#with any luck! it is good and accurate on the first try and if not. it has yet to be inaccurate on the second

[acapelladitty]

Smoke Them All

Pairing: Cooper Howard/F!Reader

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Summary: Not content with the litany of bruises and bite marks which he has littered across your skin, Cooper decides on something a little more permanent. (2.2k words)

(tw for: spanking, rough play, branding, fingering, orgasm, pain kink, dom/sub dynamics, subspace, allusions to cannibalism, cum eating, mild aftercare)

You hear the swish of his hand as it arcs through the air a split moment before the connecting smack rings out loudly and fresh fire flares in your unprotected ass.

"That's eight, little killer." Cooper muses as his open palm comes to settle against your skin, the flesh feeling raw and heated due to his vicious strikes, and his fingers trace the unseen outlines of his hand prints as they litter your ass. "You're almost warmed up for the main event."

Anxiety laced with a wicked arousal floods your groin, your cunt feeling slippery and neglected as you consider the small metal brand which sits in the nearby fire - the end balanced where the fire was at it hottest to ensure a clean imprint.

The brand had been his idea, a casual and sleazy comment given life by your own curiosity, but the spanking was just an added boon and Cooper was never one to deny himself the chance to dole out a little bit of good ol' fashioned discipline when the mood suited him.

So here you were, braced over his lap as the evening moon shone high in the sky. The surrounding area was dead of life, raiders and monsters having been long snuffed out, and any potential new onlookers had been provided their chance to scarper at the presence of the infamous ghoul. It was luck that the night air wasn't too chilled, not that it would have made a difference to either of you as you set about your combined goal.

The first few strikes had been pretty manageable as Cooper targeted different parts of your ass, quickly and efficiently trying to cover and redden up as much skin as possible while his other hand pinned your lower back to his knees. His tattered jacket flared out from behind him, the ratty ends touching the ground just beside your own fingers as you pressed them against the ground to keep balance.

Cooper, however, hadn't been as impressed with your easy management of his punishment.

C'mon now, little songbird, I want to hear that lovely voice.

And his efforts had quickly doubled as he brought his hand down with much more violence, the next two strikes coming in rapid succession as they glanced off the fullest part of your ass and stole the breath from your lungs. It was like being struck by metal. Hard. Unforgiving. And so fucking good.

He got the reaction he wanted as your playful groans dissolved into pathetic squeals when his fingers groped at the stinging flesh, your knees pulling together as you smeared the growing wetness that was developing between your thighs. The following hits were much the same, his accurate hand having targeted the same patch of skin until you could feel the heat buzzing free of the abused flesh as small whimpers stole from your throat freely.

"You're lucky I ain't using my belt, darling." Cooper growls as he disrupts your thoughts, tugging at your hair to force your head back enough to gaze up at him. "Cause the welts that leaves would paint you purple for a week and give you a harsh reminder of it every time that fine ass wanted to sit down anywhere."

"Yes, sir." Fumbling over the words, your fingers scratch against the dirt of the ground as your cunt feels swollen and painfully abandoned. You swear you could feel yourself dripping with mess but since he hadn't commented on it yet, maybe not.

"Might even use the buckle." Your scalp burns from his rough grasp and the extension of your neck makes breathing difficult as he continues. "Let it tear strips off you until you're a sobbing mess just crying out and begging for me to let up on you. You want that?"

Rubbing your thighs together at the open threat, you gasp and whine under his grip. From this position, you are barely able to make out his expression as your vision is also limited by the unshed tears which gather in your eyes, vision blurring due to the pain and frustration.

"N-no, sir."

"Good answer, darlin', cause i don't want to delay the next part any longer than we need to. You think you're ready for it?"

His hand releases your head and you nod frantically as fear lances your heart. A little masochism was fine by you, hot as fuck actually as it made the pleasure all the sweeter, but the brand would hurt like hell. Your heart beating a messy tune in your chest, your breath stutters as you feel him leaning over you to snatch up the brand from the fire.

"You gonna lie there like a good girl while I fix and mark you up? Hmm?" Cooper asked, his hand spreading your ass as textured fingers roll over the area he intends to mark on your right ass cheek. "I've got the rope ready to go if you can't hold still and let me make a clean print."

"Do it, Cooper." You gasp out, body shaking with anticipation as your eyes squeeze shut, preparing for the hurt to come as your hands visibly shake against the dusty ground. "Make me yours. Only yours. Make it so that everyone in the wastelands can see who the fuck they're messing with if they mess with me."

"Language." Tutting his disapproval with a playful hypocrisy, the rough excitement in his voice speaks of just how eager he was for you to have this mark. Well, that and the way that his cock remains pressing between you, the rock-hard length digging into your stomach with every slight movement as he speaks again.

"After this you're mine. Anyone else touches you then I take their throat. No mercy."

"No mercy." You repeat, almost a hypnotic babble as your breathing grows more and more erratic and anxious.

"I don't claim much in the wastelands, darlin', so you be good to me and I'll make sure that you never get the chance to forget what it means, you hear?"

"Goddamn, Cooper. Just do it! Mark me, brand me, give me something. Just- FUCK!"

It was nothing compared to the previous spanking.

The pain is indescribable as the metal presses harshly against your skin, searing his initials into the reddened flesh of your ass. You bury your scream in your forearm, tasting blood as your teeth clamp together roughly around your own flesh, and it's only his hand - hard as steel and twice as unforgiving - which prevents you from bucking in place to avoid the horrid pain.

Darkness dances in your vision for a moment as a genuine fear that you're going to pass out clenches your heart but it sweeps through rapidly, leaving you teetering on the edge of consciousness for only a few seconds.

You don't feel the brand pull free as the metal essentially kills off your nerve endings, the damage welcome as it dulls the initial shock. Rather, the initial sear is quick to settle into a vicious pain which is more like a deep, heated ache that sits beneath your skin.

"Cooper." You howl, fingers scrambling against his closet leg as you desperately seek something to cling onto as a wave of nausea rolls through your stomach. "Hurts."

Violently sobbing at the residual ache, you remain pinned in place as his free hand audibly drops the brand to the sandy floor before his fingers return to your ass. You can't feel him ghosting his digits along the wound but you're fairly certain that's what he's doing as a rumble of approval slips free of his chest.

"I know it hurts like a motherfucker." Cooper exhales, his roughened voice holding a giddiness as he watches you struggle to keep control of yourself. "But you did so well, girlie. Took it better than most would and I think that deserves a reward."

His fingers follow the curve of your ass to drop and press insistently at your hole - two digits sinking deep as they quickly provide a little relief to the aching neglect which your cunt was experiencing.

Audibly delighted with his markings, Cooper's tone is as predatory as ever as he slowly pumps his fingers into your cunt - following a pattern he knows drives you wild as he continues.

"Smells good too. Ain't gonna lie. Wish I'd taken a strip for myself before I burned it away."

Shivering at that, you moan out something that may have been an encouragement or a denial - your brain too fuzzy to make sense of it as his textured fingers rub along your walls.

"Coop-Cooper." You stutter out his name, sharp breaths feeling hot in your lungs as the adrenaline flushing through your veins - made all the worse by the dual sensations of dull pain and growing pleasure which wracked your lower half - causes a light-headedness which leaves you slack against his knees. "Touch me more. Make the pain go away."

"Can't make it go away, sweetheart. But I can make you forget about it for a minute or two."

With two fingers still curled within you, his thumb slides up your slickened folds until it grazes your clit. Body tensing, you sigh and groan as he teases the sensitive nub by gently circling his thumb across it. It didn't help that the leathered skin was so much rougher than a typical man's and the added sensation of it was enough to make you forget the burn of your ass as you focus on it.

His fingers are skilled and he is quick to target all those sweet, wicked little spots that make your mouth dry and your soaked cunt clench around his probing digits; that bastard thumb of his never letting up its teasing pressure on your clit as he strokes along the engorged nub with a lazy enjoyment. Adrenaline making every nerve feel heightened, your earlier neglect and enjoyment of his hand bring you close to the edge with an embarrassing speed.

"Such a tight little thing." Cooper grunts, his groin grinding against your stomach lightly as he plays you like a fiddle while taking care not to damage the fresh brand. "Can barely get my fingers out with you gripping at them like this. You'd have thought by now I'd have loosened you up at least a little."

Unable to speak, your reply is a mess of jerking nods and gasping pants. But he seemed to catch the jist of your agreement and it causes a low chuckle to rumble through his body.

Slipping a third finger in, the added stretch was all it took to have your toes curling against the air as the building tension in your body snapped into rolling waves of pleasure. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, pulling them deeper as they continue to rub against your sweet spot, drawing your orgasm out until your limbs felt tight and your throat started to burn from the constant whining and pleas that trickle free of it.

Shuddering and feeling faint, you lay limply against his knees, feet touching the ground as you actively fight the euphoric nausea which makes your body feel light and far off. It was too much and instead of facing the aches and pleasures, you allow the weariness to slip within your very bones.

A lurid suckling noise makes your head turn up to the side and you catch the sight of Cooper pulling his fingers free of his mouth, the digits slickened by both your mess and his spit as he messily cleans them off.

"Sweet as honey. Ain't nothing like it." He mutters, mostly to himself, before tilting his head down to meet your eye. "You alright down there? Not gonna pass out on me are you?"

Sighing out as darkness touches at the edge of your vision, you give him a soft smile - bottom lip only slightly trembling as you answer. "Sleepy."

He's surprisingly careful as he picks you up with his impressive strength, hands wrapping around your upper body to right you to your feet - shaking legs barely able to hold even your limited weight - before he deposits you in his lap. Angling your body atop his so that the pressure of your ass on his lap is far away from the fresh brand, your head presses against his clothed chest and you inhale the coppery scent that clings to him like it was a lifeline.

"Then sleep and I'll keep the beasts at bay."

Cooper speaks lowly, the words washing over you skin like a soothing blanket. "Here." His hands wrap the edges of his leather jacket around your sides, the material not enough to cover you completely - not even close - but you appreciate the gesture regardless.

In the warm night air, your thighs coated in the mess of your release and your ass throbbing will a dull ache that was going nowhere any time soon, you focus on the interesting sounds which roll through Cooper's chest as you press your ear against his frayed shirt and allow fatigue to finally claim you.

#branding my beloved but oooooh nastay #fallout #fallout 2024 #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #ghoul x reader #ghoul x you #cooper howard smut #fallout smut #fallout prime #walton goggins

[ddarker-dreams]

aww what if scara’s darling copied his red eye makeup, whether to catch him off guard or because of boredom

at first, scara's narrowing his eyes because hm. there's something different about you. he sees you everyday, he could accurately describe you from memory for any artist commissioned to paint your likeness. this familiarity has even the slightest change in your appearance sticking out like a sore thumb. seriously, you could change lip balms and he'd notice. he's weird like that.

with this in mind, you assumed he'd immediately point out the rouge pigment painted around your eyes. instead, he marched up to you, taking your chin in his unnaturally cold hand for an impromptu examination. after observing you from every possible angle, it hits him. the color, the shape, the placement—

—he blushes and sputters some incoherent spiel about 'ulterior motives' and 'shamelessness.' don't take the insults personally, the poor puppet is malfunctioning. for you to have replicated it this well, you must've studied him at length. did you find him handsome? had you noticed he changed his conditioner, giving his hair a glossier finish?

these thoughts run rampant in his overclocked brain.

good luck trying to convince him you did this out of boredom. he's convinced this is a subconscious sign of attraction, any evidence supporting the contrary goes in one ear and out the other. the power of delusion is unmatched.

#yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche brainrot #answered #Anonymous

[writingwithfolklore]

Is it Possible for an Idea to be Beyond Your Skill Level?

                I think writing as a skill is often underappreciated. In that, I mean I think even writers hold ourselves to a standard that no other creator does. Out of all the skills or hobbies, it’s probably one of the least physical ones, which is often seen as the “benchmark” for skill, or the limiting factor in someone improving something.

                For example, musicians get more nimble and can reach their notes quicker and more accurately, allowing them to play more difficult pieces. Athletes get stronger and gain in endurance, allowing them to score more goals or otherwise go farther in the season with their team.

                I see writers all the time who believe they should be able to do anything because they don’t have that physical benchmark to limit how far they can go, and then the draft doesn’t come out how they wanted it to, and they get discouraged.

                Here’s my take, writing as a skill is just like any other. It needs practice. It’s not something you’re either born with or not, it needs to be developed and strengthened.

                With that in mind—I promise your idea isn’t beyond you. No one is ever going to finish a perfect draft on their first try—that’s never how anything works, and it has nothing to do with how “talented” you are.

                Rewrite the scene until it’s capturing what you want it to. Rework that character until they are who you need them to be. Edit until your motifs are coming through. It’s all practice, every draft is another practice towards nailing the end product. Do you think artists nail drawing hands on their first try? What about on their tenth try?

                So why are you holding yourself to this idea that it’s taking too many drafts to perfect?

                It’s okay to keep trying. If you’re really struggling with realizing a concept, take it out of its context. Write the character you want to see in different situations separate from your project. Read how others have done something similar, take notes. Gather sources and inspiration for what you want to do. Reach out to other writer friends for advice.

                Overall, don’t not write because you think it’s beyond you. With a little bit of work and practice, there’s no story you can’t finish.

                Good luck!

#writing #writers #writing tips #writing advice #writing inspiration #creative writing #writing community #books #film #filmmaking #screenwriting #novel writing #fanfiction #writeblr #is it possible for an idea to be beyond your skill level? #writing skills #writing talent

[sleepyghostuwu]

The Artist and the Gem: Part 1

"I'm pretty sure this only happens in dreams."

Synopsis: An IPC member part-timing as an artist unknowingly spices up her life when a certain colleague comes to her for a leisurely art commission.

Notes: Fem! Reader POV since it's what I'm more comfy writing in for this series. I also have no clue how art commissions work so apologies if it isn't lore-accurate ^^"

Ping!

You groan as you reluctantly reach for your phone for the umpteenth time today, bracing yourself to read your client's incessant texts about your work progress despite it being mere weeks since they first contacted you. Combining that with the fact that your supervisors were piling you with more paperwork these days made it all the more frustrating to deal with.

"Hi again! I feel the need to mention that I have a full-time job outside of my artist life, and also take note that it takes time in general to complete multiple people's commissions over time. I will send you more WIPs once I'm available to do so. Thanks for your patience!"

As cordial as the text sounded when you sent it out, you were like a pot filled with boiling water, ready to burst in fury in the event that client continues to add fuel to the fire. Too angry to continue doing work properly, you excused yourself to get a drink at the pantry.

As the coffee machine whirred to life on the counter, you hear your phone ringing again. Doing your utmost to keep your composure, your trembling hands open your inbox. This time, it was not your current client who texted you, but a new one.

"Hey (username), I find your artworks to be rather intriguing. I saw on your webpage that you're still taking in commissions, so I was wondering if I could trouble you to do one for me."

"At least this one's polite about this," you muttered as you replied to their message with equal respect.

"Hey there! Happy to know that you appreciate my art! My commission list is quite full at the moment, so I'm afraid that it will take long while to complete yours. Would you mind if your commission took a longer time to complete, or would you rather contact me another time instead?"

That should do, you think to yourself as you retrieve your coffee cup from the machine and take a sip of your drink. Your phone rings again.

"It's all good. Take as much time as you need. I'm not in a rush :)"

Your eyes practically lit up upon reading that message. Unlimited time for a commission? In times like these? Is this heaven?? You quickly shoot back another text.

"Very well. What would you like me to draw, then?"

"I would like you to draw a portrait of Aventurine from the IPC."

...

You've got to be kidding me.

You blink furiously at your client's art request, trying to make sure that you did not misread whatever they sent to you.

"That's an interesting request you got here."

Who even is requesting for this from me? A fan from the Aventurine Fan Squad? For all you knew, any of your colleagues could have either chanced upon your art account or decided to knowingly exploit your creativity for their own pleasure. As you type out the default reminder for them to pay up as per your terms, your phone rings twice.

[100,000 Credits have been transferred to your bank account.]

"Say less. Wishing you the best of luck ;)"

You take a huge gulp of coffee as you switch off your phone, evidently more stressed about your artistic career than you already were before. With such a hefty sum of money transferred to you for a singular drawing, chances are that you will have to pool in all of your creativity for this particular commission if it means that your mystery client would be assured to get their money's worth. Taking a glimpse at the nearest clock within your hindsight, you quickly down your coffee before rushing back to your cubicle, ready to check off your task list if it meant more time to draw later on.

---

As you briskly return to your cubicle to work, a certain blond man in green glances at you from a distance and smiles.

#honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine #hsr #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #hsr fanfic #star rail #aventurine x you #star rail aventurine

[myfaveficrecs]

Christmas Tradition

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Reader (Darling)

Word Count: 1785

Warnings: Pure fluff

AN: Written for @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge. My prompt was ornaments, and I chose to do something I haven't done before. I wrote for Bob! Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to everyone.

“Still okay to meet at 6?”

Bob smiled while reading your text knowing your Christmas tradition would change after this year. In all honesty, he should have changed the tradition a couple of years ago but he always justified why he couldn’t do it just yet. Being on different sides of the country, deployments, being with your families in different states for the holidays, work schedules didn’t align, you both were too busy. But this year that changes.

“I can’t wait, Darling.”

“Going to pick out ornaments tonight?” Phoenix asked with a smile, catching a glimpse of her WSO’s phone while walking by.

“Yeah,” he blushed but could not seem to tamp down his grin. “I put the one for tonight in the tree already this morning after she left for work. I just have to wait a few more hours.”

“How are you feeling?”

“What’s the matter Baby on Board? Going to throw up again?” Hangman gave his traditional smirk while walking to his locker. Looking around, Bob realized the whole squad was in tow in the locker room now.

“Shut up, Bagman. He’s nervous enough without you adding to it.”

“Nervous about what?” Rooster chimed in. “You guys are just going to get your ornaments, right?”

“Wait, ornaments? I feel like I’m missing something.”

“You usually are, Hangman.” Phoenix glared at the irritating pilot. She was not going to let him ruin this day for Bob.

“Every year, Bob and Darling go to a boutique in the town they are in for Christmas to pick out one new ornament each for their tree. The ornament is something that reminds them of each other or something that they did together that year.”

“Okay…and what makes today's nauseating display of affection any different from the other years?”

“First of all, it isn’t nauseating, it’s romantic. Secondly, Bob is officially making her part of the squad!”

Loud cheers and hands roughly shaking his shoulders made Bob turn an interesting shade of red, but the laugh that came out of him was pure joy. “She has to say yes first. I gotta get out of here and meet her. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

With choruses of cheers and good luck, Bob rushed out to his truck, pulling out his phone to let her know he was on his way with a quick text. The closer he got to her, the less anxious he felt. She was the only thing other than being above the clouds that made him feel completely at peace. His Darling was his safe place, his home, his heart, and his soul. She was so deeply ingrained and embedded into his skin that he would never be rid of her if he tried. She was everything and he would make sure she knew it.

Pulling up to the little boutique decked out in all the garland, lights, and ornaments probably in the whole of San Diego he saw his little Darling already waiting for him at the front door, excitement all over her face. He may have started this tradition, but she made sure to treasure it and keep it exciting. 

“There is my handsome man. How was work?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, leaving little kisses along his jaw, enjoying the light flush that started along his neck and was gradually making its way to his ears. The little prickles of the five o’clock shadow leave pleasant tingles on your lips.

His arms wrapped tight around you, swaying you back and forth to a tune that was only playing in his own mind. “It was good, I got to try some new equipment upgrades today. They are asking for my input on how to make it better.”

“That’s because you are amazing at what you do, and I would know how precise, focused, and accurate you are.” 

Bob laughed, covering your mouth with one large hand while you wiggle your eyebrows, trying to tamp down your own amusement for his sake. “Be a good girl.”

His deep voice with that particular phrase sent lightning zaps throughout your body and straight to your core, the memory of his head between your legs this morning making your heart pick up speed. “I can’t make any promises.” You let out a little yelp when you felt a quick swat to your ass, his strong hands turning you around by your shoulders and pushing you gently through the door with a laugh.

With a chime from the alarm and a loud jingle of the bells on the door, your presence alerted the owner of the little boutique that has become a favorite of yours to come to. “There’s my favorite couple! I was wondering when you two were going to come by and see us.”

“Good evening, ma’am.” He greeted with a nod. She reminded him of his grandmother - a little rounder with age, silver streaks in her blonde hair, rosy cheeks, and round glasses that complemented her face rather nicely.

“We’ve got some good ones this year, take your time kids!” The woman pointed towards the back of the store with the large display of several Christmas trees loaded down with ornaments to pick from. With barely contained excitement, you linked your fingers with Bob and dragged him towards the display.

“Have any idea what you are looking for this year?”

“Yes! Since we have officially moved here now that you’ve got a permanent assignment, I wanted to find one that has to do with your job. Can’t be that hard to find being in Fightertown, USA, right?” You mumbled, walking around the first tree in deep concentration. Your eyes squinting the further up you looked at the tree before moving to the middle one. “What about you, what were you thinking?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.” When you looked over at him all you could see was his undying affection shining back at you. The added twinkle of the Christmas lights surrounding you both added a soft glow, bounced off the ornaments and added streaks of color and prisms along his flight suit. The smell of cinnamon, cranberries, and jet fuel made you light headed for all the right reasons. God, you love this man.

Right above his head on the tree in front of him was the perfect ornament! “There! Grab that one.” You squealed, reaching your hand out and pointing out the pilot helmet with red and green stripes. Bob shook his head with a grin and got it down for you, placing it gently into your palm. “Now you need to find yours.”

Bob’s real ornament was already waiting on their tree at home but he would gladly buy a dozen more to make sure it was always full of memories. Walking slowly around the next tree, he crouched down to see the ones on the lowest hanging branches with more clarity and immediately his eyes were drawn to a glass ball with the colors of the northern lights all around it. He immediately held it up with a triumphant smile, “This one. When we went to Fairbanks to see my sister in September, we saw the northern lights for the first time together.”

“It’s beautiful, Bobby,” you said, gently clasping the bottom of the ball with your fingertips for closer inspection. “Let’s get home so we can put these on the tree. We can put on your favorite Christmas movie and curl up under the blanket on the couch, sound good?”

“Sounds like the perfect way to spend Christmas Eve.” He leads you up to the cash register, paying for the ornaments quickly while chatting with the shop owner before walking you to your car.

The drive home was quick, and his nerves were still nowhere to be found. This was the right thing for them, he knew it, he felt it. Why didn’t he do this sooner? Why wait so long to start their ever after? 

Turning the lights on for the tree he watched as you carefully unwrapped each ornament, yours being placed on top of the tree, as far as your arms could reach. As soon as you picked up his, he wrapped an arm around your waist from behind and pointed to the middle of the tree. “How about right there, Darling? Looks like the perfect spot.”

He watched as you reached out and put the ornament where he pointed to before your whole body froze, gently holding the glass ball in place. He felt the long intake of breath that filled your chest, pressing further into his chest before letting go of the new colorful glass ball knowing it was secure. With a silent gulp that made his adams apple bob in his throat, he wrapped his other arm around you tightly.

In the center of the tree was a gold and silver ball, designed to open in the center just like a ring box. Inside there was a plush velvet black pillow holding the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“Darling, I want to continue this tradition and make new ones with you for the next fifty years. I want to make sure you know every single day how much I need you, how much I love you. I’ve always known you were it for me, nobody else is ever going to love me the way you do and nobody is going to be able to complete you the way that I do. I’m sorry it took me this long, and I want no more excuses. Marry Me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. It was a fact. It was a confident declaration. 

Gently reaching out to the custom ornament, he pulled the beautiful vintage ring from its pillowed cushion. A thin gold band held an array of diamonds. A clear and beautiful round stone in the center surrounded by another circle of smaller round diamonds. The outer row is arranged like a sunburst. He saw it in an antique store two months before while you were searching for the perfect table for your entryway. He bought it the second your back was turned because he immediately thought of you. His sunshine. His Darling.

You felt the thin band wrap around your finger and settle at the base like it was always meant to be there. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it no matter how much your brain screamed at you to turn around and wrap yourself around this beautiful man that you had forever to spend with, so you did the next best thing. Grabbing his hand tightly in your own you whispered your own declaration, “It will always be yes.”

Tags:

@roosterscockpit  

@bradshawsbitch 

@jupitercomet  

@seresinhangmanjake 

@fandomxpreferences

@wildbornsiren 

@babyrooster

@ohtobeleah  

@callsign-marlie 

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@topgun-imagines  

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@cherrycola27

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@almostgenerallyalways 

@roosterbruiser 

@teacupsandtopgun  

@princessphilly

@wolfmoonmusic

@phoenix1388

@wintercap89

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@adaydreamaway08

@flowers-and-fichte

@mak-32

@greatszu

#writing challenge #sailor-aviator's writing challenge #christmas fic #tgm #bob x reader #bob floyd #promote creators #bob floyd x you #top gun

[psychicuniiverse]

The Conditions of Change

When adults seek change, they often focus on the intended result while hurrying through the practice. However, growth requires a bit more than 'just trying something out'. Here are some tips to help bring change upon your life, good luck!

Consistency

Real change, especially as an adult, requires many, many repetitions of a behavior or movement or position. 'Trying hard' is usually counterproductive as it tenses the muscles and the emotions. It is necessary to let the exercise or method work without undue ego participation over time. The practice has to become, for a time, 'just what one does.'

Willingness

The practices that change long standing blocks will usually seem, when presented to an adult learner, to be too subtle, too corny, not relevant, and mostly downright wrong. One must be willing to really try something different if one is at the point where one's own ideas have failed. Of course, discernment cannot be completely disposed of, but if a learner wants what another person has, they must be willing to do what that person did, however unnecessary or stupid it seems.

Sustainability

So often adult learners hurl themselves into an activity, and neglect other aspects of their lives. Soon they end up dropping the practice and rarely get back to it. A good practice must be one that can be 'what one does' for a good while. Immersion approaches exist, for example a 30 day retreat, but then carryover to one's regular life becomes the issue.

First Things First (Urgent Things Second)

In our over-busy, over-booked lives, if we wait for a 'free moment' to practice something, it invariably never arrives. To have consistency with a new practice it is necessary to make it a priority and see that it gets done first, leaving less important things, even if more urgent, to 'scroll off the screen'

The Plateau is Where the Work Starts

All people have latent abilities that come online easily and quickly when they start a practice (often called newbie or 'noob' gains). But once the latent abilities are developed and the participant is working to develop brand new capacities, the going is much much slower. This is where the large majority quit, discouraged, but this is where the work really is beginning.

Anticipate Anxiety

Real change even in small amounts will cause anxiety, which can be insidious and hard to attribute to the new practice. In an uncanny way, impulses to start something incompatible with the new practice, or new worries, confusion, or minor injuries will threaten to derail the change process. Barring gross demonstrable harm, the need is to 'stay the course!'

Don't Look to Validation or Approval

If another person is the reason to do something, in a moment they can become the reason not to. When a practice is undertaken to please someone (and yes this can be unconscious or semi-conscious) there are two big barriers: 1) effort gets substituted for the fruits of the practice, and the practice gets or stays sloppy because even sloppy practice shows effort, and 2) the instinct for autonomy (buried itself in some measure in the unconscious) will cause resistance

Frequent self-measurement is unhelpful

When one has undergone real change others will point it out, don't worry. Trying to get one's inner judge to validate oneself takes attention off the practice, apart from any concern that self-measurement will not be accurate.

The Placebo Effect is Not the Effect

Whenever one takes on a new promising practice there is going to be an immediate sense of elation. There is nothing wrong with enjoying this, but know that 1) it wears out in two to six weeks, 2) the real beneficial effect of the practice will be much more subtle at first then this elation, and take months or years to manifest. Many believe that when the elation stops, it means the practice has stopped working.

Understand the Difference Between Almost Nothing Happening and Actually Nothing Happening

When a ten-year-old wakes up in the morning no one notices a change in size from the night before, but actually there is, and over the course of years, that becomes very apparent. Real growth is like that, in that, almost nothing is happening. But with any practice, participants may worry that they are following a dead end. While some discernment and critical thinking may be needed in selecting a practice, once started attention should be focused on the actually practice, with some faith that results will come.

Work With Others

When working alone, long-standing defensive patterns can undermine the intended practice or even turn it into its opposite. Not that any growth practice is like an Olympic sport calling for perfect performance--one is simply seeking to stay in the 'stretch zone' or 'edge'. Other people, either peers or coaches can help with that by supplying explicit or implicit feedback. Not because they are know everything, but because they have gone or are going down the same path, and are more objective about you ('a different set of eyes').

Find Where You Are and Work From There

Don't try to work from where you want to be, that will be slower not quicker. This is about acceptance, a prerequisite for change

The Tightrope is an Illusion

When in new experiential territory, it can seem that the practice being encouraged will either quickly fall into a pitfall at one end, or into the opposite pitfall. There is no happy middle envisionable. This is just a lack of experience. For an experienced aerialist, the rope has come to appear like a sidewalk.

Don't Get Stuck in Inspiration

Inspiration, such as from most self-improvement materials and forums provides temporary elation by itself and therefore can become a habit. But nothing changes from inspiration. Slightly more important is turning inspiration into intention, definitely more important is turning intention into action, and absolutely more important is turning action into consistency.

There is No Such Thing as 'Ready'

Change is made by starting to work where you are with the tools at hand. In time, other tools will come to hand. The feeling of 'ready' does happen in life, but it has to do with situations already mastered. Also where aggression, anger, or desire is mobilized, the feeling of ready is not relevant.

Change is More About Unlearning than Learning

Here is what often happens: a man or woman wants to change a pattern so they focus directly on it and have initial success doing something different. Then they focus on other things, thinking the change is in the bag. The unwanted pattern comes back! The learner despairs that they cannot learn. Actually, the unwanted pattern was never gone (yet) it was just suppressed. It takes a longish trail of resuppression and practicing new habits until new practices become dominant.

Don't Make Effort the Focus

Many adolescent and adult learners have grown up in invalidating, emotionally treacherous environments where they could never be sure that their choices and criticisms wouldn't be attacked. This can lead to a over-emphasis of effort as a universally defensible good--remember the saying "You can't blame a guy for trying." But effort, increases arousal and tightens muscles, and strongly undermines some areas of change like breathing, relaxation, meditation, flexibility, and social skills. Of course with 'zero effort' nothing will change but effort should not be the focus.

Make Distractions and Irritants Part of the Practice

Everyone has had an experience of finding a quiet place, preparing to meditate or stretch, and BAM!, a loud sound like a leaf lower erupts. Or for nice guys they might have guilt at doing something 'selfish'. There is a temptation to wait to a better time, which often becomes never. Our ego fears we will do something badly! But the truth is, anything that cultivates growth will be done, at best, badly (really just imperfectly). Doing something even less perfectly is just as good, or greater an opportunity for self awareness as doing something just imperfectly. Awareness, attention, and mindfulness is increased.

The Rubber Band Effect

When we push against a homeostatic system, even one with a unhappy 'set-point', the system pushes back. To succeed, of course consistency and perseverance is necessary, but on occasion, several interventions need to be brought to bear simultaneously to reach a threshhold where the homeostatic set point is 'flipped', or reset.

#life #therapy #life advice #advice #life changing habits #things can change #changed #change #be the change #self growth #personal growth #personal development #self worth #self help #self esteem #self awareness #self improvement #self efficacy #believeinyourself #self development #self change #self healing #work in progress #tips and tricks #self evolution #self empowerment #i thought you should know

[dxrksong]

Johnny desperately trying to blend in in his old body is hilarious. He just wakes up without access to his powers for some reason in this weird ass cult and being called "Jason"

So he does what any normal ghost would do.

Pray that they don't figure out you're not Jason and just do what they say until you can regain your strength and bust out of here or until the kid manages to find you.

A year or so flies by, and he managed to Somehow someway managed to scramble and accidental himself into being good enough to escape and flee to this random town.

Johnny clumsily throwing some sharp object only to hit it dead on, making flips mid air and SOMEHOW landing on his feet, being able to feel accurately when he's being stared at and where. Johnny chalks it up to luck but something in him cries that it's anything but.

The shadows never felt more like a home to him than before.

Some random things seem to trigger him for reasons he could almost remember but not quite. And all it does is make him angrier.

The MOMENT he sees Joker though, he remembers his death clear as day. Getting beat almost to death and then getting blown sky high. His skin still feels the burns and for the first time in a while his core ROARS

He may be an asshole but all these people just make him SICK! How come no body helped him?! How come HE was the only line of defense against THESE FREAKS?!

"Why me?!" His core screams. "I'm just some guy that likes motorcycles and being cared for, why am I the one that has to suffer through this?!"

And then Batman appears in front of him. And in a click. He's Johnny again, not some child soldier that died, just some guy that's in DEEP SHIT right now with the equivalent of the kid on a bad day WITH STEROIDS AND A BAD FURSUIT that's right in front of him!!

So Johnny r u n s. He runs as much as he can and next thing he knew, his core acts up and makes him invisible and intangible for the first time in over a year, and he manages to get away.

Wait HE'S A CRIME LORD NOW?!

Kid please come pick me up, I'm scared right now!

#danny phantom #red hood 13 #dc red hood #red hood #jason 13 #halfa jason #jason todd #johnny 13 #dc x dp crossover #dc x dp au #dp x dc #dc x dp #Johnny's not having a good time

[slashercult]

new year predictions ask game now open

hello guys! i've decided to host my first ask game about the upcoming new year but this time im changing it up a bit. ive decided to add some rules and this time i may not get to all of the readings so please do not be upset if i don't get to yours (i'll try to do as many as i can but readings take a lot of time and energy so be understanding) these readings will be more longer/detailed than my usual free readings ones so i urge you to join!

read this post thoroughly if you would like to participate in this game

RULES

reblog & heart, follow to enter

ask me only thru the ask box no dms please (anons are allowed)

you can ask from the questions listed below

tell me something good that happened to you in 2023

make a mini prediction for my year (it doesn't have to be accurate, just any thing that you can think of, it could be small or big)

send me a youtube video that brings you comfort or joy, the ask box doesn't allow links so instead of giving me a link you can just write down the name of the vid & the youtube channel, if you can't think of one send me a book passage you really resonate with

questions i will answer: 🕰 - what is a major change i will experience in the new year? 🕯- what is something that i should focus on next year? 💌 - what are some love messages for the next year? 🚬 - what is something i need to/or will let go of next year? 🧺 - a general reading on the new year?

thank you for reading and good luck! let's have fun

#tarotblr #ask game #free tarot reading #tarotcommunity #tarot blog #tarot #divination #pick a card #free readings #divine feminine #pick a card reading

[brabblesblog]

𝕽𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖒𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖞𝖊 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘.

Ch 9: No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.

A sequel to Whither is thy beloved gone? (AO3)

After the events of ‘Whither is thy beloved gone?’ Lord Astarion Ancuńin and his consort wife navigate their relationship anew. The ghosts of the past - his, hers, and theirs - threaten to unravel everything they’ve worked for.

Astarion and Ban host her parents for dinner.

Professionally edited by @editing-by-night

Read on AO3.

Masterlist

Art from @emy-san

“My mother will pry into everything,” Ban mumbled quietly, “including why we haven’t had any children yet. My father will probably ask about our assets - income, investments, connections, all that drivel.” She wasn’t looking forward to seeing them at all, tonight looming large in her mind, but she knew this would be it - one last time, for closure, and then never again.

They were roaming the grounds; Ban needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of the palace as the staff readied it for guests. It was nowhere near as involved as even their smallest ball - a very small soirée, by comparison; she wasn’t sure if it could even be considered a soirée with only five people in attendance. Regardless, it didn’t require much in the way of preparation, and she knew their staff were capable and well practiced. This was the most nervous she’d been for any event they’d held, however, quadruple-checking every single thing until Astarion had finally dragged her out.

“Gods. Don’t they sound delightful,” Astarion rolled his eyes. “Connections? Is it not enough to have the artisan guilds, including his own, in our pocket? Under our very roof?” He paused, rubbing his chin. “On second thought, Roderich would not necessarily be aware of that. He seemed to have rather woefully failed to keep abreast of current events.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“The shop.” He looked at her, thoughtful. “It was worn, dusty and quite unlike how I’d expect someone of his proclivities to treat their ‘pride and joy’.”

This much was true. She’d seen the dilapidated exterior, the dinginess inside, neither of which would’ve been tolerated before she’d left.

“And what of your brother? Any snide remarks I should expect from him?” Astarion huffed a little, glancing up at the sky; it looked rather dull for midday, an unfortunate sign of possible rain.

“He’s likely to hate me for leaving the family,” Ban remarked, “more accurately, he’ll be jealous that I left and he didn’t, but you won’t hear him say that in front of Roderich and Arlette. He’s never had the strength to defy them.”

There would be little snark from her brother; he’d always been the least horrible member of their family. Adrien, her parents’ favorite, who could do no wrong, who was fated for more, to inherit and marry and pass down the most esteemed Glasscraft name. But he’d also been her only friend in the family, the only one compassionate enough to help her treat her wounds, to comfort her, whenever her father was done with whatever method of punishment he’d chosen that day. She wished he could have done more, could have stood up to their parents alongside her, but that was where their paths had diverged.

Astarion snorted. “I will do my utmost to be the picture-perfect rich, powerful, aristocratic husband they so desired you to have. However, if my patience fails me, and their necks come a little too close…”

“Try not to, will you?” Ban said, a sigh escaping her lips. “Be good - for me. I just need tonight to go well and then… with any luck we’ll never have to see them ever again.”

“Seeing as I’m the one who instigated all this in the first place…” Astarion exhaled, “I’m inclined to let you have it your way.” He held his hands up, playful. “No biting, I promise. Well, maybe a little, but…”

“Fangs to yourself, handsome.”

A dramatic, long-suffering sigh preceded the playful smirk on his face. “Of course, love.”

Ban couldn’t help the small smile that crept up at the sight of that. “Look. We cleared today for this. No meetings with the patriars, no haggling with Nine-Fingers - wouldn’t you consider that a win?”

“It would be, were I able to…” His hands rose, resting on either side of her waist, pulling her close for a quick, heated kiss. “… do certain things; alas we both know you are too preoccupied.” When they separated his eyes were tender, but the heat in them was unmistakable.

“Astarion,” she began, a little guiltily, “I’m sorry. My mind just isn’t on-”

“But of course! Besides, the staff are still at work. They’ve insisted on cleaning every room - there’s little privacy to be had today.” A mock sigh, and he let her go.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to remember it being your idea to host them.”

He snorted, but didn’t deign to answer.

“It’ll rain soon,” Astarion mused awhile later, glancing up at the sky again. “We ought to head inside. I’m aware it’s not the most comfortable place for you to be right now, but…” he shrugged. They were both dressed comfortably, but he’d very much rather not get his new loafers dirty on rain-wet soil.

She faced him, dark circles under her eyes prominent in the dull sunlight, nodding. “I mean, of course. I can get back to work with the caterers, pick out plating for tonight and the table napkins and-”

“Ban,” He tangled his fingers in hers, leading her back into the house. “A suggestion from your husband, if you’ll indulge me. Let’s head to bed - I can hold you, knead out all those knots in your back - nothing more, of course.” It would be good for her to unwind, he knew; the looming dinner had caused her no small amount of stress. She’d barely slept in days.

She followed him to their bedroom and Astarion sat on the bed, toeing off his shoes, patting the spot beside him. The moment she was there he pushed away her ponytail, pressing a kiss to her neck, wrapping an arm around her. He laid down, pulling her down with him.

He purposefully shifted his tone lower, softer, seeking to soothe. “You’re alright; it will all be fine, and if it isn’t, say the word and I will make it fine. I’ve got you.”

She was silent for a few moments, then leaned on him, her head tucked in his warm neck, nuzzling between jaw and collarbone. She mumbled something against his skin; it was spoken so softly that it took him a few moments to completely understand it.

“It’s not just that I didn’t trust you,” she said.

His hand paused and he peered down at her. “Are you saying there’s more you’ve yet to tell me, or…”

She shook her head. “What I’ve said is about the sum of it. There were specific instances, of course, which I will tell you when we have time, but what I mean is… not telling you wasn’t only because of our issues.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m surprised,” Astarion mused; Ban’s eyes snapped up to his, evidently not expecting this response. He huffed out a sad laugh. “Love. I ate whatever little pride I had left to tell you all of what I am, where I came from. What I went through.” He saw shame in her eyes and aimed to soothe. “No need to be ashamed, love. It merely slipped your mind.”

“It shouldn’t have,” she countered, “I should have known; of course you’d understand. But it isn’t the only thing, or even the main thing. I…” she hesitated a moment, then continued. “I did not relish you knowing I’m weak. That I could, and did, allow those things to happen to me. That I gave in and let it happen, when I’d always been the one to help you, the one helping everyone. I want to be your rock, not your burden.”

A soft kiss was pressed to her forehead; Astarion huffed out a small, exasperated laugh. “I don’t think myself capable of seeing you or loving you any less, no matter the circumstances, and neither is your strength the reason for that love.” He turned somber, holding her tighter, as if doing so would fully convey the depth of his affection. “Grant me the privilege of being where your heart finds peace, Ban. I would love nothing more.”

Tears filled her eyes and she gave him a small nod. “That I can do. Will do.” She looked away, huddling against his chest. “But then… they made me what I am, for better or for worse. Talking about it also feels like acknowledging they did do something right, at some point.”

“No.” That he wouldn’t abide. He placed an elegant finger under her chin, tilting it so she’d meet his eyes again. “Do not ever say that, because it isn’t true, and by no means will it ever be.”

“But they-”

“They what? Shaped you? You are you in spite of what they’ve done to you, not because of it.” His voice had risen, insistent on driving the thought away from her mind. He saw her open her mouth, about to argue, and he immediately interrupted her again.

“Before you say anything else, do you think what Cazador did made me who I am?”

“In some ways,” Ban said, and he found a measure of joy in the fact that she did so seemingly without fear of his anger.

Astarion nodded. “I don’t disagree. But I am also more than that - more than what he made me. And so are you. You, Ban…” He took a breath, trying to find the words to fully express himself and falling utterly short.

“You are strong. You are kind, compassionate. You tried, when trying was only for the foolish and the brave. You gave me a chance. You loved me when that was - and is - an objectively stupid thing to do. You held onto yourself and onto me when I was unable to, chose our love and-”

He heard her whimper as she hid herself against his chest yet again. He gently rocked her, wanting nothing more than to hold her close and shield her from everything. Her trust was intoxicating, so new and yet so achingly familiar; a haunting reminder of what he had almost lost forever. She kept her head tucked against his heart, her breathing slowly matching his as she melted against his body.

“Are you listening?” he asked, and at her nod he made it a point to take slower breaths, slowing his pulse down so that it soothed her further. He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Only for you,” he reminded her, staring up at the ceiling.

There wasn’t any reply, but there needn’t be. The silence stretched, and Astarion closed his eyes.

“This is really nice,” Ban eventually murmured, her eyes half-closed. It occurred to Astarion that she was utterly exhausted; the fact that she hadn’t complained about them wearing their clothes to bed should have clued him in immediately. He decided not to remind her about the massage and stayed mostly unmoving, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

He considered speaking, to say candy-sweet words, but he knew they were unnecessary; they’d long moved past those early days, when his voice was all he could offer her. Instead he closed his own eyes, fingers idly tracing patterns on her head.

Sleep, love.

When she finally stirred, Astarion was still in trance. Soft, light snores wafted down to her from somewhere above her head. Ban gingerly moved his hand from her head, then carefully sat up. The sun told her it was almost sunset. A small wince crossed her features at the realization; she was a little surprised the noise of the preparations hadn’t interrupted their rest. They’d have to prepare themselves soon, but she didn’t want to wake him just yet, figuring she could bathe before he awakened.

She turned to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed - unneeded, but habitual, comforting. His hand closed, then opened again, as if searching for something; his eyes moved beneath closed lids. Dreaming. She planted a soft kiss against his brow, received a soft mm of contentment in reply, then left the bed, steps as silent as possible so as not to disturb him.

The bath was warm and fragrant and Ban sank into it, eyes closing despite her rising anxiety. Seeing her father was one thing, but her mother was different; there was little doubt she would pry into every aspect of their lives and ask Ban about everything that had transpired since the last time they’d seen her. She wondered what they’d heard of the group who’d fought the Netherbrain, but her parents rarely bothered with events that did not concern the business, and the fight had left the area around the shop mostly unscathed. It was unlikely they knew anything more than what the broadsheets had reported in the days after the city was saved.

Then there were also Astarion’s remarks about Roderich, and the state of the shop. What could have caused her father to let it fall into such disrepair?

“Love.”

Her eyes flew open to see Astarion standing by the tub, nude, a small smile ghosting across his lips. He stepped over the rim of the tub to sink into the water opposite her. The moment he was in he reached for the scented soap and the sponge. “You didn’t wake me,” he complained impishly, working the soap into a lather and starting to scrub himself. “Worse, I wasn’t invited to this bath. I’m hurt.”

She sighed. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself, and I figured you’d need the rest.”

A wry chuckle answered her as he took her arm, bathing her as well. “I’m not the one waking up in the middle of the night.” He didn’t shy from her sharp glare, meeting it head-on. “And what of it? You can’t sleep. You think of them and dream of them - I can hear it.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Ban.”

Astarion paused his ministrations, the sponge stilling against her collarbone. “You have to let me in,” he finally said, the sponge pressed down against her as the hand emphasized his point. “You are trying and making great strides, but you have to realize this isn’t… embarrassing, or weak. And even if it is, what of it?”

“I don’t think it’s…” she began, the lie forming automatically; Astarion merely fixed her with a pointed look and she sighed.

“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I understand what you’ve said, but it isn’t that easy to overcome years of thinking that way. My mother prided herself on being a strong, stoic woman. She insisted that being emotional, needing comfort was… frivolous, unneeded, and for the weak; that she did not need anyone else other than herself.”

“An obvious lie, considering she wasn’t even strong enough to stand up for her own children.” The sponge resumed its path, scrubbing Ban’s chest and neck, traveling to the other arm.

She scooted closer, allowing him better reach. “She thought the strong thing to do was to let her husband do what he pleased, to require nothing of him.” She paused briefly to rinse off some of the soap. “They were betrothed at a young age, as is the custom. She loved him, at least at first. He… saw her as a broodmare, to birth his heirs. They had trouble getting pregnant, and she prayed to all the gods for a child, to give him what he so wished for. To give him what he’d begun looking for outside the marriage; without her permission, of course.”

Astarion rolled his eyes. “Pathetic,” he sneered, gesturing for Ban to turn around so he could scrub her back, “to step outside the marriage for heirs is one of the oldest and least imaginative excuses I could think of.”

“I doubt he cared.” The feel of the sponge against her skin, of Astarion’s hand grasping her shoulder, was soothing. Facing away from him provided her with a little more privacy, allowing her more ease in opening up. “My mother knew, much as he tried to hide it, yet she wouldn’t leave because she thought herself stronger than that. Because that’s what good wives do - listen to their husbands and give them children.”

Astarion’s hand stilled yet again and she heard a pinched, aborted grunt. “Again. Like I did you,” he said, tone acerbic. “And you stayed, like your mother did.”

“I left,” Ban reminded, and to her surprise she heard a relieved exhale.

“I am ever so glad you did, Ban,” he murmured.

Her head whipped around to look at him. Her hair splattered water everywhere, Astarion blinked away the droplets that landed on his eyelashes. He draped her hair over her shoulder to continue soaping the smooth expanse of her back, meeting her gaze.

“You thought I was incapable of reflection?” he teased, “Had you not left, we wouldn’t be here, I think.” The silence stretched as he continued working down her back. “I needed that push, and push you did. I can only be grateful.”

“I thought I broke your heart.”

He finished scrubbing and she leaned against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, fingers interlacing on her belly. He exhaled, thinking, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I prefer to think I broke my own heart.” Astarion wondered if he should say more, if more apologies would be required; loath as he was to do it, he would willingly prostrate himself before her if she required it.

“That time, perhaps; however I do feel like I’ve been breaking it again recently,” she admitted.

Astarion stiffened, realizing what she meant. “You have. You give a little, luring me in with a baited hook, and when I’ve bitten, you simply…” Dexterous fingers moved, miming a yanking motion, inspecting a fish, and discarding it. “...pull me in, only to push me away the moment I do something unpleasant or something that reminds you of Roderich or of my past behavior.” It’s not fair, he thought.

“I punish and reward, is what you’re saying,” she clarified, looking up at him. He could see guilt swimming in those eyes.

“Yes and no - I can appreciate that a lot of it comes from your family, and some of it comes from me,” Astarion began; he could feel her tensing and his hands slid to her shoulders to massage them. “However at times you make me feel like your feelings for me are contingent on how well I behave, and it’s…”

…just like Cazador. A comparison that he was loath to make, but one that was true nevertheless. He recognized the way her wavering affection made him feel - the shame, the fear, the pain - and he couldn’t continue shying away from it. Acknowledging it himself, however, was nowhere near the same as articulating it to her, and the idea of doing so filled him with dread.

He searched instead for the right word, and settled on “...painful.”

“I know you need time, and you deserve time,” Astarion finally said, “But please don’t withhold affection from me. Don’t leave me out in the cold, with silence my only company.”

Gods. She rubbed her face, frustrated. Of course she’d been hurting him; in her focus on not risking herself again she’d been too unwilling to trust his progress, too cautious - to the extent that he thought her love conditional.

“I’m so sorry,” Ban choked out, fighting back tears, “I’ve been doing to you what my parents did to me. I know. I… I’ll do better, I swear. This isn’t an excuse, love, but it’s hard; after having all this drilled in by them, and then… well, shielding myself from you - it’s not easy to unlearn.”

“Don’t you think that I, of all people, would know that, my love?” Astarion sighed, but he was mostly filled with relief and elation. That she acknowledged it, recognized it for what it was - unkind, unfair - and swore to change… it was enough for now, especially in light of the past tenday.

“Apology accepted,” he allowed, adding a little pompousness to color his voice, hoping it would lighten the mood, “I’m nothing if not gracious, after all.” But he also reached to her with his mind, suffusing her with his feelings - his gratitude, acceptance, and understanding.

She laughed a little; it came out broken, an odd mix of sadness and relief. “Too gracious,” she choked out.

“No such thing,” came his answer, quick and reassuring. “Just as you’ve forgiven me, so have I you. There’s little need to measure who did what, as long as we both…” he gestured, unsure of the specific verbiage he needed, “as long as we’re both happy, I suppose.”

She couldn’t contest that, turning to kiss a trail from his jawbone down his neck. Her lips ghosted over the old bite marks, setting off a wave of pleasant shivers throughout his body.

“Then we are in agreement?” he asked, simply to ensure the air was clear.

Ban made a small mhm of assent but didn’t say more. He was relieved, but found himself wanting to introduce more levity. He shifted, untangling his fingers to playfully cup a breast. “Much as forgiveness has been dispensed, darling, my heart still feels broken,” he drawled, “A kiss would be most welcome in soothing it.”

“You’re sure you only want a kiss?” she said, and he huffed out a small laugh.

“Most definitely not. Still, a kiss would be very welcome.” He played with her breast, pinching the nipple between index finger and thumb. Scooting back, she pressed against his cock. He bit his lip, appreciating her teasing, but forced his hips to keep still.

Tilting her head back, Astarion met her lips with his own, a soft caress without urgency. He nibbled at her lower lip, eliciting a quiet moan. Hands reached for his head, grasping still-dry curls to pull him closer. He allowed it, but he felt her fingers begin to move towards his ear; he quickly pulled her hand away.

“There isn’t enough time, you’re preoccupied, and as much as I’d like to take the edge off,” he scolded, “there are far more pressing matters we ought to attend to. I would prefer to make love when you’re wholly here, and not plagued by the spectre of your family.”

“So you’re saying you’re not hard right now? What do I feel back there, then?” she teased, hand sinking beneath the water.

Astarion tried to snatch the hand before it reached him, but she wasn’t really making a play for his cock; he was easily able to wrap his fingers around her wrist. He brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss before sinking his fangs in, drinking languidly.

“That’s for being a tease and for being too godsdamned attractive for your own good,” he murmured, licking the last rivulets of blood before they fell.

Ban laughed, rolling her hips back, rubbing against him lightly. “You are hard.”

“Painfully so,” came the reply, huffed in exasperation.

“I doubt drinking helped you any,” she added, very much amused.

He groaned as she rubbed her ass on him again. “No,” he admitted, “but I needed something.” Astarion was mere seconds away from lifting her and sitting her on his cock, but she thankfully - regretfully, if he was being honest - pulled away.

He grumbled, glaring at her; he felt around the tub for the sponge he’d dropped when he’d reached for her hand. Instead he found a muscled thigh and pinched, just enough to elicit a yelp and a little jump; she splashed his face.

“Ass!”

Astarion chuckled, “And yet you love me.” He’d never said it with such lightness of heart, he thought; it was far too fraught, too sensitive a topic for him until recently. There was a certainty there now, of her love for him, that he was grateful for. However he couldn’t fully suppress the lingering question, the question that plagued him even in these calm, happy moments:

Will she ever love me as deeply and completely as I do her?

A question that shouldn’t haunt him; there was no tangible way to measure love, after all. To attempt to do so would likely only end in heartache, but he couldn’t seem to prevent it from cropping up each time.

His silence as he contemplated this train of thought did not go unnoticed.

“Astarion?”

Her hand touched his cheek, and he blinked twice as he refocused on her. She’d turned to face him while he was lost in his reverie. He saw concern writ large on her features.

“I didn’t mean to taunt you; I wasn’t actually going to grab you, if that’s…” she trailed off, “I’m sorry.”

Realization dawned on him and he vehemently shook his head. “Ban, no. It was perfectly fine; welcomed, even. I was merely lost in some tangent of thought - one of little import.”

True - not the whole of it, but now was not the right time for it.

“Then do you want to…?” Ban ventured; he quickly shook his head.

“Tempting, as you always are, but no. I’d rather focus on tonight’s events; there’s little doubt that it will be complicated, at the very least. You will need all your energy for it.”

Ban nodded. “A very good point.” She turned to face away again, leaning forwards in a silent request; Astarion wistfully raked his eyes over her back before he began to soap it again.

Astarion watched Ban fidget in front of him, tugging at the skirt of her dress.

“This does fit well, right?” Her voice was tentative, anxious as she spun around for his assessment. He’d been her mirror since she’d lost the ability to see her reflection. Sometimes he helped her see herself with the mental link, but right now he merely pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin.

“I think it fits perfectly,” he managed to say. The way it clung to her ass was delightfully distracting and he considered saying so, but he could tell she was nervous. Instead he walked over to her, placing a hand on her shoulder to still her movements. “You look beautiful; you always do, but especially so tonight.”

“Thank you, but are you sure the hem’s not too short? Fath- I mean, Roderich would no doubt comment on it, he would complain and say ‘have you no modesty?’ and-”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder and placed himself in front of her. “Look at me. It doesn’t matter what he thinks; if he so much as utters one word that offends you - that even irritates you - you merely have to say the word and he’s out.” His throat tightened as he spoke. How much had Roderich hurt her, in the small span of years a human child had, for her to be such a stuttering mess right now?

Ban took a few gulping breaths, nodding at him. “Yes, of course. You… thank you.” Another sharp breath took her and she rushed him, burying her face against his chest. His arms wrapped around her tightly, rocking her gently in his embrace.

“I shall go ahead to greet them,” he offered, “You can meet us in the dining room whenever you wish.” He slowly began to pull away, but she gripped the lapels of his suit coat.

“Stay with me,” she begged, unwilling to lift her head from where it was pressed against him. “Please. A little longer.”

Wordlessly he nodded, enveloping her in his arms yet again.

He could only hope it helped.

Astarion lounged on the throne as he waited. He heard the front doors opening, the thump of footsteps, the muffled voice of their chamberlain wafting through to him. He stayed in place, watching as the ballroom doors opened and figures began to enter. He’d carefully arranged himself, legs crossed and head resting on his hand, the picture of insolence and lordly power, exuding what he hoped was an aura of indifference.

He let them approach, making no move to rise or greet them; he counted four - no, three - figures. Their chamberlain, Roderich, and a woman.

Where’s the brother?

“My lord,” the chamberlain began, “Master Glasscraft and his missus are here.” Astarion didn’t deign to rise, eyes raking coldly over Ban’s mother. He could sense her deference to her husband; she hadn’t even looked up yet. A short, plump woman, she all but hid behind Roderich as the man prepared to greet Astarion.

Roderich cleared his throat and at that, Arlette’s eyes rose, raking over Astarion, traveling from the top of his curls to the bottom of his shoes. Her eyes widened and her lips parted a fraction of an inch. He knew that look all too well, remembered seeing it on countless faces, every single time Cazador loaned him out. It made his lip curl in disgust.

“Lord Ancunín,” Roderich began, hesitating for a moment. “Astarion.” The Glasscrafts bowed, obviously rather nervous and unsure.

Astarion fought the urge to snap; that he dared address him so informally without permission rankled. He let it pass, however, sitting up, elbows on his knees. “Roderich,” he nodded. He then turned to Arlette, and also gave her a small nod. “You must be Arlette. Ban has told me so much about you both.”

He finally stood, hands casually smoothening his trousers as he did, relishing the look of discomfort on their faces at his words. He wasn’t a particularly tall man, but he still towered over the pair, something he found immensely satisfying. “Pleased to have you here. How did you find the grounds, Arlette?”

She tittered. “It’s nice, I suppose. Roses were never something I desired for our garden; they’re thorny.”

“They require care and loving attention. Not things everyone is capable of giving.”

Satisfied with the raised eyebrows his comment caused, he decided to take them to the dining room; at least then he could have some wine to take the edge off their blathering. He descended the dais, gesturing for them to follow him. Before he could summon the chamberlain, however, Ban’s mother decided to get started on her prying.

“If you don’t mind me asking - how long have you and Ban been together?” Arlette’s voice made him turn and he crossed his arms, considering the question.

“A year and a half, if not slightly more,” he answered, mind flicking back to the day they first met. He noticed her frown; she opened her mouth as if to ask something more, but her husband gave her a curt shake of the head, ending her interrogation.

Interesting, Astarion thought to himself. He waved a hand at the chamberlain. “Please tell my wife that her family has arrived. She is free to join us at her leisure.” As he did, he led Ban’s parents out of the ballroom.

Roderich cleared his throat. “Astarion-” he began, wincing when Astarion fixed him with a glare over his shoulder. “You would really let Ban… your wife… hole up in her room while you have guests?”

The moment the words were out, Astarion rounded on him, rage written all over his face. His crimson eyes glittered dangerously, lip curling in a sneer. “I do not presume to tell Ban what to do, Roderich. Do you truly have the gall to attempt to command my wife under our roof?”

The smaller man spluttered, a sound Astarion relished. “I- my lord- I do not! I merely say it as fatherly advice. Ban is-”

“Is what?” he interjected, crossing his arms. He saw Arlette open her mouth as if to speak, but she first looked to her husband for permission. As Roderich nodded, she began.

“My lord, forgive me. In fact, may I call you Astarion? You are, after all, my daughter’s… husband… although I notice you do not wear rings.” Arlette straightened up, bracing herself. “What Roderich means to say is that our daughter can be willful. She is prone to behaviors that are unbecoming of a wife, behaviors especially unbecoming of her stature as your spouse, of a lady.”

“Unbecoming-” Astarion bit back the curse forming on his lips, scoffing instead. “For one, no. I am to be addressed as Lord Ancunín, not Astarion. If I hear that one more time from either of your lips’…” The pair before him recoiled, his words obviously effective.

He let the threat hang, satisfied at their reaction, and pushed on. “Ban is willful. She does things that are unbecoming of your idea of a lady, yes.” Those were in fact the things that made him love her so, but he considered that truth something Roderich and Arlette did not deserve to know. “Those are the things that make her her, and you will not disparage my wife in front of me. Is that understood?”

Small, hurried murmurs of assent answered him. Satisfied, he turned away from them. “Let’s head to the dining room before we all reconsider this reunion, shall we?”

The doors were held open for Ban as she entered the dining room. She did not see Adrien, only Roderich and Arlette, seated in stony, awkward silence across from Astarion. She noticed her mother’s eyes, the way they drifted down to her belly, as expected. Sorry mother, no grandchildren here. She quickly scanned the rest of the room - there was no sign of her brother - then landed on her husband. His hands were steepled beneath his chin, but he placed them flat on the table as he turned to her. His eyes flicked to her and for a moment she saw the steely anger in them, but it quickly melted into tenderness. He rose, crossing the room to take her hand and press a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, low enough that her parents did not hear. He kept her hand in his as he led her to her seat, only releasing her to pull her chair out. As she sat, so too did he, shooting one last warning glare at Roderich and Arlette before he waved a servant over to request dinner be served.

Ban looked Astarion over, noting the furrowed brows and tense shoulders, feeling a surge of relief that he was here. She reached out, snaking her hand around his, holding it in a tight grip. He made no outward sign he’d registered her touch, but his hand squeezed hers back. Satisfied, she turned to her parents.

Arlette was the first to speak, evidently unable to keep her mouth shut any longer. “Ban!” she exclaimed, “I know the last time we saw each other wasn’t… the best, but your father and I are so glad to see you again. You seem to have done well enough, haven’t you?” she asked, shooting Astarion an appreciative glance, “And I’m very proud. We taught you everything you needed to know, and look how far you’ve gone!”

Ban sighed. “I… I have done well for myself.”

She glanced over at her husband and saw his face harden further. Concerned, she reached into his mind. Not yet, love. I need to talk to them. He visibly swallowed down his pique, jaw reluctantly unclenching.

That they’re alive at all, Ban, is merely because you wish it.

She couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped her. Keeping their bond open, she continued addressing her mother. “Done well, but not because of you, or what you two have taught me. Where’s Adrien?”

Arlette took this in stride, smiling to reveal crooked, yellowing teeth that still occasionally haunted Ban’s nightmares. “We shouldn’t argue about that. Have you forgotten? It’s uncouth to be arguing at the table.” She paused, and her gaze slipped away from Ban, settling on the empty plate before her. “Your brother had a prior commitment, and we thought it rude to ask your husband to postpone.”

Ban watched her mother rake her eyes over her belly yet again. “Any plans for children, Ban? You’re not getting any younger. I’m sure your husband wants an heir,” Arlette pressed.

She opened her mouth to retort, but her father interjected. “A little darling boy, Ban, would be a wonderful gift. For you two, and for us as well. He would be a treasure to us all.” He nodded at Arlette.

Ban sighed. “Do you harass Adrien for grandchildren as well, or is this reserved solely for your female child…?”

“Besides,” Astarion chimed in, a devilish grin on his face, “I must confess we have been trying as often and as enthusiastically as possible, but alas…”

Before he could continue, the servant returned with soup, halting any further prying for a few moments. Astarion automatically opened his mind further, sharing his sense of taste with her.

As they began to eat, Roderich spoke up. “As your mother mentioned little beauty, it is indeed uncouth to argue, or discuss such… marital activities, at the table, just as it is uncouth to leave your guests waiting.”

Ban could feel Astarion bristle, a vision flitting to her unwittingly: fangs, glittering in the light of the chandelier, sinking into that repulsive neck so that he’d never call her that again.

“It’s also uncouth to beat your children, as I understand it,” she snipped, and was rewarded by the blush that crept up her father’s face. Astarion barked out a laugh beside her but said nothing, his thoughts conveying amusement and warm affection.

“That, I did for your wellbeing,” Roderich protested, although his voice was weak. “So you’d end up somewhere in life. Successful. As you indeed became.” Ban saw her mother nod vehemently at these words.

Astarion could no longer help himself. “She is not successful because of your frankly atrocious parenting, she is successful in spite of you,” he growled, “And did I not warn you not to disparage my wife?”

Ban saw his lip curling again and hurried to interject before fangs were bared. To Astarion she sent a small plea, asking him to wait and let her get what she needed before he did anything rash. He blinked at her, the curled lip trembling in fury before it lowered.

“Be glad she bids me to be merciful and stay my hand,” he drawled, turning to them, “Else you would be in far more unpleasant circumstances than this.”

Ban cleared her throat. “Mother. Father. It… doesn’t matter what you think. What you did to me and Adrien is unforgivable, and if you think this success was because of you, you’re wrong.”

“How could it not be?” Arlette interjected. “You married someone so attractive. Someone rich. Someone powerful. All these things I taught you how to navigate. How to be a good wife. A good woman. How to know your place, to be strong and to honor your husband. Don’t you see? You married a hero, from wh-”

Her words died off as Astarion slammed a fist down onto the table, absolutely livid. “A hero?”

Roderich attempted to explain, “We asked around, my lord. We heard of your rise to power, of your efforts in saving the city from the Netherbrain.”

“Me. You think I’m the hero of Baldur’s Gate?” Astarion laughed, a deep, full laugh filled with levity - but also incredulity. Ban sampled the flavor of his emotions as they flooded through their connection; there was genuine amusement, but there were also much heavier emotions - his profound admiration for her, and his love. More than anything else, that.

It took him a long moment to recover, his features shifting from mirth to a deep, seething rage. He stood, hands gripping the edge of the table, leering at them. “Ban is the hero of Baldur’s Gate. She was the best of us - and nowhere were any of those insipid ‘lessons’ you subjected her to of any use. She picked us up, one by one, led us through the wilderness, all the way to the city. She burdened herself with every decision and every sacrifice that had to be made. She helped each and every one of us wretched fools,” he growled, his hands tightening on the table until it creaked, “and somehow still managed to save your sorry hides along with everyone else in this godsforsaken city.” He glanced at her, his expression softened briefly, the last part of his tirade saved for her and her alone.

You gave me everything, saved me from slavery and death alike. Loved me.

She offered him a soft smile before he turned back to Roderich and Arlette, the anger firmly back in his features. “You have pushed my patience far beyond the point I’d normally tolerate. The only thing keeping you alive is her - I strongly encourage you to quit while you’re ahead.”

This final warning, with Astarion looming angrily towards them, sufficed to convince the pair to back off. His tirade may have inadvertently revealed his fangs, Ban realized; she was tempted to ask him to back off again, worried.

The thought passed to him and he turned to her, wanting to tell her to let him handle it, when he realized. He leveled his gaze back onto her parents, brushing at his suit coat before sitting back down.

“What prior commitment was so important that Adrien would choose it over being reunited with his long-lost sister?” The cold tone had crept back into his voice, his wrath receding behind an icy veneer. Astarion fingered the stem of his wineglass, the other hand idly tapping the table. “Rather rude, when I invited everyone. Does he not miss his sister?”

That is what you wanted to know, is it not?

He’d read the thought as soon as it came into her mind. She’d felt Adrien would be guaranteed to show up; for one he would have wanted to see Ban. The other reason was purely pragmatic - Roderich would have wanted to introduce him to his powerful brother-in-law, establish connections early. His absence was perplexing.

“How is he, anyway?” Ban interjected before Astarion felt compelled to push further. Adrien was the only one she had a smidgen of concern about, the only one she thought she’d have an honest conversation with tonight; and yet he wasn’t here. Did he resent her? Had he run away, just as she had done?

She noticed Roderich’s jaw clench at the mention of her brother. Curious.

“Adrien, well… he had other commitments, as your mother said,'' Roderich stammered out, eyes darting from Ban to Astarion nervously. It was a lie, Ban was sure, but she couldn’t exactly place why. In her mind Astarion whispered his agreement.

She shook her head. “He didn’t, father. Don’t lie. You never were good at it. Does he not want to see me?”

Arlette let out a loud tch of disdain. “Of course he doesn’t want to see his ungrateful sister. I birthed you. We raised you. Loved you. And what do you do, the first moment we need you to do something in return? You run. You selfish, ungrateful child. After you left, your brother’s betrothal became much more difficult for us to secure. ‘Little beauty’,” she scoffed, “You aren’t even beautiful. All you have is what I taught you, no matter what your poncey husband here says. You know that.”

Ban tried not to let those words seep into her heart, but they hit their mark anyway. She felt herself tremble, felt tears threatening to form. No. Don’t. She’s just riling you up, Ban. Don’t.

It didn’t work. Her eyes blurred as her tears welled up, her breathing became fast and began to hitch. She gripped the edges of her chair, trying to ground herself because no, they can’t see me cry again, they can’t win-

“OUT!”

Astarion’s thunderous voice broke through to her, strong and brave and so, so needed. Her home and her salvation. She watched as he stood, index finger pointed towards the door.

“Out. Before I end your miserable, worthless lives. Get. Out.”

Ban wanted to tell him she hadn’t gotten the truth yet, but she was in no condition to. Astarion snapped a finger, summoning the chamberlain.

“Get them out of my palace, and they are not to be allowed back in under any circumstances.”

The chamberlain hurried to Roderich’s side and gestured politely towards the door. Roderich shot out of his chair and shoved the chamberlain away, glaring at Astarion.

“You may be the man of the house here, but mark my words: you are nothing. I do not know what you are, but I know enough to know you are unholy. A monster,” he spat out.

Astarion laughed at this, gleefully baring his fangs. They glinted in the candlelight; Roderich and Arlette flinched and went pale.

“Then you know how easily I can kill you, drain all your putrid blood and bathe in your innards,” he hissed. “And who would believe you? I walk in the sun. My heart beats. I am warm. I am a patron of the arts. I am well-respected throughout the entire city. I am a lord. And you? A sniveling, washed-out guildsman, bitter over some argument over a commissioned mirror. Any more attempts to approach my wife, to even speak to her without her express permission, and I will crush your reputation.” Astarion smiled, all teeth and danger, the predator on full display. “And if I ever hear any whispers about what lives in this palace, I will assume it has come from you. I will find you where you sleep and I will kill you - and I need no invitation to enter your home, trust me.”

Arlette, finally making the connection, took in her daughter’s features. “No. You…”

Ban smiled with feigned shyness, a smile she’d been taught to perform in polite company. But she let her lips stretch further, baring her own fangs. There was a low thrum of satisfaction in her belly as she watched her parents recoil in horror.

“Go on,” Ban said. “My husband has told you to get out. Be polite and do as my lord bids, hm?”

They seemed to hesitate, and Astarion released another hiss for good measure. Roderich finally conceded, his shoulders sagging slightly. He fixed Astarion with one last, terrified glare, then led Arlette out, the chamberlain guiding them out of the palace.

“That didn’t quite go the way I’d hoped,” she said, turning to Astarion. To her surprise he was right next to her, arms already halfway encircling her. He gave her a long, tight embrace, his nose pressed tightly against her temple, breathing in her scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked. The rancor was gone, and so was the smooth veneer in his voice. All that remained were his worry and his concern, her wellbeing his primary focus.

Ban held him just as tightly, hands fisting into his suit coat. It crumpled within her grasp, the smooth silk and the embroidery providing a texture she found comforting.

“I’m fine, I think. Perhaps I won’t be in a little bit, but right now I’m more concerned about Adrien.”

Astarion peered at her, studying her for a moment. Seemingly satisfied she wasn’t lying, he nodded.

“We’ll have to reconsider our approach, but I agree with you.”

“So you saw it too.” She stood, but her husband was always a step ahead; the chair was pulled out, his hands wrapping around hers before she could even reach for him.

It’s as if you can read my mind, she jested.

There was tender amusement there, mixed in with the clouds of still-roiling anger and worry. He tugged at her arm.

We can discuss everything another time. For now I would like you to rest.

She acquiesced, allowing him to lead her to their room.

That night she fell asleep, body enveloped in his arms, her mind embraced by his.

If you would like to see more of these two and their story, consider reading my other entries in the series "If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there."

I am happy to announce that 'Whither is thy beloved gone?' is getting professionally edited as well. I shall keep everyone abreast of when these changes go live. Thank you!

Taglist: @tavamarie @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decedentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind @pursuitseternal @youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @@vinegarjello @the0ldman @wisteriaofthegraves @midnight-musings-of-nyx @toni-winchester @icybluepenguin @beepersteeper @hereliesblackdragon @generalstephkenobi

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[h-sleepingirl]

Milton Erickson and a Rabbi Walk into a Bar... (Essay)

Finally, I've finished this essay about connections I'm finding between hypnosis, Judaism, magic, and intimacy. It's ~4.5k words, extremely "me," and I'm really thrilled to share it. Enjoy!

--

My weakness is getting deeply invested in very niche topics.

Hypnosis was my first and most lifelong obsession. It was my confusing, shameful sexual fetish that I eventually took by the horns and -- through my desire to learn as much about it as humanly possible -- turned into a job. But not a normal sex work job where I do hypnosis for money -- a weird job where I just teach about it. The kink community, and the further-specific niche where people want to hypnotize each other during intimate experiences, became my home.

But the value of study doesn't really come from the quantity of people I'm able to engage with. It comes from the way it enriches my life. It creates and benefits from the capability to see overlaps between all of my various interests.

On the surface, it may appear that two skills have no relationship. But the deeper you get into each one, a synthesis appears.

At a certain point when you are learning hypnosis, all seemingly-unrelated information seems to fit effortlessly into your hypnotic knowledge. You can listen to a song and suddenly you learn something new about how to hypnotize someone. Maybe it was a lyric that gave you an evocative emotional response; maybe it was a pattern in the music that you thought about replicating with the rhythm of your hypnotic language.

Over a decade into my own hypnosis learning, I got very lucky and found a second passionate home in communities of Jewish text study about a year ago. I started from almost zero there and found myself again to be a greedy novice, obsessed with digging into it.

Of course, as I got further, it became that I read a page of Talmud (a text of rabbinical law and conversation) and suddenly I learned something new about how to hypnotize someone. And as I progress, it is starting to go the other way: I learn about Torah study by reading about hypnosis and intimacy.

There are two directions this essay can be read. “How can intimacy and hypnosis teach us about Jewish text?” And, “How can Jewish text teach us about intimacy and hypnosis?” One half is of each part written by me as an authority, and the other half is by me as an avid novice. The synthesis of these two parts of me -- just like any synthesis between concepts -- may perhaps create something new.

Models

I’m sure most communities have a version of the idiom, “Ask three people a question and get five answers.” For a long time, this was a source of frustration for me in the hypnosis community. Is hypnosis a state of relaxation and suggestibility? Kind of, but also no. Is it more accurate to say it is based on unconscious behaviors and thoughts? Well -- kind of, but also no. 

So what is it? Well, it’s probably somewhere in the overlap of about 20-30 semi-accurate definitions and frameworks for techniques -- what we’d call “models.” Good luck!

Why is hypnosis so impossible to define and teach? How have we not found a model that we can all agree upon yet? I think many people share this confusion, and it's complicated by the fact that most sources for hypnosis education teach their model as the model. It makes sense -- it would be difficult to teach a complete beginner a handful of complex frameworks with which to understand hypnosis when that person is just trying to muddle through learning “how to hypnotize someone” on a practical, basic level.

…Or would it be? By the time I got involved with Jewish study, I had long given up on chasing the white whale of some unified theory of hypnosis. I was firmly happy with the concept that all ways to describe hypnosis are simply models -- and all models are flawed, while some models are useful. I was delighted, when entering Jewish community spaces, to hear the idiom, “Three Jews, five opinions.”

This concept is baked into Jewish text study, in my experience. You can look at any single line in Torah and find innumerable pieces of commentary on it, ancient and modern, with conflicting interpretations. Torah and other texts are studied over and over -- often on a schedule -- with the idea that there is always something new to learn. And this happens partially by the synthesis of multiple people's perspectives adding to and challenging each other, developing new models. My Torah study group teacher always starts us with a famous line from Pirkei Avot, a text of ethical teachings from early rabbis: “If two sit together and share words of Torah, the Shekhinah [feminine presence of God] abides among them.”

The capacity to develop and hold multiple interpretations at once enriches your relationship with the text. So too do I believe that being able to hold multiple interpretations of what hypnosis is and how it works enhances your skill with it. It is not a failure of the system -- it is the best thing about it.

Intimacy

It is intentional to make the distinction of “relationship with the text” -- not “relationship to the text.”

My job on the surface is to teach hypnosis, but the meta goal is to simply teach something that helps people develop profound intimacy with others. I think that hypnosis is a kind of beautiful magic that is well-suited to this, but it’s not the only path to take.

One of my favorite educators, Georg Barkas, describes themselves as an intimacy educator who teaches rope bondage. Their classes and writings are highly philosophical and align closely with my own ideas about intimacy -- as well as my partner’s, MrDream, from whom I’ve learned so much. I frequently cite Barkas when I talk about hypnosis because I feel the underlying ideas they have about rope bondage are extremely applicable to all kink and intimacy -- and I will continue that trend here.

Barkas recently published an excellent essay looking in detail at the concept of intimacy itself. They posit that our first thought of intimacy is usually about a kind of comfort-seeking and familiarity. That’s contained within the etymology of the word, and socially it’s what many of us think of when we define our relationships as “intimate”: settling in to engage with a partner who we love, know, and understand.

But, Barkas asks, what if we place this word into a different context? They talk of how in scientific endeavors, the goal of “becoming familiar with” is unpredictability and discovering things that are surprising and unexpected. This perhaps offers a different view of intimacy: intimacy where you do not engage with your partner as though you know everything about them; intimacy where being surprised by them and learning something new is the goal.

My partner MrDream teaches about this often in hypnosis education: approaching a partner with genuine curiosity and interest -- “curiosity” implying that you don’t know what to expect, with a positive connotation. There is a kind of delicate balance between being able to anticipate some aspects of what is going to happen hypnotically -- to have a general grasp on psychology and hypnosis theory -- versus holding tight to a philosophy that neither you nor the hypnotic subject really knows how they are going to respond. The unexpected is not to be feared, but celebrated and held as core to our practice. Hypnotic “subjects” (those being hypnotized) who can relax their expectations will often have more intense experiences.

Thus we come to the first time in this essay where I mention Milton Erickson, my favorite forefather of modern hypnosis. Erickson was a hypnotherapist active through the 1900s and is famous (among many things) for presenting a model of hypnosis that wasn’t necessarily an authoritative action done to a person, but a collaborative and guiding action done with a person.

In his book “Hypnotic Realities,” he talks about how his view of clinical hypnosis is defined by how the therapist is able to observe each individual client and directly use those observations to continually develop a unique hypnotic approach with them. The client’s history, interests, and modes of thinking are utilized for the trance, as well as any observable responses they have in the moment. For example, a client with chronic pain may have the frustration they express over that pain incorporated into the trance. This is in deep contrast to hypnosis where the therapist comes in with any kind of “script” or formula to recite ahead of time.

It’s important to Erickson’s model that the therapist doesn’t know exactly what to anticipate, and it’s also important hypnotically that the same is true for the client. A common “Ericksonian” suggestion is, “You don’t have to know what is going to happen, and I don’t know either.” In order to develop the most effective approach with each patient, Erickson would enter into a session with some presumed knowledge, but ultimately learning -- not assuming -- how to best hypnotize each individual person.

We circle back to the phrase, “a relationship with Jewish text.” In my opinion, engaging with Torah is exactly this kind of intimacy. Torah is something we come into in order to poke and prod at it, to interact with it and to see how it interacts back at us. The teacher of my study group always cites a model where Torah itself is a participant in our partnered learning and group discussions. We ask it questions, we push its boundaries, we strive to glean something new and yet unseen. A line that may seem simple on the surface can reveal much more when we explore its context or put it into a different context entirely. 

This is easier for me to say as someone who is coming into learning Torah for the first time, but I am able to look ahead to when I will be fully familiar with the text and still be able to take this expanded definition of intimacy with it. Not coming to it without a sense of comfort, but still engaging with curiosity. MrDream teaches a model for hypnosis that is based on the idea of exploration -- exploring your partner no matter how long you have been with them. You are always coming to them as a different person, shaped by your ever-growing experiences and identity, and your partner changes as a human as well. I believe Torah is also dynamic in this way, as the context within which it exists -- and the way we interpret it -- is constantly shifting.

Ritual

I have been engaging with spiritual ritual on and off for as long as I’ve been learning hypnosis. The concept of magic has always been alluring to me -- not from a motivation to meet specific goals, but for something more difficult to pin down. I like that ritual, in an esoteric framework, is about looking at various metaphors between ingredients and actions; a candle representing an element of fire which may in turn represent intensity, or purity, or something else. Drawing meaningful connections between concepts like this is a skill I’ve developed in parallel with hypnosis, as well.

I was recently talking with a friend of mine who is also interested in esotericism -- we were sharing our frustrations with various books on magic and ritual. We wondered why so many sources would go on to teach prescriptivist formulas and associations, and not much else. Do this, and that will happen. This symbol represents that. My friend and I agreed that the ritual value of ingredients comes from how you personally assign meaning to them -- but why was everything always trying to teach us their meaning, as opposed to teaching us how to cultivate our own associations?

A week or so later, I happened to go to an excellent class that explored whether or not there was a place for smudging and smoke use in modern Jewish ritual. The teacher first took a careful, measured approach towards looking at indigenous smudging practices and the concept of appropriation. What followed was 30 minutes of history and text exploring examples of smoke in early Judaism, and then 30 minutes of a handful of interpretations of what “smoke” could mean and represent with relation to Jewish ideas -- directly practical to modern ritual. It was utterly excellent and immediately profound for me, as someone who has been yearning to blend my experience with esoteric ritual with my relationship with Judaism.

Observant readers will note that through this essay I speak passively about Judaism -- I am a patrilineal Jew, which for better or worse means that it is not a simple matter to say, “I am ‘fully’ (or ‘not’) Jewish.” (I am in the beginnings of working with a Conservative rabbi -- who affirms that I’m Jewish -- to make my status halachic [lawful], which is deeply exciting.) Opinions on that aside, a relevant piece of information is that the Jewish holiday we celebrated most consistently when I was growing up was Chanukah. While a lot of Jewish practice has been something I’ve been striving towards as an adult, Chanukah has always been “mine.” It was fast approaching after this class, and I felt motivated to use my newfound knowledge to make more ritual out of lighting the candles.

I was deeply surprised when all I did was light a stick of incense before saying the blessings over lighting the menorah, and my experience transformed into something intense. I smelled the incense and couldn’t help but think about what I’d learned about the Rambam’s commentary that incense in the time of the Temple was about making the Temple smell sweet to pray in after the burning of sacrifices. I thought about what I’d learned about the presence of God being smoke and clouds to the ancient Israelites. I thought about things I’d learned from other places -- hiddur mitzvah (the value of beautifying a practice), and a midrash (parable) about God loving the light and rituals we do in a very personal way simply because they are from us.

Esoteric ritual has often felt to me like exerting effort in making the associations of ingredients work for me. But this was effortless. I was doing something that was entirely my own, solidly founded by the broad and deep study I’d done, by my personal relationship with the concepts, by my identity.

In other words, the power behind this ritual came from knowledge, and the knowledge came from my intimacy with it. And that intimacy was not just with the study I had done -- it was also the process of being surprised in real time by what I was learning through the ritual itself.

Hypnosis gains “power,” in so much as we let ourselves use the term, through these same acts of intimacy towards knowledge. It operates directly based on various ingredients: how much we know about hypnosis theory itself, general psychology, the person we are working with, and ourselves. Hypnosis is a ritual -- it is setting aside special time to do something with a collection of ingredients that you have personal associated meanings with. If you can’t connect to those deeply enough, it won’t reach its full potency.

Knowledge, Perception, and Unconsciousness

One of my favorite concepts to teach in hypnosis is, “A change in perception equates to a change in reality.” This is derived from Erickson by MrDream, and it’s something he and I have had a lot of conversations about to refine. The implication of this is not something as trite as hypnosis having the power to change a person’s perceived reality. It is the concept that if you look at something from a different perspective, you gain various different capabilities.

For example, when you are feeling stuck in a situation and you think about what a close friend of yours would do if they were in your shoes, you gain the capability to see more options, to change your actual view of the reality of the problem and therefore change your actions towards it. In hypnosis, this could be the difference between simply telling someone to relax their legs versus another perspective of telling them to imagine what it would be like if their legs just started relaxing. It could be the idea that when a person does feel relaxation from a simple suggestion, their perception changes on what is happening -- they build more belief in hypnosis, and that belief in turn makes the next suggestions easier to buy into.

Erickson’s model of hypnosis is predicated on the idea that hypnosis itself matters, that hypnosis is a time within which someone’s reality changes. In his ideal hypnotic context, the subject feels like they no longer can expect things to behave as they usually do in their “waking” reality. They are thus opened to many different kinds of new experiences and capabilities. To Erickson, perception matters -- by itself, it’s a primary driving force behind literal change and response.

This ties back to our idea of intimacy -- just as I aim to approach my partners with this profound curiosity, just as I aim to approach Torah, I want to have this intimacy of the unexpected with trance itself. I want to allow myself to be surprised by hypnosis, by the things I don’t yet know about it even after more than a decade and thousands of hours of trance. But more than this, in an Ericksonian sense, simply changing my perspective to this motivation is one of the things that lets me get there.

I went through a guided study class about Shabbat (Judaism’s weekly sabbath of rest) with a partner, and so much of the class was in the abstract that it at times felt difficult for me to latch onto. We were learning all of this background context about a view of Shabbat where instead of spiritually striving and reaching on that day, you come in acting as though your spiritual work -- like your other work -- is “finished.”

In one session, we spent a chunk of time parsing through how we could interpret that as actionable. It felt like it just wasn’t clicking for me -- the midrashic texts weren’t offering enough for me to feel like I could make judgments on questions like, “Does this imply I shouldn’t meditate on Shabbat in this context?”

It wasn’t until I slept on it that I found a very simple piece of the puzzle: putting aside the questions of concrete actions, in an Ericksonian sense, the internal act of shifting my perspective would absolutely change the way I behaved and interacted with the day. It would become more indirect and unconscious -- instead of carefully analyzing my actions as I might with other Shabbat prohibitions on work, I could simply let myself act in ways that fit that perspective of “spiritually resting.”

The abstraction of the class made more sense -- perhaps it wasn’t trying to give us direct answers, but rather create a psychological environment for us that was well-suited to this more unconscious processing. Or rather, in addition to the sort of typical conscious halachic interpretation. If I allow myself an opinion here, I’d say that I care about halacha as actionable, but as always, I tend to care more about feelings and what’s internal.

This also lent credence to ways this class and the class on smoke and ritual changed my experiences. I was not given a set of actions to take, but rather a variety of perspectives that unconsciously made me think and behave differently. The concept of “knowledge is power” is both true and alluring in many different contexts, and yet had often fallen through for me in most ritualistic frameworks. The way that it succeeds, I believe, is when you develop a relationship with knowledge that actually changes your internal perspective and perceptions.

Limitation

With this we return to the concept of models and interpretations. It is serendipitous to be going through these experiences at a time where I am avidly working on my next book -- the thesis of which is that in order for us to progress as hypnotists, we must get comfortable moving fluidly between many differing definitions and frameworks (models) of what hypnosis is and how it works.

It is as the Ericksonian principle would say: If you take a perspective on hypnosis that boils down to “hypnosis is about relaxing the conscious mind,” you will do hypnosis according to that perspective. You will use relaxation-based techniques and make an effort to get someone to think “less consciously.” If you instead take a perspective that is “hypnosis operates based on activation of the conscious mind,” you may do hypnosis that causes someone to think and process in a more stimulating way.

Both and neither are true, and they can coexist. I believe that most models can be useful -- some more useful than others. But the best thing you can do is to not assume that one model is the most correct one -- instead, it is to develop the capacity to work within many at once even while being aware of their boundaries.

Jewish text, in my experience, provides models -- perspectives that themselves give guidance on how to understand things and act. I think especially about midrash and stories that are explicitly intended to fill in the gaps or give an alternate view on something. The question of, “Is there one correct way to do/see things” is more complicated here, but there are areas -- especially in those subtle shifts of mindset for ritual or interpreting text -- where the answer is still “no.”

My time so far in Jewish study supports this in a different way. There is a human element of collaboration and challenge. Learning as we do with a chevruta (study partner) adds another person to the relationship -- it is no longer just between you and the text. There is another human who you are building something with, and it is “intimate” according to our exploratory definition in an even clearer way.

The purpose of a “scene” inside of kink (a “session” of kink play) is to operate in a semi-limited framework -- limitations exist on who is involved, where it begins and ends, how partners communicate, and what themes/topics/activities are involved. These limitations -- though they may be quite broad -- are partially what allow for intense experiences. A scene needs to exist in a different “space” than our daily lives, and it needs to operate by different rules and involve different ingredients. Here, we also see overlaps with the definition of a “ritual.”

This doesn’t just facilitate intensity (and safety) -- it facilitates learning something new about your partner. By taking your relationship and putting it into a limited context, it allows you to observe it in a more careful way, where novel changes can be more obvious.

Studying with a chevruta is much like this. I have had study sessions where my chevruta and I are meeting for the first time and the only thing we are aware of sharing is our desire to dive into a piece of text. I’ve also had chevrutas where we know each other outside of study, and some of our time is schmoozing and catching up. But in all cases, we are limited in scope, and that limitation creates ease of access towards the common goal of expanding our knowledge and relationship with the text. We are focused; we are motivated. We are creating something that we can only create through who we are as individuals and what we are doing as avid learners.

This has surprised me at times with its tenderness and intensity. Building well-founded interpretations with someone is in and of itself very intimate -- not sensually, but humanly. It has given me something I have always wanted -- an intimacy that is pervasive not just in application of knowledge, but in the development of it. A feeling of sacredness and joy from being able to see so many different perspectives.

I long for this connection, this alchemy. Yes, all models are limited. But within those tight, restricting limits is the potential energy of creation.

“And I Must Learn”

There is an infamous story in the Talmud, in Berakhot 62a, where Rav Kahana hides under the bed of his friend Rav Abba. Rav Kahana hears Abba and his wife giggling and starting to have sex, and remarks out loud that Rav Abba is acting like someone who is famished. Rav Abba, mid-sex, understandably says, “Kahana, why the fuck are you under my bed listening to me fuck my wife?” Rav Kahana replies, “It is Torah, and I must learn.”

There was a version of this essay that began with this tale. I am enamored with the vast overlaps I can derive from its briefness: that intimacy can be studied sacredly both as a general concept and specifically with your partner; that we are obligated to learn ourselves, our partners, and general human desire; that there can be a thread of wholeness in every action of your life if you give every action sacred attention.

Even this, though, is a limited-context interpretation. The rabbis of the Talmud were certainly not sex-positive, especially not as we currently use the term. The surrounding triptych of conversations is similarly humorous but seems to comparatively describe sex as dirty or gross, and this bit of text cannot really exist separately from all of the places where there is halacha derived about sex that is about controlling women’s bodies or preventing queer and trans people from being able to live authentically.

But -- we are allowed to interpret like this. We are allowed to play with context and see what we discover.

For me, this is about finding the connections between my actions and my interests; parts of me that synthesize the whole. It is about developing intimacy with Torah, with my learning partners, with my romantic partners; with the people within the writings, with the authors, and with the readers.

Reading Torah is the same as hypnotizing someone is the same being intimate with someone is the same as doing a ritual. All things on a broad enough scale overlap this closely. There is value in this “zooming out” to a wide enough context to see the connections that exist -- just as there is value in celebrating the limitations that arise, models nestled alongside each other, when you “zoom in.”

We need both to be able to treat our learning -- all forms of it -- as something special.

#my writing #hypnosis #judaism #hypnokink

[1d1195]

Protection VIII

Read the rest here: Protection

Hi, this is kinda fast paced, idk. I'm def not confident about this section at all. I feel like it's got potential but I don't think I know what I'm doing. But I don't have a choice but to give it a shot anyway. I know I've mentioned before, but I like Grey's Anatomy and stupid cheesy movies with scenes like this.

Warnings: angst, blood, weapons, lots of sad sad stuff. I actually don't know how blood loss works or g*n shot wounds either but it's for the plot also this is very dramatized because the writing side of my brain is a drama queen. I don’t think it’s very accurate scientifically or logically so if you would be as so kind as to look at it “holistically” and try to just envision something super serious along these lines I would GRATEFULLY appreciate it. Also, I don't know how tech works. Sorry if it seems a bit awful

~5.9k words.

Thank you oh so much to @freedomfireflies for beta reading so I could feel a little better about actually posting this.

More than anything he wanted her to be there. Sitting on her bed reading or sleeping as she always was. He imagined her smug smile and her lilting voice murmuring “gotcha,” like this was the funniest prank.

Harry, for better or for worse, prided himself on being a hard worker. But for the last three days, and especially today, he didn’t care. He had spent the first half of that horrific day answering thousands of questions. The latter half was spent learning his new office job. When he got back to his apartment—a place he’d hardly spent any time in over the last two weeks—he finally let the tears and frustration course through him. He tried to call her again, but he received a message that his number had been blocked.

He called his mum and broke down.

So, he entered the building. It would be this way now. Day three of filing paperwork that he had spent so many hours writing for her. Now he was at the other end of it. Learning an office job when all he wanted was to head right to her flowery little place and beg her to explain. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, and promise her anything her heart wanted. He didn’t understand and he was floundering. How did he fix this? How was he supposed to breathe? After all that. After all the kisses, all the touches. All the touches he didn’t get and all the ones he deprived her of because it wasn’t protocol. What a stupid idiot.

Good luck, honey bun :( his mum texted. She texted it yesterday too and he wondered how long she would have to text it to him before the frowny face disappeared.

Harry was destined for another hundred meetings explaining that he had no idea she was feeling this way. Because of course, despite the fact he did know what she was feeling—because he felt it too—he felt so much loyalty to her. He didn’t know what her game was or why she was trying to sell it that it was one-sided, but despite how sad he was, she was brilliant. A biochemist in the making, of course, and if she had to break his heart, he believed (or wanted to believe) that she was doing the right thing.

Harry sat at his newly assigned desk and looked at the papers in front of him. Eventually, he would make her grovel for forgiveness. This was too much paperwork for him, and she had to have known how much he would have hated it. But he also thought that she would just look at him through her pretty eyelashes that drove him mad, smelling like flowers, and say sorry and that would be plenty.

There had to be an end to this. He was certain of it.

Niall wasn't allowed to tell him anything that he heard. Harry wasn't allowed to ask about her either (Niall, naturally a stickler for protocol, was following the rule--he didn't even know what she was up to. His job was to train Harry. Their supervisor saw to it that she was under his own surveillance.

"It feels m'being forced t'write with m'left hand after being right handed for m'whole life," he explained to Niall dejectedly. For five months his thoughts were consumed with the flowery girl he fell so incredibly hard for. Overnight she was just gone.

Harry began flipping through papers and tapping at his keyboard for all of four minutes when Niall suddenly dragged him out of his seat, down the hall, and back out the front door without a word. “Niall!” He ground out bitterly. He wasn’t in the mood. He wanted to kill his friend a bit for even recommending he be part of this. He wished he wasn’t her bodyguard. At least he wouldn’t be sour with heartache.

But honestly, Harry owed Niall his entire life for bringing him to her.

“She’s gone.”

Harry stared at him blankly. “Who?”

Niall slapped him across the face—not quite hard but enough to stun him and knock some sense into him. “She’s gone.”

Harry felt like this was a dream. His brain was floating distantly. “What are y’talking ‘bout?”

“There's an email on my phone, to my private email, from a random address, a random IP address. It’s her. She said DSS is compromised...that someone in the department wants her out of the picture and if I’m reading it, it means that she is not in her apartment regardless of what they say. The very same email is going to be sent in ninety minutes to everyone at DSS.”

Harry shook his head. “No, that’s a lie.”

“Harry,” Niall said. “It’s going to...blow everything up. You have to—”

“Niall, that’s ridiculous. She would—”

“She said to tell you the email is from Miss Wildflower.”

The words died in his throat. “No,” he shook his head. That wasn’t something he’d ever written down, wasn’t something he called her to anyone else. That was for him and her...and... “No...it’s not her. She’s fine,” he was in denial. How could he not be? The thought that something happened to her? This wasn’t just some long routed way of her anxiety taking over and ruining something before it started. It wasn’t getting Harry off her detail so they could spend Christmas together (something he had convinced himself of when he was crying to his mom the night before).

“No, Harry, and I'm gonna have to go make a scene and tell them but I’m giving you a head start because she's giving you a head start. You don’t have time to waste here. I’m telling them I sent you home. That you’re too distraught to work.”

Swallowing hard, he nodded. “Okay.”

“She didn’t want you to get hurt,” Niall said. “She was...scared.” Harry frowned and nodded even though he thought he was going to be sick. He winced as he thought it over. Put his hands on his knees as he took heaving breaths. “Harry,” Niall said gently. “You don’t have time—”

“Jus’ shut up, Niall,” he croaked. Niall was silent, biting the inside of his cheek. He couldn’t imagine the heartache and anguish his friend was feeling.

“At least...at least there was a reason, right?” Niall murmured.

If it meant her harm or kidnapping or...worse. No. It wasn’t worth it. It didn’t matter the reason. “Yeah...” he mumbled.

*

Since Harry was no longer on her detail, he assumed he wouldn’t be allowed into her apartment building—at least not through the main entrance.

Even if he was allowed in the main entrance, he had to work under the assumption that whatever compromised agents would be waiting out front for him. So he would need an alternate route.

He hurried up her fire escape and opened her bedroom window just as he knew she did the very first day he met her. He was suddenly grateful for her never listening to Harry about protocol. He was glad the window was unlocked. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

More than anything he wanted her to be there. Sitting on her bed reading or sleeping as she always was. He imagined her smug smile and her lilting voice murmuring “gotcha,” like this was the funniest prank.

Her pretty poinsettia and snowdrop apartment enveloped him like a hug. He wanted to bask in the smell of her pine-scented Christmas tree, the way her perfume made him feel at home, and just be there with her. But instead, he was trying hard to keep focus while he wanted nothing more than to break down and sob into the pillow that smelled like her shampoo.

He listened quietly and heard no one in the rest of the apartment. He searched for clues of any kind but there were none. No sign of a struggle. It was like she went with them willingly. Knowing her, she probably convinced them to let her walk on her own. But part of him believed she would have put up a fight. She had to have, right?

Her phone was on the counter. So there was no way to track her, he saw the tens of messages that came from him before he was blocked, a few from Niall, and several from the professor she would be working with next semester.

But it was Harry’s phone vibrating in his pocket was the one that pulled him from his thoughts.

Unknown: Video Attachment.

She was there. He could see her in the preview. Seeing her was like breathing again after being stuck under water for a hair too long. She was alive. She had memorized Harry’s number.

Harry thought memorizing his number was...

If it were possible to fall more in love with her, he did. It couldn't be possible because there simply wasn't room. He was already so in love with her. And it was just his phone number, after all. But he did. He fell so much harder. It felt like the marrow in his bones were aching for her touch.

Harry swallowed and sat on her sofa as he played it.

“Hi Dad...um...” she swallowed hard, like there was a lump in her throat. She looked okay. Her hair was in a braid, strands of it coming out and there was a redness to only one of her cheeks...like she had been slapped. Harry gripped his phone tightly to keep from throwing it. Her eyelashes, those pretty fluttery things that drove him nuts with desire for her, looked wet. His heart pounded. “You know,” she took a deep, shaky breath and she sucked her lip into her mouth.

“Hurry up,” he heard in the background. Wherever she was was nondescript. A construction site by the look of it. Nothing in the video sounded or looked like anything of use to finding her location. She shook her head quickly and tried again. Swallowed again.

“When Mom died, I thought the people that murdered her should have just...ended my life too. I know you know someone murdered her. No one believed me. Not one person. And I thought...I was the only person left in your life. You were supposed to love me and take care of me the way she always did. It killed me every single day that you didn’t—that you don't. It hurts so much that you hate me. Please. Just do what he asks; give him whatever...I don't want to die," she was being so brave. It was the way she held herself. How she seemed to stand straighter in the video. But Harry could hear the nervousness. Who wouldn't be nervous? It broke his heart that she was fighting and being so incredibly brave. "I’ll never bother you ever again. I’ll...go....I'll leave the country...I’ll just go."

“You have two hours,” and then he received a message from the same unknown number, the location of the park he went to when she twisted her ankle.

Harry only had a little under an hour because he knew DSS was going to be on their way soon—especially after Niall sent them on their way. If they received this message too, they would go through some inane plan that would decidedly not work--especially knowing that they were compromised. He was going to send the messages to Niall’s email from an rerouted IP address as soon as he watched the videos a few more times because if they were going to terrify her, Harry was going to help ruin their plan. They would wait for the park. It was what they did. It was the surest way. Protocol.

Harry would have given anything to see her roll her eyes at the word.

He watched the video again. And again. On the third time he was looking at the screen so closely, his eyes looking for some secret message hidden in the pixels. She looked okay, cozy. She was wearing the sweatshirt that Harry wore when he was soaked with rain—when the worst thing that happened to her was that stupid guy leaving her injured in a park. She didn’t look injured now, at least. His heart was aching. It had to be something. She wouldn’t have sent this to him for no reason--it was intended for her dad. It had to be a sign. Moreover, she said something about leaving the country--that had to be for Harry.

Harry felt like he would die if he didn’t figure it out on the next play through. It couldn’t be too hard. She may be a biochemist, but she couldn't have made it something ridiculous for him to solve. He wasn't a biochemist after all. That concert seemed like a lifetime ago. His agitation for losing her phone seemed stupid in comparison. He would tell her such as soon as he found her.

Now he was thinking about everything, every interaction they had as he stared at his phone, trying to will the hidden message to appear. It felt like it was a miracle she lost her phone at that concert. At least he told her she needed a failsafe at that point in time. Although he thought it would be for a guy that was too forward.

It was her hands.

They fidgeted throughout the entire video. He didn’t notice at first. She was nervous, her hands were tied together. Her fingers had to be going numb. He wished he had taught her how to break out of zip ties, maybe she could have escaped all on her own.

But that was when he noticed it. If it weren’t for him knowing the basics enough to know his own name when he saw it, he might not have paid any mind to the shape of her fist. Her fingers were shaking near the middle of her stomach. Her left hand was fidgeting wildly. But her right hand had a pattern, a fist, her pinky, her index and middle finger, another fist, her index finger.

Harry was glad her backpack was untouched. He grabbed one of her index cards and searched on his phone for the American Sign Language alphabet. He knew the first one was A because of his own name. Her pinky meant I. An R. Harry got it...it was her failsafe.

“Good girl,” he murmured to no one. Air. It took him four extra seconds to discern between S, M, N, E, A before he finally moved to the last two. He settled on T because the next letters were another A and G.

AirTag.

What would have an AirTag on her? He didn't have time to question it. He slid her computer out of her bag next, an index card falling from it.

His heart broke.

Harry— I Am SO sorry. I am so, so, so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I know you’re going to find me because...you’re you and you make me feel safe. And because...well... I adore you. So much. I tried so hard not to, and I tried so hard to push you away and... Please TRY to forgive me. I promise I did it with reason. I’m so sorry, Harry. SO sorry.

He didn’t have time to cry but he shoved the note in his pocket, wishing he told her he loved her at least once. Ever. He couldn’t pore over her words. Couldn’t guess what she was thinking or doing. There wasn’t time for him to guess how she knew he would find this note. Of course, she couldn’t just put all the answers on this index card because if she did, anyone could find it. Someone at DSS would have found it if she hadn’t perfectly planned for Niall to send him here beforehand. He had to find her faster and before that stupid, corrupt building got there.

Now he was tasked with her password.

Please be easy.

He clicked on the “forgot password" link. A helpful little reminder was there: Flower!number. It seemed daunting immediately. Especially because he was so distraught and worried. There were so many flowers she could have put. He tried Sunflower!14. Snowdrop!14. Peonies!14. How many times could he try? He was terrified it would lock him out. He took a deep breath and he only had moments to figure it out because he was certain people would be hurrying to her apartment from DSS soon.

Tilting his head back at the ceiling he almost felt embarrassed at how easy it seemed now.

Wildflower!14 did the trick.

With a sigh of relief, he searched AirTag on her computer. He opened the application.

She had no less than 50 AirTags. Forty-nine of which were in her apartment with Harry. All labeled with various names for her shoes.

Good girl. He thought. It was in her shoe. When would she be without shoes?

The only shoes that weren’t in her apartment were in a warehouse across the city. He scribbled the address on another index card and shoved it in his pocket alongside her perfect note telling him she loved him.

Harry could hear a commotion starting in the lobby. Sirens were ringing outside. They were coming up the stairs. He closed her laptop, slid it back into her backpack and hurried to her bedroom hoping everything look untouched. He quietly closed the window behind him as they entered her apartment. He descended the fire escape before they made it to her room.

If she could see him breaking protocol, he imagined she would laugh.

*

Harry parked a block away from the address. As soon as he entered the building, he hurried up two flights of stairs to where he heard talking. “It was a risk I had to take!” It was a man’s voice. Harry felt sick. “It was suspicious!” He shouted. “She said she would get more money. How was I supposed to know that?!”

“Get up,” he snapped.

She yelped and Harry thought he might die before he made it to her if he heard her getting hurt even slightly. If he pulled her hair or caused her to stub her toe, Harry would genuinely contemplate murdering him.

Harry pulled the gun from the holster around his ankle. He pointed it down toward the ground and waited by the entrance to the floor and peered so very briefly around the corner of the wall. He caught a glimpse of her beautiful being walking on her own. A gun pressed to her back. Harry swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

If something happened to her, Harry would never forgive himself.

"Listen," she said almost gently. Like she was going to reason with someone with a gun. She was going to get herself murdered and Harry couldn't stop her right now. "I know...I know you want money. I get that, honestly I do. Who doesn't, right?"

God Harry envied her serenity in a moment like this.

He wasn't actively putting bullets in her so she continued. "You're a smart guy. They wouldn't have picked you to do this if you weren't, but you...you have to realize you're their fall guy. This is a national security matter. The first sign of trouble they're going to say you kidnapped me, you hurt me. They will come out clean because they have to," she explained so rationally it would have been obvious to anyone with a pulse. "You don't have to take me there," she finally whimpered the true emotion she was feeling. Harry winced as if her pain was in his own body--he certainly felt like it was. "I can just go...I have a plan. I...or we can fake my death. It doesn't have to be this way," she promised. Like they were going to be a team.

But Harry knew what it was: all her rambling. It was a distraction, it was stalling.

Because she had no way of knowing if Harry made it in time to save her--but the one thing she did know? If she was brought to the park...it was all over.

Harry took a deep silent breath trying very hard to keep as calm as possible because he could not afford one second of hesitation or any kind of slip up. He turned the corner aiming his weapon toward the man holding her at gunpoint. “Harry!” She gasped and made three bold steps toward him; hands still bound up in front of her. The man behind her fired off a round right toward the concrete wall just feet away. Harry didn’t waver, holding his own gun steady in front of him as she yelped again, pausing her steps. It was long enough that he snagged her back before she got any closer to Harry.

The person behind her had his arm around the front of her shoulders. He pressed the cold metal to her temple. She wanted to scream or cry or something. Her hands clutched to the man’s forearm trying desperately to wriggle free. He was using her as a shield—the coward. Harry wanted to scream too. He held his gun aimed directly at his head from several meters away. But it was way too close of a shot for him to even think about taking it. Not with her right there. Not with a weapon held to her beautiful, perfect face.

It felt like all those times he watched guys lean too close to her at the bar amplified by ten thousand. It felt like the realization that stupid prick slipped something in her drink multiplied by a million. His lips were near her ear. Harry was so grateful she was alive and awake.

And maybe, most importantly to Harry, she looked pissed.

“He’s going to kill you,” she hissed at him, tears in her eyes. Bless her angry little heart.

That’s my girl. Harry thought. Harry was going to kill him. Especially if he harmed her in any capacity. He pressed the gun harder against her skin and she winced. Harry faltered for half a second.

“Are you okay?” He asked, sounding so much braver than he felt. He was a mess internally. It was a wonder his hands didn’t shake holding his weapon. He wanted to surrender himself—him for her, he would have taken her spot in a heartbeat. He would do anything to get her out of here.

“Right as rain,” the man said. Harry wondered if he should just take his shot right now. Damn it all because he wanted to kill him for thinking this was funny.

She nodded, just barely. Harry felt the most minor amount of relief.

She could try to run for him again. She was certain she could make it—she almost did. Harry would stop him before he even realized she managed to get away from him. A kick to the shin—or worse. The only thing that stopped her was the metal against her head. She was terrified that one wrong movement would set off a reflexive action that would take her life. Harry inched closer. Six measly feet away from her. She could nearly smell his fresh cologne probably applied habitually before he headed to work.

But six feet may as well have been six thousand miles.

“I can kill her, now,” he said. “Makes no difference to me. I get paid either way,” she inhaled sharply. She thought there would be a bruise from the circular barrel pressing to her skull.

She swallowed, staring at Harry. Perfect, wonderful Harry. If this was the last time her eyes were opened, at least he would be the last thing she saw. Harry had to focus on staying as calm as humanly possible. Even though the thrum of his pulse was like thunder in every inch of his body. She looked unharmed and said she was okay...other than her wrists tied together. “If you kill me, you’ll never get to my dad,” she reminded him. Harry was surprised to hear her talk about her dad. There had to be something more. But he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to get her out of here.

He eyed Harry as he inched even closer. “Keep moving, I’ll kill her,” he promised with a shrug. Harry stopped in his tracks, and she tried to pull her head from the gun. She was so brave, not even the tears in her eyes were stopping her from trying to get away.

Harry was going to give her anything she wanted. A thousand coffees, a million movies, a new set of pens and a fresh batch of index cards, or a hundred fake bouquets to decorate her place. Whatever she wanted.

“Harry,” she whispered breathlessly. He wanted to cry at the sound of worry in her voice.

“I know, love,” he murmured, trying to feign this wasn’t killing him.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked.

He wanted to wince, but he couldn’t blink. It felt like if he dropped his gaze for even a second it would be over. He would lose. He could not lose her. He didn’t respond to her. “Shut up,” the man snapped. She dropped her hands from his arm and Harry wondered how he didn’t drop his gun at the sight. It looked like she was giving up. It felt like they had to give up. What were they supposed to do? It was so quiet; even the cars outside the building seemed to be silent.

Harry and the unknown man stared at each other unmoving from their positions. It was almost like he was watching her in his peripheral vision he saw her fingers fidgeting just like they had in the video. A repetitive movement. Except this wasn’t quite sign language.

This was her thumb and index finger forming the shape of a gun and then her thumb pointing back toward herself shifting ever so slightly so her movement wouldn’t alert the man holding her hostage. Harry shook his head imperceptibly.

“Please,” she begged.

“I said, ‘shut up’,” he gripped her tighter, shaking her and Harry allowed himself to wince. He shook his head more obviously.

“Harry,” she whimpered.

“I’m going to put a bullet right in your mouth, shut. Up,” he pulled on the safety which clicked so loudly in her ear she thought it was the trigger on its own.

She released a horrific, terrified sob. “Harry, please,” she croaked.

Harry thought his heart was going to break. He nearly closed his eyes as he pulled his trigger right when she sobbed.

The sound of her cry marginally covered the ear-piercing ring of the weapon. She tore herself from the man’s grip impulsively. It was primal, the need to tend to her new wound. The sound and sight of Harry shooting at her had clearly done exactly as she wanted: completely distracted him. Trying to grab at the burning pain in her thigh with her wrists held together. She screamed so violently, so loud, Harry swore it was louder than the sound of the bullet.

As she dropped to the ground; Harry had a clear shot of the man and took it. It pierced directly through his forearm, so he dropped the gun. Harry placed another precise shot to the opposite shoulder rendering both his arms useless.

She was writhing in agony but somehow managed to reach for his weapon with her tied arms, and awkwardly shoved it out of his reach. Harry thought she was his hero. He was going to give her anything she wanted for as long as she lived.

Blood was pooling from both parties and Harry grabbed the man by his injured arm, nearly digging his thumb into the wound to make it worse. He groaned and yelled. He sounded worse than she did. He tried not to think about his beautiful angel bleeding with a wound he caused. All of the wounds he inflicted were well out of harm's way. They would repair eventually.

But Harry didn't need to be shot with a bullet to know it hurt. There was a reason people used the expression I need it like I need a hole in the head when they talked about something they definitely didn't want.

Harry thought honestly about snapping his neck. Instead, he shoved him behind the pole facing away from them, blood dripping in his path and wrapped his arms around the pole, handcuffed them together so he couldn’t escape with a set of zip ties he brought with himself--because Harry was not taking any risks when he found her. He had to be dealt with quickly, but he wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things.

With the few seconds it took Harry to rid himself of the nuisance now stuck behind the pole, moaning in agony until he could get DSS and the cops, (and everyone under the sun) here. It took a moment for Harry to realize he hadn’t heard her screams of pain as he did. She was lying on the ground, eyes closed, face paling, blood pooling around her lower half.

Oh fuck.

“Love?” He whispered brokenly. Harry dropped to his knees beside her. She was bleeding so much. Too much. The training he had from his EMT days was kicking in reflexively thank God. His movements were quick: yanking his belt off, violently pulling himself out of his coat and ripping the bottom part of his shirt off. Her jeans were soaked with her blood, seeping its way up her sweatshirt. He yanked her wrists free of the zip ties finally. I have to get her a new sweatshirt he thought uselessly.

Harry wasn’t nauseous about blood. But the thought of her dying because of blood loss made him feel so sick. Why did he listen to her? Why would he shoot her? Why, why, why!?

He was trying to do too many things at once. His right hand was holding pressure with the piece of his shirt against her wound. He pressed so hard; an insane amount of pressure—he thought he might break her already fragile leg, but it would be worth it if she would wake up. He nicked something. Something bad. Or she had a clotting problem. Something was amiss. This...this was one of the safest places he could have aimed. It had one of the highest recovery rates. All he had to do was follow her stupid fucking plan.

But it wasn't stupid. It was exactly what she wanted. It was what she expected. Harry just had no idea she had prepared for that.

If she could talk Harry down she would have. It wasn't his fault. He followed her plan even though she never explicitly told him. Even though he had no idea she didn't know her own anatomy all that well and accidentally lined up one of the arteries (but fortunately did miss her femoral artery--just barely).

His left hand dialed 911. He didn’t let the operator talk, he was spewing out the address, who he was, what the issue was, barely getting the details out in a messy rush. Harry barely waited a moment before he hung up and called Niall. He didn’t listen to anything he had to say at the other end of the line and repeated the same summary again, this time losing it the longer he talked, his voice coming out in a strangled cry and if it was anyone but Niall he would worry more about professionalism.

“Baby,” he croaked leaving the phone on, shaking her by the shoulder, he lifted her head out of the puddle of blood, her face and hair sticky with the substance. He slipped his jacket beneath her head, a cushion something to get her off the cold, bloody floor. “You gotta let me see those beautiful eyes...” he shook her head. “Love, please,” he begged giving her a squeeze. She moaned and her eyes fluttered behind the lids a bit. The slight relief he felt seemed like hope. “That’s good. Hey, hi, angel,” he cooed. Her eyes turned to little slits as she opened them so very barely. “Good job,” he praised. “Y’jus' gotta stay awake for like 10 more minutes, sweetheart. Okay? Ambulance is coming,” he promised. He continued working on her leg. He was wrapping his belt around her thigh, high around the top. He pulled it into a tight knot. She moaned at the feeling.

“Stop,” she whimpered reaching with her freed hand uselessly for his ministrations.

“I know, love, m’sorry,” he felt his voice dying in his throat. This was bad. So horrifically, bad. “Y’got a bit of a gash here, Miss Wildflower, jus’ like when y’were cooking,” he reminded her. “Remember?”

She didn’t respond and Harry found a piece of metal, like something from the construction that was left lying around, to slip in the knot he made. He twisted it causing an involuntary scream to rip from her throat. He winced at the sound of her agony.

“Harry please,” she begged, eyes dripping with tears. Her hands reached again for him to stop. “It hurts!”

“I know, m'love. M’sorry. Jus’ gotta...” he kept twisting and holding pressure on the wound. Her hands reached for it again, he grabbed both, she was too weak to do anything anyway, but he held them both against her side. “There,” he felt a pinch more relief seeing the gushing had stopped.

“S’cold,” she whispered after a moment of stillness. The burning seemed to stop. It was overshadowed by how cold she was.

Harry thought he might die if she died right in front of him. His heart was racing, the adrenaline was violently coursing through him. “I know beautiful, I know. Goddammit,” he hissed. “Niall, I need back up. Now!”

He pressed harder on her wound and looked at the pool of blood surrounding her. It was too much, too dark. “Ow, Harry! Please, stop! It hurts!” She whimpered.

“I know, honey, I know. I’m so sorry m’angel. I’m so sorry.” He could hear the sirens. “Jus’ another minute.”

She groaned for a few seconds before silence took over again. Harry pressed on her wound again. He was covered in her blood as well. She moaned again at the fiery pain. “M’sleepy,” she managed.

“I know, beautiful. I know; but y’can’t sleep yet. Not yet. I’ll let you sleep soon, I promise.”

More silence. “S’really cold.”

Harry wanted to cry. He sniffled and realized he already was. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”

“M’sorry I ran away,” she mumbled. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want her to know how mad he was even though she seemed close to dying. “I had...had to...get you away...they’d kill you. And then... I’d have no one…at least this way...” she trailed off.

“Kitten,” he said firmly, he swallowed back the tears. Squeezed her hands. “You are going t’get in an ambulance in thirty seconds and you are going t’live a long, beautiful life. Please jus’ stay awake for jus’ a few more minutes.”

Harry swore she smiled faintly. “...With you?”

“God, if s’what y’want. I'll stay forever, love. Jus’ stay awake, please,” he begged. She didn't respond and Harry began to panic. Where was the fucking ambulance? “Angel, Tell me the functional groups.”

“Hmm?”

“Please, love. Tell them t’me again.”

“Ketone. Carbonyl. Acyl…” she sighed.

“Describe aldehyde,” he croaked. “Niall! Where is it?! Please, baby,” she could feel his hand on her face, but she realized she couldn’t see him anymore. “Kitten, honey, please open your eyes.”

Was he crying?

She wanted to say she loved him out loud. Wanted to say she was sorry for everything one more time but unfortunately her tongue was suddenly too heavy to speak. She swore she heard Harry crying, shouting, and whispering he loved her right in her ear as she drifted off to sleep.

--

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[rollinouttahere-writes]

Shooting my shot asking for a Kaku x adult Lucky fic rather than headcannons this time (you don’t have to if you don’t want to)

Oh trust me, I want to!

I decided to make this a little what if scenario for if Kaku had been successful in running off with her after Enies Lobby

Not So Bad

3.4k words

warnings for yandere content and pregancy mentions (not for Lucky)

Life had taken many turns that you hadn’t been prepared for. 

It started with more tame things such as your parents throwing you out when you dropped out of college and the absolutely unhinged shit customers put you through at work. Then you went and got yourself sent to a whole different world, as one does, and after that your life appeared to be speedrunning batshit insane events.

This ultimately culminated in your current situation: Being abducted and forcibly married to one of the many people who had become obsessed with you since entering this bizarre world.

Waves crashed against the ship from outside, lightly jostling you and everyone else on board. Kaku’s arms instinctively tightened around you. The small bed you were both crammed into left no room for personal space, every inch of your body was squeezed against his so as to prevent either of you from falling off the bed at the slightest movement of the ship.

The soft fabric of his nightshirt pressed into your face, likely leaving an imprint in its wake. The steady rise and fall of his chest stuttered slightly from the disturbance of the particularly large wave hitting seconds before, but it evened out again. He’s such a light sleeper that you’re honestly surprised that wasn’t enough to wake him.

Quiet grumbling could be heard behind you as one of the other people you were bunking with complained about how rough the sea was. You could understand why she would be irritated by this. Her morning sickness had been bad enough already, the motion of the ship rocking as much as it was definitely didn’t help.

This particular situation was hardly anything new for you. Ever since Kaku had “eloped” with you after you failed to fight him off at Enies Lobby thanks to your clammy hands dropping your impact dial, you’d been on the run. It made sense, you suppose. You were a wanted pirate after taking part in the attack on Enies Lobby, and he was a former CP9 agent who not only ran but was also being blamed for the situation. It was rare for you two to stay on an island for more than a few weeks. If you stayed any longer you ran the risk of being tracked down by other assassins.

While Kaku’s distinct features made hiding a little more difficult than it needed to be, you lucked out by not having a photograph on your bounty poster. No one had been able to get a picture of you, so they had to settle for a drawing instead. It wasn’t very accurate, though you had to admit it looked much better than Sanji’s. You damn near pissed yourself from how hard you’d laughed after seeing his.

Kaku was outwardly optimistic about your circumstances, assuring you that the manhunt would calm down as the years went by. You’re not sure if he actually believed that or if he was just saying as much to try and comfort you. That was admittedly something he was good at. Lord knows he’d needed to do this more than a few times in your time together.

At first you had resented that tendency of his because he had been the primary cause of your stress. The audacity of him to try and get you to calm down after kidnapping you made you want to scream. Or when he would wildly misconstrue why you were upset. Like the time he thought you were having “pre-wedding jitters” because you’d been fighting him tooth and nail on the way to an extremely shady chapel, and didn’t ONCE consider that maybe you just didn’t want to marry him.

Your kicking and screaming had done nothing to stop it. The officiant didn’t care about your willingness, and Kaku was delusional enough to excuse your behavior as just being nerves or whatever. He’d gotten what he wanted, insisting that he wanted to “do this right”, and now he was your husband whether you liked it or not.

As time went on, your disdain for him was becoming less and less, and you didn’t know how to feel about it.

Sure, at first it was easy to dig your heels in and resist. The Straw Hats would be here any second to save you, you were sure of it. But they never showed. You tried to rationalize it. They didn’t know where you were. With Robin they knew exactly where she went and how to get there, it was easy to chase after her. With you, you had up and vanished without a trace. You’re not even sure they had enough to go off of to know that you’re with Kaku.

Jealousy was an ugly emotion, but that didn’t keep it from brewing within you. You hadn’t seen so much as a hint of the Straw Hats, and that led to you questioning if they were even trying to find you. Were you just deadweight that they were glad to be rid of? You tried to tell yourself that wasn’t true, but it became harder to convince yourself of that as you saw reports of the Straw Hats gaining new members.

Had they replaced you? That easily?

Surprisingly, Kaku had been the one to assure you that likely wasn’t the case. He pointed out how hard they fought to get you back when you were still in Water 7. While he definitely wasn’t a fan of theirs by any means, even he could admit that they cared for you. It was… confusing to hear him of all people defend the Straw Hats. 

The real tipping point came after you saw the paper announcing Ace’s death. That broke you.

For a solid month after that, you were inconsolable. There was nothing that anyone could do or say to ease the pain. After the crying had gone from a constant to only happening in random bursts, you had fallen into a deep depression. You wondered if there was something that you could have done to prevent this. Would you have been able to save Ace if you’d been there? The idea that his death was avoidable made you feel sick to your stomach.

All throughout this depressive episode, Kaku had been nothing but kind and patient. He’d been a shoulder to cry on, someone to ramble to about your time spent with Ace in Alabasta and how he was like the brother you never had. Kaku didn’t once get irritated with you over being upset, and he never criticized you for being useless when you were too depressed to get out of bed in the morning. It made him very hard to hate.

Then one night he brought home a kitten he’d found at the construction site he was working on temporarily, one of his many odd jobs he’d picked up. The poor thing was underweight and so filthy that you couldn’t even tell what color it was supposed to be. A rather lengthy bath in the sink had revealed him to be orange, which reminded you of Ace and made you cry again.

Kaku had encouraged you to keep him saying that having the little guy around might help you to feel better, and you saw no reason to argue. You’d always wanted a cat. The kitten was a total sweetheart. Very mischievous and dumb as a brick in true orange cat fashion, but undeniably loving. The idea to name him Ace came to you easily.

Having cat Ace around did wind up being a turning point in your mood. You couldn’t sulk in bed all day when a tiny kitten was raising hell in your room and demanding attention. It was nice having something to take care of.

Ace was presently snuggled up in the crook of your neck, thoroughly worn out from Ellie playing with him for hours on end during the day. Ellie was the daughter of the couple you were sharing a cabin with. The six year old had been ecstatic to see she was rooming with a kitty and had all but begged you to play with him, which you were fine with. Her mother, Clara, had simply been grateful to have her daughter occupied while she struggled with a combination of morning and motion sickness.

Due to both you and Kaku having a wanted status, you typically chose to stay in the cabin of whatever passenger ship you happened to be traveling on so as to minimize the chances of being recognized. This led to you getting to know Clara and Ellie quite well. Not her husband though, who you’re not sure you ever caught the name of.

Kaku had butted heads with him a couple of times over his behavior, starting with when you were boarding the ship and saw that he’d left Clara to haul on all of the luggage herself despite being very noticeably pregnant. Both of you were quick to help her, while Kaku made a jab at him for being a “ninnyhammer”. Honestly you think he was more mad about not knowing what that meant than being insulted.

None of you saw much of him after that. He’d spent the day socializing and drinking, only coming back to the cabin after everyone else had already gone to bed.

You’ve been awake since he came back. Partially because you’ve had a lot on your mind as of late, but mostly because you really needed to pee. You thought that it could wait until morning at first, but it had become clear that wasn’t going to be the case.

There was no use in trying to sneak out of the bed without waking up Kaku. With how closely pressed you two were, even a heavy sleeper would be awoken from the movement. The second you shifted yourself up onto one elbow, his eyes shot open.

“Is something wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep, but his eyes were alert.

“I need to go to the bathroom. Hold Ace so he doesn’t run out after me,” you pulled the kitten away from your neck and handed him over. Ace mewled in protest.

“Alright, will do,” Kaku murmured while holding the feline gently.

After slipping on your shoes and a housecoat over your pajamas, you quietly snuck out of the room. 

One of the downsides to being sent to a world that was in a time period before your own was that things were less advanced than you were used to. Unfortunately that applied to the bathrooms. In the absence of plumbing, the “toilets” were in cramped rooms at the front of the ship that essentially just had a hole in the floor hanging over the ocean below.

Admittedly, this ship’s toilets were bougie in comparison to some of the others you’ve been on. At least these afforded you some privacy, unlike a few of the others that simply had you out in the elements for anyone and everyone to see your bare ass.

You’re not sure you made it ten feet from the room when you could hear the door open and close again. Your eye twitched in annoyance. Where could Kaku possibly think you would go while on a ship in the middle of the ocean? You hadn’t tried to run in months after learning quickly that you had no hope of being able to get away from him, not with how athletic he was.

With a huff, you stop and look over your shoulder. Instead of seeing your paranoid husband, your eyes fell upon Ellie. She jogged over, nightgown bouncing with each step, “Are you going to the toilets? Can I come with you?”

“Oh, yeah of course,” you waited for her to close the gap before continuing.

Ellie reached up to grab your hand as you made your way down the dimly lit hall, “Thank you! I really needed to go but was too scared to go by myself, it’s so spooky in here at night.” That it was. The sparsely placed oil lamps did little to illuminate the halls, the moonlight shining in through the windows was doing more than they were. “And I didn’t want to ask mama since she doesn’t feel so good.”

“Aww, that was very considerate of you,” sadly she appeared to be more concerned for her mother’s well being than the woman’s husband was. It wasn’t surprising that she hadn’t even considered asking her father to go with her, you don’t think you’ve seen them speak to each other once.

She tugged on your hand and looked up at you expectantly, “Hey, can I play with Ace again tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not, he seems to be quite fond of you,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. Ellie squealed and walked with a skip in her step. 

Distantly, you wondered how Ace would feel about you naming a cat after him. He might be a little indignant about it at first, especially if you talked about how dumb the kitten was, but you think he would come around. Cat Ace is charming in his own right, he’d be able to win over human Ace. If… If he’d had the chance to. You shook your head. No, you weren’t going to let yourself spiral again tonight, and certainly not when you were escorting a child to the bathroom. 

After a somewhat long trek, the head finally came into view. Ellie let go of your hand and ran into one of the private rooms. She must have really had to go. You entered your room of choice with a decidedly calmer gait. It was very dark in there, with the only light coming from the slits in the wall letting in both fresh air and moonlight. 

Wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible, you got down to business. The choppy waters did not make balancing yourself particularly easy, but you managed. After washing your hands in a bowl of water that you were trying your hardest not to think too hard about the cleanliness of, you took a moment to look at yourself in the mirror.

Pushing back the partial bangs Kaku had given you to hide your scar- that he swore up and down he wasn’t bothered by, this was purely to hide your identity- you traced over the scar. It had long since healed over, but the memories associated with it felt fresh.

Again, your thoughts drifted to the Straw Hats. A few months ago, they had disappeared. No one knew where they were and there was talk of them having disbanded. You didn’t buy it, Luffy was far too determined to give up on his dream, and his crew was too loyal to leave him, but where did that leave you?

When they first left the public eye, you had thought it was done intentionally so they could come rescue you. It would be harder for Kaku to avoid them if he had no idea where they were. That never happened. It was really starting to feel like they had abandoned you. Makes sense, you suppose, you were quite the handful for them. What with all the people chasing after you and fighting them to get to you. It was probably nice to not have to worry about that anymore.

It hurt. A lot.

But not as much as you thought it would. Kaku has told you time and time again how much he loved you, and you did believe him. At first you thought he was just obsessed and nothing more, but as time went on and he went out of his way to try and make you happy, you found yourself doubting him less and less.

You wouldn’t say that you loved him, but you’re not sure how much longer that will be the case. He’d been successful in making you at least a little fond of him. You would willingly engage in conversations with him and honestly didn’t mind him holding you at night anymore. There have also been a few instances of you getting… carried away, but you didn’t want to think about that right now.

Were a few kind words and gentle touches really all it took to make you overlook the extremely dubious beginning of your relationship with him? Were you really that easy to win over? How pathetic.

Another rough jolt of the ship snapped you out of your thoughts. A dingy bathroom was hardly the kind of place you should be staying in any longer than necessary. The wooden door creaked loudly as you forced it open, making you wince. 

Ellie was standing on a bench beneath a large window, taking in the sight of the ocean at night. She flashed you a large grin and hopped down when you approached. The walk back to your shared room was filled with speculations about what the island you were heading to would be like. It was a welcomed distraction from your previous train of thought.

As you rounded the corner of the hallway your cabin resided in, you spotted a figure stationed outside of your room. Your pulse quickened, briefly panicking as you wondered who it was, but then he turned and his side profile gave away his identity immediately. Ah, it was just Kaku. Though you couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing out here.

He likely spotted both of you the second you entered the hall, and he spoke up once you got close enough to hear him. His eyes were focused on Ellie, “Your mother’s fretting over you, you should go in and let her know you’re alright.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you for walking with me, Lucky!” Ellie gave you a quick hug before scurrying into the room

It wasn’t until then that you noticed a disgruntled Ace in Kaku’s arms who was all but clawing at him to get to you. Naturally, you scooped him up and brought your dear pet to your chest, causing him to purr.

“Did something happen? Why was Clara so worked up?” You lightly stroked the kitten’s face, making him purr even harder.

“She didn’t realize her little ankle biter had slipped out of the room after you and got into a tizzy over where she had gone. She settled a bit after I said I saw her leave with you, but I figured she’d prefer to see Ellie in the room again.” Kaku sidled up to you, one of his hands found purchase on your shoulder and his head rested against your own. You allowed it, even leaning into him.

A comfortable silence blanketed you two as you lingered in the hall, swaying lightly with the current of the ocean.

“You do so well with children. Ellie adores you.” Was murmured into your ear.

Your breath hitched in your throat. You knew where he was going with that. Kaku had been open about his desire to have children since your encounter in Enies Lobby. Over the months that you’ve been together, he’d made several comments about it. From observations that you were good with kids when you did interact with them, to asking what kind of names you liked best. He wasn’t subtle, but he never pushed it when you changed the subject.

“I guess so? Ellie’s a good kid, it’s hard not to get along with her.” You honestly weren’t sure how you felt about the idea of having children of your own, you were hardly in the best state of mind to be thinking about such things.

Kaku hummed in agreement and held you to him just a little bit tighter. After a moment, he released you, “We should hit the hay, it’s late.” He didn’t wait for an answer before gently guiding you back to the room.

Slipping off your housecoat was slightly difficult to do while holding Ace, but he was too cute for you to want to put him down so you made it work. Kaku was already in the small bed and helped you climb in, keeping a firm grip on you so that you wouldn’t be thrown to the floor from a poorly timed wave. 

Yet again, you were squished against each other from the lack of space. A couple of months ago, you would have hated this. Now? It didn’t seem so awful.

Your face was buried in his chest as Ace squirmed around in an attempt to get himself comfortable. Kaku’s lips pressed against your forehead for a brief kiss and he mumbled out a quiet “sweet dreams” before fully settling into the bed.

Maybe loving him wouldn’t be so bad.

#lucky break #kaku one piece #kaku x reader #yandere one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece

[venti-venus]

baby driver - j. m x reader

summary: after a failed study session with dean forester, jess and y/n decide to get a little innocent payback.

𐌕Ꮤ: hating on dean forester, accurate gilmore girls banter and drama, not spellchecked, first jess fic yippie ! ¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

"Mariano," Y/N whined, stumbling into Luke's Diner. She dragged her feet across the floor and dramatically plopped down on one of the bar stools. " I feel like my face is about to fall off and I'm blaming it on you."

Jess rolled his eyes as he wiped down the counter, "Good morning to you too, Y/N. I get the feeling you didn't just come in here to complain."

"And you would be right!" Y/N smirked, "I'm here for the doughnuts. Chocolate, please." She jokingly batted her eyelashes before yawning. "Ugh, get me a coffee too."

"So, why are you up at eight o'clock in the morning," Jess poured her some coffee and handed it to her, along with the doughnuts. "You don't wake up until at least two. Special occasion?"

"Oh yeah, Dean Forester is real special. I'm supposed to meet up with him to go over our English assignment. I doubt he'll actually focus on the work though. I swear he's been so obsessed with Rory it's actually suffocating my last braincell."

Jess laughed at your comment, "You wish that was you or somethin'?"

Y/N threw a crumb of her doughnut at him and gagged, "As if! Dean doesn't even like Bowie, there's no chance him and I are gonna be anything more than friends."

"Very true," Jess smirked, "Any hater of David Bowie should be locked up and studied. I'm glad you're staying away from the freaks of the world, Y/N. Very proud."

"Yeah well, I better get going. Dean said he would pick me up from here and drive us to the lake so we can focus or something." Y/N sighed, "Wish me luck, Mario."

"Hey, do not call me that. Put some respect on a poor kids name, will ya?" He joked, "At least you get to ride around in his car. Pretty nice one if I do say so myself."

"Pretty car, pretty annoying boy." Y/N took her coffee and doughnuts and gave Jess one last smile before she headed out to wait for Dean and his car. Surely he wouldn't be too long..

"H-Hey, Jess," Y/N's shaky voice spoke into her phone, "Can you come pick me up? I'm at the lake and it's raining and Dean left an-"

"I'll be there in 10." Y/N could hear a door slam and a car start on the other side of the line. Jess hung up and Y/n waited as he drove to come get her.

The study session had gone alright, but it was what happened after that which led to Y/N now being stranded. She hid under what little over a close by oak tree had and waited until Jess pulled up.

“Get in.” Jess handed her a towel as Y/N got into his car. His knuckles grew white as he gripped the steering wheel, not saying anything else as he drove off.

“Thank you, Jess.” Y/N sniffled, “I could’ve walked but my house is too far with the rain and all.” She looked over to see the brunette focused on the road.

She decided to stay quiet as he drove her to her house, using the towel Jess gave her to dry off as best she could.

"The hell do you mean he kissed you?" Jess yelled from the living room, arms crossed on his chest. His eyebrows were so creased, they were practically conjoined. He was sitting down on the couch while Y/N was in the kitchen, trying to dry off and get water.

"I don't know! He told me he was finally dating Rory and everything was fine and then out of the blue," Y/N threw her hands up, "And then I freaked out because, hello, he just said he was with Rory!"

Jess huffed. "And then what happened?"

"He got mad at me for some stupid reason and yelled at me." Y/N got quieter, "I swear Dean makes no sense. One minute he's normal and the other he's... I'm sure there's some reference I could make but I can't think of one, but you get what I'm saying. He totally flipped."

Y/N opened her refrigerator, grabbing a bottle of water. "Oh, and then," She scoffed, "He had the audacity to tell me that he actually liked me the whole time. He was 'too scared' to tell me though because-. (because he thought I was dating you.)" Y/N paused and quietly mumbled, "That's not important." She frantically walked over to the living room and sat down next to Jess.

"Does he even like Rory? Or is he just leading her on now?" Jess was confused about the whole situation.

"Everyone likes Rory, Jess." Y/N rolled her eyes, "But I don't think he wants to get serious with her. I just can't believe he would do something like that to me."

"That tall freak has some serious paying up to do," Jess got up. "Go get changed into something dry. I have an idea."

Jess and Y/N got into Dean's Ford F-150, muffling their laughs as best as they could.

"Wait, you know how to drive, right?" Jess teased as he buckled his seatbelt.

Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing as she pulled out of Dean's driveway. Rory had picked him up earlier after Jess pulled a few strings, so his car was free and available for a little joy ride.

"I got my license last year, Jess. I'm practically Richard Petty." She pulled out of the driveway and turned on the radio.

"Okay, baby driver." Jess laughed as the two of them began to drive, happily using Dean's car for the night.

¸¸♬·¯·♪·¯·♫¸¸ ¸¸♫·¯·♪¸♩·¯·♬¸¸

#jess mariano #jess mariano x reader #jess mariano x y/n #jess mariano fluff #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano x you #milo ventimiglia #venti venus writes #venus village #gilmore girls x reader #gilmore girls

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

Happy Wednesday! I’m on spring break and blissfully alone at a cafe writing for a few hours this morning. The weather is just starting to turn nice (though its supposed to rain tomorrow) but I can feel spring coming properly, which makes me happy. I hope y’all are getting some nicer weather soon, too.

I’m plugging away on my new WIP. I previously mentioned I’m tentatively titling it Back and Back and Back. I also quite like Start at the End, though I’m not sure if that description will end up strictly accurate, so might not work. We shall see.

I’m going to go ahead and share the premise now (or rather, the inspiration) because why not? I was reading through @carryonprompts and found this one and quite liked the idea. I started daydreaming about it in earnest right away. This was the first thing I wrote:

Past

BAZ age 6, 2003

When I get home from school, Vera always makes me a snack. After that, I’m supposed to do my homework before I’m allowed to go outside and play. There’s always pages and pages of it, and it’s horrid, because it’s so easy, it makes me want to rip it to pieces, or hide it under my bed. And if I have to read one more book about Dick and Jane, I think I might scream. (I’ve read every one of the books in my Beatrix Potter collections. Doesn’t my teacher know that if I can read words like presently, I shouldn’t need to read these baby primers?)

Even though I could do this stuff in my sleep, it’s going to have to wait because today he is here.

Or at least, I think he is. I only saw a flash of red out beyond the trees, but that’s as good a sign as any. I don’t want to make him wait, because I don’t know how long he’ll have to visit today, so I have to plan my escape quite quickly.

I don’t imagine this holding too closely to the book/movie. I’m taking inspiration from parts I liked (and can remember 15 years later lol) but shaping this to be a Watford-era, canon divergent fic with some time traveling/soul mate/destiny elements. It feels very ambitious for me to try writing time travel because it hurts my brain to even consume time travel media sometimes 🤣 and I am much more of a pantser than a planner when I write. Then again, the prospect of pulling off this sort of challenge intrigues me. Wish me luck!

Tags/hello/hope you are well 😘

@fatalfangirl @whatevertheweather @thewholelemon @cutestkilla @moodandmist @mooncello @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @valeffelees @shrekgogurt @iamamythologicalcreature @youarenevertooold @brilla-brilla-estrellita @forabeatofadrum @j-nipper-95 @larkral @leithillustration @messofthejess @captain-aralias @nightimedreamersworld @wellbelesbian @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @theimpossibledemon @theearlgreymage @whogaveyoupermission @monbons @noblecorgi @emeryhall @ivelovedhimthroughworse @ileadacharmedlife @that-disabled-princess @blackberrysummerblog @prettygoododds @ic3-que3n @hushed-chorus @orange-peony @alexalexinii @angelsfalling16 @arthurkko @letraspal @supercutedinosaurs

#Seriously wish me luck #i think this is going to be hard #I know I will hit a wall at some point and need to brainstorm and bounce ideas off of someone #so if figuring out the intricacies of a time travel relationship with different knowledge/experience with each other than the other person #sounds like your jam please hit me up #I’m sweating just typing that and wondering if it even makes sense 💀😅 #snowbaz #baz pitch #simon snow #my writing #carry on fanfiction

[side-of-honey]

Welcome back.

So...hey! Man, how long has it been since the last Luck Swap post... anyways ^^; I know I ended off much farther along than this, buuut I... really don't like the old dream designs anymore, plus I basically completely skipped over all of what happens in headspace :"D Sooo I'm going to do some redesigns before going back to where we left off, and also try to better summarize the first little section! Sorry,,,

Anyways, this time I actually did the very first cutscene thingy, which I didn't before because I couldn't think of a good way to change "Everything is going to be okay",,, I think this works, though :)

Do note that I'm NOT going to be redrawing any of my old comics because...you can't make me :D They're mostly still accurate anyways...

BUN-BUN: Hop, hop. (This is where you belong.)

OVERGROWN BIKE - It's rusted over. You think the vines growing on it are kind of pretty.

STATIC TV - You switched on your TV. >CHANNEL SURF >WATCH CARTOONS >TURN IT OFF

RADIO - You put it on top of the TV, because it blends into the grass. Listen to what's playing? >Y/N

METAL BAT - A heavy metal bat. You tied a ribbon onto the handle, so it matches you.

(These are just to show the dialogue btw, don't actually try to pick options SKLFJSDKJ)

#also changed the jewel background thing to watercolors because. it looked bad idek why i thought it was a good idea #As you may notice all of okoru's emotions are tainted by anger :) #cw eyestrain #eyestrain #Luck Swap #OMORI #omori au

[theguyinthemathexamples]

been a long while since I've been back, so here's something before i disappear again ✌️

so here and now, i would like to introduce to you all,

The Levels Of Self Awareness in SAGAU

(aka, the ones I've seen so far)

Warning(s): Cursing(probs), possible misinformation?, not really accurate?, my opinions, my humour and experience, and more.

Not proofread, we die like Guizhong in the Archon War.

1. None. Just- Just none.

As the name suggests, none. Just your average game.

No, literally, there's nothing to worry about here.

No worrying about getting sucked in while you're sleeping or anything of the like.

Nothing strange happens (for now) while you're playing, nothing like that.

No extra items, no extra friendship exp, no extra anything.

It's best to savour it while you still can.

2. "Since when did i get that??"

This is when the "getting extra stuff" and/or "extra luck" happens.

Either your characters have been doing some offcam grinding themselves, or you've just been collecting stuff for a while now and haven't really looked into your bag other than to switch gadgets.

Normally, you probably just caught one crystalfly, and yea it shows that, but either 1. it shows you got multiple, or 2. you have a tiny bit/alot more crystalflies in ur bag the last time you checked.

Maybe that's what they want you to think, who knows.

You'd also probably get lucky with a pull or more - usually nothing more than ten or so.

Your characters would also glitch a lil. Things like the sudden cancelling of idle animations, not switching onto the character you want/need, accidental skill/burst activation, and more.

Though, those only happen on occasion. It's not common enough for you to notice and just interpret as misclicks, but also rare enough to set off a raised eyebrow or red flag inside of you.

Nothing happens out of the ordinary outside of your phone.

Apps like Youtube, Google, Chrome, Photos/Gallery, etc. aren't tampered with.

You're good ... As long as the characters don't break through the 636f6465, that is.

3. "Yo," - Kaeya, 2022

It's probably time to delete and redownload Genshin at this point.

You might see hints of you - i.e statues, your favorite color/thing appearing here and there, characters mentioning someone by "Their/His/Her Grace" or some other title, etc.

Your Gallery might be affected, a few photos of a character and/or a view from Genshin.

Getting extra stuff also (probably) gets more frequent

Either you get them through mail or it just gets sent to your storage/bag directly.

The character glitches also happen a lil more frequently.

Oh, you wanted [thing] but didn't have the chance to do so? Don't worry, we'll get it for you, Your Grace. Just occupy yourself with some other miscellaneous tasks and you'll have it in no time.

Your luck also increases a lil more.

The character you've wanted for some time now but didn't get the chance to get them before? Yep, you guessed it, you lost your 50/50 atleast 4 times now.

Lmao I'm kidding

But seriously, if it's what you've been wanting for some time now, you're at least bound for one or a few 50/50 losses (unless you're guaranteed)

It's also why you (probably) get that one unwanted 5* because you wanted to try your luck/build pity.

Jealousy runs in the family, as they say. It's almost unavoidable, really. (looks at my lost 50/50s)

Hey, don't blame them! They were just... excited that you wanted to even pull on their banner, y'know?

Level them up and ascend them to level 20. I dare you.

I mean hey, atleast you'll get a free acquiant fate after you ascended them.

It only takes 7 Hero's Wit, 1 Wanderer's Advice, and their ascension mats.

It's basically a win/win, is it not?

You get a free fate, they get strength. It's fair for everyone.

You don't even have to give them a new weapon or any artifacts! Just leveling them up will do the job, will it not?

4. Caught You Slippin'

Oh, and if the Barbatos statue at Mondstadt actually changed into you, it's best if you just, yk, just look at the first • on this #.

It's too late to turn back now.

This is the "isekai" part of SAGAU, aka, where most fics take place.

This might be a major jump from the previous #, but hey, i started making this at 5AM.

But besides that, what AU you end up is all based on chance.

I'm sure you get the gist of this #. If you don't, i don't blame you.

Remember that one machine in Albedo's cave? That big rectangle/oval one? You don't? Good cuz neither do i.

Either you got sucked in and woke up somewhere in Teyvat, or you woke up to a bunch of hot people staring at you.

This part of the post is very sensitive to change, so I can't really say much here.

Just know that if you manage to find yourself at this point, you probably don't have a chance in getting back to your normal life without getting atleast a tiny bit of trauma.

C/N: Yea, it's me Your broy, chips ahoy, Cake.

Didn't expect me to post, did you? Well, you probably did, but hey, i like imagining nonexistent things

Anyways, have this while u still can cause i'm going back to nap again

Oh wait right i just remembered i haven't done my commissions

Nevertheless, thank you for all of your patience.

Peace — ★

#fool's flour ° #scaled vanilla extracts ° #silver lined strawberries ♪ #stellar-borne cookies and cream ♪ #genshin impact #sagau #genshin impact sagau #what else can i tag #i got lazy at the end #sorry lol #still thinking about those times scara and alhaitham said smth that wasn't part of their voicelines #oh well #i made this instead of sleeping