#and he made a new account out of pure spite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grey-edges · 1 month

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hoo characters playing animal crossing

percy: he would be mostly focused on fishing and diving and would be the first to complete those sections of the museum. he would purposefully go for the ugliest/weirdest villagers just bc he thinks it's funny. he would not hit them or be mean to them tho he'd feel bad about that. his island is a mess, his pockets are constantly full and he's dropped trash and random items everywhere. annabeth comes over just to tidy it sometimes. she is also his sugar daddy in the game provides for him financially, she is the only reason he even has more than one room in his house. he has random fish tanks all over his island and half of it is decorated or organized but each area is only a little bit done bc he gets distracted. aka half laid paths that are mismatched. he only has decor items that he thinks are cool like the super expensive cars and boats. sometimes after visiting annabeths island he is inspired to make his nice, but that doesnt last long. his villager doesnt look like him, it has blue hair and he rotates through a few different blue or orange shirts

annabeth: her island is planned out down to the inch and has a nice overall theme, with beautifully planned areas. she's got an italian outdoor cafe outside her shops, and atlantis themed beach etc. she picks villagers based off if their houses match her aesthetic, it's a bonus if they're cute. she also def wouldn't abuse her villagers either that's not even an option. has bred all the flowers and is dominating the turnip market like no other. she's maxed out her bank account a long time ago and just chills supporting her and percy. also they send each other gifts and love letters in the mail all the time. annabeths villager looks like her and she has different outfits depending on what activity she is doing ie. terraforming, swimming, bug catching etc.

piper: her island is purely based on cutesy cottage core aesthetics. she only allows girl villagers on her island. she would torture the ugly guy ones that she was either forced to get or accidentally got there bc she forgot to island hop. she has also bred all the flowers. she sorts her villagers based on vibes and each little neighborhood area has a specific theme going with matching decor and flowers. she would use the og animal crossing paths that take up a dozen design slots. she changes her outfit every day but her villager looks like her for the most part. she makes a lot of her own designs for clothes too

leo: probably the most insane about the game tbh. he heard piper making an all girl villager island and out of spite made his an all guy island. he also would bully villagers, trapping them in fences, hitting them with nets all that. he and piper visit and send stuff to each other the most. his island is as disarrayed as percy's but much more chaotic. he just has random campfires, bonfires and torches everywhere its like walking through a mine field. he also works the turnip market a bit but just enough to afford his chaotic spending habits. his villager always wears that one flame shirt but the hair and skin change constantly. he LOVES pitfall seeds and everyone learns pretty quickly to not come to his island unless you want to be stuck in them the entire time. he learned how to make custom designs and uses it to put random signs all over with memes and random shit

jason: he was peer pressured into getting the game and hasn't made it very far. he's still in a tent and doesn’t even have bridges or inclines unlocked so he's trapped to one section of his island. he maybe has three villagers rn and their houses are all perfectly aligned with his own. he has a few pieces of decoration outside their houses and stuff but nothing coordinating, and only his native flowers. he visits leo and pipers islands and is amazed. mostly just enjoys running around with them and doing tasks. his villager maybe has a new tshirt but otherwise the generic jeans and pants from the start screen and looks identical to him

hazel: she gets all the cutesy villagers and gets very emotionally attached to them even if they're ugly and cannot be mean to them or let them go. her island is similar to pipers but not as overwhelming. it's got some flowers and some similar decor but she's just vibing and not putting much thought into it. she is the first to become best friends with all her villagers and gives them gifts every day without fail. usually the gifts are matching outfits. she also makes sure she talks to all ten of them every day. her villager also looks like her but changes her outfit to match the gift she gave her villagers that day. she makes cute custom fits and hangs them in able sisters

frank: his island is like perfectly gridded, every house and building is spaced evenly apart and all the pathways are the same brick. leo visits and is like "bro. you dont have to make ur island as rigid as the army" and frank didnt even realize he was making it that way until just then. he doesn't really care which villagers he has as long as they're cool and doesnt get attached. he has some decor but like, the bare minimum. he spends a lot of time catching bugs and is the first to finish that section of the museum. his villager looks like him and he never changes his fit

nico: he was forced to begin playing by will and at first did not care but then several weeks later when will asks to play again suddenly nico has put in nearly 1,000 hours and has surpassed will in everything. he is stupidly rich like annabeth but no one knows how or even wants to ask bc they know he didnt work the turnip market. he probably hacked the game or found a glitch or something. his villager looks like him and always wears the same all black outfit. his island is like a big maze and everyone always gets lost bc he does a ton of terraforming. he and will are the only people who can successfully navigate it. his house never has the lights on but its pretty nicely decorated. he is the first to finish the art section of the museum and has his favs displayed around his island

will: his island is choatic but cute. like, he decorates but there's not a lot of rhyme or reason to it. he gets villagers if they're funny and bonus points if they remind him of someone he knows irl. he HAS to change his outfit every day, sometimes he changes his hair style but otherwise it looks like him. pretty chill of a player like hazel and is just happy to be there and play with his bf. he likes fishing and catching bugs. also gets high friendship levels with his villagers via gifts and would never bully any of them but isnt afraid to kick them off if they're ugly

reyna: like jason she also was forced to get the game, and like nico, doesn't care at first. but then secretly she puts in a lot of hours. like months later jason visits her island and they're like "oh shit i didn't even know you still played." her island is neatly organized, but in a mix between annabeth's and franks. it has a cohesive aesthetic but is pretty orderly. she plotted out which ten villagers she wanted before she started playing and once she gets those ten she's done searching. she made sure she had 1 of each personality type and everything. she works the turnip market but not obsessively and she has a few flower types bred but not the whole collection. there is no extra flowers or trash or any dropped items laying around and definitely no weeds. she has a daily checklist of tasks she goes through each time she plays. her villager looks like her and she probably doesnt change her fit much

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lifeandlies-of-regulusblack · 9 days

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no bc you’re absolutely right about the wrongful foiling of Regulus! Book wise? Sirius to made himself larger than life. He was outwardly charming, bold, basically ‘affable’ in comparison to others in his family because he wasn’t well liked at home for his different ideas on pure blood status. Not only that he was socialized by other Gryffindors to BE proud of his different ideas, leaning into the informal self image rather than what House Black members (book wise) usually present themselves as. Sirius is the anomalous odd one like his Uncle Alphard. Regulus was perfectly in line and proper by his own family’s brief accounts until the Kreacher incident and that is all we’re afforded to truly confirm. Sorry about the rant but this plagues me too often sorry 😭

AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. okay. okay. first of all, thank you for talking to me about this, because i'm so glad i'm not the only one ://

now, on to real business :) this is going to a ridiculously long because i have feelings!!!! and it's 1) frustration 2) frustration and 3) frustration!

See, I think this mainly comes from three reasons: the need to spark contrast between the two, the general lack of canon knowledge in the fandom, and the sad attempt to squeeze regulus in what little space is left in the fandom as much of what is fanon, revolves around established headcanons for sirius (regulus' rise to popularity is very much a new thing. he had fans before but trust that it was nowhere near how it is today.)

the fourth secret thing, is the fandom's general tendency to cling to established fanon dynamics like a chastity cage on a particularly swollen dick. and this time, it's regulus being the runt of the black family.

on the matter of contrast

this is so silly to me, because isn't there already contrast between the two? Regulus being the favored child takes absolutely nothing from Sirius' canon charisma, intelligence, and popularity in school. and anon, YOU'RE SO RIGHT about Sirius trying extra hard to fit in at school out of a need to seek attention, approval, and praise because of how it's like at home. Plus the fact that this is done through loudly putting himself against his family. Sirius being the black sheep is such an integral part of what fuels his decisions, explaining the somewhat feral manner in which it manifests. almost crazed. why? because sirius is a hurt and traumatized teenager!!!!!! he has a developmental deficit (emotional and social) that he's still trying to fill, because their home was shit.

nowhere was it ever mentioned that regulus was so unliked by his family nor his slytherin peers because they saw him as lesser than. especially "lesser than sirius." in fact, the opposite was said.

a more accurate contrast between the two would've been about how regulus was a perfect student and how sirius was known for being a marauder. Regulus pulled people in the same way all Blacks do (coolly and with an existence that screams of an implied threat) alongside being the proud heir of an ancient house, while Sirius was making people pay attention to him through sheer spite and will to be heard after being ignored for so long. People would've been getting whiplash from the two, night and day. That regulus made following rules look like a calling, like being a lord to a house was something people were supposed to watch him do, and they fucking watched because they couldn't look away. While sirius could walk in a room full of people and you'd never know what he'd do, but you stay in your fucking seat because whatever it is, it's something you have to see -- you look around and everyone is doing the same thing. People would be holding their breaths for the black brothers but for entirely different reasons.

Regulus never would've made a point to be popular nor aim for the same kind of popularity. He was more probably a social icon for Slytherin, especially, since people were paying attention to the choices old, pureblooded families were making. Slytherin most, especially.

on the general lack of canon knowledge

yeah, at this point, no one wants to read the books anymore (that's genuinely the author's fault) and the movies are what most people know and can be bothered to know. not to mention the disdain for "canon".

there's also this stupid fucking take within the marauders fandom, that apparently everything is pure headcanon. but there's a difference between filling in a lot of the blanks that canon leaves and straight up denying anything ever existed for anyone to look up or research.

fact: there's appallingly little of what's written in the books regarding the marauders era characters. there are some, who were merely mentioned by name or seen in photographs.

bullshit: everything is headcanon. we know nothing about them and there's nothing to know about them.

fact: sirius was a popular student, while regulus was the favorite child of the family.

bullshit: sirius is all the good in their family, while regulus was born a loser and was from the start unwanted and unloved.

and it's funny how i've seen multiple blogs write about people trying to make regulus look cool, and it being an attempt to make, a "discount sirius". and this, apparently, is canon (kiss my dick the lot of you, kiss my phat phucking dick).

on established headcanons about sirius

yeah, i don't think people have been wanting to write about how sirius is in anyway inferior to regulus for much of this fandom's existence. he's a core four member. I mean -- M . W. P. P.

he's arguably the most popular character in the fandom, with his most well-known traits being beautiful, charismatic, and widely popular.

so how do you make sense of his home life? how could he NOT be wanted? how does one make this case, sirius friendly? well, you make him the TRUE favorite. make it so that his little brother? yeah, the nobody? was born as a spare.

sirius was the true favorite until he wasn't, and when he left, their parents were the most miserable human beings on earth for having lost the perfect heir, leaving them with a defunct child without a spine. Make it so that sirius was the ~son who got away~

sirius becomes the cool brother and regulus, the loser.

you have a fandom established dynamic between the two, where this just recently popular brother has to fit around the larger fandom headcanons surrounding sirius, where most are an attempt to smooth over the reality of his childhood. in the end, i think it became more important to make sirius as this better brother in all aspects compared to 'poor regulus' who never got an ounce of attention in his life.

i'm not saying that most people are doing this actively BUT, the headcanons that have stuck are largely due to the fact that the marauders fandom, in general, has had years to establish headcanons that work in sirius' favor (because regulus hasn't been as popular as he is now), and the general want of an overwhelming majority to have sirius simply be more than, compared to his brother.

this mixes so very well with a good number of people rioting about every single trait they think belongs solely to sirius, that must never be associated with regulus.

faced with a fandom that would rather off themselves than read the books... well, we're stuck with fanon tropes.

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

NOW, this isn't some tall order to make people stop writing what they want to write nor is it meant to be condescending for people who like this fanon dynamic.

this is just me saying that i abhor said dynamic. DYNAMIC, not sirius. (read it again, if you're feeling like a keyboard warrior). for people who actually like regulus, it's perfectly understandable and VALID to feel pissed when he's been delegated to this weak, wet tissue character in favor of sirius. like, it's okay to feel pissed when you see your fave's canon story be torn apart and pieced back together as a skewed embellishment for another character's sake, AND to have this be the general fandom attitude to a canon-averse community that will never really know what's fanon or not.

lastly, what this post is not: an attempt to put regulus over sirius, or say how he's the better character. i'm merely pointing out character inconsistencies. at no point did i say regulus good; sirius bad.

TLDR: i hate how regulus has been made out to be this loser brother, because it's not even true especially when there's so many ways to strike up a contrast between them, that doesn't result in completely ruining him for sirius' sake. (The only time i soldier on when this is the dynamic, is when the story is morgan's. That's it.)

#regulus black #sirius black #the black brothers #marauders era #sirius and regulus #regulus headcanon #black brothers #hp marauders #marauders fic #my writing

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belit0 · 9 months

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Indra with prompt 7 where reader and him have just gotten married?? Btw, I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR WORK AND YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD!! ALSO, THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR WRITING FOR INDRA HE’S MY FAV ❤️❤️❤️

7) Them exploring each others' bodies, but not in a sexual way.

AAAAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LIKING MY STUFF!! I FEEL YOU SO BAD WITH THE INDRA SITUATION

He is also my favorite, and it destroys me how he has so little recognition and content to his name. People need to appreciate the hell out of this man HE'S THE CREATOR OF ALL THE CHARACTERS WE LOVE OMG

(Y/N) never heard him speak, at least not directly to her. From the moment Indra chose her as his future wife, she has only heard his voice from afar, addressing her parents or people in her village. He never paused to even greet her, introduce himself, or explain.

Indra came to her small village looking to hire manpower for construction in his territory, having heard rumors (Y/N)'s family was the best in the area when it came to edification. The Otsutsuki had recently become famous after destroying his brother and winning an ancestral war, crowning himself as a man to be feared and respected.

No one wanted to be in the spotlight of his attention, and people preferred to give him whatever he wanted to avoid perishing in the attempt. The man arrived at their home with blueprints to execute his new settlement, having changed his last name so as not to be associated with his father's or younger brother's image.

It didn't take long before he crossed paths with (Y/N) by pure chance, while he was finalizing details with her father on how they would carry out the constructions and with what materials. They were sitting at the main table one night, as she entered her house to go to bed. The girl observed how her father was tense and alert in front of the presence of such a person, and when they exchanged glances, tried to warn her wordlessly to hide.

The Otsutsuki fixed his eyes on her, and that was the moment he decided to take her as his wife. For the remaining days, he continued to make arrangements with her family, and no one could stop him from taking her with him when everything was planned. Saying no to Indra was inevitable doom, and (Y/N) understood she had to obey his orders if she wanted to protect her people.

He took her along with a convoy of villagers from her hometown, who went to the new and recently founded Uchiha territory to lend a hand. The work lasted months, of complicated execution and with no room for mistakes under the frightening gaze of the most villainous man in the world, but it was accomplished.

When everything was finished, her family had to leave, and (Y/N) could not join them.

There was no formal wedding, with the Otsutsuki reluctant to follow such protocols, and simply proclaimed her as his wife in front of the entire Uchiha clan. People knew not to mess with her and respected her as Indra's legitimate wife, but that was all.

Life continued to go on as usual, and the woman had to adapt to her new destiny. Her so-called husband dedicated himself to ignoring her, pretending her existence was unimportant and attending to a million other matters before even looking at her.

(Y/N) did not let his attitude discourage her, and she thrived despite his indifference. She found friends and supporters, and learned about Indra from them. At the moment, the Uchiha clan consisted of all those who supported him on the battlefield and chose him as their leader. Everyone spoke with respect and admiration about the Otsutsuki, and the girl came to know his life story from the accounts of others.

Indra was a tormented and haunted man, someone hurting, and perhaps he just needed space before he could approach her in a concrete way.

She waited, and found a way of life that made her happy in spite of everything. Her husband never limited her or gave her any orders, letting her be free and able to build her day-to-day life as she wished. If she wanted to devote herself to learning ninjutsu, she could. If she preferred to dedicate her time to more mundane tasks or do nothing at all, that was fine too.

It took a couple of months of cohabitation before the man finally got a good look at her, and it happened on a night of a full moon and pouring rain. Usually, the Otsutsuki disappears with the fall of the sun, and (Y/N) presumes it's for training, but with the weather as such, there's no way. The ground turned to mud and there is no visibility because of the rain, the water bringing icy winds in tandem.

Taking no qualms about his presence, the girl continued with her evening routine as if the man was not there, playing the same game of indifference. She finished with all the actions required to get into bed, coolness not helping to keep her away from the sheets.

What she didn't expect was to feel the mattress sink a few seconds after she laid down, Indra settling down next to her for the first time in months. Not speaking to her also came with not sharing a bed, and (Y/N) always wondered where the Otsutsuki slept.

Her heart races and she suddenly becomes nervous, never having had to face this situation in all the time they've been together. She fixes her gaze on him, determined not to be intimidated by the man with whom she is supposed to share her life, and for the first time, she gets a closer look.

He is devilishly handsome, with defined and dreamy features, a sharp jaw, and elongated fox-like eyes. He wears his hair tied in a bun, with a few pieces raining raggedly down his face. Indra is a dream, and (Y/N) gets even more nervous.

"You're agitated...would you rather I spend the night somewhere else...?" According to people's accounts, Indra seems to spit fire when he speaks, but the way he phrased the question carries a hint of teasing and sarcasm.

"No... I do believe it's about time." She decides not to flinch in front of him, and face him with the same level of intonation. They both glare at each other, a duel of stares (Y/N) is not willing to lose.

The girl analyzes the man, sitting on the bed against the headboard and imitating his posture. Indra is not wearing a T-shirt, only some baggy pants. There is a huge scar on his chest, dangerously close to his heart, and looking fresh. Fearlessly, (Y/N) runs her fingertips over it.

It has a terribly smooth texture and decorates his body as if it was meant to fit in that particular spot. "Where did this come from?" she asks without looking him in the eye, sight fixed where her fingers still touch his skin.

"Family squabbles, if you might call it somehow." She can hear a smirk in his words, as the Otsutsuki puts his hand against her cheek, touching a mark (Y/N) has carried since being little girl.

"What about this?"

"Learning to chop wood with my father, if you might call it somehow." She dares to connect with his eyes again and sees him smiling genuinely. The stories and narrative construction people provided about Indra portrayed him as a cold and heartless being, a tyrant with so many murders on top of him as to be uncountable, an evil and sinister man.

Perhaps they were all wrong, and no one really knew him.

Feeling reaffirmed by him, she takes his arm and looks at the skin closely. Another huge scar looking much older decorates the surface. "First time I made use of one of my techniques to defend... someone." There is a hint of nostalgia in his words, and (Y/N) assumes he is referring to a too-distant past.

A huge hand closes over the curve of her waist and draws her close until they are mouth-to-mouth. Surprised by his boldness, she allows herself to indulge in the sweet, first kiss she shares with her husband, feeling his fingers roam her figure over her clothes.

"I wondered what it would feel like to touch you once and for all."

#indra otsutsuki x reader #otsutsuki indra x reader #indra x reader #indra otsutsuki #otsutsuki indra #indra #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto #uchiha clan #naruto x reader #naruto scenarios

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mossappreci8or · 1 year

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The Great Stolen Lizard Fracas, or How I Learned that Some People Will Go to Great Lengths to Fuck Your Shit Up

I’ve made all of my greatest enemies at pet stores, which is saying something because I went to Catholic school. This is because a pet store contains the entire cycle of life and death, over and over again ad nauseum, ad lucrum, and there are only two reasons compelling enough for most people to endure the job; unconditional love and pure spite. This is a story about both, but mostly the latter.

I describe this as something that “happened to me,” which is only mostly true. This is at least 30% my fault, give or take. However, at the very least it wasn’t wrong of me to assume that normally, nobody would give a shit about my posts on tumblr. That was true from the time I joined in 2009 right up until I deleted my entire account in 2014. While I find myself sort of thankful now that this record of my teenage suffering isn’t available for anyone to find anymore, I do miss the feeling of security I used to have when sharing myself with others online.

It started as many tragedies have; I got a new job. In my tiny college town there was one pet store serving most of the county. They were famously resistant to social media and banned their employees from saying anything about them anywhere online. Positions there were highly sought after and turnover was suspiciously high. This was not suspicious enough to me, however, because I wasn’t like the rest of them. No, I had been employed from the age of 9 (or so) and this made me not only a good worker, but very socially well-adjusted. I knew how to get and keep a job. The two times I had been fired already at that point were flukes.

I was hired on the merits of my (dubiously) successful aquarium keeping experience. It was a small family owned-and-run shop with an aging sump system and a mentally ill parrot as their mascot. That parrot and I were a lot alike, which is why she hated me and bit me so so SO much even though I loved her and only gave her her favorite yogurt treats and peanuts. I would call her an ingrate if she wasn’t clearly unfit to be living in such a loud, busy, smelly, and sometimes scary place with people she clearly didn’t like. The most bonding we did is that sometimes when I worked closing shifts I would whistle “Zelda’s Lullaby”, and the parrot would repeat it back if she was feeling especially generous.

I often worked with a girl who was around my age and also a student, whose name I have purposely forgotten. She was the only other employee who I felt was like me in any way. The first time I worked with her we bonded over our mutual love of bearded dragons, and wouldn’t you know it, she had one who needed a good home! A “rescue”, as she described him. She would have kept him herself, but she already had another lizard at home who was upset to have another male in her tiny studio apartment. I had already been considering adopting a beardie at that point, so it was simply a continuation of the “good” luck I had for getting the job in the first place. For $250, I could have the lizard and all of the equipment she had bought for him. A bargain!

After my first paycheck, I dropped by Girl’s apartment with the money to pick the little guy up. In the living room, about 10 feet from the front door, he was camped out under a heat lamp in a cracked aquarium covered with chicken wire. He had a single ceramic log ornament, a wooden hide, and a dish containing untouched dried food pellets and the shriveled remains of some celery chunks. Girl invited me to sit down and stay a while to not break any sort of federal or state laws together, which sounded just dandy to me. As we bonded through our perfectly legal activities, I asked her more questions about the origin of this slightly emaciated lizard with a dent in his side from a malformed rib. This was the first time she mentioned that she had stolen him.

“What, like, right out of the tank?” I asked, incredulous. Girl admitted that yes, she had! She was at a party not long ago when the hosts showed her their lizard. He had no light source, a weak heat lamp, and was only fed crickets. She could not abide this treatment, and absconded with him at the first opportunity. “Do they know you have him?” I asked, not nearly as suspiciously as I should have. The act was, after all, objectively hard as fuck.

“They might have some idea but they had a lot of parties, so it could have been anyone.” This seemed to satisfy Girl, so I let it sit and we continued to watch cartoons and not do drugs together.

I took the lizard home and took stock of what she sold me. While the little boy himself was everything I dreamed of, the supplies most definitely did not amount to anywhere near $250. That was more than half of my paycheck, and I would need to spend more just to get his environment under control. He had certainly never been to see a vet either.

As was the custom, I vented about it on tumblr. The post went mostly unacknowledged and covered by subsequent reblogs and vent posts, and I forgot all about it.

A month or so later, my Spotify listening history was mostly the same 10 songs by The Smiths. Heaven knows I was miserable then. I couldn’t figure out why, but I just couldn’t get along with my coworkers no matter how hard I tried to please them. Undiagnosed autism notwithstanding, I refused to be as casually compliant with the store’s neglectful policies for animal care. I would do things like recommend the actual, necessary treatment for an aquarium infection that happened to be less expensive than the tea tree oil they wanted me to sell people on. This type of salesmanship, as well as the constant interactions I had with people who did not view their pets as living things was wearing me down rapidly. The only oasis in this situation was Girl, who I still got along with best.

I went over to her apartment again after a shift one evening to hang out, and while passing a completely ordinary flower vase back and forth, Girl and I exchanged complaints. It was on this occasion that we exchanged tumblr usernames, and she revealed to me that for the past two months she was being stalked by an ex-boyfriend. Police had already gotten involved, but no arrests were made yet since he had not done anything the local police considered worth their time investigating. I comforted her as well as I could, thankful that I had at least one coworker who trusted me like this.

That was the last time I saw Girl. In the beginning of the following week, I was sitting through an especially dull lecture when my boss sent me a text. “Please come in today as soon as you’re available.”

Oh, I’m getting fired, I thought.

With my heart dropped down into my bowels, I rushed to the shop as soon as class was done, eager to welcome oblivion. I sorted through all the reasons they must have, and which ones would make my parents the least angry. A middle-aged coworker who had been there for years (at minimum wage) didn’t make eye contact with me as I walked to the back office.

“Sit down.” I was used to the wifely half of the business partnership being brusque, but this time she was outright hostile. My knees collapsed under me and I sank into the plastic chair that I had done my interview on. “I want you to explain this to me.”

She was pointing to a thick packet on her desk, meticulously stacked and stapled. She thrust it into my hands, and my heart dropped from my bowels to my feet. It was pages upon pages of my personal tumblr blog in full color, with its custom layout and everything. Whoever had done this had taken the time to meticulously cut out any post that wasn’t mine, leaving the paper’s edges clean. “A customer sent this to us because they thought it was an unfair portrayal of our shop.”

I was panicking too much to fully connect the dots, but I knew that was an obvious lie. None of the posts mentioned the shop or any employees by name, and I didn’t even use my real name or location. Also, who cares about someone else’s small business enough to do this? I said nothing as I paged through the curated selections. There were posts where I talked about my desperate confusion over my coworkers’ disapproval of me, frustration with the inadequate care policies, and… things that were absolutely not work related.

Tumblr was the only place where I felt safe being “out” at the time. The town I lived in was staunchly conservative, openly racist, and locals hated the students almost universally. I was struggling with both my gender and sexuality, and this wasn’t a safe place to be doing that. I had the experiences to match, many of which I detailed for my handful of readers. In that packet of offending posts there were paragraphs about how scary it is to be mentally ill and completely unable to access real help, art about being a weird little queer, and posts about my frustration with Christianity. It clearly wasn’t just about my incompatibility with the rest of the staff or the supposed violation of their social media policy. It was about who I was as a person.

I don’t remember what I said to her because I just wanted out of that situation so badly, but before I left her office she handed me my last paycheck and looked me in the eyes. “You’re obviously disturbed, and you don’t belong here.” With that, I was virtually banned from the shop completely. I thought I heard her mutter an even worse epithet as I left, but I can’t really be certain. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone called me that so maybe I was just expecting it at that point.

As I sat in my car and cried, I took stock of what had just happened. The obvious lie, the open bigotry, the specificity of the post selection… the one other person involved in this that knew of my tumblr. Though she never actually followed my blog, Girl was the only person who could have done this. But why? Hadn’t we been getting along great? What had I done to her to deserve this?

The post. The one post I made about how bad the lizard’s equipment was and how disappointed I was to find his diet being neglected. That must have been the last straw for her. I realized it was shitty to leave a post up like that about a friend, but I had genuinely forgotten about it until that moment. She would have had to scroll through hundreds of posts to get to that. And she did. And she got me fired about it.

It occurred to me that if she would go that far, this might not be the end. She had proof that I had bought a stolen lizard from her and while certainly nobody with authority would have really cared, I couldn’t let that type of lax thinking influence my online security anymore. That’s what got me there in the first place. I immediately nuked that entire blog account and made a new one with a fresh email address and new name. Her blog was the first on the block list. I stopped telling people about my lizard and the very distinctive name he came with for a while, hoping to never encounter his original owners.

Much later, I found out that not long before I was fired, Girl’s ex broke into her apartment through a window. Understandably, she didn’t feel safe living there anymore and turned in her two weeks notice to the pet store, presumably along with my blog posts, and disappeared. In retrospect, I think he might have been trying to get his lizard back, but instead the little guy lived out the rest of his life in my care. I haven’t heard from anyone involved in this for years and am completely free of the consequences so it’s just funny to me now, but I did also have a few small victories in the situation. I’m told that the parrot still sings “Zelda’s Lullaby” from time to time.

#i realized i've never really told this story in its entirety before so. here ya go #sorry it's a #long post #cw homophobia #cw transphobia #cw ableism

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5judgements · 1 year

Text

@stingslikeabee asked:

"It was the Marquis' idea," Melissa murmured in a whisper, her usual melodic voice sounding broken in-between sobs and fits of cough brought by the earlier crying; finally admitting to Ghis about everything was both a blessing and a curse - it was treason, of the worst kind, and yet she couldn't bring herself to hide the truth from him anymore. It was like lifting a burden off her shoulders - even if it could send her to the gallows.

"I had just returned home and... There was nothing there. My family, they had... They left Bhujerba fearing the approaching war to seek refuge here, but they were caught in a raid over Nalbina. No one... Survived. I had... Nothing to live for, Jarvis."

Sniffling miserably, Melissa used the back of her hand to wipe insistent tears away, sighing deeply before raising her eyes to meet the ones of the judge - he had almost died once, but returned to her; the Bhujerban knew how it felt, to lose everything... And yet what fueled her to remain alive had not been love, but rage. Pure hatred towards Archadia, simple spite to see the Empire crumbling.

"Ondore found me a few days later and... He made the offer. Under a new name, with his backing and looking harmless enough, I could get to places no one in the Resistance could. If I did my job well enough, I could make Archadia pay for what they did to us. I didn't care if I died along the way - I no longer had a home to go back to," and despite the absurdity of it all, her hand sought his - bloodstained fingers with the torment of others like her, and yet his grip was the only thing that soothed the turmoil of emotions in Melissa's heart.

"You were my mark - Bhujerba's personal nightmare; the constant reminder of Vayne's shackles. But then... Well, you know the rest of the story," a sad smile followed, almost out of place considering how lively Melissa tended to be in public, "I failed. I couldn't do it then - I can't do it now, not ever. I love you."

Had she come to him with this revelation months prior, not even her bleary eyed face could have suppressed the eruption of rage, which now only sat simmering beneath the surface. Ghis was not a man known for his anger, quite the opposite in fact. It would take only an act of the gods for him to lose his temper before anyone outside of lashing words- she had been witness once to that fury. In the time of an Imperial tournament she had been harassed, and not only was Melissa there for the occasion, but a number of other high standing individuals. Was it not for the word of a man accounting for the very few that could stay Ghis from violence, Melissa would have been a firsthand at knowing the Judge had never made idle threats intentionally.

However, right now, it is all he can think of.

In his grasp, a calloused thumb runs over the woven leather handle of a dagger. He had come across the weapon by accident and, initially, thought nothing much towards it being in her possession. A question better left unasked, for the both of them, but a secret this grand wouldn’t have stayed hidden forever anyways. He had watched the color drain from her features, pale, like she was seeing a ghost.

Ghis hadn’t moved during the length of her sorrows, her reasons, her every single word dripping against the fabric of his thoughts and shattering a distant cacophony of unrest growing inside him when she reached out. Even then he doesn’t offer any reciprocation, not as she protests a love which had stayed her hand, which perhaps was the only reason the same blade he holds hadn’t been drawn taut against the soft insides of his throat.

He will stick that same blade through Ondore’s eye.

The situation leaves them both in an incredible state of danger. Him, with the knowledge that not only had the Marquis planned his assassination, but the person to carry it out was now the only source of joy in his life. So too was she a weakness which could be exploited against him upon a whim if the Bhujerban leader grew less than fond of Melissa’s change in heart. For her, the very confession was nothing short of grounds for bloodshed between the nations, and a subsequent execution likely to follow. Yet, the situation was wholly unique in that she had not been caught in the act, stayed from slaying the Judge, but had gone on her own volition to disobey the task given. He could offer clemency, a pardon in trade for information, but he finds it unlikely Melissa would be as forthcoming with anything that might bring greater peril to her homeland. Perhaps asylum, then, the barest of an exchange for what she has brought to light. It is a troubling problem and one he would certainly require an audience with the other Judges to solve.

“You understand that I cannot allow this to go unpunished,” he finally says, though there is no warmth in his voice. The tone he employs had seldom been heard while she was around, the voice of a man poised to kill, and determined at that. “If your very purpose in Archades had always been this as the goal, you as a spy, an assassin.. The Empire won’t forgive such a drastic affront. I will not abide to stand motionless with this information, Melissa, you’ve damned Bhujerba to war.”

There is a pause, Ghis furrows his brows briefly and considers the weapon he wields. It is not his own, it feels foreign in his grasp, like every wrong spoken syllable that had befallen Melissa in the short minutes which passed.

“No, I am incorrect; Ondore has condemned everything he cares about, his people, his city, his life. He will bear witness to the land he sought to protect be ravaged if surrender is not his first act. How many more Bhujerban lives will that snake of a man be willing to lose? I will see to it that his own is amongst their numbers, only after his bid for victory is revealed to be complete annihilation at the hands of the Empire,” he declares with a rising tone of irritation.

“And you-” Ghis turns his gaze onto Melissa now, the desire for violence unfolding behind the hardened stare he shares. “You are..”

Again he falters to make anything of himself, sighing a harsh exasperation and bearing a wry smile, shaking his head as if the words he wants to commit to are unbelievable. Where his shoulders sag it is an admission that has wound itself around his very heart.

“You are still the wind beneath my wings.”

#(GHIS) IC #stingslikeabee #hahaha yeah #here's this

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andvys · 3 months

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Omg I just finished reading the new chapter of Knew You'd Linger. It was so amazing! I loved Steve showing up in the middle of the night, sobbing out his guilt. It was so raw. I loved Cheer talking to her mom about EVERYTHING. I loved the final conversation between Cheer and Steve. It was honestly the first time I felt like Steve recognized the full extent of his actions, and he was taking accountability. I loved that they both went through two breakups. At first, they broke up as a romantic couple. Now, in this chapter, they had a friendship breakup. It was all so beautiful. My only eyeroll was Steve ruminating to himself, if their shot at an eternal romance would've been possible without the presence of others... I disagree. HE allowed the presence of other people to impact their relationship, and he ended what they had. I love that healthy communication and honesty. As a toxic person, the absolute lack of spite and pure selflessness made me tear up! Thank you for such a lovely chapter 💜💜💜

Thank you!! I'm happy you liked this angsty little chapter 🩷

All these conversations were so necessary for Cheer to have. The one with her mom, the one with Steve. Now let's wait and see how it will go with Eddie 👀

Steve may step out of her life for a while to heal but they will find their way back to each other again, not like before but maybe stronger :')

#andy’s asks

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adventuresinclientservice · 2 years

Text

Can we fix what’s wrong with open plan?

You’ve heard me say this several times before, but New York Times columnist David Brooks and I don’t agree on much – his political views are a couple steps (maybe more) to the right of mine – but even so, I generally find him to be a thoughtful, rational, and sane voice in a sea of conservative-crazy lunatics and near-fascist wingnuts.

So when he wrote recently about something completely unexpected from a political pundit, “The Immortal Awfulness of Open Plan Workplaces,“ I was prepared to take him on, figuring that, just like everything else he opines on, we can’t possibly agree on this.

Then I read the story; he has a point.

I’m with Brooks when he cites research that claims,

“when companies made the move to more open plan offices, workers had about 70 percent fewer face-to-face interactions, while email and instant messaging use rose.”

Open plan actually caused fewer interactions, not more? How counter-intuitive is this? Not as much as you might think; absent the data, I made much the same observation in a post, then in Chapter 8 of The Art of Client Service, where I point out,

“Most agencies these days are arrayed in some form of open plan, with staffers sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, or at most with a simple partition separating work spaces. You would think it would be easy to turn to your left or right, or pop you head over a divider, when you have a question to ask or a concern to share. Collaboration should be easy, except it’s not. The people I’ve spoken with confess to preferring email or texting to speaking. Agencies remain strangers to themselves.”

Several years before Jay Chiat introduced a failed experiment in imposing an open plan layout in the Los Angeles headquarters of Chiat/Day Los Angeles – by all accounts a disaster -- my then Creative Director partner Christine Bastoni and I discovered, more by accident than intent, a possible solution to the open-plan dilemma.

Our shop was scheduled to move from one location to another within Foote, Cone & Belding’s Levi Plaza office in San Francisco, presenting a blank slate opportunity to design our soon-to-be new home according to our wishes. No surprise, we wanted a traditional layout, with offices, and we knew we needed several spaces to serve as conference rooms where we could meet as a group or with clients.

I don’t know where or from whom this idea came from – it could have been from Christine or from someone on her team -- but as we were reviewing preliminary floorplans, someone suggested we create a couple of open area environments where people could just hang out.

Not long after we moved, we noticed something curious: people didn’t just hang out in these open areas, they held meetings there, tossing around ideas in a serendipitous brainstorming session, reviewing creative work, or solving the particular problem of the moment.

The conference rooms? They were like abandoned orphans, seldom used. When clients would visit, we would ask -- “Would you like to go to a conference room, or would you prefer to hang out here?” – with most replying, “Let’s meet here,” pointing to a cluster of chairs/sofa/coffee table, opting for wide open spaces over a conference room.

Brooks rightly points out pure economics, rather than desire to foster collaboration, are largely driving company decisions driving open plan. In spite of hard-to-refute evidence that open plan violates the collaborative and creative spirit of most organizations, it is trumped by math that says companies can fit more people per square foot in to open plan than you can with more conventional office spaces.

Covid has made this situation even more complicated than it already is, with far too many people choosing to remain remote rather than return to work. When the prospect of an office is desk after desk in an open, crowded space, who can blame them?

I wouldn’t willingly return to an office like this. But one like what we had at FCB, with both offices and open plan spaces?

That’s an entirely different conversation.

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chaozsilhouette · 3 years

Text

Imprisoned yet Unshackled

I was so inspired by the large support my last post received, I was able to finish this scene in record time. One thing that was wedged into the back of my mind was, just how does one pass the time when you're trapped under a mountain for five hundred years? Here's my take on Sun Wukong's second imprisonment in @winterpower98's Swap Au. I hope I managed to capture the brilliant yet insane nature of the monkey tyrant.

_____________________________

Sun Wukong, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven, had to smile at his plight.

Once again he was trapped underneath a prison of magic and stone. Only this time the entrapment had not been orchestrated by the Buddha, but by his dearest beloved, a motley crew of demon rejects, and one despicable monk.

He should be infuriated. His rage should invoke the horrible sense the end of days had arrived. Heaven should tremble, Narakas should rush to defend its gates, but no. No, the Monkey King’s temper had cooled to a dangerous degree. Now he could smile and look back on his past with fondness.

Why?

Because he refused to be caught unaware twice.

He may not have been able to stop his imprisonment, but he was able to leave a little insurance for his release. His darling was wise to seal the mountain with the Ruyi Jingu Bang. The infamy of his trademark weapon would be more than enough to strike fear into the hearts of countless demons. Its immense weight prevented all, but the strongest from getting it to budge let alone lift it.

However, for the Handsome Monkey King, it would be a minor feat. Just before the seal was completed and the mountain crashed down, he created a hair clone and sent it out into the world in the appearance of a young human boy. He couldn’t have it mirror him or it would have been hunted down before it could free him. As a precaution, he sealed any memories the clone would have as being, ya know him.

During his time in hiding, he made many new alliances and took on countless servants, many of which joined him after they experienced a thorough humiliation by his darling. The only upside of that worthless journey was all the laughs he got after hearing about all the different demons his beloved trounced on the way.

Seriously, how could one monk keep falling for the same trick over and over again? Maybe Tripitaka enjoyed being abducted? Either way, he had faith that at least one would connect the dots if they knew what was good for them.

He had no doubt the entire Celestial Realm would act to create thousands of mystical and physical barriers to secure and hide the mountain. The villagers would spread tales of destruction and fear, but that would draw in as many as it would push away. Princess Iron Fan would no doubt lead the concealment project herself out of spite. Her husband would personally engage the weaker demons in a fruitless attempt to lessen his fury.

Hehe, the poor demon couple.

Once the heads of a rising court no one would ever dare cross, reduced to celestial dogs as they mourned the loss of their son. The screams of the Demon Bull family curled his toes in the most delightful ways as he forced them to watch their precious matchstick collapse under the fury of his own flames. Unfortunately, the mountain was sealed before he could witness Red Boy’s demise by the True Fire of Samadhi, but even if he survived no one could walk away from that unscathed.

It would take time for his clone to remove the staff, leaving him little to do but think. What else was he going to do trapped under another mountain? This time, not even his face was free to take in the fresh air or watch the stars. He had forgotten how spiteful his darling could be.

They would work on that once he was freed.

Sun Wokong acted too rashly, he could admit that now. He had spent so much time away from his beloved, confident in his capabilities that he failed to account for other dangers. He underestimated Guanyin’s monk. This mortal was the one expected to teach him humility, how could he expect his darling Macaque to survive unaffected.

He thought back to the simple days on Flower Fruit Mountain after Macaque had accepted his invitation to live with him. When it was just the two of them against the world. Their days were filled with training, experimenting with their powers, and making quick trips to scare humans and demons alike. Sun could still picture the easy smile that would grace his beloved’s face after a fulfilling day or whenever he groomed that silky mane.

The playful chirps and growls of the other monkeys filled the background as they went about their normal lives. He watched with pride as families grew and newborns matured into colorful pranksters all their own. Each generation instinctually knew who he was and learned to give him respect, but he didn’t mind them crossing a few lines. What kind of leader would he be if he discouraged what made him happy?

Anytime hunters or an upstart demon attempted to set foot on his mountain, Wukong and Macaque would switch guardian duty. While he definitely enjoyed killing any idiot who dared to intrude upon his territory, watching his beloved slaughter in his name brought him even more pleasure. Unlike his personal tastes of crushing his opponent’s skull after ripping off their limbs, his beloved took a more surgical approach. Delicately Macaque would toy with his prey, methodically tearing apart their physical strength and their sanity, until nothing was left but a pitiful husk who begged for death.

Ah, each one of those performances was nothing less than pure poetry all designed for him.

He wanted that back. He wanted all of those pleasures back and more! And he would get them. Once he was freed, he would find his wayward beloved and undo all the damage Tripitaka did. Macaque would be reminded of their ambition to conquer. But more than anything he would remember who he belonged to.

Fortunately, neither of them was in any danger of dying. During his little stay in the Celestial Realm, he saved a couple of souvenirs. A peach of immortality, a bottle of heavenly wine, and a gourd of pills from Loa Tzu’s lab; each capable of granting the consumer immortality and combined with the safeguards they had already taken.

Macaque had become just as much a fundamental part of reality as himself. He didn’t even have to lie. Despite Macaque being concerned for the consequences of his actions, the six-eared immortal couldn’t help but kneel over laughing as Wukong mimicked the expressions of his celestial servants whenever they tried to ask something of him. Wukong looked on in adoration as his mate indulged in the bounty of the Celestial Realm, tying their futures together until time itself ceased to exist.

It did not matter how long it took. The seal would be broken and all of creation would know fear. Time held no meaning for him. He could afford to be patient.

#lego monkie kid #lmk #sun wukong #princess iron fan #demon bull king #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #winterpower98 #monkie kid swap au #monkey tyrant

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smutsonian · 3 years

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Hi, I love your work btw. The talent!!! Could I pls have a Ransom Drysdale smut where the reader meets his family for the first time but before they got there reader was teasing him so he takes her into one of the bedrooms to punish her for being a bad girl and they almost get caught

a new member of the family

summary: ransom brings his girl to meet his family but she wants his attention more than she wants his family’s attention.

warnings: SMUT, daddy kink, kind of public sex?, reader is rich af (like really), err just pure nastiness, not proofread. pls let me know if i missed anything

word count: 2.4k

a/n: i did it again... i made this just today so i can post something because i cant seem to finish that damn lee bodecker fic sjvfkvnsjfu

BTW thank you anooonnn 🥺

Lowkey missed doing them moodboards 🤧

masterlist

“That’s really impressive! How much do you make? Say… Yearly?” Joni gives the young woman a wide smile, clearly excited with the talk of money while her daughter, Meg, shakes her head in disappointment and embarrassment.

“Oh my god, mom! You don’t ask people that!” Meg gives her mother a glare before the young woman, Y/N, places her hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

“It’s fine, Meg. I quite like the interview,” Y/N smirks before turning back to Joni with a proud smile.

“Well, I make 7 to 8 digits in an hour 10 on a good day so… I’ll let you do the math,” she chuckles at Joni’s stunned expression before turning to her boyfriend with a wink. Her hand snakes toward his chest as she pulls the man into a hug while her other hand travels down the front of his slacks, palming him discretely while Ransom’s family watched them in awe, not aware of Y/N’s wandering hand.

“When can we go home?” She whispers close to his ear while he plays with his member through his slacks but he stops her with a glare and a firm grasp on her wrist before leaning down to whisper against her ear.

“Behave and enjoy the attention of my family. Continue teasing me and you won’t get any attention from me,” he warns as he kisses the top of her head while the family just watches with adoration in their eyes.

“Y/N, is it true that you can access new models of devices before they’re released?” Jacob’s quiet yet snobbish voice forces her to pull away from Ransom. She looked at the teen with a smile before nodding.

“That’s somewhat true. Obviously not every brand but there are some.” Jacob’s eyes light up at her words but they even grew brighter and wider at Ransom’s words.

“By some, she means a lot.” Ransom scoffs before walking off to sit on one of the sofas. Y/N’s eyes follow her boyfriend’s figure when Jacob grabs her attention once more.

“Is it possible for you to…” The young boy had the audacity to be shy now but Y/N ignores it. She came here to impress Ransom’s family, didn’t she? So why not push the limits?

“I’ll send you packages whenever new models come my way.” She grins and winks at the boy before patting him on the shoulder. Jacob’s eyes widen in glee before he surprisingly gives her a hug, muttering his thanks again and again.

“Well, that’s new,” Walt chuckles at the sight of his son hugging Ransom’s new girl while Donna just smiles at her son’s elation.

The Thrombeys are on about their usual banters, surprisingly calmer than the other gatherings because just like Ransom’s girlfriend, they’re trying to impress her as well. The young woman didn’t even have to try hard because her name already had the Thrombeys falling for her. She will be a good addition to the family.

Y/N was bored. She’s also needy, hot, and bothered but her boyfriend continues to ignore her attempts of leaving the place and doing it at their shared apartment…. Well more like a shared mansion? Their bank accounts mixed together could buy a whole country and that’s not even an exaggeration.

Y/N is so needy that she’d let Ransom have his way with her in the car. But it seems like her boyfriend just wasn’t in the mood.

That will not work at all for needy little Y/N.

I’m dripping here, Ransom.

Seen.

What should a girl do to get some action?

Seen.

I see that huge bulge you’re hiding and it’s looking realll delicious right now.

Seen.

God, how I want to ride that huge cock

Y/N bites her bottom lip as she watches her boyfriend staring at his phone screen, probably reading her text messages.

She smirks when Ransom’s head snapped up to look at her with dark and lustful eyes.

It worked.

Y/N smirks at Ransom’s clenched jaw and she’s a hundred percent sure that he’s just as needy as she is. If he wasn’t ready to go home a few minutes ago, he is now.

Ransom continues to stare at her before he squints his eyes at her as if he was assessing her and what he’ll be doing with her. Y/N’s smirk falls when Ransom breaks eye contact before looking down and shaking his head dismissively.

The rest of the day continued with Y/N trying to work Ransom up but he never budged. Does he still like her? What, is he tired of her? Negative thoughts flood Y/N’s mind as she tries one last time to get to Ransom.

They are now having dinner and she’s sitting beside Ransom while the rest of the family continues to talk about whatnot. Y/N didn’t care. She’s too busy running her hand along Ransom’s thigh, carefully and slowly inching close to his still hard cock. Maybe he does still like her…

Y/N’s face falls when Ransom gives her a harsh look before ripping her hand away from his thigh and continuing to eat. Y/N lets out a huff before rolling her eyes and eating her meal quietly and quite grumpily.

She’s been chewing on the mashed potatoes when a large hand falls down her exposed thigh. The short dress didn’t cover much of her legs. She looks down at the hand before following the arm to see Ransom giving her a smirk.

Y/N stares at him blankly before ripping his hand off just like he did with hers earlier and turning back to her sad-looking mashed potatoes. The hand that she pushed off comes back, gripping her thighs hard and forcing her to look back at her boyfriend with a frown. She glares at his smug face before wearing a faux smile. She leans towards his face as if she’s going to press a kiss on his cheek but she’s not in the mood to be all cute right now.

“Fuck off,” she whispers, voice filled with spite before grabbing his hand and shoving it away with all the strength she could muster.

Not too fond to be with Ransom right now, she excuses herself to the bathroom.

Lo and behold, her boyfriend follows.

Just as she was about to close the bathroom door, Ransom’s hand pushes it open, making her stumble back as he entered before closing the door himself and locking it.

“I don’t appreciate you cursing at my face, little girl.” Ransom stares at her, eyes scanning her body while he starts to undo his pants.

Y/N scoffs before turning away from him. “Well I don’t appreciate my boyfriend making me feel like shit the whole day then suddenly is all up on me.” Y/N lets out a whimper when her front is suddenly against the walls as Ransom presses his body against her back.

“That’s not how you talk to me, little girl. You’ve been very bad.” Ransom rubs his cock against her back before hiking her dress up so he can rub his tip along her wet folds.

“No teasing is included in Daddy’s rules, am I right?” He growls against her ear and she nodded in response, whimpering as he continues to rub his tip against her wetness, teasing her slit but never entering.

“And those fucking texts,” he lets out a laugh before stroking her hair gently. “My family’s attention is not enough for my little girl, is it?” He nibbles on her ear before his hands find their way to her front, groping her breasts harshly that elicits whines from her.

“I-I only want daddy’s attention,” she whispers before rubbing her back against Ransom’s pulsing cock.

“So needy for me, aren’t you?” Ransom chuckles before moving one hand to guide himself to her entrance.

“You’ve been a really bad girl. I don’t know if you deserve daddy’s cock right now.” He clicks his tongue before pressing a kiss on her shoulder.

“But you’ve made daddy so hard and needy for this pretty cunt so I guess you’re a lucky one, aren’t you?” He chuckles before slamming his cock inside her, holding her hips so he can pull her closer to him. She lets out a cry from his actions but he covers her mouth with a huge hand.

“You don’t want them to hear you now…” He trails off before removing his hand.

“But you just love attention… I have a feeling that you’d love for them to know how much your daddy makes you feel good, huh?” He continues to slam his hips against her ass, groaning quietly as he feels her wet walls sucking his cock with hunger every time he pulls out. He watches as she bites her lip in hopes to not make a sound.

“Ahh fuck! I fucking love this cunt! You don’t know how those texts made me feel. All the touching… You wanted attention? You’re getting it now.” His pace becomes faster and it became harder for her to conceal her moans so she moves her arms so that her forearm is against her mouth, covering her cries.

“I can feel your walls, baby… You’re going to cum, aren’t you?” His grip on her hips becomes tighter and she only nodded in response, silently begging him to make her cum but before she could find her release, he pulls out of her completely.

“Daddyy…” She whines but lets out a squeal when he roughly turns her body around so she’s facing him now.

A hand grips her face, fingers digging into her cheeks as he forces his mouth on hers, hungrily lapping every corner of her mouth before he slams his cock back inside her cunt.

A knock on the door makes her stiff against Ransom but he only smirked as he continues to ram into her, eyes watching her in amusement, waiting to see how she’s going to respond to the knock.

“Y/N, dear? Are you okay?” Joni’s voice tears through the sounds of their skin slapping together and Y/N had held onto Ransom’s broad shoulders when she feels herself getting closer.

“I-I’m okay, J-Joni! I’m almost done!” Y/N manages to shout and Joni thankfully leaves. Ransom smirks at Y/N with dark eyes before using one hand to stimulate her clit while the other gropes her breasts. His head dips down her neck to suck hungrily before nipping on it gently and licking at the same spot.

“You’re almost done, huh?” He nips her neck one more time before moving to her lips, easily shoving his tongue in her mouth while she could only whimper against him in pure pleasure.

“I’ll help you finish,” he whispers before pulling away and focusing on fingering her clit while he continues to slam his cock into her.

He watches, observes, her face while he continues to please her. He enjoys every reaction he pulls out of his girl as he starts slamming hard and deep all while his fingers rub her clit with such speed that had her mewling in ecstasy.

“Mmm, you close?” He smiles as her eyes are closed while her mouth opens but no noise comes out. Her back arches at the feeling and he stares at her beauty in awe. He’s very lucky to have her.

Ransom continues to stare as she finally cums, body shaking against his hold and it might just be his most favorite thing to watch.

“Daddy!” She moans, no longer able to hold out and Ransom immediately pulls her in for a kiss. Though the thought of his family knowing he’s able to please this fine woman makes him swell with pride, he didn’t want her being ashamed or abashed when they go back out. He really cares for his little girl.

Ransom continues his thrusts, eager to have his release as well.

“Where?” Ransom grunts breathlessly and his girl smiles at him in a daze, lust flashing her eyes before she grinned.

“Inside, pleasee daddyy…” His girl whines and who is he to deny that?

With a few more thrusts, Ransom finally gives a final hard thrust before his face scrunches in pleasure and his eyes closes as well while he spills every single drop of his cum inside her. His head falls back as his mouth spills profanities and his girl watches in admiration just like he did with her. Just as thankful as he is to have him as hers.

“Ahh, I fucking love you!” Ransom grunts before pulling out and putting his slacks back on. He grins at the sight of his cum spilling down her thighs. He swipes the trail with a finger and his eyes widen in fondness as his girl grabs his wrist before putting her lips around the finger and licking his finger clean of his cum. He could feel his cock twitching against his slacks and he scoffs in amusement.

Ransom helps her fix her dress before he pulls her into a hug.

“I fucking love you,” he repeats and she nods against his chest.

“I love you too, daddy,” she smiles up at him before chuckling when he leans down to press a quick kiss on her nose.

“I think we’re ready to leave now. Continue this at home.” Ransom laughs at her eagerness and follows her out of the door and out of the house, quickly saying their goodbyes to his family.

Oh, he got really lucky with you. He’s fucked up a lot in his life but he’s not going to fuck things up with you.

----

BONUS SCENE:

“They’re literally doing it in the bathroom!” Meg screeches, face contorting in disgust.

“Mom, you heard them!” Meg looks at her mother, expecting to back her up but the older woman remained silent.

“Jesus!” Meg cries, rolling her eyes at her mother.

“Why are you so worked up?” Joni asks her daughter with a frown.

“Yeah… Doing it is pretty normal. It’s one of the needs of humans…” Jacob gives Meg a look, jaw clenching when Meg scoffs at him.

“How would you know?” She gives him an irritated look before Walt speaks up.

“Don’t be so pissed, dear. Jacob is right. It’s human nature.” Walt grins when everyone agrees. Everyone seemed to be on Y/N’s side.

Meg scoffs at everyone. It’s a fucked up family and she doesn’t know if she’s worried for Y/N or happy to have another sane person in the family.

One thing is sure. Y/N will be a part of this family.

----

taglist:

General: @readermia @unlikelygalaxygiver @xoxabs88xox @anncutamarica @chaoticfiretaconerd @i-love-superhero @caffiend-queen @coconutqueen21 @jtargaryen18 @jennmurawski13 @mushyjellybeans @ninjabucky @evnscvll @buckstaybucky @donutloverxo @rebloggingeverything @adriannajackson @la-cey @awaywithtime @gotnofucks @littlegasps

Anything Chris: @patzammit @princess-evans-addict @shadowcatsworld @notyourtypicalrose @onetwo3000 @bluemusickid @heyiamthatbitch @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @empath-bunny @slytherinandoutasgard

Chris and seb: @harrysthiccthighss

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom imagine #ransom smut #ransom thrombey x reader #ransom x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale imagine

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vallariex46 · 3 years

Text

I think Amphitrite is honestly an underrated goddess/ immortal.

I mean she’s Poseidon’s wife - i thought there would be more talk about her.

In order to change that i put this together to educate people about her.

I like the fact she never gets jealous of Poseidon’s cheating. I mean she is constantly getting cheated on but she seems pretty chill (she represents the calm seas so that may have something to do with it) and she even helps Poseidon’s kids (like Theseus.)

I like her lol

(Lowkey feel like she was done dirty in Percy Jackson. Literally the only representation and shes jealous and spiteful oof.)

Biography

Parents : Oceanus and Thetis or Nereus and Doris.

Greek : Amphitrite (Meaning - The Surrounding Third/Sea)

Roman : Salacia (Meaning - The Salty One)

Amphitrite was essentially the Primadorial goddess Thalassa (the sea) the female personification of the seas.

[Whereas Poseidon was essentially the Primadorial god Pontus - the male personfication of the seas]

Amphitrite is said to counter Poseidon as Poseidon represents the salty, uncontrollable seas (see - Poseidons wrath in myth for symbolic terms of this) whilst Amphitrite is said to represent the calm ocean’s (see - she isn’t wrathful like Hera towards Poseidon’s bastards, she understands the kids can’t help being the child of their father - she also doesn’t get involved in olympian affairs as much as she could.)

Amphitrite was often depicted in the artistic decorations of Poseidon's temples. Presumably she was honoured alongside the god.

Her children include her son Triton and her daughters Rhode, Benthesikme and Kymopoleia.

Poseidon (Her marriage)

Nereid Amphitrite gained the attention of Poseidon for her blue, dark eyes and beauty (some say it was her fiery personality that drew him in.)

However, Amphitrite knew full well what Poseidon’s advances meant and fled and so the Nereid hid herself away near Atlas, east of the Mediterranean.

Her disappearance only caused Poseidon to become more infatuated eith marrying her. And so he sent sea creatures to find her.

Delphin came across her and persuaded her to marry Poseidon, reluctantly she returned and they were wed.

Poseidon was so thankful he placed Delphin in the stars.

Theseus (Amphitrite with bastard kids of Poseidon.)

Amphitrite is a direct contrast with Hera - she does not go after the women her husband bed, nor does she go after his children.

In the case of Theseus : Minos doubted his parentage. He titled Theseus a liar, declaring him no son of the sea/ Poseidon.

Minos threw his ring into the ocean, told Theseus to get it to prove he was a child of Poseidon.

Amphitrite heard of the challenge, and when Theseus went to return the ring - she gifted him her crown and claimed him as her son in order to prove he was a son of Poseidon.

There’s also no myth of Amphitrite never going after Poseidon’s women.

—

Small Fun Fact

When Leto gave birth due to Poseidon granting her passage or to her sister Asteria’s intervention and help, Amphitrite helped her.

—

Evidence I Used

AMPHITRI′TE (Amphitritê), according to Hesiod (Theog. 243) and Apollodorus

(i. 2. § 7) a Nereid, though in other places Apollodorus (i. 2. § 2, i. 4. § 6) calls her an Oceanid. She is represented as the wife of Poseidon and the goddess of the sea (the Mediterranean), and she is therefore a kind of female Poseidon. In the Homeric poems she does not occur as a goddess, and Amphitrite is merely the name of the sea. The most ancient passages in which she occurs as a real goddess is that of Hesiod above referred to and the Homeric hymn on the Delian Apollo (94), where she is represented as having been present at the birth of Apollo. When Poseidon sued for her hand, she fled to Atlas, but her lover sent spies after her, and among them one Delphinus, who brought about the marriage between her and Poseidon, and the grateful god rewarded his service by placing him among the stars.

(Tzetz. ad Lycoph. 45, 649.) She became by Poseidon the mother of Triton, Rhode, or Rhodos, and Benthesicyme.

(Hesiod. Theog. 930, &c.; Apollod. i. 4. § 6; iii. 15. § 4.) Later poets regard Amphitrite as the goddess of the sea in general, or the ocean. (Eurip. Cycl. 702; Ov. Met. i. 14.) Amphitrite was frequently represented in ancient works of art; her figure resembled that of Aphrodite, but she was usually distinguished from her by a sort of net which kept her hair together, and by the claws of a crab on her forehead. She was sometimes represented as riding on marine animals, and sometimes as drawn by them. The temple of Poseidon on the Corinthian isthmus contained a statue of Amphitrite

(Paus. ii. 1. § 7), and her figure appeared among the relief ornaments of the temple of Apollo at Amyclae (iii. 19. § 4). on the throne of the Olympian Zeus, and in other places. (v. 2. § 3, comp. i. 17. § 3, v. 26. § 2.) We still possess a considerable number of representations of Amphitrite. A colossal statue of her exists in the Villa Albani, and she frequently appears on coins of Syracuse. The most beautiful specimen extant is that on the arch of Augustus at Rimini.

Halosydne (Halosudnê), that is, “the seafed,” or the sea born goddess, occurs as a surname of Amphitrite and Thetys. (Hom. Od. iv. 404, Il. xx. 207.)

Theseus

Pausanias, Description of Greece 1. 17. 3 (trans. Jones) (Greek travelogue C2nd A.D.) :

“[Minos king of Krete (Crete)] hurled insults at him [Theseus] and denied that he was a son of Poseidon, since he could not recover for him the signet-ring, which he happened to be wearing, if he threw it into the sea. With these words Minos it is said to have thrown the ring, but they say that Theseus came up from the sea with that ring and also with a gold crown that Amphitrite had given him.”

Pseudo-Hyginus, Astronomica 2. 5 (trans. Grant) (Roman mythographer C2nd A.D.) :

“Minos is said to have drawn a gold ring from his finger and cast it into the sea. He bade Theseus bring it back, if he wanted him to believe he was a son of Neptunus [Poseidon] . . . Theseus, without any invoking of his father or obligation of an oath, cast himself into the sea. And at once a great swarm of dolphins, tumbling forward over the sea, led him through gently swelling waves to the Nereides. Say that the crown came from the wife [Amphitrite] of Neptunus, and Theseus is said to have given it to Ariadne as a gift, when on account of his valor and courage she was given to him in marriage.”

Pseudo-Hyginus, Astronomica 2. 17 (trans. Grant) (Roman mythographer C2nd A.D.) :

“Constellation Delphin. Eratosthenes [Hellenistic poet C3rd B.C.] and others give the following reason for the dolphin’s being among the stars. Amphitrite, when Neptunus [Poseidon] desired to wed her and she preferred to keep her virginity, fled to Atlas. Neptunus sent many to seek her out, among them a certain Delphin, who, in his wandering s among the islands, came at last to the maiden, persuaded her to marry Neptunus, and himself took charge of the wedding. In return for this service, Neptunus put the form of a dolphin among the constellations.”

Amphitrite’s Marriage

Virgil, Georgics 1. 29 ff (trans. Fairclough) (Roman bucolic C1st B.C.) :

“You [Caesar praised as if he were Neptunus (Poseidon)] come as god of the boundless sea and sailors worship your deity alone, while farthest Thule owns your lordship and Tethys with the dowry of all her waves buys you to wed her daughter [Amphitrite].”

Oppian, Halieutica 1. 38 ff (trans. Mair) (Greek poet C3rd A.D.) :

“The Dophins : Poseidon loves them exceedingly, inasmuch as when he was seeking Amphitrite the dark-eyed daughter of Nereus who fled from his embraces, Delphines (the Dolphins) marked her hiding in the halls of Okeanos (Oceanus) and told Poseidon; and the god of the dark hair straightway carried off the maiden. Her he made his bride, queen of the sea, and for their tidings he commended his kindly attendants and bestowed on them exceeding honour for their portion.”

Helping Leto

Homeric Hymn 3 to Delian Apollo 89 ff (trans. Evelyn-White) (Greek epic C7th - 4th B.C.) :

"Leto [on the island of Delos] was racked nine days and nine nights with pangs beyond wont. And there were with her all the chiefest of the goddesses, Dione and Rheia and Ikhnaie (Ichnaea) and Themis and loud-moaning Amphitrite and the other deathless goddesses. Then the child leaped forth to the light, and all the goddesses raised a cry. Straightway, great Phoibos (Phoebus) [Apollon], the goddesses washed you purely and cleanly with sweet water, and swathed you in a white garment of fine texture, new-woven, and fastened a golden band about you."

#greek gods #greek mythology #percy jackson #pjo #amphitrite #poseidon #triton #percy jackon and the olympians #i love and stand a queen

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maple-cloak · 3 years

Text

So I was reading @chipper-smol shitlordAU and got inspired to make this Drabble

Basically it’s a 4K (wait Fuck that’s in no way right I thinks it’s more like 400 wtf was I thinking) word what-if where Ghost fights Radiance but she gets scared and runs away.

Also PK giving Ghost a hug.

Enjoy!

The Radiance was livid,

or rather, more livid then before.

First it was that Wyrm, who had created itself a new form and descended as a bug, a pale and pathetic bug. Stealing her followers away with his artificial light, Refracted light, a false light from a mere Wyrm who knew nothing of it.

But the bugs of what is now Hallownest followed that false light in lieu of her own, and she soon found herself forgotten, her entire being was relegated to the sol object that spoke of her Light. A single withering statue atop the nearby mountain peak.

She had waited, dwelling in the faint dreams the statue held, waiting for what her traitorous creations called their Pale King to finish her off.

But he never came.

Instead she was left there, fuming in her own rage, when she heard someone approaching. She briefly though the wretched Wyrm had finally come to end her being entirely, but was instead found by some simple miners, who had decided to climb to the peak of the crystal filled mountain, their helmets bearing a simple crest.

The Wyrms crest for his new kingdom.

And she saw an chance for revenge.

The simple memorabilia was enough for her to infect their minds, and in turn infect others who came in contact; she commanded them through their dreams to talk and spread word about her statue. To get more to learn of her, to get more to talk, and wonder, and before that Wyrm could learn how, her rage spread forth. With enough bugs to remember she had enough power to spread through his kingdom, expanding her influence throughout the populace, causing the kingdoms sharp decline, and she reveled in the kings panic and desperation.

Eventually the king had the idea to contain her in a vessel, using the void below the kingdom to make a being with no mind to think and be influenced, no will for her to break, and no voice to cry her name in suffering.

But she knew that the king had failed.

While its thoughts were not as loud as the common bug, there were still there, almost silent, but she could still hear the mantra it repeated, still feel the slightest of wills, and she knew that it would not hold.

“Do not think”

But that is a though

“Do not feel”

But the pain so great

“Do not speak”

But you must scream

“Do not hope…”

There is no hope for Hallownest

Eventually the cracks started to form. And she began to seep her influence out through them.

It didn’t matter if the kingdom had already fallen.

It didn’t matter that the Wyrm is no longer here.

She would destroy all evidence of the kingdom, leaving nothing behind for the few survivors to call home, and once that was done she would infect one of the many travelers that came through, and become a god in a new land.

But then came a second vessel

A vessel that had manage to escape the void and her servants who impeded their escape out into the open world without her notice, and when it came back she felt a tinge of fear. It had left the kingdom, and without the influence of the Wyrm that gave those around him minds it would become truly empty. And if it were to attempt so she would be imprisoned with no chance of escape.

Fortunately, there had been multiple influences, not just from a single ignorant king failing to notice the mind it had given, but from a multitude of bugs, instilling their own ideas onto to the second vessel. Gifting it a mind and a will, and she saw it as no threat.

But then it encountered one of her formal followers -Considered a traitor even by the other moths of her tribe, and she gave the vessel the Dream Nail. The moment she saw this she began sealing the mind of her container, preventing the other vessel from attacking her directly with the weakened talisman. The “Seer” however instructed the vessel to restore the talisman, reinvigorating the nail with essence by the time she had taken back the life she gave, the Nail had fully awoken

To worsen matters, the vessel had gotten the former Wyrms charm, and used it to unite the void under its ever growing will. And when it arrived at the temple it unsealed The Radiance prepared to use its container, missing a limb and having a cracked mask from her efforts to hastily take control, to kill the smaller vessel, a ghost of the kings attempts to contain her, given form with the goal of ending her life like its parent so many years ago.

But as the Kings Ghost and the Broken Vessel fought, the Ghost hesitated. It had seen its siblings pain and saw as it injured itself in order to give it a better chance of victory, of finally ending her.

And it ran.

It couldn’t handle its siblings pain and The Radiance laughed as the Ghost ran away, allowing her to reign unopposed.

But the Ghost was tenacious, and found a way to her without injuring its sibling.

The Godseekers, they came in search of a new God after theirs abandoned them; a role she intend to fill. But the Ghost had used their mind to get to her, fighting their way through the ‘Gods’ of Hallownest, many of whom she had control over, and eventually, they arrived at the peak, at her peak.

She though she would win, in a realm where she was no longer held back by the myriad of infected bugs or the broken vessel, but that Ghost was tenacious. And each ensuing fight it grew closer to victory, closer to consuming her within the void.

And it did, it had given the void focus, and it had consuming her.

But despite this, despite struggling within its clutches, her light drowning within its dark abyss. She found herself back in Hallownest, the people still panicked over the ‘disease’ that spread, the king struggling with his ‘solution’.

She has gleefully taken the second chance at ruining his kingdom, being more thorough then before, but as she infected a chef in order to ruin the kings meals (rather petty, but the further unrest that it would give the king was absolutely delightful) she found it slain by the very Ghost that slew her. She almost didn’t recognize it since it had molted, but it’s movement made it undeniable.

It too had been sent back, and The Radiance was livid.

Or rather, more livid then before

But not only that, she found herself trembling, not just with rage, but with fear. The being no longer had the same control over the void, but it still had the same skill that enabled it to use it at her most vulnerable, it was still the same being that killed Absolute Radiance.

Despite seemingly despising the very same Wyrm, making their life all the more frustrating, it refused to let her have her revenge. And it sought to do what it did before again, this time before she could end the kingdom.

And she was scarred.

———————————————————

The Feral Vessel and the Pale King had gotten into an argument.

Now this wasn’t particularly surprising, the two had always butted heads, but this argument was very heated. The vessel, who seemed to named itself Ghost, had been getting on the Wyrm’s case about its treatment of the Pure Vessel, while the Wyrm got angry at Ghost for instilling ideas into it, and that it they shouldn’t interact it as they have been.

The Pale King now sat in his room, it had been almost a week since the feral vessel Ghost had walked off at the end of their argument, and they had yet to be seen since. He stared at his hand lost in though, staring at the cracked void that stained it, thinking over the argument and going over scenarios of what could’ve been.

He hated to admit it, but he cared for the little Ghost. While it had caused plenty of trouble and headaches, deep down he knew he deserved it. For all the hundreds of thousands of siblings down dead in the void below, he felt that Ghost was his punishment. Humiliating and insulting him for his transgressions, the Wyrm knew he deserved it all.

And behind the mask of child-like pranks and dislike for him, he and his Root had long since suspected that they somehow knew more then even his foresight could account for. The familiarity with the White Palace, despite never once being there. How they traveled accros Hallownest with ease, knowing where hidden charms lay and even pale ore across the kingdom. Even with the few fights they have had, he heard they even wield a nail with such familiarity and ease, even ending a bout with the Pale Vessel in a draw despite receiving no training unlike the latter.

And above all, how they still care for his Root, and how she cares for them. How she enjoys mentoring them (and occasionally aiding in embarrassing the Wyrm but it’s hard to be mad when your wife is practically telling them to do it). Then there’s the excitement they show when sharing the language of hands they created with their mother, a language without words but with expression and symbols. It was something he actually wanted to praise them for, and something he was exited to learn as well.

The Wyrm frowned as these thoughts passed, bringing him back to the argument. Ghost was always insistent on the fact that the Pure Vessel wasn’t… pure. Hollow. Empty…

Unable to properly contain the Radiance.

And the worst part was that he knew they were right. He didn’t want to admit it, but Ghost was always right, even before they interfered, the vessel was never pure. The King always claimed that he knew what to do, how to solve the problem and that the Pure Vessel - Hollow, Ghost had taken to calling it (no doubt because his young sister, Hornet, calling it that) was the only, and the right answer.

He had practically abandoned his foresight by now, the only path he could see since tossing all those eggs into the void was one were his beloved kingdom fell, his beloved subjects who he cared so much for dead at the hands of a spiteful light, their burning corpses wandering his kingdoms husk. All that he worked for, and all that he is, was doomed.

The Pale King was snapped away from with thoughts with a knock as his door, and he quickly regained composer, if anything he could give his subjects some hope for their future. Calmly (or at least appearing so) he walked to the door and opened it.

“What is it?” He asked the guard, they were panting, having run as quickly to fetch the King

“T-the… “ the guard cleared his through. “There’s a messenger here my lord, form the Archives, says it’s urgent”

The Wyrm steeled himself, news from the Archives ment news of the infection. He dismissed the guard and swiftly made his way to the entrance hall, greeting the messenger, whom he recognized to be Monomon’s assistant.

“What is it Quirrel? Has Monomon learned something?” He inquired, startling the bug as he shot up straight.

“Y-yes your majesty it’s about the infection…”

Quirrel paused briefly for a breathand the Pale King noticed the faintest to hope in his voice

“The infection, it’s… it’s regressed”

The news had startled him, regressed? The Ra- the Old Light was the cause of the infection, it’s no ordinary disease she invade their mind and takes over . For the infection to regress would mean…

“Prepare me a stag for the Queens Station.” He ordered a nearby servent, who had already been anticipating such a command and he made his way to the Archives in the Fog Canyon.

He made his way swiftly through the caves, Quirrel aiding in avoiding the various Ooma’s that lived there.

“Monomon what do you mean the Infection has regressed?” He asked, walking straight into the main office.

“Well you majesty it’s exactly that, previously infected bugs have either lessening symptoms, regaining control over themselves, or simply becoming uninfected entirely!” She responded, expecting the king not to barge in in such a manner.

“But that would mean…”

“…somethings happened to the Old Light”

They both paused, a silence filled the room as they wondered what could’ve happened. As the Wyrm ran a hand up its face a though crossed his mind. Ghost, they always knew more then they should, familiar with things they have had no way to experience before. Could they have…?

“Keep looking into it, I’ll see if I can figure anything else”

“Be careful my lord” Monomon responded as they left the archives.

A single thought ran through his head, ‘Where was that Feral Vessel? Where is Ghost?”. It had been a few days yes, but what if they were preparing for something, going from one corner of Hallownest to the next to get what they needed for… whatever it was. He made his way to the resting grounds, where Ghost would regularly search for… something, but he found no evidence of them being there. We’re else would the feral vessel have gone? He stood in a empty plot, a place where he planned to build a monument for the dreamers.

Deepnest? No, hornet would not have wondered where they went when she came to visit. The Queens Gardens? No, his dear Root would’ve found them easily in her domain. So where could they be? He though it over, could there be anyone who would know of their whereabouts?

He paused. Grimm. Ghost had shown an unusual affection for the Troupe Master, and… he froze in a panic. When Ghost had first met Grimm his foresight had shown him the infection being killed form the inside.

He immediately took off, flying over to where the Troupes tent resided. No! They couldn’t have? Panic filled the Pale King, how could he not realize? Ghost was going to enter Radience’s realm with Grimms aid! They were, no they ARE fighting the Radiance!!!

The Pale King stumbled as he landed in front of the tent running inside.

“Grimm! Grimm!” He barely hid his concern for his child skidding to a halt in the middle of the show ring.

“Grimm!” He called out once more as the Troupe Master appeared with his usual (but still well performed) burst of flame.

“With what do we-“

“Not now Grimm, where is my child!” He interrupted the Nightmare Vessel, earning a slight frown that quickly turned into a sly smile.

“Your child hmmm~ and here I though that particular vessel was an annoyance you would love to be rid of.” He sneered, while normally the King would retort to such a comment, he was too preoccupied with the well-being of his little Ghost.

“Grimm, please” he pleaded out of breath. “Is… are… are they alright?”

Grimm paused, staring blankly at the Pale Wyrm. “I’m afraid I can’t be certain of their fate.” He stated blankly.

“Did they…?”

“Yes” Grimm nodded, not even needing the hear the question proper.

“They entered the realm of dreams to fight The Radiance, a trip that’s - unfortunately, one-way.”

The Pale Wyrm fell to his knees, tears that were once held right below his eyes végane to flow. Grimm for one was somewhat uncomfortable, not so much for having someone break down in front of them, no it was who had fallen before them with tears flowing down their face. They had never imagined the Wyrm to do such a thing, they never seemed the type. The type to adamantly refusing to untill alone or with someone they are close to, and even then resisting the urge to cry.

“I did make sure they knew what they were getting into.” Grimm comforted attempting to lift his spirits. “They even insisted we dance to show they were able, and might I add, they put up quite the performance.”

“They we-are quite stubborn.” The Wyrm said, standing up and dusting himself off, hoping that at the very least, they are still alive.

“There you go! Much more fitting for a king eh?” Grimm encouraged as the King wiped his eyes and composed himself. “Yes, I apologies, that was rath-” he stopped mid-sentence in shock, and Grimm followed his eyes and saw why. There was the vessel, Ghost, coming from Grimm’s quarters, limping.

——————————————————————

“Your certain of this?” Grimm inquired for like, the 15th time. Ghost was getting rather annoyed at the question and all it’s variants

‘Yes, I know what I’m doing.’ They signed again. They had already gotten all the charms and weapons they needed. A Mothwing Cloak which they manage to fuse with some of their void, (very painful process and it wasn’t nearly as effective as it would be if they had access to the pit below the palace.) some Monarch Wings they stole found (thankfully the Kingsmold were too preoccupied with Mawlek to notice) and a variety of spells from various Snail Shaman throughout Hallownest, (none of which were killed and/or dead, which is always good) and of course their Pure Root Nail (though they would’ve gladly stolen one from Sly if they needed one)

With those and the charms they took collected between getting everything else, they were more then ready. Grimm let out a sigh, “Very well then, do give us a superb performance hmm?” He said as he raised a hand, shooting out a light from his palm similar to the one of the Dream Nail Ghost was familiar with, only Grimms was a crimson red instead of a bright white.

As Grimm swung his hand down is a (stylish) arc, Ghost found himself engulfed in a red light, fading to a more familiar white before fading away entirely. Ghost looked around a platform similar in size in shape to the one in the Pantheon, though the material and style was different, a grey that wasn’t dark, but not light either, but the area surrounding it was, a endless sea of golden clouds.

Ghost didn’t dwell on these thoughts as they climbed up the few floating platforms, and faced the sun that bathed the picturesque scenery, knowing full well that this was no place of beauty

Ghost drew their Pure Root, their desire to protect Hallownest - and more specifically, their sibling Hollow - giving the Root its form as a blade, as sharp as a Pure Nail and just as deadly - and they faced the sun as she, The Radiance responded to their challenge with her anger.

The small platforms Ghost was standing on vanished, he fell a short ways to the larger platform he ‘awoke’ on, and didn’t hesitate to start attacking the spiteful god. Starting off with what could be mistaken for a shout, a scream towards the sky as their soul and void manifested as an upward outburst of screaming heads, The Radiance cried with rage

Blades flow form the sides, which ghost easily dashed between, not wanting to use their Shade Cloaks invulnerability too soon, as they slashed upwards towards the giant moth. They had both fought before, and Ghost had long since memorized how to evade each attack. Radiance shot out circles of swords, but Ghost backed off and jumped. aligning themself properly they shot out a spell they didn’t have when they fought before, a stream of bright daggers shot out from their hand, only a few hitting their mark before The Radiance teleported away.

As Ghost landed they quickly dashed to the side and blades shot out form the ground, covering over a third of the platform, and a beam of light from above threatened them. Using their Shade Cloak they easily fazed through the beam, and slashed at the sun-moth with a nail art before a soul-charged stomp on the ground, void and soul rising around Ghost protectively while striking at the gif above.

The fight had continued for a long time, Ghost evading or countering all of Radiance’s attacks, while the god itself became more and more desperate, as fewer and fewer attacks hit (not that many hit to begin with) as Ghost got into their rhythm. Before long, it took off higher and Ghost pursued, dodging incoming searing rays of light. But before Ghost could do more damage to end the fearful god something they never expected happened.

They woke up, in Grimm’s room, in the Troupes tent. They looked around, did they do it? They dropped off the ledge they were on and winced, almost crumpled from the pain. Did the Radiance hit them with one last-ditch blast? They slowly lowered themselves to the floor and looked down the hall down the hall to the main performance area of the tent. We’re they still in the dream realm? No, they would’ve seen the Nightmare Hearts leathery viens in the hall, and there’s no Nightmare essence floating around. So that means the Radiance has ejected them from the dream.

The Radiance fled, huh. Ghost had never considered it but they suppose it does make sense, without the dream nail they couldn’t return and hunt it down, and they had no void to restrain it. Ghost found that annoying, all that effort of collect charms and spells and other useful items and the stupid thing leaves. Coward.

With a huff the Vessel stands up, might as well let Grimm know their okay at least, and make there way down the vein-less hall. They tried to heal their injuries with Soul but found they had none, used at every opportunity during the fight with the flying puff-ball.

As they made their way down the hall they heard two voices talking, one was clearly Grimm but they found trouble identifying the other. The voice was male and they seemed distraught, but Ghost couldn’t pin a name, who did they no would be upset? Form what they could tell Grimm told them about what they did, but they didn’t know anyone who would be this upset about it.

But they didn’t have to imagine who when they saw who it was.

And they never would’ve imagined it was their father, the Pale King, who ran up and hugged them the moment he saw them.

And they never expect him to be crying.

The Pale King pulled away enough to get a proper look at the vessel, fresh tears streaming down his face and he held one hand against Ghost’s cheek, not only in shock, but in relief.

“How” he asked, barely a whisper. Ghost wasn’t sure how to respond, and was at a lost for signs at their fathers reaction

Thankfully Grimm was still Grimm and they knew Grimm

“Bra-vo darling!” He exclaimed clapping, “I have to say I did not expect this! How did you escape?”

This was enough to snap ghost back to his surroundings and found a pretty simple way to explain it.

‘Butt head ran away’ they signed

‘Don’t know worse insults’

“She… ran?”

Ghost paused for a moment, staring at their father, then made a gesture like they were throwing something to the side,

‘Ejected me’

As Ghost completed the motion they stumbled to the side, almost falling over until the Pale King caught them

Grimm, for his part, picked a terrible time to laugh openly, much to Ghosts irritation, thinking it was at them.

“Your telling me, your got the Radiance who has been terrorizing this kingdom for years to run in fear” Grim said continuing to laugh, “my goodness you are full of surprises!”

The Pale King could only stare in shock, she had been repelled? Not dead, but still, he didn’t have to consult his foresight to tell that his child he held up had bought him years maybe even a century. For them to have chased off radiance, the skill and strength they must posses…

‘Should be dead’ They signed grumpily, clearly upset at themselves but their father was having none of it

“Don’t understate your accomplishments! For you to have fought Radiance, to have beaten her to the point where she runs away? Maybe she isn’t gone for good but she will not be coming back for decades at the least! You… you’re…” he stammered, pulling the void-born child in for another hug “I… I’m sorry, for the… the atrocity la I’ve done, for my treatment of you, for… for my treatment of your… your sibling.” The Wyrm pulled away looking Ghost directly in their eyes “I was wrong, I’m sorry”

Ghost could only stand shocked at their fathers beaming praise, for their quirky frankly, unnatural behavior… and that last thing, their sibling. There was so much to be done, but things seemed so much… brighter, so much better. Hollow could finally be themself be happy. Ghost was at a lost for words.

‘We… talk later?’ They offered both too overwhelmed and Ghost, too tired, to make proper plans.

“I- yes, yes of course, of course” the father readjusted themself and his son to more effectively carry.

As they made they way out the King paused “Ah! And Grimm” he turned, facing the Troupe Master. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

Grimm, who had fallen to the background to allow the two some space perked up and gave an elegant bow to the Pale being.

“Think nothing of it. I had simply set the stage and you two, had been excellent performers!”

The Wyrm nodded his head, while Ghost used its free arm to wave, and the two made their way back home.

#I wrote this in one sitting #and i started at about 3 #it is 5AM #WL is going to squee when she hears about PK hugging Ghost #hollow knight #shitlordau #ghost #feral!ghost #feral vessel #pale king #troupe master grimm #grimm #the radiance

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ladywhistleclown · 3 years

Text

Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that, I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

#benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #netflix #male reader #mlm fanfic #mlm #x reader #mine #fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction

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bigbangclappin · 3 years

Text

Counterblow

Pairing: YoongiXReader, with mentions of Yoonmin

Word count: 2.3K

Genre: Angst

Warnings: implied smut, mentions of infidelity, mentions of revenge. This does mention Yoongi's Bisexuality and if that offends anyone then...I have no idea aside from we can't be friends.

Summary: Born and bred to be the wife of a king. You anticipated obstacles in your marriage as you were forewarned. But never had you thought Yoongi would leave your heart mangled on the floor.

To be jealous of a man is distasteful; to be jealous of two is loathsome.

You stared at your husband and his consort with baleful eyes. How you wished your gaze would set that useless scholar on fire.

With clenched fists you stood with all the refined grace instilled in you since birth. Men were all the same no matter who they lusted after.

A terrible misfortune it was for you that your husband, the king, had one eye for women and the other for men.

Of course only you and few of the higher court officials knew this about the king. Although a small detail to you, others would feel quite unsettled.

His peculiar taste had no effect on you when it was reassured that you were the apple of your husband’s eye.

His Words seemed to buzz around in your skull like an angry nest of hornets. In your gut you felt like he told you a lie in order to keep you and his consort because how foolish could he be to flaunt this relationship in your face. Why make a fool out of you in front of the court? He wasn’t being discreet like you discussed.

The blood in your veins boiled as you recall the memory of him with his consort Jimin.

Doubtful any relations in the physical form would take place in such a public place as his palace You made the mistake of entering although it was your husband's chamber in which you were allowed to enter freely being the queen mother. The memory of what you saw inflamed your heart; the man that you loved and given your whole heart to was Taking on an intimate relationship.

The cold stab of jealousy you had felt that day slowly turned the feelings you had, the pure love that you had once felt for your husband into bitter resentment.

You were never under the naïve impression that your husband was bound to only you as he did have the right to a harem.

The upbringing in which you were raised attempted to prepare you for such an issue. Nothing your mother or sister said prepared you for the pain of a broken heart. Whether it was man or woman it didn’t matter the betrayal still stung. Your husband told you many times that you owned his heart. What a bold faced lie.

The heat that had risen to your cheeks at the sheer embarrassment you felt, the jealousy, the betrayal, made tears rush down your face and the only thing your husband could say to you on the matter is that he was a “free spirit“ you scoffed at the poor excuse he gave you.

Your heart has never been the same; it's like it turned to ice and the barriers you surround yourself with were your own kingdom. Never would you ever allow that man to make a fool of you again. How daft you had been to believe that men could ever truly love one person.

You had vowed to yourself from that day on you would only give what you had to and nothing more.

Yoongi had believed that everything was the same and you had forgiven him. Playing the role Of the dutiful queen not once bringing up the past because you knew that conversation would’ve led to a dead end.

Oh no your plan for revenge wasn’t as obvious as your husband like to think it would be. He had kept an eye on you for the first couple of weeks since you found out that he was laying with Jimin.

You were smarter than that and he should’ve known that. A woman scorned is a powerful, painful, terrible thing to behold. A woman could bide her time like no other in order to get back at the one who broke her heart.

That’s exactly what you did. The court expected you to produce an heir quickly to continue on your husband's line of succession. One month after that haunting scene you had fallen victim to your weak heart and allowed your husband into your private quarters. Shortly thereafter you had fallen ill. Upon the king’s command the royal physician tended to you. He gave you news that wasn’t a large surprise but you were happy much the same. Your husband was delighted; his supporters were thrilled.

The smile on Yoongi’s face when it was announced that you had given birth to a healthy boy is what spurned your idea for revenge. The son you bore for him would never have the bond that you did with him. He would know only of your nurturing and love.

Afterall how could revenge be any more sweet than never knowing the love of your own child?

Your young prince’s loyalty would never be to his father but to you.

________________________________________________________________

At the tender age of two your son might as well Have just been your son. When his father attempted to do anything with him he would just cry and cry for you. As if his father was a stranger that wanted nothing more than to hurt him.

True enough, you thought to yourself, hurt a child’s mother, hurt the child right?

Whenever the man asked you what he had done to upset your child you would just shrug your shoulders and say he was perfectly fine a few minutes ago. You would state it’s probably just a phase.

It wasn’t just a phase. Your baby took after you and was a good judge of character. His father was fickle and unsure. Where your baby was consistent and wise even if he was just a toddler.

Which brought you to the situation you were currently in. You had taken breakfast with your son and you had made it a habit to eat without the king. Especially when multiple reports accounted for him being in the library with his consort. If he wanted to play happy families then he would have to join you when you had time. Your son would not wait to eat because his father’s priorities were askew.

Sungho was happily munching on his porridge and you smiled as you wiped his face with a napkin nearby when your trusted lady in waiting came into your chamber.

“My lady the king approaches and he does not look pleased.“ Jaeun stated seemingly panicked as her eyes shifted between you, your son, and the door that she knew your husband was going to come barreling through at any moment.

“Do not fret my dear he does not frighten me.“

“But your highness—”

The doors to your chamber suddenly crashed against the wood behind it creating a large racontorous sound that spooked your child and your lady in waiting.

There stood your husband, the king in his black and gold dress robes, his long hair that was tied up into a neat ponytail nearly fell in his eyes. He had an angry, fierce look in those tiger shaped orbs as he took in the breakfast your son and you began without him.

“Were we not supposed to have breakfast together?“ Your husband asked you with a certain grit of agitation to his tone.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to be able to make it. Namjoon had said this morning that you were preoccupied in the library and our son was hungry.”

The smile on your face would fool even your worst enemy that everything you were saying was truth and not something planned out of spite.

You giggled at your little Sungho when he looked at you with more rice on his chubby cheeks.

Hiding the raging wave of envy behind your child was a habit now. Somehow you thought Yoongi was beginning to catch on.

His nostrils flared in aggravation, “Jaeun please tend to your other tasks…”

Eyes narrowing you weren’t daft; he was trying to clear the room and you weren’t having it.

You raised your hand when your maid began shuffling at the king’s order, she stilled at your wordless gesture.

“Jaeun is fine your highness,” you replied and then pointed to the unoccupied chair across from you.

Your maid was privy to every little detail between you and the king. Unbeknownst to Yoongi of course, her loyalty also resided with you. She had been your greatest companion and friend throughout your tumultuous relationship.

Your husband glared harshly before forcefully pulling the chair out. It then became a battle of sheer will not to engage in conversation. Preoccupied by Sungho made things a lot easier.

“You declined the invitation to my chamber last night…”

Your husband broke first. Of course he did. He had begun after all this time to feel the iciness you displayed toward him.

You barely spared him a glance as you wiped your son’s mouth, “I wasn’t feeling well.”

He scoffed, his jaw set in anger, “This illness only comes about when I request time with you. You seem well enough now.”

“Very strange isn't it?” You retorted coolly, doing your best to hide your smirk.

“Increasingly.” He spat in annoyance, “Perhaps you should see the physician.”

“I doubt that the physician needs to be bothered your Highness. I'm sure it will subside.”

The king’s agitation became evident after your last statement, “Since when have we become so formal with one another that I am no longer addressed with warmth?”

An eyebrow lifted involuntarily at his question, “I don’t understand what you mean your highness…”

“That is what I mean!” He barked at you, “your highness? When have you ever addressed me as such? It was always Yeobo, my king, my love or at the very least Yoongi!”

You sat quiet in thought after his outburst wondering if now was the time to play your cards but quickly decided against it.It was too soon.

“I had no idea you didn't like being addressed as such my king. I'll make a conscious effort to forgo that title if it makes you unhappy.”

Your eyes followed your husband’s Adam’s apple bob in a frustrated swallow, “why do I feel as if you’re falling away from me?”

Because you had you wanted to scream but you remained poised. Regarding him with fake sadness and empathy.

“I’m sorry that I’ve been making you feel that way, Sungho is at the age where he needs me with him or he does not feel safe. I didn’t mean to make you feel neglected. I thought Jimin had been keeping you occupied while I need to be with Sungho.”

Something in Yoongi’s jaw ticked at the little jab you had thrown in.

Good you had thought to yourself. Maybe he would realize how asinine he sounded. Complaining about how you spent too much time with your son while he had a companion to warm his bed at night.

“It isn’t the same…” he said quietly with pain behind his guarded eyes.

Too little too late.

“I apologize your highness” you said, reaching for his hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll meet you in your palace tonight if you wish after Sungho falls asleep.”

Placing a kiss on top of your hand he was easily appeased with your answer.

Pretending not to enjoy the intimacy your husband showered you with that night proved to be easier than you originally anticipated.

He placed steamy kisses along your neck and shoulders. Right where he knew it would drive you crazy but he received no response. No indication that you were enjoying yourself the least bit.

“What’s wrong Jagi?” He asked with genuine concern.

“Hmm?” You responded with deliberate disinterest hoping to wound his pride. “Oh I was just wondering if the kitchen received my request for fresh berries.”

Point blank you shot his ego down. He’s trying to reconnect with you and you’re ignoring him for frivolous cravings. Has he lost his touch with you? Has it been so long since you let him have you that he didn’t know your body anymore?

He let a humorless chuckle pass his lips incredibly shocked at the hurt he was feeling. It worsened when you lifted the shoulder of your night dress back up over your exposed skin. Had you just rejected him?

“Now that I think of it I should probably check on the preparations for Sungho’s birthday. I’m sure Seokjin is still in the kitchen—” you rose from your husband’s bed but you were halted by the strong grip on your wrist.

“Seokjin can wait!” Yoongi snapped, pulling you down onto his lap. His long blonde hair sheltering you from anything that could take your attention away.

“I haven’t had a single moment with you to myself since you gave birth to our son…” he mumbled into your neck with what you thought was a sniffle.

A small string of guilt tugged at your heart at the pitiful sound. You needed to remind yourself that he did this to your relationship not you. Had he given any thought to your feelings he would’ve realized his mistake.

“Yoongi-ah I’m sorry I thought because you had Jimin you wouldn’t be lonely while I took on the gift of motherhood…”

“He isn’t you!” He snapped harshly, “You’re the love of my life and I feel like you’re slipping through my fingers…”

He had whispered the last portion of his confession. You sat back enough to take in his harsh features. His pale cheeks blushed pink from his flood of emotions. You touched his cheek and brushed his long hair behind his ear.

There was nothing you could say to make him feel better. Truly you didn’t want to. The taste of his own medicine tasted bitter just like your heart. He deserved to feel the loss of you by his side.

“You have no reason to worry my love,” you whispered to him, your stomach doing somersaults at the lie.

Placing a kiss on his forehead you let him revel in the somewhat fake comfort you gave him.

He needed to learn that either he continued his affair or he loses you and Sungho for good.

#min yoongi #min yoongi au #min yoongi angst #suga scenarios #suga angst #bts angst #kpop angst #kpop au #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #agust d #bangtan sonyeondan #bts imagines #yoonmin #bigbangclappin #bts #kpop reactions #kpop

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arcane-apathy · 3 years

Text

F Drider X F Reader

AN: Welcome to a new little mini-series of mine. I have been dying to write a drider story for the longest time now. This story is the first of my high fantasy genre, all my other stories have been modern fantasy or sci-fi. But this one is pure fantasy. I’m very slowly trying to make my content applicable for a wider audience as well. Anyways... Thank y’all for your support, and I hope you’ll enjoy!

Warning(s): Swearing, Violence, Injuries, Mention of Sexual Assault, Death, Alcohol, Brief Mention of Nudity

The Bloodroot Forest was the last place you expected to make camp in. When you first saw it on the map you tried everything to avoid it. But, the forest was massive and would take weeks for you to circumvent. Upon arrival you discovered the name of it is scarier than the actual forest. Simply named after the dark red sap that flowed from the otherwise normal trees. The forest was calm, the paths well worn and old, and the deer were brave.

Your camp was measly and made of the bare necessities, product of a rushed escape. War has ravaged your community, forcing everyone to seek refuge in new places. You have yet to find a suitable home, one far enough away so you wouldn’t need to flee again. For now you lived out of your bag, foraging for food, and with a stiff back. But, whenever you wanted to complain, you had to remind yourself of what your fate would’ve been if you hadn’t left home.

The forest was peaceful at night as you laid on your makeshift bed, tightly wrapped up in your cloak. The wind gently tosses the branches above you and the occasional noise of an animal. Just as you were about to sleep, the noises changed. The nocturnal birds stopped chirping and you could hear the animals running further away from you. And you didn’t dare to move. Animals only left when they were scared and if the deer that were brave enough to mosey into your camp earlier were scared, something big was coming.

Very slowly you sat up, straining your ears for any hint as to what was coming. The silence was bone chilling. Then there was a rustle. You couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from, which didn’t put you at any ease. Slowly your hand landed on the blade at your waist, a gift from your uncle after coming of age.

“Well, what do I have here?” You quickly cover your mouth to keep from screaming, turning around to look behind you. Yet no one was there. “Look up.” Out of sheer curiosity you obeyed, your eyes quickly met with large pure black eyes and pincers. You try to scramble away from them, only to find yourself hitting the tree behind you. Driders were a force to be reckoned with, most of them being mercenaries or guards to those of importance. But, encountering one in their natural habitat was another story. Here they were territorial and followed no laws.

The Drider smirks as he hangs above you, his black and white legs twitch in anticipation as he watches you, “I knew I smelt something off earlier. Now I know what it is.” His pitch black hand reached out to touch you, “and you do smell divine.” Normally when a scent-sensitive person no matter what race they were compliments you on your scent, it would fill you with a sense of pride. But this just felt wrong on so many levels. “So girly, what are you doing in my territory?”

You shy away from his hand, glancing up and the red and black abdomen above you, “just passing through, I promise to be gone by morning.”

He clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his pincers rising as he frowns, “see I can't just let you through without any way to pay." You could now feel the heat of his breath fanning over you as he gets even closer. Sadly with his advantage of four arms he managed to grab a hold of your wrist. "But, I can easily think of a way for you to pay."

Now it was your turn to frown, "I don't think so." His grip tightened, promoting you to tighten your grip on your blade. Thankful it was hidden within your cloak.

"You don't have a choice", he hisses and tries to pull you off of the ground. You pull out your blade as fast as you could, using the momentum to slice his arm. The Drider hisses in pain as you scurry out from underneath him, bolting into the foliage not even bothering to look back. If you were lucky you'd be able to return for your things at a later time. But your safety was more important than your measly possessions.

You knew it was crazy to try and outrun a being with eight legs and the instincts of an apex predator. But it was all you had. It didn’t take long for the muscles in your leg to start to burn. The cool night air felt like freezing on your skin and like a fire in your lungs. And you could hear him gaining on you.

“Get back here you little bitch,” he hissed. Which only prompted you to run faster, despite how much it hurt. You could hear that he was taunting you, but you didn’t bother to actually listen to what he was saying. All you focused on was the ground in front of you, avoiding the tree roots at all costs. But what you didn’t account for was webbing. The silk was basically invisible in the dark, and thick enough to trip you.

You fall onto your shoulder with a cry, pain blossoming along your left-hand side like a spiteful flower. The branches and roots doing little to cushion your fall. Desperately you crawl to your hands and knees. Doing everything in your power to keep any semblance of distance between you and the Drider. But his laugh was already too close for comfort. Before you know it, you're grabbed by the hair and lifted off the ground. You couldn't help but scream as he pinned you to a nearby tree. His two pairs of arms being a natural advantage, "got you now."

You kick at his chest, using every ounce of strength to push him away. But it just wasn't enough. You couldn't reach for your blade, and any attempt to wiggle out if his grasp was in vain. "Let me go!"

"Yeah right, after you've cut me with your blade. Nice try you little wench, but I'm going have fun with you until you take your last breath," his grip on your arms tightened to emphasize his point.

“Put her down brother,” a more effeminate voice calls out to him. Your breath catches in your throat as the source of the voice steps out of the shadows. The male Drider was large in comparison to you, but the female that entered the clearing made him look small. Much like the male, her skin, eyes, and hair were a pure black. Instead of a red and black abdomen, her arachnid body was pitch black. As she got closer the more the male dwarfed in comparison.

“The bitch was in my territory and she cut me.”

“And now you’re in my territory and I don’t care, let her go.”

The male looks at you, then back to the larger female with a frown, “fine.” Then he literally dropped you. You fall to the ground with a whimper, using your good arm to sit yourself back up. “Why even bother protecting her? She’d make a better meal than friend.” You struggle to get up, only realizing you were caged in by his legs and the tree.

“It doesn’t matter. My territory, my rules,” she slowly walks closer. “Step away from her.” Nobody moves, especially not the male Drider. All you heard was her sigh, heavy with disappointment, then all hell broke loose. The two Driders charge at each other, the male desperately trying to claw at her before she pushes him away. You watch in fear and awe, scrambling back into some bushes for safety. The male notices you moving and tries to lunge for you, but the female beats him to it as she stands over you.

“You really want to fight your own family over a pathetic human?”

“My morals mean more to me than you ever will.” She charges him again and picks him up before slamming him onto his back. Her pincers rise as she lets out a bone-chilling hiss of anger. With ease she climbs atop him, using her weight to hold him down. Her hands swiftly find their way around his throat. His legs flail and try to push her off, and he claws at her arms. But she did not let up. Instead you heard a sickening crunch, and his legs and arms fell to the ground.

Silence surrounded the two of you as she stood up and backed away from the lifeless Drider. Her chest heaving from the action and her hair in her face. You couldn’t help but stare at her in the moonlight. She sighs and looks at you, “I promise I won’t hurt you.” You watch her legs curiously as she steps closer to you. “You are hurt, please let me help you.”

You look back to the body and ask meekly, “he was your brother?”

She nods, “one of thirty.”

Your eyes widen at the number, yet it made sense. Spiders lay a ridiculous amount of eggs, so Driders must do the same. You look back up to her as you try to stand up, “I think I dislocated my shoulder.”

“I have medical supplies back in my burrow, and light,” she smiles a little as she lowers herself down to look at you. “Can you walk?”

“I believe so, but it’s hard to stand up with one working arm.” She nods and grabs onto your good arm, gently pulling you to your feet. “Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” she smiles and gently holds your hand, “the forest will get darker the closer to my burrow we go. The trees are really thick over here.” You nod a little and let her guide you through the trees. Every time there was a log or boulder in your way she would pick you up and carry you over it. Her strength, agility, and endurance were nothing but impressive. No wonder why Driders are so sought after to be guards for nobility. Soon the opening of her burrow was in sight, a pair of bushes strategically planted alongside the opening to give it a little bit of cover.

The burrow was cozy to say the least, and was bigger than it looked on the outside. It was cool inside due to being underground, yet it was bright with the help of oil lamps and candles. The walls and ceiling were smoothed down and holding shape with the help of webbing. “Sadly I don’t have any furniture for you to sit on cause… well,”she motions to her abdomen before going to a large trunk. She pulls out a large blanket and leaves it folded up so it was like a pillow, “but this will be better than the floor.”

“I’m plenty used to sitting and sleeping on the ground by now. But thank you,” you sit down and wince as you bump your shoulder into the wall. You watch as she digs through a different trunk, reading the bottles and containers.

She walks over to you and sits on the ground in front of you, her legs sprawled out all over the place. Even without the added height of her legs she was still a few feet taller than you. If you had to guess, she looked to be around nine feet tall when she stood at her full height. “I don’t have many pain killers, but I do have a bottle of brandy if that will help.”

You chuckle as she hands you the bottle, “anything is helpful at this point.”

She motions to your cloak, “may I?”

You nod, “of course.” Her fingers were nimble as she undid the pin that held the garment closed. The cloak fell to the floor around you as she gently ran her hands along your shoulder.

“You’re right, it’s dislocated,” she offers a small smile, “but, I can easily put it back in.”

You sigh and take a swig of the brandy, “that would be greatly appreciated… After a few more sips.”

“Of course,” she chuckles and watches you drink. “I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Lalia.” You smile a little and introduce yourself as she watches you curiously. “So, what are you doing in the Bloodroot at night?”

“I was trying to sleep.”

“So you’re a traveler?”

“I’m trying to find refuge,” you wince as she lifts your arm straight. “I had to flee home because of war, and I’m just trying to get as far away as possible.”

“I’m sorry to hear of your loss.”

“It’s fine, I’m safe and that’s all that matters to me.”

She smiles a little and slowly lifts your arm, “this will hurt.”

“I fully expect it to,” you nod and close your eyes. The brandy only helps so much, even if you got wasted off of it. She notices your determination and nods. One of her hands gently resting on the back of your shoulder as she guides your bone back into the socket. You bite back a scream as you feel the bone pop back into place, then the pain immediately subsides. Simply an annoying buzz versus the piercing sensation that it was before. You let out a breath that you didn’t notice you were holding while Lalia tied something behind your neck.

She was using a scarf as a makeshift sling, “you should keep your arm like this for a couple days at least. So, it doesn’t pop out of place again.”

“Thank you Lalia, you truly are a lifesaver.”

She waves a slender hand dismissively, “it was nothing.” You glance at the claw marks that her brother had left along her forearms, the wounds already clotted. “Don’t worry about it, it’ll take a lot more than some claws to hurt me.” She gets up from sitting down and goes to put her supplies away. Now that your pain was gone, you finally got a chance to fully take in the woman in front of you.

Even in the lighting of the cave she was entirely black. Her skin, eyes, hair, and arachnid body were the color of ink. The light only reflecting off of her arachnid body made her look like she was made of velvet. Her face, just like her body, was slender and angular in nature. Then you also noticed she was completely bare, her lengthy hair being her only modesty. She was as beautiful as she was intimidating. And you couldn’t help but stare.

“Are you alright,” she tilts her head.

“Uh yeah,” a little bit of heat rushes to your face, “just the brandy is starting to catch up with me.”

“Oh,” she looks around her living space before going to a shelf. She brings back a pitcher and a cup, “water from the nearby spring.” You smile as she hands you the cup, taking a large drink out of it. Not only was your pain dying down, so was your energy. Your exhaustion from traveling the woods all day and from running for your life. Lalia chuckles as you loudly yawn, her legs making their way back to one of her many chests. She pulls out a bed roll and another large blanket from it, “I’ll make you a bed real quick.”

“I can make my own bed, it’s fine.”

“You have one working arm, I have four. I’ll make your bed.” Her tone left no room for arguing, so you simply sat and watched as she laid out the roll and the thick blanket atop of it to make it more plush. “Then you can use your cloak and the blanket you’re sitting on to cover up with.”

“Thank you, again… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“There’s no need hun, I’m just doing what’s right.” You couldn’t help but feel a little flustered by the pet name, but you didn’t let it show. Instead you got up from your spot and made your way to the bedroll. Using your good hand to pick up your cloak. You kick off your boots, something you usually didn’t do while on the road. Then made yourself comfortable on the makeshift bed. Lalia brought over the blanket you were sitting on and gently laid it down around your feet. “Do you think you’ll need anything else?”

You arrange the blanket and your cloak to your liking, “I don’t think so.” It took you a little bit, but you were finally able to lay your head on the bedroll’s built in pillow. Which was hard with only one working arm. While you try to get comfortable, Lalia is walking around the main area of her burrow. Turning off the oil lamps and blowing out the candles, leaving only one lit so you weren’t drowned in darkness. You silently yawn as she moves about the burrow with ease. Making you wonder if it was purely by memorization or if she had enhanced night vision.

“I can feel you watching me.”

You blush as you were caught red handed, “I’m merely curious… You’re only the second Drider I’ve ever talked to.”

“I hope my brother didn’t make too bad of an impression.”

“There have been worse.”

Lalia slowly makes her way closer to you, her voice slowly becoming quieter, “I will have to go back out soon… To hunt and to claim my new territory…”

“I see, are you nocturnal?”

“Not exactly, but it’s easier to hunt at night. I’ll be sure to find your things as well.”

“That would be greatly appreciated. It’s all I have.” Her smile falters a little at your words, “no pressure though.”

She scoffs a little, “that’s not what I’m sad about.”

“Please don’t be sad for me. Like I said earlier, I’m alive and that’s all that matters to me.”

She comes closer to your bed and crouches down. Her warm and slender fingers gently brushing your hair off your face. "That is quite the noble thing to say. I don't know many people who would say that."

You couldn't help the heat that rushed to your face, "I'm nothing special."

"I would say otherwise,” her kind smile illuminated by the distant candlelight. You return the smile before having a jaw splitting yawn. She chuckles and gently pets the top of your head before standing up again. “You should sleep hun, it’s been a long day.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you sigh and you try to get comfortable. “Good luck hunting.”

“Thank you, I’ll be back before morning.” You nod and watch as she walks towards the mouth of her burrow. Your need for sleep makes your eyes too heavy to hold as soon as you lose sight of her. Despite being alone within the burrow of a Drider, all you felt was comfort.

#f drider x f reader #drider x reader #wlw #fantasy #my work #my writing #terato #exophilia #wlw fiction

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bang-fantansies · 3 years

Text

Sasaeng BTS Profiles: Yoongi Edition

Warning: Heavy mentions/implications of suicide, mentions/implications of overdosing on medication, insomnia, unhealthy behaviour, obsessive behaviour, poor mental health, self-denefse killing, homelessness, nightmares, mention/implications of side-character being drunk, death, blood, gore, destruction of evidence, crime, profanity.

I did my best to include any triggering topics mentioned in this post, but if you see any more potentially sensitive topics I may have missed, please let me know!

This does not represent Bangtan as people or a business, nor does it represent anyone/anything associated with them. This is purely fictional and was made for entertainment purposes only; not to slander anyone or any company.

Mental Stability: 3/10

2:50 AM.

As was the same battle every night, Yoongi lay in bed, the whole world sleeping apart from him. He couldn’t help it, of course - believe me, he would if he could - and this was what made the thoughts in his head run wild.

Each thought had a voice, all unique to their varying degrees of uselessness, yet the message they chanted was identical.

“Sleep! Sleep!” they cried. They’d grown louder over the years as Yoongi’s insomnia worsened, and in spite of their efforts to help their master, they did the complete opposite.

That dream - red and monstrous - drowned out any measure of volume the voices could hope to muster.

The sound of a man gargling with his own blood made Yoongi feel as if he was suffocating, and more often than not he’d jolt up in bed, forced to replay the events of his early adult years.

Before finding his current residence, Yoongi had been forced onto the streets by unjust circumstances, leading to a great deal of situations he’d rather keep buried beneath the layers of his memory.

One such situation involved another homeless man - drunk, Yoongi had assumed - competing with Yoongi for a bottle of liquor he had scored.

Yoongi’s only use for such a thing was to sell it off and use the money to find a cheap room and a meal. But his opponent had refused to accept such nonsense.

“Such fine wine shouldn’t go to waste!” Yoongi could still hear him say, voice ringing in his ears.

“And it won’t if you just let me pass, you stupid old prick.”

In short, the drunkard had taken Yoongi’s tone very personally and caused his own demise by making a haphazard attempt on the younger’s life, resulting in having the bottle of wine he oh-so desired slammed into the side of his head, shattering and giving Yoongi a sharp enough tool to puncture his throat with.

Yoongi fled the scene not long after, keeping the remains of the bottle to hand until he could destroy the evidence later on.

Nowadays, while he was far from sleeping rough, he hardly slept at all for fear of his actions whispering cruel and dark remarks into his ear.

As it would for most, this took its toll on Yoongi’s health; physical, emotional, and mental.

The pressure had proven to be too much for him to handle, and on this night, he had decided he’d had enough.

On his computer desk stood a bottle, a proud shade of orange with its contents revealed in a cluster of black ink, made to resemble actual handwriting, written across a label stuck to its front - the only semblance of privacy Yoongi was allowed. Its white cap was ajar, and though no scent came from within, Yoongi could practically smell the prescription enticing him to a snack.

And under normal circumstances, he would have declined as he had many a time before.

But these were no longer normal circumstances.

Yoongi rose from beneath the bed sheets, any semblance of humanity he’s once held having burnt out alongside his will to continue.

He knew what it meant to live - to love the act of being human - but he was no longer human. He most similarly resembled a shell; cold, hollow, and filled with the shadows of his own mind.

And so he had made his decision. Despite his lethargy shackling him to the bed, he made a reach for the bottle, popping off the cap and peering inside.

A glass of water sat on his bedside table, bubbles sticking to the water-covered walls as a result of disuse.

Yoongi counted the pills, assuming that the amount he was left with would be enough.

At this point, he figured that if he was to find no rest in life, he would surely find it in whatever lay beyond his broken, mortal body.

In these last moments, Yoongi granted himself his last comfort.

He brought his laptop beside him and searched his favourite artist on YouTube.

He only had a few artists in his arsenal that he could dispense at family dinners or reunions he’d been invited to.

he never was an adept conversationalist: even at friends’ parties where a guest he didn’t know would be obligated to talk to him on account of appeasing the birthday girl or boy.

For a second, Yoongi faltered.

His mind backtracked to the joy he’d felt with his friends, and in turn the joy he had granted them.

Was he really going through with this...?

A stab of doubt was all it would take to make Yoongi withdraw from his initial intentions, and he cut the tie with said doubt immediately, pushing his friends to the back of his mind.

He was exhausted - tired of helping and appealing to others; now it was time to take care of himself.

From the tiny speaker in his laptop came the sound of solace: his favourite track from his idol.

He lay back, pill bottle and water placed on his bedside table as he basked in his last melody.

Through the duration of the song, Yoongi’s unease had worn away - eroded by the tides of his own resolution.

The song eventually clambered to a fading finish. Yoongi knew what came next.

He sat up and tipped the contents of the bottle onto the table, a hill of oddly-coloured tablets forming.

He threw the bottle somewhere behind him, hearing it land in a hidden corner of the room.

Pale hands scooped the pills up like candy, bringing them to Yoongi’s lips.

And like a saving grace emerging through a storm, a miracle unfolded.

A soft sound played beside him; the sound of angel wings and promises of a better future.

Yoongi didn’t so much as falter as he did pause, lending his ear to the tune.

It played notes from an instrument Yoongi didn’t even think existed - a soft twinkling stalked by a voice he had yet to have heard on his musical voyages through Soundcloud and YouTube.

For a second - just a second - the doubt that had made such a ruckus to enter had now slithered through the back door of Yoongi’s mind.

What was this music?

Reluctant, he lowered his hand to his side, though held tightly on to the pills.

Turning the screen to face him, he came face-to-face with someone other than his idol.

Her eyes looked a soft shade of (e/c) in the no-doubt filtered lighting of the video, though the sincerity she held within them was far from fabricated.

The background was crystalline - faux crystal props - oversized and oversaturated. They were littered around the studio in which the woman sang, and beneath a purple hue she sat on a stool, an air of comfort radiating from her.

As to what she was singing, Yoongi had no idea.

He let the music play for a moment, considering his options.

What harm would it do him to listen to something new? It wasn’t as if he’d be able to after he was gone, anyway.

Lying back down, Yoongi stared at the ceiling, the lack of light or patterns making it easier for him to focus solely on the music.

His fatigue embraced him like a long-lost mother, shrouding him in a warmth unmatched by that of any real person.

The singer’s soft humming filled the desolate room. And if Yoongi wasn’t mistaken, he could feel his eyelids growing heavy.

He forced a bitter smile, doubtful that his mind would actually allow him any such solace as sleep.

To humour his weary self one last time, Yoongi shut his eyes, sighing deeply and sinking into the mattress.

The next time Yoongi opened his eyes, his room was still dark. And as if it had never left to begin with, his bitter smile returned.

I knew it, he thought. Though the victory of beating his already hell-level expectations filled his overflowing spirit with grief, disguised and diluted by the anger that had slipped into the mix so long ago.

Sitting up, Yoongi lent his ear to the room once more.

He could hear the soft hum of the woman’s song no longer, and it was in this second that he realised he didn’t remember actually hearing the song end.

It was on one minute, and off the next.

Suspicious, Yoongi glanced at his half-lidded laptop, faced with a blackened screen as the device had switched itself off.

With a push of the power button, the power returned, and in a blast of light the screen sprung to life.

Through the tips of his fringe, Yoongi checked the time.

11:15 AM.

He recoiled.

That couldn’t be right - surely.

Logging in, he noted how his battery was running low, despite having been fully charged before he lay down.

The screen gave way to the last application he’s been using, and clear as day the same starry-eyed woman with the voice of velvet was on-screen, though the video she was in had long since ended.

Yoongi checked the time again, pulling his fringe back so as not to trick himself a second time.

11:16 stared back at him, steadfast and unwavering in its absolution.

Yoongi’s eyebrows raised in a sense of alarm.

He rose from the bed, tearing his curtains open.

A cityscape greeted him, and the sun waved from its fixture in the sky. It was daytime.

Yoongi stumbled back, carding a hand through his hair.

There was absolutely no way he’d-

...Had he actually managed to get to sleep?

Yoongi checked his phone, watch, and alarm clock; no-one dared deceive him of date nor time.

He was willing (and already considering) to accept the idea that he’d time-traveled; the concept of having a decent night’s sleep was as foreign as a language to him.

Nevertheless, he hadn’t the time to dawdle in such a concept, though he made absolute certain to when he was at work.

His colleagues seemed to notice a change in Yoongi’s behaviour.

Though he was often dazed into bouts of silence by his exhaustion, this quietude was new. Different.

A few co-workers commented on how he looked much livelier. And more alive, he felt.

In spite of this, the constant what-ifs of the morning had followed him - clung to him like a cologne.

What if...what if he was actually dead?

He considered this, deciding against his theory.

If he was dead and this was indeed Heaven, he should be receiving a lot more good fortune for all the shit he had to deal with in his life.

No, this was neither Hesven nor Hell. Or Purgatory.

Yoongi also considered that he was in a coma, but that didn’t add up, either.

He tested to see if he was comatose. Nothing.

He was still trapped in his same-old reality. But at least he could think clearly now.

By the time he got home, his body yearned for the sweet release of music, and he sought the comfort of his favourite artist - as he usually did on days as long as this.

Shoving his bedroom door open, he grumbled at the brightness the room held for a change.

He’d forgotten to shut his curtains before he left.

In the dwindling light of the afternoon sun, he saw the pills scattered across his duvet, the sole remnants of his almost-actions.

He cringed, forcing them to the back of his mind.

He could acknowledge the gravity of his decision later. Right now, his head was filled with the phantom melodies longing for a vessel.

Yoongi has attained the good sense to charge his laptop, and as he switched it on, he was greeted with the same lady who had pulled him to sleep the night before.

Or, Yoongi supposed, who had just happened to be playing on the night he was finally able to sleep without the nightmare scaring him awake.

Such wonderment remained at the back of his mind as he went about his business.

Through his own music, the whisper of the lady’s tune plagued him. So much so that, after a good three hours of composing, Yoongi found himself eyeing the tab he’d left open from before.

Having returned home from work later, his body was weighted with the day’s contrivances and stresses, as well as its successes and joys.

Emotionally, Yoongi had given all he had to offer, which, if he was to admit it to himself, was far more than he usually did.

He considered that it was more than likely it wasn’t just the song that had sent him to sleep.

On the contrary, he believed that a multitude of factors had to have been at play in such a miracle.

He wished to replicate the conditions of the night before: he kept his room dark and a glass of water on his bedside. He packed his pills away and placed them on his bedside, too, taking care not to lose any in case their service was required again.

He set the woman’s song up, lying in bed and playing it.

The creeping horror of the notion of never obtaining such a quality of sleep again was the only odd variable in this equation, and though it quietly consumed Yoongi’s thoughts, the hum of the song muffled it.

The song was no longer than 4 minutes, though the eternity that stretched between Yoongi and his voyage to the fabled land of dreams made it impossible to tell how long it had been.

He was not yet familiar enough with the song to place a time on the segment he was experiencing.

His concerns faded as he simply let himself be.

If it works, it works, he told himself.

The next thing Yoongi remembered was hearing a bird chirping nearby his window.

He cracked an eye open.

Much like the night before, his room remained in a state of quiet disarray, though only noticeable to the trained eye.

His laptop lay near his side, screen dark and lifeless.

Yoongi checked through a crack in the curtains. And sure as anything, the sun had risen once again.

Over the next couple of weeks, Yoongi researched the song, its creator, and whether it was really the secret to staving off his insomnia.

He had discovered that the creator’s name was (Y/N) - a popular artist who had fans far and wide, as well as domestically.

He found more of her particular songs - the ones that she hummed.

He tested both the original and these humming bird songs (as he called them), and to his delight, the humming birds worked.

Yoongi would go to sleep and wake up at reasonable times, rather than the odd dips in and out of consciousness he would try to induce on his own terms.

It was just your music that soothed him so, and from the day he uncovered this, he vowed to be your loyal follower.

Though, with any influential fan can blossom obsession, and as Yoongi became ever more eneamoured with your gossamer vocals, he feared the day that your songs would no longer support his sleep.

Or, God forbid, you stopped singing.

He often fretted over such a premature worry, though he couldn’t deny how it had all but devoured his thoughts.

Months into his expedition into your music, he decided to finally take action to ensure that your voice would never die - never fade with age, accident or abuse.

No, he would preserve it like the fine wine he had failed to so many years ago - to be sipped and savoured for eternities to come.

Sasaeng Masterlist

#yandere bts #bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #Yoongi #min yoongi #suga #yandere yoongi #yandere yoongi x reader

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