ON FUCKING GOD

ON FUCKING GOD

I CANT TELL YOU HOW HOT THE WOMEN ARE AT OUR GANESH CHADURTHI FESTIVALSSS OMGGG THE HALF SAREES AND LEHENGAS 😍😍

brown brides are so sexy and I’m sick of pretending otherwise this is so sick the smut potential is crazy

hey!! umm this is ama my blog WAS @/puppedup but tumblr termed me and idk whats going on w it.. I contacted them already but in the meantime im gonna be on here! no I didnt quit or deactivate :3

Feathered Fiend

You unburden yourself on a creature that should have no burdens. You tell it of your unrequited love, but is all truly what it seems?

a/n: MINT ANON!!! IM SO HAPPY THAT I COULD WRITE THIS FOR U! PLEASE REACH OUT AND TELL ME IF U LIKE IT BC THIS IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA!! AHH KISSING YA RN

also if you think there should be a part two...? with a war and everything... between the two... hahahaha lmk! <3 <- READ IT HERE !!

tw: angst, mentions of blood, i think the kiss scene is a bit like nsfw but not really so be ready!

wc: 4.8k

You feel horrendous. 

Your world is coming very close to tipping one side, like an uneven scale of glittering gold, blurring at the edges of your eyes as you press the rim of the champagne glass to your lips, swirling the sickly liquid around your tongue before it swims down your throat.

Almost immediately you recoil from the taste, setting it down where it stands proudly, precariously, against the high ledge of your balcony. One swipe and it would splinter the pillows of snow, turning them a shade of maroon you won’t dare to imagine.

You nudge the blueberries on the plate resting on the connecting area of the railing, where the ornate designs curve into a final smile, disappearing into the concrete. You fight to keep disdain from your expression as one of them passes your lips, staining your mouth with a honeyed juice. 

You roll your tongue and glance over your shoulder, at the threads of light and velvet weave the tapestry that is the gala down the hall, where everyone is draped in dramatic, auburn brushed chandeliers that bronze their flushed faces and carry their lively chatter across the room.

Suddenly you find yourself longing for the bitter wind misting your skin that you had cursed away, the icy daggers pinching your skin, crawling into your blood, turning you cold.

Out here, with only the moonlight for company, you could forget that somewhere in those halls roams your mother, arms linked with yet another noble, feline eyes slanted as she paws at his crisp suit, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. You know for a fact that eventually, you’ll be shaking his hand, forcing a smile and pushing responses past your gritted teeth as you bet with yourself how many days he’ll last.

But you’ve forgotten that, eyes trailing a bird that has joined you. It’s a peculiar looking thing, with dappled, sunny and sky blue feathers and an underbelly of soft white. You curl a finger, mouth quirking in amusement as it hops near, tilting its head curiously.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a little thing,” you murmur as it pecks at the cloying remains of fruit left on your fingertips. However gingerly, you pinch the remaining berries between your fingers and hold them out, as an offering to this free spirit.

You watch as it chirps sweetly. How long has it been since you’ve had birds resting on your hands, laying serenely in a patch of sunlight in the forest, when your father would shake his head at you, standing at the edge of your little area, with that small smile that only you could coax from him?

As all things do, the bird quickly finishes its meal and hops away, flexing its wings to take off, leaving you breathless in its absence. It seems to hesitate, looking back at you for but a moment before soaring back into the sky.

If only you could do the same.

<><><><>

Just as it was when you left, everyone entertains themselves with far too animated conversations and laughter, and you feel perfectly alone in the midst of it all. Claire nudges your shoulder gently before linking her arm with her date - an imposing, tall figure with striking brown hair and a stoic expression on his chiseled face. He nods at you in a formal and somewhat cold manner before turning away into the swirling crowd of dancers.

"You okay?" Claire whispers in your ear, her brow creasing with concern as she glances around to ensure her date doesn't abandon her.

"Of course," you reply, digging your fingernails into your palm to keep your voice steady. Claire’s eyes narrow as she studies your face, clearly not convinced by your attempt at seeming unconcerned. However, she decides to let it go for the moment and hands you a glass of shimmering purple wine.

"Come on," she drawls teasingly, perhaps on her seventh drink, when you hesitantly decline her offer. "It's a party, enjoy yourself!"

You absently turn your head to survey the room and find yourself fixating on Leon. He stands across the crowded ballroom floor, surrounded by his family and friends. You’re pondering his absence for the first phase of the gala when your heart clenches involuntarily at the sight of a woman you don’t recognize, a vision in white and baby pink, clutching his arm possessively as if she owns him entirely. Her eyes glitter in the chandelier's light above you while a wide smile adorns her face that refuses to fall.

"Ignore them," Claire tells you softly, sensing your growing discomfort as she squeezes your arm reassuringly before abandoning her somber expression for a warm smile. "Promise me you won't spend the entire evening torturing yourself by watching him."

"Promise," you lie quickly, intertwining your finger with hers to seal the falsehood that hangs between you. Claire seems to sense the insincerity behind your words, but refrains from pressing further. Instead, she gently pats you on the back in solidarity before departing towards another group of friends as her long black hair flows gracefully behind her like a dark river.

But your thoughts inevitably wander back to him, and with them come the revolting parasite that attaches herself to him at every waking moment. Her strawberry blond hair is perfectly styled into a neat bun, and her stunning gown billows around her in soft ruffles of white and pink that seem almost ethereal.

With the threat of loathing searing your skin, you choose to turn and focus on the colorful assortment of snacks meticulously arranged on the long, elegant table nearby. However, it soon becomes impossible for you to ignore the situation, as she attractively lifts up her slender fork and taps it against her delicate glass with incredible poise. The resulting light, tinkling sound resonates through the grand and spacious manor, effectively quieting the gathered guests down.

"Thank you all for being here," she gracefully begins, a sinister yet charming smile curving her full lips. "I would like to commence this lovely evening by expressing what an honor it is for me to be present here amongst such distinguished company." Her words ooze deceit, dripping like thick layers of sweet honey on poisonous thorns just waiting to ensnare any unsuspecting victims.

"I am equally thrilled," she continues with feigned enthusiasm, "that my close friend - someone whom I hold near and dear - Duke Leon Kensington, has graciously invited me to cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the prestigious Arklay Academy."

The room responds with a unanimously enthusiastic round of applause. Feeling compelled by the atmosphere, you too mechanically tap your palms together, not truly understanding the need to celebrate her undeserved moment of fame. An ugly surge of jealousy courses through you as an alternative explanation for your unwillingness to participate in the celebration presents itself - you find it incredibly disheartening that it is this strange woman’s hands tightly wrapped around Leon’s arm instead of yours.

All around you, glass chandeliers cast dazzling reflections on the polished marble floor as sophisticated conversations fill the air. Delicate strings of pearls and fine silks brush against one another as finely dressed men and women exchange pleasantries with glittering smiles. You gaze down for a moment, closely examining the intricate embroidery on your sleeves, while your lips form a tight purse.

Your mother catches your eye as she slips between the crack of the door. There is a man’s hand on her hip, cupping the dip of her body. Her gaze seems somewhat apologetic, but you turn on your heel and march the other way, hoping no one sees her eyes trailing you, trying to leave behind the lingering embarrassment that tugs you back. 

<><><><>

"Why have you dragged me here?" Leon’s smooth, unblemished voice sends shivers crawling up your spine. Curiosity takes hold of you as you muster enough courage to slightly peek around the corner of the door frame - only to find the same woman standing there in front of him.

"The king cannot stop me now," she asserts defiantly, as she grasps a fistful of his shirt collar and forcefully presses her lips against his. They don’t fit right.

You can't quite remember what it was that you choked out in response to the scene before you. What you do remember is the overwhelming sensation of feeling like your soul was akin to a fragile mirror that he had smashed unreservedly, leaving jagged shards that pierced your chest, drawing blood and suffocating you from within.

Leon eventually pulls away from the girl with a noticeable expression of uncertainty on his face; however, his eyes undeniably glint with intense desire. "Duchess Graham… what if we're discovered by someone?" he questions nervously.

Ashley Graham. You haven’t heard much of her, but you don’t truly care for the gossip that passes through the kingdom, over who is courting who, over who was found with one too many glasses of salt-rimmed wine.

"Let them see," Ashley speaks softly as she trails her delicate fingers down the sleek contours of his muscular form, asserting possessively, "I want everyone to know that you're mine." She pulls him closer and once again locks her lips against his.

And with one erratic swing, you aren't just sad anymore. You are angry as well. It is sickening to see the affection between her and this man who has so easily captured your heart with his stunning azure eyes, smooth tawny hair that seems effortlessly tousled, and his dazzling smile that makes you weak in the knees.

Pain pounds against your chest as you realize how easy it is for you to imagine yourself in Leyla's place. Your thoughts wander to a fantasy where his long, slender fingers are tangled in your own hair as he touches you with practiced expertise, knowing exactly where you crave his touch the most. He would lean in, planting kisses on areas you didn't even realize needed attention, the pool of desire widening through your body, drowning you both whole.

As you storm back through the room from where you emerged, still trembling with anger coursing through you, the only sound that seems to mock your pain is the relentless echo of their muted kisses.

<><><><>

As Ashley wraps her arms tightly around his shoulders, he can't help but suppress a gag reflex and force a bright smile onto his face. His body tenses as he scans the bustling room, spotting no one he wishes across the crowd, his deep blue eyes fixed intently on the floor. The sight of his defeated expression fills him with a sense of disgust that's hard to shake off.

He notices your eyes dragging across his body, leaving him flushed when you look elsewhere. But the girl at his side assumes it's her doing. 

Being led into the hallways by Ashley, she suddenly pushes him against the cool tiled wall. Her cold fingers trail slowly along the skin of his exposed arms while he offers no resistance. Instead, he reaches out to bury his fingers in her thick, flaxen hair, the strands feeling like delicate spider silk. As their bodies press together, he can't keep his gaze from wandering toward her enticingly exposed thighs.

Kissing her is like experiencing something that he never knew he was going to. He isn’t sure whether or not he likes it, whether or not he finds it pleasing.

But as all men do, he expects to be overwhelmed by seductive desire as he tugs on her soft hair and melts further into her. He’s always felt that their only interactions are either at such social gatherings or the results of his mother’s malicious manipulation; sending him storming down the kingdom roads, only to find respite in Ashley’s comforting embrace. Whenever he lands in her arms, his troubles seem to transfer themselves into the air of his muffled sobs into the ruffles of her dress.

This time, though, something feels different.

Opening his eyes as they remain locked in their intimate position, he can't help but notice the complete absence of emotion in her distant gaze - a void that mirrors his own feelings at that moment. The once alluring smile has vanished from her face as she tilts her head to one side, letting her dress slip seductively off her shoulder without bothering to adjust it.

With nonchalance in her voice, Ashley asks him, "What's wrong?" Unable to find any words to respond, all he can do is focus on her hollowed cheeks. Suddenly finding her much less attractive than before, he fights the urge to pull away. Desperately trying to forget his unease, he presses his right hand deeper into her hair while allowing his left hand to hang limp at his side.

However, no matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the vision of you cradled in his arms, hair weaving seamlessly through his fingers and eyes wide with innocence.

Had you been completely oblivious to what had happened mere minutes ago? The thought makes him smile faintly, which Ashley misinterprets as a signal of his enjoyment. Responding to that cue, she sensually guides his other hand onto her inner thigh, fixing him with a lustful gaze.

The sensation is overwhelming as every fiber of his being screams desperately for him to let go of Leyla, push her away, to reject her advances altogether. Panic rises within him like thick toxic smoke as she begins unbuttoning his shirt, exposing his vulnerable skin to the cold midnight air.

Suddenly, it strikes him that they are standing in the middle of nowhere, everywhere and existing in the plane of blank space all at one, his arm firmly pressed over her head, effectively trapping her against the row of cold metal lockers. The strands of her luscious caramel hair seem to capture the ethereal glow of the moonlight seeping in through the windows. Her plump lips, glistening with a layer of moisture, remain slightly parted and poised just inches away from his, patiently waiting for another taste.

And he’s always found her attractive, perhaps even more so than the other women who fall at his doorstep, with their silly, useless, profuse apologies that fall from their thin lips, with their meaningless gifts that end up stored in a closet somewhere in the castle.

But now, he struggles to find his voice, something that’s never happened with her. "I-I..." Something clicks inside his mind, and as if emerging from a trance, he swiftly pulls away from her. 

Leon’s eyes widen with confusion and shock as he tries to comprehend what has just happened. Leyla's expression is nothing like his own, fully aware of what is unfolding between them. She tugs at her dress to reposition it and then meets his gaze with a fierce glare.

“Bored already?” she asks quietly.

Leon cares, he truly does. However, he suspects that it has always been this way. The brief solace that she provides him whenever he’s fled from the thin definition of home that he has held close to his heart has always been the string connecting them.

And he’s just severed it.

<><><><>

The bird flutters back to you, after the moon and sun have exchanged greetings and said their farewells twice now, and you find yourself sighing in remorse.

“Did you know, little bird, that there is a boy?” You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head as amusement tints your expression. “No, not boy. He is a man now, yet I will always see him as the little boy who offered me lunch every day, back when we were all the same to each other.

“I will not tell you his name, for I fear you will utter a curse upon him to the gods, and then where would I be? More or less heartbroken, because if he is gone, no one else may love him.”

The bird stares back at you, beady eyes seeming to narrow in concern. You might as well entertain yourself with the idea he understands you, at least for the few hours you have before yet another gala your mother has requested your presence at.

Surprisingly enough, the woman in question waits quietly as you stroll back inside, shooing the bird from your balcony, wishing for it to not be burdened with your troubles. 

There’s a sheen of fabric splayed out on your neat bedsheets. There is a sense of guilt that hangs between you two, but you suppose, just for her pleasure, you could do this one small thing.

And you would be lying if you said you didn’t like the dress.

It fits perfectly. Waves of satin and gold shimmering together, like polished fish swimming in a clear ocean. They had arranged your hair in curls that fell over your shoulders and cascaded down your back like a waterfall. It felt prim and proper in a way that you had never experienced before - the feeling itself sent electric shivers running through your body. Perhaps you can treat yourself, just this once.

The looks are infinitely more worth it, especially when your presence renders even Leon speechless. You notice, with a small, smug smile, that Ashley is nowhere to be seen. You wonder what’s become of her. Perhaps her parents finally found the inevitable love child.

“You certainly know how to command a room,” he remarks, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you reply, your tone light yet teasing.

“Everywhere?” he suggests, voice dropping low as he shifts his weight to stand closer to you. If last night’s events had not transpired, you might’ve allowed it. But all you can think of is her skin under his, not yours, and suddenly you realize that must be such a normal occurrence.

“Watch your tongue,” you hiss, stepping back. With a small, knowing smile, you tilt your head slightly, a silent message that you are not easily swayed by mere words or charm. 

You hold your power, in your quick tongue, holding your ground, even as Leon’s face contorts with confusion, with hurt.

“Whatever happened to the curse of gods,” he mutters. 

“Are you referencing the required reading from the passage?” you drone. 

“Yes, no. Of course. That is what I meant.” He clears his throat yet his eyes cloud with an emotion you cannot identify. He glances past you, gives a little wave, dipping his head respectfully to you before stalking past.

You wait a moment, perhaps two, before twisting over your shoulder. He is standing alone at the wine table, cupping a glass carefully between his fingers, as if pondering the ripples that his lips send out through the crimson liquid.

You hope it will slip, staining the white of his linen shirt.

Perhaps that will show him your agony, how your heart had turned inside out and painted your chest red when he kissed her and not you, hidden in that hallway.

<><><><>

Bloody and broken is how the bird arrives, that same night, as you sigh your troubles away into a plate of cucumber, sprinkled with chili flakes you had stolen from the kitchen. It chirps in sorrow, pecking at the fabric of your dress.

You pull away, raising an eyebrow before finally noticing the red dripping down its wiry legs, pooling in small beads around the talons that scratch the concrete. When you reach to cup the feathery, suffering animal between your hands, the dust stirs and floats down to the dying snow.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo, ushering yourself back into your room. Where your mother has hidden the aid kits, you do not know, so you wrap its damaged wing in some gauze you find underneath the sink.

There doesn’t seem to be an infection, but perhaps you should call Duchess Chambers, plan for her expertise. But the moon has already swam up to its high perch in the sky, and you know she will be tending to the late night patients.

And, of course, when you wake, the bird is gone. Only the crimson splatters on your desk remain, staining the letter that had arrived the evening before.

Blood so perfectly covers the name of the man you are set to wed in a few weeks.

<><><><>

"What happened there?" you inquire casually. His gaze follows yours, and he prods at the bandage covering his right hand with a wince.

"I participated in a fight," he admits with a hint of amusement. Your eyes widen in horror, darting around to confirm no one else has arrived in the abandoned hallway where you once sought solace, now only fear.

"T-The peasants?" you stutter, taking a step back. He could be joking, yes, yet he seems unworried and advances toward you.

"No," he muses. "I… engaged in combat with a tree."

You pause. “A… tree?”

He nods solemnly, as if the problem was truly within his supposed ‘opponent’. “You need not inform me. I already know.”

You scoff, unable to stop the sarcastic response that climbs up your throat. “Of course you would fight with a tree. Who has upset you now, your mistress?”

He cocks his head to the side, confusion swimming in his distressed eyes, echoing, “My mistress?”

“Baroness Graham,” you seethe. “Do not fret, I suppose everyone has seen your bond.”

“We aren’t…” Leon flushes, staring back down, eyes glued to the carpet. “That has never been the case.”

“Perhaps look at your surroundings next time you exchange intimacy in a public area,” you mumble. “Just about anyone may have caught you both.”

If it were possible, you are sure he would’ve turned an even deeper shade of red, matching the burgundy curtains. You rub the bridge of your nose and turn away, unable to watch his flustered, regularly smart mouth open and shut.

“I even thought of courting you,” you say, slightly bemused. “That was how enamored I was with the idea of being yours. Of you being mine.”

This statement seems to spark something in him, because he rests a gentle hand on your shoulder, but there is nothing gentle about the way he whirls you around, forcing you to face him. You are mere inches from the wall, you think, and if he chose to corner you, your only option would be to throw your punches. Which hand, now, was the question.

“And why do you think I stopped?” he replies with just as much exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose before glaring down at you.

“Because I will always be a lesser priority to you.”

“You must be missing some pieces,” he grumbles. “Because never once in my life have I ever thought of you less than me.”

“Less than Ashley?”

“Never.”

“Then why did you stop pursuing her?”

“Because you told me!” he seethes. “Yes, I heard everything you said about me. Perhaps find better confidants than woodland creatures.”

His words leave you with broken sentences clumping in your mouth, your tongue feeling awkward and clumsy as you stammer, “T-The bird… you?”

“The bastard child of a nymph,” he admits with a dry chuckle. “Yet I will say that nothing you said was untrue, and that you are more glorious than a morning blossom. Still interested?”

“You… oh… dear.” You flush. “Your lineage matters… not to me.”

He arches a curious eyebrow, eyes glinting. “Our heirs will be of the forest. Does it bother you that your trusted little bird is truly me?”

A small part of you must’ve suspected this from the day in the gala, where he had alluded to your conversation, but it was a silly thought, no? A noble, a figure of society, a fluttering little thing that chose, of all maidens, to spend time with you?

You rest a hand on his chest, gazing up at him. 

“I would not have it any other way, little bird.”

<><><><>

It was your secret, meant to be between you. But the walls have ears, and behind the shades of violet and maroon are listeners, people waiting to break apart what must be the only good thing that’s ever happened to you.

His face is ashen, cheeks hollow when you finally gain the courage to visit him in the dungeons below the castle. You do not understand the cause for his punishment. Who is he harming if he is but two souls in two bodies, one of which is meant for your realm and the other, a wild, free spirit?

“My dear,” he rasps when you approach, clutching the bars like a madman. You stare blankly into his crazed eyes, unable to find the man you once loved.

It has not even been a full month, you remember. You were to be wed, to love one another for eternity, however his lifeline works. You had assumed he would die to join you in the haven past the clouds.

“Leon?” you whisper. 

“It is me, truly,” he chokes out. “Please, tell them.”

Your mother is standing beside you, touching your arm with those soft, slender fingers that always had the strange power to make you submit to her will. Perhaps she is also a creature of the woods, perhaps that is how she has managed to fancy all the eligible suitors even at her age.

But whatever she has done, she will always be your mother.

“Tell them what, Leon?” you ask softly. “Your kind has obviously caused us some harm, lest you be in this troubled, pitious situation.”

He looks up at you, confused, fingers slipping from their hold on the iron to reach out for you. As if on instinct, you and your mother step back, her face contorting in disgust.

“Do you see what happens if you keep secrets, dear?” she whispers, voice toxic in your ears. In some sick way, you realize that she must’ve manipulated some part of the puzzle, because how are you free from the consequences that both of you should be suffering?

“I have done no such thing,” Leon says, voice low since that seems to be all he can manage. In his disarray, in his mangled state, you find yourself unable to take any of his reasoning to heart.

“Pray tell,” you say quietly. “Is Baroness Graham also one of your kind?”

He draws back as if you have pinched him. “No. I thought my lineage did not matter to you.”

Your mother scoffs, cutting back in. “Lineage is everything, you deceiving traitor. You know that magic is forbidden in our kingdom, yet you sought to take my dear child away.”

What surprises you the most is that Leon offers no response. He purses his lips in a straight line and looks back down at his feet. You feel your own tremble.

“Is it true?”

“Would you have trusted a wolf at your door?” he mumbles. “I could’ve taken you at any moment, yet I resisted. I presented myself as the being you wished to be.”

“The beast admits to it, fooling you,” your mother seethes, and without another word, she turns and marches away.

"Mother, please," you cry, hurrying after her into the widening dusk. She stalks ahead, shoulders set in stony resolve.

You glance back at his silhouette, limned by flickering torchlight, and your heart strains near to breaking. But family has always come first. With a grimace, you tear your gaze away and redouble your pace to catch your mother.

"Why must you shun all who are different?" you ask as you fall into step beside her. "Leon has shown me only kindness." 

She cuts you a sharp look. "Do not be deceived. His motives are not as pure as they seem."

"And yet I went out of my way to save him," you insist. "He owes me his life - does that mean nothing?"

Your mother's eyes flash with some inner fire. "You should’ve let him die! You know not what evils his kind are capable of." 

Her strides lengthen, as if to outpace the doubts you sow. You match her pace, heartache weighing your every footfall. "Please, I beg you to give him a chance. Is peace not worth the risk?”

“You still do not understand,” she says, voice eerily calm.

“Then explain it!” You scuff the ground, stopping in your tracks. Your mother is not easily swayed, but her cloak billows around her, making her seem more intimidating than you know she is. “Explain why you hate such creatures-”

She raises a hand to silence you.

You do not foresee the tears that well in her eyes.

Her voice is broken.

Shattered glass once again pricks at your heart.

“Would you love a beast that has your father’s blood on his hands?"

⛧ SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 ⛧

HELLO ALL! welcome to another year of selfshiptober. i've noticed this is pretty much the 'official' selfship tober event now, which honestly warms my heart! i love seeing what this wonderful community does with my prompts :)

this year, i'm doing things a little differently. EACH DAY HAS TWO PROMPTS ASSIGNED TO IT. the first set is SHIPPY, while the second set is SPOOKY. you may either COMBINE THE TWO PROMPTS TOGETHER or CHOOSE ONE OF THE PROMPTS. the spooky prompts are a bit on the grittier side and probably won't appeal to most, so if you'd like to only use the first set of prompts and completely ignore the second, be my guest! on the other hand, if you prefer the gritter prompts, you can only use the second set of prompts, you can do that too! if you want an extra challenge, you can create a piece that incorporates both of the day's prompts. you can also change your approach depending on how you feel that day!

there are no hard rules for this. YOU CAN START WORKING ON THIS CHALLENGE EARLY, but i encourage you to wait until october to post anything. YOU CAN ALSO CONTINUING WORKING ON IT AFTER OCTOBER ENDS! you can drag this shit out into december for all i care. just DON'T OVERWORK YOURSELF PLEASE.

without further ado, LET US PROCEED TO THE PROMPTS!

#1. confession  |  night.

#2. blanket  |  flame.

#3. embrace  |  blood.

#4. apple picking  |  fog.

#5. all dressed up  |  blade.

#6. carnival  |  haunted.

#7. rain  |  infection.

#8. swim  |  terror.

#9. music  |  masquerade.

#10. warmth  |  claws.

#11. comfort  |  recovery.

#12. married  |  ritual.

#13. party  |  magic.

#14. date night  |  vampire.

#15. games  |  hunt.

#16. candy  |  illusion.

#17. heart  |  feast.

#18. pining  |  violent.

#19. shared hobby  |  potion.

#20. trust  |  experiment.

#21. snuggle  |  nightmare.

#22. kiss  |  scars.

#23. movie night  |  slasher.

#24. baking  |  empty.

#25. rest  |  bandages.

#26. beautiful  |  grotesque.

#27. decorations  |  cemetery.

#28. brush  |  forest.

#29. pumpkin  |  lantern.

#30. flowers  |  snow.

#31. halloween  |  death.

TAG YOUR CREATIONS AS #SELFSHIPTOBER 2024 AND TAG ME IF YOU'D LIKE ME TO SEE! i cannot guarantee interaction as i struggle socially, but i promise i'll look at everything! HAPPY CREATING ♡

Only Love Can Break Your Heart

You've had enough of not being your own person. You aren't a division of him, your husband, nor the women he sleeps with when he's bored of you.

a/n: if you haven't read the book by katherine webber GO READ IT NOW ITS SO GOOD I CANT EVEN WITH YOU !! this is inspired by that except married couple divorce not really uh yeah i needed to get those out of my system to work on requests!

tw: angst, no happy ending, mentions of smut, non explicit nsfw, mentions of drinking problems, alcohol, stuff yada yada

wc: 1.7k

When you called him from the city, you knew even despite his grumbling of the long drive, he would still make it. Still take his rusty old car all the way out here, just for you, to plead for your forgiveness. Without meaning to, you’d memorized every part of him.

That’s how you knew he’d changed.

The man sitting next to you, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, jaw set in parallel to the tight lines around his lips, pain coursing through the burnished planes of his cheekbones, setting flame to the skin you once longed to touch.

As you watch him drive, the silence between you feels heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You can feel the distance growing, like a vast chasm separating the two of you. His eyes, once the most gentle shade of the sea, now seem distant and guarded.

“Stop looking at me,” he grits out from behind his teeth.

“I’m not,” you say softly, gaze fixing on his hands.

“I can feel it.”

“Do you feel guilty yet?”

The edge of his lip curls. “No, because I don’t know why the fuck you’re mad at me!”

But he knows he’s lying.

He knows exactly what he did.

<><><><>

You thought it would be just another casual Sunday afternoon, popcorn punctuating the muffled TV in the other room. You kicked off your slippers, lounged carelessly on the couch, waited for Leon to come home.

But he’s three hours late, three thousand ticks of the clock away from when you expected him, and when he stumbles through the door, the only way you can tell he’s drunk is the slight lean he has, wobbling to the left as he slumps into your arms.

Your foot taps a rapid pace on the wooden floor, arms crossed, uninviting. You’ve been awaiting a drinking problem, you know his past, but you weren’t expecting it so soon.

First come the tears. Your husband is a dramatic man, and although you’ve waved off an occasional drink or two, the heartfelt apologies whispered between your thighs, he’s wasted enough to let those walls come crashing down, tumbling all around you, leaving only the remnants of the sea pooling in your sweatshirt.

Then, after he’s wiped his eyes and gained enough courage to look at you, come the profuse apologies that slip past his lips, wind down your shoulders and prod your chest, seeking forgiveness from your heart. So accustomed to the quiet, obedient life you had both been living, you don’t give it easily.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear. I just couldn’t stop thinking that maybe it was you, and maybe our life is a bit boring, and maybe you do the same things sometimes and don’t tell me, and she said it was all okay-”

“She?” you interrupt, voice far too gentle. “Who’s she?”

"She... she was just a distraction," he stammers, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I didn't mean for it to happen, I swear. It was stupid, I know, please, don't leave me. I love you, I'm so sorry."

His words echo hollowly in the empty space, each syllable a dagger twisting in your bloody chest. Tears trace paths down your cheeks, rivers of sorrow as you look up at him, bleary eyed, trying to comprehend why he would ruin everything.

"I trusted you," you whisper, your voice barely above a broken sob. "I thought we had something real, something worth fighting for. How could you do this to us?"

His silence is deafening, a stark contrast to the cacophony of emotions that swim through your legs, rendering them useless. You feel lightheaded, dizzy, and some small part of you wants to blame yourself.

It must be your fault, the voice taunts, pleads, even. You were just too boring for him. You can change, can’t you?

You find yourself standing on the precipice of what could change your life, a rocky cliff, toes poking out against the edge. What would your life be without him?

"Please, it won't happen again," he pleads, his voice cracking. "I swear, I'll do whatever it takes to make this right. I love you more than anything, and I can't bear the thought of losing you."

A part of you longs to believe him, to cling to the hope that this nightmare could be just a momentary lapse in judgment, a cruel twist of fate. His fingers are creeping around your waist, snagging you like a fish on a hook.

In a way, you assume, you are as gullible as that.

With a heavy heart and a trembling voice, you whisper, "Okay, I trust you." The words taste bitter on your tongue, a bitter pill swallowed in the idea that you’re only trying to salvage what’s left.

But deep down, a seed of doubt blooms into a thorny vine that wraps itself around your wounded heart. Can trust truly be rebuilt from the ashes of his thin apologies, or are you simply setting yourself up for more heartache down the road?

You shake your head as he disappears into the bathroom and the sound of running water covers up your soft sniffles. There’s a determined, confident, trustful smile on your face that only seems slightly forced.

Leon’s a good man.

It won’t happen again. 

<><><><>

But it happens again, and again, until all you come home to is the draft blowing in through the vent and a cluttered house. You suppose you should be grateful you’ve never had children. It’s happened so many times.

And every time, you forgive him like a bitch in heat, like a teenage girl so desperate for him, for your fake image of love, even when you know he’s toying with you. Did he ever care? You fool yourself into believing that when he pushes you into the wrinkled, old cotton sheets, or when he buys you those fragrances you eye whenever he takes you out to shop.

You’ve forgotten the meaning of love, what it means to be cared for, how it feels to be cherished. In his eyes, those beautiful, sullen eyes, you are nothing but another responsibility, another burden, another chore.

You want it to stop. You want to stop feeling this way. So you turn the tables on him, that night, when the door creaks open and his footfalls echo through the house, it's empty.

There’s a note left on the table from you, signed in that sweet, loopy handwriting you thought he admired. Leon… blah blah blah, visiting friends, need some time to myself… all just empty thoughts from a mind that knows nothing but pain.

The letter ends up in the bin that day just before he calls one of the numbers saved in his phone. It lies there, forgotten, as the sounds of muted kisses seem to crinkle it even more.

<><><><>

You watch them in the taxi, through the camera you had set up in the houseplant that you knew Leon never bothered to look at. Is that all you are to him? A drooping aloe vera, lost all its nutrition and sun, useless?

They make out wildly, planting kisses everywhere, and you realize that maybe he never loved you to begin with. Maybe this was all just a joke to him. You can see the tray of cookies you made last Christmas, when everything seemed fine.

He had pushed you onto the island, crowding between your legs, grinning up at you. “You know I hate all that sugary shit,” he had whispered, nosing the area between your neck and jaw.

“Should’ve replaced it with salt, then,” you mumble to yourself, biting your lip to suppress the sob that claws at your throat. You exit the app, then delete it. 

You’re never going back.

Leon’s not a very good man.

<><><><>

Your nights are restless, tossing and turning, when your friend groans and flicks on the lamp, expression immediately softening at your pained eyes.

She gathers you in her arms, lets you cry into her, soaking up your agony. You’re glad she doesn’t chastise you, tell you how she had seen this coming ages ago. Maybe you should start listening to your friends when they warn you about men.

He tries to reach out to you, to bridge the gap that has formed between you both, but each time you pull away, walls impenetrable with your friend standing guard behind them. The ache in your chest grows with each passing moment, a constant reminder of what once was and what can never be again.

You start taking classes again. He had stopped you, deemed it was ‘unladylike’ to be studying. You had agreed with him like a fool, stupidly nodding your head to whatever came from his mouth.

Your friend is there through everything. You only wish you had told her how much you appreciated her help when you call Leon, ready to pry him from your thoughts.

<><><><>

You finally reach your destination, the weight of the unspoken goodbye hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is the end, that the love you once shared has turned to ashes. 

“We could’ve made it work,” he argues, once again, running a hand through his darkening hair. Everything about him seems somber now, more depressed. You suspect that the alcohol has finally caught up to him.

And faintly, with pride, you realize that you don’t care.

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” you seethe. “We were never going to work, because I will always be too boring for you. Just a toy, right? I’m done with your shit!”

You don’t let him get the last word. That would nag you far too much. So you walk away from him, from the image of you that clung to him every waking moment, your back a silent farewell.

If he had broken up with you, what, a week ago, you would be left alone with the shattered pieces of your heart, knowing that you might always be missing a piece of yourself.

But now…

Now?

You are whole.