrible place.

Bear in mind, this is because she is, outwardly, a tiny Black girl, who is easy prey for just about everyone. That she can defend herself quite well doesn’t mean she’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Like Louis, she can’t escape how people perceive her. She is not allowed the freedom to navigate through the world like Lestat. That she has a ready excuse to the boy that harassed her means she must be used to this kind of treatment.

So then, after going through a traumatic experience, she goes home and asks Lestat for forgiveness; in typical Lestat fashion, he tells her he’s not interested in forgiveness. So she switches gears and asks Louis to come away with her, only to have Lestat attack her, leading to the fight. Bear in mind, this is close after she was assaulted by another vampire; of course she’s afraid, of course she’s terrified. Like Lestat said, she is a mistake who is built like a bird. We look at Lestat’s pain and suffering, at how he’s afraid of being alone, as reasonings behind what he did to Louis; Louis’ neglect, we say, is the reason why he snapped. And yet there’s no offering of the same kind of internal motivation to Claudia beyond “she’s manipulative and not to be trusted, and also a serial killer.”

You can be a serial killer and be a victim as well. You can be afraid, and vulnerable, and be unable to defend yourself against a much stronger party. You can be afforded empathy, and understanding for your situation, the way we afford empathy and understanding to so very many characters who do so very many terrible things. The way we talk about how much we understand Lestat’s motivations, or talk about how he “snapped” after being ignored for seven years. The way we relate to him, and wish he wouldn’t, and can see the man behind the monstrous acts. I want us to see the girl behind the monstrous acts. And acknowledge that in this instance, at this moment, she did nothing wrong.

I’m exhausted and this is exhausting; the character deserves to be humanized, is all I’m gonna say. She’s not a child anymore, but adult women also deserve their humanity. I don’t even say this as a big Claudia fan, I am not particularly invested in her one way or another. But it’s disappointing. The show has been very careful in how it portrays these characters, and deliberately so, and yet.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv spoilers

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oleworm · 1 year

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In The Idiot by Elif Batuman I'm certain that Selin doesn't want the man -- when they meet in person he's always saying things that she finds unpleasant and that conflict with the idea she has created of him -- what she wants is a friend with whom she can play at being a writer /= practice at being a writer. She imagines that they are both in a story, a story that they create through the emails that they write. He's even named Ivan, like so many characters in the Russian stories that she likes.

Her dislike of him builds up with every time that they meet in person, as she struggles to reconcile the person she writes with and the one that she engages with in the physical world. Now Batuman does a very interesting thing -- I am pretty sure it was an intentionally created effect, because there is a line right after that goes something like, "I wondered why he would say something so horrible about himself."

She shows that they are not meant to be by giving the love interest a "wrong" opinion about Dostoyevsky.

It is not that he is wrong about the details of the text, it is not that he pretends to have read it when he actually hasn't. It is in the misunderstanding of the essence of it. He complains about giving his seat to old women on the bus, and says that it makes him feel like Raskolnikov -- in the sense that it makes him feel that he would like to murder them with an axe. This makes Selin very upset, because she would not like a person who sees the world this way, someone who would casually say such a thing. It shows how he actually sees other people, those that are weaker than him, even if it is a joke. In the real world, all of these superficial provisions for the defense of the elderly were installed in the first place because there are people who treat them like they don't exist, or who do wish that they didn't exist. Who wish them violence because they are mildly annoying, or what have you, and who very often commit this violence.

It shows the contradiction in his character. Ivan loves Dostoyevsky, but Dostoyevsky loved the weak and the dispossessed and felt pain when others were mistreated. If he loves Dostoyevsky so much, if Dostoyevsky is his favourite writer, how can he disagree with him in such a fundamental way? Raskolnikov became a murderer because of the abject poverty that he was forced to live in, but this Ivan who is Selin's friend is a rich man, a young academic with a supportive family who can afford to study in one of the most expensive countries in the world. They come from very different places. Ivan does not become a murderer, but cheerfully jokes about wishing to murder a person who wouldn't be strong to defend themselves against him. He is not an evil man -- if there were such a thing, an evil man would have done terrible things when he had the opportunity to do them. He is merely a jerk. But he is not the person she imagined, the one that she herself created. Of course she would be disappointed with the reality.

Selin thinks, "What part of him is real? Who have I been talking to all this time?" Later in the book, one of conclusions is that they have been talking to themselves rather than to each other.

#elif batuman #the idiot by elif batuman #ole blog #writing another post about her mentioning shabbiness in dostoyevsky

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kali-kali-zulfein · 6 months

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six pm, a dreadful saturday.

sometimes you ask me how I'm doing. I'm not that good. not too bad either to be honest. i don't know how to process my feelings the first time I feel them. i know that I should express what I can and hold no regrets. it's not that simple.

sometimes you ask me how I'm doing. and I love that. i get tired of asking people time and time again how they are and for them to shut me down and say they can't talk right now. it hurts. which is why right now when you asked how I was, and how my day was. I loved you. i couldn't talk then, maybe I can't talk now either. I'm not sure. my mind is just not in a very emotion-receptive state right now. i know you yourself have had a terrible, terrible day. and you must want to seek comfort right now. i don't know why your head is on the shoulder of the very person who you wanted nothing to do with just a day ago. who you said was now out of bounds. at whom you were angry beyond control. who you asked me to help you forget about. it hurts me to see you go to him. i don't know why. i don't know if i even have the right to feel what I feel. i mean why should you not seek comfort? you absolutely should. but why do I feel that I should be the one giving you that? i don't know. and it is driving me mad. I am not angry. maybe confused. definitely disappointed. this has all happened before just never this intense and real. never got someone so close to me. never for someone whom I just want to hold onto and never let go.

you have your head on his shoulder. I wish I were Heather.

but that's the thing! i don't want to keep wishing to be Heather, I want to be me and I want you to be with me. i watch your eyes as he walks by, what a sight for sore eyes. while i die.

sometimes you ask how i am. and I think how can I be? how can I be. without you.

#text #thoughts #writing #i need a hug #love #let me love you

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luvreyn · 2 years

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HUNT

SASUINO DAY 1: PIRATE/MERMAID AU PROMPT

Wrote this in a rush cuz life keeps getting in the way. Happy SasuIno week! @sasuino-week

Sasuke is 7 when he learns that it’s stupid that he never learned how to swim. He’s the brother of the greatest pirate to ever live, and yet he’s drowning. Itachi would be so disappointed.

He saw something swimming towards him before death took him.

The first thing that came to mind when he awoke was that he was dead, but he even doubted his eyes when he saw a familiar palace in the distance. For heaven couldn’t allow the royals inside heaven when they’re very sinful, right?

That’s what his father told him.

"I’m alive?" He looks around. "How- how am I?

He sees a small girl behind a huge rock and an epiphany hits him.

"Did you save me?"

II.

Her name is Ino.

Ino is definitely a girl, but she’s not human. Her purple tail, her claws, and her ethereal disposition confirmed this.

And he knows she’s not human because he has seen people like her before. After all, they hunt something like her for a living and present their heads to the throne.

He swallows, wondering if Ino knew what they were doing in the ocean when she rescued him.

But Ino surprises him by apologizing. He doesn’t know what she’s apologizing for, but he thinks she looks like she belongs to the sky more than the sea. Her long golden hair reminds him of the sun. Her eyes are the color of the sky instead of the sea.

And she saved him.

But she couldn’t save Itachi.

III.

The King takes care of him in his brother’s stead and the palace became his home except...

He rushes towards the beach, dodging the huge rocks until he comes face-to-face with his savior, his friend, his home.

Ino was already waiting for him. She leans her head onto the rock as she combs her hair out of her face.

"Took you long enough." is what she says when she spots him.

He rolls his eyes, sitting right next to her as they look at the overlooking ocean.

"I should go. My friend is waiting for me." She motions towards the sea. He finds a pink-haired mermaid waiting for her.

She was about to dive when he stopped her, halting her movement.

"What?" She’s annoyed, but he’s scared.

"You’ll come back, right?"

"What? Sasuke, my friend is waitin-"

"Promise me you’ll come back." he insisted. "Promise me."

Her eyes softened. She squeezed his hand. "I promise."

IV.

They meet every day.

He talks about his brother Itachi, and how he wishes his brother had never died in the shipwreck. She talks about her dad and how he doesn’t want her to associate with humans.

Why?

Because he says you’re scary and dangerous.

Scary?

She gives him her duh look. Because you hunt us, silly.

But I’m not scary or dangerous.

She stops to think before smiling. Yeah, you’re not. I’m glad you’re not.

His heart skips a beat at her smile.

Home is almost taken from him when Kabuto, one of the King’s servants, follows him to the beach.

He remembers the screams, the guards, and the arms dragging him away as he struggled with the much older man.

He remembers Ino managing to slash the guard’s face with her claw. He remembers her pained look when she looked back at him one last time before diving and swimming away.

VI.

At the young age of 16, Sasuke left the palace and land in search of his home.

Eventually, he became more of a pirate than a prince.

He searches day and night to find her, following rumors and tales about a golden-haired mermaid all throughout the ocean.

He knows that his crew mates think of him as crazy.

His first mate, Naruto, who left the palace with him, said as much.

They feared for him and feared him.

For this insatiable obsession, this unwavering devotion to someone whom he met as a young child. Whom he spent brief encounters with.

They certainly don’t know what they’re talking about.

And even if it was only a brief encounter, it was enough for him to sail across the vast ocean in search of her.

He’s reminded of the shipwreck that orphaned him when their ship was caught in a terrible storm. The heavy rain and the waves threatened to drown his ship.

Sasuke scowls when he sees his newest recruit making a fool of himself tying the rope, and he sees the moment when the recruit almost fell into the ocean.

Being the captain and closest to him, Sasuke rescued his stupid recruit and fell into the ocean in the process.

He hears the shouts and Naruto takes charge as they manoeuvre the ship and attempt to rescue him.

He cursed when he felt his feet stuck on something and tried to fight against the current, but the waves were too strong for him.

And then he’s drowning, drowning, drowning...

When he opened his eyes, he saw the familiar blue eyes looking at him in shock and wonder.

Ino swims him back to the surface. He tries to get as much air into his lungs as he’s able. He heard shouts in the distance and noted dimly that his ship was not far away.

Her hair is longer now and he still thinks she looks like she belongs more to the sky than the sea.

No, Ino belongs to him more than she belongs to the sea.

"Sasuke? Sasuke?!" Her hands touched his face as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. "It’s really you."

Her voice broke, and if it weren’t for the rain, he would’ve thought she was crying.

He catches her hand, kissing it and placing it gently against his cheek. "Ino."

He finally came back home.

VII.

It was like he was a child again. He waits for her to return to him every night; he waits for her to complete his day; he waits.

But he’s growing increasingly impatient with how little of her time he gets, and Naruto has already warned him twice to keep his attitude in check.

You don’t want to scare her, don’t you?

He doesn’t.

Ino is an important figure in their world, which he learns quickly enough. She’s bathing in the moonlight as she shares that they’re dwindling in numbers because humans-pirates are hunting them. He says nothing, but in retaliation for making her cry, he hunts those he knew were hunting her species.

The kiss Ino gave his cheek in thanks still makes him smile.

One night, he finally asked the question.

"Why did you break your promise?"

Ino tells him that she was forbidden from returning. It was dangerous.

"I'm sorry." she apologizes, her golden hair swaying with the waves.

"They don't even know I'm here." She says, her eyes looking around. He wants to tell her she doesn't have to worry about that because his mates are patrolling the area with their canoe. "They would be so disappointed in me if they found out. They might even kick me out." she laughed dryly.

"Why not go with me then?"

She laughs and looks at him. "And where would we go?"

He knew she thought he was kidding, so he grasped her hand and caught her eye.

"Away." Every place is better than being without her.

She must have seen something in his eyes because the smile left her face.

Ino swallows, squeezing his hand lightly before letting go. "I'm sorry, Sasuke, I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

"Because my family is here and I have a duty."

But I should be your family. The words stopped on his lips.

Her rejection hurts more than anything he's ever felt before.

He just finally came home.

She raised her head heavenward and let the first drop of rain kiss her face. "I'll need to leave soon."

She can’t just leave him again now that he’s home.

He clenches his fist.

He won’t let her leave. Ino’s not leaving him. She won’t. She can’t,

He won't let her go.

Even when she repeatedly called out to him as they bound her.

Even when she trashed against the tank.

"Captain!" Jugo calls to him. He leaves the captain’s chamber when Jugo tells him of the urgent news and sees the chaos happening on deck, sees the swarm of men cornering his Ino.

Even when she's scared of him.

"Why is she out of the tank?" he hisses, not expecting an answer. He pushes his way through the crowd.

"Don’t let go of her!" he screams as Ino fights her oppressors. She slashes Suigetsu’s arms and Kakashi's eye. She crawls immediately to the edge of the ship, poised to jump. "Ino! Don’t you dare!"

It was too late.

Ino looks back at him. She looks scared yet determined before jumping into the sea.

He scowls at the sea, the waves mocking him for his failure.

She shouldn’t have left him. She shouldn’t have broken her promise. Now he needs to show her how scary humans can be. How terrifying he can be.

He gathers his mates and hunts.

#SasuInoWeek2022 #SIW2022 #reynwrites #for my og ship #sasuino #BECAUSE I LOVE THEM AND THERE'S NOT ENOUGH CONTENT #happy sasuino week!!#sasuke x ino #Ino Yamanaka #sasuke uchiha #reynwrites.sasuino #reynwrites.naruto

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nadzhosny2 · 1 year

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The curse of not good enough

Sometimes I am really terrible to myself, and I relentlessly compare myself to other people, no matter how many times I read or hear about how good enough or lovable I am. I meticulously look for evidence that I am a nobody, that I don’t deserve to be loved or that I’m not living up to my full potential. The question of “am I not good enough?” will be ringing in my head constantly.

There is generally a lot of pressure to “stack up” in our society. We feel as if there is something wrong with us if, for example, we’re still single by a certain age, don’t make a certain amount of money, don’t have a large social circle, or don’t look and act a certain way in the presence of others. The list could truly go on forever. I get stuck in my head and my inner critic (critic is a euphemism, it’s more like satan) gets so loud and completely rips apart my self-esteem until I accept it as a true representation of reality and hate myself too much to do anything. You can probably remember a time when you didn’t do something because your “not good enough” thoughts showed up.

The feeling of not being good enough can lead to “impostor syndrome”. With this, people question all their achievements and convince themselves that they’re a fraud about to be caught out at any time. To make matters worse, we can also start thinking that everyone around us is so much better at what they do. The bane of our generation’s existence, social media, seems to just amplify that everyone else is having a better life than us and causing us to think “she/he has a much better job than me”, “look at their family, they are perfect together; that’s nothing like ours”, “I will never be like him/her”.

It’s so easy to second guess that you are good enough when all the signs seem to be telling you the opposite. But despite currently feeling like it’s you against the world, it’s important to remember that you are an essential part of this world. You play a role no one else can play.

It’s you who decides how good you can be. You’re in full control of what you’re good at, how good you want to be, and what aspects of yourself you wish to improve about yourself. If someone dislikes something about you that you love about yourself, you don’t need to change. You simply need to tell that person to fuck off and find someone who also likes those aspects of yourself and if you don’t then that’s fine too! The only person whom you need to worry about liking is your own damn self. If you flunked a test or made a mistake at work and now feel ashamed or disappointed, you can change your studying and working habits (a fixable problem) so that you perform better next time. You need to stop filling your mind with doubt. Otherwise, the feeling of “I’m not good enough” becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. But today and right now, you can decide to become good enough, if you can even prove that you lack something in the first place.

You being here and alive right now makes you one of the rarest events to ever happen in the world. At one point, humans didn’t even exist in this world. And yet somehow despite all the miscarriages, wide-spread global pandemics, wars and asteroids that would’ve killed your ancestors, the universe conspired to ensure that everything you are, survived. You’re a miracle. There are billions of people who didn’t make it through, but you did. You’ve got a unique set of some of the strongest genes, a bunch of quirky traits, and the craziest opportunity to be alive. If there wasn’t a purpose or a need for you to survive all of the world’s catastrophes, you wouldn’t have.

Life’s going to throw you some curveballs. You’re going to get sucker-punched. Other times, you’ll get knocked down to your knees and be unable to breathe. But it’s important to remember that with every knock out or every hit, no matter how hard, you jump back up and try again. You might fail, mess up and get rejected. But ultimately, you know that even if you’re not good enough today, you’ll definitely be good enough tomorrow. Every day, you take on the day head-on and give it your best. You know that even though you constantly question if you’re good enough, that giving up isn’t in your nature, that you’re a fighter. There’s always a solution to a problem. And even if you’re not quite sure of what your next move is yet, you know that you’re smart enough to figure it out.

You can’t hate your way into loving yourself. Telling yourself what a failure you are won’t make you any more successful. Telling yourself you’re not living up to your full potential won’t help you reach a higher potential. Telling yourself you’re worthless and unlovable won’t make you feel any more worthy or loved. I know it sounds almost annoyingly simple, but the only way to achieve self-love is to love yourself — regardless of who you are and where you stand and even if you know you want to change. You are enough just as you are. And self-love will be a little bit easier every time you remind yourself of that.

#good enough #mental health #you are worthy #you are good enough #encouraging growth #love yourself more

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eyebright-iris · 2 years

Text

Review: The Murdstone Trilogy by Mal Peet

Content warning: this review will discuss misogyny, homophobia, sexual assault, transphobia and ableism.

It appears I am having terrible luck with reading this year. I should have known when the gap between by last book I finished and this one (not counting the two graphic novels I blazed through in like two hours in between) has been six months. I started reading The Murdstone Trilogy in January/February time, after the disappointment of Empress of Flames. I hoped that the things I heard - a Pratchett-esque satirical take on fantasy literature, full of good humour and entertaining challenges of the clichés we all know - would make this a fun and easy read, lighthearted and quick.

Oh God, I was so wrong.

Not wanting to pick up another book and brand my 2022 reading a two-for-two of DNFs has meant I haven’t really read in six months. I did not want to finish this book. It sat on my bedside table like a piece of set dressing, collecting dust, seven chapters in and I was loath to pick it up again. But what is it that’s so bad about this book?

Well, let me tell you. It is utterly devoid of heart. It is a book so concerned with cynicism, with belittling others, with being removed and aloof and bitter, that it removes any fun it might have had. I wondered if, perhaps, the use of an ableist slur twelve pages in meant that this book wasn’t for me. Maybe, I thought, trying to be generous, it was from the early 2000s, some time where the R slur got thrown around casually without thought for its actual cruel ramifications. Where the hatred of disabled people was challenged only really by disabled people themselves, where the publicity surrounding not being a fucking monster to minorities was nowhere near what it is today, where the “woke mob” is decried every time someone famous and beloved is revealed to be a fucking monster.

Unfortunately, this book was published in 2014.

And it only got worse from there. Aside from the frankly disgusting way the protagonist talks about women - any women, as often as possible - there’s also the use of transphobic slurs and casual discussion about if a gay man with social power sexually assault the male protagonist, he should just smile and not make a fuss. It’s funny! Queer people existing - trans people, gay people - are actually a way to show off how weird and not like good old Blighty the USA is. Queerness is a side-effect of modern-day image-obsessed celebrity culture, and considering how bitterly and viciously this book rails against the progression of the world through technology and social media, it is distinctly not a positive thing.

Now, I know. Books do not have to be moral. Protagonists can be horrible people, I know. I’ve read books with horrible protagonists, and loved them. This book felt like a gut punch, over and over. How far did I make it into it? Seven and a half chapters. I reached a point where I realised I wasn't enjoying myself, and I did not need to martyr myself to this bitter and dull piece of shit book for the sake of proving that no, I do understand that flawed protagonists exist and can be good to read. I have a Masters degree in literature. I am required to prove nothing to no one, thank you.

BELOW ARE JUST A FEW OF MY “”FAVOURITE”” PASSAGES. THESE WILL BE MISOGYNIST, ABLEIST, RACIST TRANSPHOBIC AND HOMOPHOBIC, AS WELL AS CONTAINING A MENTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT. IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO READ THEM, PLEASE SKIP TO “FIN”.

“It made Asperger’s cool” (page 11)

“You’ve made that whole area, you know, boys who are inadequate, your own.” (page 11)

“No one wants to publish another book about sensitive retarded boys” (page 12)

“It’s about a sensitive adopted boy of mixed race with learning difficulties who’s good at football and believes his real father might be a Premiership footballer” (page 12)

“He picked at the wrongly hinged boy in the wheelchair whom Minerva had pointed out” (page 71)

“Viscid filaments stretched between his lips” (page 72)

“The boy’s eyes swivelled and his buckled fingers clawed the air” (page 72)

“His teenage son is a tranny” (page 76)

“He’s as gay as bunting, and if he cops a feel of your bum I want you to promise me you won’t make a fuss, OK? It won’t come to anything.” (page 77)

FIN

It was at this point, having slogged through ableism and transphobia and more misogyny than would be practical to list in the above section, but trust me, this protagonist is an incel through and through, than I threw the book down. I had only picked the damn thing up again after months of not touching it because I was waiting for my phone to update and couldn’t be asked to get out of bed on a Sunday morning to go to my laptop. What a vile, sad, disgusting little book. What a waste of ink, what a waste of my time and money.

There is one, final thing I’d like to touch on, before I hurl this mistake of a book to the winds. It’s less…skin crawling, shall we say, than the rest of the above bullshit. But it hurt me very personally, in ways different to how the ableism and homophobia and transphobia hurt me.

I do LARPing. For those who don’t know, that’s Live Action Role Play, like a renfaire or cosplaying your own OC, but with plot and worldbuilding. I run LARPs and I play them. They are tremendous fun, and require a level of unabashed love for what you’re doing, authentic and honest and joyful. I love fantasy in the same way, the way it is so often unabashed that yes, the evil in the text can be defeated and we will come home, the world saved but we irrevocably changed, but we won, we won, we won. Fantasy is a genre of pretending and refusing to allow that to be strangled out of you by common sense or grown up nonsense. Mal Peet does everything he can in this novel to strangle it out of me. He is cruel and dismissive. Murdstone calls Tolkien “pretentious escapist nonsense”, as if The Lord of the Rings was invented out of nowhere so Tolkien could feel clever about himself, as if there isn’t a rich history of fantasy being written in reference and reverence to texts that have come before that goes all the way back to Beowulf and beyond - a history I have personally studied at university. Books, and fantasy, is all capitalistic nightmare foolishness, according to this book. The publishing industry churns out only what sells, and writers write only what sells, and there is no joy or authenticity in it, only cynicism and money.

It’s no wonder I quite literally tossed it aside 77 pages in.

Mal Peet, I’m sorry your protagonist is so much smarter than the rest of the world. I’m sorry that this book was marketed as a fun romp through fantasy tropes, something that I picked up hoping for just that. And I am so, so sorry that it led to me not reading anything for six fucking months because I thought I should at least have the decency to try and finish it.

To the bin with it. I move on to better things.

Verdict:

A cynical and bitter, boring book that has the additional gall to be cruel to minorities. A lot. A waste of my time and money that I could never recommend to anyone. 0/5, 0/10, whatever rating you choose, I hated it.

#review #book review #the murdstone trilogy #mal peet #booklr #bookblr #dear christ in heaven remove this fucking book from me

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jomiddlemarch · 3 years

Text

Know your own happiness, part II

“That’s impossible,” Alina said, using the secateurs to cut another rose. They were too big for her hands and it was awkward, but she continued with as much grace as she could muster.

“I have not made my proposition yet and you already declare it impossible?” General Kirigan’s brow furrowed and Alina thought fleetingly of how many of the other ladies would be eager to smooth it for him, with honeyed words or gentle hands or even the offer of a freshly snipped rose in full and glorious bloom. She let the blossom fall to the basket she carried on the crook of her arm.

“You are so far my superior in age and wisdom and I am so young, only just turned nineteen, you cannot have been waiting for me in particular for terribly long and I hope you won’t mind me saying that I don’t care to be considered as a category rather than an individual,” she explained. “Though I fully expect that whatever you propose will also prove impossible in scope, role or demand.”

“You do?”

“You have that look about you. That brooks no disputes, that argues with the very sky and sea, vast forces you rely on bending to your will,” she said. “I live a small life as a small person and have learned it’s best to discover what I must accept, do that, and then find what I may to gladden my heart and satisfy my soul.”

“You are the least small person I have ever encountered, Miss Starr,” he said.

“And I thought you so widely travelled! How disappointing!” Alina said, smiling to herself. Another rose dropped in the basket, almost enough for the nosegay in the Dowager Countess’s room.

“Will you be serious for a moment? Or let me speak and then you may decide how you respond?” he said.

“I have been serious the whole time, even if you cannot tell,” she said. “But of course, say what you will. I’ll listen.”

“Thank you,” he said, still looking somewhat frustrated at being wrong-footed by a miss with too quick a tongue. “You are aware that someone in my position is most highly sought-after as a husband by all the mammas of the Ton and by their coy daughters as well, though the only attributes of mine that engender such interest are my annual income, my country estate, house in Town and what I find my unfortunate proximity and obligation to the Prince Regent, who takes my disdain as the highest form of gentlemanly amity, unable to admit any flaw to his character. Frankly, Miss Starr, it is exhausting.”

“It does indeed sound most taxing,” she said, keeping her expression prim.

“I would like very much to put an end to it, in such a way as to forestall any further conversation, so I may focus my energies elsewhere, where they may do a great benefit to those who are most in need. You have struck me as an intelligent woman who would appreciate the financial security I could provide to you and your family while not boring me to tears with discussions of which ribbons and laces you have purchased or plan to and our difference in station is so great that tongues will not wag but be swallowed by the announcement of our engagement,” he said, warming to his topic. It was most annoying attractive to see his dark eyes light up and the elegant gestures of his slender, well-made hands, but Alina paid most attention to what he’d actually said.

“You wish to shock Society into silence by marrying me,” she said. He nodded and smiled, a curiously winsome expression on his darkly handsome face. A coquette would have tapped her manicured fingertips on her lip before she spoke again and a naïf would have blushed. Alina tilted her head to the side in the way of an owl, according to her cousin Theodore who always averred he liked owls exceedingly well, and spoke again. “In recompense, my family and I, of whom I can only hope you have taken careful count, will be pensioned off and I may read the collected works of your country estate and town house libraries ad infinitum and presumably buy any number of ribbons as long as I don’t mention it to you.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it, Miss Starr,” he said.

“No,” Alina replied.

Some men would have looked like a gasping trout in the face of her succinct rejection, but General Kirigan appeared much as he always did save for the darkening of his eyes and the slight press of his well-shaped mouth, as if she’d responded with a mathematical theorem he had not yet mastered.

“No?”

“Would you prefer an explanation or to stalk out and ride away on your enormous black stallion, to rail against the vagaries of the softer sex amidst nature’s implacable forces or what the groundskeepers at Gregory Hall have approximated to nature’s forces. Eugenia’s mamma ordered a folly and it tends to take away from the grandeur of the sky if it’s in your line of sight. It’s derivative of Wren’s work in all the worst ways, I’m afraid,” Alina said.

“I’d like the explanation if I may have it,” General Kirigan answered evenly.

“I’m sure you think I’m a fool for declining what is, undoubtedly, a very lucrative offer, even though I don’t have a clear idea just how many pounds a year you’re worth. You needn’t tell me, it won’t make a difference—I gathered from your remark about the difference in our stations how vast your fortune must be, by extrapolating the inverse of my own poverty,” Alina said. “And yet selfish as I may be, foolish as I may be, I cannot help considering the worth of my own soul and giving it a greater measure.”

“You speak of your soul? I asked for your hand, not even your heart,” General Kirigan said.

“That is because you are a man, a gentleman to be sure, but a man and a wealthy one,” Alina said. “Your marriage to me provides you peace and freedom. My marriage to you takes both from me and I haven’t even the excuse of affection. In addition, my poverty allows me to know that any who offer me their admiration and friendship do so purely for my own sake; if I should become your wife, I would be subject to all sorts of overtures only seeking my influence or money. I should not like that at all, so I would need a very good reason to take on that burden. With all due respect, General Kirigan, you have not given me that reason. Or any reason at all save my physical comfort and I will be quite comfortable as Eugenia’s companion or as a governess once she weds.”

“You astonish me,” he said.

“What a pity—I had hoped to provide clarity,” Alina said and shrugged. “And yet, you made your proposal due to my essential deficit, so it shouldn’t change your opinion of me in the least.”

There was a long pause, during which she felt his eyes upon her and she felt the weight of the basket of roses on her arm. Enough time passed without his making any attempt to correct her, even to offer a polite rebuttal of her assessment of his proposal, that she thought there would be no further conversation forthcoming and began to pick up the secateurs to return them.

“I could provide a very good reason,” he said. “For you to accept me.”

“I dearly hope this is not where you threaten to compromise my honor by having us found here, alone in the conservatory, with your hand far too close to my waist, my Christian name on your lips, and thus compel me to marry you or lose my own reputation and sully those of my younger sisters,” she said.

“That’s quite well-thought out and never occurred to me, Miss Starr,” he said, landing on me to suggest she had perhaps put a bit too much detail into the remark for it to seem entirely to her distaste. It was not her fault if the scenario lent itself so well to his purpose.

“I’m not sure if that speaks to your degree of virtue or lack of imagination,” Alina replied, undaunted.

“I said a very good reason, Miss Starr,” he went on, refusing to engage in any badinage, the first true disappointment of the day.

“You did. Pray tell, what could that be?” she asked, playing the role he wanted her to largely because he was the only man of her acquaintance who’d bothered to give her any decent conversation since well before she’d arrived at Gregory Hall.

“It’s not difficult to divine. You spoke of the excuse of affection. I shall simply make you fall in love with me,” he said.

Alina was, for a moment, speechless. No one, not kind Eugenia nor romantic, enthusiastic Anne with her penchant for reading novels while nibbling tea-cakes, leaving the pages stained with butter, and certainly not haughty Honorable Zenobia, would believe General Kirigan had proposed, been promptly rejected, and then modified his proposal to make plain, poor, little Alina Starr fall in love with him so that she’d agree to become his wife; they would sooner allow Prinny to be a saint or Captain Harte a devout follower of Lord Byron in every way.

“And you believe that will be simple?” she asked, aware she had not the same sprightly tone as before, sounded diffident and shy and a little offended, altogether off-putting even to someone who was reliably fond of her, unlike the General.

“Oh no, I expect it to be devilishly difficult with a very small chance of success,” he said. “Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained and I think to gain you as a wife, a wife who loved me deeply, seriously, with her whole heart, that would be riches indeed, well in excess of any other benefit.”

“I don’t believe you, sir,” Alina said.

“I didn’t expect you to, Miss Starr. But I hope I may still try,” he replied.

“I suppose it might prove entertaining,” Alina said. “At least for the duration of the house-party.”

“Mightn’t it just,” he said. “And if not, there’s always the conservatory compromise to fall back on—”

“General Kirigan! You wouldn’t!” she exclaimed, jostling the basket so some roses fell to the ground. He knelt, picked them up and put them back in the basket, one at a time, very carefully, holding her gaze all the while.

“Please, call me Aleksander,” he said, bowed, and left.

Alina resolved that calling General Kirigan Aleksander was the last thing she would ever do.

@vesperass-anuna you only have yourself to blame for this bit of scampy nonsense :)

#shadow and bone #darklina #regency au #jane austen au #alina x aleksander #romance #banter #proposals plural #general kirigan #if fanny price talked like elizabeth bennett #cameos from fedyor and nina #darklinadaily #alina starr #aleksander on a mission

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radioactivesweet · 3 years

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Hello! I have a couple of requests for vnc, Roland teaching his (s/o) how to use a sword and Jean Jacques stargazing with his (s/o)

Alright, Jean-Jacques’ one ended up being way longer than what I had expected, so I’ll make another part for your Roland request!

Btw hope you like! I had so much fun writing this, I just really really love night sceneries and all plus Jean-Jacques his one of my favorites characters so

I forgot to add it, but I’ve used female pronouns, since it was specified in another message

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐧'𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐤𝐲

Gévaudan was not a welcoming place for normal people, yet it was all Jean-Jacques could ask for. He got used to that freezing land, where his only company was that of the friend hw was so loyal to. He did not know much about the outside world, or maybe he did know enough. Maybe he was just too scared to find out. His only certainty had always been Chloé's costant presence, his only friend and confidant. This was enough, nothing he could have wished would have satisfied him to a greater extent. Or, at least, this was what he had always believed since his first meeting with Chloé.

One night was enough to prove how his beliefs were incorrect, beneath Gévaudan's starry sky. The landscape which surrounded the d'Apchier palace assumed an even darker charm at nightfall, when the nocturne creatures begun lurking among the depth of the forest and the sky shared the same shade of ink – or of the dark and stormy ocean. The only source of light – a dim glow which testified the existance of something else other than that pitch black night – were the pale stars, that painted that interminable field that dominated over them.

Jean-Jacques did not head immediately towards his bedroom, after wishing Chloé good night, he instead inadvertently reached the first window which appeared before him, as he was inexplicabily drawn to the cold nocturne breeze and the likewise icy moonlight that leaked through the light curtains. His dark eyes were filled with stars, while he was staring at that sky he would have never grown tired of. Another glimpse of light caught his attention. A weak, hesitant, sporadic fire appeared and disappeared among the less dense woods that surrounded the castle. Jean-Jacques pitched forward, alarmed, hoping to catch again that glow. It was not an illusion proked by tiredness and, unless it was a will-o'-the-wisp, someone must have been dangerously close. He could not afford Chloé to get hurt because of his distraction. He would have reacted istantly, enveloped in that darkness which he considered his friend.

It was a young woman the one who wandered, roaming through the woods of Gévaudan, lost beneath that starry sky, accompanied by the only warmth of a lantern. Jean-Jacques, whose eyes kept reflecting those same stars, observed her, wary, not knowing what to do. He should have verified that the girl was not a danger, before he could operate. He would have disappointed Chloé if he attacked an innocent person. Still, his judgement seemed to be blurred, pushing him towards that unknown woman. Jean-Jacques felt as he fell victim of a curse, incapable to take back control, hazy, under that silvery moon.

Once he reached her, she seemed to be caught off guard. She had not noticed that someone had been spying on her, despite the favour of the night and the fronds of the trees; the vampire's gaze could not be avoided, him being used to that darkness the wanderers feared. The light of the lantern lit up his confused face.

“This places are dangerous during nighttime, you should look for a shelter.” Jean-Jacques disappeared after pronouncing that warning.

The vagabond reappared the following night. And night after. And again and again. Jean-Jacques tried to kept his distances, but this did not prevent him from hiding the shivers that crossed his body whenever he recalled that enchanted meeting. Even Chloé noted the sudden change in his friend's behaviour, yet she decided to not interfere. There were no secrets between them, she would have waited until the moment he would have told her the reason behind that restlessness.

“Jean-Jacques, if you want to do something, do it before it will be to late. Or you will end up regretting it.” Chloè elegantly left the dining room, while the ravenette was busy tidying up. He almost let the crystal glass he was holding fall, after what she said. As always, Chloé could comprehend him better than anyone else.

That night he waited again under Gévaudan's starry sky. This time he would have got closer, instead of staring at gentle light from afar. When the lantern appeared, he reached her, with discretion like the previous time. Without a destination, the young lady kept wandering.

“It's dangerous here, Mademoiselle, why do you keep walking throught these harsh woods?”

“Do you live in that castle?” ask the young woman, whose (e/c) eyes shared the same brightness of the lantern. Jean-Jacques nodded.

“So you can always observe this splendid starry sky? You must have a nice view. The only way I can watch the moon is by walking through this road.”

“I am sure that the view must be nice from the village too, without the need to-” before he could finish the sentence, the girl spoke again.

“You are wrong, Monsieur.” she seemed lost, deep in thought. “What's your name?”

“Jean-Jacques, and you are Mademoiselle...?”

“(Y/n).”

That morning, Chloé noticed a change in Jean-Jacques' behavior. He had abandoned the tension that had accompanied him in the past days. She did not ask him what had happened that night, although she had heard him sneaking away from the castle. She did not feel the need to ascertain what the ravenette had been during after the sunset, while Chloé locked herself in her room to do her researchs. She trusted her friend. As long as she kept noticing improvements, she wouldn't interfere. Every night she continued to hear windows and doors closing carefully, announcing the vampire's departure. And every morning, the smiles that Jean Jacques gave her seemed more and more lively. She was jealous of whoever was the source of that sudden happiness, but still, that made her happy too. Jean-Jacques needed someone besides her who could cheer him up in such a way.

They didn't meet every day, it would have been impossible for (Y / n) to reach the place which had become their meeting point. But even when they didn't see each other, Jean Jacques would have waited patiently. He would have waited and thought. He should have told Chloè what had been happening in the past few weeks, he could not hide from his confidant the reason of that apparently unjutisfied happiness, that seemed to have distracted him from his friend's company.

Chloé listened with trepidation. At first her eyes, the color of the sky wrapped in a light veil of fog, seemed to darken, but then retrieving that clearer light that Jean Jacques loved. The approval of that one person with whom he shared his only ties was worth a great deal to him - he would not be able to quantify it - and he would have been terribly afflicted if Chloé denied him her consent. Fortunately, the albino would have never deprived him of that new source of joy.

That night Chloé noticed for the first time the glow that had attracted Jean-Jacques. She could also hear the sound of their voices echoing through the forest, reaching the window she was standing by. Laughters and words were being carried by the wind to the Apchier Castle.

The dew-moistened grass brushed against his ankles, the cold winter breeze hit his face as you run like children under the starry sky of Gevaudan. You fall to the ground, exhausted, lying next to each other. He felt the beating of your heart, so human, compared to his. The air that leaves your lips, condensing because of the frost. Those eyes in which the starts above reflect themselves.

Jean-Jacques had always loved the starry sky of Gevaudan. And with you by his side, he loved it even more.

#vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas no shuki #jean jacques chastel #vanitas no carte x reader #the case study of vanitas x reader #jean jacques chastel x reader #vnc #vanitas no carte headcanons #the case study of vanitas headcanons #les memoires de vanitas #jean-jacques chastel

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2tired2study · 3 years

Text

hi! i’ve recently finished the picture of dorian gray so let’s go over my favorite quotes (in order from the ones that appear in the book first to last)

if they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat

being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose i know

and as for believing things, i can believe anything, provided that it is quite incredible

when our eyes met, i felt that i was growing pale. a curious sensation of terror came over me. i knew that i had come face to face with someone whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if i allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself

he, too, felt that we were destined to know each other

laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is by far the best ending for one

a man cannot be too careful in the choice of his enemies

i like persons better than principles, and i like persons with no principles better than anything else in the world

every day. i couldn’t be happy if i didn’t see him every day. he is absolutely necessary to me

he is all my art to me now

it is only the intellectually lost who ever argue

and the mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing

there is no such thing as a good influence, mr gray. all influence is immoral; immoral from the scientific point of view

he becomes an echo of someone else’s music

but the bravest man among us is afraid of himself

nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul

some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires,you will feel it, you will feel it terribly

man is many things, but he is not rational

examinations, sir, are pure humbug from beginning to end. if a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him

behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic

there was something fascinating in this son of love and death

really! and where do bad americans go to when they die?... they go to america

well, the way of paradoxes is the way of truth

all i want now is to look at life. you may come and look at it with me, if you care to

punctuality is the thief of time

it is only the sacred things that are worth touching

when one is in love, one always begins by deceiving ones self, and one always ends by deceiving others

there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies

how different he was now than the shy frightened boy he had met in basil hallwards studio! his nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. out of its secret hiding-place had crept his soul, and desire had come to meet it on the way

it is personalities, not principles, that move the age

people are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves

he lives the poetry that he cannot write. the others write the poetry that they dare not realize

human life—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating

to note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional coloured life of the intellect—to observe where they had met, and where they separated, at what point they were in unison, and at what point they were at discord—there was a delight in that! what matter was the cost? one could never pay too high a price for any sensation

with his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. it was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. he was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir ones sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses

the senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade

all that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sun we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy

it often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves

the joy of a caged bird was in her voice

she was free in her prison of passion

i love him because he is like what love himself should be.

he was like a common gardener walking with a rose

he had the dislike of being stared at, which comes on geniuses late in life and never leaves the commonplace

to be in love is to surpass ones self

my wonderful lover, my god of graces

i wish i had, for as sure as there is a god in heaven, if he ever does you any wrong, i shall kill him

whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives

i don’t want to see dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect

we are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices

and unselfish people are colourless. they lack individuality

you are much better than you pretend to be

of course, it is sudden—all really delightful things are

he is not like other men. he would never bring misery upon any one. his nature is too fine for that

but i am afraid i cannot claim my theory as my own. it belongs to nature, not to me

no civilized man ever regrets a pleasure, and no uncivilized man ever knows what a pleasure is

there was a gloom over him

he felt that dorian gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past

any one you love must be marvellous

it is not good for ones morals to see bad acting

there are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing

you taught me what reality really is

you had made me understand what love really is

you are more to me than all art can ever be

there is always something ridiculous about the emotions of people whom one has ceased to love

a faint echo of his love came back to him

we live in an age when unnecessary things are our only necessities

when we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us

i cant bear the idea of my soul being hideous

one can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing

nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner

it is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an emotion

you were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world

of you wish me never to look at your picture again, i am content. i have always you to look at

from the moment i met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. i was dominated, soul, brain, and power, by you

i grew jealous of every one to whom you spoke. i wanted to have you all to myself. i was only happy when i was with you

i only knew that i had seen perfection face to face

i grew more and more absorbed in you

you are made to be worshipped

in every pleasure, cruelty has its place

but it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of life that is itself but a moment

out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. we have to resume it where we left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it nat be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been refashioned anew in the darkness for our pleasure, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colours, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance of even joy having its bitterness and the memories of pleasure their pain

yet, as had been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself

he saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart

art, like nature, has her monsters

is insincerity such a terrible thing? i think not. it is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities

and mind you don’t talk about anything serious. nothing is serious nowadays. at least nothing should be

i am tired of myself tonight. i should like to be someone else

sin is a thing that writes itself across a mans face

you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite

that is the reason why i want you to be fine. you have not been fine

you have a wonderful influence. let it be for good, not for evil

i wonder do i know you? before i could answer that, i should have to see your soul

my god! don’t tell me that you are bad, and corrupt, and shameful

so you think it is only god who sees the soul, basil? draw that curtain back, and you will see mine

each of us has heaven and hell in him, basil

you are the one man who is able to save me

don’t speak about those days, dorian—they are dead... the dead linger sometimes

lord henry, i am not at all surprised that the world says that you are extremely wicked

life is a great disappointment

i like men who have a future and women who have a past

moderation is a fatal thing. enough is as bad as a meal. more than enough is as good as a feast

you always want to know what one has been doing. i always want to forget what i have been doing

his soul, certainly, was sick to death

he was prisoned in thought. memory, like a horrible malady, was eating his soul away

ones days were too brief to take the burden of another’s errors on ones shoulders

it is a sad truth, but we have lost the faculty of giving lovely names to things

to define is to limit

to be popular one must be a mediocrity

romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art

i am searching for peace

the appeal to antiquity is fatal to us who are romanticists

sick with a wild terror of dying, and yet indifferent to life itself

horror seemed once more to lay its hand upon his heart

how terrible it was to think that conscience could raise such fearful phantoms

he had a wild adoration for you and that you were the dominant motive of his art

when you and he ceased to be great friends, he ceased to be a great artist

if a man treats life artistically, his brain is his heart

art has a soul, but that man had not

the soul is a terrible reality

to get back my youth i would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable

but a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play—i tell you, dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend

life has been your art

the books that the world calls immoral are books that show the world it’s own shame

the world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. the curves of your lips rewrite history

it was the living death of his own soul that troubled him

as it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painters work, and all that that meant. it would kill the past, and when that was dead, he would be free

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years

Text

A Broken System

MASTERLIST

Summary: At her birthday celebration, Y/N is out on the town enjoying herself when she runs into a cute FBI agent who she’d love to take home and do terrible things to. Normally, someone meeting an FBI agent at a bar wouldn’t be that big of a deal. There’s just one, miniscule, microscopic, meager, problem... Y/N is only twenty.

tags: Large Age Difference, power imbalance, choking, Dom/sub, safe sex, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, cliffhanger.

A/N: this just made so much more sense in third person. i tried replacing it with second person, but trust me it did not work. hope you enjoy! gif by @toyboxboy

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Words: 5,930

Spencer Reid never really thought he was attractive.

Probably had something to do with his perpetually messy hair, gangly stature, and his tendency to ramble on and on and on and. . .

Yeah. Like that.

Another factor definitely was the fact that he was in his 30’s and had never really had a stable relationship. Sure, he’d had relationships with a few women. Well, two women. The first being a girl he’d met in college with whom he had a brief fling. Spencer didn’t really count it as a stable relationship due to the fact they barely even kissed. And the other woman, the only woman he’d ever really loved, died tragically several years ago.

Maeve.

Maeve was the real reason Spencer didn’t like going to bars with Morgan or being set up on dates by Penelope. She was the reason that Spencer wasn’t interested in anyone anymore. Who could possibly compare to Maeve?

Damn it. That was the other reason he wasn’t looking to date. He knew how the mind worked and there was no doubt that if any new person came into his life, she’d be unconsciously compared to Maeve. He couldn’t put anyone through that.

So, Spencer Reid stayed single. Which, for him, was relatively easy. Whenever someone started to get a little too close with him, he’d blabber and spout facts until they ran off. Morgan would ask what happened and Reid would just put on a slight frown, mumbling how she had to go.

The charade got more effortless the more they went out. Morgan, almost always going home on the arm of some woman and Spencer content to get a cab back to his own place, have a quick efficient orgasm, and fall asleep.

He had a system. And no one was going to break it.

Y/N hated the summertime.

Well, she didn’t usually. Anywhere else on the planet it would be mildly enjoyable. The beach, ice cream, staying up all night. All that fun crap. In Washington D.C, however, summer was hell.

But! When one was accepted into Georgetown and their parents offered to pay FULL tuition plus housing, how can one say no?

Seriously, she wanted to know.

After two whole years in this armpit of a town, Y/N had finally gotten used to the sweltering heat that plagued the city during the summer. Whatever. She just stayed in the comfortable A.C. all day anyway.

But, the summer before her third year was almost over, and the only thing she could think about now was graduating with a major in Journalism. She didn’t really like most of the courses, but it’s what she needed to do to become a full-time editor.

Living in a rent-free apartment was heaven. No roommates meant no worrying about, well, anything. The only problem was, her parents could hold it over her head every time they called. Which is why she never answered their calls.

Today, however, answering was unavoidable.

Because not only was it the day before her first class, today was her twentieth birthday.

Y/N was in the middle of getting dressed to go out with her friends when her phone vibrated from the kitchen table.

“Hello?”

She tried so hard to suppress the cringe at her mom’s voice.

“Sweetie! How are you? Are you eating?”

“Yes, mom.”

Oh boy. Strong start, mom.

“You look skinny in the pictures on Facebook!”

Yeah, she was definitely going to be late.

Surprisingly, it only took five minutes to push her mom off the phone, insisting that her friends were on their way and she had to keep getting ready.

A sharp rap on the door saved her.

“Come on!! It’s almost ten!” Y/N’s friend, Mina, said, annoyed. “All the old people leave the bars at ten and if we don’t get there soon, the bouncers won’t let us in!”

Y/N didn’t really understand the logic there. Hot girls always got into bars. Especially late at night. How were there not more crimes committed in clubs? Maybe she’d find out in her first class tomorrow.

“Hey!” Mina snapped her out of it, “Come on! Let’s go.”

They arrived outside a dinky little club a few minutes later. It had taken Y/N a while to get accustomed to how close everything was together in this town. Before college, she had been a small-town girl. Promise ring and everything. That, uh. That didn’t last long.

Before they got in line, Mina took a long satin sash out of her purse and secured it across Y/N’s torso.

“What the hell’s this?”

The sash was white with large pink flowy letters that poignantly spelled out: Birthday Bitch.

“It’s a sash.”

Three of Mina’s friends strode up, quickly exchanging hugs and wishing Y/N a happy birthday.

“I see that it’s a sash, but why am I wearing it?”

Mina confidently strode up to the bouncer, Y/N at her side, fake ID at the ready. Technically, it was the right birthdate, the year was just a little off.

“Go through. Happy Birthday,” the guy said, barely sparing the ID a glance, more focused on the huge sash. It made sense. She didn’t look her age. No one would think she was only in college by taking a glance at her.

“Oh, thank you.”

“Look,” Mina pulled her aside just before they entered, “this makes every single guy in there want to buy you a drink. So, go enjoy a free Shirley Temple, on me.”

Y/N scoffed and entered the club, immediately overwhelmed by the booming of the music.

Jesus Christ. How did people not die from this? It felt like her heart was beating out of her chest.

Sure, she’d been in a bar before. But not a real, proper club. She was pretty sure she saw some people wearing neon. Oh my god, there was a DJ.

Suppressing a laugh, she headed to the bar. At least there was a bar. There were so many people gathered around though that she couldn’t get much access to the one bartender on staff.

Luckily, he spotted her sash that seemed to shine under the blacklights.

“Hey, make some room for the birthday girl!”

And the crowd parted like the red sea, every man’s head turned towards her, and she cautiously approached the bartender who gave her a quick wink.

“Scotch. Neat.”

A dark man with a silver nose ring slid onto the stool next to her.

“It’s on me,” he addressed the bartender, staring at her the whole time. “So. Birthday girl. How old are you turning?”

She smiled softly. The sash was working great, but now she had to come up with a way to answer his question without explicitly lying.

“Who wants to know?”

Maybe flirting would be distracting enough.

He smiled, glancing down for a moment, then holding out his hand. Ha. Men.

“I’m Jon.”

Ugh. She hated handshakes. But for this man, she might be able to make an exception.

“Y/N.”

Five minutes later, she wished with all her heart she could take the handshake back. Y/N should have known better than to talk to a guy at a club. They were all sleazebags. But! She did manage to get a couple of drinks out of it.

“If you’ll excuse me,” she said after his fifth time mentioning Outback Steakhouse.

But before she could leave the bar discreetly, a hand wrapped around her arm, yanking her back.

“Hey, what’s the matter? I thought we were talking?”

Y/N may have been a small-town girl, but that didn’t stop her from grabbing his shoulders and driving her knee up into his crotch, stomping off toward the exit.

Only when she got outside did she realize how fast her heart was beating. She leaned over, hands on her knees to catch her breath.

A soft hand on her shoulder made her snap around, grab the hand and twist it around the stranger’s back, shoving him up against the alley wall.

“I’m sorry!” the man squawked shrilly. “I’m sorry!” It wasn’t Jon.

“What were you doing?” she demanded, not releasing him yet.

“I saw you lean over. I just wanted to see if you were ok!”

She finally drank in the man’s appearance. He was wearing a soft purple sweater vest over a grey button-down, slacks, and worn black converse on his feet.

Confident that he wasn’t a threat, she released him and took a step back.

The man rubbed his elbow softly, glancing at her chest. Before she could tell him off for staring at her rack, he pointed to the sash.

“Is it your birthday?”

She looked down. Oh, he’d been looking at the sash of course. Then why did she feel … disappointed?

“Oh, yeah. Some guy bought me a drink and got a little, er, touchy.”

Suddenly, the man’s face went dark.

“Who is he? Where is he?”

He started to walk back into the club but she stopped him, reaching out and gently grabbing his arm.

“Hey! It’s fine. I kicked him in the crotch.”

The man’s eyes switched from anger to surprise in a flash. He flustered for a moment, before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking back into the alley.

Y/N now took a closer look at his face. He had deep, wise brown eyes, a small five-o-clock shadow gracing his jaw, and very full lips, the latter of which he was biting profusely. Aw. He was nervous. But why?

Maybe because he was in an alley with a random girl who had just been groped at a club and he didn’t know what to do.

She chuckled, attempting to diffuse the tension.

“Um. I didn’t get your name?”

He smiled brightly, thankful for the change in topic.

“Oh! Of course, sorry. I’m Spencer!”

And Y/N braced herself for the telltale outstretching of the hand.

But none came. He simply stood there, one hand in his pocket and the other waving at her, a dopey smile on his face.

Her face lit up.

“You didn’t try to shake my hand,” she muttered, awed.

The man, Spencer, got an embarrassed look on his face, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry, I, uh. I’m a bit of a germaphobe. But, really, everyone should be! The amount of germs passed in a handshake is staggering. They really should be abolished altogether.”

“Right! People should just bow their heads or, or, wave!” she said excitedly, gesturing to his hand. “I mean a handshake is like a hug with a part of you that comes in contact with everything! Might as well go up to someone and start making out with them.”

As she spoke, his face lit up in wonder.

“Right? It’s crazy! But the thing is, some people actually do that! I was in that club for fifteen minutes and I swear I saw three couples leave together that definitely didn’t go in together.”

“I know!” she said, starting to pace in the cramped alley. “I mean, who goes home with someone that you just met! They could be a serial killer for all you know!”

She looked at Spencer and was delighted to see a joyful expression on his face. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn’t introduced herself.

“I’m Y/N. Sorry for blabbering,” she waved, chuckling slightly.

Spencer smiled even wider.

“Don’t be sorry! Usually, I’m the one who has to apologize.”

“Apologize for what?”

“Blabbering,” he said sheepishly, hands back in his pockets. When he was talking, they had been moving about wildly. It was kind of endearing.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, considering. “Blabbering is underrated. One could argue it’s the best way to learn useless information.”

“Well, I’d agree but no information is really useless.”

Y/N held up a finger.

“‘Information is useless if it is not applied to something important or if you will forget it before you have a chance to apply it.’”

Spencer’s mouth fell open.

“Timothy Harris?”

She nodded. “The 4-Hour Workweek. Outdated, but still applies.”

When she noticed his expression, it nearly knocked her breath away. He was looking at her like no one ever had before. Like he’d just realized the most important thing in the universe.

Before her cowardice could catch up, she took a step forward, closing the distance between them. His face went blank, shocked by the sudden approach. He nearly gasped when she spoke.

“It’s totally ridiculous to go home with someone you just met, right?”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Totally.”

“Why were you out tonight in the first place? You don’t exactly seem like the club-going type.”

He smiled softly.

“I, uh, just got a promotion last week. My friend Morgan wanted to take me out to celebrate. It was either this or karaoke.”

She chuckled softly, their faces so close he must have felt her breath.

“I don’t know, I’d have liked to see your rendition of Bad Romance. Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a whole Lady Gaga vibe?”

“You should see my Beyonce.” And he did a little mime of the Single Ladies dance, sending Y/N into a fit of giggles. Without thinking — probably due to the trace amounts of alcohol in her system, not enough to be drunk, but enough to be tipsy — she reached up her arms around his shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck like a teen slow-dancing at prom.

Spencer seemed startled by the sudden physical contact. He froze, hands unmoving at his sides.

Y/N pulled her arms back, stepping away from him, discouraged and embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said, collecting herself and walking back towards the club door. “It was nice meeting you.”

“Wait!” he called before she could reenter the club. A tiny part of her let out a breath in relief. She turned around to see him with a hand outstretched toward her, frozen with the uncertainty of what to do next.

He recovered quickly, a blush visible on his cheeks in the lamplight of the alley.

“If you’re leaving, would you, um. Could I walk you home?”

She had no idea what possessed her in that moment but just as he spoke, she walked up to Spencer, threaded her fingers through his hair, and pulled him down into a passionate kiss.

To her surprise, he responded immediately, running his arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him, eagerly returning the kiss.

His lips were so warm. He tasted very faintly of alcohol and maybe a breath mint? Y/N let herself fall into the sensation.

Suddenly, her back was pressed up against the wall of the alley, Spencer’s hands lighting a trail of fire down her body. He hesitated, pulling back briefly to make sure she was ok.

A glint in her eye, she yanked him back down, tongues clashing together in a blaze of glory. He hiked her leg up around his hips, pressing them closer together. Y/N could feel the hardness in his pants pressing into her stomach, sending a wave of heat down to her core.

She pulled back. If they went any further, she didn’t know if she’d be able to leave the alley.

Y/N tried to hide the smile on her face but it was no use. She beamed at Spencer, linking her arm through his elbow.

“Lead the way. Wait, that doesn’t make sense, you’re taking me home. I’ll lead the way!”

And so they walked, arm in arm down the busy D.C. streets, silently enjoying each other’s company.

They arrived outside her apartment fifteen minutes later, Y/N clumsily unlocking the door, nervous from the thought of what was about to happen. They hadn’t explicitly said anything in particular. Was he going to come in? Would she invite him?

Spencer, it seemed, was also daunted, standing awkwardly on the threshold of her place, hands buried in his pockets.

An idea sprung into Y/N’s brain.

She approached him, wrapping her hands around his neck again only this time, his hands rested lightly on her waist.

“Still think going home with a stranger is a bad idea?”

Spencer chuckled softly, stroking the exposed skin of her waist from where her top had ridden up.

“I’m still debating it.”

“Oh?”

He slid his hand around the sash, fingers hovering above her chest.

“I never asked, how old did you turn?”

She smiled. For some reason, she felt she could trust this man. The worst that could happen was he calls the cops on her for having a fake ID. She could deal with that. Destroy the evidence, bat her eyes. Easy. Besides, he looked barely of age himself. She quickly wondered what he did for a living? He did say he got a promotion.

It would be easiest to just tell him the truth.

“I don’t know if I should tell you this…”

He chuckled lowly in her ear, moving his lips gently across her neck.

“I can handle it.”

She gasped at the sensation, legs clamping together.

“Officially, it’s my twenty-third. At least, that’s what it says on my ID. One of them.”

Spencer froze, waiting for her to go on.

Y/N quickly backtracked.

“It’s okay! I’m twenty! Not a minor, no worries.”

But Spencer pulled away, an extremely worried look on his face despite her assurance.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re underage.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah? Come on, by one year. What, you never had a fake ID?”

“No!” he said shrilly, running a hand through his hair.

“Spencer, it’s ok! It’s not like I’m gonna get caught. I look much older and when are there cops at a place like that?”

He reached into his pocket and fished out a folded wallet. Snapping it open, Y/N’s jaw dropped at the FBI badge with his picture in the corner.

She floundered for a moment, unable to truly comprehend what was happening.

“You’re . . .”

“Yep,” he said shortly, pocketing the badge.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much my reaction too,” he said, sighing. “I should arrest you.”

Y/N took a step back, incredulous.

“Arrest me?”

“You have a fake ID. You’re clearly drunk.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms.

“Great idea, Spencer. Book me. Take me down to the FBI and tell them exactly what happened to lead to you finding out I’m only twenty. I’m sure they’ll need very specific details.”

A look of realization flitted across Spencer’s face and he buried his head in his hands, groaning.

“How old are you anyway?!” she demanded, upset at him for being upset.

“Thirty-four!” he shouted, throwing his arms up in the air.

Oh shit.

This was bad.

He was fourteen years older than her, in the FBI, and probably was seconds away from arresting her.

“There’s no way you’re thirty-four. I mean, look at you!”

He rolled his eyes, snorting, and beginning to pace the small hallway.

“This is exactly what I get. I meet a girl I really like for the first time in years and she’s decades younger than me. And a criminal!”

“Hey!” she said, shoving his shoulder. “Not decades. I’m not a criminal. And how the hell do you think I feel? I’m out trying to have fun on my birthday, some guy gropes me leading me to run into the perfect man, take him back to my apartment thinking I’m gonna get lucky only to find out he’s a cop who’s gonna arrest me. Best birthday ever.”

Spencer eyed her carefully.

“Get lucky?”

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Shit. She hadn’t meant to reveal that part. Even though it was pretty obvious, something about it not being said added to the excitement.

“Did you really . . . I mean were you…. Um.” Spencer seemed to lose all authoritative tone suddenly, stammering nervously. It was such a 180, it shocked Y/N.

“Was I going to let you fuck me?”

He cringed at the bluntness but nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah, Spencer. I was.” She scoffed. “Honestly, I still would. But I understand if I’m more than you can handle,” she said coyly, trying to keep a straight face. “Just please don’t arrest me, Sir.”

His expression darkened at her words. Something deep and lustful behind it. Feeling bold, she went with it.

“Or is it Agent?” she cocked her head, holding a finger to her lips in thought. “How do I address you properly, sir?”

A small groan left Spencer’s mouth and he stepped forward, brushing a hand over her hair.

“We shouldn’t do this, Y/N…”

Slowly, she backed up into her apartment, pulling him with her.

“We shouldn’t.” She gently led him to her bedroom, sitting down on the edge of the bed, him towering over her. “To be fair, you’re the one with handcuffs.”

He groaned again, wiping a hand down his face.

“This is a bad idea.”

But he crouched down in front of her, pressing his forehead to her exposed knee, breathing deeply.

“Spencer,” it was barely a whisper but he met her eyes instantly. She smiled gently, reaching out to him and coaxing him up from the floor so he was hovering above her, mouths inches apart. “Listen, you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she assured him. “But I want this.”

She leaned back, pulling him with her so he was lying atop her, an obvious bulge pressing against her through their clothing.

“I want this, Spencer.”

Y/N hoped that he knew he could leave if he wanted. She didn’t want to pressure him into anything. Despite the age difference, she seemed to be the one more in control.

Spencer lowered his head, sighing.

“Fuck,” he moaned, lightly thrusting against her, a moan escaping her mouth at the contact.

That seemed to be the last straw.

He sat up, ripping his sweater vest off along with his button-down, quickly moving back over her, lips latching to her neck and chest.

Oh thank god. She wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to stand it if he’d left. But from the way he was touching her, hands moving up and down her sides, gently pulling her skirt down, looking up at her every now and then to make sure it was alright, he wasn’t going anywhere.

She just spurred him on, stripping off her top and bra, now only wearing her panties.

Spencer groaned at the sight, a hand reaching up, hovering over her breast. She arched her back up into his hand, letting out a gasp as he started to fondle her.

God, his hands were huge. And nimble. Oh, so nimble.

She reached for his belt, quickly unbuckling it and tossing it across the room, pushing his pants down faster than possible.

He groaned again, a magical sound, reaching a hand down to stroke her through her panties, coaxing a gasp from her beautiful lips.

In a flash, Spencer had pulled down her panties and buried his head between her legs.

Y/N gasped, hand flying to the back of his head, edging him on.

He slipped two fingers into her, his tongue flicking against her clit wildly, making her writhe and moan on the bed, gasping his name.

“Spencer, Spencer.” It took all the resolve she had to pull his head away from her. “I need you to fuck me.”

Spencer looked at her, trying to read her expression.

“Y/N . . . are you sure?”

Rather than answer, she yanked him up, crashing their mouths together, one hand quickly pushing down his boxers, his erection springing free.

Good god.

Wow.

How the hell was she supposed to fit that inside her?

She looked up at him, impressed, only to see a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Well,” she said, kicking off the panties pooled around her ankles, laid bare underneath the stranger on top of her. “This night gets better by the second.”

His size was a little daunting, but the thought of him slowly filling her up, probably not being able to fit all the way in, only added to her desire.

He dipped his head down, stealing a quick yet passionate kiss.

“Do you have . . ?”

“Yeah, in the drawer.”

He reached over, grabbed a condom, and rolled it on. It looked extremely tight on him. Y/N unconsciously licked her lips. Spencer chuckled.

“Maybe next time. I need to be inside you.”

And with that, he flung her legs around his hips, positioning his cock at her entrance, slowly running it up and down, moistening the condom with her juices.

God. The feeling of him being so close and yet so far was almost enough to push her over the edge right there. He had been a god with his tongue and she was desperate for more friction.

Reaching down, she lightly circled her clit, moaning at the instant pleasure.

Before she could enjoy it much, hands gripped her wrists, pinning them above her on the bed, Spencer staring at her with a dark look.

“If you wanna touch yourself, you have to ask permission. Understood?”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

Words escaped her so she settled for a small nod.

“Use your words.”

His tone was so commanding the word left her mouth the moment he finished speaking.

“Yes.”

He lightly placed his hand around her neck, not applying any pressure, just hovering.

“Yes, what?”

Fuck. She wondered if it was possible to come just from being talked to.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, he slid inside her, slowly filling her up with his length, moaning roughly at the sensation.

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, watching as Spencer’s face tightened, jawline even sharper, and a dark look in his eye. He carefully applied a bit more pressure to her throat, quickly releasing his hand afterward.

They were both still as she adjusted to the size of him inside her.

“Is this ok?” his voice sounded so different than it had a moment ago. He had shifted back to the geeky guy she’d met in the alley.

She nodded gently at him, running a hand over his cheek in a way that was surely far too personal for a one night stand.

“My safeword is apple.”

He froze for a moment, shocked. Apparently she was kinkier than he’d expected.

Tired of not being fucked by this man, she dug her heels into his back, directing him to move.

He did without hesitation, groaning at the sensation of slowly pulling out and thrusting back in.

The feeling overwhelmed both of them, a litany of curses and moans falling from their mouths. Spencer’s hand moved back to her throat, squeezing much harder now that he knew what to listen for if she wanted to stop.

The sound of her moaning was enough to make him come right there and then. That, with the feeling of her around him and the fact that his hand was around her throat, totally in control.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight.”

Oh my god, where was this coming from? Her nails scraped down his back, leaving a trail of marks.

“You like feeling me fuck you?” he wrapped a hand around her leg, pulling it higher to try to hit the magical spot inside of her. “You like when I wrap my hand around your pretty little neck? Showing you how in control I am of you.”

She nodded ecstatically, legs tightening around him. She was definitely close to coming.

“What were you thinking? Going to a bar when you’re underage. Then leading a stranger to your home, intending to let him fuck you silly. Finding out I’m ages older than you and still practically begging me to bend you over and pound you till you can’t see straight. Is the age difference what gets you off, Y/N?”

At the sound of her name, she let out a raucous moan, no doubt waking up the other tenants of the building.

Spencer smiled, drilling harder and tightening his grip on her throat.

“Oh, you like it when I say your name? You like when I shove my big cock in you and moan your name in your ear?”

She practically screamed as his hand started to circle her clit, the stimulation practically knocking the air out of her.

He was hitting her g-spot with every thrust, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. She was so close. She just needed….

“You gonna come for me, Y/N?” he punctuated it with a particularly hard thrust, feeling her begin to clench around him, orgasm washing over her.

Her walls tightening around his cock was enough to send him barreling over the edge, grunting as he thrust in her four more times before feeling his balls tighten up and spill his seed deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he grunted, using his forearms to stay above her, both of them completely out of breath.

Slowly, he pulled out with a sigh, discarding the condom in the trash by her bed.

Y/N was seeing stars. This man had just given her her first penetrative orgasm. And, possibly the best sex she’d ever had.

‘Fuck’, was right.

Spencer flopped down next to her, still naked, trying to catch his breath.

Y/N turned to him, placing a hand on his chest.

It was strange. Even though they’d just had some of the best sex Y/N had ever had, she didn’t even know this man. And yet, somehow, she felt like she did. Did that happen a lot once you had sex with someone?

Her eyes refocused from where they’d been staring off into space to see a concerned Spencer looking at her.

“What?” she asked.

He studied her for another moment before speaking.

“You were biting your lip.”

A blush crept up her cheek.

“Yeah sorry. Helps me think.”

He let out a sharp breath, a sort of soft laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said as he retrieved his underwear, slipping them back on and starting to button up his shirt.

Oh. Was he going to leave? Of course he was! That’s all this was, anyway. A one night stand. You had sex. That was the point.

Then why did it feel like hell?

“You okay?”

Her thoughts had drifted into space again. Spencer had laid back down, now on his side facing her, holding her hand, looking at her intensely. His gaze was practically burning.

“Yeah.”

“I, uh, I don’t normally do . . . that.”

She chuckled. It was rather obvious he wasn’t the hookup type. Despite the dirty things that had come from his mouth.

“Me either.”

He softly stroked her cheek.

“Are you going to stay?” she blurted.

His face fell.

“Oh, no I wasn’t going to impose if you-”

“NO! I mean,” she took a breath. “I want you to . . . I mean, if you want . . . I'd . . . I’d like you to stay. If you want?”

God. She sounded like a teenager asking their crush to prom. This was no stuttering sophomore she could kick in the crotch if he said no. He was a man. Although, he did tend to stutter. Maybe it wasn’t all that different.

He lit up, a wide smile brightening his features and he began to stroke her hand.

“I’d like that too.”

Wondering if it was possible for cheeks to sprain from smiling, she pulled up the covers, cuddling up against him, falling asleep almost immediately.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Ugh. The stupid alarm. She had been right in the middle of a wonderful dream involving Spencer’s hands and her bruised throat.

What time was it anyway?

The red clock radio proudly displayed: 7:00.

Right, it was the first day of classes. Maybe she’d just ditch and stay in with Spencer. He had been so warm she was sure he had a sun where a heart should be. College didn’t matter anyway, right? Ugh.

A shiver ran through her. She reached out for Spencer, only to find the cold other half of the bed.

Sitting up in bed, she stared at the empty spot.

Had he really walked out on her in the middle of the night? No…. No? Fuck. How could she be so stupid. Of course he didn’t want to-

Oh, he’d left a note.

In a fast yet tidy scrawl, Spencer had left the following message on a little notecard.

Good morning! I am truly sorry to walk out like this, but I have a class at 7:30 and I have to stop by my place and get ready. I’ll be back at the bar tonight, 10:30. I’d love to see you there.

-Spencer. X

Her heart melted into an ocean at the sentiment behind each individual letter. The man she’d just had a dirty one night stand with wanted to see her again.

Wait, he’d said a class? He hadn’t told her he was a student! To be fair, neither had she. That’s another thing they had in common apparently. It made sense why he didn’t tell her. A lot of people were ashamed of going back to college later in life. She thought that was ridiculous. Good for him.

Maybe she could look him up in the student registry. Actually, he may not even go to Georgetown. There were plenty of colleges nearby. She couldn’t have looked him up anyway. She didn’t even know his last name.

It was probably a good thing he left, because she, too, had a class at 7:30.

It only took her twenty minutes to shower, get dressed, and walk the very short distance to campus.

She arrived in the lecture hall with exactly one minute to spare, finding a seat next to a brightly dressed redhead holding a fuzzy pen.

“Hi! I’m Allie.”

“Y/N,” she said, suppressing the cringe as Allie reached out to shake her hand.

“Nice to meet you! What’s your major?”

Oh god. The inevitable college question.

“Journalism. You?”

“English,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Super boring I know, but it lets me take fun classes like this one. Why are you taking this class?”

“Oh, um. It looked fun, I guess. My dad was a lawyer and he kind of piqued my interest in the criminal justice system.”

Allie sighed.

“Thank god. You know half the girls are here just because the Professor is a hottie,” she said with air quotes, rolling her eyes again.

“Really?” Y/N asked, glancing around at the seats noticing the vast majority of the population were women. “Wait, I thought Ms. Merklins was the teacher? Did something change?”

“You didn’t get the email? It just went out the other day, Ms. Merklins had to retire. Something about a club foot. Anyway, the new teacher is supposedly super overqualified. Plus, he’s cute.”

“Huh.”

“Yep. I talked to this one girl in the hall, she actually said she’d sleep with him! Can you imagine?”

Y/N laughed.

“Nooooo. I cannot and I don’t want to. I’m just here to learn, I promise.”

“Same here. Although, if I start getting C’s, all bets are off.”

Y/N laughed and politely chatted with Allie while they waited.

The Professor’s office door swung open and Y/N reached into her bag to get her laptop.

“Hello, class.”

“Hello,” the class echoed.

“Welcome to Criminology. I am Professor Reid and I-.”

Y/N looked up over her screen as he stopped talking, making sudden eye-contact with the Professor.

She froze in her seat, blood running cold.

No way. No fucking way.

Spencer?

TAGLIST

@whollytaciturn @101donuts @thegingerfairchild @safertokiss @happyiidiot @cielo1984 @thupidalethea @darkacademiacherry @matthewreid @aloha-ashley-taylor @justchiara-02 @spnobsessedmemes @sweet-darlin @matthewreid

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fandom #smut

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rainydaymiddleearthimagines · 3 years

Text

Till the sun Dies Aragorn x plus size!reader

Aragorn sighed, watching the people before him dance. If one more princess or duchess asked him to dance, he was sure to stab someone with the blade that was always strapped to his side. He hated this side to ruling, he was much better out on the battlefield than in a ballroom. This was due to Elrond’s insistence to “Find a queen”. The elf was very insistent to a point of offering Arwen’s hand to prove the point but Aragorn declined. If he was to find a queen it would not be to someone who practically raised him or an arranged marriage, he insisted to have it happen with someone he loved.

Only problem? Aragorn was not in love with anyone and Elrond was so damn pushy, Aragorn threw a party. So now he was in a room with stifling rich women who wanted to marry him. Aragorn just sat on his throne looking very annoyed with this entire ordeal. “excuse me, your highness?” A voice asked. He looked over, keeping the annoyed face making the servant jump back slightly. “Would.. You like more wine sire?” the girl asked. “...Yes. please the one from last week was nice.” He said. She gulped. “The...Cook said it does not go with the dish sire. He wouldn’t allow it.” She said. Aragorn rose a brow. “Then bring me something very strong.” He said. The servant still didn’t move. “...Lord Elrond forbid us from serving anything like that and...” She seemed to shake. “Katerina, it is only me. Tell me the rest.” Aragorn said softer. “It- it’s not you I’m afraid of sire its the chef.” She muttered. “He’s that bad?” Aragorn asked. “He’s terrifying!” she yelped. Aragorn blinked, leaning off of the throne.

“Take me to him.” He said. “What?” Katerina asked. “Staff within these walls should not be afraid of one another. Take me to this man.” Aragorn said. She walked off with him, walking through the halls to the kitchen.

“ARE YOU STUPID? DO YOU NOT COMPREHEND WHAT I HAVE JUST TOLD YOU!?” A voice yelled. You looked over at the poor boy who was at the end of the yelling. “No-no sir I understood but we don’t have--” “THEN. GO. OUT. AND. BUY. IT.” The chef said. You continued cutting potatoes, silent as you looked at Katerina who was shaking in the doorway next to a figure. You dropped your potato before you could see a face, it rolling and hitting the person’s boot. They leaned down, picking it up. “Thank you-” You looked up, gulping. “Sire.” you breathed. Aragorn paused, looking in your eyes.

By the Valar... You were beautiful. Your eyes, your hair- everything was gorgeous. “Oy, fat oaf. Over here, now.” The chef said. You turned around, looking at him. “the king is here sir.” you said, voice shaking slightly. Gods, your voice was nice to hear as well. “What did you just call this woman?” Aragorn asked. “Sire it’s fine-” “No, it is not.” Aragorn said, walking forward. “If I hear talks of you screaming at any of the staff within these walls, I will personally remove you. Am I clear?” Aragorn asked. Katerina leaned over whispering in your ear. “He looks great doing that, doesn’t he?” She said. You looked at Aragorn, his face stern but his eyes gentle. “...Don’t be ridiculous, that is our king.” you muttered, looking down. You expected Gavin (The chef) to back down, after all the king had told him to stop.

Instead the man pointed a wooden spoon to him. “You eat my food, which you all seem to enjoy and you tell me how to operate MY KITCHEN!?” He snapped. You all backed away from the two men. Aragorn looked down at the wooden spoon. “Sorry, would you like to be personally booted from the premises or would you like a guard to handle it?” Aragorn asked. “You do not remove anyone!” Gavin huffed, still waving the spoon. Aragorn gripped it, snapping the spoon from its small hilt. “Try waving it now, I think you could so magic if you wave hard enough.” Aragorn said. You resisted a snort. “I QUIT!” Gavin screamed. “Goodbye.” Aragorn said as the man shoved passed him.

“Now... Who else here cooks?” Aragorn asked. No show of hands. “...None of you cook?” He asked. “He wouldn’t allow us to actually cook. We more.. Cut things and cleaned.” A servant answered. “Allow me to rephrase this... Who here can cook?” He asked. Katerina pointed to you. “Kat!” you said, pulling her hand down. “She can cook sire, I’ve eaten food in her home... It’s quite tasty!” She said. “...I trust your judgement, what is your name?” Aragorn asked. “Y/n.” you answered. “Great. You’re in charge of the kitchens as chef.” He said. “I’m what--” “Now as the chef, I ask that you point the direction of the ale.” He said. “...I wish I could sire but sir Elrond locked the cabinet the barrels are in.” you admitted. Aragorn grit his teeth. “That thorough little shit.” he huffed.

A man handed him a flask. “Kept it because Gavin’s voice got tiring enough.” The stable boy said. “You are a friend to all tonight.” The king said, downing the entire flask in one go. “Thank you.” Aragorn said, walking out. “...Did the King just empty your flask?” A man asked. “...Yes he did.” The stable boy nodded.

the night ended after three more hours, Aragorn not even getting a buzz. Damn his increased tolerance for alcohol. He did feel terrible though from all the drinking, him going to the kitchens late in the night. He walked in, running his hand over his beard as he sat on a stool before hearing a thud. “Ow- By the nine worlds- how many damn apples did Gavin shove in here!?” You asked as another one pelted your head. You sighed, brushing your apron before seeing the king. You bowed, him holding his hand up as if to indicate a “Stop.” You immediately rose. “Tis very late for you to be here Lady Y/n.” He said. “I.. Well this new promotion has me very confused. Gavin would only let us go to certain areas of the kitchen, I’m trying to be well acquainted with it.” You admitted. “And you discovered the cabinet of fruit?” he asked, noticing the mess of apples on the floor. “No sir... Just apples.” You answered. Aragorn rose a brow, walking over to the cabinet.

You weren’t joking. There had to have been at least four hundred apples shoved in the cabinet. “...How in the hell was that even possible?” He asked. “I have no idea...” you admitted. He looked over at you, raising a brow. “How long have you worked here?” He asked. “...My whole life.” You answered. He nodded. “I started as a servant girl. More of a maid for Denethor.” You explained. “What landed you in here?” Aragorn asked. “I eventually became more of an errand girl... Which Denethor tended to eat a lot of food. Until eventually I came to the kitchen so often I ended up working here.” You said. Aragorn nodded. “Why don’t you go home? It is late and you need the rest.” Aragorn said. You shuffled a little. “I do not dare to walk through the woods at night sire.” you said. He rose a brow. “You live in the woods?” he asked. “Yes sire, in a cottage.” you said.

He looked at you up and down. “Do you have a place to stay for the night?” He asked. “I tend to sleep in the stables on late nights.” you said. He frowned. “No lady should sleep in a stable.” He said. “Sire, I’m not a lady I’m a servant.” you corrected. “Any woman, even if a servant, is a lady in my eyes.” he said. You said nothing, looking down. “did you come here for something sire?” you asked. “Oh... Water.” he answered. You nodded, walking away. “I can get it myself-” “Sire it is my job.” you said. “Are you always this insistent?” he asked. “I...” you sighed. “I need to keep my hands busy sire. When I don’t I tend to bother myself with dreadful thoughts.” you muttered. He nodded. “I understand how that feels.” He muttered. “You do?” You asked. “I have witnessed a lot of gruesome things outside and within these walls... They tend to really haunt the mind.” He explained. You nodded with a sad look in your eyes.

You said nothing more, drawing water from a bucket and putting it into a cup. Aragorn took it, looking at you. “Y/n..” He said. You turned around confused. “Did Denethor treat you well?” He asked. You looked down. “Sire, you are the first of royalty to treat me with kindness outside of Faramir and..” you swallowed. It registered who else walked these halls. “You knew Boromir?” He asked. “Yes.” you said, a reminiscing smile on your lips. “Faramir and Boromir were almost like brothers to me.” You said. Aragorn nodded. “Boromir was a good man.” He said. “He was kind to me... Meanwhile Denethor usually called me..” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “A oafish pig.” you said. Aragorn really didn’t like hearing this.

“Y/n, you are by no means ‘oafish’ or a ‘pig’.” Aragorn said. You looked at him with a confused look. “Why do you do that?” you asked. “Do what?” he asked. “You’re being unusually nice to me. I am just a servant, nothing more.” You said. “Every person deserves to be treated with respect until proven otherwise.” Aragorn said simply. “But-” “Y/n, are you usually this reluctant to people?” He asked. “...Yes.” you said. He chuckled. “I should go.” You muttered. “Right! I suspect you know where the guest chambers are?” He asked. “...Sire, those are occupied.” you said. “...By whom?” he asked. “Lord Faramir.” You said, leaving out the second guest. “I see... Which probably means Eowyn is with him.” Aragorn nodded. You blinked. “You... Are aware of the relationship?” You asked. “Of course I am, I introduced them.” He said. You blinked. “You did?” You asked.

“Oh yes. I’m rather good with other peoples love lives.” He said. You noticed how he worded that. “But not your own?” you asked, without thinking. He blinked a couple of times, you retreating back. “I didn’t- I am so sorry--” he laughed. “No my own love life is... Well it’s messy.” He chuckled. You sighed with relief. “What of you lady Y/n?” He asked. “My love life is nonexistent.” you said, looking slightly disappointed by your own answer. “Really?” He asked, looking at you. You were a beautiful maiden, it surprised him that you never had any love interest. “When you look like this no one really...” you sighed. “Y/n, you’re beautiful, what are you talking about?” Aragorn asked without thinking.

You swallowed, looking at the man. “Do you not think yourself to be a fair maiden?” He asked. You shook your head. “I... My whole life I’ve been told otherwise.” you admitted. “Y/n...” Aragorn seemed saddened by your answer. You cleared your throat. “you... Y/n, you can sleep in my quarters tonight.” He said. You blinked. “What?” You asked. “You can sleep--” “sire I couldn’t--” “Y/n, I will sleep in a chair-” “Sire no! I should be the one to sleep in a chair!” “So you’ll do it then! Great.” He nodded. “Wait I didn’t mean- Sire!”

Thus leading to you standing in the man’s quarters as he stood behind a partition changing. You looked around at the walls, them being of stone. Then you saw a sword on the mantle of the fireplace. You had heard the tale of Andúril. How it broke off in the first battle for the ring when Isildur owned it. Now it was rebuilt, on display in front of you.

“Do you like blades Lady Y/n?” Aragorn asked, standing behind you. You jumped, swallowing hard. “I am... More of a bow woman. Easier to hunt with for me.” you said. He rose a brow. “You enjoy hunting?” He asked. “Yes sire. It calms my nerves.” You said. “I take it you have the proper protection when you hunt in the forest?” He asked. You shrugged. “I make it actually.” you admitted. “You make armor?” He asked. You flushed with embarrassment. “I have to...” you muttered. “Why?” He asked. You shifted and he rose a brow. “...no one really makes it in my size.” you muttered. He blinked. “Armor is typically catered to those of...” you cleared your throat. “Of a thinner figure than mine.” you said, right now feeling uncomfortable. He looked at you. “Why are you embarrassed to have such an impressive skill?” He asked. “I’m embarrassed because of the reason I’ve gained the skill.” you said. He hated seeing you tear yourself down like that. “You’re an impressive woman Y/n, make no mistake.” He said. You looked up at him. “...thank you sire.” You said softly.

you slept in a chair, a blanket over you as you did. It must’ve been before sunrise when you heard Aragorn’s mutters. You opened your eyes, adjusting to the lack of light when you saw him. “No... NO!” he yelled, leaning up. You sat up, confused. He clutched his chest, panting like a madman. “Sire?” You asked, your voice soft. He looked over, sighing. “I woke you. I’m sorry.” He muttered. You got up, kneeling beside his bed. “You didn’t wake me.” You assured. In a half asleep state, he leaned onto you, his head landing on your shoulder. You jumped slightly. “I could hear them screaming...” Aragorn muttered. “Who?” You asked softly. “The men...From... Helm’s Deep..” He muttered, you feeling tears fall. You subconsciously started stroking his head gently. “I let them die.” He whimpered. “You saved us all... In more ways than one...” you said softly. He clung to you, your heart pounding. “Please... Stay with me.” He whispered. Your arms slowly wrapped around him. “I’m not leaving sire...” You said softly.

The morning sun was creeping and Aragorn woke up, his arms cuddling something. He figured, from the way he usually slept it was a pillow. But then he noticed when he moved his hand it felt like hair. Wait... He leaned up to see you sleeping next to him. He paused, trying to remember what happened. He recalled awaking in the night, he remembered waking you.... What was he... Oh

You soothed him back to sleep. He asked you to stay. He wondered how he should go about this? Should he wake you? You were up pretty late and honestly it’d be rude to wake you just so you’d leave. Should he not move? Well that wouldn’t work, he had a meeting with Elrond today. Should he just go? Maybe he should leave a note so you wouldn’t be completely confused. That seemed logical... Right? OH FOR VALAR’S SAKE YOU WERE A SERVANT. NOT A LOVER, THIS SHOULDN’T BE THAT HARD.

You let out a small groan before leaning up. He didn’t move and you gasped, realizing that he was looking dead at you. You yanked back, falling off the bed and alarming Aragorn in the process. “I AM SO SORRY YOUR HIGHNESS!” You yelped, moving back and hitting the dresser behind you. “Y/n! It’s fine, I should apologize for making you sleep here with me!” He said. “N-no I shouldn’t have even been here-- Oh by the nine-- WHAT TIME IS IT!?” You asked. “Y/n... You’re the head of the kitchens now, you make the times for your own job.” He reminded. “NO LORD ELROND SPECIFICALLY WANTED ME AWAKE AT SUNRISE! SHIT!” You said, putting on your shoes and hopping around on one foot as you tried to put the other one on. “Y/n, I will explain to him what happen, he will understand” Aragorn said calmly. “I didn’t even hunt for you today! Gah!” you yelled before knocking into a mop bucket. Aragorn stood up, helping you up. “Annndd now I’m wet, this is PERFECT.” you whined.

“Y/n. Breathe. Calm down. We will hunt together.” He said. “...We will?” You asked. “I don’t just go to war Y/n, I was a ranger of Gondor before I was king.” He said. You sighed. “I need to go home then...” you said. “I’ll go with you. You’re technically awake at sunrise by the way. The sun is still rising..” He said. You sighed and nodded. “I’ll warn you now... My home is not much.” you muttered. “My home was a hollowed out tree for a year. I do not care where you live as long as it’s safe for you.” he said simply.

And there you were, walking a woodland path with Aragorn. “You take this path everyday?” he asked, ducking under branches as he walked. “Everyday.” You nodded, stepping over a log. You carefully stepped onto stones before you untied your apron and walked to a small cottage. At first glance, many would have thought that your home was a forge. You walked in, a cat looking up from a chair. You sighed, as Aragorn stepped in behind you. Blueprints were scattered around on a desk by a window for armor. He noticed you walk into a room he presumed to be your bedroom and turned around looking at the rest of your home. He saw your kitchen, it being small but perfect for one person. He saw your messy desk, he saw gardening tools around. He looked out the window and saw a small but well kept garden. He saw near your desk books on the floors, some to do with smithing, others on atlases and the world. He noticed though, the entire separate stack next to the atlases. It was a whole stack of history books and papers with scribblings tucked between the books. There were also language books... Were you trying to learn elvish?

“you really like reading don’t you?” Aragorn asked. “Oh! Yes I do.” You answered from your room. “ Care- tye quet- eldarin? (Do you speak elvish?)” He asked. “ Ni care-! Quite fluentlime actuallime. (I do! Quite fluently actually.)” You answered. You looked up, realizing that he asked you in elvish. “ Tye quet- eldarin sire? (You speak elvish sire?)” You asked. “ Héru elrond raised me an yen. (Lord Elrond raised me for year.)” He said, petting the cat. You walked out in leather armor and a bow. The bow caught his eye. There were small pictures engraved on the bow. They were very detailed, making him shocked that someone could make such small images that beautiful. “Did you do those?” He asked. “Oh... yes I carve pictures into it when I’m bored at home.” you admitted as you opened a cabinet next to your desk. You pulled a dagger from it, putting it into a small sheathe.

You seemed relatively focused when you were hunting. You were very quiet, very careful and very set on finding what you wanted. Aragorn let you take the lead, watching you step forward. You locked onto something, hooking your arrow to the string and pulling back. You sucked in a breath, looking at a deer before releasing the arrow. You quickly fired two more arrows and killed it, walking over to it. “You have good aim.” Aragorn said. “Thank you.” you said, beginning the process of getting the meat. You heard a noise though and looked up. “You remind me of Legolas--” “Shhh.” you hushed. Another noise, along with heavy breathing. You rose, slowly. “Crap.” you breathed.

Aragorn followed your eyes to what worried you. A bear. A very big, very angry looking bear. You stepped back Aragorn drawing his sword. You hooked another arrow to your string, locking eyes with it and watching as it let out a loud roar on its hindlegs. You fired, hitting its jaw. You looked over at Aragorn who was very much prepared to attack and watched as he leapt forward, striking the bear. You aimed again, hitting the shoulder of the bear before it seemed to really be annoyed with Aragorn, tackling him to the ground. “Aragorn!” you gasped. “ONE LAST ARROW!” “I don’t have a clear shot!” you breathed. “DO IT ANYWAY!” He yelled. You nodded, trying to avoid hitting Aragorn. You were amazed by your own aim as you shot the bear, it ceasing movement. Aragorn pushed the bear off of him and stood up.

“Sire are you--” “You have got to meet Legolas, he would love you.” Aragorn chuckled. You looked at him worried. “Y/n?” He asked. “You could’ve gotten hurt you dolt! What were you thinking, charging into a fucking bear like that!?” you asked. He blinked, noticing the change in your personality. “...Sorry for worrying you Y/n.” He said. you covered your mouth reminding yourself who you were speaking with. “I’m sorry I-I don’t know what came over me your highness--” “Y/n, It is fine. I want you to address me like a friend.” He said. “...why?” you asked. “I would say we’re friends. I mean, I do not share my bed with acquaintances.” He said. "I... I still should not have snapped..." You said. "I worried you Y/n. It's fine." He said sincerely. You sighed, saying nothing but walking over and collecting the deer meat and walking back. Aragorn followed, noticing figures in the woods. He wasn't sure if the figures were people or animals, seeing them all around him.

"Y/n are you aware of the figures in the woods?" He asked. You nodded. "That would be the fades." You said nonchalantly. "Fades? Like... Ghosts?" He asked. "Didn't you charge with the dead?" You asked. "Yes, I'm not afraid I'm merely walking with caution." He said. You snorted, laughing at the man's refusal to admit he was scared. He smiled, hearing your laugh. "It's alright to admit they scare you your highness." You said. He watched you turn around and time seemed to stop.

You had this beautiful smile, the breeze blowing your hair and his heart pounded in his ears. He swore for a moment he had seen a painting similar to you. That or you had to have been directly from a painting. Either way? You were gorgeous.

Weeks had passed, you usually finding Aragorn in the kitchens. He actually would end up doing tasks himself, washing dishes, peeling foods, cleaning around the areas. The kitchen staff (except you) could tell why he was there. And the reason was out tonight. “Where is Y/n?” Aragorn asked, confused. “Sick... Katerina is actually very worried, the woman couldn’t even move this morning.” A man answered. He pondered. He knew you said the woods were dangerous at night but if your safety was at a risk... “fuck it.” He thought to himself, going to the stables.

He rode down the path you took, understanding just what you meant when you said it was dangerous. Fades were practically everywhere. Truth be told when he met the King of the dead, he was deeply unsettled by him but kept it to himself because thousands of lives were at stake. Aragorn finally reached your home, opening the door to find Katerina pacing. She looked over and froze. “King Aragorn what--” “Where is she?” He asked. She pointed to your room and he walked in, seeing you unconscious. “What are her symptoms?” He asked. “She’s running a fever, can’t keep any food or water down and she’s been dry heaving when she wakes up.” Katerina answered. Problem number one was the being unable to keep water down. “does she keep herbs around?” he asked. “Like cooking?” Katerina asked. Aragorn sighed. “OH! Medicinal herbs? Yes, in her closet over there on a shelf.” She realized. He opened the door and found various tools in the closet, it being lined with shelves with labeled jars and various potion like things. A book sat in the corner labeled “Discovered Remedies”. Out of both desperation and curiosity he opened it, reading it. He found that you seemed very well versed in remedies for things like a common cold and even stumbled across remedies for poison. Nothing though for what he was seeing.

He thought to himself what would help and reached an answer. “Elvish medicine.” He realized. “There is an elven encampment nearby.” Katerina said. “There is?” He asked. “Yes, two miles west from here.” She said. He nodded, walking out. “You’re not going out there at night!” She gaped. “Y/n needs help.” He said before leaving. You whimpered, feeling unbearably warm. “Y/n, the king has gone to get help..” Katerina soothed. “Ara...Aragorn..” you muttered in a barely lucid state. She held you close, wiping the sweat off of your forehead with a wet cloth. “I don’t care what anyone says... That man loves you.” she muttered. “Love...” you muttered, trying to speak. “Shhh.” Katerina said. “Love...” you uttered again. “Y/n, this can’t be healthy to push yourself.” Katerina said softly. “I... Love... him.” you muttered. Katerina paused. “The King?” She asked. “y...yes.” you coughed out. She looked at you and then smiled. “Oh I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear.” she muttered.

Aragorn rode through the forest, going as fast as he could. He found the encampment rather quickly, seeing the elves eating around a fire. He dismounted, running over. They all drew weapons but he raised his hands. “ Ni maure help. Mime nur na- laiva, se pole-'t get better (I need help. My friend is sick, she can't get better.)” He said. They looked at him up and down. “ Sina nur, does se cui- -esse i cottage atta miles au-? (This friend, does she live in the cottage two miles away?)” An elven woman asked. “yes.” He nodded. They all seemed alarmed. “We will help.” she nodded.

You seemed to be getting worse, your temperature getting to a very concerning point. Katerina was trying to keep calm, waiting on someone to come back. She started thanking Gods when the front door shot open, two elves walking in. “Lift her head.” one of them said. She lifted your head slowly, you whining in pain. One of them opened your mouth, forcing some sort of elixir down your mouth. You coughed but kept it down. “That should subside the vomiting. Get her some water.” The elf told the other elf. The elven woman ran and came back with water. “Now, miss Katerina... We’re going to ask you to hold her down” He said. she blinked. “Why?” She asked. “We know she’s not going to react well to the potion, most actually fight us out of it.” The elven woman said. Katerina reluctantly held down your arms.

They put something in your mouth that made you fight against them and Katerina had trouble holding you back from trying to get it out of your mouth. “Y/n, calm down, please we’re trying to help!” Katerina said. Eventually you calmed down, the sweating and fever dying down by sunrise. Katerina left you with Aragorn, him watching over you from a chair next to your bed. You woke up around sunrise, seeing Aragorn asleep with your cat in his lap. You weren’t entirely sure if this was a dream or not. It had to have been right? For him to be here?

He felt someone staring, opening his eyes to see you yawning. “You’re awake” He said relieved. “When did I even come home?” You asked quietly. “You don’t remember coming home?” He asked. “No... I just remember feeling warm... Now I’m cold.” you shivered. He wrapped his cloak around you, feeling your forehead. “The fever has died down.” He said. He allowed his hand to drift to your cheek, caressing it with his thumb. You knew now this was no dream. By feeling his touch you were now wide awake. “S-sire, what are you doing here?” You asked. He looked down. “Y/n, I noticed you were gone one night. Someone in my staff told me you were sick, why didn’t you mention anything?” He asked. You sighed, “Because I didn’t want to get in the way. Sire, I’ve become a large part in your daily life these past weeks, I didn’t want you to deal with.. with this!” you said. “Y/n, you pushed yourself past the need for human medicine if it hadn’t been for the elves, you would have died.” He said. you shook your head. “I do not need you here taking care of me sire, that is my job for you! Don’t you see that our dynamic isn’t normal!?” “Stop calling me Sire!” “Do you not hear yourself? This is not normal for me to be this close to you!” “Do you wish to be close to me Y/n?” He asked. You sighed. “this isn’t about what I want-” “As your king I am asking you: What do you want?” Aragorn asked.

Your heart pounded in your ears. “...You.” you responded, heart still going. “I’m right here Y/n and if you’ll allow it I will be all yours.” He whispered, very close to your face. You stopped him though looking down. He paused, looking into your eyes. “We can’t. You’re... You’re a king and I’m just your servant, I cannot be your queen. My status isn’t even wealthy.” You muttered. He shook his head. “I do not care for titles or wealth and last I checked, I was king.” Aragorn said. “...Lord Elrond would not allow this.” You said. “Lord Elrond does not Rule Gondor.” Aragorn reminded. “Aragorn. Talk to him first, then we will talk.” was all you told him.

Aragorn sighed now, sitting on the throne as Elrond droned on and on. “Then there is still the matter of finding you a wife-” “I have a suggestion.” Aragorn said. “Oh! Thank the Valar, you’ve found a suitable maiden!” Elrond said relieved. You seemed to have walked in just in time, handing Aragorn a cup of water. He took it, staring at you. You avoided his gaze, in fact you had been avoiding him all week. “Her.” Aragorn said. “Who? The servant?” Elrond asked. “Yes. Her.” Aragorn said. You looked up, freezing in place. “She’s very talented, well versed in history, makes maps, weapons and armor, she grows her own food, she speaks elvish, she’s practically a diplomat in the making she just doesn’t hold the title.” Aragorn said. Elrond looked at you. “Are the things he is saying true?” Elrond asked. “Yes my lord.” you nodded, looking at Aragorn confused. “... Then I cannot stop you.” Elrond said. Was this man happy that this was a servant becoming queen? No. But Aragorn was practically the man’s son and he saw the way that he looked at you.

“What is going on your highness?” You asked confused. “I’m officially asking for your hand.” Aragorn said. You nearly dropped the empty cup you were holding with wide eyes. “Your highness you must be joking.” you said. “I am not. You said to speak with him, I’ve spoken with him. He approves and you are right in front of me. Could you please drop the stubbornness for one moment to tell me how you feel?” Aragorn asked. You gulped. “This is madness.” you said, Aragorn standing in front of you, setting the cup in your hands on a small table next to the throne. “I must be crazy or-or still recovering or-” “Y/n do you accept?” Aragorn asked. You nodded before Aragorn smiled. “I do- I accept--” His lips crashed onto yours, you smiling as he held you to him.

Were people shocked to hear that a servant sat on the throne now? Yes. Were they even more shocked that it was Aragorn’s suggestion to marry you? Again, yes. But were you two happy? Oh hell yes. Aragorn and you would go on horseback rides through the lands, you smiling at your husband. You had one simple thought each time you looked at Aragorn as well.

“I will love you until the sun dies.”

This was a request from @snailcoveredcottage I hope you enjoyed it!

#aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine #aragorn

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jaggedlittleteacup · 3 years

Text

Reverse, esreveR

Tw: S*ic*de Attempt, Dr*g Abuse

Sherlock Holmes was an arsehole. He knew that he was, he felt it- deep inside, a sort of gut emotion that clenched and twisted and made him feel all the more wretched. He really couldn’t control it at this point. It was a habit that had formed from years of keeping every awful thing that had happened to him pent up in his mind. So many years of abuse, so many bruises and scars, and so, so much hurt that left no marks on anywhere but the mind. He knew it was wrong to take it out on those he loved- and even those he didn’t- but it kept resurfacing in the forms of snide comments and manic volatility.

It started one quiet night at Baker Street. It was nothing much, a snappish comment too far, perhaps? Whatever it was, it was the last straw for a livid John Watson, who stood up and kicked over the coffee table in fury. Words bounced off of Sherlock, who heard without listening. Eyes closed, chest feeling empty, Sherlock felt John’s innate rage. Until he didn’t.

When Sherlock opened a single eye, he saw John holding a small box that had been concealed under the table. Sherlock heard a roar in his ears, he could hardly breathe, he was crushed by an overwhelming feeling of guilt- it all just hurt.

John’s steady fingers brushed over the syringe that the box contained. The flat was silent, except for the pounding of Sherlock’s heart- or was he the only one who could hear that?

Glass shattered at his feet. John was yelling, now. Sherlock was pretending to listen.

Sociopath. Liar. Machine.

John was saying those words as if they held no value to Sherlock. Of course, that had been the impression Sherlock had made, so why wouldn’t he say those things?

Sherlock was used to feeling hopeless, but this? This was it. This was all he could take and more. And worst of all? It was cowardly, and Sherlock couldn’t even have the decency to properly listen to John.

Possibly in the middle of John’s sentence, he stood up and mumbled some sort of excuse- that he had to use the loo, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

Dazed, Sherlock walked to the loo and left John alone in the living room. Thoughts were rushing through his head. He couldn’t take this. Not anymore.

He clicked the lock and slid down the door onto the cold, hard tile floor. His hands were shaking, his vision blurry with held-back tears. He didn’t want to do this. Yes, he did. No, he didn’t. Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?

Trembling fingers pulled open the medicine cabinet. They pulled out a bottle of painkillers. They opened the cap. They poured precisely ten in Sherlock’s other hand.

Ten, because Sherlock had measured the dosage during a particularly bad night. He knew that each pill had 500mg of acetaminophen in them. Over 5000 in one go would certainly kill a man. It had to.

Shaking, crying- although he didn’t realise it, and he never would have admitted it otherwise- Sherlock popped a pill into his mouth one at a time. It was hard to swallow. His throat was rejecting it, so each pill took longer to take. He was shaking his head, not wanting to finish, but knowing he had already taken at least six.

After number ten, Sherlock broke. The tears came freely, now. He mumbled a shattered apology to his mum and dad, to Mycroft, even, and most definitely to John, whom he didn’t want to leave.

With each whispered name, Sherlock popped another pill between his lips. Now he had taken…what, fourteen? Fifteen? He didn’t really care, even though he did. A small part of him was screaming for someone to care, to stop him, to save him- but to no avail.

After a few choked-out sobs, Sherlock regained some of his composure. He wiped his eyes, which were shamefully red, and stood up. He was going to go about this bravely. The toxic shock wouldn’t kick in for at least a few hours, and by then, he would be asleep. A peaceful death. An easy one.

Sherlock unlocked the door and walked back out to the living room, where John was pacing furiously. He looked pale and frightened.

John must have asked something along the lines of “what did you take?” in a worried tone of voice, but Sherlock shook his head. He probably told him that he took nothing. John still looked concerned. He asked him again. Still, Sherlock shook his head. He felt guilty for lying to John.

John relaxed. He nodded, he sat down. He offered Sherlock dinner, but Sherlock politely refused.

Sherlock lied about something or other and said he had a stomachache, that he wanted to go to bed. John reluctantly allowed him to.

At approximately nine o’clock, Sherlock laid down in bed and wrote a short note in his pocketbook. It told whom he wanted his things left to, even though he knew it wasn’t entirely legal. He trusted Mycroft to sort all that out.

His stomach was already starting to ache. He needed to fall asleep.

And so he did, praying that he would never wake up.

Unfortunately, life was decidedly quite cruel.

By the time the clock read midnight, Sherlock realised he had made a terrible mistake. He woke up gasping for breath as his stomach burned. His face felt hot, and his head was pounding. It was as though his insides were tearing themselves apart.

Dazed, he tried to move, but instead fell out of his bed and hit the floor with a groan. Sherlock was so weak that he could not find the strength to move. He threw up, even though he didn’t want to. It meant that the drugs might not work. Mind racing, chest heaving in mild panic, Sherlock wondered if this was how he would die- suffocating on his own vomit and in horrible agony.

Spirits broken, Sherlock whispered John’s name. It hurt too much. He needed John to save him, or else he was going to die.

Sherlock kept whispering it- his lungs wouldn’t allow him to speak up. But John was already upstairs. He couldn’t hear him. Maybe Sherlock didn’t want him to.

He choked out something along the lines of “I don’t want to die”, but slowly, agonisingly, his eyes closed and he faded into unconsciousness.

You could imagine his surprise when he woke up the next morning, every inch of his body aching. His chest burned, and he kept needing to throw up every few minutes, but he was unmistakably alive.

And in some of the worst pain of his life.

He staggered to his feet and made his way to the loo. He threw up again.

For a brief moment, he felt better. He dreaded another racking dry heave that would take hold of his body.

No dice.

After typing a few things onto his laptop- perhaps updating his website with a few unintelligible entries about the side effects of acetaminophen overdose- he went back to the loo and threw up. He hadn’t eaten anything, so it was just stomach acid that burned his oesophagus and made him nauseous. The pain was growing steadily worse, and John wasn’t even awake yet.

For the next hour, Sherlock allowed the poison to simmer in his body, silently attacking his liver and slowly killing him.

John eventually woke up. Of course he did.

When he saw Sherlock’s pale face, he said nothing. When Sherlock nearly tripped down the steps in delirium, John was concerned, but said nothing.

When Sherlock’s knees buckled beneath him, he said something.

What did you take?

Sherlock slurred a half-hearted response, his head aching and his stomach twisting itself inside out. He felt like he was dying. It was probably because his organs were failing.

He clung onto the banister of the staircase as John desperately shook his shoulders. He couldn’t breathe. His brain was shutting down but his eyes and ears still worked. Everything hurt.

Sherlock saw John pull out his mobile and dial Mrs. Hudson’s number before swearing and pulling him outside.

Sherlock faded in and out of consciousness.

He was in a car.

Then a waiting room.

Then an urgent care.

Disappointed, disapproving, and endlessly pitying. Nobody would stop staring.

A nurse said he would be out of their care the same day.

His liver began to fail.

And then he was in an ambulance. He made a hazily rude comment to the EMT.

They stuck a needle in his arm. They did it wrong. It hurt like hell.

I’m clean, he wanted to tell them. Saying he didn’t do drugs anymore would be a flat-out lie.

They put him in a hospital.

His liver reached critical condition. The levels of acetaminophen in his bloodstream were lethal, yet he was somehow still alive. (It would be a case study for months and months to come.)

Sherlock was in the worst pain of his life.

They gave him morphine.

John sat by his bed during the entire ordeal.

He didn’t say a thing.

He didn’t know what to say.

Sherlock almost died.

John looked like he’d aged many years.

Sherlock felt regret.

John held his hand.

Sherlock wished he could turn back time.

John did, too.

༺═──────────────═༻

(Author’s Note: Based on a true story, sad enough to say. It’s sort of my way of giving past experiences a bit of closure. Imbuing writing with pain and anguish is rather cathartic. To tell you the truth, the fact that I’m alive now puzzles doctors and professionals alike. A case study was written on me. I am one of only eleven cases to have ever survived several doses of acetaminophen- enough to kill multiple grown men- at the age of twelve. I’m an anomaly and the fact that I’m here today writing this only proves how strange I am. I can’t say I’m better now. But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m sorry if it was so intense. If you or a loved one are having suicidal thoughts, please tell someone. Don’t make my mistake. And please, for the love of God, if you’re considering it, don’t kill yourself. It would be the biggest and final mistake of your life. People care about you so much. Much love, - AE.)

#sherlock #bbc #sherlock holmes #john watson #johnlock #benedict cumberbatch #post reichenbach #angst #sad ending #ambiguous ending #angsty #based on a true story #jalexandria #writing #fics #fanfiction #tw suicide i guess?#drug addiction #writing angst to make people suffer

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animeyanderelover · 3 years

Note

its me again, thank you for doing both of my requests :}!! could you do prompt 3 with shalnark?

It’s my job and pleasure😉

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, stalking, manipulation, blackmailing, bullying, mentions of kidnapping

Prompt 3: “Did you sleep well? Don’t lie to me, I watched you.”

“I heard she sold her body to get some drugs.” “Really? I heard she had sex with two men to get her hands on some alcohol.” You tried to ignore all the whispers around you. It had been going on for weeks like this. Rumors about you had started to spread everywhere. All of them were nothing, but disgusting. The most recent ones said that you had sold your body to some men to get your hands on drugs and alcohol. There was no proof that all of this was right and you yourself knew the best that all of this wasn’t true, but when you gave humans something to speculate about then they were like hungry animals, ripping this new informations hungrily apart until they were satisfied. You had no one who believed you and even your parents had turned their backs on you. You were alone. People from whom you had thought you could trust them had left you alone. “Traitors.”, you thought to yourself. That’s when you suddenly tripped over something. You landed hardly on the ground and heard laughing behind you. One sharp glare was enough to make the girls quickly shut up. You stood up and brushed the dirt of your clothes, ignoring them. You hated your life. It had become so much to handle. Why was no one believing you? Did all the years you’ve spent with them nothing?

“They’re just idiots for believing this. It’s obvious to me that you’re innocent.” You looked tiredly up to Shalnark. He had invited you over to his house and you had agreed. You didn’t want to face your parents. They would probably not even notice that you were gone for a bit longer. “Here. Have some food. You look terrible.” You chuckled halfhearted. You needed to admit that all the stress had affected you quite a bit. At night you couldn’t sleep as well as before, often lying hours in your bed and staring at the ceiling. Due to this dark rings had started to show under your eyes. Your appetite had also suffered greatly and you had lost some weight these past weeks. That’s the reason why you slowly shoveled the food away from you. Even the smell caused you to feel sick. “I appreciate your worries, but I’m not hungry.” He gave you a concerned look. “(y/n). You look like you haven’t eaten a lot and if you keep this up for much longer you might collapse some day.” He moved closer to you. “Please. For me.” He held the spoon with food close to your face. Should you? You were honestly scared that if you would eat something you would just throw it up. But you knew that Shalnark could be terribly stubborn and he was by now most likely the only one who cared for you. So why not? “Alright. But I’m not sure if I’ll be able to eat very much.”

“I’ll better get going right now. I have to go home and finish my homework or else I’ll get in even more troubles than I am already in.” You stood up from your chair and walked towards the door. “Are you leaving already? Just stay with me for a bit longer. It’s not like your parents will care over your absence.” That made you stop. You knew that it was true, but it still hurt to hear it. “Please don’t say this Shalnark. I know that you’re right with that. But if you say it like this it sounds so cruel.” Your voice sounded worn out. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Don’t you realize that they only hurt you? You don’t have to endure this. You could just leave. But instead you stay and hope that they will someday believe you again. Come on, even your own parents don’t trust you anymore. I’m the only one who’s left.” His words sounded almost teasing, infuriating you a lot, but at the same time making you feel sad. “Shalnark. Shut up.” You glared from the corner from your eyes at him. He smiled at you. “Face it like a grown-up. No one wants you here anymore. Except me. Why don’t you just come with me?” You slowly turned around with an angry and hurt look. “Why are you saying such things? Stop that instantly.” Shalnark sighed shortly, sounding disappointed.

“Why do you have to be so stupid?” Your eyes widened shocked at his instructive tone. “I’m just trying to help you realize that there’s no use in hoping that someone will believe in you. Don’t you see how they look at you wherever you go? They just wish that you would disappear.” He stepped closer to you. “I on the other hand am always there for you. I’m always your shoulder to cry on, I’m always the one who cheers you on. I’m always there for you and still...” You had started shacking, the blinding smile on his face was terrifying you by now. Why was he suddenly acting like this? You wanted to desperately run to the door, but somehow you couldn’t move. A numbness was beginning to spread in your whole body and you knew for sure that this wasn’t because you were scared. Did he drug you? By now his face had gotten so close to you that your noses brushed againdy each other. “...and you still choose to believe in them? Why? They don’t care. I do. They turn away from you. I don’t. So why? Tell me.” You couldn’t. The numbness in your body had gotten stronger and stronger and by now you felt like you couldn’t stand on your own two feet anymore. Your mind was being clouded more and more and no matter how much you struggled and cried out on the inside, you couldn’t do anything. Your knees gave away under your body, but Shalnark quickly catched you in his arms. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you from now on.” He brushed some strands of hair out of your face and pressed a kiss against your forehead. His lips on your forehead were the last thing you could remember before the darkness consumed you.

“Where...am I?”, you thought as soon as you opened your eyes. It was pretty dark in here and your eyes needed a moment until they had adjusted themselves. Were that bars? What was wrong? And where was Shalnark? Wait...Shalnark! With one swift movement you sat up and stormed towards the bars. Now you knew in what you were. In a freaking cage! You grabbed the bars and started shaking them. “Hey! Does anyone here me?! Let me out of here!” Suddenly you heard someone opening a door and a ray of light flooded in. You squinted your eyes together, being able to see a person standing in the door frame. You were able to tell from the figure to tell who it was. “Shalnark! Let me out! Why did you do that?!” You shook more violently on the bars. “Easy (y/n). Screaming and struggling won’t be from any use for you. Calm down and let me explain.” His smile was still present on his face what annoyed you even more. “The hell with that! All I care about is knowing why you drugged me!” Shalnark stepped closer to the cage. “You still don’t know? I’ll tell you. Because you need me. Without me you can’t do anything.” Your angry expression vanished and was replaced by a confused one. “What are you talking about? I don’t need you. I can take care of myself!”

“Did you sleep well?” That was a very random question and was not needed. “Don’t try to change the topic!” “I’m not trying to change the topic. Have you slept these past few days well?” Why was he asking this? “I’ve slept great!”, you angrily barked at him, hoping to finish this and get to the important stuff. But Shalnark stared intensely at you. “Don’t lie to me, I watched you.” You froze in shock. He watched you?! “Wait. Y-you watched me?” Shalnark nodded. “B-but how?” Shalnark shook his head. “You’re really so clueless. It’s cute. With cameras of course. Your whole house is filled with them.” “B-but when... and how long ...?”, you stuttered. “When did I place them there and how long they’re already there? I think for about two months and I put them in there whilst sneaking into your house one night.” The thought that he had watched you all the time was more than just frightening. Knowing that he had probably seen you stripping naked countless times disgusted you. “But why?” Shalnark stretched his hand out to caress your cheek. “Because you need me. I watched you these past two months and I saw how hard this all was for you. You couldn’t even take care of your own health. And you also couldn’t stand up against all those people. I admit that I was the one creating the rumors, but-“

“You were the one who spread all this nasty shit about me?! Are you nuts?! Then it’s all your fault!! You’re the reason why everyone turned it’s back on me!! Erase all of them instantly!!”, you yelled at him, feeling tears sliding down your face. “It’s not my fault. I just couldn’t stand you spending so much time with other people. By the way, if these people there really cared so much for you, why didn’t they believe you in the first place? Why did they threw you away like some garbage? Very simple, because they never cared in the first place.” There was a so much more sinister meaning behind his words. “T-that isn’t true. Th-they-“, you tried to defend the people you held dear to your heart, but couldn’t find the right words. “See? You yourself know that as well. Why deny it? They didn’t try anything to help you or proof your innocence. Instead they started to ignore you and feel ashamed of you. You’re just a burden to them. But not to me. I know that I can love and cherish you like you deserve to.” He pulled out a key to open the door and stepped in, hovering over your shaking and crying form and bending closer to you. “Even if I would let you out to whom can you run? You’re hated by everyone and if you tell someone about what I’ve done to you they wouldn’t believe you. I’m the only option you have left.”

You wanted to scream at him that he wasn’t right, that he was a liar and that there was still someone out there caring for you. But you couldn’t. His words had paralyzed your whole body and kept repeating themselves over and over again. As cruel and painful it was to admit, he was right. “I-I have no one left. All be-because of you.”, you sobbed. You were alone. All alone with no one believing you. Suddenly you felt muscular arms wrapping themselves around you and pulling you against Shalnark’s chest. “You’re not alone. You have me. And I’m the only person you’ll ever need.”, he whispered sweetly in your ear before pressing a kiss against your temple.

#yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere shalnark

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