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redskull199987 · 2 months

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Concubine

Paul Atreides x fem!reader Part II

Word Count:1.6k

Warnings:!SPOILERS! for Dune II, canon typical violence

Summary:"This princess will carry his name and yet, she will be less than a Concubine. She will never spend a moment of tenderness with the man she is tied to. But we who are called concubines - in the eyes of history we will be wives…"

Part I / Masterlist

She was pretty. You had to give her that. Your gaze closely followed each and every move that the Princess made. You knew that her head must have been chaotic at the moment, going through every possible scenario, how this situation could end. And you also knew that her first and last goal of this day would be to save her father’s life and secure the continuous reign of her bloodline.

But from the way she looked at you, you knew that Princess Irulan was aware of the fact that if she did marry Paul, she’d never get to share a bed with him. Would never bear his heirs or even receive an ounce of warmth from him.

She knew that even though you'd officially be Paul’s concubine, his loyalty would lie with you. And only you.

Chani’s hand on your shoulder pulled you out of your thoughts. It reminded you that before it ever came to that, Paul would have to beat the Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha.

You took a deep breath in, as you glanced over to the Harkonnen. You had heard stories of him back on Caladan. Stories of his thirst for blood and his enjoyment of Pain. His reputation preceded him, but his appearance clearly matched it. He looked almost eerily as he stepped forward, proposing to fight for the Emperor and defined his honor.

A small frown appeared on your face, when Paul accepted the proposal. Too fast for your liking. You heard Chani sigh next to you. You looked over to the Fremen. The Woman who had become like a sister to you, who had taught you the ways of her people. You remembered it as clear as day, when she had first told you, that you’d earned her trust.

It was the day you had joined the Fedaykin among their ranks, The day you became one of them.

You were high on adrenaline. You didn’t know how else you could’ve explained it. You didn’t know how else you would’ve pulled it off. Your eyes wandered over the many Corpses of the Harkonnen Warriors, that were supposed to protect their Harvester. Almost like in slow motion, you raised your hand, your fingertips wandering over the specks of blood that littered your face. You knew it wasn’t your own blood, but the thrill that the situation itself brought you, was indescribable.

You needed a few moments to fully return to the present. The Spice in the Air was clouding your senses, making it feel like you witnessed everything merely from the eyes of a spectator and not as one of the Fremen who ever so fiercely attacked a Spice Harvester of the Harkonnen.

The Explosion pulled you out of your Trance.

You spun around, spotting Chani and Paul. They were fighting off a few Harkonnen warriors. But you quickly realized that Paul wouldn’t be able to defeat them all alone. You’ve never felt slower than in this moment, when you started running towards him. It felt like the Sand was pulling you down, seeking to swallow you whole.

But you didn’t let it. A scream left your lips, as you dashed forward, deeply burying your Crysknife in the back of a Harkonnen Warrior that was about to attack Chani from behind. You sank to the ground together with his Corpse, as Chani spun around, her eyes widening as she realized what had happened.

Only seconds passed, as you looked up to her, Anger and Determination all, that was on your mind. Chani gave you a small nod before Paul finally reached the two of you again.

“Re-load!”, Chani yelled at him and he quickly did as told, pulling out another round of Ammo, reloading Chanis Missile Launcher.

You glanced past the Mainstay that the three of you were hiding behind. When you spotted the Ornithopter in the air, you gulped harshly.

“The shields only lower when he’s shooting!”, You shouted towards your companions. When you locked eyes with Paul, you immediately realized that the two of you had the same Plan.“We’ll distract him!”, Paul explained to Chani who gave him a court nod as she understood.

“Wait for our sign!”, You yelled, as you got ready to sprint over to the next Mainstay to distract the Sniper.

“Ready?”, Paul asked as he got into position next to you.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”, You grinned, despite the Seriousness of the Situation.

You took in one last deep breath, knowing very well that it could be your last one, before you felt Paul tap your shoulder, signaling you to start running.

Almost immediately, your instincts kicked in and it felt like you were a spectator again, watching how your feet carried you through the hot sand. You saw and heard the shots that rang in the Air as you sprinted through the Desert.

“Shit!”, You heard Paul yell next to you and you quickly realized what he meant, when you saw the Mainstay in front of you start to move further away from you.

“Run!!”, You shouted, as if it wasn’t obvious.

You knew that from that moment and the point where you reached your destination, only seconds passed but it felt like hours as you ran through the sand. Mere moments before you reached the safety of the Mainstay, you heard Paul yell at Chani to launch the Missile.

You were knocked over by the Force of the Explosion as the Ornithopter burst apart into the air, signaling to the Fremen that were hidden on the cliffs nearby that they could launch their attack on the Harvester, destroying it entirely.

“Hurry!”, Paul yelled, as he pulled you to your feet and back over to Chani who was already making her way towards the nearby Dune. You had to disappear in the Desert again, before more Harkonnen would come and attack you.

That night you sat with the other Fedaykin, drank and laughed with them as Paul and you joined their ranks as respectable Warriors of the Desert. You received your Fremen name and you realized that your Heart, your soul and your entire being was with them now. You would fight for them as long as you breathed, would even go to death for them.

And Chani seemed to realize it too.

The young woman had always acted cold towards you, but when you saved her life on that day, risking your own for hers, she realized just how much of a loyal friend and fighter lay in you. From that day on, You knew that you could always count on each other.

“He will survive…He will win.”, Chani whispered into your ear and squeezed your shoulder as you watched how Paul and Feyd-Rautha got ready for their Fight. As the Gaze of the Na-Baron crossed yours, you sucked in a deep breath. What you saw in those eyes scared you.

It was a thirst for Blood and Power that you had only seen in Paul as he drank the Water of life.

You quickly looked over to Paul, giving him a firm nod, signaling him that you were on his side. His eyes told you more than words ever could. It was a silent promise. A promise to come back to you, to survive this battle and to put his plan into action.

It was a Promise that he would become the Emperor.

“I must not fear”, You mumbled to yourself, as the fight began,”Fear is the Mindkiller.”

Your eyes followed every little move of Paul as well as Feyd-Rautha. The two men were equal fighters, both born to be the One. But only one of them would win, only one of them would come out alive.

“Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.”, You whispered, as you watched Paul get knocked over the head, Blood trickling down his temple,”I will face my fear.”

“Is she your pet?”, Feyd-Rautha mocked as he gave Paul a moment to collect himself. The Na-Baron grinned wickedly and pointed his knife at you. You paid him no mind, as your eyes only rested on Paul, silently telling him not to let himself be provoked.

“I will permit it to pass over me and through me”, you mouthed as Paul got up and the Fight commenced anew.

Your breath hitched as Feyd-Rautha swiftly disarmed Paul, ramming the Crsyknife into his ribs. A guttural groan left Paul's lips as the two fighters stood close to each other. Wheezing breaths were the only noise to be heard in the room.

“And when it has gone past I will turn to the inner eye and see it’s Path”, You whispered desperately, the Mantra being the only thing that kept you from panicking.

All your senses were focused on the two men in front of you as you witnessed how Paul silently pulled the Crysknife out of his Body, getting ready to attack. Feyd-Rautha barely had time to react as the holy knife of Shai-Hulud pierced his armor and therefore ended his life by the hand of the new Emperor.

“Where the Fear has gone there will be nothing”, You mouthed as Paul got to his feet again. His steps seemed to carry the weight of the Universe as he walked over to the old Emperor, demanding him to kneel in front of his new Master.

Reluctantly the old man did as told, as he accepted his defeat. Princess Irulans gaze slowly wandered to you, as her father fell to his knees.

“Only I will remain.”

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moondirti · 11 months

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animalic (2)

← chapter 1 // series masterlist

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader rating: mature word count: 2.2k summary: a game of cat and mouse warnings: enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, guns, death, blood, angst, no use of y/n (reader is referred to as ‘wraith’) notes: remember when i said part 2 would take a while? i lied. the next chapter is fun as all hell so i wanted to churn this one out as build up. teehee i hope yall like it regardless

He let you go.

No matter how Miguel tries to vindicate it, he rounds back to the same conclusion. You weren’t subtle, regardless of what you’d have yourself believe; he’d seen the calculations glaze over your eyes the instant he pinned you to the wall. He knew what was coming, how your heavy breathing was a cover for the clicks of his watch – of which he heard regardless – and your squirming a diversion from the movement of your busy fingers. He had a goddamn plan too, a fail safe in case you decided to attack instead of listening to reason.

(One he’d settled on for the duration of your lost consciousness, for knowledge that you would.)

So, there is no dismissing it. You’re obnoxious and lack precision, and he could have had you halfway back home by now, which isn’t the case – because he let you go.

The frigid air of his office thrums with irritation, weighing down on his shoulders until they collapse inwards, his hands coming up to rub the weariness off his expression. HQ has been unsettlingly quiet as of late – occupied by only a fraction of its regular population – and the peace worries him. History betrays its status as the precursor to havoc; lulls in the past have fooled him into believing his mission was drawing to a close, only for another anomaly, another mess, to spin that naivety on its head.

You were one such instance. A year ago, you’d popped up on an Earth that wasn’t your own, and didn’t leave until you’d drawn all that you could from it. It’s an empty husk now, lacking land to propagate its agriculture. Thousands – millions – dead, from the flap of a butterfly’s wings.

Parasite. A fucking parasite who just won’t quit.

The mantra surges through him, festering from the base of his gut to the cap of his tongue. It bursts out with a roar right then, the sudden violence finding monitors thrown across the room, smashed to bits of orange light and static. It does nothing to sate him, though, the heady anger filtering out like molasses. His back hunches as he draws in thin breaths. He doesn’t count, nor does he attempt to. Instead, he looks for his only real decompressor.

The video of Gabriella flickers at him from a distant floor, the transparent tablet wrecked with four distinct claw marks. He exhales, pulling it back to the platform with an extended web.

“Boss,”

His mija smiles toothily down at his digital self, winding her small palms in his hair for balance as he carries her. He recalls helping with hers, tying it back into shabby ponytails the mornings before a big game. How she wouldn’t let anyone fix it afterwards, not until her elastic slipped off the ends and her bangs hindered her playing. And she’d run to him, whenever, to get it fixed again.

“Boss.”

Her jokes resonate still, echoing laughter from when she’d poke fun at how bad he’d gotten at it, amused by the sudden decline in ability. To Miguel, it was one more reminder that the life he led wasn’t his own.

“Oh Miguel!”

So much for calming down.

“Lyla.” He looks up at the virtual assistant, her corporeal character a little fuzzy around the edges. She chooses to ignore his dissociative episode, rather projecting a map of the arachno-humanoid poly-multiverse, a point off centre highlighted in red. His heart skips. Placing the tablet down on his desk, he takes a step closer to survey the pin.

“Managed to track the Wraith down using the day pass you’d given her. Currently stationed on Earth-15, no signs of jumping anytime soon.”

Parasitic, and stupid enough to forgo destroying a potential tracking device.

Lyla snickers, seemingly able to read the sneer pulling at his cheeks.

“Seems like she’s afraid of glitching more so than she is you, Boss.”

His glare snaps to meet her heart shaped sunglasses.

“Funny.” His assistant shrugs at his admonishment. “Pull up the anomaly cam.”

A second later, your figure blinks into sight.

You’re crouched atop a tiled floor, the grout darkened to near-black with grime. In front of you lies a sparse spread of medical supplies; gauze, scissors, and miniature packets of disinfectant wipes. Miguel can’t help but wonder what you think you’re doing, treating your wounds in a bathroom as unsanitary as the one that cramps you. Graffiti littered walls, nests of used paper towels in every corner. You spring up to wash your hands after undoing the old bandages that hugged your forearm, but all that comes out is an inconsistent splutter of grey water.

His chest twinges, a tug of intrinsic sympathy playing against him. It worsens at the sight of your injury, the consequences of his talons’ assault on you, the puncture points brimming yellow and blackening closer to their middles. He can’t tell whether it’s gotten any better, whether you were good and had it treated by a professional, or made the common mistake of relying too much on your enhanced healing.

“Gave her a harsh gig there. You always that rough?”

“When I need to be.” Miguel murmurs, skimming over the conspicuous innuendo.

“Right. Until it comes to finishing the job, that is.” And, despite the offence taken to Lyla’s jest, he can hardly disagree. Newfound resolve hardens within him, sympathy fleeting at its failure to deter him.

“Set coordinates for Earth-15.” He rumbles, gesturing to his wrist as he walks away. The assistant does as she’s told, shrinking back to an icon on his watch. While waiting for the portal to configure, Miguel cocks his head, taking one last look at your oblivious form.

“I won't let her get away this time.”

“Put the money in the fucking bag or she gets it!”

Of all the spider-people you’ve met, you don’t believe any have been the hostage in an armed robbery situation. You imagine that they’d come in at the last minute, valiantly swinging through the window, accentuating their arrival in a shower of shattered glass. They’d demand the money be remitted, and all’s well that ends well. But – of course – there’s got to be a first for everything; your record just so happens to be the lamest of the bunch.

The masked man presses the gun further into your temple, bursting capillaries until the spot starts to ache with a raw tenderness. His body wraps around you, other arm waving wildly outwards, extending a plastic bag to the poor soul behind the register. You take a great gulp of air, staring at the buzzing fluorescents above, and pray.

Lord, now would be a really good time to phase out.

“P-Please, leave her be.” The owner throws a potful of crumpled fives into the bag, as if to punctuate her plea. The man is dismissive in face, urging her for more, shaking the receptacle with comedic insistence. You purse your lips, blinking up at the ceiling once more.

Or make this more exciting, at the very least.

“And you!” You’re jolted out of being a passive observer, rattled when the man diverts his attention to you. His gun thrusts harder against your forming bruise, adding to the list of damages sustained in the past week alone. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. His roll incredulously, pointing to the bill in your grip. “The twenty!”

“Is that a real gun?”

“Wha– Of course it’s a real fucking gun! Put the money–”

“In the bag. I know.”

His hold on you slackens, expectant. By contrast, you ball your fist and punch him square in the nose. The hit sends him reeling farther than it should for the amount of space you had in winding back, the feat prompting a deluge of pride to wash over you. It’s bolstered when he drops the spoils in the process, toppling into a rack of chips and cup noodles that consequently cushion his fall.

Your first save.

Filled with bravado, you snatch and pass over the bag to the cashier.

“Here you go, ma’am.”

But she doesn’t look at you. Rather, her stare remains trained on the man you’d just disabled. Nerves maturating, you join her line of vision, only to be met with the barrel end of his weapon. You catch the vicious conclusion in the way his hand trembles, veins protruding from the pale skin, supplying courage to the finger hovering right over the trigger. You process it all, aware of the ways it can end, at how fast it can sour.

Before you can so much as act on it, he shoots.

Your skin prickles.

You’ve heard stories of people who don’t realise when a bullet strikes them. Their bodies take time to catch up to the pain, cells stuck in paralytic shock, stimulus signals held somewhere between the existential and a will to delay the inevitable. You think you understand what they mean, your mind dragging in a rare bout of silence. Things slow, for a perennial moment, and you wonder how fast the blood loss will kill you.

You can do nothing but follow the man, who scrambles to a stand, letting him take the money – with whatever else – and watching as he runs out onto the street.

And even still, the pain hasn’t caught up to you.

Looking down, the case starts piecing itself together. No blood sticks to your shirt, the fabric still as pristine as it had been upon purchase. You check your arms, then your legs, then reach up to smooth over your head. Nothing. You’re okay.

The relief is short-lived when the morbid sound of gurgling meets your ears. Slowly, you turn, bracing for what you knew you’d find.

The scene unfolds with a distressing intensity as crimson liquid blooms from the cashier’s throat. The torrent is never-ending, every gush of ichor bringing forth a new momentum, splattering its macabre scene over the register. Her eyes gloss over with an unshed panel of tears, and she looks to you for help.

She looks to you.

(You don’t admit it to yourself, but it’s the novelty of that fact that pushes you into action.)

With a swift leap over the counter, you intercept her mid-fall, carefully cradling her weight as you guide her down to the ground. Scanning your surroundings, you search for a means to call for help. A rotary phone catches your recognition, situated a ways off by the back exit. Despite the inconvenient placement, it stands as your sole option at this stage.

In a split second decision, you sling your backpack off, hastily rummaging through its contents. You find solace in your hoodie, gathering its folds to tightly bunch it up, converting it into a makeshift compress. Knowing she lacks the strength to apply pressure to the wound, you move to wrap it around her neck, hopeful that it’s tight enough to stem the bleeding while leaving enough room for air.

Urgency fuelling your every step, you leave her side for a fleeting moment, dashing over to call an ambulance. Your medical knowledge only extends so far, and some selfish part of you itches to pass on the responsibility to someone more competent. It’s an impulse that derives from an innate acceptance, that resoundingly insightful voice in your head telling you it's too late. That she’s already dead, had been from the moment the bullet – that was meant for you – missed.

Perhaps your help isn’t really helpful at all, then. Perhaps it’s your attempt to wash your hands of the sin. You think back to the grey water in the bathroom, how exasperated you had been at your inability to stay clean.

(You don’t think you’ll ever rid yourself of this.)

“911, what’s your emergency?” The question crackles through the receiver.

The bell by the entrance jingles, the chime accompanied by heavy footsteps. You press yourself against the wall, the concept of the robber returning filling you with such dread that you feel your stomach tighten and congeal. It’s a heavy lump, icy cold and slippery, and it seems to weigh a hundred pounds.

“Hello?” The operator says.

But if it was the man, then he'd have to have changed into a navy and red suit. Somehow, your terror worsens.

“Hijo de la chingada…” The whisper is barely legible, but the deep baritone is discernible enough to validate the assumption pulled from your brief glimpse. You’d recognise him anywhere.

Shrinking in on yourself, you cup your palm over your mouth. “Hello,”

“Ma’am? Can you describe your emergency?”

“There was an armed robbery at the convenience off sixth and Third. Someone’s hurt.” You hardly register the words as they escape you, eyeing Miguel when he crouches over the lady. You’re propelled back to the conclusion of your last meeting; how his claws tore into you, how his persistence didn't falter until you pressed yourself onto him.

That kiss.

He runs a finger over your hoodie-turned-compress, wavering, like he can’t quite place where he’d seen it before.

Or, maybe he can, for he spins to meet your wide-eyed stare.

You drop the phone, bolting out the back door, charged on a paroxysm of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated panic.

chapter 3 →

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utterlyotterlyx · 6 days

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The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Four

Summary - The consequences of your defection to the Autumn Court become clear as you realise how deeply rooted the betrayal of your family lies within you.

Warnings - angst, self-doubt, trauma, depression, fluff

Part One Part Two Part Three

Nesta's toes curled uncomfortably.

Rhys was pacing before her and Lucien who was sunken into the seat beside her, Azriel and Cassian stood as still as stone to the side of Rhys' desk as he walked the length of the room behind it. Anger burned in his eyes, the violet orbs that Feyre loved so much now blazing with infantile fury at what he had lost.

The power pulsating around the High Lord was nothing compared to yours, but it was still uncomfortable to swim in; it was migraine-inducing, it made her eyes feel heavy and limbs weak, and she knew the power within him was teetering on the edge of unleashing.

Rhys, as calm as he was portraying, lay his palms flat against the table surface, staring Nesta and Lucien down, but neither of them relented, neither of them would dare falter in front of him, "Tell me where my sister is," his lips curled into a smile, a sadistic thing of psychotic beauty, his eyes were demanding, and Nesta stole a glance to Lucien whose fingers were ripping at the leather arms of the chair.

You had disappeared from Helion's birthday gathering, your scent floating away in the breeze, and you hadn't told a soul of where you were going. Rhys had assumed you were ashamed of yourself and had returned to Velaris, that he would be able to deal with you later. But when Eris' note had landed in Lucien's lap that evening, he had never felt such simmering relief.

There was history between Rhys and Lucien, they weren't exactly the best of friends, but they weren't enemies, Lucien dealt with him for Elain and Rhys delt with him for Feyre, but if he had it his way Lucien would cease to exist.

"Y/N," Lucien bit, to remind them that you were y/n, your own person, and not just known to be his sister and executioner, "Has denounced her place in the Night Court, she is residing elsewhere."

Azriel scoffed, his finger trailing along the sharp edge of Truthteller, "She can't denounce her place so easily."

"Well she has," Nesta smirked, her stare barrelling into Azriel whose pupils flared in response, "I suppose this is what happens when you raise a female to be nothing more than your dirty little secret."

Rhys bristled, "I would watch how you speak if I were you, Nesta."

Rolling her neck, Nesta drawled, "I think you forget how little I care for your opinions, Rhysand," Lucien hummed low in agreement, legs lax and open against the confinements of his seat, "It seems as though y/n finally realised what you've done all these years."

"And what's that?" Rhys challenged.

Nesta could have smacked that smirk from his lips, but she restrained herself from doing so. Unfortunate.

"Lie," Rhys' eyes darkened, "All you've done is lie to her. You had never hidden her to protect her from what happened to your mother and sister, you used it as an excuse so that no one would find out just how powerful she is. You hid her so that she would never realise her full potential, you never trained her abilities and yet her power still drowns you, and instead of caring for her and helping her, you locked her away in this city and silently forbade her to ever leave."

Lady Death rose to her feet and approached the desk, paying little mind to the daggers shooting from Cassian's eyes. Fuck the male who would let their master manhandle their precious mate. Nesta mirrored the High Lord, palms flat across the table and leaning in so that she could feel his breath on her cheeks, "You have raised y/n to be your executioner, you have spread this vile word of her ferocity and violence so that no one would ever wish to be around her. You created the image of a bloodthirsty monster that lays dormant in the Night Court until her master calls upon her, and y/n has realised just how much you have betrayed her. All she knows is what you reared her to be, not what she actually is or can be."

Lucien shuffled in his seat, opening his mouth and voicing, "You stole away her chance to choose her own path by manipulating her into believing that her place in the world was to be nothing but the Feared Princess of Velaris," he leaned forward in his seat, smirking at the way Cassian took a step forward, "The mere mention of her name strikes fear into the souls of every traveller, they sing songs around fires of her, she is the monster in the nightmares and the one dying men wish they never meet on the other side, and she has been allowed to be depicted like that because you wished it."

It was masterful really, how Rhys had manipulated everyone to believe that you were an awful abomination of a thing when in reality all you wanted to do was see the world and curl up with a good book. You hadn't experienced anything good or soul-awakening, Amarantha had stripped your essence from you the moment she carved your wings from your body, and that had been the moment that Rhys had wrapped his talons around your mind and bent you to his will.

"Tell me where she is."

Nesta cocked her head to the side as she scrutinised his face with horror laced in her orbs, after all they had said all he cared about was knowing where you were, he had no interest in acknowledging or accepting anything he had done. She looked to Cassian, "Do you not understand how disgusting this is? She grew up with you, you said she was like a sister to you that you loved her as much as him," Nesta pointed at Rhys who pulled back from the desk, "How could you stand by and allow this?"

"Y/N's power poses a threat to us all, I did what was necessary to ensure our safety."

"If that's truly what you think then you are no mate of mine," she spat and his eyes rounded as his forehead creased, his façade was cracking. Nesta turned her attention to Azriel, "You. You're supposed to be her best friend, she loves you more than anything, there's nothing she wouldn't do for you, Az."

Azriel shrugged, "My duty is to the Night Court."

"You're a pig," she took in the sight of Rhys who had taken a step or so backward and had found a place to lean against the fireplace, her anger bubbled and there was little she could do to stop the truth from stabbing him in his soul, "Y/N is in the Autumn Court. The one place you physically can't go, where none of you can and I'm so glad she got out of this shitshow of a city because she would have died if she had been locked away for another moment longer being treated like nothing and no one."

"Watch it."

Nesta chuckled lowly, "Or what, Rhys? You'll kick me out of the Night Court? It's a good thing that I'm already leaving."

What have I done?

The thought was on repeat in your mind, an overlapping record jolting with the same phrase.

A pit had opened inside of you, a gnarly black hole full of anger and hatred that had dampened the moment Eris had wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a flurry of light, and you could distinctly see the world as you knew it warp before your eyes.

The dress you had worn was draped over a standing mirror, the skirt of it brushing against the glass in the breeze swelling through the room Eris had led you to that night. Flowing water from a babbling brook sounded from beyond the window, harmonising with sweet birdsong and the rustling of autumn leaves. Sunlight speckled through the room and streaked across the thick brown carpet that made you feel like you were walking on clouds.

For a moment, you stopped thinking of how your life had momentously changed in the space of one decision. It was a peace you welcomed before the reality of it came crashing down on you.

Rhys would be furious once he found out that you had denounced your home court and title, so furious that he may not allow you back which wasn't exactly a bad thing. But nothing would made that vein in his forehead pop more than when he realised where you had gone. To Autumn. With Eris.

Your heart raced at the thought of it, your hands went clammy and damp, and you couldn't stop thinking about what exactly would happen to Nesta and Lucien because of your reckless decision.

You are the author of your own story.

A soft knock rattled on the door, pulling your mind back into the present. Lifting yourself from the larger-than-life bed, you padded over to the door, knowing that Eris would never just let himself into the safe space he had gifted to you.

Eris stood on the other side, the sunlight brushing over his face and turning his eyes into molten shimmer bronze, he looked handsome, dressed in tight taupe pants that were tucked into his riding boots, a cream shirt loosely poked into the waistband.

His gaze travelled down your figure that was half-hidden behind the door, specifically at the shirt he had leant you that barely fell to your mid-thigh which left the rest of your leg exposed to him. Your hair was messy from the night full of tossing and turning, but he thought you looked radiant, that it made you look rather adorable actually.

"Good morning," he told you softly once he was done examining you, there was a box in his arms along with a few folded pieces of fabric, "I went out this morning and got these for you," he offered, "You don't have any clothes here so I thought these would do for now until I could take you into town."

Taking the box and tower of clothes from his arms, you smiled, "Thank you," you suddenly felt naked in front of him, the breeze drifting inward and up your legs reminding you of that fact.

If he knew of your realisation he didn't let on, "Our fashion isn't like that of your former court, but I'm sure you'll look incredible in it regardless," his eyes sparkled and your racing heart began to relent, "I'll be in the gardens when you're ready, Fawn."

Eris left you after that, he left you with the lingering speckles of his scent, the same scent that you had drifted to sleep bathed in thanks to the large shirt he had given you. The arms of the shirt drooped on you and you knew that it was due to his large arms perfectly fitting in the fabric.

The clothes were lovely, a mixture of dresses in a variety of styles and hues that you knew would mould against your skin perfectly, tailored shirts and tight leather pants, feminine waistcoats of forest green and red wine with golden embellishments, and undergarments that you knew Eris wouldn’t dare pick himself. Even the thought made heat rise to your cheeks.

Deciding to embrace your defection, one that Eris had been careful not to voice directly, you dressed yourself in a pair of high waisted black pants and a fitted artic blue blouse. It was so unlike anything you had ever worn, but it was beautiful in its own way. Turning to the box, you lifted the lid and gasped at the oyster coloured riding boots that must have cost a small fortune considering the intricate stitching. They weren’t just regular riding boots, no, when you slid them up your calves and found yourself adjusting them to your thighs, you knew they were a statement piece if you’d ever seen one.

Pulling your hair back into a low and messy bun, you found your reflection and grinned.

Eris was right, you did look incredible, like Velaris had been dispelled from you long ago and was nothing but a horrible dream.

Fir Manor was a special place, you could see why Eris chose to live there over the Forest House. It was light and bright and full of warmth from the whispering sun, ornate furniture was littered everywhere, the library was the personification of comfort and grace, exposed wooden beams loomed overhead and the windows were large and clear enough that you could see to the edge of the estate and the woodland beyond.

Your sun-starved skin cried in relief as you stepped outside, drinking in every vitamin offered to it, a low whistle caught your ear and you found Eris stood before a pair of large but stunning stallions, his hounds chasing one another and running between their legs which didn’t phase them at all.

“You look,” he trailed off as he approached, a jacket now completing his outfit and fingers raking through his red hair.

“Like Autumn threw up on me?”

“Something like that,” you huffed out a laugh and looked to the beasts, “I thought you’d like to explore the woodland today, get you out of the manor for a few hours?”

It was an offer than you wanted to say yes to, but at the same time couldn’t, ashamed of your oncoming admittance, “I would love to. It’s just,” you faltered, your eyes moved from Eris to the towering midnight black stallion that had craned its neck to look to you inquisitively.

Eris caught on, “You don’t know how,” a solemn finish to the sentence you were trying to voice, his heart clenched slightly at the defeat in your eyes, yet another thing that had been taken from you, “Well I can teach you,” he spoke, “Today you can ride with me, learn the basics, and you’ll be on your own stallion in no time.”

The High Lord of Autumn stood beside you, elbow to elbow, and even through the fabric of your clothes, you could feel his fire prickling across your skin and work its way into the woven fibres of your soul. He stood there seemingly unknowing of it, and when he looked down on you, waiting for your answer, all you could do was nod.

The stallion, Axos, shuddered under your touch as your fingers drifted over his side and around the curve of his saddle. Hands curled around your hips and you almost fell backward at the touch, Eris was behind you, his chest moving against your back and you glanced backward at him, "Don't get too excited," he smirked, and you wished you could have seen the muscles in his arms rippling as he lifted you up, instructing you to swing your leg over before he settled in behind you with ease.

The reigns became wrapped between his fingers, his breath was hot against your neck and Axos was moving onward after a curt click from Eris' mouth, his hounds trotting happily alongside you, "You have to roll your hips with each step he takes," his voice was gruff in your ear, low enough to send shivers flowing down your spine, "Like this," he unwound one of his hands from the reigns and placed it on your hip, gently moving it back and forth to the steps of Axos beneath as the stallion carried you both into the woodland, through the arched hanging branches and grasslands.

Awareness washed over you at how close Eris truly was, you were nestled at the centre of his open legs, his thighs encased your own, his entire chest shrouded you, and a shadow fell over you from the sheer size of him. He was pressed up to your back to the point you could feel his heart beating through his shirt, a thing you had become extremely aware of but didn't dare shudder away from in fear of him pulling away from you.

The landscape was picturesque, mounds of fresh earth, dainty flowers and fallen branches, leaves of orange, brown, and red, and water flowing through the small brooks, trying to find their way to the river. Even the sun felt surreal, it streaked through any respite of bark that it could, its golden glow spreading and infecting the land. Soft scampering of tiny paws ran through the trees, squirrels jumped from branch to branch, following you and paying no attention to the swarm of hounds keeping an eye on them.

It astounded you how a place so beautiful even existed.

It scared you how place so beautiful could turn into the most vicious of battlegrounds.

"Are you afraid, of Rhys coming here?"

Eris tensed behind you, his hand still lingering on your side, "We don't have to talk about this, y/n."

"I know," you told him, smiling softly as you watched a small bunny poke its head above its burrow, "I just know him, and I don't want to put you or your court in danger."

"I'm not afraid of him, and he will never step foot in my court. I won't allow it," he was stoic, and you knew he was telling the truth, Eris had faced worse than Rhys, he had endured worse.

"I can go, I don't have to be here, Eris."

Axos stopped moving, your brows itched together in a frown and you turned to capture Eris' gaze which was riddled with confusion, "I would never dream to keep you from doing whatever it is you wish to you, even if you wish to leave, I would not stop you. But I would like you to stay, and I think you would like to stay too."

Eris' amber pools softened and he smiled sadly at you, knowing that you didn't wish to leave but wanted to protect him and his home from whatever it was that Rhys could inflict upon it, "You will always have a place here, y/n. No one can take that from you, whatever you wish for is yours."

"Who knew that the fox could be so sweet?"

Eris tilted his head back and laughed, a pure thing of serenity, he moved his hand to your thigh and squeezed it gently before grabbing at the reigns once more, "Keep going, Fawn. You're getting warmer."

The hours ticked by, idly chatter filled the air, he told you the names of his hounds, you had unmounted Axos and delved further into the woodland, touching every tree that you could as if you wouldn't see them again all whilst Eris trailed you with a distant grin on his lips. Sunlight began to wane into its mid-afternoon position, the warmth replaced with bristle breezes and the birdsong drowned out by the emerging chirps of crickets.

Golden hour.

A moment you had heard of, when the sun reached its most comfortable resting place before it beckoned the moon to start its ascent, where the world was coated in the golden autumn glow that consumed the land. You had heard the stories of its beauty, but nothing could prepare you for it as you watched the light shift to a different angle and a shimmer cling to everything that moved. The waters glistening, sparkling and reflecting against the bodies of the trees, and that sparkle bounced all over the clearing where you stood.

"It's beautiful," your voice was a whisper but your eyes floated about the clearing, your body turned where you stood and you drank it in.

"It is," Eris confirmed from where he stood, dry branches creaked under his feet as he approached, "It's something that I take for granted, when you see it every day you forget how special it is."

"I wish that you could see it again for the first time."

A weight shifted at your feet and you peered down to see one of Eris' hounds, Willow, perched atop your toes, looking up at you with a lopsided grin as she panted. Reaching down, you scratched the spot beneath her shin and between her ears, your heart swelling as her tail swatted at the floor and her eyes screwed closed as she accepted your touch, "She likes you."

Willow was an elegant beast, long brown lashes, deep brown eyes, shining fur of tan and black, and shaggy ears that fell down the sides of her face, "I like her too."

Eris' eyes glowed, with what you couldn't quite tell, "We should head back to the manor, you must be starving."

When you thought of it you were hungry, you didn't remember the last time you ate, perhaps the morning of your departure but you couldn't be sure of it. The ride back to the manor felt too short, you were relishing in his company far too much, so much so that you wished that the day wouldn't end.

Fir Manor approached in the forefront of your vision and you sighed, ready to be in more relaxing clothes, but also ready to eat something. You could only imagine how incredible the food would be if even the landscape alone brought you happiness. Eris dismounted first and held his hands up to you, not even straining as they gripped your waist and placed you back on the ground delicately.

Eris' finger reached to tuck a strand of your hair behind your pointed ear, one that must have fell loose from the effortless bun you had thrown your hair into that morning. That same finger lingered, ghosting over the curve of your jaw and you felt your breath hitch in your throat. His eyes were on you, waving themselves over your face.

You could have stayed there for much longer, in his arms with his fingers dusting over your skin. It seemed that others were too impatient to allow the moment to continue as the door to the manor swung open and you turned your head to see Nesta and Lucien stood on the porch with Elain in the doorway.

"Nes?" Eris' grip on your waist tightened slightly but relented as you moved away, pacing up the pathway and flinging yourself into her open arms which wrapped around you tightly, "What are you doing here?"

"Our place is with you," she muttered and you pulled away, looking between her, Lucien and Elain as Eris fell to your side.

"What about Cassian?"

Nesta shuddered, she took a moment to glance at Eris and the apprehension he wore as he inched closer to you, "I can't be mated to someone who could allow something like this to happen."

"I'm so sorry, Nes," guilt pooled within you and she could see that as clear as daybreak, she took a step closer to you, taking your head in her hands and stroking your cheeks with her thumbs.

"Don't be," she shushed, "I chose you. I will always choose you."

Lucien placed a hand on your shoulder and offered more detail, "Rhys is furious, but he knows that he can't get to you here," he glanced to his brother and his lips tilted downward, "He's asked for you, for a meeting at the boarder."

The High Lord growled under his breath and took a protective step to you, it was clear that Rhys was going to attempt to barter for your return, that he was going to use his manipulation tactics to steal you back, "Fine," your blood ran cold and Nesta's fingers gripped at your wrists as Eris rounded your figure to stand beside her, "You're not going anywhere, alright? It's in our best interests to see what he has to say. I'll never let him take you," Eris turned his head to peer over his shoulder at his younger brother and Elain who had drifted from the doorway to entwine her fingers with his, his eyes faltered in want before he spoke, "You'll accompany me."

Lucien nodded stiffly and once, "For her, I'll do whatever you need me to."

"Thank you," Eris' words were sincere and he found Nesta's gaze, "You can all stay here for however long you'd like," then he found yours and he reached for your hand, his calloused fingers brushing over your knuckles, "Forever if it suits."

The sun hung low in the sky, the moon was pushing itself through the clouds and your heart raced with anticipation for the moment Eris and Lucien would both leave for the boarder, "Please be careful."

Eris nodded, rubbing your clothes arms in his hands to allow his warmth to run through you, "We will. Go and get changed, I'll see to it that food is on the table for you three by the time you're back."

"Us three?"

"The boarder is hours away," Lucien spoke for his brother who couldn't bare to tell you that they would have to leave imminently in order to meet with Rhys, "If we don't leave soon then we risk missing the window altogether."

"You're safe here, y/n. They can't get in."

In that moment, all you wanted to do was throw your arms around him, just to bask in his scent and warmth for another moment longer, but you couldn't. Instead, you nodded and allowed Nesta and Elain to lead you inside, and you continued to look over your shoulder up until the moment when Lucien closed the door with a tight lipped smile cast in your direction.

It would not be the last time you'd see him. If it was, then you'd decimate the entire of Prythian with your fury.

Author's Note

Here we are!

Hope you love it x

Someone told me that 'Who's Afraid of Little Old Me' by Taylor Swift is so The Fox and The Fawn reader coded and I cannot stop thinking about it

Taglist

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isagrimorie · 5 months

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Sometimes there really are interesting things on Reddit, found this one particular passage on r/DaystromInstitute talking about Starfleet and the Cardassian war, in particular, Miles O'Brien and Kathryn Janeway's experiences in a ground war:

Ground combat was much different. O'Brian's reactions to the Cardassians in 'The Wounded' are clear that ground combat wasn't as clean for the Federation as it was in space. Same with Captain Maxwell. Even Captain Janeway was in ground combat in the Federation/Cardassian war (I think it was the episode 'Prey' where Janeway told Seven of a time during the war when she was only Lt. Janeway). O'Brian carrying anger against the Cardassians for making him into a killer. Maxwell so used to destroying Cardassian ships that a year after the treaty is signed he's still in the habit of blowing up Cardassian ships. Janeway, it's entirely possible that until the war ended she spent her entire Starfleet career in combat, earning battlefield promotions, flying up the chain of command to Commander and with the impossible situation that Voyager was in after her promotion to Captain and first command being Voyager, she found herself trying to balance Starfleet ideologies with her own history of being willing to use violence, or in her case, too willing in a few episodes.

This is an interesting thought, I remember being surprised knowing Janeway actually was in actual ground combat. As we learned from DS9, and Strange New Worlds, ground combat is a lot different from ship-to-ship battle.

Ships can also be dangerous but Starfleet shines with ship battles. Ground combats are harder, and bloodier, and leave long-lasting marks on the soldiers who find themselves in them.

I wonder if Janeway distinguishing herself in the Cardassian war is the reason why Voyager got the assignment to go after the Maquis. But also, Janeway might have wanted to distance herself from the war more and focus on science.

But the Delta Quadrant kept pushing her into that place again.

Like, now I wish Janeway interacted with O'Brien at least, two Cardassian war vets.

ETA:

Another good r/DaystromInstitute post on Janeway:

Janeway is intentionally written as a character who intellectually believes in the ideals of the Federation, but whose actions are not always in line with her stated beliefs. I think this is very human and understandable. Very few real humans are as moral as Picard. This is why Quark's quote:

"Let me tell you something about Hew-mons, Nephew. They're a wonderful, friendly people, as long as their bellies are full and their holosuites are working. But take away their creature comforts, deprive them of food, sleep, sonic showers, put their lives in jeopardy over an extended period of time and those same friendly, intelligent, wonderful people... will become as nasty and as violent as the most bloodthirsty Klingon. You don't believe me? Look at those faces. Look in their eyes."

rings so true. Janeway is trying hard to not be the type of human Quark describes, but she is failing. She still tries, though, which I think is important.

All this just makes me love Janeway more, also Starfleet is terrible with mental health.

#thinky thoughts #federation cardassian war #kathryn janeway #miles o'brien #star trek #star trek voyager

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minniesmutt · 2 months

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♱ ━━━━━━ 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋: 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐀

♱ ━━━ CONTENT: MENTION OF DRUGS, ALCOHOL, VIOLENCE, PRISON, THERAPY MENTIONS, MORE OF A FILLER CHAPTER, WET DREAM, COCKWARMING, GRINDING, PET NAMES, IMPLIED MORE ROUNDS ♱ ━━━ WC: 1K ♱ ━━━ PAIRING: FELIX X READER ♱ ━━━ 18+ work!! minors and ageless/blank blogs DNI! you will be blocked, put an indicator on your blog somewhere that you are 18+ before interacting with this work/blog ♱ ━━━ a repost from my old blog

Information was always easy for Felix to find. Everything was on the internet. Everything was put into databases. Police files, card info, medical information, everything. It was such easy access.

From day one, Felix was already looking into Y/n, even before Minho asked him. He knew they didn’t find anything at her old apartment. So to the internet, he went. Checking her social media first. The fabricated life people selectively chose to put out.

Most photos were with friends. Trips, clubs, drinks, anything. Normal twenty-something-year-old behavior. Moving on to her friend’s profiles, it was the same story. Looking into them first.

Seana was clean essentially. She had no issues with the law and worked a good job to keep herself afloat. Posted about her friends just like Y/n. Nothing was an issue with her. Karina had a bit of a record; driving under the influence, hit and runs, possession of illegal drugs. She had a job but more of a part-time thing. Nothing that really helped support the lifestyle she wanted to portray online.

Looking into the family was next. From what he gathered and found out from reports, her dad hadn’t been in her life since she was young and was in jail on the other side of the country. There were no records of calls to anyone since his incarceration. Pretty content with rotting away in the system. Multiple times considering he had a bit of a history of being released and getting back in months later.

Her mom had passed away a few years ago. Coroners report stating a mix of drugs and alcohol. Grandparents having passed away or lived elsewhere in the country. Y/n essentially had no family from what Felix could tell. He felt a little bad for her, being on your own like that could hurt.

Checking through medical records were next on the list. The first thing he noticed was notes from therapy sessions. Becoming very interested, he made his own copy of the notes and saved it onto his computer before he heard the elevator ding.

“Felix?” He heard Y/n’s voice call.

“Yeah?” He called back as he minimized the windows and pulled up some other things he had been looking into for Chan.

Y/n walked into his little home office as he turned around in his chair. Sitting in his loungewear— a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt— as she made her way over to him.

“What’s up, princess?” Felix asked as she made her way over to him.

“Just a bit bored, figured I come bug you,” Y/n said as he pulled her onto his lap.

“Keep me company while I work then, yeah?”

“Can do,” Y/n smiled as he spun the chair around back to his screens.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him and listened to his keyboard taps and mouse clicks. It was soothing to listen to honestly. Lulling her back into sleep on top of the blonde’s lap.

Felix noticed her asleep a few minutes later, gently rubbing her back before pulling her medical files out again. Reading through it, a few things jumped out at him. Trust issues, compulsively lying, unwilling to work through trauma.

Felix emailed the notes he thought were most important to Chan but kept reading.

“Client has mentioned early life with mother but not much. Briefly mentioned biological mother being under the influence often and redirecting anger onto the client.”

“Client laughs when explaining a core event in her life.”

“Clients says alcohol intake has gone down; was previously using to cope.”

Felix kept reading. He could make guesses now why she chose to stay with them. Given her family history, maybe some lack of attention growing up caused her to seek it from anywhere in her adult life. Now, she had eight men ready to do that at any time of the day.

Being a liar could be useful to them. But it made him wonder; only one friend had been caught by law enforcement and charged. The other one was clean from head to toe. Y/n seemingly had a history of issues— using to cope could mean getting into some trouble. But nothing.

But she seemed so unphased by the eight being gangsters. Maybe she’d never been caught? Maybe she was clean? It was a little difficult to tell.

Felix reclined back into his chair and wrapped his arms around Y/n. He gently rubbed her back as he took in the information. He knew Chan had a plan from the beginning of this arrangement, but he also had a feeling this information was going to give him a bit more of an idea to use her.

Felix chuckled a bit to himself as he went back to some other tasks. “Lix,” Y/n mumbled

“Yes, princess?” He asked looking down at her. Her eyes still closed but little moans came out of her as she subtly grinded on him.

“Silly girl,” Felix said as he moved his hands down to her ass and pulled her closer, kissing the side of her head, “Y/n.” He said

“Mhm?” She asked, moving her head to hide in his chest.

“Having a fun little dream?” Felix teased

“Yes.”

“Want some help?”

“Please.”

Y/n was happy she was just wearing panties and one of the boy’s t-shirts. Made it easier for him to move his sweatpants and boxers down and push her panties to the side. Lining his tip up with her entrance and slowly sank her down onto him. Y/n moaned as her walls stretched for him till he was fully inside of her.

“Feel so good,” Y/n muttered into his chest.

“Yeah? Think you just like having a cock in you princess,” Felix got back to work. Y/n held onto him tightly as she slowly started to grind herself against him.

“Gonna use me to make yourself cum?” Felix asked, his baritone voice going straight to her core.

“Please lix,” Y/n whined

“Go ahead, princess. Just know I get to use you to cum later.”

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iwanty0uu · 2 months

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❄︎ all characters are 19+ y/n being 20, second female character being 19, and male character being 21, contains swearing and mentions of violence ❄︎

•unedited•

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑…

Three weeks passed since the event with your “sister” and you didnt know how to feel. Life felt like a fever dream and as you sat down sadly in your college dorm, you received a dm, from Connie.. ?

You two had chemistry, well chemistry wasn’t the word, maybe advanced biology.. he was the type to make you think that he was all about you in private during your late high-school years, and then act like you were nothing more than friends in public. Considering that you two were friends, you couldn’t tell whether you were really trippin bout the way he acted or if you just caught feelings while he didnt. So for your own peace, you un-added him and went no contact. This went on for three years until tonight.You opened your inbox and the message read:

“long time no talk..heard niggas spreading shit bout you that aint sit right.. tell me wassup my heart.”

Your heart dropped.. the fuck was he talking about you like that for? HE CHEATED! WITH YOUR SISTER AT THAT!!

“Fuck it” you thought and began typing your paragraph..

𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

You remembered the footsteps that entered your household, and it was her.. Your sister, Nataly and your newly EX BOYFRIEND entering your home, your safe haven. She was greeted with stares from her father, brother and yourself. “How could you do that to your sister?” Your father asked? His tone was low, and he seemed hurt for you, but this was no regular empathy, this was trauma.His face seemed as if he had seen one thousand years worth of pain and heartbreak, and it broke him to know that his daughter, his baby was just like the person who had hurt him. History repeats itself no?

“Y/n I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness but I did come here to apologize-“ before he could finish his sentence, his face was met with your fathers fist, his blood flew through the kitchen, spreading along the kitchen floor like wet fresh paint. The crunch of Ony’s nose filled the room which was followed by a gut wrenching scream.. He had no time to talk or explain himself. You would have never expected your father to move so quickly considering his size and weight but it seemed as if he took his anger out on the boy. The boy who looked too much like the one who betrayed him and slept with his gold digging…wife, his cousin. After your brother pried your father and ex apart, Ony was unconscious, and your father’s once dark blue polo almost looked the same shade as midnight, and was soaked..

You watched your sister to see how she would react, would she try to help him? Ask daddy “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?” in the voice she uses when she doesn’t get what she wants? But to your surprise, she tried to hug you, grabbing your hands and repeating “It was only twice.. it only happened twice.” Your brother must have seen the glint in your eye which caused him to act faster than you could, separating you and your sister before she got a matching broken nose.. “OH SO IM PEACE-MAKER TODAY HUH?” he repeated, pacing up and down the kitchen. “AWWWEEE SHITTTT IM GOING TO JAIL I GOT FINGER PRINTS ALL ON THIS BITCH- YO POP YOU MURDERED HIM- NIGGAS NOT EVEN BREATHING-“ his tattooed hands touched his waves, rubbing his face and fanning himself dramatically.

“You’re dead to me” you said to Nataly. And it was the last thing you remembered before leaving your home in a frenzy. “why does this shit happen to me god?” you pleaded in your car, eyes too swollen to drive causing you to pull over and take a break. After that, your memory was foggy, you did make it home though and skipped school for a week after..

𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭

You found that your conversation with Connie lasted for hours, then led to an instagram facetime, then let to an actual facetime, to talking every day for the next month, being shady to Ony together, throwing subs on social media about him, and having study sessions. Over this month, your time in the empty lecture halls with him were the best, being alone in a big room with someone who you “weren’t supposed to be with” always turned you on.. or maybe you were just a little perv, but Connie noticed this. He noticed this as he sat next to you instead of across from you one day, how you looked at his lips and not his eyes when he got the correct answer. You purposely told him that you would reward him if he passed his exam which he did, knowing exactly what you had in mind. He noticed how your soft plush lips eased into his as if they craved the intimate privacy that they once despised, craving the secrecy that caused your situationship to fail. Your slick coated your dark brown g-string under your long skirt that was now hiked up, as you sat on his lap, the way he played with your nipple piercing remembering how everyone said it was dumb to get just one but it fit you so well. This was his first time touching you this way in years, and he would make this a moment to remember. Although he wanted to continue, he stopped to wash his hands at the lab sink before he began, and then came back to finish your lewd scene. You sat patiently waiting for him to finish and this gave you time to think about your actions. Were you doing this because of Ony? No, so why do you feel so nervous?

He turned around and returned to his seat, kissing your skin which sent tingles up your spine, calming you down, but you still had something on your mind and it made your balls blue. Your high came down and as usual, he noticed. Knowing Connie for as long as you did, his maturity was now visible and in that moment he promised that you’d be his number 1. It was hard to trust niggas now-a-days but what did you have to lose? If all hell breaks loose just wait until it freezes over and go about your life as you did before him. So being you, it was easy to agree but even harder to believe him, but you ignored it. You knew yourself well and if he didn’t treat you how you were supposed to, then he’d be gone. The heat between you went back to its intensity as he deepened the kiss, leaving hickies around the open skin on your chest above your tube top. Your legs fluttered open at his touch and you felt his erection almost burning into the fat of your ass, he slowly put his fingers back inside of you, thrusting while curving his fingers inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. You could feel yourself coming to your high, gripping onto his shoulders riding his fingers, begging for his touch and affection. You pulled at his studded earlobe with your teeth as his erection stimulated your clit. You found yourself tugging on his sweats, begging to be touched by him… You slid your hand into his ethikas, pulling out his cock, it twitched while you rubbed his pink tip that was already lubricated with his pre cum. You played with the plump of his pink lips while you grounded yourself onto his dick, sinking your way onto him. You both were on the edge and near to cum, so you weren’t surprised when he bucked his hips into you before you could gain your senses. You lost control of your body as it bucked in return, matching his pace and his sloppy rythm. “Fuckkkkkk con- shit” you rubbed his shoulders as you felt your high approaching.

“You take this dick good huh ma-“ he grunted, his rhythm now inconsistent as he slowed down, edging the both of you. You felt as if you were on cloud nine, the way he caressed your skin, touching you in the places that were left cold by your ex… rubbing his favorite spots on your body. His tongue grazed against your own, swirling in the pool of your saliva, he bit your lip causing you to jump slightly. He laughed while kissing the both of your cheeks, his thumb re-located to your clit, rubbing faster and harder, pressing down against your sweet spot as you whined against his hips.

“Connie! I’m cumminggggg, oh my-“ You grabbed his body for support as you felt him release inside of you, he gripped your hips, holding you still as you jerked against him, still in the after shock of your orgasm.

“Hold on y/n- shittt” he whispered as he felt his seed leak out of you. He slightly moved his hips, pushing the other half of his girth that couldn’t fit inside of you. As it kissed your cervix, you felt your eyes roll back…but there was another pair watching you.You both heard shushed voices outside of the door, forgetting the time and how the night classes started at 8pm… it was currently 9:30 and by the grace of God no one entered the lecture hall whilst you and connie had your randevu.

“shit the time-“ you mumbled, quickly hopping off of him, loosing balance instantly as he held you up. You grabbed some wipes that sat in the inner pocket of your telfar, and cleaned you both up to the best of your ability. You couldn’t control the giggles that left your mouth as you fled the crime scene, but that night liberated you.

𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎𝐚𝐦

Connies head rested on your chest as it rose and fell,he slept as you were left alone with your thoughts. You didn’t regret what happened and were looking forward to a future with him..but who’s eyes were it that you felt?…..

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐟𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐞𝐧𝐝.

hope yall liked this as much as i DREADED MAKING THIS jkjk..mwahh!~𝓵𝓮𝓵𝓮

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thunderboltfire · 2 months

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I have a lot of complicated feelings when it comes to what Neflix has done with the Witcher, but my probably least favourite is the line of argumentation that originated during shitstorms related to the first and second season that I was unlucky to witness.

It boils down to "Netflix's reinterpretation and vision is valid, because the Witcher books are not written to be slavic. The overwhelming Slavic aestetic is CDPR's interpretation, and the setting in the original books is universally European, as there are references to Arthurian mythos and celtic languages" And I'm not sure where this argument originated and whether it's parroting Sapkowski's own words or a common stance of people who haven't considered the underlying themes of the books series. Because while it's true that there are a lot of western european influences in the Witcher, it's still Central/Eastern European to the bone, and at its core, the lack of understanding of this topic is what makes the Netflix series inauthentic in my eyes.

The slavicness of the Witcher goes deeper than the aestetics, mannerisms, vodka and sour cucumbers. Deeper than Zoltan wrapping his sword with leopard pelt, like he was a hussar. Deeper than the Redanian queen Hedvig and her white eagle on the red field.

What Witcher is actually about? It's a story about destiny, sure. It's a sword-and-sorcery style, antiheroic deconstruction of a fairy tale, too, and it's a weird mix of many culture's influences.

But it's also a story about mundane evil and mundane good. If You think about most dark, gritty problems the world of Witcher faces, it's xenophobia and discrimination, insularism and superstition. Deep-seated fear of the unknown, the powerlessness of common people in the face of danger, war, poverty and hunger. It's what makes people spit over their left shoulder when they see a witcher, it's what makes them distrust their neighbor, clinging to anything they deem safe and known. It's their misfortune and pent-up anger that make them seek scapegoats and be mindlessly, mundanely cruel to the ones weaker than themselves.

There are of course evil wizards, complicated conspiracies and crowned heads, yes. But much of the destruction and depravity is rooted in everyday mundane cycle of violence and misery. The worst monsters in the series are not those killed with a silver sword, but with steel. it's hard to explain but it's the same sort of motiveless, mundane evil that still persist in our poorer regions, born out of generations-long poverty and misery. The behaviour of peasants in Witcher, and the distrust towards authority including kings and monarchs didn't come from nowhere.

On the other hand, among those same, desperately poor people, there is always someone who will share their meal with a traveller, who will risk their safety pulling a wounded stranger off the road into safety. Inconditional kindness among inconditional hate. Most of Geralt's friends try to be decent people in the horrible world. This sort of contrasting mentalities in the recently war-ridden world is intimately familiar to Eastern and Cetral Europe.

But it doesn't end here. Nilfgaard is also a uniquely Central/Eastern European threat. It's a combination of the Third Reich in its aestetics and its sense of superiority and the Stalinist USSR with its personality cult, vast territory and huge army, and as such it's instantly recognisable by anybody whose country was unlucky enough to be caught in-between those two forces. Nilfgaard implements total war and looks upon the northerners with contempt, conscripts the conquered people forcibly, denying them the right of their own identity. It may seem familiar and relevant to many opressed people, but it's in its essence the processing of the trauma of the WW2 and subsequent occupation.

My favourite case are the nonhumans, because their treatment is in a sense a reminder of our worst traits and the worst sins in our history - the regional antisemitism and/or xenophobia, violence, local pogroms. But at the very same time, the dilemma of Scoia'Tael, their impossible choice between maintaining their identity, a small semblance of freedom and their survival, them hiding in the forests, even the fact that they are generally deemed bandits, it all touches the very traumatic parts of specifically Polish history, such as January Uprising, Warsaw Uprising, Ghetto Uprising, the underground resistance in WW2 and the subsequent complicated problem of the Cursed Soldiers all at once. They are the 'other' to the general population, but their underlying struggle is also intimately known to us.

The slavic monsters are an aestetic choice, yes, but I think they are also a reflection of our local, private sins. These are our own, insular boogeymen, fears made flesh. They reproduce due to horrors of the war or they are an unprovoked misfortune that descends from nowhere and whose appearance amplifies the local injustices.

I'm not talking about many, many tiny references that exist in the books, these are just the most blatant examples that come to mind. Anyway, the thing is, whether Sapkowski has intended it or not, Witcher is slavic and it's Polish because it contains social commentary. Many aspects of its worldbuilding reflect our traumas and our national sins. It's not exclusively Polish in its influences and philosophical motifs of course, but it's obvious it doesn't exist in a vacuum.

And it seems to me that the inherently Eastern European aspects of Witcher are what was immediately rewritten in the series. It seems to me that the subtler underlying conflicts were reshaped to be centered around servitude, class and gender disparity, and Nilfgaard is more of a fanatic terrorist state than an imposing, totalitarian empire. A lot of complexity seems to be abandoned in lieu of usual high-fantasy wordbuilding. It's especially weird to me because it was completely unnecessary. The Witcher books didn't need to be adjusted to speak about relevant problems - they already did it! The problem of acceptance and discrimination is a very prevalent theme throughout the story! They are many strong female characters too, and they are well written. Honestly I don't know if I should find it insulting towards their viewers that they thought it won't be understood as it was and has to be somehow reshaped to fit the american perpective, because the current problems are very much discussed in there and Sapkowski is not subtle in showing that genocide and discrimination is evil. Heck, anyone who has read the ending knows how tragic it makes the whole story.

It also seems quite disrespectful, because they've basically taken a well-established piece of our domestic literature and popular culture and decided that the social commentary in it is not relevant. It is as if all it referenced was just not important enough and they decided to use it as an opportunity to talk about the problems they consider important. And don't get me wrong, I'm not forcing anyone to write about Central European problems and traumas, I'm just confused that they've taken the piece of art already containing such a perspective on the popular and relevant problem and they just... disregarded it, because it wasn't their exact perspective on said problem.

And I think this homogenisation, maybe even from a certain point of view you could say it's worldview sanitisation is a problem, because it's really ironic, isn't it? To talk about inclusivity in a story which among other problems is about being different, and in the same time to get rid of motifs, themes and references because they are foreign? Because if something presents a different perspective it suddenly is less desirable?

There was a lot of talking about the showrunners travelling to Poland to understand the Witcher's slavic spirit and how to convey it. I don't think they really meant it beyond the most superficial, paper-thin facade.

#The witcher #Sorry if its convoluted I just got reminded of something and it made me a little angry #and as I had this conversation a lot of times I've decided to put it into written text #sorry about being bitter #but these are some of my favourite books and I'm still upset when I get reminded how badly they were treated in the recent adaptation #I'm not saying you should never change anything #But it's good to have enough background to understand why some things are the way they are in the original #and to understand what the source material is about #we don't talk about particular character's looks or something (altough I feel they could care more about it too)#but central themes tropes and motifs #long post #it may seem like I'm talking from a high horse here #people are welcome to interpret literature however they want #Nobody has a monopol on themes #I just think that in this particular case the cultural context influences the worldbuilding #and if changed it doesn't have the same impact anymore #meta

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spaceratprodigy · 16 days

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yeah yeah always talking abt roseway and fallbrook arcs. we never talk about the fucking rage that comes out of her when dropping in byzantium btw

#shoots hortense between the eyes. shoots tilda in the knee.#we already know what she does to become sublight vp but there's a more complicated thought process there that haunts her #love maverick johnston tho he's always gassing up how hot max is #okay but I can't wait to get to fallbrook okay OKAY #that's THE PLACE #also kills me every time faith stops max from beating the piss out of reggie #just to go and punch nelson in the eye TWICE #I love my little hypocrite #y'all need to understand she has her own history with anger and violence #which makes her dynamic with max so much funnier and interesting #bc they're constantly trying to keep the other from doing something they'd regret #while simultaneously being like 👀 at each other #rambling #*sobbing into my hands* I want the planned intervention perk so bad it's literally so sexy of him to behave like that #(yes I know tilda it PoG dlc but it's still byzantium soooo)#(is*)

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sentience-if · 10 months

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Play Demo

You do not know who you are.

Your memories only go five years back, to when you woke up in a subterranean tunnel system with nothing but a name. Now you reside in the Holy City, capital of a post-apocalyptic world ruled by a faction called the Religious.

After a near-death experience at the hands of a crazed angel, you're suddenly thrust into a building conspiracy surrounding a corpse-worshiping cult, divinely mad saints, and something buried far, far beneath the earth.

To top it all off, you're being plagued by nightmares you can't explain, as well as your rapidly returning memories.

Or… someone's memories, anyway.

Features

Choose your first name, gender, and appearance.

Customize your character's personality, including their opinions on magic and the Religious.

Make choices that affect the plot, other characters, and even your own sanity.

Unravel the history of the Religious and the apocalypse they claim to have brought the world back from

Characters (descriptions here)

The Mercenary: Val (nb/m/f)

A hired blade with a chaotic streak, as well as the closest thing you have to a friend. Easy-going and unpredictable, Val is usually the one to get you into trouble, but is always there to get you out of it.

The Handmaiden: Klaus Kirkhall (m)

A high-ranking member of the Religious. Klaus is pragmatic with a dry sense of humor, but takes his responsibilities deeply seriously. You get the intense feeling he know something - many things - that you don't.

The Priestess: Ira Auclair (nb)

A priestess working in the lower districts of the Holy City, extremely devout and deeply interested in the history and lore of the Religious. They spend their time searching archives to fuel their (slightly blasphemous) theories.

The Spy: Kat Saxon (f)

Claims to be a priestess, but is barely trying to hide the fact that she's clearly anything but. Her merciless stare and unshakeable confidence dare anyone to call out her suspect nature.

The Muscle: Dane/Dana Constantine (m/f)

An officer of the Blessed Guard, working directly under Klaus. Constantine is quick to anger, and is an absolute brick wall when challenged. While deeply loyal, Constantine isn't afraid to give their employer a piece of their mind.

Content warnings: violence, blood, heavy religious themes

#interactive fiction #twine game #twine if #interactive novel #horror #fantasy #scifi

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strawberrystepmom · 6 months

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izuku x f!reader. enemies to lovers au, workshopped with @izvmimi <33333 her follow up part can be found here. wc 3.6k.

With an exasperated sigh, Izuku points the remote that looks comically small in his hand toward the flat screen TV screwed into his office wall to turn the volume up the moment you come on screen.

“This week, yet another family was displaced by the inaction of heroes. When the focus shifted from merely catching villains rather than protecting the public…”

Your voice drifts into a blur, the man choosing to focus on your mouth and how it’s moving rather than what you’re saying. Plush and soft, topped with camera ready shimmering gloss. Your eyes are wide and doe like, your cheeks round and trustworthy. You’re the picture of empathy, pretty and polished, immaculate in every way.

It certainly isn’t hard to imagine why VOHSV, Victims of Hero Supported Violence, picked you as their spokesperson. Who else could manage this busy talk show circuit with expert precision? Watching you play the crowd and hosts’ emotions like a violin makes him roll his eyes but he can’t deny you are damn good.

Your message is infuriating to him and his colleagues but at least you look like heaven sent while spreading it. It’s probably why everything you say spreads like wildfire across the social media apps he has open on his unlocked phone that rests on his desk.

He’s listened to your spiel enough times that he can already fill in the blanks of what you’re saying but he picks up the remote and turns the volume up an additional click to be certain you haven’t deviated from your usual points. Costly property damage, displacement, lack of available care to those affected by the trauma of villain attacks, blah, blah, blah.

The interviewer appears on screen as the camera pans, nodding at the last comment you made that Izuku didn’t care to actually listen to.

“And how does your organization suggest the Commission begin combating these issues?”

The camera is quick to pan back to you with your perfect smile, teeth striking and bright and dazzling. The man watching from his oversized office and overstuffed chair clenches his fist watching you, uncertain if it’s annoyance or desire that fills his chest, but he doesn’t look away despite the flashing red light on his desk phone telling him he’s being paged by his assistant.

“I am personally calling upon the top heroes to do better.” Your smile doesn’t waver and the camera zooms in on your head and shoulders, allowing your next impassioned plea to land directly where you intend it to. “Deku, you claim you care, yet you are responsible for the most costly property damage caused by a hero in Japanese history. How do you explain that with that big smile plastered on your face?”

Bold of you to be taunting the man chuckling humorlessly from his desk about plastered on smiles with a high definition flat screen sized Cheshire grin of your own on your face but he appreciates the audacity.

“Be a hero instead of just talking about being one.”

Perhaps if your life’s path were different you’d be a hero just like him or maybe he’d even be you, full of righteous anger toward those who only wish to help no matter the means. Or collateral.

Without thinking, Izuku pulls his phone off of the top of his desk and his jaw slackens when he presses the little pen in the corner of the current most popular app in the app store. The speed of his thumbs is almost impressive, big hands on a little phone screen won’t stop the number one hero, and he smirks when his phone pings letting him know his post has gone live.

Deku (@fight4smiles)

Name the time and place, VOHSV. I’ll gladly drop a check by to cover some of the damage you allege I’ve been doing.

He gets to see your reaction in real time, the camera panning from you to the interviewer who grins excitedly, pressing on their in ear microphone and back. The man chuckles to himself, swinging back and forth in his chair, lips curved into a smirk.

“It appears the current number one hero has responded to your challenge. He’s willing to meet.”

Your smile droops but you’re quick to put it back in place, brows raised and head nodding wildly. The adversarial relationship between the two of you is nothing new, Deku having spent the better part of this entire year ducking and dodging your direct invitations to speak with the VOHSV.

He watches you smack your lips together and purse them, primly placing your hands in your lap and laughter comes easily. It’s no big deal to him to cut a check to help put some buildings back together, the many zeros on the end of his bank balance just one of the many perks of being at the top but it has never been about that for him.

Deep down, he knows he’ll never change your mind about your crusade but he would love to shut you up at least for a little while.

“How brave of him to finally step up. I will be reaching out to him soon with details.”

The red light on Izuku’s desk phone continues to blink wildly and just as he leans forward to answer it, his office door opens and his assistant stares at him with disbelief with the current number two Dynamight hot on their heels, pulling his mask off of his head and gently shoving them out of the way.

The assistant scurries back to their position outside of Deku’s office as quickly as possible, allowing the men privacy.

“Why did you do that?”

Izuku looks down at his cell phone and tosses it on his desk with a relaxed shrug. He catches a glance at your pretty face one last time before shutting the TV off, tossing the remote aside and turning his attention toward Katsuki with his arms folded over his chest.

“You know that you’re giving them what they want, right? Giving these shitheads attention is just going to create more of ‘em.”

More of them - outspoken victims’ rights activists. VOHSV is simply one of many groups that have cropped up over the last several years as hero academies have continued to churn out bigger and better heroes with every graduating class. It has been a decade since Izuku and Katsuki graduated and the classes after them have only become stronger, a source of pride for both of the men, given their hefty donations to their alma mater.

Sure the battles have become bigger, spectacles to be adapted into films and documentaries later, but isn’t that what being a hero is all about? What’s left behind after you save the day, no matter who may be affected?

The heroes of today are simply doing what they’ve been taught to do and that’s save the day no matter the cost. It’s hard to hold it against them when it’s systemic and historically that has been the main reason why most advocacy groups have fallen apart but not the VOHSV. They are succeeding because they have you, coiffed to perfection and ready to take anyone you can to task, including the devilishly handsome and arrogant man topping the hero charts.

Izuku sighs, his phone buzzing persistently on the desk in front of him. It’s certainly his agent or his PR team or someone eager to scold him for what he’s done so he ignores it, sliding the little piece of metal aside.

“I’d care more if their points were valid but we both know they aren’t. I’ll cut a check, flash a smile, and hopefully make their mouthpiece look silly enough she’ll stop doing press circuits. It seems like a winning situation to me.”

Bakugou snorts, unimpressed with the answer.

“What if this backfires and you look stupid?”

Izuku’s phone continues to buzz and he opens his desk drawer, sliding the device inside rather than deal with the issue at hand. He’ll comfort everyone later, what matters the most to him right now is when you’ll be brave enough to reach out to show him your hand. Right now, he has you backed into a corner and he simply wants to watch you make your way out of it, smug that he’s the one who has you pinned there.

“Impossible. People don’t take these organizations seriously enough for me to look stupid.”

Katsuki snorts, leaning against the door frame rather than fully entering the office. He was asked to stop by earlier this week, the two of them supposed to be ironing out details to appear at a hospital opening in another part of the city, but the task has clearly been put aside for a petty online feud headed by the Beacon of Hope himself.

“I think you’re already stupid.”

Izuku offers a curt smile and nods at his friend.

“I’ll take that into consideration along with all of your other opinions, don’t worry.”

Any further argument between the two is cut short when Deku’s assistant bursts back onto the scene, peeking around the door frame.

“Uh…the VOHSV spokesperson is on the phone for you, Mr. Midoriya.”

Izuku laughs and raises his brows, shifting forward in his chair and pressing the flashing line one button indicating a call is waiting. He presses his thick finger to his lips to encourage Bakugou and his assistant to be quiet and he hits the speaker button immediately.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

It takes all of you not to toss your phone across the room at the sound of his voice through your speaker. You’re in the back of a chauffeured vehicle, phone pressed to your ear so hard you swear that your cheek and head are going to hurt later, nursing a bottle of water in your free hand.

You weren’t expecting to hear from him so soon, either.

“I figured since you are so eager and have so much to say we may as well get this over with. We have an event on Friday night and you will be forwarded the details on location and attire and we are anticipating your donation of over five million yen. It will help many who have been harmed due to your recklessness.”

The blood pulsing in his ears makes the room seem smaller, the walls caving in on him with your words. You’re so adversarial toward him, so eager to bite and nip and bat with your claws out, and he wants to know why. What happened to make you distrust people like him so much?

Remembering he’s the one who has you backed into a corner, he shifts in his chair and tents his fingers on the desk in front of him.

“I’ll have your check, don’t worry. I won’t let you look silly in front of the fourteen VOHSV supporters you have to impress.”

You scoff incredulously. There is something seriously wrong with this man, his arrogance blinding his common sense. Your fingers ache where they grip into the metal sides of your phone and the driver keeps shifting his gaze from the road to the mirror to see your face twist into varying degrees of frustration and anger. Taking a deep breath, you let your lips curve into a smile and narrow your eyes.

Focus. You have him where you want him.

“I didn’t realize this conversation was meant for stooping to petty insults but I can’t say I’m shocked. It’s hardly a surprise you refuse to take anyone else’s safety given your own personal record of injured civilians while you’re handling villain attacks.”

Bakugou’s jaw drops and Izuku leans forward to lift the phone from its cradle, pressing the button to turn it off speaker at near record speed. It takes all of his self control to keep from snapping the cord in two knowing it would effectively end the call and thus his opportunity to antagonize you further.

“Well, you aren’t the only one who has done their homework. We pulled a profile on you months ago and know your entire background. You have no relevant experience that would allow you to criticize heroes the way that you do. Put yourself in our shoes.”

You snort from the other end of the phone, impressed by how bad he is at lying. Arrogance has truly won out over any logic this man may have in his entire body and you suck your teeth, jaw slackening because you have truly won this round.

“See, Deku, here’s the thing. If you were telling the truth about anything you just said then you would already know that I am a graduate of an international hero academy. I have been where you are, or at least wanted to be, but then I came to my senses. I used to hope you’d be able to do the same but it appears my faith was misplaced.”

Now Izuku’s jaw drops, his emerald eyes darting across the room as though the words he needs will magically spring forth from the walls. Sadly, nothing happens and he sits there with his mouth agape dumbly.

“I look forward to seeing you on Friday. Don’t forget that check.”

You pull the phone from your ear and end the call, laughing to yourself knowing that you left this cocky asshole speechless. He mimics your motion in his own office, pulling his desk phone from his ear and placing it back where it belongs. As badly as he wants to be frustrated by the loss to you, he’s impressed by how easily you hit back without an ounce of fear or worry of what you’re getting yourself into.

A woman as beautiful as she is brave and irritating.

He feels his cock stiffen slightly in his sweatpants the longer he thinks about it and frowns, immediately thinking of exploding buildings and grandmas to distance himself from the fact he’s into how eagerly you spar with him.

His assistant and Bakugou both stare at him, his friend laughing and turning on his heel to leave, waving dismissively.

“Like I said Deku, you’re already stupid. Have fun on Friday.”

Izuku’s assistant follows suit and closes the door behind them, giving him time to lick his wounds.

The rest of the week continues like his weeks usually do. He’s called four times to handle villain attacks, each one ending a little less destructive than the last, and Thursday is when he sees you on TV again, smiling brightly on a different talk show in the same time slot you were in on Monday.

He keeps the TV muted, uninterested in what you have to say about the people he saved this week, but he watches your mouth move silently. His eyes narrow every time your tongue darts out, the tip of it wetting your bottom lip and his freckled cheeks heat when your lips twist into that winning smile.

That damned smile.

This man has made bringing smiles to faces his entire personality since the day he zipped up his prototype suit years ago, vowing on that day to work as hard as he could no matter how bleak things seemed. It worked and it’s what he’s known for, joy and hope and safety the things he strives for the most.

Watching you smile while calling his character into question makes him simultaneously furious and hard again and he has to cross his legs and imagine those same exploding buildings when you press your lips together on the screen in front of him.

A knock on the office door captures his attention and his assistant opens the door, clipboard in hand.

“You have a tux fitting for tomorrow.”

Reaching for the remote he turns his TV off and rises with a nod. Everyone knows you have to look your very best for your biggest battles and he has no intention of showing up to meet you face to face looking like anything less than a magazine cover.

He just never imagined you’d do the same yet here you stand, 8 pm on Friday night, draped in dazzling gold silk that hugs every inch of your body. You’re taller than he expected, one long leg jutting from the slit in your dress and elegant neck draped in simple jewelry.

You’re beautiful in a way that TV did little to capture and the arrogant man finds himself speechless when you hold out your hand in his direction, grinning at him. He searches for hidden fangs and finds none, just perfect pretty teeth.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier this week, this organization is my passion and it gets the best of me sometimes.”

Your words catch him off guard so he just nods and shakes your hand. If you notice his sweaty palm you keep it to yourself and he internally chides himself for his nerves. He is the fucking number one hero, his face is plastered on every single corner of Japan, and he needs to remember that.

“Hey, we all have bad days. I’m just glad to be here to shed some light on a small cause.”

Your smile dims and his widens, your palm quickly leaving his. Heat simmers in your core and you feel disgusted by your own desire. Sure, he’s one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen - all big muscles that his tuxedo does little to hide and pretty green waves falling over his face but he’s also the biggest asshole you’ve had the unfortunate luck of meeting.

Drawing your hands close to your body, you fight the urge to petulantly fold your arms over your chest, and he digs in his pocket to produce the check he promised. He holds it out in your direction and you pluck it from his hand, eyes widening when you notice that the amount written on the check is far larger than the five million yen previously discussed.

“Doubled your donation. Very kind of you, Deku.”

He smirks and you feel warm again, cheeks heating in perfect time with your core. Perhaps it’s the glass of champagne you downed an hour ago to calm your nerves or the low lighting of the event space but he is undeniably attractive and you are undeniably attracted to him.

A terrible realization to come to while face to face with a man you called a liar and a fraud four short days ago.

Izuku enters your space and crowds around you, dipping his head low enough that his mouth is just above your ear. He’s bigger than you expected, an entire head taller than you, and you feel overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne and the way he carries himself. He has the demeanor of a man who knows he’s the shit and as much as it aggravates you, it thrills you too, the same heat lashing through your stomach with every flutter of his long lashes.

“Call me an optimist but I think we can still salvage a friendship out of this situation.”

You laugh, shaking your head and clutching the check he provided to your chest.

“There’s an after party starting soon if you don’t have more buildings to go destroy. I’m sure the rest of the VOHSV team would love to thank you personally for your generous donation.”

The hero presses his lips together and raises his brow, blazing green eyes meeting yours. The tension between the two of you is so thick that even the most unaware onlooker would feel it but the room is relatively empty and you’re grateful for it.

“Maybe I only want one person to thank me for my donation.”

Raising a brow to match his, you purse your lips and quickly consider your options. You could give in to the undeniable attraction, a sordid affair with a man you seek to change as part of your life’s work couldn’t possibly be good for optics if you were to be exposed. You could walk away and publicly embarrass him but that doesn’t sound like fun either so you do what you do best - think on your feet and hide your true intentions behind big doe eyes and a winning smile.

“There’s a powder room down that hall, last door on the right,” you motion to a corridor to your left and his eyes follow your movements. “Be there in ten minutes.”

Izuku nods, moving enough to allow you to slip past him and he watches the way your dress shifts across your ass with each step you take away from him. He isn’t going to bother to be polite anymore knowing what is coming next, his mouth watering at the mere thought of watching that pretty little dress drop to the ground below both of your feet while he uncovers the treasure beneath it.

His half hard cock presses against the zipper of his tuxedo pants and he doesn’t bother to adjust himself, taking a shortcut that keeps him against the wall and away from prying eyes to the hallway you instructed him to follow. Each step makes his cock throb and he groans when he reaches for the door handle, wondering what he’ll find when he opens it.

Twisting the handle, he chuckles humorlessly when his eyes fall upon an empty powder room. A large mirror framed by lights with a small sink and counter in front of it are all he finds and he shakes his head, eyes falling upon a folded piece of paper sitting on the counter.

Flicking the paper open with his thumb and index finger, he frowns at the words he reads first.

Better luck next time.

Followed by your name signed in delicate penmanship he traces the tip of his thumb over. The ink is still wet and it smears, his thumb marked with black. His eyes trail further down the note and spot your number below your name, the ink the digits were written in still shining.

At least you leaving your number tells him there will certainly be a next time.

#deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #kendall writes

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inamindfarfaraway · 18 days

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I can’t wait to see Ezran’s reaction to Callum wanting to free Runaan, and then Runaan himself. We all know that he’s a kind, wise kid. He strives for peace, sees the best in people, prefers diplomacy over combat and applies respect and compassion to everyone he meets. He'd rather show mercy than take prisoners. He wants to avoid his father's mistakes of pursuing hatred and escalating conflict. His power is literally enhanced communication. Compared to the much more ruthless Prince Callum "Stab, stab, bye-bye, bad guy!" of Katolis, he seems pretty 'pure of heart'.

But he has anger inside him. He resents the pain and injustice he's experienced and holds grudges, like Harrow before him. He admits to his people that he is learning to forgive and move forward alongside them. And it isn’t easy.

"We are angry! I am angry. I have been hurt. ...We all want peace and we all want love, but violence tests us. In a twisted way, it converts us to its cause. Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate, you want to hurt someone else."

Callum would kill to save his loved ones, but not to avenge them. One of the first things he does in the show is condemn the self-perpetuating cycle of revenge as irrational, unhelpful and needlessly destructive. He forgives Rayla and Soren. He jumps on board with liberating Runaan, his father's killer, because it's what Rayla wants, even though she's actually willing to put it aside for now. When she steals Runaan's bow he used to commit the crime, he exhibits no hard feelings.

But when Ezran finds the arrow Runaan fired to inform the Dragon Queen of Harrow's death, he breaks it out of rage and spite.

So when he discovers that his dear brother is trying to free the man who murdered their father and stole his childhood, to allow him to experience life and be with his loved ones when Harrow can't? He's not gonna like it.

This arc seems wonderfully plausible in Season Six becaues this franchise adores its parallels and foil dynamics, and Claudia's most likely motivation in Season Six is "The heroes killed my dad and I'm going to make it everyone's problem!" It's telling that his speech about the cycle of pain, bitterness and vengeance I quoted is layered over Claudia fighting in the name of her own murdered father.

The beautiful symbolism of Ezran having his crown forged from the steel of Harrow’s sword... on one hand, he's destroyed a weapon because he never wants to use it. He's choosing a narrative of love over a narrative of violent strength. But on the other hand, he carries the weight of his murdered father's weapon, which did spill blood and take lives, with him all the time as a symbol of his identity, specifically his identity as a powerful authority figure and Harrow’s successor. You see how that’s a little troubling, right? In a show so concerned with generational trauma and history repeating? Ezran? Are you okay?

#he is NOT and i want to see him be messy about it #tdp ezran #king ezran #the dragon prince #tdp #tdp meta

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koa-international · 7 months

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➤ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ

[𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 ‘𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭’ 𝐑𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲/𝐆𝐍!𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

Synopsis: Sergeant [Y/Name] ‘Rico’ [L/Name] of the Los Vaqueros was found on the bank of the river that runs through Las Almas when they were on the brink of death, little did the Colonel know of their history— and how deep and rich it runs

C/W: Canon typical violence, fighting, blood and death, brief mentions of torture, canon inaccuracies (in regards to Simon’s backstory involving Roba), depictions of body trauma and death, google translated Spanish

A/N: Salutations and good tidings! I’ve wanted to create a blog for all my fixations for a long time but it was the MW3 trailer that finally kicked my ass into gear to do it! I hope you enjoy! <3

－

Ghost considered himself to be a man with little —if not nonexistent at all— emotion, he was violent and calculated and he was built from the darkness that creeps around corners and settles in the weakest parts of one’s mind.

He wouldn’t think of himself as one who’d have emotional attachments on any sort, not since his mother, brother and nephew. Not since he’d lost that kid, that kid from Roba’s cartel that stitched up his wounds, fed him, medicated him properly and cared for him as best they could… that kid that he could very well and truly call his own. [Y/Name].

It’d been five years exactly, not a single second unaccounted for since that day they’d gone over the cliffside at the expense of his hesitance. But he’d had good reason to be hesitant at the time.. at least that’s what the reasonable part of him told himself to quell the guilt that weighed heavy on his heart.

Roba had escaped them both and they joined together to finally end him once and for all, Simon trusting of their presence after the countless times [Y/Name] had aided him when he was under Roba’s control. Shockingly, they had bonded.. and bonds built in the blood of trauma are the strongest bonds of all.

See, [Y/Name] had been part of Roba’s cartel since they were eleven years old. It’d been their birthday, which instead of having cake and ice cream, presents and family and friends to celebrate— their birthday was and will always be tarnished by the blood of their mother.

Stabbed through the neck with a steak knife wielded by their father, the man in an outrage as alcohol poisoned his mind and lit his anger into a ferocious uproar. Enough of an emotional reaction to murder their mother where she stood protective and firm in front of them.

[Y/Name] reacted instinctively, the desperation to survive igniting an uproar to light beneath their skin. Blood lit ablaze as it ran like acid through their veins, they lunged their father and tackled him to the ground. Utilizing that burn to ignite a strength in their body they disarmed him and turned the weapon on murderer instead. Roaring angrily as they willed all their pent up emotions at his abuse and neglect to guide their hand to wildly stab his neck and face over and over again.

And [Y/Name] could still feel the sickening warmth of their mother’s blood splattering their face when the tip of the knife punctured through her nape. Now even thicker and heavier as their father’s blood erupted from the knife wounds they had inflicted.

And every single day of their birthday since, they lock themselves away and scrub wildly at their face. Furious attempts to be rid of the phantom weight of the viscous matter on their face— the tingle of droplets gliding down their chin.

But no matter how hard they tried.. they’d always see the same blood soaked face looking back at them when they lifted their head to eye the mirror before them.

Ghost wasn’t aware of this of course, because he didn’t even know they were still alive. He was sure the bullet Roba had fired at them was an instant kill, because they had slumped and fallen backwards over the cliffside Roba’s mansion in Las Almas oversaw.

He’d only had the opportunity to shoot them because Simon couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger minutes prior when [Y/Name] had Roba pinned to their body. It was a perfectly clean shot.. but they were in the way. And Simon had refused to be the cause of their death, outright refused to be the reason he’d lost the final piece of normalcy he had. His only family.

But it seemed whatever higher power there was had intended to take [Y/Name] away from him one way or another. Because in his hesitance you had seen fear and when they asked if he could do it Roba seized the opportunity that Simon’s brief moment of reluctance opened up. Thrashed out of their hold, spun around and shut them right through the chest.

Simon doesn’t remember the cry he wailed out when their body slumped before falling backwards and over the cliffside. He remembers firing three bullets at the back of Roba’s head and rushing the cliff’s sheer edge to see if he could find any semblance of them. But the heavy rainfall and darkened overcast sky made it nearly impossible… and he willed himself to make the journey back home. To England. Without [Y/Name]

“I’ve always wanted to go to England, there’s so many fascinating land marks and beautiful places there.”

“Stick with me through this last one kid and I’ll take ya there.”

“Really?!”

“Promise. Ya with me?”

“To the end of the line Si. I’d follow you anywhere.”

Ghost grit his teeth hard, grinding them together and tightening up his jaw at the abrupt eruption of longing that sat heavy in his stomach. Longing for his kid. Brought upon him by the memory of the conversation he had shared with them the night before he lost them at Roba’s mansion. And the memory itself ignited in his head at the location he was being flown to now.

Las Almas. The same Las Almas that grounds Roba’s mansion on the outskirts. The mansion that he burned to the fucking ground.

“Alright, L.T?”

Ghost spared the Scot at his side a single look out of the corner of his eye, huffed in acknowledgment of his question then grunted out his affirmation.

Soap pressed his lips together at Ghost’s blunt and relatively nonexistent reply, though he wasn’t entirely too shocked by it he still found the single grumble answer a bit off putting all the same.

“Ever been to Las Almas before?” He tried again, this time hoping for more than a fucking grunt—

“Once.”

—not exactly better but not worse either.

“Yeah? When?”

“Mind your own Sergeant. Fuckin’ ‘ell.”

Before Soap could say anything further the heli landed and Ghost thanked the gods above for the momentary reprieve from the pestering Scot. And they both stood when the platform lowered to the ground, on the tarmac standing in front of an armored vehicle stood a tall man.

They walked down the platform to introduce themselves.

“Alejandro!” Soap greeted.

“Sergeant MacTavish!”

“Call me Soap!”

Alejandro nodded before he was turning to the tall Brit stood beside Soap.

“Lieutenant. Laswell says they call you Ghost.”

“Actually I believe he prefers to be—“

“That’ll do!”

Soap puckered his lips at the dismissive shout of Ghost’s scold and then they were both giving Alejandro their full attention again. They followed in step as he turned and began to walk away.

“I’ve never been to Mexico,” Soap shouted over the still loud and prominent whir of helicopter blades powering down.

“This isn’t Mexico,” Ale responded. “This is Las Almas.”

Ghost quelled down the rising feeling of guilt and despair in his stomach, swallowing it when it slithered up his chest to choke him with it’s significance. When he thought he’d manage a sentence without cracking he spoke, “Shepherd’s contractors are inbound to reinforce. They’re bringing hardware, they’ll need room.”

“My base is your base.”

“Good. Where’s Hassan?”

“Cartel safe-house. Ten klicks from here. Get in.” Alejandro replied, having led the two to an armored vehicle at the front of the line and stepped to the passenger side as Ghost and Soap moved to the doors in the back.

Ghost and Soap opened their doors on either side of the vehicle respectively and were thrown off by the presence of a soldier already inside. They got over it quickly and climbed into the car, shutting the doors behind them and then staring at the soldier in between them.

Who had yet to greet them.. or even move.

Ghost couldn’t stop staring. He felt a twinge in his chest, like a brief yet meaningful pull to the soldier sat beside him and he huffed in confusion at the tug. Then huffed in annoyance at it’s persistence. It’s not like he knew them… right?

When they looked up Alejandro was climbing into the passenger’s seat and there was a man already sat behind the wheel. The Colonel took the liberty to introduce the driver and the soldier sat between them.

“My second in command; Rodolfo Parra, and my most trusted and loyal; Sergeant Rico.”

“Just Rico?”

“It’s their callsign hermano.. what they prefer to go by at all times.” Rudy and Alejandro looked into the rearview mirror, and found Rico hadn’t moved an inch. Not a twitch of a muscle or even a ruffle of their gear.

And they quirked one sided smirks at the way they were presenting themself, both of them having a single thought regarding their beloved Rico. Dramatic lil’ shit.

“Estoy asustado de los fantasmas.” Rudy joked as he looked away from the sergeant in the back and to Alejandro who grinned at him before turning in his seat to look at Soap. Soap, who he could see occasionally stealing glances at the sergeant sat next to him. Ghost seemed to be curious about them too, not hiding his brief glances well.. if at all.

“Do you know Spanish?”

“No.”

“You will.”

—

A/N: I think this is a nice little introduction to the character, at least that’s what I like to think of this fic as! Hope you enjoyed! The plan was just to introduce Rico, I’m not sure if I really want to write out the campaign from this point forward or not! We’ll see how this does and decide then! Though I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t get much traction, this blog is new and still very small so.. but if you did find it I hope you liked it!

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw22 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #ghost x reader #soap x reader #alejandro x reader #rudy x reader #x platonic!reader #platonic reader #platonic imagine #platonic relationships #cod x platonic reader

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discluded · 1 year

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Build Jakapan, Daemi's Poi, and other individuals stepping forward

I like my peace, but this situation is very serious and deserves to be documented clearly for the international/English-speaking fanbase, which was my original goal of archivism on Tumblr. Some of the posts have already been deleted and others will be washed away with the sands of Twitter time.

Please do not talk about this in terms of "drama" or "tea" because that does a disservice to the victims and people here on Tumblr who may have lived through these experiences watching you treat their trauma like nonsense.

I have no stake in this and do not claim to know the full truth. However, rather than seeing everyone vague about what's happening, I want to provide an account of what people on Twitter are seeing above the noise. I will try to keep this post updated with important developments when appropriate.

My only ask is please don't comment to my inbox about this post. I understand your anger and hurt, but I need to take care of my own well-being. Make a dummy account if you want to talk about it; I will not censor the comments section of post as long as you are reasonable and not victim-blaming.

Finally, please be kind to each other, including Pond (as long as he is doing the right thing) and [Jan 23 update: lmfao fuck Pond] the other actors in BOC given that Poi specifically said she hid this from the cast, and also especially fans who loved Build and were blindsided. There is no "deserved" to be upset, people who invest their love and free time into something are allowed to be hurt... the only thing that matters about a person's integrity is how they choose to act with this information.

tw: domestic violence, intimate partner violence, abuse, threats, photos of bruises, rape, miscarriage

On approximately Jan 19 2022, right after the BOC line-up announcement), Daemi announced they would be breaking up as a writing duo, which prompted fans to speculate about the future of Kinnporsche season 2. Daemi as a writing duo is made up of two members: Yok and Poi.

In the next day or so, Poi insinuated that Build had stolen the idea for 4 Minutes from her and given it to Sammon, who then helped cut her [Poi] out of involvement in the new series. Build responded to this by publicly crying and issuing a statement, going above BOC's management. Pond was with Mile in Pairis at the time/flying home and responded to Instagram comments that they would investigate fully before issuing a statement.

Approximately the next day, on Jan 22 2022 local time, Poi came out with a statement and chat logs with proof that she used to be in a relationship with Build, and he had cheated on her, financially manipulated her, physically abused her, and threatened to kill her.

The original translator is a ManUtd fan and had no involvement in the fandom but took the time to do the translation since it was blowing up on Thai twitter and known fandom translators were not doing them. They then deleted those tweets after being harassed by Build's fans, but has continued to tweet about the situation.

(please click on the image for the full translation of the chat, I stacked them to save space)

Here is an additional Thai summary of Poi's claims and an english translation of that.

Some people noted that in the original IGS where Poi references this abuse on approximately Jan 19, she used stock images from Pinterest. Those claims included that she had a miscarriage due to the fact he had hit her so hard. Poi again confirmed that she had a miscarriage and noted she had hospital documents to back up her claim. She also addressed the comment that she used stock images due to the fact that Instagram is a visual social media.

Poi also confirmed that the legal process was already started. Given her history with the BOC cast, she might have also felt the need to get the story out of accusations of her lying and starting "drama" about the situation by posting her chat logs and photos.

Subsequently, Build shared messages that Poi had sent him regarding a situation with a sponsor in an attempt to make her look like a "crazy" woman, but incriminated himself and deactivated on Jan 22 2022 (possibly temporarily).

During this time, additional people came forward about being a victim of Build. One Thai fan came forward about knowing another of Build's former girlfriends, who was the victim of gang rape. However, the OP is getting permission from this individual to tell the story first and so the story may not be released to the public. Update Feb 10: Most likely false. (leaving text here for honesty that this rumor existed and debunked)

Another one of Build's ex-girlfriends, who was previously silenced and shamed by his fans, confirmed again that she was physically assaulted by Build 8 years ago.

I will not add the tweets with evidence of Build cheating on Poi/involvement with other women while supposedly dating one of them as while cheating on a partner is bad, it is a personal indiscretion and not a crime unlike the situations highlighted above.

As for the fact that both authors in Daemi sexually harassed other actors in KPTS, I am not excusing those actions. People, notably WOMEN, should not have to be perfect victims to be believed. You don't have to like Poi or approve of her past actions to think she does not deserve to be abused.

Additionally, if you believe that Poi's past actions are indicative of her character, I want to clarify why people were upset with him in summer 2022 since that was not documented on Tumblr either. Having bad opinions online is not a crime, but they do show a pattern of behavior from him from attitudes to actions. Build's comments/attitudes from that situation are consistent with his abuser behavior that is documented above. (1) (2) (3) (4)

Any additional documentation from past victims will be a link to the reblog since I will run out of image space on Tumblr. I will not document things like BOC suspending Build for the time being since those are widely seen and have an English translation.

Final update update as of Feb 10, 2023: Updated on the false allegations about rape and this being debunked since it's important. Please do not ask me for updates about him; I don't care about him, he makes me miserable, people whose careers I do care about don't have to deal with him anymore. Please do not make me responsible for your mental health.

Jan 28, 2023: Build has left BOC. At this point, there's nothing else I can provide as context in English that will change people's minds so let's respect that this will be processed in a court like it should have been in the first place. Take care of yourselves friends.

Final notes: Genuinely fuck Pond.

Jan 25 2023: link to the latest post with evidence from Poi and Mynk

Jan 23 2023: Kind anonymous provided IDs which have been added. Clarified position on Pond, with link to latest comment. I have more posts with translations from Thai twitter and will update another day.

Please take care of yourselves and your mental health. 🙏

#build jakapan #build jakapan puttha #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kpts #kinnporsche cast #tw domestic violence #tw dv #tw abuse #tw rape #tw miscarriage #tw bruises #tw threats #thank you to anon for IDs #be on cloud

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punksocks · 16 hours

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Warning Signs That You May Have A Toxic/Karmic Significant Other

Hey everyone, you may have seen my recent post about breaking up with my ex partner after 5.5 years. If not, I’ve been deep in reflection after ending this relationship. My reasons for ending it were that he refused to seek professional help to manage his anger which would come out in constant outbursts of violence (not physical ab*se but hitting walls, kicking furniture, scarring my dog, etc) and his mental health in general. After breaking things off I analyzed our relationship and all the red flags became crystal clear in hindsight. This blog is not only my emotional space to reflect, but also a place to give out advice to make sure you guys feel less alone in the world. So I’ve compiled a list of behaviors that made it clear that in hindsight the relationship was destine to be toxic and could not continue. It’s important to take lessons from painful experiences in order to continue to grow, and that’s what I hope I can help with by sharing my experiences here:

(TW Manipulation, Distressing Themes, Emotional Ab*se)

- They hate your intuition: (they work to make you doubt whatever means you have of self guidance. Whether that’s tarot/astrology, or spirituality in general, or therapy, or your simple gut feelings/reactions to things. They hate them because they know that they’ll be singled out at some point by them so they work to make you not believe in yourself through manipulation/gaslighting. My ex would constantly say the tarot is going to tell me to break up with him, but he never really changed he’d just belittle it and say I was getting weird about spirituality and he’d try to make me doubt myself or choose between the tarot and him. When I asked him to go to therapy he would also say that he was worried the therapist would tell him to break up with me-implying I was the problem. When I would ask him to go anyway he would find a way to avoid it- saying it’s too expensive, too hard to find, he doesn’t have time, etc)

-They constant give you advice that puts you in harm’s way: (My ex always told me I was too quick to cut off people that threw me under the bus and that I was paranoid. When I found out my former business partner was being shady and stealing from me, he told me to keep working with her. I said I had to take things over. He said I had no chance of covering the expenses on my own and that he wasn’t going to help me at all even though he was working a consistent 9-5. I rationalized this as putting too much pressure on him to support me through my apprenticeship over the previous few months, even though by the time we were having this discussion I had picked up a seasonal 9-5 to compensate for starting the business. I still felt guilty because I was asking him to cover the rent at home while I built this business up. I ended up wracking up debt over trying to cover everything myself and he was telling me I was going to fail every step of the way. When I didn’t fail and the business remained open over a year later, he said he had always believed in me every step of the way.)

- They rewrite history (that’s the other thing- when I broke up with him he said it was his idea to open the studio in the first place. This was a lie. A bold one at that. At the time I would have had to become self taught due to dealing with several egotistical mentors (wow thematic) and I looked for positions in other studios and there were none. My ex told me I should “pause” my goals. I told him I’ll open up my own space with another artist. He had a long talking down to me about how we couldn’t afford any of that, and how impossible it was, etc. But I went through with it anyway, effectively doing all the work on my own. He constantly told me what I was doing was crazy. But I made success out of it, thank God. Now my ex is trying to take credit for the whole thing as if I don’t remember what happened. Audacious.)

- Instead of having their own dreams they focus on wearing yours down (I have so many big dreams I want to accomplish and every other idea I shared with my ex was pushed back on or breadcrumbed. I wanted to live abroad, he’d say it’s too expensive but maybe he could find a way to make it work if I stopped putting so much pressure on him. I took over my own business, he told me I shouldn’t do it and should quit while I’m ahead. He would always try to counter every idea I had with a “logical reason” of why it wouldn’t work. He would try to control me by doubting me and in turn trying to get me to doubt myself. I never actually listened to him in hindsight, and when I pushed through successfully he would pretend to have been on my side the whole time.)

-They always compare you to their exes, in bold ways (My ex would always go out of his way to bring up his past relationships. The examples and instances were never appropriate. But one of the first worst early examples was when we were at a show. My friend’s band was playing. In the middle of the set he decided to look up his ex on social media. I was clearly uncomfortable but he continued. Then when we’re talking he brought up a nickname she used to call him that was inappropriate. When I was upset by this he threw a shirt (merch gifted to him by my friend’s band) in the booth almost hitting me with it and he stormed off. He made himself seem like the victim in a situation where he was trying to bait me into starting a public argument and yet made me soothe him afterward.)

- The betrayal of not ever being believed (early on this was another giant red flag in hindsight. I’m black and I tried to explain colorism to him, while I was having a bad experience with it. He’s white and should have been listening and understanding with open ears. Instead he tried to argue me down for being “mean” to light skinned black people. In the experience I was talking about how a mixed femme at work established a boundary with our white bosses to try to avoid racist harm. They let the femme do this without any pushback. I tried to establish the same boundary in the same meeting and those white bosses accused me of actively refusing to do my job. I told my ex this was colorist and that’s when he argued with me about this. He didn’t believe my experiences until he googled “the right articles”. When I brought this up in the future he would say he was just trying to see all black people as equal. It was a pretty disgusting defense.)

- Throwing insults in your face about past trauma (I told my ex about how emotionally abusive my mother was (wow there’s that pattern again) and he would throw this in my face and blame me or compare me to her at the slightest provocation in several arguments. When I was disrespected at work, he would blame me for misinterpreting things. Complaining about how I used him for money whenever I had asked him for help managing the business’ expenses. And so many deep cuts of things he should never said to me and names he shouldn’t have called me if he ever cared about me. He always wrote it off as me misremembering or him meaning it as something else or a distraction tactic of whataboutism -‘what about when you complained that I left dirty clothes on the floor?’ For example. All ways he tried to manipulate me from seeing this pattern of messed up behavior. Every argument he would make us talk in circles until I would have to give up from frustration and exhaustion.)

-They’re full of hot air, and if they seem like they aren’t they’re probably mirroring you (when I broke up with him I stopped hanging out with him pretty much immediately. Although I had to coordinate moving out still, I started keeping my head down to focus on my work. Essentially I had already moved on. I thought we had had deep discussions about the world and life but when I had less to say he had nothing to add. He would just keep filling up the air with anecdotes about nothing and commentary on anything just to keep crossing my boundaries and to try to force me to pay attention to him when it was clear I neither interested or comfortable doing so.)

- They try to force you to become as cynical and jaded as they are (I was never antagonistic per se, but when we were together I had unconsciously started looking/preparing for the worst in every scenario and every person I’d meet. Because of my ex’s toxic influence. Getting along with coworkers? They must be just “kissing up to you” according to him. Like that tv show most people are fond of? No way that has to be trash. Want to try something new? No there can’t be anything good about that. He was a very stuck person that refused to find the joy in almost anything. Unless it was too impressive to ignore —but even then he had to nitpick it apart. I would wonder why his compliments would feel so hollow- it was because he really had trouble seeing the good in anything. Like a day or two after we broke up I was already feeling lighter and more optimistic. When people were kind to me I embraced it easier and in turn every aspect of life got a little brighter. The contempt for others was palatable. Because he expected everyone to be ready to undercut him like he was ready to do to them.)

- Before you know it, they’ll have you romanticizing breadcrumbing behavior (I asked my ex to get on meds for his mental health and to find a therapist so many times over the course of 5 years. 4-5 months before I broke up with him he got on medication. Then after a peace period of a month or so, we were back in a cycle of petty arguments and he was saying the meds don’t work. He didn’t even try to go to therapy until I broke up with him. he got an appointment the next day because he “was trying to win me back” Essentially, he’d never work on himself or actually actively improve things. He’d always make one or two half steps to placate me then complain about how it was too hard and completely impossible to put the work in. Even with the therapy example, he wanted to display that he could make progress in order to win me back. Don’t worry, I had seen this tactic before and knew he would just fall back into toxicity. So, it didn’t work.)

- When you do leave they get cocky about how you’ll have nowhere to go (I leaned on my ex to support me when I became overwhelmed by figuring out my business on my own. I worked several temp jobs in addition to the business but it was stretching me thin. So I needed his help several times and only had so much saved up by the time I broke up with him. After begging me to take him back the entire night and pretending to be supportive, the next day he was scoffing and boasting about how “[he] didn’t even know what [I] was going to do.” He did this over everything from buying my own detergent-even though I always bought the detergent- to managing my bills on my own-even though I usually managed most of my bills on my own- until I finally was able to move out and leave him behind.)

- They never defend you and always make it seem like it’s your fault if you get attacked (My ex was always siding with abusive people and gaslighting me when I noticed that behavior. As many of you may know, my mom was a terror throughout my childhood. I confided in my ex about how much of an impact this had had on me. Before I went no contact with her we all got dinner when she came in town to see me. Despite all my warnings and preemptive begging to be supported through the difficulty of meeting with her my ex threw me under the bus immediately. He laughed at her jokes at my expense and didn’t stop her at all from singling me out. I shutdown in this moment and began to draw to cope- I’m neurodivergent so that’s one of the things I default to doing when I’m overwhelmed. They continued to make fun of me together and when I asked him why he didn’t have my back afterward, he blamed me for “not being friendly enough” and “not interacting with [my] mom enough”. This pattern of doubting and failing to help me would continue through our entire relationship.)

- They’ll have -self aware- moments that aren’t quite what they seem (I truly cannot count the number of times my ex would start an argument just to talk me in circles then try to get me to believe I was in the wrong too. It was truly maddening. He would always push to say he “understood” how we had gotten there. Then ramble on and on and on saying that I was attacking him and he was the victim of things. I asked him to do the dishes? I’m “criticizing [his] housework and putting too much pressure on [him]”. I ask him not to throw things when he’s upset? I’m “overly criticizing [him] and making [him] so anxious he can’t help but hit things”. And on and on and on it went. He would always tidy it up by saying he forgave me because we were “both wrong” and he just “would try to be better next time and [I] should too”.)

-They have underlying personality issues that need to be addressed (and when you bring a hint of these up, they lash out about how you’re attacking them and they throw personal attacks back at you because of their fragile ego. If you -somehow- get them to see a mental health professional you may find them lying about what feedback they got. After I broke up with him he said he’d go to anger management class and find a therapist “to win me back”- funny how it’s after you leave them and set the ultimate boundary they do the work to show you they can hypothetically change and it’s never one of the times you’ve begged before in the midst of madness. Before I moved out I overheard his therapy appointment and she asked about his bipolar diagnosis and he said he was just anxious despite the mood swings. When he came to me to tell me the good news of him finally going to therapy he left that out. When I asked if the therapist knew if he had another disorder he manipulated that. He said the therapist asked if it could be anything else but it was just a brief thought. He framed it that way instead of the consistent behavioral issue it was.)

- Usually they attract drama and chaos but blame you for it as their partner (He always kept his ex around in boundary crossing ways. In hindsight I wouldn’t be surprised if he had cheated in any way with any of them because of how murky he was about spending one on one time with them. They also will always encourage you to keep other toxic people in your life so they can keep flying under the radar/blaming the other toxic people when you feel drained/etc. When I decided to go no contact with my parents, he second guessed me. When I decided to go no contact with my friends that were harmful, he second guessed me. He went out of his way to call me paranoid and picky and every other name in the book he could. Even after I broke up with him he went out of his way to tell me I was paranoid and should quit tarot reading “because [he] knew it would turn [me] against [him] one day”. I told him his opinion meant less than nothing to me.)

- Whenever you set a boundary they try to undermine it and take it as an attack (When we met, all of my ex’s small circle of friends was made up of people he had dated or slept with. Once his friend, who had flirted with him multiple times, asked to stay in his apartment while she moved out of her place. He offered her his bed. She even had a boyfriend at the time but she went to my ex first. I told him this made me very uncomfortable. He screamed and yelled about how he’ll always choose his friends first and I have to understand that and that she didn’t want to sleep in his bed while he was in it. It was crazy but the whole time he called me dramatic and made me feel insane for being so uncomfortable with it.)

- They may often act out in public over the littlest things (my ex would get absolutely infuriated when there were lines in places. Insane right? Especially living in cities? with other people? And yet whenever we went out I’d have to prepare my mental for the possibility of him getting angry and breaking down because people were waiting ahead of him in line. In hindsight the entitlement he had was overwhelming in itself. The last time we went out to a movie -which was a whole scheduling fiasco in of itself with him during our entire relationship, he was obsessed with movies. I like movies but spending 6-9 hours in a theater? Every week? On top of hours of mandatory movie viewing at home? It was exhausting. He also made me pay for my own monthly movie pass even though it was his thing. Even in covid, although I’m immunocompromised I had to negotiate with him to wait to get vaccinated before he went back to the theater. And to wear a mask in the showings. He would huff and fuss about those small courtesies the entire time. Anyway the last movie we went out to see had a long line but we bought tickets ahead of time. He pitched a fit and kept storming off away from me and threatening to leave over the line. I kept following him foolishly, and coaxed him into staying. Of course there were enough seats and of course he enjoyed the movie. He apologized after for “getting overwhelmed by the line” but that shouldn’t have happened in the first place.)

- It’s all or nothing for them but breadcrumbs for you (I’ve always been clear that I have no plans of staying in the country I’m from. From the start I’ve understood I’m not meant to stay here. And yet I stayed in a city I hated so he could suddenly finish his associates degree. We moved back to my hometown but we lived in the most stressful neighborhood because he “wanted to be downtown with a pool.” He would always complain about every single idea I had to leave the country. I’m thinking about doing a language school or artist residency? He “did long distance with [his] ex who cheated and it would be too hard”. I want to study this language and go to this -easy-place for a visa? He “kept forgetting to study and had no idea how we would ever afford the move.” And on and on it went until I simply gave up on trying to get him to step up.)

- They twist everything to be about them even grief (my grandma was like a mother to me, so it hit me hard when she died. She even told me she was going and thanked me for my friendship at the end. It was still a very difficult period and I couldn’t accept it until it just happened. When I got the call and burst into tears my ex said “I’m so sorry… do you blame me because we stayed here for me to go to school and you couldn’t be home with her?” It hadn’t even been 20 minutes since I learned she was gone. The extent of his selfishness would shock me until I cut him off.)

- They make you bury things they don’t like about your self expression/goals (I’ll use a simple example. I love fairy lights. When we met I had fairy lights and my ex had no complaints. But when we moved in together they ‘would always bother him and give him headaches’. So I took out the lights. Then he got me a glowing lamp I wanted for my birthday but never allowed me to turn it on when we were in the room. I brought the lights I love to my work and my ex would complain about them there too. He’d say he didn’t know why he “just didn’t like spending time at the studio” and then use the lights as an excuse, and then hed complain all day about how exhausting it was to be there. He’d only offer to come to the studio more if I turned them off just for him. All this time later and all of a sudden I don’t have any lights I like up. This didn’t happen for everything, but there were a lot of little things he was so controlling about just to be authoritative about something I liked.)

- They hate it when you have positive things happen to you (and instead of seeing your success as a good thing they see it as you one upping them, so they often express jealousy and then disguise it as a joke. He would “joke” about how I was going to fail so often I lost count. When I had a great day there would always be a hint of disappointment in his voice. He would always undermine it in anyway he could. “Oh you made X amount that’s nice, but that’s not enough to cover the rent”. I got a lot of compliments on my outfits, so he’d say “no one ever compliments me”. Always something to bring me down and try to get me to focus on a worry.)

- They downplay your trauma (I’m a burn survivor. My dad burned me through hot water and neglect as a baby on around 20% of my body. For that and many other reasons I became sort of a local legend for my time in our local child protective services. In a city of well over a million people. Doctors thought I wouldn’t be able to walk again and it was a miracle when I did. My grandmother had to wrap my scars everyday, twice a day for 3-4 years afterwards. She would tell me the pain would make me cry random throughout the night until I went to kindergarten. All that to say, my scars had a BIG impact on my health and my life. When I told my ex about my insecurity he said “sorry that happened, but it’s not that big of a deal.” Crazily at 21 I took that as flattery. It was not, it was severely downplaying the trauma I went through because my ex didn’t care for that part of my life. I even remember thinking I should tag a post as a burn survivor and he said “isn’t that like advertising your burns, why warn people about it?”. I got better and embraced my scars all through my own healing but damn it was all severely fucked up.)

- They usually have a Fatal Flaw they try to make you contend with (My ex had explosive anger where he would hit something (a wall, the couch, his desk, etc) or throw things at any slight provocations, and he would disguise it as a reaction of low self esteem instead. I didn’t realize how bad the conditioning had got until I broke up with him and I wasn’t getting jumpy from him coming home anymore or my dog wasn’t hiding from him anymore. I was walking on eggshells all the time and I only knew it subconsciously. He would also curse at me and call me the meanest names from the smallest arguments, he would get belittling. It’s their signature style to make you feel small and to desensitize you to truly nightmarish behavior.)

- That’s the other thing- most people and sometimes animals can tell they’re off (I would always wonder why my ex never seemed to make a good impression on others. They could tell he was off from the start.)

- They start trying to love bomb you after you give up or when they sense you are finally giving up (I always asked my ex to pay more attention to my business/endeavors/art/etc when we were together, to respond to texts I sent him at work-within reason-, to give me some support or feedback. His replies were always blasé. “That’s nice.” Or “I will.” As soon as I broke up with him. He was complaining that he always missed texting me at work. Then he started getting more involved on my social media pages. Then for the first time in months he watched my story on Instagram completely unwelcomed and unprompted. It was how fake the performance of interest was that really struck me after everything.)

- They always ask for one more chance when you’ve given them at least a hundred chances (Evem when I broke up with him he kept saying “you cut off other people (for being toxic) but I never thought it would be me!” I feel like I’ve already put plenty of examples of this, so I’ll just say this points to the fact that at their base motivation they don’t really respect you or care about you. If someone actually cares about you, they’re going to go out of their way to make you comfortable, to care about your opinions and feedback, from the very start)

- Even when it’s over, they still always try to blame you for their bad behavior. (My ex painted himself as an introvert when he was in a relationship. I had always asked him to make -newer, healthier- friends and to make a social effort. Since the beginning. After we broke up he made an effort to go out to social events. After he went out one day he came back and said “I was such a girlfriend guy, I never went out and socialized!” In turn I said you’re not a girlfriend guy you never cared about what I had to say, if you were a girlfriend guy I wouldn’t have had to break up with you for literally never taking me into account. So that ended that.)

- When it’s over the relief hits you in waves (I didn’t even realize how much I was doing to cope with the hostility and boredom of the relationship until it was over. I stopped overeating, I actually lost my appetite for days. I went from taking edibles every week to not even craving the ones I had. I wasn’t the most indulgent but I was shocked by how immediately I was fine with going cold turkey. My time with myself became even more peaceful. Even before I moved out, I was more creative and productive. I felt the beauty and the optimism of all the little moments deep in my spirit and my glow was brighter than ever before. My ex kept turning to me in despair and asking “how can you be so okay with this??” I answered him indifferently because he wasn’t worth entertaining. But obviously my spirit had been restored, I wasn’t wasting love on anyone that didn’t deserve it anymore. My energy was finally all mine. And I had faith in God that everything would be alright. And it was.)

You slowly but surely realize that you were formed to be a victim of a narcissistic/antagonistic person due to being raised by narcissistic parents and in an environment full of enabling emotionally and verbally abusive behavior. When we met I was so vulnerable. I had moved to a new city on my own, I was in a financially precarious place. The city was The Worst for Black people (tm). I was so desperate for an ally, I caught an energy vampire instead. I’ve healed and learned a lot from this. To be much more deliberate about who I let into my life. To be unafraid of purging and moving on when someone shows you they’re incapable of growth. To not accept crumbs of affection and appreciation. To pour my love into myself first before I let anyone else do the same. So I write all this to say, it’s not your fault. It’s not your fault that some people are so corrupted to the core that they’d rather destroy you than heal themselves. So… forgive yourself for this experience. Forgive yourself for being a person that just loves and cares about others. That believes in cultivating a world full of warmth and compassion. Don’t let one (or a dozen- ugh the people I’ve had to move on from oml) toxic ass person ruin you and your compassion. I had to forgive myself for believing in a lot of disappointing, inept, bad people. But I won’t stop being kind and compassionate because of those losers. I’ll continue to shine my light on those who need it whenever I’m supposed to. I mean I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to rely on anyone again without fear of their self interest but one step at a time, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.

Anyway, wish me luck on this fresh start. Buy a reading if you want to support me. But yeah, thanks for reading y’all.

#astro observations #astroblr #astro notes #astro community #astrology #lilith astrology #healing #karma #life lessons #false soulmate

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