#Cw: abuse

[misseligon]

This is the most stupidly self indulgent oc ever, throws found family upon ye.

More info about the boyo

(File Template made by @glow-and-vamp)

[laura1633]

Oh wow i have a serious problem i just went over what i wrote to you and i probably should have stopped at the first two sentences but it gets me upset the abuse lando faces i dont even like the guy i perfer oscar, max, charles and carlos but even i know that sending death threats to someone is not okay, and it upsets me that people almost always take his words out of context like when did lando say he actually had a chance at winning the wdc this year? I've seen people bash on him for the latest race where max raced incredibly, but what they dont seem to understand is that the race's terrible race conditions could have actually seriously injured him, we all seem to forget that the guy is younger then max, less experienced, and has huge problems with self-worth that actively seem to affect the way he race's. the fact that max won in the rust bucket that barely seemed to work in favor of the guy is incredable, but bashing on another driver for seemingly not wanting to take a chance with the awfull race conditions (*please note that this is what it looked like to me on what lando was doing that race where he did make mistakes but the weather wasnt helping ether* also note that that franco, oliver and others commented ether on the weather being dangerous, their cars 'Presumably the cars not agreeing with the weather ether', or the fact they couldnt see for shit and out right stated that someone should have a talk with the fia *i couldnt watch the whole race but ive seen snippets of driver radio's and the like, so i cant say with 100% certainty that this is correct*)

So yeah i think that, if i as someone who doesnt like lando, its really concerning what some people say about the guy and as a side note none of the other drivers seem to notice the hate from what ive seen but this last part might just be me. What are your thoughts on the hate lando's been getting seeming to increase anytime he seems to actually want to enjoy racing with the other more popular (equally popular?) Drivers?

🍑anon

Hi anon, 

That’s okay, I will respond to this ask rather than the previous one (but just for context for anyone else the previous ask was about fan fiction so wan’t anything mean). This ended up being a really lengthy answer because I have lots of thoughts!!! 

I’ll put the answer under the cut and tag as anti Lando despite this really just being my opinion and I personally don’t think I am being particularly harsh here but maybe people will disagree.

Firstly hopefully to most people it goes without saying that sending death threats is not okay, that goes for any of the drivers (and various other individuals that I have seen targeted over the past few years). I also have never understood people specifically going to an individual’s social media page just to spout negativity or abuse at them, if you don’t like someone you don’t need to follow them. 

However, I am surprised that people seem to be shocked that Lando is receiving hate online as this is absolutely nothing new and, if I am being honest, I have seen worse (not that this is a competition!).

I will speak from the perspective of being a Max supporter and say that the abuse he has received both online and at track has been appalling over the years. After Silverstone 2021 there were plenty of comments from people saying he ‘deserved’ such an awful crash or that they wished it had been worse. Even this year there were memes going around saying that maybe we needed a repeat of Silverstone 21 (a meme liked by Lando’s dad no less, not that I think we should be blaming children for their parent’s actions!). Not only that but there is rarely a week that goes by that I don’t see jokes online about how Jos is the only one that ‘can beat Max’ or people posting memes about Max being left at a gas station when he does badly. Max needed a bodyguard in Mexico last year because there were concerns over death threats, he’s been booed up on the podium, had people chanting cheat at him in the fan zone, every comment section on his social media includes comments telling him he is a cheat or that his achievements mean nothing. The British media are like vultures any time there is even a hint of controversy. I don’t know why everyone is suddenly up in arms about Lando receiving hate, perhaps its a case of only caring when it happens to ‘their’ driver. 

It doesn’t just happen to Max either. I don’t follow Lewis on social media but I still know the type or racist abuse he has faced over the years. Other drivers also receive abuse - Lance for example has vile things said about him, Nicholas Latifi was sent death threats after 2021. I am sure most if not every driver has experienced some level of hate. Social media can be extremely toxic. 

Do I think any of the drivers should have to deal with such toxicity? No, but Lando is nowhere near the only one to receive hate and I don’t think someone like Max who appears ‘strong’ should have to put up with things because people get the impression it doesn’t bother him.

Whether the other drivers notice, well probably they do but its not happening just to Lando. Did Lando realise how much toxicity was being thrown at Max after Austria or Mexico? Did he try and calm things with the media or did he double down and make things worse for Max? 

As for taking Lando’s words out of context. That definitely happens from time to time, the same as with any driver. Media goes for clickbait headlines and run with them. The problem is that Lando has also said things that haven’t been taken out of context and that people still find distasteful. The comments about it not being talent and being luck did not come across well. I was tempted to give him the benefit on that one and assume he was referring to himself and saying it was not him being untalented but unlucky but then he doubled down by saying nobody deserved to win the race more than George - how can I take that any other way other than the fact he was saying Max didn’t ‘deserve’ to win the race. 

As for Lando saying he thought he could win the WDC, if he didn’t think he could win it this year then to me that would be more of a concern. He has a championship winning car and has done for most the season, if he can’t win it now then when?! He should have been confident that he could win or at least put up a good fight. I would have had no problem with him openly saying he is going for the championship. Look at Charles who is not afraid to say that whilst it is still possible he is still fighting. I think part of the problem here lies with Mclaren because they should have been fully backing Lando and hyping him up but seemed to flip flop back and forth about whether they thought he was truly in the fight. It’s hardly going to give Lando confidence when his team don’t seem to be backing him as strongly as they could be. 

As for Brazil, Lando didn’t have a great race. George got past him at the start. He made too many errors. Charles finished in front of him despite starting behind him. Max, Esteban and Pierre took a risk staying out on those worn inters, they gambled on the fact the race would be red flagged but also on their abilities and confidence to keep the car on track under those conditions. They all did extremely well and deserved their podium spots. The most important thing though is that all the drivers came away without serious injuries because over the course of that weekend there were numerous occasions where entertainment was put over safety. If a driver felt they had to pit for safety reasons then I am glad they took that step.

Lando is younger than Max but I don’t think we need to baby him in terms of his racing or in terms of giving him a free pass with what he says in the media. He is 24 years old, the same age Max was when Max won his first championship under very intense pressure. 

I think you are correct about confidence or self worth affecting him. Whilst I wouldn't like to comment to much on his mentality, to me (and I don’t tend to watch too many of his interviews so I could be wrong) he seems to flop back and forth between being overly critical of himself and then also not taking accountability and saying someone else just had the fastest car or were lucky. I think it would be really good for him to be able to look as objectively as possible about where he has actually made mistakes and can improve but also being able to pick out the things he has done well and be proud of those things. 

Overall I don’t think any drivers should have to put up with the amount of hate that they have to put up with but Lando is not the only one to receive hate and, dare I say it, I don’t even think it has been as vicious as some of the things I have seen over the years. Social media is toxic and people should be more mindful and realise these are real people - all of them!! 

Also, once again lets be thankful that nobody was seriously hurt over the weekend and lets hope the Fia take steps to act more swiftly when safety cars and red flags are needed and that they put safety above other concerns.

[mosovi-vian]

And I will stay alive for my future self, so they can one day learn to be kind to who I was as a child. And I will teach them to honor who we used to be, so they can remember the comfort of what once was our untempered flesh and gentle soul. Me and myself are each a fresh wound and a rough scab, bearing respectively the gift of green faith and honed will.

This has been in my draft for a while because I was determined to post this only after I knew what I should write underneath it. I’ve read a lot on the concept of healing the wounded inner child since even before my c-ptsd diagnosis. However, I’ve sought as much comfort in my little self as they had in me. Looking back, I was an impressively emotionally-intuitive kid. I remember well how I used to think, the things I would write to my future self; they were wiser and gentler than I could ever hope to be as an adult. Needless to say, the little poem above is inspired by the aforementioned experience. Sure, big me is armed with a more developed pre-frontal cortex and access to invaluable resources (coping mechanisms, therapy, on and offline communities) , but I struggle to rediscover/reinvent my identity. Little me was the biggest vestige of my lost personhood. So yeah, this might be just a huge self-indulgent projection with my favorite character, but thinking that post-S3 Hunter would also be in my shoes is not completely baseless. 16yrs old Hunter is the fresh wound (a lot of things happened before his teen years, but I’m going to interpret the events of Hollow Mind - which happened when Hunter was 16 - as the ultimate boiling point in his trauma timeline, hence the ‘fresh wound') and 20yrs old Hunter is the rough scab. Each version of Hunter could be dealing with a different set of trauma-induced symptoms. I think his loyalty to Belos kept him going as a child. Being doubtless was important to Hunter back then; it held his sense of self together. And maybe when he survived and was rewarded the time and space to grow into his own person and live for himself, there was this lasting emptiness. I feel this sort of emptiness even today. My only reference of what ‘wholeness’ felt like was when I was obedient to my family. I equated self-abandonment as the righteous norm. The symptoms I deal with today are definitely different from when I was Hunter’s age pre-time-skip. Now that Hunter is in a safe space and an adult post-time skip, he might also need to seek that strength from his younger self. Reminding himself of how far he’s come and the parts of him that he'd like to keep from his past. The parts that he knows in his bones are purely his - not instilled by Belos, not inherited from Caleb.

[phyrestartr]

If We Had Lived (Divine Favour) | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader

W/C: 3k #SFW, fluff, mentions of past abuse, heian sukuna, typical kitsune shapeshifting, jp mythology, morally grey reader, DRABBLE

tags: @kamote-kuneho @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9 @3zae-zae3 @chibiduck @kiiyoooo @lukaijah @memedealer-exe @f0th3rr @boretheral @cicithemess @paastaboi @someone0vx

--

“Sit still.”

“I'm sitting fucking still, fox.”

Sukuna did not sit still. He shifted and huffed, not unlike an annoyed, restless bull locked up in a pen–only, he was far from being in a pen and could leave whenever he so wished. 

Yet, he stayed. He endured the torture you, his prized possession, put him through for the sake of making good impressions or whatever. But the harvest festival was hardly a big deal–the last time the king was bestowed a gift of any value was when he found himself the owner of a beautifully annoying fox that hid in his garden for a fucking eternity. A prize like that was unlikely to be given again. What else could possibly excite the man who had everything?

Your tails swished behind you dramatically as you shifted on your knees, tilting your head to look over the work you'd done with cleaning and manicuring his nails and hands. Thankfully, you left callouses in place. Not that he thought you'd be so cruel as to remove them, but you certainly had the ability to, considering how soft your own hands were. 

“How much more?” Sukuna grumbled.

Your eyes flicked up to his for a moment before returning to your task. “I've hardly finished one hand.” 

The king scowled as a child might as you continued gently pushing at his cuticles with the slim, soft stick of an orange tree, carved specially for this occasion. Sure, he was the one who demanded you to turn your self-preening onto him, but still--

Your soft, warm touch cupped under his jaw and lifted his pouty gaze to meet yours. “You asked this of me,” you reminded. “If you've changed your mind, I've other tasks to attend to.” 

Sukuna’s lip twitched in an ugly, childish snarl. “You'll stay here and finish your job.” 

“Very well.” You leaned up toward him and kissed the spot between his brows before sitting again. But Sukuna followed you, bowing his head to chase a proper kiss that you gave freely, the kind spirit you were. “Then you will have to sit still.” 

“Tch.” But he obliged to the best of his abilities. “Already gonna have to sit still for hours while those damn peasants show up and dump scraps at my feet,” he sighed, pulling up a knee and resting an elbow on it. 

“My, a kingly thing is complaining about fealty?” You wondered, sarcastic yet cripplingly honest. “While I understand your unwillingness to do anything but fight and kill, you must remind those beneath you of your status.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “Yeah? Then why isn't my kyuubi doing just that?” 

“I am no king,” you said. “I am simply the servant of one, no? Given to him as a mere offering, yet kept alive for his amusement.” 

“Huh. Guess you know your place.” Sukuna shifted, and he noticed you pick up the pace, tending to him a bit quicker lest the restless beast lose his patience and leave with the job incomplete. He wouldn’t leave, not when he hungered for your attention and touch more than anything else the pathetic world could offer him–only something from the divine plane could satiate him. 

“Mh.” You raised his hand and pressed his knuckles to your lips, then against the soft plushness of your cheek. “My place is by my king’s side. It will forever remain that way.” 

–

You left his side. You left him, your pious saviour, your sworn king, your chosen mate, in favour of–what? Freedom? Adventure? Men? Women? What was it? 

Thunder echoed in Sukuna’s chest as he paced. He’d swept through towns, destroyed any houses you might have been sequestered in, searched vacant shrines and the like, but never caught a glimpse of your ebony tails nor your decorated kimono. It drove him mad. How had he not noticed? Did the harvest festivities really engulf his mind? Sure, they were more eventful this year, what with clansmen attempting revenge in the name of their fallen brethren, but it’d only been a week of problems–nothing challenging, nothing that really, truly required his full attention. And still–

“Sukuna-sama,” Uraume called, interrupting his buzzing thoughts. 

“What?” The king snapped, turning on his heel to face Uraume standing at his chamber door. “If this is about anything other than my fucking fox, then–”

“Please, come,” they said. “I believe I’ve found an explanation.” 

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. Uraume sounded calm, not that they ever sounded particularly frantic, but they seemed…happy, maybe? Some weird kind of content, perhaps. It wasn’t something Sukuna was used to seeing on their placid face, though it’d become more common ever since you entered their lives and made yourself at home. The frost sorcerer had a soft spot for you. Sukuna couldn’t blame them. 

“Pray tell what the fuck the explanation is,” Sukuna grumbled as he followed his subordinate, arms all crossed and tensed. 

“I’m certain I’ve found the whereabouts of your beloved.” Uraume slid open the door leading to the gardens in the back and walked on. “In the absence of (Name), I decided to tend to the gardens myself. In doing so, I found something quite peculiar–a hidden grove of sorts.” 

Sukuna’s fury morphed into prickling, fiery intrigue. “Bullshit. I’ve been all over this fucking garden with that fox. I know the ins and outs.”

“Then it would not surprise me if he indeed kept this a secret from you.” 

Sukuna grumbled. “He knows better.”

“I don’t believe it’d be intentional,” Uraume said, “but I believe his instincts may have influenced him to secure a quiet, safe place for the future.”

The king relaxed. Electricity sparked weakly in his fingertips first,then throughout the rest of his body when everything started falling into place–you wanted all eyes to be on him, you didn’t want anyone to look at you during the festival. Your cheeks had grown fuller, your body more plush, your desire to snuggle and snooze went through the roof. Could you have been–?

Uraume stepped toward a thicket of trees in the far corner of the garden–one that Sukuna indeed had never bothered with, considering it looked full of trees and foliage and definitely not a spot to meander on your shared morning walks–before ducking under thick branches and pushing aside flimsy bushes. 

Sukuna followed with a little more brute force, nearly ripping the pesky foliage out of the way and half-considering decimating the trees that dare whip him in the face with a cluster of leaves. But you’d probably get pissy if he did that. A pissy fox was fun, but also withheld sex, and that was a no-go for Sukuna these days, considering his concubines just weren’t doing it for him as of late. 

Sure enough, Uraume’s words rang true. The grove was small and cozy, letting in warm dappling sunlight while shielding itself from the prying eyes of the outside world. In the very corner of the garden and the evident centrepiece of the grove, stood an immense weeping willow, one with a formidable trunk and thick, gnarled branches reaching up to drape long curtains of green like cascading waterfalls around itself. Truly, it felt like a separate little world would be hidden in there, behind swaying vines and rustling leaves. 

“You gotta be shitting me,” Sukuna muttered, stepping past his right hand to push aside the foliage, revealing a black fox curled up in the hollowed trunk of that very tree. 

You didn’t stir when he approached. Something uneasy curled in Sukuna’s gut, but once he sat himself in front of the mouth to your little den, he spied the steady breathing shifting your small form, and calmed–until he saw something else wiggling against you, chirping and squeaking with pathetic, fragile voices. At first, he thought it was some sort of parasite sucking you of your lifeforce, but he realized too quickly that what he beheld were two, tiny kits, both covered in fluffy brown-black fur, both keenly aware of the presence of a curious new man sitting before them. 

Sukuna tensed when they approached him. Their chubby bellies knocked their weak, stubby legs off balance, but they persevered best they could, bumbling their way through trampled leaves and grass, and finally reaching the crossed legs of the king. Tiny paws papped at his pant legs before they hazarded climbing the formidable mountain before them And despite Sukuna’s hesitation, he hastily held their butts before they fell off of him like the stupid, dumb babies they were. They were his stupid, dumb babies, after all. Best to take care of them. 

“It appears he went somewhere quiet to nest,” Uraume hummed, sounding far too pleased as they watched the king handle fox kits. “Perhaps the festival was too stressful.”

“Tch. Could’ve shot the runts out inside,” Sukuna mumbled, half-heartedly annoyed. “Coulda said somethin’.” 

“He could have,” Uraume agreed, an air of ‘but what’s done is done’ clinging to their words. 

Sukuna sighed. “What a pain in the ass.” His eyes flicked to you again. He expected you to wake up, to snap at him like the feral thing you were. He expected you to calm after recognizing him. Maybe he expected you to curl up in his lap, too. Or did he just want that?

But you stayed sleeping. Content and safe under the shelter of your lover and the stalwart embrace of a weeping willow. Perhaps it was thanking you for your kind care with the way it soothed your soul and kept you hidden away. Sukuna wouldn't doubt it for a second. The garden acted differently ever since you claimed it as your own. 

“Shall we take them back?” Uraume asked.

The king thought for a long moment, sifting through selfish desires and rational decisions before coming to his conclusion: “Leave ‘em. He'll probably throw a damn fit if we interfere. You know how gods are–annoying and irrational as hell when they don't get their way.”

His subordinate smiled. “Very well.”

–

Winter’s first frost came, and you returned to his side. 

You woke him with a classic move–standing on his chest and staring at him expectantly until he woke up and gave you attention. You didn’t do it as much anymore, not ever since you found yourself in the midst of a thousand responsibilities and daily quests, but every once in a while, like when your lover would return from long journeys, you’d pester him endlessly for pets, scritches and kisses. 

But this time, once his heavy eyes opened, he not only saw you standing atop his chest, but a chubby pup caught in your maw, too. 

Sukuna blinked away his grogginess just as you gingerly placed the babe on his collarbone, tucking him underneath the king's chin. One of his large hands flew up to ensure the kit (his kit) didn't slip off when you let go and trotted away with purpose. 

“Fox,” Sukuna grumbled, displeased with your hasty retreat. Thankfully, you trotted back up to him a handful of moments later and placed a second ball of fluff on his chest before settling down beside him and watching. 

“Tch. Took you long enough,” the king huffed as he tried his damndest to be careful and gentle with the little ones. “Was about to drag your sorry ass in here myself.” 

I see. If you were so desperate for my company, you could have simply requested it, you countered. 

Sukuna sucked his teeth and huffed. “Like it woulda been that easy.” Nothing was that easy with you–and Sukuna liked it. If you gave in, if you tended to his every fleeting want and need, you'd be too boring, frankly. 

It is unlike you to not try. You shifted and wormed your way into his arms and half onto his chest, right beside the two snoozing kits you'd worked hard to bring up while Sukuna was off fighting, killing and maiming. But that was expected; servants and bedded beasts were to stay and make a home, weren't they? 

“Tch. I let you have your way for once and this is how you act?” Your partner admired your foxen features and traced his fingertips along your snout, between your eyes, to the top of your little skull before scritching behind your ears. You leaned into the touch, eyes falling closed with the meagerest offering of affection.

Shall I praise you and bow at your feet once I am able? You teased. 

“Bending over'll do the trick.” Sukuna smirked when you huffed. “How long you gotta stay as a shitty mutt anyway?” 

Until they wean. I'm not certain as to how long that will take.

“Not even a guess?” 

Perhaps another week or so. You turned your nose to the two small fluffs and groomed the tops of their heads. They're becoming more independent. More willing to explore. I take that as a good sign for their development. 

“Huh. Good.” A strange coil relaxed in Sukuna's chest, and he braved petting them with a single finger again. “‘N how long ��til these two learn to play human?” 

Not for some time, but I will help them until they master it themselves. You nipped at Sukuna's hand as a third rose to come pester you. You should not pray for them to be human too soon. They will terrorize you. I have seen such chaos before. 

Sukuna grinned. “Ho? You forget who their father is?” Your sigh echoed in his mind, and his smile split wider. “I can handle anything.”

–

Kazuya and Genji took too much after you and your mischievous heritage. 

Too often Uraume would find them in baskets of produce, happily munching away like they were supposed to be in there. Other times, they'd be caught stealing shiny jewelry or knick knacks from the king's concubines and servants. They'd sometimes even take Sukuna's clothes and run amok with them, using them as toys or completely shredding them. 

You, he who had birthed and raised them, were swift when it came to correcting them. You were, of course, the prime example of a kitsune, and therefore found their treasure stashes, foretold of their destructive crimes, and knew when they'd be off to steal food. You were like them, once, after all. 

And maybe that's why you had a peculiar pep to your step. Once the boys found their devious personalities, you bothered lifting your tails from the floor. No longer did you let them drag and droop like limp noodles hanging from chopsticks. You seemed…prouder. Livelier. Perhaps being amongst your own gave you a sense of belonging, of hope. 

Belonging, huh? Tch, what a load of shit. Sukuna mused as he rested his cheek against his fist, lounging while he watched you wrangle the twins from his spot under a shady tree. Spring was here, and that meant the runts were now terrorizing the great outdoors. 

More accurately, they were following you around like two tiny shadows, too eager to waddle after you as you moved along the paths, sowing seeds and pruning withered leaves as you went. The tots picked up whatever your tending cast to the ground, and they held each thistle, leaf and twig close in tiny, pudgy hands like they were rabbit's feet. Strange little things.

He lost sight of you and the bumbling babies eventually, but your light chatter flitted through the brush and kept him company for a time. The sound of leaves crunching underfoot accompanied your walk as you came back around, closer and closer and–through the garden itself? Wait–

“RAH!” A little voice cried before a littler body launched onto Sukuna. 

“Ha?” The king quirked a brow and looked at the little thing biting and kicking at his arm like a spastic cat. “What the hell is this?” 

“He's trying to play with you,” you said as you wandered back into view, voice airy and light. “They wrestle.” 

Sukuna held his arm up to get a better look at the runt nibbling on him. “This is supposed to be playing? Damn thing's acting feral.” 

“Because he's young.” You settled down beside your lover, adjusting your robes and such to ensure they cascaded and pooled around you attractively. “One day, he'll ask you to teach him how to fight. How to use cursed techniques.” 

Sukuna's expression almost softened. “Huh. That so?” 

“Mh.” You smoothed Kazuya's hair back as he settled in your lap, choosing peace over violence, unlike Genji. “They are yours. I've no doubt they'll have the same hunger for strife and knowledge.” 

They are yours. The words nearly made Sukuna sick; they weren't his per sè, they were a result of his relentless attempts to tie you down and make you stay with him no matter the cost. They only shared half of his genetics, they didn't rule his every thought nor own half of his heart. That all belonged to you.

But then why did he feel…trepidatious? The way he once felt too long ago when he knew nothing of the world and met too many cruel hands from the moment he opened his eyes. Maybe because these little ones were that age, able to run around and cause problems where they ought to not. Maybe because messing with the wrong person might not end with them slaughtering he who had the audacity to harm them, but with their young lives being lost. 

Ah. That must have been it–the petulance of his own kind pissed Sukuna off to no end. The thought of extensions of himself being looked down on brought about creeping waves of disgust and distaste. Humans were the ones who thought themselves godly enough to kill Sukuna. Humans were the ones who thought themselves mighty enough to enslave and breed a divine beast. The little ones were destined to share humanity's ire, and it pissed him off. It really pissed him off.

“Yeah,” Sukuna decided, shaking his arm to test Genji's ability to cling onto him. “I'll show ‘em a thing or two. Can't have humans beating the shit outta some godlings just for fun.”

“Well, if one were to try, I'd kill them myself,” you cooed like it was the most romantic thing in the world. “Level their village, light the sky ablaze.” 

“Now you're speakin’ my language,” Sukuna said, grinning. 

[nosyrobin]

Tw: abusive parent

Male!reader who is on the phone with an abusive parent: I…I don’t want to go home…

Reader flinched at the loud voice of his parent getting disrespectful towards him. Damian narrows his eyes as he noted to make a visit towards a certain place.

Damian snatches the phone from reader who looks shocked.

Damian (enraged): he’s staying with me.

He hangs the phone up and leaves the room to a worried and scared boy.

Later that night…..

A window crash is heard with a scream. The abusive parent who was on the phone screams for mercy as a 12 year old boy with a katana is chasing them.

Damian: YOU SHALL TASTE MY BLADE!

[lxvvie]

A Street Fighter!Simon entry:

"I should've killed him," is what Simon grunts out, the first thing he's said since showing up at your doorstep. It made your blood run cold.

You hadn't seen him in weeks (and not for lack of trying on your part) and when he knocked on your door, you... shit, he's seen better days. Poor bastard probably hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while, one eye was bruised and damn near swollen shut, his lip was split, his crooked nose was bandaged, his knuckles bloodied, and he looked somewhere between apathetic and pissed off. Which one, you couldn't tell.

And when he silently walked in, sat down on your couch, and lit a cigarette, you were damn near tempted to rip him a new asshole before he looked at you and... and—"What the hell's wrong with you?" You'll mentally slap yourself for that one later, but the way Simon looked at you—through you, rather—made sure your rant died a quick, painless death.

You've never seen such dead eyes on a living person before.

Simon didn't say anything, he just... turned away. Turned away, nursed his cigarette, and let the smoke burn his throat and hurt him better than any fight ever could. You hesitantly took a seat next to him, torn between wanting to break the silence and wondering if it would be worth the risk, but Simon made that decision for you, well after the discomfort made it all tangible.

"I almost killed him," is the second thing Simon says, and you thought it best to just let your silence speak for itself.

"...The rat fuck didn't think I had it in me. He kept hitting her. Wouldn't stop. Tommy tried. Got hit, too. Then I hit him." You didn't like how nonchalant he sounded. You wanted to ask him what he meant, but—

"I didn't stop." What?

"Simon—" "Shouldn't have stopped. They shouldn't have stopped me." "Simon... what are you—" "—I wish I never stopped—"

"HEY!" You winced at how loud you sounded. Hope the neighbors don't complain about that one but you can't be too sure. It didn't bother Simon none, though. He just... stared at you. Stared as if he'd noticed you for the first time. "What are you... Who are you talking about? What is—What happened to you?" You rambled and it sounded nonsensical to your ears.

Didn't bother Simon none. Nonsensical was his middle fucking name.

"Does your old man love you?" Simon grunts out, well after staring, well after finishing his first and lighting his second cigarette. That you saw. You couldn't answer that question. Didn't want to answer that question. Didn't want to stir the pot anymore than you already had. Which wasn't much. It was enough for Simon, though.

You let your silence speak for you.

He turned away and exhaled the smoke. He was tired. Tired of this shit. Tired of his family. Tired of the bloody silence. He asked you yet again, wanting answers, wanting to be rid of it all, wanting to break the silence.

"Does he love you enough to stay the fuck away?"

You didn't think you had it in you to answer him, not as you were connecting the dots.

And still, your silence spoke for you.

[liminalpsych]

Initial Epic: the Musical - Wisdom Saga thoughts because that’s all I’ve been able to think about for the past 24 hours.

1. No one’s talking about the narrative juxtaposition of Calypso-Odysseus and suitors/Antinous-Penelope in the same saga, and I am turning it over in my head. The parallels and contrast of boundary pushing, one-sided relationally, trapped, etc? The different flavors of abuse and coercion and power dynamics? It wasn’t in such stark contrast in the original poem, the Telemachus perspective could have happened at any point in the last two sagas or the next one. Dunno how intentional it was, narratively, but it works.

2. I didn’t find Love In Paradise too triggering… but the reactions I’ve been seeing and the Calypso defenders and the minimization/dismissal/invalidation of the abusiveness (because even if you choose to interpret the lyrics as “Calypso didn’t commit SA or sexual coercion like she did in the original poem,” even if you interpret them as generously as possible — she’s still acting in harmful, emotionally abusive ways in the narrative)… that’s another thing entirely. Dealing with dysregulation and dissociation and way too many intrusive memories of my Calypso-like ex-girlfriend. Didn’t expect that. Not looking forward to the reactions to Not Sorry For Loving You in the next saga. Anyway I have essays worth of thoughts/feelings/frustrations on this topic that I need to just collate from venting about it on discord and make into a coherent post instead.

………okay so mostly it’s thoughts about the Love In Paradise song. more thoughts later maybe.

[dwellordream]

- Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House

[queenoftheimps]

Lestat's little, broken-sounding "Did you hurt yourself?" hits so, so much more now that the show's confirmed that Nicki did, in fact, die by suicide, the same as he did in the books.

There's been commentary for literal decades about how Lestat has a type, but I do think there are heart-breaking implications to a lot of his actions in Season One when you know he's lived through the suicide of one companion and is with a second one with suicidal ideations.

His treatment of Claudia was never okay, and Claudia was absolutely correct to be furious with him. But I do think everything from her being turned (because Louis is desperate and begging) to him dragging her off of the train (because Louis is actively considering the sun) is colored by him trying to avoid repeating history.

[kriimhild]

Next DD webcomic! (poll at the end of the post)

Hear me scream

Moon's glitches are getting worse, and now they trigger a drastic incident. Consumed by guilt, he separates himself from Sun, afraid of he'll harm him. However, he accidentally flees to a place that neither of them knew existed in their own headspace. The owner of the void awaits him, impatiently tapping his pocket watch. Moon tries to escape back to warn Sun.

Pages: 20+

Content rating: Mature!

Content warning: gore, blood, angst, torture, abuse

How to play along (After the events of We've gone too far)

After Nigel threatens the celestial duo about they could lose their supervisor if rebellious thoughts arise, Sun must face one of the biggest decisions of his life. Should he tell Frankie everything and risk their lives, or should he collaborate with Nigel and learn to lie for the best?

Pages: ~10-20

Content rating: Mature!

Content warning: angst

If you can't vote here anymore, click this link, you can still here!

[vexwerewolf]

Felicitations, comrade! We had our session 0 for the IGF campaign im running, and one of my players wants to be a moonlighter pirate "infiltrating" Hell's Gate militia. He was initially thinking of being affiliated with the Hell Hounds, which for obvious reasons would present some challenges. Do you have any advice for making this happen, what with the very first mission putting him up against his true boss? I dont know that he'd have enough time to have truly built up camraderie with the rest of the SRT to truly make his character have conflicted loyalties.

I mean, he'd have to have been with the militia a while to build up enough trust to be seriously considered for the SRT.

But moreover, let me tell you what being a Hell Hound is like.

CW: psychological and physical abuse

So one thing I want to make it clear that the Hell Hounds are basically an incel cult without the weird gender-sexual overtones. I imagine there ARE women and enbies who join it but in essence Andros Capella is a creepy weirdo who preys on disaffected, primarily male youth with no prospects and indoctrinates them into his worldview of nihilistic violence.

Andros doesn't really have a philosophy, or at least not one that he could describe in words (and even if he could, he wouldn't), but it could be summed up as "the weak exist solely to create things for the strong to take." You are worthy of having things if you are strong enough to take them, but only so long as you're strong enough to keep them.

The closest political ideology I could ascribe to him would be "stateless fascism." Andros is certainly sadistic, devoid of empathy and believes himself to be supreme, but he's too intellectually lazy to bother engaging in justifying why he's supreme. He makes the most basic of naturalistic arguments (i.e. "this is just the way the world works") but feels it's beneath him to actually justify or provide evidence for his claims.

He hates the minutiae of day-to-day life, and derives no joy from anything that doesn't involve someone else's discomfort or pain. He will steal your food for the sheer thrill of having taken something that you wanted to eat, but he won't enjoy eating it because he despises the physical sensations of chewing and swallowing.

And if you are a Hell Hound who, god forbid, enjoys something, he will bully the shit out of you. He will verbally and physically abuse you until you learn to hate the thing you liked just to make the pain stop.

Lemme tell you what the average night on Fort Cerberus looks like when you're not on a raid: you and a couple hundred other sick fucks lurk around the corridors drinking and gambling but you sure as hell better not actually look like you're having fun because you're all desperately trying to avoid becoming the bossman's next chew toy.

Some poor fuck catches Andros' eye. You're not sure what for, but from the sounds of things he might've been counting his poker winnings too loud. He gets a hand on his shoulder from the big man, who tells him that he's being too selfish - gotta learn to share a bit more, yeah? Now, way Andros sees it, guy's got ten fingernails that he's keeping all to himself, so here's a set of pliers - redistribute.

You jeer along with the rest of the room, loud enough to drown out his screams, because you're so very, very relieved that it isn't you. But you fuck up. You look a little bit too enthusiastic, perhaps, or maybe it's the opposite, maybe you weren't forcing it enough. Either way, the bossman's eyes land on you and your blood turns to ice in your veins.

"You," he says. "C'mere."

The room is dead silent all of a sudden, quiet enough that the pitiful whimpering of the first guy, (currently on his second thumbnail) is the only sound you can hear. You walk over, as a prisoner does to the place of execution.

He takes your hands, inspecting your fingernails, and then your hands, then your arms. "No ink yet? You not pulling your weight? Am I payin' to feed a fuckin' leech?"

You say you're not a leech.

"Those pricks over at the Gate are gettin' too clever. Learning too quick. Gettin' the jump on us too many times. I want someone over there learnin' what they know. You 'avin' no ink makes you a good choice. They'd sniff out any of these boys in a second, they would, but not you. You look soft. Don't he look soft, boys?"

The room jeers at you just as you jeered at the first guy (he's on his ninth nail, now, and his throat is so hoarse he can't make sounds anymore). You try your best to remain composed.

"Normally soft'd be fuckin' worthless. But soft'll let you blend right in with the Gaters."

So, to avoid whatever horrific torture he's currently ideating, you agree. The next time they go out on a raid, they pick a ship full of people who don't know each other and slip you in with the passengers when nobody's looking. You don't go to Hell's Gate directly - you do a couple of hops through the Thousand Habs, just to throw off suspicion.

You sue for residency on the station as a refugee from a failed habitat. They give you your own cabin, and they make sure you're fed and clothed. You smirk to yourself - they really are as soft as Andros said they'd be; they have food and water and clothes and they're just giving them away!

You don't have all that many marketable skills, so after a few rotations scrubbing air filters, you apply to take the militia aptitude test. You try to play it down so they don't get suspicious, but if nothing else you're a damn good pilot, so you get fast-tracked. These fucking idiots just give you a mech! God, it's gonna be so easy to tear them apart from the inside.

They put you in a team. You train together, building up hours in the simulators. Then something weird happens. They... trust you? They want to... spend time with you, outside the simulators. They want to drink with you, play games with you, hear about your life. Well, is it more suspicious if you say no? You have to maintain your cover.

You don't always fit in well. Sometimes you crack jokes that are... a little unpleasant, a little off, a little worrying, and you learn to bite those down because it's bad for your cover. You also have this odd air about you, like you're constantly on guard, like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop (like somebody's gonna make you rip your fingernails out if you're too happy). People figure you must've gone through some trauma and are kind stupid enough not to pry.

You feed information about the militia back to Andros - carefully, so as not to blow your cover. Some members of your team get hurt - nobody dies, but they get hurt. You feel... bad. Why do you feel bad? They're soft, they're weak, they don't mean anything. They're not your real friends. You don't have any friends.

Months pass. Jerry says he wants to tap your team for a long-standing project he's working on. This is your chance. Sabotaging this will prove to Andros that you're strong, that you're not weak, that you're not a leech, that you can pull your weight.

Sure, a bunch of your team will have to die. The only people who've ever put their trust in you, the only people who've ever believed in you. But that's fine, right? They don't mean anything, they're not real people, right? They're idiots for trusting you, right? They deserve it, right?

Right?

... right?

[phyrestartr]

Heyyy I'm not sure if you take requests but I have an idea-

Reincarnated! Husband sukuna x Dead spouse (husband) Male Reader: this one is kind of like sukuna fucks up a lot, I think this can work out as an omegaverse? He cheats, fucks around, or doesn't even give af about m reader who is his fated pair, but then m! reader died and since they were mated he's like “shit I can't live without him” so he tries to be good to him the next life and they have happy family the end.

Replay (This Time I'll Get It Right) | Sukuna x Male!Reader (Part 1 of 2)

W/C: 1.6k #alpha!sukuna, omega!reader, mentions of suicide, mentions of murder, ABO dynamics, mentions of stalking, mentions of toxic exes, sukuna sucks, sukuna sucks less eventually, reincarnation, next lives, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, toxic relationships, infidelity/cheating

NOTE: Thank you for your patience!! It's still not quite done, but I wanted to post the first part up while i think of the rest of the story (got a vague idea of how it'll go, so should come out soon). Ty for the req!

tags: @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @memedealer-exe @tr4nniez @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @memedealer-exe @silvern1006

♪ Here With Me - d4vd

♪ Watch the sunrise along the coast

As we’re both getting old ♪

Sukuna puffed on a cigarette, staring out at the city lights. You always liked coming here, to this little cliff hanging above the city–especially when you were stuck on lyrics or tabs of whatever song you were working on. This hillside spot was cheesy and stupid, but you loved the way it felt like an old-school chick flick when you drove up here in your beater.

In this spot, Sukuna realized you had an old soul, one that basked in the simple, mundane things like stargazing and city-watching. It was a step away from feeding pigeons in the park, your producer decided. The way that made you laugh still sent his heart on a wild chase. That, too, was the first moment he realized he wanted you more than just a collaborator. 

And, maybe, if he had pushed aside the partying, the drugs, the women, he might’ve bothered checking his phone. He might’ve been able to apologize for wrongs done and words said, to get back on the right track. He might've not found out about you on the news. Maybe he could have given you everything you wanted–

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. 

♪ I can’t describe what I’m feeling

And all I know is we’re going home ♪

Even after locking you down and starting on that stupid journey to start a family, his spirit still yearned to wander free. 

So it did. 

Primal wants controlled him. He allowed them to steer him away from the safety of your touch and into the gnashing jaws of excitement, of danger. All because the two of you were starting to make it–you were starting to leave your mark on this world, and Sukuna let the fame and greed get to him. 

But how could he not jump at the chance to fuck the famous and infamous? How could he stay faithful to just you, a smalltown boy, when big city celebrities reached out to him, pulling him into big deals and bigger beds? How could he–

His phone blitzed to life again, ringing in the hollow quiet of a too-expensive car. The call went to voicemail, leaving him in the pits of Tartarus again, drowning in the frigid rain beating against his car windows like a million bullets trying to seek the death penalty.

Did angels do that? Take revenge for their own kind? He’d understand it. Jin, an angel in his own right, exiled his Luciferian twin from the celestial plane, barring him from what was left of that tiny spark of love and hope he called “family.” 

♪ So please don’t let me go, oh

Don’t let me go ♪

His phone rang again. He remembered picking it up once upon a time, listening to your shaky voice as you told him the worst and best news he’d ever heard in his entire existence: “I’m pregnant.” 

Sukuna didn’t know what true fear and excitement were until that moment. You laughed through waterworks, lifted by Sukuna’s uncontrolled motor-mouthing and celebrating as he hooted and hollered on the other line. The women your husband was with gave him weird looks, but he didn’t care–you were pregnant. You were going to–

You were going to have his kid. His pup. A shared little joy, a spark of hope for the future. And then–then someone took that away. 

The sorry waste of life, the obsessive ex you vehemently feared, left behind a note for whomever found the tragedy: “I'll take care of them from now on.”

Sukuna knew there had to be more to it, there had to be more of an explanation, but the media wasn't interested; they only wanted to use and abuse your name and face for articles and news reports, not to reminisce on you nor the woe of a murder-suicide.

How come no one cared? Why did no one fucking care?

♪ Save your tears, it’ll be okay

All I know is you’re here with me ♪

He snapped. Sukuna kicked the dashboard. His boot cracked against the console again and again and again until your siren song died in a quick fit of static. He crashed his heel into the broken screen a dozen more times, each impact punching shout after shout out of his tight throat as the weight of the fucking sky collapsed on him. He wasn’t Atlas. He couldn’t hold it up. He never could, not by himself.

Sukuna heaved in breaths. His stomach swirled and churned with nausea. He held his head and leaned back, screaming into the thunder that shook the world with a vital roar, hiding heartbroken howls.

Why? Why? Why? 

“Deep breaths, Sukuna,” your voice cooed. It came from the darkness, from the forgotten corners of his mind. Why were–ah, right. He’d been here before, overcome with agony and grief. Unable to breathe, unable to cope, unable to exist.  

He followed your instructions. 

“In. Out. In. Out.”

In. Out. In. Out.

The phone rang again. Sukuna answered. He hoped whoever it was would tell him this was all just a bad joke. A bad dream. It wasn’t real. 

“Finally,” Wasuke sighed on the other end of the line. “Kid, where the fuck are you?”

Sukuna stared up at the roof of the car. Words smeared and oozed like molasses in his mind. He couldn’t understand the words he knew he could understand. 

“Sukuna.” 

“What the fuck do I do?” Sukuna asked. His voice quivered. Chipped and cracked.

His father fell quiet. But he was wise. So fucking wise and so good at everything that came with life and death, morality and love. 

“Become a better man,” he said, like it was so simple. 

Sukuna scoffed. “H-How the fuck–”

“Quiet, kid.” Wasuke sighed. “That boy loved you. He had faith in you as a partner and a father. Remember that. Honour that, and become the man he knew you could be.”

Sukuna didn’t know his heart could break more, but it did. 

He sobbed. To his father, to himself, to you, to that unborn joy, to whatever fuckhead created life and love in the first place. He cried for forgiveness, for a second shot. 

“I’ll try,” Sukuna bit out. “I’ll try.” 

–

♪ I wish I could live through every memory again

Just one more time before we float off in the wind ♪

Sukuna woke up to that song. It was the same one that played in his nightmares, the same one that robbed him of sleep until he lost his mind and–and–

“What the fuck happened?” Sukuna croaked to whatever singing nymph fluttered around him. 

The damn song stopped, leaving Sukuna in just a second of tumultuous silence. 

Beep. Beep. Beep. 

The rhythmic chirping of some machine–a heart monitor, maybe? A metronome?--kicked up into double time, jamming an ice pick into his skull further and further with every hellish second that passed by. He could almost hear the radio static, the warp of a ballad calling to him. And it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop. Why wouldn't it stop? Why? Why? Why?

“Hey,” your voice cooed. Your hand rested atop of Sukuna's and squeezed. “Can you hear me?” 

Sukuna cracked a tired eye open to look up at you; you were perfect. God-given. A blessing he needed to see right now with your gentle eyes and kind smile, the gentle scent of lavender and vanilla cutting through the disgusting sterility of the room. 

“Can hear you,” Sukuna rasped. His hand tried to turn to hold yours, and you helped by slipping your palm into his. His heart rate slowed with the rhythm of the machine. 

You nodded and covered your clasped hands with your other one. “Good. You probably don't remember, but you were in an accident. A car side-swiped you when you were on your motorcycle.”

“No shit.” 

“Yes shit. But you're alright. Would recommend wearing a helmet from now on.” You pat his hand before slipping both of yours free. “I'll call the doctor and your family. They'll be glad to know you're awake, Itadori-san.” 

He wanted to ask you to stay. He didn't want you to go, not right then, maybe not at all. 

But you flashed him another comforting smile and slipped out of the room before he could object.

–

His father came by. Jin and his son, too. Uraume and Yorozu scolded him for not wearing a helmet. The ragtag group of hooligans he unfortunately associated with (just for the sake of going to their fancy-ass parties, he reasoned) came and went, too; Gojo gave him headaches, Getou made it worse, Ieiri wasn’t so bad.

Then there was you. You were always humming some sort of tune, whether it be the song from his nightmares or something he'd never heard before. Sukuna liked it, the sound of your voice, but you'd always clam up the second you realized someone might hear. 

It led him to pretend to be asleep far too many times during his recovery. Your songs eased his wildfire spirit, let it simmer down and curl up comfortably in a ring of stones to keep those near safe and warm without the fear of being burned alive. Hell, they could probably even make some s’mores if they wanted. 

Eventually, though, Sukuna wanted to know more. And what better person to ask than the burgeoning med student herself?

“Oh, [Name]?” Ieiri asked, sitting beside Sukuna’s bed and looking over the machines connected to Sukuna with rapt attention. “He’s a new-ish nurse from what I get. Pretty cute, huh? Apparently passed his exams no problem and–” 

Sukuna rolled his eyes. “If you don’t know relevant shit then just–”

“He’s single. Omega. Likes men. Kinda older than us. Gojo and Getou got rejected already.” 

That shut Sukuna up. 

[federaliszt]

whumpees who are hyperattuned to any traces of anger, who fill with silent tension at the sound of raised voices in the other room, who miss a step on their way down the stairs when someone thumps them on the back unexpectedly, even if it's in a playful way. whumpees who constantly scan other people's faces for microexpressions that betray frustration or disappointment, who flinch away from the slightest indications of tension, because they're so used to the threat of violence or demeaning/abusive language following it. whumpees who start an explanation with "i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry" even though they've done nothing wrong. whumpees who stand awkwardly in group settings, trying to participate in discussions but terrified of saying the wrong thing. whumpees who experience flashbacks while in the middle of talking to others, and who feel they have to bottle it up and hide it even though everyone can tell something is wrong. whumpees whose arms and hands move to protect their face or chest despite the fact that they're in a physically safe situation. whumpees who are tough as nails on the outside but skittish like deer on the inside, whose heart races wildly as they pause outside the door, listening to what caretaker says about them, knowing that it shouldn't bother them one way or the other, but needing to confirm that caretaker doesn't hate them for existing. whumpees who need constant reassurance that their presence in other people's lives is valuable and welcome. whumpees who don't let others see them cry, because acting strong and unruffled has been drilled into them for years on end, but who make up an excuse to dart out of the room when other people compliment them or praise them. whumpees who finally find Their People and can bask in the luxury of finally feeling true and permanent safety.

[badaziraphaletakes]

Aziraphale has been suffering an empty existence for most of his time on earth. He already knows how empty life is without Crowley. All he wants is to be left alone with him. He's going back to heaven because he had no choice, not because he doesn't appreciate Crowley, or because he doesn't realize how much better life is with Crowley than without him.

Think about it. We never see him as happy as he is with Crowley. In fact, I'm pretty sure we never see him happy without Crowley being at least somewhere in the vicinity.

The tragedy isn't that he doesn't know how important Crowley is to him. The tragedy is that he DOES know but can't stay with him. 💔

[autolenaphilia]

I’ve been thinking about The Coffin of Andy and Leyley again, as usual. And I’ve complained before about people whose interpretation of the Graves sibs is “Ashley is an evil manipulative bitch who is corrupting her innocent doormat brother Andrew.” And this frustrates me because of its obvious misogyny, but not because that’s interpretation isn’t based in the game itself. It’s in there for sure, but it’s Andrew mask, his false narrative of him and his relationship to his sister, that the game thoroughly deconstructs.

It is built up through the promotional material, like the “our heroes?” art on the game’s steam page And for a good part of episode 1 you can even believe it. Ashley comes across as evil and manipulative, a yandere who has a pathological, abusive, possessive and obsessive love fixation on an nonreciprocating subject, Andrew. In her possessiveness, she naturally is very jealous, and wants her brother all for herself, going so far as to sabotage his romantic relationships with other women.

And Andrew at first seems nonreciprocating. She seems utterly dependent on him, but he acts like he doesn’t need her, and he clearly feels both annoyance and resentment towards her at times.

Above all he seems normal compared to his clearly mentally ill sister. Prior to quarantine he had a life outside of her, with a girlfriend and studies at college. When they start committing crimes he seems to have an appropriate freaked out reaction to their actions while Ashley seems amoral and goads Andrew into committing them with her.

Yet all this is a mere facade. It’s subtly undermined at first during episode 1, some aspects of which comes across more clearly on a repeat playthrough. Andrew’s narrative of being an innocent manipulated into evil is like all such narratives ultimately a way to dodge responsibility. Andrew lets Ashley take the lead when doing morally dubious things, but the key words is “lets.” This is established subtly in their first interaction in the game. Ashley asks Andrew if he wants to go spy on the neighbor his response is “nope”, immediately followed by a smiling “but I’ll come along if you do.” and he hands her the balcony key. This coy “no means yes” response from Andrew establishes that Ashley’s leading role is a kind of game that they play, one that lets Andrew abdicate responsibility for any dubious actions the siblings commit.

Spying on the neighbor is fairly innocent, but then their actions escalate. And Andrew’s own actions drive that escalation. It’s he who takes the siblings from cannibalism into murder. And in the climax of episode 1, he commits probably their worst crime: the murder of the woman in room 302, at least in the now existing two episodes of the game. Their other murders like the wardens, the hitman and the parents all deserved it but I don’t think she did. And it’s all on his initiative, Ashley never tells him to kill for her, he does it all on his own. And his clearly bullshit story about his victim going for a nail gun makes his tendency to avoid taking responsibility for his own actions by spinning false narratives even clearer.

(Sidenote: Both in the aforementioned “our heroes?” promo art and the main menu art it’s Ashley who holds the bloody meat cleaver, but in the actual game, it’s Andrew’s signature weapon. He wields that cleaver all the way from chopping up the cultist to the possible end for him and Ashley in the decay path vision. I don’t think Ashley even touches it in the actual game. It’s an obvious inconsistency that I think must be deliberate. The promotional art is setting up a false narrative of who is the violent one in this relationship and the actual game subverts it.)

And the ensuing conversation I think finally collapses the narrative of poor innocent Andrew and evil manipulative abuser Ashley. Ashley sure says some nasty and manipulative things, but then Andrew snaps and puts her in a stranglehold, threatening to kill her. It’s here that Andrew’s false narrative fully collapses, and the power dynamics are fully revealed. Whatever hold Ashley might seem to have over Andrew via emotional manipulation, abuse and blackmail, it is an illusion.

Andrew ultimately goes along with what she says because he wants to. He can always say “no” and can physically enforce that, even kill her. Him choking Ashley and threatening her life is not justified revenge on his emotional abuser, because that scene reveals that he is in control here, and he probably always has been (the flashback to their childhood where he briefly wonders “if killing her would be worth it” certainly suggests that). Andrew strangling Ashley and threatening her life is in itself a far more serious act of abuse than everything Ashley has ever said to him.

She is fake-crying here, but based on everything else we see her isolation is definitely real.

Ashley is ultimately a subversion of all the yandere evil manipulative bitch stereotypes she initially seems to embody. She is a surprisingly complex and well-written character where her “evil” traits are seen as originating in abuse and isolation. The reason she is so dependent on Andrew for all human affection is simple: it’s because he is literally the only one who has given her that affection. Her own parents never gave her that, and her peers disliked her because she is as she herself puts it “loud, weird and annoying.” The reason she doesn’t have any empathy or care for other people (besides Andrew) is because they never cared about her. Andrew is the one exception, and that’s also why she is so fiercely possessive and controlling of him. If he abandoned her, she would be all alone in the world. And why shouldn’t he abandon her? Everyone else already has. So she must have some hold over him, so he can never leave her. It all makes sense for her traumatized brain.

And Andrew? Far from being the non-reciprocating subject of Ashley’s affections, he is as obsessively in love with and dependent on her as she is on him. The difference is that Andrew hides it. He wants to be normal, so he pretends to be. But he isn’t normal, and is more like his sister than he cares to admit.

The deepest dive within Andrew’s psyche is his dream sequence in episode 2. It actually thoroughly deconstructs his mask of normalcy. For example, his very revealing flashback of his relationship with Julia. That relationship is a major part of his claim to normalcy, that he is not like his sister, totally emotionally dependent on the other sibling. And that relationship is shown to be a lie.

In the flashback Julia is angry with Andrew because whenever she and Andrew spend time together, Ashley tells Andrew to spend time with her instead, and Andrew obeys her. And this is obviously Ashley sabotaging the Andrew/Julia relationship, but the thing is, Andrew is very much a willing co-saboteur. When the choice is between spending time with Julia or Ashley, he always chooses Ashley.

We get more detail on why he does this in the same dream sequence. You can listen to what is ostensibly the harassing voicemails sent by Ashley to Julia. And they reveal more what is going on there. That Ashley did harass Julia that way is real, she admits to it in the waking world. But if the contents of the voicemail in the dream is what Ashley actually said is unlikely. There is no plausible way Andrew could know what Ashley said in them. Neither Julia or Ashley are likely to have shared them with Andrew. They are not real the same way the flashback probably is. So the dream sequence voicemails are probably the products of Andrew’s mind rather than Ashley’s. And as such, they are very revealing.

And to summarize the point the voicemails are making in less… colorful terms: Andrew doesn’t care about Julia on an emotional level, he just uses her for sex. The woman he actually cares about, is emotionally intimate with on every level except the purely sexual, is Ashley. She is, “the only one” and “everything” to him. It isn’t sexual for obvious incest taboo reasons, so Andrew has his “floozies” he uses as sexual outlets.

I think this description of Andrew’s relationship with Ashley and other women is overall true and very revealing of how he actually feels beneath the mask. That’s why he always chooses Ashley over Julia, there is a deeper emotional connection there that is absent with Julia.

The dream voicemails are just circumspect about one thing: Andrew does want to fuck his sister. He represses it because of the incest taboo, but he really wants to. This is obvious throughout the game and repeatedly hinted at. Andrew’s incestous attraction keeps on boiling over the lid of repression he put on it. He freaks out when their mother suggests it and at the incest vision, but that’s because he is repressing hard.

There are so many moments. My favorite is him casually touching her ass in their parent’s kitchen in episode 2. There is an optional dialogue when they are breaking in earlier which suggests he has done it before. The end of his dream sequence is him dreaming about Ashley’s cleavage. He lies about having nightmares and needing comfort so he has an excuse to cuddle with Ashley and sleep in her bed every night.

It’s clearly there in his possessive jealous rage he gets into whenever Ashley even jokes about having sex with men who are not him. Andrew threatening to slap Ashley for jokingly suggesting doing sex work is frankly far worse than whatever Ashley does to sabotage Andrew’s relationship with Julia.

Speaking of Julia, the flashback with her and Andrew ends with him asking Julia to tie up her hair for him. To wear her hair like Ashley does. This suggests Julia was just an Ashley substitute all along.

Andrew’s relationship with Julia was part of the mask. Julia is the sweet girl-next-door type, the type of woman he should be into if he was normal. Julia/Andrew is meant to be the model heterosexual couple, except it’s a lie. In the end Julia became an outlet for Andrew’s repressed incestous sexual feelings, with her acting as a substitute for his forbidden attraction to Ashley. It’s not a coincidence that Julia looks like she could be the third Graves sibling.

His final thoughts on Julia are telling in themselves. “You’ll never see her again. And the fact that it doesn’t really bother you, bothers you.” That’s Andrew Graves in a nutshell. He knows that he should have loved Julia, that he should miss her, want to fuck her instead of his sister, that he should be normal. But he isn’t normal, and that haunts him.

The fact that he is haunted, that the incest taboo matters enough to him to repress his attraction, might seem to hint that Andrew has some redeeming sense of morality. But it doesn’t really. All his morality boils down to is a fear of consequences. His freak-outs about his and Ashley’s crimes is just a fear of getting caught. That’s why he so compulsively blames Ashley, if he is not really responsible for what his actions he can’t be punished for them. It’s most telling when in his dream he reflects on his murder of the lady in room 302. He monologues for awhile about his fears of getting caught for murdering her, but ends it all with a blunt “other than that, it doesn’t bother you.” He is just as callous and amoral as Ashley, he just hides it better.

Ultimately Andrew mirrors Ashley. He is not a poor manipulated innocent soft boi, beset by his crazy sister. He is just as dependent on and all-consumingly in love with her as she is with him, if not more so. I don’t see much if any evidence for Ashley’s feelings for Andrew being sexual/incestous, but his feelings for her very obviously are. He is just able to disguise his violent incestous nature better with a mask of normalcy, but ultimately he is similar to Ashley. She is not a monster and he is not an angel, those are just the masks you are meant to deconstruct.

Of course people fail at doing so despite the game being fairly explicit about it, because of poor media analysis and the kind of misogynistic bias where we blame women for what men do.

[self-deprecating-possum]

Fragile Apologies (Yandere! Miguel O’Hara x Gn! Reader)

Content notes: minor spoilers for Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, unhealthy/abusive relationships, verbal & emotional abuse, physical intimidation & violence, minor injuries, implied future imprisonment

Word count: around 4k

Short summary: You thought it would be easy to leave your dying relationship with Miguel. This turned out to be not true.

The sun was setting. It cast a long, orange beam on the wall, and you slowly followed it with your eyes as it advanced, gradually fading.

You purposely didn't look at the clock on the wall, you didn't want to know how much time had passed since Miguel decided to pull you onto his lap, not caring that you were right in the middle of preparing dinner. You were relieved you had not boiled the water in advance. You were not sure if the kitchen would burst into flames by the time your boyfriend lets you go.

Miguel's arms wrapped around you like iron bands. He didn't squeeze tightly enough to cause pain, but even so, you wouldn't have been able to move an inch, no matter how much you wanted to. All you could do for your own comfort was to wrap your legs around his hips and let your hands hang by your sides.

From experience, you knew it wasn't worth begging to be let go, no matter how stiff you were or how important a task you had somewhere else. The easiest way was always to simply wait for him to finish.

Your stomach growled loudly. Maybe… Just this once, he might let you go.

Miguel buried his face in your neck, you felt his hot lips and closed eyes on your skin. Softly, you patted his back with one hand, while attempting to slide the other in the gap between your bodies, hoping he would let you push him away.

He didn't move at all, so you let out a frustrated sigh.

“Miguel” you whispered “Miguel, please, let me go. I'm very hungry.”

Despite trying to move and signal that you wanted to break free, you were ignored. Panic started to set in, but you were trying to overcome it. You grabbed his shoulder to try to push yourself away with full force.

It felt like you were trying to move a concrete wall. He showed no reaction, not even his face moved on the skin of your neck.

"Miguel," you hated how whiny, how sharp your voice was. It sounded annoying even to your own ears. "Please, please, let me go!"

“Enough.”

You immediately stiffened. There was something in his voice that made your throat tighten. You waited for him to say something else, anything, as you lowered your hand to its previous place, but in vain. It seemed like it was enough for him that you didn't protest anymore.

The sun set behind the skyscrapers of Nueva York, and the room plunged into darkness. With a defeated sigh, you rested your chin on his shoulder.

Miguel began tracing playful circles on your back with his thumb, pressing slow, deliberate kisses onto your neck. As if your protest woke him up to the fact that he was holding a living being in his arms. The touch of his skin ignited a flare across yours, and your chest tightened with pain.

If only it had always been like this with him. Or at least sometimes, when you would have been open to him too. He was completely unpredictable, never knowing when he'd acknowledge your existence. From the very start, you knew he wasn't an easy personality, but this was something different. You felt both completely abandoned and overwhelmed at the same time.

You raised a hand to ran your fingers through his hair and felt his hands relax around you. You gently kissed his temple.

Suddenly he tensed, and you stifled a quiet scream. You know he would never hurt you, you told yourself, but you weren't convincing enough. You saw with your own eyes how the iron rods bend under his fingers as if they were made of clay.

You watched every news report on TV and every video that Lyla showed about him. You were well aware of what he was capable of. Even in this moment, he could have snapped your spine at any time, a slightly stronger squeeze would have been enough.

“Okay, that's enough," said Miguel, as if you were the one who didn't want to let him go, not the other way around.

"Hey!"

He pushed you off his lap. You would have fallen if he hadn't caught your arm to hold you. You grabbed onto him to regain your balance while he turned his attention towards his watch.

“Lyla, is there anything new?”

“Yes there is, but I didnt want to disturb you lovebirds. It seems like there’s some new info about Vulture, but nothing imminent. Still no info about his whereabouts.”

Miguel hissed in frustration and then turned his back to you. He started heading towards his own room.

"Didn't you want to make dinner?" he threw back before the door closed behind him.

You just stared after him for a few moments, standing alone in the dark room.

"Asshole," you said to the door. You sounded more tired than angry.

You went back to the kitchen and continued preparing dinner. Your home appliances could have made anything you wanted, probably cheaper (and tastier) than you, but there was a certain comfort in this simple routine that you couldn't let go of. Right now, you needed your hands to be busy as you thought through your situation, likely for the hundredth time in the past few weeks.

You didn't want to live like this. That was the simple truth.

When you first got together, Miguel was different. Not by much, but different. He was still willing to put energy into your relationship. However, since then, there have been more and more threats, work and problems, not to mention the number of Spider-Men he kept track of.

He doesn't have the time or energy for those little things that made you fall in love in the first place. You knew what had happened to him before you met, what happened to his daughter and that other universe. You tried to be understanding, genuinely.

Honestly, if it were only you suffering, maybe you could let go of all this, but it seemed like that Miguel also didn't want this relationship that much. Those tender moments that used to be so common between you, the hugs, the kisses, the intimate touches were increasingly scarce.

No, scarcity is not the right word for it. These moments between you slowly condensed into a single point, first daily, then weekly, lately almost monthly, when you often could do nothing but endure whatever he put you through.

You didn't want to think this way about the person you loved more than anything, but when you looked deep inside yourself, you knew you were starting to fear him. It didn't help much that when he wasn't being controlling, he often just plain ignored you, like he was doing right now.

When it first occurred to you that you should move out, you dismissed the thought. Then again. And again.

And then you didn’t.

It was much easier to find a rental apartment than you thought. Even Lyla helped when you asked her to. She hesitated, but not much, she just said you definitely have to talk to Miguel about it, and you agreed with her. You didn't understand why you haven't brought up the matter to him since then.

Maybe because you knew trying to reason with him wouldn't accomplish anything, as you had asked him many times before to consider your feelings. Maybe because you felt this was a much bigger step than anything you've brought up before. Or maybe it was the guilt you felt over the fact that you were increasingly looking forward to the date when you could finally move out.

This date was tomorrow.

You finished dinner. Two plates of boiled egg sandwiches with salad and a soft drink. Nothing special, you just tried to drag out the preparation as long as possible. You laid everything out on the table and then leaned against the counter. It's been so long since you've eaten together like this. Lately, Miguel ate everything in his own room or wherever he happened to be on a mission.

You took a deep breath, then pushed yourself off the counter. You started walking towards Miguel's room to knock. You thought you'd have to beg again, so you were surprised when the door slid open in front of you.

You entered the dimly lit, cold room filled with humming and blinking computers. You didn't like being here. You never knew when you'd see something on one of the screens that you couldn't get out of your head for weeks.

"What is it?" Miguel sounded annoyed, but at least he turned in his chair to look at you. You saw his eyes searching your hand for the plate of dinner you usually set outside his door, as if he were a teenage kid and you a resigned parent. When he realized you were empty-handed, he furrowed his eyebrows. "Is something wrong?"

You cleared your throat. You felt your heart racing, making you feel like an idiot. You had prepared for this moment for so long, yet now you wanted to turn around and flee. But why am I still so scared?

“No, I just want to talk to you. Can you come out a bit? I've set the table outside.”

Miguel looked like he would rather say he was too busy, but when he looked at your face, it was clear that he knew something was wrong. After a brief silence, he spoke up in a surprisingly gentle tone.

"Just give me a minute to finish this. Lyla!"

You didn't wait to hear all his instructions. You went back to the kitchen and waited for him there.

"If this matter is so important, you can tell me now," Miguel said.

"Let's eat first, please. We can talk after. I promise, this will be the only time.”

It was clear that this did not decrease his suspicion, but rather fuelled it. Nevertheless, he sat down and without any further talk picked up his sandwich. This compelled you to do the same.

As you ate, you tried to formulate in your mind what you would eventually say to him from the myriad of possibilities you had gathered. It proved to be surprisingly difficult, and you didn't feel ready to speak when you finally finished eating.

Miguel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well? I'm all ears.”

There was something so condescending in his voice that your jaw tightened. You closed your eyes for a moment before you spoke. You tried to keep your voice calm.

“I've been thinking a lot lately. About you, about us… You know this isn't working. I don't know if Lyla told you, but…"

Miguel slammed the table so hard that the cutlery clinked. Your breath hitched. You didn't even see him move.

“Again, seriously? Look, I don't have time for this. I understand that you're not happy with the current situation, and believe me, neither am I. But still…”

“I want to leave you, Miguel.”

He immediately stopped talking. You just stared at each other. The sound of the impact was still ringing in your ears.

Eventually, you broke the silence again.

"I'm sorry. Believe me, I really am sorry. I know we've tried a lot…" I tried, you told yourself, “but I don't want to continue this. It will be better for both of us if we can move on."

“Vale” he said dryly.”And what are you going to do after this? Do you have any idea what's out there in the city?”

"Yes. I've already found an apartment, well, we've found one with Lyla."

Another silence followed. You stood up from the table.

“I'm sorry” you said again. You didn't even know what got into you when you reached out to stroke his hair.

"Don't," he hissed, causing your hand to stop in the air. He turned away from you.

“What are you waiting for? Pack your stuff and get out of here.”

This time you didn't hesitate. You turned around and left to gather your things.

***

Unbelievable. Just fucking unbelievable, really.

A week had passed since you moved out. Miguel refused to use the word ‘permanently’. At first, he didn't even want to believe that you were really capable of going so far as to bring up the breakup, and he never dreamed that you would actually go through with it.

As you packed, he waited for the moment when you'd break down and apologize, when you'd take everything back to let things return to how they used to be.

As it turned out, he waited in vain. Somehow, you had enough backbone not to waver as you always did before. This was his mistake, he should have noticed the signs that this time you are not just planning, but also acting.

His fist clenched at the thought that Lyla helped you without telling him. This could never happen again. When you told him this, he was so furious that he was on the verge of smashing the table between you. He was so angry that he feared he might actually harm you. This is partly why he didn't stand in your way when you started pulling your suitcase out.

But now? Now he was left alone, and he knew he would never be able to truly let you go.

He lay alone in his bed. He managed to fall asleep on the first night, perhaps he didn't even dream, but then he woke up in the middle of the night. He was so used to you being next to him when he slept, regardless of the time of day, that when he didn't hear your breathing in his sleep, panic immediately set in.

He woke up to his heart almost bursting out of his chest, while clutching the spot on the sheet where you usually lay. He hated himself for being so predictable, and he hated you for eliciting this from him even when you weren't near.

Since then, he hardly slept at all. He was so tense that even the slightest slight could push him to the brink of a rage fit. For a while, Lyla didn't even try to reason with him.

He immediately got your address from her, of course, then checked it out for himself. He deliberately didn't go when he knew you would be home, but he couldn't help it, he had to cling to the walls of the surrounding buildings to watch when your figure, shrouded in shadows, got home.

Villains came to his mind. They were the ones who thought like him in this moment. Obsessively focusing on a single target as if his life depended on it… In a way, it was a very petty mindset. Not suited for someone responsible for the safety of others. But that's exactly what he was doing – watching over you and ensuring no threat reached you. Of course, he continued to track Vulture and the others as well, not to mention the other Spider-People, but it was true that they all took a backseat when it came to you.

No, he wasn’t like the villains. He did this because you were important to him. If you had a little sense, you could have seen this too. That's why he waited through this week to calm down enough to speak to you in a normal tone. If possible, it would have been best if you came back to him of your own free will, but if he scares you, he might achieve the opposite.

Actually, what he wanted most was for you to come back on your own with your stupid suitcase, but so far you've held firm. It seemed you were doing just fine without him. Sometimes he even caught you humming to yourself on the way home. You haven't done that in months at his place. Miguel didn't even want to admit to himself that this made a small part of his heart ache.

The problem was that as time went on, he didn't become calmer, quite the opposite. If he wasn't thinking about you, then he was thinking about the things that could harm you while you weren't with him. If something were to happen to you when he wasn't there…

He didn't finish the thought. He couldn't.

A soft beep came from his watch. A reported robbery. Since it seemed the local patrol had already dealt with the matter, he almost settled back down, but then he glanced at the holographic map.

He immediately jumped to his feet. His blood thudded in his ears so loudly that he could barely hear Lyla's responses to the instructions he barked at her as he headed out.

The robbery had occurred near your block. Right next to you.

***

You stood with your arms crossed in front your chest in the window of your third-floor living room. The sirens had long since gone silent and the police had left. The case did not seem serious, and you were not overly worried. These things were not unusual in this city. Before you got together with Miguel, you often saw similar crimes.

Miguel. You thought you would miss him more, but from the very first days you felt the invisible weight lifting off your shoulders. You unpacked the few belongings you brought with you and started creating a new life for yourself.

It was good to occupy yourself with something other than ruminating about your ex. It was strange that you no longer had to think about when you would push him away or make him angry with some insignificant detail.

At first, you didn't even notice the dull thud that sounded like a heavy object had hit the wall of your panel apartment.

Then your bedroom window burst.

You slapped your hand over your mouth before you could scream. You looked around the room, then crouched behind the couch in the corner, using the clatter of the glass shards to cover the sound of your movement. You didn't turn on the light in the living room because you didn't want anyone to notice you watching the police cars, but the light was on in your bedroom. The intruder must have seen this.

Who was currently out in the city? Vulture? Venture? And who else? They shouldn't have known who you are. While you were with Miguel, you barely left the apartment. No one has seen you two in the same place for months.

You covered your face with your palm as a massive thud shook the wall behind you. That might have been the door that led to the hallway.

“Where are you?”

Your breath hitched. This can't be happening.

You almost answered him, but changed your mind at the last minute. You flinched when another blow shook the house. It was the wall mirror.

You pulled your knees to your chest, using one hand to stifle the sob rising in your throat, and the other to pull your phone out of your pocket. Who should you call? You can't send normal cops after Miguel. Plus, you've never heard him like this.

A superhero wouldn't harm innocents… But a superhero wouldn't break into his ex's home like this either. If he just wants to save you from something, then why did he smash everything in his path? No, you felt that you shouldn't come out, but with his senses, it shouldn't have taken much time for him to find you.

As if he heard your thoughts.

“I know you're here. I can smell you.”

His voice was slightly calmer than it was a few moments ago. You heard him take a deep breath. This meant that it was quiet enough that if you started crying now, he would find you instantly.

You didn't dare to move. Tears freely flowed down your face, but you didn't feel it. Suddenly, you became very aware that you really had no idea how good his hearing was.

He stopped in the hallway. What was he doing? Fiddling with something, but what…

Your phone rang in your hand.

The next moment, the couch disappeared in front of you. You didn't have time to end the call before Miguel grabbed your shirt to pull you up. Your back hit the wall, knocking all the air out of your lungs. Your phone fell to the ground, but you didn't even try to catch it. Sharp claws tore up the fabric of your clothes where he held you.

You cried out in pain and terror.

For a moment, you locked eyes with each other before Miguel's red gaze slid down to scan your body. It took a little time for you to realize he was looking for injuries.

When he was convinced that you were unharmed, he slightly loosened his grip, but not enough for you to break free. You desperately clung to his wrist, despite knowing that if he wanted to kill you, nothing would stop him, especially not your weak human hands.

"Please, don't hurt me," you whimpered from the depths of your throat.

He growled. You had never heard this sound from him before.

“Hurt you? Are you out of your mind? I'm here to take you home.”

You didn't dare shake your head, but he must have seen something in your eyes. Suddenly, you felt your feet on the floor again.

Miguel dragged you by the remnants of your shirt like a ragdoll. Your mind was foggy with panic, yet you instinctively tried to dig your heel into the carpet. As you passed by the doorway, you reached out to grasp it, but it didn't slow him down. You felt something crack in your shoulder, then the burning pain flooded you. You had to let go.

You needed all your willpower not to scream when you saw what he had done to your apartment. It was as if someone had let loose a small hurricane. Your knee was scraped raw on the few feets leading to your front door, not to mention the shards of glass Miguel dragged you over. You were so terrified that you barely felt the pain.

You thought he would drag you straight out of the apartment, so you squeaked in surprise when he stopped in front of the door and let go of your shirt. As you collapsed unceremoniously onto the floor, he stood in front of you.

"I want you to pay very close attention to me, because I won't say this again. What do you see?"

You looked at him in shock. You followed his gaze with your eyes as he pointed to the lock.

"The door handle?”

He growled so loudly that your chest trembled. He reached down to roughly grab the back of your neck. His claws left shallow scratches on your skin as he forced you to stare at the lock above the door handle.

"This is a damn biometric identifier. Do you know how long it takes for someone to get a few samples from you? For God's sake, do you know how hard it would be to break in here?”

You were afraid that a stronger jerk and he might just tear your head off. You whimpered like a cornered animal.

"Answer me!"

"Very easy?" you muttered.

“Exactly! And do you know what's the deal with your windows? Anyone can see in, from anywhere, not to mention breaking in.”

Yes, you demonstrated that very well, you thought numbly, but you had the sense not to say it out loud. He let go again, and you took the opportunity to slide against the wall. You huddled up just like you did in the living room only a few minutes ago.

Miguel said something in Spanish, but he spoke too quickly for you to understand. He paced back and forth in front of you.

"I simply don't understand what was going through your head. It's a miracle you're still alive. What if those on the streets decide to break in? What if they follow you to your apartment?"

He roughly ran his hand through his hair.

"I know foresight isn't your strong suit, that's for sure, but even you have to see this. You need to come back with me. It's obvious you can't keep yourself safe."

You were about to shake your head, but you stopped yourself. Instead, you covered your face, and agonizing sobbing broke out of you again.

A little time passed, which seemed like hours to you, but could only have been a few minutes. Miguel stayed silent, and you had no idea what he might be doing. You didn't hear him move among the shards of glass, but that didn't mean much. If he wanted to, he could remain completely silent.

Somewhere in the distance, sirens began to wail.

You flinched when you felt his hand on your arm. His claws were no longer out. You didn't answer him when he called you by your name. You were still crying.

“Damn it” he said quietly. “Please, calm down.”

You tried to hold yourself back, you didn't want to anger him again, but you couldn't. Even though every part of you protested when you felt him gently pull your hand away from your face, you didn't resist. Now you could see that he had squatted down in front of you. He wiped a tear off your face with his thumb.

It was evident that he wanted to say something more, but then he changed his mind. This time, much more gently, he reached out to pull you into his arms. As he drew you close to his chest, you responded by clinging to him and burying your face in his shoulder.

You could feel the movement of his muscles beneath his skin as he let out a sigh.

"God, I missed you so much."

You had no idea what expression he might be wearing. Tears were still streaming from your eyes, soaking his superhero suit, but it no longer seemed to bother him.

"I'll never let you go again."