#I need to think of a way to convey the violence and desperation that comes through some of these census entries; it's really rough

[iamthepulta]

Notes from South Yorkshire Mining Villages, by Melvyn Jones.

- Mines, or Collieries, have existed in southern England since people noticed coal and ironstone - sandstone with hematite nodules and/or a high percentage of hematite in it. There's an interesting record of a monastic grange, the Kirkstead Abby in Lincolnshire, petitioning an estate owner to mine ironstone on his land in 1161 and they proceeded to smelt iron and blacksmith nails for at least a century. - Mines were initially small-scale pit operations, operating for the local area with a crew of 5-6. The development of canals from 1780-1820 kicked off the boom of industrialization, especially in these small pit mines because coal could now be shipped by canal. This allowed more workers to produce more coal, etc.

- During this time we see people begin to be displaced by the industrialization of the loom. There was a family of weavers, noted via census, as moving south when the father and three sons could no longer find work.

- The development of railways and steam engines made canals more or less defunct from 1820-1850, and this is when mining villages began to kick off, due to increased demand from engines and coking coal for steel. Glassworks and coking factories often sprung up inside the town next to the colliery or along the rail lines. Often these towns were already placed - sometimes they still have Old English names referencing original medieval homeowners the towns sprung up around - but they also sprung from convenient areas next to the railway. English geology played nice by stretching from shallow to deep, West to East. So the coal seam was mined easiest to hardest, West to East. - English coal was most prominent from 1850-1930, nationalized 1947.

- Because most housing from 1750-1850 was new and they needed a lot of it, it was essentially block housing units, initially built by the enterprising Lord until around 1840 when companies built them. They weren't always nice, but they usually had gardens, three-five rooms (including kitchen and living area), and a water closet in the back. I also noticed all of them had a allotment garden on the side of the town. This persists until the last town was mentioned, in the far East, made around 1930. Then the map doesn't label allotment gardens. (Also, notably, these were nice houses for the time. Holy shit, they had running water and space for lodgers and additional family members. Like if you were offered a current-day suburbia mcmansion [that quickly disintegrated] in exchange for labor.)

- After 1840 it was usually the mining company that built the housing units and there was little to no control from the Lord who had originally owned the land. I think this was a transition from the mineral rights being turned over to a lease of the land itself, but I'm not sure.

- The housing was still pretty nice for the times; this seems to be a key way to lure people away from other mine sites to the newest one. Even sites that had been built in 1800 usually had some additions over the years to have running water, upgrades to heating, etc. The houses built in 1900 had running water, baths, and indoor toilets. Of course, this comes with the caveat of "if you strike, we kick you out of your homes" which immediately caused problems, all the way back to 1800. Which brings us to the unions:

- This book paints a picture of motion and that's what really clicked for me when we talk about unions. I always wondered why blackleg miners (English term for strike-breakers; the Americans coined 'scab') could be so callused- because ~stand together~ and all that. But these were all migrants. The comparison that came to mind was if you invited several thousand workers from Mexico to work in the same state and paid them pittance wages and they went on strike - which still happens today. It takes more than self-restraint when a crop ends and you're looking for the next job and someone is actively not working that job when people are still flowing in from Mexico, starving, and will take anything. Comparing how small Yorkshire is, how small each mine is, and how all these people are moving to a new town every twenty years as mine conditions changed, adds poignancy too.

[brainddeadd]

Confessions

Boone x f!reader

The Wranglers™ x f!reader (platonic)

Fluff, tornado 🌪 shit, slightly Lily x Dani if you squint, violence (someone gets punched and it's valid), creep in the bar

twisters masterlist

Besties with Dani since childhood, you joined the Wranglers a few months back after Dani introduced you.

Instantly, there was a connection with Boone. He felt it, too. You couldn't explain it, and neither could he, but you both knew there was something.

During the tornado™ in the movie theatre, Boone curls his body around yours as the wind howls and tries to take you and Lily away from him. He can feel your body lift from the ground.

In the moments after, he refuses to let you go, hands and arms snaking over your skin and holding you close. He tells Kate he loves her with his hand in yours, hoping the grip on your hand will convey his meaning.

He drags you into the motel room that night, declaring that he doesn't want to be alone and begging the others to stay close. Lily's the first to agree, taking place on the crappy couch in the room, beckoning Dani to join her. Dexter takes the armchair, and Tyler drags chairs in from other rooms for himself, Kate and Ben.

Boone offers to take the floor so you and Lily can have the bed, but you both shake your heads, Lily curling into Dani's hold and you opening your arms for Boone to slide into.

Boone shakes as he settles, his body finally relaxing into the terror of the day. He wakes with a start, a yelp leaving his body as he frantically reaches out for you, his eyes locked on your form.

"You ok Boone?" Your voice is full of sleep, and your eyes aren't open completely, but he can see the sincerity and concern on your face. His body moves on its own accord, arms pulling you into his chest, legs tangling with yours and his cheek resting on the top of your head.

"Baby," his voice is weak, and the nickname slips out without him thinking about it. "I almost lost you."

"Almost, Booney, but I'm right here." You whisper, not wanting to wake the others, and your hands find their way under his skin. "I'm not going anywhere, baby."

Lily and Tyler heard you, heard Boone's desperation and fear. They both decide it wasn't something they were supposed to apart of.

Dani holds you close in the morning, her arms around you from behind and her head on your shoulder as you slowly go through the motions, muscles screaming with every move you make.

Boone can't bring himself to leave your side, his arm brushing against yours as he moves.

Collectively, you decide to go to a bar, drink and have fun after the drama and near death experiences, and a farewell (for now) to Kate.

At the bar, a man is an idiot and won't take no for an answer. He hassles you and bothers you and follows you for a good hour before you finally snap.

"Come on, I can treat you better than this.. thing," the man's face turns sour as he looks Boone up and down, and without even thinking, you're pulling your hand back and letting your fist collide with his nose, as sickening crack sounding throught the bar.

"Don't you ever insult my Boone again." You're being pulled away by Dani before you can do anymore real damage, but all Boone can do is stand in shock. You punched someone cause they bad mouthed him. You called him your Boone.

He rushes after you and Dani, finding you refusing to get into the caravan, arguing that you need to wait for Boone to catch up, that you can't leave without him. Dani catches sight of him and sighs in relief, hands raising in defeat before she walks back over to a waiting Lily.

Boone comes to a stop just behind you, a small smirk playing on his face.

"Your Boone, huh?" Whipping around to face him, you nod.

"My Boone." Your voice is firm and final, and he chuckles slightly, leaning in until his forehead is pressing on to yours.

"Your Boone," he whispers, hand coming up and cupping your cheek as he finally presses his lips to yours.

Dani fake gags every time she sees you two kiss, but everyone knows she loves it, really.

Boone now sits in the back of the truck with you, leaving the passenger seat empty or for Kate.

[agoodroughandtumble]

Roronoa Zoro x Reader - I Didn't Need Saving Part 2

Status: Incomplete Summary: Reader is hurt after battling with the marines Warnings: 18+. Language, injury, implied violence (in keeping with the show)

It wasn’t Zoro’s proudest moment, walking away from you. Not when you were injured, not when you were looking at him so desperately. Not when the entire situation was a direct consequence of his actions. You had saved his life, thrown him away from a danger his arrogance hadn’t even registered. And now you were beaten and broken all because of the misguided assumption that somehow his life was more precious than your own.

Fuck he hated you. Hated that you could so casually throw away everything, hated that you were so stupid enough to think that it would be possible for him to carry on without you.

He didn’t know what love was but if it was self-loathing and guilt at your expense he had that in abundance. If it was the way your smile made his heart leap, the overwhelming urge to be close to you, to be good enough for you, to rip open his chest and let you make yourself a home there, well, then he was fucked beyond all reprieve.

Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it was the worst thing. Either way, he wasn’t going to risk being alone with you again. At least he could be certain of that.

Two days later he was stood outside your door. Pacing. Nami had said you had been asking for him. That meant one of two things: Nami was tired of covering his shifts so was passing on the buck, or you actually wanted to see him. Which, after how he left you, was not something he was particularly looking forward to. Unfortunately, you were a request he was fundamentally unable to refuse – even if he had actually wanted to.

Hence his pacing.

The irony was not lost on Zoro. The Demon Pirate Hunter was scared of a girl with a hole in her side. But scared of what he wasn’t quite sure. Scared you would yell at him, or be disappointed, angry, spit venom at him again. But what if you didn’t. What if he allowed himself to consider the possibility that you felt a fraction of what he felt? What if you had saved his life because it was him and not because he was a crew member and you were clearly an idiot with a death wish.

Guilt prickled its way up his spine. He was, at least, going to have to acknowledge you at some point. He knocked on the door frame – the door being open in case of an emergency, but he had deliberately been pacing out of sight.

No answer.

Fine. Good. He could leave now – tell Nami he tried but you weren’t up for seeing anyone.

He made it two steps.

Fuck.

Zoro turned around and walked into the room with the determination that only someone who nearly lost it all could have. He’d come this far.

“Come to kill me then?” There was humour in your voice, albeit laced with sarcasm.

He let out a relieved sigh. Maybe you weren’t that pissed off with him. “Only if you pull a stunt like that again.”

You shuffled under the covers and he couldn’t help but be grateful at the ease with which you seemed to move. “I’m promising nothing.”

“Yes you are.”

His sudden serious tone caught you off guard and you hoisted yourself onto your elbows, and although Zoro would rather you didn’t exert yourself he was glad to see you moving without wincing.

You looked at him expectantly, “What am I promising?”

He slumped onto the chair Nami had placed at your bedside and rested his swords against the wall by the headboard next to you. “You’re promising not to leave me.”

You rolled your eyes. The nonchalance with which he spoke failing to convey his meaning until it was too late. “I didn’t leave y- … oh.”

Once again, Zoro felt the familiar rising of guilt starting at the base of his spine, slowly traversing upwards as he watched a thousand expressions cross your face, felt the weight of a thousand unspoken promises embedded in his shoulders. When he looked down at you it was nigh on impossible to say anything that wasn’t his hopeful heart trying to meet yours. He cast his gaze very firmly on anything, everything that was decidedly not you. Anything but you. “A swordsman is no swordsman if he can’t protect his friends.”

Your face dropped only a fraction of a second sooner than his heart. “Well I’m glad we’re friends.”

Zoro searched for some sarcasm only to be met with something else. It was a rare shade on you – embarrassment - and one he didn’t much care for. He sighed. Somehow he had already managed to make things worse. Not for the first time, he wished he could be someone else for you. Someone better. Someone like Luffy with his endless optimism to put a smile on your face, someone like Usopp to take you on an adventure with his fantastical tales. Hell, even someone like that shitty cook who never had any inhibitions when professing his undying love to whichever woman was the latest to catch his eye. But he was Zoro. And apparently that meant all he was good for was failing you.

Failure was not something he was accustomed to. His whole life was built around striving for perfection – whether that was through swordsmanship or being first mate. Failure seeped into his bones, became an obsession, clawing at him. And here you were, unbeknownst and unapologetic. Seeped into his bones. Carving your way into his soul as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if you had belonged there all along. But you were friends. Because Zoro had failed. Again.

He really should have brought some sake with him. The look of uncertainty, the way you pulled the covers to try to hide as much as yourself as possible, make yourself smaller would be much easier to swallow washed down with alcohol.

He wanted to reach a hand out, rub a reassuring thumb across your cheek. To tell you he was being an arsehole – to somehow articulate that the feeling of hope of reciprocation your actions had arisen in him could in no way compare to the fear of losing you. He wanted to tell you he wasn’t worthy of such an act – and he was so, so angry that you would rather he lost his soul, his heart, his only chance at true happiness over his life. He could happily, willingly, die a thousand deaths if you lived. But if you died. If you left him devoid of all hope and salvation, he could certainly learn how to hate you then.

“I should go.” It was almost a question but one he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Zoro watched as you shuffled further into the covers – protecting yourself. He should be protecting you. He should be holding you in his arms. He should be doing everything and more. But he wasn’t. He was walking out of the door before you could respond. He was failing.

[mononijikayu]

“a life, a sparkle in your eyes/heaven coming through” — gojo satoru.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

GENRE: post hidden - inventory arc (2010s)

WARNING/S: domesticity, fluff, angst, trauma, implied death, violence, romance, hurt/comfort, character death depiction of death, depictions of loss and depression, depiction of blood, depiction of killing, depiction of suffering, depiction of anxiety, mention of death, mention of grief, profanity, family drama;

LISTEN: the astronaut by jin of bts

NOTE: jin of bts is returning from the military in a couple of hours and this song was on repeat and i had a satoru idea so here we are!!! anyway, i love you!!! ill see you in the next update of ashes of love <3333

masterlist

u s and t h e m

YOU REFLECT A LOT ABOUT YOUR LIFE. You lost faith in love a long time ago. You had been surrounded by love all your life, enveloped in its warmth and comfort. But then your father died, and you were taken from your mother. Your world shattered, leaving you adrift in a sea of sorrow. Then it was Kaiko and Namie who became your anchors. You clung to them desperately, finding solace in their presence and, once more, you were surrounded by love. 

But the cycle repeated itself cruelly. Somehow, no matter how you want to escape it, the same suffering was bound to repeat itself. Namie died, and Kaiko went insane, driven mad by her own grief, and left you to inflict her pain upon the world. And then you spilled her blood with your hands, trying to prevent more suffering. You were alone again, cast into the abyss of solitude. Suffering the voices in your head and the shadow of a lost love.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

It was a bleak existence, a never-ending cycle of loss and heartache, until one fateful day. You found a cat stuck in a tree, its desperate cries mirroring your own silent pleas for help. As you struggled to rescue the frightened creature, a voice called out to you. It was Gojo Satoru, a first-year boy with striking white hair and a confident demeanor. It was hard to not know what he looked like. You’ve seen him enough in the clan gatherings, though never once interacted with him. And besides, the six-eyes was too hard to miss. He approached with an easy smile, offering his assistance without hesitation.

"Need some help?" Satoru called out, his voice light and friendly.

You glanced down, surprised by the sudden intrusion. "I think I can manage," you replied, though your grip on the tree branch was precarious.

Satoru chuckled, easily reading the situation. "Looks like the cat isn't the only one stuck," he teased, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Hold on, I'll get it."

Before you could protest, he effortlessly climbed up beside you. With a gentle but firm hand, he coaxed the trembling cat into his arms. "There we go, little guy," he murmured to the cat before turning to you. "And now for the other rescue."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as Satoru helped you down from the tree, his touch warm and reassuring. "Thank you.” you mumbled, feeling a mix of embarrassment and gratitude.

"No problem," he said with a grin. "I'm Gojo Satoru, by the way. What's your name?"

You hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Zenin. Gen—”

Satoru's eyes widened slightly with recognition, but his grin only widened. "Oh! Then you’re my senpai?" he said, a playful snicker in his voice as he eyed you from head to toe. “You look pretty for a Zenin.”

The unexpected comment caught you off guard. You couldn’t believe what he’s saying. No one had ever been this blunt with you. At all. You felt like you were glitching. Your face scrunches up as you narrow your lilac eyes at him.

"Excuse me?" you replied, a mix of disbelief and curiosity coloring your tone.

Satoru shrugged nonchalantly, his smile never wavering. "Just saying, you don't have that usual 'I'm better than everyone else' Zenin aura about you. It's... refreshing. Does that make sense?"

You couldn't help but smirk at his bluntness. "Well, I don't exactly fit in with my family." you admitted, the bitterness in your voice hinting at the pain behind your words. You stopped. He was literally stranger. There’s no need to say anything. “Wait, why am I telling you this?”

“Maybe I’m just a comforting person?”

“No, No, that—”

Satoru's expression softened. "Though, I think I get you, senpai. I get that. Not everyone fits into the mold they're given. But hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, you’re already cooler than the rest of your ugly—”

You snicker suddenly.

He looks at you for a moment.

You cough back, waving him off.

“Just a cough, don’t worry.”

“I don’t know, Zenin-senpai. That sounds like a laugh to me.”

"And what about you, Gojo Satoru? Do you fit the mold?" You say, changing the topic. Saying too much will only be a headache.

He laughed, a sound so carefree it was almost contagious. "Me? I'm the mold-breaker," he declared confidently. "I do things my way, and if people don't like it, well, that's their problem. But who are they to stop me anyway? I’m the strongest!”

You couldn’t help but be intrigued by the boy. If it wasn’t for how genuine he is, you would think his latter comment was condescending. But you feel like there was more to him than that. His eyes tell. For the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope. A glimmer of life itself was in him and you could tell that easily.

This Gojo boy, with his easy going smile and unwavering confidence, was different. He didn't see you as just another Zenin, and that was a revelation. He reminded you of Kaiko for a bit. And that for a moment gave you heartache. But you don’t want to tell him that. You doubt it was proper.

"Maybe breaking the mold isn't such a bad idea, I think." you mused, a small smile playing on your lips.

Satoru's grin widened. "That's the spirit, senpai. Now, how about we get this cat somewhere safe and then figure out how to break a few more molds together?"

“Hm, why not?” you hummed back at him as you took the cat in your arms. The small creature purred, nestling comfortably against you, as if sensing the new bond forming between the two of you.

Satoru's presence seemed to imbue the world around him with a sense of joy and vitality. His easygoing demeanor and infectious energy were like a beacon of light in the midst of the wide echo of the school grounds. As you walked beside him, you couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly he seemed to navigate through life, as if every challenge was nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.

It was a stark contrast to your own experiences, weighed down by the burdens of your past and the responsibilities that now rested on your shoulders. Yet, despite the heaviness that often threatened to engulf you, being in Satoru's presence brought a sense of relief, a temporary reprieve from the weight of your worries.

There was something magnetic about the way he carried himself, a confidence and self-assuredness that seemed to radiate from within. It was as if he possessed an inner strength that allowed him to face whatever challenges came his way with grace and resilience.

As you observed him, you couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration and awe. Here was someone who had faced his own share of hardships and yet still managed to find joy in the simple pleasures of life. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there was always hope, always a reason to keep moving forward.

In Satoru's lightness, you found a source of inspiration, a reminder to embrace each moment with an open heart and a willingness to face whatever the future may hold. And as you walked beside him, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you, a belief that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a brighter tomorrow waiting on the horizon.

"So, Zenin–senpai," Satoru began, breaking the comfortable silence, "what's your story? What makes you different from the rest of your clan?"

You glanced at him, contemplating how much to reveal. "It's a long story and too dull. I doubt it’s one to be heard." you replied cautiously. "Let's just say I don't agree with their methods. Or their values…..Or actually anything.”

Satoru nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I get that. Sometimes family can be the hardest to stand up to. But you seem strong enough to handle it. You got out.”

You gave a small, humorless laugh. "Strength isn't always enough. And I’m not yet out. I bear the last name.”

“But you don’t live in Zenin manor?” He hums, questioningly. “If you had, I would have seen you many times.”

“I did see you many times, before.”

“HUH? Then how come I haven’t seen you before?” His face contorts into a pitiful pout. “I would have noticed a Zenin like you — let alone that geezer’s eldest grandchild.”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, really. But you never greet people.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. I was there.”

“Isn’t my presence enough as a greeting?” Gojo asks, almost haughtily. You want to smack him, but you hold yourself back. He’s such a brat. “I mean, I am a miracle, senpai.”

“No wonder Yaga complains about you.” You mumbled under your breath. “And it’s only the first year?”

“Hehhhhh, he complains about me?”

“Principal Gakuganji’s happier, if I’m being honest.” You look at him, as he seems curious. “Yaga complaints about you and that other boy—”

“Suguru got mentioned? Woah–”

“You both cause him high blood pressure.” You finally finished. 

Satoru's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement as you revealed the cause of Principal Gakuganji's stress. "High blood pressure, huh?" he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I guess we do have a talent for causing trouble."

You nodded, a playful glint in your eye. "It's a special skill you and Geto-san seem to excel at." you teased, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

Satoru grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, what can I say? We're just too irresistible for our own good."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help but smile at his infectious enthusiasm. Despite the challenges and chaos that seemed to follow him wherever he went, there was something undeniably charming about Satoru's carefree attitude. It was as if he refused to let anything dampen his spirits, choosing instead to find joy in the most unexpected places. The quiet came again between the two of you.

“Sometimes, it's about finding the right people to stand with you."

“Hm?” Satoru looks at you, his cerulean blue piercing towards you.

“That would get you by.” You made it clear to him as you shifted the cat against your kimono’s sleeves. “But I suppose from what I heard, you and the other first years get along well enough. Continue that.”

Satoru's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Well, you've got me now too, senpai. And trust me, I'm pretty good at standing up to people. Aren’t I the one that made Principal Gakuganji nearly shit himself?”

“Language.” You tell him as he rolled his eyes. But he was right. Principal Gakuganji felt like he was about to whip out his guitar when he first met Gojo Satoru. At least that’s what Utahime told you. “I know you’re good at standing up to people. But I hope you’re careful, hm?”

“Oh, is that a senpai’s advice?”

“A friend’s advice.”

“You already view us as friends?” He seemed hopeful about that. His eyes were gleaming brighter than ever before.

You chuckled softly, the warmth settling between you. "I suppose I do," you admitted, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Though, if you keep pestering Principal Gakuganji, I might have to reconsider."

“Ehhhhhhhh, but I don’t like him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Fair enough. Just try not to give him too much of a headache, alright?"

“I can’t promise anything about that, senpai.”

As you approached the dormitory, the cat still nestled peacefully in your arms, you felt a sense of optimism that had been absent for far too long. Maybe, with Satoru by your side, you could carve out a new path, one that defied the expectations and limitations of your clan. Or at least free you, at least just a little.

Satoru opened the door for you, and you stepped inside, feeling the warmth of the building embrace you. "So, where should we take this little guy?" he asked, looking at the cat.

"There's a place in the courtyard where some of the strays gather. It should be safe there for the little one." you suggested.

Satoru nodded, and together you made your way to the courtyard. As you set the cat down gently among the other strays, it looked up at you with grateful eyes before scampering off to join its new companions.

"See? One problem has already been solved by the great Satoru!" Satoru said with a grin. "Now, onto the next one."

You turned to him, a newfound determination in your eyes. "And what's the next one, exactly?"

He shrugged, his smile never fading. "Whatever we decide it is. The sky's the limit, senpai."

As you stood there, side by side with Gojo Satoru, you felt a spark of hope ignite within you. You didn’t remember him being this expressive or at all talkative all these years ago. But then again, you hadn’t met him in years. He had time to become the boy who met you now. 

"It was nice to meet you today, Zenin-senpai. Really didn't think I'll meet you this soon!" Satoru said, setting the cat down gently. "But y'u know, I think you and this cat have something in common."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite yourself. "Oh? What's that?"

He smiled, a hint of mischief in his cerulean eyes. "Both of you need someone to look out for you."

You looked away, the truth of his words hitting a little too close to home. You can’t believe how easily he sees through you. You just met this boy today and he’s already doing so much. You lived a lonely existence, you know that much. You were content with that. At least that’s what you always say to yourself.

"Maybe." you admitted quietly.

Satoru's expression softened. "Well, how about this? I'll look out for you if you look out for the cat. Deal?"

You couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "Deal."

You did end up adopting the cat. Despite its initial skittishness, it soon settled into your life, providing an unexpected source of comfort and companionship. You named it "Gojonyan," inspired by the snowy white fur that reminded you so much of Satoru’s hair. And even more coincidentally, Satoru’s blue eyes. 

Gojonyan had a playful and mischievous nature, always getting into places it shouldn't and constantly seeking attention. It would often curl up in your lap, purring contentedly as you stroked its soft fur, and you found solace in its presence. The cat’s energy and spirit mirrored Satoru's in uncanny ways. Just like him, Gojonyan seemed to have an endless reserve of curiosity and an unshakeable confidence, as if it knew it was meant to be part of your life.

Whenever you felt overwhelmed by the weight of your responsibilities or the shadows of your past, Gojonyan was there, a reminder of the moment your life began to change. The cat’s antics often brought a smile to your face, and its loyalty reminded you of Satoru’s steadfast support. 

One evening, as you sat in your room with Gojonyan curled up beside you, you couldn't help but think back to that day by the tree. Satoru had shown you a new way to look at the world, a way that wasn't defined by loss and heartache. He had given you hope, and in a strange way, Gojonyan had come to symbolize that hope.

You often found yourself talking to Gojonyan, sharing your thoughts and fears as if the cat could understand every word. "You know, Gojonyan," you would say, scratching behind its ears, "you’re a lot like Satoru. Always so full of life and mischief. I think you two would get along just fine."

Gojonyan would respond with a soft purr, its eyes half-closed in contentment. You didn’t know if he was agreeing with you or not. But you still found your little one very cute. And comforting too. It was as if the cat understood the significance of Gojo Satoru’s presence in your life and the role it now played in helping you heal. And you feel like you are healing. 

You often brought Gojonyan with you when you came by to Jujutsu High, especially when you had missions in Tokyo. The cat had become a familiar presence, trotting alongside you with an air of confidence that belied its small size. You enjoyed the company, and it seemed only natural to bring a piece of your new life with you.

However, you found yourself puzzled by Gojonyan’s behavior whenever Satoru was around. Despite the cat’s generally friendly disposition, it seemed to have taken a distinct dislike to him. The usually affectionate feline would arch its back and hiss whenever Satoru approached, much to his chagrin.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the common area of Jujutsu High with Gojonyan on your lap. Shoko and Suguru were there as well, enjoying a rare moment of relaxation between their duties. Satoru walked in, his usual confident swagger in place, but the moment Gojonyan spotted him, it let out a low growl and jumped off your lap, retreating to a corner.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped dramatically, and he looked at you with exaggerated sorrow. “Why does Gojonyan hate me, Gen-senpai? I thought we were friends!” His tone was a mix of genuine disappointment and playful theatrics.

Shoko chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s probably your personality, Satoru. Cats can sense these things. And yours is just that bad.”

Suguru smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Yeah, Satoru. Maybe it’s because you’re too loud and flashy. Gojonyan prefers a more refined company.”

Satoru's eyebrows shot up in mock offense. "Hey now, I'll have you know my personality is top-notch! It's just that Gojonyan hasn't acquired a taste for the finer things in life yet." He flashed them a playful grin, clearly unfazed by their teasing.

“Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.” Shoko snickers, biting against her lollipop candy. 

“Suguru, defend me here!”

Suguru shrugged nonchalantly. "Can't argue with the truth, can we?" He smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying Satoru's playful indignation.

Satoru huffed playfully, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine, fine. But just you wait, Gojonyan will come around eventually. He'll see that I'm not so bad after all."

In the midst of all the tension and seriousness surrounding recent events, the playful banter between Satoru, Shoko, and Suguru provided a welcome reprieve. As laughter filled the room, you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders, if only for a moment. It was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there could still be moments of lightness and joy.

Satoru feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Watch my words! Gojonyan will be in my hands lovingly! One day!," he retorted with a grin. "Gojonyan just needs to learn to appreciate my finer qualities."

Shoko shook her head, still smiling. "Sure, Satoru. Let that copium enter your lungs. I’m cheering for that cope!”

Suguru's smirk widened as he leaned forward, his gaze meeting yours with a knowing twinkle. "Don't worry, Genmei–senpai. We still like you, even if your taste in friends is questionable."

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling a sense of warmth and belonging wash over you. Despite the challenges you had faced, you were grateful for moments like these — moments of laughter that reminded you that you were not alone. Not anymore.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their teasing. “I have no idea why Gojonyan doesn’t like you, Satoru. Maybe it’s just one of those things.”

Satoru sighed dramatically, plopping down on the couch with a forlorn expression. “This is tragic. I, the great Gojo Satoru, was defeated by a cat.”

Shoko leaned over and patted his shoulder mockingly. “There, there. Maybe if you try bribing Gojonyan with treats, it’ll come around.”

Satoru perked up at the suggestion, his eyes lighting up with determination. “That’s a great idea, Sho! I’ll win Gojonyan’s affection—”

“So, vote buying—” 

“—just you wait.” He stood up, already plotting his next move. Suguru just shook his head. “I’ll get the finest cat treats money can buy.”

Suguru rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. “Good luck with that. Just don’t be too heartbroken if it doesn’t work.”

Despite his efforts, Gojonyan remained indifferent to Satoru’s attempts to win it over. He brought a variety of treats, toys, and even a plush bed, but the cat was unimpressed. It would sniff the offerings disdainfully and then pointedly ignore him, much to everyone’s amusement.

One day, Satoru sat next to you, watching Gojonyan with a wistful expression. “I don’t get it, Gen-senpai. I thought all creatures loved me.”

You smiled, reaching over to pat his hand. “Maybe Gojonyan just needs more time to get used to you. Or maybe it’s just being stubborn.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You know, I think I’m starting to like the challenge. It keeps me on my toes.”

Despite the cat’s continued aloofness, Gojo Satoru’s efforts never wavered. He took it in stride, turning it into a personal mission to win over Gojonyan. It became a running joke among your friends, a source of lighthearted banter.

But he’ll probably never get along with him.

You were right about that assumption.

Ten years of marriage, Gojonyan still hated him.

YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HIS REACTION WOULD BE LIKE. Gojo Satoru returned from his mission late in the evening, his white hair glistening with the remnants of rain. He didn’t get to use infinity as much this time, the creature being more clever than he would have liked. And he was exhausted now. He sighed as he brushed off the thread of rain on his head. 

As Satoru stepped through the threshold of your home, the familiar comfort of your shared space wrapped around him like a warm embrace. The weight of his journey, the trials and tribulations he had faced during his time away, seemed to lift from his shoulders in an instant. Home, with you, was where he truly belonged, where the chaos of the outside world faded into insignificance against the backdrop of your love and companionship.

The soft glow of lamplight spilled into the hallway, casting gentle shadows on the walls as Satoru made his way further into the house. Tsumiki and Megumi were likely already fast asleep in their beds, the rhythmic sound of their breathing a comforting background melody to the quiet of the night. But even in their slumber, their presence filled the air, a reminder of the love and warmth that permeated every corner of your home.

And then, there was you. The thought of seeing you again after his prolonged absence filled Satoru with a sense of eager anticipation, a longing that had grown with each passing day spent apart. He could almost feel the ghost of your touch, the warmth of your smile, as he approached the living room where you were likely waiting for him.

The mere thought of being enveloped in your embrace, of feeling your arms around him and your soft breath against his skin, sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. After being so cold and alone for what felt like an eternity, the prospect of being with you again, of being surrounded by your love and warmth, filled him with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and joy.

With each step closer to you, Satoru's heart beats faster in his chest, his anticipation growing with every passing moment. He couldn't wait to see you, to hold you in his arms and whisper words of love and longing into your ear. For in that moment, with you by his side, he knew that he was home.

The anticipation buzzed through the air as you waited for Satoru's arrival, your heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and nerves. The decision to cut your hair had been a bold one, a symbolic gesture of breaking free from the past and embracing a new chapter of your life with Satoru. Yet, as you watched the seconds tick by, doubts crept in, and you couldn't help but fidget with the hem of your shirt, your fingers tapping anxiously against your thigh.

The sound of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts, and you turned to see Satoru stepping into the room, a bright smile lighting up his face as his eyes met yours. But as his gaze swept over you, his expression faltered ever so slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by curiosity.

You held your breath, your pulse quickening with anticipation as you waited for his reaction. Would he like your new look? Would he be disappointed? The uncertainty gnawed at you, and you fought the urge to chew on your lip nervously as you watched him approach.

Satoru stopped in front of you, his bright eyes locked on your face as he took in your appearance. There was a moment of silence between you, the air thick with unspoken tension as you searched his expression for any sign of approval or disapproval.

“Satoru, welcome home!” you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You turned your eyes away slowly. “I, uh…”

He stops at his tracks. “You cut your hair.”

 “I... I cut my hair.”

As Satoru turned to behold you, his eyes widened in surprise, taking in the sight of your transformed appearance. For a fleeting moment, he simply stood there, his gaze fixed upon you, as if trying to imprint the image of you with your new hairstyle into his memory. The silence between you stretched, pregnant with anticipation, as he processed the change that had taken place in his absence.

Then, like the breaking dawn after a long night, a slow, warm smile unfurled across his features. It started from the corners of his lips, spreading gradually until his entire face was illuminated with genuine delight. The smile reached his eyes, transforming them into twin pools of warmth and affection as he looked upon you.

In that moment, you could see the flicker of recognition in his gaze, the silent acknowledgment of the courage it must have taken for you to make such a bold decision. But more than that, you could sense the depth of his appreciation, the unspoken admiration for the beauty that radiated from within you, regardless of the length of your hair.

It was a smile that spoke volumes, conveying a multitude of emotions in its simple curve. It was a smile of acceptance, of love, of unwavering support for the choices you had made. And in that smile, you found reassurance, a silent affirmation that you were cherished and adored just as you were, in every form and iteration. One that you hadn’t seen in a long time. And Satoru somehow has the kindest one you’ve ever seen before. The most precious.

As Gojo Satoru crossed the room to stand before you, his smile remained firmly in place, a beacon of warmth in the quiet space between you. With each step, his love enveloped you like a protective embrace, banishing any lingering doubts or insecurities that may have lingered in the recesses of your mind.

And as he finally reached your side, he gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent reassurance of his unwavering affection. "You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with genuine admiration. "But then again, you always do."

Your heart swelled at his words, warmed by the sincerity in his voice. You met his gaze, finding nothing but love and acceptance reflected back at you. "Thank you," you murmured, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I was nervous about cutting it, but I'm glad you like it."

Satoru squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "You could shave your head bald and you'd still be the most beautiful person in the world to me," he said earnestly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "It's not about your hair, darling. It's about you, and you're perfect just the way you are."

A surge of warmth flooded through you at his words, dispelling any lingering uncertainty you may have felt. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you were loved unconditionally, flaws and all. And as you stood there, hand in hand, you realized that your decision to cut your hair was not about changing who you were, but rather about embracing your true self, no matter the external appearance.

You nodded, feeling a rush of relief wash over you at his seemingly positive reaction. "Yeah, I wanted a change." you explained, your voice tinged with nervousness. "I hope you like it."

Satoru's smile widened, his fingers trailing along the curve of your jaw as he studied your face. "I love it, darling" he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity. "It suits you well enough.”

The tension melted away at his words, replaced by a warm glow of happiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. With a grateful smile, you leaned into his touch, savoring the feeling of his hand against your skin..

You blushed, looking away. “I... I wasn’t sure. I’ve never had short hair before. I did it in front of Zenin Manor, to cut ties with them. Now that I’m married to you, I’m free.”

His smile widened, and he gently cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up so he could look into your eyes. “You’re always beautiful to me, no matter how you wear your hair. But this... this suits you. It’s like you’re stepping into a new chapter of your life.”

Despite his words, you still felt a pang of uncertainty. “Do you really think so? You’re not just saying that?”

“I mean it,” he said firmly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You look stunning, don’t worry about it. You’re free from all of them and it shows.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “Thank you, Satoru.”

He held you close for a moment, his embrace warm and comforting. But then he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I have something for you.” he said, reaching into his pocket.

You watched curiously as he pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a pair of blue butterfly hair clips, delicately crafted with intricate details. “I found these on my mission and thought of you. I know you’ve cut your hair, but I thought these might still look nice.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and delight. “Satoru, they’re beautiful!”

He grinned, taking one of the clips and gently securing it in your hair. “I’m glad you like them. They remind me of how you’re spreading your wings now, free and beautiful.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at your reflection, the blue butterflies standing out against your short hair. “Thank you, Satoru. They’re perfect.”

He pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you. “Anything for you.”

To be known, to be seen — it's to be loved. The realization of this truth washed over you, bringing a flood of emotions that you could hardly contain. Happiness, relief, and a profound sense of belonging mingled together in a rush that made your heart race and your eyes well with unshed tears. For the first time, you felt truly like you had found a way to break that cycle — that cursed cycle of loss and heartache that had haunted you for so long.

As Satoru secured the delicate blue butterfly clip in your hair, his touch gentle and reverent, you couldn't hold back the words that had been building inside you. "I love you, Satoru," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. "I love you."

His bright blue eyes widened in surprise, his usually confident demeanor giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability. This was the first time you had ever expressed your feelings toward him so openly, so unequivocally. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still as he absorbed your words, the significance of them settling deep within him.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and filled with awe. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had escaped down your cheek. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth of his hands against your skin, the solid presence of him grounding you in that moment. "I've never been able to say it before," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I want you to know, you mean everything to me. And I’m grateful to you. For everything.

In Satoru's gaze, there was a depth of emotion that transcended mere words. He looked at you as if you were the sun and the moon, the stars in his night sky, and the very air he breathed. It was a look that spoke of a love that knew no bounds, a love that had weathered countless trials and emerged stronger with each passing day.

In his eyes, you saw unwavering devotion, a commitment to stand by your side through thick and thin, to support you in every endeavor, and to celebrate your victories as if they were his own. It was a look that filled you with a profound sense of gratitude, knowing that you had found someone who loved you unconditionally, flaws and all.

But more than anything, in  Gojo Satoru's gaze, you saw acceptance. Acceptance of your past, your present, and your future. He saw you for who you truly were, with all your strengths and weaknesses, and loved you all the more fiercely because of it. It was a look that banished any doubts or insecurities, leaving only a sense of peace and contentment in its wake.

As you returned his gaze, you felt a bond between you that was unbreakable, a connection that transcended the physical realm and touched the very essence of your souls. In that moment, you knew with absolute certainty that you were loved, cherished, and valued beyond measure. And as you basked in the warmth of Satoru's adoring gaze, you felt a profound sense of gratitude for the gift of his love, a gift that you would treasure for all eternity.

You were so lucky in this world.

Suffering may come and go to you.

But you will be loved by him now.

He will always be there to love you.

And you could not ask for anything more.

His smile was radiant, a beacon of light that seemed to chase away the lingering shadows of your past. "I love you too, darling." he said, his voice steady and sure. "More than words can ever express."

In that moment, the bond between you felt stronger than ever, a palpable connection that went beyond mere words. You had found your way out of the darkness, breaking free from the cycle of pain and loss. With Satoru by your side, you knew that you could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

He pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go. "We'll create our own future," he whispered into your hair, his breath warm against your ear. "Together, we'll build a life filled with love and happiness. For us, for the kids. Together.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with hope and determination. "Together." you agreed, feeling the truth of that promise settle deep within you. "We'll break the cycle and create something beautiful."

As you stood there in his embrace, the blue butterfly clips shimmering in your hair, you knew that you had finally found a place where you truly belonged. In Satoru's arms, you were home, and together, you would face whatever the future held with unwavering strength and love.

Nothing else mattered to you now.

As long as you have Satoru with you, it’s all good.

As long as you could see the light in his eyes,

As long as you could see that blue spark in them,

Heaven was sure to come through in your life.

epilogue 

The moment had finally arrived — the long-awaited introduction between Gojonyan and your son. Your husband Satoru was a bundle of nerves, pacing back and forth as he anxiously awaited Gojonyan's reaction. It was as if he was more nervous about this moment than he was when you gave birth to Satoshi. After all, the cat hadn't exactly warmed up to him in the past, and now they were about to meet the spitting image of Satoru himself.

You watched with amusement as Satoru fussed over his appearance, smoothing down his hair and straightening his clothes as if trying to make a good impression on a disapproving in-law. "Do you think he'll like me this time?" he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You chuckled, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Relax, Satoru. Everything will be fine."

“Look, our son looks exactly like me and I’m scared, okay?”

“Gojo Satoshi is also my son, but alright.”

You couldn't help but laugh at Satoru's admission, his nerves palpable despite his attempt at nonchalance. "I'm sure Gojonyan will see past the resemblance and appreciate you for who you are," you reassured him, trying to ease his anxiety.

Satoru shot you a grateful smile, though the worry still lingered in his eyes. He pouts. "I hope so. I don't think I can handle being rejected by a cat twice."

“My love, it was more than twice.”

“I know, I know – just trying to lower the blow, okay?”

As you both prepared to introduce your son to Gojonyan, you couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation. This moment held so much significance — not just because it marked the beginning of a new chapter in your family's life, but because it symbolized the unbreakable bond that had formed between you, Satoru, and Gojonyan.

With your son cradled in your arms, you approached Gojonyan, who regarded you with his usual air of aloofness. Satoru stood by your side, his nerves evident as he watched the interaction unfold. As if on cue, Gojonyan sauntered into the room, his tail swishing lazily behind him. He regarded Satoru with a curious gaze, then turned his attention to your son, who was cradled in your arms.

Satoru held his breath, waiting for the inevitable hiss or swat of disapproval. But much to your surprise — and relief — Gojonyan's reaction was far from what you expected. Instead of recoiling at the sight of your son, the cat approached him with cautious curiosity, sniffing him delicately before nuzzling against his cheek.

Satoru's eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the scene unfold. "I think... I think he actually likes him," he whispered, his voice tinged with wonder. “Oh my god, he does!”

You couldn't help but smile at the sight, feeling a surge of warmth and happiness wash over you. "Looks like you were worried for nothing, Satoru."

You laugh at the sight, marveling at the unexpected turn of events. "Looks like Gojonyan has a new favorite, though.”

Satoru let out a relieved sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he watched the unlikely bond form between his former nemesis and his beloved son. "I guess you were right," he admitted, a hint of awe in his voice. "Who would've thought that our son would be the one to finally win Gojonyan over?"

“Well, he is quite too cute to ignore.” You grinned at your husband. 

As if to confirm Satoru's observation, Gojonyan let out a contented purr, curling up beside your son as if he had known him forever. Satoru's nervousness melted away, replaced by a sense of wonder and joy as he watched the unlikely bond form between his feline nemesis and his beloved son.

Your husband then pauses. "But wait…. Why does he hate me? Satoshi looks exactly like me….”

You grinned at him teasingly. “Maybe it's because he sees you as competition for my love, hm?" you teased, enjoying the playful banter with your husband. "After all, he's used to being the center of attention, and you were always the ‘Gojo' in town stealing his spotlight. Satoshi isn’t doing that, though!”

Satoru's eyes widened in mock realization, a mischievous gleam dancing in them. "Ah, I see. It's a classic case of jealousy, huh?" he remarked, playing along with your playful theory. "Well, I suppose I can't blame him. After all, who wouldn't be envious of someone as charming and handsome as me?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress a laugh at his exaggerated self-assessment. "Oh, of course, how could I forget?" you replied with a smirk, poking fun at his inflated ego. "But, my love, I think Gojonyan just has his own unique way of showing affection. Maybe he's just a tough critic, and you'll have to work extra hard to win him over."

Satoru grinned at your suggestion, the challenge evident in his eyes. "Challenge accepted," he declared, his determination shining through. "I'll make sure Gojonyan becomes my number one fan."

“Well, ten years is a lot. But what’s another ten more, hm?”

“Yeah, why not!? Ten more years!”

You couldn't help but chuckle at your husband's enthusiasm, admiring his unwavering determination to win over Gojonyan, even if it took years. "Well, they do say patience is a virtue," you replied with a teasing grin, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. "And who knows, maybe in ten years, you'll have Gojonyan eating out of the palm of your hand."

Satoru's grin widened at your response, his confidence unshaken. "Exactly!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Besides, what's life without a little challenge, right? And if anyone can charm Gojonyan, it's me."

You nodded in agreement, feeling a surge of affection for your husband as you admired his unwavering optimism and resilience. "That's the spirit," you replied, reaching out to squeeze his hand affectionately. "With your charm and charisma, there's nothing you can't accomplish."

He grins at you. “Well, I am the strongest, after all!”

“You’re so silly.” You shake your head at him, smiling lovingly at him.

“But you love me, hm?”

“Unfortunately, I do.” You hummed teasingly.

He pouts as he slumps against you. “Huh!? What do you mean unfortunately? Does the vows mean nothing now? Darling….”

You couldn't help but laugh at his playful pout, finding his antics endearing as always. "Oh, you know what I mean," you teased, playfully poking his side. "You're just too irresistible for your own good."

Satoru's pout turned into a mock expression of hurt, complete with exaggerated hand gestures. "Ah, the burden of being so incredibly charming!" he lamented dramatically, earning another round of laughter from you.

"But in all seriousness," you said, your tone softening as you gazed into his bright eyes, "I wouldn't have it any other way. You're my partner in crime, my confidant, my best friend. And even on your silliest days, I wouldn't trade you for the world."

His expression softened at your heartfelt words, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Likewise, darling." he replied, reaching out to cup your cheek affectionately. "You're my rock, my anchor. I don't know where I'd be without you."

In that moment, surrounded by love and laughter, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm. And with a playful grin, you leaned in to press a loving kiss to his lips, knowing that your bond was unshakably true as much as your love eternal.

[amethystina]

Hi hi, I was drooling all over the tags of Who holds the devil again and I remembered to ask if the kidnapping will refer to Ga On? Or if it's a big spoiler then maybe you could please tell if we'll see protective Yo Han because you write his feelings so well I just can't get enough or over it, you're so talented.

I wouldn't call it a big spoiler, exactly, since I think most people can (correctly) guess that it refers to Ga On xD I mean, what kind of BL fanfic would this be if it was someone else? Gotta check all those dramatic romance boxes!

That said, I will repeat what I've said before, which is that it won't happen anytime soon and, if I were you, there are other tags I would be more worried about. But that's just me ;)

As for Yo Han being protective, that will feature quite heavily as a part of another plot thread long before the kidnapping tag comes into play. And I do mean protective as in full-on Abyss — with all the violence and ruthlessness that entails. To be honest, one of the scenes I look forward to writing the most right now is the culmination of that whole plotline. Partly because writing Yo Han when he's like that is so much fun, but also because Ga On will do what Ga On does best.

That's to say: Place himself in front of Yo Han and be the immovable object to slow down the unstoppable force.

And it will be delicious.

Because with all that Ga On has learned about Yo Han at that point, he's going to realise that the best way to calm Yo Han's desire for vengeance — and remind him of his humanity — isn't to get preachy or aggressive and demand he stop. It's to go soft and vulnerable and needy and a little desperate and just say:

"Please come back to me."

... I think we ALL know Yo Han won't stand a fucking chance.

So you've got that to look forward to, I guess ;)

And thank you so much! I have a lot of fun with Yo Han's emotions, not going to lie. He's got a pretty unique way of both showing and dealing with them and it's particularly interesting to try and convey that from an outside POV (Ga On's in this case). Because even if Ga On is correct in his observation the majority of the time, there are still times when he misses certain details. He often gives Yo Han the benefit of the doubt when he maybe shouldn't, for example x'D

Like, there are times in this story when Yo Han may seem kind, caring, and vulnerable but, in reality, something COMPLETELY different is happening inside his head.

Chapter 39 was actually a good example of that, specifically when Yo Han was pressing his thumb against the scar on his palm. Ga On automatically assumed that had to mean Yo Han was in pain, but that's not it at all. Not even close. Pressing the scar (which was first established in The Gentle Light, which I wrote over a year ago now) has become Yo Han's way of curbing his less-than-moral impulses when it comes to how he approaches his and Ga On's relationship.

Yo Han wasn't pressing the scar because it hurt (though he does have flashes of psychosomatic pain, too) but because he needed to remind himself not to do what he ACTUALLY wanted. Which certainly wasn't to resign himself to being rejected and go: "Then I won't."

In that moment, Yo Han wanted to claim and possess — not surrender.

And it was a struggle for him to choose the path he knew Ga On wanted him to.

In short, both Yo Han's protectiveness and possessiveness are sometimes hidden in the small things he does, which might not always be apparent to Ga On or the reader. Remember that Ga On is an unreliable narrator and while he is astoundingly good at reading Yo Han sometimes, not even he sees all.

And that, on the whole, Yo Han is a lot more vicious and immoral than Ga On wants to admit. It may not be as apparent now that Yo Han is without a revenge quest and more focused on doting on his family, but it's by no means gone. Just dormant.

The Abyss will never fully stop abyssing.

(Yes, I am definitely making this fic and the characterisation unnecessarily complex with breadcrumbs sprinkled across stuff I've written literal years ago — thank you for asking)

[lady-october]

Pairing : Oli Sykes x Female Assistant Genre : Romance, Smut (18+ Only) Previous Chapters : 1-10 on Archive of Our Own

Story Content : 18+, Smut, Drama, Choking, Power dynamics, Romance, Dom/Sub, Sadism/Masochism, Mentions of addiction & self harm, Degradation, Praise kink, Exhibitionism, Breath play, Dirty talk.

Summary :

“Don’t you see what a dangerous game you’re playing? Why did you have to look so fucking delicious tonight, I couldn’t stop undressing you in my mind, thinking of all the twisted things I want to do to you.” She had only worked on the touring team for three weeks, but her mind had been hijacked by dirty thoughts of a man she barely even talked to. Sure, he was very attractive, but were there other reasons she was so uncontrollably drawn to him? This is a filthy story of pain, self discovery, and love.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 11: Come shove me over the edge

Chapter title is lyrics from "Doomed"

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

I was straddling him on the bus sofa with his hand shoved deep into my hair, holding me there as he kissed me with an unmatched desperation, simultaneously so tender and tentative, yet with the hunger of a starving man. 

His other hand crept under the back of my shirt, caressing upwards, then pushing back down to grind our hips together, causing me to moan into his mouth.

I wanted nothing more than to continue doing this, particularly to ease all the heartache and pain we’d just experienced, but something was wrong. I knew how he felt now, knew how much he was hurting, so I did the only thing my guilt would allow me to do; pull away.

His wet lips were parted, glazed and confused eyes meeting mine.

“Are you sure about this?” I couldn’t believe I was risking derailing this moment, but a part of me was proud for doing it.

“Let me just lose myself in you for a little while.” He said, clearly in pain, speaking the same words he spoke the first night we had sex. The ones that had resonated so deeply with me, confirming we were both doing this to ease our suffering. And suddenly all my concerns went out the window. 

So I let go, and dove right back into his embrace. 

He grabbed at me, held me and caressed me as if his life somehow depended on it. There was longing in every hip movement; in every moan; in every kiss, lick and bite.

My cravings grew deeper with each passing moment, and so did my need to express what I wanted. So I pulled away again to tell him.

“Don’t go easy on me.” I murmured against his lips.

He frowned, his breath fanning my face, “Then don’t fucking lie if I take it too far.” His voice came deep, clearly as far gone as I felt.

“I won't, I promise.” I responded, trying to convey my seriousness, but it was hard work considering how flustered I was.

At my words the violence came rushing back to his eyes, “Do you know how long they’ll be?” He asked, wanting to know about the guys at the diner.

“A while, Liam’s taking care of it.”

“Then get up.” He commanded, pushing me off of him.

“Strip.” Another command, coming right as I’d managed to scramble to my feet.

I took a quick glance around to make sure I was obscured. The few available windows were small and tinted for privacy, the only way to see in was through the windscreen, which was blocked by the interior cabinetry from this side of the bus, so I began pulling off my shoes.

He watched me through lidded eyes as he unbuttoned his jeans. 

Lifting my shirt over my head, I just managed to catch his cock spring free when he reappeared in my vision, causing me to rip off the rest of my garments in a rush.

As I was stepping out of my shorts, I could feel heat spread through my body in anticipation at the sight of him; a hand working its way through his hair, attempting to keep the unruly yet defined locks out of his face as his eyes raked over my body, swallowing me whole. His other hand lazily stroked his cock that was framed by his undone jeans, just out of the way enough for me to catch a glimpse of his balls shifting with the movement of his slow strokes.

“Come here.”

His words came low, resonating perfectly with the hum of my core.

So I straddled him again, this time his hand was holding the base of his cock, ready for me to take it. I positioned myself with every intent to do it slowly, knowing my brain would short circuit otherwise, but he pushed me down on him, causing him to moan as it slid in with ease, and myself to slump onto his shoulder with a whimper as the sensation travelled through my body like a shockwave. I grabbed at the fabric on his shoulders to steady myself, but his hand slipped into my hair again to pull me back into his view.

He appeared drunk with lust as he shook away the curls that had fallen back over his eyes.

Holding my gaze, a grin tugging on the corners of his parted lips. He used his other hand to guide me, to control how I moved on him. I followed his silent demands, willing my body to stay upright, watching his eyelids become heavier with each thrust. The fingers fell away from my hair, both hands grabbing at my hips, digging into them with the same passion his eyes were piercing me, worshipping me.

But I was growing increasingly uncomfortable, the length and intensity of his stare causing something in me to stir, so I leaned back in to resume kissing his neck, and thankfully he let me. His breath hitched as my lips closed over his decorated skin, a hand travelling up my back to hold me closer, the bare skin of my breasts crushed against his shirt, feeling his solid and warm body through the thin fabric.

The fingers still on my hips digging in deeper, demanding longer, slower thrusts.

I followed eagerly, as it also gave me more control over what I was doing to his neck. My hand slipped into his hair, letting it run through it, feel it, play with it. His breath came heavier and heavier as my wet lips travelled downwards, but I could feel myself becoming impatient, my appetites being specific, craving the violence he had wordlessly promised me earlier. 

So I decided to take things into my own hands.

Parting my lips, I let my teeth dig into the skin of his neck, as he had done to me so many times before. The most delightful sound escaped him, his fingers digging into me painfully, holding me closer still, encouraging me to continue. I felt a sense of glee as I pulled away slightly, moving upwards, sinking my teeth in again – harder this time.

Whimpering, his hips bucked into me, causing me to let go and fall onto his shoulder, moaning loudly – too loud for a parking lot. A hand shoved into my hair and yanked me back into his view, with more aggression this time.

There it was; the violence I saw earlier. His previously defined locks were tousled, dark and unleashed eyes meeting mine, glowing with hunger. I could feel a depraved smile appear on my features, enjoying the pain from getting my hair pulled so forcefully, so carelessly.

“My turn to play with you.” He said low and pained, before throwing me off of him, onto the sofa, my head rattling from the sudden impact, my insides aching from the emptiness, missing the thickness of his cock filling me up.

As I was laying there panting, staring at the warm glow painting the bus ceiling, I expected him to appear back into my view any moment now; to hover over me and push back into me. Instead I felt his arms wrap around my hips from an unexpected angle, followed by a mouth closing over my pussy. The shock of the sensation made my mouth fall open, my hands grab mindlessly for his hair, raking through it, pushing it out of his face. I looked down to see intense eyes locked on me, watching me, his hands pulling my hips closer in response. He made a rumbling noise low in his throat, which I felt more than heard.

He worked me with obvious intent, focusing only on the parts that would take me over the edge.

Realising he was trying to make me cum, I was almost filled with a sense of disappointment, because it wasn't the pleasure I wanted most of all right now; it was the pain, the torture, the testing of limits and teasing.

He pulled away, just for a second to speak against my most sensitive parts, sounding nearly possessed, “Tell me when you’re close, love.” 

Then one of his hands slipped away from my hip and I felt his fingers push into me, and all hope was lost; I was his puppet, and he knew exactly what strings to pull to get me where he wanted me. Especially after how long I’d been riding him, grinding on him, this wouldn’t take very long at all. 

I felt myself starting to shake, more sounds uncontrollably spilling from my lips, my hips moving with his tongue, his fingers inside me.

“I’m close…” I said shakily, almost a whisper.

Another beat passed, the edge right there, when he violently ripped himself away from me.

I gasped, desperately grabbing for him, my climax so painfully close I could taste it. Hands wrapped around my wrists, slamming them against the sofa above my head, pinning them in a cross formation in order to keep them in place with only one hand.

He must have known I’d be thrusting my hips, trying to find him, trying to move against anything just to get me over the edge, cause his other hand dug into the side of my hip, keeping me firmly in place.

“Please…” I whimpered, pleading, pained. It wasn’t until I spoke that my eyes started to focus again, seeing him hover over me, pure bliss in his eyes, barely visible through the unruly tufts of hair, a sinister laugh building, escaping wet lips.

Realisation hit me; this was his weapon of choice. Instead of the usual delights, he was instead intent on torturing me by withholding my orgasm.

I swallowed, not knowing how I felt about this.

He leaned forward, applying nearly unbearable pressure to my wrists, and pressed his lips to my ear, his cheek to my cheek, and whispered slowly in a tone as sweet as honey.

“Last night someone tried to force me to cum when I wasn’t ready…” 

When he continued his words were absolutely drenched with malice, all signs of the sugary sweet tone gone.

“...You’re a fucking fool if you thought I’d just let that go.”

The vengeful nature of his words; his tone; his actions, caused equal parts unease and arousal to stir inside me.

He pushed off of me, applying even more pressure to my already aching wrists, causing me to cry out in pain. But the agony was a welcome distraction, soothing something in me more than I cared to admit.

I closed my eyes, trying to stay there mentally, to hone in on the pain as it still lingered on my wrists despite his hands having left them, but I felt his tip at my entrance a split second before he pushed into me – hard and fast – overwhelming my senses so much I was ripped away from it, only pleasure remaining.

“Look at me.” He bit out, the same malice remaining in his voice.

My eyes snapped open at his demand. He was crouched over me, furious eyes meeting mine. But the anger quickly faded to mischief as his hand splayed over my pubic bone, and his thumb began rubbing circles over my saliva soaked clit.

Instantly my body responded. I moaned, closing my eyes without thinking, as soon as I did a sharp, searing pain caused my head to snap to the side, accompanied by a loud slap. Instinctively I reached for my cheek, but he was already grabbing my chin, making me face him.

“Keep looking at me.” He demanded through clenched teeth.

A type of euphoria rushed over me as the stinging caused ringing in my ears. 

This was it, this is what I was starving for; this is what would set me free. I felt laughter build in my throat as I pried my eyes back open, barely having heard what he said.

The violence turned to wonder and curiosity as he studied my face in his grip.

“You like it, don’t you? Being treated like the whore you are.” He asked playfully.

I nodded, feeling the desperation paint my features.

Wordlessly, he leaned back, slipping out of me. Grabbing at the hem of his shirt, he pulled it over his head, causing his hair to flow out of it with the grace of a waterfall as his head reappeared, and his art covered build to move and shift just as beautifully with the same motion; a sight for sore eyes, made infinitely better by his flushed, lust riddled expression, and his hard cock bobbing gently against his stomach.

“Give me your hands.” He demanded.

Providing him with my hands, he wrapped his shirt around my wrists, tightening the knots repeatedly as he watched me, until I made a pained noise.

I felt myself smile, a sense of peace settling in me at the sensation.

Tossing my hands carelessly over my head again, his eyes darkened, and he slowly pushed back into me.

“Keep your hands there like a good girl.”

He thrusted into me again, hard this time. A whimper escaping me at the motion.

“And if you cum without my permission, I’ll fucking choke you out.”

Another thrust, just as hard. This time his breath caught, and I could feel his dick tense inside me as he was buried to the hilt. An exquisite sensation, especially alongside my stinging cheek, and the pinched skin of my wrists.

I was in heaven, ready to do whatever he demanded of me.

“We clear, love?”

“We’re clear.” I responded through my euphoric fog, and the wicked smile bloomed on his face again.

“Good.”

He reached out towards my mouth, pushing his ink covered thumb into it. 

I let him in, not even mentally questioning why, sucking on it for him. When he pulled it out he went straight for my clit, circling it just as expertly as before, this time moving his hips as well.

I was lost to a trance-like state, the concoction of sensations so overwhelming I was struggling to keep my vision on him as he watched me. His eyes were as dark as I’d ever seen them, his expression shifting back and forth between pain and bliss, moans spilling from him. Every so often he’d reach out, grabbing my face, making sure I kept my eyes on him.

I felt myself begin to shake, and somewhere in the distance I could hear the sounds coming from me, and I wondered if he’d let me cum this time.

“Tell me…” He started, his breathing laboured, “...when you’re close.”

Despite his threats, I still considered not telling him and just letting it happen, wondering if it would be worth the risk of potentially being choked out.

But we’d made a deal.

“I’m… I’m close.” I said shakily, feeling my treacherous eyes drift away from him again as the climax was right around the corner.

This time he didn’t skip a beat, he pulled out immediately, quickly followed by another loud slap and more searing pain on my cheek – the opposite side this time – but all it did was bring me closer to the climax as my whole body tensed from the impact.

But it just wasn’t enough to get me over the edge, fading away regardless of how hard I tried to reach for it.

When I came back down I pried my eyes open to see him watching me with heaving breaths, working his dick as he waited for me. As soon as he saw I was coherent, he pushed back into me, the sensation more divine each time he denied me my orgasm.

“Keep your fucking eyes on me, love.” He murmured, lacking all previous aggression, clearly too far gone himself.

He was watching me closely through his wild locks as he kept thrusting into me, his shifting expressions turning more pained than blissful, his noises coming more desperate. Shaking the hair out of his vision once more, he continued his work on my clit, causing me to instantly be right there.

“Stop!” I exclaimed in a rush, knowing he didn’t want me to go over the edge yet. He immediately pulled out again, falling forwards, hovering over me. I was shaking as I looked up at him, I could see his cock tensing desperately in the lower part of my vision, our ragged breaths mixing. I tried to meet his eyes, but they were shut.

When they snapped back open they were intense, instantly locking with mine.

“Fuck it.” He muttered and grabbed my throat violently, painfully, completely restricting my breathing. In the same motion he pushed back into me, appearing more possessed with each passing second as he moved inside me with intent, holding me firmly in place with his vice grip on my neck. Each thrust coming just as hard, pounding exquisitely against my clit, causing my orgasm to continue building, and building…

My eyes rolled back.

I had never felt anything like it. The edging, the motion, the choking, the pain; all of which coexisting and mingling, causing the most explosive, overwhelming orgasm of my life. I would have been screaming at the top of my lungs if I could breathe.

As I was coming back down he let go of my throat, I inhaled sharply while my vision came swimming back to me. He wasn’t hovering over me anymore, instead he was sitting up, still moving in me, watching me through glazed, agonisingly desperate eyes right before his head fell back. His thrusts turned increasingly jerky, and I could feel the warm liquid starting to spill into me. Letting out an absolutely delectable moan, causing a shiver to run along my spine, his head came back up, dark eyes meeting mine before he fell forwards to hover over me again. He began kissing me deeply, passionately, still filling me up, moaning into my mouth with each movement.

Once the motions died down, he pulled away from my lips, only bliss left on his features.

He studied my face for a long moment as his laboured breathing settled, and I found myself doing the same thing with him. 

The thought struck me that this could be our last time doing this, and sadness came creeping back. I had a feeling he was thinking something similar in nature as his blissful expression turned more sombre.

He leaned in for another kiss, a gentle one this time. We both savoured it as he lingered there for a while, before pulling away again, sitting up this time, his dick still inside me. 

Wordlessly he gestured for my hands, and I provided him with them.

He made quick work of untying me and I felt the blood rush back into my hands, not realising how numb they’d turned. His gaze fell on my left wrist, on a red mark left there from being particularly pinched by the make-shift restraints. So he brought it to his lips, kissing it tenderly, causing something in my heart to tug and ache at the affectionate gesture.

Studying his mangled shirt, he huffed out a laugh – which I could also feel as a twinge from his cock still resting inside me.

“Guess I won’t be wearing this anymore.” He said before nestling it underneath us, between us, in order to pull out, letting the cum flow onto the shirt instead of the bus sofa.

He shot me a warm smile before disappearing into the toilet, leaving the door open.

Sitting up, watching the cum stained shirt below me, listening to the tap running as he got himself sorted, my heart couldn’t stop hurting.

The sex that usually helped me push these feelings aside, seemed to have had the opposite effect this time. 

I looked at the mark on my wrist that he had so lovingly just kissed, my thumb mindlessly caressing it, I realised I wanted more of that tenderness, stirring a whole new flavour of fear inside me, making me wonder if it was too late.

Making me wonder if I was already catching feelings for him.

The tap stopped and he reappeared in the doorway, causing me to push that thought so far down it may have been repressed entirely.

His hair was slightly wet, having tamed his curls again.

“I’m gonna go get changed. You clean up, then we eat, yeah?”

His words were so domestic, yet coming from a shirtless, flushed rockstar who just fucked me senseless on a tour bus, it had a different ring to it.

“Wait.” I said, balling up his shirt and clumsily made my way over to him, handing him it with a shy smile.

He frowned at me, reluctantly taking it off me before disappearing up the stairs.

With extra effort due to the new marks on me, I put myself back together, opened the bus door – and windows for good measure. 

Grimacing as I took a sip from my now cold coffee, I finally sat down next to him on the sofa where he lounged, casually sprawled, eating his pancakes.

He handed me a pancake before he spoke, sounding entirely too casual considering his chosen topic.

“No more lying, yeah?”

I threw him a suspicious glance as I took the cold pancake off of him.

“I’ll cut you a deal.” I retorted, taking a bite.

With a single cocked eyebrow, an intrigued expression looked back at me, “Will you now?”

“I won’t lie again, and you’ll stop ignoring me.”

It felt like a good deal considering how crazy today had driven me. I also had no intention of lying again so I saw no issue with his demand regardless.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.” A devil’s smile appeared on his face before he tossed the last remaining bite of his pancake into his mouth.

... Subscribe to the story on Ao3 for future updates

[peachymilkandcream]

Break Me Slowly|Part 26|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: I've been dreading making this part because I don't want to be filled with utter sadness. But the plus side is that after this is it'll go back to domestic Evelyn and Levi which I think we all (ME I DO) need. There's at least four chapters left of this series but who knows there might be more, we'll see. I skimming over a lot of the finale because just go watch it for the whole story, I'm just giving the jist as it pertains to the story. Hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

===========================================

Darkness, cold. Is this what the afterlife was like? Like Hange was underwater, the sound of life around her muffled. She was falling, falling....

Slowly one of her eyes opened, a vastness of blue surrounding her. Light shone from above. She was certain that facing those Titans on her own had killed her.

And yet, it felt like a little strength was still in her body after all.

==============================================

There was no time for grief, the next phase of their mission was what required all focus. The plan was dropping the Colossal Titan on Eren was the last resort if reasoning and the disposal of Zeke didn't work out. Mikasa and Armin's hesitation to actually kill their friend was apparent, thankfully the rest saw the reason and that in order to save the world, sacrifices had to be made. Even a beloved friend.

The sound of the plane's engine sputtering brought them all out of their thoughts, there hadn't been enough time to fuel the engine entirely, and now they were facing the consequences of that decision. An order was made to jump out of the plane, all obeying without giving themselves time to think about how crazy this whole thing was.

Titans rose to meet them, swarming in hundreds to defeat their attackers. Forms of those who had used the Titans before, generations of destruction all on display.

Levi's hand touched the back of Evelyn's neck, knowing what was coming next. "You listen to me. If you feel threatened or in danger you come and find me. Alright? I don't care what you think or feel you come right back to me."

She nods, giving him a reassuring smile before diving away from their perch, feeling the sting of the cut in her hand followed by that blinding light. She had started this whole mess, she needed to find some way to gain redemption. Levi didn't quite know how far she was willing to go to atone for her actions.

Blood and gore painted the battlefield, the stark contrast of the white doing nothing but adding to the carnage on display. Against so many how could they hope to ever win? The more they cut down the more came up against them. Even with the power of the Titans they dealt heavy hits. At this rate they wouldn't hold out for long. Ripping Reiner and Evelyn out of their Titans and tossing them aside like dolls into the steam below. Her head knocking hard on the bones on the way down.

He caught her. He always caught her. Safe in his arms until she secured her own line. Annoyance was the prime emotion he conveyed when he was secretly worried. "I told you if you were in danger to come find me. Can't you ever listen to one damn thing I say?"

"I suppose not." Her head was bleeding, she was so dizzy, but Levi didn't mention it.

A Titan out of the corner of her eye moved, intent on making Connie its prey. Before she could react Levi sprung into action, slicing its neck, but not before its jaws clamped down on his leg, sending him falling further.

"Levi no-!" Her scream seemed more desperate than she would have liked, lurching forward and catching him this time. His poor leg battered and beaten, he couldn't fight anymore. She wouldn't let him. He had to stay safe, for her. Even if the cord was slipping out of the bone, even if they were about to be crushed. She couldn't let him go.

"Grab on!" The call came from behind her, a mass of feathers and wings catching them as they flew safely out of the skeleton. They were safe, for now.

Relief flooded them both when their untimely rescue. Her head still throbbed, and a wave a nausea threatened to take over. Levi's look in her eyes confirmed her fear, he wasn't going to let her fight anymore either.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. And you're staying here or so help me-" He cuts himself off with a sigh. "Look. You're pregnant, I'm not fucking losing you. If that means that humanity is wiped out and it's just me and you in Paradis then so be it!"

An awkward silence from the rest of those present ensues until she finally relents. "Alright. I'll stay here."

In order to make sure she didn't go back on her word, Levi held onto her belt the instant the others flew off Falco's back. It was time for them to take a back seat. Their mission was over the day they crossed the sea, they would leave it in their hands now.

They thought that the death of Zeke, mixed with a number of the Titans turning on the hostile ones would bring about the end of the Rumbling. And while the monstrous footsteps did stop their task was far from over. The explosion that severed Eren's head would not be enough, the parasite still dove for his head to reconnect it and continue The Rumbling. The only option left was Armin transforming into the Colossal once everyone got clear.

===============================================

It should have been over. That should have been it. The end should have been the embrace of loved ones over victory. No the blast of a second Titan.

Eren's founder marching forward while the parasite continued its crawl to reunite the two and finish what they started. It would only end when he was cut down. They all knew it. But what Evelyn didn't expect was Levi grabbing her hand and pulling her along onto Falco's back.

"We have to go now! The Ackermans and the Titans are the only ones immune."

Numbly she was pulled along until they boarded and took off, the sound of Pieck's sobs ringing in her ears. Staring as her comrades turned into flashes of light and gruesome faces.

It had all been going so well, now they were loosing. Armin and Reiner, overwhelmed and over-taken by their friends turned monsters. They were loosing and there's nothing they could do.

Until Mikasa stood with a determined look in her eyes. "Eren is inside the mouth- Everyone, help me reach him!"

Their descent was hidden in a veil of flames and debris. Only a glimpse was seen of Mikasa until a pause and then Eren's Titan crumbling and shaking the earth with its impact. It was over.

They had won.

===============================================

In the fall they had gotten separated but eventually she found him sprawled on the ground. Without a word passing between them she sat beside him with a sigh.

"I guess you kept your promise."

Levi raises a brow. "Which one?"

"We made it out. You promised. Now..." Evelyn tears up. "We can go home...can't we...?"

His arm wraps around her. " Yes my love. We can go home."

[tuiyla]

Congrats on finishing season 6! I’d like to ask, what are your thoughts on Spuffy this season? I know Seeing Red can make it difficult, so totally chill if you don’t wanna, but I find their dynamic fascinating and I’d love to hear your thoughts.

I'm actually so sad that I finished season 6 haha but oh well.

The good part of Seeing Red is that it's at the very end and Spuffy's last interaction for the season so I can talk about everything else and then touch on it.

We were off to a good start with episode 3 and Buffy only finding it in herself to confide in Spike. I think it's so layered that she did so, including but not limited to Spike's lyrics in Once More, With Feeling: a whisper in a dead man's ear. In that sense, Buffy starts "using" Spike at the very start. She can't bring herself to confess to her friends but Spike, Spike is... there. And willing to listen and actually understands far more than Buffy thinks others would. (Side note and not a Spuffy one, but damn I thought Buffy and Willow would have more of a confrontation about the whole ripped-from-heaven thing post 6x07. Oh well.) By confiding in Spike, Buffy, perhaps inadvertently, forms a bond with him straight after returning to the land of the living.

I see 6x07 and after that as the next step of this. The songs do a wonderful job of conveying Buffy's depression and her need to just, feel. Doesn't matter what. And it's pretty clear that kissing Spike is more to do with her own feelings of depression than it is with him, at first anyway. Fascinating that Buffy knows, not so deep down, that she's using Spike but him being a special situation of a vampire without a soul she sort of lets herself get away with it. Buffy is usually the person being used, even when it's as innocuous as being everyone's hero. It's still a form of being an instrument to others.

The next stage, one I have the most icky feelings about up until Seeing Red happens is when Spike realizes Buffy "came back wrong". Which she didn't, as Tara reveals to us and Buffy, but Spike delights at the thought. Not only does it make them equal once again in terms of throwing punches but, in his eyes, it brings Buffy down to his level. His insistence that she's some sort of demon now, too, is wrong of course but it also betrays just how desperately Spike wants them to be equals. He resented being called beneath her and now he gets to, in a way, bring Buffy down to his level. Which I find extra insidious when you consider that it wasn't just Buffy trying to alienate Spike by degrading him, it was Spike putting Buffy on a pedestal and blaming her for it. So it's a messy dynamic for sure, but like you said in the notes of that other post it's meant to be. Spuffy is dysfunctional (in season 6), yes, but I appreciate the intentionality behind it. I think it's quite repulsive that Spike is so desperate to make Buffy believe she's lesser than she was and that she needs to come live in the shadows with him, but it makes sense for the character and provides interesting drama for Buffy.

After all these years of UST I figured they would go for it but I was surprised to see just how explicitly sexual season 6 was. Not just through the Spuffy kinky sexcapades, though mostly that, but also with Willow and Tara being allowed much, much more than before. Which was lovely to see and wild to think that this was back in 2001/2002. And with Spuffy, it wasn't just what the camera showed and suggested but the graphic language used. Again, it fits, and if they just danced around the topic it would have made no sense and lessened the impact of the storyline. I suppose it's just strange to compare it to the, no pun intended, innocence of Bangel. Even curse aside, it was such a wildly different dynamic. I bring the sexuality of it all up because, as I mentioned when you asked about 5x07 violence and sex really do have such a thin line between them with Spike. And I do think it got a bit too much during their first sex scene, because there's only so much you can do in conflating the two before it becomes, sigh, hate the word but problematic. I'll circle back to this when I get around to talking about, sigh, Seeing Red.

Anyway, I think that thought process would lead me down quite the side tangent. So what I will say about the on and off sexcapades of Spuffy during midseason is that I've already seen arguments on just how bad it was for Buffy to be using him but to me it just reads as a mutually destructive thing. Yes, Buffy was using Spike despite knowing, if not wanting to believe that he had genuine feelings. Yes, even after she realized she too had feelings she denied and deflected and degraded. But like I say, I don't see that as any worse than Spike whispering in her ear about being demon-like, about being something that can't be around her friends anymore. More than the thin line between sex and violence and the using of each other physically, this is what's truly messed up about them in season 6. Buffy keeps hitting him the heart with all but an actual stake and Spike keeps fuelling her worst fears.

On a storytelling level, I think it's really interesting and overall executed well. I don't think the presentation of the text ever shies away from how messed up it is. The one thing I've seen backlash for in terms of how it was/was not acknowledged in the text is Buffy's invisibility stunt and the whole pinning Spike to a wall and unbuttoning his shirt before he realizes it's her. I don't know if it's even worth discussing, honestly, but I will say that I find one on one comparisons of that scene with Seeing Red to be wholly disingenuous. I do think it was a bit of a double standard portrayal and the rest of the season is quite good at acknowledging Buffy's treatment of Spike as iffy, but this scene isn't nearly the same.

Alright, let me think if there's anything else in the leadup to 6x19. Oh yes, the whole "tell your friends!! fine I'll tell your friends!!!" thing and Spike sleeping with Anya. Eh. Compared to their earlier drama I didn't find this stage nearly as compelling. Spike is pissed and petty. Rip to me I might just be different but I don't find him sleeping with Anya that big an offense. Sure, it was a dick against Buffy but it's not like Buffy's hurt really has a leg to stand on after she's made it clear that she wants them to be over. And Spike didn't do it out of malice, so I don't blame him much for this. As for telling Xander about them and the cat being out of the bag, it was again not something I can really hold against Spike. I'm not saying my conclusion of this portion of their arc is "wow Buffy was a bitch, poor Spike!" but, if not for Seeing Red, I'd think most of Spike's pov is justified. Keeping in mind that him wanting to gaslight Buffy into thinking she was a demon was still appalling.

And then, okay, Seeing Red. I accidentally spoiled this for myself when browsing on TVTropes, or at least a Spuffy assault scene happening and I'm glad I was mentally prepared cause god, that was a lot. I think I'll be able to say more conclusive thoughts once I see season 7 and see how they handle the aftermath. For now, I'll say that I don't think it's impossible for Spike to come back from this but he'll need to work harder than "just" going through the Demon Trials and getting that soul. I like that it broke the pedestal Dawn had him on. In terms of Spuffy, god.

It does make things marginally better that he seemed like he genuinely was just not thinking and got carried away. I already hate anyone who justifies it by saying Buffy had "trained" him not to take no for an answer and to be rough, though. Because assault is assault. And there were other Spuffy sexy times where Buffy did say no and nevertheless, they ended up having sex, and not saying that's not sus. But Buffy screaming and crying and begging is surely different. Damn, SMG acted her heart out with that.

The fact of the matter is, Seeing Red was a natural conclusion to their destructive dynamic this season. I'm not saying it was inevitable and if I'm correct many (including James Marsters?) hate that it happened. But I don't think it was out of character, as such. Really, a lot depends on how it will be handled. Spike now with a soul better feel damn guilty about the thing and I would hope that this makes him reconsider the whole sex+violence=love thing. But I also hope Buffy takes longer than a second to forgive. This was a traumatic experience no matter how we spin it and I want justice for Buffy as a character in that sense. I don't think this marked a point of no return for them at all, but since BtVS hasn't had the greatest track record with sexual violence I think this is their chance to get it right. Ah well, we'll see.

I'm sure their whole season 6 deal and particularly Seeing Red is quite polarizing. I'd actually be super interested if there were discussion threads or old forum posts, whatever, floating around about Seeing Red specifically. Even if they're not spoiler-free in terms of season 7 I'd love to save them and go back when I can.

Alright, I'm not sure I could offer much or anything novel but the bottom line is that yeah, I find them fascinating too. The relationship works very well with the season's themes and characters' arcs and while I can't comfortably say I support what they have this season, it is interesting drama.

[songoftrillium]

Understanding Villainy: Splatterpunk Villains and More Subtle Antagonists

By James Moore

(The following is manually transcribed from the 1st edition Werewolf the Apocalypse Storyteller’s Guide, originally published by White Wolf Publishing in 1994. I feel the ethos it conveys to be both timeless and indispensable in creating memorable game moments for players.)

“Edgar Allen Poe said that “Terror is the finest emotion,” and I’ll agree with that. Below that is the slightly grosser emotion Horror, and below that is the Gross-out. And I go for Terror…but if I can’t get Terror I’ll go for Horror, and I’m not proud, but if I can’t get Horror, I’ll go for the Gross-out.”

-Stephen King, Stephen King's “A World of Darkness” video

The World of Darkness - And most especially Werewolf: the Apocalypse - is a world filled with blatant and often disgusting horrors. The characters themselves frequently commit gruesome murder to protect Gaia from the influence of the Wyrm. But there is more to the villains in the game than ample violence, or at least there should be.

Now, I think the first thing to clarify are the differences between Terror, Horror, and the Gross-out. The most commonly used word for excessive violence, or the Gross-out, is Splatterpunk, a word that fits so beautifully with the word Gothic-Punk that they could be close cousins, and some to think of it, they probably are.

Splatterpunk is probably best described as excessive violence used to simply illustrate just how foul the world the characters live in really is. Well, let’s not kid ourselves, anyone watching the national news can see for themselves just how foul the world has become. 

Horror, on the other hand, is most often described by horror writers as a form of catharsis, a way of intimately living out the fears that assail us all; a spider running across your bare arm, that brief second when your car hydroplanes down the road before your car’s brakes finally catch. 

Lastly, that “finest of emotions”, Terror. Terror is the primal fear, the inescapable dread we all experience when the lights go out in a storm or the air raid sirens crank into shrieking life during the worst part of the tornado season. Terror is the hideous sensation of powerlessness that someone has just walked over your grave, the chill that ripples through your body and instinctively drive you to just get the hell away from the source that generated it. So, where do the villains of Werewolf come into this grisly little picture?

One clear look at just about any sourcebook for Werewolf will show you more exotic enemies than most of us ever want to see in real life. Every Supernatural beastie in the Werewolf books exposes another level

of the real world, examined and twisted to evoke outrage and fear. Read your rulebooks cover-to-cover, and while you’re at it, take a look at your closest dictionary for the meaning of apocalypse. The entire game is based on the fact that it’s all over, these are the Final Days. There’s no more time to play Mr. Niceguy; brute strength and violence are going to win the day, if anything at all is going to manage that task at this time. The villains in Werewolf reflect that mood; they, too, are desperate, and they, too, need to have their own motivations.

Let’s not make a mistake here, there is a difference between a monster and villain. A monster is a mindless destructive force. Take for example a Thunderwyrm whose only goal in life is to eat everything in sight, or take some of the player characters I’ve run across. A villain has a mind and should use that mind to his or her advantage. Sometimes monsters and villains act an awful lot alike, and that’s okay. But, as the Storyteller, you should always remember the difference. The difference is simple motivation. Most of the villains have goals a great deal more complex than eating and mating. Most of the villains want something more personal, something that the Garou (players) are violently opposed to. Pentex (a subsidiary corporation) wants to corrupt the entire world. As an example for a villain, you could do a lot worse. Pentex is subtle, and it is unstoppable. Pentex is very well established in the world and operates virtually anywhere (like amazon) and worst of all, Pentex provides what are effectively necessities in the modern world, at least from a human perspective: fuel, cosmetics, food and entertainment. Just how long would you go on without any or all of the above? Be truthful, now; really think about it.

Pentex is representative of every bad aspect of the modern world, a parody of Big Business. To the Garou, Pentex is a vile thing, an agent of the Wyrm; to humanity at large, Pentex is a necessary evil and one that can be overlooked as long as jobs and luxuries are provided by the company. When you really think about what Pentex is all about, you could say that Pentex and the Wyrm represent Terror.

The Wyrm itself is inaccessible, or at least it should be. There is no way to defeat the thing entirely, there is no way to stop it from working its evil. There is no end to death, and really, that’s what the Wyrm is, sentient death. Not just physical death; we’re also talking about the death of all we believe to be “good” or “right” - the destruction of our own morals and the dissolution of our personal values, each dismantled one by one, and the slow, painful loss of innocence. Every aspect of the Wyrm is meant to terrify, and Pentex is only one example. Wherever the Wyrm lurks, death is sure to follow, destruction is soon to come. Worst of all, the Wyrm is everywhere, plotting and moving, preparing to strike. In every sense of the word, the Wyrm is Terror.

On the next level, Horror, let’s take a look at the Black Spiral Dancers. Arguably, the Dancers should qualify in the Gross-out department, but I don’t really agree with that. The Dancers are a reflection, a mirror image that shows everything foul and nasty in the typical Werewolf story. The Dancers are vile, no two ways about it, but even the Dancers have their own hidden agenda. Look through the Book of the Wyrm and read between the lines; you’ll see what I mean. They can be reasoned with, albeit not easily, and certainly they cannot be trusted, but they are just as able to discuss a situation as any other Garou. They are a horrifying aspect of the game, but really no worse than the street gangs that run rampant, killing people simply to impress their peers or to show their superiority, or worse, just because it’s fun.Their violence is mostly directed towards the Garou and for that reason, they can horrify. The Black Spiral Dancers are the Doppelganger of the Shadow; an example of what each of us is capable of if we surrender to our darker impulses, and ones most of us prefer to believe aren’t there at all.

Another level of Horror can be seen in the villain Samuel Haight, the Werewolf Skinner. Haight represents madness, what anyone can become if pushed too far. Haight’s one goal is to eradicate all the natural Garou, and replace them with werewolves that feel the way he does. Certainly he is insane. Read any of the supplements where he appears and you can see that. But even more, he represents the Unstoppable Menace, the serial killer. Damn it, the Garou keep killing him, and he keeps coming back. Why? Because Haight is the Unstoppable Menace, the unavoidable confrontation that the garou would most likely rather not approach. Haight goes beyond just being another bad guy; if you know his history, you can see the underlying theme that runs through all his appearances. In a very real sense, Haight represents something the Garou don’t want to think about; the humans fighting back. Hey, let’s not ignore the obvious here, the humans suffer from both sides of this war. The Wyrm uses them to Its best advantage, and the Garou do not hesitate to tear the innards from anyone they see as Wyrm-corrupt. Human beings get the shaft in this game, and really, they don’t have an easy time in any part of World of Darkness. 

Haight is, to coin a phrase, the type of bad guy that you love to hate. There is a certain satisfaction in stomping the tar out of someone that has bested you countless times before, and when they finally have succeeded, the player characters often do not want to go back and do it all over again. 

Recurring enemies are a challenge that goes beyond dice and rules and a vivid description. They’re personal. Sports teams always have grudge matches against the guys who stomped them last time they met, and player characters need grudge matches too. There’s no fun if you lose forever, but there is a deep, powerful satisfaction in finally taking down a personal foe. And, after the threat is finally gone forever - rather like losing an old friend, really - and fear. Yes, fear. Has the threat finally ended? We have the body to prove he’s dead, but we heard rumors just the other day about how he was seen over in Topeka. How can they ever be sure? The simple answer is that they shouldn’t be sure. There should always be doubts. When the doubts are left, the fear remains, and sometimes even grows into Terror.

Finally, we come to the Splatterpunk villains, or as Stephen King says, “the Gross-out”. Simple examples of Splatterpunk are the fomori and the Banes. Warped beyond recognition, twisted by the Wyrm’s influence into something that should not be, and basically pissed off about the situation, the fomori make life an endless nightmare. Name another creature that first devours a foe and then vomits up the juiciest gobbets in a toxic stream that burns Garou as surely as silver. The only limit to these nasty creatures are the limits that you, as the Storyteller, place on them. They are everything leftover when you’re done with terrifying and horrifying. They are the repulsive things that slither in the darkness, the creatures under the bed, the escaped criminal with a hook instead of a hand. Fomori have no redeeming characteristics, and they shouldn’t. When all else fails to incite an emotion, fomori are what you have to fall back on. 

The Banes are even worse, because the Banes can hide and pop out into the open at the worst possible times. Banes reflect the worst of Terror, Horror, and Splatterpunk. Again, referring to the Book of the Wyrm, take a look at a few of the creations that rest between the covers of that particular time and you will meet some truly repugnant monsters. Look at the Meat Puppets. Take a few minutes to think about what they are, and what they do, and then try to eat a chili dog. Give some heavy thought to the Seeders, and then go to a doctor’s office for your Physical. Or read over the Dangerous Toys and then stare at one of those dolls with the glass eyes, and see who blinks first. 

Banes are the gold standard in not what we fear in dark alleyways, but of what must surely be waiting just around the next corner. They are the hidden danger that can be all too real. Most of us are smart enough to know better than to go down a dark alley, but think about those who do it anyway. A good number walk away unharmed, but a sizable number never walk away at all, or come away from that dark alley scarred mentally, emotionally, or both. Anyone reading those who doesn’t believe nasty things lurk in dark alleys just hasn’t been paying attention.

When you look at most of the examples I’ve just given, you’ll find that they’ve been categorized where they shouldn’t have been, at least in your eyes. Truth be told, your eyes are just as good as mine, possibly better. I’ve categorized them where I have because that’s where they fit most easily. No one category suits most of these villains, because they have depth, dimension, a form of life all their own. In a well-told story, they are real. A sheet of statistics doesn’t make that happen. It happened because the foes were examined in depth before they were put on paper. Why is Pentex so nasty? Because if you take away all the special effects and gadgets, Pentex exists.

Why is Samuel Haight so scary? Because serial killers are a fact of life. How many serial killers are there? Too many. Even one is too many, but there are more than one. Most of them operate in the United States, and most of them look perfectly innocent unless you are their victims. Worst of all, they don’t get better; they just keep getting more and more twisted, more and more violent. Even when they are sitting around the Christmas tree with their families, their broken psyches are busily working on how to approach their next victim.

Just time for one last example, the one that is scariest of all, the player characters. The player characters normally reflect some aspect of the players, and as such, hold certain feelings that they share with their creators. You might find two players bashing the local mutant more than others do, you might find that there are some enemies that are slammed harder than others, and you will almost certainly find that someone in the Troupe wants to play a Black Spiral Dancer. Why? Because playing the villain is fun, pure and simple. There is peace in hatred, and there is satisfaction in destruction. Revel in the fun, gain peace through vicarious violence, and by all means satisfy the beast within - lest the beast take the option away from you. Most of all, remember that even the most inconsequential villains have motives. Remember that by giving them life, you make the game more lively for everyone, including, maybe even especially, you.

[roaaoife]

Avatar: The Last Airbender Netflix Live Action Episode 1 Review

So, going in, I made it a goal to have an open mind. This is an adaptation, not a remake. There are different constraints and considerations when changing the medium like this. (For example, in the One Piece Live Action they removed the typical anime cartoonishness from the violence because in Live Action punching your friend in the head just comes across as abuse, not a gag.) There's also pacing changes from fewer but longer episodes to ensure the story is cohesive. Having watched the first episode, I am getting a feel for the kinds of changes that have been made and I understand and appreciate the creative choices involved.

Spoiler Free- What I liked and Didn't like

Liked: The Bending

The way bending is depicted beautifully merges with martial arts choreography, so that bending is an extension of the martial arts. It feels very much like old school wire fu in the best way. In fact, the first 15-20 minutes has very strong Hong Kong cinema vibes, and I really enjoy that.

Liked: The characters

While there are some changes (necessary for the medium, in my opinion), the core of the characters still comes through. Aang is very clearly a sweet kid with too much responsibility, and the adaptation does a great job of conveying the inherent unfairness of putting all this on a kid. Zuko accurately conveys anger, hope, desperation, and arrogance with good facial expressions. Sokka is sarcastic, an over-protective big brother, and clearly struggling under the weight of his own responsibilities in protecting the tribe. Katara is brave and kind, and she struggles but still refuses to give up and is very focused on doing the right thing. (She is very clearly someone who will later say she won't ever turn her back on people who need her.) Iroh hasn't had a lot of screen time yet, but his two main interactions with Zuko and Aang show someone who is wise and compassionate. He's more direct in this adaptation and less cryptic, but I don't think that's a bad thing.

Liked: The world building

I think the thing I appreciate the most is that the adaptation doesn't rely on you having watched the original to understand what is going on. This is a common trap that many adaptations fall into, creating a disjointed narrative, but here they have taken the time to establish the world, the stakes, and the chief players, and while there is some necessary exposition, for a lot of it they do a good job of following Show Don't Tell. Also, the sets are beautiful.

Disliked: CGI

While the fight and bending choreography look great, and Appa is adorable, there are moments where they over-rely on CGI, especially when depicting the Avatar State, that leads to some Uncanny Valley moments. I wish they had used more practical effects.

Dislike: GranGran

Probably the weakest performance comes from the woman playing GranGran. I'm sure she's a lovely person, but her delivery was flat and wooden.

Spoilers: What I liked and Didn't Like

Liked: The Air Nomads

Opening with the events of the Comet and the Air Nomad Genocide was perhaps the biggest change from the original. (RIP Random Earth Bender guy- you were a real one.) We're shown Aang's relationship with his people, especially Gyatso, and then we're actually shown the Fire Nation attack on the Air Nomads. We see the horrors of what is happening (and get a pretty potent reminder of why incendiary weapons are a war crime) and this very effectively gives an emotional weight to this war while clearly establishing the stakes. Again, this is very different from the original, which was a children's cartoon and therefore danced around the horror of war (for a very good reason.)

Liked: Aang and Katara friendship

Another big change- they scrapped Aang's early one-sided crush in favor of building a friendship based on mutual understanding and support. The door is still open to develop it into a romance, but by giving it this base I feel it will be more earned. I also think that given the constraints including the crush would have been an unnecessary distraction to the Very Important Events going on.

Mixed: Aang didn't runaway

Well, not really. Instead he goes on a flight to clear his head because he is (very understandably) feeling overwhelmed. He very clearly intends it to be a short flight. I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, Running Away is Aang's chief character flaw in the original. On the other hand, I have always been annoyed that this flaw is never really dealt with in a meaningful way. The deus ex machina at the end of series that let's Aang keep running away without consequence instead of forcing him to overcome it, allowing him to hold to his No Murder stance without any struggle is probably the point I criticize the most in the original series. I would have preferred if they had kept that flaw and actually dealt with it, but if there was one thing they cut I'm not exactly mad it was this.

On the whole, it's not perfect, but I am enjoying it a lot. I'm looking forward to seeing these characters and story develop in new ways.

[littlebigmouse]

TMA MAG 61 and the 'meh' episode

Don't get me wrong. I fucking love Daisy. The entire intro dialogue between Daisy accusing Jon of murder - which, yeah, actually, good point! - then leaning back and casually proclaiming that well, guess he has an alibi, but any funny business and she'll break his bones - priceless. A long-needed show of teeth in this show for sure.

Like, I'd permanently add Daisy and Basira to the "Tim&Sasha go on spooky adventures breaking into police files" spin-off, based on these few minutes of dialogue from these characters. Season 2 in general really upped it's character introductions to whole new levels. Every single new character introduced this season has left a lasting and strong impression, despite their incredibly limited screentime.

Which is exactly why I was so disappointed in the statement itself, or rather, in its presentation.

Because it's written exactly like any other statement, and that narrative style absolutely does not work here.

Sidenote: I took a while longer to get used to Daisy's voice? I feel like some of her deliveries could have been stronger, and her voice sounds rather soft for her character. That however I think is a matter of taste, and they could make such a contrast work, if, you know, the statement had taken more care to characterise her properly.

But man. The entire introduction is spend on establishing Daisy, potentially the front she's putting up, but we're getting a rather quick picture. Her sentences are short and to the point. She does not speak to fill an awkward silence, she does not mind seeing Jon squirm a bit. She's assessing him, and she's doing so calmly. She takes her time to answer questions, but we get hints of a temper, both through her threats of violence and some of the snappier answers she gives. She's an experienced police detective who's dealt with some shit over the years.

Now, given this premise, everything we've just learning about the character -

Does Daisy strike you as someone who goes on a two-paragraphs long word-vomitty rant about shitty coffee instead of getting to the point of her story?

I completely understand that the statements all have an incredibly similar style of writing, that's just what happens when one person/ a small team of writers write 60+ short stories within very similar themes and structure. The in-universe explanation for these could very well be that all the people who gives statements have a thing in common: They're all 'normal' people who encountered something beyond their comprehension, that spooked them in some way they sought out the archives to get their story to paper. Especially with the written accounts it makes sense they'd get a bit poetic or describtive or rambly at times, given how little or how much time every statement writer took to get their story down with all the detail they felt they needed to convey that their fear is real and valid, and whatever hurt them is still out there. All the narrators come from the same place, essentially, baring some variation.

Except Daisy.

Daisy isn't someone who just got spooked desperate to get her story out. Daisy is a hardened cop who is talking to someone she up until very briefly believed to be a murderer she needed to distract. She still hasn't made her mind up about this person, but she's willing to indulge and tell a story about something that happened a long time ago and was supposedly a first in a long line of weird and or creepy events.

I think the writing did even try to show her clipping speaking style through the many short sentences in the beginning, but the hurried way of speaking from the VA didn't really make that work. And the rest of the statement does what any other statement does: it establishes Daisy as a normal rookie cop (bitching about shitty coffee with a slight temper (her comment on wishing she'd get to punch more drunks), who encounters something spooky (by slowly setting the scene with detailed and colourful descriptions of the weather that day, the rising tension at the van) and is in over her head (the incredibly rushed manner of speaking, the long sentences, all the rambly bits).

Which, you know, may have been true for Daisy back when the story happened. I don't think I would have minded had the premise of the episode been that Jon finds a statement Daisy made 14 years ago and asks her about it.

Maybe Daisy is a lot more nervous in this conversation than she initially let on, and the story was also bringing back unpleasant memories that upset her to a degree that would have her this rambly. Maybe the effect is underlined by her VA talking way faster than I'm used to with John.

But damn if that doesn't contradict the entire intro, and thus her believability as a character and seasoned detective.

Daisy showed awareness of her effect on Jon, of her own behaviour in this conversation - if talking to Jon and telling a spooky story has her immediately this rambly, essentially breaking character of the front she just put up, I wonder how her record is with interrogating suspects, or any kind of successfull police work where you need to keep up a facade a little longer than that.

They could have broken the format a bit. Have her start out the statement more clipped, short sentences delivered deliberately. Then, some coaxing from Jon, some more leading questions, questions that seem unreasonable to her because she's not used on including them in the relevant information - her mood, the weather, the overall atmosphere - make her reconsider the story a bit, make her give more details as she herself thinks them over.

The statement could have put more work into taking into account how Daisy presents herself to Jon - she doesn't trust him yet, so revealing either seemingly useless information or potentially incriminating personal and/or emotional information should have more weight than a quickly forgotten side-line. Daisy feels like a third person narrator to her own story.

All this does get better once the statement starts focusing on the van drivers, but I couldn't help but feel like a great opportunity for some characterisation was lost, which sadly hurt my investment in Daisy's tale considerably.

Her anger at the end is also a bit... hmpf. Like, girl, you chose to tell the story. I feel like that bit would have been stronger if she'd interrupted herself in the middle, considering whether or not to continue.

Again, her anger at the end seems to characterise her as more impulsive and short-tempered as we initially realized, but it seriously hurts her credibility when she seemingly told Jon something she didn't mean to say... in a sudden impulsive... 20 minutes long fit of emotion. Right.

Also man, the amount of bottomless pits feat endless twisting hallways in this show is staggering :D

Also the implications of the Met having been infiltrated so deep by supernatural forces that they have a working and frequently used anti-vampire protocol is the best world building detail in... idk, episodes. Love it.

[mikavlcs]

Greetings, dear author.

It's been a while, hasn't it? I can only suppose it is already afternoon for you - as far as I've noticed in my quiet stalking (or peeks to your blog, should you wish to be more discreet about it) to your posts, you seem to only have a modest contrast of time in comparison to the current one in my state; which is, might I expand, a sole hour.

However, I haven't came here to talk about our schedules now, have I? I will say that even though you've had little acquaintance of my persona these weeks, I've done nothing except (unsurprisingly) submerge in the delight that is reading your pieces. Quite enticing lectures I've had, I shall say. I must admit I've grown fond of the Tara ghostface pieces you've been writing. Perhaps there's something charming to the nature of such animalistic berserk, directing for instance a murderer like Tara within a desperate frenesi of bloodthirst and violence, all in appelation of concern for the wellbeing of her love.

I've also read many of your Wednesday's pieces. Pride fills me at the thought that in your journey, you've finally achieved some kind of satisfaction or fulfillment as it comes to your writing; that there's at least a hint of gratification towards your most recent pieces.

You will always learn, and you will always acquire new knowledge and wherewithal concerning your resources to express yourself. But I do believe, genuinely, that your writing is already beautiful, which is precisely why I think you shouldn't be so hard on yourself, yes? it is already a pleasure to witness the development of your writing style and the addition of those new, little details and resources you manifest to convey such precious stories. I am certain that in the future, whatever you choose to produce or create with that magnificent mind of yours will be absolutely divine. So have no rush, dear author.

I also apologise - it's been quite a while since I spoke to you. My studies and acting classes mantain me particularly occupied these days. But don't you worry. I am a quiet admirer. Perhaps a little silent, but I am just a lurking shadow in your blog, effectively consuming your works in no time even if you don't see me.

As always, it is my pleasure to talk to you. Kind regards, dear author.

Yours faithfully,

An anonymous crow.

seeing this in my inbox out of the blue was crazy. hey! it has been a while, i hope you're doing well<3

i don't even know what to say...first, i'm glad you like the stories you've read, even the tara ones! and second, thank you sm for your kind words and encouragement. i'm proud of how far i've come so far as well (mostly...sometimes...we're getting there) but having someone else say it is soooo sweet. also calling my writing beautiful??? you're too nice, ilysm. you have a way with words fr.

no need to apologize! i get being caught up in school and just life in general, there's no need to apologize. i'm just glad that you're alive and well. it was nice speaking with you again as well, crow<333

[aspoonofsugar]

Mercury - The Boy in the Bottle

"Do you think that I was shut up there for such a long time as a favor? No, it was a punishment. I am the mighty Mercurius."

This line comes from the Grimm fairy tale The Spirit in the Glass Bottle, which in this post I am gonna use as Mercury's fairy tale allusion.

To be clear, this is just a headcanon and there is no proof that this fairy tale is gonna play any role in Mercury's story. That said, it fits in a way, which is very exciting for me :D. Specifically, It is a perfect match thematically and symbolically.

Worst case scenario, this is just gonna be a fun exercise on my part, a chance to discover a new fairy tale and a discussion on recurring RWBY motifs.

MERCURY AS THE INVERSION OF HIMSELF

Mercury's allusion is Hermes/Mercury, Messenger of the Gods, protector of thieves (Emerald) and inventor of alchemy. Among other Gods, Mercury is famous for his speed and freedom to travel wherever he wants. He knows no boundaries and is one of the few deities with access both to the Living Realm (Creation) and to the Dead Realm (Destruction).

As for now, our Mercury works mostly as a tragic inversion of his counterpart.

The God Mercury can fly with his winged sandals (Talaria), while our Mercury has no legs because of Marcus's violence.

This is a symbolic choice. It is a way to convey he is stuck in the cycle of abuse. It is as if by stealing his legs, Marcus has clipped Mercury down:

Tyrian: All you ever learned was pain and violence, and now you're too afraid to leave it. Such a tragedy.

In short, Mercury has been transformed into an inversion of his true self and this is why he has no semblance:

Mercury: He never went easy on me! Every day of training was a beating. And when I unlocked my Semblance, he stole it with his! 

Mercury lacking his legs (one of his allusions' main attributes) and semblance (a metaphor for who he is) are figurative ways to convey the boy's trauma.

At the same time, both Mercury's legs and semblance are linked to the theme of healing, which is gonna be key in Mercury's arc:

Mercury: "This (Mercury's semblance) is a crutch!" "This makes you weak!"

Mercury is deeply hurt both in body (his legs) and soul (his semblance). What's worse, he has been conditioned into despising "crutches". However, in order to heal you need crutches. You need crutches and bandages and help. Showing your pain and vulnerability is no weakness, but a first step into growing stronger. This is the lesson Mercury must learn.

Is it a lesson that fits with Mercury/Mercurius, though? The answer is found in The Spirit in the Glass Bottle.

THE SPIRIT IN THE GLASS BOTTLE - SUMMARY

A father and a son live together in the woods as woodcutters. The father would like for his son to have a better future and uses all his savings to pay for the boy's education. Still, the money is not enough and the boy is forced to come back home before he can complete his studies.

One day the 2 go into the woods to cut some trees, but at one point they separate. The son wanders into the forest and hears someone calling for help. He finds a glass bottle, opens it and frees the Spirit Mercurius.

Mercurius threathens to kill the boy, but the son cleverly tricks the spirit and traps him once again. By this point, Mercurius begs the boy to free him and promises luck and richness. The son decides it is worth the risk and frees the spirit a second time.

Mercurius gives the boy a magical bandage able to heal every wound and to turn the iron into silver. Thanks to it, the boy turns his iron axe into silver and breaks it. The father is desperate because it was the neighbor's loan. However, the boy sells it and with the money pays back the neighbor and finishes his studies. By the end, he becomes a successful doctor thanks to his intelligence and the magic cloth.

A FATHER AND A SON

Large Man: He lives in the mountains with his son.

The premise of a father and a son living together in the woods fits Mercury's background, which is defined by Marcus's strong influence on Mercury's life.

Differently from Marcus and Mercury, the Father and Son of the fairy tale genuinely love each other. However, there is tension between them. Specifically, the Father wants the Son to be different from him (symbolically to be his own person). Still, he does not understand his kid's way of thinking and keeps criticizing it:

"Oh, you fool," said the father, "why do you want to run about? Afterwards you will be tired and no longer able to lift an arm. Stay here, and sit down beside me."

Similarly, the Son loves his father, but he finds himself at a crossroad. Will be become a woodcutter like his parent or will he take his own path by finishing his studies?

Mercury has to face a similar choice. Who does he want to be? His father's copy or his own person?

Mercury: All my life, my father trained me to be a killer, an assassin like him.

THE MIGHTY MERCURIUS

By wandering alone in the woods, the Son finds an entity trapped in a glass bottle and frees him. The Spirit turns out to be Mercurius. The God's behaviour is interesting.

Firstly, he says he will kill the Son:

"Do you know," he cried in a terrifying voice, "what your reward is for having let me out?"

"No," replied the student fearlessly. "How should I know that?"

"Then I will tell you," shouted the spirit. "I must break your neck for it."

However, the Son uses his intelligence (his Mind) to trap the Spirit once again:

"Calm down," answered the student. "Not so fast. First I must know that you really were shut up in that little bottle, and that you are the right spirit. If you can indeed get inside again, then I will believe it, and you may do with me whatsoever you want."

The spirit said arrogantly, "that is an easy trick," pulling himself in and making himself as thin and short as he had been before. He then crept back into the opening and through the neck of the bottle. He was scarcely inside when the student pushed the cork back into the bottle, and threw it back where it had been among the oak roots. And thus the spirit was deceived.

So, Mercurius begs for freedom and promises good fortune in exchange:

"If you will set me free," cried the spirit, "I will give you so much that you will have enough for all the days of your life."

"No," answered the student, "you would cheat me like you tried to the first time."

"You are giving away your own good fortune," said the spirit. "I will not harm you, but instead will reward you richly."

This whole interaction summarizes what Mercurius/Mercury is about. At its root, Mercurius/Mercury is a trixter/trickster aka an archetype found in many cultures and fairytales. It is known for his contradictive nature:

A curious combination of typical trickster motifs can be found in the alchemical figure of Mercurius; for instance, his fondness for sly jokes and malicious pranks, his powers as a shape-shifter, his dual nature, half animal, half divine, his exposure to all kinds of tortures, and—last but not least—his approximation to the figure of a saviour.

Carl Jung

Some of these traits can be found in the Spirit of the fairy tale too. For example, he is both incredibly big (a giant) and small (flask-sized). He tricks the boy, but is also tricked (tricksters are often both extremely intelligent and foolish). Finally, he is both malicious and a benefactor.

Our Mercury (like Hermes in myths) is presented as a trickster as well. He likes sly jokes and takes pleasure into tricking others. He is also foolish and tricked himself, though. He is a "big bad man", but also a "scared little kid". Finally, he is black (his surname) and white (his aura) together, which makes gray.

Going back to the fairy tale, Mercury fits both the Boy and the Spirit.

On the one hand Mercury finds himself in a conflict very similar to the Boy. He has been educated by Marcus to face the world through a specific lens (strength/weakness), but if he wants to grow he must leave this approach behind. He must disobey his father and find his own way to deal with problems. Once he does, it would probably have to do more with mind than body. It would be intelligence and heart over strength. Just like the Son is able to find his own fortune through trickery and cleverness.

On the other hand Mercury, just like the Spirit, has spent the majority of his life as a prisoner and once he is freed he starts lashing out:

Do you think that I was shut up there for such a long time as a favor? No, it was a punishment.

Tyrian: Oh yes, the world is mean, and I'm a big, bad man now just like the others. 

Still, both end up trapped again. The Boy tricks Mercurius into going back into his flask, while Mercury is tricked by Cinder and finds himself in another abusive situation, which keeps worsening:

In the end, though, he will be freed once again and this time he will show his more positive side, just like Mercurius:

"Now you shall have your reward," he said, handing the student a little rag that looked just like a small bandage. He said, "If you rub a wound with the one end, it will heal, and if you rub steel or iron with the other end, it will turn into silver."

Mercurius's gift has 2 distinctive powers:

It heals wounds

It turns iron into silver

These 2 ideas have already been set up as 2 major motifs in Mercury's arc.

THE GIFT OF HEALING

"I have to try that," said the student. He went to a tree, scratched the bark with his ax, then rubbed it with the one end of the bandage. It immediately closed together and was healed.

The first thing the Boy does with his new magical bandage is to heal a tree, which is meaningful when one remembers the Father is a woodcutter. His parent cuts trees down, but the protagonist takes another path and heals instead.

Doesn't this fit Mercury like a glove?

Marcus brings Mercury up as an assassin, but that is not who he is. If he were, Mercury would not be missing a semblance right now. After all, as Ren says:

"A common philosophy is that a warrior's Semblance is a part of who they are. "

Semblances are metaphors for one's individuality. This means that on a story level Mercury has none because he can't find himself. However, it's already been stated how Mercury can get his power back:

Mercury: He (Marcus) told me I could have it back when I was strong. So I got strong, but I never got it back! 

Still, being strong is not what Mercury thinks. It is not power:

Yang: Oh, shut up!! You don’t know the first thing about strength! You turn your back on people, you run away when things get too hard, you put others in harm’s way instead of yourself!! You might be powerful, but that doesn’t make you strong.

But rather:

Yang: Yeah, I’m scared. But I’m still standing here!

It is the ability to make the right choice, even if difficult. It is the determination to trust and open up even if scary. For Mercury to show this kind of strength is his only way to find himself (like the Son) and to be free (like the Spirit). He must choose if he wants to kill or to cure. If he wants to be the poison or the medicine. Mercury in alchemy can be both, after all. However, only by choosing the latter Mercury himself can heal and probably unlock his semblance (his gift) once again.

FROM IRON TO SILVER

"Just watch, father. I will soon cut down that tree there and make it crash."

Then he took his bandage, rubbed the ax with it, and struck a mighty blow, but because the iron had turned into silver, the cutting edge bent back on itself.

After separating from the Spirit, the Son goes back to his father, who angrily scolds him for losing time. By this point, the Boy turns his axe into silver, tries to cut a tree and breaks it. However, even if broken the axe still has incredible value:

The son picked up the ax and took it into town to a goldsmith, who tested it, weighed it, and then said, "It is worth four hundred talers. I do not have that much cash with me."

This metal motif, which is rooted in alchemy, is found in RWBY and Mercury's story too:

Got no gun But I gleam like a blade and I'm harder than iron

As @hamliet explains in her wonderful meta, there are 7 metals in alchemy that are ordered in terms of refinement: lead, tin, iron, copper, mercury, silver and gold. RWBY explores this idea by having characters move through the metal scale as they develop.

In particular, there are key characters linked to specific metals. It is probably going to play out like this:

Jaune - lead>gold: Jaune starts as the less refined metal aka lead. He wears an old armor, which is gray and white. Moreover, he is initially moved around by Pyrrha (gold), so that he can be molded into something better. As the story progresses, he integrates Pyrrha's golden metal and he himself moves towards yellow (his own color) and gold. By the end, I would not be surprised if this progression is highlighted in some way.

Ironwood - iron>tin: Iron is in the General's name and his allusion is the Tin Man :P What's more, his whole arc is commented through the use of metal (his weapons, his prosthetics and his robot motif). He starts as iron, a metal strongly linked to war. However, instead of moving past it and to become more refined, Ironwood loses his heart and is turned into a tin soldier. Very frail and easy to manipulate.

Penny - copper: Our girl is the metal linked to Venus, love, compassion and beauty. Pennies are made of copper and Penny's color scheme, name and metallic body reference this metal. Moreover, her own allusion shares this same motif. In the novel, Pinocchio turns into a real boy and his 40 pennies become golden coins :P Guess who disappears into a golden cloud once she becomes her own person?

Finally, there is Mercury, who is called after the metal and has metallic legs. His arc is probably going to go like this - mercury > iron > mercury/silver.

He himself is mercury, just like his name, but Marcus (Mars > the planet linked to iron) has dragged him down to his level. He has taught his son to kill and to fight, while mercury is a fluid, softer and more refined metal. Mercury has regressed to iron hiding his vulnerability behind a cruel and violent facade. His story will be about rediscovering himself (Mercury) and then going through a process of refinement (Silver or Quicksilver).

Mercury is like the silver axe. To Marcus he may seem too weak or frail to be useful. However, even if broken, his hidden worth is invaluable.

MERCURY: A METAL AND A GOD

Mercury's flight tag spells M80-495 in what's a nod to both his name and allusion. On the one hand 80 is mercury's atomic number. On the other hand 495 BC is the year the Temple of Mercury was founded in Rome.

So, the flight tag references both the metal and the God, which fits Mercury's alchemical motif. As a matter of fact Mercury has a double role in alchemy:

It is one of the 7 metals that needs to be purified. At the same time, it was believed to have in itself the properties of all other elements, hence making it 1 of 3 basic substances that make up the world

This leads mercury to become some kind of Spirit present everywhere, which in its most perfected form manifests itself as the God Hermes/Mercurius. This happens in a key moment of the alchemical process, when the alchemist is about to create the philosopher stone

In other words, Mercury is both a metal (in its most basic and low form) and a God (in its purified form). Our Mercury's arc will play with these ideas symbolically. He starts as a raw metal only to become a God worth of his allusion. From mercury to Mercury.

How can this happen? And who can help our boy in this journey?

GLASS PRISONERS

Mercury: Bad hair, used a scythe and smelled like my dad after a long day. It was him.

Mercury links Qrow to Marcus through their shared dependence on alcohol. This comparison may just be the end of it, but Qrow himself is an interesting candidate to help Mercury:

Both were raised to be assassins and their childhoods keep influencing their respective self-images. Deep down both still believe they are destined for destruction.

Symbolically, Qrow fits the trickster's archetype, just like Mercury. He is both human and animal and he is introduced joking around and pranking others (Winter). Last but not least, he brings both bad and good luck, just like Mercurius:

Then the son told his father everything that had happened, and how by trusting in his luck he had made such a catch.

Moreover, he too is (or at least used to be) trapped inside a bottle:

The idea of glass as a cage is a recurring motif in RWBY, which is often linked to the cycle of abuse. For example, the Schnees are all trapped inside the Evil Mirror: Weiss is scared to turn into Jacques's mirror image, a fragment of Winter's mirror makes her heart cold, while Willow's mirror is her vodka bottle. Similarly, Cinder is a Glass Unicorn who loses her innocence and is forced to become a Glass Grimm, like the ones she used to clean.

Because of this, it would fit if glass were in Mercury's story too, as a symbol of his psychological prison and of his frail sense of self. In this case, both him and Qrow would be spirits trapped in a bottle, who need their loved ones' help to escape. To be more specific, Qrow is already on the path to freedom thanks to Ruby, Yang, Clover and Robyn. Mercury instead is so trapped he has yet to fully realize to what extent. However, he too is bound to free himself and it would be interesting if Qrow were to help, especially because they both have Tyrian as a negative foil to overcome:

Tyrian is the character that in different ways embodies this idea (destruction/their flaws) for both Mercury and Qrow, so it makes sense for them to overcome him. However, this victory should not be (only) a physical one. Qrow defeating Tyrian as a way to avenge Clover would not work because it would still be Qrow indulging in destruction. Similarly, Mercury killing Tyrian like he killed Marcus would just be the cycle repeating. However, for Qrow to save a kid just as unlucky as him would be a way to metaphorically save and heal himself. For Mercury to show vulnerability and accept help would truly mean defeat Tyrian, Marcus and break the cycle of abuse.

On the one hand Tyrian brings out and takes advantage of Qrow's cynism and miscommunication. Qrow's self loathing makes him quick to give up trusting others and this results in him being very easy for Tyrian to manipulate.

On the other hand Tyrian is clearly designed as Mercury's most extreme negative version. He is a man-child, who never grew and is now stuck as an unstable killer with a weak sense of self, which is exactly where Mercury risks to go.

It would then be fitting if Qrow and Mercury defeat Tyrian together. For Qrow it would be a chance to save a younger version of himself. For Mercury it would be proof people can change and not all authority figures are bad.

In this scenario, Tyrian would try to make Mercury conform to Marcus's way of life as a new abusive father, while Qrow would be the Spirit Mercurius, who shows the boy another way.

ALADDIN AND THE GEENIE

Emerald: Why did you come with us, the night Cinder and I found you?

Emerald is so far the only character truly interested in what Mercury wants. She interrogates him on his motivations and puts him in front of the hard truth. Mercury is so repressed he has no strong wishes of his own. He claims he is following Salem and Cinder out of selfish interests, but he is really not able to articulate what his objective is. This is because he has none if not surviving with the least pain possible. However, this does not work because people are defined by their wishes. If Mercury wants to grow into himself he must think about his desires and focus on them.

It is not by chance Emerald is the one who makes this theme surface, given her (hopefully true) Aladdin allusion. So far, this allusion seems to be centered on the thematic element of the geenie that keeps popping up in our hidden gem's story.

To be more specific, Aladdin's original fairy tale has 2 geenies.

The geenie of the ring:

Cinder: "But you didn't steal the ring in your pocket."

Cinder: "Follow me, and you'll never be hungry again."

The geenie of the lamp:

Salem: "The path to your desires is only found… through me"

Salem: "What did you do with the Lamp?"

The geenie of the ring is weaker, but sticks with Aladdin throughout the whole story, while the geenie of the lamp is stronger, but is at one point stolen by an evil wizard. RWBY takes these 2 spirits and ties them to Cinder and Salem, who abuse and trick Em with the illusion of granting wishes. The truth is that neither CInder nor Salem are the ones, who can give Emerald what she wants:

Tyrian: "What do you want from this?" Children, please, if you're not loving what you're doing, then you're in the wrong field.

They are just trapping the girl by transforming Emerald herself into a spirit in servitude:

Instead of making Emerald's wishes true, they reduce her to a self-sacrificial geenie. Emerald's arc is then about realizing this truth, so that she can start pursuing what she truly wants. Not through illusions (false wishes) or stealing (taking from others to fill herself), but by working hard and acting earnestly.

Well, who is going to be Emerald's third and final geenie/wish?

Tyrian: Careful, little girl. Cinder isn't here to protect you anymore.

Mercury: Back off, freak.

The set-up is clear. Emerald has been blinded by Cinder to the point that she has failed to notice Mercury has been her true family since the start. By the end, she will realize this truth and free him.

In this way, Aladdin will free Mercurius from his bottle and have her true wish granted.

At the same time, Mercury too will find his wish and motivation in Emerald, so that they can both become each other's geenie and true desire.

Still, what will Mercurius do once freed? What kind of god emerges from the purified mercury?

MERCURY: THE MESSENGER

From the earliest times, Hermes was the mystagogue and psychopomp of the alchemists, their friend and counsellor, who leads them to the goal of their work. He is “like a teacher mediating between the stone and the disciple.

Carl Jung

Mercury/Hermes is a messenger. He connects mortals and gods, deads and livings, the alchemists and the stone. Our Mercury's role will be similar with a specific focus on alchemy. He will connect the alchemist:

With the stone:

RWBY (ruby) is the stone and Cinder is the alchemist that will need to be connected to them, so that she can be saved and give her contribution to the final alchemical reaction, which will save the world.

Mercury (even more than Emerald) will probably be the mediator between these 2 parties. He might empathize with Cinder and convince RWBY to help her. Similarly him (together with Emerald) may end up motivating Cinder to do the right thing for once.

Obviously, the role of mediator is one Mercury might share with Emerald, just like she might share her Emerald Tablet one with him. Still, if they end up having a different role, I see Emerald opening Cinder's eyes through a conflict, while Mercury shows the most empathy and connects.

It fits Mercury's allusion and arc, in the sense he needs to show his feelings of care more and to become open and vulnerable to others.

[holdmeiamscared]

thomas hewitt x reader

in which reader realizes thomas will keep them safe.

technically part 2 to the first thomas x reader, but can also stand by itself if u don’t wanna read that one.

⚠️ : hoyt is an old nasty motherfucker, reader almost gets snatched by an escapee, warnings for blood and mild violence/gore.

there was a new tension in the house— bubbling and rising through the flooring. it made you sick to your stomach, petrified as to what your future would hold, if you even had one anymore— his family knew you were here, knew that he was keeping you.

it had started with the door creaking, an older woman peeking in at where you cowered in your nesting of blankets; wide eyed and unsure as to why exactly you were there— in his room. it hadn’t taken long for the news to spread— the sheriff, he seemed to be the one that had the most issue with you staying here, you’d heard him one night— mad as a rattler, “ya ain’t even fuckin’ it, Tommy! fresh meat, just fuckin’ wastin’ away because it was nice to you?”

thomas had come into the room that night, heaving, shoulders shaking with each heavy breath. you were, rightfully, fucking terrified of what would happen next. but it was nothing—nothing. he hadn’t touched you, opting to instead watch you for a moment, like he always did, before removing his outer layers.

after he had laid down, breathing calming back to normal, you’d crawled up on the bed next to him— resting on his chest like you had before, watching the furrow of his dark brow erase at the first brush of your forehead against his sternum, and you spoke to him quietly— desperately, “please don’t let him hurt me.”

thomas brought a red stained hand up to your face, touching you with more tenderness than a man of his size should have. his fingers moved sluggishly, brushing along the length of your jaw, across the plane of your cheeks, the curve of your nose— it was a promise. you’d be safe.

————

he’d promised you’d be safe. that’s why your panic hit an all time high when the door creaked open again. you had expected the sheriff, busting in to put a bullet in your brain, but were instead met with a young man— one you’d never seen before in your life. he looked a little worse for wear, blood dripping from an open cut in his forehead, but he spoke to you softly, hands stretched out to you, open palmed— like he was trying to convey he wouldn’t harm you, “are you hurt?”

someone was talking to you. your chest ached for freedom, but the very thought of stepping out of the comfort of this room— the safety of this room sent you scurrying backwards, head shaking rapidly, “I’m fine! I’m fine! you need to leave! you need to get the fuck out of here right now.” he didn’t listen, hand gripping tightly at your bicep, pulling you towards him, “there’s a.. a thing, with a chainsaw— you aren’t safe.”

you jerked, clawing at his hand, “let go! let go!” your voice raised in pitch, brain moving into fight or flight mode— you weren’t leaving this fucking room— it was the only place you were truly safe here. you managed to pull away from him, landing a harsh kick to his chest before launching yourself towards the bed, clamoring to get yourself away from this self righteous jackass, “get the fuck away from me!”

he followed suit, hand latching onto your ankle, before tugging you back towards him with more strength than he should have had, and you tumbled, flailing the whole way down. you hit the old wood with enough force to leave you winded, and then the stranger was hovering over you, “we have to fucking go!” he gripped at both of your forearms, attempting, again to tug you to your feet.

you weren’t sure what exactly had happened, but someone was screaming— maybe you, and then the stranger was slumping, the taste of copper in your mouth making you heave— ears ringing from the sound of a rifle. your hearing tunneled, hand scrubbing at the sticky wet that sprayed on your face, and when you zoned back, you could hear him— the sheriff, “that’s right, you son of a bitch— you break into a man’s house, and that’s what you fuckin’ get! lead in your pea-brain!”

a moment passed, with you cowering away from his gaze— dark and wandering, it made you shudder, and then feel dirty, just fucking disgusting. he was leering down at you, sick pleasure showing on every haunting feature of his face. your lungs burned, terror freezing you in place— thomas promised.

nothing was said between the two of you, but the silence passed quickly when the sheriff took a long step towards you, a look in his eyes you couldn’t quite place— your adrenaline spiked, and you screeched— loud enough your own ears rang at the noise, “thomas!” another moment of silence passed, broken by the thunderous sound of rushed footsteps treading up the stairs. he was coming. relief flooded your senses, eyes tearing up at the rush of emotion.

he loomed behind the sheriff for a moment— big and broad and panting with each breath. he moved quick for such a big man, but you had seen him move like that before— when he’d taken you. he pushed past the opposing figure, a snarl of warning low in this throat. his curious gaze eyed the newly deceased first, before kneeling in front of you— blood soaked hands moving to touch your face, to make sure you weren’t hurt.

you didn’t flinch when he touched you, instead you gripped at his big wrists, wiggling yourself closer. you didn’t care if he smelled like rot, sweat, and copper— you just wanted him to hold you. he did. without any prompting, he gripped at you—hands digging into the meat of your hips, tugging you into him, until your hands tangled in his hair, and your forehead rested on the side of his neck— safe. you were completely, and utterly safe.

thomas rumbled deep in his chest at the feeling of your hot breath rushing over his throat, and you shifted again, opting to nose at him there— hiding your face from view, until all you could see was thomas. safe. safe. safe. he was here and you were safe.

you were content to stay there for as long as possible, wrapped up tight and cozy in his arms, but you were cut short, “well ain’t that just down right precious.” a woman. the woman. the one that had told the sheriff you were here. bitterness bubbled into your throat, and you found yourself clinging tighter to thomas— him squeezing you in return, “just damn adorable. so fuckin’ precious I could puke." your eyes narrowed, the bitterness returning— you didn’t like him. you didn’t like him one bit. you removed your face from tommy’s neck to peek up at his face— he was scowling, brows furrowed, eyes darkened with an emotion that you couldn't name. you did the only thing you could think of, and you bumped your forehead against his, nose dragging along his mask— he rumbled at you again, eyes softening considerably.

your heart jumped, this was bad for you. this was so bad. so so so so bad. you liked thomas. your thoughts were cut short, "that's enough now. get your ass up, boy. you got work to do." your heart dropped to your feet— he had to leave. your gaze flitted around the room, the murdered man, the sheriff, the woman, and then back to thomas. always back to thomas. his thumbs brushed over your cheek bones, hands gripping the sides of your face, and his forehead met yours again. you sighed, low and comfortable— the moment didn't last, "I said now, boy."

you took back what thought earlier. you weren't safe if you were in this room— you were safe if thomas was there.

[youryanderedaddy]

Caged bird

Summary: When your prince finally catches you, you are forced to see things his way.

Tw: female reader, kidnapping, abuse of power, slight violence, slight non-con, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior

Locked in (pt. 1)

You, the little concubine, who had managed to so quickly and mercilessly steal his heart, were standing in the corridor – delicate wrists in heavy silver handcuffs, face dirty and dusty, clothes all messy. Your eyes were shining brightly despite the heavy air and your lips were softly mumbling, whispering silent pleads and prayers. Your whole body was shaking with fear, shock and misery. The prince slowly walked towards you, only stopping when the distance between you was nonexistent. You could feel his minty breath tickling the hairs on your exposed neck and it made you shiver like a million of ice-cold arrows trough your heart.

‘’My love, I can finally see your beautiful face again.’’ The man spoke quietly, bordering on a whisper. His fingers were stroking your hair gently, yet still pulling at the ends every time he got to them. “I showed you nothing, but pure kindness and adoration, and what did you do in return?” Suddenly William tugged at your silky locks and dragged you to the wall, finally slamming your frail, tired body roughly against it. He captured your wrists with his own and suppressed the need to devour you right then and there.

“You ran away, my love.” The prince purred in your ear and it made your blood run cold. “You toyed with my endless trust, you broke my heart and left me to suffer all on my own.” He clenched his teeth in an angry fashion. ‘’Damn traitor.’’ Will cursed under his breath, but that did little to stop the tears of raw emotion streaming down his cheeks. He felt so hurt and betrayed by you it was hard to even think about it. “Why? Why did you do it? ” The rage – filled man pushed you further into the stone-cold wall. You looked up at him, almost apathetic towards the fucked up situation. You couldn’t find enough strength in your heart to fill sorry for the pitiful ruler.

“My lord, please excuse my stupid, impulsive behavior. I was unhappy at your palace. The golden walls and honey – colored collars feel like a cage when you are miserable. ” You admitted after a while, staring deep into the prince’s cold eyes. Some pathetic, forgotten part of you still believed that he would realize his faults and the pain he had caused you. “I wish for nothing more than freedom - to be able to travel around the world and explore its secrets, it’s my only desire.” You continued carefully. Every word felt as if you were dancing on thin ice, applying more pressure could result in a big crash of suffocation, drowning and agony. “I also wish to see my family at least once. I beg you, Sir, let me go.” You knew your cheeks were rosy now due to the humiliating nature of your dolorous pleading but you had no other choice. Will looked at you for a second before smashing his cold blue lips into your soft warm ones, in a mockery of the sweet gesture, shared between lovers. His kiss was harsh and desperate, violent, without a trace of passion or consideration. It conveyed all his scattered emotions – sadness, hurt, anger, all mixed together in a sloppy wet mess of tongue and salty tears. By now the prince wasn’t sure who they belonged to.

‘’Dearest, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Will muttered darkly, while holding you close. “But you will. I will make sure of it.”

Three hours later you were still crying on the floor. Your wrists were covered in bruises from the handcuffs and your weak bare feet felt numb to the heavy metal around your ankles. Your pearly white tears were falling to the ground. You were inside a small pitch black room all alone again. Sickening, terrifying and empty, this was your punishment. No amount of tears could change your fate – owned by a cruel master and away from everyone you truly loved.

You were nothing but a beautiful caged bird singing a sad, lonely song.

Caged bird (pt. 2)

The prince sat down right next to you and ran his hand gently across your face. He started humming a sappy song about the kingdom you two had grown up in, about the good old days when everything felt way sweeter and warmer like an endless summer.

“How are feeling today, my love?” Will asked, suddenly concerned about your well – being. But you learned the hard way to never trust a word coming out of his lips. You decided to be honest anyways.

“Sad and perhaps even a bit lost. In fact I think I lose a part of myself every day that I wake up locked in here. ” You answered in a broken voice. All of it was true, you weren't yourself anymore – you refused to eat, sleep or even talk to anyone besides your master and you were getting weaker by the day.

“And why is that, dearest?” The prince replied quickly, his tone on the line between calm and threatening. He tried to control his nerves only this time, since you already looked low in spirits.

“I miss my parents and my friends. But most of all I miss my older sibling, Your Majesty. I really want to see them.” You took a deep breath as you realized how daring and rash your words were. “Sir, excuse my boldness.”

“You are not excused, dearest.” William snapped bitterly and grabbed your wrist in a tight, punishing grip. “Do you know what happened to the person you hold oh-so-dear?” The prince whispered into your ear, enjoying the way it made your whole body still. You shook your head and the man had to fight off the urge to give you a sly laugh as a hint of what you were to hear next. He pulled your beautiful hair up in order for your eyes to be on the same level. “I killed them. I tortured them for hours until they lost all of their energy, body and soul.” The prince pronounced every word slowly and sharply, using it as a poisonous weapon against you. “That stupid punk.” He continued, pleased as he watched you struggle to get out of his grasp, but to no avail. He had you trapped in place and you weren’t going away until you have heard each and every painful bit of truth. “I hated him with a burning passion, you know? He was constantly trying to take you away from me and I just couldn’t stand it anymore.” William smirked viciously. He had officially won. “But don’t worry, my love. He can’t get in the way of our love ever again. No one can, not even you. Even If you try to run away again, I will simply drag you back and chain you up down here until you finally realize there is no way out. Loving me is your best chance and you better use it.”

You couldn’t hear the madman’s ramblings anymore. The big salty tears were suffocating you, you were drowning in them, swimming around helplessly, only to be met with an even bigger wave. All you could do was suffer silently and pray that one day you would learn to love him.

[spenciegoob]

Swing to the Stars

this fic swap is for @reidgraygubler​ ... I really hope you like it, shadow :)

A/N: AAAAH! this is my first fic swap and I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

Summary: Spencer meets someone in his little hiding spot, and desperately hopes to see them again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Category: fluff with a dash of angst

Content Warnings: mentions of Maeve & William Reid, talk of a case involving teens, mentions of bullying, mentions of guns and pepper spray (not used)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

The first time I climbed that treacherous hill, dirtying my converse for all to see what my night activities truly consisted of, I was alone. I enjoyed it like that, I came here by myself, and I intended to keep it that way. When I sat on the swing dangling by two dangerously flimsy ropes, I thought how ridiculously large the slap of wood used to make it was. My elbows were bent a little over a 90 degree angle just to reach both sides, but I never thought past it. I had other things on my mind that night.

I thought about my mom. I knew she would have loved a secluded, little space like this. She would’ve probably read to me here, using different voices that held deep emotion to convey each story with a precise amount of dedication and love. Each story to her was special, and I silently thank her every day for passing that trait down to me. 

Unfortunately, if I thought about my mom, I thought about my dad. William was never a kind man, and I could pride myself on one thing; I would never be like him. He didn’t deserve to know a place like this. It was too serene, too beautiful to house a man so willing to abandon the two people who should’ve been the most important to him. I was glad he would never get the chance to sit on this swing.

I thought about my family. How Garcia would jump with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic overlooking the city, yet quiet and missing the sounds of cars zooming by or overlapping chatter. I thought about JJ, and how Henry would beg her to push him in the swing, because to a little kid, it was perfect. He didn’t look at the frayed rope and fear that it would snap. I hope he never starts to fear the world like that.

The second time I found myself back at the bottom of the hill, I made it halfway to the top before seeing a couple getting up from the swing they were sitting together on. I realized then why it was so comically large; it was meant for two people. Thankfully when I reached the top only half out of breath, the two were starting their descent to where I came from.

This time when I sat down, I thought about Maeve. I would’ve brought her here, shared the little secret corner of the world I built for myself. She would’ve loved something like this, and I know if life wasn’t so cruel, and I was given the chance to show her, we would’ve talked for hours. So that’s what I did that time; I talked to Maeve. To anyone else, I probably looked like a crazy person talking to himself, but much to my delight, not many people made the trip up the hill to find this place.

Now I go whenever I need a break from my mind, which unfortunately is more times than my schedule allows me to take that leisurely walk. I spend my nights sometimes after a particularly hard case there no matter the time, using the ropes that scratch my hands as my lifeline down to Earth. I watch the stars, screaming and cursing at the world in my head and waiting for the sky to respond. It never did, and the next case always came in the following morning.

This particular time that I found myself at the bottom of the grassy hill waiting to be climbed, the case I just returned from involved kids across the board. A teenage unsub was killing his fellow classmates that have wronged him. Unfortunately, the BAU had to witness his stressor recorded for the whole school to see. It involved vile insults being thrown at the young, defenseless boy only for the bullying to escalate to violence.

It was awful.

As I trudged up the hill with less excitement to look into the vast unknown than usual, I couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub. All he wanted in life was a friend, someone to talk to, laugh with, share memories together. No matter how wrong it was, I saw myself in him. Our souls held the same scars given to us by people who had no right to go digging for such a deep part of ourselves. If I didn’t make it, would I have turned out like him?

When I reached the top, completing my journey once again, I saw them. Sitting there, staring out into the sky, mimicking my thoughts to do the same on the jet ride home. I could only make out half their face lit up by the light casting down from the full moon, but I didn’t need to see more to know they were breathtaking.

I would have turned around to return home to nothing more than books reread thousands of times and stale coffee, but I already made the mistake of stepping on a rather large branch that broke in half. The crunch coming from their right immediately had them on edge, and reaching for their bag that I could only assume had some sort of weapon inside. I hope it was legal.

I felt terrible for breaking them from the trance they were in. They were deep in thought about something that was probably going to become a solution if I hadn't interrupted their musing. 

“H-hi, I’m sorry to scare you. I didn’t expect anyone here this late. Not that you being here is a problem! I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I frantically shouted, although there was less distance between us than I originally thought, and probably seemed crazed by my volume level.

They just giggled at first, but upon seeing my distraught expression, their face turned more kind than humorous.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t jump so fast to pepper spray you. That would definitely be the worst case scenario.” I let out a breath of relief for some reason. Here I was, in front of a total stranger thankful that their weapon of choice wasn’t a gun. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many during my years.

“Did you know Chemical Mace, more commonly known as pepper spray, was invented in the 1960s by a man named Alan Lee Litman and his wife Doris Litman at the time. Their reason was actually because one of Doris’s female coworkers was attacked and robbed, so they thought to create a nonlethal weapon with easy accessibility and use, considering not everyone is able to use a gun. It wasn’t until 1987 however that the Litman’s sold their creation to Smith and Wesson where it was mass produced and later sold to law enforcement.”

“Wow, I don’t think I did.” They laughed again, but something in my heart told me it wasn’t meant to come with malicious intent. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” I asked, even though I had some inclination of what they were referencing.

“Spout random facts. I’m not complaining, that was very cool, but I am fully intrigued.” They smiled again at me fondly, the kind of smile that left me a little breathless, even more so than the 45 degree incline I had to climb to find myself in front of them. There was nothing to convince me they weren’t authentic in every word they stated.

“I do it quite often, yes. It gets annoying after a while though.” It was true, I was told on many occasions that my rambling got old very fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re close to me for too long. I tend to stop being the awe-striking genius, and become the nagging, walking encyclopedia.

“I don’t see how that could become annoying.” It sounded sad coming from them, like I had insulted their oddity. I would never, and I was really hoping to find out what it was.

I had nothing further to say that would express my shock, and slight fondness over their praise, wary of its honesty even if it did come from them. I hadn’t known them for more than 4 minutes and 36 seconds, but it was enough to figure out that they weren’t a liar. It wasn’t from profiling either.

“You know, there is room for two people here if you wanted to join me. I’m sure you didn’t climb that hill for nothing.” They continued for me. If they noticed my surprise, they said nothing about it. 

Usually, I would be skeptical of being in a close proximity with a stranger, but as I approached them carefully, even if their hand was no longer reaching for mace, I felt the passing between our eyes. It was as if we had shared every part of ourselves with eye contact, and as crazy as it sounds, I felt the somber thoughts that lingered from their previous reflections.

So I sat down, grabbing onto only one of the scratchy ropes, and enjoying the way I could rest my elbow against my side now that I was using the swing to its fullest potential. I stopped caring about the probability of the ropes snapping under our combined body weight. The worst that could possibly happen was I bruised my tailbone a little bit, but I wouldn’t care past the initial embarrassment. At least I had someone to show that with.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” They asked once I was settled on the wood slab as comfortably as I could muster. Being boney didn’t necessarily help. Before I could answer, they continued. “I can tell you’re a man of science, if the fact dump wasn’t any indicator, but I mean beyond the facts, and the known.”

“No, I don’t think about it.” It was a lie, I think about it every time I’m here, but I wanted nothing more in this moment than to know how they saw the stars.

“I do. Quite frequently, actually. I mean, I’ve read every book there ever was about the stars and space, but there is still no answer to my question.”

“What question?” I had to know.

“What’s exactly written in the stars,” they replied, using their hands to showcase the sky above us. I sat back and thought for a while. Like the books they’ve read, I too didn’t have the response to their question. God, how I wish I did.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly. One of the perks of total darkness in the dead of night is that the moon couldn’t tell time the way the sun did. We got lost in the cosmos together, contemplating sharing our own troubled thoughts with each other. It would have felt right if we did, but alas, the ringing of my cell phone dropped a pin in our reflections.

“I- I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I rushed out before standing up and accepting the incoming call from Penelope. I knew it was a case before her bubbly voice rang through my celular. I allowed the disappointment to bleed through my tone when I told her I would be back at the BAU shortly, hoping that the small release of the emotion would be enough to ward it off in time to turn back around. 

It didn’t.

They were already looking at me expectantly when I made my way back to the swing, bending down to retrieve my satchel I had abandoned on the ground. The amount of guilt on my face must have been enough to tell them I had to leave abruptly, despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do was stay for even just a second.

“That’s okay,” they spoke softly, giving me a tight lipped smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Life never did work out in my favor. They looked up at the sky once more before answering.

“Just a feeling.” I let a full grin break out at their response, the first one I’ve had when visiting this place. I turned around to start my journey back to the office where dark, and twisted things lurked behind manilla folders. Before starting my descent however, I spun around quickly, almost losing my footing and taking a tumble.

“Woah there tiger, don’t hurt yourself,” they giggled at me, one that I returned with my own breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know your name.” It baffled me a little bit that I hadn’t thought to ask before this, but they just gave me one last smile, tilting their head in faux contemplation.

“Ask me next time.” I will.

***

It’s been a year since I met them, and I haven’t seen them since. Not for a lack of trying however. After that case, I went there every night until a new one arose, this time taking me to Oregon. They hadn’t been back, and part of me wondered if it was because of me. Did I not try hard enough the first time? Should I have ignored my ringer until my phone had 5 missed calls from Penelope?

But then my eidetic memory swooped in to save me from going down that road, one of the only times it wasn’t the cause of my self destructive thoughts. Because while I replayed the conversation over in my head wondering where it went wrong, I remembered their eyes, and their smile.

I remembered what it felt like to sit with them, and thankfully that was enough to convince myself our meeting wasn’t in vain.

I never was the kind of man to believe in the universe. The whole notion that “everything happens for a reason,” felt like a lie created to somehow blame an external force on the chaos in one’s life. There were so many things in my life that had no reason for happening, and to blame that on anything or anyone but myself would be a cheap excuse of a way out.

But for some odd reason, the universe aside, I believed in them, and strangely enough, I don’t think they would have blamed me for the life I had to live. So, as I sit down tonight on this familiar piece of wood, I choose to stare at the stars instead of the ground, and believe that if I spoke aloud, maybe they would hear me.

And they did, because my efforts to sit on one side of the swing in case they returned to me were not in vain. I didn’t look over, I didn’t have to to know it was them. I had already relaxed once their presence was known in my peripherals.

“Y/N,” they spoke, causing me to change my view on the stars to their side profile. It wasn’t all that different than staring at the constellations spread around us. “My name’s Y/N.”

___

Join a taglist here Tell me your thoughts on this fic here Have a request? Send it in here

Taglist: @the-girl-who-writes-fanfiction @haylaansmi @masumiyetimziyanoldu @cielo1984 @rexorangecouny @username2002 @calm-and-doctor @pieceofried @mermaidshmari @missyoumaybank @everythingbutnormal @seasonfivereid @no-honey-no​ @muffin-cup​ @90spumkin​ @spenxerslut​