#so I am deliberately giving myself a break

[hanihaato]

a/n: jealousy themes, yandere sunday x reader, mentions of abduction, incapacitation, drabble

Your artistic silence is broken with a snap of fingers and a question.

“Now, who is that man?”

Before the vision disappears, you have a split second to admire your efforts. Your skills have improved over the last three hours where Sunday had left your dreamscape to attend to some urgent and questionable matters.

This time, you have delved into the concept of imaginary creations that followed your newfound belief that even in this kind of twisted dream, deliberately manipulated by Sunday, you could still treat it like… a dream.

Do wonders. Keep yourself occupied to take care of your sanity.

The man you’ve created doesn’t have a name as you don’t recognize him. Maybe he was your own creation, or maybe he was one of the countless tourists at Reverie Hotel whose face you’ve been fortunate to remember. He would have made for a much more entertaining company than Sunday is, especially as he presses his lips into a thin line and looks disappointed in you.

“A secret boyfriend. We were planning to elope tonight, before you…” The story cuts short, as Sunday closes his eyes and sighs heavily, as if dealing with a troublesome kid. You take the warning and end your joke here, but because you know you have the privilege to as his beloved, you pout at him. “Alright. I was bored. Happy now? I thought you said I can do whatever I want here. Well, you keep calling it my dreamscape, after all.”

Sunday sits you down on a sofa that materializes within a blink of an eye. It’s another reminder you’re not in Penacony; there, nothing like that could happen, as it’s a dream with rules you are bound to obey. But at least there, you could understand its mechanism as it was created to mimic the real world.

‘Your’ dreamscape was solely ruled by Sunday’s whims.

You fall on a stack of heavenly puffy cushions, with his arm draped around your waist.

“Dearest. It’s our dream. This fantasy wouldn’t exist without any of us,” Sunday promptly corrects you and smiles gently at your irate gaze. “Believe me, I wholeheartedly would love to give you a fair share of power over this place, but it would be a bit dangerous to someone not practised in lucid dreaming.”

If you didn’t exceed his tolerance for defiance for today, you would have hit him with one of the pillows. Instead, you sink yourself deeper into them.

“Alright, then… What do I have to do to be classified as experienced? As far as I am aware, spending a whole three months in a dream should have made me an expert.”

“That’s a lovely conclusion. But does spending time in a library make you able to get a degree in every subject that’s written in the books?”

The question silences you. The break is long enough for Sunday to design your surroundings: a coffee table that matches the times, a porcelain tea set with golden details and some infusion with fascinating taste. They go with a tray of cookies and little sandwiches, as well as a bowl of fruits and nuts that would taste better if they were real.

However, you have to do with what you have on your hands.

You bite into a biscuit. “Then, what should I do? To be adept enough, that is.”

“There are many other requirements…” He falls into a reverie, and just as you think he closes the topic—you’ve been willing to give it up at this point, solely for the quiet to continue—Sunday speaks again. “If you can wake up on your own or overwrite any of the aspects of this dream, for example, gravity, I will consider giving you a little more power here.”

So, he’s asking you for the impossible.

“…I won’t be wiping myself out only for you to ‘consider’.”

Sunday takes a sip of tea. The porcelain can’t hide a tenderish smile, but the unexplainable gleam in his eyes is exposed.

“There is always a shortcut.”

“That doesn’t, um, doom me for eternity?”

“Yes. If I have a say in this, it’s a very delightful one.” And after the next sentence, you know why he’s so engaged in this discussion. “Marrying me.”

…

Sighing, you cross your arms and shake off Sunday’s arm from your shoulder. “I thought you hated liars.”

“Which part of what I said do you consider a lie?”

You ignore him and get up from the sofa, heading towards the big door. Sunday might have changed the look of the place, but the layout always remains the same. Behind that door, you will find a short hall that leads to several other rooms that don’t have Sunday in them and so are preferred.

“I don’t want to talk (to you) anymore, sorry,” you mutter out the apology just to defend yourself if Sunday was going to accuse you of being rude. “I am going to daydream—dreamdream?—about, I guess, men, if I can’t have anyone here. Goodbye.”

You reach for the pair of doors and find them uncharacteristically too heavy. You try to open the door, but just then a big silver chain crosses over their handles, a small lock appears, but you don’t have time to notice the details as you find yourself staring into a plain wall.

“Now, no need to rush,” Sunday purrs, and you turn around to see your beloved doors behind his back. “Would you like to play a round or two with me? I think we could have a wonderful conversation about how to pry the imaginary door locks and who are the people you’ve been thinking about so much.” He smiles. “All with names and examples. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us, isn’t that so?”

#i think i write scenarios better than headcanons hmm #honkai star rail #hsr #sunday #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #the act

[blueicequeen19]

Well Played

Warnings: JJ being mean at a party, teasing, orgasm denial, edging

My hands tighten on the edge of the sink just as a firm, warm body presses against my back. The distinct feel of a hard cock nestles in between my ass cheeks in my dress. I bite my lip to ground myself but heat floods my body and his breath hits my neck, sending goosebumps down every limb.

“I can’t stop thinking about what your pussy would feel like.” He rasps into my hair, running his nose through my hair as his arms cage me in on either side.

“I can’t stop thinking about what Rafe would do to you if he saw you this close to me.” I mutter cooly, although every inch of me is alive and buzzing.

“Do you think Rafe fucks you better than I could?” JJ growls, one of his big hands finding my waist and squeezing. I try not to shudder as his hand slides higher and higher until he’s cupping my breast.

“Definitely better.” I bite out, swallowing the lump in my throat as he tweaks my nipple over the thin cup of my dress.

“Somehow I doubt that’s true.” His deep, sexy voice has my clit throbbing painfully, making me squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache. He pinches my nipple and I whimper, my hold tightening on the sink.

“Is that tiny little thong you’re wearing nice and wet? I could take care of that for you.” I shake my head, unable to form words as he teases me. I look down to watch as his hand descends back down my body to fist the material of my dress and allowing his hand to disappear underneath. I jerk when his hand meets my thigh, slipping higher until he strokes my clit over my thong.

“I don’t like you.” I blurt, attempting to squeeze my thighs together but it doesn’t stop his movements.

“You don’t have to like someone to want them inside you.” JJ whispers, stroking me until I feel my arousal down my thighs. I couldn’t deny how shamelessly wet I was. It was pouring out of me.

Still though, the thin, soaked material of my thong was acting as a barrier and I needed more. I needed to feel his skin on mine. I needed his fingers inside me, driving me mad from the inside out. I’d never begged someone to make me cum but I just might. I know his movements are calculated and deliberate. He wants me to beg.

“You do want me inside you. Don’t you?” JJ’s teeth ghost along the shell of my ear and I shudder hard, pressing my hips forward as a silent invitation for him to keep going.

“I bet this pussy would choke the life out of me. And I’d thank her for it.” He all but hisses in my ear, sliding his finger past the slick barrier of my thong and teasing my entrance. My entire body trembles, desperate for more. I’m right on the edge of an explosive climax and he’s still teasing me.

“I—I—.”

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Would you rather it be my tongue?” He chuckles against my neck, nearly making me whimper as he finally — FINALLY — sinks his finger in to the first knuckle.

“Fuck.” I sigh, rolling my hips forward in hopes of getting him deeper but he pulls back, continuing to deny me.

“I can feel how close you are to the edge, baby. One hard thrust from me and you’d break.” I shudder as his tongue finds the sweet spot behind my ear, his thumb pressing on my swollen clit while his finger only stays one knuckle deep.

“Mmm.” My bottom lip quivers, the urge to beg for my release ready to slip from me when he suddenly withdraws his hands, leaving me empty and needy. He places a quick peck to my cheek before grabbing the bottle of liquor on the counter, pressing my body firmly against the counters edge.

“Now you know what it’s like for me whenever I’m around you. To be strung so tight you can’t think or breathe. How you need to cum so badly you’re willing to do anything to get it.” He growls against my neck, grinding his hard cock again my ass.

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about what you want. I hope you’re as pissed and frustrated as I am. And when Rafe can’t get you off, don’t come crawling back to me. I don’t give a fuck about you or your lousy apology.” JJ pushes away, disappearing back outside just as my knees give.

#smutwarning #outer banks smut #jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #obx2 #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #jj obx #outer banks x reader #dark!fic #tw dark content #dark!rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #blueicequeen19

[oh-katsuki]

“hey, satoru?” you break the comfortable silence, your voice just barely rising over the sound of cicadas. 

“hm?” he hums, tilting his head toward you. 

you avoid looking at him, staring out over the walkway up to the school. everything is bathed in the cool light of the moon. it makes things glow like they’re alive. under it, the concrete shines like pearls. 

“can i ask you something?” 

he furrows his eyebrows, giving you a coy smile. “sure, you can ask me anything.” 

“it’s not really a question, though,” you chuckle a little. the sound doesn’t reach your chest, instead coming from the front of your mouth. 

satoru shrugs, leaning back on his palms. 

“you’re really hard to pin down, you know?” you mumble. 

“that so?” 

“yeah,” your voices pulls down like there is a weight tied to it. “i can’t tell if you love me or if you just like keeping me around. kind of like a pet,” you pull your knees to your chest and run your finger along the cracks in the concrete you’re sitting on. “you’re confusing, you know? but then again, i don’t know what i’d say if you said the same thing to me. i don’t even really know what to expect.” 

he sits on what you’ve said for a moment and you deliberately avoid looking at him. you don’t want to see the expression on his face. 

“it’s probably hard,” he says quietly, a little more considerately than he normally speaks, “to describe what it is i feel for you. even to myself. i’m not quite sure how to answer.” 

you nod and rest your chin on the tops of your knees, not offering a verbal response. 

“what would you say? if i asked you the same thing?” he asks. 

“i think i’d probably say that i love you,” you answer. there’s no hesitation, just the quiet admittance that comes so quickly that you almost don’t register that you’ve said it. “but i think i’d also say that i hate you.” 

satoru gives a flat chuckle, mirthless and somewhat empty. “that’s contradictory, but i think i get it.” 

you inhale, feeling exhaustion creep into your bones. “you just make me crazy. that’s all it is. i want you so badly but i feel like i can never have you.” 

“have me?” you can hear the grin on his lips. “what makes you think you never can? i’m right here.” 

“not that you wouldn’t,” you clarify, avoiding his gaze which you can feel against your skin, “but more like you feel so far away... you’re leagues ahead of us, you know? just by existing.” 

satoru considers this quietly and you turn to face him as he does. his expression, usually so carefree, is weighted. his lips pull down a little in the corners. when he catches you staring, you can almost see the way he puts on a mask, smiling lightly at you. 

“that’s just what it is to be me,” he says softly. “not that i want to be far away. 

after a moment, he speaks again, softer. it’s more of a confession than anything else. “what do i have besides strength?” 

“me,” you say, quietly but earnestly. 

“you’d choose me if i was weak?” he laughs a little. 

“in a heartbeat,” you answer firmly. “you could be the weakest man alive and i think i’d still want you. you could hate me and i don’t think i could ever give you up.” 

“i could never hate you.” 

you laugh a little, knowing that the statement is partially false. you think that, to some degree, the two of you hate each other just as much as you care for each other. maybe you’ve just confused it for love. 

“would you love me if i were so strong that i hurt you? what if you were weak? would you still want me then?” he asks. satoru inadvertently admits a fear when he says that. the fear of responsibility, of hurting those he loves. losing control and destroying both the good and the bad. 

“i am weak.” 

“you’re not.” 

“when it comes to you, i am,” you chuckle a little, sounding pathetic. “all you have to do is ask and i’d do anything. i don’t even think i’d hesitate. though, maybe that’s not weakness. maybe it’s strength. i don’t really know.” 

“sounds like love to me,” he laughs lightly.

“you think so? you think that’s love? how frightening.” you give a flat laugh, shaking your head a little. 

“if it’s not love, then what is it?” he says softly, trying to coax you to look at him. 

“violence,” you say, tilting your head to look at him. “i think it’s violence.” 

satoru blinks at you for a moment, like he’s letting what you’ve said sink in. under the moon, his white hair shines, reflecting the light onto his t-shirt and the concrete beneath him. it catches in his eyes, giving them an almost inhuman glint that you’ve come to recognize as satoru. 

“i love you,” he says quietly, so softly that you almost miss it. 

you laugh quietly, void of any real resonation, “how violent.” 

#idk what this is #but i like it #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #he makes me sad #this noodled around so bad #this is basically my attempt at putting all the dialogue snippets i've wanted to write into one thing LOL

[deoidesign]

Hello I stumbled across your profile and I just say I love your art style! I've gotta ask, how'd your develop it? And do you have any advice for someone who can't decide what they want their art to look like?

Thank you so much!

To be entirely honest, I don't feel like I truly "developed" my style. I feel a lot more like I finally let myself draw it! But I am incredibly deliberate with my work, and I do have clear tendencies and preferences... So I'll do my best to explain how I got to where I am now as an artist.

It's important to remember that "style" is something of a nebulous concept. It changes with you as you grow as a person, and most artists can work in and emulate many art styles! Art really is a form of communication with yourself, and your "style" is a reflection of the tendencies and preferences you have. My art does not look how it looked 5 years ago, and my art will look different 5 years from now too. I've changed, and my art reflects that!

(2012, 2018, 2023; two pieces I remember being incredibly proud of and considered my best work up til that point, and then my most recent piece)

What you need to do, as everyone will tell you, is study the fundamentals (anatomy, perspective, form and structure, lighting and shadow, color, and composition) so you have the proper tools to make the most informed decisions possible about your art, and so you can deliberately break or follow rules as you please for your desired effect. I know it sounds silly to learn rules if you're not gonna be following them anyways, but they help you be much more consistent and intentional! More knowledge is NEVER a bad thing to have!

However, I know it's a bit demoralizing to just be told to study fundamentals. Everyone knows you're supposed to do that, but it takes YEARS to learn, and people want their art to feel how they want it to now (which is very very very normal to want!)

So on that front, I have 2 follow up suggestions that I personally find helpful (of course, everyone is different, so it's not like this is the only way to learn! But, if it resonates with you, it might mean it will work for you too.)

1: Separate study from application

I believe this is beneficial for a few reasons:

If the goal of every piece is learning, it can become frustrating, overwhelming, and boring

It's harder to self critique when there are multiple variables to investigate. I like to study one fundamental at a time

Study (usually) works best with a large quantity of output, whereas application of knowledge (finished pieces) is often more satisfying and effective when you get to take your time

Deliberate practical application of what you've learned in a finished piece helps cement the learning in your mind, and also lets you get satisfying finished pieces with noticeable improvement after a good study session!

I've found that keeping these things separate helps me improve faster and more deliberately, and it takes a lot of the pressure off of both aspects! I'm not worried about my studies looking beautiful, they're just to learn! And I don't feel pressured to critique my finished pieces, cause they're just for fun and to make something pretty. I personally find this helps me have a much healthier relationship with my art.

When studying, copy! Copy things as best as you can, all the time. It gives you something to compare to for self critique (and of course, if you're copying someone else's work and you share the study, ALWAYS give credit, share the original, and say it was for study.) In application, don't copy: reference. Make it yours!

2: Let yourself do the things that feel "easy" or like "cheating"

This one is simpler: nothing in art is easy.

If something feels easy to you, most of the time it's not because it's actually any easier... It's because it's part of your natural tendencies and preferences! This took me forever to realize, but as long as you're actually doing some study, then you're learning. You don't need to learn All The Time. When you're doing the "application" portion, you should let yourself do whatever is actually the most fun and feels easiest! This is where your style will start to come through, and where you get to learn about yourself. Take the pressure off, and have fun!!!

The only cheating in art is theft. If you're not stealing, then it's allowed!

My whole life (and yes, still!) I'd get regular criticism about both my style and my subject matter. You will too. You'll see a thousand different styles, and a hundred different things to admire in each. Your heart will ache that you don't draw like others do.

But art is a form of communication with yourself. It's like your voice, or your accent; just something that's a part of you! It can be fun to mimic others', but when you sit to have a conversation you speak naturally. (I know some people want to and do change their voice, but this is a metaphor and metaphors aren't perfect)

Don't stress so much about what you want your art to look like, especially if you're not sure. There's a lot of value to be had in constant experimentation, I think it'd be rather boring to only draw one style the rest of my life. What I draw is what I want to see, right now, for who I am now! It's a part of me and comes naturally, if I let it!

I hope this helps!

#justbrowsing1124 #asks #art tips #drawing advice #drawing tips #art advice #long post here sorry #long post #I could have gone on so so so so so so much more but this took me like 2 hours to write #and I've gotta go to bed! haha #so if you feel like something wasn't properly explained you can send a follow up ask and I'd be happy to elaborate #I love answering questions like this #sorry if it sounds a bit condescending I wrote the post for like... what would have helped me to hear when I was just starting out #so I wrote it basically for how I think would help I guess a kid #sorry about that. the content is still all what I think though #also I realize that i didn't really talk about like... my journey... at all here lol. #I guess if you wanna know my personal journey I'd love to get into it! #but i focused a lot more on the second part #cause yknow #that's kinda what my journey was internally anyways #but yknow no fun progress of my art with notes about what I was doing and why #but fuck that sounds fun if someone did wanna know about that LOL #I am VERY deliberate with my art I could legit analyze every piece #pretentious? maybe. do I care? not at all. #why make it if I dont have a reason?

[perplexingluciddreams]

Automatic "yes" response

When anyone says something to me with a certain questioning inflection, I almost always automatically respond with a perceived "yes" or agreement.

With familiar voices, this always happens, because I have already learnt their intonation patterns. It is like music to me, the way my brain latches onto the patterns. The only part of speech that I can process and recognise almost immediately, with barely any delay.

However, I have significantly delayed processing for the actual words. My brain recognises the "music" of the intonation/inflection WAY before it can break down the talking noises into individual words, and eventually work out the meaning.

So, this is how it goes: someone with a familiar voice will make talking noises, and I will recognise the questioning inflection pattern. Or I hear the tones follow the same patterns I know, and then pause, and I know I am supposed to put my own "notes" in the gap. So, I will instinctively respond with my "ah-ah" or "ah-da" or "mmh-mh" noise (with my own musical intonation to show the "yes" meaning), or a head nod, or "yes" sign, or other "yes" gesture.

Then, a short while (or sometimes LONG while) later, my brain finally "clicks" on what the person actually said. And I realise - often too late - that I don't necessarily mean my automatic answer. Or even if I do still mean yes, I wish that I could have the chance to deliberately say that, instead of just my automatic body reaction.

"No" or disagreement is much harder for me to communicate. Especially when it involves having to go back on something I seemed to say "yes" to or agree with previously. I have to "contradict" my past self so often. It all means a lot of extra room for misunderstanding and misinterpretation and miscommunication.

I used to not be able to do this at all. It is only in the last few years that I figured out how to "contradict" the wrong responses that my body gives without my approval. And to understand that there is a difference between my own self inside my head, and the things that my body does without permission. I used to get so angry at myself for "lying" all the time - I couldn't understand why it happened when it is not what I wanted to do or say.

I have a lot of scary memories of being put in situations I didn't want to be in and couldn't cope with, simply because my body makes me compulsively seem to agree with everything almost all the time. And it always happens before I can even mentally process the "yes" response that I gave (never mind processing what the talking noises actually meant in the first place).

I don't know why this is something that happens to me. It has happened for as long as I can remember - at least, as long as I can remember being aware of the musicality of voices.

#from the chaos of my mind #autism #autistic #nonverbal #nonspeaking #actually nonverbal

[snezus-christ-risen]

I am both pleased and ashamed to debut my En//canto fixation (and primary source of dopamine) to the world. About a month ago, after having watched the movie for the forty-eighth time (#momlife), a thought crept into my mind later that night (and I’m blaming the edible for this one): has anyone ever made this Bruno guy sneeze? I knew from the moment I took to Google to find out that I was already in too deep. So I wrote a little something myself, for myself. Part II to follow if this hyper fixation doesn’t burn out and die before I get around to finishing it.

Stubborn Things, Part I - Aperitivos

(Part II - https://www.tumblr.com/snezus-christ-risen/748150063515287552/back-blessed)

Colds were stubborn things. Notoriously incurable, it’s only natural that they would pose a challenge to the woman who could heal almost anything. To Julieta, almost anything was an evasive mental itch, a thorn in her side, one elusive combination of ingredients away from becoming everything. What did it matter how many bones or tendons she could mend if she couldn’t even conquer the sniffles?

Julieta was a stubborn thing, too (and maybe, maybe a bit of a perfectionist). She resolved to solve this puzzle if it took the rest of her life. But that was, God willing, quite a few years yet. Her brother was sick now.

Ay, Bruno. Su conejito extraño. He was another thorn in her side (but how she’d missed him so!). So much like her Augustín at times that it was alarming, except Bruno’s chaos was more… deliberate, governed not by butterfingers and left feet, but a seemingly insatiable drive to push himself past his breaking point as often as possible. Despite having developed a robust immunity to most things (owed, in part, to a lifetime of keeping close company with rats), he was particularly susceptible to catching colds. Naturally, this made him the perfect lab rat for his sister’s culinary experiments. Julieta wouldn’t deny that she subjected him to a lot over the years, but nobody ever claimed the field of medicine was without its sacrifices.

Bruno was late to breakfast that morning, which was unusual. Since his return, he was always the first one at the table, so eager he was to make up for lost time with his family. Alma was in the middle of asking Antonio to go check on his tío when her son shuffled in, looking just as pale and tired as he did when he first emerged from the walls. Not that he ever looked particularly healthy. Coupled with the fact that his visions were known to sap his stamina, nobody thought to question his appearance. Bruno quietly apologized for his tardiness, then sat down at the table and cleared his throat a few times, covering up the sound of his fist knocking against his chair. Julieta heard a hint of something in his voice, something that kept drawing her attention back to him as the meal progressed.

Only a few minutes had passed before he scraped his chair away from the table, burying his face in the sleeve of his ruana to stifle a volley of sneezes. A pair of rats dropped to the floor before scurrying away. The conversations around the table ceased abruptly, giving way to stares and scattered blessings. Bruno sniffled, withering under his family’s collective acknowledgement.

“Sorry! Sorry…” It was unclear if he was apologizing to them or his rats.

Camilo resumed (or perhaps never stopped) his reenactment of the argument he had witnessed at the market that morning, talking quickly and switching rapidly between faces in a way that reminded Julieta of cards being shuffled. Her nephew had been so eager to share what he saw that nothing else seemed to register for him. She flicked her gaze back to Bruno as he returned to the table, looking upset with himself for having interrupted. He reached instinctively for the salt cellar, but then met his mother’s eyes and withdrew his hand as if from a flame. It swung around to grip at his left arm instead. Julieta recognized this as a self-soothing gesture, except this time Bruno’s fingers were digging into his arm.

“Are you feeling okay, tío?” Dolores asked, having lost interest in her brother’s story a long time ago. “You’ve been sneezing all morning.”

Bruno shot Dolores a look of betrayal so dramatic he could have been performing a scene from one of his telenovelas. While he was distracted, Julieta seized the opportunity to reach across the table for his forehead. “Are you getting sick, manito?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Bruno said, dodging her hand and sliding down in his chair. He started to pull his hood up, but when Alma cleared her throat in disapproval he yanked it back down again, sitting up straighter. “Really, I feel great, I’m just, uh… still getting used to the air out here, you know.”

Nobody seemed convinced, least of all Bruno himself, but nobody challenged him, either. At least, not until he interrupted Alma during her morning rundown. He had just enough notice to stutter out a breathless apology and twist away from the table, crushing his fist against his nose. Julieta winced as he stifled two sneezes into silence without a breath in between. She kicked her brother under the table, frustrated by his stubbornness, and mouthed stop it. How many times did she - did they all have to tell him not to do that? Bruno blinked, looking dizzy and indignant at having been cheated out of his usual pattern of three sneezes. His retaliation efforts were less than successful; Julieta saw him bite his lip to hold back a curse as his foot struck the leg of the table instead of her own.

Alma, wearing an impassive expression, cleared her throat and waited patiently for her grown children to settle. While Bruno was preoccupied with his body’s latest betrayal, she casually brushed his curls back from his forehead to rest her hand there. He looked at her in stunned silence, breathing more quickly than usual through slightly parted lips.

“Bruno is unwell,” she stated matter-of-factly as she withdrew her hand, then held it up to cut off his objection. “He will remain in Casita today so he can rest.”

Julieta was surprised; Bruno actually had a few appointments lined up for this morning. Their mother never used to let something like a cold get in the way of her family’s obligations to the town. They were all still getting used to this new Alma, who, while not perfect, was learning to see the benefits of resting and recovering over crashing and burning. Julieta sat up a little straighter, wondering how much further she could push their luck.

“Mamá, if it would be alright-” she began, and Bruno, apparently aware of where this was going, started shaking his head.

“Uh, no, nope, not uh,” he said, rapping his fist against the table with each syllable.

“-I’d like to stay here too and test out some new recipes-”

Bruno continued to shake his head. Julieta closed her mouth and frowned, genuinely wounded by his fervent refusal. “Do you have so little faith in me?” she asked, and that was all it took for his protests to melt into praise.

“Juli, you are incredible, and you know I know you can do anything, I’m just… .” He swallowed nervously as she eyed his untouched plate. “Full? So full. I, uh, ate earlier, you know, I’m still getting used to the new schedule, well, I guess the old schedule, and besides, and most importantly, I’m not sick, so it would b-be a w-waste to… heh!”

Julieta prided herself on being the most mature of her siblings, but something about Bruno always called her inner child out to play. She just couldn’t resist the urge to tease when the opportunities presented themselves. Catching a glimpse of Pepa across the table, smirking as their brother’s breath hitched helplessly, only egged her on further. “Perdona, a waste to what?” Julieta asked, fully aware that providing clarification in his current state would pose a challenge.

He surprised her by squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath before forcing it back into a steady rhythm. She had never seen him do that before - a technique he learned living in the walls, perhaps? Had he been doing that for the last ten years to avoid detection? Julieta was impressed with his self-control, but she could imagine how unsatisfying it must have felt to deny his body something it desperately needed to do. Bruno didn’t look like he was going to sneeze anymore, but he did look ten times more miserable than before.

“Disculpe…” He sighed it more than spoke it, then sniffled again, wincing at how wet it sounded. “I forgot what I was saying.”

“Ay, mijo.” Alma passed him her unused napkin before waving her hand at him, directing him to turn away from the table and blow his nose. She then turned to Julieta. “You will stay with your brother today and see what you can do. I’m sure Mirabel would be happy to bring your food into town. We have those new herbs that Isabela grew. Perhaps they’ll do the trick for your…” She paused as Bruno blew his nose, then looked at him pointedly. “… purposes, today.”

He gave a little cough as he crumpled the napkin in his lap. “I suppose I don’t get a say in any of this.”

Julieta shook her head and he huffed out a sigh, grinding the heels of his hands into his eyes. He seemed resigned to his fate. Good. That would make things go a lot more smoothly for the both of them.

#why does my lesbian ass keep falling for these twerps #his sisters are hot hot hot and yet I torture him #they’ll have their turns soon enough #sneezefic #male sneezing #cold sneezing #en//canto #I wish I was clever enough to come up with a phrase like melon felon but for people who go bonkers for big honkers #sorry I said honkers but the rhyme was right there

[mollymagician]

Okay, there’s an hour left of Valentines Day. I wanted to post a present, because I am so grateful to this fandom. You got me drawing again. You got me WRITING again. After YEARS.

I love you. Have some fic.

…………………………………………………………………….

If you asked Hob what he loved most about living, he could easily give you as many different answers as there were days contained in his 600 years of life. But there was one that he always came back to, again and again (and not just because he was a teacher now and felt obligated)- you just never run out of new things to learn.

Today, for instance, on his meandering walk home from campus, Hob discovered he’d finally learned how not to jump clear out of his skin every time Dream appeared next to him out of thin bloody air.

Dream’s boot hit the ground in perfect step with Hob straight out of the ether, as though they’d been strolling together for an hour.  Dream quirked one of his small smiles, hands tucked in his pockets. And there it was. Another thing Hob had learned over the years. That certain…was it even a look? It was more of an aura, if anything. The aura that surrounded Dream of the Endless when he was attempting to look innocent.

“Hullo, love,” Hob said, and quirked an eyebrow. “Wasn’t expecting this pleasure today.”

Dream slanted him an amused look. “I found myself with unexpected free time”

“Did you now?”

“Yes. And unexpectedly…inspired.” The smile grew, just enough to crinkle the corner of his eyes. (Oh, some sort of shenanigans were obviously afoot.) He gestured at the extra load Hob was bogged down with. “Do you need assistance carrying any of…this?”

Hob laughed, the kind of laugh that would have come with a compulsive ear tug if he hadn’t been trying hard to break the habit for the past decade or so. Aside from the usual satchel loaded with laptop and papers and other academic debris, he was hauling a bag filled with what looked like half the candy aisle of Tesco, along with at least one bunch of flowers, a small balloon on a stick that read #1 TEACHER and some sort of furry stuffed creature. “Valentines day, “He huffed. “The kids are sweethearts, really. But I have no idea how I’m going to eat all of this. Probably going to have to leave half of it in the break room at the Inn, get everyone else as sugared up as I am.”

He barely heard Dream’s soft, rumbled laughter. “They appreciate you.” Hob grinned down at his shoes and Dream shifted to brush their shoulders just the smallest bit. A quiet moment, and then, very very softly, “You are very…easy to appreciate.”

Goddammit. Hobs breath streamed out in the snappy air as he opened his mouth, shut it, cleared his throat. If his face hadn’t already been red from the chill, it damn well would be now.

Dream went on. “Your student’s appreciation was very sweet. And. In some cases, very loud. Today.” He tipped back his chin to look at the clouds scudding by.

“Aha.” Hobs grin bloomed. “Inspiration, you said. I see. You were…appreciating how inspiring my student’s appreciation was.”

“Perhaps.” Innocent.

Hob felt a wave of something familiar and impossible to smother, a kind of unbearable fondness, well up from the core of himself. Acting on impulse, he thrust his hand into the sack propped against his hip and came up with a…heart-shaped lolly. Of course. Swirled in shades of blue and orange that looked like it would give you some kind of radioactive superpower if this was a comic. Lucky for him it wasn’t. He grinned and handed it over with a wink. “Well, I’d appreciate if you’d help me eat some of this. Seeing as how you’re here.”

Dream took it with an unreadable expression.

“It won’t irradiate you,” Hob said. “Er…probably.”

“Hmm.” Dream stated at it. He twirled it between his fingers. Then he tugged the wrapper off and, with great deliberation, slid it into his mouth.

Hob swallowed. “I, uhh-“

And was cut off by a loud crunch.

Dream removed the stick from his mouth, completely devoid of lolly. He crunched a few more times, thoughtful. “That was….not terrible.”

A laugh burst loose from Hobs chest, only slightly breathless. “Bloody hell, you’re one of those lunatics who just crushes it right off, aren’t you? That wins first place for best new fact I’ve learned today.” At dreams blank look, he elaborated, “Sweets. You’re a cruncher. Heh, you know, that’s something I wouldn’t have thought, love, considering how you….uh…”

Dream said, “Hob.”

“Home!” Hob clapped his hands together, brightly. “Right! Lets go home! I’m freezing.”

“That is,” Dream intoned, “an inspired idea.”

“What the hell flavor is that, anyway?” Hob asked. Dream looked down at the empty stick, thoughtful. “I honestly don’t know.” He raised his gaze back to Hob, eyes so very bright. And, oh, the crinkle was back. “Perhaps you can tell me.”

When their mouths came together it was nearly hard enough to upset the bag all over the sidewalk.

Later that night-

“Dream, love, what are you doing, digging through all that?”

“I….nothing.” Innocent.

“Heh. Okay, fine. Let’s dump it, I’m sure there’s another one in there somewhere.”

#dreamling #the sandman netflix #dream x hob #Dreamling fic #Valentine’s Day #my fic #my first fic in nearly 20 years #❤️❤️❤️ #Hob insisted he take the flowers

[tapioca-puddingg]

One, the Goddess of Diligence: A Drakengard 3 Analysis

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!

Hey, it's been a while since I've done one of these. I took a break from doing these long analyses in favor of shorter and quicker content just because it's easier on my brain. I apologize to those that I may have kept waiting with this one, but I'm back now.

If you're new to my blog, I post analyses about video game characters that I think are interesting, amongst other things. This is my Seven Deadly Sins/Heavenly Virtues series of Drakengard 3. And do be sure to like, reblog or leave a comment if you enjoy my insane ramblings.

"Facing the people crowding the streets, I gave a wave from atop my steed. This caused them to cheer even louder, and I felt the animal tense beneath me. I am not fond of horses due to their strong odor, but in this case I could sympathize with the beast. We were both being forced to parade our way from the harbor towards the cathedral. I would have preferred to have snuck back after sunset; I wanted to be alone. My mind, exhausted from battle, sorely needed a rest. But I was not allowed to be so selfish. It was my duty as an Intoner to symbolize order and peace having returned to the world, even if that meant being made a spectacle of. And how could the innocent people know that their cries of elation were causing me, with my heightened senses, to feel as if my head were being split in two?"

One is the second eldest Intoner sister and is the head of the Cathedral City. As the second eldest, she is the leader of the Intoner sisters. She is level-headed, intelligent, and capable. Not to mention the fact that she is well-respected by her younger sisters. Of the Intoner sisters, One is the most interesting in my opinion. She's the only Intoner that becomes self-aware and questions the world around her.

As with the others, One's novella gives us more insight into her thought processes, as well as her struggles and curiosities. She behaves as you'd expect; calm, composed, deliberate, thoughtful, calculated. Every move she makes has an intent and a purpose, and her logic is always sound. As I said a second ago, she’s the only Intoner to question their collective existence; where they came from, why they’re so powerful, etc. Her assessment of her sisters is objective, as she sees the good and the bad in all of them. As such, she does her best to position them for success as leaders in each of their respective lands, and tries to play to their individual strengths. For instance, she tasks Two with governing the Land of Sands in hopes that her optimistic nature could lift the spirits of the citizens, given how hard life in the Land of Sands is.

And yet, One has her own struggles, just like any of us would. Each Intoner deals with a certain bodily aspect that continuously grows at an alarming rate. Two's physical strength/muscles, Three's hair, Four's fingernails, Five's breasts, and One's senses continue to grow far faster than that of a normal human. For One, it is easy for her to become overstimulated due to her heightened sense of smell, hearing, touch, taste, and sight. The taste of food is too intense, the body odor of humans and animals are too strong, and even the feeling of clothes on her body can be uncomfortable. It's the reason why she's always in solitude. Damn, she just like me fr. Anyway, on top of having to shoulder so much responsibility on her own due to Zero's absence, she also is having to battle with heightened senses that hinder her everyday life. That takes a lot of strength.

"A disciple is a tool for battle. But it didn’t feel right using someone else as a weapon. So instead, I created a copy of myself. And since it was a copy… no matter what happened to it, it would always forgive me. Or I would forgive myself, I suppose. I used the Cathedral’s magical energy to infuse my copy with disciple-like powers. More than enough to take on the lords of these lands. Thus, I gained a partner I could rely on. And a way to forgive myself for what I had to do."

Not counting Zero, One was the only Intoner to not be given a disciple. She created Brother One from one of her ribs as both a combat partner and a failsafe in case she died. She also admits in her Prologue that she was lonely, so I'm sure that also may have been a factor in this decision. One is also vastly introspective, always pondering over philosophical or moral dilemmas. She notes the benefits of having a disciple and lists her sisters' main motivators in their lives: sex, honor, cruelty, and romance respectively. But she struggles to answer what it is that she truly desires in this life. In being the primary leader, she's bound by so much responsibility and duty that she doesn't really get to be herself, whatever that may mean. She always has to put the needs of everyone else before herself.

"You pretend to be all grown-up and mature, but you haven’t changed since childhood. We all need some kind of mental support, you know? Even Intoners. Heck, you probably need it MORE than the rest of us." "I suppose there’s some truth to that. Perhaps we’re weaker than we’d like to admit." "Aw, come ON! You’re supposed to get all mad and yell and stuff! I don’t like this pensive you. Quit messing with my head!"

Gabriella, being the boss bitch that she is, calls out One for shouldering too much responsibility on her own. One agrees with this, which, surprisingly, catches Gabriella off guard. What I find really interesting is that she says, "I don't like this pensive you." This implies that One used to respond negatively to Gabriella's brutal honesty but has grown since then.

And speaking of Gabriella, I wanna talk about her for a bit before I move on. Her personality so unique from all the other characters in the game. It feels like if you took a person from the real world and plopped them into a video game. They say that a dragon can see a person's heart, their true nature. And she always lives up to that expectation. The One/Gabriella partnership is almost opposite to the Zero/Mikhail partnership. Mikhail is a literal child and Zero is sort of motherly to him. She softens up to Mikhail more and more as you progress through the other branches. Even though their dynamic is short-lived, Gabriella is like an aunt. She doesn't mince words, but I got the impression that she does care about One at least a little bit. She sees some good in her. So that has me wondering, what the hell happened to her? By the time the main game starts, Gabriella has been replaced by Gabriel, and Zero states that he's a demon dragon whose power has been enhanced to fight off her and Mikhail. She was about to talk about the consequence of doing such a thing, but she trailed off before the line was finished. One of the last things Gabriella says is that she's the boss of her own fate. With her being so headstrong, I can't imagine her going along with being transformed in this way. Perhaps she agreed to do it because she grew to trust One? We may never know this tidbit.

"If you think you’re the only one suffering here, you’re out of your goddamn mind! Two, Three, Four, Five… You gave life to each and every one of them. Then you went and killed them all! What did you expect? Cursing the world then saving the world. You thought you could do everything by yourself? Well, THIS IS WHAT YOU FUCKING GET!"

As for the events of the main game, she is the voice of authority, as usual. By the end of Branch A, she's killed by Zero and is then killed by Two in Branch B. But come Branch C and D is where things get more interesting. By both branches, One is completely self-aware. She knows that the Intoners originate from Zero and that the Flower won't stop until it destroys the world. One has reached the same conclusion as Zero in that the Intoners should not exist, as they pose a major threat to the world. However, this is where they clash. Their goals lie within their names. Zero wants all the Intoners to be killed, including herself. One believes that she herself should be the only surviving Intoner. Maybe that's why the two of them share the same color scheme: they're more similar than they are different.

One hopes that her and Zero are able to understand each other since they both have a mutual understanding of their place in the world. But Zero of course shuts down the idea, calling her an "offshoot." Despite literally fighting for her life, she remained calm for a lot of this fight, but she does break her composure in the above quote. It's about time. She points out the contradictory nature of the situation, the fact that Zero created the Intoners just to destroy them in the end. She's technically not wrong, but we know that it's not the whole truth.

I mentioned One's loneliness earlier, and another wrinkle in this is the fact that she becomes the only sentient Intoner. Throughout the entire main story, she's aware of the aforementioned info about their link to the Flower, but she keeps it to herself. Maybe she thinks that her sisters wouldn't understand. And during the later branches, when the other Intoners start to become driven insane by the Flower's influence, she's the only one to remain sane. By sheer willpower alone! She is killed in all branches, never getting to bring peace to this world the way she envisioned. I start to feel bad for her when I think about it like this.

Because I gave her the title of the Goddess of Diligence, this would make her a foil to Three, as diligence and sloth are opposites. Both women have proven to be highly intelligent and curious. The difference being the way they wield their knowledge, right? Three constantly uses her intelligence for her own self-indulgence, without a thought or care of the people she's victimized. One, whether you agree with her actions or not, does what she believes is the right thing for the greater good of humanity.

Her last appearance is in the Final Song. Because she is an odd number, her dance is asymmetrical. One is usually so composed, and yet here she is, thrashing and flailing about. She's not at all timed to the music, nor is there a direction. Her movements are more controlled than Three's, for instance. But not as controlled as the others. Almost seems as if she's fighting. Fighting for control of her fate? Fighting for the peace that she envisioned? Perhaps fighting for her own autonomy.

TLDR: One was an intelligent, capable leader that only sought to do the right thing. Because Zero had no intention of being a leader, she was given a mountain of responsibilities to bear alone, until she created Brother One. She was also someone that dealt with her share of loneliness, as well as overwhelming sensory issues. She died by Zero's hand and shared the same fate as her other sisters, never getting to enact the peace that she wanted.

AFTERTHOUGHT:

Phew! I changed things up this time around bc I felt that it flowed better this way. If you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading and I do hope you enjoyed it. And I do apologize again for those that had to wait such a long time for this. I promise that I never forgot about these analyses, I just put them off bc they require a lot of brain power. Anyways tho, that's the post. Dunno when I'll start doing Zero's, but it'll probably be in two or three parts. Thanks again, until the next post!

#drakengard #drakengard 3 #dod3 #drag on dragoon #drag on dragoon 3 #intoner #intoners #intoner one #square enix #yoko taro #analysis #videogamewomen

[oops-all-concrete]

Not to post about Astarion twice in a row, but I've had a thought that I really don't want to be alone with, and am even happy to be disproved/comforted on?

Spoilers for BG3 below (Keep in mind I've not finished the game but I'm in Act III)

ALSO CW for angst and discussions surrounding sex (namely unealthy)

If you sleep with Astarion at the teifling party in act one but break it off with him later, (when he's throwing all his lines at you) he has this line of "I've gotten on my back 10,000 times or more and forgotten half of them" and I think I'm just overthinking the wording, but let me explain where my brain went.

He uses the term "On my back" over, say; "slept with" / "made love to" or his usual "entertained" (he says "I'll entertain myself" if you reject him at the teifling party after saying yes, and he says "we could always make our own entertainment" as a means to refer to sex, so he does use that term to refer to sexual activity)

"On my back" gives this impression of being used, being underneath someone else (physically and metaphorically) and otherwise not having control, something he's experienced a lot of for the past 2 centuries. He's not a participant, any more than he is a person to Cazador, he's barely there. He's only as present as the other person needs him to be. It's telling in how almost defeated it sounds, just laying there, but it's not just that.

It's also hiding his scars. The infernal on his back which he never understood. It was on his body but not his business since he was property according to the man who carved them there. Nobody tells walls what graffiti is on them. Astarion is just an object capable of turning around, protecting and hiding those parts of himself. Notice his high collar (hardly, but just about) covering his bites, the way you don't really see his teeth until after the reveal.

He gives the impression of a man with all his cards out, but he's keeping most things close to his chest. It's all very deliberate, not a mindless defence mechanism. The only mindless thing is his pursuit of sex, but thats a habit 200 years in the making. Being on his back makes him compliant and useful, sure, but its tactical. He's able to keep a piece of him hidden, at least for a while. It's strategic intimacy, the only kind he knows. Thought out, weighed up, and out of gain/power.

Which just becomes even more heart breaking as he follows up with; "But you, I'll remember" sounding just so solemn. He's got nothing to gain from you now, no need to lie or cheat, whatever game there was is over. He's telling you out of truth, and why wouldn't it be the truth? Since he got bit, you were his first out of choice, completely within his own control. Even if it is for nefarious reason. It was his choice. He didn't have to, he wanted. It was for him.

A man who's not made many choices for two hundred years is going to remember the few decisions he gets.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion headcanons #bg3 headcanons

[copperbadge]

Hi Sam! In a change of topic, how's the writing going? The Shivadh Omnibus has made its way onto my Hannukkah list, and I'm thinking of recommending it to my mom too - I'm not usually a big romance reader (I admit I was surprised how much I loved the Shivadhverse - I knew I'd like it as someone who enjoys your fic, but didn't realize how much I'd love it!), and she tends to enjoy those kinds of stories. Could be fun! Anyway, best of luck on writing and editing and all that, you're a star :)

Aw, that is a nice change of topic :) I hope if you do recc it, your mother enjoys them! 

The writing is going okay -- better than it often has, and no more torturous than ever, in any case.

Twelve Points is complete and in a bit of pre-beta now, hoping to post it either later this month or early next. I'm doing a slight rewrite based on my Eurovision beta having some feedback.

The book after that, The Royals And The Ramblers (may still change that title) is giving me a bit of grief because I want it to be a romance between Georgie, the bodyguard from LATT, and Monday, Eddie's sister. But because it's framed by Eddie and Gregory getting married and asking Monday to be their surrogate, there's a lot of other nonsense overshadowing the romance, which is feeling tacked-on as a result, and nobody wants tacked-on lesbians! I'm still working on it and it may flow well in the end (I also felt really bad about the last quarter or so of Twelve Points until I re-read it and realized it was actually fine). But it will be a long book, there's no way around that.

I am also fumbling around in other stories, mostly Shivadh but some not. Overall I'm enjoying myself, which is the important thing :D But at the moment I'm not pushing myself too hard, since I managed four books in a year and that is a lot. I sometimes like to deliberately take a no-writing break because often about a week in I get my breath back and start working again.

Sherlock Holmes fully entering the public domain soon does make me want to dust off some of my old stuff and perhaps expand it with an eye to publication, but we'll see.

#writing #shivadhverse

[soulofapatrick]

Caught in the Act - Tommy Miller x Reader

Summary: Tommy decides he's gonna flirt with you during one of Maria’s town hall meeting and see where it leads him 

Words: 1.7k 

Warnings: none 

Y/N’s POV

I can’t not notice Tommy when he bites his lip, those russet eyes dragging up and down my body, and I have to look away quickly as he’s being an ass. I try to focus on what Maria’s saying about what needs to be done over the next week like border patrols and supply runs as well as checking if there are any gaps in the walls around Jackson. My eyes are sliding back to Tommy as he shifts in seat and spreading his legs in those tight jeans that leave little to the imagination. 

His eyebrow raises as he catches my gaze, catching me staring at his crotch and I’m flushing as I will myself to break the stare but it’s like he’s got me locked. I’m stuck, eyes dropping to his lips when he darts his tongue out to wet his bottom lip and it’s almost dirty the way he makes something so innocent so hot, a rush of heat spreading through me. 

Maria’s booming voice is still filling the room, reminding me where I am and how dangerous of a game this is that Tommy’s playing. He’s leaning forwards, taking a cherry from the table, holding my gaze the whole time as he chews and I can’t help but notice the small drop of juice escape the corner of his mouth. It trickles down his chin and he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb and then he’s sucking the juice off of his thumb with a stupid smirk playing on those pretty lips. His tongue darting out to lick them clean again, the red juice staining his bottom lip and making it shiny, the contrast between the bright red of the cherry juice and the pink of his lips is incredibly alluring and I have to sit on my hands to stop myself doing anything stupid. 

Tommy notices as his smirk gets wider, popping another cherry in his mouth and I think my heart tries to break through my chest and arousal pools between my legs when he begins tying the stem with his tongue. I can’t not watch in fascination as he works the stem with his mouth, the movements slow and deliberate like he’s trying to seduce me without saying a words and fuck me it’s working. He pulls the stem from his lips, revealing a perfectly tied knot and he’s flashing me a grin before going for another cherry. 

Before he can do anything Joel is elbowing Tommy and hissing something at his younger brother who has a proud and self-satisfied smile on his face. I take the opportunity to really look at Tommy. His shoulder length curls framing his face perfectly, small goatee and mustard giving him a rugged and masculine look. He wears a blue button up that fits him just right, emphasising his broad chest and muscular arms, his blue denim jacket, lined with the warmest fleece, adding an extra layer of ruggedness to his look. His chest strong and toned under the shirt. His sun kissed skin and freckles contract the ruggedness, giving him somewhat of a boyish, innocent look. His muscular arms and thick thighs are incredibly attractive and have definitely been part of my late night thoughts for a while now. 

His russet eyes are striking, turning a deep cognac brown in the sunlight streaming through the windows of the town hall. I can’t help myself with getting lost in them as he interacts with Joel. Those plump lips are curling into a slow and sultry smile and I realise he’s caught me staring, those russet eyes twinkling mischievously. There’s a slight pinkness to his cheeks, as though he’s caught off guard by my gaze and the realisation that I reciprocate the attractiveness makes me feel a little vulnerable. However, it only lasts a second as he gathers himself and his eyes flick between mine and my lips. 

The meeting comes to an end and people are filing out of the hall but I can’t seem to move from my seat no matter how much I try. It’s as though I’m paralysed by the magnetic pull that Tommy seems to have on me as he sends his goodbyes to his brother and niece until it’s just me and him in the hall. He’s turning back to face me, moving closer with every step calculated. His hips move almost seductively as he approaches and I can’t help be drawn in even more by the way he uses his body to captivate and entice, as if he’s playing a game and he knows exactly how to win. 

He’s stopping in front of me, leaning down and placing his hands on the arms of the chair as he brings his lips close to my ear, breath hot against my skin when he whispers, “I can see what I do to you sweet girl.” The scent of him, a combination of music and leather mixed with that vanilla shampoo I know he uses and the sweetness of the cherries, fills my sense and leaves me feeling intoxicated. His voice is low and husky, sending shiver down my spine as he speaks, the sound like a physical caress and I find myself wanting more, craving his touch as he speaks, “I like you sweet girl.” 

His words are dizzying and my heart is pounding as I struggle to catch my breath. It’s clear from the way he’s pulled back enough to see my reaction, the intensity of his gaze, that he’s not lying and that he really isn’t just flirting for the thrill of it. There’s something real and genuine between us, something simmering just below the surface. I’m struggling to process the flood of emotions that follow his words. Part of me is thrilled and elated, excited by the idea of exploring this connection further while the other part is scared, uncertain of what this could mean for us. 

My body betrays my anxieties though, responding to the closeness of his body and the growing tension in the air the longer I’m just sat staring at him. His beautiful face seems to fall and he’s going to stand back to his full height which is far from what I want and in a panic my hand is darting from my lap to tangle in his hair. I’m pulling him back down and our lips meet in a searing kiss, the tension and desire between us exploding into passion. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, the kiss intense and passionate as our tongues fight for dominance and sound of our breathing, ragged and uneven, fills the air. 

Tommy’s hands are on my body, gripping my hips as he pulls me up from the chair and walks us backwards until his back hits the stage. He breaks the kiss, both of us panting and gasping as he hops up onto the stage, his strong and calloused hands pulling me up and onto his lap with no problems. I can feel the strength and power radiating through his body, both exhilarating and intimidating at the same time. One of his arms wrapping around my back, the muscles in his thighs and arms flexing as he holds me with a confident and steady grip. I’m surrendering to his control almost immediately, a small whimper leaving my lips. 

His hand that was in my hair finds it’s way back there, pulling me forwards into another kiss, his solid chest pressing against mine as my knees settle either side of his thick thighs, too lost in the moment to care about how my knees are probably going to be bruised later by the wood of the stage. My hands are unable to decide whether they want to be in his soft curls or feeling up his chest so one stays in his hair while the other slides over his chest, feeling the solid muscles beneath his shirt. I feel so lost in the moment, gasping when the arm that’s around my back pulls my hips down against him, eliciting a low growl from deep in his chest. 

Neither Tommy nor I hear the door of the hall open again until a familiar voice is clearing their throat and I’m squeaking in embarrassment, trying to scramble off of Tommy’s lap but his grip on my doesn’t let up so I bury my face in the crook of his neck. 

“As lovely as it is to see you two getting over the sexual tension I’d rather you didn’t do it on my damn stage.” Her tone is stern and I’m too scared to move my face out of the crook of Tommy’s neck, already able to imagine how she looks. She’s probably standing with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised as her piercing gaze flickers between us before she’s shaking her head almost fondly and saying, “Go on, go deal with this in your own homes please.” 

Tommy’s sliding me from his lap and off the edge of the stage before he’s sliding off too, his large and calloused hand finding mine as we exchange a sheepish glance with Maria. He’s got a mischievous glint his eyes as he leans close to me, whispering so quiet only I can hear, “I plan on bringing every single one of your fantasies about me to life tonight sweet girl.” 

“Go on before I put you on scooping horse shit duty.” Maria’s talking over my splutter and Tommy’s grinning that cheeky, shit eating grin as he’s sends Maria a quick ‘yes ma’am’ before he’s pulling me out the door with a shiver of anticipation and excitement escaping me as I know Tommy means his words. 

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

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#Tommy miller #Tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x y/n #tommy miller x you #Tommy miller fluff #Tommy miller angst #Tommy miller smut #Tommy miller drabble #tommy miller x female reader #tommy miller fanfiction #Tommy miller fics #Gabriel luna #soulofapatrick #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us angst #the last of us smut #the last of us fluff #tlou angst #tlou smut #tlou fluff #tlou Tommy #Tommy tlou

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

Maybe you can earn a reward if you keep up the good behavior. I also value communication, I think honesty and talking things out is very important.

-My leniency depends on the context of the situation. You wont be punished every time you brat out, I do believe that sometimes bratting can be just about bantering and having fun. If a goal is set I'll be firm on having it completed. And deliberately breaking rules will not be overlooked.

-I'm big on self care so expect a few things on that. I'd say one would be that time must be scheduled out for the things you enjoy, time to relax/decompress/have some fun is needed. What's an example of a rule you would like to be implemented?

-A soft limit would be using impact tools during impact sessions. A hard limit is anything that falls under age play. Is there anything you don't like?

Oh I know I'm smart. I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. You want to find out what happens when you brat? Start misbehaving.

-🍂

I want a reward! I’ll be good for now, don’t worry. But once my energy is back, TRUST that my bratty side will come out. I hope you’re prepared…

Hmmm you sound perfect, strict when it counts but also understanding. Unfortunately, I am a fan of breaking rules on purpose occasionally, just to see what happens. Once I know what the punishment is, I’ll most likely not break a rule on purpose again. Idk, I guess we’ll find out how much of a brat I can be!

Ooooh that’s an excellent example of a rule! Hmm, one of my favorite rules would be that a sub must ask their dom for permission to touch themselves or cum… something about giving power over like that is so appealing.

I don’t like age play either, just for myself personally lol idc what other people do!! That’s a good soft limit, I like the idea of impact play but again, not much irl experience with that. The one experience I did have was amazing though.

A limit for me… the only one I’m comfortable sharing publicly would be that I really hate public humiliation or showing too much of my personal life on Tumblr. I like to think that I share a part of me on this blog, and I keep the rest of my life off of it. If that makes sense? It’s almost like I’ve created a persona for this blog, and I don’t really like straying from it. Whew that was a tangent oopsies.

Oh? Challenge accepted.

#🍂 anon

[sbblake]

im nothing special the most i am is a vessel that feels too deeply and expresses my feelings through art when i cant speak them aloud because ive bottled it all up for countless years and im terrified of the wall that holds the pushing water of the dam inside me breaking but i’d be so kind to you and give you all my affection because i dont know anything besides being wholly and completely passionate about anything i ever gave a shit about and im always the one to listen when its needed i’ll hold you close when it’s necessary i swear im worth it i’d do anything to prove it i’d do horrible grueling things for a hand softly resting on my cheek for a few seconds or a fleeting arm around my waist because im never touched enough never savored or kept i am but a thing to bring laughter when it’s convenient but i promise i can be more i promise i can be better and worthy of love i know i dont look like anything worth a second thought and im not conventionally attractive and im clearly not worth anything more than a half hearted compliment but i cling to what i love and everything that’s been taken from me is deeply lacerated and bleeding because i never know how to let go of anything i ever held sacred to myself like an animal with claws deranged and so hungry it’s starving to death fighting for a just a taste but those i have cared for are no different i swear im someone i swear im more than what i show i swear im more than this stupid being i wait i wait i wait and nothing comes it’s countless pessimistic “what if”s and muted instagram stories and my heart, carved and bared from ribs that were never really that sturdy to begin with it’s every insecurity i have and a stupid rotted mind and directionless feet but i still move forward i take each step deliberately because if there’s anything i am it’s persistent because life will never allow anything less no matter it’s misery or suffering or bleakness i am just human i am just human and i swear im worth it, i have to be somewhere deep deep down even if i dont believe it myself for a single second my lungs burn my hands shake my eyes water with endless desire i just want and want and want and i dont know how to stop. i simply sit and want, want, want. perpetually, i want.

#im starving for something romantic #god i just need to be cared for #even for a moment #vent poetry #vent poem #original poem #poems and poetry #personal vent #vent post #mlm yearning #poetry #poetry of tumblr #poetry of the heart

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 14: We'll Be A Fine Line

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Before Michael’s first day at work, he overhears a conversation between you and your sister, and the day just keeps getting weirder from there. But he still has you. Right?

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, foreshadowing, mentions of child abuse, spiders

Word Count: 7.4k (oops)

A/n: Giving you this because I won’t be able to post before Wednesday, probably, because of my last final. So yeah, here you go. Have at it. This is not full-on angst, I'm just warming you up. Chapter 15 hurts though. Everyone, say fuck you to the spider in my room that made me sleep in the bathtub last night :) I don't know how I'm supposed to move out and get rid of them MYSELF?! (also, how can a person be so cute WHILE FROWNING??)

The first day in a new workplace is always the most challenging because you don’t know what to expect. 

Michael has never paid much mind to coffee before he met you, but thanks to you, his knowledge has expanded. Does he know how to make it? No. He gets confused by your modern machine at home, and he fears he might feel the same way at the café, but it’s the place he met you, so it’s connected to happy memories.

He is a fast learner, or so he has been told. And when you told him that you used to live off of instant coffee and couldn’t afford Starbucks or the like, and so you also paid no mind to good coffee before, he felt a little less alone. 

You learned, so he will too. 

“Caramel or hazelnut?” you ask, sitting at the dining table with your cup of coffee in hand and your phone before you on the table. 

Until a few seconds ago, you were engaged in the New York Times’ new Wordle game that dropped this morning, and now you’re blurting out random questions and Michael is so confused, he almost drops his mug. 

“Wha’?” he asks back. 

He looks cute with his hair disheveled, wearing his boxers and a shirt, and his face still scrunched up from sleep. 

You look at him with a smile. “Hazelnut or caramel?” you repeat your question. 

“Uh… hazelnut?” 

“Wrong, caramel.”

His frown deepens. “What?”

“Best topping flavor,” you say. “It’s caramel, not hazelnut.”

Shaking his head, he turns back to his coffee and pours some extra hazelnut syrup into his brew, right in front of your face.

You point behind him. “Toss me the caramel syrup, will ya?” 

“If I toss it, yer not gonna catch it,” he says. 

“And what makes you think that?”

“You put milk in the cupboard when yer sleep deprived.”

You pause for a second before nodding, a soft blush coating your cheeks. “That’s fair,” you reply. With a heavy sigh, you return to your phone. 

Michael sits down next to you, peeking at the screen. “Ya still lookin’ fer a five-letter word?” he asks. 

“Yeah. It’s really pissing me off. Like, what the fuck am I supposed to do with an E and an S?”

“Try ‘Feast.”

You type the word into the Wordle boxes. The letter T lights up orange and your eyes light up. He loves when that happens. You look like a child on Christmas Day, and something tells him you didn’t have many moments in the past where you got to be excited like this.

His thoughts flicker back to the drawer you religiously keep locked, and his curiosity flares up again. It’s dangerous; when he gets curious, he often gets curious enough to snoop around. But he knows if he deliberately breaks into the drawer, he will lose you forever, and he doesn’t want that to happen. 

“Meets,” he blurts out. 

You raise your eyebrows. “Meets?” you ask. 

“Yes.”

You type the word in, and lo and behold, it turns out to be the word they were looking for, and the screen explodes with confetti. You squeal in excitement and jump off your chair before sitting back down, pulling your leg up to your chest. 

“Amen,” you say. 

He smirks. “You’re welcome.”

“Right,” you remember and add, “Thank you, baby.”

Humming, he says, “That’s better.”

You cradle his cheek with a playful glint in his eyes and kiss him, then indulge back in your coffee. You savor the taste, your eyes closing, and you slowly begin to wake fully. You have to get ready soon, but for soon you want to spend your peaceful morning with the man you love.

He hasn’t stayed with you that much the past couple of days, which made you a little sad, but he is here now. You spent the night together. You didn’t have sex, much of the opposite. When Michael heard that you like to watch football, he got excited and convinced you to watch the Manchester game. Needless to say, it ended in a discussion about your favored team against his, and you went to bed with popcorn still stuck in your hair. You can swear there is still a piece stuck somewhere from your food fight, even after a shower. 

Though when your phone rings and Maya’s name shows up on your screen, your demeanor changes completely. Your body tenses up and the adrenaline starts coursing through your veins. “Excuse me,” you mutter, completely blocking out that it’s Michael you’re with, “I have to take this.”

He frowns again. Something isn’t right. You tense up instantly, and he catches a glimpse of a female name on your screen. Your smile fades. Instead, the corners of your mouth turn down. 

You get up and pass by him without another word, disappearing into the bedroom. He knows he shouldn’t do it, but your behavior is suspicious and he feels the desperate urge to protect you from whatever got you switching attitude this quickly. So against his better judgment, he gets up and follows you, stopping just before the bedroom door. 

And he is glad he decided to do so because as he stands there, he finally catches another glimpse of who you truly are beneath all the layers of endless defenses and brick walls you have built around yourself. They are almost impossible to break through, and hearing you talk in a hushed tone to whoever is on the phone opens up another door to your heart he hasn’t seen before, and apparently doesn’t get to see when you’re in his immediate presence. 

You answered the phone with a sudden and firm, “Are you okay?”

“What?” Maya says. She sounds almost carefree, and you relax a little when she continues, “I just called to tell you that I found something very exciting for you during my field trip.”

“Are you fucking–” You sigh. Idiot. “I thought something happened to you,” you say.

There is a short pause. “I’m okay,” she says. 

“Thank God! Next time maybe give me a heads up. Maybe a quick ‘Hey, I’m calling because I’m happy not because I’m half-dead in a ditch’ or something. I don’t know.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t– I don’t want you to even start that. I fell into a habit of constantly apologizing for things I didn’t do because of him and I don’t want you to feel like you have to do the same.”

“Okay… I’m sorry.”

“Maya,” you take a warning tone. 

“Okay, okay, chill out! I won’t apologize,” she retorts. “Jesus, you old people are all so condescending.”

You gasp. “Old?!”

“You know what I mean. Anyway, can I tell you now what I got you?”

You can’t deny that teenagers are exhausting. As much as you love your sister, they tend to be a lot more honest than the general population.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, you cross your legs to get a bit more comfortable. “Sure,” you say, your lip curling into a smile instead of a frown, and you listen intently as Maya tells you about a new historical romance book and that she got it for you. 

“Anyway, I have to find a way to mail it to you,” she says. “If I can sneak past Dad and Mom somehow, I can sneak into the post office, and then off it goes.”

You’re not used to hearing her so cheery, and it melts your heart. That’s the kind of girl she’s supposed to be. Excited about buying a book and smiling about it, and skipping happily on the phone with you on her way home. She’s not supposed to live in constant fear of her parents, and she’s not supposed to feel responsible for taking care of her own mother. You went through the same thing, except that with her, your father isn’t as… violent. But control and emotional abuse are also a form of violence that will leave a child scarred forever. He has a weird way of showing his love.

And with you, he just didn’t like you that much. It took you a while to realize that what he was doing was abuse, but when you realized you were the only child of his getting caught in the crossfire because you were the oldest and the most disappointing, it hurt even more.

You wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, but you were so alone taking care of everyone and still not being enough. It hurts, still, but you don’t let it get to you. You try to, at least.

The reason Maya keeps the connection to you hidden is not to protect herself but you and your mom, and that is sad in itself because she’s only a teenager. She’s your little sister, your little girl, and it sucks absolute balls that every attempt to get her to live with you somehow failed or didn’t even end up in motion because of the fear of consequences and causing more harm than good. It sucks and you hate it and it makes you sad. 

“Just be careful, okay?” you say. You love the thought of receiving a gift, but you can’t have her risking her safety because of it. 

She sighs wearily. “I know.” And gone is her happiness, instead replaced by dread.

You can hear her shoulders slump as she continues walking, and it breaks your heart as fast as it had melted. Now it is hard as a rock again, and it breaks right through. 

“How’s everything else at home?”

“It’s… okay. Dad’s been rather normal, and he doesn’t suspect anything. I apologized, we made up, and he eased the control a little. And Mom… well, she’s being Mom. She didn’t have a seizure again, so her meds are working, but she had some fresh bruises when I came home from the field trip, and I–” Maya takes a deep, shaky breath. “I hate it,” she says. 

Your words exactly, and her helplessness makes you want to book a ticket for a flight home and just snatch her when nobody’s looking. At this point, you don’t even care about personal or legal consequences, you just want her to have a chance at a normal life. Like Michael. 

Like Eleanor should have had. 

“I’ve been writing mostly A’s,” she tries to lighten the mood, “So that is something good, I think.”

You can’t describe how proud of her you are for keeping her head up throughout all of this. You should have never left, but it got too much, and you were tired of being the one who had to take his rage all the time, and you were tired of being forced to stay strong when everyone else got a chance to grieve. Two years you took the abuse, and you took it almost nineteen years before that. You deserved a chance, and you took it when it presented itself. 

But you shouldn’t have left her alone. You should have found a way to fight and win, and you should have taken her with you. 

A tear escapes your tired eye. “That’s good,” you say, trying not to sound as broken as you are, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” she answers, hearing it genuinely for the first time. “Dad’s been calm because of that.”

“That’s possible, yeah. He was like that with me when I brought home an A, but that wasn’t often.”

“I know… I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m just scared that he’ll find out about us and then… I don’t want him to hurt you again. You remember what he said—”

“Hey,” you interrupt her. “Stop. I know what he said, but it won’t happen because he won’t find out,” you say. “If we’re both careful enough, that is. I want nothing more than to protect you. You know that.”

“But this isn’t about me,” she argues.

“Yes, it is. It’s always about you.”

“He will take his rage out on you.”

“If he does, I will find a way to deal with it. As long as no one alerts him, I’ll be fine. My only concern here is and will always be you, Maya.”

“But what if someone does alert him?”

“I can’t think of anyone who would.” You don’t have enemies. You’re always kind to others and aim to please them. No one has ever been dissatisfied enough to threaten you or wish death upon you, so you’re confident no one in your life would ring the bells in England.

“I really can’t think of anyone, and that’s a good thing,” you insist. “So we just take care and I’ll be fine, and you are going to be fine, too. One day soon, I will get you here and we’ll be alright.”

You hope, at least. 

She pauses again, taking another deep breath. “But let’s imagine he does,” she prompts. 

“I’ll cross that bridge if it ever comes to it,” you say. “If he tries to kill me… well, let him. I will find a way to fight back. I survived eighteen years of his torture, and then another two years, and I will survive now, too. But he won’t come here. If he wanted to hurt me, he would have already. My whereabouts are no secret.”

“Your address is.”

“He probably found that out already. So you see, I’m fine and I will be fine. So stop worrying. Please.”

“Okay,” Maya caves eventually. “I believe you. As long as you promise me not to dig into anything that could alert him. And I’ll try to be careful around him.”

“Trust me,” but this time, you are lying to both her and yourself, “I won’t dig into anything.”

“You have the files.”

Damn her for being so smart and aware of everything. 

“I haven’t dug into anything for a while and I’m happy just like that,” you tell her. “I won’t risk it. I promise.”

“How happy?”

You smile, looking at the door and thinking about the man in your kitchen–you believe he’s in the kitchen. You’ve kept your voice hushed and he’s not one to pry. 

Except that he is, and he‘s standing frozen in shock in front of your bedroom door. 

You bite your lip. “Oh, I’m just happy. Happy enough to admit it.”

“I’m glad. Out of everyone, you deserve it the most,” she says. 

“Thank you…” You smile sadly. “I wish for you to find the kind of happiness I have here one day. It’s better than living in fear or pain all the time, anyway.”

“Thanks. I hope so, too.”

“I wish you could have grown up with Ellie, it would have been so much better for you,” you say. “But we’ll figure it out.”

The past always gets you so damn sentimental.

“I guess we will,” Maya replies. “Well, I’m almost home, so I gotta hang up now.”

“Right.”

“Talk to you soon?”

“Sure.”

“Okay… love you!”

You wipe another tear from your cheek. “I love you too,” you say. 

The line clicks and she’s gone. Just like that. You put the phone down and stare at the wall. The emotions swirling in your chest drag you down and tear you apart, and it hurts so much more than any knife ever could. 

You try to calm down, trying not to seem like you have been crying because Michael always notices, and your defenses come back up. 

Time to face the day and be there for him, and then you will open that drawer and look at the file again because if you don’t, you might go crazy. The dominos have started falling; you can’t stop them now, anyway.

Once he’s in prison, you can get Maya because he will lose custody and visitation rights, and your mother is an emotional wreck, so you are the one they would grant custody to. Thirty years old, now in a relationship, a job with a stable income, and an apartment. They would give her to you because you’re family and she’s a teenager; she can take care of herself for the most part, and you’d be her confidant and caretaker when she needs it. You want nothing more than that.

Even if it means moving to London and leaving four years of Dublin–and Michael–behind, you would do it.

Surely, he would understand. And you could go for a long-distance relationship, or he could come with you. You would make it work without losing him.

But you would choose Maya over the man you love any day because when you love someone like a child, they will always come first. 

Michael stands in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, and smiles softly when he sees you entering. “Ya alright?” he asks. 

You nod. It’s a lie. You’re far from alright, but you need to focus on what lies before you, which is his first day at work, and maybe you can find it in yourself to forget for a while again as you did at the carnival.

“I’m alright,” you lie. 

“Good.”

“Yeah.”

But now even Michael knows you’re far from alright. Not just today but in general; overhearing your phone call set off the alarms in his head, the most prominent one ringing for your safety. It sounded like you’re in danger, and that from your own father; he gets how it is. He had an asshole of a father and if he ever comes back and touches his daughter or you, he will rage. But it’s your father now, too, and he is scared of what might happen. 

He has to protect you at all costs, no matter what. 

He welcomes you with open arms when you place your head on his chest and hug your arms around him. You’re seeking comfort, and after what he overheard, that is no wonder. He wishes you would tell him and then you can find a solution, and he can find a way to protect you when he knows just what he has to protect you from. But you stay silent, closing your eyes and melting into the hug. This is what you need. 

One hand rubs your back, the other coming to rest on the back of your head. He almost covers you whole and pulls you impossibly closer. You sigh. His touch is made of gold, it seems. It never fails to make you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world to him.

“You sure yer okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Can you just hold me?”

He places his chin atop your head. “Yeah.”

“Thank you.” 

You shudder slightly but then relax under his soothing touch again. His heartbeat resonates in your ear. You match your breathing to him, and you can feel part of the weight falling off your shoulders. 

“Do you think we’ll be okay?” you find yourself asking into the silence.

His thumb glides over your scalp. “Okay with what?” he asks.

“Just in general. Are we gonna be alright?” you ask.

Michael sighs, tightening his grip on you. “It’s a fine line between bein’ alright and not bein’ alright.”

“I know that. Can you just… answer me, please?” You don’t want to cry. “Just for now, tell me what I want to hear, even if it’s isn’t the truth.”

“We’ll be alright,” Michael tells you, not missing a beat with his answer.

He’s worried, but you relax in his arms and his heart beats a little slower when your tears subside before they can fall.

He sounds determined, his voice unwavering, and the softness of his touch tells you that even though the road ahead might be rocky, he will stay by your side until things are alright again.

You relax further. You should tell him, but you can’t. If things resolve themselves, you can figure it out on your own without bothering or endangering him. Once he knows, his family will find out, and the more people know, the more danger Maya finds herself in–and you’re not entirely safe either.

You like to pretend you’re not scared and it doesn’t bother you, but there is something terrifying about thinking about your own parent and feeling the goosebumps creep up your spine as your amygdala goes crazy with worst-case scenarios. It keeps the body awake at night as the mind reels around the conflicted emotions the soul is communicating, and every night, you feel like a piece of you is dying inside.

It has been like this ever since you were a child, and it only keeps getting worse.

While getting ready later that morning, you turn to Michael and ask, “Dinner tonight?”

He snaps out of his thoughts, spitting out his toothpaste and nodding at you. “I’d love to,” he says. 

“Good, we have a date.”

“Date it is, then.”

You kiss him on your way to the bedroom where you left your outfit for the day.

You just want to forget, and a night with him having dinner and trying to be carefree sounds like the most conscious thing to do.

He helps you close the zipper on your dress in silence, adjusting the necklace you chose to wear today, and fixing your hair after it got a little messy. His lips ghost over your shoulder and he follows the galaxy of moles with gentle kisses.

Wrapping his arms around you, Michael inhales the scent of your perfume. “Yer so sweet,” he says.

You close your eyes and lean against him. “And you’re charming,” you say.

“That’s why ya love me.”

“Is it?”

He smacks your ass. “Yeah.”

You giggle, pulling away from him again. “Not today, sir.”

He pouts. You kiss him.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You return the sentiment with a gentle smile, “And I love you.”

Now his first day at work just has to go better than your morning, and then, you assure yourself, everything will be perfectly alright. Or it won’t, but either way, you have to try. For him, for Maya, and for yourself. 

Once you arrive in front of the café, you stop him. “I have to warn you,” you tell him, “My friend, Sarah, isn’t too happy about you working here. She’s the one I keep telling you about.”

He straightens his jacket.

“Not your biggest fan,” you say.

“I figure not many people are gonna be,” he says. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

“No, really, she is a little firecracker. When she’s mad about something, she’ll show you, and she won’t be nice about it.”

“Not my first rodeo, love.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with it though.”

He pulls you in, the nerves slowly getting to him, and your words don’t do much to soothe his nerves. They barely even prepare him. “I’ll survive,” he says, but he’s not that sure anymore.

His heartbeat picks up and you can feel his pulse racing against your fingers from where you’re holding onto him.

With a soft sigh, you smooth out his collar, pressing your lips on his as you do so. “I’ll get her to come around, I promise,” you say. “I always do somehow.”

And you wouldn’t let Sarah ruin Michael’s day.

He smiles. “I know you will. Ya always take o’ me.”

You sense the slightest shift in his demeanor, the unshed tears and the nerves. “Nervous?” you ask. 

“A little, yeah.”

“You’re gonna do great. Be happy Ava appointed me to be your mentor for the day. I’ll be gentle.”

“You can be bossy with me,” he jokes, and his attempt to charm you works instantly. 

The day is going to be interesting, indeed. But at least he takes your mind off of things. It’s like he knows and wants to take care of you, and it is working.

“Maybe I will be,” you say in the same sultry tone.

“Oh, don’t make me wanna bend ya over a table. That’s not gonna go well, pet. For neither of us.”

You shrug. “Keeps things interesting.”

Michael sighs, but there is an amused glint in his eyes that tells you he isn’t upset or annoyed with you. “I’m gonna have a hard time with ya today, don’t I?” he says. 

Pinching your fingers, you answer, “Just a little.” 

“Alright. Well, I can live with tha’, too.”

And so you make your way inside, praying to God and every other deity that Sarah won’t cause a scene.

Oliver is there, too, because it is the busiest day of the week, so maybe he will diffuse the situation. Maybe they can even become friends. He needs those. From what you could tell, he doesn’t have any, and that’s sad. 

You walk into the café hand in hand, and that is something you thought would never happen. You’re used to being behind the counter and serving him; now you’re both going to be there. It’s an evolution, you suppose, but it’s a good one. Good for him, good for you, and good for everyone because he is charming and attractive–on second thought, you’re not sure if offering him a job was such a good idea. 

You’re not jealous, you tell yourself, but you are possessive and it shows.

You’ve never had anything that was truly yours before, so meeting Michael and falling for him, even the process alone, makes you want to claim him the same way he has claimed you, and you will continue doing so.

“Would you look at that!” Oliver exclaims behind the counter. “My favorite person. And the newbie.”

“Good morning,” you greet him with your usual cheery attitude. 

You pull Michael to stand beside you, and he awkwardly shifts. He’s tense and slightly trembling, so you squeeze his hand in reassurance, telling him that he’s got this. He can conquer anything he sets his mind to.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine. How’re ya?” Oliver asks.

“I’m good, yeah. This–“ you point to Michael. “This is Michael,” you say. You want to get this over with before he implodes. 

“The boyfriend,” he nods, “and the newbie. Yeah, I figured. You wouldn’t be holding hands with just anybody.”

Michael gives an awkward smile before letting go of your hand and deciding to be bold. He remembers you told him that Oliver is a convict, too, and it makes him feel less alone in this space full of pure souls like yours. 

“Michael,” he introduces himself. 

Oliver takes his hand. “So nice to meet ya!” he says. “I’m Oliver, and you are very attractive.” 

He stops and stares for a moment before the blood rushes to his cheeks. “Oh, I–“ he chuckles. “I’m flattered, but I’m– I’m taken.”

“I know, the beautiful specimen over there wouldn’t shut up about ya.”

You blush and shoot him a glare, but he brushes it off with a giggle. 

Michael raises his eyebrows. “Is that so?” He looks at you. “Ya wouldn’t shut up about me?” 

You should have known the revelation was going to boost his ego. 

“I just mentioned you once or twice,” you defend yourself. “Don’t let it get to your pretty little head.”

“All I’m hearin’ is that yer obsessed with me.”

“You’re obsessed with yourself, that’s how it is.”

He smirks. “Sure thing, love,” he says, and you want to slap him for teasing you so obviously at work. “That’s how it is. I’m so obsessed with myself, my girlfriend talks ‘bout me at work.”

Showing him the finger first, you then pull him with you into the back room. His smirk never fades. 

“Oh, what are we doin’?”

You shove an apron into his hands. “Working,” you answer.

He sighs. “Of course, we are.”

You continue showing him where everything is, handing him an apron to put on. He puts what few belongings he brought with him into your locker, and you lock it. You hand him his keycard for the register, emphasizing though that he’s not there yet and you will show him how to man the register some other time. Today, he has to learn all about coffee, and you are the best teacher for that. 

Michael’s nerves fade into silent excitement. This is so much different than working at the dealership. Amanda only trusted him with washing cars, thanks to Frank, but here, with you, he gets to have responsibility, learn, and do something good with his hands that has more meaning than washing cars as some kind of punishment for not wanting to sell drugs or kill people for his family anymore. 

He feels like he belongs. The scenery might be strange, still, but you make him feel at ease with your calm and kind demeanor that you show every customer who comes in, too, even the rude ones. He has a lot to learn, especially from you, but he is sure he can navigate it somehow. And with you, he isn’t afraid to ask questions. 

You point out all the different machines behind the counter, the drawer with the topics that don’t need to be kept cool, and then those that need to be. You show him the wall with different coffee beans and whipped cream in case the current can run out. He notes what you tell him, your voice a soothing sound in his ear amongst the bustling of the café. Who would have thought that the Butterfly Effect would lead him to this particular position?

When Sarah finally comes out, you tense up. You have been anxious about their first meeting all day, and now that the time has come for them to actually meet, you’re not sure how it will pan out. 

“Hi,” says Michael as he approaches her, and he is a lot more confident now. “You must be Sarah, right?”

She’s carrying a box that seems a little too heavy for her to carry. She eyes him, her smile fading, and her jaw locks. 

“I’m Michael,” he introduces himself when she doesn’t answer. “Heard good things about ya.”

Sarah shoves the box into his open arms. “That goes over there,” is all she says and points over to the other end of the counter. 

Even though he is confused, he remembers what you said about her not being very excited about him being here, and he figures she needs time to warm up to him. You’re friends so you must have told her about him long before you got together, and now she’s weary because you chose to date him despite his past, which he still hasn’t quite understood. You don’t care about what he did or the kind of person he used to be, and might as well still be; you only care about him because you love him, and you can overlook all of his dark sides. He doesn’t deserve you, and Sarah seems to think the exact same thing. 

It hurts him a little. He can deal with judgment, but she is your friend, an important person to you, and he wants nothing more than to get along with your friends and everyone he works with. He wants to make a good impression to keep this job, impress Ava, and show his solicitor at the next meeting that people are willing to take a chance on him. And that he finally has a support system that isn’t limited to his family, which looks bad on all documents given their history. 

But he has you and he has a good job, and maybe he can make friends with the rest of the staff, too. Oliver seems happy that he’s here, ready to teach him some things whenever you’re busy–Michael appreciates that more than he knows.

There is a silent understanding between them. Maybe it’s prison, maybe it’s the fact that they both carry the guilt of having hurt someone–in Michael’s case, it was someone he loved, but it still ended in death–or it is something else entirely. Whatever it is though, he is grateful for Oliver’s willingness to help him wherever he can. 

“Sarah,” you approach her. “What was that?” Your voice is hushed so he won’t hear you giving her a run-down. 

She rolls her eyes. “I told ya–” she begins, but you cut her off. 

“That wasn’t fair, and you know it,” you say. “You should go and apologize to him, right now!”

“Hell no,” she says. “I told ya, I’m not a fan of him and I’m really not in the mood to try.”

“What is wrong with you?”

“I just care about you.”

“Then you’d accept him!” You say it a little too loud, and the customers closest to you shoot you a nasty glance. You apologize with a kind smile before turning back to your friend. “If you cared about me even the tiniest bit,” you say, “You’d try accepting him and not treat him like he’s scum on earth.”

She sighs. Her defensive demeanor slips a little, and she nods. “Fine, whatever,” she retorts. You doubt she means it, but at least she caved. 

As she moves on to clean some tables, you watch Oliver and Michael from a distance. 

Oliver has always been a patient man, but it seems even better with Michael. He explains everything, shows him the ropes, and he makes sure to praise him whenever he gets something right. That’s the kind of reaction you had hoped for from Sarah, but she can’t be persuaded so easily, and right now you don’t really like her, you’re just angry. 

Oliver calls your name. You turn around. 

“Would you be a dear and get some more milk from the basement?” he asks. 

“The basement?” you repeat. 

“Yeah, the basement. You know where the cooler is, don’t ya?”

“Of course, I do. I have been working here for years. But the basement,” you emphasize, “is not a place I wanna go.” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s dark and there are probably infestations of gigantic spiders in every corner of the ceiling.”

“Mate, what–“

“I hate spiders!” 

Michael, who has been washing the dishes at Sarah’s command–she is currently busy restocking the shelves–turns around with an amused grin. 

“And you make fun o’ me ‘cause I’m scared of heights,” he says. 

You roll your eyes. “If I’m not back in five minutes, a spider has probably eaten me,” you say.

“Oh, I’m sure they’d love a taste.”

“Michael, darling, I mean it very sincerely when I tell you to fuck off right now.”

He purses his lips and throws you a kiss through the air. You catch it, pretending to throw it away, and he feigns hurt with his hand on his chest. 

Turning around with a dramatic sigh, you make your dreaded way to the basement, hoping you won’t encounter one of the spiders in the corners of the ceiling that you have been avoiding for quite a while–ever since you started working at the Butterfly Effect, actually. Seeming busy and avoiding bringing milk back up is your secret weapon, but with Michael there today, you don’t have as much work and can’t seem busy because you’re not, so you’re stuck on milk duty

You curse Oliver for making you face your fear. This is the last thing you wanted to do today. 

Michael continues washing the mugs with a soft chuckle. He takes it very seriously, making sure everything is hygienic before putting it on the rack beside the sink. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sarah reaching for one of the boxes on the highest shelf; she’s not nearly tall enough, even with the ladder, and he knows something bad is about to happen. Shortly after, as predicted, she bumps against one of the glasses and it tips over the edge of the shelf. 

She gasps, trying to catch it, but it starts freefalling. Instinctively, Michael reaches out. He catches the glass before it can shatter on the floor. He’s not sure how on earth he managed to reach for it this fast. 

Sarah stares at him in disbelief. He meets her eyes and smiles. “Caught it,” he says. 

She climbs off the ladder with a huff, tearing the glass from his hand. 

“Do ya want me to clean the top shelf? I may be better able to reach it.” His hazel eyes are soft as he gazes at her, his body language open and sincere. 

Sarah’s fists ball and she tries hard not to look directly at him, but one look into his eyes is enough to decipher the honesty, and it makes her feral that he is so nice to her. 

“Stop that,” she says. 

“Stop what?” Michael asks, his eyebrows furrowing a little. He puts the glass aside where it’s safe and dries his hands with a towel. “Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

“Yer not s’posed to be nice,” she clarifies, glaring daggers into his skill, but there is something resembling kindness in them; she doesn’t know he caught it. “So stop being nice to me,” she keeps her voice low because it often causes people to recoil. Not with Michael though. 

He stands there, watching her. He tries to read her or somehow interpret her body language. He tries to understand what she’s feeling and what he can do to earn some of her trust. She isn’t an open book, but she also doesn’t have a million walls around her like you do. 

“I just wanted to help,” he tells her softly. “Sorry if I overstepped.”

She leans against the counter. “Fuck…”

“Sarah, I–” He takes a step forward, sorting his thoughts and trying to bring up the courage to continue, “I can't change my past, my blood, or my name, but I can assure ya that I love her more than anything,” he says. Your name is a mere whisper on his lips. “I would do anythin’ to protect her, without hesitation.”

“Anything?” Sarah cocks an eyebrow. 

“Anythin’, yeah.”

Sarah's gaze flickers with a mixture of emotions—doubt, worry, and something else he can't quite place. She takes a step closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “She's been hurt in the past, and you... If you hurt her, I swear to God—” She doesn’t have to finish her threat because he knows what she means. 

Michael knows he shouldn't do it. It is wrong and she already doesn't trust him, and it might seem desperate and suspicious, but the secrecy is starting to eat away at him because he doesn't understand the magnitude, and he needs to find a way to understand before it's too late.

“I understand. I do, but…” His eyes meet her. He looks almost guilty. “But I need to know... how badly was she hurt?” he asks. “What happened to her?”

He should have figured that if you didn’t tell him the whole story, Sarah probably doesn’t fall into your category of people worthy of knowing the truth, either. 

Sarah takes a deep breath. Some of the sturdiness from before fades away. “You don't know what she was like when she first moved to Dublin,” she says, playing with the laces on her apron. “She was a wreck, and her relationships were just as messed up. There was this one boyfriend in particular... He seemed to bring out the worst in her. But she wouldn't open up about why she chose him or men like him.”

“Did she ever come home with bruises?”

“Not bruises in particular, but… mentally, she was a wreck, and he just seemed to make it worse.” She sighs. “He was a rugby player, and I truly thought it was the worst she could do.”

Michael scoffs. “But ya realized you were wrong because then she met me?” he finishes for her, the unspoken argument finally being voiced. 

Sarah sneers, but he hit the nail right on the head, and she doesn’t need to agree to let him know. 

He nods slowly, looking into the seating area before turning back to her. You got hurt, and you had bad relationships, but you were broken before that; you were broken before you even moved, and you came to Dublin heartbroken and alone, and you paved a way of heartbreak for yourself because you didn’t know better. You only knew hurt, so you chose your men like your father. 

He should have never listened to that phone call. Michael is quick to connect the dots after hearing Sarah’s words, and it shocks him to his core. His blood freezes in his veins. He wants nothing more than to pull you aside and demand the truth so he can figure out how to help you, but he would lose you. He knows he would lose you, and he decides against it. You will talk to him one day, and when you do, he will be there for you in any way you need. Until then, he has to offer you silent support and catch you before you can hurt yourself again. 

“Well,” he says and crosses his arms over his chest, “I never want her to go through anythin' like tha' again. I want to be the one who brings out the best in her, who helps her heal. I’m tryin’ to do right by her.”

Sarah studies him carefully. Slowly, a flicker of understanding begins to form within her. They both want the same thing for you, it becomes clearer now.

“You'd do anythin' to protect her?” she asks him again. 

He nods without missing a beat. “And you wouldn't hesitate?” she asks. 

He nods again. “I’d burn the world down for her.”

She purses her lips. “You’re different, Michael,” her voice is softer now. “I didn't think I'd ever see her with someone like ya. But I can't deny that she looks happier. It pisses me off a little because I'm not supposed to like a mobster as her boyfriend, but you seem to be a good guy.”

Michael's gaze never wavers. “I know I'm not... worthy of her,” he says, “And I know I'll never be worthy of the kind of person she is 'cause she’s fuckin' amazing, but I wanna try. I have to try, y'know? I promised her.”

“Michael, I–” She can’t find the right words to say whatever she’s thinking. 

“I loved and I lost in the past, and I never thought I’d get a second chance, so I was thinkin’ about givin’ up before I came in here and met her. She’s the best damn thing that has happened t’me in eight fuckin’ years and I would never ruin that. Ya have to believe me, Sarah. I would never hurt her the same way she was hurt. I love her so much, I–” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I just love her,” he says, “and I won’t make the mistake of losin’ her.”

For the first time since he met her, her eyes soften visibly, and her heart opens up to him. “You really love her, don’t ya?” she asks. 

“With every fiber of my being,” he whispers. 

That's when she realizes you were right all along. All it takes is to meet him, and whatever she thought he would be fades into the background. Sarah realizes that Michael is not the villain and he will probably never be. He may carry the burden of his past, but his love for you shines through. A man like that deserves your devotion and a chance at redemption, and she feels foolish for how she acted around him.

She feels stupid for talking about him the way she did to you and making you feel like your relationship wasn't accepted. She probably made you angry and guilty at the same time, and she wants nothing more than to make up for her own idiocy now. 

“You better keep that promise, Michael,” Sarah says. “She's been through hell, and she deserves nothin' less than genuine love and happiness. I can see how much she means to ya, and I want to believe in what ya told me. I'm... I'm sorry for how I treated you, tha' wasn't fair, but she’s my best friend and I will raise hell if she ever gets hurt again.”

“She won’t get hurt, not on my watch.”

“I hope fer your sake that’s true. And I hope ya know what yer getting yourself into. She's not an easy person to love, but she's worth it. Just make sure yer there for her when she needs you the most.”

“I promise,” he says. “And thank you fer– well, for tryin’ to understand. It means a lot.”

She raises a finger. “Don’t think yer out of the woods yet,” she tells him, “but I can see the love in your eyes and… no one has ever looked at her like tha’, so I will support ya. Both of you. And if you ever need anythin’,” Sarah offers him a smile, “Don’t hesitate to ask.”

His shoulders slack as the relief washes over him. “Thank you,” he repeats. 

She brushes him off with a simple, “Don’t thank me, just be good to her.”

And he vows to do so every day, the same way he vows to protect her with his life if need be. 

She bites her cheek, turning back to the ladder leading up to the shelf. He watches her features contort as she contemplates, and then she finally turns back to him. “Can ya help me with cleanin’ that shelf now?” she asks. 

Michael smirks, putting his towel away and approaching her. “Happily,” he says. 

They may not be friends, but they bonded over their love for you, and it is something important to have in common. They both want the same for you; they both want you to be saved and loved, and Michael will do everything in his power to give that to you. 

Only a few minutes later, you finally find your way back from the basement, carrying four cartons of milk. “I was almost eaten by two very large spiders!” you declare. “They were the size of my fucking head and now I am very disgusted. I didn't know we were living in Australia. Also, Oliver-” you point at where your colleague is standing and switching out the offer signs at the door, “I hate your guts for making me go down there.”

Oliver only smirks, triumphant that it wasn't him in your position. “Well, as long as you got the milk, you won the Spider War,” he says. “You're Spider-Woman now. Act like it.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want,” you retort. “Just wait until I lock you down there to be eaten alive.”

Michael, finally done with the top shelf, approaches you. “So, the size of yer head, huh?” he asks. He uses his hands to measure your face, tapping the crown of your head gently, then squeezing your cheeks. “Are you sure they weren't just tiny little spiders?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “They were gigantic, Michael!” you insist. “I'm not exaggerating.”

“Really? How big? Show me.”

“This big–” You demonstrate the size of the spiders with your hands. However, with each gesture, the space between your hands gets smaller and smaller, much to Michael's amusement. “See, they were huge! Like this!” you barely leave any space between your fingers. “This big,” you say. “And their legs were hairy. Hairier than your chest.”

He bursts into laughter, unable to contain himself. “What, that big?” he teases. “I didn't realize we have giant mutant spiders here in Dublin.”

Feeling a bit exasperated, you pout. “Stop making fun of me. It's not funny! They were scary!”

He chuckles softly and pulls you into his arms. “I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean it,” he reassures you, pressing a tender kiss against your temple. “I know they creep ya out. I’m sorry.”

“They do,” your voice sounds muffled through his chest. 

“Trust me, if those spiders even dare to come close to ya, they’ll have to deal with me. No spider is going t’ lay a single leg on ya.”

You hum in approval, hugging him back as tightly as you can. “Good answer,” you say.

“And I am disgusted,” Sarah mutters behind you. “Can ya move this to the backroom or somethin’? I’m trynna focus on work.”

Oliver chimes in, “Leave the lovebirds be.”

“I would if their actions wouldn’t call me lonely in fifteen different languages.”

“Jealousy,” he sings. 

She swats him with her towel. “Shut up!”

You and Michael exchange a glance before reluctantly pulling away. He presses another kiss on your forehead, but then it’s time to resume work, and you have a lot more to teach him before your shift ends. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #kin amc #charlie cox #x reader #chaos theory #queue

[fayeandknight]

Personal post in which I am processing old trauma.

It's weird how you can clearly recall an experience but have no emotional response/true comprehension of it until many years later.

My relationship with my ex fiance happened during my first three years of college, if you don't count the stalking and harassment that went on for several years after. I'm in my 30s now, that was a long time ago.

It took me a few years after breaking up for the last time to realize that the relationship wasn't just "really shitty" but had in fact been extremely abusive. To this day when I think of him I think of screaming and crying, breaking glass, blood, absolute terror, and the inability to breathe.

Over the years I've been processing the truth of things he'd normalized/minimized/gaslit me on and trying to give myself grace for the long term effects it's had on me. And for a while I thought I'd acknowledged all of it. But recently (last year or two) it's hit me like a sack of bricks that he tried to murder me. I don't mean going too far in a fit of anger, I mean he planned out and followed through on a deliberate plan to kill me that I survived by sheer luck.

That day has always been a cold, stop motion memory since it happened. I can recall it in a series of snapshots, each clean and neat and utterly detached from each other.

He tells me we'll have the house to ourselves.

He's drawn me a bath in the big Jacuzzi tub with rose petals in the water.

I undress and get in.

He is sitting on the side of the bathtub.

He is cupping my face for a kiss and whispers something about Ophelia.

My head is underwater.

I am flailing and grabbing at his hands, the side of the bathtub. Water is going everywhere but I can't get out from underneath his hands.

I can't breathe. My lungs are burning. I am beyond terrified. This is the inevitable end. This is how I die.

His hands are off me and I am able to get my head above water.

He is taking keys off the counter and handing them through the cracked open door.

I am soaking wet and holding my clothes against me in a bundle that mostly covers me.

I shove past the person on the other side of the door and run barefoot back to my dorm.

He gaslit me hard about this that it never happened. I didn't even get a chance to bring it up. He just showed up the next day to take me on a date (which he very rarely did) and complained about how outside of sex we never had one on one time because there were always people in the house. I was still in shock I think and don't really remember what happened in between my running out of his house and him showing up at my dorm apartment. I do remember being in the living room of his house after the date and having a very public fight that he pulled out of nowhere.

For a long time that memory has been something I shied away from even thinking about. It was a cold spot in my brain that gave me mental frost bite.

And then when I did acknowledge it, it was framed as 'I almost died' in my mind. But the more I think about it, the more clear that this was a planned murder becomes.

We were in college and he lived in a busy frat house/known party house with four other guys. He either dedicated significant time to tracking people's coming and going to find a long enough window of time to drown me and dispose of my body. Not a small feat considering the near constant foot traffic in the house. Or he engineered having that house be empty.

The tub, which wasn't normally used due to being disgustingly dirty, had been spotlessly cleaned.

He never got undressed or into the tub with me. He was wearing a short sleeved shirt with shorts and angled his legs away from the tub.

He referenced Ophelia, who dies via drowning. I was a theatre major at the time.

He very much intended to murder me by downing me in that bathtub.

The only reason I survived is because someone forgot their keys on the bathroom counter and had to come back for them. That's it.

It's so wild to me how long it's taken my brain to feel, I don't know safe??? enough, to really put the severity and full implications together. I didn't repress the memory, just avoided it. And I'm not even shocked that he tried to kill me, more that he tried to murder me - though I'm not sure how much sense that distinction would make to anyone else.

Seeing romantic gestures between couples makes me feel cold and frightened and grief stricken. And for a long time I attributed that to my most significant/serious relationship being an epic shit show and a half. But I'm starting to realize that it's also because one of the few romantic gestures I've received was actually part of the plan to murder me. So I'm trying to be gentle with myself when I experience those feelings.

I'm not some bitter shrew who hates seeing happy couples. I am experiencing the fallout feelings of an extremely traumatic and very nearly fatal event.

Anyway I'm not really expecting for anyone to have read this whole mess. But if you did, here's a picture of Forte snuggling me from this morning as thanks for sitting with me for a bit.

#personal post #trigger warning for talk of #attempted murder #long post #I'm not really expecting anything from posting this #it's more just me venting into the void #I've never talked about this so directly before to anyone #cptsd #complex ptsd #ptsd #domestic violence #abusive relationships #I've been spending a lot of time around couples this week and it's making me very sad #sorry for being depressing

[mechwarrior-rose]

IMPRESSED for the ask game

(from @callsignpuppy)

"Star Colonel, I challenge you to a Trial of Grievance."

Chou Vong didn't even look up from his datapad. "I am done dealing with you. Take it up with your superior."

"I would, sir, but she is in the recovery ward after my trial with her this morning."

A moment passed. The older man--in his late thirties, already too old and complacent to be leading a cluster in the great Operation REVIVAL as far as Warrior Rose was concerned--let the datapad drop to the marble surface of his desk and stared out the window at the herds of bison and their robotic tenders in the distance.

"MechWarrior Rose." Vong's voice had a raspy, flat affect that hid his feelings. "You wish to return to Bearclaw that badly, quiaff?"

Rose remained silent.

Vong sighed and, with great deliberation, rolled his chair back and stood. "Very well, Warrior. Since you are so eager to abandon your post to seek glory elsewhere, I shall grant your request. Tomorrow morning. I have a dinner meeting with the earl tonight and do not wish to overexert myself beforehand."

"Sir." She let her satisfaction color her brief reply.

Vong looked out the window again. "It is the Hall name, quiaff?"

"Yes, sir."

"While I find your lack of sense of duty distasteful, I am not immune to the admiration of ambition. Let us test your worthiness for the Trial of Bloodright."

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Rose's Ebon Jaguar had lost fully half its armor, most of it on the right side. She was limping from a thrown hip actuator, and her SRM launcher had been blown clean off. Given Vong's liberal use of his Gargoyle's UAC/20, she was lucky that he hadn't severed anything yet. She suspected he knew she favored her Gauss rifle and was hunting for a deep score into the weapon's charged coils.

Rose had gone into the fight assuming that, as an older warrior in an elevated rank, Vong would favor an assault 'Mech geared more toward long-range operations for command purposes. Her plan had been to close quickly and soften him up with the heavy punch of her Gauss rifle, then use superior maneuverability to maintain medium range to let her LB 5-X AC and her LRM 10 search out weak spots opened by her heavy weapon. It was how she had put her unit commander, Star Captain Jill Hawkins, in the medical ward.

Vong had chosen an assault 'Mech, all right; he'd picked one of the most brutal infighters the Clans had yet produced. The Beta configuration of the Gargoyle was brutal and unrelenting, and its enormous engine could match her step for step. When she saw his chosen 'Mech on her tactical display, Rose had scrambled to develop a new plan, but Vong had pressed early and fast. He fought like a demon. A beast. Like a ghost bear. She had spent the entire fight on the back foot, trying and failing to keep enough distance to give her some advantage. She had tried to give as good as she got, and she had found some success in taking out two of Vong's extended-range lasers, but she simply couldn't break his pressure.

Another wave of laser fire bathed her 'Mech's flank. The indicator light for her SRM ammo bay lit up; luckily, she had maintained the presence of mind to dump the ammo the moment her launcher had been lost. It was followed by a wash of heat. The controls were sluggish and underpowered. Her engine had taken serious damage.

"MechWarrior." Vong's voice was as flat as ever over the radio. He was close enough now for her to make out his frame through the narrow strip of ferroglass enclosing the Gargoyle's cockpit. "This fight is over."

Rose screamed in frustration and raised her Ebon Jaguar's right arm. She squeezed the trigger hard enough to crack her knuckles, but an electronic tone chided her foolishness. The remaining half-ton of slugs for her Gauss rifle had been breached and were dropping out of the 'Mech's torso to flop comically on the scorched prairie. As she wrenched her left arm about to bring her ballistics to bear, Vong's own autocannon roared its double thoom-thoom, tearing the Ebon Jaguar's arm off at the upper actuator. The ammo in the arm cooked off as it fell away. Her single laser lashed impotently at the pristine armor of the Gargoyle's right arm. Then Vong's lasers finished carving away the shielding of the Ebon Jaguar's engine, and the emergency shutdown engaged.

The radio, at least, was still operational. Vong's voice finally let through a hint of disgust. "You have wasted materiel. More importantly, you have wasted my time and have cost your Trinary its commander for duration of her recovery. I will be taking a personal interest in you from now on, MechWarrior. Believe me when I say that you will not enjoy the scrutiny."

#battletech #mechwarrior #oc ask game #oc rp