#you want to feel sympathy? you want to feel sadness? you want to spread the love in your fucking heart thats part of all ppl?

[rubiehart]

🏵️; 𝐬𝐨𝐥 𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫 - send in any prompt from this list and a character and i’ll write a short blurb based around the prompt!

JJ Maybank with prompt 21 and 22 or 22 and 25 if possible 😋😋

i wanted to write both of these so bad… orgasm control is my thingg🙊 i might get around to writing the other because they’re both so good!!

prompt 22: orgasm control

prompt 25: cockwarming

you’re balancing two hands on jj’s toned chest, rocking slowly on his cock, squeezing your eyes shut as you try not to focus on the feeling.

he smirks with his hands rested behind head, watching as you struggle to follow his instructions, tapping your thigh lightly when he sees your face scrunch up like you’re close, reminding you.

“no cummin’ mama. y’know the rules.” he nods and you open your eyes to look at him directly, sad desperate eyes reflecting in his own and he fake pouts.

“nah ah. no poutin. you got this baby.” he encourages, his tone not matching his words, only making it harder as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten again, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as you whine.

jj notices your struggle and tuts quietly. “hold it. ‘m not kiddin’.” your legs shake as you approach your high, the desperation for it higher than ever after being stopped by jj well over ten times that night. “please…” you whimper, but it’s no use because you’re cumming all over his cock a second later, the pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave as you whine out, digging your nails into his chest.

he watches with hard eyes and glinting teeth as the white runs down his shaft, he doesn’t give you time to react before he’s flipping you over, strong arms caging you in, keeping your legs spread as he grins, but his eyes aren’t kind. “nah don’t give me that look, i got no sympathy.” he says through clenched teeth before thrusting harshly back into you, digging your nails into his shoulders as you cry out. “shh.. you just let me do the work, ‘kay? since you can’t follow one fuckin’ rule.”

#rubie’s 1k follower celebration! ₊˚⊹ᰔ #🏵️; sol de sur ⋆.˚ #jj maybank blurbs #anon ꨄ︎* #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x reader #jj obx #jj maybank blurb #outer banks #jj x reader #obx #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank obx #jj maybank outer banks #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank prompt

[myluvrrhea]

Hi. I hope you are having a good day or night. I would like to request a Rhea Ripley X fem!reader where it's Rhea and Readers wedding day and Reader is panicking and won't listen to anyone and ends up having a little panic attack and requests to talk to Rhea but the bridesmaids ( Liv Morgan and Bianca Belair if possible ) try to talk to her and calm her down but Reader starts crying and begging for someone to get Rhea and once everyone leaves, Reader closes and locks the door before sitting behind it and crying and Rhea gets the word about Reader and starts getting concerned and runs to the Brides room but ends up talking to Reader thro the door ( Fluff and Love all around ❤️ ) If Not That'll be completely understand. Thanks you. Peace and Love

Pink Matter / Like A Tattoo

Pairings - Rhea Ripley x Fem!Reader

Word count - 0.7k

Warnings - Crying, mentions of anxiety, sort of a panic attack, fluff at the end!!

PROOFREAD :)

You looked in the mirror, seeing your just done makeup. Completely ruined. 

Mascara was running down your cheeks. You were supposed to be excited. After all, it was your wedding day. But you felt the dread haunting you as you thought about it.

You felt panic rise as the door of your bathroom opened. You couldn’t let anyone see you like this. Not on your wedding day. You quickly tried wiping the running mascara off with the back of your hands. 

“You guys have to leave— you cant see me like this.” You spoke in a shaky tone.

But Liv, and Bianca had already saw you. They sat calmly next to you. The worry spreading on their faces. 

“my love whats wrong?” Liv was quick to comfort you, while Bianca rubbed you back. Bianca’s face read sympathy and confusion.

You felt your breath hitch as you tried answering. You felt panic as your breathing became more hitched. 

Bianca’s arm wrapped around your waist as she tried lifting you up. Liv soon getting the memo and doing the same.

“Come here lets get you fixed up-“ Liv was cut short when you shook both of them off. A look of sadness on your face.

Liv and Bianca exchanged worried looks as they tried to find out what made you feel this way. 

“R..Rhea.” You said in a low tone. You felt as if you were loosing oxygen.

Liv and Bianca knew what that meant. Liv leapt up from the bathroom floor as Bianca stayed, rubbing your arm up and down to sooth you. Hoping to lessen the anxiety you felt.

A few minutes later, Liv came back into the room. A water bottle in hand. 

“lets just relax. Here.” Liv gave you the water bottle as she looked at you.

You turned away from her as more tears flooded your eyes. 

“No I cant.. please I-I J..ust- I-I need Rhea please.” You felt the anxiety run through your veins as you spoke.

“Please.” You begged once more.

“Don’t worry, shes on her way.” Bianca whispered as she rested her head on your shoulder.

Liv gave Bianca a look.

“Look I know she must’ve heard, I mean its her wife.” Liv rolled her eyes while shaking her head

as Bianca spoke.

You felt your hands shake as your breathing hitched.

“Honey are you ok-“ Liv was cut off when you spoke.

“N-No im not okay just leave.” You replied before Liv could continue.

Liv and Bianca got up, panicking they began to leave the room. They gave you sympathetic glance as they did.

As soon as the door closed , you leaped up, walking into the bedroom and locking the door. 

You sat on the bed, feeling the tears pour onto your blush painted cheeks.

Your breathing was rapid and so was your heart.

Your hands shook as you heard a knock on the door.

“Y/N, baby its me.” I heard Rhea talk to me through the door.

I didn’t want her to see me like this. She couldn’t. I looked a mess my makeup and mascara smeared. 

“I-I cant let you in.” I replied. I wanted her to be in here with me. I did. But I couldn’t bring myself to open the door. 

“Baby please, I need to know whats wrong. I hate seeing and heating how you’re feeling right now.” She answered me with a soft voice from what I could hear through the door.

I slowly got up. Stumbling on my way to the door, I found myself unlocking the lock. As soon as Rhea hears the door unlock, she couldn’t have opened it faster.

I saw Rhea gaze at me and seeing my current state, she felt a pang of heartbreak. She hated seeing her girl like this. Not because it was their wedding day. No. But because of how much she cares and loves you.

Rhea enveloped you into a sweet embrace. Leading you to the bed as you two sat down together. 

“Tell me whats wrong love.” Rhea whispered to you. A soft hand laying on your thigh. God you loved hearing her voice

You explained to her what had caused your outburst and change of mood. She sat there next to you, a comforting hand rubbing your arm. In those last minutes, you felt happy that this was the woman you would be marrying. And you knew nothing could break you two apart.

A/N 💬 - Im sorry this is so late lmaoo writers block has been kicking my ass :/ But anyways this is proofread and if i made any mistakes please tell me because I honestly cant handle the embarrassment.

#rhea ripley imagine #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley wwe #rhea ripley x you #rhea ripley fanfic

[fan-goddess]

The decay of marital flesh

Authors Note: This has taken months to complete, and I am so happy that people have taken time to ask me about this and have wanted to have a part two of my original oneshot that I didn’t know would get so popular. So here’s the depressive thing that took me months to compete cause I needed to be in an angsty mood to write. Here’s my blood and angst

Summary: A part two of this piece here. This is the depressing version of it and the other happy part will be linked to this part here.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of f oral, self harm, blood, kinslaying, cheating on partner (I’ve probably no doubt missed warnings so if you see any you think I should add then let me know!)

Taglist: @ietss, @papichulo120627, @rorawinters, @introverbatim, @alicentswife, @brie-annwyl, @victoriagaunt, @kyla44, @pax-2735, @omgbcat @bellameshipper, @coolsiaisaqueenstuff, @snh96, @devils-blackrose, @blue-serendipity, @dahlias-and-marigolds, @glame, @jennifer0305, @humanpurposes, @valeskafics, @aemondwhoresworld @leiakim99

Whenever you slept, somehow the weight of the letter always found a way to haunt you. Whenever your hand managed to sweep under and made direct contact with the paper, it practically burned to the touch with no explanation how.

Klarissa had soon became one of your trusted, friends? She would come into your chambers to place your food in the morn and look at you intently and with questions she herself knew would remain unanswered. You never spoke to her again of the contents of the original letter, nor did she ever thankfully attempt to ever bring it up. It was thing about her you found yourself grateful for.

Though it seemed Klarissas silence on the topic may soon be broken. As recently, more letters, similar to the original, were beginning to make themselves known to you.

Though this time, you cannot bring yourself to read them. You can only stare at them while they burn into nothing in your fireplace. You can only watch as whatever words and meaning they once possessed become ash and soot. Maybe they were letters asking for forgiveness? Or asking for a conference where he begged for you to not spill his blood just as you instructed him that you would? Either way, you held firm belief that nothing of that sort would be happening.

Not while Aemond continued to breathe, and to live.

Aemond does not believe that you are reading any of his letters any more. The maid who had given to you his first letter, whose eyes once held fear of his position, now hold only sympathy and sadness. She doesn’t need to say what he had been fearing. It’s written plain and clearly all over her face.

Still, he can’t help but wish to cry at the realisation, even though he knew it would happen some time or later. An act he does not even think he’s done since he was robbed of his eye. Yet his sudden loss of you, the one person who he should have protected and been with, brings to him more emotion throughout his entire body than he’s felt in his entire life. Even when his sorrow begins to spread through out him, throughout his soul, the tears do not fall. He cannot dare let them. He cannot appear weak in front of the court. He cannot dare appear to be weak in front of you.

His chambers seem all too empty when he enters them. The bed appears stiff and uninviting. The books appear meaningless and empty. Even the fire seems too cold. Even when he begins edging closer and closer to the flames until he’s practically face to face with them.

“Aemond, what are you doing?!” His mothers frantic voice breaks him from his trance before he could fully put his arm in the fire. Only hearing the sudden frantic sound of his mother’s voice does he begin feeling the heat of the flames against his skin. It’s an addictive feeling, as for the first time in months he feels alive. It feels like your fiery touch is caressing him again.

“It does not matter mother… why are you here?” Aemond curtly says, begrudgingly stepping away from the flames to look at her with a soulless eye.

“Aemond, my son, I’m afraid that the court are beginning to talk. They question your marriage, they question your-“

“I do not care about what the people question mother!” Aemond shouts. Raw emotion and anger overflowing from his skin in waves as he stalks to his mother and grips her arms roughly in emphasis of his frustration. He can feel his unkempt nails digging into her arms, and he can even see the slight fear that slowly envelopes her. Yet still, he does not relent on his hold of her, even when she tries to escape from him. “The people do not know how it is I have suffered! How much my wife has suffered! I will not have those insufferable cunts dictating things about my own marriage!”

His nails unknowingly leave small dents in his mother’s arms. His nails which have grown long from neglect begin to draw into her skin so deeply that even with the clothing between the two, he nearly manages draws blood. It’s not even until she begins to wince and voice her pain does Aemond notice what he’s doing to her. What he’s doing to his own mother.

“M-mother I-“

“Save it Aemond. I know you are mourning in your own way. I know that your wife is mourning. She is mourning my son because it was you who betrayed the scared vows the two of you spoke together, and insisted that you drew blood for. It is well within her right to burst down these doors and draw that same blood from you with her own blade. I will not let you drag that girl down with you my son, just because you wish to cling to a long rotted away life that you yourself threw away, all for a fucking bastard wet nurse belonging to house strong!”

Aemond does not move when his mother shouts as him. He does not even blink when his mother’s passionate anger leaves small spit trails on his face. For everything she just said is true. It was him who broke the scared marital bond between him and you. For that, he should suffer no less than a thousand cuts.

Aemonds single eye goes back to the fire where he had sat earlier, and goes to sit there once more. Once again, he does not truly feel the heat it should be providing him. He adds a couple loose logs in the fire, prodding them around slightly with an iron poker.

Aemond drops it though when a log jolts suddenly and startles him, and hisses when the red hot poker makes contact with his upper thigh, burning him. Though he cannot deny the slight satisfaction it brings him to feel the pain flare through his clothes. So he strips himself till he is only in his underclothes, and he does it again, and again. Hissing under his breath each time it makes contact with the pale skin. Maybe this is how he will get closer to you? How he will successfully manage to feel the pain that you felt when you had to push the physical manifestation of his betrayal curse you? He knows it is unlike anything he could ever truly experience, but he has to try. For you, and for the baby he will never meet.

When you begin burning the next letter in the fire, adjusting it slightly with the poker hanging on the side of the fireplace, you can hear an unknown person entering the room with an audible creak coming from the direction of the door. Klarissa had slyly mentioned a few days previous how it was like that due to your infrequent comings and goings. If you didn’t know her name and respect her slightly, you probably would’ve had her relocated immediately for such cheek.

“I think my brother takes great time and thought into writing those letters princess.” A distinctive voice and nickname causes a rare smile to form, still looking at the fire before you.

“Good. Then maybe he’ll learn to be sorry and he’ll learn what my pain was like.” Your voice is surprisingly cold, even with such a warm smile on your lips. It even surprises yourself slightly.

“Well, as much as I do appreciate your determination for damning my brother, I don’t think he’ll share that same sentiment. Do you even read them? Or do you just immediately condemn them to ash? Because I’d hate to think some poor soul like my mother writes a letter to you only to have it thrown to the flames…”

“I’m not that overcome with anger, my prince. I do look at the handwriting of the letters before I, as you so plainly put it, condemn them to ash.” It’s almost annoying how easy it is for Aegon to make you smile. He’s become the light to shine you through your dark ages. A friend amongst the snakes and the thorns that weave and poison the court, looking only in ways to further their power.

“How many times have I told you sweet princess to call me Aegon? I think after everything we’ve done and been through together, we’d have been properly acquainted with each others company. As much as my little brother utterly detests the very idea of it.” Aegon now sits beside you at the fire, his everything already making your tensed frame ease into a more calm and relaxed one. He does not make any move to stop you from making sure the letter is properly burned into nothingness. An act you appreciate immensely.

“My brother, was a fool to believe he needed someone else to comfort him...”

The quick comment is also quickly followed by a deathly sort of silence in the room. The only thing being able to penetrate it being the comforting sound of the crackling flames.

Though not a few minutes after, from the corner of your eye, you can spot Aegons hand slowly and cautiously placing itself on your arm, drawing your attention to him as you cautiously drop the poker and turn to him. His face looks like the one of a deer when it’s caught in a trap, fear and panic. Though by the way he had approached you, it was as if he was trying to approach an unpredictable creature from the forest. A beast.

“Can I be so bold princess, as to say something to you?” His voice is practically one of a whisper. So meek that you didn’t know if you had heard him correctly the first time.

“Of course Aegon? You are my closest confidant.” Your words though, supposed to be ones of comfort, makes Aegons lips turn in a slight grimace. Yet still, he wets his lips before speaking.

“You… are everything any man I think could ever need in a wide. Which is why i am so disappointed in him. Why take that bastard into his bed, when he could have had you…” Aegon then cautiously leads his head forward and captures your open mouth with his own.

You cannot move. You cannot think. You cannot say anything to stop what is going on in that moment. There is only one thing that races specifically through your head however. One question that stands out from the rest.

Do you even want Aegon, your husbands brother, to stop?

In your confusion, you find yourself unable to move a muscle. Only it seems Aegon mistakes your lack of action and your confusion as a direct answer. Since his once shy hands move with a surprising confidence from your arm, to delicately cupping at your cheek and your head.

You cannot deny that the kiss did not leave a warm feeling erupting in your chest, and a fluttering sensation to churn in your heart. Yet there is one other thing you can think off while this is happening. You can only ponder on how strange it truly feels to kiss another man other than your husband. How strange it is to betray your marriage like he had done.

When Aegon finally breaks away from you, you can see that his eyes have grown dark with presumably desire. Yet unlike other men, he makes no move to direct you to the nearest bed like you would expect him to do. Instead, it looks as if his eyes have softened as they look into your own. A strange kind of peace drifting over him that you’d never really seen on him, nor even on another person before.

“Why did you do that…” You mutter, watching the way the flames make his skin look almost golden in the light.

His eyes though still hold that same strange look of softness, and his hand begin to stroke at your cheek with a strange type of fondness.

“Because I’ve been wanting to do it for quite some time now.”

It’s so simple. Spoken so calmly with a careless shrug, that it’s almost as if it was the easiest thing Aegons ever said in his life, and yet it causes an immediate feeling of panic and terror to erupt deep within your chest.

Your head moves your body in such a hurry that you had almost toppled over, if Aegon had not clutched at you so quickly to keep you steady. Yet at the feeling of his practically burning hands on your bare skin you push away from him.

Your head races with the discovery of Aegons… desires? Feelings even? Whatever they are, they’re something you never would’ve known about if not for Aemonds betrayal to his vows.

You know you should be angry at Aegon for what he has done. Angry at yourself even for not immediately pushing him off of you, a still married woman. And yet, when he kissed you, you felt more alive and happy then you’ve felt since Aemonds betrayal.

Even as you pace the room, Aegons keen eyes watch you with concern and slight anticipation at your next move. Like a dog always waiting for it’s masters command. He doesn’t move from the spot he originally sat in, only turning on his and trailing after your pacing with his eyes.

“I don’t know if I could ever love you-“

“You do not have to love me!” At the confession, Aegon is suddenly standing before you, your hands clasped tightly in his. Almost too tightly. As if he was grasping a delicate object he was too afraid would collapse and smash into a thousand pieces. The issue with that concern though, is that you’ve already been broken into thousands of tiny pieces and put back together again. In the end, there’s nothing left for him to break that’s not already been broken before. “All you need to do, my sweet princess, is let me in…”

This time, you do not break away so suddenly from Aegon when he kisses you again. Instead, you tightly grip at his warm fire like flesh in your fingers, and allow for his body to envelope you in senses you thought would never be awoken again.

That night, you felt the crash of everything you have ever been feeling, and everyone that’s made you feel that pain hit you all at once. That night, the hurting finally stopped for a time, and was replaced with only pleasure.

Aemond feels tired, exhausted, and drained, all in one. The words that he attempts to write to you blur all into one as his head swims with an ache that he has no idea whether is due to his deformity or due to his lack of sleep and self care. Either way, it’s in the way, and if Aemond could, he would rip it from his head so he could be done with it all.

He’s seen glimpses and heard plenty of tales of Aegon coming and going from your chambers. Seemingly, a strange bond has formed between the two of you, as before his time at Harrenhal, you’d never spoken to him. Yet now, he hears whispers of his brother leaving your presence and your chambers nearly every day.

Now he not only is jealous of his brothers soon to be crown. Now, he must bear witness and be forced to sit and wallow in his jealousy of Aegons access to your touch and your voice. Of Aegons access to his wife.

The letter in front of him, his unknown number attempt at reconciliation, is half written. The quill in his hand half poised to write as it drips dark raven ink onto the page and bleeds onto the dark oak desk.

Maybe he should write it with his own blood? Slice his palm and let it drip into a cup, before dipping his quill into it and writing his heartbreak with it. If he shows you how much he’s willing to bleed for you, maybe you’ll finally be willing to read his words and allow him to see you again…

There’s now a cramp in his hand from where he’s paused himself, and yet he strangely relishes in the onslaught of dull pain being given to him by his hand and head.

Maybe it’s a sign from the gods that he should stop himself? For he betrayed both the maiden and the mother when he laid with that fucking witch from Harrenhal, and it feels as if he should be praying nightly to the father for him to be brought to justice for you.

However now, with the considerable amount of time that he is being forced to spend away from you and your arms, he feels as though he should pray to the Stranger, late at night, when the moon is high and full. He should pray to him to slice his head from his shoulders and place him away from his misery forever more.

Though with his Targaryen heritage, there is no doubt that they have been waiting for an opportunity like this to pluck him and his family from their very roots for their many sins…

It has been a few months since you, ‘let Aegon in’, as he’d so put it. Though if you were to be honest with yourself, you’ve never felt as calm of character, as you were when you were with Aegon.

Still, you must admit, that whenever his head of short and unkempt silver hair is laid in your lap, facing away from you, your mind begins to wander of other things. You end up always thinking of his hair being twice as long, and his body being twice as lean.

You concluded that the gods must be punishing you for your sins. For practically abandoning your husband for a man of his own blood and partaking in pleasures of the flesh with him. But if this was how the gods had decided to punish you, how were they punishing Aemond…

“It is alright my love, we do not need to do it again until you are willing.” Aegon had said whilst stroking the bare skin of your arm with a distinguishable fondness.

You hadn’t the strength to tell him that the reason why you could not bring yourself to lay with him again is because the memory of Aemond still lives on in you forever. The ones that used to make you smile in fondness, but now make you wish to tear out his other eye with your bare hands and have his blood drip from your fingernails.

Aemonds memory that constantly lies within you is now a plague. A plague of constant mourning and sadness. A plague that is never ending and never relenting.

The memory of him still lives on months later, where for the first time ever, you leave your room dressed properly and looking like a true lady of the court. Aegon stands by your side in what you believe in his eyes is for your protection. But why would you need protection when your heart has been broken and stitched back together carelessly two times already?

Though as Aegons tries to murmur what your sure is meant to be encouraging murmurs of affection in your ear, your ears prick up to the sound of a familiar sound of footsteps, and you look up and connect eyes with your husband.

Your feet stop where they stand, and Aegons hands clench firmly against your own as he continues murmuring some kind of unknown gibberish in your ear. But you ignore him and look only at your husband. Who in turn, stares only at Aegons hands that are intwined in your own. You can see even from where you are standing, the way his brows furrow in annoyance at the sight, and somehow, you can feel your heart break for the third time in your lifetime as Aemond swiftly walks away without sparing you another glance.

You’re here. You’re walking close as can be with his brother and you’re standing in front of him looking at him with shocked doe like eyes.

The anger that blooms in his chest is nothing like the anger he felt when he killed Luke. It’s nothing similar to the anger he felt when he faced the injustice of his father when he was robbed of his eye. This is a new type of anger. It’s an obsession. A new type of injustice that only the feeling of blood on his skin could possibly have the power to diminish. But not your blood. Never your blood. No. Aemond craves Aegons blood on his blade.

He doesn’t even realise that he walked away from you until he looks around and realises he’s in his chambers, and his eye stares at the half written letter that still pathetically lays on his desk. An old pot of ink and a ruffled quill still waiting for him to pick up again.

His rage that still boils like a dragons fire within him feels no bounds as he tempts himself into ripping the letter. Into grabbing his dagger tucked away in his belt and stalking his way through the passages to Aegons chambers, where he’d wait till the sun goes down to strike him when he least expects it, and grin as Aegons chokes on his blood with fear and betrayal in his eyes. Watching with glee as Aegon dies for his crime. Trying to take what rightfully belongs to him.

But then, Aemond properly begins to think. You seemed to be close to be brother, if the closeness Aegon held you and the way he so closely whispered into your ears meant anything. If he killed his brother, it would only mean that he killed another one of the people you cared about. And Aemond refused to give you another reason for you to be scornful of him.

Aemond gives in though and rips the letter on the desk, and with a huff begins a new one. His anger and his frustration clear in his writing and with how many times the quill almost goes through the page with how fiercely and carelessly he uses it. He imagines your happiness though as he writes. The way you used to smile at him with such unique brightness. The way your cheeks would flush a beautiful light pink when he teased you. He even dared to think and reminisce on the way your face would shift into one of pure pleasure when he’d sit before the heaven that lay between your thighs, and lick and suck till he felt you spill no less than three times on his tongue.

The last thought soured though as he imaged Aegon seeing you like that. Seeing your smile, your happiness, your pleasure. The grip on his quill so strong he felt it snap between his fingers. A sharp shard of it bringing a small drop of blood to drop and pool on the page bellow. Yet Aemond didn’t choose to begin a new letter clear of his blood. He allowed it to stay there and continue with the same paper, so he could show his devotion to you. So he could show his willingness to bleed for you. Show how much he values his vow to shed as much blood as he needed to in order to achieve your forgiveness. It was truly an addictive thought, seeing you again. And one he could never stop running through his head when he thought of the future.

Aemond finished the letter, writing on the paper front and back with no less than three separate pages before he deemed his rant to be over. Blood pooling on various areas on all of them. His fingers now cramping around the new quill that he’d grabbed with each flex of his hand, and the ache that has sadly dulled around the cut to Aemonds relief remains pungent. If he could, he would pray to all Seven Gods for the wound to never heal. So you could see his devotion to you. To witness the death of his sanity in front of your very eyes.

There are no guards outside the front of your chambers. A fact Aemond cannot help but be disgusted by when he sees it as he walks to the familiar doors. Later that night he’ll find those two men tasked with the purpose of keeping you safe, and he’ll make sure to strip them of whatever dignity and honour they believed to possess. Perhaps the comfort of the wall would suit them nicely? Or the kiss of his blade?

Aemond raises his fist to knock at the door, but voices keep him from doing so. Specific voices. Yours and Aegons voices…

Before he knows it, Aemond is pushing himself against the wood as much as he can so he can hear every beautiful syllable of your voice. He does not care at first for the meanings behind them, but he certainly begins to when he realises what he is listening too are some very familiar high pitched sounds. Breathless sounds that Aemond had told you on yours and his wedding night that only he would hear.

While Aemond waits outside your door, he can hear your voices of pleasure radiating from the other side.

His fists are clenched no more to knock, but instead in anger. And the dulled throb of the small cut earlier on his hand flares up again as it reopened from his carelessness. Yet instead of moving to stem the blood, Aemond grows an idea deep from within him. Aemond snatches his dagger from his belt, and with no hesitation, quickly slices a deep mark on his inner palm.

His posture and frame is deathly still while the blood begins to heavily pool and drip onto the ground, only moving to place his hand firmly against the wooden door, watching it drip down the dark wood and trail to the stone flooring.

He can see the large puddle flow under your door, and Aemond wishes nothing more at that moment for you to see it. To see him. To see his devotion. His love. His sacrifice for you. If he hadn’t already lost it, Aemond would’ve torn out his eye and shoved it under the door too as a gift for you to make you stop your torturing of his soul.

Aemond only steps away when the blood pool reaches his shoes, and even then it’s with great resistance from himself as he stuffs the still bleeding wound against his dark coat that already begins to rapidly absorb the blood. He can even feel it soak his undershirt and his skin.

He goes straight to his chambers that night instead of paying a visit to the maesters. He does the same the next night, and the one after that.

Instead, Aemond relishes in the look he receives from Aegon the next morning. The look of utter horror and fear that speaks at least over a thousand words. The look that tells him you now finally know of his gift and his devotion to you. The look that tells him he is one step closer to you again.

Aemond Targaryen refuses to rest until he is drained entirely of his blood and it is pooled directly at your feet. He refuses to rest until his heart is laid bare in his hands and is presented to you like a septa presents the gods with their offerings. Until his name can be uttered from your precious lips without your own heart breaking from sorrow.

Aemond Targaryens heart could break a thousand times over, each time bloodier than the next, but he refuses to allow yours to break again. Not by his hand at least…

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen/reader #aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x you #aemond targaryen request #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen fanfic #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #the death of a life au

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 3

Happy New Year to all those that celebrate on Jan 1st! I didn't get as much writing done as I wanted during my break because my son brought home the flu and I've been sick for most of the winter break.

That said, I still have a backlog of at least a dozen chapters spread out among my WIPs.

I will still be posting Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursday just nothing will have a set day. Meaning you might get this story on a Tuesday one week, and Thursday the next. So on and so forth.

In this chapter I get heavily into gender dynamics and how sexuality would work with second genders.

Part 1 Part 2

***

Steve slid into bed with a sigh of relief. His scent permeated the bedding sending out a calming signal to both him and the alpha. He wrapped himself around the alpha and felt as he began to come out of the tranquilizer.

Dillon hummed happily. “You smell good.”

Steve chirped in response, rubbing his nose on Dillon’s scent gland. Again he sighed in relief. The actor’s scent was coming through. Weakly, but it was there. It was a dark woody scent. Like a forest after the rain.

“I’m going to take care of you, alpha,” Steve purred. “Make you feel so good.”

Dillon pounced on him and he laughed. “So eager. Take it slow, you’ve got plenty of time, sweetie.”

Steve ran his fingers up and down Dillon’s spine, causing the man to arch into his touch.

“Does that feel good?”

Dillon nodded, biting his lip.

“You don’t have to keep quiet, alpha,” Steve murmured. “No one is here to hear you but me.”

Dillon hung his head. “You don’t mind if make noise?”

Steve kissed his nose. “Did they make you keep quiet when they forced you to have sex with other alphas?”

He nodded, tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t worry,” Steve said. “You’re safe here. No one knows this address outside of Starcourt Services.”

Dillon closed his eyes and let Steve take care of him.

Over the course of the next three days, Steve found out that Dillon’s guilty pleasure was fruit leather. Not the overly processed kids stuff, but the locally sourced fruit snacks.

Steve practically cheered. It wasn’t protein bars, but it was something. He also found that Dillon would drink the shakes if Steve gave them to him, but wouldn’t chose them on his own.

By the time Dillon’s rut was over, Steve had really gotten to know him and was a little sad to see him go.

He wasn’t even told where Dillon would be going, but he knew it was for the best.

Steve showered and was dressed before Robin came back.

“Thankfully his rut didn’t last too long,” she said pulling up his schedule on his tablet, “you’ll have two days to do whatever before the charity ball for the New Yorker.”

Steve sighed in relief. “Thank god for that. First ruts are so hard.”

Robin nodded. “And it’s so rare for Starcourt to do them at all with the whole legality of it usually being alpha usually being fourteen to seventeen years old when they get their first.”

Steve sighed. “That too.”

Robin got a notification on her phone. When she checked it, she laughed.

“I just got something to absolutely make your day,” she said with a giggle.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Tommy’s last rut servicing hit him with a mini-heat. He’s out of the game for the gala.”

Steve winced in sympathy. “Better him than me.”

Robin laughed again. “That’s why you have me, babe. If the alpha has a history of blocker breaking, they have to do a lot to convince me to let you service them. Starcourt has a perfect record of whisking away omegas that have gone into a heat as a side effect of the servicing, but I’m not willing to take that chance with you.”

“And that’s why all the other omegas are jealous you’re my handler,” Steve grinned.

“Damn straight.”

They high-fived.

“So what are your plans for today?” Robin asked, putting away her phone.

“Pedro is coming in today for a final fitting for the tux,” he told her and she added it to his schedule.

“I’ll find out the exact time and get back to you,” she said.

“Then I’m having dinner with Max and Lucas,” Steve continued. “They just got into town this morning and wanted to meet up while they had time.”

“How goes Lucas’s law suit?” Robin asked, adding it to the schedule.

“They think it’s about to burst the NBA wide open,” Steve said with a devilish grin.

She grinned back. “It’s absolutely ridiculous to have six different sports leagues.”

Steve nodded. “Even the division between beta teams is dumb. But they’re working on one problem at a time. Get it down to two and then work on destroying first gender bullshittery.”

Robin nodded. “It’s especially stupid because that’s how it is handled in high school. If schools can handle the raging hormones of presenting athletes then professional teams can handle level headed adults on scent suppressants.”

Steve nodded back. “That’s their argument.”

“Good luck to them.”

“And then I plan on doing some shopping,” Steve finished. “Dillon’s rut depleted my stock more than I would have liked.”

Robin winched. “Well, at least your next servicing isn’t until the end of next week.”

He nodded again. “I’ve been messaging the alpha couple, they seem sweet.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “I am so grateful to be a lesbian to first and secondary genders.”

“There are so many sexualities these days it can make one’s head spin,” he lamented. “Are you an alpha that likes alphas but only alphas of the opposite sex and does that make you straight or gay?”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I simplified it to ‘no dicks’, but I know it’s more nuanced than that for a lot of people.”

Steve scoffed. “Like me?” he huffed, flopping on the sofa and crossing his arms. “Bisexual first gender, but I’ve never been attracted to other omegas, so straight secondary gender. And there are a lot of people that would say I’m not queer because I prefer alphas.”

“Yeah,” Robin said. “And I swear it’s getting worse with non-binary and trans people added to the mix, too. And of course the rest of the queer community is thinking they’re safe from the hoopla, when we all know these ass clowns won’t be happy until they’re back to one man and one woman betas.”

“Which has never been a thing,” Steve grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”

She tapped her tablet. “Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Just when Pedro is coming and my day is set.”

She shot off a quick text and got an immediate response. “He says at eleven. Is that okay?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, that’ll be fine. Gives me time to shop before dinner.”

“Done and dusted,” she said, putting away her phone and tablet. “We still on for platonic soulmate day tomorrow?”

He grinned up at her. “Always. We’re going to binge movies and eat junk food and lament about our love lives all day.”

“I’ll bring over some wine coolers and stuff to make cocktails,” she said.

He hopped up and gave her kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

“Have fun with Max and Lucas,” Robin said. “Give them my love.”

“Will do.”

*

Max looked around the fancy restaurant in awe. “I can’t believe you can just walk into a place like this and you instantly get a table.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “It’s not that easy. They had a cancellation and was able to get us in.”

“I bet they canceled the other reservation to give it to you,” Lucas said.

“Ooh...” Max said. “I bet they did, too. Steve Harrington, omega escort to the stars wants a dinner reservation at our restaurant, lets boot some D-list actor so we can have him instead.”

Steve laughed again. “Really, guys. It’s not like that. I’m not some Lonnie Hansen or Roxie, I’m barely a middle of the road escort as far as how much money I make.”

Max and Lucas shared a glance before they broke out laughing.

“Guys!” Steve protested. “I’m serious. There are other escorts that make way more than me.”

Max raised her eyebrow. “Name five other than Lonnie and Roxie.”

Steve counted them out on his fingers. “There’s Nicole Jawara. Koo Sing Ma. Mirabel Diaz. Uh...” He tapped his third finger. “Um...”

“Admit it,” Lucas said. “You can’t think of any more. And the ones you have named? They’ve all been in the business for longer than you and have had time to be higher paid. You rose through the ranks like a shooting star and everyone knows it.”

Steve blushed. “Yeah, okay. I love doing what I do, though.”

“Which is why we’re fighting the NBA about Lucas’s secondary gender. He should be allowed to play in the national league regardless whether he’s an omega or not,” Max said. “As an alpha I can do whatever the hell I want and only mildly looked down on because I’m a woman. But being a male omega makes it hard to do anything outside nurturing jobs.”

“Which I’ve never got,” Steve growled. “They don’t force female omegas into those jobs, just male ones.”

Lucas sighed. “Add to it being black and I’ve been fighting an uphill battle my whole life.”

Steve nodded sympathetically. “Tell me what else is up with you two. Any chance of bonding on the horizon.”

Max scoffed. “As if. We want to get this suit over with first. Then we’ll talk.”

“What about you?” Lucas asked. “Surely there have been alphas that have offered to buy your contract. You could settle down with one. Adopt pups.”

Steve ducked his head. “I’ve had offers. But as...” he huffed trying to find the right word. “Concubines? Sex toys for when their mates are pregnant or nursing. Not actual relationships.”

Max snorted. “I bet Nancy Wheeler tried.”

“Twice,” Steve agreed. “The only thing that would lure me from my job is falling in love with an alpha. And the chances of that happening are slim to none right now.”

Lucas sighed. “It’s because anyone you do meet is just going to want sex, huh?”

Steve nodded. “It’s really frustrating. But that’s why most of my friends are from before I became an escort. It’s just too hard to trust someone now a days. People wanting to be friends only want it for the perks,” he waved around him, “and not because they actually like me. People who want a ‘romantic’ relationship are one of three categories: only in for the sex. Only in for the sex and all the perks that come with being me. Or they want to shame and control me.”

Max and Lucas share a glance and have the decency to look mildly chastised. Because, yeah they used the perks of Steve’s job on more than one occasion.

Steve sighed. “So have you guys seen the latest superhero movie?” he asked, eager to move on.

Max and Lucas took it as the life line it was and starting chatting about what movies they’ve seen.

*

Steve loved his days were it was just him and Robin sans Starcourt business. Where they could just be two lovable goofballs and talk about their love life.

“Vickie is an omega, Steve,” she whined, ripping into her gallon sized bucket of Red Vines. “She’s not going to want to be with someone who can’t help her during her heats.”

Steve scoffed. “I’ve never had an alpha service my heats, and I’m fine. If she cares about you, she’ll use toys and heat aids. And don’t discount the pleasure of your fingers, babe.”

Robin made a gagging sound. “Don’t talk to me about sex, dingus. I don’t think I can handle it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “It’s literally my job, Robs. Like you can blow me off all you want, but you know you’re not going to get better advice from someone outside the medical field.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” she sighed.

“So you’ll ask her out this weekend?” Steve pressed.

“Yes, Steve,” Robin said, rolling her eyes “while you’re out there looking gorgeous on the arm of Nancy Wheeler, schmoozing it up with the rich people, I will be putting my heart on the line to ask a really cute girl out on a date.”

He kissed her cheek and stayed in her space. “And then when she says yes and you two are making out on her sofa, spare a thought for your poor single platonic soulmate who was soooo right.”

Robin pushed him away from her. “God, you are such an ass.”

“Yes, but it has been praised by many an alpha,” he teased, “so I love flaunting it.”

Robin threw her Red Vine at him.

He took a huge bite out of it and then grimaced. “I don’t’ know how you can stand eating these things. I think they taste like soap.”

“Just because your tastebuds are out of wack,” Robin said, snatching it away from him and munching on it, “doesn’t mean the rest of us should be forced to eat those tasteless sticks called Twizzlers.”

Steve pouted. “But I like the chocolate ones.”

“Further proof of your lack of taste, dingus,” she said. “It just means that this,” she held up her bucket, “is all mine.”

He just shook his head and grabbed the remote. “It’s a vampire romance, you ready for this?”

“Hell yeah!”

***

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

The Red Vine vs Twizzler debate was something that me and my best friend argued for years. And yes there was a period of time when Red Vines tasted like soap. They don't anymore, thankfully. But they did.

The TV show they are watching is "The Scholar That Walks By Night" a Korean drama my sister is obsessed with.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @lexirosewrites @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @yikes-a-bee @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt @apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @lingeringmirth @rememberthatiloveyou @demolvr @ellietheasexylibrarian @slowandsteddie @mangoinacan13

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #omegaverse #alpha eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #omega steve harrington

[yuikomorii]

// Ok I didn’t want to go this far but at this point, you guys are hating on Ayato just for clout and it shows. It’s okay not to like a character but straight up spreading misinformation about him is not okay. If you lack reading comprehension, just admit it.

What makes Ayato’s past so sad isn’t only the fact that Cordelia was mean towards him. She mentally and physically abused him, yet what genuinely hurt Ayato the most was the way Cordelia treated ALL the triplets. A part of him didn’t even want to kill her, given that he CRIED in the MB flashbacks because, despite being a huge abuser, he STILL felt sympathy even for someone like her. No matter how horrible Cordelia was, Ayato still wished for Karlheinz to reciprocate her feelings only to finally see her happy.

Don't even get me started on the Adam curse. He was practically used as bait and abandoned to death by his own brothers, but he still hoped for their safety after escaping. That curse literally destroyed his entire life because its purpose was to make the person who ate the fig drown in despair and go insane. That's why he was sooo obsessed with Yui's blood. Heck, he's cursed in routes other than his own, as he goes insane in Ruki's MB one, to the point that his brothers had to lock him inside the dungeon. In addition, in his MB Vampire Ending, he falls into a coma because he refuses to hurt Yui and keep drinking her blood.

Other than that, Laito was the one who made him believe that he wasn’t special, hence he adopted the “I will never make someone special again” mentality. He also wanted to kill him when he was younger (no hate towards any of his brothers though). Kanato was the only one who never did something bad to him, considering that when Ayato was a child, Reiji called him the disappointment of the family after failing a test.

Ayato did twisted stuff too; no character is a saint, but he always tries his best to fix things. Even when not dating Yui, he’s capable of showing compassion, support and a desire to improve his relationship with his brothers BY HIMSELF. Check this analysis for example.

Other than that, despite every time being hurt when trying to show kindness, he still became a very selfless guy who’d sacrifice himself for anyone at any given time. What makes this even more admirable is that according to Karlheinz, he’s literally the only one who actually VALUES his life. This guy who loves life would risk it all for Yui, even when not dating, or for any of his brothers.

On top of that, he's incredibly empathic?? He forgives everybody, no matter what they do to him, and seeks to maintain good relations with them. In Kino's LE route, for example, he tortures and burns Ayato, but Ayato is the first person to recognize him as his brother because he wanted Kino to feel that he, too, belonged to a family.

Last but not least, nobody silences Karlheinz as good as him. He was also the only one who connected the dots by himself about his dad being the root of all evil, including being the only one who didn’t want to kill him only because he didn’t want to fall into his plan. Check this post.

Oh and, Ayato is actually really big; it’s not that only his fans make him that way! This post basically proves that he’s the IT boy of otome games and I should also mention that he’s the character that sells the most in Japan and China! Just look what Japanese fans think of him. ;)

You can dislike him as much as you want but nobody can deny how brave and pure-hearted he is. He’s the definition of from zero to hero.

As I mentioned earlier, it's fine to dislike him, but don't become obsessed with it, lol. At the end of the day, he's merely a fictional character with endearing characteristics and the male lead. It's really not that deep. Besides, it's embarrassing when the hate comes from Yui stans because she definitely wouldn't be happy of any of you talking about her man in that way.

#diabolik lovers #ayato sakamaki #dialovers #sakamaki ayato #admin

[wri0thesley]

canicular - yandere kaveh x fem!reader x yandere alhaitham (6.8k)

it's a tough lesson to learn.

cw: yandere. mentions of past dub-con, non-con (non-explicit), physical punishment. abuse. reader is referred to by feminine pronouns.

this was a commissioned work.

If there is one thing you are not short on, it is time.

Though Alhaitham provides what he thinks are stimulating ways to pass your existence, you do not often feel inclined to read the thick tomes of Sumeru history or ancient language studies that he leaves on the table for you. Nor do you have any inclination towards the other hobbies he has tried to get you to pick up, in order to keep your hands busy and your brain exercised - what desire have you to do a jigsaw puzzle or a book of word games when you feel like a caged tiger, pacing uselessly back and forth with no end in sight?

Kaveh, at least, tries to get you to occupy your long hours with things that are transporting. His own pencils and papers and paints (a sad smile on his face when he caresses your cheek and sighs and says ‘why don’t you try drawing where you would rather be?’). Alhaitham tries to improve you; to mould you into what he expects you to be and what he wants you to be and what he thinks you ought to be.

Kaveh, at least, sees you as something human, with human needs and human feelings and human wants. Wants that are not half an hour of cursory sunshine so you do not develop a Vitamin D deficiency, not a meal chosen entirely for nutritional properties and not how it might taste in your mouth (Alhaitham is not a cook - you always prefer Kaveh’s meals, though the Scribe clicks his tongue and says things about how there’s no health benefits to the nostalgic desserts that Kaveh tries to get Alhaitham to let him make for you).

Kaveh sees in you the human need for companionship and sympathy and something other than Alhaitham’s blank face when you rage at him and sob and pound on his chest and demand he let you go home. Something other than Alhaitham’s insistence that this is better for you; that he is a good master, that your life is simpler and more suitable now, that he is simply putting the world to rights by taking you as his-- his pet, his dog, his slave, his lover--

What are you truly, again? Other, of course, than his?

In lieu of being Alhaitham’s dog in need of training, when you can, you gravitate to the architect - who wouldn’t, when your other option is a man who watches you cry and replies only with: “And what are you hoping to gain from your tears, exactly?”? And Kaveh, in return, gives you his own sympathy and his sighs and a stroke of your hair that has no hidden meaning at all, you’re sure, but his desire to comfort.

If sometimes you let him take you, after all of the comfort - if you spread your legs for him and sigh and nose against his neck and murmur soft sweet appreciation - that is neither here nor there. You have such precious little opportunity to make decisions for yourself, so why should you not? You tell yourself fiercely, with your mouth wine-stained with Kaveh’s lips, that you would make the same decision were you not a prisoner. Kaveh is the kind of man you would have sought out for yourself, you decide. And he never takes advantage; never makes the first move, waits for your sniffles and hesitant kisses and shaking hand as it traces the elegant line of his collarbone.

But Kaveh is not always home. Kaveh goes into the desert, works for weeks on a project somewhere else in Sumeru wherever his architectural genius is summoned, and leaves you to the untender mercies of the man who caused all of the heartache in the first place.

Alhaitham is never later than ten minutes after work (and on those occasions, his normally calm face has a twitch of fury about it). He never forgets what time he has set your meals for, never forgives an order that has gone unfulfilled (and you have the marks over buttocks and thigh and back to prove that), never lets you answer back or skip out on one of his ordained rituals for your health. He is a constant; a knife that carves out your life, ever sharpened and ever ready.

You practically throw yourself at Kaveh when he returns, if you have been alone with Alhaitham too long. Bury your head in his neck and sigh about how you missed him the moment that you can get him alone, smile and thank him with earnest words when he produces some treasure he saw whilst he was out and about and gifts it to you (they are never lavish gifts; Kaveh does not have the Mora to spare. But a fresh Zaytun peach or a Sumeru Rose plucked from the wildest parts of your nation is a treasure to you nonetheless, when your life is a narrow square of home-and-garden you are not permitted to leave).

. . . It is easier to force yourself not to notice the way Kaveh’s golden eyes catch yours after the gift, as if he is waiting for and expecting the kiss that you press onto his lips as a thanks that never seems to end at just a kiss.

Kaveh’s comforts do not come often enough, in your opinion. Certainly their number does not match up to that of Alhaitham’s firm commands - his lips on yours, his hand on the top of your head forcing you to your knees, his insistent quizzing on the book he left for you today that you have not so much glanced at, his carefully marked schedules of when you should eat and when your period is due and all of the other minutiae of life you had never stopped too long to consider before.

In the past, you had not needed to dwell on these things. You had daydreamed some, of course, of some loving faceless significant other who might hand-feed you slices of Harra Fruit and write you poetry and curl against you until you felt like the two of you were one - but you had always had faith that this would come for you. Perhaps when you least expected it, a fanciful fairytale dropped from the sky into your waiting lap--

You had not reckoned on Alhaitham.

If nothing else, he has provided you with plenty of hours to daydream. An endless yawning, stretching chasm of a future that you try to fill with the paints Kaveh brings you, with constant machinations about an escape route. Sometimes when you imagine leaving, you are hand in hand with a blond man with a smile like a fresh flower blooming, feather haphazardly stuck in his hair, a promise to somehow find enough Mora to build a pretty little cottage in the middle of nowhere where one does not have to worry about stern silver-haired scholars.

You have the time.

Summer in Sumeru is difficult at the best of times. Under Alhaitham’s captivity (you never think of it as Alhaitham-and-Kaveh, so certain are you that the architect would free you if only Alhaitham were not in the picture), it is even worse. You can no longer open the door and stroll out into the Grand Bazaar, where the air is darker and cooler. You can no longer stop off at some merchant or another to buy a cool treat, take a dip in one of the lakes if you so feel like it - all you can do is try and find the shadiest spot in the locked house, lie upon your back and wish for a breeze or two.

“You shouldn’t stay there all day,” Alhaitham says, reproach evident in his voice, when he comes home at seven minutes past five in the afternoon like he always does. “Your muscles will atrophy.”

You sigh in response, long used to the fact that if you argue he will twist your words around until you’re sure of nothing - if you argue too much, you’ll lose some other privilege you hadn’t realised was a privilege until Alhaitham had taken it away.

(Once it had been hot water that you’d had removed, and Alhaitham had stood in the bathroom with you as cold water drenched your hair and your body and gooseflesh broke out along your skin, his face unmoving despite your nakedness. You know that he does, at least, hold some attraction to your naked form - the fact he had not let even a flicker of desire cross his face as you shivered and shuddered there was testament to his insistence you must learn your place. Actually, though, right now, you do not think a cold shower would be a punishment. It sounds rather nice, even if Alhaitham is there to watch you with calm inexpressive eyes.)

“It would be cruel,” you say instead, “to leave a dog in these conditions all day.”

He prefers this kind of reasoning; a debate, and not an argument. If you stay calm and even and you appeal to logic, you might have a chance of survival.

“There are some folding-fans in one of the drawers,” he says. “A present from one of the Inazuman clients Kaveh worked for, I think.”

“Surely they would just blow hot air back in my face?” You ask him. He considers for a moment, looking at you on the floor where you have not moved. You are in one of the loose robe-like garments you are permitted to wear around the house (far less chance of you trying to escape, Alhaitham reasons, if you feel indecent - he has not bargained on the fact that at this point you would run naked through Sumeru City if it means breaking out of his oppressive regime), thighs bare, neckline pulled as far apart as it can go so what little air there is can touch your sweat slicked skin.

“What would you prefer?” He asks, with a note of warning in his voice that most people would not pick up on. You must tread carefully.

“Leave the window open a crack,” you suggest. “Not enough for me to get out. Just . . . enough for a breeze. So that I don’t feel the air around me is pushing down on me until I suffocate.”

“Hyperbole,” he says. “You cannot suffocate on air.”

You bite your tongue. The request shimmers in the air for a few moments, a tangible thing - Alhaitham weighs up the pros and the cons.

“No,” he says, and the thread of hope you hadn’t realised you were holding snaps. “Not whilst I’m out. Not whilst nobody is here to watch you.”

Any response you might have made dies on your lips as a key clatters in the door and it opens, a long-limbed elegant body tumbling through in record time. Kaveh always enters like this; as if he is afraid that if he takes longer than a moment, shouts will rise up around Sumeru City and mock him and his secret will be splashed across every noticeboard in town. Kaveh pretends he does not live here, because he is an important man who should be doing better. You pretend you do not live there because you are still holding your own home in your heart - your own garden of flowers and fruits, your own shelf of books and your own hobbies and things strewn across surfaces.

Alhaitham does not pretend; he merely avoids speaking to anyone about his home life. You had been as surprised as him when Kaveh had unlocked his door and walked in to see what the thumping and muffled noises emanating from Alhaitham’s room were, and had come across you. Alhaitham had not mentioned a roommate to you even before your captivity, and Alhaitham had not mentioned a pet human to Kaveh at any point in time or given any indication this was the kind of thing he would do.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Kaveh had said, immediately upon seeing you, crouching down next to you, his hand hovering by the gag wedged into your mouth. “I . . . did Alhaitham do this to you?”

You’d nodded tearfully, and Kaveh’s eyebrows had knitted into sympathy. You recognised him only vaguely, but you did at least see the emotions flittering across his handsome, open face - so much more than you’d ever gotten from Alhaitham. Even when he’d unceremoniously locked you in his bedroom and you’d screamed yourself hoarse into a gag and rubbed your wrists sore on the rope, Alhaitham had done nothing more than raise an unimpressed eyebrow at you.

“I’m going to take the gag away,” Kaveh had said to you, at the time. “Please don’t scream.”

He had been so earnest in the request, and you had been so grateful to see somebody who was not Alhaitham and was clearly properly horrified by your predicament and was not treating it like it was perfectly normal, that you had nodded. Calm, clever fingers had worked beneath the wedge of cotton in your mouth and pried it spit-slicked from between your lips.

“Can you speak?” He’d asked, and when you’d tried and you had not managed to get out more than a wheeze he had fetched you a glass of water and held it to your parched lips.

“I can’t untie you,” he’d said, helplessly, his gold eyes flitting to where the ropes had rubbed you raw. “Alhaitham would be . . . unhappy with me. But maybe I could try and loosen them? Move them higher up, so I can take care of the blood?”

You had thought that he must be some other prisoner of Alhaitham’s, back then. As he’d given you more sips of water and you’d hiccuped and grated out some of the story that had lead you here, and he’d nodded and made soft little noises of horror and understanding, as he’d cleaned the wounds and commiserate with you over what a brute Alhaitham was, even to him, the Scribe’s senior. He’d knuckled your bruises away so gently that you’d cried more, and admitted to him that you feared you would never feel a tender touch again.

“You poor thing,” Kaveh had repeated, looking at you with those pools of molten gold. “Don’t worry. You and I are comrades in arms. We’ll take care of one another as best we can.”

You know now that Kaveh’s predicament is not quite the same as yours - partly based on Kaveh’s own stubbornness and pride, instead of the unmoving unrelenting coldness of Alhaitham instead. But that first night, he firmly positioned himself as an ally. Had argued with Alhaitham when the Scribe had come back about how he could not gag you, could not tie you so tightly, could not leave you waterless and foodless in his bedroom all day. A knight in shining armour, you had thought - and the first thing you had done when your bonds were finally loosened was wrap your arms about the surprised blond and thank him.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he’d said, as you’d sobbed into his shoulder and Alhaitham had watched, lip curled at the corner, face unreadable. “Anyone with a heart.”

He’d held the embrace just a little too long.

“You’re home,” you say to Kaveh, back in the present, and you smile at him, a trembling, wavering thing. Sweat is beading on your brow. The brief rush of cool air that Kaveh lets in is a welcome change, and Alhaitham sighs as he walks towards the window. You notice which drawer he goes into - the tiny key that he produces from one of Kaveh’s many cubby-holes on the architect’s desk. Amongst rulers and tiny screwdrivers and silver-flashing scissors. Alhaitham allows the window to open the smallest crack - the one that looks out only into the garden, so nobody passing by might hear voices they do not expect coming from a house they know belongs to Alhaitham.

“I am,” he says, with a smile. “I brought you a present.”

“You’re spoiling her,” Alhaitham says mildly, as you turn your head to Kaveh. You hear the drawer click; another key turn. It is never so simple as ‘get a key from a drawer’. Alhaitham is not so foolish. “What has she done to deserve a present?”

“You don’t have to do things,” Kaveh argues. “It’s nice to have nice things!” You see now that he is holding a small bowl, the kind that the food stalls give out with food bought to travel with - he walks towards you with a smile on his face and holds it out. Inside of the little pale brown half-moon of a bowl are three scoops of some kind of frozen treat, and your mouth waters. You finally move from your spot on the floor to reach out for it.

“Say ‘thank you’,” Alhaitham says sharply, before your hands can close around it. “Or I’ll have it myself. No doubt he paid for it on my tab.”

Kaveh glares at him from under his pale brows but does not argue - you, with your throat dry and hot, babble out thanks to Kaveh and reach out again. Alhaitham clicks his tongue once more.

“Wait,” he tells you, command in his voice. “You’re not even going to ask me if you can have it?”

“Alhaitham--”

“She has to learn,” his voice is final, a rough lightning strike through the room, a man who has never wavered in his convictions. “A disobedient animal is no better than a wild one.”

“Please,” you say to Alhaitham, sensing that arguments are brewing, that tension is crackling. “Please may I have it.”

Green eyes catch yours and leave you hanging desperately and wordlessly for a moment. You dare not move. You wonder if he’s going to bring up you asking about the window, and use that as an excuse - or perhaps what a waste you’ve made of the day, how you should have made yourself move from the cool floorboards like you’re supposed to. You cannot breathe.

Alhaitham gives a wordless nod as he turns on his heel.

“I’m going to get out of my work clothes,” he says. “Have a cold shower. Make sure you behave, and we’ll go into the garden at dusk when it’s cooler.”

Shoulders untense. Kaveh smiles at you and holds out the bowl again. Your mouth waters as you reach for it - you barely notice that Kaveh does not relinquish the hold of his long fingers upon it until you’ve kissed him on the cheek and let him kiss you softly on the mouth in return. It does not seem important.

His own mouth tastes like the dessert, too. He did not have to wait to be brought it by some kind, sympathetic soul. He could have had as many servings as he liked.

You savour every spoonful.

You know your way around the house. You have earnt freedoms to be allowed to wander it at will - if you want to, you can go into the kitchen and fetch yourself something to eat (Alhaitham encourages that, in fact - as long as it is that you’re eating one of his approved foods). You can choose from the many tomes that line the walls, can sit in the living room or the study or on Alhaitham’s desk chair if that’s where you wish to be.

You cannot leave, of course.

Golden locks mock you wherever you look; some intricate, some simple, but none with a key you possess. You’ve seen Alhaitham with two keys to the front door - a cruel joke, when you are not even permitted one. The keys to the windows, to Alhaitham’s desk itself, to all of the drawers and the places you are not allowed to look sit side by side on Alhaitham’s keyring like sentinels guarding you from freedom.

You think about the open window, when Alhaitham cracks it just a little when he comes home. Stand by it and try and get some breeze; strain to hear the voices that are very far away, wondering what’s going on in the life you have abandoned like a missing jigsaw puzzle piece. Has the mould you had been battling with, beneath your own bedroom window, finally beaten you? The spider that dwells in your darkest bathroom corner started a family? Has post piled up on your doormat - letters that will go unanswered for who knows how long?

You have only one hiding place. One loose floorboard, in the very corner of Alhaitham’s room - Kaveh doesn’t go in there often, or you’re certain the architect would have noticed it. You keep some trinkets in there - a dried flower Kaveh had once put in your hair, a necklace he had given you made of cheap beads that he’d bought from some do-gooder selling them for charity.

(Alhaitham had seen you wearing it and pursed his lip; later on that night, when he’d taken you into the shower to wash your hair, he had unclipped it and dropped it into the wastepaper bin.

“It doesn’t suit you,” he’d said. “It will just break and the beads will scatter everywhere. There’s no reason to be giving you any presents right now.”

Whilst you’re sure he meant all of those things too, there’d been something else running through the current of his words; I don’t want you to wear anything that I don’t pick out for you. You’re mine, and if anyone were to collar you . . . it would be me.)

And, your greatest treasures of all - loose Mora, left about the house by Alhaitham and Kaveh. Alhaitham is always complaining about Kaveh dusting and tidying and moving money and not telling him where it has gone - sighing over Kaveh not paying enough attention to things. The idea that you would take it does not cross his mind. He doesn’t know about your hiding spot, so in his mind you’d have nowhere to keep it--

But, too, there is this.

You stay in his home all day, a mostly well-behaved prisoner. He provides you with nutrition and food and clothes. He provides you with attention (whether you want it or not). You have nowhere to go, nothing to buy, and not a single reason to have even a coin to yourself. What would you do with Mora?

It is one of the places his rationality fails him.

In both small and large denominations, you have more than enough Mora to make it to Liyue, Mondstadt, and far away from Sumeru stashed away on a boat to the island nation of Inazuma, where even Alhaitham (you’re certain) could not drag you from your new life.

Kaveh is the one who gives you the opening, in the end. He and Alhaitham have an argument in the early morning - from your position wrapped in Alhaitham’s sheet, you half-listen. It’s about you. It often is. Kaveh is trying to argue with Alhaitham about how he should be allowed to take you out with him into the garden in the morning, that the one half-hour of sunlight is not enough and perhaps you and Kaveh could even cultivate a little flower-patch out there, to give you something to do--

It’s a well-worn argument, one that Alhaitham always wins. Kaveh is not responsible enough to be in sole charge of you outside, Alhaitham says. He spoils you too much. You smile into your pillow as you imagine that little cottage once more, of tending to a garden with Kaveh--

Kaveh slams the door on the way out. Alhaitham comes back to you to rouse you from bed, sighing over Kaveh, scolding you for not getting up yourself - he, too, is distracted by the argument, and that distraction does not ease. He is working from home today, he tells you, so the window can be cracked all day.

At seven in the evening, the window has still not been closed, and Alhaitham has pulled you onto his lap to read with you perched there. At eight in the evening, Alhaitham grits his teeth that Kaveh hasn’t come back yet and tells you he is going to the tavern to drag his ungrateful roommate home--

And he leaves with the window still cracked.

At quarter past eight, Kaveh is dragged into the room smelling of wine and Alhaitham follows him in, sullen as ever. He still does not notice the cracked open window, as he drags Kaveh into the bathroom and commands him to brush his teeth, to splash himself with cold water and pull himself together.

The window has not been seen to. The drawer that he had put the window key back into remains unlocked.

When Alhaitham returns to the main room, you pretend to be worried over him. You ask if there’s anything you can do, framing it as a kind of shaking fear the Scribe may take out his frustrations on you, and you let Alhaitham take you into his bedroom to work off the stress.

You stare into the empty space behind his shoulder while he’s inside of you and think about slipping through the open window and out into the world again.

The next morning, Alhaitham chances a gaze at the window and nods to himself when he sees it - for all intents and purposes, locked. You’d shimmied the frame up painstakingly slowly last night when you’d murmured about needing the bathroom, hoping he wouldn’t remember. He’d grumbled in his sleep but had not protested.

He leaves the same time he always does - Kaveh, slumped in his own bedroom from the hangover, stays where he is.

And you hold the unlocked window like a secret flame in the candle of your heart.

You still do not dare do anything until an hour after Alhaitham has left, terrified that he will return and you will be punished horribly for daring to think escape would be possible. But as time ticks on, and the sun rises higher in the sky, you begin to convince yourself that this is all going to be fine.

You go into the living room and to the window. It leads out into the garden, but that is fine; you can scale a fence. That is no difficult task after everything else you’ve been through. You test it, wiggling it open just a crack, and a light breeze hits your heated face as excitement begins to rise in your bones.

Back into Alhaitham’s rooms to go beneath the floorboards and take your little pouch of Mora, heavy in your hand as you tie it with cord around your waist. You do not have a bag, and your flimsy robe has no pockets - but those are things to be thought of later. Perhaps you will take some well-worn dress from a washing line, where it dries in the wind. Perhaps you can spare a few coins for something that does not show off the ample curves of your body so much. You can allow yourself, now, to think of those things.

Content, you open the window wider. You let yourself linger there in front of the window for longer, fresh air on your face and the promise of escape playing a siren’s melody. This time tomorrow, you will be free.

You look towards Kaveh’s bedroom and smile.

So will he.

All of those dreams you’ve had can be made reality; you will both find yourself out from beneath Alhaitham’s thumb with a future stretching ahead of you, together. You can repay Kaveh for his kindness - can sometimes be the one to bring him a gift of flowers or fruits or a beautiful leaf on the ground. You can walk hand in hand with him and this will be but a distant memory.

You rap softly on his door.

“Kaveh?” You call into the crack of the hinge. “Are you awake?”

Kaveh mumbles your name. Stirring from within his room, as he moves about it, a murmured response that he’ll be out as soon as he’s decent - you can barely wait. Unrestrained tension fizzes through all of your veins, excitement and pleasure and anticipation. You let yourself imagine him boosting you out of the window, both of you laughing as you tumble onto the grass beneath the windowsill--

His door opens and he stands there, dark shadows beneath his eyes and his hair more ruffled than usual but the kind smile that you have grown so fond of firmly on his face.

“I have something to show you,” you tell him, tugging his arm. “Come on, come with me!”

“Is it a new painting?” He asks, mildly, letting himself be dragged along with that smile still on his face. “Ah, have you found another lovely tale in one of those books you want to read to me? I do adore you, you know--”

You pull him into the living room and, with a bright, optimistic look on your face, motion to the wide-open window where the wispy white curtains are fluttering in the breeze.

Kaveh does not speak for a time.

He swallows.

You can see his thoughts racing behind his eyes and you mistake them for fear; trepidation of a life with nothing. But that’s alright; you have made provisions for such things!

You jingle the Mora, as those sharp golden eyes move from you to the window and back again.

You give him a hopeful smile, all bright eyes and idealism that you’ve always thought he’d share with you. Freedom calls; a life away from Alhaitham. “We can leave,” you say. “We can go out through the window! A whole future, Kaveh, together--!”

Kaveh is still not smiling back at you.

“I--I’ve thought of everything,” you say, falling over your words as Kaveh does not immediately fall upon your open escape route. “We can go to Inazuma, I have enough Mora, we can put as much distance between us as possible and you . . . architects are needed everywhere, we might have to sleep rough a while and I know you’re not that used to it and it might seem scary but we could get a little cottage together and a g-garden and . . .”

You tail off as Kaveh’s gaze stays trained on you, pitying, sympathetic. He should be delighted. He should be pleased. He’s looking at you the way that Alhaitham looks at him, when Kaveh gets started on one of his talks about how everyone in the world is good at their core. You have always agreed with him - mostly.

(“Present company excluded,” Kaveh had said once, waving a hand, wine glass in his grasp, at Alhaitham. You had laughed, and Alhaitham had made you bend over his knee and spanked you hard upon your rear ten times as Kaveh silently watched).

“Stay calm,” Kaveh says softly. “Step away from the window, darling. Let’s talk about this instead.”

Dawning comprehension settles about you like the hot summer air.

It seems a foolish thing not to have realised before all of this - you suppose, in Kaveh’s sweet soft smiles and cooing gentle voice and his whirlwind way of coming and going, you have never stopped to think about it. Your voice comes out dry as old paper.

“You’ve had a key the whole time.”

“I live here,” he says. “Surely you realised I’d have to let myself in and out--”

“You could have let me go any time.” Your tone is flat. Kaveh looks at you, anguished, and a thousand thoughts flit into your mind - a thousand times he could have just unlocked the door and held your hand and the two of you could have walked out of the house and you could have walked right out of Alhaitham’s grasp. Instead, he had given you fruits and trinkets like you were supposed to be grateful and taken the reward of your gratitude in hungry kisses and the press of his body upon yours--

“No, darling,” he’s trying to soothe you. “I couldn’t have - you know what Alhaitham has over me, you know that he could ruin my life - I’m just as much a prisoner as you, really--”

The earnestness in his voice could almost make you forgive him. It has, in the past - when he’s knitted his brow and said of course he can’t let you out of the cage, but he’ll make it up to you when Alhaitham lets you out. You’ve written off things like that before.

No longer. Not with the window fully open, not with escape beckoning you.

“Then leave with me,” you repeat, shaking. “Come out of the window. We’ll get out of Sumeru, we’ll go somewhere nobody even cares about the Akademiya, somewhere he won’t reach--”

The bag full of stolen Mora tied about your waist feels heavy, jingling on your hip. Your throat is dry. The robe you are permitted to wear suddenly feels all the flimsier, all the more embarrassing to be seen in, full thighs on display and the curve of your chest far too revealed.

“Don’t,” he says, softly, moving towards you. He places his hands up, palms facing you, like soothing a wild animal likely to flee. “You know that wouldn’t work. You know he’d find you.”

(You, he says. Not ‘us’.)

“Kaveh!” Dreams of that little cottage and a little life slip through your fingers like grains of sand. “Don’t-- don’t you care about me? Do you want me to die here?”

“Of course I do.” He’s closer now. Your shoulders shake, lip trembling. He reaches out for you, fingers brushing your cheek. “Of course I don’t. We take good care of you. Better care than you might have gotten, before. Have I ever hurt you?”

You want to scream. You’re hurting me now!

“Alhaitham has,” you whisper. “And you . . . you’ve never stopped him.”

You’re crying, you realise, as Kaveh’s face turns into concern and he wipes a tear away.

“I can’t,” he says, with a soft little sigh like he is the injured party. “If he threw me out . . .”

“You don’t want to leave.” You try to keep your voice flat, but it cracks on the ‘want’. You want, you want, you want - and from Kaveh’s kisses, from his murmurs and his gifts and his indulgence of ‘draw the place you wish you could be’, you had always thought that he wanted too.

“I have a reputation,” he replies, steadfast. “My architecture, my name, all of the things I worked hard on--”

He doesn’t say anything about your achievements. He’d smiled at your little drawings and said how talented you were, he’d sighed over how pretty you were and how much of an inspiration you were, looked at you with such warmth in his eyes as he’d listened to you talk about your dreams and all of those little romantic fantasies you kept cherished in your heart and had thought that, perhaps, he would understand--

But now? He says nothing. As if you do not exist outside of this prison.

He thinks himself far more important than you.

“I just want some freedom,” you whisper, your face wet, your throat dry, your body feeling pulled in all ways at once. You had never envisioned that Kaveh would be like this - in all of your daydreams, he had gone willingly with you. You chide yourself now, for your own foolish romanticism - but you cannot let go of nights spent in this house with only Kaveh for comfort. “I just want a life.”

“We take care of you,” Kaveh says in a voice that sounds like a beg. “Alhaitham’s right, you’d never have lasted alone out there--”

“I was d-doing just fine.” Tears clog up your throat like ice.

“Were you?” He asks, quietly. His hand on your face feels like a brand, as he rubs his thumb over your lip and sighs, as he pulls back with a strand of your hair twirled around his finger. “Darling. The world chews up and spits out people like us, sometimes. I just want you to be safe--”

“I’m nothing like you,” you say to him, trying to be strong and failing miserably with every tremulous syllable. “We’re nothing alike, Kaveh. I would have been out of this window the moment it was opened, if we were in one another’s shoes.”

“No,” he says, and his voice is still disgustingly tender. “No, you wouldn’t. You’d see that you’re too fragile, too romantic and too lovely and too idealistic to survive for much longer. You’d see that this is the best option for you.”

“Alhaitham says you’re an idealist,” you whisper bitterly. “A romanticist. Just like me.”

Kaveh sighs.

“This could have been you,” you continue, stubbornly, bitterly, wildly grasping for something to say that could hurt even a fraction of how your heart has shattered. “In another world, you’d be where I am, and you wouldn’t be saying those things to yourself--”

Kaveh looks at you and seems to understand a kind word will not fix this; a stroke of your hair, a hidden treat. He heaves a sigh and shakes his head, instead.

“I’m going to close the window.”

You don’t reply. You stand like a statue, silent, as Kaveh walks to the window, reaches for the frame to pull it back up into position. Your future trickles out of your fingers like sand through an hourglass. The cottage is reduced to rubble by lightning storms, the flower garden does not grow, and the blond man beside you in your dreams becomes as grasping and hungry and monstrous as any nightmare has ever been.

The door clicks open once again. A voice calls out;

“I forgot to bring anything for lunch,”

And then Alhaitham walks in.

His eyes quickly take in the scene before him - you, and Kaveh, and the window that has not yet been closed.

“You forgot to close it last night,” Kaveh says, without turning around. “She wants me to leave with her.”

“And so? What will you do now, Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s voice is clipped. The question hovers in mid-air. Kaveh lets out a huff of breath through his nose, and for one horrible, glorious moment you think he is about to break and come back to your side--

“Close the window,” Kaveh replies instead. “Lock it.”

You stare at Alhaitham - as the Scribe’s lips press together and curve, in a satisfied smile. You wonder if the shattering of your heart is an audible thing, or if it simply sounds that loud in your head. The window lock clicks with a finality that makes you want to throw up.

“Good,” he says. And then he turns his attention back to you, as Kaveh moves across the room to stand just to one side of him. Kaveh’s golden eyes are apologetic - but it is not enough. Your heart has been pulled out of you and trampled upon and there is no coming back from this - no number of peaches or soft kisses or reassurances whispered into your hair that will make you ever think of him as a reprieve.

Perhaps he’s worse. At least Alhaitham does not try and hide behind anything.

You have no friends here. Just two men who, in the end, want the same thing from you.

“You understand I’m going to have to punish you?” Alhaitham asks, and his tone is reassuring in its sharpness. “Trying to run . . . when all I’m doing is giving you the best life you could possibly get?”

“I understand,” you say, exhausted. Kaveh tilts his head to one side and puts on the face that you now know is a mask; concern and worry and pity. You see your future laid bare before you like one of Kaveh’s blueprints. The summer heat seems a visible thing once more - or perhaps that’s your own anger, coalescing, at the fact Kaveh has the nerve to look compassionate.

Later on that evening, when the welts on the back of your thighs sting and you’ve been divested of even the flimsiest garment, when Alhaitham has retired to bed with his door wide open and you curl on the thin blanket of the cage that Alhaitham only uses for the very worst infractions, you slip into fitful nightmares of keys clicking in locks and lion keychains and golden-eyed masks that only lie. The summer night is no cooler. You wake up in the early morning light, golden shafts with dust motes dancing, and you see that in the night the architect has brought you a peace offering.

A small bowl sits beside the cage. The bars are just wide enough for you to reach a hand out (how many nights, in the past, has Kaveh curled his littlest finger around yours whilst you sobbed over the indignity of it?). You could take the spoon sticking out of the bowl and bring mouthfuls of the frozen dessert to your lips, letting it soften and thaw on your tongue, savouring the refreshing coldness of the treat.

You do not.

Instead, you simply sit there, caged, and you watch it melt into liquid drop by drop by drop.

#writing #commissioned work #yandere alhaitham #yandere kaveh #yandere genshin impact #dub con cw #non con cw #yandere cw

[rynwritesreid]

Mind games~Spencer Reid

Chapter three~ nothing’s new

Chapter summary: The FBI gives you time off, allowing you time to heal after what happened to you. But after news spreads, someone from your past contacts you, making old wounds resurface, making you turn to none other than Spencer Reid.

Chapter warnings: Talks about the BDSM community and BDSM dynamics. Talks of fainting. Submissive reader and dominant Spencer. Alcohol consumption. Mentions of what happened to you in the previous chapter but nothing serious. Reader cries but Spencer comforts her. Mentions of emotional wounds from previous relationships.

A/N: I might start releasing these every week instead of every other week, but I am not sure. I also hope this is a good description of what BDSM and specifically D/S relationships are like, I know that community gets a lot of really bad stories written about them.

~mind game’s masterlist~

~join the mind games taglist~

Everyone on the team had been looking after you, making sure you were okay. Spencer, however, had been a godsend. He would send you texts throughout the day, even though the man hated technology. He had opened up to you about what he had been through, maybe in hopes of you opening up, or maybe he just wanted to show you he knew how you were feeling. But you didn’t really care, you were just happy that he was no longer horrible towards you.

 

You did want to open to Spencer, to everyone, and let them know what you had seen, but you just couldn’t. And the fact that people from academy had been texting you, telling you they had heard what happened and that they couldn’t imagine how you felt, just made it worse.

It had also made it back to your ex-boyfriend, who after 1 and a half years of ignoring your texts, had decided to call you. Part of you wanted to ignore the call, to push away any connection to the past. But another part of you was curious about what he had to say after all this time.

 

Taking a deep breath, you answered the call. His voice sounded distant and strained as he spoke, "Hey... I heard about what happened. I'm so sorry."

 

The sincerity in his tone surprised you, and for a moment, you were reminded of why you had loved him in the first place. But then reality set in, reminding you of the pain and heartbreak he had caused.

 

"I appreciate your sympathy," you replied coolly, trying to maintain a sense of composure. "But I'm doing my best to move forward."

 

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you could almost hear him searching for the right words.

 

"I understand if you don't want to hear from me anymore," he finally said, his voice filled with regret. "I just wanted you to know that I've changed. I've done a lot of soul-searching and therapy since we broke up. I wish I could have been there for you when you needed me."

 

Your grip on the phone tightened as his words struck a chord within you. The longing for closure and understanding warred with the pain and bitterness that still lingered from your past.

 

"It's too late now," you replied, your voice laced with a mixture of anger and sadness. "You had your chance, and you blew it."

 

There was silence on the other end, and you could almost picture him taking in a deep breath before speaking again.

 

"You're right," he said quietly. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. But I hope that someday, maybe, you can find it in your heart to let go of the hurt I caused."

 

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words hit you like a wave crashing onto the shore. The pain of his betrayal resurfaced, threatening to engulf you once again. Part of you wanted to believe in his sincerity, to believe that people could change. But another part of you feared being hurt all over again.

 

"I don't know if I can ever forgive you," you managed to say, your voice trembling with emotion. You didn’t care what he had to say anymore, so you just hung up.

 

You couldn’t hold back any more and you just began to sob. You picked up your phone and decided to call Spencer, it probably would have been smarter to call one of the girls, Spencer wasn’t the only one who understood what you had gone through, but Spencer was the only one who could truly understand you.

 

As the phone rang, your tears continued to flow, blurring your vision and making it difficult to see. The weight of your emotions felt like an anchor dragging you down into a sea of despair. Each ring seemed to echo in the cavernous void of loneliness that had enveloped you.

 

Finally, Spencer's voice broke through the haze of your anguish. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, his tone filled with concern.

 

You tried to steady your voice, but it came out choked with sobs. "Spencer," you managed to utter between gasps for air. "I... I need you."

 

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then Spencer's voice softened with understanding. "I'm here for you," he said gently. "Take all the time you need, and when you're ready, I'll be right by your side."

 

“I’m ready now Spencer, please.” In that moment, you could hear the urgency in your own voice, the desperation for comfort and solace. The pain of your past relationship had resurfaced, triggering a deep yearning for someone who truly understood you. And Spencer, with his unwavering support and compassion, was the only person who could provide that.

 

Silence lingered on the other end of the line, and you wondered if perhaps you had overwhelmed him with your sudden vulnerability. But just as doubt began to creep in, Spencer's voice filled the void once again.

 

"I'm on my way," he said firmly, his words laced with determination. "Stay where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can."

 

Relief washed over you like a gentle tide, easing some of the turmoil in your heart. You trusted Spencer implicitly; his presence was a balm to your wounded soul.

 

Spencer rushed into Hotch’s office, telling him that you needed someone with you right now, and that he will be back to work as soon as he can be.

 

And Spencer, a man who was always true to his word, was at your door within 20 minutes.

 

You opened the door, your tear-streaked face betraying the pain you had been holding inside. Spencer took one look at you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace. The warmth of his touch, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest, brought a sense of security that you hadn't felt in a long time.

 

"I'm here," he whispered softly into your ear, his voice filled with genuine concern. "You're not alone anymore."

 

You clung to him, seeking solace in his presence, as he led you to the couch and sat down beside you. “You don't have to face this pain by yourself”, his voice was calming, “everyone on the team loves you, they all would be here in a heartbeat for you. I mean they are discussing what to get you for when you come back to work.”

 

You let out a weak laugh, the first sign of a smile since the whole ordeal began. It was comforting to know that you had a support system, a group of people who truly cared about you.

 

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I don't know where I would be without all of you."

 

Spencer's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes filled with genuine compassion. "You're stronger than you think," he assured you softly. "And we'll be right here with you every step of the way."

 

In that moment, as you sat there with Spencer by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope. The pain and heartache were still present, but now they were tempered by the love and support surrounding you.

 

“Would you like to talk about what happened, or is there something else on your mind?”

 

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you were ready to relive the details of the past, but then you realized that Spencer was right. It was time to face what had happened and start the healing process.

 

Taking a deep breath, you began to share your story. The words tumbled out, sometimes in a rush, other times choked with emotion. Spencer listened attentively, never interrupting or judging. He offered gentle words of encouragement, his presence a constant reminder that you were not alone.

 

As you recounted the painful memories, it felt like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. Each word spoken was an act of defiance against the pain that had consumed you for so long. And with each passing minute, you felt a little bit stronger.

 

When you finally finished, there was a silence that hung in the air, as if the weight of your story needed a moment to settle in. Spencer broke the stillness with a soft sigh.

 

"I'm so sorry," he said sincerely, “you should never have had to have gone through that. He will rot in prison. And that ex of yours, he did not deserve you.”

 

You nodded, grateful for Spencer's unwavering support and understanding. His words were like a soothing balm to your wounded soul, validating the pain you had endured. Your heart ached with the realization that you had been in a toxic relationship, but knowing that you were no longer alone gave you the strength to move forward.

 

"Thank you, Spencer," you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes once again. "I don't know how I would have made it through this without you."

 

Spencer's gaze softened, his hand gently wiping away your tears. "You don't have to thank me," he said softly. "Being there for you is what friends do. We look out for each other."

 

The word "friends" lingered in the air, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was something more between you and Spencer. The connection you shared felt deeper than mere friendship, but you were both still healing from past wounds. It was too soon to explore those feelings, and not long ago, Spencer had shown his dislike for you.

 

*

 

After about two weeks, you were back in the bullpen. Garcia had decorated your desk, telling you that this always make her feel better and she thought it would do the same to you, JJ and Emily informed you on all the gossip you had missed, Hotch had gone full dad mode on you, making sure you were okay, Rossi had invited you over to his for a private cooking lesson, Morgan had told you all the pranks he had pulled on Spencer. Spencer on the other hand seemed to keep his distance, he had smiled at you, but ever since that day he had come over something seemed to have changed.

 

You couldn't put your finger on it, but there was a palpable shift in the dynamics between you and Spencer. He was still kind and supportive, but there was a subtle hesitancy in his interactions with you. It was as if he was holding back, as if there were unresolved emotions swirling beneath the surface.

 

You desperately wanted to address it, to talk to Spencer about what had transpired between you, but you feared that doing so might jeopardize the fragile bond you had built. What if he didn't feel the same way? What if he saw you as nothing more than a friend and confidant?

 

You pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on the work at hand. The team had a new case, one that required their full attention. As you discussed the details with your teammates, you noticed Spencer's gaze linger on you for a moment longer than necessary. It was a fleeting look, but enough to make your heart skip a beat.

 

Throughout the day, you found yourself stealing glances at Spencer whenever you could. There was an undeniable chemistry between the two of you, a connection that had grown stronger during your time of need. But you both had been through so much already, and neither of you wanted to rush into anything without being sure.

 

As the case progressed, Spencer's presence beside you became more prominent. He would stand just a little too close, his hand brushing against yours as he passed you a file or offered his insights. It was subtle, but it spoke volumes about what he was feeling.

 

Even JJ had commented on it, asking if something was going on between the two of you, but you assured her nothing was going on. But the truth was, you weren't quite sure how to define whatever it was that was happening between you and Spencer.

 

*

 

After the case was over, the team decided to go out for celebratory drinks. This was the first time you had gone out since what had happened to you. You were sat in-between JJ and Garcia, they were both talking about their funniest sex stories and you couldn't help but laugh along with them, grateful for the distraction from your own thoughts. Across the table, Spencer was engaged in a lively conversation with Rossi and Morgan, his laughter ringing out in the crowded bar.

 

You don’t know what compelled you, but you decided to share yours, and you were almost certain Spencer couldn’t hear you.

 

“If you want to mine”, you paused, allowing the girls to give you their full attention, “I told my ex that I was into BDSM and he thought that just meant me calling him daddy. So, when I told him what I was really into, he nearly fainted. It was definitely an interesting and eye-opening experience." The girls burst into laughter, their faces turning red from the combination of alcohol and amusement.

 

The sound caught Spencer's attention, his ears perking up as he turned his head towards you. His eyes locked with yours, and you could've sworn there was a flicker of interest in them.

 

"Wait, what did I miss?" he asked, leaning closer to catch the tail end of the conversation.

 

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you glanced at the girls. JJ nudged you playfully, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

 

"Oh, Y/N's just regaling us with her kinky adventures," Garcia chimed in with a teasing smirk.

 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and surprise evident on his face. "Is that so?" he asked, trying to hide a smile.

 

You shifted in your seat, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anticipation. The playful conversation seemed to have opened a door, allowing for a light-hearted connection between you and Spencer. You took a deep breath, deciding to seize the moment.

 

"Yeah, well, it was definitely an experience," you replied, matching his playful tone. "But let's just say, I've learned my lesson about dating vanilla guys."

 

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I can assure you, I'm far from vanilla," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

 

JJ and Garcia exchanged knowing glances, silently urging you to take the plunge. They had seen the connection between you and Spencer long before either of you had acknowledged it, and they were more than ready to play matchmakers.

 

"So," Garcia interjected with a sly grin, "are we going to sit here and talk about kinks all night, or are you two going to finally address the elephant in the room?"

 

“I-erm what elephant?” you asked, there was hint of confusion in your voice.

 

“Oh, come on.” JJ stated “Even when Spencer hated you, he couldn’t take his eyes of you.”

 

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze shifting nervously between you and JJ. You could see the internal battle raging within him, the fear of rejection warring with his desire for something more.

 

Finally, Spencer took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to speak. "I... I have to admit," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "Even when I claimed to dislike you, I couldn't deny the pull I felt towards you. You're intelligent, compassionate, and..." He trailed off, his eyes searching yours for any sign of reciprocation.

 

A warm smile spread across your face as you reached across the table, gently placing your hand on top of Spencer's. "And what?" you prompted softly.

 

He let out a shaky laugh, his fingers intertwining with yours. "And beautiful," he finished, his voice filled with sincerity.

 

JJ and Garcia exchanged triumphant glances as their matchmaking efforts paid off.

 

“You know, I think it’s time you two go home, so you can discuss this somewhere Hotch can’t hear you.” Emily said in a hushed tone.

 

You and Spencer laughed, realizing that your friends were right. It was time to have a more private conversation about the growing feelings between you. As the night came to an end, you and Spencer found yourselves outside the bar, away from prying ears.

 

The air was crisp, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees. You leaned against the side of the building, facing Spencer who stood only a few feet away. There was a comfortable silence between you as you both took a moment to collect your thoughts.

 

Finally, Spencer spoke up, his voice filled with vulnerability. "I never meant to push you away before. I was scared...scared of opening myself up to someone, scared of getting hurt. But seeing what you went through, how strong you were...it made me realize how much I care about you."

 

Your heart swelled at his words, grateful for his honesty. "Spencer, I understand why you acted the way you did. We've all been hurt before, and we all have our own ways of protecting ourselves," you replied softly. "But I want you to know that I care about you too, and I'm willing to take the risk if it means we can be together."

 

Spencer's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of relief and hope. "You would really give us a chance?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

A gentle smile tugged at your lips as you stepped closer to him. "Yes, Spencer, I would. I would give us a chance," you confirmed, your voice filled with certainty. "Because the truth is, Spencer, I've been falling for you ever since the first case I worked.”

 

Spencer's eyes widened, surprise mingling with joy. "Really? Even when I was being an insufferable jerk?"

 

You chuckled softly. "Especially then," you admitted. “But I do have to know what you mean when you say your far from vanilla.”

 

Spencer blushed, his cheeks turning a shade of crimson. "Well," he stammered, "I've always had a... deep fascination with role-playing scenarios and exploring different power dynamics." He paused, his gaze searching yours for any sign of judgment or discomfort. “And I can say I enjoy being the dominant one more.”

 

“Is that so? What have been your favourite scene you’ve done so far?”

 

Spencer cleared his throat, a bashful smile playing on his lips. "Well, one of my favourite scenes involved a classic teacher-student dynamic," he confessed, his voice laced with excitement. "I got to play the strict professor, and she was my eager and naughty student."

 

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity. "Oh? And how did that play out?"

 

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Let's just say there were some detentions and extra credit assignments involved," he replied coyly. "It was all about the power play and the thrill of breaking the rules within the safety of our consensual role-playing."

 

He then once again looked to see if you were unconformable. “What about you? What do you enjoy.” He asked.

“I, erm- well I enjoy being the submissive one. I was in a dynamic relationship with someone, and they gave me a necklace to wear, to show I belonged to them. They used to tell me what outfits I could wear when going out.”

 

Spencer's eyebrows furrowed, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Did you enjoy the feeling of submission, or was it more about the trust and surrender that came with it?" he asked gently, his voice filled with genuine interest.

 

You took a moment to consider his question before answering honestly. "It was a combination of both," you replied, your voice soft but unwavering. "There was something incredibly liberating about giving up control and trusting someone else to take care of me. It allowed me to let go of my responsibilities and just be in the moment."

 

Spencer nodded, a thoughtful look on his face as he took in your words. "I understand," he said quietly. "The power dynamics in BDSM can be incredibly nuanced and fulfilling when both parties are open and communicative about their desires and boundaries."

 

"Would you ever consider exploring that dynamic with me?" you asked cautiously, searching his face for any sign of hesitation. “I mean, I would still be the submissive one.”

 

Spencer’s eyes softened, filled with warmth and reassurance. He reached out to gently cup your cheek, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "I would be honoured to explore that dynamic with you," he replied softly. "But only if we establish clear boundaries, practice open communication, and ensure that both of our needs are met."

 

You smiled, relieved by his understanding and respect for the importance of consent and communication in such exploration. "I couldn't agree more," you murmured, leaning into his touch. "We'll take it slow, step by step, and create a safe space for both of us to express ourselves."

~taglist~

@iluvreid @drspencerreidsthings @amatheuni@i-heart-mgg @Liidiaaag@wyntersstuff@brilliantreid @donttrustlove@btsiguess-kpop @bellesmith628 @lunaticgurly @Oureternalbond@somethingsmart123 @ula-revolution @pleasantwitchgarden @vvampwebb @alysena2 @sujan39 @nini123 @xoxo-lyss @rory-cakes @marantha @http0kms0jpg @peppersapro @mommymilkers3000@spicycalabaza @shinixpo@dr-reidsslut@[email protected]@potatochip-111 @stars-n-stuff15 @nugget1234567@00047c@carley12041@earth2stxr@cosavuoi-me@sewmxx @bibissparkles @frgtmenotes @mdanon027 @drreidsfavwhxre@yourfavoritefangirl @sunnyyyyyyyynnus @mega-kittyglitter-1 @loliakeoghan23 @7bel-o@dreamsarebig @kohordosara16@ashlynt @waywardhunter95 @millreid0607@spencerstits @ruby-d1amond @harrrystyles5 @maoricth @sarcasm-and-stiles @r-3dlips @khxna @k3nz13a @reidtopia @danelhi@fictionallifestuff @girl_lost_not_found@bbggarcia@b0nesnotcals@super-btstrash-posts @blacksoul-27@reidsgirlhottie@alexxavicry @olives-and-sunshine @skulliecadaver-blog

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid smut #rynwritesreid #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid

[murdrdocs]

INTERVIEW 005

with. rafe cameron

includes. mean!rafe, degradation, dom!rafe, slight watersports mention (but no actual watersports), kinda free use

→ kinktober masterlist

With the way he’s bouncing you on his cock, you start to consider that he has absolutely no sympathy at all. 

The night started close to how it usually does: Rafe pulling you into his bedroom, kissing you like he would open you up and devour you if possible, his hands peeling your clothes off even without you having to initiate the action. 

He’d coaxed you into positioning yourself over him, taunting you as you sunk down onto his cock, your hisses and wincing drowned out with his own teasing. 

“You begged for this and now you’re gonna sound like you don’t want it? Is that it? You don’t want my cock?” 

You could feel him start to pull out, his rough hands lifting you up by your waist just a few centimeters. Your head was already shaking, sadness already sitting heavy on your chest with a burden you knew you couldn’t handle if Rafe left you alone. 

You should’ve known by his almost-sadistic smile that he wasn’t going to have any mercy for the rest of the night. You’d always been like puddy in Rafe’s hands, a situation you’d gotten yourself in just at the beginning of the summer but it feels like you’ve been indebted to him for bloodlines with the way you bend to his will. 

“That’s what I thought, sweetheart,” he told you, grin only spreading as you started to ride him. 

You’d ended up here, tears steadily sliding down your cheeks from the mixture of pleasure and pain. You’d never had pain inflicted onto you like this before, not a direct hit from Rafe’s words or his hands, but a build up of intensity of orgasms, almost too many as you could barely handle it at this point. 

You were the definition of spent, limbs jelly, feeling both floaty and heavy, keeping you stuck straight to the bed. Which is where Rafe wanted you. You’re exactly how he wanted. 

Pliable, nothing but a mess of limbs and holes that he could abuse for the rest of the night. As he obviously intended to do, no slack in his hips as they slap against yours, the wet sounds of his dick plunging deep into the sticky, wet mess that he’s made of your cunt. 

Cum, spit, your own arousal, and probably some piss mixed in there, all leaking out of you no matter how much Rafe attempts to slide it back in. 

You know that if you opened your mouth and said what he would need to hear to stop, he would. He would hear it over his grunts, over your moans, over the slip and slide of your mix of fluids, and he would pull out and do whatever you needed him to do. 

But that’s not what you want. 

You like to be treated like nothing but a body for Rafe to use. Nothing but a pair of tits for him to fuck and spill his cum over. 

Nothing but a pretty mouth for him to kiss, or spit in, or even fucking piss in if he wanted to. 

Nothing but a tight cunt and an even tighter ass to force his thick cock into, fucking until the sting from the abuse was the only thing you could feel. 

It’s sick, but it feels so fucking good to be desired like this, even if it’s the most carnal desire you’ve ever known to exist.

#🕸️ 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐑 #rafetobr! #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #mean!rafe #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

[missvioletvillainess]

🇵🇸 Can we talk about the fact that I keep getting asked out by hot dykes at Pro-Palestine protests and it's so affirming and wholesome?? 🇵🇸

Because there's no queer liberation without the liberation of Palestinians. Because there's no freedom from oppression until Palestinians are free from Israeli occupation and if you're actively involved in that, I know you're a safe space. If I see you can create an ounce of discomfort in your life and disrupt it to one small degree to try and create comfort for those less privileged, I know you're someone I can trust.

I need to know you care about making change. I need to know you care not in an abstract, intangible way, but in a very real, disrupting your work schedule, cutting off friends, risking opportunities, put-your-ass-on-the-line, kind of way. If you care about change,you have to be actively involved, talking about it is not enough, it's never enough. It's easy to be woke and speak out about social issues until you actually have to be inconvenienced, unsafe or economically disadvantaged for doing so. Then it's hard. Thats why so many people agree with these political views but so few actually take out the time to get involved. Trust me, I know exactly how hard it is. I did it when I had no job, no home, no visa; I did it when I was triggered, when I was unsafe, when I was overworked and overwhelmed. I have been doing it since the bombing started, and I do it consistently every week.

Personally, I don't think I could be with a partner who isn't involved in activism to some degree. It's been a part of my life for years, and I've only been more radicalised as time goes on. I'm attending 2-3 Pro-Palestine events every week, I can't date you if you have a 🇵🇸 in your bio and that's the full extent of your contribution to the cause. Thank you, but no thank you, I'm going to move on. Palestine isn't the latest war or invasion or conflict, it isn't a sad tragic story for people to donate to out of sympathy, it is a systematic ethnic cleansing and a televised genocide. I don't have capacity to deal with someone who is lukewarm about this.

More importantly, I don't have capacity to to deal with someone who talks about social issues but isn't prepared to disrupt their lives to even a small, inconsequential degree to fight for a cause they believe in. You doesn't have to just support Palestine, you could be supporting Ukraine, Lebanon, Syria, Sudan, Congo. You could be supporting ethnic minorities in your community, you could be supporting refugees, abuse survivors, homeless people, trans people, anyone at all, but if you don't show up and get involved in the cause you believe in, if you don't put in the work, if you don't put in the effort; if you can't attend protests, demonstrations, teach ins, seminars, charity events; if you're not fundraising, boycotting, spreading awareness; if you can't give something of yourself to the community you want to support, I really don't know if I can be romantically involved with you.

That's why I think people at the protests have such a strong tight knit community, and that's why some people actually find safety and security in the people they meet and that's why they might want to pursue something romantic with the people they feel comfortable exploring with. It's hard showing up when you're overwhelmed and you're going to be late to work the next day. It's hard showing up when you have to miss your iftars, your hang outs, your social gatherings. It's hard showing up when you're broke and stressed, and it's hard showing up when you're late on assignments and meetings with your supervisor. It's hard as fuck, honestly. But if I see you're doing that, I know I can trust you to a certain degree, at least. I know you have your priorities straight, I know where your morals are aligned, I know where you're going to put your energy, and I want to be part of that.

Lets go to protests together, lets make banners together, lets attend fundraisers and political teach in sessions, let's have a date at an occupied space (actually did that last week) Lets romanticise the activism we do, because it's fucking powerful and we should celebrate it.

The sexiest thing a sapphic can do is be an activist, fucking fight me.

If you're not Pro Palestine, please unfollow. Or let me know, so I can block you. Kthanksbye.

🇵🇸 Dykes for Palestine

#palestine #pro palestine #genocide #free gaza #free palstine #gaza strip #gaza genocide #ethnic cleansing #gaza #gazaunderattack #palestine solidarity #palestine protest #palestine action #falasteen #falastin #apartheid #war on gaza #israhell #dykes for palestine #stop the genocide #stop bombing gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #palestine awareness #palestine activism

[areyoudreaminof]

The Rock Against the Surf: A Gwyn Berdara Playlist

If my timing is correct, it happens to be Day 2 of @gwynweekofficial , song association! So, how about a playlist of songs for Gwyn?

Just like Nesta needed Gwyn, I think a lot of us readers needed her too. To see someone heal herself through such trauma, to see the beauty and strength in the world and to be vulnerable with herself and others in order to heal was an important experience for me. I really am looking forward to Gwyn's story progressing. Listen Here! And follow me behind the cut for a deep dive!

Pegasi-Jesca Hoop

You combed out my mane I'll wear your saddle and reins With all these stars at my feet I'll stamp and tap the spring With my rider a mount I feel like spreading my wings Take to the sky like poetry

The River-AURORA

Don't forget who you are even though you are hurt You are caught in a wire and soon it will burst You can cry, drinking your eyes Do you miss the sadness when it is gone? (Gone) And you let the river run wild (Gone) And you let the river run wild

The Siren-Nadiiife

Moonlight on my skin Rising from within Taking all my wounds Mother moon my home

Here in the water My soul evolves in wrath I am thunder I am the siren's song

Little Earthquakes-Tori Amos

We danced in graveyards with vampires till dawn We laughed in the faces of kings, never afraid to burn And I hate, and I hate And I hate, and I hate Disintegration, watching us wither Black-winged roses that safely changed their color Oh, these little earthquakes Here we go again

I can't reach you, can't reach you Give me life, give me pain Give me myself again Give me life, give me pain Give me myself again

Rocks and Water-Deb Talan

Seven times I went down Six times I walked back I don't fear the dark anymore 'Cause I've become all that

I will be rocks, I will be water I will leave this to my daughter Lift your head up in the wind When you feel yourself grow colder Wrap the night around your shoulders I will be with you even then Even when I cannot see your face anymore

O'Sister-City and Colour

What have the demons done? With a luminous light that once shined from your eyes What makes you feel so alone?

Is it the whispering ghost that you fear the most? But the blackness in your heart, it won't last forever I know it's tearing you apart but it's a song you can wither

Was it the whispering ghost that left you out in the cold? But the blackness in your heart won't last forever I know it's tearing you apart but it's a storm you can wither

Cold War-Janelle Monáe

So you think I'm alone? But being alone's the only way to be When you step outside You spend life fighting for your sanity This is a cold war You better know what you're fighting for This is a cold war Do you know what you're fighting for? If you want to be free Below the ground is the only place to be Cause in this life You spend time running from depravity

notre dame-Paris Paloma

As I tiptoe Creaking over prayers Pleading with their maker Crying with the choir

I’m not immune to the sincerity Below me, makes me feel It makes me holy But the tears I understand That I do not below No I do not belong

Bishop Briggs-White Flag

Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down I will never hit the ground, hit the ground Playing dead, I'll never do Gotta keep an eye on you Patience is wearing thin, paper-thin Promises broke again, what a sin But it only feeds my energy So don't expect no sympathy

Oh, won't wave my white flag, no This time I won't let go I'd rather die Than give up the fight, give up the fight

Rebel Heart-First Aid Kit

You told me once I have a rebel heart I don't know if that's true But I believe you saw something in me That lives inside you too Now all I hear is the wind There's a storm coming through

Tell me what do you do I keep trying To be someone I'd never be I keep seeing her in everyone Everyone but me But I know you truly saw me Even if just for a while Maybe that's why it hurts now To leave it all behind I don't know what it is That makes me run That makes me wanna shatter Everything that I've done

Only If For A Night-Florence + the Machine

And I heard your voice as clear as day And you told me I should concentrate It was all so strange and so surreal That a ghost should be so practical Only if for a night And the only solution was to stand and fight And my body was bruised and I was set alight But you came over me like some holy rite And although I was burning, you're the only light Only if for a night

Albatross-Foals

You burnt the lungs That your ancestors created You sat by the banks Of the river and you waited Till time rolled back And the water had abated You drank your share But you still could not be sated You said you're scared Of the clocks that keep ticking over We'll find a way For a life that's worth living over Again and again

Claim Your Ghost-Iron and Wine

Our winter keeps running us down We wake up with love hanging on Killers let go, killers let go

Some kids get a handful of rain Our hope is the desperate die wise Killers let go, killers let go

Morning falls from a tree and asks for a name Claim your ghost, know the wine for what it is

Be Sweet-Japanese Breakfast

So come and get your woman (Comе and get your woman) Pacify her rage (Pacify her rage) Take the time to undo your lies, make it up once more with feeling Recognize your mistakes and I'll let you back in Realize not too late, loved you always Make it up to me, you know it's better Make it up to me, you know it's better Be sweet to me, baby I wanna believe in you, I wanna believe in something

Ready to Start-Arcade Fire

If I was scared, I would And if I was pure, you know I would And if I was yours, but I'm not Now I'm ready to start If I was scared, I would And if I was pure, you know I would And if I was yours, but I'm not Now I'm ready to start Now I'm ready to start I would rather be wrong Than live in the shadows of your song

Taglist: @ofduskanddreams @krem-does-stuff @krem-has-a-mess @octobers-veryown @melting-houses-of-gold @velidewrites @reverie-tales @c-e-d-dreamer, @andrigyn @foundress0fnothing @vulpes-fennec @asnowfern @mossytrashcan @thelovelymadone @the-lonelybarricade @shadowriel @separatist-apologist @fieldofdaisiies @stickyelectrons @vanserrass @panicatthenightcourt @iftheshoef1tz @damedechance @headcanonheadcase @cursebrkr @wilde-knight @moonpatroclus @kataravimes-of-the-shire @sunshinebingo @filthyglamdoll @ablogofbipanic @bagelfyre @thesistersarcheron @ultadverb @iftheshoef1tz @yazthebookish, @foreverinelysian, @spell-cleavers, @aldbooks, @gwyns, @bookofmirth

#acotar playlist project #gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #pro gwyn #Spotify

[m3nt4llyr4v3d]

Lila’s Potential

Say what you want about people letting headcanons dictate how people expect the show to turn out, but I wanted Lila to be so much more.

I was expecting a cunning, smart, manipulative person who can weasel her way out of any situation with sickly sweet words, someone who plans out her revenge, someone who gets by on their smarts alone in a universe with superheroes and supervillains. And since this character was, you know, a teenager, I was expecting to have some semblance of sympathy, or at least some sort of backstory to her to explain why she is/thinks the way she is/thinks. Someone whose defeat feels cathartic, but whose comeback feels even better!

But what did I get?

I got a petty high schooler who spreads easily disproven lies to everyone around her, to the aspiring journalist, and everyone takes it at face value, even all the (incompetent) adults around her. Has literal plot armor to make everyone around her dumb as bricks, so much so that when Adrien, who literally works with her, is assumed to be slandering her under his girlfriend’s name when there’s no fucking reason to believe he’d do that. Someone who, for some reason, has 3 different mothers who we’re supposed to believe are all convinced she’s their daughter, and multiple identities for some reason, and came into school in one of her fake identities for some reason. Oh, and that defeat? Well she had another identity to immediately fall back on, so it honestly doesn’t matter. Oh, and her acquiring the butterfly miraculous? She just did, don’t question it. Her way of thinking and why she’s so “smart”? Oh she’s just a psychopath

Just how am I supposed to feel when it’s revealed that Lila has another identity (Cerise) that people in that city know her by? That she’s just wearing a wig? I’m pretty sure all of her caretakers have seen her in this wig, are they convinced that Lila is their daughter or Cerise? How much do they know? Are they 3 separate mothers unaware of each other? Why does she lie to 3 women about this?

I’m sure we might (MIGHT) get some sort of explanation in Season 6, but goddamn, what insanity. My problem isn’t the twist itself (not fully), but rather the fact that it came out of fucking nowhere and we’re just supposed to roll with it

Honestly was hoping we’d at least see some, like, foreshadowing? Like the hacking thing? Let’s just say she’s seen hanging out with Max, or we see a scene of her asking him to teach her something about computers. Max and Markov are literal super geniuses who can hack into the Tsurugi system (she’s a tech mogul so it’s real difficult), it’s reasonable that Lila could’ve asked him to tutor her. The 3 moms thing? If you’re insistent on keeping that, just have her slip up on occasion whenever she’s asked about her family, or say that it’s complicated all sad like (personally I like the latter). The whole multiple identities thing? Have her take acting classes, or constantly volunteering for plays or the occasional movie the class does. Have her suddenly acting really sad or really happy, some type of extreme emotion that confuses her classmates, but she reveals she’s just practicing her acting. This can somewhat be her way of gauging how her classmates react (studying them somewhat) as well as her get out of jail free card if she’s caught lying, just say she’s acting! (Might be flimsy but I kind of like it)

Point is, those are just me throwing ideas at the wall. I’m not asking for exactly what I said, but damn, I was expecting her to be an actual threat, makes me kind of sad

#ml salt #ml writing salt #ml lila #lila salt #kinda #its more about her writing than her character

[coconurt]

WOOOOO MISSING SCENE TIME!! Wow, I haven't written anything since august, bout time, huh?

Yes, yes I very much know this is how it starts: I watch a new show, I lose my mind a little bit, I write a little drabble, and it's all over for me for 6 to 9 business months /pos

ANYWAY! VOL 9 BRAINROT, BABYYY >:D

(spoilers for rwby vol 9. obvi)

~~~

When the dam burst, it burst catastrophically.

Ugly words poured out in a torrent, aimed like bullets straight for her teammates. At the time, it had felt… well, not good, exactly. More like release.

"No time, right? Gotta get home. Gotta help Jaune. Gotta find someone who isn't just going to screw everything up."

When Weiss shrank back, she turned her anger on her sister. On her sister's partner.

"Gotta stay positive, right? Smiles all around!" She advanced on them, slowly, and Yang placed herself protectively in front of Blake. On literally any other day, that small action would've broken her heart. Not then, though.

Right then, she didn't care.

"Maybe even finally get our feelings sorted out." Something like a corrupted sort of jealousy surged in her chest. "Good for you, by the way—we're all

so

happy

for you."

"Hey," Yang had warned, her voice sharp. But Ruby had already moved on.

She made the mistake of bringing a grieving Jaune into it, then. He lashed out. Struck the killing blow, blamed her for the five of them getting stuck there, and that was it. There was no more for her to say.

She was empty. Empty of momentum, empty of words, empty of hope. Empty of everything except the overwhelming hurt threatening to tear her apart in front of everyone she loved.

So she left.

~~~

This leg of their journey had been quiet, which was a nice change of pace.

Sort of.

Good in the sense that it gave the five of them a well-deserved rest. Bad that it gave Ruby plenty of time to think about things.

About everything.

Something she really did not want to do.

And it must've shown on her face, because—

"Out with it, Rubes."

Yang's voice startled her out of her thoughts. She whipped her head to the side just in time to catch the tail end of the Look (patent pending) her sister was giving her right before she turned her attention back to the road in front of them.

She blinked, feeling like a deer that had just been spotted by a hound. Her mouth felt oddly dry, all of a sudden.

"G- uh. Out with… what?"

Yang shot her a second, even less impressed look. "Come on. I can tell when you've got something you want to say. You've been fidgety all day and silent for the last couple miles. So out with it."

Her stomach plunged, and an icy feeling spread through her chest. Biting her lip, she worried the edge of her cowl between two fingers. Now or never, she guessed. Might as well take advantage of the moment of quiet while it lasted.

They wouldn't be mad at her for bringing it up, right...?

"Well, I… I've been thinking… about the thing… about what I said. The… I just… I didn't mean it, any of it… I was just…"

"Deeep breath," Yang drawled. "Start over."

Blake peeked around Yang from where she walked on the blonde's other side. "It's okay, Ruby. Take your time." Her face held nothing but kind concern. "You know you can talk to us about anything, right?"

Ah. There that was again. She'd been hearing that a lot after their escape from the Ever After. She knew they were just trying to help. Turn over a new leaf, take some of the burden of everything off her shoulders instead of letting her carry it alone. It was sweet, but… it was taking a bit of getting used to.

Ruby released the breath that had gotten lodged in her chest. She closed her eyes, did as Yang asked, then reopened them and turned to face the other two.

"I didn't mean what I said. Back at the paper village. I'm sorry."

Blake got it right away. Her ears drooped with sad sympathy. "Ruby—" she started.

Yang gave her a strange look, just for a moment. She tilted her head, then realization dawned in her eyes.

"Ruby no, you— don't apologize. We put way too much pressure on you, and—"

"—you were just venting…"

She held up a hand to stop them. "Maybe. But it wasn't fair to bring you two," she gestured to their clasped hands, "into it. You make great partners, and you're gonna make a great couple, too."

We are happy for you. All of us. I'm happy for you." She offered them a small smile, hoping it was enough. "I mean it, this time."

Yang returned the smile and opened her mouth to say something, but Blake suddenly ducked in front of her and lunged toward Ruby, wrapping her into a tight hug. Ruby caught her with a small oof. Yang wasted no time piling on, easily enveloping the both of them.

Ruby almost melted into the embrace. Tears pricked her eyes. "Does this mean… we're good?"

They only hugged her tighter, and that was all the answer she needed.

#hhhhhng *tries to get over my phobia of posting anything less than 1k* #this was fun :3 #rwby #rwby volume 9 #rwby spoilers #rwby volume 9 spoilers #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #rwby fanfiction #my fics #my writing

[womenrhot889801]

~My Songbird~

~Chapter 2~

Ana paced around nervously, reality hitting her all at once as she found herself standing outside the entrance of the arena. She was waiting for the tributes to arrive, hoping to get a good word in with Lucy before tomorrow.

Her eyes slightly lit up at the site of Lucy Gray, who worse a perplexed expression on her face as she took in the sight of the building, her anxiety building up as the games snuck closer and closer with each second.

Her gaze fell on her mentor, who she shot a kind smile towards. Hesitantly, she made her way over to her, rolling her eyes as two peacekeepers followed, keeping a very close distance to her. “Hi.” She greeted, holding her hands behind her back.

“Hey there, Songbird”, Ana replied, earning a nervous smile in response. Lucy was very much aware of the pink that was currently spread across her face. “Songbird?”, she giggled, her nerves slightly calmed by her friendly, positive words. The conversation feeling normal, almost.

“Yeah. You know, cause you have an amazing voice! Plus that show you put on at the reaping? Very impressive. I found it to be very beautiful and emotional, I hope you know that.”

The blush on Lucy’s cheeks only grew deeper at that, as she lightly pushed her hair behind her ear. “Well thank you hon!” She looked around her before lightly taking her hands in her own. “You’re… different than I expected.”, she explained.

Ana smiled in return, “How do you mean?”, she asked with a tilt of her head. Lucy looked down at her own feet, sucking in a breath.

“Well, it’s just that. You’re apart of the capitol and the people here aren’t the most fond of us.. districts”, Ana remained focused, listening intently.

Lucy continued. “I just expected you to be… well”, she awkwardly scratched her head. “A bitch?” Ana asked with a slight snicker.

Her tribute let out a nervous laugh. “I guess so.. not that I assume all people here are ass holes but.. I definitely didn’t expect you to be so kind.” Ana smiled at her confession. “I just… thank you. I really appreciate your kind, genuine words. You’ve just met me and I already feel so safe with you”, she explained.

She let out a surprised gasp as Ana wrapped her arms around her, before relaxing in her embrace. She tightly wrapped her arms around her back, holding on as if her life depended on it.

“I’m so scared to let go… I don’t want tomorrow to even happen. I’m scared if I do.. This will be the last I’ll ever get to be with you”, she rushed out.

Ana released with a sad smile. “Darling, I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I-”, she was rudely cut off by peacekeepers yelling at them to enter the arena.

Ana sighed before taking Lucy’s hand in her own, guiding her to the inside of the building.

Everyone was given fifteen minutes to strategize, as they all mapped out the arena.

Ana jumped when Coral yelled out at one of the tributes, telling the “lumberjack” to come over. She witnessed him call over his other tribute, Lamina, before being cut off. She felt a surge of sadness and sympathy when Coral said she only wanted him to come over. She looked over at the girl who stood there in a bubble of misery and betrayal. She was about to come over to her when..

BOOM

Screams filled the room as the ceiling collapsed in on itself. Bombs were being set off all over. “Lucy!”, Ana screamed. She ran over to her, covering the cowering girl with her own body. She covered her ears and instructed her to do the same. She made sure to protect her songbird, willing to spare her own life to keep her safe.

Lucy buried her head in the girls arms, whimpering in fear as the loud explosions shook the whole building.

Shots were fired as a few tributes tried to escape, but Ana didn’t pay attention. She kept her arms around the girl, staying there for as long as she would be allowed.

~Time Skip~

Ana woke up in a hospital bed, gasping in fear. It was as if she had just woken up from a nightmare.

“Oh! Ana!”, Tigris, her cousin cooed, crushing her in a hug. Ana closed her eyes, burying her head in her neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I was so worried!”. Tigris sat down beside her bed, placing her hand in Ana’s.

Ana smiled at her cousin before her eyes widened. “Wait. Lucy?! Where is she?”, she rushed out, panicked about her well being.

“She’s okay! She is safe”, her cousin reassured. Ana let out a sigh in relief, laying her head back down.

Their attention was turned to the television as Lucky Flickerman mentioned Lucy’s name. She watched in adoration as she heard the girls voice, and listened in awe as she began to sing.

The lyrics of ‘Pure as The Driven Snow’ were mesmerizing, beautiful, real, and tragic all at the same time. Her eyes swelled with tears, and stifled cries could be heard around the room.

“She’s so amazing”, Tigris stated, tears falling down her face. She looked back at her cousin. “I see that you two have a very good connection”, she smiled.

Ana looked down at her hands, blushing. “You thinks so?” She asked, her voice laced with hope.

“Oh I know so. And look! Her donations are so high! I think she’s got a good chance!”

“I hope so, I really do. Fuck the reward I just want her to be okay.” Ana shuddered, laying down as she tried to tune out her worries.

#lgbt #lesbian #bisexaul #lucy gray x fem!reader #lamina tbosas #tbosas #lucy gray x coral #reneé rapp #lucy gray baird x fem reader #lucy gray x reader #lucy gray baird x reader #lucy gray lesbian #lucy gray baird x you #lucy gray baird #lamina x reader #lamina #coral tbosas #coralbaird

[isnovelman]

Isn't Being A Wicked Woman Much Better? Side Story Chapter 14

- Well, I just had it because it looked good. And he's a celebrity, so I've never met him.

- Really?

-His portrait also roams the streets of Horun district! It's similar to that.

-.....

-You are the most handsome! Seeing you, that guy is a complete seafood man.

- … Yes?

-oh, of course!

- Better than Locke Visconti?

- That's your previous life! Even their faces and voices all look the same, what do they compare?

-different! Here, the eyes and the shape of the lips are better than him.

- I don't know... .

Isidor was about to sting again, so I quickly reached out with his hair to comfort him.

-Ugh. You're like a big dog that doesn't listen.

- You've been stroking my hair while thinking like this.

Still, as if feeling better, he rests his head in my hands. It seemed possible that the souls could come into contact with each other, but it didn't feel like touching the hair, so it was a little awkward.

- Go back and do it.

He seemed to wag his tail like a puppy.

-Your past life was like a ferocious cat. that's interesting.

-It was on the side of the dog, but I was not honest. I regretted it until I died. I couldn't let go of my pride and spit out words that didn't make sense to me. It was a past life filled with regret and longing.

-.....

Now with the conversation it became clear.

As Isidor was dragged into this space, like me, he remembered everything that happened in his previous life.

But just as I was Deborah Seymour and not Nailla, Isidor had not changed otherwise.

-By the way, isn't it blasphemy to do this in a temple?

- Even though the princess is a saint, I can make a rule that allows skinship at this time.

-I don't think I will come to the temple in the future, but why do I have to fight with the Pope and do good things for others... .

-Is that good?

-Look at what's in your favor!

The two of us had a refreshing conversation, holding hands and crossing the campus where cherry blossoms fell like snow.

-The romance of a campus couple is now being realized.

- campus?

- It has a similar meaning to the academy.

-Well. I should have been reborn twice... .

He was truly sorry.

-I just imagined, I think Sir might have lived well here as well. He must have been a really popular senior.

- The princess had a good life too. I grew up beautifully amongst a family that was quarrelsome and grumpy.

As if he had seen the soybean family in his previous life, sadness and fondness rang out from the souls he touched. Full understanding and sympathy were transferred intact.

-and… Thank you so much for persevering in the deep darkness.

It also conveys the sad and painful feelings of watching my soul wandering in the abyss for a long time due to the curse of the devil.

'Is it on purpose? '

Perhaps the thought body wanted to call Isidore here rather than me.

He told me it didn't matter if I was a demon or a demon grandpa, but today I felt understood by him, down to the depths of darkness at the bottom of my soul.

- Isidor, don't be too sad. Actually, I don't really remember what it was like in the abyss, but I'm sure I was fine. I must have been looking forward to seeing you again.

Even when the cold wave came, I knew that flowers would bloom someday. Because he taught me.

- You have flirted with flowers in the past.

- Because you like flowers.

Isidor put the folded lavender in my hand.

-!

Eventually, the paper slowly turned into a circle of light and began to spread, and after a while the world turned white as if in heaven.

- Deborah... .

At that moment, the thoughtful body, who had been quiet the whole time, called me in a very serious voice.

-oh?

- Always keep that in mind. That if there is light, there is shadow.

-After all, it seems that something suspicious has flowed into the temple.

To Isidor's conjecture, the thought body gave a rather abstract answer instead of denying it.

-… Even if you light many candles with one candle, the light of the first candle does not fade.

-.....

- Eternal light will be with you.

After the guy's meaningful remarks, the intense light that surrounded him began to fade, and the presence of the thought body was clearly blurred.

-do not be like this.

I caught him all in a hurry.

- Are you going to disappear like this? Isn't it?

-I am the wish you made. A long-awaited wish has come true, and there is no reason to exist anymore.

Thought body's voice got smaller and smaller, and I screamed louder and louder.

- Still, I don't want to say goodbye like this. Even you don't even have a name yet!

- Build it later.

-...!

- Deborah, actually I wanted to eat a big marshmallow someday. Hot chocolate too.

-.....

-And on a snowy day, I'll make a big snowman... So… .

Thought's voice became less and less audible, it was as if he heard a soft whisper that for some reason we would meet again soon.

And this is a later story, my second child with Isidor enjoyed making a snowman in the winter and eating marshmallows while sipping warm chocolate.

4. What happened in the temple instead (2)

“..Ugh!”

When the white light faded and I opened my eyes, as if nothing had happened, I was standing in front of the sanctuary inside the temple. Holding the white rosary, the gray energy had disappeared.

… However, there were no more intense beatings and reverberations of the soul that I felt whenever I saw an object. The thought body is really trembling.

'really… Will I ever see that guy again?'

“Princess! What's going on!?”

“Lady?”

There was no time to be immersed in regret, and the surroundings became noisy as if surprised by my sudden action.

Judging by the other people standing over the gates of the sanctuary and wandering around, it seems that the long time spent with thought body was really fleeting here.

I glanced at Isidor, who was clutching my wrist to prevent my soul from being sucked in.

As soon as he let go of his wrist, I quickly slipped the rosary into my dress pocket, hid it, and coughed for nothing.

As he approached the pope with a very gloomy expression on his face, he became serious at the same time.

“Why are you doing this, Lady?”

“I beg the Pope to ask for advice.”

***

After a while, I moved to the area where I had confessions with the Pope.

It was just the two of us to talk.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He was restless for fear that there might have been a problem with the holy relics.

“Pope, the sacred energy of the Holy Spirit has become very cloudy due to the cracks in the past. At this rate, even holy water cannot prevent contamination and corrosion.”

“Oh, that can’t be!”

The pope's eyes widened in astonishment.

“But that doesn't mean there isn't a way at all. Today at midnight, when the moon rises, I will have a ceremony to purify the holy things.”

“Oh. If I do the purification ritual, do the holy things come back?!”

“Yes. I don't know exactly how long it will take... .”

The pope seemed to believe my words like crazy.

'Maybe I, surprisingly, have a talent for being a pseudo-teacher?'

“Is there anything else I can help you with? I will support you with everything you need for the purification ceremony, saint.”

“We need a place of divine energy. The previous sanctuary seemed appropriate.”

I said, remembering the statue of the saint of Naila that stood tall in the center of the sanctuary.

“Yes, use whatever you want.”

“and… Corrupted energy may come in during the purification ceremony, so it is better to do the ceremony alone. So, please don't let this spread out as much as possible.”

I silenced my voice and spoke secretly.

Target is 10 likes and i will upload next chapter.

#novel #light novel #isekai #reincarnation #villainess #isn't being a wicked woman much better novel translate #isn't being a wicked woman much better novel English #isn't being a wicked woman much better novel side Story Chapter 14 #side Story Chapter 14 #side Story 14 #chapter 14 #isn't being a wicked woman much better side Story Chapter 14 #isn't being a wicked woman much better side story 14

[linkedspirit-fanartfunart]

What Makes a House a Home?

Summary: Zelda and Link return to the Hateno house after defeating the Calamity. Exhausted. Zelda wants to relish in the pure fact that they are both alive, but Link seems to keep pulling away...

Warnings: lowkey kinda unresolved angst (I'll get to it in the comic dw), canon non-perma death mentions/discussion, Zelda used they/them but uses she/her at first, magic exhaustion

Ao3

-

"Do you really remember me?" Zelda had asked. Impulsively. She had just… wanted to know. Did he understand what he meant to her? Did he remember they were friends, after it all? Or had she thrust him back into the same role of Hero that had forced him to quiet all those years ago, and he hadn't understood what was beyond that duty.

Link's expression flickered between a few, subtle options. A nervous glance. A sad smile. A gentle sympathy. Link looked at her a moment longer, and took a few careful steps closer, as if she was an illusion that would vanish if he touched her. He nodded "yes" but she wasn't sure he actually noticed he was doing it.

Zelda sighed, looking up at the castle beyond them. Looming. She looked at him. Her body and eyes were heavy with exhaustion. "Can we go?"

Link nodded, pulling the sheikah slate off their hip and grabbing her hand. Enveloped in a swirl of blue.

She swayed and stumbled on her feet at the teleportation. Link gasped, grabbing her arms. Zelda blinked a few times, registering the cliff and the spread of Hateno before them. Link frowned at her, then picked her up. She yelped as he hoisted her around onto his back. "Link!"

He laughed lightly, which made her giggle as well, despite feeling silly and flustered. Link started climbing down the slope. Zelda snuggled against Link's back, feeling a hazy sleepiness overwhelm her senses. Once they were on solid ground, Link gently put her down, hands framed on one shoulder and an elbow. Steady. They crossed an old bridge this careful way. Zelda considered the house ahead of them with a soft hum. She leaned her head on Link's shoulder while she read the sign.

"Link's House"

Zelda smiled. They showed her the house with a light wave of their hand to the interior and a small smile. Zelda sighed in relief. He had a house. He had found somewhere to rest in all the chaos and pressure of Destiny. She leaned against him heavily as they walked inside.

Sparsely decorated and horribly utilitarian. Zelda, exhausted as she was, was already considering ways to help Link find himself in the decoration of the house. She knew they needed it. Link looked at her questioningly and pointed. Bed or table chairs.

She was already feeling the pull for sleep. After decades of fighting. She just needed to truly rest. "If you don't mind, a rest sounds wonderful, please." Link nodded, helping her up the stairway carefully. Their hands so gentle on her shoulder. Steady and warm. 

Link guided her to the bed and stepped back as she settled into it. Zelda considered him. He stood beside the bed, turned to look at the stairway, glancing occasionally back at her. It was almost like he had designated himself her guard once again, but it came with a nervous air, uncertainty. …She couldn't quite figure out where it lied for Link, but she understood. Their roles of Princess and Knight weren't quite the same anymore. Zelda wasn't sure she wanted to return to it anyway. 

She shuffled to make space in the bed for him and reached, offering. Link stared at her hand. They stepped forward and took her hand gingerly between their own. Briefly, Zelda wondered if their reaction was connected to how she was finally physically present with them. No longer a voice. She wouldn't blame him. Part of her was bewildered too. That she could touch and be touched.

She smiled, soft, "You should rest too," she whispered.

Link's brows knit together. He slipped onto the bed, on top of the blankets, shoes still on. She rolled her eyes lightly and curled in against his chest. Her eyes shut as she listened to the beat of their heart. Steady and present and strong and real. She swallowed thickly. Alive. A tear rolled down her cheek unbidden.

She hid her face against his chest. He was alive. She had grieved him so much already. She wouldn't grieve him any longer- he was alive. He was here.

Link wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Soft and warm. His nose brushed against the top of her head. The knight curling around her. She swallowed down the old pains and snuggled in. Sleep taking her away soon enough.

The drum of Link's heart became a pattern of hooves on soft earth in the world of dreams. A hazy world bathed in warmth and light. Then water slipped through her fingers, cold and quiet. The horses were gone. She rose from the edge of the pool. Behind her, a guardian bathing her in an ominous red light. She reached for Link's hand to run. As she had every time she relieved this memory, this dream. His hand was always cold and ghostly. And when she looked back to check on him, he was gone. 

Zelda flinched awake. Her arms were empty. …her arms were empty. "Link?" She croaked out, grabbing at the blankets as if she could find him hidden in them. "Link?" She called a little louder. She sounded more desperate and scared than she had hopped to. The dream was just a dream. She knew it. It was only logical. They were likely nearby- Link had always been one to wake early. She was not. He wouldn't just leave.

He didn't answer either. She fumbled with the blankets and crawled out from the bed. Her body protested, lightheaded and dizzy. The world swirled for a moment as she steadied herself. She carefully walked down the stairs. Bare feet padding against hardwood. She looked around the lower level of the house. Empty. 

Humming. She frowned lightly and opened the door of the house. Then she could smell it. Warm aromas of fresh eggs and bread. With frightening urgency, she recognized she was starving. She walked out onto the grass, feeling like a newborn fawn fumbling down the slope. Blades of green tickled the soles of her feet, wet with morning dew. Link was clearly absorbed in his cooking, humming happily as he expertly flipped an omelet.

"Link" Zelda breathed out, halfway to a whisper. As if speaking louder would break the illusion and he and his joy would disappear.

He jerked and looked up, eyes wide. "Oh!" He smiled, looked back at the omelet, and slipped it onto a plate. He added a garnish, and carefully arranged the elements of the plate as if he was her royal chef. She frowned lightly… was he just doing this for her? He held up the plate with a broad smile. His eyes met hers and the smile dimmed. 

"...don't like it?" He asked quietly.

Zelda blinked. She shook her head frantically, trying to erase the frown from her features, "No no! It smells absolutely divine, I- It's just- you didn't have to do all this work and I don't want you to think you must do all this for me, I will eat anything currently, it doesn't have to be so gorgeous- and it is gorgeous- I hadn't realized you had such skill in cooking-" Link tilted their head, watching her ramble awkwardly. She cut herself off. "...Thank you." She said.

She sat down in the grass next to him and took the plate. She tried to forget the embarrassed blush in her cheeks in a bite of bread. And as soon as she had one bit, she had to devour it all. She scraped as much off the plate as she could by the time Link had finished his bread. He was smiling at her again. Was he amused?

"I'm- I was positively starving. I- honestly can't remember the last time I ate." Zelda looked down. "Sorry-"

"Why?" Link asked, simply. He never used to ask that. Questions, she realized, must have been forced out of him 100 years ago. He hadn't fought against the sentiment against their curiosity like she had...and she hadn't thought to fight for him too. She stared at him. She swallowed, she'd answer his questions. She'd answer any question he ever had again.

"I- I was not entirely material, when I was holding back Calamity Ganon- I had- I'm not sure. It was like being trapped in a crystal, present but not. I- I couldn't have had food if I wanted."

Link was quiet for a moment. Processing this. "But what are you sorry for? I made it for you."

Oh. Zelda frowned. "Because… It wasn't very…ladylike of me? Just then?"

Link shrugged. "Perfectly human of you, though."

She stared at him. Impulse demanded she defend herself- no, her background. But it wasn't even a critique. It was just simple wisdom. He was always so full of it. Perfectly human. She could stand to replace Ladylike for Human. She laughed, "I suppose it is."

Link smiled, finally moving on to eating the rest of his plate. Zelda sat back and watched. When he set the plate down, she scooted closer. When he leaned one arm on the grass, as subtle as she could, she shifted to let her arm brush against his. Her fingers sought his wrist, feeling for the thrum of his pulse against her skin.

Then he slipped through her fingers again. He stood, collected the dishes, and with a smile and an analytical glance around their surroundings, went inside. She sighed at the failure to capture the closeness she sought. She stood and followed him.

Link washed the dishes. She briefly considered offering to assist, but her body felt heavy and sore. As if walking around the house was the equivalent to a hike. Zelda sat herself in a chair, kneading her temples. Rather than lose herself to exhaustion built up from 100 years, she watched Link work. He finished the dishes quickly, and soon enough, he was on to the next chore, grabbing a broom to sweep.

"Do you usually do all this in the mornings?" Zelda asked. 

Link nodded as he brushed the dirt and dust back out the door. He whacked the broom against the edge of the door frame once, then moved upstairs. Zelda shifted to look up at him. "Did you rest well? I apologize if I woke you at any point-"

"I slept," Link responded. Simple. Vague. Unsatisfying. Zelda frowned.

Link looked over the edge of the loft at her. Considered. "Do you want new clothes?"

She looked down at herself. Her white dress was ripped and stained. Covered in terrible memories. She frowned at it. She had nearly forgotten what she'd been wearing. Then she considered the slight hazy, heavy feeling in her body. "I don't think I could make a trip to town, honestly…"

Link nodded, "I'll get you something." They rushed down the stairs, and put the broom away. Link took out a hood and clipped it around their shoulders. "Anything specific?"

Zelda sighed, looking at him. "Anything comfortable."

They nodded firmly, as if it was an order, not a vague idea. It settled oddly. But they smiled again, seemingly excited about going out, so she tried to let the feeling go. He would be back. 

Link took her hands in his and spread their arms together. Zelda blinked, eyes wide. "What are you doing?" She squeaked.

"Measuring!" Link explained simply. Then, with a gentle wave, he left. Slipping through her fingers.

She let her arms drop to the table. With little else to occupy her, and feeling tired regardless, she stood and crawled back into Link's bed.

She returned some time later. Zelda had woken up, fiddled with Link's sparse decoration, and returned to bed already when Link came in. She was wearing a dress, twirling the fabric back and forth with a swish of the hips in each step.

"I never thought of you as one for dresses." Zelda commented, tilting her head. She'd always been a touch jealous of Link's clothing options, neutral and practical… Why would she change that?

Link looked at her like a deer in headlights as she stopped at the edge of the landing. 

Oh. This was a fragile, new thing, wasn't it? "It looks beautiful on you!" Zelda amended quickly. "You clearly enjoy it."

Link smiled shyly and nodded. The nervous moment dissipated. Link immediately laid out clothing options in front of Zelda.

A tunic exactly like Link's Hylian Tunic, but in purple. A light dress and leggings. A hood that just nearly matched Link's, but distinctly her own anyway. A smart shirt and pants. A caplet and warm dress shirt and layered skirt. A loose dress Zelda assumed might be a nightgown.

Zelda looked at all the options with a blink. Link hesitated for a moment, then took out a blue tunic that looked exactly like she remembered it to. She gasped. "Where did you get this?"

"Found it in your old room… had it fixed up."

"How- just now?"

Link shook her head… Something she’d prepared for, then. …It was a sweet idea, that she’d known she might want her old research gear.

She touched the fabric and looked it over. "Thank you Link… I… I assumed it was all gone."

Link shook her head almost frantically. "I have a good bit under the stairs. I can grab it-”

Zelda placed her hand on Link's shoulder. "No, we don’t have to sort through it all now. Later, maybe?" 

Link nodded.

She looked down at the fabric. Her old tunic shirt was something of a chore to put on. She picked up the Hylian Tunic instead, "I'll wear this right now. Where can we keep the rest?"

Link quickly took up and neatly folded the outfits, and placed them in a drawer by the bed. She smiled, gesturing at the drawer.

Zelda giggled lightly, "Perfect, thank you… now mind uh, going downstairs so I may change?"

She blinked, wide-eyed, then nodded repeatedly, leaping down the stairs. Zelda shook her head. Silly.

She descended the stairs carefully, old white dress hooked under her arm. Link was busying herself with the sheikah slate, clicking through pictures. She turned and looked at her with a soft smile. Zelda returned a nervous smile in response. 

"Ah, where should I put this?"

Link offered a hand. She placed it in her hands. Link tilted her head. "Do you want it fixed?"

"No," Zelda said before she could really think about it. It came out frustrated and angry. Link looked at her wide-eyed. Zelda closed her eyes and huffed a breath. "I would rather not wear or see it again, it- it's stained with far too many terrible memories."

Link frowned, looking at the fabric. "Make something new or destroy it?" Link offered.

Zelda blinked. Options. She had so many options, now that Link had given her some to consider… she wanted to rip it apart. She wanted to make it unrecognizable. …But she didn't want to lose any more history than she already had to the calamity.

"I want- I need it to be something new." Zelda decided, "can I rip it up? Then you can do whatever you see fit with the pieces?"

Link smiled. "Deal."

Zelda sat next to her, grabbing the white fabric back and tore it at a seam. The fabric made a satisfying rip. She found another seam and tore that apart as well. A methodical destruction of the rich fabric. Zelda put all her remaining strength into breaking apart the last symbol of her anger and pain. Growling and scratching and tearing. 

She… no that didn't feel quite right. They? felt exhausted. They felt renewed.

Zelda huffed as they shoved the remainders of the torn white fabric to Link. She admired a piece, and nodded. Link folded the sections up and placed them in a pocket.

They sighed and rested their head on the table. Satisfied and exhausted. Link scooted the slate into their view. They shifted to look at the picture shown. It was a seemingly random pair of rito. 

"Who's that?" Zelda whispered.

"Teba and Tulin, his son. Teba helped me get to Vah Medoh."

Zelda looked at Link and smiled. "It's a very nice photo."

Link nodded and flicked to another photo. Then another, and another. Mentioning the people or event depicted. Many were landscapes or animals or monsters, but everything had a new memory attached.

They smiled warmly at Link as she got to the end. "We should have some of these printed. Hung up on the walls."

Link hummed. She offered the slate to them.

"Oh- you want me to pick?" 

Link nodded.

Zelda blinked, fiddling some with the slate until they could see the overview. And… placed in such a manner, they realized just how many new memories Link had compared to the sparse few that had survived from 100 years ago…. Zelda smiled. 

They picked one of each of Link's new friends, descendents of the champions. "How about these?"

Link smiled and nodded.

Zelda had lulled their head on the table while Link cooked something for dinner. He had changed his outfit again. His champion’s tunic still fit him well, they noted idly. It looked over-soft from use and age, carefully patched new edges and mending blended well in color but oddly rough against the old fabric. An interestingly seamless clash of new and old. They looked around the house. The house was mostly old.

“What else do you think you’d want in your house?...” Zelda mused softly.

"It’s not mine. ...It’s yours." Link said.

"What?" Zelda sat up. Suddenly they registered what exactly Link had placed inside. Their old room’s salvage. The champions’ old weapons. Their new clothes were the only things in those drawers. He asked them to pick the photos… Link’s personality didn’t show very much because he planned for it to be Zelda's the whole time…

"I’m giving it to you…” Link said, eyes focused on the pot they were stirring. “The construction crew, uh, never actually asked me what I wanted on the sign… I didn’t know how to ask them to change it." he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"You bought a house… for me?"

Link nodded.

Zelda stood, feeling wobbly on their feet, “Link-”

He turned at his name and rushed over to them. He took their hands in his, steadying them.

“I’m okay,” Zelda whispered. They frowned softly, “But you can’t really just- give this house to me entirely?”

“I travel too much to keep it properly.” Link smiled, but something in it was strained, unsteady. “You deserve your own space.”

Zelda glanced at the house. They could already imagine every opportunity to make the space Home. More photos. Books. Everything. They couldn’t deny the gift. “I’m honored, genuinely. Thank you.” They looked back at him. They looped their arms around his neck and hugged him. 

Link sighed in relief. Zelda clung to him as long as he allowed. Which, unfortunately, was short, because he gasped and ducked away to return to his cooking. Zelda settled back to their chair, watching him with a soft smile. 

They ate together, Zelda speaking of all the old and new friends they hoped to see and meet. They rambled for at least an hour, before Link finally took away forgotten plates and washed up.

Exhaustion settled back into their bones, and Zelda made their way back up and changed before Link would have to be forced downstairs anyway.

"Oh, good night," Link called from downstairs. Voice strangely quiet and far away… Perhaps it was an illusion of their exhaustion.

Zelda hummed. "Good night, Link." Sleep pulled them away quickly, and they dreamt of walls of photos and the smell of fresh food and finding several more excuses to hug Link.

They awoke to Purah's goggles in their face. Zelda shrieked, "Purah!"

"Hey Zell-zu!" chirped a voice younger than they recalled.

"Purah?!" They gasped. "You're- you're a child!"

"Well now you sound like my sister. Look at yourself Missy. Not a day over 100"

"But you-"

"I knew you'd come back. I saw the aftermath of you and Link defeating the Calamity. Hadn't figured out where you vanished to, until Linky said you'd be here." Purah continued on without paying mind to Zelda's questioning. Much to their ire.

"Where is he? Cooking outside?"

"Hm? No, he gave me an absurd stash of food to give you though. As if you can't feed yourself." Purah shook her head.

"What?" Zelda sat up, "Where did he go?"

"...uh, I didn't ask. He's a big boy." Purah said with a frown, "Should I have?"

"But- I thought- …" Zelda shook their head. "Nevermind."

"Well." Purah hummed, "Maybe he's just going his rounds across the realms to tell everybody you're back."

"...I suppose. Wouldn't that take some time? Why not a letter?"

"The postal system is dead, Zell Zell." Purah humphed. "Why all these questions about Link! I'm here, aren't you happy to see me?"

"Oh sorry Purah, I am, but Link-" Zelda found theirself choking on his name. They frowned, clinging to the blankets.

Purah looked at them softly and understandingly. The ache in their chest and throat only solidified. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have teased. I know why." Purah said quietly. 

"We lost him. Not- not almost- we did. And I- If I can't see or hear or feel him it just sits here in my chest like a specter-" Zelda whispered.

Purah crawled up onto the bed with them and hugged them. "It's okay, he's okay. You aren't alone."

A dam broke. Zelda felt tears well in their eyes and they sobbed and screamed as Purah's too-small hands and arms cradled their head. Her too-young voice whispering soothing sounds. Yet she felt so much older and wiser all at once. 

Eventually, the tears settled into something manageable. Purah rubbed their shoulder. "Come on now, let's get that care package from Linky warmed up. I also want to give you a looksie do"

"...huh?" Zelda croaked as they found the strength to sit up.

"I want to check your physical condition." Purah said with far more seriousness this time. Zelda was suddenly self conscious of the way their legs shook from exertion to stand. 

They swallowed and nodded. "Food first?"

"Food first." Purah agreed, hopping off the bed and taking Zelda's hand. They walked down the stairs. Zelda felt vaguely like a babysitter and the kid all at once as they followed Purah.

Purah easily distracted them with chatter about her research of the guardians, details about Impa and Robbie, the state of the world after the Calamity… Zelda barely noticed their "exam" had finished by the time Purah announced it.

"You seem very weakened, physically. Even just the stairs seemed taxing… A toll from fighting the Calamity sustaining only off your own magic, I assume?"

Zelda nodded softly. They closed their eyes with a sigh.

"Good news is, if we treat some of the depletion of magic, I think you'll be feeling better in no time! But you have to be careful while you're still weak." Purah pointed her recorder at them. "And you should exercise, to build up your strength again."

"I will." Zelda promised. They smiled at Purah, "Thank you."

"It's nothing, you're my friend."

"I still can't believe you de-aged yourself for Link and I."

Purah whacked them in the arm. Zelda laughed. "What I can't believe is that I suffered walking through town to see you."

"Children ask you to play?"

"Worse, they hid behind things and whispered."

"People always did that around us" Zelda giggled softly with a shrug. "You'll survive. Maybe you'll have fun with the kids if you try, too."

Purah shook her head, "Trying to lure me out of the lab more huh? How about you go visit me. The walk might be good for you."

"I don't know if I can make it to that lab…"

"...We’ll table it for a little later, then. Start with walking around the house."

Zelda nodded, "For now… more rest." They chuckled lightly.

"Okay… fair enough. I'll be back tomorrow. Okay?"

Zelda smiled, "That would be wonderful, thank you."

"Take care." Purah said. Purah gently pushed them along to start back up the stairs.

"I shall," Zelda affirmed.

They settled back into the blankets with a sigh. Idly, they hoped, wherever Link was, he was okay.

-

Wolf was watching him from the edge of the woods. Link walked up to the beast of a wolf and ruffled his fur. The wolf huffed, giving him an indignant glare.

"What?" Link asked, walking deeper into the forest, grabbing a mushroom off a tree as he walked.

The wolf trotted after him with a gruff growl-huff.

"I'm not leaving her alone, I told Purah first for a reason." Link reasoned.

The wolf snorted.

"Sassy today?" Link muttered as he looked back at him.

Wolf "smiled", which was more of a threat to wolves, as Link had learned from unfortunate experience. But it still seemed more like a sarcastic or vindictive grin than an actual warning sign with his Wolf.

Link humphed and rolled his eyes. 

"Ouuf"

He sighed heavily. "Whaaaaat? What am I supposed to do? You didn't feel what I felt with those memories-"

A soft single-note whine.

Link stopped walking. He closed his eyes. "Zelda hated me. For the longest time. I- I have no idea how we became friends other than just- talking, I guess. Maybe. I don't remember that part!"

The wolf rested a paw on his leg. Link slipped to sit on the ground. Letting the wolf wiggle up into his lap. Link buried his hand in the thick fur.

"All I know is that she got mad specifically when I followed her everywhere. So. I just- have to not do that. Right?"

The wolf looked at him. Intelligent eyes questioning.

"It's so- it was so hard not to. I just- every second of the day I just kept wanting to grab her hand and never let go. Never let her out of my sight just in case something happened. I had to leave. She's safe there, I know she is, I just- … I can't ruin it if I'm not there.”

Wolf heaved a mournful sigh and Link rather agreed to the sentiment. He leaned down and buried his face into the wolf's fur. They stayed there for a moment. Silent.

"Well." Link muttered quietly. He nuzzled his cheek against the fur before leaning back up. "I think we should go to Kakariko first, then Zora's Domain, Gerudo, Herba, then Death Mountain. Yeah?"

Wolf stood up with an agreeable "boof".

Link nodded lightly. Clicking through the slate map. "Sorry it's so many towns… I'll take us just outside and meet you back there. Okay?"

Wolf let out a soft huff. "Fair enough" is always how Link interpreted it. Wolf bumped against him and Link giggled softly. "Yeah, you're welcome." 

#linked spirit #loz au #legend of zelda #loz #breath of the wild #ls glider #ls wild #im in the middle of changing their name dont mind me #ls bloom #ls purah #ls wolf #ls ordon #ls writing

[zilabee]

Yoko: I'm trying without the marmalade today, you know.

The breakfasting genuinely makes me so happy. And the lunchtime conversation today is stellar. It's the quality content I'm here for, more than the music or the interpersonal dramas.

What do you want for lunch? --- Sparrow On Toast. --- Boiled Testicle. --- Whatever The Veg-etables Are.

My menu when I open a fancy london dinery.

- When George is talking again about releasing Get Back as a single, and Paul says he's really just rehearsing at the moment sldkjfowije. They're still trying to do different projects at the same time.

- I am starting to feel a low drag from watching get back so constantly, now. While the small amounts a day is definitely easier for me than the whole thing was, it's also very constant, with all the pain and the frustration spreading out endlessly, heartbreaking and blue.

- John deciding he wants Billy to be a permanent Beatle, and not just deciding that but deciding to talk about it, and then George wanting to drag in Bob fucking Dylan too. Exhaustion. I love Paul just openly acknowledging that he can only just cope with the Beatles they already have. (I know there are pros and cons and maybe it makes sense to turn the Beatles into a concept instead of a group, but also it doesn't at all not really.)

- I do just love Ringo having a little art gallery. The only thing keeping him sane.

It's a bit of a drag, bass, isn't it?

It is not a drag Paul, it is your soul. (Is it John that then claims he's never heard a song without bass, and Paul has to go 'well we've done a few...')

Paul: ha aha ha, it's so weird, it's like we wrote songs that mean something lol John: yeah, mad. it makes it sound as if we love each other or whatever roflmao!

- MLH doesn't know what story he is telling any more, and I'm trying to have a bit of sympathy for him. I think he could just call someone with a bit of imagination, and a bit of push and put them in charge. But at the same time... he thought it was going to be about everyone working hard, it all fitting together, and creating a huge Beatles concert to light up the world. So he's allowed to be sad that all they do is sit in a room and talk in circles.

> At the moment we've got a movie about smokers, nose pickers, and nail biters. > We are rather uncouth. We're not your elite you know.

- I suppose he didn't know who they were. I suppose we have a lot of hindsight about them. I suppose he thought he was going in to do a film about really successful people doing something successfully and he just didn't know he'd have to organise it and shape it at all. I suppose he thought they were magical and was surprised that they were weird terrified children.

George: It sounds lovely that, now. After all the anguish we went through with it. John: Well, it's part of the, the pudding... It's a Henry Moore sculpture, that. George Martin: And the fact that you're working so well together: you're looking at each other, you're seeing each other, you're... just happening.

- All my heart to George Martin for saying perfect things to them.

- The bit in Polythene Pam where John is frowning, and confused at what his chords are doing, as though he has nothing to do with it, and he is so beautiful when puzzled that is all.

- I love that they only bought George the cheapest Hawaiian but if he's any good he can have a better one. Mimi would be proud.

- I love how much Paul and John use each others names the moment they're in an accent or a character or a bit.

#get back #get back january #get back words