#i just have no restraint nor self control | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hannieehaee · 1 month

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hi!!!! im wondering if you could do a story about idol mingyu, idol reader, and a story about how mingyu couldnt control himself after seeing his girlfriend perform a hot performance on an end of the year award show because she looked stunning, and he also then accidentally reveals their relationship. TYSM!!💞

content: idol!mingyu x idol!reader, established relationship, secret relationship, mingyu is a simp, afab reader, public embarrassment (not really), part of my lil idol!mingyu universe (even though ive created three separate aus of it oops), dry humping, penetrative sex, mentions of fingering, etc.

wc: 1429

a/n: thank u for requesting i love writing idol aus hehe hope u enjoy <3

original fic

masterlist

as a seasoned idol, mingyu was expected by now to have a pristine ability hold restraint in any and every public situation that required it.

there were certain ways in which he was expected to act while in the public eye.

for instance, he could never outwardly express discomfort at the few awkward fancalls he had to participate in. nor could he show dislike towards the few members of the industry he didn't quite get along with.

but above all, he was absolutely never to wear the lust he felt for you on his face in such a public setting.

especially not during an awards show that was being streamed internationally.

even more so while the camera was focused on seventeen for their reactions of your performance.

but mingyu was just a man after all. a man who was thoroughly and proudly obsessed with you.

except this was meant to be a secret kept between the two of you (and maybe a few other people you had let in on the secret).

so mingyu immediately knew he was fucked the moment your set had begun and you came out wearing the tiniest little number he had ever seen. it hugged your body perfectly, highlighting his favorite parts in the most delicious ways.

it might've been fine if that had been it, but your pretty outfit was also accompanied by the most sinful of sets he had ever seen you do.

watching you grind and twist yourself in ways that reminded him of the many hours spent between the sheets with you was just not something mingyu knew how to witness without it eliciting a reaction out of him.

and sadly for mingyu, his face told every single one of his emotions.

his droopy and lustful eyes said everything they needed to say on their own, but they were also accompanied by the constant biting and licking of his lips as he watched you.

the one thing he didn't realize, however, was that the camera had been on him that whole time, airing his reactions to your performance for everyone out there to see. it had even managed to capture the gruttal groan he'd let out the moment you started grinding sensually on the floor (in a fashion similar to the way you did to him so many times before).

it wasn't until one boo seungkwan kicked him from under the table to get him to react like something other than an animal in heat and clap for you like a normal human being.

but the damage was done, and now so he felt extremely self conscious for the remainder of the show, not knowing what type of rumors to expect to see the following morning.

for now, though, his priority was to catch you during the intermediate time between your show and that of his own group. fortunately for him, there was one group going between your group and his, allowing him a believable excuse to head backstage with his members and go astray as he looked for you before your own group had to head back.

without so much as a single word, he grabbed you by the arm and dragged you to the nearest empty room he could find, immediately locking the two of you in there as his eyes got a fill on you in your current ensemble; the main instigator of this whole predicament.

"gyu, what the hell are you-"

"no talking. fuck. please, just-" there was genuine desperation in his words. his frantic eyes showed how badly he wanted you, but he didnt even know where to start. so he let his body take control of his actions.

it started with a rough yet sensual kiss against your lips as his hands got a feel of your body. he groped and caressed every inch of you, his lust growing more and more by the second.

"made me make a fool of myself out there, baby," he grunted, lips now trailing down your exposed shoulder, making their way up and down your neck with wet kisses, "couldnt keep my eyes off you the whole time."

"g-gyu," you were defeated against him, allowing your body to be handled however he wanted as long as he kept touching you. he relished on this.

"they saw everything. the way i couldnt keep my eyes off of you ... the way one single look at you can get me on my knees in one instant, fuck", he uncovered as much of your body as he could, raising your skirt while lowering your shirt, "they all know how much i want you."

but you didnt process nor care for his words as he ground his solid member against your now bare cunt (sans some very thin seamless panties that accompanied your skirt), completely lost to the delirious feeling his cock gave you even through his pants.

he kept whispering in your ear just how badly you'd affected him just now, how everyone now knew how pretty you must look when you ride him – all while he hastily lowered his pants and moved your own panties aside, plunging inside as soon as you gave him the okay.

"f-fuck ... feel so fucking good, baby," he breathed against your ear.

he lifted one of your legs up, wrapping it around his waist in order to get a better angle as he thrust desperately into you. the praises leaving his mouth never stopped, only getting less and less intelligible as his arousal grew.

"o-oh, gyu ... right there ..."

"there? fuck ... baby likes it when i fuck her right there?", his taunts were followed by harsher thrusts, causing your nails to dig into his bare arms, "a-ah, shit! 'm baby's gonna leave her mark on me, huh? yeah ... go ahead, pretty. let everyone know i'm yours .."

"m-mine!"

"mhm, gorgeous, just like you're all mine," he opted to carry you now, holding you up against the wall as he moved your body to his pleasing, "fuck, wish i could mark you. show everyone who you belong to," he buried his face in your neck, simply opting to breathe in your scent as he landed soft kisses on the length of your neck.

"do it!," you begged mindlessly, "please? wan' everyone t-to know 'm yours," you babbled.

"fuck," he groaned before following your direction and beginning to nip at the naked skin of your neck. quickly he left a few blossoms of red on your skin, knowing that the moment you went out there, people would be able to spot a few from afar.

with his face buried in your neck, he timed himself so he could orgasm with you, having mastered the art of playing with your clit just at the right time to synchronize your highs.

mingyu stayed glued to you for a while, unwilling to let go as he panted against your neck, attempting to even out his breathing.

"how are you gonna go and perform out there completely out of breath and with scratches on your shoulders?", you giggled.

"i ... oh, fuck."

it was too late for him to realize that although you wouldn't be too scrutinized for your disheveled appearance due to your performance being over with, he, on the other hand, would still have to go out there and dance in front of a huge audience. the error of his ways was lost on him the moment he hardened under his pants at the mere sight of you dancing.

but hell, it had been worth it.

"baby, just ask your stylist for a jacket, okay?", you disconnected from him, knowing it was almost time for him to perform.

you pulled your clothes back together, wincing at the feeling of his cum dripping out of you and grabbing some nearby napkins to clean yourself as much as possible, as well as him. once the two of you were presentable, you gave your boyfriend a kiss for goodluck and headed back to your seat while mingyu walked over to his members backstage.

though no dramatic dating scandal broke out that day, various rumors questioning mingyu's lustful eyes during your performance began sparking up, with some people making the connection in the timeline of his mishap and your sudden reappearance in the crowd, with a messy, post-sex look accompanying both you and mingyu.

despite hybe ignoring any and every article insinuating anything between the two of you, you had now created a subsection of fans who were dedicated to unveiling what they were sure (and correct) was a secret love affair between the two of you.

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt x reader #seventeen #seventeen imagine #svt #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fanfic #mingyu oneshot #mingyu scenario #mingyu imagines #mingyu smut #mingyu x reader

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diejager · 5 months

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for your cod monster au, you mentioned that graves was making jokes about turning you into a vampire. how did the guys react to that? im curious if graves did it more than once just to rile them up?

Pleasantries cw: mention of turning, mention of blood drinking, tell me if I missed any.

Graves likes to have fun, he loves putting himself first and the world next. He gorges like a wealthy king atop his throne, waving at men and women, coaxing them forward or backward to do what he wants, Graves is a person who does whatever he wants whenever he wants —or at least as much as he can until he gets into trouble.

He jokes on and on about turning you, of sinking his teeth into your soft skin. He can smell the sweetness in your veins, the healthy dose of iron and fat in your bloodstream that would satiate him much more than a homeless person eh picked up from the streets. Yours smelled good and he swears that it would taste as good as it smelled, honeyed and lightly spicy, something that would linger on his tongue pleasantly rather than the repulsive taste of rot.

He might joke about drinking you dry to rile them up, to watch them hold themselves back, heir eyes red and black with anger and disgust. He knows they can’t do anything about it unless they want him complaining and dropping the work, Shepherd would be mad about it. He had an upper-hand over them, the power of dictating whether the Shadows would help them capture Hassan or not with the drop of a hat if Graves didn’t like their characters.

They’re livid, faces red and scowling at Graves, something he relished in seeing, the self-restraint and control they had to wield. He could see the veins in Soap’s neck pop out, knowing that Soap might jump at him if you or the others weren’t there to hold him back. Ghost, ever as stoic and cold with anyone other than his direct squad, was an annoyance to Graves since he couldn’t seem to get to the man. Ghost stayed as cruel and demeaning as he was, spitting crude jabs at him or his Shadows, growling out orders or glaring at him as if he was an idiot. Gaz, as much as Graves would have liked, had little reaction to it, Gaz was naturally softhearted, gentle with you and handled you - moved you away - when Graves was around. Price had the same resilience and self-control as a wise and old dragon, patiently waiting for Graves or his Shadows to leave the room before growling out insults.

He might make the offer - threatened - to let his Shadows have a go at you, letting the hundred of thralls he had have a taste of your sweet blood, the blood from the only human near them. You were practically teasing them about it, neck uncovered and wearing t-shirt rather than long-sleeved ones around base.

Another part of him does it because, as mentioned before, you’re the only one with viable blood for him, not the mutt-tasting blood of a werewolf, the deathly rot of a wraith, the burn of a dragon or the shallow and tastelessness of a harpy. You were the only human on base that had an addictive smell, neither too strong like some women around the base, nor too light like the men who walked these halls. You had the right amount of sweetness and saltiness to you. Sweat and musk didn’t linger on you like they did with men, and flowery and fruity sugar didn’t cling to your skin like it did with the women who sprayed themselves with perfume.

Despite the burning glares Graves and his boys received from the Task Force, he found pleasure in being the source of their jealousy, their stupid possessiveness of a human he could easily turn into one of his to gift immortality and eternal beauty.

Taglist:@craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice

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amourdivine · 3 months

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PAC ઉ YOUR CURRENT ENERGY!

Hello, lovelies, I know it has been some time, but I missed you. I hope everyone is doing ok these days. Let's look into your energy today, shall we?

paid readings are closed as of february 2024

none of the images are mine unless stated otherwise!

pick a card masterlist & information

the piles.

1 → 2 3 → 4

how to choose your pile. take deep breaths for a few minutes & look at each and every one of the piles separately. see which one brings you to a feeling, a place or a memory. take your time and feel free to come back to it later.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

disclaimer. this is a general reading! tarot is a divination tool & is not a substitute for medical and professional advice, nor is it meant to be taken as such. i do not take responsibility for any choice(s) made by you or others regarding my readings.

PILE ONE

queen of cups ✧ death ✧ ace of swords ✧ the high priestess

Before I shuffled, I couldn’t help but feel lonely, like there’s this pang in my chest whenever I think of life and the current state of the world. It reminds me of the term “loneliness epidemic” and how so many of us are struggling to make friends or maintain pre-existing relationships. I think you are beginning to find emotional fulfillment in different things than you did before. Nothing may have worked out - at least, the things that used to work out aren’t working out anymore. There’s this voice inside of you begging for a new beginning, for clarity, and it’s slow but surely coming towards you. Where your energy is will wildly depend on how much you’ve listened to that inner voice already, but it’s a calling towards something new, regardless.

I think you’re scared because you haven’t done this before. You may be discovering things about yourself as well that are quite surprising, like new hobbies or gifts. It’s refreshing too, both painful and refreshing. Sort of like the concept of growing pains - growing up is not easy and there are no guidelines, no roadmaps. Often, we discover things through trial and error.

You may have withdrawn your energy as well, especially from old social circles. I get the feeling you were unsatisfied. Things felt stuck. They may still feel stuck, boring and completely lost in the routine of it all. It’s okay. You’re growing. Bones can hurt when they heal and grow. The same goes for you. I see snakes here, shedding their old skin. In your case, I don’t think you have found a “new skin” already, but you’ve shed your old life either way. It’s okay to want more, pile one. It’s okay to change. We’re ever-evolving. What suited you then won’t suit you now, that’s how life goes, with the changing of the seasons. It’s beautiful to witness - and when you look back you’ll realize just how much we can shift, how many places we’ll go and how much more there is to life than our old selves.

It’s okay to let it go. You’ll be okay even if the waters are muddy for now.

This is a very spiritual pile! Make sure to cater to your emotional and spiritual needs, taking care of your physical body and being around soothing, comforting or quiet places while you tend to this new self.

channeled messages & songs: white snakes, ring, scarf, life path 8 (or 8 in general), silver jewelry, bodies of water, sleeping, bed-rotting, kundalini awakening, modern loneliness by lauv, scorpio, pisces and cancer, hermitting, social batteries, introvert, epiphany, books, the bible, prophetic dreams, chocolate, ego death.

PILE TWO

six of cups ✧ the hanged man ✧ eight of cups ✧ seven of wands

You are returning to yourself, it feels like a sort of homecoming. Fighting for your peace while, at the same time, learning to accept what you can’t control. You have walked away from old beliefs, from restraints of the past and renewing your faith in yourself. Even the picture you’ve chosen is a close-up of someone’s outfit walking away. You’ve found dignity and you’re not willing to sacrifice it anymore. Maybe you’ve left a situationship or relationship that was draining you, molding you into someone you weren’t. Props to you for that. It’s not easy and I know it.

Your guides are proud - they’re very serious and regal. They think you deserve more than what you’ve had. Not in a self-serving way, don’t mistake it for self-indulgence, but in a human, dignified way. They see you as royalty, too. They don’t want you to settle for breadcrumbs in life anymore. No matter how difficult it’s been, they don’t want you to stop believing that things can get better.

For most of you, this is a time when you’re shifting into a more peaceful but assertive phase. You’re taking charge of your joy, your future and your responsibilities without clinging to self-blame or guilt. Maybe it took you a long time. I heard “recovery” in my mind and this has possibly something to do with a specific illness or disease you’ve battled for so long. There’s a huge feeling of relief, of taking a long breath after a tiring day.

It’s okay, you’re home now, you’re safe now. You can relax. You’ve got this, pile two.

channeled messages & songs: therapy, journaling, barbie or baby doll, sage green, green tea, pastels, tiktok, doomscrolling, healing, “i’m not the girl i used to be”, rainbow by kacey musgraves, self-acceptance, shadow work, “i’m still standing”, camping, nature, libra and taurus.

PILE THREE

three of swords ✧ the hermit ✧ the star ✧ queen of pentacles

Your heart is broken. Someone or something has left you to lick your wounds and tend to the bruises they gave you. You’re in pain, so much pain that it may be unbearable to wake up everyday. You’re questioning your worth, your self-esteem has crumbled.. and you don’t want anyone to find you, to see you in such a vulnerable state. All you do now is hope for better days, pray a rainbow comes after the storm because the current is heavy and has taken you astray.

Unfortunately life can’t always be what we want or expect. Allow room for these heavy emotions - this too shall pass. It’s okay to be disappointed, to feel betrayed and hurt by what happened. If the ground was pulled beneath your feet, was it ever really that solid to begin with?

This is the aftermath of something painful. And that’s okay. You can’t force yourself to feel good. In the meantime, you can take it slow, nurture the hope for better days and hold onto it. I know we tend to view hope as mostly something negative and passive, but you can take baby steps towards emotional fulfillment. The Queen of Pentacles suggests you take it slow - there is no rush to healing, nothing to be accomplished, there is nothing for you to prove. You’re human, and therefore, worthy of compassion, patience and healing. Remember the Wheel of Fortune: what comes up must go down, what goes down must go up eventually. You’ll feel better, pile three. I promise.

channeled messages & songs: taking a walk, flower pot, cacti, heartbreak anthems, olivia rodrigo, punk rock, “i’m angry all the time”, hurts like hell by fleurie, capricorn, saturn, personal year 5, backstabbing, depression, navy blue by muna.

PILE FOUR

the hanged man ✧ the hierophant ✧ six of pentacles ✧ the star

You’re learning and teaching. Giving and receiving. Letting the scales balance themselves out, remembering that balance is not always fifty fifty. All the piles have had somewhat similar themes, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you have felt drawn to either pile one or two, but this one feels like a continuation of it, so it could be that you’re transitioning from one to another. Naturally, please take only what resonates for you!

You may have found a new job, a stable relationship, a good circle of friends. You know, despite the positive feeling of these cards, I can’t help but wonder if you’re waiting for it all to crumble again, feeling like the shadows of your past are going to haunt you forever. I keep wondering if you’re okay, I keep wanting to ask you. You’re scared, you’ve got your guard up. You can’t really trust it will last - and while it’s true that it all comes and goes, you can trust nothing is ever wasted.

Let your guard down. Not everyone has your worst interests in their heart. Maybe self-isolation suited you before, didn’t it? You weren’t used to being loved, you still aren’t. But you still deserve it. Sometimes it’s easier to endure the hard things because they’re all we expect. It’s difficult to take in the good things, isn’t it? To feel worthy of them. To realize there is more to life than survival. You’re finally living now - and that’s a good thing. Uncertainty is scary, but in a way, so is the familiarity of hurt, of unrequited lovers and callous friendships. Are you ready to be loved, pile four? You can ask for the good times as much as you want, but when it is here, you have to remember to enjoy it, to not be on the lookout for the bad things so much.

We’re rarely in control. I know it’s difficult, but that’s often a good thing. Not being in control means you can worry less. You can fret less. You can take it day by day, knowing that the outside forces will do what they must and we’re all silly little souls on a giant floating rock.

PS: You’re doing well, I promise.

channeled messages & songs: self-sabotage, nightmares, attachment issues, bulletproof by la roux, bones, candles by daughter, earrings, 2024 planner, five year plan, entj, istj, quiet singing, “the pen is mightier than the sword”, studying, sweater weather, stress cleaning, autumn girl.

amourdivine. 2021 - 2024 © do not copy, redistribute or edit my content.

#pick a card #pick a card reading #tarot #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot reader #tarot community #divination #witchblr #mine.

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becca-e-barnes · 1 year

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Okay… there is something VERY sexy about Bucky cuming in his pants 🤤

No bc there IS something very sexy about it and we all know I love writing this 🙈

Because honestly, I think sex could be a really overwhelming experience for him and I think he'd really want to take his time with it. That kind of physical and emotional vulnerability might not come to him so easily.

I really think the tiniest little things would short circuit his brain and it'd nearly just be another point of concern for him. He can't quite understand why the smell of your perfume makes his heart race, nor can he understand why his cock stirs just from feeling the heat of your body against his.

He knows he won't have much stamina, so to speak. He's dabbled a little in modern porn and he knows he's nothing like those men. He's acutely aware that he can, and has, spent hours jerking his throbbing length, covering his own strong thighs in an embarrassing amount of cum but all it takes is a chaste kiss on the cheek from you to have his dick desperate for more attention.

It's all quite overwhelming but he knows he's safe to feel overwhelmed and that makes such a difference. His comfort is always a priority but sometimes he pushes his body just a little further than he can handle.

Like the first time he's got you on top of him, frantically making out. You're wearing a tiny little pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt and he's desperate to explore now that he's got the chance.

"Baby, please. I need... Oh God, that's good." Words fail him when your lips latch onto his neck, your teeth grazing the exposed skin. The tip of your tongue is sinful, paying close attention to the hollow of his throat while you make the most of the free reign you're being given.

"Is this okay?" You ask softly between kisses, pressing your core against his body. There's a time and a place for you to worry about how incredibly wet you are but this isn't it. There's no room for you to be embarrassed by your need. Not when you're settling on top of a man who's evidently just as into this as you are.

"Yeah... Y-yeah, that's fine." The quiet squeak is just about all Bucky can manage, his hands settling on your hips. He's not moving them, he realises. He's not the one rocking you back and forth over his aching length. You are.

"Holy shit." He groans into the crook of your neck, eyes squeezed shut, pure bliss making every nerve ending tingle pleasantly. He's not even inside you. Lord knows he couldn't handle that but he can't understand how this feels as good as it does without any real replication of the wet heat of your body.

He thinks he's got it under control as he lets your body roll against him. He got enough self restraint. He can handle it. He's got it. Right up until oh no, he really hasn't.

"Babe, you have to s-" He begins but it's too late. Pleasure radiates from the base of his spine, cum splattering against the inside of his pyjama bottoms and all he can do is hold you close and whimper.

His length throbs with each wave of ecstasy and nothing in him wants to lose the heat and pressure of your clothed sex against his. He almost feels pathetic for cumming like this, with minimal stimulation but God, he needs it. When he finally has enough clarity of thought, he registers the feeling of your hands in his hair and his brain starts to process all the filthy little encouragements you've whispered in his ear as he came.

When he comes down, he knows he should probably feel embarrassed but instead, he feels safe. He feels cared for and in a strange way, he feels a little bit more whole, knowing he's finally letting himself be intimate with someone who wants the very best for him.

#asks answered <3 #anon #becca writes spice #Bucky Barnes smut #needy!bucky #Just a little touch of softness for your Sunday night #I don't like to just write pure filth ALL the time #and I'd really like to write about that comfortable vulnerability more because it can get overlooked sometimes #it's funny how the hobbies you love don't really leave you #I was listening to 25 by Alex Page #it came up on my Spotify Discover #and I can't stop thinking about how beautiful the second half could sound on the cello #I haven't touched my cello in years #but I'd love to get back into it

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actuallyadhd · 5 months

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Why do my ADHD meds only help in making me able to get up every morning, instead of actually doing something for my ADHD symptoms?

After Ritalin didn't work at all, my psychiatrist put me on Vyvanse (50mg). I've been taking it for at least two years now, and it helped me beyond belief. But not in a 'aiding in concentration' way, instead, the only thing they do is not letting me go into a catatonic state all day.

Whenever I'm off my meds, I return to the same condition I was in before starting them: I can barely get up. It's a fatigue so intense I literally cannot do anything but the very basic, let alone study. I honestly cannot tell you how I survived so many years without it.

Yet, no matter how much they improve my quality of life (and though my sensory issues got more manageable), they don't do anything to aid in my studies. I still cannot focus on tasks, nor manage my hyperactivity (be it in a physical or mental level). I still get executive dysfunction, talk too much and too loud, can't sit still, have no restraint or self-control and am basically still the same inattentive, agitated person I always was. Am I just in a too-low dose, or there's something else wrong with me?

(Crossposted from Reddit. Sorry if this is too long, and feel free to take as long as you need to answer this!)

Sent December 8, 2023

There are a lot of different reasons this may be happening, and the first one that comes to mind is that your dose may be too low.

There is another aspect that's important, and that is the need to manage your expectations.

Medication doesn't make all of your ADHD symptoms go away. It doesn't make you neurotypical. It doesn't magically give you the skills you never learned due to ADHD stuff.

It sounds like you have quite severe ADHD (hi! Same here!), which makes every single little thing harder. But here's the Really Simplified Explanation about how meds help.

Let's say that a person's overall functioning can be rated on a scale of 1-10, where 1 is "completely neurotypical" and 10 is "completely non-functional".

Given this, your unmedicated ADHD is at a 7 or 8, and it sounds like your medication is pulling you to around a 5, or maybe a 4. This sounds awful, but what it does is give you the ability to actually learn the skills you need so that you stand a chance of being slightly more functional when you're off your meds.

The other part of this is that the Big Four (sleep, diet, exercise, & stress) also affect your functioning, and if any of them is out of whack then your medication won't be able to help as much. So having something screwing with you may put you at a 9, and then your meds will only be able to get you to a 6.

Things that may help with the issues you've listed here include active breaks, fidget toys, and lots of routines. We have lots of information about all of these here, but if you want specific information about any of it please feel free to ask.

Followers, what do you think about this situation? Do you have any advice?

-J

#adhd #actually adhd #asks #anonymous #meds #executive dysfunction #school

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vasito-de-leche · 26 days

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Hiii! I hope you’re doing well!! I’m just wondering if i could request some yandere Forget Me Not headcannons? If not, some general romantic hcs would be fine!

That said, don’t overwork yourself and feel free to decline this if you feel like it!

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - Yandere Headcanons

Compilation of headcanons about Forget Me Not as a Yandere.

I am doing well, ty for asking! and ty for the yandere request, I love writing this type of stuff <3

warning for yandere content and everything it entails. as well as self-harm and suicide themes

Forget Me Not as a Yandere would be pretty standard, I think─at least from the beginning.

I want to say that his lack of experience and proper, healthy examples when it comes to relationships and interpersonal skills is the basis of his Yandere profile: he's hindered by even more twisted impulses and intrusive thoughts, and thus would cling even HARDER to his self-imposed restraints because the stakes are higher now. The consequences would be even more severe should he lose control.

From an outsider's point of view, perhaps he appears to be meaner than usual, there's more bite behind his words as opposed to his elegant way of serving backhanded compliments. While those who spend more time with him would notice that he's unbelievably tense and high-strung. Essentially, it's the same fight between indulgence and restraint that I've been portraying in previous FMN posts, only ramped up to 200%.

The thing about Forget Me Not as a Yandere is that he would be extremely malleable and reactive to his darling. He's so very easy to influence, for better and for worse─the attention he pays to every single detail about you, your habits, your gestures and every little "tell", borders on predatory. It's very ironic, the way he can't understand his own feelings nor thoughts but he actually can read you crystal clear, that he may know you better than you know yourself. The dynamic of your relationship would be determined in your first interactions with him, and it AAAAAALL depends on you. But it's not as binary as who gets to be the "dominant" party and who gets to be the "submissive" party!

When I say Forget Me Not is malleable, I mean it.

In the context of entering a relationship with him, yes, there is the chance that, if you show any signs of "submission" (a more timid and meek personality) Forget Me Not will take advantage of it to the fullest─either through force, coercion or manipulation. We all know he's not below playing dirty and acting to get what he wants, after all. And there is also the chance that, if you show the opposite (a more stubborn and combative personality, to go against him whenever possible) that he will meet you with as much vitriol as you show him, or that he will become even more obsessed with making you submit to him, to blur both love and hatred together as mentioned before. You know, all these classics traits in Yandere content!

But the secret third option is that, if you play your cards right, he will be at your absolute mercy as well.

You can play the exact same mind games he plays and have him eating out of the palm of your hand. After all, he's just looking for ANY excuse and justification to unravel and let loose─you taking the reigns is just as good as him taking the lead. At the end of the day, as long as he gets your undivided attention, the dynamic doesn't matter. We're talking about a guy who pretends to be a poised gentleman and a functional member of society. A cowardly snake who doesn't want to face the consequences of his actions and would absolutely prefer to double down on his awful behaviour and then die at the end than think of apologizing to a single person.

This guy? As a Yandere? Yeah, he will adapt to you, but he will also allow you to manipulate him if you have the courage to reach out and tug at his leash, to take advantage of his obsession. I would even go as far to say that THIS outcome would be the best one for him, as it means that he doesn't have to take responsibility for his own life: that burden is now on you, you own him now. Good luck!

For this post, I'll talk about this secret third option since it's the most interesting in my opinion!

I'm not sure how to format my headcanons and thoughts properly, so I'll do something new and rate the general Yandere traits I think are relevant for him! Obsessiveness is one I specifically left out because it's the most basic requirement for Yandere characters, it feels unnecessary to discuss it. That shit must be cranked up to the highest setting or else there's no Yandere in the first place!

Possessive: ✦✦✦✧✧✧

In this context, he perceives his life to belong to you and only you─the nuance of the situation and whether it gets worse or a better for him are up to you, there's literally endless possibilities─and so it makes sense for him to be possessive, but not in the traditional sense that we're used to, so to say?

Because one of the important aspects of Forget Me Not as a character is the self-loathing. To me, this is one of the few core aspects that must remain in every AU or iteration for him to feel in-character. He's defined by revenge, self-loathing and a delusional mind. And it's this self-loathing that leads Forget Me Not into a very, very insecure mindset─because he's fully aware that YOU could aim for a better lifestyle, a better partner, someone who wants what's best for you instead of wanting to drag you down, deeper and deeper into the mess that is his life. Of course, this is something he won't allow now that you've so gracefully let him latch onto your side like a parasite, but it's a possibility that will continue to haunt him forever.

And so, he's possessive of your ownership and control over him, what he perceives to be the bond that ties you to him or viceversa. It's not quite "You're mine, and no one else's", it's more of a "I'm yours, and no one else's".

No matter what you do to him, he will remain by your side. The idea of you favouring someone else, or choosing to be with someone else and keep him by the sidelines, well, it will ruin him, of course! But Forget Me Not has been waiting for the other shoe to drop his whole life, and so NOTHING you can do can convince him to leave or do anything to "get back at you" in a direct way─aside from manipulating the world to leave you behind instead, perhaps. I like to think he'd still be a pretty pathetic, soggy and miserable guy. Desperate to prove to you that he's going to stay no MATTER what you do or say to him.

It's fine if you hate him, it's fine if you love him. But at the end of the day, you should at appreciate his loyalty and treasure him. Forget Me Not wants YOU to be the possessive one, to want him despite how awful he is, all while accepting the fact that you will never truly be his, because he doesn't deserve you.

Not to say that you keep the guy on a literal leash 24/7, of course! But to if you were to flirt with someone else in front of him, chances are Forget Me Not won't move a single finger. He would stay there, glaring daggers at the perpetrator, and then whine and guilt trip you into paying attention to him. But if someone were to flirt with him instead, he would be pretty ruthless in his rejection, proud and loudly declaring who he belongs to.

Perhaps it would be better to describe him as clingy instead? I think as indulgent as Forget Me Not can be when it comes to his vices, being by your side would be his utmost priority in this context. He won't follow you around like a lost puppy like other characters might do, but he would instead pull a few strings here and there behind the scenes to ensure you always happen to be within his line of sight.

Actually, now that I'm thinking, Forget Me Not as a Yandere would have EXTREME separation issues. This guy would ABSOLUTELY be the type to watch you sleep, because he just can't fathom the idea of being, what, 8 hours away from you? All of this being tied to his anxieties and codependency. I don't see him being very vocal about his love for you, or if he is then the sort of shit he spouts could easily be misinterpreted as thinly veiled threats, or just self-affirmations for himself.

Delusional: ✦✦✦✦✦✦

I'm giving him full points in this section because aside from the aforementioned anxieties, paranoia and self-loathing that gets him to be so, so very miserable, Forget Me Not is pretty much Delusional with a capital D.

Regardless of the path that led you to him and this situation, Forget Me Not would cling onto the fact that you currently own his heart, his mind and his entire life─this OBVIOUSLY means, in his book at least, that you care or love him just enough to take on such a burden. It's pretty much everything I discussed up until now mixed into one big cocktail of delusion and desperation. There's no takebacksies now!

Regardless of your treatment of him, Forget Me Not wholeheartedly believes that you love him to some degree, and that is more than enough for him to fuel his delusions, to overthink every action and every gesture as an act of love. He can still read you like an open book, he knows whenever you're nervous, whenever you're scared, whenever you get angry at him─how else can one explain such reactions, if love isn't at the center of it all? If you didn't love him, you would treat him with indifference, you would discard him like a broken toy!

Of course, if you WERE to treat him with indifference or attempt to discard him and get him out of your life, he would just find more and more ways to come back, to twist your words and their meaning to something that fits his narrative, to worm his way into your life the same way you've done, worming into his own heart. There's no point in trying to make sense of his logic, there is none, it's just the nonsensical, lovestruck fantasy he's built for himself.

Whether you kick him in the mouth or hold him close to you, the only truth Forget Me Not will stand for is your love for him.

But I think it would be fun if this is something he only made known to you? To the outside world, he makes them believe what they want to believe, make whatever assumption about your relationship with him─the muddier the truth becomes for the rest, the easier it is for him to trap and isolate you. Forget Me Not has a talent for acting, to play every unassuming role required for whatever schemes he's got under his sleeve, he might be a pathetic, desperate excuse of a man, kneeling and clinging onto you, but he still retains his cunning mind when it matters. And when you're not around to cloud his vision, he's dangerous.

No matter what others might think, Forget Me Not would find a way to profit─it doesn't matter if your best friend has an inkling about the true nature of your relationship, he will capitalize on it to ensure they remain far, far away from helping you escape. If your coworkers or classmates or what have you believe you two are an odd couple? Then that's what you two are! It's not like they know any better!

Forget Me Not knows more than anyone that there is no fighting the perception of others. There is a group of humans who simply decided he was the Devil himself, based entirely on his heritage rather than his actions. So he plays his part and lets their own biases do their thing, easy.

In that same vein, if you've indulged or pampered him a lot, then he would be more ready to believe anything you say. Sure, Forget Me Not knows that you may lie to him, you might've done that already many times before, but how can he say no when you've been so sweet to him lately?

Manipulative: ✦✦✦✦✦✦

You know what. Self-explanatory, I don't even have to ramble about this because I've talked about how manipulative Forget Me Not is in pretty much all of his posts. He rarely chooses direct confrontations,

I'm inclined to believe that he would only do so in extreme situations, and even so, he would only dirty his hands and confront whatever obstacles in his path─but confronting you? He's too much of a coward, he would never dream of confronting you without ensuring that you will deliver the answer and reaction he seeks, out of fear of hearing the truth from your own lips. I insist, he's not afraid of digging himself into his own grave with his schemes and manipulations if it means maintaining this whole status quo.

So, instead let me talk about how you can manipulate him instead, to level the field a little!

Physical touch in any way is the easiest way to force Forget Me Not to listen. From pulling on his hair to caressing his cheek─I don't think he will ever get used to having you touch him. Again, he thrives with whatever you throw at him, so it's up to you to choose.

I think lying to him and getting away with it is very difficult. In fact, if you think you've successfully lied to him, it's probably because he decided to let you believe he's none the wiser. so instead you would have to appeal to his emotional side. It's as easy as bringing up the whole ownership/possessive aspect, any reminder that he's all yours is enough to get Forget Me Not to comply after some minimum reluctance and pushback from him. It doesn't matter if you're guilt tripping him or threatening him, he thinks it's so romantic that you would go out of your way to reassure him of his position.

Sadism ✦✦✧✧✧✧ / Masochism ✦✦✦✦✧✧

Lately, I've been seeing Yandere content being slowly portrayed as a watered down version of what it used to be, like, to call a character who is just possessive a Yandere and that's it.

But I'm a fan of dark content, and to theorize about everything that comes with these themes─this includes physical harm, something that people are more sensitive towards, which is fair and I understand if this isn't everyone's cup of tea!

So far, most of the violence towards the reader has been emotional and psychological, with physical violence being directed instead to third parties. Here, there will be discussions of potential physical violence towards the reader and Forget Me Not.

That's why this section is at the bottom, so that you can opt out of it!

Something I forgot to bring up directly is the themes of idealization and religious parallels when it comes to the way Forget Me Not interprets his relationship with you.

Despite all these things, he still considers you way above him, a holy figure deserving of everything he can offer─so I don't think he would be physically abusive nor be threatening in this way either. He finds zero pleasure in the idea of physically harming you, and would very much prefer to chip away at your mental stability and vulnerability by hurting himself. Hell, he would prefer to have YOU hurt him instead, to have physical proof of your influence on his body. It aligns perfectly with his self-loathing. If you could scrape off all of his scales with your nails and replace when with the scars you leave him, he would be so, so very grateful.

Or to have you pluck his scales off one by one as punishment, he would absolutely love that. I think that, in those days in which he cannot tolerate nor deal with himself, when he cannot drown his sorrows in alcohol, he would become an active nuisance for the very small and off chance that you lash out at him. It's very cathartic to him.

This post focuses on a very specific outcome of the whole Yandere situation with Forget Me Not, but even so, I believe that every other version in every other situation would still have Forget Me Not being more of a masochist than a sadist. At least when talking about his darling. Given the type of person that he is and all, he would still prefer more mental games.

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #yandere #this feels a little like yandere x yandere #but thats partially bc FMN is a fucking freak #phew i think i got the whole dark content for FMN stuff out of my system now

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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

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Identity Pt 5

Part (5) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I really meant to finish this arc today... looks like there's going to be one more chapter after this, though... Such is the way of writing, I guess...

Warnings: Minor flashbacks/PTSD, reference to torture, loads of guilt and tension, otherwise mostly just fluff and angst

WC: 3,820

Science disproved the fallacy of “muscle memory” eons ago. The antiquated theory that cells somehow held some semblance of thought toward self-preservation, enough at least to react independent of heightened nerve bundles, now resided only in layman’s speech in which the physiology behind impulse control, voluntary and involuntary motions, and even the sympathetic systems responsible for endless bodily functions initiated by the fight or flight response were simply inconsequential. Whether someone believed their hand jerked away from a burning iron due to the hand’s fear of pain or from the spinal cord’s ability to recognize and react to such acute dangers absent direction from the brain doesn’t change the reality that the hand moved before the individual ever registered that they were burning.

I wasn’t burning. I wasn’t drowning, nor was I bound to some unbreakable surface. Logic told me that the danger had passed, but my body remembered only the agony of being held on the edge of death for what could have been days or minutes for all my mind could make sense of it. The delicate tissues lining my airways couldn’t forget the hurt from that chilled, rancid water, and the part of my brain that held no value toward thought or rationale overruled any hope of overcoming the frenzied panic reawaken by the memory of that hurt.

That first, desperate gasp left me spasming beneath such violent coughs, my body could do nothing more than curl weakly onto its side, diaphragm convulsing both from the effort to clear my lungs of every drop of that putrid liquid and from the simple, consuming need for air that had been denied from me for far, far too long. I felt myself reach toward my face, hand trembling as my fingertips darted over my cheeks, my hair, searching for that mask before it could tighten around my lips once more, before it could be used to rob me of sight that I might find myself even more helpless, unable to guess towards when that water would begin to drown me leaving me panicking anew at every sound, every hint of movement around me.

But there was nothing there.

My legs shifted in thoughtless, jerked motions if only to confirm nothing remained locked around my ankles, vaguely noting that no merciless restraints had prevented me from turning onto my side. Only my own weakness hindered my movements. The surface below me was far too soft in light of the memory of whatever I’d been bound to… The walls around me were too clean… And that voice…

“Easy, med’ika… shh, just breathe.” Chest still jerking with an occasional cough, I managed to look toward that familiar voice, and the depth of mourning that suddenly swept through me left me cold in a way I couldn’t explain. I would find no solace in denial after glimpsing the heartbreaking regret in those golden eyes. My nightmares had been real. Comet couldn’t even bring himself to reach for me yet, hands hovering before him as he forced himself to maintain some measure of a “safe” distance between us lest his presence send me into the same panic I’d lost myself in when I woke to find Wolffe holding me.

I loathed the lingering terror, but seeing how the kind man before me hurt because of my pain… that’s what drew the flood of tears to my eyes, and when I looked at him once more, when I let him see the desperate need burning through me, something too close to a sob escaped him. Free of that earlier hesitation, he lowered himself onto his knees at my bedside, movements torn between rushed and gentle as he pulled me against him, and I readily pressed myself into that embrace, fingers clawing into the sleek fabric atop him ribs, face burring itself into the notch of his shoulder.

“I’m sorry… Maker, I’m so sorry…” He murmured, lips shifting atop my hair. My chest twisted at his words, mind reaching for any way I might convince him that he wasn’t at fault, that there was no way to anticipate an attack by a third party; that his guilt only left me crying harder against him for the guilt it stirred within me, but all I could manage was to shake my head, silently begging him to understand.

“Shh, we’ve got you, med’ika… You’re safe now.” My hand tightened around his shirt, straining to force some measure of steadiness into hitched breaths as I dragged my mind back from that grief and fear if only for the hope that it might grant him some quiet as well. His embrace didn’t waver even after the tension began to ease from my aching body, and I made no effort to push even a whisper of distance between us.

“How-” The first attempt at speech nearly sent me back into a wretched coughing fit, but I managed to suppress it, wincing as I cleared my throat. “How did you find me?” Still, my voice was barely audible, the hoarse words dragging painfully along the raw tissue of my throat.

“Wolffe.” He answered simply, but the moment of hesitation that followed drew my gaze up to find him gnawing absently at his cheek, eyes turned blindly toward the far side of the room. “I… I think he reached out to the… to…” His jaw tensed, mind churning over how to answer before shifting to sit atop the edge of the mattress with a sigh, and I didn’t fight the way he carefully dragged me onto his lap. “I think he figured if he could get the kind of intel we came here for, he probably had some way of figuring out where’d they’d take you.” Oh… my father… I didn’t press for more and nodded as I rested my head back against Comet’s shoulder, pleased to feel him relax slightly in response.

Only then did I begin to really notice pain beyond the burn that accompanied every breath, the consuming ache set deep in my lungs. My left arm was immobilized in a splint, and I could feel the subtle pressure of bandages wrapped around my chest and leg.

“What happened?” I asked, the question barely more than a wheeze as I flared my fingers pointedly. With a sigh, his hold finally began to loosen.

“It was just dislocated.” He explained, thumb dragging absently over my arm, almost more as a self-soothing gesture than in an attempt to comfort me. “You bruised a couple ribs when the gala blew up – got a nice burn on your calf from it. Looks like most of it was just from when you were…” His arms tightened nervously, again stumbling slightly over his words. “Trying to get free.” He finished, voice dropping as though it would lessen the impact those words might have. Just the thought of how violently I’d fought against those damned restraints, the terror fueling my limbs well past what they should have been capable of threatened to draw a cold sweat from me. Still, I found myself looking down to see the thick layer of cloth wrapped about my wrists, clearly able to imagine how the skin had been worn raw and torn in my frenzy.

“And the datachip?” I could hear the cold acceptance in my own voice, certain that it had been lost and all the effort and planning and pain amounted to nothing.

“Safe.” He assured me quietly. “They got the bracelet, but we ended the connection before they could trace it back.” I let out a slow sigh of relief at that and tried to let myself treasure a moment of stillness, to let my mind drift thoughtlessly as I fought to to convince myself that the horrors of that dark room might be left in the past, and that I might find solace in the knowledge that I was still alive, that, despite how certain I’d been of my own impending death, how much I’d longed for the comfort of what release it surely promised, I’d survived.

We were barely a day out from the Negotiator. I didn’t want to think about how everyone would react to what had happened, didn’t want to think about how I’d react to even trying to tell them. Despite the dread of dealing with that impeding conversation and all it entailed, still I was eager to rejoin them, to escape the tense quiet staling the air of this ship; the way Boost and Sinker stifled even the hint of a disagreement, how strained Warthog’s laugh had become. Even Wolffe had fallen into something far too somber, making no effort to avoid me though I could see the guilt in his eyes if ever we crossed paths. I hated it.

When I tread thoughtlessly into the bunkroom, I hadn’t expected to find him lying prone atop his cot, eyes intently closed though I held little doubt that he was still awake. I hesitated for barely a breath before yielding beneath the need urging me forward. His brow cocked, eyes opening just enough to glance toward me before shutting once more as I nestled onto the thin pad beside him, barely an inch separating us.

“Something wrong with your bed, kid?” He asked, voice falling back into what, to anyone else, surely sounded more akin to an irritated growl than the subtle teasing I knew it to be.

“Yeah. It’s way over there.” I retorted, and I relished the balm of comfort gleaned from the way his lips twitched ever so briefly into a smirk. Still, I could stand the silence that followed for only so long amidst the scream of questions roaring through my head.

“Did you know?” It was barely loud enough to be called speech, all mirth from that brief quip abandoning me. His throat shifted, jaw tensing a moment before opening his eyes to stare blindly at the empty bunk above him.

“What part?” The softness in how he spoke only worked to remind me of that terrible guilt, and I suddenly feared it was a curse they’d never be able to free themselves of.

“My father.” He was still for a moment before quietly drawing in a deep breath.

“No.” He whispered. “I knew he was from Agamar; that he’d lost his family to the war, but I didn’t know who he was until you met him.” I swallowed back whatever relief or remorse or regret vied to break me and shifted just enough to rest my forehead against his shoulder.

“Was he behind the bomb?” He didn’t need to answer me. I knew I was right by the tension that stole through him.

“He figured you’d be out by then.” Wolffe explained, as though it might quell whatever betrayal he feared the confirmation might bring, but I felt nothing; allowed myself to feel nothing even as I wondered if I should blame my father for what had been done to me.

“Comet said he helped you find me?” A small grunt caught in his throat, and I pulled back just enough to see the beginnings of a scowl distort his face.

“Comet talks too much.” Wolffe mumbled but let out a short huff before explaining. “I had to tell him who you were – he wouldn’t risk any of his operatives until I did.” I didn’t hear the apology laced through those quiet words. My body went stiff, air staling in my chest, numb to whatever hurt still lingered there. Would he know what my capture meant? What they’d do to me? Was he replaying our every shared word lit anew with the heartbreaking realization that I’d known him the instant I saw him, that I’d chosen not to reveal myself when he’d failed to recognize me in kind?

I didn’t notice Wolffe’s gaze turn toward me, didn’t note the sharp concern in eyes far more comfortable in an impatient glare until his arm wrapped around my shoulders, and I let myself be drawn flush against his side, cheek resting atop his chest.

“He’s made his own choices. Try not to blame yourself for the actions of a man you haven’t seen in nearly a decade.” The deadpan look he shot me was enough to draw a small chuckle. Before I could respond, the bunkroom door opened behind me.

“That poor man…” I whispered, unable to fathom what he must be going through now. Wolffe didn’t try to hide that familiar eyeroll, drawing my attention back to him.

“Ooo, we’re having a cuddle party on the commander’s bunk?” I was laughing before Wolffe’s warning growl fell silent, knowing those words easily carried throughout the ship.

“Boost.” His chest rumbled with the threat laced through his brother’s name, but Boost was already in motion, and the cot groaned beneath his weight as the man hoisted himself gracelessly across us, shuffling noisily until his back rested against the wall and his legs stretched overtop mine and Wolffe’s thighs, hapless grin toying with his lips in blatant disregard for the lethal glare Wolffe had trained on him.

“Boost.” He called again, voice lowering into something far more dangerous.

“Think the long-necks’ll get pissed if we break it?” Warthog asked mere seconds later, his own words nearly breaking out into a laughter of his own. Wolffe let out a slow tense sigh as the pilot pushed his way onto the bed above me, forcing the both of us to shift until he’d wedged his torso beneath our shoulders.

“Depends on the story you come up with to explain how it broke.” Boost replied.

“The Commander already sent in the report – you’d have to find a damn good reason for it to break outside of the actual mission.” Comet advised from behind me, already easing himself onto the too-thin strip of remaining mattress.

“Nah, we’ll just tell ‘em they built it wrong.” Warthog replied, chuckling at his own words. Despite his nonchalance, the instant the bed began to creak, we all tensed, but he went back to laughing openly when Wolffe craned his neck to glare at the man.

I’d forgotten about this. Hunter and his brothers were close, but it was different here. Where once the 104th was a standard battalion, now only five remained. That kind of loss could have driven them apart, ruined by grief and despair. Instead, they sought refuge in what few brothers they still had. The simple act of touch brings with it a comfort that can’t be replicated with drugs or kind words. The innocence fueling the need for that comfort, for the silent reassurance that they were still alive, was precious, and when the weight of this war fell too heavily on their shoulders, there was no one who understood that burden more than the men around them.

If felt like hours had passed before something begrudgingly pulled me back to a weary awareness, unsure at first what had woken me, but even in the darkness, I found the brilliant gold of Sinker’s eyes studying the dark cloth immobilizing my shoulder. The muscle lay bunched beneath his cheeks, brows drawn harshly together, tense breaths so near to breaking even as his fingers rested lightly atop my arm. The instant his gaze flicked to mine, the instant he realized I was awake, that I’d seen him in that moment of vulnerability, his expression instantly softened, but he made no effort to pull away from me.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” He murmured, voice barely audible amidst the lazy, deep breaths of his sleeping brothers nestled all around me. “We’re still a few hours out – you should get some more rest.”

I didn’t try to reply, mind already teetering back into that gentle release, but I couldn’t forget the initial glimpse of despair I’d seen in him, heart breaking at the reminder of how deeply they hurt because of what happened to me. Without a word, I flared my fingers out, unable to move the limb more than slightly twisting my wrist toward him. His lips pulled into a weak smirk, shoulders sinking beneath of heavy sigh, but he shifted to slip his hand in mine. Body relaxing with a slow breath, I held him firmly against me, chin tucking against my chest enough to lightly touch my lips to his knuckles as I let my eyes slide shut once more. Still, he didn’t try to pull away, not until long after I’d fallen back into a gentle sleep.

Knowing that each passing second brought me closer to the Negotiator, to the inevitability of reliving those horrors first in telling Cody, and then again in telling my squad only worked to drive me back to the brink of panic. I couldn’t stay in a room with them; couldn’t see their remorse and not dread the thought of seeing that same expression haunt Hunter’s face, of the rage that might threaten to overwhelm Crosshair or the sorrow that would weigh on Wrecker… I hadn’t begun to figure out how to tell any of them… what to tell them. What was I allowed to tell them…

It was easy to hope the following day would bring some reprieve to the stiffness with which they held themselves around me, that a night piled in that too-small cot together might free them of that tension, but I was to be granted no such relief. Conversation had never felt awkward with them before, but now they tripped over nearly every word shared with me, as though second guessing if they were about to say something that might remind me the lifetime I’d spent drowning at the mercy of my interrogator, which, in turn, left me unable to think about anything but that helplessness, that utter certainty that I was dying, and the terrible acceptance that I was powerless to stop it.

I’d found myself practically hiding in the fresher for that last half hour, torn between grief and relief to finally let myself slip back into the safety of my armor before rejoining the others as the ship began to dock.

“Still can’t get used to seein’ you in those colors.” Warthog grunted from pilot’s chair.

“It’s been over a year, Warthog.” I drawled, forcing what I hoped to be a lightness into my still-scratchy voice.

“Yeah, but… did they have to go with something so… edgy?” I instantly felt my shoulders tense.

“Sorry.” He muttered after several long seconds. I had to grind my lips between my teeth to keep my breath from hitching, unable to either apologize for my tone nor to dismiss the exchange altogether. No one spoke again until the engine faded into a quiet hum before finally shutting off, and I again found myself loathing the tension, loathing myself for having brought it back en force so thoughtlessly as we approached the ramp.

“They’ve more than earned the right to wear whatever they want… and we do enough stealth missions to warrant darker colors.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, for it to sound like I was berating him, but I was too anxious to restrain that flash of anger, and my heart sank at the heavy silence that instantly followed.

I should have assumed they’d be there; that Tech would alert the others the instant the non-GAR issued ship made its approach and found some way to prepare myself, but I could do nothing more than stare at the collection of eager faces and hesitant smiles awaiting me at the base of that ramp; should have thought toward how I might steel myself for seeing those familiar faces fall into uncertainty and concern upon noting that damned sling that I should have omitted at least for those first few minutes. I should have offered some light-hearted reassurance, found some means of dismissing their fears before they could begin to twist and grow with all the unanswered questions for those past few days, but I had nothing – no gentle greeting nor quick-witted remark as automated movements led me toward them in the wake of Wolffe’s steps.

“Um…” The strangled sound caught in my throat, unable to look at them even through the protective cover of my helm’s visor. “I have to debrief with Commander Cody.” The way my comms system distorted my voice seemed only to worsen the lingering hoarseness, and I tried to pretend I didn’t see the way Crosshair’s expression turned rabid. “I’ll find you after.” I added in something too close to a mutter before continuing after my old commander.

They didn’t follow me, nor did Boost or the others as I trailed aimlessly behind Wolffe into the bowels of the massive Destroyer, unsure what havoc might unfold the instant we were out of sight. Would Hunter be able to keep his brother in line if my old squad told them what happened? Would he even try? My thoughts were too jumbled to worry over it for long. There was just too much for any one thing to hold my attention for more than a heart-wrenching second, and I quickly gave up any effort to do anything more than keep my strides even.

“You going to be alright?” Wolffe asked, pausing several meters before that familiar door. I hadn't noticed him remove his bucket, but automatically slipped mine off in kind as he glanced pointedly toward Cody's office. I’d suspected he wouldn’t be joining me, that he needed to find General Plo for his own debrief, and it was almost a relief knowing he wouldn’t be with me for this. I didn’t want him to hear me try to recant that nightmare when he was still struggling with the aftermath, too.

“Yeah… I’ll be fine, Wolffe.” I offered, lips pulling into a small smile that neither of us believed. He almost turned away, but paused, brow just hinting at a frown as he looked at me. With a quiet sigh, he let his hand trail through my hair to rest gently against the back of my head before lightly touching his forehead to mine.

“Be safe, kid.” He said, and the vainly hidden note of defeat those short words left me floundering. Still my lips shifted around that too familiar reply, though it was barely more than a whisper.

“Still not a kid.” The short breath that escaped him shook just enough to nearly ruin me, gaze darting up to find his eyes ground shut.

“I know.” He murmured, voice rushed. His grip tightened for just a moment, expression pinching with something too near pain, and then it was gone, posture once more portraying every ounce the rigid commander he’d always been as he tread steadily down the hall. I couldn’t move for several seconds; couldn’t breathe beneath that flash of… what? That was more than just guilt… I wanted to chase after him; to throw something or scream, but found myself thinking back to the tense quiet that had fallen around us in the cockpit mere days prior… Whatever it was… the time for it had passed.

Next Chapter

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renata-has-thoughts · 1 year

Text

W/c: 2.2k Pairing: Dom fem Reader x Sub P.Bateman Includes: PLEASE READ!!! Dubcon, very dominant reader, physical assault, blood play, blood drinking, scratching, degradation, riding, p in v, dacryphilia, choking/breath play, Patrick is into it but only slightly admits to it at the end, therapeutic sex? If that’s a thing? ‘I/My/Mine’ pronouns for reader.

A/n: First of all, always read tags, but I mean it this time! This is very intense but I had a LOT of fun writing it. I’ve read the book, and I can assure you he’s an insecure slut, and he’s so babygirl. Need I remind you, INTENSE. If you don’t like it don’t read it. That’s on you. No minors. Have fun~

My fist came down sharp across his face. I reveled in the electric contact stinging my knuckles as the hook of my arm drew away. What I savored even more was the pained, groggy gasp Bateman emitted, his head lolling to the side with the motion of my punch before snapping back, and his half-lidded eyes meeting my gleeful, anticipatory ones.

He made a movement like gritty biting to fix his jaw back into place, the grotesque crunch causing his expression to sour.

“I bet that hurts, doesn’t it?” I teased, loosening his tie with two fingers, curling them upwards suggestively with a coy smile. His face stayed stone cold and annoyed, but there was something behind his eyes. Like the poised stature of a scared rabbit preparing to dart off. The threat of adrenaline. It pulsated, alive and steady. I could stare into those eyes for hours. I could claw them out with the edges of my nails, ruining them.

Beauty is only that when it’s temporary. And Patrick is beautiful. With a swift tug, his tie was thrown somewhere far beyond my peripheral vision. Beyond my care.

“I’m pleasantly surprised you haven’t told or forced me to stop yet. Either you’re secretly into this or you have some insecurity about dignity…seeing what you can take,” I mused as I undid the buttons of his shirt meticulously, adding in a whisper, “whichever one it is, it’s absolutely pathetic. I find it adorable.”

The farther I got down, the more I could sense his restraints heightening. I couldn’t sense his breathing getting faster, nor as in feel it from where I was straddling him or hear it from where I was bent over his chest, but rather knew it. Call it intuition.

For my enjoyment, I didn’t undo the last button, I simply ripped it open, ruining some of the stitching in the process. Patrick yelped.

“You’re going to pay for that,” he hissed, more solemnly than with bite.

“Physically or financially? Because I don’t see you making any moves to get me off of you.”

“That was Versace.” He mumbled from somewhere low, and went silent again, save for a few small noises while I stripped the shirt off his arms and out from underneath him. I rewarded it with the same discarded fate of the tie into the abyss behind me.

I splayed my hands across his abdomen. So warm…so humanly warm. If I didn’t have any self-control I would slice him open from every vantage point I had. He is just so perfect.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll eat you alive,” I said, turning my attention towards removing his pants. He made a brief, inaudible high-pitched sound. It caused me to smile.

With a tug and a toss, I had him. He was as good as a cornered mouse. He looked like it, too, eyes boring into mine, alert and unsteady. I bared my hypothetical fangs at him in an open-lipped grin. His eyes darted away, off to the side as if in humiliation.

“You do maintain your physique quite well for me, Bateman.” I complimented, letting my eyes run wild around his almost exposed body, except for his silk boxers. Of course they were silk.

I removed my robe-the only thing I was wearing-while examining the man before me. This seemed to grab his interest, his own eyes making their journey across my flesh. I do have my own insecurities, as an unspoken custom to any person, but I relished the way Patrick looked at me. He was intimidated. What a pretty response.

I hoisted myself, in my straddle position, just a bit higher up his body so I was sitting on his abdomen. Just an inch or so closer to his face.

Without any warning, I punched him again, this time with my non-dominant hand. The bliss of it all consumed me again. The contact, the thrum of my veins and his, the sound, in all its harshness. I could’ve orgasmed right then and there. I suppressed a pleasured moan when Patrick coughed and whimpered. When his head returned to look at me again, I was ecstatic to see I had drawn blood in his mouth.

“Fu-uck…fuck!” He groaned. Maybe he bit down too hard on his tongue, maybe the clash of teeth caused one to loosen. Excitement coursed through me as I leaned down to kiss him, eager to figure out just how I had demolished the insides of his mouth.

It was open-lipped and I spent no foreplay before pushing my tongue in. For the first time that night, I moaned with a newfound wanton fervor. I tasted blood. His blood on my tongue. Even though my eyes were closed, I felt as if rolling them back into my head. As I drank in his flavor disguised in hurried kisses, I spent careful notice on the heartbeat deeper in my body. Need. Heat. Something beyond craving.

I desired to kiss him longer, to enjoy the blood I drew for myself, like wine from a vineyard, but my body demanded he be inside it.

The need almost hurt, I admit. I sat up, smiling down at him benevolently, and pushed back and over his groin. I can’t say I was surprised to feel he was desperately hard. I almost felt bad. I tsk-ed with pity. Teasingly.

“Fuck, Bateman, you’re hard,” I muttered, observing the obvious and licking my teeth for any remaining blood, like going in for seconds after a decadant meal. I palmed the intrusion through his clothes, biting my lip when he moaned. I wish I had a keener ear. I wanted to transcribe that onto a sheet of music. To play it for myself every night. Feeling each note under my fingers on the piano. Feeling his vocal chords.

I looked up at his expression, and decided I would’ve titled the music ‘ruin’, for his eyes sprang tears, blood pooled from his mouth, a vague bruise blossomed on the side of his face. Yes. He was ruined.

I cursed something holy and beautiful under my breath as I hooked my finger in the waistband, eyes glancing up to him to note his submissive expression. His cheeks were red. Flushed from my assault or the obvious situation at hand, I didn’t know, but I assumed both.

I pulled it down. Away. Off his ankles. And there he was, ready however I would take him.

I sucked in a harsh breath, either of my hands coming up and digging into the tissue of his thighs, my nails just barely piercing his flesh. Much to my enjoyment, he made a pained sob as I drew blood from one point where my fingernail was pressed just hard enough to do so. I grit my teeth to maintain some composure.

A small amount of blood coalesced under my right hand, where, as aforementioned, my fingers dug into his thighs. I grinded myself against his other leg to satiate me in the meanwhile as I bent down and licked the blood from his left one.

Y’know those conversation starters, that go something along the lines of ‘if you had to drink one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be’? I have a new answer, thanks to the events detailed. His blood was orgasmically fantastic in my mouth. It’s like it was made to go there. To be devoured by me. To take it for my own.

“Oh, fuck, Bateman,” I droned, lips shiny with his blood, a trickle down my chin. I sat up, and the sight before me was heavenly.

The slut was leaking precum. From me drinking his blood. And his face-Christ, his face-I can still see it when I close my eyes. Even more tears glimmered around his groggy eyes, drunk on me, blood from before still on his pretty lips. He was painfully red elsewhere, too. I felt self-gratified knowing he was likely agonizing over how hard he was. Fighting to not just cum without any contact whatsoever. That made me fucking throb, and I’m not embarrassed to say that.

Equanimity be damned. I practically threw any leftover poise I had behind me like I did his clothes.

I licked up the still bleeding wound on his thigh again, but I dragged my tongue up and onto his burning erection this time. He seized. Spasmed at the contact.

He moaned so despairingly I honestly can still hear it reverberating in my head. I, in turn, moaned as well. I kept moving my tongue, focusing on a vein I found, exploring its edges and curves. His precum went well with his blood, a good flavor combination I made a mental note to try again at a later time.

I needed our bodies close so badly. Together. To take him inside my body, permanently instating him as mine, and a physical part of me. So I sat back up, still straddling his leg, and hoisted both of mine over to lock him in place. I steadied my breath. I had appearances to maintain. I slid myself up, and finally, down.

He gasped. I gasped, too, but made an effort to suppress it. He felt…I don’t know if there’s really a word for it. Incredible will suffice.

“Is this what you wanted?” I asked, beginning to thrust up and down upon him.

“I-I-“ He replied, per say. His voice was battered and broken.

“Ugh, speak up,” I grumbled, rolling my eyes. Half from pleasure half from feigned frustration.

“Yea…yeah…” Patrick finally sighed. All vulnerable. Defenses crumbled. Mine to pillage and desecrate.

“Slut,” I chuckled, barely audible. I knew he heard it by the way he choked out a sob. That sparked in me a deviously brilliant idea.

Still with him inside me, I careened down just enough to wrap both my hands around his throat. With each thrust, I applied more and more pressure to my grip around his throat. Soon he sputtered and coughed, chest heaving as he tried to breathe through his bloodied nose. His eyes were off somewhere distant-like an animal looking at something not there. A ghost. Maybe it was the ghost of who he was before I ruined his facade, tore it down to pieces. Evaporating from his body as he fought for air. I moaned.

From this position, me leaning down, he hit a spot that felt just right. My knees felt weak upon their own accord.

He tried to grab my arms, as if making a move to pry them away. I wouldn’t be having that. I slid my thumbs down to the dip of his windpipe in a silent threat, and he instantly dropped his hands, making the correct and logical choice.

I toyed with him a little, abusing my power over him. I loosened my grasp on his neck completely, letting him get in one shaky, anguished gasp, and then clamped back down again. Upon doing so, he bucked his hips up, consequently getting deeper inside.

I laughed with joyous disbelief. “You-you like being choked? You’re getting off on it?” I guffawed in hilarity from the situation at hand. No pun intended. “What-is it…don’t tell me it’s gonna make you cum, now. That would be mortifying for you.”

“I-I’m-“ he writhed.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes.”

He shook his head meekly. That, or trembled.

“Well hold on, if you would be so kind. I’m get-fuck-I’m getting about there too, but…we wouldn’t want you to become all overstimulated, would we?” I broke out into a broader, toothy grin, “I don’t want you to get hurt, Bateman.”

He whined and whimpered, as if wounded. Which he was. I picked up my pace, managing to rub my clit on his groin every now and again, groaning each time I did so.

Finally. Now I was ready.

“Alright. Whatever. You can cum.” I muttered, syllables asunder, half to myself and half to him. I bared my teeth and growled lowly as I came, mentally releasing something spike-edged and dark in my mind that had been plaguing me for a while. Like admitting something deep to a therapist. I needed this like a salaryman a vacation. Throughout this, I didn’t stop, making Patrick follow rapidly, breathing with loud groans and short, pathetic wails when he came. I had a feeling this release meant something more to him, too. A letting go. Literally.

Eventually, I slowed and gently peeled my hands away from his throat. His inhales were deep and steady, exhales shaky. I pulled off and everything about him went limp, coping with the events. I chuckled inaudibly. I swung my legs off and over the bed, standing up and headed towards the bathroom. I heard no commotion from his room, and after cleaning myself off, I emerged to see him unmoved except for the rising and falling of his chest. I fetched my robe from its crumpled spot on the ground, lithely wrapping it back around me. I went to leave to the kitchen to grab myself a snack, but paused in the doorframe

“Water? Tea?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Are you alive?”

He nodded.

“You’re sure?”

Nodding.

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Very enthusiastic nodding.

I smiled to myself as I left to raid his fridge.

End

If you made it this far you’re messed up and I love you and we should get married. Repost and comment if you feel inclined.

#patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman smut #American psycho smut #Patrick Bateman fanfiction

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parlerenfleurs · 2 years

Text

I've been thinking lately about the incense burner extras, and I cannot sleep so I might as well type out my thoughts.

The first time I read them I wasn't enthused. While I can read fucked up smut for its own sake, here, it was a bit too hard-core for my taste in relation to a couple that love each other (AND I do Not like the blood. Boy I sure Don't like the blood. Why did there need to be blood?). BUT, while as smut goes it's not what I'll go read when I'm in the mood, I have since then read several posts and meta, and also other translations that put it in a different light for me.

And while I'm sure I'll probably just regurgitate what more perceptive people have said before me, I did have a fond revelation about them, which make them especially moving (yes, moving) to me.

I'm not gonna address Wei WuXian's farmer fantasy, as this is not what this is about (and besides, @ninjakk might make a post about it someday, so I'm eagerly waiting!) - here, right now, we are talking about the sex Õ3Õ.

There is a lot to be said about how erotica is a mirror of a culture and its current taboo/repressions, and about the fact that this is written in Chinese by a Chinese person in current Chinese culture, and that kinks and sexual fantasies do not reflect one's morals, but many people have talked about it and I have no authority nor personnal knowledge on the matter, so let's accept that there extras can be a bit jarring to some of our sensibilities and move on (just like I did the first time I read them and was put off but decided to go on enjoying the rest of the story regardless).

I'm rambling so damn much but my point is this. These extras are a gift from MXTX to her characters, a gift most of us can only dream about but never achieve: a gift of a second chance.

A gift of being able to go back in time and catch that missed opportunity, fix this messed up situation, come back with one's current skills and knowledge and do better. I'm especially talking about the second dream, here, where Wei WuXian, as an adult, meets the young teenage Lan WangJi and riles him up to Mengpo's hall and back, because, crucially, Wei WuXian never did make Lan WangJi lose his control when they were young, (at least not on purpose, and I'm coming back to the Kiss TM later), and it wasn't for a lack of trying, but since he wasn't aware of his own attraction, even less Lan WangJi's toward him, how could he have gone all out then? So he didn't, and Lan WangJi kept his control, and they didn't go at it like rabbits on the back mountains of the Cloud Recesses. Much to Wei WuXian's chagrin when they have sex for the second time, and he laments not having done this from the beginning, and having lost so much time.

So they get this chance, for Wei WuXian to undo Lan WangJi's restraint, for young Lan WangJi to finally let go like he so badly wanted to. For both to retroactively not miss the opportunity (yeah they do this in a freaky way because they are freaks /affectionate *cough* Bichen *cough*).

I think this has been said a lot so I won't expand too much on this next part, but. Lan WangJi is a freak. He's a jealous, possessive, dominant lover, who nevertheless never lets these traits impose on the object of his affections (and make no mistakes, his love is also pure, selfless, and beautiful - but he has kinks, don't we all, and he's human, as we all are). So, compounding with how his father treated his mother, these things that Lan WangJi feels, and thinks, and wants, and fantasizes about, bring him a lot of shame, and probably some self-loathing. Absolutely self-loathing when he gives into his worst impulses and forcefully kisses Wei WuXian on Phoenix mountain, but I'm pretty sure with time he comes to accept himself enough to not hate this part of him. He's still ashamed, though. And afraid of hurting Wei WuXian. BUT fortunately, Wei WuXian is exactly the freak for him. The man also has kinks and they match beautifully with Lan WangJi's, and when he sees Lan WangJi's darkest fantasies.... it turns him on, he cheers him on. Even before seeing them he's spot on with his dirty talk, telling Lan WangJi he should have just dragged him somewhere and have his way with him back then (they both would have enjoyed it, albeit with a lot of confusion on Wei WuXian's part).*

There goes Lan WangJi's shame. He cannot be more deeply and entirely accepted and celebrated and loved as he is now.

These are the incense burner's gifts.

*it occurs to me that the little freak must be quite happy to be reborn in a slimer/shorter build, so that Lan WangJi can manhandle him even more easily.

#mdzs #wangxian #incense burner extras #am very tired+sleepy now this might be incoherent I don't know #sleep now.

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4dkellysworld · 2 months

Note

I have been thinking of getting into yoga lately. Are yoga poses able to quiet the mind? Especially the ones of youtube? I'm a bit skeptical about it because i don't see people talking about using it to realize self.

Of course it can! From a western point of view, yoga is often only known as a physical exercise but actually, yoga is so much more than that and there are many forms of yoga. My favourite is yoga nidra because you just lie in corpse pose and do nothing (besides following audio instruction to move awareness across various body parts), it's basically meditation. If you're interested in this, then I advise you to be wary of a lot of the youtube recordings because a lot of them are not authentic yoga nidra, you're not actually supposed to fall asleep from doing it but I kept falling asleep because the teacher wasn't actually giving yoga nidra instructions lol.

Yoga is a group of physical, mental, and spiritual practices or disciplines which originated in ancient India and aim to control and still the mind, recognizing a detached witness-consciousness untouched by the mind and mundane suffering. - Wikipedia

Yoga postures (asanas) is the third limb of the eight limbs of yoga from the ancient Yoga Sutra texts. It can also be used as a way to freedom/self-realization.

Yoga is the stilling of the fluctuations of the mind. The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali (fourth century CE) give us tools to still those fluctuations, with Ashtanga Yoga, the eight limbs of Yoga: Yama (restraints), Niyama (observances), Asana (posture), Pranayama (control of breath), Dharana (concentration), Pratyahara (sense withdrawal), Dhyana (meditation) and Samadhi (undeviated absorption). Source (I suggest you read this)

Also just try whatever you feel led to and then you'll see whether it works for you or not. You got the idea of yoga for a reason. You don't need anyone's confirmation nor need other people to have done it or succeeded in it for it to work for you. You don't need to do what's already been done before either in order to personally succeed in what you want. Be your own scientist!

#asks

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helianskies · 10 months

Text

Tutela

July, 1386. "He is not worth it."

August, 1808. "He is not worth it."

[ wordcount, 1822; read below or on ao3! ]

July, 1386.

"He is not worth it."

"But it would be quite entertaining, would it not, to be able to sail over there and march right up to his home, and curse the entire royal household right in front of him?"

João could not entirely disagree with the sentiment. However, "That is how you lose," he warned Arthur, knowing already, such a short amount of time into knowing him, that pretentiousness could be his downfall.

Arthur, perhaps confounded by his statement (or lack of enthusiasm), turned away from the view of his homeland, and cast his gaze onto João, who returned promptly to his book. While he wanted Arthur to gain a bit of sense, he also wanted to avoid any conflict in an alliance so young. A reminder of that sat cold around his finger—a ring forged in Windsor itself.

Still, it needed saying. Arthur appeared to be quite impulsive in his adolescence (more impulsive than João was, at least) which was a cause for concern. And Portugal was allowed to be worried about his dear husband, was he not? Their alliance would otherwise be for nought.

"Strictly speaking," Arthur eventually said, stepping back towards the indoors—to where João lurked, out of the sun, "there is not currently a war to lose."

"You think peace will last, this time?" João returned rather swiftly, however. He flicked his eyes upwards and was met by a sweet, naive frown. "You should know Francis better by now."

"So what if I do?" the other responded, folding his arms stubbornly across his chest. "One is getting quite tired of his taunts and arrogance. He thinks himself to be better than us—any of us. Someone ought to put him in his place."

"And maybe, you will have that chance eventually," João attempted to console him. "However," he quickly pressed, "you should be careful. You want to be seen as an important kingdom, no? As powerful, and in complete control of itself?"

"Of course."

"Then act like it," returned Portugal, as blunt as he dared be. "Petty rivalry will get you nowhere in the end, believe me…"

Arthur hesitated and struggled to retaliate. He went to speak and then retreated into himself, before trying once more to have the final say. "And if Francis starts the next war, as you suggest?" he remarked. "What then? Do you expect me to stand there and take it?"

To such a comment, João was firm, abrupt: "If he does," he replies, "then I expect you to make him regret it. You are not stupid, Arthur. But your impulsiveness and lack of self-restraint… They could put you in danger."

It is then that the other lost his defensiveness, and he seemed to become less tense. João, in turn, did the same. It was far easier to relax and be honest in an environment where you both spoke and behaved as equals, mirroring each other. He had fast come to enjoy Arthur's frankness as much as he had come to value his openness.

"You," the blonde went on, "are worried for me."

"Is that not natural?" João hurried to respond. "We have an alliance. I would hate for something to happen to you… And that is mostly because of the wars, yes. But I also think," he goes on, "that you have some potential, and it would be a shame to see you fall before you had a chance to rise."

"So… you think that I could be something more? Something greater than just… England?"

João had no further comment for the other—no allusions to empires (the word made him uneasy) nor further warnings against arrogance. He had said his piece. If he were to say more, he feared being too honest and open at a time where he would prefer to keep his cards much closer to his person.

The war had gone on for long enough, however. There was no denying it. This rivalry that Arthur had with Francis was troublesome at best. And while Portugal wanted England and France to be able to settle their differences and give up the childish behaviour for everyone's sake, he was not feeling too hopeful. He knew from personal experience that that was a hard thing to do…

Inevitable as the sunset, conversation died. His attention was won over by his book as Arthur went back to staring longingly from the balcony in the direction of his enemy.

Nevertheless, the younger nation may yet prove to be worth it—worth the time and energy João would like to put into him as both a nation and a warrior. Arthur had much to learn and… well, João felt he may have some skills worth teaching him. For Arthur’s benefit. For the sake of longevity. For the sake of their newfound alliance.

At the end of the day, João did not want his husband to lose. There was more to lose than a war, after all.

. * ✧

August, 1808.

"He is not worth it."

"To you, perhaps, but to me," João stated, still trying to catch his breath and pull himself through the bout of agony he had found himself in, "every drop of blood spilt would be worth his weight in gold."

"You are angry, and I understand that," the other tried to placate all the while, "but your wrath is not your ally."

"But is it wrong? Is it wrong to want him to pay?"

“That, dearest, is how you lose…”

João did not respond immediately, nor did Arthur expound on his thinking. Instead, both of them seemed to silently, unanimously agree to let the medical officer finish dressing João’s latest wounds from the battlefield before proceeding.

It had been an arduous war so far. He was surprised, at times, that he was in one piece—that he had survived this long—that Portugal still stood.

It only took a minute or so before they were left alone. João saw the opportunity to talk had returned, but he chose not to seize it. Arthur did not yet risk it either.

Instead, the other came to sit down next to João—so close, in fact, that he might as well had sit on top of him; João heard his breathing, felt a familiar, stabilising aura slip around him, saw in his eyes a small universe not yet fully explored begging for his attention. And so he breathed, too. He breathed, and Arthur took a hold of the reins.

"You are angry, and you are allowed to be angry," he observed. "You feel betrayed. And really, you have been."

"Thank you for telling me what I already know," João quipped, embittered.

Arthur, however, was not yet finished.

"You want to find him."

João would deny it.

"You want to march across an empty battlefield and stand before him, just you and him alone, and you want to demand answers.”

But perhaps Arthur had come to know him too well.

“You want him to look you in the eye and either fight, or break.”

Perhaps João had come to underestimate him, too—a man with an empire that had grown to overshadow his own.

“You remind me of me, you know.”

João nearly scoffed and spluttered, a violent reaction to mask the confusion he felt. Confusion over Arthur telling him to stay put—confusion over Arthur, who had always been a fighter, a sedulous force, warning him away from taking action. Such confusion nullified his pain, but… it did not really help. He was tired of sitting, he was tired of doing nothing—of feeling like nothing…

“Forgive me if you think me outspoken for saying so,” Arthur went on, “but I would say that you are to Antonio what I am to Francis. You care for each other in the same way that you cannot stand each other, and you despair of each other the same way you respect each other.”

It took him a moment to say it, but João did eventually admit, “You’re right,” as his head, growing heavier and heavier, turned towards Arthur; “you are being very outspoken.”

Arthur gave him a wry smile. “Outspoken, but not mistaken?”

And João could not stop himself from nodding. Because he was right. João cared for Antonio in ways that sometimes did not make sense. And angry as he was at the other for putting him through this, he wanted to know why. Why had Antonio, whom he has always done his best to look out for, turned against him? Surely he had the willpower to stand up to Francis if he truly wanted to…?

But maybe Spain cannot stand up to France in the same way…

“The thing is,” Arthur continued through silence, “you are also to me what he is to Francis. Without wanting to give him any excuses, he is fighting for survival while also wanting to serve the man he now regards as his husband. So, your anger at him is not entirely unfair,” he presses, “but perhaps trying to kill him is a little much.”

It was unfathomable. Was it not only a few centuries ago that João had been the one to talk Arthur down from seeking out bloodshed and revenge? To prove to him the importance of impulse-control for the sake of self-preservation?

Truth be told, João would hesitate to say Arthur had learned much from him. He still had his moments of recklessness, of disregard, of danger. Yet it seemed he had gained some wisdom in his old age. How amusing… And ironic…

As he stared at nothing, a hand came to settle on top of his. It stole his gaze for a moment, before his eyes looked up to find Arthur once more—Arthur, in all his roguish simplicity and country charm.

“I will stay with you,” the other promised him, “for as long as you need me.”

“And what if… I need you for a long, long time? Longer than you have come prepared for?” João asked.

He feared it could happen. He feared Arthur would feel obliged to stay with him out of duty for much longer than his people and ruler would find acceptable, and he would not want to get in the way of Arthur’s duties as a nat—

“I would stay for an eternity with you, if you asked,” Arthur declared.

João did not know how to respond. He tried to say, “That is… very sweet of you,” but he struggled to get beyond that.

Arthur, however, did not seem to expect him to. He did not expect him to have a response, or to understand, and instead the Englishman set his other hand to his husband’s face and said brazenly, “You will always be worth my time. My anything.”

And so suddenly, there was hope again. There was hope for Portugal, and João wondered if this war could still be won—the war, and perhaps something more.

#hetalia #hws portugal #hws england #engport #helia writes #what would have been my engport week contribution had i had time and energy to write more than the first 200 words #but hey. it's something :')

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thedawningofthehour · 5 months

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You remember a few days ago you responded to that post about Donnie being a separate entity from Galois.

Well, you know about OK K.O? that cartoon created by Rebecca Sugar's husband that was unfairly cancelled because CN executives neglect almost everything but TTG? Well (SPOILERS) One of the most important plot points of the series is that the protagonist develops an alternate personality which embodies all the characteristics he doesn't like about himself, but which at the same time is, like, way more powerful than he is. Anyway, at one point the alternate personality takes over and the protagonist becomes a prisoner in his own body, TL:DR at the end the two personalities make peace and merge in a nice metaphor of self-acceptance.

I swear as I was reading I was imagining Galois and Donnie in a similar situation, K.O and T.K.O are the same person, as are Donnie and Galois, except the last ones have different memories. I don't think Donnie would hate Galois, at least not genuinely, but he couldn't help but have negative feelings towards him either, Donnie knows it's not Gale's fault, but the frustration combined with the helplessness, as this version of himself take control of his life and swallow all those lies... I wouldn't put it past Donnie to get to a point where he might hurt Galois just to get to Draxum.

(As I was writing this I realized that the person who helps create the alternate personality of the protagonist in Ok ko is also his father, who also happens to be a scientist specializing in biology, WHO ALSO happens to be Gay, well, bisexual).

Cartoon must have a deal with DC or something to constantly shove TTG down everyone's throat because I have never met anyone who actually thought it was a good show. Even kids in its target age range are at most 'meh' about it. It's just bizarre otherwise.

And you know, I find it real ballsy of them to try and recapture the success and acclaim of the original Teen Titans when they fucking cancelled the first series over a toy deal. It would be like Nick trying to put out a shitty chibi version of Rise in 2030 and whining because no one wanted to watch it. Let people make good shows, coward.

Ah, I haven't actually seen it, but that description does remind me of another character. But mine's kind of like

...Yeah. This is Dog or God, depending on which personality is in charge. He's not a zombie, he's a super mutant (a nightkin, but explaining the difference would involve explaining the plot of Fallout 1) and he's not supposed to look like that.

Dog is the slave of this asshole named Elijah, small-minded and suffers from violent outbursts and ravenous hunger. God is his voice of reason and restraint. Which doesn't mean he's on your side-if anything, God is much more difficult to work with because he actively antagonizes you. He sees Dog as a little brother he needs to protect, while Dog thinks of God as an intrusive voice in his head. All those scars are from Dog mutilating himself, even going so far as to shove his arm into a bear trap to keep the voice at bay.

It's never stated which identity was the original. Elijah thinks Dog is a second gen super mutant, who are intentionally made stupid (for lack of a better word) during the mutation process to make them more obedient soldiers, but God proves himself to be first generation, who generally have human intelligence. Yet nightkin are almost universally mentally disturbed as a result of their mutation and stealth radiation exposure, and super mutants are often shown to have voracious appetites and eat humans. His big finale takes place with Dog trying to kill himself and God frantically trying to save him, and you can either kill him, bury one of the consciousnesses, or reunite them and let him figure out for himself who he is.

...Looking at all that, it looks more like Tigerclaw if Tigerclaw had a split personality disorder.

But in general, Galois is not a split personality nor a separate consciousness from Donnie. He's just Donnie. He remembers things different and yes that's changed him a little, but Leo and all the other characters aren't the same people they were at the beginning either. It would be a lot easier if Galois was just some other guy living inside his head, but nope. It's all been Donnie.

#this is long and most of it had nothing to do with what you're talking about #apologies i'm writing a fight scene and they're very difficult for me #doth asks

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ronkeyroo · 2 years

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Does Raven have any scars? (Physical and/or emotional) and is she(?) frightened of anything? 🥺

dfhdsjfd This bimbo be covered in both emotional and physical scars 😭 BUT!!! This is an interesting question...

Some of her scars are a mix of character lore, some based on real scars I share on my own body, and a couple "i just think its sexy and i wish i had it irl but i cant so Raven have it" scars SUCH AS the scars on her chin + cheek!

However, for deeper context + Depressing character lore: TW for mentions of self harm and heavy themes ;;

Raven has a complex set of Traumas she's struggling and fighting to overcome. A lone werewolf longing for connection, she wielded a tender heart that sought out love and wonder despite a lifelong of struggle — unfortunately all in a decaying world where such desires were considered nothing but wishful thinking and naive weakness, "wasted potential" where power and control were valued above all. You're either a monster, or youre easy prey to one.

Having stubbornly refuse to become such a thing under this grim reality, she insisted to fight for the good she believed in. She fought so many monsters before, she was certain she will recognize them through her journey.

However, her own path betrayed her. She was too soft, thrown back and forth between people who preyed on her vulnerability for their own selfish gain, time and time again.

With her wanderlust betrayed, sentiments corrupt, and trust broken - She entered a searing cycle of emotional decay; constantly stuck between two extremes. You, or them? Good or False? Human or Monster? Blurring her sense of self as well as sense of control.

The unyielding rage, spite and resentment for having been wronged so many times soon overshadowed the good she fought for, the tenderness she insisted to protect. And in the end she grew to believe that it was the very reason for her suffering, her "weakness". Having cast her heart away, Raven grew cold and dangerous, if only to protect whats left by course of detachment and intimidation.

One of her biggest issues would be that self sabotage and lack of self control both emotionally and physically. Everything was either too hot or too cold, too numb or too vivid. A beautiful truth, or a beautiful lie. She haven't yet developed an inner anchor to ground her when she loses herself to rage or hopelessness, nor did she believe she was capable or worthy of any good. She cannot allow those feelings release, which is why she's covered in "self restraint" scars.

Betrayed by the world around her, terrified of what she has become and resentful of those responsible - She ultimately accepted her 'fate' as being nothing but a monster in the end. Vindictive and despondent, she swore that if she were to become one - She will pledge that volatile chaos to hunt down other monsters instead.

Despite it all, her desire for love and wonder refused to fade away completely, glimpses of her warmth still slip away when met with those genuine and caring of her, her heart longing to radiate the very love she thought lost. However, stained by the wounds of the past and fearful of hurting others - She didn't yet learn the right way to co-exist with those emotions without struggling to accept them, or worse —seeing them as some sort of weakness, an illusion, questioning whether it was ever meant for her or not, and ultimately cowering away.

One of her biggest fears are all bound to that heartache. Be it to put effort into something that is bound to fail, to love only to hurt, or to become the very thing you hated all this time.

Her scars hold both stories of victory and survival against living monsters, or hatred and defeat by those of her own.

#sad werewolf bimbo hours ;_;#Raven #Character Lore #oc lore #my art #hauntedadagium #friend shenanigans #Ronkey Replies #I hope...Raven finds her peace one day #I know we will work side by side to make that happen #shes not alone through it at least ;_; theres still her guardian Shayu and his role/part in her story!#literally the embodiment of her self love #This inspired me to get back to their worldbuilding and lore...thank you sm friend ;; i hope this wasnt too depressing to read hhgndhf #i promise the soul duo shall prevail #ronkeyroo

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littleperilstories · 1 year

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The Prince of Thieves: How Could You Do This to Me?

Mood Boards | Chapter Titles | Also on A03!

Warnings: Fantasy-esque prison setting, restraints (shackles), infected wound, creepy villain, fucked up power dynamics, betrayal, guilt, fear, death wish, mention of family member death

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Word count: 1978 || Approx reading time: 8 mins

How Could You Do This to Me?

Teaser: “Fox,” I gasp, my palms stinging and my cheeks burning, “it’s me, it’s Bree—” “I fucking know.” He pushes me away a second time. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

Bree

As we stand before Fox’s cell, Hatchett unlocks the manacles. His cold fingers brush against my skin, and the sensation makes my stomach turn. I pinch my lips together in a weak attempt to hide my revulsion.

“Think about what we discussed, Miss Cooper.” His hand closes around my wrist, preventing me from escaping him just yet, although he pulls open the cell door. I cannot meet his eyes, nor shrug from his touch, nor shield myself at all.

His gaze is like a gaunt, icy finger, trailing down my cheek in a motion both intimate and hideous, sending shivers down my spine. There’s no affection in his stare, nor any lust. It’s nothing more than a reminder—though the metal is gone from my wrists, I am still bound. A subtle nod to the fact that although I got what I wanted and should be revelling in my victory, I am still on the losing side of the war.

The amount of self-control it takes for me not to wrench my arm from his grip is positively cosmic.

Don’t fucking touch me, is what I want to say.

Instead, I remain still—trying desperately not to shiver—and wait for him to nudge me into the iron cage that will hold both Fox and me prisoner until Gysborne arrives to, hopefully, take care of Fox’s fever.

Hatchett, however, does not release me just yet. “Don’t you have something to say to me? Something you forgot?”

If I say the words he’s seeking, I will surely gag. But he doesn’t let go of my arm.

“Thank you, Constable Hatchett.”

He smirks, lets go, and when I am fully inside the cell, he slams the door shut.

Fox has fallen asleep or perhaps passed out in the time I’ve been gone. His body is limp, back slumped against the wall and legs stretched awkwardly over the filthy floor, his breathing laboured. With a grimace, I approach, unsure of what to expect. How much did he hear when I called for the constables to bring Hatchett so I could beg him for an audience? If he heard, how much does he remember? How betrayed does he feel? How angry?

Trapped too deeply in sleep, he doesn’t hear me draw near, and I let him rest. There is little I can do until someone brings clean water and cloth. How long I will be waiting, I cannot tell.

While I wait, I inspect him, the feverish man before me. From this distance and in the terrible light, it’s hard to see clearly whether his face is flushed or pale, or which wound might be inflamed and red with infection. Whether he sleeps with peace painted upon his features, or with fitful, restless pain. So long as he is unconscious, I cannot possibly tell how much strength remains in those fever-ridden limbs.

It is both too soon and not soon enough when someone brings a bucket of steaming water, a constable I don’t know. I don’t bother to thank him, but focus on Fox. Quietly, clearing my throat, I say his name—well, the only name I have for him.

He doesn’t stir.

“Fox.” I move closer. “It’s Bree. Can you wake up? I want to help you.”

He does not wake until I lay my hand on his arm. With a gasp, he jerks to wakefulness under my hands.

“Get the hell off me!”

He shoves me away with surprising force for someone who’s dying, and I have to regain my balance, bracing my hands against the floor.

“Fox,” I gasp, my palms stinging and my cheeks burning, “it’s me, it’s Bree—”

“I fucking know.” He pushes me away a second time. “Don’t you fucking touch me.”

If I don’t get a hold of my emotions quickly, I’m going to cry. I can feel the ache in my throat, threatening to overcome any words I might use to convince him to hear me out. “Please listen to me.”

“Listen?” he spits, struggling to support himself on a single shaking arm—still avoiding using the one with the shoulder wound. “I already fucking did. ‘I want to make a deal.’ How could you?”

His voice is furious, but it’s weak—broken and strained, like a branch snapped in a storm. Thready fibres are all that remain to stop it from splitting and crashing to the forest floor.

“And how d-dare—How dare you come back in here now? Shouldn’t you be out there h-helping him to find—”

Oh, I deserve his wrath, and I know it, but I’m not giving up. I can’t, not now. “Wait. Just—I—”

“What d-do you know? What did you t-tell him?”

“Please listen,” I repeat. “I swear, I swear, I’m only trying to help you.”

“Help me, how?” His words splutter out, stitched together and slurred. “You expect me to believe you? What did you s-say?”

I try to inch closer, but still he moves away. “You’re sick. I needed to get him to listen. So I bargained for…” How to even explain it? Real medical care? For the medic to do his damn job? A clean environment? Some basic human decency? “Medicine.”

“You told him...”

I pull in a sharp breath, unable to ignore the hitch in my chest and the tears smarting in my eyes. “I told him about how IA passes messages. Stuff about being a runner.”

Fever clouds his gaze, but suspicion spikes through, too. He doesn’t believe me. How could he possibly know there’s more? I thought for sure he didn’t remember telling me he has a brother.

“What else?”

“Nothing,” I say, the lie slipping out before I can really think it through. Please, I think toward my trembling limbs, please stop—lest they give me away for the liar I am.

“You told them C-Col—” He chokes to a stop, teeth chattering again. “Spider’s s-secrets.”

“Yes.” I point toward the bucket. If he doesn’t stop arguing with me, it’s going to get cold. “I traded her secrets for the chance to get rid of your—”

“You h-h-had no fucking right.”

“Do you hear yourself?” I don’t know how much of this is fever and how much of this is just him being difficult. “You’re sick! Dying! I couldn’t just sit over there and watch!”

“But you could fuck up everything for everyone else.”

“That’s not fair.” How much logic is going to get through to him right now? “If they have any sense, Fox, they’re already gone and out of reach.”

He jerks back as if I’ve slapped him.

Fuck.

I may as well have said, Your brother left you here to die.

Which, while true, is not the best thing to say when I’m trying to get him to believe me. To trust me. To, at the very least, listen.

“I told you,” I say. “I don’t want you to…” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I had to bargain, or else he wouldn’t listen. Please don’t let it have been a waste.”

He’s shaking. From rage, or from chills? I cannot tell.

“Please.” I don’t know what else to say. I am still forcing back tears. “Do you want to die?”

“Yes.”

This answer is cruel, a punch to the stomach, a blow that leaves a bruise—and not what I expected. I hope he doesn’t mean it.

But perhaps I’m just naïve.

Guilt swirls through me as I am reminded of just how far I’ve gone, driven by nothing but pure selfishness.

Don’t leave me here alone. My own words float back to me, bringing stabbing pain to my chest and sweat to my brow. Here I am, trying to soften his current pain to draw out the rest of it. Allowing the torturous last days of his life to drag on.

I cannot let myself dwell upon why.

“Do you want to die here?” I try a different angle. “In here? Do you want to—to let Hatchett win?”

He glares at me with weary eyes. Slowly, the heat of his anger fades.

“What’s the difference?” Hopelessness is all I can hear in his words. “Bree, at least if I—if I die now, I die knowing I n-never gave in.”

There he goes again—shattering my heart.

“I watched my mother die.” I didn’t intend on saying this, but now that I’ve started, I realize how much this memory is fuelling my actions, and I can’t stop. All it took was a little slip of a knife against her hand and a plethora of ill luck. “She got sick too, and by the time we realized how bad it was, there was nothing anyone could do to help her. All I could do was watch. And now it’s happening again. Only this time, I know better. I don’t have to just stand by and watch you suffer. So I…” My mouth has gone dry. “I did what I did. I’m sorry. But I’m not…not really.”

His eyes close and reopen, slow and fluttering, butterflies’ wings on the eve of the first frost. “You s-swear? You promise?” His good hand uncurls from his fist. “You didn’t tell him anything else? Nothing else?

I shake my head.

He stares warily. Please, just trust me. Please let me come closer.

“Why are you still alive?” His voice is quieter, less furious now, but he’s out of breath, gasping in air too quickly. “Why didn’t he hang you like he hanged Ezra Johnston?”

It takes me a moment to remember who he’s talking about—the man who was caught before me. Who was killed. For whose execution I was a spectator.

“I don’t know,” I say, and I pray once again he won’t detect the lie.

He doesn’t ask again, doesn’t push the subject. Relief floods through me, but it’s cheap. Hollow.

“Let me look.” My voice shakes. “They might let you out. Bring you to the medic bay. I don’t know. But please let me help you until then.”

This time, when I approach, he doesn’t shift away, nor does he struggle as I tug away the old bandage on his shoulder. It’s immediately apparent that this wound is the culprit. The bandage doesn’t look like it’s been changed in days, and it’s burning. He gasps at my touch.

“Fucking—hurts—”

“I know,” I say. Is this partially my fault? That day, the day with the flask, I was so worried about the goddamn lashes across his back… I just assumed the shoulder wound was fine. But today it’s flaming hot, the swollen redness visible even in the dim light.

I’m no doctor—farthest thing from one—but I know this is bad. “You want to lie down?”

“No.” He leans back against the wall. It can’t be comfortable with the other wounds pressed against the stone, but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I know.”

He is quieter than I expect while I wash out the shoulder wound. No cries of pain. The first time I glance at his face, his eyes are squeezed tightly closed, his jaw set. The next time, his eyes are open, but his gaze is distant. I wonder if he’s even really feeling it.

“Are you still with me?” I ask, letting my lank, unwashed hair fall in front of my face as I wring out the cloth. He nods, but he says nothing, and I know he’s not. Not really.

Hatchett would want me to take advantage of this moment. Ask for Fox’s name, see if he gives it. I keep the question to myself. Baden Hatchett thinks he knows me. He fucking doesn’t. I’m selfish, but not in the way he thinks. Not in the same way as him.

Hatchett only wants to win.

Me? All I want is to live. Me and Fox both.

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savagecowboy · 3 months

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𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

" I don't like you at the moment. "

It was her calm, collected intonation that really riles him further. Her ability to show restraint while he felt so out of control that made him furious. The desire to hurt her roiled within his chest; physically, emotionally, somehow to get her stony expression to change, to reflect his own inner turmoil. Instead, she just stared. Completely enraged, Severen lashed out at the only thing he could reach, himself, dragging his claws down his face, shredding long gouges from forehead to chin. A sheet of red bubbled out from the lacerations, trickling in streams down the front of his shirt, a percussive pattering as it dribbled down his jacket.

" You don't like me? Good. I don't want to be liked ! " He turns away from her hating himself, hating the situation, ready to tear himself in two as his mind misfires in the secluded darkness of his clouded perception. They are screaming in there. He can feel the flames licking up their bodies as they boil. As they roast.

A scream builds in the back of his throat.

Below it all he knows Lira is right. He is out of control, and not in the way he enjoys, it isn't the hunger controlling him, it isn't the lust for murder, it is horror. It is fear. What brought it on is hard for him to recount.

They had just been lying there under the moon, staring into infinity in one of those solemn silences that he could only manage with her. Peace, tranquility, nothing out of place. And then it had started. One niggling thought, she could leave. It hadn't seemed that important. They rarely spent every moment together. Even at their most sedentary they each sought independence, impossible to be constrained, even by chosen bonds. Yet, for some reason the nefarious idea stuck, stabbed into his mind. Circling in a hellish whirlpool he could not find escape from. A rational part of him knew that the last thing he would want would be to use Lira as a crutch, dependent on her attention to hold the stitches of his still leaking wounds closed (as she already had), but the fearful corpse that was still trapped in the flaming wreckage persisted in feeding him paranoia. She could leave, and if she left he would be alone with the nightmares.

What had been a pleasant, quiet time together became filled with all the horrid visions he spent the tortuous sleep of day reliving. Stubborn as he was, he could not admit to what he perceived as a weakness, nor could he find the right words even if he had tried to voice them. Much as he struggled with phrasing other complex emotions, something as vulnerable as 'I'm scared' was a chasm he could not fathom crossing; even in the company of one he trusted with more than his pitiful life. So, in the manner of the self destructive he had let something else crawl up to his tongue, a fulfillment of the dreaded prophecy; a way to drive her away so he could justify his anxities.

There were not many things that got under Lira's skin. Being able to tolerate him was proof of that, but if one could, it was ruinous--for them. Exactly what that dark part of him wanted. There were things he could say that were hurtful, things that might cut, but he craved blood even now; to transfer his pain to another. If she left, maybe she could take it with her. "You didn't even try to save the others, did you". It was a stupid thing to say. Lira had done all in her power to rescue even his sorry carcass. There had been no doubt that should she be able to help any of the others she would have, without hesitation, but he was seeking destruction. He wanted her to hate him. Hate him as he hated himself for doing nothing. She had been there, and where was he?

Now he could seek a semblance of that control. Directing her action, or so he secretly plotted, attempting to drive her away, pretending he desired her absence, although in actuality he was desperate for her renewed commitment to his side. It was a pitiful test, one designed for one or both to fail. If he was proven right, that she could, would even, leave him, then the spiteful cancer of his guilty conscious would have won the day. All of its other harmful ramblings also confirmed. That he was forgotten, unneeded, alone… Why are you doing this? The question surfaced unbidden and he almost recoiled at the sound in his own mind. You should be living. You aren’t dead. “An’ I should be! Ya’ll died an I didn’t! Why am I here an you ain’t!” The level of his voice is rising, sounding more like a wounded animal than a man, crying out in the dark for the kin it cannot find. All the while his ears are filled with dismal laughter, goodbyes he was not present for; haunted by the dead he cannot release. Desperately, he clasps the festering limb that is poisoning him slowly ever tighter, the gangrenous rot spoiling him from the inside out. Believing that the necrotic itch is proof of life, when in fact it is sign of the disease spreading inside him.

“This is your fault!” He roars at Lira. No it isn’t. “You don’t know what this feels like!” Yes she does. “You don’t even care!” More than you’ll know.

That was when she spoke and what it made him want to do was confess. What he wanted was an ounce of her strength to hold him upright, instead of crushing himself under the rock of his own despair. Admitting that he was lost, a guard dog with no master, was not something he was ready to do. After his gory outburst he stands up, ready to leave, although he can't quite muster the invective he had started with. One more chamber remained in the figurative game of Russian roulette he solitarily plays in this moment. One more chance to truly destroy the bond he had so cared for and nurtured. A chance to sever himself from the lifeline of her; leaving himself to drift in the ocean upon the capsizing vessel of his grief.

"I'm just another chapter to you anyway. Ain't any more special than all the rest". He spits into the dirt ready to walk into the night, hoping for once that the dawn is on the rise. Hoping to turn his face to the sun one more time; to obliterate himself from this world that has moved on without him. But if he was so convinced that this should be his end, why hasn't he actually moved?

You're a fucking coward. "I know I am" he mutters through gritted teeth. "An' you ain't no better. When did you become such a fucking bleeding heart". He can see him there, Jesse, tattered old coat and all, hair braided back so the garish scar stands out rigid over his stern face. You just can't quit runnin' can you boy? The tormented immortal stares into ice grey eyes, even as they bore into him, drilling through, striking to the core. Severen lunges. He curls his fingers into the lapels of the worn fabric, feeling the softened texture, nose full of the dust of ages it has accumulated. Blazing blue meets the still, grim visage before them and the beast snarls in savage hatred. "You betrayed me old man. You said forever". Severen can see the glaze of spittle from his rabid growling on the phantom's face. As a slow understanding gathers in his mind, his once anger slitted eyes go wide in shock, a feeling of clammy sweat springing out onto his skin. It should not be happening. Jesse was dead, dust in the wind, yet here he stood. In all manner of perception what had always been just a figment before was solidly present. Severen feels his anger sink like a stone through his body.

Suddenly, almost as if in response to his comprehension, a searing pain drives a wedge through his mind, dropping him to his knees in the grass. He wails as if stricken, heels of his hands pressing into his skull to suppress the agony. One hand crawls up his scalp to feel for the object trying to cleave his head open, sure it must be there. As he feels the widening fissure internally separating his brain, he voicelessly cries out for Lira. He is desperate for her, needs the soothing blanket of her sobriety. Her capacity for serenity is something he has never grasped; never thought he might desire until now. At the same time, he despises it. Now is his chance to burn alone, die at last, stop suffering for the others who have abandoned him here. Although they haven't, because she hasn't, not yet at least. With Lira here, they are here. Whether for good or ill. And acknowledging this makes him need her even more, if possible.

"You don't like me" he groans, pained laughter coming from him as he claws at his temples, new rivulets of red joining what has dried along his face. A cord of saliva drools from his lips through his clenched teeth. "You don't like me" his voice is getting quieter, the world is rushing up to meet him, he can feel everything expanding to a point beyond his capacity to hold on. Jesse's cold hand rests on the crown of his head, driving the railroad spike of pain straight through. Severen passes out in the grass, Jesse dissipates, and the night goes on without him.

She could leave. That was his fear, but it isn't. What he is scared of is a different question. What if she already has?

#ulfhrafnx #severen van sickle #✘ IC.#✘ ONE SHOT.

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