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silverynight · 3 months

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Courting a sweet omega

Tanjirou is usually a very friendly person, he likes to get close to people and ask about their lives and even hug and cuddle them if they trust each other.

The problem is that he is afraid of alphas, most of them. He can't help it; when he was younger an alpha tried to mark him while he was trying to sell charcoal to help his family. He wasn't sure what to do at the time and the alpha was really strong and tall for him.

It scared him, especially because he didn't seem willing to stop; at some point the omega fell on the ground covered by snow and the alpha took the opportunity to lie on top of him when a couple of people from the village stopped him.

They had always been good people and they proved that again that morning.

However, the omega wasn't the same after that; the alpha never came back to the village but Tanjirou couldn't bring himself to be around other alphas.

But they understood, the people in the village, they made sure that only the betas and other omegas were the ones in charge of buying charcoal from him.

It was even worse when that demon killed his family and turned Nezuko into one of them; he was an alpha, Tanjirou could tell by the scent he left in the house.

It's a little bit different now, however, because he met Tomioka and even though he was terrified of him at first, the omega realized that the alpha only wanted to help.

Then the trial happened and Tanjirou knew that Tomioka was a good alpha who would even kill himself if Nezuko hurt an innocent human.

Tanjirou realized then that he was not alone, that there was someone willing to help him, that alphas or at least some of them, weren't actually that bad after all.

Still, Tanjirou doesn't trust the other Pillars; he's afraid of them because they all are alphas and also because they did want to kill Nezuko at first.

However, he knows he should learn to work with them; they're the most skilled swordsmen alive and they have saved many lives over the years.

He knows that, but his inner omega is afraid of them.

In order to help him, the staff of the butterfly estate has been really accommodating; instead of Kocho, Aoi is the one who patches Tanjirou up so he doesn't have a panic attack when the insect hashira walks in the room. Tanjirou is grateful for that, but also feels bad because he's smelled disappointment and sadness whenever Kocho asks about him outside the room.

"Tomioka-san," the omega mumbles shyly. The water hashira is the only alpha who can walk into his room whenever Tanjirou is sick or injured.

"What is it, Tanjirou?" The alpha asks in a whisper, almost like he's afraid of scaring him if he talks too loud.

Feeling like he needs a little bit of comfort, Tanjirou gets closer to him and puts his arms around the surprised alpha. He's relieved that at least he can do this around one alpha. Maybe hope is not completely lost after all.

"Am I causing everyone too much trouble? I mean... the fact that I can't spend too much time around alphas–"

"No," Tomioka shakes his head before getting closer to nuzzle against him; Tanjirou's inner omega relaxes immediately. "Everyone understands what you're going through and they're more than happy to help. Me too."

Tanjirou nods, trying not to tear up. He doesn't feel so bad now, but it's still difficult for him.

He'll try to make an effort next time.

***

It seems they have the same idea because they start giving or sending Tanjirou all kinds of gifts. Some of them give him the things directly and immediately take a few steps back so the omega doesn't feel overwhelmed, but others like Shinazugawa and Iguro send him the gifts through someone else.

They're obviously trying to make friends with him and Tanjirou appreciates their efforts so much he usually waits for them to be in the butterfly estate at the same time to thank them personally (from a safe distance).

Tomioka doesn't seem too happy about it, especially after the train mission, in which Rengoku loses an eye and Tanjirou realizes that the alpha would never hurt anyone.

After that, it's really easy for Tanjirou to get physically close to the flame hashira and he proves it by asking him to scent him once, like he did to Tomioka a while ago. It's weird because Rengoku gets completely flustered when the omega asks him that, but he does it with pleasure.

Then it's Uzui and his beautiful wives that make Tanjirou realize he must be a caring and respectful alpha if they all love him the way they do. So he starts trusting him as well.

And then there's Kocho who not only is a Pillar and knows how to fight demons, but also cares about every single one of the slayers who end up in her care.

Trusting Kanroji is even easier; she earns Nezuko's trust too in the blink of an eye. He starts warming up to Tokito too, although it's more difficult for him.

But he's probably one of the sweetest alphas Tanjirou has ever met, at least around him, because other slayers claim he's a very strict and often rude teacher.

With Himejima is not that difficult either; Tanjirou can smell in his scent how kind he truly is.

It takes a while for Tanjirou to trust Shinazugawa and Iguro, but he does, especially because Genya and Kanroji talk to Tanjirou about them and how caring they truly are.

However, even now that Tanjirou lets them all get close to him, they keep giving him gifts; he thinks they give him even more now and the omega is a little bit confused by it.

They also make him food, patch him up when they can and spend all their free time with him.

Tanjirou doesn't get it. They're friends now, they don't have to do any of that to earn his trust anymore, they already have it.

He asks Aoi about it one day and, after she takes a deep breath, she says:

"They want your love now. They're courting you, they have been doing that almost from the very beginning."

Tanjirou blushes to the tip of his ears; what surprises him the most is that, for the first time in years, his inner omega is not scared, but delighted with that information.

Even though it can't be true. He's far from perfect; he doesn't think he can be a good omega either because of the trauma he's been through... besides, they need a better omega if they want pups. There's no way they would choose–

"I know it's difficult for you to see it," Aoi continues, noticing something sad in Tanjirou's expression. "But they are in love with you and they've been trying to let you know how much they want you in their lives."

"All of them?" That's even more difficult to believe.

"All of us indeed," Rengoku says, right behind Tanjirou, prompting the omega to jump. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!"

The omega turns around, only to see that they all are there.

"Can we keep courting you?" Tomioka asks in a whisper, looking almost afraid of the answer.

"Sorry we didn't tell you earlier, darling," Kanroji says as her cheeks turn slightly pink. "We thought you knew."

"Do you really love me?" Tanjirou stammers; it seems almost unbelievable that so many amazing alphas want an omega like him.

"We do, Tanjirou. More than anything." Himejima's response sends a shiver down his spine, but in a good way. Tanjirou's heart has started to beat crazily inside his chest.

He feels warm and fuzzy and full of love for a moment.

"But what if... I can't choose?"

"We actually prefer that you don't," Kocho says. "We would like you to be ours."

His inner omega is very pleased to know that many alphas want him, but he still needs to make sure...

"Are you okay with sharing?"

"It's okay if it's you," Tokito assures him in such a determined and fond way that makes Tanjirou flustered for a moment.

"O-Okay," he mumbles, feeling his face like it's on fire. "You can keep courting me."

They all scent him that day, Shinazugawa bites his cheek playfully too, earning a scolding from everyone and making Tanjirou giggle.

It's okay, he's changed... the omega knows he's ready for this. Besides, they make him really happy already.

***

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#demon slayer #omegaverse #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #tanjiro kamado #giyuu tomioka #kocho shinobu #kyojuro rengoku #tengen uzui #obanai iguro #mitsuri kanroji #muichiro tokito #gyomei himejima #sanemi shinazugawa #giyutan #kyotan

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thymeebutter · 10 months

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A few fun examples of things that probably should have ticked parents off towards my autism:

(!! Feel free to share with your own!!)

Having a comfort blanket, and when it was suddenly taken from me and thrown away after years and years with it, I completely shut down until it was replaced and I had adequate time to mourn. (Didn't do anything for over a week, like barely ate and just cuz I was fed)

Being so confused about the order of things and how you were supposed to do them, to where my mom got fed up and just printed and laminated step by step flow charts and guides for things like getting dressed, showering, brushing my hair, ect

Constantly stimming

Learning disability squad ✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️💜✨💜✨💜 (dysgraphia specifically, effects my ability to put things in my head onto paper, my handwriting is atrocious, spelling is not good, I don't know how to write or type in proper grammar I just use speech to text, also writing hurts my hand a lot. Might ask why I don't type, I have a very difficult time putting things onto screen as well, I like speech to text because I can just say my thoughts and it cuts out the sucky middle man)

Refused to learn vowels and cursive, got extremely mad when I was shown algebra, calmed down when I realized there wasn't actually writing words involved

Was part of the "advanced group" of one other person in 5th grade and was learning algebra. (Definitely wasn't in advanced classes through high school though, those teachers were a lot less accommodating towards my learning needs so I got majorly behind in everything)

Loyal to a fault with friends, and was often taken advantage of and lied to

Obsessed with eggs, specifically deviled eggs, would go to every single neighbor on the street that I had been introduced to, and try to trade them pictures of their pets for eggs (it worked with two of them and I would routinely visit for more deviled eggs loll, I got inevitably caught when I would just put the unprotected egg into my pocket to save for later and made a mess) 😭

Didn't know how to approach people or play with them, at literally any age. Only didn't stand out majorly because on my first day of kindergarten a girl ran up to me and said that we were now friends and basically guided me through everything lol. Honestly looking back I think she just had fun bossing me around but I wasn't against it or anything, it helped me not stand out too much.

Would interrupt class to tell teacher that a poster (often times cartoon drawings) had incorrect gravity, physics, anatomy, ect, and would completely miss the point that it's a cartoonized version

Did not understand really the concept of sharing and what belongs to who for a good while

Told my mom that when I was an adult I was going to buy a hundred erasers to just chew on throughout the week, was told that this was a good idea, now I have chewy toys lol

Also remarkably too obsessed with pet toys, still am tbh, The crinkles and bells and squeakers are fun, what can I say?

Learned to "pretend play" when my parents were watching, but would just do my own thing otherwise and play with things in a very nerdivergent way.

Had very bad depression and anxiety since at least 4th grade

Literally my only other friends were either kids who just adopted me as a friend suddenly (99% of them took advantage of me), or were also disabled in some way and ostracized

OBSESSED with my little pony and having wings

Once I got slightly older and got unrestricted internet access, became even more obsessed with fallout Equestria (I have the fancy leather bound golden embossed print I'm so happy) (I want the project horizons one too)

Would very very obviously mirror people around me, typically adults, they thought I was just being funny

Very bad with volume control, would be extremely loud, then extremely quiet, then wouldn't respond at all. Parents didn't care as long as it wasn't the loud one since they were tired with younger siblings.

Taught myself to read because my mom was too slow, was reading Nancy Drew at 4 (I don't actually know if that's the normal age)

Could read well in my head, had extreme difficulty putting the words together out loud

My favorite blanket was two pieces of fabric tied together, and when I was overwhelmed I would untie some of it and then retie myself inside of it and hide in there for hours

Would retreat to small dark spaces like closets and under beds, parents didn't care cuz I was out of their hair

I grew up on my Little pony and a VeggieTales, so I was very over the top expressive when I was younger since I was copying the shows I liked, didn't mean I would pull the red expressions at the right time though, people just figured I was funny

Would walk directly behind people I liked and trusted, constantly got yelled at by my mom for stepping on her heels

Would get extremely upset if anyone was behind me more than once or for more than 20 seconds

Always felt like a really bad kid, and like I was really stupid for just having a different brain

Very clearly not a cishet kid, not an exact trait of autism itself, but autistic people are more likely to be LGBTQ+

Was extremely good at reading in my head, but extremely upset when I was told to read at the same speed and level out loud. There's like a disconnect in my head that makes it hard putting words in my head or from paper(extremely bad at reading out loud) into vocal noise that is coherent

Took things very literally (very fun story! Was bad with personal space, and when I was about 10 my parents realized that I wasn't just trying to be cute, I was told to stay an arm's length away from everyone at all times. Later that day, A pregnant lady at our church feels a tiny hand on her tummy, thinking that I must be curious about her baby she excitedly turns to me. I am glaring, and when I see her looking at me I explain that I was told to keep an arms length away at all times, but I was very frustrated because I was still somehow doing it wrong??????? She found this very hilarious, and found me years later to tell me the story, apparently it's one of her favorites so that makes me happy at least. I did definitely get in trouble though rip)

Book I like? Reading it cover to cover over and over until I can tell you what happens on every page

Tried to show interest in other people and bond with them by info dumping on things I liked and then waiting for them to do the same, sometimes this worked out very well, other times it did not and I may or may not have thought that my dad hated me all throughout middle school because he did not show interest in the same way and neither of us understood.

Bonded a lot with my dad though as a kid through both getting hyper fixated on the same LEGO game, he would play and be very strict about anyone interrupting his focus or making noise, and I would sit and watch for hours without moving, it was pretty chill

Terrible at telling when I was hungry or thirsty

My first memory is signaling for a parent to fill up my sippy cup, and my dad did. Except when I took a drink, it was lukewarm! I was disgusted and even though I needed water and felt bad physically I refuse to drink. Now I'll drink lukewarm water if I have to I guess, like if I have a bad headache and need to take meds.

Got low-key hyperfocused on dork diaries in either fourth or 5th grade for a bit, taught myself a chunk of calculus, scored way too high on my computer state testing and gave my teachers way too high math expectations :p. Forgot everything within a week because I got re-obsessed with mlp

Got in trouble for giving rude looks a lot, turns out I was just either giving too much or too little eye contact, I figured out that you could counteract this a bit by complimenting people, because a lot of people like when younger kids compliment them

Did not at all realize that I was bullied until I entered middle school and the kids were a lot more obvious about it, even then I was very dense to most of it and still kind of am

Bad at telling when things hurt, had a terrible ankle that would constantly give out, and because I wouldn't be able to tell it hurt or wouldn't be able to react appropriately to the pain I would just be told to walk through it. Whenever I ended up hurting myself I would always hope that no one saw so I could just continue playing, unfortunately when the kid is covered in blood that's kind of a red flag and you get sent to the nurses office and then to the doctors or home loll

Also related, I was not very good at acting sick when I was sick, so teachers wouldn't believe me. I would tell them very straightforward that I was about to throw up and I guess I wasn't acting the part because they would tell me not to lie. Jokes on them I guess, or the janitor. Poor janitor ya'll deserve more love

Took people seriously, whenever I was told to figure things out on my own or do them myself I would, even if I ended up extremely hurting myself. I would always get scolded for not asking help but I would be so confused cuz I was told to do it on my own

Later in elementary school I was very bad at playing the games everyone else played, especially the pretend ones since I didn't really get the rules or what was going on, but my best friend was really popular so I just followed her around and she vouched for me (once again, someone who just adopted me as a friend, still friends now and we like to joke that she's stuck around me too long and has just gotten used to it all lol)

Final fun fact, was told when I was 15 by my bio mom that she always figured I was "somewhere on the spectrum"(depending on her mood she used the r slur >:/) but didn't want the family to have to deal with the ~stigma~ . Like wow, feels great but y'all knew something was up with me but never thought to even talk to me about it because you didn't want to look bad to others. Also this was completely unprompted lol.

#late diagnosed autistic #autistic experiences #actually autistic #autistic traits #autistic childhood experiences #how did no one notice this

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lalka-laski · 8 months

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Is there a gang problem in your area? The city of Rochester has a horrendous gang problem. I live in the suburbs so I'm pretty ignorant to it but I know enough.

Do you make your Starbucks order more complicated if it isn’t busy? My orders are never that complicated to begin with.

Do you consider airports to be emotional places? Lord, yes! The Heathrow airport montage from Love Actually comes to mind. Cue "God Only Knows"...

Where do you need to be? I think right here where I am is fine.

Would you date an already attached person? Been there, failed at that. I've had many unsuccessful relationships with men who were already attached to other women, or just attached to certain behaviors or lifestyles that couldn't accommodate me.

When you marry, will you wear white? Ahem, it was IVORY. Thankyouverymuch,

What vaccine that you’ve received hurt the most? None that I recall.

Do you ever feel like you’re being watched? Yeah, I'm sure it's just paranoia though.

What will it take to make or break this day for you? I'm indifferent.

Would you give up a dream for someone you loved? I don't believe you should have to.

Could you date someone who’s only been your friend for a long time? What?

Do you prefer to date various people or do you pretty much fall into monogamous relationships quickly? Well I'm married now but prior to that I wasn't much of a "dater."

Are you afraid to ask people out on dates? Yeah, I don't initiate.

Do you think it’s better to look for love or let it find you? There's no hard and fast rule about it. As much as I'd like to say you should just let love come to you, you gotta put in SOME effort (i.e: put yourself out there, keep an open mind etc.)

Have you ever found yourself worrying about commitment? Certainly in previous relationships.

Would you get involved with someone if they had a child already? Well, that's not something I have to worry about now so it's a moot point.

Have you ever learned an important lesson as a result of a break up? God, yeah. That's what they're good for.

Have you ever gotten back in touch with an old flame after a time of more than three months of no communication? Yeah.

Do you or would you ever wear fake eyelashes? Only on rare occasions but oddly enough, tomorrow is one such occasion. I'm attending a wedding and I want that extra sparkle!

Do you think that smaller breeds of dogs are cuter than big ones? I don't care for dogs in general.

When was the last time you slept in a tent? It's been ages. And I really have no desire to do it again.

What brand of make-up do you prefer to use? I'm not super brand loyal. I like a little of this and a little of that. But I have a lot of faves from Clinique, that's a trusty standby, and Covergirl and Revlon are my drugstore go-tos.

Do you have any siblings and if so, what’re they like? I have two sisters and the three of us couldn't be more different. But our distinct personalities mitigated a lot of sibling rivalry. We all kind of existed in our own spheres. Growing up, my older sister was a rocker girl and rebel, I was the creative bookworm, and my younger sister was the athlete. Of course, our identities have evolved past those simple stereotypes but that's the gist.

What was the last television show that you sat and watched multiple episodes of? The Midnight Club, which I'm watching as we speak.

Is there anything significant happening this month? My cousin's getting married tomorrow and my friend is having a baby any day now (possibly also tomorrow)!

When was the last time you plucked your eyebrows? Never.

Do you have any chronic pain? I do not.

When was the last time you had a Poptart? I haven't even thought about one in forever. But now I got a craving!!

Do you like hot chocolate? No. I've never understood the appeal! (Chocolate milk, however, is a different story).

Who is your best guy friend? Sean

What’s your favorite Michael Jackson song? Dirty Diana

Where did you buy your favorite pair of jeans from? They're Good American brand and I bought them from a thrifting site.

When was the last time you got your hair done professionally? A little less than a month ago.

Do you like TGI Fridays? I wouldn't sit down for a meal at the actual restaurant. But you bet your ass I enjoy the mozz sticks, potato skins, jalapeno poppers you can buy in the freezer section at the grocery store.

Have you ever gotten your legs waxed? No. My hair is too fine and fair for that to even be an issue.

Have you ever read anything by Edgar Allen Poe? Yeah. I should read more though.

When was the last time it rained where you live? A few hours ago.

Do you like horses? I'm no horse girl by any means but they're cool animals.

What is your opinion on air pollution? It's bad?

What are your grandfathers’ names? Jack and Joseph

Have you ever seen a snake in real life? Mhm

Do you know anyone that has been held hostage before? What the...?

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kryzobi-wan · 9 months

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The Sound of Mandalore

Chapter 4/20: "Our Favorite Things"

Read on AO3

<;< Chapter 3

Getting his room back in order hadn’t taken too long. He had taken care of most of the mess before dinner (which caused him to be slightly late) and the rest wasn’t too much trouble. The children had certainly given him quite the welcome since he’d arrived, but he tried not to hold it against them. He’d had his share of nasty pranks from Anakin over the years to temper his expectations.

Obi-Wan emerged from the refresher feeling quite comfortable here in his new (temporary) home. The accommodations were more than adequate for his relatively simple Jedi lifestyle. He had never thought to buy himself fancy furnishings or clothes, satisfied as he was with what he already had. That was the way of the Jedi. Even now, he wore his usual comfortable sleeping robes that were made simply for warmth and comfort, certainly not style. In all honesty, they weren’t much different than what he wore during the day.

He set about organizing the desk he had been provided, shuffling through some notes and lesson plans he had drawn up for his use here. There was a lot to cover in only a few short months, though he had a feeling he’d be asked to stay once school started to provide extracurricular tutoring. He wasn’t sure the Jedi Council would be asking for him back any time soon, and that thought brought pain, so he tried not to dwell on it. After only a few minutes of arranging his desk, however, his attention wandered to a stray datapad on historical Mandalorian botany, and he fell deep into reading. Ever the studious Jedi, it took several minutes before the distant sound of thunder broke through his concentration and registered as somewhat unusual in a domed city.

Setting down the datapad, Obi-Wan stood from his desk and padded over to the window to take a look outside. With his senses now fully focused on the sound, he realized it was not thunder as he had initially thought.

It was something else. Something he was used to hearing as a General in the GAR, but not here. Not on a peaceful Mandalore.

Blaster fire. Explosions. Infrequent, but still there.

His brows furrowed in concern, and he rubbed his beard with his arm folded across his chest wondering what course of action he should take. The General in him wanted to grab his lightsaber and leap out of the window to go face the danger, but the Councilmember side of him recognized that that was not what he had been sent here to do.

He was deep in thought when the sound of a knock on his door pulled him back to the here and now. Sliding the curtains shut, he made his way over to the entrance of his room and waved his hand in front of the sensor to open the door. On the other side stood Satine, still in her eveningwear from dinner.

He opened his mouth to greet her, but the echo of a particularly large explosion diverted his speech elsewhere. “Should I be concerned?” he spoke, gesturing vaguely to the direction the sound had come from. She, too, had flinched at the noise before meeting his eyes once again, her expression grave.

“No, the guard will have it under control,” she answered, waving it off (though unconvincingly). “We’ve had some… trouble, as of late, with a splinter group of hooligans causing mayhem throughout Mandalore, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Obi-Wan looked at her doubtfully. “If you’re sure…”

“We are fine,” the Duchess snapped, before settling a little. “We do not need any outside help, least of all from the Republic or a military General.”

He could tell her heart wasn’t behind those words, but they still hurt. “I understand.” The room became quiet once more, save for the distant echo of blaster fire.

It occurred to him that he did not know why Satine had stopped by his room in the first place, if it wasn’t to request his help with the commotion outside. When it didn’t appear as if she’d be likely to speak any time soon, he decided to say, “Good luck on your visit to Kalevala. I am sure it has been some time since you have visited your home world.”

Satine’s mouth stretched into a soft smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She looked tired. “It has, thank you.”

“See to it that you come back in one piece, alright?” he said, the care he’d always had for her leaking into his voice against his will.

Satine hesitated, and for a moment, Obi-Wan was afraid she’d rush in for a hug, but she stayed rooted to the patch of floor where she stood. He didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed.

“I will. Goodnight, Master Jedi.”

Obi-Wan bowed in acknowledgement, and she turned on her heel and left, leaving him speechless as she walked away briskly, her dress billowing behind her.

Perplexed by the whole interaction, Obi-Wan stared after her until she had turned the corner and gone.

“Goodnight… Satine,” he said softly to the now empty hall, closing the door to his chambers once again.

Dazedly, he set about readying his bed for sleep, pulling back the covers and arranging the pillows how he liked. There are entirely too many pillows on this bed, he thought to himself as he tossed one into the corner. Maybe the younglings had had the right idea throwing them off with the Force. The blaster fire seemed to get slightly louder, but he tried to put it out of his mind like Satine said.

Settling down onto the floor, Obi-Wan began to meditate as he usually did before bed back at the Temple. If anything could help him tune out the chaos outside, it was meditation. He had just started to slip into a deeper level of the Force when he heard the sound of his window opening just a crack, then sliding open all the way. The squelch of a wet shoe sounded next, and Obi-Wan might have been concerned if he hadn’t already recognized the Force signature.

“What happened to you?” he asked, not even opening his eyes to look. An amused smirk curled the corner of his lips as the bewildered voice of Korkie Kryze answered back.

“How did you do that? I mean, I was just out taking a walk, and they locked the palace gates early. I didn’t want to wake anyone so I—” He seemed to realize his lies were pointless as Obi-Wan peeked through at him with a knowing look. “You won’t tell my aunt, will you?” he asked, running his hand awkwardly through his auburn hair.

Obi-Wan smiled and stood, going over to close the window at the sound of more blaster fire. “How ever did you get all the way up here?” he asked, looking at the significant drop below.

Korkie guiltily pointed to a jetpack that was roughly hidden behind a flowerpot out on the balcony. “We’ve been using it to come play tricks on our tutors. Although I’ve seen Jedi on the HoloNet jump that high before, maybe we can learn that too!”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, at least until I am certain you won’t use your abilities to come and destroy my room again.” It was an accusation, but one made in jest. Glancing at the trail of water on the floor leading from the window to Korkie, he said, “I hope your friend had the pleasure of witnessing whatever spectacular fall resulted in your being completely drenched. If I had to guess, there was a fountain involved and,” Obi-Wan took stock of the faint bruises fresh on Korkie’s upper arm and shin, “perhaps some sparring? It had to be a sight to behold.”

Korkie looked at Obi-Wan as if he had a third eye in the middle of his forehead.

“If I were your teacher, though I know you said you do not need one, I feel like your aunt would want me to say something here about decorum and propriety, but as we are—shall we say—equals, I suppose I will have to keep my mouth shut.”

Korkie again smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan patted him on his shoulder, reminded of the hijinks his young Padawan got up to not so many years ago. Some days, he missed when Anakin was a teenager. They got to see more of each other then, and Obi-Wan really did relish the lessons he was able to impart on his young friend. Other days, well… Raising a teenager wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.

“Now, you can’t very well go wandering about the palace in those clothes, so why don’t we get something for you to put on while we wait for those to dry.” Korkie looked ready to object, but the kind smile on the Jedi’s face caused him to pause. Obi-Wan nodded reassuringly, turning to open one of the dresser drawers to retrieve one of his robes for the boy to wear. Handing the bundle to Korkie, he said, “Go put these on and hang the wet ones up. After that, we’ll talk.”

Korkie nodded and stepped through the doorway to the fresher. Before he could close the door, he looked down at the robes in his hands and back up to Obi-Wan. “Maybe I do need a teacher after all,” he spoke, humor lacing his voice.

“In that case, perhaps we shall do some meditation once you’re all cleaned up,” Obi-Wan offered.

Korkie’s smile brightened. “Yes sir! I look forward to it!”

-.-.-

Obi-Wan sat on the ground by the foot of his bed, breathing evenly and allowing himself to open up to the Force around him. He had decided to put the many extra pillows he possessed to good use, and sat upon one while another waited across from him for Korkie to take up when he emerged from the fresher.

Only moments after sitting down, a particularly large blast rattled the windowpanes. Still, he sensed that whatever was happening was far enough away that it didn’t warrant emergency procedures within the palace.

He’d barely had time to reflect on the commotion outside when the door to his room suddenly slid open, revealing a frightened Greta standing there in her nightclothes. The youngest of his students looked absolutely terrified, and perhaps a little like she was rethinking going to a virtual stranger’s door in the dead of night. She remained frozen in place, eyes locked onto Obi-Wan’s.

“Greta? What is it? Are you afraid?” Obi-Wan asked, standing from his spot on the ground.

The little girl shook her head no, but at the next sound, immediately ran to the Jedi and buried her face in the side of his robes

It had been so long since Obi-Wan had been used for comfort like this, that for a moment the touch threw him for a loop. It brought back long-held memories of the nine-year-old sandy-haired boy from Tatooine that he had suddenly found in his care when he was barely more than a Padawan himself. Of nightmares and screaming in the room next door to his in the Temple apartment they shared. The Force practically shook in the air around him.

He wondered what Anakin thought now of those nights where he held tight to Obi-Wan’s robes when he came to check on him. Or the nights where he couldn’t sleep, so he crept into Obi-Wan’s room and settled on the floor next to him with nothing but a thin blanket for comfort. Obi-Wan would always wake eventually, sighing at the little boy on the ground when he saw him. He didn’t know how many times he’d have to move him to the wide-open space on the other side of his bed before Anakin realized he could just go straight there instead of to the floor when he needed to. He had perhaps the neediest, clingiest Padawan in the history of the Jedi Order… but Obi-Wan wouldn’t have it any other way.

He treasured those memories more than he should, as a Jedi. It was no wonder the Council saw right through him and knew he was attached.

Greta’s small hands clenched tighter around the fabric at his waist when another explosion sounded, and Obi-Wan shook himself out of his reverie. He suddenly realized he had no idea what he should do in this situation. His arms hovered awkwardly in the air as the girl held onto him, and he cleared his throat.

“Just a moment, I’ll go get the Duchess, I am sure she can—”

“The guards won’t let me in, they said she has to rest for her trip to Kala—Kalevala tomorrow,” Greta said, hurt evident in her voice.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said dumbly.

“Can I stay in here with you?” Greta asked in her small voice.

Obi-Wan brought a hand down to gently pat her on the back and conceded, “Yes, alright.” Greta seemed to relax a little under his touch. As the seconds ticked by, he felt his experience in dealing with situations like this returning. He supposed it was a bit like riding a speeder bike—you never really forgot how to do it, even if you were a little out of practice.

“I suspect we might see a few of the others soon as well,” he spoke, a friendly smile pulling at his lips.

“But they’re all sleeping! They’re not scared!” Greta said before jumping at another blast that echoed from afar. Obi-Wan scooped her up, and she wasted no time in burying her face in his shoulder.

Obi-Wan swallowed past the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat and let out a laugh as Lark, Brig, and Tamra all appeared in the doorway.

“What did I tell you, Greta?” Obi-Wan said, nudging her to look. The youngest girl peeked at her older peers, briefly managing an amused smile. “Alright, come on in. Grab a pillow and take a seat on the floor. I will teach you all your very first lesson in meditation. Perhaps that can help us to shut out all the noise.”

The children all nodded and did as the Jedi asked as their teacher sat down cross legged and closed his eyes. Greta sat right in his lap, squeezing her eyes shut as well.

Obi-Wan smiled and peeked out at her. Rather than tell her to get her own seat and follow along, Obi-Wan simply closed his eyes again and tried to focus.

“The boys are going to be so jealous that we got to have the first lesson with a Jedi and they missed it!” Lark said happily.

“Oh, I think they’ll make it to the lesson before long,” Obi-Wan said, his smile mischievous.

Indeed, on the next explosion, Dreek and Chas rushed in looking frightened.

Five pairs of eyes blinked up at the two boys. “Uh, we just wanted to make sure the palace wasn’t under attack,” Dreek said.

“Of course,” Obi-Wan said, only a hint of sarcasm lacing his response. “Right then, on the floor, close your eyes. Steady your breathing and let go of your fear. It does not control you.”

“But you can’t just say ‘stop being afraid,’ that doesn’t make it magically go away.” Brig protested.

“Shh, close your eyes,” Obi-Wan said in a soft voice. “We allow ourselves to feel the fear, then let it pass into the Force where it can no longer control us.”

Little Tamra’s face was screwed up in deep concentration. Chas also seemed to be desperately attempting to follow Obi-Wan’s instructions.

“This is boring,” Lark commented, unable to sit still.

Yet another volley of blaster fire caused the group to startle, shaking the children out of whatever semblance of attempted meditation they were in. They looked to Obi-Wan with frightened eyes.

“Maybe we’ll try meditation another day, then,” Obi-Wan said, relaxing out of his rigid meditative pose. It had been a while since he’d taught younglings to meditate for the first time, and these children were all much older than the age they were usually taught at the Temple. Even little two-year-olds were capable of scratching the surface levels of the Force through guided meditation, though their focus could never last very long.

“How come you’re not afraid?” Tamra asked, looking curiously up at the Master Jedi.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Well, I’ve been a Jedi for as long as I can remember. We are trained to face our fears and release our strong emotions into the Force, freeing us from that fear.”

“I wish I could do that,” Greta said sadly.

Obi-Wan’s mind drifted back to 16 or 17 years ago, as it had been doing often since he’d arrived on Mandalore. “The Duchess once said something very similar to me, long ago,” he shared.

“Really?”

“When?”

The children’s curiosity was to be expected.

Obi-Wan wasn’t exactly sure if this was something he should share, but at a loss for what else he could possibly do, he figured it couldn’t hurt. Besides, it counted as learning Mandalorian history, right?

“When the Duchess was on the run from those who wished her harm, before she was crowned ruler of Mandalore, myself and my master, Qui-Gon, were assigned to protect her,” Obi-Wan began, his vision swimming with the ghost of those memories. “We were chased most days by usurpers, and barely escaped with our lives a few times. Satine—the Duchess was incredibly brave throughout it, don’t misunderstand me, but occasionally it all became… too much, and she asked how I seemed so unbothered by it all.”

“How did you?”

“You really weren’t afraid at all?”

Obi-Wan pondered this. Anakin had had trouble grasping this concept as well as a boy.

“Everyone feels fear, even I do at times,” he spoke, “but I simply let that feeling pass. I find it helps to replace that fear with more pleasant thoughts.”

Which was exactly how Obi-Wan and Satine had gotten through many nights, by softly whispering the things they loved most about the galaxy until they drifted off into peaceful slumber.

On the rocky, swampy moon of Zanbar, the screeching of momongs and fearsome growls of anoobas kept them awake and constantly on guard. Qui-Gon sat in the mouth of the cave that was their shelter for the evening, his presence not quite enough to keep the fear from clutching the hearts of his two young companions.

Obi-Wan, with his short cut hair and Padawan braid, pulled a trembling Satine into the crook of his arm, wrapping the blanket they had draped over their shoulders even tighter around her. His lightsaber sat not a foot away from him, in case any wild, vicious animals snuck up on them from the depths of the cave system.

There had been too many close calls lately.

“What is your favorite thing about the galaxy?” Obi-Wan asked softly, the question a familiar one that he often used to initiate this calming exercise. It had become their routine. They both gazed into the flickering fire that lit the cave in its warm orange glow.

Satine took a deep, steadying breath and closed her eyes, leaning into his shoulder and allowing his comfort to seep into her. “I love the way constellations look a little different when you look at them from different star systems.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I like the sound the paddy frogs make at night here when those Force-forsaken monstrous creatures are quiet.”

Satine hummed an amused laugh. They continued on like that for a while, trading back and forth their most pleasant thoughts—with varying degrees of seriousness.

Eventually, they settled down onto their respective bedrolls, which lay side by side in the glowing halo of the campfire. Soon they would have to separate, since Qui-Gon’s shift was coming to an end—but for now, Satine lay draped over Obi-Wan’s heart, his arm wrapped around her.

“Where do I fall on the list of things you love most about the galaxy?” she asked, her intoxicating voice barely above a whisper.

She had broached a most sensitive topic, but one they had given up avoiding talking about months ago. Teasing little comments like this one cropped up here and there when Qui-Gon wasn’t close enough to hear, and still they brought a flutter to Obi-Wan’s chest. He wondered if she could feel it.

“Hmm, that’s a good question,” he said, an exaggerated look of intense thoughtfulness on his face as he looked up at the cave ceiling. “I do sleep quite well when those frogs are sounding.” Satine smacked him lightly in the chest, and his lips curled up in a smile, his eyes meeting hers with total sincerity. “I think you know, my dear.”

She did know. Just like he knew that no matter how many constellations they gazed up at on their travels together, her favorites were the stars that shone in his eyes when he looked at her.

“Perhaps its less the frogs and more the company you keep that help you sleep well, Ben,” Satine teased, curling further into his chest.

Obi-Wan chuckled, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I think you may be right.”

-.-.-

Questioning voices brought him out of his reminiscence, the din of conversation too muddled to easily make out. “Like what kinds of thoughts?” Greta was asking, similar inquiries raising up from the other children at once.

Obi-Wan really needed to stop getting lost in his memories like this. It was unbecoming of a Jedi.

Clearing his throat, he glanced around at the expectant looks on the children’s faces. “Like the things I enjoy best about life, about the universe. Like the soft hum of hyperspace or the colorful native festivals held on small outer rim planets...”

The kids seemed to catch on quickly, smiles brightening around the room.

“Like tookas!” Greta said enthusiastically, picturing the cute little kittens that came in all sorts of different colors.

“Or lilies!” Lark added.

“Or the sunrise!” Brig.

“Yes, very good!” Obi-Wan cheered. Excitement grew among the children now as they each piped up with countless things they could think of that they liked. For the first time, Obi-Wan started to see how this experience, these children, might not be so hard to bear after all.

“I like parades!” Chas said.

“Ooh, yes, and feasts in the palace dining room!” Dreek.

“Bolo-ball games!”

“Life Day presents!”

“Jetpacks!” The eldest had finally entered, emerging clean from the fresher.

“Excellent, Korkie!” Obi-Wan praised.

More and more items were added to their list until, as often happened that year on the run, the space between each thought grew steadily longer. The children began to lay down on the floor and rest their eyes, some—incidentally—achieving a level of meditation on their own and slowly dozing off.

Korkie sat in a meditative pose, having been instructed briefly by Obi-Wan before the Jedi Master, too, laid down on the ground and drifted into a sleepy daze.

Some time passed before their quiet rest was disrupted by the sound of the door sliding open once more. Obi-Wan woke from his half-asleep state and peered through heavy eyelids to see Satine, now dressed in a white nightgown and looking a little put out at the sight of all the children clearly not in their beds.

Seeing them all resting peacefully on the floor, however, she pressed her lips together and didn’t say a word, her eyes instead settling on Obi-Wan.

The Jedi went to sit up, but stopped himself when he noticed Greta, who was using his chest as a pillow. It seemed she had found peace in the gentle rise and fall of his breathing.

Just like Anakin, Obi-Wan thought fleetingly.

“They were afraid of the blaster fire,” he explained, keeping his voice low. “It seems to have stopped. I take it your Protectors were successful in quelling the revolt?”

Satine nodded curtly, swallowing back whatever retort she had initially come in here to give. “I am sorry they invaded your space. My guard should not have turned them away from my room.”

Obi-Wan waved his hand in dismissal. “It’s perfectly alright. My Padawan Anakin often found his way into my quarters at night the first few years he was with me. Nightmares.”

Satine’s expression softened further. “I am sure you raised him into a fine young man.”

“He certainly is that, though I’m not sure I can take all the credit,” Obi-Wan said, smiling.

Satine’s eyes skimmed over all the sleeping children, resting for a beat longer on Korkie, who—still in Obi-Wan’s robe—was resting up against the foot of the bed with his arms folded across his chest, snoring softly.

Her shoulders were tense as she turned to leave, stopping only when Obi-Wan said, “Satine—” the sudden use of her name rather than her title causing her to freeze. She glanced back down at him, an unreadable look in her eyes. “What is your favorite thing about the galaxy?”

Satine did not answer, she merely flashed Obi-Wan a small smile that said, “I remember,” before drifting out of the room.

Obi-Wan rested his head back on his pillow again, unable to stop the smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As he again floated off to sleep, he whispered under his breath, “Anakin. Qui-Gon… Satine.”

His favorite things about the galaxy, without a doubt, were the people in it. And no matter how much the Council told him that was wrong, he knew—deep in his heart, he knew—that would never change.

-.-.-

Chapter 5 >>

#obitine #obitine fanfic #my fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #korkie kryze #sound of music au #the sound of mandalore #mandalore #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars: tcw #tcw fanfic #chapter 4

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birkabrams14 · 12 days

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erodasfishtacos · 3 years

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Acting Up (mini blurb)

thanks sm to Sarah who generously donated to my ko fi. she requested a blurb about mlbrry going to get ice cream as a family so here you go! with a little harry in DAD mode.

—

It was a hot night and the kids were a bit stir-crazy, so was eight-month pregnant YN in the house while Harry had been traveling to play.

“Mama, what’d y’want?” Harry murmurs, hand rubbing her bump as they wait with one hand as he has Ezra propped on his hip on the other side.

“Everything sounds so good,” She groans as she looks over the menu, pregnancy hunger was a real thing.

Her bump was bigger than any of her other pregnancy and she was quite miserable - though trying to make the best out of it.

“I’ll buy y’the whole menu,” Her husband replies as he reviews the menu board in front of them as well.

“Then I’ll be as big as house,” YN quips, hands running through Cash’s curly locks as he hugs her leg

“Just more f’me to love on,” He hums happily, moving to grope her bum a bit until she smacks his off with an eye roll.

He sees out of the corner of his eye his oldest taunting his middle child with goofy faces.

“Easton, enough,” Harry scolds as he sees Cash’s eyebrows furrow as he gets frustrated with his older brother.

Six and four - what an age.

The oldest stops at the firm tone of his father, huffing and giving his brother a dirty look before moving to stand next to his dad.

When they arrive at the order window, a teenage boy steps over to greet them, his mouth drops open as he sees who it is.

“Y-you’re Harry S-Styles,” The kid stutters, his face flushing red and his eyes wide as he stares at the celebrity.

Harry smiles kindly with a chuckle, “I am. Are you fan? Pleasure to meet you.”

“Daddy, why does he know your name?” Cash asked in confusion as he peeks around his father’s leg.

“‘cause he plays babeball, stupid,” Easton replies with an attitude towards his brother.

“Mama!” Cash shrieks offendly.

YN sighs, cupping Harry’s hand on her belly for moment, “Order me a banana split with peanut butter and extra strawberry. I’m going to go talk to East.”

YN pulls Easton to an empty table with enough room for the five of them and also to accommodate her belly.

“Why are you picking on your brother?” YN uses her mom mode voice as she watches her son pout out his lip.

“He stole my dolphin stuffie earlier!”

Of course.

“Is that the proper way to treat him though?” YN questions directly, tilting his chin up so she can make eye contact.

“No mama,” Easton mumbles, struggling to keep his mother’s gaze.

“Will you say sorry to him when he comes over?” YN encourages.

He agrees, lisps out an apology before Harry hands him a bowl of chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

After a few minutes, YN winces and stands from the table, a hand going to rest of her back.

“What’s wrong, mama?” Harry asks with concern laced in his tone. He was currently feeding Ezra little bits of strawberry that was dripping down his chin.

“Just my back is achey, I’m just going to stand and eat,” She grumbles, shifting her weight side-to-side as she takes small bites of her banana split.

“Stop it!” Easton whines when Cash sticks his finger into his older brothers bowl and submerges it in his ice cream.

“Cash,” Harry states, reaching for his middle son’s arm “Get y’hand out of your brother’s food, right now.”

Cash listens but snickers when he realizes he’s managed to annoy Easton.

When Harry looks back to his wife, he then hears Cash shouting, “No!”

The parents look back to see Easton with chocolate ice cream as his nice white shirt and Cash with a sticky hand of melted dessert.

“Cash!” YN scolds on frustration, they were really usually good with each other but today was not their day.

She sits down her food to rustled through the diaper bag for wipes. She cleans off Cash’s hands with a pointed stare as Harry reaches over to clean up Easton.

“You’re done,” Harry tells Cash firmly, picking up his son’s bowl that he hadn’t finished and dumping it in the garbage. “Y’don’t get ice cream if y’just goin’ to throw it.”

That sends the middle one into a meltdown and it makes it even worse when Easton taunts, “No more for you!”

It has Cash standing up and darting around the table but Easton sees him and gets up to bolt away from his grasps.

“Stop running right now,” Harry raises his voice, groaning when Ezra starts to whimper at the chaos and holds on to Harry tighter.

“Boys! Listen to your fa-“

Easton darts around his mother but Cash isn’t as agile yet and knocks right into the front of her calves causing her banana split to drop out of her hands and for her to stumble.

“Baby!” Harry panics, instantly moving forward to grab her arm and pulls her towards him so she tumbles into his chest instead of backwards.

“Oh my god,” YN whimpers, her breathing becoming quicker as her heart rate spikes from the scare, hands coming to her bump.

The boys are frozen still were they’re at. Eyes wide and tears welling at the fear their mother got hurt by them

“Mama, y’alright? Sweetheart, I know Y’got scared. Breathe for me,” Harry soothes more worried about his wife than scolding his kids.

“If I would have fallen,” YN is tearing up, anxiety spiking through her chest at the thought of the baby getting hurt.

Harry is breathing heavier than he’d like to admit too.

“Don’t cry, s’okay. The baby is perfect, y’keeing them so nice and safe, bein’ a perfect mama,” He assures her, kissing her temple and brushing away a tear.

Ezra is distressed too, of course the sensitive little boy is, chanting, “mommy, mommy, mommy.”

She clears her throat, smiling softly at her youngest boy, “M’okay, Ezzie. It’s all okay.”

“Mama, hold me,” Ezra begs, reaching out his arms to be switched to his mother but Harry holds him tight and shakes his head ‘no.’

“Not right now baby. Mommy doesn’t feel very good,” YN tells him, chest still pounding, back still aching.

And when their youngest starts sobbing, screaming that he wants his mother, well...YN starts feel overwhelmed by her two olders ones who are whimpering because they know they’re in trouble and Ezra tantruming.

“Sweetheart,” Harry can tell by the tears bubbling up along her waterline what’s going on, “Baby, y’okay. What do y’need?”

YN sucks in a deep breath, gathering her thoughts for a moment, “I just need a minute alone. You can have Easton and Ezra finish their ice cream. Then come after you’re done.”

“I can do that,” Harry replies sadly, he couldn’t stand seeing his wife upset or scared - it was one of the worst feelings for him.

When YN grabs the car keys and leaves towards the car, Ezra settles as soon as he’s being fed ice cream again. The boys hesitantly go back to their seats across from their dad.

Harry knows they’re young. They don’t understand what it would mean if they knocked their heavily pregnant mother over but it doesn’t mean aggravation isn’t running through him at the two.

“Daddy...” Easton sniffles cautiously, kicking his feet under the table as his chest shutters.

“Yes?” Harry answers calmly, looking up from Ezra to meet his son’s gaze - the same green eyes staring back at him.

“Do you and mommy hate us?” His oldest asks as he wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“No, mama and I love you two with all our hearts. But daddy is very upset with you two right now, do you understand why?”

They both nod in agreement that they do.

“Why are we upset?” Harry prompts as he takes a wet wipe to rubs over Ezra’s strawberry stained face.

“Cause we made mommy almost fall,” Cash lisps shamefully.

Harry nods, “And we tell you very often that we have to be careful with mama because she’s got a baby in her belly and we have t’keep the baby safe.”

“Are we in trouble?” Easton voice is still quiver with his guilt.

“I’ll have t’talk to y’mom but if it happens again, y’both are goin’ to be in a lot of trouble and y’gonna get a consequence. Do you understand that too?”

They nod in unison. Easton hadn’t touched his ice cream again, gets up to throw it away as he loiters - looking towards the car where his mother is sitting away from them.

Cash gets up to but slowly walks around the table to his father.

“M’sorry daddy,” He squeaks tearfully, moving forward and digging his face into Harry’s bicep.

“Cash,” Harry soothes, grasps his son lightly under the chin, “I love you very much, okay? We just can’t do things like that. Y’need to listen to daddy and mama.”

He nods in understanding before crawling up into his father’s lap, right next to Ezra - who gives him an affronted glare when he realizes he has to share space with him.

When they’re done and Harry has let enough time past, he walks the little group of boys toward their SUV.

He opens the passenger side door where YN is reclined a bit, hand on her stomach and the air-conditioner blasting cold air on her face.

“The boys have somethin’ t’say,” Harry smiles softly, leaning over to give his wife a quick kiss.

“M’sorry mama,” Cash whispers.

“Me too, mommy,” Easton adds on.

“I forgive you both. You just have to be careful with me. You’re sibling is in here and we have to keep them nice and healthy, right? I love you two more than anything.”

#mlb!harry #mlbrry #mlb!Harry blurbs #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing

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k-s-morgan · 2 years

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Hi! Just a general update + reply to asks I got. In short: right now, I’m fine. This night has been the best for me so far and I was finally able to sleep more or less normally.

Once again, thank you. Hearing your words, getting financial help and all the useful information many of you shared is essential and life-saving to me. Due to a recommendation of one person from Syria, I went to sleep in the hall, away from the rooms with windows, and it did feel much safer. Multiple people gave me advice and even phone numbers of those who might be able to help me transport my pets to Poland - this means the world to me and I can’t thank you enough.

Right now, I’m stuck in my apartment in Kiev because there are fights all over the city and down the roads. Almost no transport is working and we don’t have a car. Staying here is safer than leaving at the moment, but I have no idea what the future will bring. Many of your offered accommodations - this level of support blows my mind. I can assure that if I ever seek out your help, I won’t be a burden for long: we have relatives spread all over different countries, so even if we had to seek shelter, it would be very temporary. Leaving the country is the main problem, especially since I don’t want to leave my brother and father behind and no one will let them pass the border.

Answering some questions: my family does have savings, but they are in $ cash. Ukraine stopped accepting it, so right now these savings are useless - that’s why I asked for help. With you, I managed to buy enough food both for my family and my pets to last us a month, and that made a huge difference.

As for events in Ukraine: things are dangerous, but while this might surprise many of you, at the moment, I’m more worried about Ukrainians themselves. Our government started giving guns to everyone without even asking them for any ID. Marauders have already began robbing and murdering people/marking the abandoned apartments. There is also nothing romantic about civilians arming themselves - if the trained army cannot win this fight, they won’t either. The number of the dead and the level of destruction will rise, that’s all. Yesterday, a group of such people killed/hurt two parents and their children by mistaking them for Russians. Ukrainian army itself is now busy taking some of such people down, so it was a ridiculous and desperate decision.

Also, there is an order for everyone to stay inside after 5 pm. Anyone who breaks this order will be considered a Russian. But people constantly move between their homes and the bomb shelters, at all times! Our shelters don’t have enough food and water; they don’t have bathrooms; there is not enough air for some, so people need to go out. This is not okay. The government also demands soldiers to blow up bridges. This is ridiculous, Russians will still manage to get here, even if takes them longer, but we, on the other hand, will be cut off food supplies for who knows how long - we will be unable to escape the city.

It’s terrible when the danger starts pouring from every side, even the one that’s supposed to protect you. But on a brighter side, things are fine in my suburb. It’s a pretty quiet place located away from the center and the main roads; the existing military base was destroyed the first night, so hopefully, no one will bother much with us now. But since I was unable to sleep until this night, I still felt exhausted, terrible and scared. I even cried when my family went to asleep - every sound felt like a threat. Then I fell asleep myself at last, managed to stay this way for the entire night, and now I feel collected and calm again. I also finally ate something and began to read - small things, but at a time like this, they feel like victories.

I hope peace comes soon, all my family does. My cats and pigeons have no interest in what’s happening, they are as silly and lovely as always. And thank you again - for helping, supporting, and just listening.

#personal #ukraine

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wordsnstuff · 3 years

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10 Mistakes to Avoid When Writing About Mental Illness

Patreon || Ko-Fi || Masterlist || Work In Progress

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Reinforcing Stereotypes

This goes without saying, but neurodivergent people (and characters) each experience and cope with their mental illnesses differently. Schizophrenia is not simply hallucinations. Depression is not simply feeling suicidal. Anxiety is not simply consistent fear or unease. Your character, depending on what causes/triggers their symptoms, will present their mental illnesses differently, both on the inside and outside. A person’s experience of mental illness is affected by their environment, their background, their priorities, their personality, and their other struggles. Reflect this in their story, rather than reading a long list of general symptoms and checking them off in your draft.

1 Symptom Sally

Mental illness affects every aspect of an individual’s life. It’s more complicated and far-reaching than simply “having a harder time than everyone else”. Depression, for instance, is frequently portrayed with an acute emphasis on the symptoms of fatigue, lack of motivation, and sadness. However, depression has a lot of symptoms that many aren’t aware are connected to the illness, such as executive dysfunction, irritability, and sickness. Even those with a general diagnosis of a mental illness aren’t going to have that diagnosis just because they feel sad a lot of the time. There must be more, and it must be shown.

Romanticizing Suicide

There’s a delicate balance between depicting the reality and gravity of suicidal thoughts/ideation and making it sound appealing. If you’re reading a story, narrated by a character who has suicidal tendencies, it’s inevitable that their thought process will justify or rationalize those thoughts. Approach this with care, and remember that as a writer, you have influence over your readers (whether intentionally or not), and you should prioritize the responsibility you have to avoid romanticizing suicide over the task of portraying it accurately. Some things simply hurt more than they help.

Generalizing Experiences

Mental illness is inconsistent. Some people display two or three symptoms that are easily recognized, but some experience symptoms most don’t even associate with those illnesses at all. For example, generalized anxiety disorder can present in individuals with a more physically debilitating set of effects, rather than primarily manifesting in feelings of fear or unease. Yes, anxiety is the state of being anxious, but it can also be sensory overload, executive dysfunction, flu-like illness, and fatigue. Every mental illness is unique to the individual who struggles with it, so be aware that your characters should be representing that reality as well.

Ignoring Coping Mechanisms

Most people who have a mental illness that has progressed to the point of seeking a diagnosis and perhaps treatment have established various levels of coping mechanisms. These can be things like substance abuse or self harm, but they can also be more subtle, like hyper-fixation on media they like or excessive reliance on friends or family. If you’re going to write a character with a mental illness, you should know what they have to do to get through the day. What exercises have they adopted to adapt to their situation? What effect have these mechanisms had on their lifestyle and relationships?

Illnesses Having No Effect On Relationships

Mental illness, especially after having struggled with them for a long period, affects who we are, how we behave and interact, and changes our priorities and thought process. It’s inevitable that it will impact our relationships with other people. In order to accurately depict this experience, you have to also know the characters on the other side, who are maintaining a relationship with your neurodivergent character. What are their thoughts on mental health? How well do they understand what your character is experiencing? Are they more likely to want to be there for or distance themselves from the character because of their mental illness? Strain on relationships can be a very distinct part of a neurodivergent person’s experience with mental illness, and it’s important to represent that. The stigma is still very real and shows up regularly, even in little ways, and in a more accommodating world.

Extreme Cases Only

Some people experience mental illness on a chronic level, others do not. There’s Seasonal Affective Disorder, which tends to only present symptoms in certain periods of the year for various reasons, for example. It could be classified as a “less severe” form of depression, and it’s very common. Not all depression is the same, and it doesn’t always result in severe cases of suicidal ideation or self harm. If you only depict characters in the most extreme cases, who experience their symptoms at the highest level at all times, you may be reinforcing stereotypes about neurodivergence that have taken decades to dismantle. Not everyone with mental illness has an extreme case, and pretending they do can reinforce the idea that all neurodivergent people are “crazy”.

Good Days vs. Bad Days

Neurodivergent individuals usually experience their symptoms on a wide spectrum of severity. There are good and bad days, and everything in between. Sure, some days, one may experience virtually no symptoms and be very happy and productive, and be totally unable to maintain their composure on others. However, the majority of the time is occupied by a middle ground. Days where a person isn’t constantly on the verge of a panic attack, but they struggle to accomplish their typical agenda, and they feel a variety of symptoms at noticeable, but more manageable level. Symptoms can also intensify steadily and endure for variable periods of time.

Curing Mental Illness With Romance

Let me say this clearly, and insist you don’t argue: mental illness cannot be cured by a relationship. I admit that new relationships or positive attention can offset symptoms, but if a character’s mental illness (such as depression or anxiety) miraculously resolves because a new partner comes into their life, they either weren’t mentally ill in the first place, or you have misunderstood mental illness. There can be months or even years where someone can go without experiencing their symptoms at a noticeable level, but they will always be neurodivergent, and a new partner isn’t going to change that. That portrayal minimizes the experience of mental illness and trivializes symptoms people suffer with every single day. Do not do this. Please. Just don’t. You can say your character has prolonged period of sadness, but you cannot slap the word “depression” on them, then have all their symptoms disappear because they’ve got a hot date.

Not Every Illness Is Caused By Trauma

This is simply a point of knowledge more writers should have a grasp of. Mental illness can be caused by genetics, chemical imbalances, deficiencies, severe and prolonged stress, longterm health conditions, social isolation or loneliness, etc. It’s natural that in a fictional story where mental illness may be an important aspect, that trauma is one of the more sensational causes to apply to your character, but if you have a cast with diverse experiences of neurodivergence, it’s unlikely that all of them will have a basis in trauma. Neurodivergence is not a one-size-fits-all.

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#writing #writeblr #writing advice #writing tips #writing resources #resources for writers #writing reference #writing help #writespo #writing inspiration #writing motivation #inspiration #motivation #TW suicide #TW mental illness #TW self harm #TW substance abuse #general content warning

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lucyhalearchive · 3 years

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Without or With You (N.R.)

Hello, everyone! Sorry I was gone, but I was out of the country (and I still am), but I thought I’d write something small for you guys until I get home.

Warnings: vvv angsty in the beginning, but it turns out lovely in the end.

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Maybe living with Natasha wasn’t the best idea, but could you really live without her?

Trying to maintain a relationship with a Russian Spy was hard at first especially when said spy would come into the doors of the shared home with injuries, and though they were small because she was phenomenal at her job, the thought of her getting hurt again, and worse, always made you quite anxious when she left.

However, that didn’t stop the warm, fuzzy feeling that fluttered in your chest when she would come home looking for you. She would fall into your arms with a tired sigh, and all she wanted to do was to be held or hold you because you reminded her that there was a reason to push forward through the rough days.

Trying to maintain a relationship with an Avenger was a different story, though.

For the first few years, Natasha came home more often than her life before. In fact, she came home every day unless she was out of the city, but she still walked through the door with a tired smile on her face and arms unfolded, outstretched for you to walk in between them. You two grew closer than you had ever been, and some days you thought about the possibility of taking your relationship one step further.

Until she didn’t need you anymore.

Call it selfish, but when she started spending more “after work” hours at the compound with the rest of her team, you wondered if she would need you when she got hurt or needed someone to comfort her. Of course you were proven wrong when you two spent hours after midnight laughing at ridiculously horrendous movies that were made way before either of your times. Hair messily resting on your heads, popcorn laying on the floor from when you two tried to see if the other could catch it in their mouth, and the gentle brush of skin was all you needed to feel a bit better about the whole ordeal.

One day, you decided to meet her for your lunch break at a small restaurant near your place near your work. You were excited. Natasha had been gone for almost two months, so you were practically shaking in your seat, the enthusiasm building and building. Minutes passed, yet there was no Natasha to be seen. The waitress continuously visited your table and asked if you were ready to eat, but you shook your head and told her to wait.

She did show up, but it was at least thirty minutes late. You were starving, and you were growing irritated, but when she texted you that she was around the corner, you didn’t care about the stinging hunger in your stomach. You called the waitress back over to your outside table so she would be ready for your orders, but when you looked over at a commotion coming your way, you noticed Natasha laughing with a group. Your heart sank. You haven’t seen her laugh that hard in awhile because she didn’t even laugh that hard when you two had your special movie night.

You forced yourself to sit up straighter than before and smile so they would be none the wiser as she sat down. The others seemed to hover awkwardly around the table, but she motioned for them to grab a seat and push a table over to accommodate the extra guests.

Then she started to stay at the compound overnight. Then for a few extra days. Then for a week.

When she eventually did return, she acted like you weren’t there watching your comfort movie with loads of food surrounding your area. Like you weren’t quietly sobbing at a certain part of the film. She just grabbed a few miscellaneous items from her side of the room

“Are you staying here tonight, or are you going back to the compound?” You stood up and dusted off the crumbs that gathered on the divot where you were folded in the couch. Natasha walked into the kitchen and grabbed a few water bottles.

“I’ll be staying there for a little while longer.” She absentmindedly mentioned, walking over to the door to grab her jacket from the rack.

“Are you going to come home eventually?”

“I don’t know. There’s going to be a thing this weekend, so I want to be there for that-”

“You can’t just ride over there? I could take you.” You propose, but she shakes her head and twists the handle.

“It’s mostly going to be just us. You wouldn’t enjoy the crowd anyways. Look, I have to go, so I’ll see you.” She fit in before you could say your goodbye.

The feeling of dejection and disheartenment flooded your senses to the brim, so you did all you could think to do.

A few weeks had passed before Natasha realized that she had been away from you for so long. Sure she had Steve, Bucky, Sam, or anyone within the compound walls to talk to, but at a certain point, she realized they could never be you. They could never have what you two had. She started staying in the compound so it would be easier to commute (even if it wasn’t really a commute at that point), but when she would stare at her empty bed, an uneasiness fell upon her. She decided to go back to the shared place. She wanted to see you again.

Only you weren’t there.

You weren’t there to greet her like you used to. You weren’t in the kitchen baking some dessert that would be forgotten about within the week. You weren’t in bed reading a book you bought ages ago but forgot to read because you always buy the first book you see when in town. She hurriedly pulled out your drawers, containers, and boxes to see if you were anywhere to be found, but there was nothing. No clothes, no books, no empty or half-full water bottles standing in random places throughout the apartment.

You were gone.

All that was left was a single note attached to the metal refrigerator with a spider magnet:

Natasha,

I am so happy you found a group of people who make you feel as though you can be yourself. As if you can stop anything that blocks you from going on in life. I am happy that you found friends who allow you to take a breather from your harsh world.

I just hope that you are as happy as I was with you because that is a powerful feeling.

“I just don’t understand what gives you the right to leave.” She shouted into her phone as she paced in the kitchen. You were on the other end being more stubborn than she’s ever known, but she wasn’t letting up.

“You left me first! I understand that you have a job to do, and you have all these new friends, but you couldn’t have come home once?” You try to reason, a stern tone to let her know you weren’t going to let her push you around, but she laughed in disbelief.

“You know good and well that I wasn’t doing that to abandon you! Just- Just come back home, please.” Natasha didn’t let out a cry, a sob, or even the slightest notion that she was upset, but instead she sounded defeated. At her wit’s end.

“No, Natasha.” You said while letting out a sigh. The dial tone rang out into the empty apartment as she stood there staring into the floor. This wasn’t like her, to feel this way, to act this way. What was she doing differently? What was she doing wrong?

Despite your decision to leave, you found yourself searching for Natasha in everything you did. You were staying at a friend’s old apartment who was subletting it to you, so you were alone, not like you weren’t used to it by now. It’s been a few months, closer to a year, but you couldn’t shake the looming feeling of her around. Every time you rounded a corner, you hoped that you would run into her. You hoped that when you opened the door, she would be standing there, hand slightly raised as if she was going to knock, but she never did. You could live with or without her, but you did miss having her around.

Maybe something or someone was looking down on you with the purest eyes because while you were walking in the park bundled up in a warm winter coat, you noticed her sitting on a bench with her head in her hands. She had snow flakes nestling in her hair and eyelashes which only accentuated her natural beauty, and you couldn’t resist walking up to her.

“Is this seat taken?” You asked, slowly walking up to her, leaving a trail of footprints behind you. She looked up with a lopsided smile, but she shook her head.

“I don’t know. The snow has been occupying the seat for a while.” You both share a laugh at the awful joke, but she pushes off the snow on the bench for you. You both sat in silence for a moment, just enjoying the scenery. You mulled over whether or not you want to bring up the fact that you wanted her back because everything in your life felt full when she was around. Though you knew your mental and emotional walls were stronger than before, and you felt the need to push her away, you know that she was the love of your life.

“I apologize for running away on you, Natasha-”

“What happened to Nat?” Again, it was quiet. The snowflakes were almost fully-formed snowballs falling from the sky at that point, and you could hear them land on the ground, dissipating into nothing.

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have left you at home alone for no reason. It’s almost like to keep a relationship, I have to be present or something.” You both looked at each other before bursting into a laughing fit. Your head on her shoulder, her hand on your thigh to stop her from doubling over felt like nothing had changed. You suppose it never really did. You unfold your arms and you both fall into a hug that felt as if balance was restored.

It wasn’t really over with Natasha Romanoff because you were going to try to fall in love with her again. Though, you believe you never fell out of it in the first place.

I hope you guys liked it as usual! I promise to write for someone other than Natasha or Wanda, but I just love them so much. Obviously let me know what you think, and let me know what else you want to see.

I’m having too much fun writing fics like these where it’s more descriptive than dialogue.

- Lucy

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #marvel

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soulmate-game · 4 years

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I was feeling angsty. Read at your own risk, there is very little comfort in this and a whole shit ton of hurt. Probably a bunch of emotional triggers, so seriously be careful guys.

—*—*—*—*—*

Liquid pain ran down her arm like poison, the slash in it burning hot and spreading it’s agony like an invisible waterfall inside her flesh. But she did not grip her bicep where the wound had been inflicted, her gaze blank as she forced herself to hide her turmoil behind glass eyes. Her brother’s snarling face was only inches in front of her own, his katana moving from her arm to her throat.

“Useless! To think we share any blood relation is humiliating!” He growled at her. She did not move, did not emote. Her blades fans, the weapon she was loved most, lay half-opened on the ground beside her. Abandoned. But she knew Damian’s sword would not kill her. Blood family was a bond that was not to be severed by murder unless ordered by Ra’s or justified by the murdered family member in question betraying the League. She had done nothing to betray the Shadows, and Ra’s would not waste time and energy, or the breath it would require, to order her death. Just as he would not waste the precious waters of the Pit to bring her back again. She would not die today, and she knew it.

Sure enough, it was only a few more insults in various languages before Damian Al-Ghul stepped back and scowled down at the blood on his blade. Her blood. “If you don’t even have the stomach for real combat, you do not belong here,” he spat.

“That is where we agree, Grandson,” Ra’s sharp voice echoed through the room, his beady eyes never once bothering to glance at his granddaughter. “Maria, you are hereby stripped of the name Al-Ghul. Banishment from the League is the only mercy you shall be granted for your dishonor on our blood. Be useful and use whatever is left of your mistake of a life to stay out of the League’s way. Shall I, Damian, or your mother ever see your face again, your burial will follow shortly after. Am I understood?”

“Yes Gr— yes, Ra’s Al-Ghul.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Maria Al-Ghul was seven years old when she was disowned and sent away from the League of Shadows without so much as a penny to her name. She was only allowed to take the change of clothes she carried, and one small backpack’s worth of items. Her mother— Talia— had watched vigilantly as she packed those items, assuring that Maria did not take anything of worth.

The girl traveled by foot, too small to get away with driving a vehicle. Unless she could manage to steal a motorbike— she knew how to adjust the seats and pedals on most models to accommodate her size. But she was far too far away from civilization for that.

She knew that most of the League expected her to die in the jungles that surrounded the temple. After all, there were ninjas scattered throughout it with strict orders to kill anyone who was not one of them. And Maria now fit that description.

But if there was one thing Maria knew better than anything else, it was how to hide. How to hide feelings, intentions, involuntary movements, or her whole body in almost any setting. She covered herself in mud, matted her hair with dirt and took off her shoes. Barefoot was always quieter, and her feet would be more sensitive to any change in terrain. She would have to move more slowly and be on the lookout for traps, ground litter that could harm her, or dangerous wildlife, but she would be much harder to track.

It took her a month, but she made it to her first Tibetan city alive and decently healthy. She begged for food for a day before snatching a child’s outfit off of some hanging laundry lines and stealing the first decent vehicle she found. It was an old moped, but it beat walking and was already built small. She made it work.

That was how she spent the majority of the next year. She traveled from town to town, stealing what she needed until she could earn money normally. She used that money to buy herself a fake identity, even if she had to use the skills she had hoped to never need again in order to afford it.

Marinette Shiwang was born when she was already eight years old.

It was only a year after her new identity was created when she bumped into a woman in a street market. That was nothing new, those places could get crowded. But when Marinette looked up and saw valuable bracelets and necklaces of gold and jade, she knew she needed at least one. The money she would get for it would have her living comfortably for a short while. So Marinette’s theft-experienced fingers darted out and unclasped one bracelet in a fluid movement. It took less than a second. She barely had the piece of jewelry in her hand before she started to take off, hoping to lose herself in the crowd.

But a small hand clamped around her shoulder, a sturdy thumb pressing against a very vulnerable spot right at the back of Marinette’s neck, at the base of her skull. A clear threat from somebody with experience.

The sweet voice that followed didn’t match the gesture at all.

“Oh, I need that back dear. It was a gift from my husband, you understand.”

Marinette did. She cared about survival more. The small girl twisted, knocking the hand away from her before it could do damage and darting down a side street. The woman followed. It took three hours, but Marinette decided she had finally lost her pursuer before slumping down in the tiny, closet-sized bedroom of her cheap apartment. Her eyes closed for only a second before the window opened, and the smell of newly-baked sesame buns filtered through.

It was the woman and a much taller, much more masculine man. He was practically a giant, reminding Marinette of a certain member of the League that she used to know. They were both smiling.

“My wife figured you would be more open to an exchange than just giving up the bracelet for free,” the man’s voice was deep and inviting. “You can eat as many buns as your stomach can handle, if you give it back.”

Marinette accepted. Mostly because of her fear for people who could track her to her home so easily, when she had been certain she had not been followed. The League has tuned her senses well, there was no way the couple had been close enough to see her when she made it to her apartment. Yet they were still there somehow. Then, it also had to do with the promise of food, and the heavenly smell of the food itself. And then, lastly, Marinette was tired. She didn’t like stealing, it was just a necessity. She would not hurt these people over a mere bracelet that she wished she didn’t have to take in the first place.

Useless, she thought. So much of a bleeding heart that she just gave up what could have paid for two months rent. Too soft to even protect herself. The Al-Ghuls has been right. She was a waste of space and time.

Marinette was ten years old when she became a Dupain-Cheng. Somehow, that strange, dangerous couple had become her new family. Not even she knew how. But she was grateful— they took her back to Paris with them and she didn’t have to worry about rent, or food, or money anymore.

She vowed, that day that she received her spacious attic bedroom, that she would repay them. She would make herself useful, for the first time in her life. She would stay out of their way, be the perfect most unobtrusive daughter ever. She would help in the bakery, keep a smile on her face so that they never doubted that they were doing a good job. So that they never wasted time worrying about her. She smiled, and laughed, and became successful for them. Competent and reliable even though her memories would sink into her dreams every day and make it near impossible to drag herself out of bed in the mornings.

And then, when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was thirteen, she was given a pair of magical earrings and a tiny fairy-god. And Tikki was thorough, at least. Diligent in her explanation. Marinette listened to every word, dread seeping in as she doubted her ability to carry out such an important task. Save a city? Defeat someone much more experienced and magically powerful than her?

Useless little Maria could never. Slightly less useless Marinette could never.

She was only ever meant to play a support role. Stay on the background and make everyone else shine, without ever succeeding in anything worth noting. That was who she was.

But then Tikki gave her the Warning. The catch that came with the Ladybug abilities, and Marinette felt the long-rusted determination in her begin to fire up again. Maybe she could be Ladybug. Maybe she could be useful, at least this once. At least for just this one scenario. She could fight and win the war against Hawkmoth, and that achievement alone could make her happy. Let her die knowing she did something worthwhile.

—*—*—*—*—*

Damian Wayne was seventeen when he and his family found out about the Paris Situation, and immediately went over to offer help. Damian Wayne was seventeen when he watched Ladybug stumble at the sight of him, and immediately run away. But the two of them were twins, and though twin telepathy might be a myth they always did have a certain instinct when it came to one another.

Damian Wayne was Seventeen when he said, aloud on the top of a random Parisian building and surrounded by his family—

“My sister is Ladybug.”

Damian didn’t wait for their reactions, having entirely forgotten about the existence of his father and brothers, before taking off after his spotted sibling.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I knew you were alive.”

In hindsight, those probably weren’t the best words for him to say when Maria clearly thought he was still an assassin.

Damian watched as Marinette spun to face him, her face so much more expressive than he remembered. He could actually see the resignation in the slump in her shoulders, he could feel the fear in her bluebell eyes. The eyes she was lucky enough to get from their father while he was cursed with their mother’s green irises. He used to envy that about her, especially after joining the BatClan. But now he only felt comfort when he looked into her eyes. Comfort that she was different than him, and always had been. In the best of ways.

He watched as his sister was enveloped by a bright flash of pink light, detransforming right in front of him. And without the mask, it was impossible to ignore the relation between them. She had their father’s eyes and nose where he had their mother’s, but other than that they were almost carbon copies of one another. Her blue-black hair was pulled back into twin braids though, something he noted distantly as oddly fitting. They suited her, he thought.

But all those thoughts instantly turned to dust as she dropped to her knees in front of him, head bowed in complete submission.

“Tom and Sabine are innocent,” she told him. “They adopted me out of nothing but goodwill, and they have been nothing but good to me. I never told them a single word about my origin, I swear it on our blood. They think I am just an orphan that was abandoned in Hong Kong—“

“Maria—“

“—so please, don’t harm them. I’m begging you. And there is no need for you to waste energy killing me. You are welcome to stay in Paris as long as no harm comes to Tom and Sabine, but just wait and watch. I know who Hawkmoth is, and our final plan is almost ready. I’ll have him taken down by next week. Just— wait until then, please. My death will take care of itself afterwards, but Paris deserves to be free, and killing me now will set this entire war against Hawkmoth back by at least a year. And I also need that time to pick my successor—“

“Maria! I am not here to kill you!” Damian had to yell to get her to stop babbling and begging. She froze, but didn’t dare to sit up or even raise her head. So Damian took the initiative and sat down on the ground with her, though he kept his distance so that he didn’t scare her too badly. He couldn’t blame her for her reaction, it had been ten years since they had seen one another and their parting hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

But he had changed a lot since then, matured a lot.

“I am completely disconnected from the League,” he admitted. Of the blurry memories he had of her, he did remember that being blunt was the best way to handle information with her. Beating around the bush had always done nothing but make her exceptionally nervous and jittery. Sure enough, his admission was enough to make her look up at him with disbelieving eyes. He risked a small grin. “I didn’t come in my old uniform, did I?” He gestured to himself in the bright Robin colors. Sure enough, Marinette’s rapid blinking proved his theory that she hadn’t even registered his clothing at all to be true. She had run as soon as she recognized his face.

But Marinette did not speak. She sat up a little, still eyeing him cautiously. But her silence helped him finally realize where they were— where she had led him.

The sounds of traffic and other big city noises were all muted, as if muffled by several layers of cloth. Shadows fell over them abundantly, and they were surrounded by dilapidated concrete walls.

She had brought him to an abandoned area far from any activity, where a body would take ages to find. She had then disarmed herself of her only weapon, her magic suit, and had gotten on the ground in total submission.

She had purposely given him the perfect setting to kill her, where there would be no witnesses and plenty of time before her body would be found for him to escape. That realization hit Damian square the chest, leaving him breathless for a moment.

“I am not here to kill anybody,” he reiterated, his voice noticeably much gentler than before. “Not you, not you adoptive parents, nobody. I left the league when I was eleven. Mother—“ he took a breath, but Maria deserved to know. “— she cloned me. Her clone killed me. He no longer exists, but that is of no consequence. She killed me, she and Grandfather disowned me when I made it clear I was not returning. Father— our father,” he was insistent as he leaned forward, not continuing until she met his gaze. “You remember who our father is, right? Bruce Wayne? Mother had dropped me off to be raised with him when I was ten, but of course it was all just one of her plots. It was her miscalculation though, because I ended up growing close to them. To Father and his adopted children. You would get along with Gra— with Dick, the best I think. Although T— Jason would also be a prime contender as your favorite brother, I think. He shares your love of motor bikes, if that hasn’t changed?” She just stared at him, clearly confused and experiencing a lot of feelings at once. He stayed silent for a moment to allow her to sort through them a little.

“I’m Robin now,” he made his voice quieter, but still easy for her to hear. “I’m a member of the Bats. I’m sure they would all welcome you, if you chose to meet them. Though be warned, they can be quite in—“

“Why are you doing this?” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper, Damian almost didn’t hear her. But he did, and fell silent. He watched as his sister licked her lips and tried to find the right words to say. “If what you say is true… you have a perfectly good family. Brothers, Father, a comfortable life. Why follow me then? Why offer me… any of that?”

Damian frowned. He didn’t remember Maria being so gloomy, but then again she had been raised to never show her emotions. Maybe, after years away from the temple like him, her true feelings were just easier for him to see now. Closer to the surface.

“I want to get to know you— to get to know my sister, again,” he told her. “Don’t tell them, but Father and the others have taught me to appreciate family. The way I treated you when we were children was not right, and though it was heavily influenced by Mother and Grandfather, I want to make up for it nonetheless. Maybe we can get to know the new us, together?”

Marinette’s eyes went wide with disbelief, but then she clenched her jaw and shook her head.

“We can’t.”

“... right, I understand if you do not forgive me. I didn’t even consider—“

“It isn’t that,” Marinette was quick to correct him. “When I said that my death will handle itself, I mean it, Damian. The Ladybug… the earrings that give me my powers, come with a price,” she absently ran her fingertips over the unassuming black studs in her ears. “If a Ladybug uses the miraculous for more than three years, the powers of Creation will demand to be balanced. Already, the Miraculous is powering itself on nothing but my life force now. Once I defeat Hawkmoth, there will be no need for Ladybug anymore. The moment I take the earrings off, they will cease keeping me alive.”

Damian’s face fell. No— no, that wasn’t right. He was finally able to find her, finally able to apologize and try to fix his past mistakes. This couldn’t be how the reunion went. This couldn’t—

“Not even the Lazarus Pits can bring me back from a Miraculous death,” Marinette went on. “So you and your family should go. You don’t need to be here when I—“ Marinette paused, gasping. “Damian, why are you crying?! Stop that!” Her voice became desperate, Marinette crawling over to him as quickly as she could and wiping away his tears as if they were something terrifying. Damian wasn’t sobbing or making any noise, it was just a silent stream of tears running down both cheeks as he stared at her wordlessly.

“I…” he finally managed to choke out. “I wanted to make up for everything. I wanted for us to be twins again, together.”

Marinette paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know a magic user who can erase your memories of me,” she offered. “But you don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You never said anything that wasn’t true.”

Damian’s green eyes widened. He had said nothing but cruel things to her, that last year they spent together as children. Did she really believe all of that? Did he and their childhood really affect her self worth this severely and irreversibly?

“Maria—“

“My name is Marinette, actually,” she corrected him with a small smile. “I’m not Maria Al-Ghul anymore. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is actually useful, Damian. I can actually do things right— I’m doing something right right now. Beating Hawkmoth will be the first worthwhile thing I’ve ever done, don’t you see? Once it’s all over, I will have brought honor back to our blood. I’ll have proved to you that I really am your twin, that I wasn’t a mistake. That I was born for a reason,” Marinette’s eyes got dreamy even as Damian just felt like he was impaled again, this time by a spike of ice rather than a sword. “And I’ll be able to die before I ruin it. It’s a perfect scenario.”

“A perfect scenario implies that nothing important is going to be lost,” Damian breathed. Marinette just blinked.

“Yeah, I know. That’s the plan. Defeat Hawkmoth, save Paris, and nobody dies.”

“But you’re going to die!” He growled. Marinette leaned back, bewildered by his violent reaction.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I actually matter. Nobody needs me. Tom and Sabine might be hurt for a while, but they will recover just fine. And it’s not like I have friends or any—“

“Stop worrying about other people, damnit!” Damian surged forward, grabbing her shoulders hard enough to bruise and shaking her a little. “Even back then! Even when we were seven, you threw down your blades because you were more worried about hurting me than you were about how Grandfather would react, even though you knew he would be tempted to kill you for what he thought was cowardice! You never put yourself first, and it’s finally starting to piss me off!”

“Damian—“

“No, listen to me!” He shook her again, his tear stained cheeks only making his glare all the more potent as he stared right into her eyes. “You are alive, and your life matters! You were never worthless or useless, you just didn’t fit what our abusive situation wanted of you. They wanted a cold hearted killer, a tool they could use, and you were always too warm hearted and clever to fit either of those goals. But I did, I was the killer they were looking for and the pawn they wanted. If anything, that makes you better than I ever was! I was too young and naive to see it back then, but I’m trying to make up for it now. You are my sister, whether you go by Maria or Marinette, Al-Ghul or Wayne or Dupain-Cheng, I don’t give a damn! And so help me, even if I have to surgically attach those earrings to your skin, I am not letting you die before you gain at least a modicum of respect for yourself. Do you understand me?”

A wet sniffle met his ears, and he pulled Marinette in for a hug. She returned it weakly, sniveling and sobbing into his cape.

“D-d-Damian?”

“Yes, Shaqiqa?”

Another sniffle.

“I-is it really o-okay for me to stay with you?”

“Of course.”

“I-is… is it really oka-ay for… for me to live?”

Damian’s arms tightened around her. “Always. Always, always.”

Marinette buried her face into his shoulder, taking a deep shuddering breath.

“Th-then… I wanna try.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Not sorry. Ha 😎

#mlb x dc #maribat #platonic daminette #bio!dad au #Bio!Dad Bruce Wayne #sibling Daminette #angst #heavy angst #hurt no comfort #or very little comfort anyway #ml x dc #platonic brucinette #twin AU

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kumzume · 3 years

Text

SLAP! ft. goshiki tsutomu

wc. 1.7k :D

warnings. SMUT (duh), impact play, slight angst???, a lil fluff, cumming untouched, hard-ish dom!reader, sub!goshiki, established relationship, dom drop (???), shit ending but what’s new lmao

an. i realized i was neglecting this blog while Trying™ to work on desperate pt 2 &&& i was missing my baby goshiki so :p

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

“i’m sorry, you want me to what?”

you could feel the disbelief written all over your face, the absurdity of the situation ticking up the corners of your lips into an incredulous smile.

goshiki—bless his heart—sat fidgeting in front of you, his face painted in a bright pink shade while he played with his lithe fingers in his lap.

you just couldn’t believe your ears. your goshiki—the one who nearly fainted when he asked you out, the one who threw up twice before meeting your parents and the one who sobbed so hard through your vows he was impossible to understand—that same goshiki was asking you to do what??

“i-i asked if y-you would hit me,” he mumbled, eyes downcast as though to avoid rejection, “y’know, during sex.”

okay, so you weren’t having an early stroke when you heard him earlier.

he actually wanted you to hit him—pretty badly it appeared if the bulge pressing against the zipper of his jeans was anything to go by.

you took a deep breath in order to ground yourself and collect your thoughts. you knew your husband’s mind was probably going a mile a minute while he awaited your inevitable dismissal of the subject but you needed a moment to just think.

were you seriously opposed to this? i mean, throughout your entire relationship goshiki had always made accommodations for you, from little things like buying more pillows for his bed when you moved in with him to big things like scheduling time off for you when you got too stressed to take you on a vacation.

he’d always been there for you so why couldn’t you do this little thing for him? it was only sex and your relationship was so, so much more than that. giving him this was honestly the least you could do to repay him for all that he’d done for you.

with your mind made up and your resolve successfully steeled, you made your way over to your husband who looked about ready to keel over. you felt your heart clench in your chest, feeling rather bad about leaving him in silence for a good 5 minutes.

it took you a few short strides before you finally stood in front of goshiki, observing the shuddering of his shoulders and his pointed avoidance of eye contact.

you breathed out a soft sigh before bringing your left hand, adorned with your glittering wedding ring, up to his cheek, caressing the warm skin gently. despite his refusal to look you in the face, goshiki leaned into your touch, turning his face so that his petal soft lips were flush with your palm.

carefully, you lifted his face up so that he was finally looking at you. you weren’t at all surprised to see the tears growing in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall over his lashline—he’d always been somewhat of a crybaby.

goshiki stared at you with such adoration and love that you couldn’t help the sharp exhale that escaped from your nose. his eyes fluttered shut as he moved just enough to take your thumb into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking serenely.

the sensation was nearly enough to knock you entirely off track but you quickly regained control of the situation. you slipped your thumb out goshiki’s mouth, your hand roaming to his jaw before gripping him tightly, his eyes shooting open and welling up with tears.

“‘tomu,” you began harshly, “tell me what you said before, hm? what do you want me to do?”

“yn pleas—“ your hand held him tighter causing a choked whimper to slip past his parted lips.

“ah ah ah ‘tomu, you know better than that.” from your place above him, you could see his eyes beginning to glaze over as he sunk into the comfort of your control. the sight never failed to get you, a warm smile almost overtaking your face but you swiftly stomped it out.

the grip on his face tightened once again as you leaned down to whisper in his ear. “what do you call me to get what you want ‘tomu?” the warm breath tickling goshiki’s ear sent a shudder crawling down his spine to rest hard and heavy in his pelvis.

“i supposhed to call you mish,” he finally responded, his words muffled by your fingers digging into his cheeks. you let the smile breach your face this time, letting go of his face before turning on your heel to make your way towards the bedroom.

you don’t turn around but you can hear goshiki knock over his chair in his haste to follow behind you. you grinned before schooling your face into an unimpressed mask.

the cool air of your bedroom hit your shoulders causing tiny goosebumps to arise but you ignored the discomfort to focus on goshiki. he had entered the room a while ago, his big bright eyes trained on the ground while he awaited your instruction.

he was so good. that’s what made what you were about to do just that much more fun.

“‘tomu,” you began, your tone harsh and unforgiving. “come here.”

your husband obliged, shuffling over to you until he was only a foot away. despite his naturally submissive nature, he towered above you, his body built from his years of volleyball and working out.

you allowed your eyes to trail down the dips and curves of his body, just barely hidden by his tight t-shirt, leaving little to the imagination.

now that just wouldn’t do. you needed to see all of him.

“take off your clothes.” he was quick to do exactly as you asked, his clothes growing in a pile on your floor until he was clad in only his tight black boxers that did little to hide his hard and leaking cock.

you grinned at the wet patch on the front of his briefs signaling that he was more excited than he let on. the more you stood there observing him, the bigger the wet patch grew and the more he began to squirm.

breathing out a faux-disappointed sigh, you reached out and weaved your hands into his purple strands before yanking him down to the floor, his knees crashing against the hardwood painfully.

the sound he released was so guttural that you nearly stopped the scene right then and there but the way he moaned your name and rutted his hips in the air at the pain had you hesitating.

you agreed to this, yes, but could you really go through with it? you mentally shook your head at the sentiment. no, you were going to hurt him and he was going to like it.

with a new outlook, your stare grew harsher and your words became more pointed. “what a little pain slut, getting off on this,” you sneered, enjoying how goshiki’s eyes filled with tears.

“miss i—“ SLAP! the sound rang throughout the room, echoing off the plaster walls. goshiki’s head was whipped all the way to the side, a bright red imprint beginning to form on his cheek. your hand stung at the severeness of the hit so you could hardly imagine how much pain your husband was in.

you were horrified at how hard you had hit him, your mind too embalmed in the dominant persona to think before you hit.

“oh fucking hell, baby i am so sorry,” your current whimpering voice a far cry from the bitter tone you had held only minutes ago. you immediately dropped to your knees before very carefully taking his heated face in your hands.

when one of your palms touched the affected area, goshiki flinched away from you and the pain. you felt your heart break in your chest at the gesture, his eyes remaining downcast and away from you.

“tsutomu, you have to believe me, i didn’t mean to hurt you,” you rambled while tears filled your eyes. you were repelled by what you had done, your mouth pouring out apology after apology.

“i just thought it was what you wanted but i shouldn’t have taken it that far and—“

“yn,” goshiki interrupted, one of his calloused hands coming to lift your chin so that your eyes met his. “it’s okay.”

he looked at you with such kindness and love but you just couldn’t accept it. “tsutomu, i hurt you,” you pleaded, your vision becoming blurry with yet another wave of tears.

through the liquid in your eyes, you managed to see goshiki shake his head before taking your hand in his and leading it down to the front of his boxers. your breath caught in your throat as your fingertips met with the wet—soaking—cotton fabric that engulfed his dick.

you looked back up at him with wide eyes which he met with a blinding smile. “i came,” he said nonchalantly, “you made me come.”

he came... from your slap?

if that wasn’t the hottest thing in the world, you had no idea what was.

“tsutomu, i...” you couldn’t finish your sentence due to goshiki’s slightly chapped pink lips being pressed to yours in a passionate kiss.

your eyes fluttered shut as you gave into him, your arms coming to rest in his silky purple strands while your tongue pressed itself into the warm cavern of his mouth.

goshiki pulled away first, resting his forehead against yours as he tried to catch his breath. your eyes remained closed for a moment while you tried to still your own rapidly beating heart but when they opened, you were met with his wide-eyed stare of adoration.

“i love you yn,” he muttered before kissing you on the nose and standing, not allowing you to respond. he pulled you up with him (you always forget how strong he is) before burying his face in your neck.

you giggled at his childish behavior, one of your hands coming up to stroke through his hair. “what do you need ‘tomu?” you asked, placing gentle kisses around his ear.

“need to shower. ‘m all sticky.” you both laughed at that before pulling apart and leading him to the bathroom.

“okay but if i have to clean off your dick, i expect at least two orgasms from you, mr. ace.”

“yes ma’am!”

“god, i love you.”

#is this good?? not by any stretch of the imagination #SKDHDJS #SORRY #a lil ass but i missed goshiki so yknow #sighhhh #haikyuu goshiki #goshiki smut #goshiki tsutomu #tsutomu <3 #😽.writing #goshiki x reader #goshiki x y/n #goshiki x you #goshiki tsutomu x reader #goshiki tsutomu x y/n #goshiki tsutomu x you #goshiki fluff #goshiki angst

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years

Text

Tulips And I Bloom In The Spring

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

Requested by @thesupremeswife (the request with the photo) (I’m not posting the photo here because it’s too big and idk how to make it smaller). It’s just fluff because I was angry. I hope you’ll like it, xuxu, and I hope you’ll feel better soon <3

A/N: John Belushi died at the Château Marmont. That’s not really important to understanding the fic but I don’t like leaving out details. As always, English isn’t my mother tongue. x

Word count: ≈ 4 000

There was a clearing in the forest in the city where you lived, with a stream that flowed lazily through a field of red and yellow tulips. By the stream there were ruins of what had once been a manor. The roof had collapsed, and only the walls still stood. By the wall facing the stream there was a rock and on that rock you liked to sit. In the hottest days you would dip your feet in the fresh water and look at the tulips swaying gently in the breeze.

This clearing was your spot. You would come here when the city grew too loud and you felt like you were drowning. Barely anyone else knew of it. If it started raining when you were there, you’d take shelter under the trees, and if the wind blew the rain a little too hard, you’d lean against one of the walls of the manor to protect yourself from it. It was perfect. It was quiet and lonely and yours.

Sometimes a stranger would walk by and admire the tulips and shoot you a curious glance. You ignored them. Sometimes they would try to start a conversation. You ignored them. You were disappointed in the world and didn’t want to have anything to do with it.

One day in spring as you lay on the soft grass by the ruins, you were startled from your reading by a chatter of voices. A group of people emerged from the forest. A family going on a picnic, you thought. You focused on your book again. But the voices grew louder, and out of the corner of your eye you saw the party cross the stream and saunter towards you.

With an annoyed groan you sat up, set your book on your lap, and raised one hand to shield your eyes from the sun. You noticed one of the men was carrying a camera.

The woman who seemed to be leading the group – she was wearing high-heels in a forest; who wore high-heels in a forest? She was stupid and shallow, you decided – came to a halt in front of you and shot you a dazzling smile.

“So sorry to bother you, dear. Would you mind moving over there?”

“Why?” you retorted moodily. “I was here first.”

The sun hung pearls of light on your eyelashes. You couldn’t see the woman’s features very well.

“I’m really sorry to bother you,” she repeated with another charming smile. “We’re here to work and we really need you to move to the other side of the clearing.”

“Well,” you retorted, “I’m really sorry, but I’m not moving.”

That being said, you lay back down on the grass and opened your book to resume your reading.

The man carrying the camera mumbled something you couldn’t hear. The woman raised one hand to shush him. She looked at you, cocking her head.

“Did you know,” she said in a casual, polite voice, “that this place is haunted?”

You ignored her. You knew what she was doing, trying to scare you so you’d leave.

“I’m to make contact with the spirit who’s trapped in these ruins. Tom here is her great grandson.”

“Right,” you mocked, not averting your gaze from your book, “and I’m the pope and I’m here to have a picnic with Jesus.”

You heard the woman sigh. You couldn’t help but shoot her a glance. She raised one hand to her hair, combed her fingers through a golden lock with a graceful, affected gesture.

“Never mind,” she said. “Stay here if you want, but know you’ll be in the shot. Come on, boys. Be careful not to step on the pope.”

You snorted.

You pretended to read as the little group walked around you and settled by the ruins. You watched them out of the corner of your eye.

A tall man who carried himself as if he were the most important person on the planet, strode around the ruins with one hand stroking his chin, muttering remarks for an assistant to scribble down on a notebook. The woman in high-heels disappeared inside the manor and came back ten minutes later, looking pleased. She winced as someone with a round reflector threw sunlight in her eyes.

You decided they were here to shoot a movie and this woman was the main star. There was no way she had told you the truth. Spirits and ghosts and haunted ruins didn’t exist. Maybe you would have believed in them had you still been a child. What you did believe in, though, was liars. People who smiled pretty smiles and used pretty words to manipulate you and get what they wanted. You knew what life was like. A constant battle, everyone protecting themselves from each other.

A few minutes later, a man walked up to you carrying a box and said: “Billie Dean says I have to do your makeup since you’ll be in the shot.”

“What the fuck?” you growled, glancing up at the man. He was young, and looked pretty uncomfortable.

Behind him you heard Billie’s voice call tauntingly: “Cannot have this messy head of hair of yours in my show.”

You sat up, shot her a look. “Excuse me?” you growled.

Billie was standing in the main doorway of the ruins, fluffing her hair, not looking at you.

“It’s not my fault you refused to move,” she sang. She turned to you, flashed you a smile – arrogant, smug, infuriating.

The man crouched down beside you and opened his box. Inside were two eyeshadow palettes, brushes, an array of lipsticks, foundation, mascara and things you were seeing for the first time in your life. The man cocked his head and squinted at you, as if considering which colour would fit you best.

“What the – “You stood up as he took a brush out from the box. “Don’t you dare touch me or I’ll kick you.” You clenched your fists, turned to Billie Dean. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Billie Dean Howard, medium to the stars,” she grinned. “I’m merely trying to do my job, dear.”

For a few seconds you scowled at her. Then you picked up your book and stomped to the other side of the clearing.

“Thank you so much!” Billie chimed.

You ignored her.

You opened your book and tried to read, but the words didn’t make sense. Vague anger was gnawing at your heart. You rolled over to your side, but it wasn’t comfortable enough. You lay on your stomach, but it hurt your neck. With an annoyed huff you sat up, crossed your legs, and watched the tulips.

Your eyes drifted to the manor. Billie Dean was standing in the doorway, talking to the man called Tom. You finally took the time to really look at her. A white lace dress that clung to her waist, pale pink acrylics, lips painted a soft red. You stared at her bare legs and suddenly it was too hot in the clearing. Certainly the sun had moved a few inches closer to Earth.

Tom nodded, turned, and disappeared inside the ruins. Billie Dean lingered in the doorway, and part of you suspected she wanted you to admire her. You told yourself you wouldn’t, just to spite her. You turned your attention back to your book and scowled at the page.

You didn’t know how to read anymore. Your eyes kept going back to Billie.

And then she ran one hand through her hair, once, twice, three times, turned and flashed you a smug smile before she walked inside the ruins.

With an angry groan you lay down on the grass and closed your eyes. You were sweating, your heart was beating too fast. After a moment you opened one eye. The clearing was deserted. The tulips swayed gently in the breeze. It looked exactly the same as a few minutes before, and yet something had changed. You couldn’t pinpoint what. Something in the air, maybe, something you couldn’t see but breathed, and it went through your lungs and contaminated the very cells in your body.

An hour later you decided it was time to go home. You hadn’t read a single page and there was no point in staying here. But your body refused to move. So you decided you’d take a nap. You closed your eyes, rested both hands on your stomach. You listened to the whisper of the breeze in the trees and the songs the birds were chirping at the sun and the soft muttering of the stream. All of nature was alive, and all of nature had been contaminated by that new thing in the air because now all of nature was singing of her.

A shadow fell on you. You opened one eye and shot up.

Billie smiled that arrogant smile of hers and arched an eyebrow. “Would you fancy a drink?” she asked.

Your mouth fell open. You closed it. “What?”

“We’re done here, and I thought,” she pointed one long finger at you, “that I could buy you a drink to thank you for being so accommodating.”

You stared at her finger for way too long. When your brain rebooted, you tried to give her a look, but the sun was in your eyes and made you wince.

You ordered your mouth to say “No”, but your mouth said “Yes”. The smile it drew from Billie was worth it, though.

“Splendid!” she exclaimed, curling her finger and touching the tip of it to her palm. “I know just the place for you.”

The place in question was a very fancy, very bucolic coffee shop on a river bank. You sat down at a round table on the terrace with a vase of roses in the middle. Billie took the liberty to order a glass of lemonade for you, and sat back in her chair as she lit a cigarette.

You didn’t realize you were staring at her until she teasingly blew smoke in your direction and asked you if there was something on her face.

“Jeez, no, you look perfect,” was what came out of your mouth. You silently scolded yourself.

“Why, thank you,” Billie smiled. “I had a feeling I was to meet a pretty girl today, so I had to make sure I looked my best.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You won’t fool me with all this seducing of yours,” you said, squaring your shoulders to look fierce. “I don’t care for crooks.”

Billie arched an eyebrow. Her smile became polite. “You think I’m a crook?”

“Talking to spirits?” You snorted. “Yeah, I think you’re a crook.”

“I’d have to be one crazy masochist to have willingly chosen this life, wouldn’t I?”

You shrugged. “How could I know?”

Billie blew out smoke, crossed her legs and threw her head back.

“So you don’t believe in what I do?” she asked in a sweet voice.

You held her gaze. “No.”

An amused smile. “And yet here you are, having a drink with me. I wonder why.”

You tried to think of a witty answer, but your brain was empty of words. Thankfully you were saved by the arrival of the waiter, who set your drinks on the table and flashed Billie an enamored smile.

The sun was setting and splattering the river with blinding specks of light. Billie closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. You sipped your drink, and tried – but failed – not to blush when she caught you staring.

You straightened your shoulders, cleared your throat. You said, to distract her attention from your reddening face, that you would watch the next episode of her show. She laughed, threw back her head again, and lit another cigarette.

After that there were a few minutes of silence as Billie watched you and you pretended not to watch her. You turned your head and stared at the river.

Billie took your hand in both of hers. You shot her a glance.

“Do you often think such dirty things while contemplating the sunset?” she taunted, mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Excuse me?”you blurted out.

She smirked. “I can see what you’re thinking, dear. That’s part of my gift.”

You stiffened in your chair, heat rising to your head. You had half a mind to withdraw your hand from her grip. You decided not to.

“What’s the point anyway?” you asked her after a few long, uncomfortable seconds had passed. “I’m not into one-night stands.” You paused. “They make me sad.”

Billie hummed. For a second she looked almost wistful. Then she started stroking her thumb on the back of your hand.

Her fingers were cold. You wondered if pressing them against your mouth would warm them up.

When you both decided it was time to leave, Billie insisted she paid for your drink. You stood awkwardly behind her as she laughed with the waiter, then followed her out.

On the threshold you stopped and met her eyes. She gave you a smile.

“Well then, darling, I guess this is goodbye,” she said.

You shrugged. You looked down, toed at the ground. You saw Billie Dean’s shadow move on the concrete, sliding closer to you – and then you felt her lips, hot and soft, plant a sweet kiss on the right side of your jaw.

Your heart jumped. You took a sharp intake of breath, eyes growing wide as Billie lay one hand on your cheek to guide your head towards hers. She pressed her mouth against yours, barely touching, and pulled away before you could register what was happening, but it left you shivering and burning and aching for more.

She met your eyes again and smirked, arrogant and confident and so goddamn irritating. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” she hummed. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The day after, you went back to the clearing. You pretended you didn’t know why. You pretended it was because the weather was warm and the so sky blue and the sun so bright.

The air in the clearing was still full of Billie. The place had been irremediably contaminated by her. It would never be the same now. It wasn’t peaceful anymore; it sang of longing and desire.

You walked into the ruins and lay your hands on the walls and pricked up your ears. You called out loud to the spirit, before deciding you were stupid. There was no such thing as ghosts.

When you turned to leave, Billie Dean was leaning in the doorway, watching you. A huge grin tugged at her lips.

You met her eyes and felt heat flood your cheeks and ears.

“Um,” you said.

“I’m the only one who can hear her, baby doll,” Billie sang. She ran her eyes up and down your body, and licked her lips.

Your eyes flicked down to them.

“I don’t believe you,” you heard yourself say. “I don’t believe ghosts are real.”

Billie’s grin grew. She straightened up and walked towards you.

“Then why are you trying to communicate with them?” she whispered, like a secret, as she came to a halt right in front of you. Your gaze drifted from her lips to her eyes.

“What is the ghost saying to you?” you asked.

Billie chuckled, raised one finger. “Spirit, dear.”She brushed the tip of her finger over your lip. “She’s saying,” Billie went on, her voice dropping an octave lower, “what a beautiful young thing you are, and I would be a fool not to kiss you.”

You shivered at how dark Billie’s eyes were. Without thinking, you nipped her finger.

The dark in Billie’s eyes turned predatory. She smirked, slipped one arm around your waist and pulled you close.

A surprised gasp fell from your lips. Your skin tingled where her arm touched you. You put one hand on her chest to hold her back.

“Why are you here?” you breathed.

“I am being,” she answered, eyes flicking to your mouth, “irresistibly drawn to you.”

Your brain was empty of thoughts. It wasn’t a brain anymore but a recipient made to contain Billie’s scent, Billie’s warmth, Billie’s touch, Billie’s everything. “I don’t believe in love at first sight,” you heard yourself whisper.

Your mouth was dangerously close to hers. Her breath was tickling your lips with every exhale. Her breath was silk, and it caressed your skin.

Billie chuckled. “There’s a lot of things you don’t believe in, sweetheart.” She stroked the corner of your mouth with her thumb again, and you gave in.

Billie grinned into the kiss as if she had won some kind of war and you mumbled, “Shut up”, because she had, in a way. But dear you, she was irresistible and you wanted – needed – all of her.

She must have been right, after all. There was something, some kind of force, drawing you towards each other. You had never felt this way before, this level of want, this carnal need to be with her and know what it really meant to make one with someone. You were certain the moment you’d touch her, your soul would be healed.

Billie slid her tongue inside your mouth and you moaned softly, dug your finger into her butt in retaliation.

Billie shuddered. “Take me to your place, now,” she rasped.

“It’s too far away,” you whined, desperately pushing your hips against hers.

Billie chuckled. She pressed her mouth to your jaw, peppered delicious kisses down your neck that drew another moan from you.

“There’s a hotel right at the edge of this wood. Close,” you breathed.

“Close,” Billie breathed back. You felt her shiver against you at the promise this word held. “Oh God, close.”

When you woke up the next morning, the bed was empty. You extended your arm, patting the mattress, finding nothing. Your eyes shot open. You sat up, dread tightening your throat, when you finally realized you could hear the sound of the shower running. Billie’s clothes still lay on the floor where she had abandoned them. Steam curled out from the slightly-opened bathroom door.

With a relieved sigh you slumped back onto the bed. A smile tugged at your mouth as you buried your face in the sheet. You rubbed your nose on Billie’s pillow to catch a whiff of her perfume.

Part of you was screaming for you to just grab your things and run away. There was no plausible scenario in which this could end well. You and Billie lived two very different lives, and you were you, and Billie Dean was… Billie Dean. She was perfect and charming and successful in every way.

But then – but then there was that other part of you which was singing. It was so deliriously happy and it was begging you to try. Give her a chance. Don’t let her go. Do anything, give anything to make her stay.

You opened your eyes and raised your head when you heard footsteps. Billie met your eyes, froze, smiled a rather nervous smile.

The air left your lungs. She was wearing a grey tank top and white panties. Her hair was still damp from the shower, not yet brushed, and her face was completely makeup-free. She obviously looked a bit uncomfortable, as she picked her clothes from the floor and held them against her stomach.

“Good morning,” she said softly. “I’m sorry, I thought you were still asleep.” She gave you another nervous smile. “What are you staring at?”

“You,” you blurted out. You blinked, cleared your throat. “I love your face with no makeup on.”

“Oh.” She chuckled, lowered her head. “I’m not looking my best.”

“Nonsense,” you replied fiercely. “You look stunning.”

She peeked up at you, a soft blush blooming in her cheeks. You bit your lower lip and opened your arms. “Come here and give me a hug?”

Billie seemed to hesitate. Her body leaned towards the bathroom, then towards you. She dropped her clothes on the floor and hurried to you.

With a giggle you pulled her down with you, resting one hand on the nape of her neck to guide her mouth to yours. You opened your eyes during the kiss to admire her.

When Billie pulled away, she sat on the bed next to you and sighed happily. You leaned towards her, combed her hair back from her face and gathered it in one hand. Then you reached for your phone and, before she had time to realize what you were doing, you snapped a photo of her.

“Y/N,” she laughed, half-amused, half-embarrassed.

You frowned at your phone. “Wait, it’s bad,” you whined. “I can only see the top of your head.” You raised your phone. “Let me take another, come on, look at me pretty please.”

Billie laughed again, louder. “I’ll let you take all the photos you want once I’ve made myself up, baby doll,” she sang.

She made to stand up, but you grabbed her arm and pulled her back down so she was lying on top of you.

“Don’t go,” you whispered against her mouth. “Stay here with me forever. Let’s never leave this bed.” Billie hummed, planted a lazy kiss on your collarbone. “I don’t care about your ghosts. They can survive without you.”

Billie chuckled. She raised her head, and you automatically buried your fingers in the long, damp locks of hair that framed her face.

“Spirits, dear,” she corrected you. She lowered her head again, pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your neck.

“Spirits,” you breathed. Billie was kissing a trail up your neck, her mouth hot and wet. You shivered, wrapped your arms around her waist. You pushed your head back to give her more access.

You knew it wasn’t wise or safe to offer this complete stranger intimacy and vulnerability on a silver platter, with a curtsey to boot. But it felt like you knew her, somehow – or rather, it felt like something deep inside you knew her, had known her in another life maybe, and was slowly waking up to her touch. Coming home.

And you knew you were supposed to be done with the world, supposed to be disappointed in it, supposed to be disillusioned, but you didn’t want to be disillusioned anymore. You wanted to find again the capacity to hope and to dream and most of all to believe without a doubt that your dreams would come true.

You sucked on her lower lip when her mouth met yours, and whispered, almost angrily, “What do you hope to get from this? Us? Because I don’t want a fucking remake of The Bridges of Madison County. Will you promise me never to break my heart?”

She pulled away to look at you. Her brow furrowed.

“I’m afraid I cannot promise you that, my love.”

“Will you promise me you’ll try?”

A smile. A poke on your nose. “That I can do.”

“Will you take me to the Château Marmont? I’ve always wanted to spend a night there.”

Billie chuckled, buried her face in your neck. She held you close, as if you were something precious, as if she were coming home, too.

You brushed back a strand of her hair to whisper in her ear, “You can’t say no. I’ve got a picture of you barefaced. ”

“Fine,” Billie laughed, her voice muffled against your skin. “Cocktails with John Belushi are at 6pm every Friday. I’m pretty sure he’ll have a great time trying to scare you.”

Tag list: @sapphicsarahpaulson @mssallymckenna @supremeinlilac @pluied-ete @rainbow-hedgehog @pearplate @angelxsarahp @paulawand @asktammyr @peggycarter-steverogers @coconutlipss @saucy-sapphic @thesupremewife @paulsonpills

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean howard x reader #fics

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couldyouspeakmyname · 3 years

Note

Hey, I just saw your head canons about Melon being in a relationship with someone who loved him and it made my day! There’s so little content of him being in a loving relationship. If it’s ok with you, I’d like to share my Melon in a loving relationship head canons (mine focuses more on his childhood trauma so there not that realistic but I think Melon’s trauma would still affect him even if he is a sociopath)! I personally ship him with Agata but these head canons would also apply to any other relationship Melon had.

* Melon hates being vulnerable and will not let anyone see him cry but, once he grows to trust you, he become more comfortable letting you see him in that state and may even seek out comfort from you.

* Due to never being in a healthy, non-abusive relationship before, Melon doesn’t know how normal relationships work but he learns from you. He may not know what to do when your upset or sick, and he might not understand why birthdays, anniversaries, and other holidays are so important to you, but he’ll figure it out. Be patient and know that even if he’s not good at showing affection, it is genuine.

* Intimacy issues. Due to the abuse he suffered as a child, he’s afraid of being sexually intimate and getting hurt again so sex is off the table indefinitely-maybe one day he’ll be comfortable enough with you to do the deed but that’s unlikely to happen anytime soon. He also feels self-conscious about needing to feel pain in order to ‘feel alive’ and doesn’t know how to not make it weird. Melon does, however, like cuddling with you. He doesn’t want to be touched in certain places but being in your arms makes him feel safe.

* Melon loves a good ego stroke but when you do something that accommodates his hybrid traits, like getting him food with lots of different textures or giving him face masks with fun or cool designs on them, he’ll be touched by it. He may not show it, but ot means the world to him.

* Melon is the definition of the phrase ‘trust needs to be earned’. If he opens up to you about his past, his insecurities, his vulnerabilities and even lets himself be vulnerable around you, take it as a very good sign.

* It’s hard for Melon to show that he cares or how he feels about you bit he’ll try. He may mess up or try too hard (bake you a cake for your birthday but burns it, try to buy you a gift but can’t decide what to get you because everything reminds him of you, offer to kill the animal that bullied you) but if nothing else works, he’ll come out and just tell you.

* Melon doubles as your personal bodyguard. If anyone dares lay a hand on you, he’ll be planning their murder before the day is over.

*Your relationship with Melon is dysfunctional but not necessarily broken or toxic. Melon is a hard animal to understand and it’s hard for him to be completely open about what he’s feeling and thinking. There may be days where he locks himself away or days where he just feels angry and he may yell or be argumentative. You and him may even have fights about little or big things. It’s not dysfunctional in an abusive way, but there is a lack of clear and honest communication and Melon is someone who really should see someone about his issues and you’re not prepared for those kind of issues-this doesn’t make you the bad guy, it just means you may not know how to help Melon even though you want to. These problems can and will lessen and get better with time but it needs patience and work from both of you. The important thing is that both you and Melon practice being open to each other and that you both take care of yourselves (though Melon may need to be reminded constantly). Mental and emotional health matters in your relationship!

Hope you like them! :D

Aw these are super cute, thanks for sharing, anon! -Lexi

#melon #melon x reader #melonxreader #submission #headcanons

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donutloverxo · 4 years

Text

Rewards and gifts

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork said - " I LOVE Steve in this shirt. How about something fluffy with hints of smut. Or full smut. With way you wanna do it. Short or long as you want babes. 😍 "

Wtf this was supposed to be a drabble...

Summary - Steve looks so handsome in his sexy blue shirt. You don't want him to leave. So you come up with a diabolical plan.

Warnings - smut, dom/sub dynamics, daddy kink, spanking, edging, slight voyeurism, light anal, mean daddy Steve, porn with very little plot.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x brat!reader

Word count - 2k

Masterlist is linked in the bio!

You leaned against the door to the walk in closet you shared with your fiancee. Picking at the doorframe, you leaned against it, trying to sneakily look at your Steeb pushing his hair back with the black brush you decorated with pink rhinestones.

“Why are you sulking doll?” He asked putting the hairbrush down and turning to look at you.

“I’m not sulking!” You huffed. How dare he insinuate that? Even if it was true, how dare he?

“You’ve got that cute little pout on your face” He couldn’t suppress his grin. He turned back to the dressing table mirror, Spristing some of that Tom Ford perfume you have him. Which you bought with his card but whatever. It’s basically the same thing. It’s a good thing he doesn’t know how much it costs or he’ll probably lose his mind.

You couldn’t help but hum as as you looked at his muscles flexing, barely contained in his tight fitted shirt. It was a good thing you ‘accidentally’ got him a size too small. He was never really interested in shopping for himself. He only ever bought boring things. “I’m sorry what?” You snapped back to reality. Dragging your mind out of the gutter.

He only chuckled, walking closer to you. “What’s wrong princess?” He cooed cupping your cheek.

You sighed leaning into his touch. “I’ll just really missed you” You spoke softly imitating the look of a kicked puppy to get what you want. “Can’t I come with you?” You asked jutting your bottom lip out.

He let out a shaky breathe. He hated saying no to you. You never really asked for much anyway. But it was supposed to be a ‘guys night'. Everyone on the team already teased him about being so whipped for you. Which was annoying but not that big of a deal. He loved you and wasn’t afraid of showing it. But he didn’t want them making you feel uncomfortable the whole night.

On the other hand. He couldn’t bear the thought of being away from you. Not when you looked at him so sweetly, tugging the helm of your pale pink nightie, a nervous tick of yours.

“Please?” You let out the smallest of whimper. If you overdo it, you’ll come off as bratty.

“Alright princess you can come.” He finally relented and caught you as you jumped in his arms peppering kisses all over his face.

Steve only gave you 15 minutes to get ready so you had to really hurry along. You quickly went through your clothes looking for the best one. You smirked when you stumbled upon something that would be perfect. To give Steve a taste of his own medicine.

Steve texted the guys on their group chat that he would be bringing you along. And as expected they all started calling him whipped. And a lover boy. Though they knew better than to say anything even remotely bad about you.

His breathe hitched as he took in what you were wearing. A skin tight sparkly pink dress, that really didn’t leave much for the imagination, paired with silver heels. He could tell you weren’t wearing a bra when he saw the impression of the hard nubs of your nipples.

“I didn’t have time to do my make up. So I’m only wearing lip gloss” You said smacking your lips “How do I look?” You asked twirling for him. “I’m not wearing spanx. Does that look weird?” You looked down at your tummy and love handles sticking out in the dress. Oh well, you were dressing up for yourself and it looked fine to you. “Whatever.” You shrugged. “Let’s go.”

“I – princess I’m going to ask you something. And you have to be completely honest.” He said so gravely that it intimidated you. “Are you wearing panties?” He asked his voice strained.

And you giggled mischievously. “Nope” you said popping the ‘p'. You turned around lifting your dress and flashing your ass. “Is that a problem?” You asked over your shoulder, feigning innocence.

“You’re being a tease and a bad girl. You do know what happens to bad girls?” You turned around to look back at him. And it was a mistake. His arms were crossed over his chest. His shoulders so broad, his biceps so large, and holy shit is this God of a man really yours?

“That’s like the pot calling back to the kettle.” You huffed.

“What do you mean?” He asked quirking a brow at you.

You walked over to him in long strides, not very graceful in your 3 inch high heels. You squeezed his bicep “Look at these! It has to be a crime to look this good!” You complained growling at him. And yes you do realise how ridiculous you are being. But the sight of him in that shirt made you so wet you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

“You and this – uh – sex shirt! You’re so sinful! So don’t you go calling me a tease.” Your hand subconsciously fondled his pert pectoral through the shirt. Not having the least bit of shame as you looked at him, headstrong, not backing down. Even if the shirt basically made you putty.

“Sex shirt?” He cringed.

“Mm-hm. Now come on let’s go or we’ll be late.” You turned around to collect your clutch but in a flash of a second he had hauled you and manhandled you over his lap.

He pulled your dress up exposing your plump ass. Taking a handful he massages it. Any good spanking session begins with a warm up after all. “You planned this didn’t you? You little minx.” He cruelly snickered at your yelp as his hand met your ass. Leaving a stinging burn. “Well now you get what you wanted. Daddy will stay with you now. And teach you a lesson. How do you feel about that?” He asked giving two quick slaps to your other cheek.

“Yes – yes I’d like that. I’ve been so bad. You need to set me straight daddy.” You drawled wiggling your ass up to him. Wordlessly asking for more. You gasped as he smacked you especially hard. Feeling liquid collect between your legs.

“That’s right baby I do. Remember you don’t get to cum tonight until you show me you’ve learned your lesson. Understood?” He asked reigning two hard slaps on your upper thighs.

“Yes! Yes daddy.” You cried tears trailing down your cheeks. But you still needed more.

“Tch” he clucked teasing your folds and collecting your slick. “You’re not off to a good start. Already ruining my pants.” He said harshly plunging two of his fingers inside you. “Is it because of the shirt?” He wanted to know.

“No daddy. That’s all you.” And he didn’t have to look at you to know that you were grinning unabashedly as he fucked you hard with your fingers. He could tell you were close when he felt you squirming against his hold and clenching on his digits.

He quickly pulled them out of you as you whined loudly stomping your leg on the couch. “Behave.” He warned slapping your already bruised bottom.

He flipped you onto your back and settled himself between your legs. He shoved his fingers in your mouth. “Clean them up.” He ordered.

And you suckled loudly. Longing so desperately to cum that you’d do just about anything.

He abruptly pulled them out. He easily tore your precious, beautiful dress. And you wailed. Actually hurt. “What the hell?!” You screamed. You really liked that dress.

“I can buy you another one princess.” He leaned over you. His face so close to yours that you could feel his hot breathe on your lips. “You have no idea just how crazy you make me. Do you?”

You only huffed looking away. Still salty about your ruined dress. You tried not to enjoy it when he closed his mouth over a nipple, rolling the other one in his fingers. Muttering sweet apologies against your skin as he trailed kissed down until he reached your core.

You had to spread your legs wide, somewhat uncomfortably, to accommodate him. You looked down at him, and damn he still look so delicious. The color really brought out the blue in his eyes. Which were almost black now.

You shuddered as he wrapped his mouth around your bundle of nerves, sucking harshly on it. He had made you squirt once. Maybe you could do it again. Ruin that glorious shirt.

He sucked and drank from you, occasionally prodding at your pluckered hole, using his fingers here and there. But he either slowed down or stopped to a halt whenever he felt you were at the edge of your orgasm.

You were beyond frustrated. Your hips and thighs aching from being spread for so long. You almost considered saying your word, to make him stop to a halt. But it was a beautiful kind of torture. One which you wanted to end, but at the same time didn’t. You were too delirious to think.

“Oh” You let out a breathe when he pulled away from your core picking up his ringing phone from the coffee table.

“It’s Bucky” He said looking at the caller id. “here sweetheart” He handed the phone to you settling back between your legs. “Why don’t you answer him? Tell him we won’t be able to make it.” He said licking up a stripe against up your warm folds.

You whimpered but accepted the call. Beggars can’t be choosers. “He-llo” You stammered trying to stay silent. You weren’t that shameless.

“Oh y/n” He said obviously expecting to hear Steve’s voice. “Where are you both? What’s taking so long?” And you really tried to contain a moan by slapping a hand against your mouth, when Steve curled his fingers inside you, but it slipped out. “Are you okay?” He asked his voice laced with concern for you.

“Yeah. I just have a stomach bug. I’m sorry we can’t come Buck” you hissed.

“Eh. Don’t worry about it doll. I’ll come check in on you tomorrow. Get well –“

You hung up the phone before he could completely. Going limp as you felt your orgasm crashing over you. Seeing white spots in your vision. You felt as if you blacked out.

The next morning, or afternoon, you woke up late. Because your favorite guy kept you up till 4 in the morning. He was missing from your apartment. You decided to forego your shower since you had taken a long bath with him after he thoroughly fucked you.

You still felt the burn between your thighs, all your muscles sore as you worked on getting your coffee ready. You perked up when you saw Steve entering the kitchen and putting two paper bags on the counter. Hoping he got you some food you quickly sneaked a peek in them. Only to see the logos on the bags saying ‘gucci' and ‘prada'.

“Huh?” You asked confused as you looked into the.

He was just a bit offended that you went straight for the bags without even acknowledging him. But then he heard your stomach rumbling and chuckled. Maybe he should’ve picked up some donuts or macaroons for you.

He swatted your hands away. Opening the huge black box to reveal a lavender dress, adorned with pink roses stitched into its ruffles. He immediately thought of you when he saw it. It was made for you.

You squealed at the sight of it. Snatching it from his hands and hugging it close to you.

“I’m sorry about your dress princess.” He kissed your forehead. He was really sorry. He knew how much you liked your things. And as bratty as you can be, you were never wasteful with them.

So he pulled the cream colored box out of the gucci bag. “You need to have a purse to go along with it.” He said revealing a pink sling bag. Which matched the small pink roses on the dress.

And yes. You found other ways to thank him for the generous gifts.

Tags will be in the reblog! If you want in on the taglist shoot me an ask or click the link in the bio!

Please do not steal or repost my works. Reblogs are most welcome.

#steve rogers x reader #chris evans x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #marvel x reader #chris evans x you #avengers x reader #chris evans x y/n #submission

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truthteller-lumen · 4 years

Text

Nox (cynicallyinkless, fiveminutemeal, lorimer-no, etc) is an internet predator, a scammer, and a chronic liar. Here’s what you need to know.

He always made it seem like I had a choice and free will but... he manipulated me so bad that leaving wasn’t an option because I felt so bad for him. It’s so insidious. - one of Nox’s many ex-partners

Nox (Noximillian, Noxim Raven, Cynicallyinkless, @SirAlthair, @SirAlthairx, fiveminutemeal, onehalfdime, lorimer-no) is an internet predator.

He has pursued teenagers and young women nearly 10 years his junior. He is 32 and his latest partner was 19.

He has emotionally abused his numerous partners via gaslighting, emotionally manipulative language, and negging, as well as other abusive tactics.

He has cheated on his partners with multiple other women_. _Though he claims to be in happily polyamorous relationships, many of the partners he was dating were not happy about the situation. He often kept the truth about his other partners from them.

He has lied about his entire identity to his partners, up to and including faking his own voice and sending pictures and nudes that were not of him. He also lied about other details of his life, such as his family structure (claiming his mother was dead and that he had adopted a daughter) and his educational status (claiming he had finished his degree), which leads to:

He has accepted nearly $3500 from his friends in order to fund his education, then did not finish his degree. What the money was used for is unclear, but he took multiple expensive trips with his friends after receiving the cash.

Be aware. Know the facts. Protect yourself. If you’re in a relationship like this, seek help immediately. If you see the warning signs of a relationship like this, get out as fast as you can.

More information is below the cut.

Nox’s accounts and handles are listed at the bottom of the article. Want more details? Read on.

There was one girl, first. Then more, younger and younger. More trusting, more accepting, more susceptible to his abuse. He had them compete for his attention, let them fight among themselves. And he lied to them, over and over again. He let them throw their whole lives away, their finances, their hearts, for someone who didn’t really exist.

This is a story of abuse, lies, and manipulation. This is a story that we never want to see repeated again.

Names have been censored. Labels may not be consistent between conversations to protect the identities of those speaking.

---

Nox met us when we were all teenagers. Young adults. - one of Nox’s many ex-partners

Nox has pursued girls over 10 years his junior.

Over the years, the ages of the partners Nox has taken has trended downwards dramatically. When the people his age began to reject him for his behavior, he wandered until he found a group he was accepted by.

First, she was 28. Then, 22. Then, 19. And that’s not even the complete list.

Though she was 13 years his junior, Nox would often talk to his youngest partner in disturbing ways, including the topic of pregnancy, to the point where she had already rewritten her entire life plan after college just to accommodate having a child with him.

Even those who were not romantically involved with him were subject to sexual talk, including minors:

He cased these girls. He approached the most vulnerable, easily isolated ones.

He went after me after prodding around and kinda guessing I wasn't too close with people that didn't like him. - one of Nox’s many ex-partners

These girls were not only subject to romantic advances, but gaslighting, abuse, and controlling behavior, as well.

---

If I did anything he didn’t like or if I offered that I didn’t like something, he would just stop communicating and talking to me for days on end. - one of Nox’s many ex-partners

Nox has emotionally abused his partners.

The common thread in the swathe of abuse he has cut over the past 10+ years is control. Don’t drink, he’d say. Don’t cut your hair. Don’t leave me, or I’ll kill myself. Every action he’d take - from punishing his partners with the silent treatment to ranting and raving at them when something didn’t go his way - was taken with the intent to control their actions.

Below is an account from his longest partner of 9 years.

After breaking up with this partner, he posted to Tumblr, implying that they were the one who had broken up with him:

But the breakup was anything but shitty. In fact, he was the one who had initiated it:

A benign breakup, initiated by him, over increasing distance.

His posts on Tumblr were no more than sharpened knives, directed at his ex of 9 years. Look at how much you’ve hurt me. Look, this is all your fault.

At the time he posted these posts, he had already been dating his 19-year-old partner for several months.

Not even his youngest partners were safe from his controlling behavior.

He used them against each other:

He isolated them from their real-world communities:

He isolated them from online friends whom he knew would expose his abuse for what it was:

And he tried to control what they did in their free time:

He would fly off the rails if he thought they disobeyed him, in this case for drinking when he didn’t want them to:

And if he didn’t get his way, he would threaten suicide:

---

He said he was poly... but he couldn’t tell his other girlfriends about me yet. Not until we were fully fully official... I didn’t know when he could say we were official, though. So I believed him about it. Only then I realized that he was hiding me from his other flings and partners. - one of Nox’s many ex-partners

Nox has cheated on his partners.

He justifies it under the guise of polyamory. The girls, a decade his junior, would often be led to believe that they were the most special girlfriend, and he made no attempt to communicate otherwise. Despite this, he would often claim that he was “single” while telling his younger flings that they were still dating.

His ex of 9 years didn’t know about any of these girls. He never told her.

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The way he talks is so smooth and persuasive, it's so easy to be manipulated. I’m just crying so hard because it was a lie. I gave myself up to a liar and a fraud and my heart can't accept it yet. - one of Nox’s many ex-partners

Nox lied about his entire identity to his partners and friends. He is a chronic liar.

To his close friends, his mother was dead, and he’d adopted a daughter. His family had abandoned him, he was living alone, and he needed help financially. These were all things they were told, and they believed him.

His mother is alive. There is no daughter. He lives with his family.

Fake dead mom.

Fake adopted daughter.

To his partners, he portrayed himself as a charming, handsome man. He sent nudes that were not his own. The selfies he sent didn’t match up with his real life appearance. He used a voice modulator to fool them into thinking he was someone he wasn’t. His web of lies is so deep that no one is sure what the truth is.

He pretended to be a cis man to his partner, and made sexual advances on her without disclosing otherwise. He is not a cis man, and the terms of his partner’s consent were violated.

The explicit picture he sent to her to further the lie of being a cis man was pulled from PornHub.

No one is really sure who the person in his selfies is.

He used a voice modulator to pretend he was someone he was not. (Full disclosure: getting closer to being someone you’re comfortable with is totally fine, and if using a voice modulator does that for you, then go for it. The chronic lying to partners that deserved full disclosure before intimacy is the issue here.)

He kept everything from his partners.

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He mostly came to me for money because I helped pay his tuition for 3 years on my own. Thinking that I was helping to support him when his family wouldn’t... But turns out I was just being used. - one of Nox’s ex-friends

Nox accepted a large sum of money from his friends in goodwill to pay for his tuition. It’s unclear where the money went.

He lied to them, saying that his family had abandoned him and that he was living alone, unable to pay for his tuition. Despite struggling financially themselves, his friend and ex contributed $3500 to his education.

First, his friend contributed nearly a grand to his education while living on minimum wage.

Then, his ex contributed a whopping 2.4 grand.

He accepted this money happily, and recently informed the first friend, who had not kept up with him in a while, that he had graduated medical school.

But other friends with more recent experience thought otherwise. Below is a quote from yet another ex who knew him closely and recently.

And very recently, he contacted his ex of 9 years - the one who had contributed 2.4 grand - to tell her that he had not, in fact, used the money towards his schooling, or finished his schooling at all. He lied.

A poor, ailing young brother who needed money for his future. He spun his use of their generous aid as a good deed.

But was it even used that way at all?

He would often go on lavish and expensive trips with one of his younger partners at the same time that he was receiving money from his friends. Below is a receipt from a trip he took together with that partner, correlated with the timing of the money he received.

This happened while he was still dating the first ex who had donated 2.4 grand to his tuition.

If he was strapped for money, why was he taking expensive trips with his side flings? If he needed to fund his brother’s future, why was he paying for lavish accommodations for him and his friends?

And why was he buying expensive gifts for them, too? Below is a quote from another younger partner (different from the one above).

If even one more girl reads this and realizes she’s in danger, then it was worth it. - an anonymous contributor

Know what abuse looks like. It could happen to you.

If your relationship looks even remotely like this, heavily consider whether or not you feel happy being there. If you’re working to escape a relationship like this, we see you. We believe in you.

If you are in a relationship with Nox and want to seek help, or have an experience you want to share, our ask box is open. Your personal information will not be published.

The following are some resources on what abuse looks like and how to escape it:

What are the signs of emotional abuse?

5 signs of emotional abuse

5 ways to escape an abusive relationship

Be wary of who you speak to online. There are more people like this out there. It is not a crime to be loving, trustful and kind, but it is unforgivable for someone to abuse that trust, to lie and to manipulate their way into receiving kindness.

And all abusers get their due. Nox, this is yours.

Get some fucking help. Stop abusing young women.

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Nox’s handles and accounts

Nox has been known as:

Nox, Noximillian, Noxim Raven, Cynicallyinkless, @SirAlthair, @SirAlthairx, fiveminutemeal, onehalfdime, lorimer-no

On the online game Final Fantasy XIV, he is Balthier Strahll on Mateus at the time of writing. His character ID is 20282710. He is active in the RP community on Crystal datacenter and frequents player-run RP establishments such as “The Gilded Knob” on Malboro.

This blog will be updated with any other handles or accounts as they become known to us. Have an account that isn’t listed here? Send us a message.

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